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dottiechan · 3 years

Text

ICEBREAKER Pt. 1

Read on AO3 (link in bio)

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader x Hunter; Tech x Reader (platonic)

Wordcount: 2389

Summary: Tech watches on helplessly as his brothers' affection for you threaten to ruin the squad.

Warnings: cursing, yearning

You’re just as cold on the inside as the ice is under your boots. It crunches with every step you take, and your heart seems to beat along with the fall of your boots, aching. You feel unsteady, almost enough to miss the tracks running in the snow right in front of you. You pause and crutch down, gloved fingers dipping into the indentations as you grumble to yourself. It’s not even your turn to scope out the area where you’re setting up camp, and besides, there is a literal tracking genius in your squad - it really shouldn’t be you who’s out here in the snow and ice, eyes straining against the blinding white of the planet, fingers freezing off as you set up perimeter alarms. And yet you just volunteered for the less than ideal task without explanation, not understanding your own decision either.

At least Tech offered to tag along, but you suspect he’s simply had enough of his brothers for a while. Not that you can blame him.

“Fascinating.”

You sigh, internally begging him to stop talking as you stand, abandoning the tracks after deciding they most likely belong to a lone whitefang. You have enough on your plate right now, with Hunter still being pissy and Crosshair avoiding you like the plague, and silence would be much more preferable right now to listening to one of Tech’s rambles.

“Did you know that this moon’s surface is almost entirely composed of water?”

“No.”

“Despite the subzero surface temperature, there are subsurface oceans underneath the ice that are warmed by the moon’s internal heat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wish we could stay long enough for me to study the subsurface flora and fauna. There might be plants underneath the ice that-”

“Tech.”

“-that use chemosynthesis-”

“Tech!”

“What?”

He has the decency to look flustered, one hand gripping the datapad tightly, the other flying up to adjust his goggles as he peers up at you. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but sometimes you just can’t help it. Sometimes, the confinement of the Marauder is enough to turn you into a ticking time bomb, irritated by the slightest seemingly innocent things. And you’ve had more than just mere sparks to flare your temper as of late.

...

His rifle is spotless, and yet he’s still scrubbing it as if his life depended on it.

Maybe it does, because if he jumps up and lowers his guard for a second, he’s out the ship and off to find you and Tech. Maybe you’re a fool sometimes, a god damn nuisance, a person he still couldn’t grow used to, but you belong with them now, you’re theirs, you’re his, and that means something to him. You frustrate him beyond reason, and he often grows callous and agitated because he refuses to allow himself to feel the emotions you elicit from him whenever you’re near him.

Even now, on an ice planet, the mere thought of you infects him with a sweet, sweet jungle fever that knocks him off his feet.

And he’s supposed to be angry now, Crosshair reminds himself. After all, you almost gotten yourself killed on Bracca, and almost broke him in the process.

“They’ve been gone for too long,” Hunter grumbles as he paces up and down like a caged nexu craving to run free. But lately Crosshair began to suspect that he craves something else, someone else, and the thought has his throat tightening in jealousy. He’s been watching, and he convinced himself that he’d misread the signs until he saw the same agitation reflect in his brother’s eyes that he himself has to wrestle with every day.

If it ever came down to your choice, he knows he wouldn’t be it, and he hates living with this knowledge.

Hunter has all the things you seem to like - unlimited kindness, longing looks, smirks that turn a little too soft when directed at you, broad shoulders he caught you staring at more times than he can count. Deep down, he’s still hoping it will never come to you having to choose, but it’s impossible not to wish to be in the centre of your attention. You drive him insane, but you also make him want to commit and stop fighting and lay down his weapons for once in his god damn life.

“Relax. They’re probably fine.”

The screen to their left lights up, and Hunter rushes across the ship in long strides before exhaling in relief. “The proximity alarms are online. They should be heading back soon.”

Crosshair sucks in a breath, worried about seeing his own emotions sitting behind Hunter’s eyes as well.

...

You were assigned to assist the Bad Batch for an unspecified period of time some months ago. You’re a versatile field agent, specialising in both stealth and combat casualty care, one of the few volunteers who were qualified enough to join the GAR. Oh, and you’re also clearly mistrusted by your new squad as they flip out the very moment you risk yourself in the line of duty. You’re not stupid, you weighed the risks carefully, and you trusted your abilities to see you through the job unharmed.

But ever since the incident on Bracca, you’re given the cold shoulder by most on the squad, and for once, the scenery matches your mood.

And yet Tech deserves better than to be cut off like that. He deserves to be listened to, and appreciated as the good man he is. You’re friends, but in moments like these, you think you don’t deserve his friendship.

“Look, I’m... I’m sorry, okay? But right now, I have too much on my mind to think about, umm, chemo...”

“Chemosynthesis?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I think I understand,” he nods, satisfied with your half-assed apology for the time being as he goes back to scanning the vast icy desert stretching as far as the eye can see. The Marauder’s lights blink in the background, orange against the dark blue of the growing darkness that surrounds you. It’s like a beacon, a sign that promises warmth, and you gaze at it longingly until you remember that you’ll have to go back to Crosshair’s scowl and Hunter’s disapproving frown and Wrecker’s awkward little smiles. Somehow, the ice is preferable once more, and the snow that just began to fall in soft flakes is little more than a mild annoyance.

“Well, aside from a few distant life forms-”

“Whitefangs.”

“Yes, most likely whitefangs - aside from those, we should be quite safe inside the ship for tonight.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “You might be. I’m not the most popular with the squad right now, remember?”

