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cutegayorc · 1 year

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Adopted by a Werewolf Chapter 2

So I promise that every other chapter won't just be the same events from a different perspective. It's just the one time thing for random lore exposition. Again, please feel free to comment what you thought. I love getting comments. Makes the dopamine in my head go up. Editors credits below.

Perky: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/perk0/ Lan the Orc: https://lantheorc.sofurry.com/

Link to chapter 1

Jeremiah didn’t like the idea of heading to his long abandoned home town. Bright Rock was not a place filled with happy memories. But he was the only Head who wasn’t busy with other business. Plus leaving a found Sensitive for possession was not an option. So homeward bound he was. The trip was not far, so he traveled light. A pack of his travel clothes, camping gear and cart with his trusty donkey, Beatrice. There was also some emergency gear that he really didn’t think he would need but his family had insisted it was better to be safe than sorry.

Instead of heading to the main entrance of the city, Jeremiah veered into the forest. Staying in a hotel in the city was too risky since he might be recognized. The less time he spent there the better. So he found a nice clearing in the forest. Deep enough to be hidden but not so deep that making it back to the city on foot would be a chore. After setting up camp, he made his way to the city. The Watcher would be waiting for him and he had arrived sooner than expected.

The walk to the Watchers’ cabin was familiar. It was the same as when he last saw it. Sure, some of the trees had grown taller but the old decrepit cabin was still there. He hesitated, readying himself for what was going to be an awkward situation.

He knocked.

An old man came to the door.

“Holy shit.” The old man said. “I was not expecting to see you here ever again.”

“Nice to see you, Elder. It’s been a while.” Jeremiah said, trying to stay polite. “I was the only Head available. But I promise to be quick.”

“You better be. If your father finds out, he’s going to be pissed.” The Watcher said. He walked further into his shack, motioning for Jeremiah to follow.

“That man is not my father. Not anymore,” Jeremiah said, crouching down to fit in the door. “Besides, it will harm the treaty if he does anything stupid . But I will try to remain discreet.”

“Ugh. Stupid werewolves and your weird culture. The man’s your father whether you like it or not. Just because someone turns you into a wolf doesn’t mean the identity of your parents changes.”

The shack was filled with shelves of different herbs, flowers and jars with unknown contents. A table in the corner was piled high with apothecary tools and the floor was nothing more than dirt packed down from being walked on for years.

“I’m not here to argue. The sooner you give me the Sensitive’s info, the sooner I will leave,” Jeremiah pointed out. He was going to take a seat but realized the only chair there was next to the apothecary table and didn’t look like it would support his weight. So he crouched down and waited.

“He’s a little tall. Not as tall as you but taller than most. Light brown hair. Looks sad and mopey all the time. Just turned eighteen a couple of months ago. God, how I hate the youth.”

“You hate everything.” Jeremiah interjected.

“I hate the youth a lot more than I hate most others though.”

The Watcher entered a door in the back corner. Jeremiah did not follow, opting to wait by the entrance. The sound of clutter being thrown about crashed through the shack before he finally returned with a pair of glasses and a stack of papers.

“He’s a cadet at the guard academy,” The Watcher said. His spectacles sat at the edge of his nose while looking over his notes. “Seems to be a loner from what I can tell. Likes to frequent the pub on the weekends. Also spends a lot of time out in the forest. Didn’t follow him when he went into the woods. God knows what I would have seen. Do you know what happens when young men wander off to be alone? Masturbation! Filthy! Disgusting!”

“You don’t say. Which pub does he frequent?”

“The shit one by the academy. Mad Eyes is the name.” The Watcher waived his hand dismissively.

“Do you think he’ll be there tonight?”

“Let’s hope so, it’s the only place he loiters about that allows for interaction without suspicion. Unless you want to catch him in the woods. That’s what you gay guys do, right? Meet up in the woods and jack off?”

Jeremiah growled a warning at the Watcher.

“Watch it.” Jeremiah said. “Just because you were my elder does not mean I will stand for lupophobia and homophobia.”

The Watcher did not look impressed.

“I’ve given you what you wanted, werewolf. Unless you are here to buy one of my potions, I’m going to need you to leave. I recommend the fleas-be-gone potion for your kind.”

Jeremiah snapped his teeth in the Watcher’s direction but took no further action against the old man. He left the shack, not bothering to close the door behind him. The door slammed shut behind him.

---

It was late evening on the last night of the week. Jeremiah headed towards the old town district where the academy was stationed. The old town was the part of the city occupied by the semi well-off. They were not rich enough to live in the new district but not poor enough to live in the slums. Whereas the new district looked fancy and clean, the old town felt alive and well lived in. The streets during the day were filled with vendors, delivery men and newsies. At night, the city guard walked the streets keeping the less desirable elements sequestered to the slums. At that late in the afternoon, most were at home with family. But a few hit the taverns and pubs for a good drink. Or a bad drink. Sometimes the destination of getting drunk was more important than how you got there.

The Crazy Eyes wasn’t anything fancy. It catered to the city guard, the cadets and the few who lived nearby. Jeremiah stepped inside and took a quick look around. Sitting in the back was a large group of cadets acting rowdy and rude. Everyone sitting around them appeared annoyed but no one seemed interested in standing up and doing something about it.

Jeremiah stepped to the side for a second and closed his eyes, trying to see if he could feel the pull of a nearby Sensitive. He felt the pull immediately. Whoever they were, they gave off a strong pull and would need to extract them quickly.. It wouldn’t be long before a demon or ghost would find him and possess them if they weren’t careful. Jeremiah scented the air to try and pinpoint the location. Sensitives had a certain scent. It turned him towards the bar. Sitting alone was another cadet nursing an ale. He was the only one sitting at the bar.

Jeremiah took the seat next to the loan cadet. The young man didn’t seem to notice his presence. Whatever was going on in his head had him too preoccupied to pay attention to anybody. Not even when the barkeep took his drink order for a single glass of white wine.

“Mother fucking…shit mouthed…” the Young Man whispered to himself. It would have been too quiet for most to have heard. Jeremiah’s werewolf ears heard it all clear as day. The cursing continued on and off for a couple of minutes. Jeremiah soon grew bored with it and decided to intervene.

“You look like you’ve got a thorn stuck in your paw, Lad. Care to share your woes?” Jeremiah said. The Sensitive looked confused at first. Then he turned his head and saw Jeremiah. His eyes went wide when he saw the huge man that had somehow snuck up on him. Jeremiah was used to people reacting in this way to his extreme height. But to the Sensitive’s credit, they tried to cover their surprise quickly.

“Sorry, sir.” He said to Jeremiah. “Don’t mind me. Just a long day.” He looked away from Jeremiah back to his drink.

“I’m surprised you’re not over there with the other young bucks,” Jeremiah asked, trying to draw the other man back into the conversation. He needed to create a rapport with the young man. It would make convincing the Sensitive of what he was and why it was so important to leave much easier. “Most cadets at the academy stay pretty tightly knitted together.”

The young man stiffened up and looked back at the man with suspicion.

“How did you know I was a cadet?”

Jeremiah made a mental note. This one is not quick to trust others. Will have to be careful not to offend in some way. Will make extraction a bitch if I can’t win his trust.

“You’re still wearing your training uniform. As are they.” Jeremiah said.

“Oh.” he said back. He looked down at himself like he just realized he had still been wearing his uniform. “I’m fine. I’m happier alone.”

Jeremiah heard the Sensitive heartbeat quicken for a second. He was lying. He definitely was not happier alone. Jeremiah could play off that if needed. He felt a little gross about having to think about manipulating someone else. But it was for the Sensitive’s own good.

“Then why have you been mumbling obscenities into your mug?” Jeremiah said, trying to keep the accusatory comment light and playful. It worked, the man gave a half smile out of the corner of his mouth.

“Heard that, huh?” he said.

“I did,” Jeremiah said back. “It does the body no good to let such thoughts fester. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Jeremiah pushed a little bit of the Wild into his last sentence. To make it a command. Something that the man would have trouble resisting. He tried to keep the pressure small so that it wouldn’t be noticeable.

“It’s nothing. I’m just a little frustrated at my Commander.” the man said. “I got in a fight with another cadet. He’s been saying things about me. I lost my temper and punched him. Got in trouble. Was forced to give an apology I didn’t mean. But when I asked for an apology back, I was told I didn’t deserve it.”

The Sensitive took a sip of his ale before continuing.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Must have had one too many tonight.” He began to stand up. “I won’t bother you anymore.”

“You’re not a bother,” Jeremiah said, trying to keep the Sensitive from leaving. “I was the one who asked. Is the shit talker here tonight?”

“Yeah.” The man said, sitting back down.

“I’m surprised the guard hasn’t been called to deal with them yet,” Jeremiah said. “Trash like that would have been better off staying in their daddy’s balls.”

The man started to cough as he choked on his drink. He seemed to be recovering quickly though. He began to laugh. Something about that laugh made his inner wolf take notice. That was not something Jeremiah was expecting.

“Don’t say stuff like that when I’m drinking,” the cadet said. “That’s funny though. I’m going to have to remember that one.”

“You’re welcome to it,” Jeremiah said. He smiled. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all. Now to plant a seed. Something to make it easier for him to leave. He took a sip of the wine he had ordered earlier but mostly ignored. He was the type to distrust authority. That would be his plan of attack. “What are you going to do about it?”

“About what? The rowdy ones back there?”

“No. You’re not responsible for their actions. I meant about your Commander. He’s letting a member of his team talk disparagingly about another member of the unit. Doesn’t bode well for morale. Doesn’t lead to a cohesive unit. Thought about asking to be transferred to another team?”

The Sensitive didn’t respond right away. He began to look over his shoulder before leaning in closer. Jeremiah leaned in as well.

“Maybe he’s right. Maybe I need to toughen up.” The Sensetive’s heartbeat stuttered again. Another lie. Another mental note. He either makes a habit of lying about what he believes in to get out of having a difficult conversation or he’s a people pleaser who will throw himself under the bus. Jeremiah wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.

“You don’t believe that. Try again.” Jeremiah said.

“It’s not a good idea to talk badly about a commanding officer. Besides, it would be the same with any other unit I got transferred to. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this stuff.”

The Sensitive downed his ale and started to stand up again. Jeremiah held up his hand and grabbed the man’s shoulder to hold him in place. The moment he made contact with him, Jeremiah felt his wolf half jump with joy. Jeremiah’s own heart rate began to spike. He had to concentrate to not let the shift start to happen. Jeremiah had to admit that there was a chance this Sensitive was compatible with the powers of the shifter. He tried not to think that far ahead though. First they needed to establish a connection and convince him to leave. To get him somewhere safe.

“It’s because I asked. You don’t have to apologize for speaking your truth to me when I was the one who requested the info.” Jeremiah rubbed his shoulder to try and calm the young man down. He was then surprised to find that the Sensitive’s heart rate suddenly jumped from the touch. He took a quick test sniff and scented arousal. The man was attracted to him. Suddenly his inner wolf’s attention made a little more sense. He tried not to let himself get too distracted by this though, even though the little moan his little friend made under his breath drove both Jeremiah’s human and wolf sides crazy.

“Tell me, why did you join the guard?” Jeremiah asked, trying to get himself back on track. Adding a bit of the Wild in to try and regain control but accidentally using way too much.

“It was my only option. Family kicked me out and I don’t have the skills to apprentice anywhere.” The man responded quickly.

Jeremiah cursed to himself, letting himself lose control of his power like that. He shouldn’t be making such rookie mistakes. As he tried to get control of the situation, the smell of arousal increased and Jeremiah looked down to see that his new friend had a rather large bump in his trousers where his crotch was. The Sensitive must have noticed too as he suddenly leaned forward to hide it, trying to pretend he was just leaning on the bar. Jeremiah couldn’t help but to give a low chuckle that came out more as a growl. His wolf was not going to let his human half take charge. It wanted in on the conversation and it was very hungry for attention. Jeremiah needed to cut this short and fast unless the bar wanted to see him suddenly grow a large amount of hair in a very short amount of time.

“I’m sure you felt that it was your only option. But I’m sure another opportunity will present itself. Maybe try to keep an open mind.” Jeremiah said before giving the man’s shoulder one final squeeze before forcing himself to let go. He pulled out some coins and dropped a pile on the table. It would be more than enough to pay for both his and the Sensitive’s drinks. The rest would be a tip. He didn’t have the concentration to bother counting.

“This should cover the boy’s drink.” Jeremiah said to the bartender to let him know the wine and ale were on him. “Name’s Jerimiah by the way. What’s yours?” He said to the Sensitive.

“Rodrig.” he said.

“It was nice to meet you, Rodrig. Hopefully we will meet again soon.” Jeremiah said and left to leave. He made sure to try not to run out of the establishment but he needed to be gone and quick. He could already feel his nails starting to extend into claws. He ducked his head to leave out the door. The moment he was out of sight of the bar, he ducked into an alley and gave out an exasperated growl.

There was no question about it. The Sensitive had a high compatibility with shifters. He had to dig his claws into his hands to keep from running back and slinging the young man over his shoulder. If the other Head’s hear about that, he would be in deep shit. They would accuse him of hoarding the new Sensitive without giving him a chance to choose where he belonged. He pulled back on the wolf with promises of soon. Be patient. We can’t claim him without his permission. Wouldn’t be right. It calmed down somewhat. At least enough to pull back his shift so that he looked more human again. He brought the hood of his traveler’s cloak up. He needed to make himself scarce. Leave the city and let his wolf out for a run. He made his way to the city

limits towards his campsite. Hopefully, Beatrice the donkey had stayed out of trouble.

---

Beatrice had long since been desensitized to humans suddenly changing to wolves and vice-versa. Plus everything in between. So when Jeremiah stripped naked after setting out some food for her and suddenly turned into a wolf that stood a donkey’s head bigger than her, she did not seem impressed. In fact, she seemed downright bored. She went back to eating her food, turning her back to the predator. Beatrice was sassy like that.

When in wolf form, Jeremiah’s human mind took a back seat. When fully shifted, he was letting the wolf spirit that shared his soul and body take over. He could still give suggestions, like stay away from the city. He could still understand sentences, even though he was no longer capable of saying anything back. It had been a while since the spirit had a chance to drive so it quickly took full advantage of the situation. Running. Smelling. Hunting. He caught a rabbit and quickly feasted. The warm blood and meat tasted good to his more animal body. It also meant Jeremiah could save his travel rations for another night.

Going wolf also gave him the opportunity to sniff out any rogue elements that might be lurking in the city. Or at least on its outskirts. His hometown had seen better days since he had been run out of town. The slums were flooded with the smell of angry spirits. If Rodrig ever went through there, he would most likely end up possessed by an angry spirit. He returned to his camp before the spirits noticed his presence. The undead were not a big fan of other supernaturals approaching their haunts.

When he made it back to camp, he stretched his wolf body before allowing himself to change back into human. His naked body now stood where the wolf had. The night air felt good against his skin since shifting often led to him feeling overheated. He slipped into his tent and got under the covers. He would need a fresh start tomorrow if he was going to keep tabs on his target.

—-

The next morning after giving Beatrice a short walk through the woods, Jeremiah headed back towards town. He wore his traveler's cloak with the hood up again and stayed in the back streets and alleys, making his way towards the guard academy. The last time he visited here, it was to inspect the school and make sure it was up to snuff. If he was being honest, he had no idea what he was looking for back then. Now as he approached the practice field, staying in the shadows, he could tell that it was mediocre at best.

Instructors were more likely to scream at their students than actually teach them . There was also definite favoritism. The equipment was in disrepair. Overall, the graduates would be ill prepared to do their job of protecting the city. But that wasn’t why Jeremiah was here. That was no longer his responsibility. Rodrig was and it didn’t take Jeremiah long to spot him.

Rodrig was standing off to the side. Jeremiah wasn’t sure if he would call what Rodrig was doing “practicing”. The form was stiff and his attention was less on the movements he was making and more on making sure no one was watching him. Based on what Jeremiah was seeing with the other cadets unlucky enough to earn the attention of the instructors, it was pretty easy to figure out why Rodrig would be looking over his shoulder.

A few moments later, one of the instructors screamed Rodrig’s name.

The instructor's coat was decorated with multiple patches indicating he was of a higher rank. He was surrounded by students who all did their best to kiss his ass while the rest stayed far away. Rodrig was stiff as he marched over. When the screaming began, Jeremiah wasn’t surprised. What did surprise Jeremiah was the subject of the instructor's interrogation.

The instructor asked Rodrig about the “mysterious man” that had approached him the night before. Jeremiah felt a bit of panic grab at his chest. Had he been recognized that quickly? Or did the Watcher tip someone off? God knew that Bright Rock barely abided by the treaties set by the King in regards to supernatural affairs. It wouldn’t surprise him if the Watcher owed his loyalties more to the local lord than to The Organized Supernaturals.

Jeremiah took a deep breath. He could worry about that later. For now he needed to pay attention. He tuned himself in to conversation, blocking out the other conversation and distractions. Rodrig was playing dumb about the whole situation. But his heart rate was all over the place. Rodrig feared this man. Even after the red faced instructor finally dismissed him and Rodrig returned back to his small corner of the practice field, his body language and beating heart gave away his state of panic.

Luckily, the rest of the day’s training went by uneventfully. Jeremiah stretched his back after having sat and watched all day. Jeremiah was also taking a moment to stretch. The young lad put his practice sword away. Jeremiah expected Rodrig to start heading to the barracks with the other students. Instead he started heading towards the forest and right to where Jeremiah happened to be watching.

Jeremiah quickly jumped into a nearby bush, holding his breath as Rodrig passed right by him. Rodrig on his part was completely unaware. Jeremiah was beginning to get the impression that Rodrig spent a lot of time in his own head. That worked in Jeremiah’s favor though. Would make it easier to follow and spy on him. Or maybe even approach him. Pretend that it was completely by coincidence and continue their conversation from the night before.

Unless the Watcher was right and Rodrig really was going out into the woods to masturbate. If his sons were here, they would probably make a joke about stumbling upon a free show. He shook his head to clear his mind and decided that it would probably be best to keep to recon for now. And the best way to do that would be from his hybrid form.

Jeremiah stripped his clothes off, leaving them in the bush before pulling on the spirited wolf. Hybrid form required him to merge both himself and the wolf spirit living inside of himself into one being. It was something that took years of practice. Jeremiah had only just recently mastered it. Soon he grew black fur across his body like he would a normal shift. Instead of falling to all fours though, he still stood on two. His back grew a tail and his hands had large claws on the tip of each finger. His face elongated into a snout like a wolf and his height grew by another foot. He stood tall. What was once two spirits in one body was now one. Everything about him enhanced far beyond what it was before. Strength, dexterity, hearing, sound, smell all pushed beyond what they were before. He slowly began to stalk his target, remaining as far as possible. Rodrig didn’t have to even be in sight for Jeremiah to follow. The scent trail Rodrig left behind was enough to keep him on track.

Rodrig eventually settled on a spot by a large tree, sitting down with his back against it. He breathed slowly and his heart rate dropped to a relaxing slow thump. Jeremiah slowly stalked his way to the opposite side of the tree. Each step carefully planned to not make a sound. Jeremiah climbed up in the foliage of the tree so that he was able to see down to the ground. Once he was right above the Sensitive, he watched. As he watched, he listened to Rodrig’s heartbeat. It was relaxing. Jeremiah found himself wanting to do nothing more than curl up and nap as the sound of the heartbeat lulled him to sleep. Now that the human and wolf side of Jeremiah were one, there was no conversation about what they wanted. Jeremiah could feel how similar Rodrig’s spirit was to his and to his three sons. He was compatible and Jeremiah knew as soon as it was appropriate, he would petition for Rodrig to join the pack. But that was a far way off. For now, he could simply relax and listen to the calm breath of the man below.

Then a chill ran down Jeremiah’s spine. The smell of a specter carried across the breeze. It would be invisible to anyone who didn’t have some sort of spiritual awareness, so Rodrig would be blissfully unaware of the creature lurking nearby. But the specter definitely took notice of Rodrig.

It appeared as an old man, an ax thrusted through his gut. The specter must have been a murder victim. It was slightly translucent like most undead without a physical body were. Its eyes fell on Rodrig and stumbled towards the oblivious Sensitive.. Jeremiah gave a warning growl to try and get the spector’s attention. One he tried to keep as quiet as possible. The specter took notice and stopped in its tracks. Unfortunately, so did Rodrig.

Jeremiah cursed at the gods for putting him in such an awkward position. The specter began to shamble forward again. Jeremiah gave another warning growl. Rodrig was on his feet looking for the source of the noise. The once pleasant and slow beat of the man’s heart had now picked up to a rapid pulse. Jeremiah could smell the adrenaline coming off him.

The specter didn’t stop this time. Jeremiah silently apologized to Rodrig who was about to get the biggest scare of his life and let out a loud growl right above Rodrig’s head. Rodrig looked up. For a split second, Jeremiah could see Rodrig’s brain trying to process what it was seeing.

There was confusion.

There was understanding.

There was fear.

Rodrig ran. The specter gave chase. Jeremiah took off after Rodrig.

Jeremiah chased after Rodrig, moving just fast enough to keep up and heard him away from the spector and back towards the academy. Rodrig was surprisingly fast for a human. Which was good because they soon lost the specter. Jeremiah stopped chasing right before they passed into sight of the academy. Rodrig was just about to make it over the hill before his foot got caught on an overgrown root. The young man fell over the horizon of the hill.

Jeremiah cringed as he heard what sounded like a painful descent down the hill. He didn’t stay to check on him though. The screaming about a wild beast chasing him through the woods was enough of an indication to prove that Rodrig had survived the fall. Jeremiah grabbed his clothes and bolted back to his camp. He prayed the other Heads didn’t hear about this.

—-

Jeremiah approached the hut of the Watcher. His plan was to ask if the old bastard had told anyone of his arrival. Jeremiah was ready for an interrogation. Not a rescue. But a rescue he had. For when he arrived, the shack was half destroyed.

Jeremiah scented the air. He could smell the traces of a small group, most likely city guard scent to harass the Watcher. But why? Jeremiah slowly approached, making sure no one else was there. Then he heard a weak cry.

“Help. Please.” The Watcher cried from inside the shack. Jeremiah stepped inside, the place was trashed and the roof had caved in the middle. Sitting next to the debris was the Watcher, his leg caught under a support beam. Jeremiah ran over and easily lifted the beam out of the way before picking up the Watcher and carrying him outside. He set the Watcher down and looked him over. He had a gash on top of his bald head that was leaking blood down his face. It would need stitches. His leg also appeared to be fractured. But he would live.

