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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

Closer

Neil x F!Reader

Summary: Plot what plot.

Warnings: 18+ (and I really mean it this time), they're both trying to dominate and I've no clue what's going on.

Author's Notes: Suppose this is what happens when an image won't leave you alone and you crave a self-indulgent one-shot... I don't even know, but this took remains of my sanity. Challenged myself with more graphic and this is what we ended up with.

Thank you Shet for reassurance through writing this and not having enough of my whining.

Feedback is greatly appreciated and I hope you'll enjoy!

It is always the same. That brilliant idea to go for lunch and do a round of sightseeing in the afternoon because surely it wouldn’t be too bad. Right?

Well, whoever thought of that was owed an excruciating death in the fires of Hell. Or Orcus, as would be more appropriate for the current location. Who knew the Italian coast transforms into the Death Valley over summer? Sighing with exasperation, you waited not so patiently as Neil slipped the key card into the door and opened the room with a typical flourish. Feeling the constant trickle of sweat down your back, you pushed him inside unceremoniously and let the door close with a thud. As the cold air enveloped your body with the sweetest of embraces, you could not hold back a pleased groan.

“Fuck” the curse not enough to express the internal pain “Jesus fucking Christ, I hate this heat,” accentuating the meaning you aggressively lowered the aircon temperature to 18C “Did I mention that temps above 25 Celsius should be made illegal?” remembering about Neil’s presence, you glared at him.

It was his shit idea in the first place. And you were never letting that one go. He was staring at you with amusement glimmering in the blue eyes. Another reason to punch him in the teeth. Or something.

“More or less twenty times within the last hour, why?” answering your question, he opened the minibar and took out a bottle of water.

Nonchalantly perching on the desk, he took a longer sip, still watching you with curiosity. No remorse whatsoever over the tortures he put you through. Annoying.

But not more so than the sweat still running down your skin, making the fabric stick to your body in places you never deemed possible. When leaving the hotel three hours ago, the linen shirt sounded like a good idea. Now, with half of it drenched, you were sure nudity was the only viable option to go outside. Groaning with frustration, you tugged at the garment, grimacing at the feel of the damp fabric.

“God, everything just feels… wet” uttering the word with loathing, you added, “Like soaking wet,”

That got Neil’s attention. He glanced up with the lips slightly parted, one eyebrow raised.

“Everything?” a quick scan of your body, swallowing hard as though the suggestion triggered thirst that no water could quench.

Uh-huh. The irritation too high to give in just yet. Instead, you allowed yourself to sweep your gaze over his form leisurely. The only sign that he too was bothered by the heat was the glistening forehead and flushed cheeks. The usually fluffy mane tamed, strands sticking to the temples. Still devilishly handsome. With the long legs crossed and the blue polo shirt perfectly bringing out the colour of his eyes, he looked godly. Unfair. Prompted by that thought, you closed the distance and snatched the chilled water bottle out of his hand:

“It’s not like you’d get it, though. Even soaked in sweat you look like a bloody… male Aphrodite” throwing in the slight, you quickly downed the rest of the water.

Another look at your boyfriend was enough to assure you the metaphor worked. Neil was gaping at you, utterly puzzled, and then slowly looked down as if to check himself out. You snickered when he lifted the edge of the shirt and touched his abdomen with a dream-like expression. Fondly: idiot.

“Is that an insult or a compliment? Because I admit I lost you there” shaking off the stupor, he met your watchful gaze with a frown.

It was difficult to stay mad for much longer. And so…

“Whichever one you want,” shrugging, you unzipped the skirt, letting it fall to the ground, “I need a shower. ASAP”

Without waiting for Neil to respond, you started taking off the shirt. With a disgusted sound, you threw it next to the skirt and positioned yourself underneath the AC. Still too many clothes. The noise of plastic bottle hitting the bin and then:

“Whoa…” the playful tone making you look up straight into the mischievous sparks in Neil’s eyes, “That’s giving me all sorts of ideas” he eyed you slowly, gaze taking in your body clad only in underwear.

Not that it was anything new. And usually, you would play along with pleasure, curious about where it might lead you this time. Now, however, that fire of annoyance burning bright still needed tending. And shower sounded much better than whatever Neil might offer.

With a huff, you reached to unclasp the bra and let it join the carnage in the hallway. One look at his hungry expression was enough to prompt an idea. You gave him a quick peck on the cheek and, without leaving time to react, pressed the bathroom handle:

“I won’t lock the door” an off-hand remark rather than an invitation.

But you knew it would work. It always did.

Once inside, thanks to the striptease you indulged in, all that was left was to take off the panties and step into the shower. You turned on the rain head and sighed with happiness when the chilly water cooled off your body. That is what bliss felt like. You closed your eyes, contented enough to stand under the running water. Grounding yourself in the feeling of your palm pressed firmly to the tiled wall. A smug smirk spreading on your lips when, finally, you heard the bathroom door open and close. So predictable.

You kept your back turned to the entrance to the shower, eyes closed if only to keep up the act of mild irritation. Not so mild, in fact, but enough not to give Neil satisfaction by throwing yourself in his arms. He would have to work a little to get something out of it.

At first, a tentative touch running up your spine in the familiar expression of his presence. Enough to trigger the light flicker of passion. With the cold water, it was easy to pretend the goosebumps were not his accomplishment. Encouraged by your stillness, Neil took a step, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. A traitorous gasp swallowed with effort. You heard him chuckle lowly while slowly caressing your body. A puff of warmer air against the side of your neck:

“Ever since I saw you in that sundress, I wanted to do this,” Neil whispered the confession with confidence.

Lips grazing over the shell of your ear, alighting the nerve endings with precision. You knew which dress he meant. The clothing choice from a day earlier, haunting with an accompanying pride. Good to know.

“What exactly?” feigning nonchalance, you kept your hands pressed against the wall and the glass window.

For now, it was easy to ignore the need slowly pooling in your lower stomach. You wanted to keep on playing the game a little longer. To see how far he was willing to go.

Neil tightened the grip, winding both of his arms around your waist. No space left between you.

“Pull you flush against me,” the explanation complemented with a brave sweep of hand over your stomach “Feel your skin and curves under my fingertips” instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, the desire building up steady “Feel the way you shiver whenever I touch you like this” his fingers teasingly running up and down your navel.

The assumption was enough to give back that spark of annoyance. A fight to keep up the role a little longer. Struggling with the overwhelming breathlessness, you whispered back the question:

“Aren’t you giving yourself too much credit?” you reached behind you to run a ghostly touch over his hipbone.

Feeling the skin and the relishing in the shallow gasp. In retaliation, Neil let his hands venture higher, cupping your breasts and circling the nipples. Fuck. At that move, there was no way of stopping the shudder running through your body.

“Am I?” you heard the amusement in his voice, palms executing death perfectly.

Nothing left to do but sigh and press up against him in search of fulfilment. But the teasing was far from finished. You felt his lips experimentally glide over the nape of your neck, collecting the water droplets and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Searching for support, you firmly placed your hand on his hip, gasping at the feel of him pressing into your backside. The hardness never failing to cause a rush of excitement flowing through your body. As though sensing your growing arousal, Neil continued the teasing in a low, soft tone:

“I wanted to kiss down your neck, graze my teeth over your perfect skin” making his words come true, he trailed kisses down the nape of your neck.

A sigh each time he lightly bit your shoulder, a groan with every single butterfly touch along your shoulder blades. Carefully tiptoeing the line between animalistic passion and tender caress that seemed to define your relationship. Only this time, with anger still fresh on your mind, you began getting impatient, suddenly eager for him to speed it up. To give you something more substantial.

Using the strike of courage, you reached your hand further back, curious fingers dancing over him in the mildest of provocations. To give him a sign that patience was running thin. It worked for Neil let out a strangled groan and stopped the careful study of your neck with a painful hickey over the pulse point. That was bound to leave a deep red mark. He did not give you time to react, pulling you somehow even closer and delving the hand between your legs with ease:

“To slip my fingers between your thighs and feel how wet you are because of me,” the sentence murmured with an unmistakable tint of want hazing his mind.

He wasted no time, instantly parting your folds, collecting the arousal, and spreading it to ease whatever was bound to come next. The feeling was familiar yet still clouding your brain with need. Because now even the cold water was not helping the rising temperature. Nothing left to lose. Time to give in and take what he would offer. As he repeated the torturous move, barely touching your clit or putting pressure on the throbbing parts, you decided to take matters into your hands.

“And?” using the question as a distraction to encircle his wrist.

And raise the offensive hand to your lips. Licking his fingers clean before the water could. A sharp gasp told you it worked. Using the momentum, you turned around in his embrace and met the shocked, darkened gaze with a smirk of your own. Neil glanced at your lips as though tempted to collect the remains of your taste from them and locked his eyes with yours:

“Get down on my knees and have a taste of my favourite drug,” a murderous glint within the blue depths.

Knowing well enough how much you enjoyed that. How often you would ask for it.

Your thighs clenched on their own accord, anticipation heightening the senses. To find a brief relief, you rose on your toes and crashed your mouth into his, knowing Neil would meet you halfway. The tumultuous kiss filled with chaos, hunger, and need, betraying the love underscoring every other adjective befitting your connection. The tongues easily slipping in, curling around each other, seeking the ultimate pleasure.

“What’s stopping you?” after a long snog, you broke the contact and panted out, resting your forehead against his.

Allowing yourself a second of gentleness. Admiring the affectionate look in Neil’s eyes, you slowly caressed his body. Returning the previous torments with your dose of playfulness. Letting him remember that you were not the only one that was so ready. That the attraction was mutual, and you knew that very well. Explorative touches down his length, enjoying the way he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, trying to find the lost thread. After a beat, he met your gaze once again. The darkness startling.

“Nothing” using a second of hesitation, Neil took your courageous hand in his and searched your face, “Only… say please” the satisfied smirk added the wicked gleam to his face.

You considered scoffing and pushing him out to keep the pride intact. But… with the core practically dripping with the need for a release, that had to be forgotten. Clenching your jaw to stop the shame from springing up, you uttered the word with apprehension:

“… Please,” making sure to show him the extent of annoyance.

A retaliation already forming in your mind. Revenge would be sweet.

“Good girl” thought processes cut short with the two words.

Oh fuck. Simple, yet more effective than anything else. A jolt of want passing through your body as Neil tipped your chin, arrogantly pleased with himself. He could read you like a book, knowing well what praise would do. This time there was no holding back. No shame or reluctance.

“You fucking-” spitting out the words with annoyance, your rant got stopped with a finger pressed firmly against your lips.

“Shush,” the stern tone, shutting you up with yet another wave of arousal.

The steel look in Neil’s eyes only increasing the sensation. It was bound to get interesting. As if drawn by your dark stare, he closed the gap and captured your lips in a heated kiss. The water, running down, slipping in the gap between you, failing to satisfy the craving. Prodded by the sudden flash of need, you let your teeth catch Neil’s lower lip and tugged at it forcefully. A clear signal to stop stalling. Ending the contact with a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, he met your wild gaze with a calculating assessment. You knew the game well, frozen by the multitude of feelings. Not that it would’ve made him speed up. He enjoyed the control too much to give in.

A final searching look, your hand helplessly clinging to the gaps between the tiles.

“The louder, the better, you know that” brushing his nose over your ear, he whispered the command huskily.

Another reason to hold on tight. A flare-up of anger within your chest, mixing with the increasing frustration.

“I hate you,” you got as far as seething out the sentence before the voice died in your throat.

Neil grinned and lightly pushed you at the wall to give himself the needed space. Without wasting a moment, he started leaving kisses down your body. Gentle pecks on the shoulders, softening the previous damage. Tongue swirling around your nipples, causing a whimper to escape through your parted lips. Your free hand instinctively latched onto his head, finding an anchor in the wet blonde strands. Slowly, Neil inched his way down, kneeling at your feet, hands running up your thighs, creating sparks in their wake.

“Let’s see how long that holds true” he looked up, nothing but a smug smile and dark, hungry eyes.

Fucked. Terrifyingly so.

There was no time to react as he left a trail of kisses up your thighs, getting closer yet taking his time. And then, something you would never get tired of. The first, experimental kitten lick along your slit, parting the folds and spreading the arousal. As if that was needed. Lapping up everything you were offering and making you tighten the grip over his hair. Shocks passing through your body upon every single touch of his tongue. As you yanked on his mane with force, letting out a string of curses, Neil raised his head. Your eyes were drawn to the glistening lips which he licked clean with an unhidden expression of delight.

“God, how I love this taste,” the compliment aimed with lethal precision, satisfaction lighting up his eyes.

Only to pick up the action the very next second. Temperature constantly rising, no mercy given. It only got worse when Neil added his skilful hand to the mix. Stroking the clit, eliciting moans and gasps. Your eyes screw shut, focusing on the way it felt when his finger entered you and started curling inside in search of that sweet spot.

“Jesus fuck” the profanity escaping when he added the second digit, all the while letting his tongue circle the sensitive bud.

Chuckle vibrating through your core, the unoccupied hand contradicting the moment with tender strokes along your hip. As if to soothe and support.

The haze, getting heavier, overcasting everything with the tint of need. For a release. For that high, the explosion of pleasure you were slowly edging. The scales tipped with two fingers curling inside you, hitting the most sacred of places, and Neil’s lips sucking on the clit without moderation. Taking everything with eagerness and delectation.

With the heat almost unbearable and the edges of your vision darkening, you could only pull at his hair with force and rasp out:

“Neil, I can’t-” the intent lost in the outburst of pleasure.

Every nerve, existing to receive what Neil was offering. Every cell, burning with ecstasy. You could feel the incoming wave, ready to succumb to it without a fight. Until he raised his head once more, feeling your muscles clench around his fingers, everything synced up perfectly.

“Come… on. For me,” the emphasis not escaping your overflooded mind, gaze meeting his helplessly, “Don’t be shy” a whisper, darkness tinting the vowels.

The feeling of defeat, adding a dose of shame into the whirlwind, fuelling the ideas of vengeance.

But there was no time to concentrate when Neil finished the act with the third finger easing in. Tipping you off the edge with a piercing cry and a desperate tug on his hair. The strength of the pull making him groan loudly, tongue collecting the arousal with frantic moves. Pleasure flooding your vision. Nothing but the water, Neil, and his body, solid beneath your shaking hands.

Your knees buckled, the force of the aftershocks ripping through your system. Feeling the high course through the veins, you shut your eyes and let out quiet whimpers, unable to process the reality. Sex with Neil was always memorable, but it has never been this intense. Especially only for an entrée.

Feeling your body relax, Neil retracted the hand and placed a final kiss on your clit with saintly reverence. You opened your eyes in time to see him look up, the dark blue irises rimmed with long dark eyelashes. Adoration. Want. Weak from the strength of that release, your legs wobbled as you tried to change position. Foot slipped on the slick tiles, and you already anticipated the fall when an arm wound around your waist, pulling you upright. Startled, you barely comprehended when he got up and saved you, making use of the smooth moves and long limbs.

“Got you,” a whisper against your temple as Neil hugged you close, cradling your body with care, “Always” his gaze met yours, tenderness overshadowing every other feeling.

On reflex, you mirrored his soft smile in an expression of gratitude. For much more than saving your ass from the bruises. Despite the maelstrom of emotions, you gave in to the gentle moment and returned the embrace, pressing your cheek against his chest. Listening to the fast, familiar heartbeat, you whispered:

“You nearly killed me just now,” the breathless tint only giving evidence to the statement.

It’s not like he wouldn’t know. With screams like those, he had to. Neil chuckled, one of his hands venturing up to cradle your head, the other tracing shapes onto your back. Water flowing down with the steady stream, enveloping your embraced bodies in comfortable warmth.

“That wasn’t the intention,” he murmured, nuzzling the top of your head.

You could hear the pleased tone there, indicating what you suspected. Following the playful thread, you leaned back enough to meet his gaze and asked:

“What was it then?” a hand running through his hair, watching the strands darken when wet.

At the roots, his natural light brown colour was beginning to show, adding a surprising edge to his startling physique. For you, that meant another evening soon spent sat on the edge of the toilet seat, laughing at his attempts at dying the hair on his own. Those were fun moments.

Catching your absent gaze, Neil tipped your chin to bring you back to the present and then grinned:

“To show you how much I adore you,” the simple answer laid with a soft kiss on your lips, signing off the sentiment.

You opened your mouth to let his tongue in instantly, breathing in the air he was willing to share and relishing in the familiarity of the moves. Lips slowly gliding over each other, tongues caressing and teasing. This one was filled with tenderness, an expression of love and devotion rather than hunger. A breather.

Not for long. Using the kiss as a distraction, you switched the positions, making sure Neil would have his back pressed against the wall. For convenience’s sake. Breaking the contact, you whispered the single-worded response:

“Mutually,” unable to wipe the devilish smirk from your face, you waited for a beat to let him catch up.

Those widening eyes were a perfect cue to grin with satisfaction at the perfectly executed setup for the payback. Neil stared back at you with confusion deepening on his face, slowly taking in the reality. Finally, a single word, a prelude to the mountain of questions:

“What-” his brow furrowed, giving you the needed moment to step in.

“Vengeance,” you winked, and wasting no time, lowered onto your knees, “Let me just… now that’s a wonderful view” shifting into the most comfortable position, you gave him a long admiring look from the new vantage point.

It really was. Never failing to make you that tiny bit more eager and hungrier since the first time. Especially when knowing what he is capable of.

The flood of specific memories flushing up your cheeks and giving needed courage to begin. You glanced up, searching for consent, and met Neil’s hazed stare. He seemed transfixed as if already well under your spell, one of his hands mirroring your desperate move from minutes prior, clinging to the tiles in search of support. You raised an eyebrow in the silent question. Yes?

Please. The fervent nod accompanied by the way he swallowed hard was all you waited for.

Never breaking eye contact, you licked your lips thoroughly, all the while using your hands to stroke him lightly. Enough to elicit a gasp. Emboldened by the reaction, you opened your mouth, letting out a warm puff of air to tease him. Neil groaned, the free hand reaching out to cup your cheek with tenderness you did not anticipate. As if distracting himself, he brushed away the damp strands of hair sticking to your face and brushed the pad of his thumb along your lower lip. Gratitude. A signal to start.

A few kitten licks along the length, letting him get used to the sensation. Sharp exhales, muscles tensing. Upping the game, you started focusing on specific areas, using the sound cues and the way his hand tightened the hold over the nape of your neck. Now and then, you would look up to see the darkened pupils and lips parted in the purest expression of pleasure. The furrowed brow and the clouded gaze, telling you when the right time was to bring his tip into your mouth. Gently swirling your tongue around the head, savouring the taste with quiet hums. Stroking the shaft with one hand, you used the other to rake your fingernails over his abdomen. Returning the markings he inflicted earlier.

The string of curses leaving his lips amongst the moans and groans was a good indication that it worked. Noticing the hint of impatience in how he quivered, hips thrusting on an impulse, you slowly inched your mouth down his length, enveloping him as far as you could without it becoming uncomfortable. The answering loud moan told you it was exactly what he needed. Meeting his dark stare, you nodded, permitting him to start moving his hips. The adoration meeting desire in his eyes as Neil sped up. Adjusting to the pace he needed, you started sucking on him. Cheeks hollowed, tiniest of moans drawn out to let him know you enjoyed the act, tongue collecting everything he was giving, anticipating the end with a familiar heat pooling between your thighs once again. Because seeing him like this, was more exciting than you deemed possible.

Then his thrusts got sloppier, knuckles of the hand clinging to the gaps in the tiles whitening; groans replacing any other sound. Soon. Suddenly he seemed to sober up a notch, blinking twice as though forcing the brain to work and then rasping out:

“God, I’m going to-” the meaning interrupted by a whimper when you took the opportunity to increase the pressure by a notch.

You could see the ridiculous dilemma flash in the blue eyes as if he worried about something like that. As if he has not just devoured you like the god’s nectar. Certainly, an idiot. Continuing the bold strokes with your hand, you made sure to meet his gaze before echoing the encouragement:

“For me,” a hint of recognition reflected at you, adding the mischievous tint to your smile, “Please,” grinning widely, you quickly put your mouth back to the task.

Intensifying every move to make sure he would be satisfied. It did not take long. Neil moaned out your name breathlessly before he tensed and came with a shudder ripping through his body. The hand cupping your cheek fell onto your shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh with the force of the release. Swallowing every drop of what he gave you with delight, you made sure to show him the extent of satisfaction in your gaze.

Once Neil was done, he leaned heavily on the tiled wall, quick breaths escaping through the parted mouth. Eyes still clouded yet watching you constantly with evident fascination. Licking your lips clean, you accepted the hand he reached out to pull you up. Resting your palm over his racing heart, you leaned in close to whisper:

“Every inch a gentleman, I see” an appreciative glance down, as if he could miss the innuendo.

His eyes flashed, the familiar darkness creeping at the edge of the blissful fatigue. To your advantage, there was still a moment left of this more subdued Neil. Afterwards? Who knows. The spark of excitement lit up in your chest as you closed the gap and took him by surprise with a heated kiss. Pushing him further up against the wall and taking the lead with your tongue instantly prodding him to open. The grip on your laced hands, tightening as Neil started reciprocating the kiss with an equal eagerness. As if you both have been starving for each other. There was never quite enough oxygen to fulfil needs, and so, after few long minutes interrupted with stolen breaths and fleeting pecks, you broke apart, staring at one another with awe. Neil’s eyes wandered over your face with almost dream-like enchantment written all over.

“Wow,” he breathed out the word with a small smile creeping on the edge of his lips.

It was difficult not to grin back, overwhelmed with love for the man. With your heart close to melting from the tenderness and softness, you chose to strike:

“Is that all the praise I’m going to receive?” quirked eyebrow and feigned dismay.

If only to push him where you needed him to be. Because as much as this gentle and affectionate side of your relationship was everything you could have asked for, currently, you needed more. More than this. Using the palm pressed firmly against his chest, you trailed your fingers south, watching with satisfaction at the tiniest of twitches, betraying the hidden desire, confirming the assumptions. As if slowly waking up from the daze, Neil caught your curious fingers in his and raised your hand to lay a kiss on your knuckles. The playful glimmer already there.

“I’m afraid you stole my breath away. Again” a shrug with an apologetic tint to the tone.

As a contradiction to the meekness acted out, he let go of your hand and wound his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Pressing your bodies against each other, every curve and edge fitting like two pieces of a puzzle. Like two halves of a whole. You glanced up at him, trying to judge the current mood, finding nothing but beauty. The wet hair, sticking to the forehead, water dripping down the slope of his nose and onto the bruised lower lip. Up this close, he looked as if he belonged in Michelangelo’s workshop, fine features chiselled with precision. Ocean blue eyes framed with long and dark eyelashes drawing you in, the longer you kept on staring. Mouth curled up in a soft smile as if even the sight of your lovesick gaze was something he wanted to commit to memory.

With a sight like that, there was only one thing you could do. Feeling the need pulse in your veins, you reached out to turn off the water. It was time to act. Neil looked at you questioningly as if willing to follow the tempo you were about to set. Biting down on your lip, you met his gaze with poise.

“Good. Because that was rather… enjoyable” lowering down your voice, you noticed how his eyes widened; using the tricks learned from Neil himself, your hand ventured down once again “I love how you taste. The way you shiver as I make you come apart” as your fingers danced along his length, he gasped, a shudder running through his body “Sculpted by the gods yet falling into pieces at my command” whispering out the punchline, you gently stroked him to elicit a groan.

A satisfying response. Feeling courage surge through your chest, you smirked, observing as he seemed to absorb your words slowly. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing with effort. The pupils widened, darkening the irises and bringing out the predatory flicker. Mission accomplished. Once again, his hand darted out, stopping your teasing with fingers encircling the wrist tightly.

“You’re asking for trouble,” the husky voice sending shivers down your spine.

You met his gaze, noticing the evident change. It was bound to get interesting. Once you tasted the power, it was hard to give it back. Stepping out of the embrace, you noticed:

“Am I? I thought we’re done here” without waiting for him, you made a move to exit the shower.

Knowing he would follow. You made it as far as grabbing the towel hanging on the hook and wrapping it over your body before his strong arms encircled around you from behind. Pulling you against his chest, just as it all began. Then, a whisper with lips brushing over your ear:

“We’re far from done” oh.