“You are a valued addition,” Tech declares, and the certainty in his voice releases inside you the emotional equivalent of a sucker punch. All you can do is stand, and fight the sting of tears in your eyes. You’re confident, but you never in your wildest dreams imagined how difficult it would be to live up to the expectations of a special unit. You also know your worth, but it’s hard to keep on believing in yourself steadfastly when the rest of your squad doubts your every move. “Which is why the prospect of losing you elicits a rather severe emotional reaction in us. It is rare for regs to warm up to us as well as you have, let alone volunteers. Aside from the obvious tactical disadvantage losing you would mean, I believe it is a little more personal than that.”

...

Hunter knows something is off even before one of the alarms is triggered - whatever it is, it is within five clicks of the ship, making you and Tech plenty exposed before he could do anything. He was straining his ear simply to keep you all safe - so what if he accidentally heard your muffled voice, or the soft crunch of snow underneath your boots?

But now is not the time to be idle, and he knows it. He would never forgive himself if something happened to his squad. And to you, he corrects himself almost softly as he grabs his helmet and checks his weapons quickly. Despite the fact that he’s still angry about your previous carelessness, he cannot deny the forbidden yearning coiling in his stomach whenever you’re on his mind, making him just as nervous as hopeful. And to be fair, it happens more and more often as of late, which is both alarming and exciting as he never thought he’d ever have the luxury to feel this way about someone else. Sure, he knows love, he loves his brothers with all his heart even if he isn’t very vocal about it, but this is different. New, scary, exciting different, an effervescent and persevering tingling blinding all his senses.

Crosshair is beside him in less than a second, rifle in hand, silent, and they share a nod before lowering the ramp and rushing out into the freezing dusk.

When he picks up on your muffled voice, he seems to ignore everything as he breaks into a sprint towards you, hoping to reach you in time before you’re in danger. He almost misses the way Crosshair’s heartbeat picks up, the usually stoic man reeking with genuine worry as he looks through the scope of his rifle.

He can deal with this later, Hunter promises himself as he pushes down this uncomfortable feeling. But then he sees you and Tech, and he seems to forget about anything and everything - you have that unfortunate and awfully distracting effect on him.

...

“But Hunter yelled at me for being reckless for a solid hour. And Crosshair said he didn’t care if I wanted to get myself killed, but I should do it in a way that didn’t interfere with the mission. Seriously, what an asshole.”

“Nevermind what they actually say,” Tech waves his hand in mild annoyance. “Hunter was worried sick. Crosshair almost went after you. And they’re both too pigheaded to admit the real reason why they’re so worked up.”

“Which is?”

“Obviously they both view you as a potential romantic partner.”

There’s a moment of pause as you two stare back at one another before you snort and chuckle, shaking your head and crossing your arms over your chest as a futile attempt at staying warm. “Tech, you need to work on your sense of humour.”

“And you need to work on your observational skills and situational awareness.”

“My observational skills are exceptional,” you defend yourself, a finger held up in the air defiantly. “And my situational awareness is-”

“Lacking, as you didn’t seem to notice the whitefang return. I suggest we head back to the safety of the Marauder.”

Sure enough, the wild cat is there lurking amongst the ice dunes, its eyes glowing in the dark as they reflect the light of the ship. It shouldn’t pose a threat to you as it is alone, and relatively small, but you still consider wrestling with it instead of returning to the ship and facing the rest of the squad - somehow, even that feels like a fight more fair than the ones that await you upon your return. So you hold its gaze as it curiously inspects you, wishing to swap bodies and run away and avoid any more conflict. Before you can even think of returning to the ship, you hear quiet footsteps catching up to you.

“I thought I heard something.”

“It’s probably more curious than anything.”

Hunter unsheaths his vibroblade and twirls it in his hand so theatrically it makes you roll your eyes. He glances at you, shoulders all tense, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of danger, and even though his face is obscured by his helmet, you can almost see the disappointed frown sitting on his features. “You want to test that theory?”

“My money would be on the whitefang winning.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tech.”

“Any time.”

“Relax.” The distorted rasp of your commlink is not enough to drown out the smugness of the sniper. The stand-off ends when a single well-placed shot right before the big cat sends it sprinting away into the darkness. You all turn to find Crosshair standing by the ship, his rifle still aimed at the retreating form of the whitefang.

“Well, there goes my opportunity to finally have an interesting patrol,” you mutter to yourself as you all make it back to the Marauder.

“Do all of your patrols end in you staring down carnivores?” Crosshair snorts, clearly unamused.

“Only the good ones,” you fire back, deciding not to wait for any of them as you head inside. Crosshair is hot on your heels, another string of mockery sitting on the tip of his tongue, because fuck, you’re stubborn, but he’s not going to cave in and tell you how it makes him feel to see you in danger. He can’t, however, put up with being away from you either.

Hunter lingers a little outside. He has to set himself straight, to contain all the things he wants to say you that have nothing to do with scolding you about Bracca, to kill all the feelings that suddenly demand to be felt so desperately. He clenches and unclenches his fists by his side, pretending to survey the surroundings of the Marauder. Tech moves in the periphery of his vision, but instead of following you and Crosshair, he steps closer to Hunter.

“I believe the threat’s been averted.”

“Yeah. Good job on setting up those alarms, Tech.”

“No problem. Is there anything else you need?”

“No. You should head back inside. The last thing I want is for you to keel over with hypothermia.”

“That’s not how hypothermia works,” Tech mutters, his voice trailing off, eyes uncertain behind his goggles. He suddenly places a gentle hand on Hunter’s shoulder, making the sergeant glance at him.

“Hunter, I’m only asking this because I care about you all, but... how long do you think this can go on before one of you gets hurt?”

Tech’s words echo in his mind long after he’s rejoined the squad on the ship. And Hunter just stands outside in the snowfall, watching the last rays of light disappear on the horizon, wondering which one of you he’ll have to hurt when the push comes to shove.