“What happened?” Jeremiah asked.

“Someone at the bar recognized you. Was keeping a watch on the Sensitive.” The Watcher said.

“Why would he have known?”

“I told them. Before you arrived.”

Jeremiah’s fury rose. He wanted to strangle the old man where he stood. He almost did. But then he wouldn’t get the info he needed. Jeremiah needed to remain calm. He took a deep breath.

“Why?” Jeremiah asked. “The treaty states-“

“You think they care about the treaty?” The Watcher interrupted. “Your father only abides by it because of the king’s wishes. But if he had his way, all Sensitives and Adapts would be put to the stake.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you told him?” Jeremiah’s hands were shaking as he held the old man by his shoulders.

“Because of this,” the Watcher said, waving his hands at his destroyed shack. “This is what happens if I don’t play nice with the thugs he sends.”

Jeremiah took a moment to center himself. He knew the lord was a spiteful man who thought anything supernatural should be shot on sight. But to do this. To blatantly break the terms of the treaty. The other Heads would want to know.

“You can’t stay here.” Jeremiah finally said. “Is there somewhere safe I can take you?”

“Yes, I have a friend in the old town. She can patch me up. Then I’m leaving.”

“You’re abandoning your post?” Jeremiah roared.

“Yes! Yes damn it I am!” The Watcher screamed back. “Because if I stay, they will kill me!”

Jeremiah sat there holding the old man as he began to sob.

“It’s not safe here. For any of us.” The Watcher said between sobs. Pleading with Jeremiah to understand. “Get the boy. Fuck the process. He’s not safe here. And neither are you.”

They sat there for a moment in silence as Jeremiah processed everything he heard.

“Where’s your friend?” Jeremiah eventually asked. He would consider the Watcher’s advice later. For now, he needed to get the old man to safety.

——

Jeremiah left the Watcher with his friend. Before he could leave, the Watcher said one more thing.

“They know what he is. And they are mad that you were the one sent to pick him up. They want you out of the city. Get the boy tonight. We can’t wait for him to come with us willingly. Do your duty.”

“Do not speak to me of duty when you are abandoning yours.” Jeremiah spat back before stomping away. He hated that he agreed with the man. Rodrig was in danger. There was no time to wait. If he had to, he would knock him out with a sleeping potion and kidnap him.

He made his way back to camp first. It was growing dark so he had to shift his eyes to see better. The camp was undisturbed. Beatrice the donkey greeted him with a big smile. He patted her head before rummaging through his things. He was looking for his stealth gear. He had just found the sleeping potion when a voice called out for him from deep in the woods. “Come on out Jerimiah. I know you’re back in town.” A voice called for him. It was far away but his enhanced hearing picked it up along with the scent of Rodrig, the instructor he had seen earlier that day and a third smell. One that he couldn’t place but it felt familiar.

“Decided to hunt yourself another young buck? Well, guess what? You can have this one on me. He’s a fucking loser with no family. Won’t be missed. All you gotta do to have him is leave town. For good this time.” The voice of the instructor continued.

Jeremiah dropped everything he was doing and ran, shifting the muscles in his legs so that he moved faster than any human had any right to. As he ran, another voice echoed through the forest.

“And if you don’t come and claim your prize, I’ll gut him.” A new voice said. It sounded so familiar. But any thought of trying to identify the voice was cut off when Rodrig suddenly let out a muffled scream through the forest.

“Hear that? The young buck is calling for you.” the unknown voice said. The instructor and the unknown voice continued to talk amongst themselves but it was unintelligible over the rising heartbeat of Rodrig which was in full blown panic. Jeremiah approached the clearing where the trio currently resided and came to a skidding halt.

Jeremiah saw three figures. The first he saw was Rodrig lying on the ground, hands bound behind him with shackles and a piece of fabric that bound his mouth. He was breathing heavily and smelled of blood, but beyond being scared out of his mind seemed to be okay. Standing above him holding a knife was the instructor. The knife's tip was red with blood. Lastly was a man. A man that Jeremiah hadn’t seen in close to a decade. In fact, the last time Jeremiah saw this man, he was still a boy. Barely ten. His younger brother, Eldin.

“There you are.” Eldin said. “Was wondering when you would show up, Monster.”

“Hello again, Little Brother.” Jeremiah said, trying not to let the hurt of seeing his younger brother again cross his face. “It’s been too long.”

“We are not family, you freak!” Elden said. “I don’t know why you thought it was okay to hunt here but I will not stand for it. Take your prize and leave here.”

Jeremiah wasn’t sure what Elden was talking about. He wasn’t here hunting humans like a diseased lycanthrope. He was here as part of the treaty. To protect the Kingdom by finding those who were at risk from the supernatural and help them.

He focused his attention on Rodrig. The instructor had grabbed the cadet by his shackles and pulled him from the ground to a kneeling position. His cheek was bleeding from the fresh cut on his face and there appeared to be another on his back from the looks of the blood stain on his shirt. Jeremiah met his eyes and Rodrig. His eyes looked devoid of hope. This was a man who had been broken and was ready to give up.

“What did you do to him?” Jeremiah said. “Why would you do this to him?”

“Because he’s a useless freak,” the instructor said. “ Had to rough him up a bit for wasting my time. Besides, can’t your kind smell the blood of your prey?” He then pushed Rodrig forward and kicked him in the back, launching him forward. Jeremiah launched forward and grabbed Rodrig before he could hit the ground. The bound man didn’t mov once caught. He just laid against his chest. He was in some form of shock.

“I’ve got you kid.” Jeremiah whispered down to Rodrig before turning back to the two men still standing on the other side of the clearing. “Care to provide the key to his bonds?”

“You’re a big strong beast. I’m sure you can tear them off.” the instructor said. He began to laugh and it reminded Jeremiah of one of those over the top villains in the operas his birth father used to take him to see all the time. The instructor picked up his lantern and began to walk away. Jeremiah looked over and met his younger brother's eyes. They were filled with disgust. Eldin followed after the instructor, taking the other lantern with him and leaving both Rodrig and Jeremiah in darkness.

Jeremiah shifted his eyes again so he could see in the dark. Rodrig would be completely blind in such low light so there was no chance of him noticing the sudden change in his eyes. He helped Rodrig to a sitting position and let the young man lean against him for support as he untied the gag.

“Are you all right?” Jeremiah asked. Rodrig wasn’t looking at him but staring blankly into the darkness. His face was scrunched up as he took a few deep breaths, small pools of tears building up on the side of his face. But Rodrig held his emotions back and his face went blank.

“I’m fine.” Rodrig said. It sounded rehearsed. Something he always said whenever he was actually anything but fine.

“We’ll get you to my camp where I can check your injuries.” Jeremiah said. He helped to pick him up before noticing that there was a bag over by where the instructor and Eldin were standing. “Is that pack they dropped yours?”

“I don’t know.” Rodrig said. “I can’t see. Probably. They did have me pack my bag before…” He trailed off and shivered.

“Stay here.” Jeremiah told Rodrig. he then went over and picked up the bag. It was light. The trip back to the pack land wasn’t long but with such a small bag, they might need to buy some clothes if he ran out. They would be too busy traveling to wash their clothes. But they would figure it out as they went. He went over and stood behind Rodrig.

“Hold still.” Jeremiah said before he shifted the muscles in his arms. He carefully pulled on the chain, trying not to put any force on Rodrig’s arms as he snapped the flimsy metal. Rodrig brought his arms in front of himself, flexing and stretching them.

“How did you break them?” Rodrig asked.

“Now is not the best time to explain,” Jeremiah said, wrapping his arm around Rodrig’s. “I have good night vision so I will lead you back to my camp. Can you walk?”

“I got my ankle stomped on.” Rodrig said.

Jeremiah had to stop himself from interrogating Rodrig on who was responsible. There would be plenty of time for that later. He prayed it wasn’t Eldin.

“I might be able to carry you,” Jeremiah said before scooping the young man up. He didn’t weigh that much, even without shifting the muscles in his arms. But then Rodrig started squirming in panic.

“Down! Put me down!” Rodrig cried.

“Shh you.” Jeremiah said, adding a bit of the Wild into his voice. “Unless you want to walk to my camp on a hurt ankle.” Rodrig stopped squirming.

“I could make it.” Rodrig pouted. His heartbeat skipped.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Jeremiah said. He had to give Rodrig points for trying to act tough but he needed to learn when to ask for help. Another thing that could be worked on later. “Now stand still. It’s easier to move if you stay still.”

Jeremiah held tight and rushed forward, only going at about half speed. Rodrig pressed against him for stability. The closeness made Jeremiah feel hot. His wolf perked up and started dancing around inside his chest. “

Yes, yes, yes!” it said in his head. “Ours. Finally ours.”

Jeremiah had to push back. No. Not ours. Not yet.

The spirit wolf backed down, but still remained right at the edge of his mind.

When they finally reached his camp, he set Rodrig down on a small wooden folding stool.

“Stay here. I’m going to light a fire.” Jeremiah told Rodrig before grabbing his flint and steel and striking them together. A few seconds later he had a fire going. He then went to his pack and grabbed some Jerky. He pushed it into Rodrig’s hands.

“Eat this and wait here. I’ve got some tools that can pick the locks on those shackles.” Jeremiah told him. He then went and started digging through his bag for his tools. Of course, since he wasn’t expecting to have to use them, they were all the way at the bottom of his bag. He would have to thank Alfonse later for forcing him to pack all these extra tools.

“Just in case, Father.” Alfonse’s voice rang inside his head.

When Jeremiah finally found his tools, he headed over to crouch next to Rodrig. He noticed that Rodrig had already finished the jerky he had given him.

“You can have another piece after I’m done with these,” Jeremiah said before pulling one of his wrists forward. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know. The Captain suddenly told me to stay in my quarters and when he came to get me, that guy was with him. I thought they were going to kick me out of the academy but then they brought me to the woods. Then that...fancy asshole pulled a sword on me. Told me if I didn’t move, he would gut me. Then they tied me up and gagged me.”

Rodrig had to stop himself from laughing when he heard Eldin being referred to as a “fancy asshole.”

“Did they say why?” Jeremiah asked. One of the shackles came undone. He grabbed Rodrig’s other wrist and got to work on the second one.

“No. They didn’t tell me anything. But I get the feeling it has something to do with you.”

There it was. The connection Jeremiah hoped Rodrig wouldn’t make. But it would take an absolute idiot not to notice he was associated with this in some way. Especially after calling Eldin his little brother in front of Rodrig. It was stupid. But seeing someone he thought he would never see again had rattled him.

““Yeah.” Jeremiah said. “I do. But the explanations are going to have to wait until morning. We need to be out of here at first light.”

“Leave? I can’t leave.” Rodrig said as he tried to pull his hand back. Jeremiah held firm.

“You can’t stay either.” Jeremiah said. “You’re not safe here. That man, the fancy asshole as you called him, won’t let you live if you stay.”

Jeremiah hoped that wasn’t true. He hoped his younger brother wasn’t capable of killing and that it was their father’s terrible influence that was causing the once sweet and tender boy to act in such a way. Rodrig wasn’t the only one Jeremiah wanted to take with him. Even though he knew he couldn’t.

As he finally got the second shackle off, Rodrig pulled his hands close, rubbing his wrists. The skin where the shackles had lay seemed irritated.

“Why? I didn’t do anything to him.” Rodrig asked.

“It’s not about what you did. It’s about what you are.”

Jeremiah was getting ready to break the news. That he had a hole in his soul that supernatural elements could next in. That he was different. Before he could say his piece, Rodrig spoke.

“I didn’t ask to be like this.” Rodrig said. “I didn’t ask to be a faggot.”

Jeremiah’s heart broke for Rodrig that moment.

“That’s not what I...oh kid.” Jeremiah said, pulling Rodrig into his arms. He remembered the dark times from his own past. The holding back who he was for appearances. Refusing to accept who he was. It was what made leaving so much easier. “That’s not something you can control. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yes, it is.” Rodrig sobbed. Jeremiah could feel Rodrig’s tears soak his shirt. “The scripture says a man must procreate. That wasting your seed in another man is akin to murder.”

“Kid, sorry to break this to you but the scripture was written by a bunch of assholes with sixteen slave wives apiece.” Jeremiah said, holding the young man tight. Even though Rodrig was having a crisis, just holding the man made something inside of Jeremiah feel right. Like the first time he had held the three men who would eventually become his sons. He didn’t want to give this one over to another group. He wanted to keep this one. Which was bad. “They weren’t exactly the height of moral standings.” That last line was a dig on not just the holier than thou prophets but himself as well.

“But I...” Rodrig tried to argue.

“No buts.” Jeremiah said, holding him at arm's length. He had switched into what Lucin, his second son, called his “dad lecture voice.”

“You being gay isn’t a bad thing. It doesn’t mean you deserve to be treated less than. And don’t say faggot. If I hear that word come out of your mouth again, especially in reference to yourself, I’ll tan your hide. Understood?”

Rodrig looked bewildered but eventually gave a little nod. Jeremiah handed him another piece of jerky.

“Good. Eat this while I prepare you a bedroll.” Jeremiah said before leaving the stunned Rodrig to prepare the spare bedroll he always brought when he was expecting to pick up a Sensitive. Technically he brought 2 extra in case the Sensitive had a spouse or child they couldn’t leave behind. He finished with the bedroll before leaving Rodrig’s bag in the corner of the tent.

“Bed’s ready. Come on, let’s get you laid down so I can take a look at your wounds.” Jeremiah said before going over and helping Rodrig to stand and lead him over to the tent. Rodrig limped the short distance. He wouldn’t be able to walk on it for a while. Thank god he had the cart. Beatrice would give some attitude for the extra weight though.

“Before you lay down, I need you to take off your shirt.” Jeremiah said as he helped sit Rodrig on the bedroll.

“Why?” Rodrig asked, suddenly panicking.

“You’re bleeding on your back. The wound needs to be cleaned. I also need to look at that cut on your cheek and your ankle.”

Rodrig did as he was told. Jeremiah felt a bit ashamed to say that a part of him enjoyed watching the young man take off his shirt. He had a well toned chest but he seemed a bit skinny for someone his height. Something that was easily remedied. Rodrig laid on his stomach so his back was in place.

“Good boy. Now wait here while I get my first aid equipment.” Jeremiah said. He left to grab his stash but by the time he came back, Rodrig was fast asleep.

“That makes sense.” Jeremiah said. He got to work cleaning and disinfecting the wound on Rodrig’s back. It wasn’t deep. No stitches needed. But it would need to be bandaged in some ways. Jeremiah didn’t have one long enough so cloth wraps would have to do. Surprisingly, Rodrig slept through all of it. The face was a bit more deep, that one would need stitches. Again though, Rodrig slept through the process. This one he did have a bandage that would fit. Lastly was the ankle. He rolled it around. The muscles popped but nothing appeared broken. If he stayed off it, Rodrig should be walking within a week. He wrapped it so that it would be hard for him to move it but not so hard to cut off circulation. When Jeremiah was done, he grabbed a blanket and laid it down on top of the man.

Jeremiah then got himself ready for bed. He fed Beatrice, who nuzzled his face and nipped at his hair. He then ate some travel rations and stripped off his shirt and boots. He decided to keep his pants on tonight. Lastly he pulled out a small alarm clock and set it to go off right before first light. He took one last look over at Rodrig who was lightly snoring. Jeremiah joined him in slumber shortly after.

#gay #gay werewolf #creative writing

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lumosandnoxwriting · 3 years

Text

No Returns or Exchanges - Fred Weasley

Title: No Returns or Exchanges Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Summary: Fred and Y/N get to start their happily ever after A/N: this is for @mrs-fredweasley. I usually do my requests in the order I receive them, but she asked for some fluff with Fred and the reader getting married and having kids for her birthday, and since she’s my birthday twin I couldn’t resist! Feedback is always welcome and requests are open!

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“There you are, Mrs. Weasley,” Fred greets as he sneaks up behind Y/N and wraps his arms around her waist.

“I’m not Mrs. Weasley quite yet, Freddie,” Y/N teases as she turns around in his embrace. Her arms wind around Fred’s neck and she pulls him in for a brief kiss. “You’re about twelve hours too early.”

Fred starts to slowly sway them back and forth, humming quietly to the music drifting through the air from the large tent behind them. Fred and Y/N aren’t getting married until tomorrow, but Ginny, Y/N’s maid of honor, insisted on mixing some muggle wedding traditions in alongside the regular wizard ones. Tonight, had been what Ginny referred to as the rehearsal dinner, where the wedding party and their close family went through the ceremony that will take place tomorrow, before having a mini celebration together.

“Do I really have to go home without you?” Fred pouts. Another muggle tradition Ginny insisted on was that Y/N and Fred would not be allowed to see each other until Y/N was heading down the aisle towards him.

Y/N giggles and kisses Fred’s pout away. “I think it’ll be romantic. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that what they say?” Y/N rolls her eyes playfully when Fred frowns at her. “Oh, come on, Freddie. It’s only one night apart.”

“When’s the last time we spent more than 1 hour apart outside of work?” Fred ask, looking down at Y/N expectantly. When she doesn’t answer he smiles. “Exactly. One night is going to feel like an eternity.”

“Okay so maybe it’ll be a bit hard,” Y/N concedes. “But after tomorrow we’ll get to spend every day for the rest of eternity together, that’s gotta be worth it, isn’t it? And have you forgotten that we’ll be spending the next two weeks completely alone together in a cabin in the woods.”

“How can I forget about that?” Fred muses. “Just me, you, and as little clothing as possible for two weeks straight. That’s the only kind of honeymoon I want.” Most of their friends and family were surprised that Fred and Y/N didn’t want to go on some adventurous honeymoon but wanted to just relax together in some secluded forest. But for them that seemed like the only option. It’s only been 13 months since the war ended, and after Fred’s near-death experience he and Y/N decided to take life slow for a bit.

“So that’s why you wanted to go somewhere secluded,” Y/N says, realization washing over her.

Fred laughs. “I may have had ulterior motives when I convinced you to book the cabin in the woods over the beach house.”

Y/N shakes her head fondly. “You’re a bit of a menace, you know that?”

“Yeah but I’m your menace. And you’re way past the return or exchange date so you’re stuck with me,” he jokes, leaning down to press a kiss to Y/N’s forehead.

“Oi, lover boy!” George calls from behind them. Y/N and Fred break apart so they can look at him. “Ginny says it’s time to go, and she’s already wacked me over the head once so get your arse over here before she does it again.”

“See you tomorrow?” Fred asks as he leans down to kiss Y/N briefly.

“Meet you at the altar,” she confirms with a smile.

“You sure you wanna marry my brother?” Ginny teases as they get ready to walk down the aisle. “Because I could cause a distraction if you wanna slip out the front door and run away.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and grabs the bouquet Ginny hands her. “Ha, ha. Very funny, Gin.”

Ginny beams at her before taking her place in line. Y/N takes a deep breath as the music starts, silently regretting that she chose to not have her dad walk her down the aisle. A few months ago, she had bashed the archaic notion of someone giving her away to Fred as if she were a piece of property, but as nerves start to bubble in her stomach she wishes she had someone by her side to calm her down. Everyone in front of her starts to slowly head towards the alter, and she fixes her dress one last time before she follows behind Ginny.

“Holy shit, Y/N,” Fred whispers as she takes his hands at the altar. There are tears in his eyes, and a few leak down his cheeks. “You’re absolutely stunning.”

Y/N blushes, trying to blink away her own tears as to not ruin her makeup. “You clean up quite nice as well, Freddie.”

Fred smiles down at her, maintaining eye contact as the official from the ministry starts the ceremony. Fred squeezes Y/N’s hands tightly as he talks, only half paying attention to what he’s saying. His thoughts are completely consumed with Y/N and how breathtakingly beautiful she is. The dress she picked out compliments all of her best features, and the veil cascading down her shoulders makes her look like a goddess. Fred has imagined this day over a dozen times since he proposed last year, but everything he thought of pales in comparison to how beautiful Y/N looks right now.

“Can I have the rings?” the officiant asks, pulling Fred’s thoughts fully to the ceremony. George digs around in his pocket for a moment before handing the delicate silver rings to the man. He hands the smaller one to Fred. “Now it’s my understanding that the bride and groom have prepared their own vows?” When Fred and Y/N nod, he smiles and motions for Fred to start.

“Y/N, I’ve been enamored with you since I was 11 years old, when you made your cauldron blow up and covered Snape head to toe in the worst smelling goo I’ve ever encountered – and that’s saying something,” Fred pauses as everyone chuckles, and he starts to slide the ring down Y/N’s finger. “When you agreed to accompany me to Hogsmeade during third year I felt like the luckiest guy in the world and I still do. I was so nervous, I had no idea how I managed to convince the pretties girl in school to go out with me, and all these years later I have no idea how I convinced you to marry me. But like I said last night, there’s no returns or exchanges you’re stuck with me for good now.”

Fred slides the ring down Y/N’s finger until it meets her engagement ring. “You’ve stuck by me through every risk I’ve taken and every dumb idea that’s popped into my mind. You were one of the first people to support my dream of opening the joke shop with George, and you were there to support me every step of the way. Every late-night George and I had planning things out or developing products you were right there with me, usually you were asleep, but it was still nice to have you there. You were always the first person to volunteer to test out a product and you were always there for me to vent to when something didn’t work out. You pushed me to leave school early with George, and once you moved in with us you were always there to snuggle with me after a long day.”

Fred takes a deep breath and brings one of his hands up to wipe away the tears Y/N has started to shed. “You gave up so much of your life to be there for me after I was crushed by that wall. No matter how hard I tried to get you to go back to work or just leave the house in general. You’ve always shown me unconditional love and support, and that’s what I’m promising to show you for the rest of our lives. No matter how crazy or hard or scary life gets, I’ll be there by your side, loving you and helping you through it.”

By the time the officiant is pronouncing them husband and wife, both Fred and Y/N are openly crying, but as they share their first kiss as husband and wife, neither of them really cares.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Fred greets with a smile as Y/N pushes the door to his office open. He pushes away from his desk slightly and pats his lap.

“Me too, I hate throwing up,” Y/N responds, taking a seat on Fred’s lap. She settles in and presses a kiss to his cheek. “How’s work going today, husband?” she asks with a giggle. They’ve been married for just over two months, and it still gives Y/N butterflies every time she refers to Fred as her husband.