Good. You barely had time to react when Neil lifted you, bridal style, and opened the bathroom door with a kick. Bewildered, you looked at him with curiosity, relishing in the way he cradled you. Possessiveness and care making your head spin with the implications. However, you barely had the time to think of the right question when he stopped abruptly by the long desk lining one side of the room and set you down on the counter. Oh. Consciously adjusting the towel covering your body, you risked a glance at Neil. The blue eyes clouded with need; pupils dilated. The taxing gaze, sweeping over your figure like a predator measuring up the prey. Stunned into silence by the sudden tension, you mirrored his look and allowed yourself a self-indulgent stare, appreciating what the universe gave you in the form of your boyfriend. And his godly body, as you have more than once noticed. Finally, Neil took a step closer. You watched in fascination as his fingers danced along your collarbones and over the skin on your shoulders, taking additional time to brush the fingertips over the forming bruises on your neck. The distant look, telling you it was an open admiration of his work. A shiver ran up your spine, the anticipation of whatever might happen almost stifling.

“All that talk made me a little hungry” the remark made you look up, straight into the marvellous blue eyes.

Confirming the words, Neil slowly licked his lips, hand toying with the end of your towel tucked in to keep it fixed. With heart racing in your chest, you made sure to throw a suggestive glance at his body before asking:

“Only a little?” the dose of provocative tone to make sure he would be within your control.

Because the level of arousal on his side was startling. Impressive, too.Your mouth watered at the sight, thighs clenching tighter together to somehow ease the ache pulsing between your legs. At once, you wanted him to ditch the games and take you this moment, and to wait, to extend the fascinating duel of passion.

Neil gave you no time to consider which one was more tempting, for he used your moment of reverie to tug at the towel to unravel it in one move.

“A lot” the answer perfecting the move with precision.

Fuck. Next thing you knew, you were sat on the towel, naked once more with no way of hiding from him and his look of starvation. Neil closed the remaining gap, blocking your escape and caging you between his arms, palms resting on either side. One last long look as if judging the best course of action before he parted your knees by inserting a leg between your thighs. A hand delving in the newly opened space, drawing out a sigh from your lips as you stared in complete fascination, frozen with the thrill of curiosity and need running through your veins. The pulsating core dripping with desire for him, shame missing from the equation when Neil finally gave in to the pull and slipped a finger between your folds. You knew how bad it was from the single look at his face. The determination slipping for a split second to give way to surprise, a short gasp soon replaced with the smirk worthy of the Lucifer himself. The daring finger parting your inner lips in a teasing move before he raised the hand to his lips, never taking the gaze of you:

“You’re still soaking wet for me,” a remark thrown with something close to mockery.

A flash of anger burning in your chest; mouth opening to prepare a retort. Only to freeze once more when Neil grinned, the hand glistening with the signs of your disgrace licked clean, mirroring your brave actions from not that long ago. Double fuck. A groan, interrupting the train of thought, that spark of irritation helping you to gain back the momentum. A look down his body offering the needed cue:

“Says you” raising one eyebrow, you reached out to repeat the lazy strokes from before.

The deepening darkness in his eyes luring you in, tempting you to push him further than ever before. If only to find out what he is like without any restraints. Without care or apprehension. Only the animalistic lust and craving left. Noticing the familiar hungry glow, you increased the intensity of your moves, smile widening when he let out a frustrated growl and slapped your hands away. In a flash, Neil wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your bodies flush against each other.

“Careful, or I might-” his voice lowered to a whisper, the husky tone reverberating through your chest.

It was the unspoken threat and the way it felt when he pressed against your navel that made you take up the initiative. Leaning back enough to catch his eye, you interrupted the sentence:

“What?” a challenging smirk to irk him further; your legs wrapped around his waist “Destroy me. Fuck me senseless” completing the request by rubbing over him openly, showing the extent of need “Wrap that hand around my neck and take what’s yours” the addition breathed out with the scarlet tint on your cheeks.

Neil let out a whine as you pressed up against him, lacing your hands on the nape of his neck to get better leverage. He hesitated for a split second, hips already responding to your teasing with fleeting twitches. Somehow you knew what was missing. Leaning back, you tilted his chin to lock the gazes. Depths of lust enveloping your mirroring looks.

“Please,” the word dropped in between your lips, separated by a breath of space.

The trigger.

You could barely perceive his actions. The bottom lip caught between his teeth, a forceful thrust eliciting a sharp cry from your throat. Gentleness was left behind as he filled you up in one single move, stretching out your walls and making you gasp. Searching for something to hold on to, you grasped the edges of the desk, helpless gaze locked on his dark eyes without a break. Neil slightly shifted, one hand travelling up your chest to wrap loosely around your neck. Exactly as you asked. The other palm, pulling you closer around the waist, finding the needed grip. A shudder coursing through your body, the core clenching around him in the most basic of reflexes. An irked sigh escaping through your lips was all he needed to begin.

No kissing or hesitation, just the rough rhythm, delving deep into your centre with each thrust, hitting the perfect spot without tenderness. Each move complemented by your moan, pleasure flooding in, making you forget about everything that was not Neil. His gaze was fixed on you, watching with visible fascination how his tip disappeared between your folds with every thrust. The chokehold, tightening a little, increasing the frenzy, and hazing your mind with need. Only once you got used to the set tempo could you shift the position, placing your hands on his biceps. Digging in the nails to show how well that was working. Increasing the intensity of his moves, Neil groaned, his hand tightened over your neck. A clear signal to let you know who is in control. Obedience. Only, you were not that keen on compliance.

With sweat trailing down your body and your arousal wetting the conveniently placed towel, you decided to reach out for more. An assessing look, taking in Neil’s widened pupils and the startling resolve painted on his face. The clenched jaw, highlighting the sharp angles. Split lip from how he bit into it, drawing out blood. Unable to take your gaze off from his mouth, you used the second of hesitation to get closer and crash your lips into his in a hard kiss. Neil gasped, surprised by the shift, opening his mouth underneath your prodding tongue in an instant. Syncing up the way your lips glided over each other with his thrusts, you used the opportunity to gain back the lead. Meeting him halfway, relishing in the groans he let out against your mouth. And then, grabbing a fistful of his blonde locks, still damp from the shower, and leaning in to whisper into his ear:

“Harder,” the word dropped with certainty.

A further act of temptation. To see what Neil would be capable of if you drove him to the edge.

You did not have to wait long to find out. Tightening the chokehold, he sped up the movements, delving into you with a force that was ripping cries from your lips. The lascivious sounds filled the room, moans, and gasps interrupting the tempo. Soon it was nothing but the eruption of pleasure every time he hit the spot, making you rake your fingernails over his shoulder blades, deepening the marks and bruises. Using the grip you had over his shoulders, you changed the angle, bringing your pelvises together with every thrust. That seemed to be what Neil needed. He groaned, hand shifting from its position on your neck to grasp your chin and force you to lock the gazes. The feral look in his eyes, making you clench your muscles around him, giving in to the waves of feelings coursing through your body. It was that perfect balance between tempting darkness and astonishing want that you found reflected that was the final push you both needed.

Neil’s tempo waned, shuddered breaths coming out through the parted lips, watching you closely as if the ecstasy written all over your face was a drug he could not get enough of. A string of curses replacing the silence with their harsh simplicity. The grip over your waist tightening, fingers digging into your skin, bruises confirming the facts. His. Just as he tensed, moaning your name with the desperate tint to the tone, you captured his lips in a kiss. Hoping to take the edge off, to give him what he needs. Neil responded by biting hard into your lower lip, pleasure exploding before your closed eyes as he came, a shudder running through his body. Cradling you closer, breaking through the roughness and betraying the underlying feelings. Love, want, need.

It was the sensation of having him come inside you and the harsh kiss that did it. You whimpered, his name and love confessions on the tip of your tongue, spilling out in the silence. Hiding face in his neck, you stiffened, the force of the orgasm ripping through the fracture of reality. Nothing but the overwhelming euphoria, darkness underneath your eyelids dotted with stars. Neil’s skin underneath the shaking hands. His warmth enveloping you in the gilded cage of safety. Completeness. As you came to, riding out the high with your face pressed against the crook of his neck, you heard his soothing voice whispering sweet nothings, nuzzling your head. The tender ‘I got you’ and ‘I love you’ filling the quiet moment with reminders about your perfect reality. With a sigh, you slowly unravelled from the embrace; arms still wound around his body to prolong the touch. As your gazes met, the previous darkness was nowhere to be found, replaced with a soft smile and affection pouring out of his blue eyes. Cupping your cheek, Neil whispered the question:

“Alright?” he searched your face as though worried something could be amiss.

Fighting with the breathlessness, you chose to give him a grin first before responding:

“Yeah,” trailing your fingers down his chest, relishing in the peaceful moment, “Christ… You should fuck me like this more often,” the straightforwardness getting out without a hitch.

After what just happened, it was no big surprise. Neil did not seem shocked either his eyes glimmered playfully, as he traced the outline of your lips with the tip of his finger:

“Your wish is my command, darling,” the low murmur complimented with hand tilting your chin upwards to capture your lips in a kiss.

A slow and gentle one, softening the bruises and cuts, eliciting a contented sigh from your throat. Afterwards, you rested your forehead against his for a split second, soaking in the feelings. After a beat, you finally leaned back, acknowledging the mess on the hotel room floor covered with your clothes. The bathroom door was left ajar with the ventilation running. The towel you sat on, ruined. Wet hair trailing droplets down your naked body, mixing with the layer of sweat. A frown invited itself onto your face.

“I need another shower though… and a nap” yawning, you pushed Neil back to jump off the desk.

Only once you could properly stand, the fatigue caught up, making you sway on your feet. Without a word, Neil reached out a hand to steady you, pulling you into his side for an additional hug. Nothing to complain about even if you wanted.

“I should get you hot and bothered more often” it was the casual remark that made you look up.

Straight into the suspiciously satisfied face of your boyfriend. Surely not… right?

“… was that the plan all along?” schooling your features, you chose to ask the simplest of questions.

Neil shrugged, the trademark smirk gracing his features.

Bastard. Stepping away from him, you snatched the towel and hastily wrapped it around your body. If only as a retaliation. Because dragging you out to wander in the bloody scorching sun was a low blow. …even if it just gave you one of the best sex experiences in your life. Maybe. Perhaps.

“I hate you,” you hissed before storming over the pile of clothes to the bathroom.

“Uh-huh,” you refused to give him the pleasure of turning around at the sound.

Bastard. Squared.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil x reader #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson

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spideymarvelws · 3 years

Text

had so much fun writing the first scene dude... i feel like as a fanfic writer its a sin i haven’t written anything like it yet lmfaoo (to be fair i probably have but I just dont rem💀) anyways i hope you enjoy!

REPOST BECAUSE OF TAGS!!!

Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglist / Prompt List

Prompt : 9. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Warnings : just some cute floof, some cursing here and there

Word Count : 2.2k

Hesitation

Technoblade x GN!Reader

It was always peaceful in the tundra right before the sun set. Not only did the orange and red colours that reflected off the shiny snow send a wave of tranquility through the lands. It was a specific time where all the animals would go back into their homes before the mobs spawned at night fall, leaving the lands in complete silence.

Phil loved working at this time, getting small tasks done around the house that he wasn’t able to do throughout the day. Whether it was washing the dishes or dusting out the book shelves. Maybe even lounged around near the fireplace, planning out what he had to do the next day. It was always quiet, void of distractions to keep him from doing them.

But of course, with peace always came chaos.

“YOU CHEATED!”

“NO I DIDN’T!”

“YES YOU DID!”

The door cracked open, slamming against the wall behind it making the blonde jump from the sudden noise. He was ready to pick up his sword by his side until he recognised the voices of his house mates, shouting like little children.

Phil sighed, continuing to wash the dishes in front of him. While the bickering tended to amuse him at times, right then he just wanted to stay in the silence. He was quick to grab a pear of earplugs from his chest, pushing them snugly into his ear, blocking out the noise you both brought into the house while humming a small tune.

“There’s no way that your horse is faster that Carl! That’s just not possible!” Techno shook his head, his entire body still except for his left foot tapping consistently on the floor, “It’s just not possible.”

“Okay-” you pointed your finger in his face, “First off, her name is Raven and secondly, you just can’t admit that she’s better than Carl.” you crossed your arms on your chest, looking up at the piglin with teasing eyes.

Tech threw his head back with a groan, turning around gruffly and taking off his cape along with the skull mask covering his face.

“I won’t admit it because it isn't true!” he turned back to face you, mimicking your stance and tilting his head slightly to the side.

You raised your eyebrows at his response, nodding slowly, “Alright, alright,” you slowly took of your cloak, bunching it up and throwing it at him, his reflexes catching it before the fabric hit his chest, “Maybe it’s just the ridder and not the horse.”

Techno gasped, “You take that back.” he threw your cloak to the side.

You hummed, looking up and faking a thinking face, “Nah... I don’t think I will, I said what I said.” you stepped closer to the hybrid, sizing up his figure, “And what are you going to do about it?”

Techno squinted his eyes, a small smirk making its way to his face before he grabbed you by the waist, throwing you over his shoulder and walking away from the entrance into the living room.

“Hey!” You pounded at his back, wiggling in his tight grip, “Put me down you loaf!”

He laughed at your words but obliged, throwing you on the couch near the fireplace. Before you could sit up, he crawled over your form, knee besides one side of your waist with his other foot planted on the floor, keeping him steady hovering over you.

“Techno-” you chuckled nervously, trying your best not to stray away from his intense gaze, fighting the heat starting to rise to your face. Your hands pushed at his chest, weakening when he brought his face closer to yours, making you feel smaller than you already were.

He didn’t say anything, instead his fingers dug into your stomach, wiggling them across the fabric of your shirt. Your laugher filled the air, high pitched and bouncing off the walls of the cottage. You tried your best to control them, not wanting to give in to the blood god’s actions so quickly. But your hands on your stomach did nothing to stop his.

“Oh. My. God! Techno! Stop you fucking- oh god!”

“Take it back Y/n!” he laughed along with you, continuing his assault on your stomach, “Take it back or I swear to god you’re going to loose a canon life from being too ticklish.”

“NEVER!” you shouted between laugher, screaming when his hands began to move faster, knocking the breath out of your lungs. In the heat of the moment, he took your wrists into his fist, pinning them above your head, keeping your hands from interfering with his plans.

“Say. It.” even with one hand we was doing enough to keep you squirming underneath him, desperate for an escape.

“Okay! Okay! You- You’re a good rider Techno! You’re a good rider!” you finally admitted, your body falling limp against the cushions when he finally raised his fingers from your stomach.

Techno laughed at your state, leaning back with a cocky smirk on his face, “Glad to know we could come to an agreement,”

“I hate you,” you mumbled, your head rolling to the side on your shoulder as you caught your breath. You closed eyes in relief that the past few minutes were over, nearly falling asleep with the amount of energy you spent laughing.

Techno chuckled, taking your chin into his fingers, turning your head to look back at him, “Is that so?”

You nodded, fluttering your eyes open to look up at the pink haired man. Your breath hitched when you noticed how close his face was to yours. His entire presence felt suddenly close, his chest puffed out with long breaths, his legs practically tangled with yours, his face hovering over you, radiating heat you didn’t notice while he was tickling you. You watched as his face lit up red, his piglin ears straightening out of the side of his head, probably taking in the proximity as well.

Techno wasn’t one to get flustered often, but when he did it was always with the people he cared about. He trusted them enough to let that blood god persona he put on fade away leaving behind his shy, nerdy side you always adored. The side of techno who would read by the fireplace with Steve sat snuggly in his lap, the Techno who would spend hours trying to fix his glasses that broke constantly in his strong grip only having to craft a new one. The Techno who would grumble about compliments from you and Phil but the subtle spread of pink across his face told everyone otherwise. The Techno you grew to love the more and more he let you it.

He began to get a lot more playful with you as you friendship grew. When you moved in with him out in the snow it only increased drastically. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for the both of you to end up in this position or something similar to it (like the time he pinned you down during training), but he would always stop before things got too intimate and while it hurt, you’ve grown to accept it. You were glad to be his friend, his companion. You would take his friendship over not knowing him at all any time of the day.

You waited for him to pull back. To stand up and dust off his clothes, offering you his hand to pull you up with him and continue that night like normal. But he stayed, his dark, dull eyes staying down at you with a shine you’ve never seen up close before.

Techno didn’t know what to do either. He didn’t know what was prompted him to stay in this position, the sudden confidence that pushed him to keep his hand on your face, his lips so close to yours. Maybe it was the voices in his head, annoyed with the constant stares and thoughts of adoration when you rode Raven around in the snow, your cape flowing beautifully behind you, face showing nothing but pure joy. They were relentless, calling him out on every emotion he was feeling because of you.

He wanted to move for your sake, he was the one on top of you in the first place, pinning you down. You were probably being polite not shoving him off of you, even if you’ve never done it before, he just always pulled away before you could. But he couldn’t, his muscles stiff and unable to move.

A small part of his brain told him you wanted this too, but he ignored it for his own sanity.

“Techno-” you whispered but before you could continue, the hybrid immediately took the single word as a protest, finally letting go of your hands but keeping his body close.

“Shit I’m sorry that- that was probably a bit much.”

You giggled softly, “No- uh, it was fine tech, no worries,”

He looked down at your bright smile glowing in his face.

“You’re really beautiful Y/n,” he whispered, letting the rough pads of his fingers trail down the side of your face, blushing when you nudged them with your cheek, accepting the comfort.

“You think so?” you whispered back, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“I-” he started, his breath hot against the tip of your nose as he glanced down to your lips, quickly looking back into your eyes. Why weren’t you moving? Why weren’t you cringing, laughing at the thought of ever kissing him?

“You- Do you want this.” you whispered, letting his thumb pull down at your bottom lip, watching as the plush skin softly bounced back.

He nodded, shivering when you tangled your fingers into his pick curls, pulling his face down and nudging your nose against his. He closed his eyes, a small, cute snort coming from the back of his throat at the affection.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“FUCK!”

You jumped at the sudden curse, Techno falling off of you and on to the floor besides the couch. Before you could process what just happened, the curse sounded again followed by a crash, both of your senses on high alert when you realised it was Phil’s voice coming from the kitchen. You rushed to grab your weapons from nearby, quickly pulling yourself together on the fact that your friend was in trouble.

You both ran as fast as you could, Techno in front of you with his sword drawn while you were behind loading your cross bow with an arrow. He barged into the kitchen, holding his blade in the air, ready to attack but all he was met with was a pair of wings slapping him in the face.

You dove under the large feathers, bumping the winged man to alert him of your presence.

“Oh... hey guys!” He smiled, taking out something from his ears and resting them on the kitchen counter. He sent a pointed look to the weapons in your hands, crossing his arms over his chest in confusion, “Why the weapons?”

“Are you alright?” Techno said, rubbing his nose from the hit.

“We heard you scream, thought you were in trouble.”

Phil chuckled nervously, “Sorry, my bad,” he turned around to face the both of you, “I just dropped a plate.”

You and Techno let out an audible sigh, dropping your weapons to the floor with a clank. You didn’t know how many times your heart could deal with the sudden bursts of adrenaline. Walking up to Techno, you took his hand away from his face, inspecting the soft red mark across his face from the whip of feathers. No matter how small the attack, you always made sure to check up on him, even when he didn’t need it.

But with your delicate touch came memories of the events that just happened

“Were- were you here the entire time?” Techno said hesitantly, looking up at his father with worried eyes. You took in his words, immediately pulling away from the hybrid, ignoring his small noise of protest.

“Yes, but i put in some ear plugs,” he pointed to them on the counter.

“Oh!” you piped in, “That’s- That’s good.”

“Was there something I missed?” he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the both of you curiously.

“Nothing!” You both shouted at the same time, chuckling nervously.

“Okay?” Phil dragged out, pointing back to the sink, “Well, I’ll just-”

“Yeah! You- uh, get to that phil,” you began walking backwards, bounced into the edge of the counter. You played off the pain with a quick thumbs up and walking quickly out of the kitchen, mumbling curses under your breath.

“Are they alright mate?” Phil asked his son who seemed to be lost in his own world, staring at the spot you were once in, “Techno?”

“I- what?” He shook his head, “Uh, yeah- they’re,” he let out a small sigh, letting his hand pass over his face, “Yeah, they’re fine.”

“Are you alright?”

Techno didn’t respond for a while, stuck in his own thought. Phil turned to his son, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Tech?”

“I think-” He let out a shaky breath, “I think I love them.”

...

IM SORRY FOR ENDING IT SO SUDDENLY

it was just getting to long and i didn’t want to loose motivation writing more😭

Permanent Taglist (Dream SMP) : @ossinsworld @lunarinnit @starstruckllamapuppy @shio-yuki @lovelychasbug @alice-blue-skies @chaosofsmarty @imamybubbles

Technoblade Taglist : @hyumiid @whenpugzfly @sammyxn @jackalopedoodles @notmesimpingfortechno @immadatmostthings

Crossed out mean couldn't tag :(

#technoblade x reader #technoblade x y/n #technoblade x you #dream smp x reader #dsmp x reader #serenefreakgeek #mcyt x reader

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sinswithpleasure · 3 years

Text

The Playgirl (ft. LOONA’s Yves) [Part 3] [Female Reader]

—————

I’m back with part 3!

I know I said I’d start mentioning Yves being futa here, but welp, I doubt it’d be out until Part 6-8?

If you prefer, this is also on AO3 and AFF!

Thanks to @existslikepristin and @ggidolsmuts for editing / beta reading!

—————

Another month passes.

Yves has been improving a lot, and you're teaching her more than just math. Even on weekends, she requests tutoring, and both of you work on projects or study together, be it at Seoul U's cafe or in empty classrooms.

Two months since you began tutoring her, about one month since you took up her deal. Something in Yves shifts—when she began studying, it was out of just competitive spirit. Now, she seems to truly like what she's doing, and you can't help but to let yourself enjoy the sight of this Yves. She turns up to school a little more regularly, though she still comes to terrorize people. She doesn't go out to parties as much, choosing instead to hang with you. The attention you get from her feels like too much and not enough at the same time.

Other than being your student, Yves becomes somewhat of a regular fixture in your life. She still frustrates you—her semi-regular absences from school are met with your nagging and her regular dismissal, her constant nonchalance about how she carries herself still annoys you, and she still constantly flirts with you. That last point is also part of the reason why she is kind of a welcome presence in your life. If she isn't present in school, she will be seen leaning against a wall after class, leather jacket over her shoulders, your favourite mocha frappe in her hands. If she doesn't turn up for a tutoring session, she drops a call and apologizes, then makes it up to you with your favourite dessert next session. On the regular, she always has a compliment or a greasy remark tailored for you on hand, both making you groan and internally panic simultaneously.

It doesn't help that she keeps getting prettier, at least to you. Every day, her empty desk taunts you. Sometimes, you wish she was next to you, lollipop in her mouth, gazing at you and flirting with you. Your heart skips a beat when she pushes herself off the wall to wrap an arm around your shoulder, waving the frappe in front of your face with a "Hey, babygirl" . You look forward to the text exchanges with her every night, where both of you can text for hours. You adore her lip bites when she is focused on something, her soft "Assa!" when she gets something right.

Perhaps your crush on her is starting to get out of hand, but you don't want it to end.

-----

Your phone rings. Caller ID: yves 💘

"Yo, babygirl."

"Don't—ah, nevermind."

"The cafe's closed today. Wanna come over to my place?"

"What?"

"My place. Come over."

"Oh, um…"

"Text me your address. I'll pick you up."

"Okay."

When Yves hangs up, you panic. Her place? You'll get to see how she lives? Her private space? What?! You fire off a text to Yves, then you carry on panicking.

[yves💘 has sent a message:]

Gotchu

I'll see you in 15, babygirl

Can't wait ;)

-----

Yves's place is cozy. For someone so punk rock, her place looks so homely, so full of life. However, Yves lives alone. Weird, considering there's a lot of stuff that is placed neatly on tables and shelves, too much for one person to use.

"Welcome to my humble abode, babygirl." Yves curtsies, flashing you her dazzling smile. You place your bag down on the couch in her living room, rummaging to find what you need.

"Hey, would you mind if I went for a shower first? I've had a busy morning."

"Oh, no, sure. Go ahead."

"Right, thanks babe."

Yves leaves. In the meantime, you wander around her living room, glancing at the items on her shelves. A vintage tea set, a back scratcher, and an old camera? Those look pretty cool. Beneath that, another shelf holds a few old DVD cases, each of some old music from the 70s and 80s. Also, are those cassette tapes? You pick each one up, getting a feel of them in your hands. Damn, these are cool.

You wander along the hallways. When you pass by the bathroom, you can hear the water running. Suddenly, you’re hit with intrusive thoughts, all of them about Yves.

Your crush. Just a handful of metres away from you. Undressing. Naked. Under the shower. Water running down her bare skin, maybe over those chiseled abs of hers? Her naked chest, her legs?

You return to her couch, collapsing on it, trying to fight the dirtier thoughts in your head.