#dottiechan writes #hunter x reader x crosshair #hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #the bad batch x you #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #tbb x you #crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb fanfiction #star wars #tbb tech x reader #tech x reader

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siredsong · 3 years

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Heyy!!! I'm not sure if you are still doing that little drabble game. But, if you are, could you please do 14 + jimin?? Sending lots of love!!💞

hi!! ahhh thank you for requesting this lovely!! im sorry i took so long to get it out but as i've come to realize my writing process is reeeaallly slow :/ oh also wARNING!!! this is very very rough and uh ha my first piece of writing that i've posted also i may have gone crazy and written almost 1k words haha so uhh yea I HOPE U LIKE IT!!!

oh also this one is kinda angsty, a little ?? maybe ?? idk how to give proper warnings, i mean i don’t think this needs much warning since it’s barely anything so....aHH ok lemme shut up.

ENJOY!

send in a request lovelies

“Hey.”

Silence. The only thing that you could hear through the line was his ragged breathing and a few sniffles, the tell-tale sign that he’d been crying, again.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You ask after you realize that you aren’t getting any kind of greeting today.

“No,” he finally sighs out after a few straggling sniffles escape.

“I'm almost there. Be there in 5, ok?” You say, concern trickling from your voice.

“Ok. Hurry, please,” he says in that voice that makes him sound oh so small, that makes you wish you could reach through the phone and hold him oh so tight.

You drive just a bit faster, heart beating just a little harder, not wanting him to be by himself any longer than he needs to be.

Keys fumbling in your hands, you rush to unlock the familiar door to the familiar apartment you can’t call your own. You always find yourself here, even though it hurts, even though everything in your body is telling you to stop this torture, you give into the pain one more time, if only to take away his.

Expecting him to be in bed, you hastily move towards his bedroom only to stop in your tracks when you see him stooped low in his plushy armchair by the window.

You can’t help the small smile that overcomes you when you notice his mug of tea sitting idle on the windowsill, long forgotten and cold. You had told him months ago that tea always made you fall asleep within minutes and that he should try it too. Even though he whined and complained about how it tastes like “stale hot water”, he always made a cup whenever he couldn’t sleep, even if he never drank it.

He would leave it between his palms until all the little spirals of steam have fluttered away from the snug confines of the mug, until the heat radiating off of it no longer warmed his hands, until all he could do is stare down at the dismal eyes reflected up at him in the murky water.

He’s staring out the window now, so lost within his thoughts that he hasn’t heard you walk in. You take this opportunity to look at him, really look at him, and god does the sight that meets your sore eyes make your heart squeeze so hard within your chest.

Eyes that were once so bright and young, that held an entire universe of stars, have lost their luster, fading into a dull brown with no sparkle, sunken into his pretty face, adorned with cheekbones that still hold a little hope of laughter. His ever changing hair is back to black after wanting to impulsively change his appearance a couple days ago at 3 am when you had both been bored and slightly inebriated. The stark contrast between his porcelain skin and jet black hair makes his face glow even brighter in the moonlight, the only kind of light that fills him these days.

Before your eyes can wander any longer and crack your heart even more, you call out to him, in that quiet, soothing voice of yours that always seems to calm him down.

“Jimin,” you hum out into the stillness of his apartment.

He pulls his eyes away from the window, meeting yours and that’s when the final piece of your heart that had been holding on by a thread loses its grip, catching sight of how truly exhausted and defeated his eyes are behind his broken exterior.

He tries to pull his mouth into a small smile but all that results from the effort is a grimace at best.

“You’re here,” he whispers, voice hoarse from not using it for so long. “Mhm,” you hum, slowly striding over to him, sitting softly on the windowsill next to him.

“No, no,” he mumbles, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the armchair with him, situating you snug against his chest.

Your tense body slowly relaxes as you rest your body against his, thankful that he can’t see the way you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your tears to go away.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, not as a question but more as a quiet plea. “Always, Jimin. I’ll always be here with you,” you choke out right away, not even letting a breath of silence come in between you and him, only wanting him to know that you wouldn’t leave. Not you. Never you.

With that, you let the hum of his heartbeat, along with the booming of yours, lull Jimin to sleep, while your eyes don’t get a wink of rest.

Two hearts so close in proximity, but worlds apart, his still beating for another who stomped all over him and left him to bleed out, and the other, willfully letting themselves get bashed and pummeled, pining over someone who’s too broken to understand, too cracked to let them fix him.

When will you walk away from this agonizing fate, of seeing him, being with him, holding him, but never truly having him as you so desperately desire? You don’t think you ever will, for as long as you’re able to hold him like this, your heart may be broken and bruised, but you still have him, just not in the way you crave.

But, through the bruises and scars, your heart still has that minuscule thread of hope winding it together, that one day he’ll realize, one day he’ll open his eyes, one day he’ll finally see you right there in front of him, one day, maybe, he’ll realize that he loves you too.

One day.

#drabble request game #lurejoon #AHHHHHHHHH OK LEMME GO HIDE #jimin drabble #asks #inbox #babes

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temos-era · 3 years

Text

The Angel In Their Eyes

Officer Ronnie Peterson x Paul Sevier x Fem Reader

Words: 5.6k

Summary: A threesome with your husband and his best friend sounded like a good idea at the time...

Tags/CW: Threesome - F/M/M, Power Dynamics/Power Play, Established Relationship, Reader Is Married to Ronnie, Praise Kink, Degradation, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Oral Sex (m&f), PIV Sex, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, BDSM-ish, Ronnie Is Soft!Dom, Paul is Hard!Dom, Spitroasting, Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasms, Vaginal Fingering, Squirting, No M/M, Food Play-ish, Jealousy, Paul Is In Love With Reader, Angst/Fluff/Smut

Notes: This is without a doubt the smutest smut I have ever written... And while this is mostly as a one-shot for those of you that have read Late Night Patrol this *could* be considered a continuation of that story too...