Fred rolls his eyes and grabs Y/N’s face so he can press a kiss to her lips. “It’s been quite busy today wife. The restock of the new whizbang line already sold out.” Fred settles his hands on Y/N’s hips and kisses her again. “What about you? What have you been getting up to on your day off?”

“I had breakfast with Ginny and Hermione. Did some shopping,” she says casually pointing towards the bags she dropped near the door. “Nothing too crazy or exciting.”

Fred’s eyes light up at the sight of the bags. “Shopping, hm? Did you happen to pick up a present for your lovely, adorable, adoring husband while you were out?” he asks hopefully.

“Maybe,” Y/N muses with a wink. “You’ll have to wait until after work to find out.” Y/N giggles as Fred frowns and she kisses him one last time before standing up.

“You’re such a tease,” he scolds as Y/N gathers the bags in her hand.

“I know.” She waves at Fred and blows him a kiss before heading back into the joke shop and upstairs to their flat. They’re still living with George for the time being as they save up for a house, and as Y/N places her shopping bags on the bed she starts to wonder if they’ll have to start looking for one sooner rather than later.

Y/N sticks her hand in one of the bags and fumbles around a bit, humming as her hands closes around a rectangular cardboard box. Her hand shakes slightly as she pulls the pregnancy test out and starts to familiarize herself with the instructions. While her and Fred have already come to the conclusion that they both want a house full of children someday, she never imagined that they may be starting their family so soon after their wedding.

“Now or never,” Y/N mutters to herself as she heads towards the bathroom. Y/N thought they had been careful while on their honeymoon, she knows there were a few times they had forgotten to use the contraceptive charm in the heat of the moment, but she figured it would be okay. However, when her period never came she began to suspect that they weren’t in fact okay, and the random nausea spells she’s been having for the past week seemed to only solidify that fact.

After she’s closed and locked the door behind her, Y/N does what she needs to do and sets the pregnancy test on the counter face down. “Who knew three minutes could feel like a lifetime?” she asks to no one as she watches the time go by on her watch. When the three minutes is finally up Y/N’s hand starts to shake again as she reaches for the stick. She shuts her eyes tightly as she flips it over, and after a few deep breaths she finally takes a peek.

Pregnant.

Y/N starts to cry as a whirlwind of emotions flow through her. On one hand she’s so overwhelmingly happy, being a mother is something she’s always wanted and to be doing it with Fred makes her heart burst with joy. But she can’t help but also feel an intense bout of worry flowing through her. She and Fred are only 21, and they haven’t even been married six months yet. Y/N knows that Fred wants to be a dad, but she can’t help but worry that he’ll think this is a bad thing and that it’s far too soon for them to become parents.

“Hey, love. You left one of your bags downstairs,” Fred calls out as he walks through the door.

Y/N furiously wipes away her tears and sticks the pregnancy test in the back pocket of her jeans. She takes a deep breath and opens the bathroom door, jumping slightly when she sees Fred. “You scared me, Freddie. I didn’t hear you come down the hall.”

Fred frowns at her. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” When Y/N nods he gives her a look. “Were you throwing up again? You’re all pale, love. Are you sure we shouldn’t go see a muggle doctor or a healer or something?”

“I’m fine, love,” Y/N reassures, pushing past Fred. She starts to head down the hall when she feels Fred’s hand brush her ass. “What are you- oh,” she gasps, turning around to face Fred. He’s staring down at the pregnancy test in his hands. “Fred,” Y/N starts, not really sure what to say.

“Is this what I think it is?” Fred murmurs, looking up at Y/N. He grips the test in his hand tightly, tears starting to form in his eyes. “You’re pregnant?”

Y/N nods slowly as she bites her lip. “Yeah, I am.” Fred falls to his knees and brings Y/N close to him, shoving her shirt up a little. He starts to pepper kisses all over her warm skin, laughing as Y/N starts to giggle and squirm. “Fred! Fred stop that tickles!”

Fred presses one final kiss to her stomach before he stands up and kisses Y/N passionately. “I can’t believe you’re pregnant. I can’t believe we’re gonna have a baby.” Fred lets go of Y/N and starts to head towards the door. “I have to go tell George.”

“Freddie, wait,” Y/N calls with a laugh, chasing after him. She closes her hand around his wrist and pulls him back towards her. “You’re not mad? Or upset?”

Fred gives Y/N a look like she’s crazy. “Upset? Mad? Why would I be any of those things? You know I want to be a dad, love. We’ve talked about this before.”

“I dunno,” Y/N shrugs. “We’re young and we haven’t been married for that long. I just thought you wouldn’t think it’s the right time.”

Fred sighs and comes back towards Y/N, wrapping her up in a hug. “Love I don’t care about any of that. So, what we’ve only been married for two months? We’ve been as good as married since we were 18 when you first moved in here.” Fred presses a kiss to her forehead and smiles down at her. “Besides if we’re gonna have enough kids to fill a quidditch team we need to have them young, I can’t be an old man teaching my kids how to fly,” he jokes with a laugh.

“A whole quidditch team?” Y/N asks. When Fred gives her a wink Y/N rolls her eyes. “You’re lucky I love you Fred Weasley.”

“Fred what are you doing?” Y/N murmurs around a yawn. She started to wake up after a warm heavy weight rested on her stomach, and when she finally opened her eyes she saw Fred half hanging off the bed as he laid on his front. He’d pushed her shirt up and his head is hovering over the swell of her stomach while his hand strokes it lightly.

“Talking to the baby,” he responds, as if the answer is obvious.

Y/N shifts so she’s laying on her elbows so that she can look down at him properly. “At 2 am?”

Fred nods, pressing a light kiss to her skin. “I couldn’t sleep. And I read in that muggle book Hermione gave us last week that the baby can hear things now, so I figured I’d try it out.”

Y/N chuckles brings a hand up to rub her stomach. “Well I think the baby likes the sound of your voice, they’ve been moving like crazy.” Early last week Y/N had started to feel the baby move around inside of her. The first time it happened it scared the shit out of her, but now she’s started to miss it when the baby is still.

“Really?” Fred asks, his eyes lighting up. The movements Y/N has been feeling are still far too light for Fred to feel from the outside, but every night he spends hours rubbing her bump to try and feel something.

“Yeah, really. My ribs have become a punching bag.” Y/N smiles as the baby lands a few kicks to her stomach. “Here, gimme your hand.

Fred gives Y/N the hand that isn’t already on her stomach, watching as she places it on the side of her bump. She presses his hand into her skin, and he holds his breath, hoping to feel something. “Holy shit,” he gasps as the skin beneath his hand moves ever so slightly. Fred watches his hand in awe, smiling as it moves lightly with each movement. “That’s so cool.”

Y/N laughs and lets go of Fred’s hand so she can run her hand through his hair. “Innit? Though it does feel kinda weird that it’s like, coming from inside of me. But it’s nice. Like I’m never alone.”

“Hey little one,” Fred coos against Y/N’s skin, pressing down against her stomach as he feels the baby kick him in response. “I’m your Daddy, and I can’t wait to meet you.” Fred presses a kiss to Y/N’s skin and tears form in his eyes when he feels a small movement against his mouth. “I know your Mummy is doing such an amazing job of growing you in there but hurry up and get out of there so I can hold you and play with you and kiss you and cuddle you.” Fred tears his eyes away from Y/N’s bump so he can wink at his wife. “Plus, the sooner you get out of there the sooner Daddy can give you a sibling.”

Y/N scoffs and flicks Fred on the forehead. “Can we finish making this one before you start planning the next?”

“What? There’s no harm in planning ahead,” he teases, crawling up the bed to kiss Y/N sweetly.

“Hi there little bug,” Fred coos, gently rocking his newborn daughter. She’s only a few hours old, and her big eyes are bright as she blinks up at Fred. “I’m your Daddy and I love you so much Miss Ellie belly.” Her actual name is Electra, but Fred has settled on calling her Ellie. Y/N had found her name in a baby book Hermione dropped off, and they both instantly fell in love with it. It means bright one, and after the dark times Fred and Y/N had survived in order to bring her into the world it seemed like the perfect fit.

Fred presses a kiss to her forehead, his heart melting as she makes a little noise. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers. “Just don’t tell Mummy I said that.”

“Maybe you should check to make sure Mummy is asleep before you start spilling your secrets,” Y/N responds with a laugh.

Fred turns around, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, love. I figured you’d be a goner after the past few days you’ve had.”

Y/N moves over to make room for Fred and pats the space next to her. “I was only in labor for what 36 hours? That’s nothing,” she says with a laugh.

Fred comes over and sits next to Y/N, cradling Ellie tightly against his chest. “Don’t downplay yourself, love. You’re an absolute superhero.” He begrudgingly passes the baby back to Y/N and wraps an arm around her, his other hand coming up to grab Ellie’s foot through the blanket she’s wrapped up in. “We wouldn’t have our perfect little angel without you.”

Y/N blushes, looking over at Fred. “You helped a little bit. And I did nearly break your hand while I was pushing.”

“Aw, Y/N. You flatter me,” Fred teases. He presses a kiss to her temple and takes a moment to just watch as Y/N cuddles Ellie close. “I didn’t know I could love something this much,” Fred says quietly, crying slightly for the second time that day. The first had been when the doctor placed Ellie in his arms for the first time. “But every time I look at her my heart feels like it’s going to burst from how much love is in it.”

“I know, right? Every time I look at her I feel like crying. She’s just so tiny and perfect and ours.” Y/N leans down and presses a kiss to Ellie’s forehead. “I almost can’t believe that we made her. I don’t know how you and I could make something so beautiful.”

Fred gently grabs Y/N’s chin and turns her head so he can kiss her passionately. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world, so it is no surprise that our daughter is the most beautiful little girl in the world.” Fred kisses Y/N again briefly, before letting go of her chin so he can stroke Ellie’s cheek. “How are you feeling, love? Can I get you anything?”

“I’m alright, Freddie, thank you,” Y/N says softly, looking back down at their daughter. “I actually feel really good. To be honest your Mum scared me a bit, I thought it would be way worse.”

Fred chuckles, melting as Ellie’s eyes flutter closed. “I think Healers have revolutionized childbirth in the twenty years it’s been since she had a baby.” He bites his lip, nudging Y/N so she’ll look at him. “So now that this one’s out, when can we start trying for number 2?”

“Y/N love, I’m home!” Fred calls, stepping out of their fireplace and into the living room. He dusts the ashes from his suit, frowning when his wife doesn’t answer him immediately. But it turns into a smile when he spots his daughter peering at him over top of her play pen.

“Ellie,” he coos, heading over to her. “Look at you, standing up on your own!” he praises, lifting her out and up into the air. He tosses her up gently, laughing as she giggles madly at him. “Where’s your Mummy?” he asks, settling the infant on his hip. He presses a kiss to her forehead, his stomach turning to mush when she cuddles into his chest. “Let’s go find her then, hm?”

Fred starts to explore the house, grinning as Ellie babbles baby nonsense into his skin. He can’t believe how fast the past 8 months have gone, and while he loves watching Ellie grow and learn new things, he misses the baby stage already. “What do you think Mummy’s doing?” he asks, nodding along to her babbles as if she’s actually answering him. “I think she might be hiding to scare Daddy. What do you think?”

After checking their downstairs Fred starts to head up the stairs, his fingers lightly digging into Ellie’s belly to tickle her. She shrieks with laughter, and it sounds like music in Fred’s ears. “Daddy misses you while he’s at work, Miss Ellie belly. I think I should take you with me tomorrow. What do you think? Do you wanna spend the day with Daddy and Uncle George at the joke shop?”

Fred peppers kisses to Ellie’s head as he walks down the hallway. The door to his and Y/N’s room is shut and as he goes to grab the doorknob it swings open and Y/N practically runs into him.

“Oh, Fred,” she gasps, holding something to her chest. “I didn’t hear you come in, love.” Fred eyes her wearily as Y/N leans forward to tickle Ellie’s stomach with her free hand and press kisses to her chubby cheeks. “Is your Daddy home, Miss Ellie? Did Daddy finally come home to see you?” she asks, laughing as Ellie giggles at her.

“What’s in your hand?” Fred asks.

Y/N looks up at him, trying to seem as innocent as possible. “Nothing,” she responds, showing him the hand that was on Ellie’s stomach.

Fred rolls his eyes playfully. “The other one, gorgeous.”

“Oh, um,” Y/N blushes and looks away from Fred as she takes her hand from her chest and opens her palm. A positive pregnancy test is laying in her hand, staring up at Fred.

Fred gasps. “Another one?”

Y/N nods and snuggles into Fred’s chest as he pulls her into a hug with his free hand. “Dunno why you’re so surprised, you’ve been trying to get me pregnant since Ellie was born.”

Fred laughs and leans down to kiss Y/N deeply. “Guess it’s time to start thinking about the next one then,” he teases.

Y/N glares at Fred. “Are you sure it’s not too late to return or exchange you?”

“Sorry love, I burned the receipt long ago,” Fred responds with a laugh, kissing Y/N again.

#fred weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley fluff #Fred Weasley fanfiction #Fred Weasley fic #Fred Weasley x reader #Fred Weasley x y/n #fw #golden

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stormcrawler75 · 4 years

Note

Bad Things Bingo request: Memory Loss with the Sides as a pantheon of gods.

Warnings: Memory Lost, description of scars, Virgil not having a good view of how he looks.

Notes: Dude, guys, I accidentally deleted the last few paragraphs and had to rewrite them. I finished this tonight out of spite.

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Virgil fucking hated snow.

There was no good thing about snow. Not one damn thing and Virgil was willing to stake his life on that claim. In fact, every good thing about Virgil’s life slowed to a stop when fall ended and the snow started to fall. Snow was cold, killed all of the crops that Virgil spent all year growing, and made travel into town a damn bitch. And, on top of everything else, it made the scars surrounding Virgil’s eyes and temples ache to no end. The only thing that helped with the aches and pains was the medicine that his friend Elliott sold. And where did Elliott sell the medicine?

All the way in town. So, yeah, Virgil hated snow.

He sighed as he climbed out of his bed, the cold from outside seeping into his bones. Virgil’s home was a small one-bedroom house with a small fireplace, a bed that he had pressed against two walls, small knickknacks and gifts placed on shelves that Virgil had built himself, and a small rug in front of the door to the outside. The fire that he had built the night before had gone out, with only glowing embers left in Virgil’s tiny fireplace now. The bowl with half of Virgil’s leftover dinner was left beside his bed, which Virgil immediately grab to slowly pick at.

Virgil glanced over at a small mirror on the wall that Elliott had given him, gently wiping at his eyes and trying his best to avoid his scars. There were deep and rough scars around Virgil’s eyes - as if someone had tried carving them out with a knife but never truly committed to the idea - and two identical thin, deep scars on each of his temples. Virgil’s nose was crooked like it had been broken many times before and one of his eyes didn’t open all the way. He wasn’t the prettiest man ever but, as Elliott had once said, he was just lucky to still be alive. Not that Virgil cared about the scars or how he looked. He honestly just wished that he remembered how he got the damn scars.

Or any part of his life before waking up in the town’s local Doctor’s office. He had woken up nearly five years ago with no memory. Elliott had found him on the outskirts of town, caught in a bright bronze net and left for dead, and had immediately brought him to the town’s Doctor. The town had been gracious enough to provide Virgil with a small house and some land to make a living off of. Virgil had been given far, far more than a poor, ugly man like him ever deserved and he had tried his best to pay the town back ever since. He gave deals to the town folks on his carrots and beets, he did odd jobs in the winter for half the price he charged for out of towners, and when the town announced that they would be making a temple for the God of Family and Safe Havens, Virgil went out and chopped down as many of his own trees that they would need.

Even if Virgil wasn’t sure what he thought about these Gods, he would give everything and anything to the people who had given him a home, their food, and the clothes off their back.

Though, it wasn’t like what he gave was anything special. Though the farmwork he did was hard and backbreaking, the corps flourished under Virgil’s hands. It wasn’t like he ever did anything special. He just did what every other farmer did. Maybe it was just that Virgil did what he loved. Waking up early and going out to work with his vegetables and his two little fruit trees were hard but Virgil loved it so much that anyone who happened to walk onto his land had a good chance of hearing him sing as he worked. As long as what he did made the town happy, Virgil was happy.

Virgil was startled from his thoughts from banging on his door, the excited voice of his best friend calling from outside, “Virgil! Virgil, wake up, wake up!” Virgil yawned shuffled over to the door, opening it with a tired smile. “Hey, Elli. What’s up?”

Elliott beamed at him and surged forward, grabbing Virgil’s arms and making him shiver from the snow and frost on their mittens. “It’s finished! The builders, you know the ones who said that they wouldn’t be able to finish until Spring? The mayor paid them double and they finished! The Temple is opening up tonight and they’re going to be putting out a feast!” They let go of Virgil, stumbling over to the spot on the floor where Virgil’s damp coat, mittens, and gloves had been dumped.

Virgil could only gawk at them, feeling like his brain was having trouble catching up to what Elliott was saying. “It’s finished?! How, when- I haven’t heard anything about the builders starting up again! When did this even happen?!”

“They worked through the night for the last month,” Elliott squealed, practically throwing Virgil’s winter wear at him. “And, dude, I can’t believe I’m even gonna be saying this,” Elliott took Virgil’s hands and said with forced calmness, “the God Patton himself might actually show up.”

Virgil swore that his heart stopped right then and there. Full on, dead stop. “A God?! What the hell are you talking about?! He’s coming here?!”

“It’s this new thing,” Elliott babbled, gesturing at the clothes in Virgil’s arms frantically until Virgil slowly started pulling them on. “It only started in the last few years and only in this country but, recently, whenever a Temple is built, whichever God the Temple is for shows up! They usually mingle for a bit and insist on looking around. I heard that even the God of Logic and all that other stuff showed up in a town a few days away about a month ago! He blessed the town’s teachers, looked around, and then left. People are thinking that the Gods are looking for something or something and that’s why they’re showing up everywhere!”

“Holy shit,” Virgil whispered, pulling his hat on hurriedly. “Holy shit, are you serious?! That’s fucking - we gotta check it out!” He grabbed his boots and practically jammed them on his feet. “We gotta get going now! If we head out now then we can make it to the town by lunchtime! Wait, no, we gotta get an offering! Do you have something to give him? I killed a deer yesterday and I still have its pelt so I’m covered but what about you!?”

Elliott grinned at him and flashed a bright pink ring on their left hand. “I’m good! My Grandma gave me this ring just in case something like this happened before she died years ago. Now come on! We can wait in my house until tonight but we gotta get going!”

Virgil laughed and grabbed Elliott’s hand, pulling them out of the small cabin. “You better have brought your horse and buggy because if I have to walk through all of this snow, I am going to lose it.”

“Of course I did,” Elliott laughed, climbing into the buggy. “And you know that that you could buy a horse of your own from old man Jerry. After you helped him and his wife with that problem they were having, they’d probably give you one for free!” They eyed Virgil’s rising blush with a grin. “And Miss Kitty would give you three buggies for how you helped her with her girlfriend. Heck, she’d give you a carriage!”

“It’s not my fault that I give good advice,” Virgil muttered, ducking his head and trying to get comfortable in his seat. “Besides, Miss Kitty and Jessica’s problem was easy. They just needed to talk, that’s all. I just pointed it out.” He batted Elliott’s arm when he saw them open their mouth to continue talking and - most definitely - continue talking about how Virgil kept getting when it came to giving advice about people’s love lives. “Shut up and get us to town, Elli!”

He ignored Elliott’s laugh and settled back as the horse started making its way back to town. Elliott was just overexaggerating. It wasn’t like Virgil went out looking for people who needed help with their love lives. Just... whenever Virgil was talking to people, the topic of love happened to come up a lot and people always seemed to ask for his advice. Virgil honestly had no idea if the advice he was giving was good, per se. It was just that Virgil seemed to know what he was talking about. People theorized that Virgil had been a Matchmaker before he had come to live here. Virgil wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Besides, it wasn’t just romantic things that people came to Virgil to ask advice on. Virgil had helped with the two orphan boys that had come from the city, the year-long fight that two local sisters were having, and a fight between two best friends. It seemed that Virgil was just good with advice. It wasn’t like it was anything special.

“So, all of the Gods have been showing up lately,” Virgil asked Elliott as the buggy went down the dirt road.

Elliott nodded but then paused. “Well, almost all of them. One of them hasn’t shown up recently. The God of Love and Beauty hasn’t appeared in almost five years now.” They shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I mean, I heard that he was super active before so he’s probably just taking a break. I heard that time passes really quickly for the Gods. I’m sure that he’ll be back sometime soon.

“I mean, what’s the other option? I mean, what kind of bad things can happen to a God?”

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The Temple was beautiful.

Virgil knew that it was nothing compared to the Temples in cities or the Capital. He had heard rumours of those Temples being made from solid gold, with sparkling rubies and sapphires embedded in its walls, and rich offerings given by Kings and Queens stacked through the halls. Compared to those Temples, this little one was nothing. It was barely as big as the local schoolhouse with one room. From looking through the front window, Virgil thought that it looked more like a very cozy and comfortable family room than anything. There was a beautiful fireplace roaring with fire, beds pushed up against the walls, and food stacked on the table. Virgil’s offering of a deer’s pelt was lying on a table along with several others.

“I can’t believe that this is the new Temple,” Virgil whispered to Elliott, both of their eyes wide with wonder. The two of them were at the front of a large crowd in front of the Temple, waiting for entrance. This whole thing was so exciting that Virgil was barely aware of the dull sting from the wind hitting his scars. “I mean, it’s great but it’s... not what I thought it’d look like.” While it might not be what they were expecting, it was still the most wonderful place that either of them had ever seen.

Elliott grinned at him, bouncing up and down in excitement. “Me neither but this is the God of Family and Safe Havens. I bet that this Temple would look a lot different if this was a Temple for the God of Beauty and Love or for the God of Self Preservation. I hear that the God Patton lets people use his Temples as Safe Havens, just like the God Janus.” They gasped when a soft, warm blue light glowed from the inside of the house, bathing everything inside with its light. “Oh my gosh,” they whispered, gripping Virgil’s arm tightly. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe this, I can’t believe this! He’s actually coming, he’s actually showing up!”

The crowd of people immediately quieted and no one made a single sound. Virgil could’ve dropped a pin and it would’ve been the loudest sound in the entire town. Slowly, the light coming from the Temple died down. Though, and maybe this was just Virgil seeing things, the inside of the Temple seemed warmer somehow. It seemed homier. And the large man standing in the, just minutes before empty, Temple seemed completely right there.