You sink your face in your hands, groaning at the thought of a naked Yves. This isn't the first time, and it won't be the last, but it sucks to be thinking of something inappropriate when the time isn't right. The gulps of water you inhale don't quench the correct thirst, but at least it does something.

"Hey baby."

Yves's voice makes you jump. The cutest girl ever greets your eyes, with a look that you never thought she'd rock. That same girl has her head bowed, a sheepish smile on her face, her hand moving to tuck some hair behind her ear.

She looks gorgeous.

Her wet hair, formerly slicked back, now falls over her forehead, forming cute bangs. Her leather jackets and crop tops are traded for a cozy oversized long-sleeved sweater that engulfs her body, giving her sweater paws. Yves pairs that with sweatpants, and a cute pair of bunny slippers.

She looks so cute and all you want to do is to mash her lips with yours.

You gasp, freezing. Yves walks over to you, planting her books on the table, refusing to meet your eyes. She grins when she finally looks at you though.

"How do I look?"

"Ah, um, er…" You stammer, unable to process the sight of the punk rock, cool, bad girl Yves now looking like a girly, adorable cutie. This wasn't Yves, this was just Ha Sooyoung.

"You… you look, er, good," you breathe.

Yves halts, red starting to colour her ears. She looks away, seemingly wiping at her face with one of her sleeves.

"Thank you." Her voice is tiny, tinier than usual. You want to hug her but you control yourself, settling to admire how she looks instead. She looks so pretty, so fucking pretty, and you wonder why she doesn't look like this on the regular. Maybe she's letting you see her more private, intimate side. Maybe she somehow found out you quite like this style. Whatever the reason is, it's working. How do you even continue to function today, now that you've seen Yves look like this?

You love this Yves— no, this is Ha Sooyoung, you hastily remind yourself. She looks so domestic, so cute, so… girlfriend? You want to glomp her, and that urge is increasingly hard to control.

"Let's begin."

"O-Okay."

Both of you slip into your roles as teacher and student. For Yves, it’s seamless, but for you, you struggle to do so. The student herself is a distraction.

The session begins.

-----

"Stay for dinner, babe?"

Yves rises from her chair, walking over to her kitchen. She begins pulling stuff out of her fridge and cabinets, setting them on the table.

"Oh, sure."

You sink yourself on a dining chair as Yves ties an apron around her neck. She begins work on chopping up some garlic and onions, and you let yourself just… look at her.

She looks so cool, so domestic, so beautiful as she works on whatever it is. You can't help but fall harder for her, and you let yourself gaze lovingly stare at her.

"You're staring, babygirl."

"Ummfhhhdgh!" You stammer, hastily looking away to pretend you weren't. You drum your fingers on the table, shifting around on your seat to distract yourself from Yves's eyes.

"Uh-uh, you don't get to hide now." Yves tilts your chin up with her finger, her eyes locked onto yours, her lips inches from yours. This is the umpteenth time Yves has had you in kissing range, and you wish she'd finish the job.

"You look starstruck, babe. Am I that pretty?"

"Y-Yes."

Yves chuckles, stroking your cheek with her thumb.

"God, you're so cute. I'd kiss you right now, but we both know we'd do more than that."

"Wha—?"

"I've seen the way you look at me. I know what you're thinking. If we kiss…" Yves trails off, moving to finish her sentence next to your ear.

"If we kiss, we both know we won't just be kissing at the end of the night."

When Yves finishes her sentence, you feel her soft lips press against your cheek. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her lips turn up in her signature cocky smirk. You’ve got the urge to kiss it off her face, but you pause, refusing to give in to her. She is right—if you kissed her, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from jumping her.

-----

Dinner is a relatively quiet affair, with Yves winking at you when you catch eyes with her, and you becoming more flustered each time. All you can think of is about how Yves essentially admitted she knows you want her as much as she wants you, and that thought is enough to fuel your imagination for the night.

When Yves drops you off in front of your apartment, she gets off her bike, wrapping her arms around your waist from the back.

"Huh?!"

"Goodnight babygirl," Yves whispers next to your ear, her breath causing you to shudder, "I'll be thinking of you tonight."

That settles it. The fire between your legs needs some dousing. You can't help but turn to look at Yves with the utmost shock, meeting her knowing grin. Yves waves, putting her helmet back on and riding off into the night.

-----

The cold shower you take after reaching home does nothing for you. Yves's words still ring deep in your ear.

If we kiss, we both know we won't just be kissing at the end of the night.

I'll be thinking of you tonight.

Your body feels warm—too warm for the oversized T-shirt and boyshorts you have on. The thought of having Yves pin you against a wall, her lips on yours, tongue swiping at your lips to gain access is way too much for you, and soon enough, you imagine Yves pinning you to her bed, stripping you and teasing you with her touch. These thoughts lead you to lie atop your bed, your shirt pulled up to expose your chest, your boyshorts stripped off to let your hand circle your clit freely.

"Oh, fuck…"

In your head, Yves has her fingers on you, touching you the same way you touch yourself now. Her fingers mirror the way yours do—rubbing directly over the hood covering your clit, before swiping between your slit to wet her fingers.

"So wet, babygirl. All for me too."

"Oh, oh shit!"

Yves plunges her fingers deep within you, thrusting freely. Your free hand kneads your left breast, teasing your nipple to drive you crazier.

"Fuck, Yves, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Yes, babygirl. That's what I want to hear. Moan my name. Let the world know how wet you are for me."

The dirty sounds of your fingers thrusting deep into yourself only fuels your lust even further. The image in your head morphs from Yves fingering you to her between your legs, her panties pushed aside to expose her pussy. Yves pushes her pussy against yours, grinding against you, flexing her abs with each movement of her hips. In the physical world, you strip yourself of the shirt, grabbing a pillow and straddling it.

"How does my pussy feel against yours, babygirl? I told you I'd make you love me."

You grind harshly on the pillow. The haze of pleasure is all you can process—how loud you moan doesn't matter anymore.

"Fuck, yes, Yves, Yves, Yves, fuck, Sooyoung, Sooyoung, I'm gonna come, Sooyoung, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come!"

With a squeal, you grind harder on the pillow, feeling waves of pleasure wash over your body as slick spills out of your clenching hole. Sweat runs down your forehead, your back, down your chest. In your head, Yves comes just as you do, her body writhing in pleasure as slick flows out of her.

You collapse on the bed, letting the afterglow of your orgasm wash over you. Yves still doesn't leave your head, but you don't really hate that. You're way beyond trying to hide that you want to fuck her, or that you want her to make you hers anyway.

#kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #loona fanfiction #loona fanfic #ha sooyoung #loona yves #smut #female reader #female reader insert

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is-nini · 3 years

Text

Zhongli x childe x reader x diluc x albedo

Their reaction to you being a cat

WARNING!

Poly relationship, you being spoiled.

"(Y/N)?!?!?!".

Sucrose shout, panic is very present on her voice. The cause of her panic? Well you turn into a cat and this is what happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Albebe???".

You called out. Looking for Albedo because today is the day where you, Albedo, Zhongli, and Childe hang out togather. Albedo is usually getting carried away with experimenting so you decided to call him earlier so that when you both arrived no one will be late, well that's what you thought.

When you went inside there is no one there but seeing the beautiful coloured drink on the table you are suddenly drawn by it. You put your hand on the table and when you bend your hand you accidentally knock over a bottle.

Your instincts suddenly kick in and you quickly catch the bottle because the bottle is so close to you. A little drop of the potion falls to your hand, as you put the potion back to it's place you feel something weird on your head and butt as a sudden urge to fall asleep drowns you.

"(Y/N)?!".

you heard someone shouted your name, as you look up you saw sucrose, wide eye and shock across her face as you felt your head being put on her thighs as you wipe your eye.

"Hmm...what..happen?".

You asked, noticing that you're sleeping on the floor. Sucrose slowly helps you wake up.

"Y-you have-!".

Sucrose was about to finish her sentence when the lab door suddenly slam opened revealing Albedo.

"W-what happe-".

Albedo stop mid sentence when he look at you on sucrose arm, you look like you just woke up and from the position you and sucrose are in, it's not hard to confirm that you just slept on the floor. His eyes trails from your ear to your tail.

Once you saw albedo you just have the sudden urge to cuddle him... So you did!

"Albeddooooo~".

You say, almost slurring and then latch on to albedo, you started to rub your head on his chest, albedo is confused but... You are just so cute he can feel himself getting red at your action and so he pat your head since you seem to have a cat instinct. You purr which confirms Albedo's theory, he look at sucrose confusion is written on his face.

"What.... happened?".

Albedo asked her, she shake her head and then shake her hand in front of her.

"I-I don't k-know.. s-she was just sleeping on the floor with a cat ear and tail when i went inside the lab".

Sucrose respond scared but curiousity lacing her voice. Albedo put his hand to his chin to think when suddenly you tak his hand and look at him with your big doe eye. Albedo giggle and put a hand on to your cheek and gave you a warm smile.

"What do you want hmm? What happened here love?".

Albedo asked you, you just stood there looking at him dumbly for a while until you point out the potion that you had last save. Albedo look at that potion, everything is calculating in his head, but he quickly thinks back to you.

You seem to be doing fine... Your body doesn't show any scar or bruise or burned you look like you were having the time of your life, nuzzling interested Albedo's chest, purring and occasional meaowing, you're..so cute, Albedo look at your form as he try to hide his red face but.. it's hard when you're holding one of his hand while hugging the other.

Sucrose watch both of your interaction and smile warmly at it, she search the notes about the potion that you touched and present it on the table. Albedo smile at sucrose greatful that he has such a helpful student and proceed to try and read the notes, but it is proven to be hard because of your constant cute whining, mewling, and nuzzling, and so Albedo pick you up princess style, you nuzzle to his neck as he cooed and mutter under his breath "so cute".

He proceed to bring you to Childe, Zhongli, and Diluc to see what they thought is.

When he arrived at the meeting place, he already heard some muffles coming from inside.

"Where are they?! I wanna see my cute (y/n)~".

"Shut it fatui".

"Now now, let's not fight and wait patiently for them".

Albedo sigh he was about to open the door when suddenly you jump out of his hand, yes you jump. He quickly catch your hand and look at you in the eye.

"Don't be bad girl okay".

Albedo look at you with sharp eye while you stare at him dumbly, he admit it is cut, you are cute but you need to listen to him and the boys and you need to understand that. 'maybe they can help'. Albedo sigh and gave you a warm smile, he started to lead you inside, on the way to the room you keep mewling and making whining noises and that's what caught the boys attention.

"ZHONGLI! DIWUC! CHAILD!".

You shout out, your pronunciation is getting weirder and weirder but again Albedo cannot deny the fact that it is indeed cute.

When you stepped in everyone goes quiet, you.. turned into a half cat..? The thing that makes them quite is the fact that you look so cute, your tail is swishing around, your ear is twitching a little bit and you seem more... childish than usual.. not that they mind they love taking care of you.. it's just that their heart is throbbing around so badly.

"Pardon me but... What happen to our dearest (n/n)?".

Zhongli asked confuse and shocked as to what happened. There's only 1 explanation as to what happened and this must've have some involvement with science, and so everyone turn to Albedo.

Albedo pinch his head and sigh.

"I did not do anything and she is the one who touched the potion on the table".

Albedo try to explain gis theory and what you did to end up like this but proven to be hard since you keep on mewling, suddenly childe jump towards you, pick you up and hug you.

"AAAAAA OH MY GOODD YOU'RE SO CUTE THIS IS NOT FAIRRR".

You're squished between childe's strong hand, you mewl around and try to get out of his tight deathly hug. Zhongli sweat drop and seeing you mewling and trashing around Diluc went to childe and hit his head. Hard.

"Let her go fatui, you're crushing her".

Diluc say, when you are out of childe's grip Diluc pick you up gently and shush you, treating you like a baby- but you're not so instead of calming down you nuzzle and hug Diluc instead.

"So.. she turned into half cat.. the transformation itself must've taken a lot of energy right?".

Zhongli thought and voicing his opinion out, he looks at you and look at the table filled with food and picked up a rice, fish and (f/f), he then walked towards you and feel the food to you.

"She seems to eat normally... That's good at least We don't need to buy her cat food".

Zhongli says while everyone sweat drop at him.

"You're being weird Zhongli. You hang around the fatui too much".

"HEYY WHAT'S THATTT SUPPOSE TO MEANNNN".

Hearing to Diluc's insult, childe whine while rubbing his head that Diluc hit, Albedo sigh and walk towards the table as well as the others.

Diluc put you on the empty seat you stay for 3 second and then you walk towards Zhongli and climb up his lap.

"Hmm? What do you want dear?".

Zhongli asked as he blink slowly, confused as to what you want, he picks you up and put you on his lap, your front facing the table and the boys.

"I have been trying to decipher what she need but..she doesn't really voice out her opinion".

Albedo explain, sighing once again, Diluc looks at you and rub your head, your face lights up and seemingly to enjoy that very much, Childe took this opportunity to try and make you talk.

"Are you okay (y/n)? What happen? How can you turn onto a cat".

Childe asked, his voice is softer than before, because of the comfort that you're presented with you decided to open your mouth.

"I was looking for Albedo and then i saw a beautiful potion and then i accidentally knock one of the other potion out.. and then..".

You explain everything to them.

"And then i forgot! Next thing i know i was on the floor with Sucrose beside me!".

You explain more like ranting cutely but they don't mind, childe smile at you and pich your cheek.

"Aaaahhhhh so cute".

You whine and try to tear his hand away, Zhongli giggle and hold Childe's and help you tear it away, Zhongli rubs your red cheek and kiss it.

"You're hurting her damn fatui".

Diluc said, dark aura is surrounding him, Albedo laugh a little and pick up the food to everyone's plate. He then take a smaller plate that's pink coloured and gave it to you, you send him a huge smile that makes Albedo's heart melt.

Zhongli picked up the spoon and tap it against your mouth. Diluc looks at you and smile slightly.

"Open your mouth dear".

Diluc said while Childe is trying to hold his rant about how cute you are. You open your mouth just like you asked and started to chew the food with a blissful look.

All in all today was such a interesting day but no one is complaining. Everyone loved you because of your cute, childish and bubbly nature and as long as you don't change that, they won't either. What surprise will happen tomorrow? It shall be interesting indeed ;).

#genshin fanfic #genshin childe #genshin zhongli #genshin diluc #genshin x reader #genshin x you #diluc x reader #diluc x y/n #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #childe x reader #childe x you #childe x y/n #albedo x reader #albedo x y/n

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morganayenneferburnham · 3 years

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Have I Known You 20 Seconds or 20 Years? – Nikolai Lantsov Series

Chapter 1: Devils Roll the Dice, Angel Roll their Eyes

Chapter 2: You Did a Number on Me

Chapter 3: You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend

A very short summary: Y/N has been working with the crows for a few years. Her life feels complete until she meets the insufferable Nikolai Lantsov. She finds herself forced to work with the King of Ravka on one of Kaz Brekker’s crazy schemes.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Finally starting to get somewhere!! I just started writing chapter 4, so it might take a bit longer before I upload again. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter in the meanwhile.

Thank you for reading! Just send me an ask if you want to be added to my taglist :)

Chapter 3: You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend

The next morning went by in a blur. They had moved everything to Wylan’s house on Geldstraat. Kaz was right. It would’ve been too suspicious if they had left for the party from the barrel. Questions about the job were being thrown from one person to the next. Various answers about cues and schedules flying in every direction.

“Wait, what time are we supposed to get to the party again?”

“Quarter after 6 bells, Jesper!” Yelled Wylan running by with an armful of party clothes.

“Nikolai and I are getting there at 6 bells. That way it won’t look like we know each other.” Y/N had been heading off in the opposing direction.

“Wylan! You forgot your jacket in the music room” Kaz’s raspy voice was easily recognizable above the others.

“I’ll go ahead and scout for the best location for you to hide to summon the storm. I’ll come get you at a quarter to 8 bells.”

Nikolai had to admire the crows’ ability to understand each other and get the job done in such chaos. They were running back and forth in every direction trying to get everything ready. Even Zoya seemed at ease discussing the plan with Inej. He needed this job to succeed. He needed to guarantee his country’s future. Once he was done dealing with this newest threat from Fjerda…? He’d like to work with the crows again. He felt much freer. Maybe it could become a side hustle for him and Zoya. It would give them a nice break from ruling a country.

He felt a soft hand rest on his arm. “Hey, we should probably go get ready for the party. We’ll meet here at 5 bells? That way we can go over last-minute details and head over.” She was smiling up at him. Her smile was soft as if she could tell he was anxious. He let his eyes trail over her tailored face and couldn’t help but miss her true features once more.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then, my darling.” He pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles and watched her disappear up the vast staircase.

---

Nikolai made his way to the room Wylan had so graciously offered him that morning. It was not his room at the Grand Palace, but it was much nicer than the one he’d had at the slat. He took his time putting on the rich merch’s clothes Kaz had picked out for him. He was still in awe of the work Y/N had done on him. The young king found himself unavoidably staring at himself in the mirror mounted to his wall. He finished buttoning up his shirt and folded his suit jacket on his arm. It was almost 5 bells. He knew he should make his way back to the mansion’s parlor.

Nikolai had barely sat in one of the large armchairs when an appreciative whistle sounded on his left. He followed Jesper’s gaze to the stairs. Y/N’s dress accentuated her new body in all the right places. Nikolai couldn’t help but think it would’ve suited her even better before the tailoring.

“No one warned me I’d have to fight off every man who lays eyes on my wife.” He complained.

He watched as Inej and Zoya approached Y/N. The women shared a few whispered comments before they lead Y/N to him. He could’ve sworn he saw the girl’s cheeks turn red. He had to put up a lot more effort than he was used to in schooling his own features. The way the dress moved along to the sway of her hips, with every step she took, made his brain go blank. He imagined the way it would’ve been even more sensual with her natural curves. Maybe he could convince her to wear the gown again once she’d tailored them both back to normal. His mind was racing with images of her, twirling in his arms, wearing that damned dress.

“Anything you want to go over before we get going?” She was looking at him expectantly, her eyes bright, her tailored lips stretched in a small smile.

His mouth felt dry. All eyes were on him. He had to fight to kick start his brain again. “Nope, I think we’re ready.” He offered her a hand, his natural charm coming back to him. “Shall we, my darling wife?”

She took his hand and they headed for the door leading to the elegant boathouse. “No mourners” she called over her shoulder.

A unified “No funerals” rang out behind them. Nikolai made a mental note to ask them what the saying meant, at some point, when he wasn’t so distracted by the beautiful Grisha on his arm.

---

They’d taken a small, polished boat to make their way to councilman Van Verent’s house. It had only taken a few minutes for them to reach the sophisticated boathouse on the councilman’s property. A Stadwatch officer had taken their invitation before guiding them to the stylishly decorated mansion. Flowers from every guest’s country were arranged in beautiful crystal vases matching the colourful silk ribbons adorning the banister. As they entered the main hall, they were stunned by the sheer number of guests already in attendance. The main floor was filled with dignitaries from Kerch, Novyi Zem, Shu Han, Fjerda, and the Wandering Isle. Nikolai noticed the absence of anyone representing his country. Good, he thought, it’ll make the job easier.

To his dismay, Y/N was already catching the eye of a few men standing off to the sides of the room. He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, pulling her closer, sending the interested parties a nasty look. He felt her breath hitch but didn’t release his hold on her body. She was his wife. Anyone who wanted to get to her would have to go through him. Nikolai was surprised by the jealousy he felt. He was usually in control of his feelings, always choosing to be pragmatic rather than emotional. He knew they had to put on a convincing act. He still wasn’t supposed to be this possessive of a girl he’d only met a few days ago, right? All the Saints and their mothers, Zoya will murder me if she finds out about this.

Y/N had maneuvered them towards a group of Zemeni dignitaries, quickly engaging in easy conversation with one of the wives. Nikolai used the opportunity to present their made-up business proposal to a few interested parties, promising to send them more information as soon as they went back home to the Wandering Isle.

They navigated group after group of foreign and domestic dignitaries for about an hour. He had to admit Kaz had done a wonderful job when creating their false identities, but he was tired of the constant mindless chattering. How lucky, he thought, the dance floor seems very appealing right about now.

He leaned in close, letting his lips brush against Y/N’s ear, interrupting her conversation. “You are doing a fantastic job, my love.” He felt her shiver against him. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of business partners once you’re done here. Now, however, I would very much like to dance with my beautiful wife.” She looked at him, surprise evident in her deep brown eyes. Nikolai smirked; he could get used to this. He offered her a hand before guiding her swiftly to the dance floor.

He felt men staring, once again, at ‘his wife’ as they graciously made their way to the middle of the floor. The small orchestra started playing a beautiful soft song, perfect for a romantic moment between lovers. Nikolai rested his right hand on the small of Y/N’s back, pulling her close, keeping her hand tightly in his own. He felt her free hand gently come to rest on his shoulder. His heart beating more quickly than he would’ve liked. Why am I so nervous? She was gazing up at him, a gentle smile gracing her lips. He swallowed hard. Nikolai had never felt more grateful for the dance lessons he’d taken as a child. He’d only done it to please his mother. He had to admit he was glad they were paying off now. To anyone watching them, they simply looked like newlyweds, madly in love, eager to share a dance.

They turned elegantly, in time with the slow music, their bodies completely in sync. Their breathing even, their steps well-balanced. The deep green skirts of her dress following every graceful movement they made. She followed his lead perfectly as if they’d been partners for years. She seemed to trust him completely, showing him how safe she felt in his arms. Time slowed for a moment. Nikolai found himself forgetting all about the job, about the plans they had to steal, even about his country. He wanted to stay in this moment, holding the talented Grisha against him, forever.

The sound of applause brought him out of his reverie. He took in their surroundings. Y/N looked as surprised as he felt. Her eyes wide, cheeks flushed. He had no idea how long they had been dancing, how many songs had been played. It dawned on him that they were the cause of the applause. People had stopped dancing and talking to watch the young couple, completely lost in each other, moving elegantly across the floor. He saw Jesper and Wylan, wide grins plastered on their faces, in the far corner of the room. They looked way too pleased. Saints, I hope they won’t tell Brekker about this.

He bowed, Y/N following his lead once again, before walking off the dance floor, towards the grand staircase. They had to stop drawing so much attention to themselves. He wished he could have a moment to talk to Y/N, alone, away from the prying eyes of the crowd. She was playing her role to perfection, all smiles, as couples complimented them on their dancing for the next few minutes.

The ornate wall-mounted clock chimed. Zoya, Wylan, and Jesper would create the distraction in 15 minutes. Wylan subtly nodded to him, indicating he had already placed the small incendiary charge in the dining room. He had developed this newest marvel by studying and modifying one of David Kostyk’s discoveries. It seemed the boy truly was a genius. Jesper would detonate the charge at 8 bells, the sound of his shot covered by the storm Zoya would summon. The fire would require all-hands-on-deck to be put out, leaving the office unguarded. If everything went according to Kaz’s plan, it would give him and Y/N about 30 minutes to pick the lock of Van Verent’s office, crack the safe and make their way back to the party with the blueprints safely tucked in the sheath hidden beneath Y/N’s dress.

They came to a halt in the shadow of the staircase, ready to spring to action at their cue. Nikolai made sure to pull Y/N close, slipping an arm around her waist.

“I didn’t know you were such a good dancer, my love.” He murmured. Better keep up the act. She makes it easy, though. I don’t even have to lie.

She laughed softly and turned in his arms, snaking her own arm around his neck, pressing her lips quickly against his cheek. “Thank you, darling. I am full of hidden talents, you know...” the raise of her eyebrow and her tone so suggestive Nikolai had to fight to keep a straight face. She’s only doing her job. She’s supposed to be my wife. It’s only normal that a young wife should flirt with her delightfully handsome husband. He was trying to convince himself but the playful look in her eyes told him otherwise. She spun around once more, keeping his hand on her waist, leaving him to observe the guests enjoying the party.

The clock chimed once more. 8 bells. Thunder boomed outside, rain battering the windows. A high-pitched scream sounded to his right, coming from the dining room. Other screams quickly followed. Guests ran past them, fleeing the room. Guards came rushing down the stairs, towards the fire. It was complete chaos. Nikolai found himself impressed, once again, by how brilliant the crows were. Maybe I could convince Kaz to help me plan my next military campaign? Or get Wylan to come work with David. I should at least sail with the Wraith and her crew.

Y/N’s fingers closed around his wrist. “That’s our cue.” She said with a sly grin on her lips.