Availible under the cut and on AO3 & Wattpad

Shamefully flushed, you stole a moment away to compose yourself.

The boys always had a way of working you up and getting underneath your skin.

“You okay, Angel?” your husband questioned with curious intent as he joined you in the kitchen.

You hummed in response, pursing your lips. “Mm-hmm. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ronnie’s shoulders shrugged. “You look tense.” His gaze locked on you as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “You know we're only joking, right?”

“I know,” you replied quickly, avoiding eye contact as you created work for your idle hands.

You never had an issue with their teasing. The boys had done it for as long as you could remember, but you’d be lying if you didn’t acknowledge that it ignited a particular unspeakable response in you - a response you’d never dare act upon...

Before you knew it, Ronnie’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, encircling your body in his as he stood behind you, nestling his chin against your neck.

“You like it, don’t you?” he prompted, breathing the question hot against your neck as he nipped at the skin slightly. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how your breath hitched and your skin grew hot when sitting between Paul and me.”

Your body froze.

“Admit it. You want it. Both of us."

You pulled back, eyes wide. “Ronnie. He’s your best friend.”

“Exactly. He doesn’t threaten me,” Ronnie reassured, his face deadpan. “Plus, he looks just like me, and doesn’t that turn you on? The thought of two of me fucking you?”

Nervously, you chewed on your bottom lip, lost in your thoughts as you considered the possibility. Paul Sevier was your close friend, the best man at your wedding, and was indeed the doppelganger of your husband.

Of course, the thought had crossed your mind on occasion, but it was a mere fantasy, not something you ever felt compelled to make reality and certainly not something you ever expected Ronnie to suggest.

“Are you being serious?”

“You don’t have to. It’s just an idea,” Ronnie clarified. “But yes, I’m serious.”

Your mouth twisted before settling into a smirk. “Okay, I’m interested.”

Ronnie cocked his head, grinning as he embraced you. “So, you think you can handle us both?” he whispered, his eyes narrowing. “My greedy girl.”

Your hands caressed the small of his back as you glanced up at him. “And what makes you think Paul would be interested?”

“Well, you know there’s a reason he’s not found anyone,” Ronnie divulged. “He’s hung up on a certain someone… ”

“Oh,” you mouthed, the realization dawning on your face. “So, Paul gets what he wants, and I get to fulfill my fantasy, but what do you get from this?”

“A happy wife and a live-action porno,” Ronnie smiled. “It’ll be just like watching myself fuck you, and, plus, what better birthday gift could we give Paul than a taste?”

Without further ado, you both made your way into the lounge, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ loudly as Paul shifted in his seat and tittered with unease. His eyes grew uncontrollably wide, and his pupils dilated as he swallowed the lump in his throat, watching in nervous disbelief as you kneeled before him, birthday cake in hand.

“Make-a-wish,” you prompted with a devilish grin as Ronnie watched from the threshold.

Doing as told, Paul closed his eyes momentarily and blew the candles out. “Thank you,” he smiled, glancing at you briefly before averting his gaze towards the cake. “Did you make this yourself?”

You nodded. “Red velvet with vanilla frosting. Your favorite, right?”

“Yeah, it looks great. I can’t wait to taste it.”

“She tastes better,” Ronnie murmured from across the room, catching Paul’s attention as he approached. “You should take a bite.”

“Excuse me?”

You sat back on your heels, seductively running a finger through stray frosting as Ronnie crouched beside you.

“Paul, you know I love her more than anything in the world,” Ronnie began. “And, I don’t make this decision lightly, but there’s no one else I trust to do this with.”

“Do what?” Paul asked, watching wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Ronnie took your frosted coated fingers into his mouth.

“What Ronnie’s trying to say… ” you purred as his tongue swirled around your fingers, sucking gently. “...is that we’d like you to join us in the bedroom.”

Paul’s body stiffened at the suggestion as he swallowed dryly, unable to wet his parched throat. “What?” he croaked in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

Ronnie’s mouth left your fingers with wet ‘pop.’ “One rule,” he declared. “Her cunt is mine, and mine alone. Isn’t that right, Angel?”

You nodded in agreement. “Only my husband gets to fuck my pussy,” you affirmed, causing Ronnie to pull your body against his, claiming your mouth with a voracious hunger as Paul watched on helplessly.

“Such a good girl,” Ronnie groaned, pulling away breathless. “Now, go and see the Birthday boy.”

You licked your lips, swiping another fingerful of frosting before placing the cake on the coffee table and rising to your feet.

Paul’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as he watched you approach him. He kept his features deceptively composed as his mouth parted from the sight of you. Pretty and eager and all for him - a Birthday wish come true.

“Would you like a taste, Paul?” you questioned, displaying the frosting on your fingertips as you moved to place your knees on either side of his body, straddling him.

He nodded greedily, leaning back in his seat. “Please.”

You flashed a coy smile and ran a finger of frosting over his lower lip before swiftly leaning forward and sucking it off keenly as if you were famished. In all honesty, you had expected to feel more anxious, more timid, but there was something about Paul that made you feel at ease.

Perhaps it was his uncanny resemblance to your husband? Still, as your tongue licked at the seam of Paul’s mouth, forcing an entry effortlessly, you wondered how far their similarities would continue in the bedroom.

Deepening the kiss, Paul’s hands groped your pert ass and forcefully pulled you against him. The growing erection beneath you communicating his exact desires as he snaked his tongue into your mouth, and for a brief moment, you lost yourselves in one another.