Virgil watched through the front window with wide eyes as the man slowly looked around. He was huge, almost six feet, with curly blond hair and big round glasses that were perched on top of a small bottom nose, covering big blue eyes. There were freckles on each and every inch of the man’s skin and there were laugh lines around his eyes. He was wearing comfortable clothes and had the air of a person that you could trust. The kind of person that you would run to if you had a problem or no one else you could turn to. He looked... like a Dad.

He looked familiar.

The God slowly walked through the Temple with a small smile, gently touching the walls and taking a minute to look at the food. Virgil watched him kneel by the fireplace and gently stroke it for a few seconds, glowing embers jumping from the fire and onto the God’s skin only for the God to brush them from his skin with no sign of injury. And Virgil watched as, slowly, the God stood and made his way to the door leading outside to the crowd waiting outside.

Virgil hurried to kneel with the rest of the town, breath catching at the God stepped outside. Most, including Elliott, had their heads bowed respectfully but Virgil could only gawk dumbly as the God looked out at them with a smile. For almost a second there, it looked like he was looking for something and he had to hold back his disappointment when he didn’t find it. But he kept a smile firmly on his face as he went back to looking through the crowd. He had just opened his mouth to say something when his gaze landed on Virgil’s ugly scarred face. Virgil felt a pit of terror settle into him as the God’s face went from gratitude and forced happiness to an expression that Virgil didn’t have the time to fully understand at before the God was almost running at him.

“Vergilius!”

The crowd scrambled away from Virgil, Elliott being pulled from him from someone, and Virgil felt frozen as the God landed in front of him. Distantly, in the back of Virgil’s mind, he remembered a mean rumour that had circulated when Virgil had first been found. That Virgil had somehow offended a God and, in punishment, the Gods had scarred him and stolen his memory. Virgil had never believed these rumours but now, Virgil thought that it might be true. And if they had stolen Virgil’s memory the first time, Virgil found that he was utterly terrified to discover what they might take this time.

Virgil jumped as large, calloused but gentle hands cupped his cheeks, tilting his head up so he was staring right in the watery eyes of the God of Family and Safe Havens. The God’s glasses were slightly crooked and had slid down right down to the edge of his nose. Tears were making their way down his cheeks and the God’s lips were turned up in a bright, slight disbelieving but so relieved grin. The God was rubbing a thumb into Virgil’s cheek gently while the other was hovering frantically around Virgil like it didn’t know where exactly it should settle. “Oh, Vergilius,” the God whispered, voice cracking. “Oh, you’re here. You’re safe.”

“Vergilius?”

“As in the God Vergilius?!”

“The God of Love and Beauty!?”

“Virgil, our Virgil?”

“What is a God doing living in a cabin on the edge of a poor little town?”

“I,” Virgil licked his suddenly dry lips, staring at the God in confusion and a bit of fear, “my name is Virgil. I’m sorry but, I think I you got the wrong person. I’m, I’m not,” his words trailed away from him, not sure what to say. He found himself leaning into the God’s hand and had to jerk away. Had to jerk away from the feeling of ‘finally-I’m-finally-home-I-was-so-scared-but-I’m-home-and-I-was-so-scared-but-I-knew-that-you’d-find-me’.

The God laughed, but it sounded more confused than anything. “Kiddo, Vergilius, what are you talking about? Oh, Sweetheart, what happened?” Virgil’s breath caught as one of the God’s huge fingers gently brushed against one of the scars surrounding his eyes. “Who did this to you,” the God asked, his voice darkening and full of power. He looked up and he seemed like a God for the first time since he had arrived as he demanded, “Did these Mortals do this to you?!”

Almost a full year ago, Elliott had told Virgil that there was a reason that Patton was the God of both Families and Safe Havens. Because no one would dare step into one of the God’s Safe Havens and try to hurt someone who had hidden there. Because those who stayed there were the God’s family and no one would risk Patton’s wrath. Virgil hadn’t been completely convinced if Elliott wasn’t exaggerating back then, of the God’s terrible wrath on those who had hurt those who he had deemed family.

But now, as the ground started to shake and the sun started to burn impossibly bright, Virgil knew that Elliott had been under-exaggerating.

“Wait,” Virgil cried, lurching forward and grabbing Patton’s arm desperately just as the God had started to rise. “Please, don’t hurt them! They saved me, they didn’t hurt me,” he pleaded. “Please, please don’t hurt them, please.”

The God stared down at Virgil, one hand still cupping his cheek. “You’re sure,” he asked softly, the shaking ground slowly calming and the sun’s harsh beams dimming slightly. “Are you sure, Sweetheart? They’ve helped you?”

“They found me in a bronze net,” Virgil babbled, keeping a tight grip on Patton’s arm like he could single-handedly stop the God if he tried anything. “Elliott did. They found me without my memories and brought me to a Doctor and healed me. They gave me a house and land and fruit trees and seeds and they never hurt me, I promise, I swear!” His chest was burning with the love he had for this small town and the people in it and he was honestly afraid that his chest would burst from just how much of it there was.

There was a long pause before the God slowly pulled Virgil up until he was standing, paying attention only to Virgil and giving none of it to the townfolks watching with bated breath. Both of Patton’s hands cupped Virgil’s cheeks and he asked softly, voice almost unhearable, “Do you know who I am, Kiddo? Do you remember me?”

Virgil blinked and the tears that had been building during his frantic plea starting slowly trickling down his face. “You’re Patton,” he whispered softly, “the God of Families and Safe Havens. The Creator of Janus, the God of Self Preservation and, and a lot of other things. The Father of the Council of Gods.” He let out a shaky breath as the God bowed his head, letting his forehead rest on Virgil’s. “Am... am I wrong?”

The God let out a shaky, pained laugh. “No, Kiddo. No, you’re not wrong.” He looked up at the pale, terrified Mayor and gave him a wobbly smile “Thank you for the Temple. It’s beautiful. I love it.” He turned back to Virgil and gently petted his hair. “I need you to come with me, okay Darling? I know this is all probably very scary and overwhelming for you but I need you to be brave, okay?”

“You... you won’t hurt them,” Virgil asked shakily, looking over his shoulder at the townsfolk. Even though they looked terrified, many of them managed to give Virgil weak and encouraging smiles. One of them, an older lady named Miss Julia, looked like the only reason she wasn’t beating Patton away with her cane was her partner, Hannah, gripping onto her arm tightly. “Right? They protected me. You promise you won’t hurt them?”

The God smiled at him gently, pressing a kiss onto his forehead. “I promise, Sweetheart.” And, with that, Virgil was pulled into a gentle hug and his face was gently pushed into the God’s shoulder so he couldn’t see what was happening. Virgil was about to pull away, terrified that he’d look back to see that his town had been wiped off the map, but he found himself falling limp into the God’s arm when a warm, safe feeling flooded into him and the ground was whisked out from under him. The harsh winter wind disappeared and, for one brief moment, there was only Virgil and the God.

And then, Virgil stumbled as a floor reappeared under his feet. Even without looking, Virgil knew that it was the most expensive floor that he could remember standing on. It was smooth and felt like it had been freshly waxed. He pulled back away from Patton and looked around, eyes widening. Now, this was a Temple.

They were in a large room that wouldn’t look out of place as a King’s throne room. Nine empty thrones were placed around the room, all of them looking completely different from each other. And, for some reason, Virgil felt drawn toward the smallest, almost dainty looking one on the far left side of the room. Like it was meant to be his.

“Does this room seem similar to you at all,” the God asked gently, keeping one hand on Virgil’s shoulder. He seemed to deflate a little when Virgil shook his head. “Okay, that's okay, Kiddo. Now, I want you to wait here, okay Hon? I’m going to get our friends and we can talk this whole thing out.” He leaned forward and gave Virgil a gentle kiss on his forehead before leaving the throne room and leaving Virgil alone.

Virgil swallowed and looked around slowly, trying his best to get his bearings. The room was gorgeous but his eyes kept getting drawn to the small, purple and black throne. It was deceptively dainty looking almost like the throne of a Queen that Virgil had seen once in a book Elliott had given him. But, even from halfway across the room, Virgil could see that the metal was sharp and there were two small, detachable knives on the arms of the throne that would’ve been perfect if the person sitting there suddenly needed something to throw. And there was a power simply radiating from the throne, like if the wrong person sat in it then they’d simply cease to exist.

It was beautiful.

There was a sudden flurry of noise and Virgil spun around, tensing up defensively. The noise was coming from a doorway and Virgil could hear one voice rising above all the others, “You can’t be serious, Patton! He’s been in a dirt poor farm town this entire time?!” There was the soft of Patton answering back, though Virgil couldn’t make out exactly what he said, and the same voice from before snapped back, “No way! Vergilius wouldn’t stay away from us, we’re his family! Whoever you brought back is an imposter, it has to be!”

Virgil stepped forward nervously, walking up to the doorway and standing right beside it but still not be seen. A new voice jumped in, low and suave. “We don’t know that, Roman. We should meet him, just in case it really is Vergilius!”

“But what if this is some evil monster who tries to put us under his spell?!”

“Roman - hes’s not a monster!”

Virgil jumped at a new voice snapped out, “Enough!” Roman, Remus, Emile, Remy, you four stay here. Myself, Patton, and Janus will meet with... whoever Patton has brought here.”

“It’s Vergilius,” Patton cried, sounding close to tears. “Logan, I promise-”

“I know, Patton, I know. We’re just going to check that this is Vergilius for certain, okay Sweetling? And if this truly is Vergilius, we’ll want to make sure that he’s okay first before bombarding him all at once. This is just to be safe.”

“And if this is an imposter, then me and Roman will stab him to death and push him into a vat of boiling poison!”

“For once, I agree with my brother.”

Virgil felt a cold stab of fear before it was overwhelmed with the feeling of hot, harsh anger. He was basically dragged here, taken from his home because apparently, some God thought that he was the God of Love and Beauty - fucking ridiculous - and now some other God decided that if he didn’t look enough like this missing God than they were going to be taking Virgil’s life as punishment. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Before Virgil even knew what he was doing, he was already halfway through the door and spitting out, “Well I fucking don’t!”

The hallway was filled with eight people, all who turned at the sound of Virgil’s voice, but Virgil turned all of his attention to the one with a sword drawn and glaring daggers at Virgil. He didn’t half to be a genius to know that this was the guy who had called him an imposter and jumped right on board with the ‘Killing Virgil’ plan. Virgil decided that he didn’t like this guy.

The guy - he had to be God - puffed up and stalked up to Virgil, baring his teeth at him. “How dare you wear the face of my friend, you imposter!”

“I’m not a fucking imposter and I’m not your fucking friend,” Virgil snapped, planting his feet and glaring up at him. The God glared right back at him with bright red eyes, gripping his sword so tightly that his knuckles were turning bright white. “So don’t go yelling at me!” He pushed at the God’s sword arm so hard that the God nearly dropped his weapon.

There was a moment of tense silence before one of the others cleared their voice, stepped forward with a raised finger and said, “Just so you all know, I’m on Pattycake’s side. That is definitely Vergilius.” They stepped back with a smirk as the God with the sword turned his glare at him. “Hey, just saying, Roman.”

The God - Roman - huffed and turned his snarl back to Virgil. “I don’t care what you say, Remy. I know Verglius and he wouldn’t hide out in some random town while we’re all looking for him!”

“My name isn’t Vergilius,” Virgil snapped, feeling the urge to stop his foot. “It’s Virgil! I don’t know any of you guys and my name is Virgil!”

Roman spread his arm and nodded firmly. “See!? Even the Mortal agrees! This was just a mistake.” He sheathed his sword and offered Virgil his arm with a sharp smile. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll escort you back to your home and we can go back to looking for the real Vergilius.”

“Wait,” Patton cried, stepping forward and shoving himself between Virgil and Roman. “Roman, I know that this is Vergilius, I just know it! He told me that he had no memories, he told me this! Logan,” he turned to a short man who was staring at Virgil with dark narrowed eyes, “Logan, you believe me, don’t you?”

“...He does bear an uncanny resemblance to Vergilius,” Logan hummed, stroking his chin with thin, boney fingers. “And if he did indeed lose his memories than that would explain why Vergilius never sent word and how he gained those scars. Though, we have had many imposters in the last five years that you were also sure was Vergilius, Patton,” he continued gently.

“It’s Virgil,” Virgil said sharply, straightening up and glaring at the God.

Logan sighed in frustration and opened his mouth but was cut off by that same suave voice from before. “Well, then, there really is a simple way of solving this, isn’t there?” Virgil turned to look at who was talking and froze.

Staring back at him was a man with sharp golden eyes and bright green scales going down the left half of his face, staring down at Virgil with an unreadable expression. He tilted his head and said smoothly with a shrug, “Make him sit in Vergilius’ chair.”

One of the Gods who hadn’t spoken yet - a God who looked very similar to Patton but with bright pink and blue eyes, long brown hair instead of blond, and an outfit that wouldn’t look out of place on a scholar - stepped forward with a frown. “But, Janus, that’s not fair to the Mortal! Patton brought him here, he didn’t come here claiming to be Vergilius! If it turns out that he isn’t Vergilius then the power will overwhelm him and -”

“Wait,” Virgil cried, throwing his hands up in the air. He tilted his chin up and glared at the intimidating God, Janus. “Sitting in that chair will prove whether or not I’m this Vergilius?” Janus had barely nodded before Virgil was turning back to the throne room to sit in the stupid damn chair so he could go back to his farm and sleep until fucking spring.

But Janus’ hand snapped out and grabbed Virgil’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “As a favour to Emile here,” he said, nodding at the God with pink and blue eyes, “I will warn you to what the chair will do if you’re not Vergilius.” His lips quirked up. “Unless you’d like to just charge in and sit in it without knowing.”

Virgil wanted to scream, he really did. He could be told what would happen if he wasn’t Vergilius - which judging from what Emile had been saying was probably nothing good - and lose his nerve. Which might just prove to these Gods that he was an imposter and Virgil would be in for a world of pain. Or he would just go in to sit on the throne and damn the consequences.

Virgil blamed the decision he made next on how angry he currently was. There was no way for any anxiety or common sense to peek out and make Virgil nervous enough to take a second and really think about what he was about to do. Before he could fully think about what he was doing, Virgil ripped his wrist away from the smirking God and turned back to the Throne Room, stomping across the hall and ignoring the calls of Patton and Emile to wait and let them explain first before trying it.

Instead, he hoisted himself upon the Throne and sat back, closing his eyes.

It was the most comfortable chair ever. It was like someone had studied Virgil’s body and had shaped the Throne around him. The pillow on the throne felt like it was stuffed full of duck feathers and was made out of velvet. Velvet. Virgil had never even seen velvet before. It was the most comfortable Throne in the history of Thrones. Virgil didn’t know how he knew that and he wasn’t going to think on too closely.

“Okay, so, I sat in the stupid chair,” Virgil groaned as he leant forward. As sad as he was to get out of the Throne, he really wanted to go home and check-in with the rest of the townsfolk. “Can I go home now?” He froze though when he opened his eyes and saw all eight Gods standing around him and watching him with various expressions on their faces.

“I knew it,” Patton whispered a large grin on his face and tears gathering in his eyes. “I knew it.”

Roman was staring at Virgil in numb shock, tears running down his cheek. “Oh... you’re really him,” he whispered. His hand twitched like he wanted to pull Virgil into a hug but he couldn’t commit to the action. “Vergilius.”

Virgil twitched backward, leaning back into the throne. “No, I told you. My name’s Virgil. I’m not -”

“You are,” Janus said, stepping forward. He was smiling at Virgil with tears in his eyes, looking so happy and relieved. “That throne was made specifically for Vergilius and your atoms would’ve melted if you weren’t truly Vergilius. Even if you don’t remember your life as Vergilius or don’t remember us, you are our Vergilius.” His smile grew into a large grin. “Oh, Dear One, I’m so happy that you’re safe.”

Virgil blinked dumbly, feeling like everything he knew had just been turned upside down and nothing made sense anymore. He didn’t want to believe it. He just wanted to go back home, visit with Elliott, and then sleep in his own bed. He didn’t want to believe it.

But he did.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, tears of confusion pricking at his eyes. “If I... if I really am Vergilius... then what happened? How did... where... What happened?”

Janus pulled Virgil into a tight hug, holding him so tightly like he was terrified that if he let go than Virgil would disappear. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t. But we’re going to find out. And until we do, we’re never going to let something like this happen again. I promise.”

General Taglist

@mooniecoockie

@all-eyes-on-you-forever

@engineering-a-better-world

@hermitcreature

@punsterterry

@iris-sanders-athena

@heck-im-lost

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@liz-a-belle-blog

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@fandoms-winkitywonk

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@angels-and-dreams

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@ravens-rambling

@felicianoromano

@artemispowell

@phander-trash

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@maehemscorpyus

@the-anti-virgil

@georganabanana

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@dragonsworn05

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@holliberries

@hell-or-high-waters

@paint-in-flames

@purplepatton

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@pearl-topaz

@that-smol-tired-gay

@tired-fanboy

@rachel-eve-puppet

@the-psycho-pie

@the-warfstache-of-wall-street

@pastel-puns

@shadowjag

@saphirestrike

@theatresweetheart

@gatlily

@pastelpatton

@agoddamnrayofsunshine

@ps-reblogs

@tacohippy56900

@anxious-fander-bean

@winterknight1087

@moonfang03

@that-random-fandom-girl

@cricks-loves-you

@teacupfulofstarshine

@hetaisawesome

@lilylunalovegood2002

@silverviolin069

@bubbliee0

@demigodnamedathena

@donalev

@flix-net

@sos-fandoms

@writingfeedsthedarkestones

@leesacrakon

@clone-number-1

@ninja-wizard101

@never-end1ng-suffering

@all-bridges-will-burn

@theresneverenoughfandoms

#Storm Writes #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Tw Memory Loss #tw scars #Virgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #Janus Sanders #Roman Sanders #Emile Sanders #Remy Sanders #Elliott (Cartoon Therapy)#Remus Sanders #though Remus only has one line and isn't mentioned by name directly #Anonymous

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blockedmite · 4 years

Text

A Warm Surprise | Abby Anderson x Reader

You go on a camping trip that ends with meeting Abby

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

AN: So....

When I say soon, I mean soon. lol. I guess I just didn't have too much to add after I left off. But to start off this AN right I want to thank some very important people to me.

First I want remind everyone that this fic is dedicated to @kittycat-beans, who is an amazing writer and an even more amazing person. Their top tier Abby fics have been a huge inspiration to write again. This fic is also in honor of @shadowcrow, who still continues to support my every last move. They are a friend that everyone deserves.(and also helped proofread)

Next, I would like to thank my proofreaders, who also happen to be my little mini family over the last week or so. I WILL destroy anyone and anything that does as much as touch a hair on their head because I love all of them so much. <3<3<3. The proofreaders are @abbysfrenchbraid, who is the most beautiful woman other then Abby that I have ever seen. Just a straight up German goddess. Next, @abbysfirstlove, who is the most adorable little sweet cake anyone can imagine. I will protect that smol bean with my life. Next, @jessicamparker, who I can never take seriously. lol. She is an absolutely adorable and chill bean that everyone deserves to vibe and vape with.

So, if that’s everyone, I’ll give you the stats on this fic now. This is a Modern AU with Abby as a lumberjack and a Fem!Reader. This is chapter 2 of 10. It’s is 1.4K words.

Warnings:

cursing

some angst

Enjoy!

A Warm Surprise

Chapter 2: Rescued

“I really need to go get some wood.” Abby thought.

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

It was white, it was cold, and it was miserable.

You walked for what seemed like hours. The horrible, god-forbidden cold just would not let up. Your legs had long since adjusted to your movement but now they were fighting the cold with the rest of your body. Your arms clung to your sides and your breathing was stuttered. You couldn’t feel your fingers or toes. You swore that hypothermia was going to set in soon if you didn’t make it to your car.

Speaking of your car, where the hell was that thing, anyway? You have been walking in its general direction for what seemed like miles. It couldn’t be that far, it was just a short hike.

“Where is it?” You thought. “Please...I can't be...I can't be….No! I am not lost. I know where I am.”

You pushed the thought of you being lost out of your head. If there was anything that shouldn't be happening now, it's you being lost. Lost out in the middle of a white, freezing blizzard. But the more you kept trying to push the thought away, the more you kept thinking about it and the more it kept making sense.

You were absolutely terrified. You had already ran out of your tent in a panic to get out of the cold. It was a very likely chance that you ran the wrong way. You had no way of checking whether or not you were going the right way either. You still couldn't see anything, so you could have been walking in a circle this entire time with no landmarks to orient yourself.

With your thoughts now on landmarks, you realized that you never passed that little stream you crossed when first finding your spot. Or went back past that huge salt rock. Or passed that huge, old tree that was split in half.

You were in the middle of nowhere.

You damn near screamed. There was no way you could be lost. You had to know where you were. You had to be somewhere after all, right?

You looked around in a panic. You looked for…...something. Anything. Anything that could give you a sign of where you were. You looked through the thick falling snow. You saw bare trees and bushes. You looked at the sky and saw dark grey clouds. You looked behind you and saw nothing but your own tracks being quickly covered up by the snow. You looked back in front of you to find nothing, just like before.

You kept looking forward. Moving step by step, further into the frozen hell that awaited you. You kept moving until you saw it. You saw something moving in the snow, it was flapping around wildly in the wind.

It was bright orange and low to the ground. A tent! You had stumbled into someone else's camping site! You finally found a place to stay. Oh thank god. These people could definitely help you or let you stay. They must have some good camping equipment to stay out in this fucking weather. Now all you had to do was………

“No.” You thought.

“Oh please God. No! NOOOOO!”

You stumbled into your own camping site again. You had walked in a complete circle.

You were lost.

You stared at the bright orange tent flapping in the wind, making you sick. You barely saw your sleeping bag buried under the snow in front of the tent where you had left it. You could see that the snow had made its home inside of the tent’s open front. You were frozen in place and it wasn’t because of the cold.

If you were being completely honest, you wanted to die. You just wanted to lay down and let the cold overtake you. Let the white, pure snow cover up your cold, rotten body and be discovered later. You wondered how long it would take. Would the search party come after your 10-day trip was over? Maybe a week after? Months? Years? Who would even notice that you were gone? Who would even care if they noticed? There was no one and nothing for you back in Jackson. Sure as hell nothing here for you in Seattle. What was even the point anymore?

Why were you even alive anymore?