---

Taglist: @power-of-words23

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov fic #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #zoya nazyalensky #my fic #ari's fic #have i known you 20 seconds or 20 years #leigh bardugo #grishaverse #grisha #nikolai series

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liibrii · 3 years

Text

fem!Miya!Reader & Miya family

Part of the Third Miya Series

Synopsis: Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for kindergarten.

wc: 2.1k

a/n: baby Miyas, the ultimate serotonin providers 🙃 if you wanna be tagged in future chapters let me know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

Mrs Miya has always trusted her gut feeling and in that moment it was telling her the bathroom was down the corridor, last door on the left, and, just as Mr Miya had told her that morning, eating leftover curry for breakfast was a dreadful idea.

Doctor repeats her words and Mrs Miya's neck becomes completely stiff. If it wouldn't she'd perhaps be able to look at her husband whose face turned ashen pale. “Triplets?“

Well, this will take buy one get one for free jokes on a whole new level.

Doctor's words are just buzzing and the soon to be Miya parents nod and smile and nod and hold on each others' hand as if there's no tomorrow. They're silent on the way out.

Mr Miya turns to his wife. “Do they even sell strollers for three kids?”

Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for daycare.

You all wear the same colours because Atsumu would throw a tantrum if your jumper wasn't the same colour as his and you would throw a tantrum when yours was a different colour than Osamu's, who in turn would throw a tantrum because his jumper was now the same colour as Atsumu's.

Mrs Miya had read advices that one should always dress their twins (or, in this case, triplets) differently as it is good for their personality development; which is all well and good and a great advice, except that whoever wrote it forgot to take into account that two and a half out of her three children saw being dressed differently as their siblings as a horrific violation of their toddler rights.

Your parents tell themselves one day you'll grow out of this phase, but till then mom stitches little numbers one, two, and three on the edges of your clothes. She did start stitching your names, but with only two pairs of hands in the house and three little sprouts in constant need of attention there was never enough time to finish them.

“One,“ says Mr Miya and Atsumu raises his hands.

“Ichi!“ he proudly chimes.

“Two,“ Mr Miya grabs you before you'd crawl out of the reach of his arms.

“Ni!“ like his brother Osamu too raises his chubby fists, but only halfway.

“And three!”

“San!“ You hug your dad's neck, perhaps hoping that will get you out of having to wear socks.

And heaven forbid they ever messed up which jumper belonged to whom. It was beyond your parents' wisdom how you could tell the number stitched on the edge was not the same they said when counting your heads, but you could.

“Must be yer superpower,“ jokes Mr Miya while changing your sweater that has the wrong number on the edge. He barely pulls it off when Atsumu's chubby hands already grab it and begin pulling it over his head. He screams when his father offers to help, pouting even if he's completely lost between the left sleeve and the opening for the head.

“Alright buddy,“ muses Mr Miya and turns his attention to Osamu who already pulled his socks off so, naturally, now you've mysteriously lost one of your socks too. Mr Miya sighs. Maybe it's time to let his boss know he's going to be late.

Three is an enormous number, when the three in question are a feverish toddler in your arms and two more running around doctor's office. Perhaps it was time to ask the daycare to put you three into different groups. That will cause an outrage, oh ever since the 'One child, one pillow' incident Mrs Miya is well aware of that. But then again, better that than all of you throwing a tantrum when only one got to leave the daycare early.

“One, two, three,“ she counts your heads under her breath, then hurries over to where you just picked up a very interesting small stone that probably fell from the soles of someone's shoes, “San! I mean y/n, sweetie, that's a stone. See, it's rough and cold.“ You whine when she takes the treasure from you but still listen closely to her words that spark Atsumu's interest too, and he trots closer to see what is happening. Thankfully feverish Osamu has fallen asleep in her arms. Really, the last thing she needs is his firm conviction the stone is just greyish candy. Mrs Miya still lets Atsumu take the stone in his hands. “No,“ she grabs his hand when he lifts it towards his mouth that is already curving into a grimace. “Hey, hey, no need to cry over it sweetie. Yer gonna wake up yer brother and he needs sleep right now.“

“Is he sick?” your tiny voice chimes in. Mrs Miya nods. “Because he ate melon seeds,“ you nod with all the wisdom of a 3 year old. “He's growin' melons in his tum-tum,“ you tell Atsumu whose wide eyes blink twice before he bursts into tears.

“One, two, three,“ Mrs Miya counts your heads while you play around the house. If you hide from her sight sooner or later screaming and crying alerts her something happened. A moment later Mr Miya returns to the living room with a very much red faced and screaming Atsumu in his arms.

“What happened?“ she asks, crouching down to console you, also crying because there's no way you'd let your brother scream his lungs out by himself.

“Ah the usual,“ he places the scissors on the counter, “wouldn't let him shred his shirt. Osamu, no!“ He quickly grabs his other son who also starts crying, shocked that his own father would take the lost sock from him before he got the chance to find out how it tastes.

Ah, just another Sunday.

The good thing about three children running around is they're never lonely. There are always games to play, fights to win, faces to colour. Most of the days all of you exhaust yours (sometimes apparently infinite) supplies of energy by the time evening falls. Mr Miya puts you to bed (one bed, because trying to make you sleep in separate cribs is apparently a disgusting violation of Toddler convention) before he collapses beside his wife.

“Asleep?“ she asks.

Mr Miya hums. “For now.“

The moment they turn the lights off slide door across the hallway open. Light steps cross the dangerous waters of the dark hallway, enter the bedroom and climb over Mr Miya to the safe haven between the parents.

“Bad dreams?“ asks Mrs Miya. In response Osamu sniffles and snuggles closer. Not a minute passes when two more pairs of legs pass through the darkness of the hallway and climb to be beside their brother. You shriek when Atsumu pushes his cold feet on your back, but dad's stern word makes you stop. A few moments later you're all asleep.

“One, two, three,“ sleepily mumbles Mrs Miya, patting each of your heads.

“Four,“ says Mr Miya and his wife giggles.

Three is the number of band-aid packages your parents buy per month. Ever since you've grown for about a chopstick taller, well you only grew for about three thirds of a chopstick because nature thought it would be funny if you got outgrown by your brothers at the tender age of 5, it turned out the tall tree in the park could in fact be climbed, if you climbed on someone's shoulders and then pull them on the lowest branch. Sadly the branches aren't big fans of being climbed on but no amount of scratches and falls could stop you from trying.

“A champignon never stops tryin'!“ proclaims Atsumu after the failed attempt that left bark in his hair and Osamu laughing on the branch.

“What's a champignon?“ you ask.

“It's the person who's the best! It's what I'll be one day!“

Osamu snorts, firmly grabbing on the thin branch he's sitting on. “Champignon's a mushroom.“

“No it ain't!“

A mushroom, you make a little note in your memory, because no matter how much Atsumu protests you're more inclined to believe Osamu when it comes to mushrooms.

Your heads turn when you hear mom calling and waving, waiting for Osamu to climb down before running over to her.

“I win!“ announces Atsumu despite Osamu reaching her first.

“Why, because yer a champignon?“

“Are we all here?“ loudly asks Mr Miya before his boys could jump into each other's hair, “identify yerselves!“

“One!“ calls Atsumu.

“Two!“ calls Osamu, louder.

“Three!“ you call and jump, because being louder than them was never an option.

Four heads turn to Mrs Miya. “Mom,“ she raises her hand.

“Excellent!“ proclaims Mr Miya as three small voices cheer. “Then we can get goin'!“

“Where to?“ you ask.

Mr Miya picks up a stick and starts drawing lines in the sand covering the path. “It's a secret but maybe ya can guess, we'll go down this path-“

“A treasure hunt!”

“Almost. At the fountain we'll turn left, and what lies down the fountain path?“

“Pigeons?“ you try guessing.

Osamu bumps his fist on the open palm. “Ice cream stand!“

Mr Miya nods.

“Last one there's a loser!“ shouts Atsumu who starts running before even finishing the sentence. Osamu immediately follows, both ignoring your shouts to wait up.

Three is a funny number. It only works when the two and one have the third , because otherwise it's just one and two. Like a clover that got munched on by a picky rabbit that tried a leaf and then decided it doesn't fit its taste.

Volleyball sort of became the rabbit munching on the clover. One day teachers simply decided you're not allowed to play on the same team as your brothers anymore. And no amount of crying, screaming and sulking could convince the rabbit to give the leaf back.

“Maybe we can sneak ya in,“ suggests Atsumu one night, “all ya hafta do is wear our clothes. No one will know!“

So you try that and funnily enough, people do notice when one and two together make a three, and what surprises children even more is that parents also notice when they return late from school because they had to stay in detention. And as if cleaning the school hallways for a month wasn't enough, now they have to clean the house too.

It is however enough to discourage you from trying to sneak into practice again, so you stick with only coming to games and waiting for their practice to end so you can walk home together. From time to time some of their teammates stop to say hello or to complain to you about their shenanigans, but that's knowledge you hold to yourself, since you never knew when blackmail material might come in handy.

It's only when Osamu teases they get to go to a volleyball workshop and you don't that you get envious.

“It sounds stupid anyway,“ you try pretending you couldn't care less.

“It would be perfect for ya then,“ Osamu shots back and sprints away as you dive after him.

Maybe you are just a teensy bit envious, still as long as you get to play with them when they are home it's not that bad. After returning from their workshops you don't even let them take their shoes off before dragging them to the volleyball net dad set up in the garden. You stand where you always stand, by the net so you can throw balls for them to hit over.

Atsumu pushes you away. “No, this is my position now. I wanna be a setter.“

You don' mind, and throw the ball towards Atsumu who sends it back into a bit of an awkward place and you end up not even hitting it.

Osamu bursts into laughter. “Ya suck.“ He jumps to avoid the kick aimed at his knee. “We play with good players now so yer gonna hafta practice more. There was this tall player with a cool name! Right, Tsumu?“

“Tsumu?“ you repeat.

“Tsumu and Samu. It's our names but they sound way cooler now!“ proudly declares Atsumu.

Your eyes widen in admiration. “I want that too! What should I call myself?“

“Yer always copyin' us,“ complains Osamu but he gets ignored as the first name Atsumu suggests earns him a ball to the face.

“Oh I know!“ You bump your fist on your open palm. “I'll be San!“

Atsumu thinks it over with the same expression Osamu has when trying to decide which udon toppings to order. “San,... Y/n... San,... It sounds so cool! Whaddaja think Samu?“

Osamu shrugs. “San, let me show ya how to spike the ball properly.“

tag list: @espressons @trashy-simp @nachotrash

#miya twins #miya twins x sibling reader #miya atsumu #miya osamu #miya atsumu x reader #hqcorenet #miya osamu x reader #miya family #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu x platonic reader #inarizaki #inarizaki x platonic reader #the third miya #libri scribbles #also big thanks to tumblr for destroying the quality of the banner -.-

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

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What I'm afraid to say

Part 5/6 - AO3

part one | previous | Next

Geraskier - T

Summary: Five times Geralt tries to tell Jaskier he loves him, and one time he succeeds.

______

Geralt follows Jaskier along the path, they don’t have any destination in mind and Geralt is happy to follow his bard as he struts and dances and twirls along the dusty road. Everyone always says that it’s Jaskier that follows the White Wolf, but Geralt knows differently. From the first day back in Posada it had been Geralt that spurred on Roach to trot after the bard as he strummed on his lute. Geralt has been following Jaskier ever since, taking contracts in the towns they visit, stopping along the path to forage for ingredients, and finding the best places to camp.

Geralt smiles, knowing his face is hidden from the bard as he chatters on ahead of Roach. Jaskier is beautiful like this. He may be a man used to the finer things in life, but travelling suits him. It invigorates him as he flits from town to town, like leaves on a breeze.

Jaskier talks about everything and nothing, weaving stories and ballads out of thin air about every little thing they encounter. Poetry falls from his lips as easily as a priestess’s prayer to the gods. Geralt had known only silence before Jaskier, but now that void would stifle him. Nothing is as peaceful as the constant tenor floating through the air, wrapping Geralt in its warmth, a reminder that Jaskier is alive. The bard may be born to travel, but travelling with Geralt puts him in danger. Geralt would do anything to keep him safe, anything, but it isn’t always enough. He cannot cage the bird that wishes to fly free.

Because Jaskier is free, almost like a force of nature that cannot be contained, and that thought makes Geralt chuckle. It seems only right that the bard named himself after a flower, and not for the reason many people would think. He isn’t delicate, and whilst he dresses as brightly as wildflowers, there is a nasty streak in the bard. He can be bitter, jealous, and condescending. He is not just a sweet little buttercup.

He is so much more.

He is the water that flows in a river, a breath of life and unforgiving all the same. He is the light of the sun, warm and yet blinding. He is the spirit of the forests, so alive and yet dangerous if you never learn how to respect it.

And Geralt loves him.

He loves him so desperately that the words are stuck in his throat. His tongue cannot seem to work anytime he thinks of how he might tell Jaskier the truth. So he finds other ways, and hopes, prays, that one day Jaskier will hear the full extent of his feelings.

His smile fades as he remembers the jagged scars on Jaskier’s skin, marks from the cockatrice that tried to take the bard from him. He would love to wrap Jaskier up in his arms and never let the bard leave an inn or tavern again, he knows it wouldn’t work. Jaskier chose his life with Geralt for the adventure, for the hunts that threaten him every time he ignores Geralt’s pleas for him to stay behind.

The Cockatrice hunt was the start of it, a catalyst that caused his feelings to spiral out of control. Now he’s barely able to hold on. Every day he feels like he’s falling over the edge of a waterfall but he never hits the bottom.

Fuck, he just hopes that Jaskier will be there to catch him when he does.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cries, spinning round with his lute in his hands and a dazzling smile on his lips. “Can you hear that?” the bard asks, tilting his head.

Geralt frowns, looking around for any danger but even when focusing his senses he can’t hear anything, just the trill of the birds from a nearby tree and…

Oh.

Of course, Jaskier listens for the beauty in the world when Geralt only sees the evil.

“Hmm,” he replies, too ashamed to admit that he hadn’t even considered the birds until after he’d checked for bandits or monsters.

“I wonder,” Jaskier hums, deep in thought as his tongue flicks out and swipes along his bottom lip. “Do you think I could write a song based on the bird songs?”

Geralt doesn’t reply. He thinks that Jaskier’s songs are more exquisite than any bird song, but he doesn’t say that. He never says it. He wants to, gods he so desperately wants to. He wants to love his bard the way he deserves to be loved, but he is a witcher. He could never love Jaskier in the same carefree way that his bard loves everything and everyone.

Luckily, Jaskier doesn’t need any encouragement from Geralt, he never does. He just laughs, more musical than any other bard that Geralt has ever met, and spins back around. Disjointed notes fill the air as Jaskier tries to figure out the pitch and rhythm of the bird’s calls. He grumbles and swears under his breath until he gets it right. Geralt is no bard, but he knows as soon as Jaskier has cracked it, a sweet scent wafts through the air and Jaskier cheers, dancing forward with a spring in his step.

The rest of the day is filled with Jaskier’s attempts to find the right lyrics and rhymes for his latest song, an ode to nature, he calls it. Geralt is almost disappointed that Jaskier seems to have found a new muse. His heart aches in his chest as he considers that Jaskier may not need him anymore, that he’ll move on and leave Geralt in the dust.

Geralt isn’t sure what he’ll do when that happens.

Even the long winters at Kaer Morhen now seem empty without the bard to light up his life.

They set up camp quickly, falling into a well worn routine, moving around each other as they each complete their tasks, like nobles dancing at a banquet, completely in sync but never clashing. Soon enough they are sitting on logs opposite the fire, Geralt sharpening his swords in a steady rhythm as Jaskier plucks aimlessly at his lute. The bard stares up at the sky watching the stars that twinkle in the otherwise black sky. There is no moon tonight and the only other light comes from the fire, the orange glow casting eerie shadows around the camp. The soft light makes Jaskier look impossibly even more beautiful. There is a light stubble on his cheeks and Geralt tries to memorise the line of his jaw, his nose, his cheekbones.

“You know…” Jaskier breathes barely above a whisper, “we’re all rather insignificant when you think about it.”

Geralt wants to disagree. Jaskier is anything but insignificant, in the time Geralt has known him, the bard has become the single most important part of his life. Jaskier is the light in the dark, his guiding star on the path, the reason he fights so hard to survive in every hunt.

Geralt stays silent.

“The stars, burning bright and lighting up the heavens, each of them far larger than any of us. Even a witcher or a sorceress is nothing in the life of a star,” Jaskier murmurs, never looking away from the sky.

“It’s not about how long we live,” Geralt mumbles, his heart racing in his chest, almost as fast as a human’s. He feels the blush on his cheeks and his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. This is the moment he will say it. I love you.

“Hmm?” Jaskier asks, finally looking at Geralt from across the fire.

“It’s about how bright you burn,” Geralt explains, and Jaskier burns so brightly, brighter than any star or moon or sun.

Jaskier’s smile widens as his expression softens, wrinkles appearing at the corner of his eyes and he bites his lip, a sign that he’s deep in thought. He hums and plucks a few notes from his lute that sound suspiciously like ‘Toss a Coin’. “I suppose you’re right. We’ll make a poet of you yet, darling.”

Geralt’s heart clenches at the pet name, but he knows it means nothing. Jaskier loves freely and Geralt is no exception, but it would never be in the way that Geralt longs for, he’s too damaged, too scarred.

And yet, Jaskier is also scarred now.

“Can I see?” he asks, knowing the bard will understand him. It’s the same question he’s been asking every night since the hunt. The scar has faded now, still visible but less red and jarring against Jaskier’s pale skin.

Jaskier rolls his eyes, a fond smile dancing on his lips. “And they say witchers don’t feel.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls, only calming once the bard shrugs out of his doublet and pulls up his chemise. Geralt breathes a sigh, a weight lifted from his chest. The scar is exactly how he remembers it, fading and perfectly healed, and yet every night he worries, a nightmare plaguing him relentlessly that it has reopened and is bleeding beneath Jaskier’s colourful doublets.

“See, all fine, stop your nonsense,” Jaskier chides and pokes him on the nose. Geralt’s nose wrinkles and he sits back from the bard, causing Jaskier to let out a peal of laughter. “Oh dearest Melitele, how I love you,” Jaskier says between giggles, the words falling off its lips like the sweetest honey.

Geralt stammers wordlessly.

I love you too.

He opens his mouth, gaping, his cheeks burning hotter than the fire. Jaskier just laces their fingers together, as if it means nothing at all, and kisses Geralt on the cheek. “I know, dear heart, I know.”

A warmth pools in Geralt’s chest at Jaskier’s words, letting the bard’s voice soothe him. Those three damn words are still stuck, but he has time. Jaskier knows now, he’ll wait for Geralt.

He hopes.

#the witcher #geraskier #5 + 1 fic #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #wolfie's winter writing

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baehaar · 3 years

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SHADOWS ARE FALLING.

He’s on the verge of death, and Tony still can’t stop thinking about Steve. It has been so long, he has lost so much and yet, in his last moments he finds himself still thinking about Steve. Steve, with his stubbornness. Steve, with his dry wit. Steve, who said together and then left without a backward glance. Steve, who left him bleeding, defeated, and cold on that bunker floor. Steve, who Tony so desperately hoped would come back. Steve, who sent him that goddamn phone -the one that he clung to like it was a lifeline- but never called.

Now, he’s dying. Now, he thinks about how he’ll never get another chance to look into those startlingly clear azure eyes, never get to touch him, to feel his warmth, never get to bicker with him again, and never get to say everything that once felt better left unsaid. His thoughts drift, and the line between dreams and memories blurs.

Is Steve even alive? Or did he disappear too, like Peter and the Wizard? Did Thanos kill him, like he had Gamora? He has to hope Steve is alive. He has to hope that the team, and maybe Rhodey too, is with him. He has to believe. He can’t comprehend a universe without Steve in it.

He’s surrounded by this vast, frightening darkness and he’s still thinking about goddamn Steve Rogers, pining for him, aching because he’s not here and neither is anyone else. As his thoughts spin and morph, the darkness remains constant. He knows he’s waiting to die, and wonders why it hasn’t happened already. He’s arguably less powerful than all of those people who got dusted back on Titan, he’s sure he’s less worthy. So why is he still alive? What was Strange playing at? Maybe living with this failure is supposed to be his penance for all that he has done wrong, and if he’s lucky it won't be too long. He has finally found himself in a predicament where he can’t cut the wire, nor can he crawl over it to maybe save Nebula at least. He doesn’t know how long it has been since he recorded his messages to everyone. Time has seemingly slowed flowing like thick syrup, instead of water the way it usually does.

And then there’s light behind his eyelids, he tries opening them but it’s too bright. It smarts after so long in the dark. He holds a hand up to shield his eyes. The light is a strange yellow, like sunshine but more. His eyes adjust little by little, and he sees the outline of a person inside the light. Vague colours register. Blues and reds amid the startling gold. Then, he sees the star on the chest. His eyes trail upwards and he sees golden hair.

It can’t be. Steve? Is he dead? Is Steve dead too? Is this paradise?

The thought of an afterlife would have seemed absurd to him 10 years ago, but he has seen so much since. He knows never to say never about pretty much anything now. An afterlife, paradise–what a grand thought. As if he deserves a paradise. If there are other planes of existence, then surely he belongs in hell or the equivalent. But Steve, would Steve be here if this were hell? He isn’t blind to Steve’s faults, he knows them almost as well as his own. The fact that he loves Steve despite all of that– well, sometimes self-destruction wears a handsome, square-jawed face. Even so, how bad could all this be - death, afterlife, heaven, hell - if he gets to be with Steve? Or maybe it's the delirium setting in, his mind conjuring Steve up moments before he dies so he can go in peace. His thoughts race at a million miles a moment, still slower than when his mind is at a hundred per cent.

The light fades slowly and he can make out a silhouette. Smaller shoulders, longer hair and an unfamiliar smirk.

Oh.

So not Steve then, definitely not him. It’s a lady.

He can hardly believe that he has it in him to feel disappointed now, or that disappointment registers way before fear or apprehension.

What if the shiny flying lady is not a friendly? He and Blue Meanie back there won’t survive a fight, but then again maybe a quicker death would be an unexpected mercy.

As it turns out, it doesn’t come to that. Shiny flying lady, Carol, is a friend of Fury’s. And she’s here to rescue them.

#click keep reading for a one shot!#stevetony #stevetonyedit #stevetony fic #stony #stonyedit #tony stark #TonyStarkEdit #steve rogers #i honestly dont know how to tag this #but this can either just be a gifset or a oneshot or both #no pressure to read #MyGifs #MyFic #mine

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imaginesmai · 3 years

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With all my heart (IRONDAD) - Chapter 1

Hey there! I’m back with a full fic! ❤💕💕💕 This is an irondad/bambi/The game plan AU! It’s finished, so it will have two updates every week, or more (if you guys like it a lot!) Make sure to follow me on instagram:@ irondadiscanon to know when I update, more irondad content and fic recs!

SUMMARY: Tony Stark isn't the best dad - distant, cold, almost neglectful. But when his ex-wife dies, he has to take care of his son; 5-year-old Peter, a boy with too many allergies and that can't talk to Tony without stuttering. Follow the path of two hurt people, a man and a boy, who learn how to love each other through thick and thin.-A Bambi AU (Disney) that @buckets_of_stars inspired me into writting that I've mixed with The Game Plan.

AO3 link

Tony has a tight smile on during the funeral. He knows he has no right being there, that most of the people around him, even if they are strangers for Tony, were closer to Mary than him. He shifts uncomfortable in his black suit, fighting the hangover from last night. On his right, Mary’s sister is crying her eyes out, looking at the coffin as its lowered on the ground. From what he has heard, the man besides May is Ben, his husband, and both of them have made a long journey to come to the funeral. It makes him feel bad, because Tony was the one arriving late and he lives barely thirty minutes away.

But the news hit him hard.

For six years, he has been doing just fine. He gets drunk, sleeps around with anyone that catches his eye, bosses around and goes to sleep really, really late. It’s not something to take pride of, but Tony likes his life – now, his past life. There is another thing that has been a constant for the last five years and a half; monthly cheques to his ex-girlfriend account. Since he lost any type of right over his son. Five and half years ago.

Now, Mary is lying eight foot deep in a coffin. He received a call yesterday, and found comfort in his liquor cabinet. He shouldn’t have, he’s sure of it, because he knows that there has to be new changes on his life from now on; but he still kept a small place of his heart for the brunette girl with big, doe eyes that had a contagious laugh. Tony tightens the grip on his left wrist, trying to control the shaking of his hands.

When that doesn’t work, he tries next looking at the small figure gripping May’s legs, close to Tony. It’s not the first time Tony has seen Peter Parker, because once or twice every two months, he gets to spend a weekend with his son. He has a room on the tower, as dull as a white paper, and Tony is listed as his second emergency contact. It doesn’t matter how much he tries to distance himself from Howard. Most of the times the kid is with him, Tony is reminded of the lost chance of raising him. Peter sees him as a stranger, and Tony drinks.