“Do you like that, Angel?” Ronnie questioned from behind, reminding you of his presence as he brushed the hair from the back of your neck and placed hot, all-consuming kisses against your skin.

“Mm-hmm,” you murmured as you arched your back, pulling away from Paul’s kiss as you began to stimulate both men simultaneously. “I want you both… badly.”

You rocked your hips firmly against the restricted bulge in Paul’s pants as your hand reached behind you and rubbed at Ronnie’s growing erection, causing a chorus of male moans to engulf the room.

“Paul. Don’t be a fucking tease.” Ronnie berated with jagged breath as he began to remove his clothing. “Take her dress off.”

Without hesitation, Paul delicately worked to remove the thin fabric from your body as your head loled backward against your husband’s chest. You moaned softly as Ronnie sucked bruising marks of ownership against your skin.

“Fuck. You’re so, so, ex...exquisite,” Paul stammered as he gazed at your lingerie-clad body before blowing his cheeks out with a heavy breath to compose himself. You were everything he had ever wanted.

“Don’t be shy, Paul,” you whispered against his ear seductively as your hand reached past the opening of his mustard-colored shirt, touching his warm skin. “Have your way with me.”

Paul shot a hopeful glance toward Ronnie, seeking approval from his best friend before continuing. “Are you sure this is okay? She is your wife, after all.”

“Just remember that fact, and you’ll be fine,” Ronnie warned as he worked to free your breasts from the confines of your bra, causing you to shudder with excitement. “And, this is what you want, Angel?”

You nodded. “Please.”

The magnitude of varying sensations enraptured your mind, body, and soul as Ronnie’s hands molded around the swell of your tits, teasing your nipples into taut peaks with his fingertips before relinquishing his hold and sitting back on his heels.

“She’s all yours, friend.”

A flush of anticipation flooded your senses as Paul’s eyes flickered with a burning desire, and in one swift, unexpected motion, you found yourself on your back.

“I always knew you were an insatiable little slut,” Paul taunted, grasping your wrists in one hand, leaving you powerless as he held them above your head. “So desperate to please your husband. It’s almost pathetic.”

You couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your lips as Paul looked down at you, his body on top of yours. The change in his demeanor unanticipated but welcomed.

“Tell me. Does she follow instructions, Ronnie? Or do we have to force her?”

“If she wants to come, she’ll do as she’s told.”

Paul smirked from the intel. His gaze meeting yours through the thin frames of his spectacles as he let go of your wrists. “Now, be a good little slut and get my cock out.”

You licked your lips and eagerly began unbuckling Paul’s belt, dragging his pants down to mid-thigh before slipping your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and allowing his heavy cock to bob free.

Instantly, your eyes grew lustful. Long, thick, flushed, and already dripping with pre-cum, you were almost disappointed you wouldn’t get to experience Paul’s fat cock in your pussy.

“Suck it,” Ronnie directed, his voice low in his throat. His breathy instruction caused you to glance over at him, your lips parting at the view.

You watched with hungry eyes as your husband stroked his length, slowly working his fist under his swollen head as the veins on his shaft bulged and shifted with every gentle upstroke.

“Eyes on me, Sweetheart,” Paul snarled as his free hand grasped at your jaw, forcing your attention toward him, your pupils dilating at the sight of his naked body.

Your breath hitched, and a sudden flush of warmth spread from between your legs as you parted your lips and took Paul into your mouth. The saltiness of his pre-cum filled your senses immediately as your tongue danced around the fleshy tip of his head, lapping it up gladly.

The taste of him was different. Not worse, nor better, just unfamiliar. Ronnie was without a doubt sweeter, but your mouth only grew wetter from the small appetizer Paul’s pre-ejaculate gave.

“Go on, Angel,” Ronnie grunted with encouragement. “Gag on his cock. Show him how good you are.”

You knew better than to glance at your husband, but you could feel his gaze on you, watching intently as your lips strained to wrap around another man's throbbing erection. You knew Ronnie was observing with bated breath as the scene unfolded before him, imagining the soft glide of your lips around his shaft as he worked his length.

Fluttering your eyelashes, you looked up at Paul as you enveloped him into the heat of your mouth. Slowly, you started to drag your lips up and down his length, pulling a strangled moan from his chest as you hummed happily around him.

You weren’t sure if it was Paul’s cock in your mouth of the thought of Ronnie fucking himself beside you, but you couldn’t help but rub your thighs together, desperate to create some friction to soothe the constant pulsing between your legs.

“Ffff-fuck. You were made for this, weren’t you?” Paul rasped as he raked a hand through your hair, watching with a hooded gaze as he thrust himself into your mouth. “You like sucking my cock, don’t you? Dirty slut.”

You moaned around him, signaling your agreement as spit pooled at the corners of your mouth. With that, Paul quickened his pace, fucking your throat in earnest as you greedily sucked, slurped, and gagged on his cock.

His breath grew thin and ragged as you hollowed your cheeks and tightened the hold around him, the vacuum-like sensation causing his member to twitch against your tongue.

“Oh. Oh, f-fuckk,” Paul stammered, his head falling back as his eyes fluttered closed. “I’m, I’m-a cum.”

The sound of sharp stuttered gasps and grunts escaped his lips as a gush of hot cum hit the back of your throat, a stifled yell tearing from his chest as you greedily swallowed the salty mix down.

Pleased with yourself, you smirked as Paul pulled his sensitive cock from your mouth before glancing over at your husband.

“Oh, Ronnie,” you cooed, gazing at him with doe-eyes as he continued to slide his hand up and down his shaft. “Look at you. Look at your big cock. I wanna taste you too.”