“FUCK YOU SEATTLE!!” You thought, “If I want to die somewhere, it’s sure as hell won’t be in Seattle in the middle of the fucking woods.”

You didn’t know where this new burst of energy came from but you didn’t complain. Everything inside of you was starting to burn. Burn with rage. Burn with frustration. Burn with the passion to get the fuck out of this blizzard.

You still couldn't see anything but you were going to find your way. If that meant bumping into and rubbing every tree you could find with your numb fingers until they bleed, then so be it. You had one tree in mind anyway. That huge, old oak tree split in half. It was different from all the rest anyway. If you could find that one tree you could find your way out of these woods.

So you reoriented yourself and set out one last time. You were as close to jogging in the snow as it would allow you. Your feet felt like heavy stones and your legs were starting to ache a little. Your arms weren’t attached to your body anymore. They were swinging by your sides, helping you thrust yourself forward through the snow. Occasionally using them as little binoculars to help see through the snow a little bit.

You jogged and jogged and jogged through the snow. You keep pushing forward. All you wanted to find was some shelter. God knew that you would have gladly fallen into a hole and stayed there, if it meant getting out of this blizzard alive. Anything would do. In fact, right now you were looking for a tree. All you needed to do was find one tree. One tree in a forest full of them. That one sign of hope. That one sign of life.

~~~

You were running around for what seemed like hours again.

“Not again.” You thought, “I can’t be lost again. I’m not gonna die here. Where the fuck is that tree?”

At this point, you were legit rubbing and bumping into trees. Seriously, looking up at them trying to see if you remembered it. It was clear to you that the cold was making you crazy, and now you were slowly losing your mind. You were just a crazy woman running around in a blizzard rubbing on trees. At the very least dying crazy is better than dying sane.

But dying wasn’t an option right now. You had to find that damn tree. You kept pushing forward, albeit much slower than before. You had to be going in the right direction this time. As dreadful as coming back to your campsite was, it was helpful in pointing you in the right direction. You had to be nearing the tree eventually.

You walked and looked. You walked a little slower and looked a little harder. You were starting to lose energy quickly but your determination was still high. You were going to keep looking for that tree with the last fiber of your being.

You were still continuing your tree rubbing when…..

“Woah!”

What the hell? Did that tree just woah at you? That's it! You were finally losing it. You were gonna go crazy and die in the middle of the woods with woahing trees.

“What the hell? Who are you??” said the once woahing tree.

“I...I...need help-p” You said stuttering due to the cold, “Help me-e, Mr. T-Tree”

“Holy shit! How long have you been out here?”

Before you could answer, you felt the “tree” move. A hand grabbed at your back while another swapped up your feet. Next thing you knew someone, that you thought was a tree, was bridal carrying you to an unknown location.

“I have a log cabin I can take you to.” said the stranger.

Ok, scratch that. An unknown log cabin. You cursed yourself for not trying that earlier but you were kind of too busy trying not to die. Plus you happened to be walking around in circles, so what were the chances anyway. But despite everything, you were so happy that you were being carried to safety.

You dangled lifelessly in the arms of your own personal survivor. Your body was starting to ache all over but you didn’t care. Whoever this was, you were completely ready to die in their arms.

For them to completely take you away.

“By the way, my name’s Abby.”

#abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abigail anderson x reader #abby anderson #abigail anderson #abby tlou2 #abby tlou #tlou fanfic #abby anderson fanfic

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firebrands · 5 years

Text

stevetony fic recs

BUCKLE UP MY DUDES THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG ONE

here are my recs for steve/tony fics that i seriously think need a ton more love! (aka, have less than a 1k kudos lol)

starts w angsty recs, then fluff, then pwps

Pyriscence by @nostalgicatsea, 6.9k, MCU

written pre-release of endgame, but damn. so good. i cried.

She also knows this: Tony handed over his heart to Steve—to all of them but most of all to Steve—along with the keys to his house the day he recruited them.

Even if Steve knew that, Natasha isn’t sure he would keep it anyway. She knows he thinks himself undeserving.

She knows it’s because he loves Tony.

A Long, Lonely Time by asktheravens, 58.5k, MCU

holy SHIT, this was a WILD FUCKING RIDE. totally unique.

Author’s summary: Steve returned from the war injured in body and mind- and able to see the dead. At loose ends and desperate to get out of New York City, he accepts a fellowship through the Stark Foundation and retreats to a quiet lake house on the grounds of the Stark Mansion. He's supposed to be there to paint, but he quickly realizes that the house is more than he bargained for. Anthony Stark died here a decade ago, but was it an accident? A suicide? Or a murder? Obadiah Stane still lives in the main house just up the hill, and the past casts a long shadow.

A Cabin in the Woods by nightwalker @onemuseleft, 26.7k, MCU I really don't want to spoil this but this fic has it ALL - fluff, funny dialogue, and ELDRITCH HORRORS

Author’s summary: It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, a chance for them to spend some time as a couple and work out some of the kinks in their relationship. That was before everything got weird.

Steve Rogers is a Tactical Genius by @swankyo0, 2.6k, MCU

I love when Steve is assertive and knows what he’s doing (in terms of romancing Tony)

“What’s up, Cap?” Tony’s voice is light but Steve can tell it’s forced.

“Tony Stark, you and I are going out,” Steve starts, his voice a bit more commanding than he had planned. “We are going to get dinner at a nice place, and I’m going to open doors for you and let you pay because you are a stubborn ass. I’m going to bring you a gift and you are going to accept it because I am a stubborn ass. And at the end of the night I am going to walk you to your door and there will be a kiss good night, because I’m gonna do this right, damn it.”

when i run out of road, you bring me home by @quidhitch, 18.4k, MCU

Tony buys a farm. Steve lives in the farm beside Tony's. (Featuring: Riri Williams!)

“It’s no use trying to keep him out, Tony supposes. He learned a long time ago that he could plaster his whole body with signage declaring ‘WARNING: HAZARDOUS MATERIAL’, and it would only further tempt Steve Rogers’ self-immolating tendencies.”

call me, maybe by ohmyloki @bootycap, 1.8k, MCU

Tony hums, bouncing up to the balls of his feet for a second as he looks around the gallery. “I’ve got an idea.”

Steve narrows his eyes at him. “I’ve only just met you but I get the feeling that phrase tends to get you in trouble.”

Tony laughs, and Steve’s heart does what feels like a little pirouette in his chest.

“You have no idea how right you are, Steve.”

There’s a deep sense of satisfaction in the way Tony says his name. He wants to hear it again. Which is partly why he can’t be blamed for what comes out of his mouth next.

let me be the one (who never leaves you all alone) by ohmyloki @bootycap, 11.7k, MCU

It was Tony’s wide, brilliant eyes, the rare full-blown smile when he’d accomplished something he’d struggled with, the way he couldn’t seem to stop himself from talking when he came up with a new idea and wanted to show off. Like an excited little kid, ever at odds with the man who drank too much and thought too little of himself. These thoughts of Tony’s kindness, generosity and brilliant mind ran an undercurrent beneath the fantasy of Tony’s slick, tanned skin, and perfectly shaped upper lip. That was when it struck Steve.

Maybe he could have this. Maybe he could have Tony... if Tony would have him.

Get Down On Your Knees And Tell Me You Love Me by @heartsandmuses, 5.1k, MCU

Author’s summary: When Steve opens the page to this month’s calendar, he freezes as he catches sight of a reminder in the space for next Friday, exactly a week from now. PROPOSAL!

Motherlode by nanasekei @elcorhamletlive, 6.8k, MCU

Author’s summary: After Steve returns, though they've made up, his relationship with Tony remains distant.

“Great,” Steve says, smiling brightly, and Tony can’t, he just can’t handle that smile. It makes him want to float and giggle and dance and do all sorts of crazy things. It makes him want to kiss Steve.

He clutches his hands, giving in to one indulgence over the insane, dangerous other. “Awesome. That’s, that’s awesome.” Then, out of sheer despair, he reaches for another salmon roll, popping it in his mouth.

On the plus side, it gives something to busy his mouth with that isn’t, you know, Steve’s lips. On the down side, he’s now awkwardly chewing with a full mouth in front of Steve.

That seems to remind Steve of the forgotten pig-in-a-blanket on his hand, and he hurriedly eats it, cheeks flushing a little.

So now they’re both chewing. It’s great.

if I time it right, the thunder breaks (when I open my mouth) by nanasekei @elcorhamletlive, 11.9k, MCU

Or: Five Times Steve told Tony he loved him, and one time he didn't need to.

“That is the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever done for me.” He pauses for a moment, winded, and Tony looks at him now, mouth curling to fight back what Steve knows would be a self-satisfied smile. “I love you.”

Tony freezes.

Steve… Steve wonders for a second what the best course of action would be, going through all the options, including running to the garden and asking Thor to drown him in the pool for good. He has no idea why it slips out now, exactly, but at this point he has no idea what tiny thing Tony is going to do that’s going to cause a fluttering feeling in his chest.

Strategic Thinking: Armor Wars Edition by Annie D (scaramouche) @no-gorms, 1.8k, Avengers Academy

Tony tries to pull his hand away, but it’s half-hearted. Tony’s neck is flushed pink, which Steve finds far more charming that he probably should. But that’s all right – it’s Tony, who makes Steve think all sorts of things he’d never before.

Every True Thing by @dirigibleplumbing, 3.9k, MCU

Author’s summary: After escaping captivity, Steve and Tony go to a safe house. Ordinarily, it would just be boring. But they’ve both been dosed with truth serum…

“You like it, then?”

“Of course I like it, it’s you.”

“But, I don’t want you to like it just because it’s me, I want you to like it because I’m good at it. You’re good at it, you—know what you’re doing.” Steve blurts this into Tony’s neck, glad that he doesn’t have to look Tony in the face while he speaks.

Mission: Improbable by @cptxrogers, 5.6k, Avengers Assemble Author's summary: Tony is called on to investigate strange events which have been occurring in the upper echelons of society recently. There's just one small issue - he needs Steve to pose as his date for the evening.

Tony glanced around. “I think they’ve moved on. We can get back to work now.” “Are you sure?” Steve asked, a little too quickly. Perhaps the men might still be around. Perhaps might come back. Perhaps they’d need to hide by kissing some more.

Steve Rogers Does (Not Do) Marriage Counseling by Neverever @captainneverever , 6.4k, MCU

Tony stared incredulously at Steve. “Are you that dense?” “No,” Steve replied miserably. “Basically, you’re telling me that you wouldn’t know what to do if someone made a pass at you.” “I wouldn’t know what a pass is or was. That’s what I’m saying.” “So you wouldn’t call shoving your hand on my ass a pass?”

The Fear of Consequences by @keptein, 4.5k, MCU Author's summary: It really isn't a problem. Then one day, Tony looks at Steve and thinks, shit. It might be mutual.

“Cap,” Tony says helplessly. The tomatoes roll around on the brown tile, barely visible in the tower's automatic night light settings.

Steve looks angry, and Tony's suddenly reminded that shit, this guy fought in World War II. It's not usually something you can see on his face. “Why are you avoiding me?” he asks, without preamble, eyes never leaving Tony's face.

“I.. haven't been?” It comes out a question, which really wasn't what Tony wanted at all. “I mean, I haven't been avoiding you, of course I haven't. I've just been busy, you know, Iron Man maintenance, and just because Pepper's CEO of Stark Industries now doesn't mean I don't have to do shit, unfortunately.“ He bends down to avoid Steve's stare and starts to pick up the tomatoes, until he feels Steve's large, warm hand on his shoulder. It startles him into looking up, still bent down with his hand reaching for a tomato. “Cap,” Tony says, and is absurdly proud when the name doesn't lose its warning tint.

Together, At Dawn by RoseGoldAmpersand, 8.1k, MCU

Lingering in his past and missed opportunities, Steve was overcome with the urge to check in on his teammate. As team captain, it was the right thing to do. Nobody would know he had taken a detour. Nobody would suspect he lingered because he ached to see Tony look at him again with eyes bright with friendship. If he couldn't help his Tony, he was making damn sure this Tony knew that Steve Rogers would always be there for him.

a properly scholarly attitude by goodmorningbeloved, 2.9k, college AU

“You were thinking of something. I knew that look, what was—”

“You,” he answers without hesitation. “I was thinking of you. How good you look with those on, how—” He bites his own lip hard, angling his head away from Tony’s kiss in shame. “I— Tony, you’re tired, and we’re in the library—”

Wash That Man (right out of my hair) by @mizzy2k, 7k, comics - 616, sorta pwp?

Holy shit. Holy shit. He'd assumed when Tony said he had a brand new body that it was a metaphor, a dramatic exaggeration, not a completely new unrecognizable-as-Tony-Stark body.

“Hey, Cap!” Tony beams widely at him, his mustache twitching with the smile. “Fancy meeting you here!”

“Haha,” Steve says, “yeah.” Smooth. That’s Steve Rogers for you. Eloquent under pressure.

Nicotine Hit by @festiveferret, 7.5k, MCU, pwp

The idea of Steve smoking in secret wormed its way into Tony’s brain and wouldn’t let go. It was the worst kind of craving, vague and misdirected, because it came in the shape of Steve instead of the nicotine hit he knew he really wanted. He associated Steve with the ritual of smoking and it got so bad he couldn’t look at the man without starting to feel antsy and wound up.

voglio sentirti by lackluster_lexicon @usenecessaryforce , 4.2k, MCU, bdsm

Tony closed the distance between them, unwound his arms to grab hold of the front of Steve’s shirt. Steve hissed in surprise, wrapped his hands around Tony’s wrists, but when Tony put the full force of his body into pulling Steve forward, Steve willingly dropped to his knees. Tony released Steve’s shirt, moved one hand to Steve’s shoulder and grasped Steve’s hair with the other, pulled Steve’s head back and forced him to look up at Tony.

“You’re going to beg,” Tony growled.

Side Effects by @elimymoons , 29.2k, comics - ultimates, bdsm

"You… what?" Steve's breath caught. He felt off-kilter, out of time, like he'd just woken up again and found everything flipped on its axis, but this time it felt good and right, and he just wanted to take Tony in his arms and never let go. "You love me?" he asked, soft, reverent almost. Tony Stark loved him, Steve Rogers, who— who swore too much, whose best friend wore dentures because his teeth all fell out, who talked better with his fists than his words most days. Steve Rogers, a ham-handed, bumbling oaf a man, and sweet, suave, wonderful Tony Stark loved him. "You love me?" he asked again, and Steve could feel his lips pulling back into a wide, beaming grin.

#fic recs #fanfic writer appreciation day #stevetony #stony #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony fanfiction #stevetony fanfic #i tried my best to find everyone's tumblrs!#THANK YOU ALL YOU HAVE BROUGHT SUCH JOY TO MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#fic rec list

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

Hot Chocolate (and Goddamn Marshmallows)

Dean x Reader

Word Count: ~2530

Warnings: It’s SO FLUFFY. Straight up marshmallow fluff. Just a dash of angst for seasoning. Um. No warnings that I can think of.

A/N: Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67 for checkin it over. For @katymacsupernatural and her 6K Golden challenge! Congrats Katy!

“I fuckin’ can’t, man, I barely made it here to begin with, Baby was slippin’ all over the place,” Dean grumbles. He holds the phone awkwardly between his shoulder and his ear so that he can pour another glass of whiskey. He only has half a bottle; if he can’t get out tomorrow, he’s fucked.

Even aside from the alcohol situation, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. He’s supposed to be at Jody’s, drinking eggnog and doing all the Hallmark bullshit with his family, but if the snow doesn’t stop early… well, fuck that, he’ll find a way. He’s gotta make it back for Christmas.

“The cabin’s still stocked from the last time we were there, right?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I won’t starve to death, at least,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice light. It’s the truth, although the cabinets basically contain black beans, a couple packs of ramen, and some skunked beer. Dean won’t starve, but this is just not how he wanted to spend his night. This Christmas was supposed to be different.

“Still not gonna tell me what was so important up there?” Sam says.

“Nope.”

It’s his own fault, really. Sam told him about the Christmas plan a month ago. It had taken Dean a while to figure out where Mom’s stuff had been stored without Sammy realizing what he was up to, and then their last hunt took longer than they’d expected… it was just one thing after another, and he’d been in such a rush to get up here he hadn’t checked the weather forecast. Typical.

“Fuck,” Sam sighs. “It’s supposed to let up tomorrow, we’ll mount a rescue mission, okay? Donna’s got four wheel drive, I think.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says gruffly, and he clears his throat, trying to sound cheerful. How many Christmases has he spent, now, telling Sam not to worry? It’s a Winchester family tradition. “I’ll figure something out. Give everybody hugs for me. Tell Jody she better save me some of that pork roast.”

“Love you,” Sam says quietly.

Dean kinda likes the big goddamn marshmallow who’s replaced his brother lately. Amazing what Eileen and a general lack of apocalypses have done for the kid’s temperament.

“Love ya, Sammy. See you tomorrow, one way or another. Hey, don’t do it without me, okay?”

Sam laughs at him. “Obviously. Bye, Dean.”

Dean hangs up and looks down at the little box on the table. As much as this situation fuckin’ blows, Sam’s reaction is gonna be priceless.

He opens the box again, peeking for the zillionth time before he slips it into his pocket. It’s still surreal to think about that ring on someone else’s hand. Mom stopped wearing it at some point after she came back, and Sam probably assumes it’s long gone.

He’d said something about how Eileen’s practical, they talked about it, she doesn’t want him to go out and blow a bunch of money on jewelry, they can pick out the actual bands together when it’s time… but Dean’s pretty fuckin’ excited to see the expression on his face. And hers, of course. Practical as she may be, Eileen’s a goddamn marshmallow too.

Dean’s happy for Sam, he really is. Sometimes he just feels a little lonely, watching the two of them; must be nice, having someone look at you like that. They just kinda fit. They finish each other’s fuckin’ sentences, sometimes, or sign the same things at the same time, moving in perfect unison, and Sam just smiles so much more than he used to. Dean looks at the way they are together and thinks it looks comfortable, like a warm fuzzy fuckin’ blanket, and he’s only just starting to realize that sometimes… sometimes he gets really cold, is all. Sometimes he could use a little more warm fuzzy in his life.

Like, hey, now, for example. He shivers and drains the last of his glass, pours himself a fresh one, and then he shakes off the melancholy and goes to get a fire started.

There’s no cable, or anything, but they hooked up an old DVD player to an even older TV a couple years back. Dean finds a stack of dusty DVD cases and shuffles through them, rolling his eyes at the selection. Love Actually? How the fuck did that end up here?

Or… huh. Now he thinks about it, there’s a chance he might have bought it at the dollar store, one time, while feeling mildly tipsy and severely sentimental. He also has a vague recollection of he and Sam both getting a little bit teared up while watching it. Just a little.

Dean looks down at his drink and sighs. It’s gonna be a maudlin drunk kinda night. Might as well just put on a chick flick, while he’s at it. He tops up his glass, puts in the disc, throws another log on the fire, and settles onto the massive, squashy couch.

Fuck his fuckin’ luck, seriously. There’s just this cold, dull ache in his chest that won’t seem to go away, and even though he keeps trying to tell himself that it might end up okay, the snow might stop in time, he can’t seem to shake it. Baby’s not at her best in the snow, what are the odds? He can’t ask Sam to drive however many fuckin’ hours to come pick him up, he won’t ask, and he just wishes a single damn thing would go right, for a change.

He knuckles at his eyes and pours another drink, but no matter how much whiskey he puts away, he can’t seem to warm up.

***

About an hour in, as he’s eyeing the whiskey bottle and deciding whether he should just go ahead and polish the thing off, there’s a knock on the door.

“The fuck,” Dean mutters. He’s stumbling awkwardly to his feet, reaching for the gun he’d put on the coffee table, when the door slams open, letting in a gust of freezing-cold air and a flurry of snowflakes. There’s a figure in the doorway: massive coat, bundled up, and they’re carrying two big paper bags, and Dean blinks stupidly for a second, gun still cocked.

Is that -

“Holy shit,” he blurts out. He sets the gun down and rushes to help her, but she’s already kicking the door closed behind her, setting the groceries down, and by the time he gets over there she’s unwinding the scarf from around her face so that he can see her eyes, sparkling and happy, her flushed cheeks, her bright smile.

“Good to see you, Dean,” she says, still breathless from the cold. He wraps her in a bear hug, stunned and speechless.

“Holy shit,” he says again, eventually, as she pulls away to get her gigantic puffy coat off. There are snowflakes caught in her hair and she’s beaming at him, and she laughs at his look of disbelief; she’s got the cutest fuckin’ laugh, Christ.

“Little birdy told me you might need some company,” she says. She’s giving him this impish smile and he wants to say something clever, but all he can do is wipe a hand down his face and shake his head.

“Shit, how’d you even get up here? Roads were bad when I got in.”

“Maybe for your little Baby,” she grins, shrugging off the big coat and stomping snow off her boots. “But it wasn’t a big deal for the truck. The plows will be out tonight, we can hit the road as soon as the sun’s up. I’d say let’s go now but I hate driving in the dark when it’s snowing. it’s like making the jump to hyperspace, y’know?”

Dean blinks slowly at her. “Wait, seriously?”

“You know, when the snow comes at the windshield and it looks- ”

“No, I mean, we’ll be able to get out? You’re really… you don’t have to drive me all that way, shit.”

“I mean, unless you’re set on sticking around? Got big plans?” She glances pointedly over his shoulder to where Love Actually is still playing, and Dean makes a face, but he’s so relieved he’s getting a little bit choked up.

“Options were limited.”

“Hey, you’re in luck. I came prepared.” She grabs her big puffy coat and rummages in pockets until she pulls out a DVD case. Dean’s mouth drops open.

“Die Hard? You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’re my favorite.”

She rolls her eyes and shrugs it off, but she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet a little, like she’s pleased with herself. “Here, help me with these?”

She picks up the grocery bag and brings it to the kitchen, and Dean trails after her with the second, which (judging by the clinking when he sets it on the counter) is mostly booze. She pulls out a pie, first, one of the supermarket ones in its plastic box. His stomach does a happy little flip-flop, and he has to hug her again. He wraps his arms around her from behind and squeezes hard. Her hair smells the same as he remembers.

“Did you turn into a marshmallow when I wasn’t around?” she teases, and Dean blushes.

“Guess it runs in the family,” he says quietly, laughing, and he steps away.

“Huh?

“Never mind. I might’ve had a couple drinks. Gettin’ sappy.” He leans against the counter next to her as she starts to unpack more food. “Last I saw you, you were in New York. Are you back in this neck of the woods? You shoulda called!”

“Just came back recently. I guess Jody heard through the grapevine, she’s the one who called me. My dad died,” she says matter-of-factly. “Been staying at his place trying to get everything sorted out.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

She shoots him a little sideways half-smile and pulls out a carton of eggnog, a bottle of Jack, and a bottle of peppermint schnapps. “Thanks. I don’t mind being back, mostly, but I’m glad she called. The holidays have kinda been a bummer this year.”

“I know how that goes,” Dean says wryly.

“Yeah. Nice to have something to do. When Jody found out I was gonna be alone she about had a cow, so I guess I’m having Christmas with you guys now. Anyway, I can never say no to rescuing a damsel in distress.”

She winks, and Dean’s so goddamn charmed right now it takes a second to realize she just called him a damsel.

“Hey,” he protests. He tries to look affronted, but she’s giggling, so it’s probably not working.

“Should we start with the ‘nog? Or peppermint hot chocolate?” she muses.

“Dealer’s choice.”

“Hot chocolate it is. Boil some water?”

Dean grabs the old kettle while she peers at mugs, trying to find a couple that aren’t too dusty. He sneaks a glance at her out of the corner of his eye; she’s pretty, Christ, and she’s all pink-cheeked from the cold, biting her lip absentmindedly, and… yeah. Dean maybe can’t stop staring.

She catches him looking, but she just smiles back, shy and sweet, and starts pouring hot cocoa mix into two passably clean mugs.

“You never told me what you’re doing up here,” she remarks. “Secret Christmas mission, Jody said?”

Dean fumbles for the ring box and shows her. “Had to get something out of storage.”

Her eyes go wide and shocked, and her mouth opens and closes silently for a second.

“Oh,” she says, voice strained, looking down at her hands. “I didn’t realize you were…”

“No, not for me!” he says hastily. “God, no. Not for me. For Sam.”

“Oh!” she says, high-pitched. She laughs and fidgets nervously with the sleeve of her sweater. “Oh, okay.”

Dean doesn’t think he’s imagining the look of relief on her face, and something in his chest goes all fluttery.

“I am very single,” he says, and he can’t quite manage to keep his tone casual. “Just… to make it clear.”

She nods, trying to hold back a smile, like she’s laughing at him but also maybe (hopefully) like she’s charmed at the same time.

“Good,” she says softly.

***

Dean doesn’t remember falling asleep. When he wakes up, sometime in the middle of the night, it takes him a moment to remember where he is.

He feels sorta dazed, like maybe he’s still tipsy. That’s normal enough. What’s not normal is the person next to him; they’re curled around each other, fully clothed, and she’s tucked under his arm with her hand resting on his chest. They must’ve dozed off during the movie. Dean smiles to himself.

The fire’s mostly embers at this point, and he should get up, put a log on, before it dies completely. Maybe he should just go to his room, too; find her a blanket and then give her some space. That’d be the gentlemanly thing to do.

He takes a second to breathe, first. There’s something so perfect about the moment. He wants to memorize the way she feels, curled against his side, the way they fit together, the way her hair smells, the way her breath tickles his neck when she exhales. He feels boneless and heavy-limbed, like he could melt into the couch cushions, but there’s this tightness in his chest, the knowledge that he should enjoy this while he can, because it won’t last. It never does.

He’s careful when he gets up, trying to slip away without disturbing her, and he’s quiet as he stokes the fire. When it’s blazing again, he grabs a big quilt from the back of a chair and covers her up, tucking her in gently. He turns to head to bed.

“Hey, wait,” she murmurs sleepily.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Where’re you going?” she asks. When he looks back, the fire is illuminating the adorable grumpy pout on her face, and she’s all sleepy-eyed and pillow-creased and fucking gorgeous.

Dean shrugs.

“Come back?” she asks.

He slides under the quilt, and she snuggles close. When she tilts her face up to look him in the eye, her skin glows orange-gold in the firelight. She leans in slow, pausing just before their lips meet, and when they kiss Dean feels it through his entire body, liquid heat curling out to his toes. Her mouth is soft, and she makes this sweet, happy sound when he sucks on her lower lip; it makes his head spin, and he cups her cheek in one hand, feels her velvety skin under his fingers.

Her lashes flutter when she pulls back, her eyes still half-closed.

“Go to sleep, Dean,” she whispers. “We’ve got a long drive in the morning.”

She fits herself against his side, nuzzling into his neck, sighing contentedly, and he strokes her hair until her breathing evens out again.

He likes the way she fits in his arms, and he likes the sweet smell of her hair all mixed in with the woodsmoke. He likes the weight of her on his chest and the heat of her body against his, the way she’s wrapped around him, the way she’s half draped over him like a living blanket.

Warm and fuzzy, he thinks, and he’s smiling as he falls asleep.

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peterparkerstarker · 5 years

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Kinktober Day 20: Sex Pollen (Starker)

A whumpy dubcon sex pollen fic in which Peter totally has the hots for Tony, and is forced to ask him for... assistance.

Cw: Starker, age difference, underage Peter (16), Tony is in his 50s, sex pollen, dubcon turning into con, nymphomania, handjob, physical whump (Peter in pain, feverish, cramps, is scared)

@readysetstarker @jwolf18791 @warathena418 @pray4meireadstarker @thotticusmaxximus @mvrphyblooms @morgoona-stark @silkystark @untold-royalty @pollyparrot8 @sthefystarkersworld @katzenbaby1 @another-starker-hoe @tony-is-my-daddy @mystarkershame @plsstopgivingpetertrauma @hoeforthegays @lonleystarker @awesomeimportantfan @friendlyneighborhoodlosxr @hpspazz @starker-obsessions @starkershomelife @tightaroundthewebslinger @animefan1998-love @peterpissparker @starkercandy @loki-helmet @petecake @starkercrossedlovers @nerdylocksandthethreebears @thirstyhoe4yoongi @starker-reader @starkerissemiok @tomhollabel @momobaby227 @dragonskittysblog @sleepy-and-depressed

———————————

Peter shifted in his seat, sweaty and uncomfortable. He hadn’t been feeling great ever since the alien battle they’d narrowly won, but Tony had chalked it up to him not sleeping well. It didn’t help that he’d breathed in a mouthful of some dust that the hive-like creatures were apparently trying to spread. It tasted disgusting, and Peter had to lift his mask to spit out the offensive substance.

Tony had blasted the powder in the air with a repulsor beam and discovered it was highly flammable. It was a big risk for him to have taken, but once they’d discovered their weakness it made short work of an otherwise exhausting battle.

“You’re doing too many late night patrols, kid,” he’d told Peter afterwards, ruffling the boy’s messy, damp curls. “Leave some baddies for the rest of us. You’ve got that AP Calc exam to ace. We can handle Queens for a bit.” He’d smiled down at Peter, cocky and sweet, and Peter had felt something flutter in his stomach.

It’s not like he’d never thought of Tony like that. Of course he had. It was Tony freaking Stark. Who hadn’t been charmed by his good looks, easy confidence, and penchant for generosity?

But Peter knew he couldn’t act on it. Couldn’t ever tell Tony about his crush. It would be too weird, too much blurring of lines.

Plus there was the minor inconvenience of Peter still being in high school, and Tony was pushing 50.

So he shoved down all those thoughts into the part of his brain that could box things up, and he did his very best to not let himself go down that road whenever they were together. So far he’d been surprisingly successful.

Except now, his stomach was starting to cramp and he felt feverish, like he was going to be sick. But instead of the usual queasiness, he felt… something else. Something needy and desperate and animalistic.

Horny.

Holy fuck, he thought to himself, cramps nearly making him double over in pain. His cock was throbbing now, swollen and leaking pre-cum, and he wanted so desperately to touch himself, but he couldn’t. This was all developing so fast, and he didn’t know what was wrong, but clearly something was. Fear entangled with the heady pressure of desire, and he gripped the nearest armrest to keep from falling down.

He was alone in a helicarrier with Tony, and it was all he could do to not start rubbing one out in the cabin. Tony glanced over, finally noticing something was wrong, and Peter looked up to see him looking concerned, scared even.

He drew in a shaky breath, willing himself to gain control over whatever was happening to his body, but that turned out to be the wrong choice. Tony had moved to bend over him, clearly trying to figure out what was going on, and all he could smell was Tony. His fresh clean scent tinged with motor oil and grease.

It made him want to hump the older man’s leg until he came over and over, made him want to keep going until he was utterly spent, any last bit of his orgasm milked out of his cock. He bit back a moan at the delicious mental image and held his breath, afraid to catch even another whiff of Tony’s scent.

Tony moved in closer, a steadying hand resting on his shaking shoulder, and Peterabout cried from the touch.

It was warm and comforting and soothed some ache deep inside. He wanted to chase that feeling, drown in it. He needed more.

“Pete, talk to me, what’s going on?” Tony’s voice was so firm, serious. It made Peter want to submit, do whatever he said. It made him want to give up any and all control and just let Tony have his way with him.

His heart was racing, mind dizzy with jumbled thoughts as he stuttered out, “I-i, think there’s something wrong... feel k-kinda off.”

“No shit, kid,” Tony barked out a laugh, but there was no humor there. “Talk to me, what are you feeling? I need details if I’m gonna be able to help.” As he spoke he rubbed a circle into Peter’s hunched shoulder. His thumb caressed bare skin, and in spite of himself, Peter let out a desperate, high pitched moan.

He clenched his eyes closed, mortified, as he felt another desperate throb coming from his cock.

Tony’s eyes went wide, darting down to Peter’s groin. He shifted, trying to hide his incredibly obvious erection from the man, but the high tech spandex suit wasn’t built to withstand whatever was happening to Peter’s body.

He glanced a nervous look at Tony, who suddenly seemed to grasp onto more of the situation now.

“FRI, I need you to do a chemical analysis on the kid’s body. Look for any foreign substances, anything that might be causing this... this kind of reaction.” Tony’s voice was still stern, but there was something else there. Embarrassment. Pity. He felt bad for Peter, and that was somehow so much worse.

“Sir, Mr. Parker seems to be experiencing high spikes of physical and mental arousal, likely due to a xenomorphic powder, ingested through the mouth and nose. I immediately found traces of it, and am working to analyse its compounds, but my initial results suggest this could be life threatening if action is not taken immediately,” the AI said in a serious, clipped tone

Peter darted a look to Tony, who seemed to still be processing FRIDAY’s words.

A moment later, Tony spoke. “What is the recommended course of treatment, FRI?”

“The substance appears to be attacking Mr. Parker’s central nervous system, blood pressure and hormones, among numerous other bodily functions. The obvious answer seems to be to alleviate the symptoms until I can finish my full analysis. At the least it should buy Mr. Parker some time,” she said.

Peter let out a startled huff. “She doesn’t mean, surely, not…”

Tony sighed, eyes not meeting Peter’s. “The best plan right now is for you to get yourself off right now. Hopefully it’ll put off the effects of whatever that powder is having on your body until we can figure out a solid plan of action.”

“But, but, I can’t… I mean I can’t… not with you here,” Peter said, right as another cramp wracked his body, and he let out a loud groan, cheeks flaring crimson red from how obscene the noise was.

“I don’t think you have any other options, Pete. You heard FRI, this stuff is killing you. I know the cabin is small, so I’ll do my best to give you some privacy. I get that this is embarrassing, kid, but it’s the best option we have right now,” Tony said quietly, turning to give him the promised space.

Peter breathed out heavily. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to jerk himself off with Tony 20 feet away, but the other option was dying, so he had no other choice.

He pressed the release button on his suit, feeling a hint of cool relief on his skin as the tight fabric loosened its grip. Gritting his teeth, he worked the suit down his body until at last, his cock sprang free, slick and coated with pre-come. He felt so sticky and messy, but at least there was plenty of lubrication.

Peter placed his hand on his cock, pumping experimentally, letting out a whimper that had him clasping his free hand to his mouth, as he tried in vain to silence his sounds. Tony didn’t react, just stood there with his back turned to Peter, ever the gentleman.

He kept stroking, faster now, being rougher with himself than he ever had before, chasing his relief. With clenched teeth and his hand still muffling his mouth, he made a series of mortifying groans and whines, desperate to come, desperate to soothe the ache deep inside. He kept pumping, gripping himself harder, harder, until it almost hurt, but try as he might, he couldn’t get to that point. He couldn’t quite come, and the more he tried, the more it frustrated him.

He stopped, catching his breath.

He knew what he needed to do, what he needed to ask of Tony, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“Uhm.. T-tony? It’s not really… working. It’s helping, but I can’t seem to quite, uhm… get there. If you know what I mean,” Peter said in a whisper of a voice. His whole body ached, down to his bones.

“FRI, can you give us an update?” Tony asked instead of responding to Peter.

“Boss, Mr. Parker’s vitals improved significantly while he was alleviating the symptoms, but I fear that if he doesn’t reach climax soon, he may develop a brain bleed from the amount of stress on his body. His blood pressure and hormones are spiking again.”

“Fuck,” Tony said, still not turning to face Peter.

“There… there is one thing that might help,” Peter said, biting back a yell as the cramps took hold again. “When you touched me earlier, it helped. Your-your thumb touched my bare skin and I felt a lot better for a minute. Maybe if you....” But he couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too mortifying. God, he couldn’t believe he was even asking this of Tony.

Ever so slowly, Tony turned to face him, fear and confusion apparent on his face.

“Peter, I can’t, I mean, you’re 16 for Christsakes. I can’t. Your Aunt would kill me,” he said.

“Please Tony, I don’t want to die. P-please?” He was crying now, fat tears dripping down his cheeks. He was so scared, so afraid that he might not make it through this.

Tony scrubbed a hand on his face, thinking. “Okay,” he said. A long moment passed before he spoke again, “I’ll do it. I can’t lose you kid.”

And then he was crossing the length of the helicarrier cabin and was kneeling in front of Peter, and it was all too much. He’d spent so many nights shoving down thoughts of this moment. He didn’t want it like this, but what choice did they have?

“How should we do this?” Tony asked, and fuck, he was too perfect, too beautiful.

Peter gulped and said, “Maybe if you just... touch it?” He winced. God, that had to be the least sexy thing he could have said in this moment.

But Tony did as he had been asked, and grasped shaking fingers onto Peter’s throbbing cock. It was practically purple with all the blood flowing to it, and he felt instant relief at the touch.

He moaned loudly, clapping a hand to his mouth once more, but Tony kept touching him, ever so gently. He held Peter like he was delicate, something precious and fragile.

And then Fuck fuck fuck! Tony was stroking him, up and down the length of his shaft, circling the head and using his thumb to spread the wetness. It was incredible. Peter felt dizzy and floaty as pain gave way to pleasure. Real and unfiltered pleasure. He wanted to cry from how delicious Tony felt, working him in smooth steady strokes.

He leaned back against the wall behind him, lost in the sensation of Tony’s hand on him. He didn’t care about how fucked up this whole situation was anymore, because it just felt so goddamn good. He thrust into Tony’s grip, chasing the friction, needy and greedy for more, and closed his eyes.

“Tony, ah, fuck, Tony. Need you so bad. Thank you! I’ve wanted you for so long. I know this is wrong, know you’re just doing this to save me, but I’ve wanted you for so long, please don’t stop, don’t stop!” He knew he shouldn’t be admitting this, but his fever-addled brain didn’t care. He needed Tony to know.

Peter could feel it rising from deep inside, the pressure building at the base of his cock, from within his balls, and he was so close, so, so close. “Tony, I’m gonna, gonna--” And then he was spurting, shooting thick milky come, coating Tony’s hand, his chest, and he kept pumping up into the wet warmth like an animal in heat, releasing every last little droplet he could.

He sagged against the wall, slumping a little from how exhausted he was. He was drenched in sweat, his fever apparently broken, and all the pain he’d felt had faded away. All that was left was fucked out bliss.

They stayed there for a few moments, before Tony started laughing. Peter, still sleepy from coming, peeked a look at the man still kneeling before him.

“Jesus, Pete, if you wanted me so bad you should have just said so. You didn’t need to go huffing alien viagra,” his smile was easy and relaxed, the relief that Peter was okay clear on his face.

“Hey now!” Peter started, but FRIDAY chose that moment to interrupt. “It appears that his vitals have returned to normal, boss. The alien substance has worked its way through its life cycle, and is no longer present in his body from my readings.”

Tony gave a quizzical look at Peter, before asking, “Life cycle? I thought you said it was just a powder, FRI?”

“That is what I had initially assumed,” she continued, and Peter swore he could hear a touch of indignation in her voice, “But I’ve ascertained it’s something more similar to a pollen, something the hive you fought was spreading in an ill-advised attempt to gain control over the human species. I’ve already sent out dronebots to collect any remaining particles for containment, boss.”

“Atta girl, FRI,” Tony said proudly, turning his attention back to Peter, “So.. sex pollen huh?” he chuckled. “You really do need a break from patrolling after all that.” He leaned up to place a gentle kiss on Peter’s lips, soft and warm and sweet. “Let’s get cleaned up and get you home. And maybe we don’t tell your Aunt about this particular mission, Pete?”

Peter gulped, nodding and said, “Yep, a completely routine alien battle, we got them taken care of in less than 15 and then you took me out for shawarma and made me study for AP Calc on the way home, right Mr. Stark?”

“Right kid,” he said with a smile, kissing Peter once more. “Now, are you going to tell me about all these fantasies you’ve been having about me, or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you?”

#kinktober #day 20 #starker #sex pollen au

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calpalirwin · 4 years

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B.U.B

Summary: Everyone got more than they bargained for when Ashton started dating Sam.

A/N: Ugh, this is such a bittersweet moment. The official end of my brain child with @creator-appreciator and our new trope: back up boyfriend (BUB). But what an appropriate note to end on: a wedding! If you haven’t read it, or need a refresher, be sure to catch all 5 previous parts of BUB under the miscellaneous portion of my masterlist!

Disclaimer: Not a poly!sos series!

Content: General bub tom-foolery wedding edition!

Word Count: 2k on the nose!

And away, and away we go!

Part 6

“Lazy day?” Ashton asked from his spot on the couch next to Calum when Sam came downstairs in leggings and a tank top.

“Nope!” she grinned at him. “Going dress shopping with the bubs and the girls.”

“Is it really a bub outing if I’m not there?” Calum asked.

“Wait, you’re not going?” Ashton asked, looking over at his friend. “What are you doing here, then?”

“Misery loves company?”

“Oh, you are not miserable!” Sam scoffed. “You’re just pouting because I told you you can’t come.”

“I don’t pout. I just find it unfair that you banished me from a bub activity.”

“It’s not a bub activity. It’s a wedding party activity. Of which, you are not technically a part of.”

“Princess, you’re forgetting a crucial piece of intel. And it’s that I am the party.”

“You’re still not coming, bub.”

Calum narrowed his eyes at her. “Have fun talking Luke out of glitter.”

“Have fun not knowing what the dress looks like,” she taunted back. Sam swiftly pressed a kiss to Calum’s cheek before kissing Ashton. “Have a good day, boys.”

“Bye, baby. Have fun,” Ashton told her while Calum sunk lower in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