Peter sniffles softly, and May runs a careful hand through his curls. Taking after Tony, he’s short and skinny. The father doesn’t know much about him – that he likes science, is asthmatic and has a list of allergies, dyslexic, and his favourite colour is blue and red. Mary made sure to keep him away from Tony, and she wasn’t wrong. Because Tony is the worst influence the kid can have.

It doesn’t matter, though, because May and Ben are both active workers that are barely home, and Peter doesn’t have any other family left.

“Tony”

He turns around, and shamefully discovers that almost everyone is gone now. Only May, the priest and Peter remain. The last one is still hiding between May’s legs, hiccupping every now and then. Tony blinks and coughs the awkwardness; he tries to clear the wetness around his eyes, and thanks himself for getting dark glasses before leaving that morning. May, always the kind woman, gives him a soft smile, and squeezes his forearm gently. His husband doesn’t like Tony that much, but it seems that May sees something not even Tony himself can see.

“We have to arrange some things. Custody papers and legal documents” she says.

“Yes. I’ll – My driver is just there. He will take us to the notary. He has enough space for all of us. And don’t worry, Happy is discrete. He won’t – “

“Ben and I can take care of it just fine” May interrupts him. He pushes Peter forward, but the boy doesn’t look up. “Peter hasn’t slept much, and he hasn’t eaten since yesterday. I thought that, maybe, you could take him home and rest a little. It’s been hard for everyone.”

“Happy can take him”

“Peter needs his father”

It’s her stern voice. He has only heard it twice; once, when Peter was born and he was late for the birth, and Mary decided she didn’t even want him to meet his son. May had used her stern voice on her and Tony had held Peter close, as the boy latched on his little finger. The second time was directed at him. He was ready to give up the custody of Peter, he didn’t want to go to the trial; and thanks to May, who dragged him out of his ear, he got to see Peter every two months. Even if he hadn’t known how to do it right.

Peter looks up at Tony, and the man notices the tears still falling from his eyes. He has the same look he always carries around Tony; as if he wasn’t his father, just an authoritative stranger that he had to respect.

“I think a nap will do you some good” Tony lowers his voice, and tries to give Peter a reassuring smile. “Did you pack your bag already?”

“No” he answers in a small voice. “Uncle Ben said I c-could do it later”

“We can bring it later. Maybe have a last dinner together before we leave?” May suggests, and Peter nods vigorously. “We have to leave tomorrow morning. But we are only a few hours away. If he gets sick or needs anything, we’ll be here as soon as possible. And that goes for you too Tony. You can call me anytime you want”

“I think we’re gonna be just fine. Right, Peter?”

Tony holds his fist so that Peter can bump it, but the kid just stares at it. Possibly, it’s not the best place to do something like that. Reluctantly, he lowers his fist. He remembers the first time Peter was brought to him as a conscious human being, not a baby. Mary had been on a trip with him for three months, and Tony got to stay with Peter for a week – and in that moment, when Peter didn’t call Tony daddy but ‘Mr Tony’, Tony realized that Peter didn’t see him as a father. As a dad.

It hurts him that he hasn’t known how to be there for his son. Some of the dates Mary and him set for Peter to stay with Tony were spent poorly; Tony out drinking and Peter with Pepper or with a nanny. Tony missed some of them because he liked to party, and the man wasn’t there when the kid had his first asthma attack and ended up in hospital. He wasn’t even there for Peter’s fourth birthday, because he was lost somewhere in Monaco drinking expensive liquors and losing consciousness.

Selfishly, he thinks that this is his chance to make things right. Peter has to stay with him, because there is no chance that he lets the boy in the system, and staying with his aunt is impossible. So, he tries to bury his hurt and keeps the kind smile on.

“Give me a call when you’re finished” he tells May, who nods. The woman kneels in front of Peter, and cradles his cheek.

“We can come whenever you need us. Ask Tony to call us or use the phone mom got you, it’s in the bottom of your bag. You remember Ben’s number?” May asks. Peter doesn’t answer. “Come here, give me a big hug”

Peter launches himself to his aunt’s arms, letting out a chocked sob. May hugs him tight and lets him cry on her shoulder. As most of the times he’s with his son, Tony feels misplaced. Like he’s watching a show he’s not a part of – like it isn’t his family. It’s not, his mind supplies. They break the hug before Tony can dwell on the thought for too long. If someone expected Peter to hug his father next, they get a huge disappointment. Peter moves to stand close to Tony, and quickly dries his tears so Tony doesn’t notice them.

“No peanuts, walnuts, cashews or hazels. That goes for Nutella or other chocolate sweet that could have hazels” May remembers him, although Tony has JARVIS programmed to keep up with Peter’s allergies. “There are epinephrine injections in his bag, with the instructions. He has to take his vitamins every morning. After breakfast”

“And I have to be careful with lobsters and oysters, because they upset his stomach”

“You have to cut the crust off the sandwiches, and Peter doesn’t like cheese sandwiches. But make sure to put extra cheese on his pizza”

“He also likes mac and cheese, I know” Tony says with a bit of annoyance. “He’s my son. I know him better than what you think”

“You better take care of him, because I don’t care how much money you have or how important your last name is” May takes a threatening step forward. “If I have to drag your sorry Stark ass to court, I will. Without blinking once”

Tony briefly remembers the conversation he has had with May before the funeral. Mary said it in her will, Ben and May knew they would have to change their life style if Peter came to life with them, and Tony was the most capable person, in materials and financial terms, to take care of Peter. But still, she had offered to take him. And Ben had threatened Tony. The man hopes he can live to everyone’s expectations.

He reaches a hand and brings Peter closer. In a soft whisper that only comes out every now and then when he’s with his son, he tells him to go and wait in the car. Peter gives a quiet ‘yes sir’ and hugs May one last time. Tony doesn’t miss the glassy eyes May gets when Peter wraps his skinny arms around her waist and squeezes her tight. He has never received a hug from Peter.

Not like he feels worthy of them.

Peter waves at her and drags his feet to the car. The boy likes Happy, or at least he likes him as much as he can like someone from Tony’s life – he gives the man some rare smiles and actually answers to his questions. He watches as Peter disappear inside the car, and closes the door behind him. Then, he turns to May.

“You can’t say those things in front of Peter” he argues. “He’s gonna think I’m some kind of monster that it’s gonna eat him at night”

“He already thinks that. Why do you think he wanted to spend the night with us in the hotel instead of going with you? Peter is afraid. The only memories he has with his father are you sitting on a couch drinking, hiding in the lab or giving him away to nannies” May points a shaky finger at him. “He spent the whole night crying and sobbing, but when he comes here, he tries to hide it so you don’t see him. Trust me when I say he knows where he’s going”

“And what am I supposed to do? If he hates me so much, then maybe you should take him!”

There is a second of silence in the lonely cemetery.

“Peter doesn’t hate you, Tony. He thinks you don’t want him” she says sadly, and Tony thinks he preferred the idea of Peter hating him. “All he knows is a cold man with a hard face, that didn’t make an effort to love him when he went to see you”

“I really don’t know how to fix that, May” he admits. He realises his own eyes are getting misty behind the glasses, but he doesn’t feel strong enough to wipe them. He only wants to go back home and lock himself in the lab with a bottle of whisky, maybe two.

“You and I both know you love him. You did things wrong, but so did Mary. So just – show him you love him, now. Consider this your chance to be a father to Peter, a real father”

May surprises Tony by dragging him into her arms, and he goes rigid. He doesn’t like behind handed things, he doesn’t like shaking people’s hands, he doesn’t like touching anyone and doesn’t like being touched unless it’s Pepper. He has ignored Rhodey’s calls and Happy attempt to comfort him, because he knew that no matter how much he hated physical touch, he would break down.

So, Tony breaks down in sobs, and hugs May Parker back. The woman is tall but skinny, yet is almost as strong as Tony. It’s the touch he needs, because it manages to keep him together. Tony thinks of Mary, of how beautiful everything was before he fucked up and she left, pregnant without knowing. He thinks of her sweet smile and dimples, of her brown curls that fell loose on her back. And he sees her in the boy in the car, in the way he pretends to be collected but wears his heart on his sleeve.

A raindrop hit him on the nose, and when he looks up, he’s met with another on his left glass. He tears away from May who doesn’t bother wiping the tears away from her cheeks. They share a short nod and a few words, then Tony walks towards the car. He tries to make the small distance to it as long as possible, because he doesn’t want to meet the doe, bambi eyes that will stare at him in the car.

Because Peter does that a lot – staring at Tony. Not talking, not smiling. Staring at Tony as if he’s looking for something that he doesn’t have. That’s part of the reason why he avoids the boy so much, because if he can’t be what Peter needs, then what good can he make?

Apparently, he’s about to find out.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

#peter parker #Irondad and Spiderson #irondad fic #irondad #irondad imagine #spiderson and irondad #iron dad #iron dad imagine #iron dad fic #iron dad series #tony stark #tom holland #rdj #Avengers

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twdsunshine · 3 years

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Sunset (One-Shot)

Summary: As the sun sets the reader seeks some peace from the tension in the Greene’s farmhouse.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 540

Author’s Note: A mini fluff piece. Not really any plot. Just Daryl being awkward but sweet but still a little hostile. Early-season Daryl, y’know? Thanks for taking a few minutes to check it out. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The sky was a riot of colour: reds, pinks and vivid golds streaking across a backdrop of palest blue. The sun had disappeared beneath the treeline, dipping slowly out of sight as you sat and watched, the rung of the fence rough beneath your thinning jeans. A lone deer picked its way across the field, ducking its head to nibble at the long grasses. You should probably have made some sort of effort to shoot it, you thought, knowing it would feed all of you for a few days at least with Patricia's culinary talents, but it seemed wrong somehow to disturb the peace of the evening with bloodshed.

You hadn't realised Daryl was there until a faint curl of cigarette smoke drifted past you in the still air, filling your lungs with the pungent scent. His approach had been silent, ever the hunter. The fence shifted slightly beneath you as he leant against it, gaze immediately picking out the deer and following its gentle movements.

'They still goin' at it in there?'

'Rick and Shane?' At his nod, you sighed. 'Yep. That's why I'm out here. The tension makes me nauseous.'

'Why'd ya think I pitched my tent all the way up there?'

It was true that he'd decided against staying with the rest of you, instead making his own camp on the other side of the field, further away from the farmhouse. Honestly, you were pretty sure he was avoiding all of you, not just those locked in some ongoing conflict, but you chuckled anyway, muttering, 'Smart.'

'Ya should try it. S'quieter, atmosphere's better. Got some rabbit to cook up for dinner too. 'Less ya'd prefer deer.'

'No,' you answered quickly, willing the deer to disappear back into the forest before it ended up with a bolt through its heart. 'No, I'm good, thank you.' Then, 'Wait, are you asking me to move up to your camp with you?'

The tips of his ears turned pink beneath the dark ends of his hair and he shrugged, his voice barely a mumble as he said, 'Offerin', tha's all, if ya hate it in there so much.'

'I thought you preferred it on your own.'

'I do!' Taking your confusion as rejection, he stubbed out his cigarette against the stained wood you sat upon and tossed it to the ground. 'Nevermind. Jus' thought…'

He tailed off and you watched him for a moment, his broad shoulders hunched over his barrel chest, eyes fixed to the toes of his boots, hands dug deep into his pockets now as he made to turn away. He was an odd one, you thought, so hostile, stand-offish, and yet somehow so vulnerable too. He intrigued you and it was for that reason as well as the constant fighting between the rest of the group that you made your decision. 'Actually, y'know, that would be great, if you're sure you don't mind?'

'Whatever,' Daryl rasped, though his lips twisted into the ghost of a smile before his trademark scowl returned. ‘So, yer comin’ then?’

You hopped to the ground with a soft thud, half afraid he’d change his mind if you lingered with the sunset for any longer, and shot him a grateful grin. ‘Let’s go.’

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Thanks again for reading. For some longer one-shots with an actual story, check out my Masterlist!

#sunset #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction

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sleepingrenjun · 3 years

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unravel | ML

A Spooky Collaboration ϟ Myself and @lucaswithnoshirt have taken the term ‘trick or treat’ to a new level with this Halloween special collaboration, with each of us writing about Vampire!Mark Lee and incorporating our own trick or treat twist. Who wrote the trick and who wrote the treat? Well, read on to find out…

Find @lucaswithnoshirt ‘s story here!

Genre ϟ Vampire x vampire hunter AU. Kinda horror, kinda not. Lots of angst, the usual :)

Length ϟ 11.7k

Pairing ϟ Mark Lee x reader

Warnings ϟ character death (y’all are used to this by now), violence, blood, murder(??), vampires (is this even a necessary warning…?) making out (it gets a lil suggestive but not rly), swearing and a whole lotta angst!

Playlist ϟ unravel playlist

Summary ϟ You want him dead, so why can’t you kill him?

You’ve been watching him for a few days now. Memorising and mapping his movements one lengthy night after another. You’ve never seen his face in great detail; you don’t dare get close enough to allow for that. Not yet. He’s young, that much you’re certain of. If you had to guess you’d say he was in his early twenties – or rather his mortal body was. His immortal being could well have been several hundred years old, although certain habits of his you’d noticed while observing him made him seem somewhat immature, like he was still trying to figure out how to live with his new needs. It’s a shame really, for his mortal life to have been taken from him when he had so much future ahead of him. You’ve no idea how long it’s been since he was turned. He’s only been feeding in this area for a couple of days and before that he’d been lurking near a darkened park on the far side of the city. You didn’t know where he’d been prior to that.

The sky was an inky blue up above you, the bright light of the moon and all of its stars the only thing illuminating the street that lay before you. He was leaning with his back against a lamppost, looking perfectly composed as he brought a hand up to wipe away some of the blood that was coating the skin around his lips and dripping down his chin. He was a messy eater, you noted. His slightly scruffy jet-black hair draped down his forehead and almost entirely covered his eyes, which you could just make out were glowing a devilish shade of red. You held your breath from your higher-up position, swiftly ducking your head when you saw him sweeping his gut-wrenching gaze over the area you were watching him from. He hadn’t spotted you, fortunately. This is one of the things that led you to believe he hadn’t been turned too long ago – if he’d been an older vampire, more experienced, he would’ve spotted and ended you in less than a second.

Ordinarily, you’d have made your move fairly early on, the fresher ones were always the easiest after-all, but for some reason you couldn’t quite bring yourself to drive your wooden stake through his chest just yet. He was intriguing, dangerously so. You’d do it soon though; before you got too attached to the routine you’d made for yourself.

You watched him closely as he took one last pointed look over his shoulder before disappearing within the blink of an eye.

Vampires repulsed you. Your brother had lost his mortal life to the fangs of a blood-thirsty woman when he was just 19. She’d been clever and unsuspicious, luring him in with temptation and deception before drinking the life out of him one gulp at a time. You were young and naïve when it happened; nothing more than a terrified 15-year-old trying her best to keep her breathing to a minimum so as to not notify the creature of her presence. You wanted to shout, to scream at your brother to fight back, but it was too late.

Ever since then, you vowed to be the glorious end of every vampire you set your fury-filled eyes on; and this young man was the next on your list.

The next night brings nothing much different to the previous. Hours upon hours of standing around and waiting for him to strike, your eyes growing heavy after his second kill of the evening. The unlucky soul had been a sleezy looking man who had to have been nearing 40; his greasy hair and sagging trousers enough to enlighten you on just the kind of person he most likely was, and some twisted part of you thought he almost deserved it when his neck was snapped painfully as the vampire drunk the colour from his skin. Almost. Perhaps that’s the one thing that was keeping you from approaching him, wooden stake in one hand and extermination in the other. His choice of victims was not what you usually observed from a young-looking vampire.

After another 20 minutes or so, you pinched some skin between your fingertips to try and wake yourself up from the threatening slumber lurking within you, rendering it useless when you stifled a yawn anyway. You flicked your eyes briefly to your wrist, noting that it was now well past 2am.

Casting one last calculating look over to the young vampire who was completely unaware of your presence, you decided to call it a night and head home. You placed your feet one in front of the other as quietly as you could so as to not draw attention to yourself, the action almost second nature to you now, until you were a safe enough distance away that you felt you could tread normally. The air was crisp, prompting you to lift the hood of your fleecy jacket over your head in an attempt to keep warm while simultaneously picking up your pace. It was late October, still technically Autumn but definitely noticeably colder than you wished it was. Leaves had fallen to the ground in a colourful array of oranges, reds and yellows and it made the world look so beautiful that it was dangerously easy to forget about the monsters lurking in the dark.

You rounded a sharp corner, your eyes dragging along the near-bare looking trees lining the pavement alongside a row of ornate looking town houses. This was a nice part of town, the pristine condition of the properties indicating it was clearly home to some of the wealthier folk. You thought you might like to live somewhere like this someday, a nice big house with no need to worry about noisy neighbours or unpleasant landlords. But as your building came into sight, you were reminded of your tiny one-bed apartment and the constant shouting that you could hear from the people across the hall.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of what you thought were footsteps coming up behind you at an inhuman speed, instantly whipping your head around and grabbing the hilt of the weapon hidden on the inside of your jacket. Nothing. You felt a shiver go down your spine, the situation immediately making you feel uneasy. You’d dealt with vampire attacks before and always managed to come out on top, and usually relatively unscathed. You silently told yourself to get yourself in check before turning your head back around, letting out the breath you were holding in when you didn’t see anything suspicious. This was one of the biggest draw backs of your vampire hunting, the constant paranoia, fear, the never-ending feeling that you were being watched or followed; but at least it had managed to keep you alive so far.

You started walking forwards again, barely making it two steps before a hand wrapped itself around your mouth and another grabbed you by the throat, dragging you away from the light of the main road.

You struggled to breathe as the unfamiliar hand tightened its grip on your neck, your own hands quickly raising and digging your nails into their ice-cold skin in an attempt to pry the pain away. You felt yourself go rigid when a low voice spoke in your ear, “stop struggling.”

You allowed yourself a small smile, this was perfect. If you could get this man to believe you were weak, feeble even, then he’d be unsuspecting of you. With any luck, he’d let his guard down just enough, giving you the perfect opportunity to strike.

You let out a whimper, furrowing your quivering eyebrows and forming tears in your eyes. “Please don’t do this.” You hated how small you sounded, but it’s what you needed the man to hear in order for your plan to work.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as you stilled automatically, your lip quivering ever so slightly under the stranger’s palm. You carefully dropped your hands to your sides, feeling for the blade that was secured tightly in your jacket, hidden from the outside world.

Despite having control of yourself, you were still aware of the distinct feeling of fear brewing up under your burning skin. No matter how many times you’d managed to slaughter yourself out of situations like this, there would always be a small chance that you would fail, and that thought made you sick.

“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” The stranger turned you around so that you were facing him, a sick smile on his face as he gazed down at you, fangs visible and eyes darkening to a beautiful shade of red.

“Bet you’ll taste real sweet.” He dug his fingertips into the sides of your neck slightly before allowing his tongue to swipe over his lips. Had you not been moments away from your bitter end, you would’ve taken more time to admire his unnatural beauty. His cheekbones were sculpted, his silver scruffy hair framing his intricately carved face with a tender delicacy that you did not think someone of his kind deserved. His brows furrowed as he focused on a particular spot on the side of your neck, right by where his thumb was most likely bruising your tender skin.

“Please, don’t. Please stop, oh god,” you choked out.

He started lowering himself towards you, and you grabbed your weapon, ready to plunge the blade into anywhere you could reach from your disadvantaged position.

Suddenly, a voice called out harshly, cutting through the cool air and causing your attacker to faulter for a short moment, thus giving you the perfect opportunity to throw all your energy into shoving him off you, quickly pushing your knife into the spot just beneath his ribcage, drawing it back almost as quickly as it slides in; you couldn’t risk losing your best blade. He cried out in surprise, eyes growing darker and angrier than they had been before.

“Get away from her,” the new voice snarled. You could see him getting closer from your peripheral vision, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off the rage-filled creature a few mere feet in front of you, clutching at his side with one bloody hand.

“Fuck off, this one’s mine,” he growled, locking eyes with you.

“Like hell I am,” you said through gritted teeth, positioning yourself with your knife in a defensive hold, knees bent and ready to spring forward as and when you needed to.

Your grip on the handle of your knife was turning your knuckles a ghastly shade of white and you could feel bruises beginning to form on your throbbing neck, but you were too focused on trying to get out of this alive to care. The figure in front of you took a threatening step forward, hand no longer clutching his side. He wore a menacing smile on his face even still, despite having been stabbed and interrupted by a stranger who you still didn’t dare turn towards.

“I thought I told you to get the hell away from her,” the second man called out once more, this time sounding remarkably calm. Unnervingly so.

“And I thought I told you she was mine?” The vampire before you allowed himself to snap his neck towards the other in anger, his eyes immediately widening in amusement at what he saw, lips curving upwards as he let out a snicker.

“Oh please, give up kid.” He spoke patronisingly. This piqued your curiosity and you risked a glance to the side to see what he was laughing at. You caught a glimpse of a mop of dark hair that seemed to melt into the sky, his stance seeming somewhat familiar to you, but you didn’t have the time to figure out where you knew it from.

You were pulled back into reality when you felt a pair of hands seize you again harshly, pushing you up against the wall. You felt the faint outline of some sharp fangs touching the surface of the skin, piercing it briefly before he was ripped away from you. Before he could draw even a drop of blood. You allowed yourself a half-second to focus your thoughts. The two were circling eachother like wolves a few feet from you, hunched over. You noticed two sets of red, gleaming eyes. Two vampires, ready to fight to the death just to have a tase of your crimson blood.

“Move.” You said to the one who had pulled your attacker off you. You’d deal with him later. He looked at you through angry, hooded eyes. He didn’t seem like he planned on listening to a thing you said, so you opted for pushing past him instead.

It all happened so quickly, although time felt like it slowed as you jumped into the air, reaching for the stake strapped securely against the skin under your shirt with your free hand. A tangle of limbs and hands, stumbling and scratching and pain before your opponent crumpled to the floor with a gaping, bloody hole through his chest. You pulled back, weapon in your trembling hand. Your vision was tunnelled and your hearing somewhat cloudy and ringing as a result of the adrenaline coursing through your entire being at one hundred miles per hour. You were panting as you watched his lifeless body turn a pale grey before he disintegrated, leaving an ashy pile of death where his body had been.

You touched your fingertips to your cheek, pulling them back to see blood dripping down to your knuckles. You’d have to deal with your scratched-up form when you eventually got back home. You turned back around to see the other vampire still standing there wearing an entirely unreadable expression. You immediately moved yourself to be in a defensive position, fully expecting him to fill his eyes with the fire in his soul and dive straight for you. When he didn’t move or even speak for a few seconds, you stepped closer to him, knife in one hand and stake in the other. Your hair was falling into your eyes and you could feel blood running from your cheek to your lips to your chin. You wiped at the back of your face with the back of your sleeve. You imagined yourself, you probably looked absolutely feral with your hair out of place, tears in your clothes and blood from yourself and one other smearing along the surface of your bruised skin and your ruined jacket.

“Woah, woah.” He backed up when you stepped closer threateningly, panicked eyes piercing right through you.

His back hit the brick wall of the alley you’d been dragged into, and he had the audacity to look frightened for a mere millisecond before he corrected himself and went back to holding an unreadable expression. You drove your hand forwards, letting out a noise of frustration when he caught your wrist with little to no effort in one of his larger hands. You did the same with the other hand since you were holding a weapon in each, but it was to no avail, he caught that one too.

“Why are you trying to kill me? I’m trying to help you!” He sounded genuinely surprised and slightly confused.

“We both know that’s a lie.” Your eyes locked onto his challengingly, you could hardly believe this guy.

“Seriously! I would never-.” He let out a groan of pain, not having noticed you drawing your blade back before driving it into his arm. He shifted away from you.

“Fuck, what is wrong with you?” He tossed the knife from his wound onto the floor a few feet away, clutching his arm with the opposite hand and hissing as he drew it back to reveal his palm, now sticky with blood.

“What’s wrong with me!? You’re the one who drinks human blood to stay alive!” You seethed, eyes wide and alert as you stared at him.

“I’m not drinking yours.”

“That’s because I’m not letting you.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you. Stop looking at me like that.” He sounded exasperated and you almost laughed. You’d never met a vampire quite like this before. Usually they were straight to the point; upfront about their intentions to kill you after they’d finished consuming every last drop of your sweet, sweet blood. But not this one, no, he seemed so dead set on earning your trust and getting you to drop your guard just for long enough.