Ronnie’s eyes widened, his face softening. “Yy-yeah?” He questioned hopefully.

“Yeah,” you purred with a loving smile as Ronnie approached.

“Christ. You really are a cum-hungry-slut,” Paul scoffed. “Is she always like this?”

“O-ooh-oh, yeah… “ Ronnie stammered between grunts as your sultry lips wrapped around his aching cock. “... Fff-filthy whore likes getting fucked in police cruisers and hotel balconies. Always so… fucking... insatiable."

Paul groaned at the information, a mixture of jealousy and disbelief overwhelming him as he evaluated the challenges of your carnal desires. “Hmm,” he pondered. “Let’s see how many times we can make this greedy whore cum, Ronnie.”

His words caused you to moan around your husband’s cock. The threat of infinite orgasms a tantalizing prospect as Paul began to move down your body. He was determined to demonstrate his abilities and show you everything you had been missing out on as he placed rough, hungry kisses upon your inner thighs.

His touch was cruel but painfully enticing as he moved towards your core, rubbing teasingly at your clothed pussy. Your needy whimpers were muffled by Ronnie as he fucked himself rhythmically into your mouth. The vibration of each of your moans around his cock was just enough to push him over the edge as his hips canted forward.

“Aghhh-fuuuck-g-good wife,” Ronnie gasped, carefully wrapping a hand around the back of your head as he spilled himself down your throat. His thrust stuttered as he watched with satisfaction as you gladly swallowed him down before removing his spent member from the warmth of your mouth.

“Love you,” you murmured with a coy smile as Ronnie knelt beside you, his breaths slowing as he kissed your lips tenderly.

“Dirty cum-dumpster,” Paul rasped, causing you to quiver from the heat of his breath against your folds as he tauntingly pulled tight at the material of your panties.

You let out a whine and bucked your hips toward him as a yearning tore through your body. “Please, Paul,” you begged. You were helpless and frustrated; you needed your release.

“So desperate,” he taunted as he slowly removed your underwear.

Your skin grew hot and feverish from the vulnerability before a surprised yelp escaped you. Paul grabbed at your legs and ruthlessly spread you wide open, just for him. He paused for a moment and marveled at the sight of your dripping pussy before dancing a finger along your folds, gathering your slick.

“That pretty little cunt of yours is so warm and wet,” Paul remarked, causing a pleasured ache to flood through you.

“Do the two of us really make you that excited, Angel?” Ronnie questioned with bright, curious eyes as he stroked at your hair affectionately.

You bit your lip and nodded, your eyes pleading up at your husband. “Please, Ronnie,” you mewled. “I wanna come. Tell him how I like it, please.”

Before Ronnie had a chance to respond, you let out a high-pitched cry as Paul spread your pussy lips apart and spat on the throbbing nub of your clitoris. Your body convulsed from the sensation, the blood rushing to your core as Paul lowered his head and licked at your spread cunt with his warm tongue.

“Fucck!” you shrieked, arching your back in response as your eyes glanced down at the broad expanse of Paul’s chest between your legs.

“You like that, cumslut?”

“Yy-yess!” you gasped, overwhelmed by Paul’s insatiable hunger for information.

“What about this?”

Paul’s eyes watched your body intently as he pushed two fingers at your entrance, exploring with a curious fascination. You sucked in the air sharply; your slicked cunt squelching around his digits as he pumped into you. Captivated, he noted how each twist and turn of his hand caused a different reaction from you, both internally and externally.

You were lost in a wave of euphoria as a series of large, strong hands roamed over your body. You had never felt so desired; as Paul massaged your inner walls, Ronnie placed lusty kisses against your neck and palmed at your breasts, causing soft moans to escape you.

“God, I love hearing you enjoy yourself,” Ronnie murmured, flicking his tongue over one of your sensitive nipples, your body shuddering. “It feels so good, doesn’t it?”

You moaned in agreement, your hips jerking forward as Paul’s fingers curled upwards to grate against your g-spot, the sensation creating a fire in your abdomen.

“Ronnie,” Paul exasperated. “She needs restraining. I can’t get her off if she keeps moving.”

A refrained chuckle escaped Ronnie. “I have just the thing.” He smiled and gently pressed his lips against your forehead before leaving the room momentarily.

You exhaled deeply, a flush of anticipation overcoming you as Paul crawled up your body, placing hot kisses against your stomach and tits as he went.

You were so lustful that you couldn’t stop yourself from bucking against his erection. He was, so, so close to your entrance; you both knew that one roll of his hips, one quick thrust, and he’d be buried deep in your cunt - the one sexual act forbidden between you both.

“Look at you, grinding against me,” Paul breathed against your neck, brushing the hair from your ear. “You’re really desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Your body stiffened; you knew he wasn’t wrong. “W-we can’t,” you stuttered nervously—the sound of Ronnie returning, catching both of your attention.

“Hmm. Well, let’s show your husband how to really make you cum,“ Paul whispered with a smirk, your eyes widening in disbelief. “And remember, don’t scream my name too loudly... we wouldn’t want to upset that ego of his.”

With that, Paul returned to your cunt, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes as the sudden warmth of his plush lips on your folds forced a choked gasp to escape you. He darted his tongue at your entrance before dragging up, his nose grazing your clit on the way as he licked meticulous circles against your sensitive bud.

“Wrists,” Ronnie prompted with a suggestive grin - cuffs and lube in hand.

You shook your head, eyes pleading upward. “No, Ronnie. Please. I promise I’ll be good and stay still,” you implored, your legs shaking from Paul’s continued attention; you were getting close. “I-I wanna be able to touch you both.”