~~~

“So, these are the colors,” Sam explained, pictures spread across the kitchen table, everybody listening intently. “The girls got their dresses and they are stunning! But all four of you still need to go get your tuxes. And when you do, take this color! This is the color!” She held up the photo in question, looking around at who she trusted most to hold on to it.

“I got it,” Calum said, snatching the picture out of her fingers. “Is there a different color you want Ash’s? Or mine for that matter?”

“No. Same color’s fine for you and Fletch too.”

“You don’t want him to match your dress?”

“Oh, her dress is beautiful!” Luke teased, seeing his opportunity and taking it. “Makes her look like a princess, Cal.”

“A queen, dumbass…” Michael sighed.

“Whatever. Point is, it’s a beautiful dress, and she looks amazing in it!”

“If you’re not this excited when we get married, I’m leaving you at the altar,” Sierra teased.

“You should leave him now,” everyone joked.

“Hey!”

“Oh! And Fletch! The flowers. Can you give this to Bryce down at the shop?”

“Yeah, I’ll give it to him next time I see him.”

“Good, good. And when is your family getting here?”

“Not til like the week of the wedding, wh- oh shit, Harry’s suit. Uh, I’ll tell him to go to a tailor to get his measurements and I’ll bring that with me when we all go get fitted.”

“Which you’re doing when?”

“When would you like us to do that, baby?”

Sam grinned, “You're so smart sometimes, Fletch. Can you guys go soon? Like next week?”

“You got it,” the boys saluted her. “Anything else?”

~~~

“Fletch!” Sam hollered from the backyard.

“What?!” Ashton asked, running to her, only to find her sitting beside the garden he’d been planting. “What are you doing?” he giggled.

“Trying to teach myself how to garden,” she stated.

“Mhm… why?”

“Because, Fletch!”

“Do you need help?”

“Yes! None of this makes sense!”

“What do you mean it doesn’t make sense?” he giggled again, coming to sit beside her.

“This!” She flashed the packet of flower seeds in her hand. “Plant in the warm season. What does that even mean? It’s California! It’s always warm season!”

“Why is this something you want to do?”

“Because it’s something you like doing, and I thought I would surprise you by doing it with you.”

“Aww! You don’t have to.”

“But I want to! It can be our thing!”

“So, if I take you to Home Depot right now, we can put some gardening stuff I’ve wanted on our wedding registry?” Ashton asked hopefully.

“Who needs fancy china anyway?”

“God, you’re the best! Okay, let’s go.”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“Call the guys. We might need help.”

A half hour later Sam was talking the ear off of a Home Depot employee. “So he wants to plant like real stuff. Like tomatoes, you know? But I think other stuff would look really good too. Like regular flowers and such. So, my question to you, is what would be the best things to plant if we were going to plant them, say, later this afternoon? What would we need?”

“Uh… I can show you what’s popular?” the clerk offered, either feeling completely out of their element or intimidated by the woman with all her questions and posse of 4 giant Aussie men.

“Lead the way!” Sam chirped.

“Oh, um, you wouldn’t happen to have those scanners for wedding registries, would you?” Ashton put in as they all started walking across the store to the garden section.

“You want to register for your wedding at Home Depot, sir?”

“Yes, please.”

“You don’t want to register at IKEA, or like a Target?”

“Nope! You guys got some great stuff here.”

“Okay…”

The wedding registry aspect of it proved to be useless as anything Ashton scanned, Calum, Luke, or Michael immediately grabbed with a “What? I want one too…”

“So, this is probably a crazy question, but c-can I be invited to your wedding? Like… nobody's going to believe me that this happened. That a couple registered here. I just… I gotta see what type of wedding would be thrown by people who register at Home frickin’ Depot,” the clerk asked as they rang everything up.

Sam hummed as she dug around in her purse, pulling out a small card and handing it over. “Yeah! Of course! I didn’t end up liking this design, but it’s got all the important information on it, so I hope this’ll do.”

“Holy crap, thank you!”

“Of course! Thanks for dealing with us.”

“You just carry invitations around in your purse?” Ashton asked Sam.

“You don’t?”

“I don’t have a purse… I have pockets.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Just help the bubs.”