You allowed yourself a moment to take him in, since he didn’t seem to be in any particular rush, you figured you might as well take your time too. His unkempt raven hair was slightly parted in the middle, falling over his eyebrows and kissing the tops of his cheekbones. His doe-shaped eyes had calmed down, now a deep, warm brown rather than the intense red they had been earlier. His skin was pale, lifeless, you supposed. Literally. His form seemed strong but not built in the way that some were, if you didn’t know any better you could have easily mistaken him for a university student.

He took a cautious step towards you and you felt your cheeks warm a little at the thought of him noticing your staring. You stood your ground, not wanting him to think you were weak or giving up your fight.

“If you take one step closer, I’ll kill you,” you said as coldly as you could muster.

“I believe you, but please don’t.” He was still clutching at his injured arm with a hand. He was currently at a disadvantage, if you could just use this to your advantage, if you could somehow get close enough to just-

He disappeared before your eyes and you whipped your head around just in time to witness him snatching the stake from your grip. He shifted again so that he was slightly further back from you, holding your stake behind his back and tilting his head to the side mockingly.

“You know, for someone who supposedly knows what they’re doing, you seem remarkably off-balance.” He dared a smirk, now and inspecting the wooden weapon in his hands.

“You-”

“These things are deadly, you know. I really thought you might kill me a moment ago,” he chuckled.

“It would be my pleasure.” You didn’t see the humour in this the way that he seemed to. You were no longer scared, however, mostly frustrated.

You took a small step towards him, determined to retrieve your stolen weapon, but acutely aware that you were now completely un-armed. This wasn’t a situation you’d ever been in before so you were unsure of how you should proceed. You couldn’t read his next move whatsoever, his expression told you nothing useful other than that he was clearly enjoying this.

He looked right at you, his expression suddenly serious, his harsh gaze sending chills down your spine, “go home, y/n.”

You widened your eyes. How did he know your name? You don’t recall saying it aloud even once and the deceased vampire certainly hadn’t known it.

“How’d you know my name?” You voiced with a slight tremor, it was subtle but definitely noticeable, and you cursed yourself for allowing yourself to feel scared.

He was walking away from you now, his ebony clad body becoming harder and harder to decipher as he disappeared into darkness. He didn’t answer your question, but he did leave your knife on the floor where he had tossed it earlier. You hurriedly grabbed the weapon, checking your surroundings once more to see if he had come back (he hadn’t), before running home and locking your apartment door as soon as you slammed it closed.

You slept with a blade under your pillow that night.

You didn’t leave your house for the next two days, no trips to get food, no visits from friends, no nightly vampire-watch. Nothing. Partially because you didn’t want to risk anybody asking any questions about the bruises on your neck and the cuts on your skin, but you couldn’t deny the genuine fear that was keeping you at home. You weren’t really sure why you were so affected by the events that happened a couple of nights prior. You’d like to consider yourself a fairly experienced and extremely competent hunter. You’d never left a vampire you came into contact with alive. Alive, if that’s even what you could call them. And now one of them knew your name, what did that mean? Did he know where you lived? Had he been watching you like you were his prey?

An unexpected knock at your door snapped you out of the thoughts spinning around in your head. It wasn’t late, but it was dark out. You furrowed your brows as you wondered who could be dropping by at this time. You had a few close friends; Yuta, Jungwoo and Taeyong being the ones most likely to pay you a visit, although they usually made a point of shooting you a warning text first, just in case you weren’t around. Yuta hunted vampires like you did, that’s how you met him. He had a pretty face and a fiery personality to match your own. The two of you clicked instantly, bonding over anything and everything you could think to talk about. He soon introduced you to Jungwoo, a soft boy with long legs and a heart of gold, and Taeyong, a striking guy with sharp features and an adorable laugh. The two latter boys assisted Yuta occasionally when he was dealing with a particularly tough vampire, but you preferred to strike alone, so you always rejected their offers to help. You couldn’t think why any of them would turn up at your door now, though.

You padded over to the door, feet clad in fluffy socks and glasses perched on your nose. You opened the door but were met with the sight of a brown paper bag with your name written on it in black marker. You looked both left and right in confusion, settling your gaze back on the brown bag at your feet when you didn’t see anyone at either end of the hallway.

You picked it up cautiously against your better judgement and scurried back inside quickly. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you to leave the bag outside and not lay a finger on it, but the curious part was itching to take a look, so that’s what you did. You sat down on the wooden floorboards in your living room, legs crossed and scissors in hand. You cut along the seal of the clear tape that was keeping the bag closed and hesitantly tipped its contents out in front of you. Your body stilled for a long moment, your breathing suddenly shallow and your throat dry. Your stake lay before you, still bloody, but yours, nevertheless. You shivered. The mysterious vampire who you were still tearing your hair out over had taken it with him if you remembered correctly. You were sure that your eyes hadn’t been deceiving you and that your memory wasn’t tricking you. Before you could control your own body, you found yourself at the closest window, looking out on the off chance that you would be able to see whoever had delivered the brown paper bag. You knew the chances were slim to none, but you looked anyway. It had to have been him. He somehow knew your name, so it should’ve been obvious that he knew where you lived.

You didn’t know what to make of it. Any of it. You were truly afraid, so why were you so curious about the raven-haired boy who let you live?

You managed to coax yourself outside after another day or so of hiding at your apartment. You felt pathetic, hiding away, you didn’t feel like yourself. It didn’t sit well with you, knowing that you’d let something so simple force you to feel emotions you didn’t want to feel. You usually felt a sort of thrill, a buzz of adrenaline. Not fear, never fear. And never interest. Vampires had always repulsed you, disgusted you. Everything that they stood for was wrong and you were here to make things right. You should’ve just killed him when you first had the chance, but you let him get under your skin, where he remained even still, apparently.

You’d somehow ended up asking to meet Yuta at your usual spot; an old bench that looked out over the river. You were sat with your legs crossed underneath you on the bench, your head tipped back as you enjoyed the way the cold breeze coming off the water skimmed over the skin of your throat and made you feel a little more alive. It was early evening, but the sun was still up, its golden rays shining through the trees on the bank on the opposite side of the river.

You used to come here to sit and wallow in your own thoughts after your brother died. You found yourself spending a lot of time on your own back then. Your parents were too busy trying to pick up their own pieces to look at you and the mess you had become. You suppose not a lot has changed since then; you don’t speak to them much since they’re still constantly wrapped up in themselves, and you still enjoy your own company for the most part, even if it was unintentionally forced upon you.

It became ‘your spot’ with Yuta on a late summers night not long after you’d started tracking vampires down. You were sat on the same bench with a bleeding shoulder where you’d been pierced deeply by your target’s fingernails. He’d sat with you and helped clean you up, all the while asking you how it had happened before telling you that he hunted vampires too. You’d stuck by eachother ever since.

You were brought out of your thoughts when a familiar hand ruffled your hair out of place and you moved your head to the side to see Yuta sitting down next to you; his body relaxed against the wood as he looked over at you with a small smile. His hair was a brilliant white that fell in wisps over his eyes and against his bronzed skin, a light pink spread across his nose and cheeks from the chill in the air.

“It’s been a while since we met here, something on your mind?”

Yuta had a way of always being able to tell when something was bothering you, and he always made a point of asking you about it but never pushing you to talk about it if you didn’t want to. He was a good friend in that regard, probably the best you’d ever had.

“Have you ever been knocked completely off-kilter by an encounter with a vampire?” You asked, not really sure what asking him would achieve but hoping for something to reassure you that your feelings over the past few days could be justified. You looked out across the water as you asked him, your mind half in the conversation and half clouded by something else.

The way you asked it had Yuta furrowing his brows as he thought about what to say to you.

“I mean sure, it’s a pretty scary thing, especially when you’re just starting out.” He breathed out, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands as he followed your gaze to where the soon-to-be-setting sun was reflecting on the water.

“I’m not just starting out, though,” you said absent minded-ly.

Yuta remained quiet for a moment, like he was unsure how he should proceed. His hands were fumbling with the sleeve-cuffs of his too-large hoodie but keeping them in place to hold his head up. It was a habit of his that you’d noticed he did when he was thinking or concentrating on something; it made him look soft and warm, despite the harsh interior you knew he possessed when needed.

“Y/n, you know it’s okay to be scared, right? That’s what makes you human-” he paused for a second, flitting his eyes towards you as he turned his head ever so slightly, “that’s the difference between them and us.”

You let out a quiet sigh. You did know that, of course you did. But feeling scared made you feel weak, and that’s the one thing you never wanted to feel again.

You dropped your head to your hands, trying to squeeze the unpleasant feeling out of your skull.

“I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much.” Your voice sounded muffled to your own ears as you spoke into the fabric of your jumper that was pressing its warmth onto your face.

Before Yuta arrived, you were in two-minds about telling him about exactly what had happened the other day, but now that he was a breath away, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. A small part of you worried that perhaps he would be disappointed or even angry with you for letting the vampire get away relatively unscathed, just like you were disappointed and angry with yourself.

“You’ll get through this, just have faith in yourself,” he offered you a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Have faith in yourself. Have faith in your abilities. That’s what you needed to do.

The opportunity for you to prove your competency to yourself arose not even two days later. It was sometime after 10pm and you were on your way to the spot you’d spent most nights lurking before the incident. You rounded a corner, bringing the wall you took shelter behind into view. You made your footsteps lighter on instinct, bending your knees slightly to allow you to do so.

A crunching from behind you sent a familiar thrill running through you to the very tips of your fingers, gripping your wooden weapon with your dominant hand you allowed yourself a split-second to snap your head around to see what had made the sound. You turned your head back when you caught glimpse of a shady figure disappearing at the sight of you turning around. You felt the temperature drop around you as a flurry of dark colours and pale flesh took shape in the form of a sharp-fanged woman with red hair. She snarled at the sight of the weapon in your hand.

“How cute of you to try and defend yourself,” she called as she took a step in your direction.

You laughed, “I must say, nobody in your position has ever called me cute before.”

“Do not mock me, mortal.”

You pouted at her, agitating her some more. You couldn’t help yourself; the female vampires were always the easiest to rile up. And what’s the point of all this if you can’t have a little fun, right?

She lunged at you at great speed, but you were more agile and therefor ever so slightly quicker. You dodged under her arm and turned around. You were circling eachother.

“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” she hissed, glowing eyes filled to the brim with a burning hatred.

You smirked at her agitation. “I could same the same to you, bloodsucker.”

“You’ll regret messing with me.” Her voice was low and biting, though you were barely even paying attention to what she was saying at this point.

Her fangs glistened as she ran her tongue over them, most likely in an attempt to try and frighten you. But you were now fully immersed in the headspace you were so used to. You found yourself feeling completely at ease and the memory of the vampire who had spared you and sent you into a downward spiral slipped easily to the back of your mind.

She darted forwards once more, but she was sloppy, and her body language gave away her movements before she’d even made them. You drove your stake through her chest. She made an unpleasant choking sound as she gasped for air, bloody eyes widening and razor-sharp fingernails grazing your skin before she was reduced to nothing more than a pile of dust.

You crouched down to pick up the weapon that now lay neatly on the ground before you, a sticky scarlet dripping from its tip as you raised it. You wiped it clean with an old cloth from your inside pocket, standing up tall once more as you did so. You slipped both the cloth and the stake back into your jacket once you were satisfied.

A slow clapping from a small distance in front of you drew your attention away from the now-clean, deadly piece of wood. A dark figure stood a few feet from you, leaning casually against the wall you usually stand by.

Despite the midnight-blue that painted the sky, the figure was instantly recognisable; it was the same man that claimed he was trying to help you a few nights ago. The same man who did help you, you supposed. You felt uneasy once more. Something about his very presence seemed to command your attention even when you wished it wouldn’t.

You had been weak last time. You had let him get under your skin and he hadn’t even tried particularly hard. Tonight would be different, you told yourself. Tonight, you would be strong.

Still on somewhat of a high from your recent kill, you stalked over to him, pulling your favourite knife out of your jacket and keeping a hand close to the stake you had just sheathed.

“You know, I’m pretty impressed, that was-” he started, eyes trained on yours.

You held the knife to his neck. Its sharp blade pressed tightly against his skin, enough to hurt but not enough to break the surface.

“Shut the hell up. Give me one reason not to kill you right here, right now.” You locked your eyes on him challengingly.

You could feel his shallow breaths on your cheek, and only then did you realise how close you were. Your body was pressed almost entirely on his, but you didn’t dare back down. You needed to stay in control.

“Why do you want to kill me in the first place?” He breathed out, speaking shallowly so as to not further irritate the knife against his windpipe.

“Your very existence is reason enough,” you spat against him, eyes holding whirlpools of anger and pain.

He was quiet for a long moment, as if he was considering what you’d said. His eyes darted between yours and you swore you could see hurt in them for a second, but it was gone in a flash as they glazed over once more. They were impossibly dark when they weren’t painted crimson, you noted. So dark that you felt like it would be easy to fall into them if the circumstances had been different.

“I really don’t want to hurt you.” He spoke eventually.

You hadn’t paid close attention to what his hands were doing when you strode up to him, but a slight movement at your side grabbed your attention and you swiftly glanced down. He was bringing both his hands up, but not to hurt you or lay a hand on you. He was raising them in some sort of surrender.

You furrowed your brows in question as you brought your eyes back to his. He placed his hands against the wall on either side of his head, vulnerable palms open and facing you.

“What are you-”

“I told you I’m not trying to start a fight,” he cut in. His words seemed genuine, and his eyes were filled with truth. Your temples felt dizzy with confusion.

“Why should I believe you?”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, but I swear it’s the truth.”

Your knife had drawn the tiniest bead of blood as he spoke and you found yourself feeling bad for having cut him, even if only a little. You pulled the blade an inch, waiting to see if he would move. He didn’t. He stayed right where he was, hands up and gaze trained on yours. If he’d wanted to kill you or hurt you in any way, he would have by now. He’d had plenty of opportunities. And yet here you were, completely unharmed and just a breath away from a man who held the same sickly desire as the very ones you loathed.

You moved your weapon from his neck, still holding it tightly in one hand just in case it was needed. You took a small step backwards to put some space between the two of you.

“I don’t understand.” You spoke quietly, your eyes flitting between his and your breath shallow.

“I noticed you watching me,” he said softly, as if afraid to speak too loudly in fear of shattering the momentary truce between you.

You parted your lips to speak, but he silenced you by explaining further.

“You stood right here, night after night, yet you never so much as took a step closer. Are you afraid of me?” His voice was low and slightly raspy.

You didn’t make a noise of complaint when he lowered his aching arms from their position on either side of his head.

It made sense now. He had seemed familiar the night he’d tried to help you, but you were unable to figure out where you’d seen him since you’d never been that close to him before. Seeing him here, under the familiar, dull streetlamps illuminating the darkness that the clouded, late-night sky brought, you wondered why you hadn’t noticed before.

You pondered for a moment. Were you afraid?

You were intrigued. Something had held you back all those nights that you should’ve killed him, something. But what? Fear? No. You weren’t scared of him. You were close enough that you could see wisps of his breath as his heat reacted with the cool autumn air, close enough that you could reach over and touch your hand to his skin, close enough that you should be scared; but somehow, you weren’t.

You were more scared of yourself than you were of him. You were more terrified of how easily you’d let him get to you, how easily he could get under your skin again if he so desired.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, y/n,” he told you in a whisper.

Your eyes were blown wide and frantic. You felt so small all of a sudden as he looked down at you. You took a step back.

“I’m not.”

He let out a breath, his dark eyes matching yours. He hesitated before lifting his hand up to graze your cheekbone slowly, moving his fingers to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but you flinched away before he could do so.

“Seems you are a tad scared, little one,” he chuckled softly. He gestured between the two of you, “this position seems to be becoming a bit of a regular thing, perhaps you-”

“Stop it.” You snapped, hating the feeling of vulnerability that he seemed to put you under. Your cheeks felt hot, much to your horror.

“Stop what?” He frowned.

“Stop getting in my head.” You paused for a split-second to gauge his reaction. “Stop whatever it is you think you’re doing.”

The boy had the nerve to look taken aback.

“I’m not doing anything.” He spoke back to you, “but you feel it too, right?”

“What?”

“That’s why you haven’t really tried to hurt me, isn’t it? You know you could if you really wanted to. You’re strong enough.” His gaze was soft now, eyes trained on yours, but he still made sure to keep the distance you’d put between you.

“I don’t know why I-” The words fell silent from your mouth as he ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “I don’t- I’m not-” you stuttered out, mortified by your sudden inability to string a sentence together.

He took a hesitant step closer, leaving nowhere near enough space between your bodies, but still not touching you. His breath tickled your cheek and you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his.

“It’s okay, y/n,” he whispered.

“I don’t even know your name,” you choked out, and you cursed yourself internally for not being in control of your own voice.

“It’s Mark.”

You repeated his name quietly, a strange feeling brewing up inside of you. His dark locks were falling into his eyes and grazing the tops of his sharp cheekbones. He was attractive, painfully so, and you were having a hard time reminding yourself that he wasn’t human.

You ripped your gaze off him, kicking half-heartedly at the loose gravel underfoot as you pondered.

“Was it you who left the paper bag outside my door the other day?” You asked, although you already knew the answer, because who else could it have been?

He nodded, speaking out a quick “yeah” when he realised that you weren’t looking at him.

“How did you know where I lived? And how do you know my name?”

“I told you, I know you’ve been watching me,” he said, cocking his head to the side as though it were obvious, eyes following you as you looked back up at him.

“That doesn’t explain anything, Mark,” you spoke, putting a slight emphasis on his name as if that would make a difference to his answer.

“Well who’s to say I haven’t been making my own observations, y/n?” He frowned slightly, his deep voice mocking you lazily.

“So you’ve been stalking me?” You felt your normally steady hands shaking ever so slightly at the thought of him watching you when you thought you were alone.

“I was intrigued by you.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. You could tell him it was creepy, you could tell him that you didn’t want to see him again and you could turn around and go back home and put this all to the back of your mind – but you would be lying through your clenched teeth. You wanted to slap yourself for feeling the same way he did. Every rational part of you was screaming that he was just trying to lure you in and entice you before drinking you dry, but one tiny part of you seemed to be shouting louder and telling you to believe him and trust him when he said he had no malicious intent.

And the startling truth of it all was that you were intrigued by him too.

“Cat got your tongue, little one?” He allowed himself a smirk upon seeing the heat rush to your already slightly rosy cheeks.

You scoffed and began backing away from him, muttering “I’ll see you around, Mark,” before turning on your heel and beginning the walk back to your apartment building.

You only managed to sleep for a couple of hours that night before a rapid series of knocks on your front door woke you. You sat up slowly, letting the bed covers fall away from your body gently as you rubbed your eyes awake with one hand. You slipped out of bed and tip-toed across the cold floorboards, fumbling your way silently out of your unlit room and towards the front door. Your door was chained so that it would only open a few inches when opened without unchaining it, and given the late hour, you decided it would be sensible to keep it that way. The panicked knocking started again just as you opened the door, barely giving you time to unlock the door before it was being pushed towards you, stopping as the chain reached its limit. You froze as you took in the figure through the cracked open door.

“Y/n.”

“What are you doing here?” You spoke with your slightly raspy, sleep-ridden voice as you stared wide-eyed at the boy you instantly recognised as Mark.

“Are you okay?” He sounded alert and slightly out of breath, the rise and fall of his chest noticeable under the black of his button-up shirt.

“Do you know what time it is, Mark?” A quick glance back at your clock told you that it was just past 3am. Your heartbeat had doubled in speed since seeing him on the other side of your door and you weren’t sure if it was from fear or some sick sort of excitement.

“Can you let me in?”

You tightened your grip on the side of the door, your fingers surely turning white from the pressure of your pressing on them. You pursed your lips as you looked at him in contemplation.

“Please, y/n. I’ll explain I promise, but this is serious.” And because of the sheer desperation in his voice, you nodded and slid the chain to the side and ushered him in, checking the corridor for any more unwanted visitors before closing and locking the door behind him.

He was standing in the middle of the room when you turned to face him, looking somewhat uncomfortable and unsure of what to do with himself now. You stood and looked at eachother and for a moment it felt like time stopped, like you were caught in an alluring trance for what definitely seemed longer than the five seconds that it really was.

You prised your gaze away from his and brushed past him to flick a lamp on, illuminating the dark space immediately and casting a warm glow onto his smooth, pale skin. You told him he could sit as you gestured to the sofa and asked him if he wanted anything to drink before remembering what he was, causing you to stutter out a quick “never mind.”

You sat at the opposite end of the sofa to keep as much space between you as possible, crossing your legs and leaning your back against the arm of the sofa so you could face him. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, resting his left cheek on his hands as he looked over at you. You were suddenly very aware of your sleeping attire and all the skin the lightweight t-shirt and shorts wasn’t covering; you felt heat rise to your cheeks, something that seemed to happen far more around Mark than you wanted it to. You still felt weary of him and from the look in his eyes, he understood your hesitancy, however much he wished you wouldn’t feel that way.

“I’m sorry for barging in,” he offered.

“Nobody else has been here, right? Giving you trouble?” He continued when you remained silent after his apology. “You’re really okay?”

“No, nobody’s been here. I’m fine, rather tired though.” You quipped, hoping he’d take the hint that you’d been asleep and were irked at having been woken from your slumber.

“What’s this all about? Do you go knocking on strangers’ doors at this time often? A hobby of yours, perhaps?” You raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“There are people after you.”

You frowned at his grave tone. “People? Who?”

“Vampires. Friends of the one you slayed earlier who are angry and ready to kill.”

“I-”

“You can’t let anybody you don’t trust in here. Not a soul, do you understand?” He interrupted as he turned his body slightly to face you, no longer resting his head in his hand. He looked alert and incredibly serious, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked entirely exhausted.

“And I’m supposed to trust you?” You would’ve laughed had he not looked so incredibly tense.

“Yes.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, turning your head away from him and staring at a slightly dusty patch of floor. The two of you lapsed into silence, and you weren’t sure if you found it comfortable or not. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you intently and trying to read the subtleties in your body language.

Your eyes widened and you inhaled sharply at the sudden but gentle movement of some loose hair being tucked behind your ear. You slowly moved until your eyes locked on Mark, who was now sat just inches away and looking at you with such tenderness in his gaze that you felt like you might break.

“I don’t know what it is about you, but I can’t seem to get enough.” His words were whispered and said with care. “I know it doesn’t make any sense because we don’t really know eachother, but it’s like there’s this constant pull and I can’t stop it.” Both hands were now cupping your jaw delicately, and you couldn’t resist moving one of your own to rest on his as he touched his forehead to yours. “I can’t help but want to keep you safe.”

You felt hot all over and lacking any control over your own body, because this was so, so wrong, but what he was saying somehow made some sort of sense to you. Because you felt it too, no matter how much you hated it, no matter how much you wished you could hate him.

Your eyes fluttered closed at his proximity as he glanced down to your lips, before lifting your chin and bringing his lips to yours for a split second. He had half expected you to slap him or push him away at the very least, but when you did neither he pushed forward once more and kissed you again.

His kisses were slow and his touch soft as his thumbs gently stroked along your cheeks. He parted his lips on yours, bringing your top lip between his own and swiping his tongue across subtly, encouraging you to let him in. You couldn’t resist him. He felt so cold as his skin pressed up against you, yet so painfully right that you couldn’t will yourself to stop him as he licked into your mouth with a rich sort of passion. He tasted like the best kind of sin and he looked so devilishly handsome that you couldn’t even begin to think about how you’d got yourself into such a situation.

He moved his hands down to grip at your waist, tracing along the subtle curves of your body as he did so and eliciting a barely-there whine from you. He pulled you closer still, leaning his back against the upright of the sofa and dragging you onto his lap in an effort to make you both more comfortable. You had one arm wrapped around the back of his neck while the other held the cup of his jaw as he continued to place long, messily drawn-out kisses onto your newly swollen lips. Your thighs were parted on top of him and you could feel him slowly guiding your hips down onto the bump that was beginning to form beneath you. He let out a small groan from the back of his throat at the sudden friction he was feeling, and you swallowed it with another open-mouthed kiss before pulling back slightly and looking at him through your heavily lidded eyes. You were both out of breath and staring at eachother with heated gazes, entirely unsure of what had just happened, what was currently happening, and yet neither of you moving to pull back further. You traced the outline of his plump lips with your thumb, pushing the skin up slightly and furrowing your brows when you saw the pointed tip of one of his fangs.

“I don’t understand how this- I-,” you stopped yourself, not even sure if what you were about to say made any sort of sense.

“How it feels so right?” You nodded, moving your gaze to the side. You could barely even look at him, you felt so ashamed of yourself for letting him draw you in.