Ronnie cocked his head in consideration, his brows furrowing from behind his horn-rimmed glasses - you were always his weakness. “Fine, but you’ve gotta control yourself.”

You nodded in response, drawing your lower lip between your teeth in an attempt to restrain your movements, but Paul’s hands and mouth were relentless. The pressure of his tongue, the suction of his lips, the rhythm of his fingers as they penetrated your core created an overwhelming experience.

All of that mixed with Ronnie’s touch caused a coiling tension in your stomach; you couldn’t stop yourself from writhing as the pressure inside of you built.

“Paul, I-”

Your eyes squeezed tight as you leaned against Ronnie’s chest, your hand gripping his in support. You felt your toes curl and a shiver travel up your spine as your hips started to buck against Paul’s face, your breath coming in sharp pants.

“Aah fffuck…Paul, I-”

“That’s it, almost there,” Paul drawled, replacing his tongue with his thumb as he rubbed at your throbbing clit. His eyes mesmerized by your sweet little hole as it started to clamp around his fingers, watching with glee as you began to crumble from his handiwork.

Your hips stuttered, your vision blurred, your nails penetrated the skin on Ronnie’s hand before you let go completely. Your whole body shook. Every exhale was a sob as the force of your orgasm flash-flooded your senses. You felt something cataclysmic burst inside of you, a sensation you’d never felt before.

“Oh, yes! Good fucking girl,” Paul shouted in astonishment, his glasses askew on his flushed face as your cunt gushed, squirting clear liquid against his hand.

“What?... Are you?... Did he?!” Ronnie gasped, amazed and envious at the sight of you squirting. It was something he hadn’t been able to achieve yet. “… How?!” He demanded, glaring at Paul.

“Angles, Ronnie.”

You let out breathy, unrestricted murmurs of Paul’s name, too blissed out to maintain any filters between your brain and mouth as your walls continued to spasm and contract.

“Hey! She’s my wife,” Ronnie barked, jaw clenching. “You don’t get to blow her mind like that. That’s my job.”

Paul’s mouth set in a hard line as he analyzed the situation, quickly discerning the issue. “Oh. You mean, you haven’t?” he questioned, surprised. “Have you not? Really?”

You sat up and looked between the two men, sensing the tense atmosphere as your husband pursed his lips in frustration. “Ronnie… “ you purred, reaching your arm out toward him. “Come here.”

He drew in a long, exasperated breath and sat beside you. His body stiffened as you climbed on top of him, pressing soft kisses against his jaw. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” Ronnie whispered, discouraged, his shoulders slouching.

“No,” you reassured before glancing at Paul and signaling him to move closer. “Best friends help each other out. Isn’t that right, Paul?”

“Of course.”

With the boys sat beside each other, you shifted to straddle a thigh of each of them. “I love you,” you cooed at Ronnie, dispelling his fears as you sucked on his bottom lip before removing his glasses. “And, I like you,” you purred towards Paul, melting your lips against his as you removed his spectacles too. “My gorgeous boys.”

A shudder of pleasure surged throughout your body as you rocked your cunt against their thighs. The friction pulling a mewl from your chest as each of the boys fondled your breasts. They tweaked your pebbled flesh with their fingertips as their mouths kissed and sucked various locations on your body.

“Our beautiful girl,” they murmured in sync as you closed your eyes and moaned. The sensation of their touch filled you with an urgent lust. You were in seventh heaven and getting so, so desperate for the two of them.

“Please, I can’t take it anymore,” you cried. “I need you both inside of me.”

They turned to face each other, their brown eyes lighting up with excitement before gazing back at you. “Do you think you can take us both?” Ronnie questioned.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out...” you tempted with a seductive wink as you clambered off of them and swiped the bottle of lube from the coffee table—your husband and his best friend hot on your heels as you headed towards the bedroom.

In one swift, harsh movement, you found yourself head down, ass up, and hands cuffed behind your back. “You like being used by the two of us?” Ronnie taunted.

“She’s a cock-craving slut,” Paul chastised, marveling at the pucker of your ass as he spread your cheeks wide and inserted two lubed fingers into your tight entrance.

You whined as a thudding pressure rocketed through your passage, your body jerking forward from the sensation of the cool, silky gel. You felt entirely exposed, all their attention focussed on you and the tight pucker of your ass as it yielded to the intrusion of Paul’s digits.

“Such a pretty hole,” Ronnie admired. “Are you gonna be a good little fucktoy and let Paul destroy your ass while I fuck your pussy?”

“Please. Please, I’ll beg, I’ll do anything you wan-”

You were interrupted by the sharp, stinging strike of a hand on the soft flesh of your backside; your words replaced by a yelp as your eyes welled, uncertain whose hand delivered the smack.

“Be patient, whore. I’m not going to fuck you dry, no matter how much you beg,” Paul hissed before directing Ronnie toward your front. “Shut her up with your cock or something while I finish prepping her.”

Your husband’s heavenly whiskey-colored eyes gazed down at your restricted body. “You’re so beautiful when you’re all flushed and wanting.”

You were convinced you could lose yourself in his adoring eyes - lose yourself in him. He was your world, and you were going to be, oh, so good for him as he slowly guided his cock into the heat of your mouth.

Your tongue swirled around his head, sucking desperate breaths through your nostrils as your pussy cried out for him, yearning for the fat stretch of his cock.

“You ready?” Paul questioned as your body tensed slightly at the feel of the cold lube against your crack as he nudged the tip of his member at your aching hole.

You bobbed your head against Ronnie’s cock, conveying your desire and need to be filled as you pushed backward.

“Easy. I don’t want to hurt you,” Paul reassured, his familiar compassionate nature showing. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much, okay?