~~~

“Okay, my bachelor party and your bachelorette party,” Ashton started. “How do you want to do this? Cuz I know I have groomswomen, but I want my boys there too. And I imagine you probably want the same thing of wanting your bubs and your girls. So… separate weekends or joint party?”

“Joint party would just be a regular hang out.”

“Yeah but like… in a cabin in the mountains. Away from everything. Or separate weekends. You get everyone to do your thing with. Then I get everyone to do my thing.”

“But then we don’t get each other. And with a joint party we do.”

“I think the point of bachelor and bachelorette parties is so that way we’re not around each other, baby.”

“Then why’d you suggest a joint party, Fletch?”

“I didn’t. I was just laying out all the options.”

“Mhm… sure. A likely story.”

“Okay, I might be hoping that you pick a joint party because I think that’d be fun. A nice getaway with my closest friends and future wife. What could be better than that?”

“You do make a pretty good case.”

“So, joint party?”

“Joint party!”

The end of the month found the eight friends and Harry standing around in a cabin. “First order of business!” Sam declared. “Room assignments. Ashton and I get the master room. The rest are up for grabs. Second order of business! Once you find your room, come back with all the blankets and pillows so we can make our fort.”

“A fort?” Harry snickered. “What are you, twelve?”

“Aw, c’mon,” Ashton nudged his kid brother. “You’ve seen the pictures of our forts, haven’t you?”

“Oh, that’s like a for real thing? Thought it was a joke.”

“Fort Luke Sucks Balls is most certainly real. And for this weekend, you are an honorary member,” Sam told him with a bright smile.

“Uh… thanks? I think?”

~~~

“Mike… you were right,” Luke breathed as Sam turned around in her dress. “You do look like a queen, sweetheart.”

Sam blushed. “Thanks, partner.”

“You saw her try it on in the store last week,” Michael told Luke. “Idiot…”

“Well, yeah! But not with her hair all done up, and make up.”

“You’re right. Still an idiot, but you’re right. Wanna make a bet for when Ash starts crying?”

“Hmm…” Luke thought. “Tears up when she walks down the aisle, full on sobbing through his vows.”

“Oh, definitely with you on him tearing up when she comes down the aisle. But I’m betting he just does that thing where he clears his throat a lot rather than the blubbering during the vows.”

“Alright. So if I win, we have to change Fort Luke Sucks Balls.”

“And when you lose, a name change can never be proposed again by you.”

“Deal.”

The blondes shook hands to cement the agreement, each one certain they’d win while Sam rolled her eyes. A bet the was rendered null and void when Ashton A.) teared up when Sam came down the aisle, and B.) cleared his throat a grand total of 107 times (Michael counted) before quietly breaking down during Sam’s vows.

“I now pronounce you Hubasaurus Fletch, and Wifeysaurus Babe,” Calum announced. “Now kiss your bride before you start crying again.”

Ashton gave a half sobbed laugh, before cupping Sam’s face in his hands and ducking his head down to give her the world’s most heartfelt kiss.

~~~

“Alright,” Calum said into a microphone, getting the toasts started. “Hi, everyone, I’m Calum Hood. The wedding officiant, and only guest speaker for this evening.”

“The sensation!” Michael called out loudly, his hands cupped around his mouth.

“The bodacious!” Luke joined in.

“Ccccccaaaaaalllllllluuuuummmmmmm Hhhhhooooooooooooodddddd!” the group of friends all whooped, drumming their hands on the table.

“Okay, thank you!” Calum said with a squishy cheeked grin. “So, as you can imagine we all love Ashton and Sam so much. And when deciding this part of the night, we all wanted a chance to say something. But, we ultimately decided that a lot of our stories would overlap and that it would be too long, so I’m doing it on behalf of all of us. So, it goes without saying Ash, that you’re like a big brother to us guys. I don’t think it’s a stretch of the imagination to say that we wouldn’t be the people we are without you in our lives. And we’ll never be able to thank you enough for accepting a random Facebook message from a kid you didn’t know and helping us become what we are. And then there’s Princess Sam. Sorry, Queen Sam. I have never been happier to be proved wrong in my entire life. I’ve never been happier to have been wrong about thinking you were just some girl that wouldn’t matter in a couple of months. And I deeply apologize for everything I did in those first few months. In these last 5 years I’ve gotten to know you, it’s very easy to see the woman that stole my best friend’s heart. Because you stole all of ours too. And if I say anything else, I’m gonna end up like Ash here, so I’ll just end this by saying that I’ll forever be grateful that you two found each other, because it’s been nothing short of incredible. Here’s to the best years.”

Calum raised his glass, everyone else following suit, while Luke and Michael hopped up on stage next to Calum. Michael grabbed the microphone out of Calum’s hands while Luke got situated with a guitar. “Perfect toast for a perfect couple, Cal. And perfect segway into the newly announced Mr. and Mrs. Ashton Irwin’s first dance! Hit it, Luke!”

While Luke started strumming the opening chords to Best Years, Ashton led Sam out to the dance floor, spinning her in a slow circle before pulling her close. “I love you so much, baby,” he whispered for only her to hear.

“I love you too, Fletch. So fuckin’ much.”

Tag List

@frontmanash @goeatsomelife @flameraine @creator-appreciator @cxddlyash @1-irwin-94 @sparkling-calm @tea4sykes @youngblood199456 @5-seconds-of-obsession @gosh-im-short @aquarius-hood1996 @talkfastromance4 @itjustkindahappenedreally @philthepegacorn @ashtonlftv @miirandaaa @karajaynetoday @myfavfanficsever @stormrider505 @cashtonisruiningmylife @another-lonely-heart

#BUB #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #calum hood #luke hemmings #michael clifford #5sos #galcal irwin

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babbushka · 4 years

Note

For this holiday sin day may I request Clyde taking me to a cabin for the holidays? Pre kiddos, of course. ;) LOVE YOU.

“Do you like it?” Clyde asks, when he opens the door to the Logan Family Cabin (est. 1963), and presents you with just about the damn near coziest sight you ever did see.

It’s exactly what you’d pictured from all his stories, deep baritone filling the car as he drove the hour or so to get up there way in the mountains. It’s all dark brown and antlers, with a beautiful stone-walled fireplace, and soft orange furniture. There’s rugs on all the wooden floors and a big coffee table with a tea-set and a stack of books about hunting to match the taxidermized animals proudly on display in just about every corner and on every wall.

Those are a little creepy, but you can appreciate the rustic charm that the cabin has, so when you turn to him, looking over your shoulder at your big bear, you’re not lying when you tell him, “Clyde it’s stunning.”

“Uncle Stickley built it with his own two hands if you can believe it. Family kinda took it over when he died.” Clyde says quietly, in that shy way of his as he sets your bags down and locks the cabin door. “Jimmy was fixin’ to bring Sylvia out here but I called dibs on it first.”

You can’t help but smile at that, at the sibling squabble that must’ve caused.

But you figure, you can make it worth it, so you ask, “Where’s the bedroom?”

Y’all are on one another faster than a moth to a flame when the door to the bedroom closes. Clyde practically scrambles to yank his shirt off his shoulders, the damn button-down getting caught on his prosthetic. You immediately come to his help, first taking off the robotic arm and setting it down gently on the dresser, and then stripping him the rest of the way, kissing at his lips hungrily.

Clyde’s achingly hard in his jeans, especially with your hands so close to his cock, the way your fingers brush against the skin of his lower stomach trying to undo his belt. You’re already topless, and his hand is like a magnet to your chest, fingers pinching and squeezing at you in a way that has you squirming for him. He pinches hard enough to get you to gasp loudly, takes the opportunity to stick his tongue in your mouth, lick against your own.

You’re humming in pleased anticipation as he walks you backwards to the bed, lets you fall down onto the mattress with a laugh, lets you raise your hips so he can help get your pants off, underwear tucked into the back pocket of his jeans that you’re pushing down his legs.

“Clyde,” You say, just because you can, as you’re tugging him closer to you, letting him settle naked against you, between your legs. He loves the sound of his name off your lips, wants to hear it again and again and again, wants to hear it all night long, “Yes!”

Your mouth is occupied but he knows if you could, you’d be babbling for him as he lines his cock up, lets you hook a leg around his waist. He himself moans straight down your throat when he pushes in, your cunt hot and tight, just for him. The digs of your nails into the meat of his shoulders only spur him on, and he’s not even all the way bottomed out before he’s thrusting, his hips just begging for the delicious friction that only you can give.

“Darlin’, fuck, you’re so good.” He can’t help but smudge the words into your skin, over-eager like you’re teenagers again, pushing further and further into you with each roll of his hips.

But you know this isn’t going to be comfortable for him for too long, his arm going to start hurting soon, and you take the initiative to roll the both of you over so that Clyde is on his back.

“Oh!�� You moan, high and loud for all the mountains to hear, echoing down the snowy banks and across the frozen river, because now that you’re on top, you’ve sat fully and completely on his cock.

“Holy shit,” He literally pounds the mattress with his fist from how good it feels, plants his feet on the bed and lifts his hips to give you a better angle. “That’s it, god you’re good, (Y/N), god.” He can’t stop, and he doesn’t.

Your nipples are so hard when you throw your head back and start bouncing on his dick in earnest, riding him hard and fast.

“Yes, yes, yes – you’re so huge Clyde.” You’re rocking the bed, making it squeak and shake underneath you, and he curses loud, wishing he had his other hand to hold you tight, to pull your hair, to shove in your mouth and make you gag.

There’d be time for makin’ love later, he knows that. When he puts on the fireplace and turns on the old black & white TV that they never got rid of, the kind that only has options for three channels, the kind with the wonky antenna that has to be positioned just so. He’ll make love to you then.

But for now, now he’s going to fuck you.

He steadies you with a strong grip on your waist, fingers leaving deep dark bruises in your flesh. He licks his lips and lets out the most obscene grunts and groans and growls as you clench around his cock. He’s afraid he’s going to chap them, with how much he bites at his own mouth, leaving his lips swollen and red red red, like the tip of your tongue that you’ve got your teeth around, face pinched, concentrating on the pleasure.

“Darlin’, shit, faster?” He asks, and you nod, sweat beating between your perfect tits, and his hand abandons the spot on your stomach to cup your breast.

He sits up then, sits up against the headboard so you can be closer, so you can kiss him, and you do.

You tangle your hands in his hair and scratch against his scalp, pull hard as you ride him. Your thighs must be burning, from the way they’re shaking – must be on fire, but then again so is the rest of you, all consumed with lust and pleasure.

You make out, messy and greedy right in his lap, and as much as he wants to yank your hair too, he drops his hand down to your pussy, feels how his cock slides in and out of you by virtue of the little circles you do with your hips that have him drooling into your mouth.

“Clyde! I’m – ” You whine when he stuffs his fingers up into your cunt too, and you’re impossibly stretched. You drop your head onto his shoulder, cry into his neck from how fucking good it feels, and then you’re shouting when his thumb joins the mix, presses hard onto your clit and has you coming, seeing stars.

He takes the opportunity to push you backwards, flat on your back, to rail into you because fuck he’s so close, balls tightening and his stomach so warm like he drank all the whiskey in the world.

His name is a litany of praise from your lips, sweet and loud and he’s drunk off it, coming in you with a big shout that has to shake all the snow off the trees.

Later, after the sweat has cooled and the sheets are changed, after you’ve both brushed your teeth and changed into the soft fleece pajamas he went out and bought, after you’ve curled up on the comfy couch and are watching old black and white movies on that tiny TV, do you both laugh, chuckle into each other’s embrace.

Because if there’s nothin’ else you know, it’s that Clyde Logan knows how to treat you right for the holidays, and you’re glad he called first dibs.

#reader insert #clyde logan x reader #clyde x reader #logan lucky #clyde logan #love you mrs logan!!!!!!!#kyloxfem #cowboy answers

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thepilotanon · 4 years

Note

Who's gonna be the most into his girl coming home done up after her first beauty appointment after the quarantine?

I want to say all of them, because who wouldn’t want to love up their lover, after being so excited to get back to the salon after a long period of time?? All the boys under cut!

Clyde would know that you’ve been so excited to get back to Mellie’s work after the quarantine, saying how you miss Mellie’s facial treatment because you could never replicate the routine at home and think you’ve lost your prettiness while stuck at home. Clyde would argue that you could never lose your beauty, but he was happy for you to go and get pampered nonetheless (he even snuck a call to Mellie to put it on his tab as a surprise). As soon as you come home, Clyde just points out every new detail he sees about you, buttering you up with kisses and twirling your hair around his finger with his sweet words.

“Hey, look at you, Darlin’! What’s all this? This nail polish color is new, ain’t it? It looks so pretty on ya, baby. See ya glowin’ from the facial, lookin’ brighter than the sun! God, don’t ya look gorgeous. Feel like yer dressin’ up all for me, baby, gonna have to take ya out on a walk n’ show ya off.”

A man like Flip wouldn’t really know that you left until he wakes up and can’t find you for his good-morning kisses (he pouted the whole time you were gone and ate his sloppy oatmeal). As soon as you come home, happier than a cat with string, with a new ‘do and dress and a present hidden in a bag, Flip is honestly floored. He knew you’ve been a bit sad being cooped up inside and he couldn’t blame you (his own temper of cabin fever had been crazy, and it’s only amazing that you’re still married to him after all that). Still in his jammies, he walks circles around you and immediately wants to get handsy.

“Babydoll, you should’ve told me you wanted to go out, after all this shit. I would have gone out and gotten a trim! Now I look like a shaggy pirate - don’t laugh, you know me and all the guys at the station were doing the whole ‘no-shave’ thing! Damn, I need to get my eyes checked or something, because I feel like I’m going to go blind just by looking at you, baby!”

Kylo would insist that you spoil yourself at his expense, knowing how stressed and worried you had been throughout the whole thing. As soon as everything was in the clear and your life could return to normal, he ordered a whole day of spa and spoil just for you to enjoy and get rid of all the stress that you’ve built up in the past weeks. He knows (from personal experience of spoiling himself, too, honestly) that a scalp scrub, facial, massages and scented treatments can do wonders for the mind and body, so he can’t help but smile for you as soon as you come back and melt into his arms.

“What’s this now? After all that fuss of not wanting to go, saying how you didn’t need anything…you sure look a lot more relaxed now, after your appointment. Okay, I’ll take the stinkeye, but I’ll still say that I told you so, sweetheart. Come on now, lets get some dinner.”

Adam…would just go with you to the appointment. He really doesn’t have any big plans to get going as soon as everything is in the clear, besides working, but he wants to spend time with you anyway. As soon as he sees your eyes light up when you read the options of the spa treatment, he slams down his card and does is oh-so-Sackler volume “PUT IT ON HERE, AND MAKE IT DOUBLE.” Yes, when I say that Adam just goes with you to the appointment, he’s going and he’s going to enjoy every minute of it with you. Not much of a quiet R&R, but Adam’s commentary honestly adds in more enjoyment for you and entertainment to the staff.

“Y’know, this is the first time I’ve ever had a message, can you believe that shit, guys? Now I see why you were so excited about all this, babe, this is frickin’ awesome. You guys are seriously doing God’s work - Oooh, holy shit, that felt like a bitch! Did’ya feel that? Meanwhile, angel over there is lookin’ like a pampered goddess. You know, those Greek or whatever princesses who get waited on hand and foot? Hey, baby, I think I have an idea for when we get home…if I ever manage to move from this fuckin’ table.”

#headcanon #pilotanonwrites #clyde logan x reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #flip zimmerman x reader #flip x reader #adam sackler x reader

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headoverhiddles · 4 years

Text

Matrimony - Pope x Reader (Let Me Make You A Martyr) [Part II]

Synopsis: Tensions rise with Pope, but you both have a common goal. Or, you believe it to be common.

Notes: Second part of three! Enjoy loves.

Tagging: (ask to be added) @peachynun @elrosew @livelifewondering

PART I

PART III

You wake to the sound of your alarm. 5:30 am.

You get out of bed, and pull on your jogging clothes. A run should clear your head. On the way down, you sneak one more look into Pope's bedroom. You can't see much through the dark, but the bed looks empty. He must be downstairs skulking around somewhere, unless he enjoys a nice refreshing jog before the sun comes up... which you doubt.

Out on the path, the sun starts to rise through the pine trees. You jog along the road that you arrived on, smart enough not to jog in the direction of Pierce's cabin alone. Slipping your earbuds in, you listen to Marilyn Manson's Odds of Even, the thunk of the beat in time with your steps.

You’re not thinking about Pope that way. You’re just interested in him. Interested in the idea of him. He’s an interesting man! Who... you’re interested in.

So, you've got feelings for Pope.

Not feelings, per say, but... an intrigue. And there's definitely a physical attraction there, though you can't tell if he returns it. Probably not. Sex and romance probably weren't even blips on his radar. All he probably thinks about is killing people, disposing of their corpses swiftly and without hassle, and jacking off when and if he feels lonely.

You bite your lip. Damn, that's hot to imagine. Why do you always fall for people who either hate you, want to kill you, or just plain aren't nice?

If you even mess up a little on this hit though, he'll kill you. Literally. He will not hesitate to take you out as well if you fuck up. But you're not going to fuck up. You may not be a hitman, but you deal with creeps like Daegland Pierce all the time in your job. You know how they think, and that's an advantage Pope doesn't have.

You return to the cabin, breathing heavily. A thin sheen of sweat covers you, and you look around. Isn't there a river somewhere near here?

You approach the rushing brook, grateful for the already cool mist rising from it. You peel off your top and bra, and do the same for your shorts and panties. There's no one out here in the brush, so you don't have to worry about that.

You toss your stuff on a nearby log, and get into the stream. Oh yeah. Yeah. That's nice. You float for a moment, staring up at the sky and listening to the birds. Then you hear another noise. A much closer noise.

You get your ears out of the water, and listen... then you nearly drown in fear as you hear a loud thwack right behind you. Whipping around, you turn to see--

"Holy shit!" you scream.

"Morning," Pope says. He brings an axe down on another piece of wood.

"I'm...! Oh my god, you didn't say anything, you--"

"Well," he pushes up his glasses, "I figured I wouldn't bother you in your morning activities, and you won't bother me in mine." He gestures to you with the handle of his axe. "You do have some pretty tits, though."

"Jesus fuck," you whisper, covering your chest. "Don't... look!" Pope shrugs, and goes back to splitting wood. "Why are you even out here?!" you demand, trying to swim back to the shore inconspicuously.

"I'm sorry, is this restricted land? Do I require a fuckin’ permit?"

"You-- just, what are you doing?!"

"It's cold at night here," he mutters, "And any sensible person would seek warmth during the dark hours."

"Excuse me?!"

"You're excused, you know I don't mean whoring around with you."

"Right. If I came into your bedroom at night, opened up my bra and sat on the edge of your bed, you'd tell me to fuck off?"

Pope smirks. "Aww. Princess doesn't like the thought of that, does she?" You gasp, crossing your arms. You stop crossing your arms when it's apparent that just makes your boobs look even better. "Look, kid. Unlike you, I didn't come out here to screw around. I came here to kill a motherfucker, and get paid. That's what I do, that's what I intend to do."

It's futile arguing with him, and any headway you made tolerating each other last night at dinner (however small) had now been wiped clean. You'd show your worth on your own-- and you've got nothing to prove. Not much, anyway. There is zero part of you that wants any validation from Pope at all. Or praise. Or a... a "good girl." A "good... good little girl... yeah, babygirl, just like that..."

Shit.

---

"Do not make one wrong step. He can't know we're here."

You follow closely behind Pope, trying to get his attention.

"Hey. Hey! Why are we doing this now? Why don't we wait until--?"

"You have to get to know everything about a person's environment before you kill them. You need to know any possible traps they've set up, any kind of security or backup they've hid up their ass."

"B--"

"Stop speaking, no speaking. Shh. For once, shhh." He holds up a hand, then when he's sure the coast is clear, he beckons. "Follow me."

You do. He points to the other side of the house, but you're already ahead of him, back to the painted wooden panels. It's a better looking cabin than yours, obviously furnished and newly renovated with millions of dollars in dope cash that should've gone to home growers like the business you work for.

You snake around the back of the house, and check the window. It's cracked open an inch. Looking around, you push it open a bit farther, and carefully, ever so silently, you climb in. Pope is already in the house, in the living room. He's got his back pressed to the wall, and his head tilted to look up the stairs.

You're about to turn to check the kitchen, when you feel something in your back. You turn slowly, preparing to meet the barrel of a gun and your untimely demise, but you just find the end of a dirty wooden spoon in a soapy pot.

"Oh," you breathe, putting a hand on your chest. You hear a gun cock at the back of your head.

"What the fuck you doing in my house?" You look behind you, and maneuver around. It's him. It's Daeg. And he's in his bathrobe.

"Hi!" you suddenly say, the first thing popping into your head the option you're going with. "You must be the neighbor!"

"What?" Pierce growls.

You wave to Pope, who's staring at you with some mix of contempt and confusion. "Honey, come here!"

"What the...?" Pierce mutters, and points the gun at Pope as he reluctantly walks over to join you. "Who are you people?!"

"We just moved into the cabin next to yours! We're Mr. and Mrs... Warner!" You pick a name off the top of your head. You grab Pope's hand, and the death grip you get back tells you he's not in support of this tactic. But, there's no going back now.

"Yeah," he grumbles, "This is my wife. Ain’t she a sweet little piece of ass?"

You give a giggle for good measure, tightening your grip on his hand in warning, and this guy looks so utterly dumbfounded, it's hard not to laugh.

"I'm gonna ask you this again, you stupid shits. What the FUCK are you doing in my HOUSE?!"

"Looking for sugar," you say.

Pope falls into his role. "Yeah. My wife here was... baking."

"I tried to tell him he gets enough sugar at home, but he wouldn't listen, the scoundrel!" You slap him lightly on the arm.