“Me neither. I’m sorry, I wish things were different,” his voice was quiet. He tipped his head forward so that it was resting just above your chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and engulfing you in an affectionate hug. You hummed in response, whispering a soft me too before burying your face in his neck and holding him against you firmly.

He stayed with you that night, kissing you some more before carrying you back to your bedroom and pulling you against him once you were in the comfort of your own bed. You fell asleep with his arms wrapped around you and your head pressed against his cold, silent chest.

Mark was gone by the time you woke the next morning, leaving barely a trace save for the messily written note he’d left on the kitchen counter.

Stay put today, I’ll visit you tonight – M

You spent your day doing all the things you’d neglected over the past few weeks; you picked up the novel that had been sat, unread, on your bedside table for far too long, and you listened to some old records while doing work around the house. It went by rather quickly really as you busied yourself with one thing after another.

True to his word, Mark showed up at your house sometime after 10pm. You opened the door and your face immediately dropped at how gaunt his face seemed compared to just last night, not to mention the small, slightly bloody scratches that you could see littering one side of his neck alongside a freshly formed bruise.

“Wha- What happened?” You stuttered out, concern evident in your voice.

“It doesn’t matter. Can I come in?” You let him in, leading him to your room this time rather than the living room.

You sat him on the middle of your bed and placed yourself between his legs so you could inspect his injuries. You held his face with both your hands and tilted him so you could see properly, it wasn’t anything serious but that didn’t stop you from wondering why he wasn’t healing.

“Will you tell me what happened?” He shook his head dismissively, looking to the side and avoiding your eyes.

“It was just a couple of guys, I managed to get away.” He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, it was something he was used to dealing with by now.

“Slayers? Were they after you?” You asked as you stroked your thumb along his cheek softly, tenderly.

He let out a small chuckle, taking both of your hands in his and lowering them from his face until they were resting between you. He lay back on your bed until his head hit the pillow, groaning at the comfort of it.

“You were trying to kill me too until last night, miss y/n, I trust you haven’t forgotten?” He was smiling and he let his eyes flutter shut as he placed his arms behind his head. He looked so handsome lying there, so normal, so human.

You allowed yourself a small smile, though it soon fell to a frown once more when you looked at his face.

“Why do you look so-” you paused, unsure of what word to use. “-sick? I suppose pale isn’t the right term since, well, you know. You look unwell, though.” You felt a little awkward as you sat on the bed staring down at Marks resting figure, should you lie with him? Stay where you were?

“It’s nothing to worry about.” Was all he offered you, his eyes remaining closed.

You opted for lying down next to him, hoping that at least offering some kind of physical comfort might make him feel better. Your heart sank slightly when he made no effort to pull you closer. You mentally scolded yourself for caring so much; as he’d reminded you, you’d wanted him dead until not long ago. How could you have become so attached so quickly?

The two of you went through a similar routine for the next few days; you stayed in unless you needed to get food, and he would knock on your door at some time in the night, the time differing slightly each night. He would come in looking tired and a little worse each day, almost always immediately moving to your room to take comfort in the warmth of your bed. You would crawl in beside him, some nights staying on different sides of the bed, and some he would cradle you in his arms and you’d fall asleep like that. He was always gone when you woke up.

You didn’t do a lot of talking, or rather Mark didn’t seem to want to do a lot of talking. You wondered several times if you’d said something to upset him in some way, but you figured if that was the case, he wouldn’t bother coming to yours night after night as he did. Perhaps he was just a more physical being, finding more warmth in actions than in words. But then why did it seem like he was keeping some kind of distance between you?

By the fifth night, you’d grown tired of the routine you’d fallen into. You turned in his hold so that you were facing him, letting your eyes drag over his peaceful looking face as he lay with his eyes closed. You whispered his name, touching him gently on his shoulder until he opened his eyes. Now that he was looking at you expectantly, you weren’t really sure what you should say. Your eyes flitted between his as you tried to think of something, anything to break the tension.

You hesitated for a moment, before leaning into him, closing your eyes and placing your lips on his. It started off slow, and you could tell he was a little taken aback by your sudden urge to kiss him, but he was quick to open his mouth and slip his tongue past your lips, groaning into you when he felt you reciprocate.

“Shit y/n,” he said breathily.

This is the most you’d had from him since the first night he’d kissed you, and you couldn’t help but feel warm inside at the feeling of his hands on you, his lips on you. He nudged you onto your back, hovering his body over you with one hand by your head and the other rubbing comforting circles on the bare flesh of your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. You kissed until you were both panting heavily, until your lips were bruised, and his hair was roughed-up from your fingers running through it.

He pulled back, tugging at your bottom lip as he did so, barely even pausing for breath before he was trailing sloppy kisses from your jaw to your neck. You let out a quiet moan at the intimate feeling, curling your legs around his own as he lay between them. You found yourself craving more from him, you were becoming addicted no matter how much you wished you weren’t. It was something you couldn’t seem to control, and you were used to always being in control of your emotions. But Mark was different. He was so hard to resist, so tempting.

You were brought out of your thoughts by a sharp nip to your neck, followed by a peck to the same spot, and then another nip, harsher than the first. You felt your stomach sink as dread burned its way up your throat.

“Mark.” You warned, placing your hands on his chest and trying to push him away from your neck.

“Mark, stop!” He lifted his head suddenly, eyes glowing before he disappeared in a flash and reappeared at the other side of your room.

“What the fuck was that?” You growled, collecting yourself and standing to the side of the bed in a defensive stance.

“I’m so sorry.” His eyes had returned to a normal colour, but they were blown wide and he had the nerve to look as shocked as you felt.

“Fuck, this was a bad idea.” He looked right at you before turning his head in shame. “I should’ve known this would happen.” He was speaking under his breath, but you could still make most of it out.

You looked down at your hands, which were shaking ever so slightly. He could’ve bitten you. This is why you didn’t ever let your guard down. You should never have been so foolish to truly believe he wasn’t like the others.

When you looked back to where Mark was, you were met by the sight of him with his head in his hands and his elbows braced against his knees as he sat against the wall.

“I thought you didn’t want to hurt me?” You snapped, immediately reverting back to the cold demeanour you were so used to, the one that you never should’ve dropped for him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, y/n.” He raised his voice in frustration, though you didn’t know if he was frustrated with you, or with himself.

“Then why did you-”

“I thought I could control it,” he was tugging on the ends of his hair, a nervous habit perhaps. “The urges, I mean.”

“Urges?” You questioned.

“You have no idea how hard it is trying to suppress them when I’m around you, y/n. I can hear the blood as it flows through your veins, I can practically feel your heart every time it beats. And God, your scent is utterly divine.” He stood up abruptly to make his way over to you, stopping when he saw your reaction.

You had backed yourself to the nearest wall, and you had no way of actually defending yourself. If he wanted to, he could overpower you right now. But something about the cautious steps he took told you that he wouldn’t. He didn’t want you to lash out at him, he didn’t want to truly lose you when he’d only just found you.

You looked closely at his expression. He looked pained, and still scarily gaunt. “What’s wrong with you?” You whispered.

He remained silent, just staring at you with an unreadable emotion in his deep eyes.

Your eyes shot up to his when you came to a sudden realisation. “Have you not been feeding? Is that what this is?”

He froze for a second and took a shallow step back, and then another. He looked nauseous, like he might be sick any minute. You’d hit the nail on the head, it would seem.

“Answer me, Mark.” Your voice was stern as you made your way towards him, you didn’t want him to back away from this and take the easy way out.

“Don’t come any closer, please.” He pleaded, his pupils dilated and his eyes hungry. You ignored him and cradled his face in your hands anyway, watching intently as his eyes returned to a devilish shade of crimson.

“You either fight it or you let me help you.” You instructed him. As much as you wished you could just rid your hands of him like he was any other vampire, you were much too invested now. You cared about him, and you wanted to help him. That had to count for something.

“You’re torturing me here,” his hands gripped at your wrists and he closed his eyes tightly as a combination of both agony and bliss soared through him. “Y/n, please, this is killing me.” He sounded strained, and you really felt bad for him, but he had to pull through this.

He pressed his forehead against yours and his unblinking, scarlet eyes were filled with a lust you’d not seen from him before, his breathing heavy and uneven. You stood like that for Lord knows how long, staring at eachother. You were feeling too many emotions at once, and you could tell that he was experiencing the same from the subtleties in his body language.

“I can’t do this.” He shifted away from you once more at an inhuman speed.

You stood for a moment longer before making up your mind and walking to the kitchen, finding a small, sharp knife and carrying it back through to where Mark was. Never in your mortal life did you think you’d find yourself in such a position, and truthfully you were slightly repulsed by what you were about to do, but for the sake of the raven haired boy you’d come to care for so quickly, you’d do it. He looked at the knife in your hand and began backing away, his expression turning to one of confusion when, instead of lunging at him, you brought the knife to your own palm and made a small cut in the centre, letting the blood begin to pool there.

“No. Stop it.” His tone was firm, but your mind was already made up.

“It’s yours. Take it.”

“Y/n, I’m serious. Don’t.” He inhaled the metallic scent from across the room, eyes rolling back slightly as the heavenly stench hit him. Nevertheless, his tone remained the same.

“As am I.” You stood before him, holding your open palm towards him.

He gulped, and you noticed that his hands were trembling. He looked at you one last time to make sure you weren’t going to try and kill him with the knife you were still holding in your opposite hand, before bringing your blood to his lips. He lapped up each and every drop like he’d never been given something so delightful before, and you had to look away. No matter how much adoration you seemed to hold for the boy, you still hated what he was. He groaned in contentment, squeezing your hand to encourage more blood from the slice you’d made for him.

You pulled away from him when you thought he’d had enough, and you were beginning to feel ever so slightly lightheaded. He wiped your blood from his lips with the back of his hand. You looked into his eyes, expecting him to say something or perhaps thank you at the very least, but the sight you were met with was not a pretty one. His eyes were reverting back to their normal colour, but he looked furious.

“You should not have let me do that. Do you have any idea what the fuck you just did?” He raised his voice as he spoke, looking at you like a bull who’d just seen red.

“It helped didn’t it? You feel better now, don’t you?” You asked.

“I could’ve killed you, y/n.” You flinched as he loomed over you. “I need to leave.”

“Wait! Mark, no. We need to talk this out.” You reasoned. Why was he reacting like this after you’d helped him liked that? You’d done the right thing, hadn’t you? You’d stopped him from falling even more ill.

“Not now. I can’t be near you right now.” He was hurrying through your house to get back to the front door, and you couldn’t deny the hurt that panged painfully in your chest as he spoke.

“Mark just-”

“I said I need to fucking leave!” He yelled before opening the door and storming out. You stopped momentarily at his outburst, genuinely shocked at his reaction. You had to go after him. If you left this unresolved right now then you might never see him again, and you weren’t sure how you’d cope if it came to that. You followed him out the door, not bothering to lock it behind you, and slipped into a fast jog as you made your way down the stairs of your building to try and catch up with him.

You turned one corner and then another until you saw Yuta standing a few feet from Mark, who had his back to you.

“Yuta! Don’t hurt him! He’s not like the others.” You shouted over to him swiftly, slightly out of breath from running after Mark.

He didn’t turn at the sound of your voice. In fact, neither of them moved at all. Yuta was staring at you wide-eyed over Marks shoulder, his empty hands trembling at his sides.

“Yuta? Mark?” You called, continuing on towards them.

“What’s going-” you stopped yourself short when you got to them, feeling your stomach drop and your knees grow weak. Because stood before you was Mark, clutching at his chest. Or rather, clutching at the bloody stake which was embedded there.

“No no no no no,” your bottom lip wobbled almost immediately as you took in the sight. “What have you done?” You whispered to no one in particular, though both the boys seemed to hear you.

Marks legs crumpled and you gripped his arms to try and lower him to the ground more gracefully, falling to the floor with him. You pushed the hair off his forehead and cupped his cheek with one hand, your other immediately moving to apply pressure to the wound without taking the stake out for fear of that making matters worse.

“Y/n,” he choked out, a little blood falling from his lips as he spoke.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby” You cooed, tears stinging your eyes as they threatened to fall. He couldn’t leave you like this, not after everything that had happened. “Yuta, do something!” You pleaded, too scared to let your eyes leave the beautiful boy who was bleeding out on the floor.

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.” You promised him, though it wasn’t really Mark you were trying to reassure.

“Y/n, thank you,” he sounded pained as he spoke, coughing up a little more blood as you offered him comfort through whispered words and soft touches. “And I’m sorry.”

Your tears mixed with his as they fell uncontrollably from your eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” you hushed him softly, “I’m the one who should be saying that.” You voiced through your salty tears.

It didn’t take long after that. It all happened too quickly, really. Mark, the vampire who had managed to prise his way into your icy heart, the boy who had made you feel more in the past week than you’d felt in years; ripped from your grasp at the hands of one of your best friends.

Within mere seconds he was reduced to nothing more than a shadow of dust once he took his last breath, and your chest hurt in a way you hadn’t experienced since you were a girl, since your brother died.

“I’m sorry I never got to tell you how much I like you.” You whispered.

#neowritingsnet #unravel #mark lee #vampire!mark lee #vampire! mark #vampire au #halloween au #mark lee angst #mark angst #mark lee x reader #mark x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u #nct angst #mark lee fic #mark fic

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imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Note

Hey there, I’m not sure if you still take requests or anything but agh, I’ve been going through a really rough depressive episode since Christmas and your blog brings me such joy. I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to write something about War saving reader from demons or something along those lines? Or even just something fluffy? No pressure of course, if you’re not up to it that’s fine :)

Sorry this took so long, hope you’re doing a bit better now, though if not, maybe this will at least cheer you up for a few minutes <3 <3

War X Reader.

---

When you ran into the formidable Red Rider in the ruined streets of your old home city, you knew without a doubt that you were gaping up at a veritable force of nature, rather than a man.

War turned out to be everything the name suggests.

Physically, he's enormous - taller than you by at least a few heads and broad as an ox, cloaked in red and covered from head to toe in weathered battle armour the colour of gun smoke. His pale face – half hidden by a crimson hood – seems to be etched with a permanent scowl that only ever shifts if he's snarling or unleashing a blood-curdling battle cry. Not once in all the time you've been travelling with him have you seen him crack a smile.

Although, you suppose, a Horseman of the Apocalypse might not have a reason to smile, nor an inclination to.

'Oh well,' you muse as you follow the gruff and stoic behemoth through the inner-city graveyard one foggy night, 'He's better company than the demons, at least.'

War certainly wouldn't have been your first choice of travelling companion, just as you're sure you aren't his. Yet, as circumstance dictates, if you want to stay alive, you'll just have to put up with his imposing presence and general lack of social graces.

All of a sudden, you're halted in your tracks when an enormous, metal gauntlet catches you roughly in the stomach, the fingers splayed wide against your shirt.

Slightly winded, you open your mouth and a wheeze shoots out. “What?” you choke, throwing War a nervous glance. He merely stands there in utter silence with his head turning on a slow and constant swivel whilst a pair of icy, blue eyes scan the graveyard, searching. After a few seconds, you swallow down a lump and hesitantly ask, “You see something, big guy?”

The Horseman's broad chest puffs out at the nickname, though you can't tell whether it swells from indignation or pride. However, instead of offering clarity, he reaches up with his free hand and tugs his sword – Chaoseater – from its place strapped to his back, and at the same time, he begins to push firmly at your belly, forcing you backwards. “H-hey!” you yelp, “What're you doing?!”

Before you can protest further, your spine hits something cold and solid and you whip your head over a shoulder to see that you've been unceremoniously herded up against a large, mould-caked headstone. Sending a quick, mental apology to the owner laying buried just below your feet, you crane your neck around War's bulk in an attempt to see the cemetery beyond him, only to have your vision promptly obscured by the appearance of familiar, billowing smoke. In another second, the mass of darkness has taken on a much more tangible form and you suddenly find that the minimal space where you're sandwiched between a Horseman and a headstone has been invaded by the Watcher.

“What's the hold up?” his wispy voice hisses in your ear and forces you to fight back a shudder at the chill his trailing, vaporous tail leaves when it brushes against your legs.

“Dunno,” you reply in a whisper, “I think War sees something.”

The Horseman in question lets out a low grunt. “Not see.. Smell,” he clarifies, which is as descriptive an explanation as he's inclined to give, apparently.

Scoffing, the Watcher mutters, “All I can smell is this rancid human standing next to me...”

“If you don't want to smell me, then why are you hovering so close,” you shoot back, swatting at the wisps of smoke that escape from the top of his head until he draws back to a less suffocating distance. Still, with your curiosity peaked at War's strange admission, you tilt your head back and sniff idly at the air. “It just smells... earthy? Uh, and kind of sweet, I guess, like-”

“- death...” the Nephilim finishes.

You fall silent for a couple of seconds, using the time to share a bemused glance with the Watcher. “A graveyard that smells like death, huh?” you smirk, noticing that all six of the sprite's eyes are now glimmering with amusement,“Wonders will never cease.”

While he may be far from a fan, the Watcher still takes great delight in seeing you poke fun at War, and of course, he can hardly resist jumping in with a jab of his own. “Next, he'll complain that a forest smells of wood,” he sneers.

You're not quite fast enough to bite back a laugh as it bursts out of your throat.

“Quiet.” War's growl causes your mouth to snap shut and the Watcher bristles irritably, preparing to remind the Horseman of his place when the blood red hood twists to one side and you briefly catch a glimpse of War's striking, blue eye. He doesn't look angry at you though, or at least, no angrier than usual. Instead, if you didn't know any better, you'd swear you can detect the barest sliver of confusion as the Horseman peers down at you and asks, “Do you hear that?”

Furrowing your brows, you cock your head and listen intently to the eerie ambiance of the graveyard.

To begin with, there's nothing especially out of the ordinary, only the creaking of rusty hinges as the wrought-iron gates swing to and fro in a gentle breeze and the skittering of leaves against the cobblestone path somewhere nearby, or the soft 'ssshk,' 'ssshk,' 'ssshk,' that breaks up the monotony of near-silence -....

“Wait a second,” you murmur, holding a finger up and going completely still, straining your ears to hear the shifting, shucking sound coming from somewhere very close by. So close, you can feel the vibrations through your.... feet?

The Horseman locks eyes with you and all at once, your heart plummets into your shoes when, at the exact same time as War and the Watcher, you realise exactly where the bizarre sound is coming from and all three of you drop your gazes to the heaped dirt you've been standing on.

There isn't even a split second to react before a cold, clammy hand suddenly shoots out of the loose soil below you and latches itself around your ankle, gripping with a supernatural strength that causes your bones to grind painfully together. Although you know that screaming is the absolute last thing you ought to do in the middle of a demon-infested city, the unexpectedness of being grabbed it sends a bloodcurdling shriek jumping up your neck and out of your mouth, drowning the graveyard in a noise like an especially shrill dinner bell.

Sensing the impending battle, the Watcher swiftly disappears back into War's gauntlet as the Nephilim lunges towards you and curls his fist into the front of your shirt, wrenching you towards his chest without thinking too hard on the consequences of doing so. The motion does rip you free of the sinewy hand that flails in the air afterwards in search of its lost victim, but in doing so, long strips of your skin are left behind, embedded underneath the vicious claws of whatever had a hold of your ankle.

Gritting your teeth against the sting, you spin about, feeling your back hit the Horseman's sturdy chest and he keeps you tucked under him for a moment, his lips curling into a snarl as the two of you stare down at the emerging arm that braces itself against the soil. Then, in a fashion hideously similar to that of those old zombie movies you used to watch, the earth begins to rise as the monstrosity buried beneath it heaves itself up and out of its premature grave.

The sweet stench of rot hits your nose full force now, but you hardly even register it, too busy gaping at a grinning skull that emerges from the tumbling dirt, its empty eye sockets and parting jaw filled with soil and worms, all of which are flung in every direction when the living skeleton wrenches the rest of its body onto solid land.

Your startled yelp is swallowed as War promptly tries to swing you behind him, letting go of your arm in the process and inadvertently sending you crashing to the ground at his heels. Not that you can complain about the rough treatment however, for not a second later, the skeleton throws itself at him and lets out a shriek of outrage that cuts through you as sharp as any knife.

The Horseman, apparently having recovered from the unexpected attack, simply lifts his gauntlet and engulfs the monstrosity's skull when it leaps within range. In a rather anticlimactic turn of events, the skeleton's assault is cut short and now it resorts to scrabbling furiously at War's metallic fingers. You forget that for a man as large as he is, the Nephilim can move extraordinarily fast.

However, before you can marvel for much longer at War's impressive catch, you stiffen, splaying your fingers over the ground underneath you and twisting your head around to watch a few, nearby pebbles skitter up and down in place.

“U-um, War?” you gulp, now painfully aware of a continuous and thunderous rumble coming from deep under the earth, as though an enormous train is careening along on its tracks somewhere far below you.

At the sound of your timid voice, the Horseman spares a glance over his shoulder and sees you sprawled out on the ground, your attention turned to the graves lining an iron fence several metres behind him. Casting the skeleton dangling from his fist a last, fearsome grunt, War flexes his gauntlet. There's a sickening 'crack!' and the creature's flailing limbs fall perturbingly still. He tosses it dismissively to one side and you hear the clatter of broken bones hit the stone nearby as the Horseman turns fully and blinks down at you, his eyes going immediately to the bloody welts left in your ankle.

Sensing his gaze, you whip your head about and almost gasp at the wrathful expression he's subjecting your injury to. One side of the Nephilim's mouth and nose scrunches up until he's giving you a very uninterrupted view of his gleaming teeth and you find yourself swallowing loudly, your heart throwing itself against your ribcage so violently, you'll hardly be surprised if it manages to break out of its bony prison. Your eyes fly nervously to War's hand as he forces it out of the tight fist it had curled into, regarding him closely when he raises it, draws back in hesitation for a moment before at last reaching down towards you.

He doesn't manage to get far though, because just then, the rumbling you'd been feeling reaches a crescendo and there's a sudden cacophony of howls and bellows all around you, filling every corner of the dark graveyard like a terrible orchestra playing its funeral march.

War tears his eyes off you and raises his head, leering hard at another skeleton that bursts out of its tomb, though it’s soon followed by a second, then a third, and after that, you stop counting because the knowledge of how many undead are suddenly surrounding you makes you feel queasy and light-headed.

A veritable plethora of skeletal monsters, each varying in shape and size, turn their skulls in your direction, their hateful, burning glares washing over you with the force of a tidal wave and you wonder if you're the object of their ire because they're envious of your life, or hungry for your flesh.

Regardless, neither leads to a favourable outcome for you.

You're almost embarrassed at the sob that manages to push out from between your tightly closed lips, but staring into the faces of creatures you know had once been human is a little more than you're equipped to handle.

Behind you, War's immense shoulders bristle when he realises that the majority of skeletons have their sights set undeniably on the vulnerable human sitting near his boots. In response to the clear threat, something angry rushes to curl itself around the Horseman's heart. At the very epicentre of his swirling rage, he becomes aware of only one thing. Those skeletons are standing between his charge and safety – and that, War will not permit.

Like a murderous river eddying around a fern, the Nephilim steps out in front of you and plants his feet firmly on the ground, an immovable barrier of flesh and metal standing protectively between you and the salivating undead.

Once again, you find yourself with a grave at your back and the Horseman to your front.

Then, all of a sudden, something changes.

Still subjecting the skeletons to his loathing glare, War falls back a few steps, moving himself around and to your rear where he proceeds to crouch over you, his chest pressing uncomfortably against the top of your head until you get the message and bend forwards as well, twisting your neck about to shoot him a wary glance but finding his eyes are still trained on the circle of creatures surrounding you. He plants one hand into the soil, digging in with the clawed tips of his gauntlet whilst with the other, he raises Chaoseater high above your heads where it lingers, poised and waiting - for what however, you have no idea.

As the bloodthirsty blade begins to hum in anticipation, you try to twist your neck around to peer up at War, hoping that your horrified expression accurately conveys the question you want to ask. 'What the Hell are you doing!?'

He doesn't look back at you.

With the skeletons prowling towards you like a pack of circling, salivating dogs, he can’t afford to lose focus.

You're not ashamed to say you let out a hoarse cry when, without warning, they all charge as one.

The skeletons are just a few feet from being right on top of you but as they close in, one of your hands flies up to cover your face and in the same moment, War suddenly brings Chaoseater down hard, plunging the blade's tip into the ground mere inches from your toes.

No sooner has it breached surface soil than a dozen more blades burst up from within the earth, each resembling the Horseman's treasured sword.

The skeletons don't stand a chance.

Like a shockwave, the ethereal blades that have been conjured from seemingly nowhere continue to erupt out of the ground and take the charging undead by surprise.