"Well. Just can't get enough of the girl. But that river flows both ways, don't it?"

You shudder slightly, but keep your smile up. Then it hits you. Ingredients... baking! You know just how you can get put of here without an ass full of this guy’s buckshot!

"Now, the reason we found your place, was..." you move in a little closer to Pierce, "I was looking for a certain kind of ingredient. If you know what I mean."

The man's demeanor changes. He looks around, tucks his gun. "How do y'all know about that?"

You wink. "I know lots of things."

"Now, sweetheart." Pope tugs you back, a little too roughly. "Remember to be modest. At least for my sake." His hand travels down to your ass, and you bite your lip.

"Of course, honey. Of course."

Is he getting a little too into his role?

---

You both can't believe you were able to make nice with Pierce long enough to get out of his house. It was a life-saving idea, but it also posed a problem. The two of you had been invited back for dinner the next night, to supposedly buy some of his ‘stock’.

"It's perfect! That's when we kill him!" you hiss, as Pope walks ahead of you through the bramble.

"The tone of this whole thing is fucked up. It’s not right. This isn't how things work."

"What, not used to having a fake wife along for the hit? A little imagination can save your life."

"Don't talk to me about life," he mutters, "I'm ready to end yours."

"Yeah. Fine. Threaten to kill me."

"Oh, I'm not just threatening."

"At least we didn't get shot to bits by the most notorious drug dealer in the American midwest."

"I do things my way," he replies calmly, "I don't need a little brat like you telling me how it's gonna be." You ball your fists and beat against a tree. He's infuriating!

"Will you at least show me how to cut the wood you were chopping this morning? You're right, we should stock up." He looks back at you, that same indifferent expression back on his face.

"You chose to come out here and bother me. Make yourself scarce, or I swear to God or whatever the fuck, I'll drive you out to the middle of the woods and leave you for the wolves."

With that, he walks inside, screen door banging.

You sit down on a log by the car. After a minute, you get up, start the car with the keys on the seat, and turn the radio up.

More honkey tonk wailing. Whatever. Maybe country was good for the soul, and all that.

You lay down on the log, and watch the forest flora sway around you as Hank Williams croons through the open air.

---

You open your eyes. It's dark out.

The car radio is still going, and you're not sure quite what time it is.

You hear footsteps behind you, and look up to see Pope walking over to the car. You sigh, rubbing your eyes and waiting for his complaints. "Sorry," you murmur, "I should've turned it off before I--"

"It's fine," he cuts you off curtly, and you give up trying to explain yourself, waiting for him to disappear again. This was such a mistake. Coming out here with him, wanting to be a part of this. You wanted to see the job done, sure, but maybe you are out of your depth. Christ, the guy is an expert sharpshooter, with the lack of mercy of a navy seal and the personality of a hermit. It's time to give up.

You look up again when you don't hear the door close. He pauses, walks over to you, and sits down. He takes his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, puts one in his mouth, and lights it. He tilts his head up to look at the stars, and takes his glasses off, setting them down beside him.

"C'mere," he whispers. You sit up, frowning, and follow his line of sight. You inch closer to him in confusion, and settle in next to him to watch the sky too. He takes another drag of his cigarette, the embers glowing in the low light. You find the scent of him, along with his presence out here, comforting.

The night bugs grow in volume around you, and soon, you begin to hear coyotes in the distance.

"They're beautiful," you murmur. He hums.

"They’re dangerous."

"Like someone else I know," you whisper. If he hears you, he doesn't let on. He just exhales smoke toward the sky, and listens to the noises of the night. His voice, low and gravelly, rises above the sounds.

"You ever heard of a Wendigo, kid?"

"No," you tell him.

"It's an old legend my grandfather told me. He says there are skinwalkers out here in the forest. They can shapeshift, take the form of whatever they want. Animals, people. Strangely odd. Just a little too odd to be considered human."

"You think those coyotes are skinwalkers?" you ask softly.

"Nah. The only things here pretending to be something they're not are you, and me."

---

You wake up in bed, not quite certain how you got there. It's still nighttime... you don't know exactly what time it is, but you don't want to reach for your phone. You stare out the window for a minute, and frown. The scenery outside doesn't look quite right, like it’s too foggy to see.

There's a slight creak in one of the floorboards, and you see a shadow eclipse the dim lantern light from the hallway.

You roll over in bed, and see Pope standing by the door. He hasn't got his glasses on, and his hair looks a little messed up, as if he's been sleeping.

"What is it?" you mumble, trying to sit up, "Something with Pierce? Did he... is everything okay?" Confusion fills you as he walks toward you, but it's replaced by desire with every step closer he takes. He looks like he's been kept awake by something. "Pope?"

"Shh." He sits down, making an indent in the comforter. "I want you, sweetheart."

You breathe out, and after a second, you lean forward slowly. He meets you halfway, reinforcing the kiss, and you moan softly against his lips. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and he lays you down, resuming the kissing once he's got you against the pillows. "Couldn't get you outta my mind," he whispers, "Couldn't get this... outta my head."

"This feels strange," you murmur, "You hate me."

He doesn't respond, just moves a hand down beneath the covers to stroke between your legs. An exhaled prayer of his name falls from your lips, and he presses a kiss to your chest, tongue swiping out every so slightly. You look down at him again, and reach out, starting to unbutton his shirt, all the way down. With each button, more tattoos are revealed, even though they appear blurry to you, as if your mind is trying to fill them in for you. Must be the dark.

"You're so fucking sexy," he whispers, and pushes your panties aside.

"Please," you beg.

"Let me give you what you need, baby girl. That's it." He looks into your eyes with his own dark orbs. "Trust me now?"

Your chest rises and falls quicker as he adds another finger, rolling your clit with his thumb as he pumps in and out. He's making soft noises as he does, grinding his erection into your thigh on the bed. You start to gasp as you feel your orgasm coming on.

"I'm... P... Pope, oh god, I'm... c-c--"

He strokes you just right with those rough fingers, and just as you come undone, your eyes open.

Pope is gone. You're alone, in bed. You stare at the headboard, realizing you're on your stomach. Shit, you've been grinding into the mattress. You regain a little more consciousness, the events of your dream all fresh in your mind.

Giving a disoriented moan, you flip over, lying on your back. Your hips wiggle, and you tug down your panties, dipping your own fingers into your soaking wet heat. You didn't think he had this kind of effect on you.

You moan to yourself softly as you quickly curl your fingers in a hurried motion, hips arching slightly. Yeah... yeah, like that. You gasp, and finally cum hard thinking of Pope on top of you like that, kissing you, touching your body, sending you over the edge.

You come down to earth, head spinning in the cold, dark bedroom. You can hear soft snores from the other room. He must have brought you upstairs and put you in your bed before turning in. If any of that outside was real. What if that was part of the dream?

No. You can still smell the faint scent of Pope's lingering cigarette smoke on your jacket, which is still on. You shake your head, taking it off and tossing it on a chair across the room. All you need is a good night's rest.

#pope x reader #pope let me make you a martyr #let me make you a martyr #marilyn manson #marilyn manson x reader #brian warner #brian hugh warner #brian warner x reader #reader x marilyn manson #reader x brian warner #reader x pope #marilyn manson fanfiction #marilyn manson fandom #mansonite #mansonites #marilyn manson imagine #marilyn manson imagines

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in-arlathan · 4 years

Text

Eyes Wide Open

Back in the writing game with a new Solavellan story. When I started writing, I was convinced it would be this short fluffy thing. Oh boy, I was so wrong. It turned rather dark towards the end and I love it. I hope you do, too.

A want to give a big shoutout to @serial-chillr who beta’d this for me and help me really polish this piece. Your advice was amazingly insightful. I can’t thank you enough ♥︎

This is available on AO3, too.

___

One of the first things her father had taught her about hunting was to watch out for the green light.

“When you’re in the forest and see the faintest glimmer of green, promise me to run. When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.”

She remembered his words with such clarity it was as if he was standing right next to her. A flicker of emotion danced on her skin, making the small hairs on her arms and neck stand up.

“Don’t let the patches of sunlight in the underbrush distract you,” she heard him say. “Your eyes won’t know where the Fade is thin and where it’s not. In some places, it quivers and if you’re not careful, you will attract attention from the other side.”

His words carried all the grief and sadness of a man who had lost a brother to the temptations of the Fade and even without an ounce of magical talent, Elenara could see the trauma it had caused him. She had wanted nothing more than to reach out to him and hold him close.

She wondered what he might think of her now that she bore the mark upon her hand. Would he be afraid of her? Would he run? Or would he hate her for what she had become?

Elenara leaned closer to her own reflection in the mirror, tracing the fine lines around her eyes with her fingers. At 32, age had already begun to mark her and the blood writing of Dirthamen was slowly fading. But that was not what set her teeth on edge…

With two fingers, she pulled open one eyelid. Her eyes had always been as green as the leaves of a birch tree. Her mother’s eyes, as her father often reminded her. Another cause for grief he never learned to let go. Another loss she would rather not remember. A wave of guilt washed over her.

The dead never leave us, do they?

Pushing her feelings aside, she focused on the color variations in her iris – the fine lines of dark green intertwined with strands of lighter green and yellowish-brown that reminded her of the woods near Wycome. And flecked across it all, new sparks of ghostly green that gleamed like stars in the vast and endless sea of the night sky. Green as the rifts that had been torn open all over Thedas. Green as the Breach that threatened the world.

She let her hand sink, resting it on the washbasin below the mirror. It hadn’t been an illusion then. Her eyes had changed since getting the mark.

When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.

The demon that had tempted and consumed her uncle had come from a rift that barely deserved the name. More like a fissure, as her aunt, Irileth, had told her. And yet it had been powerful enough to let Desire slip through, possess Tere’lan Lavellan and claim his life.

Oh, how she wished her aunt were here. Her father, too. But one was with their clan on the other side of the Waking Sea, and the other rested forever in a burial site in the Vimmark Mountains.

Elenara sighed. Since the keeper had graced her face with the blood-red vallaslin that declared her an adult among her people, she had known so many things – her place in the world most of all. And she had known what she was capable of. Now, she was not so sure. The explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had changed everything, and now she walked among humans to fight in the name of a god she didn’t even believe in.

“Creators, I have no idea what to do”, she whispered as her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away and sniffled, pushing back her feelings once more.

Outside her cabin, Haven was slowly awakening. The talk of townsfolk mingled with the bells of the Chantry ringing in the distance. Not long until her party would set off to Val Royeaux. Surely, Cassandra was already saddling their horses.

Elenara splashed a few drops of water from the wash-basin on her face, then turned to the bed and grabbed the boots standing next to it. They were sturdy and warm and not nearly as uncomfortable as she had expected them to be. Still, she hated those boots with a burning passion. She missed her foot wrappings and the feeling of grass between her toes as she stalked the open plains of the Free Marches, looking for a ram she could hunt down for dinner.

Someone came knocking on her door while she was still struggling to tie the laces.

“Lavellan, are you still in there?”

That was Varric’s voice.

She coughed, then said: “Yeah, I’m here. Come in.”

A second later, the door swung open and Varric walked in. But he wasn’t alone. Solas was beside him, carrying his staff as if it was a holy relic.

“Andraste’s ass,” the dwarf said. “You look like shit, Lavellan.”

Elenara forced herself to smile. “You’re a real charmer, Varric. Has anyone ever told you that?”

If he took offense, he did a perfect job of not showing it. “Did you even sleep last night?” he asked. “Or any night since we returned from the Hinterlands? Because you sure don’t look like it.”

“Not a wink,” she said and sighed deeply.

“Well, shit.” Varric scratched his head. “Is it because of the Chantry folk in Val Royeaux? I know they can be a bit intimidating, but Cassandra and Chuckles and I will be there to have your back. If they so much as point a finger at you, we’ll be glad to chop it off.”

Elenara smiled again. Genuinely, this time. “Thanks, Varric.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Solas pursing his lips. Was he pitying her?

“What are you looking at?” she asked, more bitterly than she had intended.

Solas blinked and his chin jolted upwards as if she had awoken him from a pleasant dream. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He raised a hand. “I was just… wondering…”

Her brows furrowed. “Wondering? About what?”

“Have you noticed any… changes since you stopped the Breach from growing?” he asked.

She cast a curious side-glance at Varric, but the dwarf just shrugged.

How can he possibly know …

The thought perished as she remembered what Varric had told her about Solas. How he had stopped the mark from killing her while she lay unconscious. The apostate clearly knew what kind of magic they were dealing with. Or he had a decent grasp of the situation, at least, and that was more than Elenara could say about herself.

Once more, her father’s voice echoed in her mind. “Promise me to run”, he’d said to her. But she couldn’t, not any longer. All those cautionary tales about the dangers of magic were utterly useless to her now. Maybe her best option was to give herself to magic and have a skilled mage help her deal with the problem at hand.

“There is something,” she said slowly. “My eyes… they’re…”

Solas didn’t let her finish her sentence. He bridged the distance between them with three quick strides and kneeled before her. Then he placed the staff beside him on the stone floor and took her face into his hands, his fingers resting lightly on her cheeks. “Look at me,” he said and his voice carried a sense of urgency.

Despite herself, Elenara held her breath and stared at him.

She had never noticed the true color of his eyes before. From a distance, they looked grey, like a storm cloud on an autumn day in the Free Marches. Now, she saw the hues of blue and violet mixed in there.

“Fascinating,” she breathed.

“Indeed,” Solas said, lost in thought while examining her eyes. “It seems your body is responding to the magic that has placed the mark upon your hand. An uncommon occurrence but not completely unheard of. Most mages undergo a process of change when their talents make themselves known.”

“And that’s supposed to reassure me?”

Solas offered a smile, his gaze still locked with hers. He brushed her cheek with one thumb.

“I would not worry if I were you. As long as the Breach remains stable, you are safe. Still, if you find any other changes or feel pain of any kind, let me know. I will look into it and help as best I can.”

Elenara felt her hand twitch with the urge to reach out and touch his face to trace the lines of his chin and mouth. She licked her lips and wondered what it might feel like to kiss him.

Don’t be foolish, she told herself. This must be the worst of all the bad ideas you had in your life. For all you know, he’s an apostate who has no love for the Dalish. Creators, he might leave as soon as the Breach is sealed, just like you.

And yet, there was a fluttering feeling that had settled in her stomach and refused to leave – like some kind of premonition.

“Thank you, Solas,” she whispered breathlessly.

“It’s okay.” He chuckled. “I came to help after all.”

“Yes, you did,” she replied.

Varric coughed as noisily as possible.

“Great,” the dwarf boomed. “So, we’re done here, right? We should get going before the seeker sends a search party to look for us.”

Solas pushed back and let go of her face. She, in turn, rubbed her cheeks to cover up the blush that bloomed there. “Yeah,” she murmured and hurried to collect her travel bag. Solas, however, took his time to pick up his staff and get back on his feet again.

“It doesn’t seem like a good idea to keep Cassandra waiting,” he said.

Elenara shouldered her bag, casting a sidelong glance at Solas. He cradled his staff with one arm and watched her intently while she readied herself for the journey, a soft smile tugging at his lips. It almost seemed like he was enjoying himself. To say she was confused by this would have been an understatement.

“Tell me about it,” Varric said to Solas, then turned to Elenara as she grabbed her bow and quiver. “You’re good to go?”

“Yes,” she told Varric and nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Lavellan. We’re right behind you.”

********

Solas cupped her cheek with one gloved hand. She wished she could feel the warmth of his skin on hers as she stared into his eyes, searching for the man she loved so deeply.

Two years had gone by since she had been this close to him. Two years wondering where he had gone, why he had left her. And now she knew.

His name was Fen’Harel and he was about to shatter her world.

“My love,” he breathed.

The magic of the anchor flared and sent a wave of agony through her body. She bit her lip and forced herself not to cry out in pain. In this moment, she wanted to pretend that everything was back to normal and that nothing had changed between them.

She wondered if he could still see the light in her eyes. It had spread more and more with every passing day since the Exalted Council began. The green glimmer flickered and flared just like the anchor and the pain almost blinded her. Still, she kept her eyes fixed on Solas while he leaned closer, caressing her cheek with his gloved hand.

She had promised him that their love would endure. There was nothing in this world or the Fade that she wanted more. And yet, as the magic drained her life, she couldn’t help but wonder if her father had been right after all. Maybe she should have run when she still had the chance. If not from her duty as Inquisitor, at least from the elven mage that she had come to care about so deeply, despite knowing so little about him. When he had left her in Crestwood, she should have seen it as an opportunity to begin again and find someone new. She could have been happy, for a while.

And still, when he brushed his lips against hers, the world began to make sense again. He was her destiny and her duty and she would hold on to him as long as she could. He was hers again and that was all that mattered, even if it was only for a moment.

Elenara focused on the delicate movements of his mouth and pushed aside the pain that seared through her left arm. She remembered the day when she thought about kissing him for the first time. Back then, she had brushed the impulse off as just that: a terrible idea that had crossed her mind. Now, she felt incapable of going on without him.

Tears filled her eyes, as he withdrew from her and got back on his feet. She didn’t even dare to look at her left arm. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on Solas. He gazed at her with a stricken expression on his face.

“I will never forget you,” he whispered.

She saw him turn away ever so slowly as if walking away from her caused him physical pain.

And with that, it was over.

Light erupted behind her closed eyelids, rendering her blind within seconds. She leaned forward, clasping her healthy hand around her left upper arm. The magic of the anchor went wild, roaring inside her body and soul one last time. She cried out in pain as her left hand and arm dissolved into nothingness.

Overwhelmed by agony, she barely heard Solas slipping away through the eluvian. All she could think about were the words of warning her father had spoken to her all these years long ago that she had completely failed to follow.

When you see the faintest glimmer of green, promise me to run.

“You were right,” she hissed, repressing another wild cry. “You were always right.”

She had failed her father, just like she had failed her clan. Maybe she should have turned her back on all of this when she still had the chance to flee back to the Free Marches. She might not have been able to save her clan from the treacherous dealings of the Venatori in Wycome, but at least she would have died knowing she had honored her father’s teachings. Instead, she had chosen to run into her own misery with her eyes wide open.

What was she supposed to do? she asked herself, hoping secretly that a voice from beyond the Fade would answer her call. The world was in grave danger. And it still was.

I’m sorry, father.

Elenara inhaled sharply, still blinded by the green light that reached across the Veil, and focussed on the low thrum of her own heartbeat. Steadying her breath, she waited until the pain in her arm slowly faded away.

Carefully, she let her right hand slide down her arm. A dry sob escaped her when her trembling fingers reached her elbow–or what was left of it. Through the remains of the chainmail that had protected her arm, she could feel the cauterized wound. And then… nothing…

She let out a long, controlled breath. To stop the mark from spreading, Solas had taken a part of her with his ancient magic. Maybe she should be thankful. Without the anchor, she had one less burden to carry. If only her heart did not feel as heavy as if it was made of pure lead.

When she opened her eyes, the world remained a bright haze of light. She blinked and new tears streamed down her cheeks. Slowly, the shadows came back. Blurry shapes of rocks and foliage surrounded her as she drew herself upright. Her knees shook violently as she made her way back to the mirror she had come through, passing by the frozen shape of the Viddassala. Elenara paused and pushed back the urge to touch the stone statue’s arm. You had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into, she thought. Just like me.

As she walked over to the eluvian, the shapes sharpened around her and the world regained its vibrant color. She saw bushes and trees swaying in the wind and the golden streaks of sunlight dancing on their leaves. “Creators help me,” she whispered with a bitter taste in her mouth. The words had never felt so hollow before. With all that she had uncovered at the Temple of Mythal, her faith in the elven gods had faltered. Now, it was all but shattered.

Maybe I should evoke the Maker instead. Or even Andraste. They haven’t had their chance to let me down yet.

The eluvian was still dormant when she finally reached it. Weakened from the fight against the qunari, exhausted from the truths she had learned that day, she leaned against the silvery surface of the mirror and closed her eyes.

She had come so far only to realize that she had been set up to fail right from the start. Oh, how stupid she had been. All her meddling in politics to steer the world onto a safer path had ultimately amounted to nothing. Maybe the hunters had been right to mock her for her interest in history and shemlen politics. She should have run like her father told her to.

When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.

But in truth she had known there’d be no going back ever since she had seen the terror of the Breach with her own eyes. With a threat that dark and powerful, there was nowhere safe to run to. And so she’d done the only thing that had seemed plausible at the time–she had joined forces with Cassandra and the others to heal the sky. And along the way, she had come to know the world so much more intimately than she could have imagined as a young girl devouring books about faraway lands and long-forgotten kingdoms. She had her companions to thank for that. With their love and friendship, their ambition and folly, their victories and failures, they had shown her what Thedas truly was and what it might be. It had kept her going despite all the fear and darkness she faced.

And while she thought of Varric, and Cassandra, and Cole, and Dorian, and Blackwall and all the others, she knew she had to take at least one more step. Because all these years of fighting would have been for nothing if she gave up now.

“I have to get back”, she whispered and her breath fogged the mirror’s surface. “Please.”

She could feel a ripple as her naked hand touched the eluvian. A moment later, the portal unlocked itself, its surface warping into a cascade of violet light.

Elenara breathed a sigh of relief and stepped through.

“She’s back.”

“Inquisitor!”

Before she knew it, Dorian was by her side, slinging an arm around her waist to help her stand. Varric and Cassandra, who had been standing by the corpse of the enormous Saarebas they had been fighting before, rushed to meet them. The Divine hissed as she beheld Elenara’s missing arm.

“Holy shit, Lavellan.” Varric looked more miserable than she had ever seen him. “What happened over there?”

“I found him...”

Her knees gave out and she would have sunk to the ground if it wasn’t for Dorian. “Careful,” he whispered soothingly.

Cassandra swore under her breath, brows furrowed. “Solas did this to you? Why would he do such a thing? I thought he and you were… ”

The former seeker let her sentence trail off

“I’ll explain later, I promise,” Elenara replied wearily. “We have to get back and warn the others.”

Dorian cast a quick glance at the dead qunari that lay scattered among the old elven ruins, then cocked his head in disbelief. “Warn them? About what?”

She gave him a sad smile. “This is not over yet.”

____

Thanks for reading. <3

#dragon age #da #dai #dragon age inquisition #fanfiction #solas #lavellan #female lavellan #solas x lavellan #solas x female lavellan #solavellan #elenara lavellan #cameo: varric #cameo: cassandra #cameo: dorian #fluff and angst #pre-relationship #post-relationship

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