Femurs, rib cages and tibias are obliterated in less than a second, skulls are thrust from the ends of spines as Chaoseater's earth-bound friends impale the skeletons from below, a place where they never would have guessed an attack could come from.

You can feel the heat of the blades closest to you, hot enough to singe some of the hairs off your legs, no doubt.

Then, just as soon as they appeared, they begin to retract back inside the earth, and when the dust settles and you lower your arm to look, all that's left is a scattering of bones, strewn about the vicinity. Blank, featureless skulls stare back up at you through unseeing eyes, dead – for what you really hope is the last time.

“Ho-lee crap,” you breathe shakily, flopping back onto your elbows and knocking your head against the underside of War's chest, adding, “Ow,” at the latter.

“You're hurt...” The rumble of the Horseman's voice rolls gently over you, prompting you to glance up, only to find a pair of bright, blue eyes blinking back down at you.

Lifting a hand, you rub absently at the spot where you'd bumped your skull into his armour. “I'm all right, that didn't actually hurt.”

“No,” he insists in a growl and roves his gaze down to the scratches on your ankle. You follow his glare, blanching at the sight of the gouges left behind in your skin and grimace, bracing your hands on the ground in an attempt to pick yourself up. You hardly manage to get one foot underneath you before a large, metal hand promptly grabs the back of your shirt and lifts you effortlessly into the air. “Hey!” you squirm, trying to stretch your toes to find purchase on the ground, “Put me down, War. I can stand up by myself!.”

The Horseman makes a skeptical sound at the back of his throat, but he does lower you – albeit hesitantly – until your shoes meet the dirt once more.

Any confidence in the strength of your legs is short-lived however the moment his hand withdraws.

You take a step, only to find yourself immediately punished for the action when a white-hot bolt of pain lances up from your ankle and you cry out, teetering sideways and trying to hop desperately for a few seconds on your good leg.

Just then, there's a deep sigh of exasperation and War's gauntlet is at your side in the next second, sliding around your waist and nudging you upright again.

“Here, sit down. Let me see it,” he murmurs, and you hesitate to say he's gentle when he turns you around and attempts to guide you to the ground once more.

“Are you sure it's a good idea to stop?” you ask, leaning out of his grasp to glance around the shadowy cemetery, “I mean, that wasn't exactly a quiet fight...”

The implication hangs in the air between you and after a moment, War draws his head up and blinks, the strategist in him concurring with you. “That is... a fair point,” he mumbles and if you weren't so grateful to him for keeping you alive, you'd be insulted that he sounds surprised by your common sense.

In keeping with the typical, straight-forward bluntness you've come to expect from him, War wastes no time in bending down and extending his arms, aiming to scoop you off your feet. “Come,” he declares, “I shall carry you to Ulthane. He will know best how to treat a human's wound.”

The Horseman’s permanent frowns deepens though, when you hop away from him on your good leg, splaying your hands out to stop him from proceeding. Undeterred however, he gives you a warning glower and huffs, “Keep still.”

“W-woah, hold on now,” you protest, stumbling back as he once again tries to reach for you, “Seriously, War, thank you. But I can walk, I'm not a baby who needs to be carried!”

“You are injured.”

His tone implies that he's angry, but the way he's now staring at your leg makes you consider whether he's angry at you, or something else entirely. “Wait, what if... what if you need to use your sword?” you point out, “You won't be able to if your arms are full of me.”

You can tell that he's far from happy, but he tilts his head, pondering you for a moment longer before huffing brusquely and averting his fiery gaze. “Very well,” he grumbles, adding, “But if you fall again, don't expect me to catch you.”

The Horseman's acquiescence, if nothing else, at least reassures you that you won't be a total liability. Satisfied for the time being, you nod and turn about, starting to hobble off towards the cemetery gates, confident that the enormous Nephilim will overtake you in a few, steady strides. You make it all of five steps before your ankle turns to jelly and seems to lose all of its bone structure, collapsing out from under you and as you topple sideways once again, arms flailing, you idly wonder whether the damage is only skin-deep.

Luckily, whatever jarring impact you might have made with the stone path is prevented by a strong set of arms that emerge like a pair of safety nets and sweep underneath your knees and shoulders, letting you fall harmlessly into a secure hold. Gasping, you tip your head back and sheepishly risk a glance at the Horseman, meeting his disapproving frown. At the sight of it, you try and push against his broad chest to put some distance between yourself and his ire, but he soon silences you with a throaty growl that reverberates through your head.

Pursing your lips, you reluctantly give up on your meagre effort of trying to escape the warrior and instead let yourself flop gracelessly in his hold. “Hmph.. I thought you said not to expect you to ca-” War whips his head down to glare at you so fast, you instantly allow your mouth to click shut and decide – perhaps wisely - not to finish that sentence.

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thecatprince · 3 years

Text

Fighting Feelings

Read on AO3

Summary: After the whole callback fiasco, Roman decides he needs to prove himself in the only way he knows how - fighting for his honour. When he gets injured, Virgil is there to pick him up and comfort him.

Pairings: Prinxiety

Warnings: Graphic description of injuries, heavy Roman angst and implied suicidal ideation.

Word Count: 4219

Authors Notes: Post POF angst? in 2021? More likely than you think! This was inspired by two prompts that I received (thank you very much for sending them and sorry it took me ages to do them) which I combined. First prompt was “No, not again. Please!” from @underestimatemethatwillbefun and the second prompt was “Is it that hard to believe I love you?” from @autisticjuliaargent. I hope you like it!!

----

The first time Roman disappeared, Virgil didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t particularly unusual for Roman to disappear, as he was prone to heat of the moment ideas and impulsive decisions, which often involved long trips into the Imagination or hours spent holed up in his room. Sure, recent events had had an extremely negative impact on Roman, and sure, Virgil could tell that something had been off with him ever since, but he took Roman’s temporary disappearance as a positive thing, a sign that Roman was finally starting to get back on his feet, that he was starting to feel better mentally. Looking back, Virgil could’ve kicked himself.

The second time Roman disappeared, Virgil was a bit more alert. After Roman’s return from wherever he had been (the Imagination, presumably), he had seemed more off than normal, almost constantly becoming lost in thought and preoccupied. Granted, it was quite common for Roman to be distracted by his own mind, he was a ‘space cadet’ as Patton would often say, a ‘head in the clouds’ kind of person, but this… this was different.

Roman looked more worried, more concentrated and serious. His eyes, once bright and shining and full of light, now looked dull and bleak, as if all the life had been sucked right out of them. Roman’s face, normally quite happy and animated, now wore an expression of sadness and he had an almost permanent line on his forehead from the constant look of anxiety he had.

Of course, this shift in behaviour wasn’t exactly unexpected. After the turmoil of having Janus’ harsh, stinging words thrown at him and Patton’s good hearted, albeit incredibly misguided and confusing, attempt to prove how good of a person Thomas was, Virgil had found Roman sobbing in his room, his normal princely outfit thrown on the ground and his skin blue with bruises. Virgil had stayed with him that night, holding Roman close to his chest and letting him cry as much as he needed. He had eventually fallen asleep in Virgil’s arms, exhausted and broken, and Virgil had stayed there, torn between the overwhelming amount of concern and anxiety for Roman and the red-hot fury towards Janus and Patton that threatened to consume him. After much internal debate, he had decided that anger would just worsen the situation, and Roman needed him more than anything, so he stayed.

A week after his breakdown, Roman disappeared for the first time, returning a couple of hours later, looking physically unharmed, although he had a heavy expression on his face. A couple of days after that he disappeared again, this time for longer, almost a day, and when he returned he looked exhausted and his white prince shirt had a huge rip in the side. Virgil had asked about it, but Roman had just smiled and brushed it off. Virgil noticed the smile, like all the other smiles of late, didn’t reach his eyes.

The third time Roman disappeared, Virgil grew actively concerned. Roman had been gone for a day and a half, leaving in the early morning and returning at noon. Virgil couldn’t sleep that night, lying awake with worry as he waited for Roman to return. When he finally did come back, he seemed incredibly preoccupied, barely noticing his surroundings. Whenever Virgil talked to him, he seemed to immediately snap out of thought and the anxious expression he seemed to constantly have would be quickly replaced by a beaming smile, and just for a moment, Roman would seem like his normal self, his voice bright and dramatic, and his gestures wide and enthusiastic. But then Virgil would notice how his eyes stayed dull and empty, how his smile seemed that bit too bright, how his voice felt a little forced, and Virgil’s heart would sink, because he knew under the mask of theatrics and smiles, Roman was hurting.

The fourth time Roman disappeared, Virgil waited almost obsessively for him to come back. He sat outside the door to the Imagination for hours, staring intently at the clock on the wall, watching as the second hand made it way around the face as the minutes passed by. Virgil stayed there for hours, sitting crossed legged on the floor of the hall, fiddling with his hoodie and scrolling through his phone to try and distract himself from the overwhelming anxiety he was feeling. He must’ve fallen asleep at some point because he was suddenly awoken by the sound of the door opening. His muscles felt stiff from the awkward position he had fallen asleep in, and his brain was still quite foggy, but none of that mattered when he saw Roman walking through the door. Well, limping to be more exact.

Virgil stood up as fast as he could, ignoring how tired and sore his body was, and made his way over to Roman, just in time to catch him as he fainted. Virgil shifted his arms, trying to adjust the unconscious side as gently as possible so as to not to hurt Roman’s already obviously hurt body, trying to get him into a position that allowed Virgil to carry him. After a bit of a struggle (Roman had quite a solid build and was quite muscular from all the fighting he did in the Imagination (often in the name of defending his honour and other dramatic reasons) but Virgil was also quite strong (after all he was fight or flight) so while Roman was far from light, Virgil was still able to lift him) Virgil managed to carry Roman into the creative side’s room, which was opposite the entrance to the Imagination. Virgil gently lowered Roman onto his bed, lying him down in a way that meant that if Roman threw up, he wouldn’t choke and die.

Virgil stepped back to examine Roman’s body, assessing the damage. Roman’s clothes were torn and stained with blood and dirt, and through the rips in the material Virgil could see cuts and gashes littering the skin underneath. There was a large gash across Roman’s calf, where the pantleg was torn and covered in blood. Roman’s face was pale, except for the large bruise across his right cheek, which was an ugly bluish-blackish colour, and his forehead was shiny with sweat. Virgil gently lifted his hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Roman’s ear.

Roman’s eyes fluttered open and he looked around, slightly disorientated. Virgil kept watching him, studying Roman’s reaction. His eyes met Roman’s and for a brief moment Roman’s face seemed to relax a little, the corners of his lips tugging upwards ever so slightly, before his face quickly clouded over, as if remembering something alarming. He tried to sit up but immediately fell back down with a gasp of pain. Virgil, who had moved quickly to try and stop Roman from getting up, moved slowly back, arms still raised slightly as if on alert.

Roman looked back at Virgil, his face looking rather panicked. “Virgil,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. “Virgil, please, I… I have to go back. I have to defeat it.”

Virgil just stared at him in disbelief, part of him astounded by the pure idiocy of Roman, who just mere minutes before had been unconscious and was gravely injured, wanting to go back to the place where he had gotten those injuries, and the other part of him shattering because that was how little Roman cared about himself. Roman wanted to go back, most likely get himself killed in the state he was in, and for what? To defeat this thing (whatever ‘it’ was)? For a little victory?

“Roman, you can’t be serious! You literally fainted the moment you walked through that door and you want to go back? Have you seen the state you are in? You are going to get yourself killed!”

“You don’t get it,” Roman exclaimed, voice still hoarse and weak. “I need to.”

“No!”

“Virgil, please.”

“No, not again. Please!” Virgil was almost begging, his eyes starting to fill with tears. He couldn’t lose Roman, not now, not again. He’d spent hours, days, waiting and worrying and hoping with all his might that every time that Roman returned he would be okay. And this time Roman wasn’t. Virgil wasn’t going to risk losing him again.

Roman must’ve seen the look on Virgil’s face, because he didn’t attempt to move again. Virgil took a deep breath and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. He turned and walked into the ensuite bathroom, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water and a first aid kit. Virgil gently moved the pillows around to help elevate Roman’s body into a sitting position and handed him the glass and a painkiller. Roman took a small sip and swallowed the medicine, feeling rather nauseous from the pain, and set it down on the bedside table. Virgil looked pointedly at him but said nothing as he began unbuttoning Roman’s shirt.

“Hey, wait – what are you doing?” Roman said hoarsely.

“I am unbuttoning your shirt,” Virgil explained, as though it was obvious (to be fair, it was obvious).

“Why?”

“So I can fix up your injuries. I didn’t bring a first aid kit for no reason.”

“I don’t need fixing up. I am perfectly fine!”

“Roman, you were unconscious less than 10 minutes ago, you are bleeding badly and you can barely move. I am going to fix up your injuries so you can stay alive. Let me do it.” Virgil’s tone was firm and strong, and he hoped Roman couldn’t hear the silent plea in his voice.

Roman sighed and settled further down onto the pillows, knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument. He did want the pain to stop, as it was almost unbearable, but some smally stubborn part of him hated this weakness he was feeling. Still, he began to relax slightly as Virgil deftly unbuttoned his shirt and slowly peeled it off.

Virgil surveyed the bare chest in front of him, trying his best to focus on the injuries as opposed to the well-defined muscles. He knew logically that Roman worked out, and he had seen the outlines of those muscles underneath well fitted clothing, but this was completely different. Virgil dragged his attention from the muscles and tried to make a list of the various wounds that covered Roman’s torso. There were a plethora of small scratches covering his skin, especially around the hands and neck, as those were to most uncovered. His skin was varying shades of blue, black, purple and yellow, caused by the multitude of bruises in varying stages of healing. There was a deep cut along his left bicep, looking as though it had been caused by a claw of some sort, which was arguably the worst wound on his torso, although a close second would be the gash across his stomach, which was small and clean but had bled a lot. Virgil grabbed the wet wash clothe he had brought from the bathroom and gently started to wipe down Roman’s torso to remove any dirt and excess blood that was covering it. He tried to ignore Roman’s flinches as he went over his wounds, knowing that it was necessary for him to know what he was working with. Once that was done he dabbed the antiseptic cream onto any open cuts. This one evidently stung like hell, as Roman let out a sharp yell and grabbed Virgil’s shoulder tightly.

“Sorry,” Virgil murmured. Roman just shook his head gently and closed his eyes, indicating that it was okay. Virgil continued, putting bandages on any wounds that needed them.

“Where do you keep your t-shirts?” Virgil asked. Roman pointed to the top drawer of a chest in the corner of the room. Virgil made his way over, got one out and threw it at Roman, who picked it up and gingerly put it on.

Virgil made his way back to Roman, knowing he would have to deal with his legs next. “Is it ok if I cut off your pant leg?” he asked, not wanting to strip Roman of his pants (Roman’s bare chest was fine but this felt a little too intimate) but also wanting to be able of help clean up the large wound that was on Roman’s calf. Roman looked slightly horrified, but slowly nodded. Virgil got a pair of scissors from the pen holder on Roman’s desk and cut off the pant leg at the knee. He gently peeled the fabric off the leg, which was rather difficult given that the blood had caused it to stick to the skin. Eventually he had freed the leg, which left him in full view of the large wound that was on Roman’s leg. It was a rather jagged wound, evidently caused by something like a stick or rock (or claw, Virgil thought, remembering the cut on Roman’s shoulder) and Roman’s entire calf was covered in drying blood from it. Virgil once again wiped down the skin surrounding the cut to clean it, careful not to irritate the wound as much as he could, and he gently dabbed some antiseptic cream on it.

“What caused this?” Virgil asked apprehensively. He almost didn’t want to know the answer, but he felt like he needed to, and it would be good to at least know the reason why Roman had been disappearing so much.

Roman mumbled something inaudible, a look of guilt and slight fear returning to his face.

“What was that?”

“A…. manticore-chimera,” Roman murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that why you were going into the Imagination all those times? To fight a manticore-chimera?”

Roman nodded sheepishly, wincing sharply, although Virgil couldn’t tell whether that was due to the antiseptic cream that Virgil was now applying to the wound or in response to Virgil’s expression, which Virgil hoped masked how angry he was feeling.

How could Roman be so stupid, putting his life in danger like that to fight a bloody manticore-chimera? Was he trying to kill himself? Virgil had spent hours, days, making himself sick with worry over Roman’s disappearances, and all because he was fighting a bloody manticore-chimera! Did Roman even know how much he meant to him?

“Why would you do that?” Virgil tried to remain calm, but his anger must’ve shown because he noticed a couple of tears rolled down Roman’s cheeks, leaving tracks in the thin layer of dirt on his face. Roman took a deep breath.

“I just…. I thought…. I thought maybe if I could just prove myself, prove that I can be a hero and defeat the villain, then maybe…. maybe Thomas would consider me one again…..” Roman voice wavered and broke as he spoke, and tears continued to fall from his eyes, and he just looked so broken.

Virgil’s heart sank and his anger dissipated as he looked down at Roman. Virgil knew that the events that had happened had had a huge affect on Roman. He had spent many nights holding him as he cried, comforting him the best he could, trying to be there for him. He had tried day in a day out to prove to Roman that he was enough, more than enough, that he loved him, cared for him, more than anyone. Maybe he had failed. Maybe the damage had already been done. God, he was going to kill that snake!

Virgil drew his attention back to the wound on Roman’s leg, which he had been cleaning up while he talked, and began wrapping bandages around it, careful to put enough pressure where the padding was to stop any excess bleeding. Once this was done, he returned his attention to Roman, who was still crying, tears leaving tracks along his cheeks.

Virgil gently cupped Roman’s cheek, kneeling down next to the bed so he was more at eye level with him. “Roman, you don’t have to prove yourself. Trust me.”

Roman looked away, turning his head into Virgil’s palm in an attempt to move his face away from Virgil’s. Virgil’s heart almost snapped as Roman moved, knowing that Roman didn’t believe him.

“You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone Roman. You are enough as you are, and anyone who doesn’t see that is a complete idiot.”

Roman still didn’t turn to face Virgil.

“Roman, you know you’re my hero, right?” Virgil said, his voice gentle and quiet. Roman did turn his head at that, looking at Virgil with such broken hope, as if he desperately wanted this to be true, but couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Virgil tried to soften his expression as much as he could, trying his best to convey how genuine what he was saying was. He wanted Roman to believe it so badly it hurt.

“Roman, you’re the fire in Thomas eyes, the passion he has when he is doing something he loves, the drive he has to do it. You are the reason he gets up every day, the reason he made what he loves doing his job, because you pushed Thomas too. You are the spark that starts the fire, the wind in the sails, pushing us forward when I hold us back. You are that warmth and happiness you feel when performing or creating, the exhilaration of a new idea, the joy when people compliment creative work. You are the one who makes Thomas follow his dreams and achieve them, the one who always comes up with those clever nicknames and wordplay that make me smile, the one who allows Thomas to fall in love. You are the thrill of a new crush, the warmth of romantic love and the contentment of relationships. You love and care more deeply and truly than anyone I have ever, and while that may hurt sometimes, it is a beautiful thing to love like you do. Sure, you sometimes maybe go a little overboard with your passion and sometimes you mess up but when you make a mistake you apologise almost immediately, which is something I struggle with and really admire about you. You are the most brave, honourable, creative, loving person I know. Roman, you make us better - you make me better.”

Virgil’s voice was strong and gentle, conveying a level of emotion and genuineness that Roman was unprepared for. He wanted to believe what Virgil said was true, and on some levels he did, for it would take a very talented actor to lie so convincingly (Roman should know, he had had experience with ‘talented actors’), but some stupid little part of his brain was yelling at him that this was all a trick, that Virgil was just going to use him the same was Deceit had. Build him up only to tear him down.

Roman started crying, fully sobbing at this point. Virgil’s thumb gently rubbed his cheek, wiping away the falling tears. Virgil removed his hand for a moment and moved over to the other side of the bed, climbing on next to Roman. He wrapped his arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulled him as close as he could (being mindful of Roman’s various injuries). Roman curled up against Virgil, letting him hold him close, and sobbed into Virgil’s chest, soaking his shirt. Virgil didn’t mind though, as he simply moved his hand up and down Roman’s arm in a calming motion, allowing Roman to cry as long as he wanted. After several minutes, Roman finally calmed down and his tears stopped.

He looked up at Virgil almost guiltily. “You really mean what you said?”

Virgil nodded gently, heart breaking with the knowledge that Roman needed to double check. “Is it that hard to believe that I love you?”

Roman looked down and nodded almost imperceptibly, his head still pressed against Virgil’s chest. Virgil tightened his grip around Roman and his face into Roman’s hair. Roman took a deep, shaky breath.

“It’s just… ever since the events, ever since him… it is so much harder to believe good things about myself… or that people see good in me. I know logically that people love me, I mean they must, I’m me!” Roman said jokingly, a little bit of his normal self shining through. “But I have these insecurities, I’ve always had them, that just make it harder to truly believe it sometimes. And… ever since him, it seems almost impossible to believe that I am good, that I am worthy. He used me, flattered me, manipulated me, to get his way, and it hurt. It broke me. And I want to believe you so badly, I do, but my brain doesn’t, because believing and wanting hurt me so much last time…” Roman’s voice wavered and trailed off.

“I just thought…. that maybe if I fought something, if I acted like a hero should…. then maybe I could prove to Thomas, prove to him… prove to myself that I was a hero, that maybe I didn’t deserve everything that had happened, that maybe I was loveable. I feel like I have to prove that I really am what I am meant to be, this princely persona that I have built up, the hero I was always meant to be, because if I’m not a hero… if I’m not a prince… who am I?” Roman seemed to be talking to himself more than Virgil now, his voice becoming slightly quieter and breaking slightly as a couple of tears fell from his eyes.

“And I am just so sick of this endless game of torture I play with myself, so tired of this constant need to prove myself, so done with the stupid voices in my head picking me apart and pulling me down. I never feel like I am good enough for anything. My ideas aren’t original enough, my best isn’t good enough, I am wrong, I am broken and I just mess everything up… and I am so sick of being so fucking insecure…” Roman was openly crying now, his words punctuated by small sniffles and sobs. “Every offhand comment feels like a dagger to my heart, every single wrong look my way is magnified in my mind, everything is so personal, because being creativity you put your life and soul into your work, and when it is rejected, even the slightest bit, it feels like someone took your heart and smashed it into a thousand pieces. And I wanted it… so badly…”

Roman didn’t even need to say what ‘it’ was, Virgil already knew. The callback. The event. The thing Roman had been hoping and dreaming and wanting for as long as Virgil could remember.

“And he came along… and I wanted to do what was right, something I had messed up with you. I learnt from my mistake, I did the right thing, I was friendly and nice, and I tried so hard to not villainise him, I really did… but as always I made a mistake. I was wrong. I don’t know why I was even surprised…”

Virgil tightened his arm around Roman but didn’t say anything. He had heard snippets of this before, in the quiet nights where he had stayed with Roman while he sobbed the pain away, but this was the most he had heard Roman say about it in the longest time and he didn’t want to mess it up.

“I was so blind… I genuinely thought he liked me, that all those comments he made were genuine, until I realised… that everything he had said, every compliment, every nice word my way, was just another lie, that he never really thought those things… and to tell you that hurt was an understatement. It crushed me… crushed the life out of me… I tried so hard to do the right thing, I really did. I really tried…”

“All I ever wanted was to be a hero… all I ever did was want…”

Virgil gently stroked Roman’s arm as he cried the last of his tears. “It’s okay,” he murmured into Roman’s hair. “It’s okay.”

“Do you really love me, Virgil?” Roman mumbled, almost inaudibly.

“Roman, I love you more than I have loved anyone else. I care for you, so much. And if you don’t believe me now, that’s okay, because I am more than happy to spend the rest of my life doing whatever it takes to convince you that I care and that you are worthy of love.”

Roman moved his arms so that they were wrapped around Virgil’s torso and squeezed gently. “I love you too Virgil… so much… thank you.” The words were almost inaudible given that Roman had mumbled them into Virgil’s hoodie, but he still heard them and planted a small kiss on Roman’s forehead in response. Virgil was about to say something else when he heard small snores coming from Roman. He smiled gently, knowing that Roman was probably exhausted (he did faint earlier) and that he needed the sleep. Virgil adjusted his position so that he was lying down more, once again careful not to apply any pressure to Roman’s injuries, and wrapped his arms gently around the sleeping prince. He planted a kiss on Roman’s forehead and let himself drift off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that Roman was protected in his arms.

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#cat writes #prinxiety #roman angst #post pof roman angst #tw injuries #tw suicidal thoughts #angst #hurt/comfort

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