You hummed in acknowledgment, his considerate words alleviating all of your apprehension. You drew in a deep breath, allowing your body to relax as Paul eased himself into the sensitive cluster of nerves.

“You’re doing so well, Angel,” Ronnie praised, distracting you from the burning stretch as he watched your tight, little ass surrender to Paul’s girth. His hips bucking as your whines vibrated around his cock.

A deep grunt echoed in Paul’s chest as he continued to sink slowly into your clenched passage, his hips rolling gently when met with resistance, and eventually, you moaned out together when Paul seethed himself to the hilt.

“That’s it,” he groaned, grasping at your cuffed wrists to anchor himself as he started to gently fuck your ass. “Take it all, you greedy little fuckhole.”

The pressured penetration ignited a fire throughout your body, a needy, desperate burning that was all-consuming, and you wanted more. Your hands ached with the desire to touch and explore as they strained against the cool metal of Ronnie’s police-issued cuffs.

“You like sucking my cock, while he fucks you from behind?” Your husband grunted through thrusts as your slick, plumped lips sucked and drooled around him before popping off his length.

“I need you. I need your fat cock in my pussy,” you begged with desperation. “Fuck me until I can’t think, both of you. Please!”

Not one to deny you of your pleasured demands, Ronnie repositioned himself on the bed, leaning back against the headboard as Paul paused in his movements, panting as he pulled out and steadied himself.

“Is she on birth control?” he breathed as Ronnie freed your wrists from the constraints of his cuffs and moved you to straddle his hips.

“Yeah… for now,” Ronnie smirked knowingly, a hint of things to come as he merged his soft lips against yours and caressed your neck with his hand. “Why? Your not… “

Paul relinquished the hold on your hips and held his hands up. “No. Just ensuring the correct precautions are in place, that’s all. Her pussy is yours; I get it.”

Ronnie didn’t have a chance to respond as you suddenly brushed your dripping, wet cunt against his thick length, a whimper escaping him. “Shut up and fuck me,” you purred, lowering your mouth to his as you drew his lower lip between your teeth and tugged on it slightly.

“And aren’t you impatient,” he teased before grasping at your waist and pulling you closer. “So desperate to be filled up.”

Your breath hitched in anticipation as he pressed his hard, throbbing cock at your entrance, the sensation causing a sudden flush of warmth rushing to your core. Your body arched in response, eager for him to join his body with yours.

Then, with one hard roll of his hips, he entered your wet heat, and a collective moan filled the room, your head lolling backward in pleasure as he stretched you out. Your body rocked against his cock, easing him in and out of you slowly as you gasped for air, taking pleasure in every hot leisurely slide of him against your walls.

“You feel so fucking good,” you groaned, your thighs clenching around Ronnie as you bounced yourself on his cock, aching for more. “Fuck my ass, Paul,” you cried out. “I wanna be a dirty little slut for you.”

When you felt Paul’s expert hands spread you wide from behind and the cool, familiar gel against your skin, you began to question if your body could even handle another cock. The stretch of Ronnie was as overwhelming and heart-stopping as always; you couldn’t imagine two cocks seated deep in each orifice.

“Ready?” Paul queried before you murmured a breathy ‘yes’ in response.

He slowly pushed his girthy cock into your tight entry, watching how your body responded as he filled you up, inch by inch. You choked back the cry that was forced from your chest as Paul sheathed himself in you fully, your head resting against your husband’s chest in need of support and comfort.

"Relax, Angel. You’re doing perfectly,” Ronnie soothed, planting feather-like kisses against your temple. You were thankful that both men had paused in their movements to allow your body a moment to adjust to the stretch - you had never felt so full.

Gradually, you started to raise up Ronnie’s cock, his hands guiding you by the waist as you bobbed on his length, his fingertips digging into your soft flesh. “Mmmhm-it’s, feel s-so g-good,” you stammered, mouth agape and eyes pinched shut.

“Ride me. Slowly, that’s it,” Ronnie encouraged as Paul pumped in gentle tandem.

Growing in confidence, enjoyment, and satisfaction. You started to snap your hips with more vigor as you gyrated against Ronnie’s cock. Paul’s hands moved to grasp the back of your neck as he followed your lead, penetrating your ass in rhythm with your hips; his eyes glued on how wide he was stretching your tight, little hole as Ronnie fucked your pussy from underneath.

“Fuck. Look at you taking both our cocks,” Paul cursed loudly, thrusting his pelvis in an unrelenting tempo as you squirmed beneath him. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Your movements caused Ronnie to moan out against your skin as he bucked up into your heavenly cunt, the sound of smacking flesh surrounding the room. “You look so beautiful when being fucked by us.”

You let out a sweet whimper. They were both so deep in you that you could’ve sworn you felt them in your throat. You were overwhelmingly stuffed, but the fullness was delicious. It was intense, yet satisfying as if you were getting the best of both worlds all at once. That when Ronnie snaked a hand between your bodies, brushing delicately against your clit you almost combusted.

“Oh-my-fucking-God!” His soft, broad twirling movements tightened into swift circles, right where he knew you needed them as you felt yourself dissolve into pleasure, and Ronnie saw it. “Please! Both of you, make of cum!”

They quickened their pace, fucking your holes in a frenzied manner; all of you now desperately chasing that sweet, sweet release of undeniable pleasure.

“Jeeesus fuck. Jjj-just like that!” You wailed, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as your body began to quake; you swore you saw stars as the pressure started to build - your body being pulled tight like a bowstring.

“Cum for us, Sweetheart,” Paul grunted, his hips stuttering as he felt his impending orgasm brewing.

There was so much pressure, so much penetration and stimulation that you couldn’t stop yourself from falling apart. Unable to handle the overwhelming sensations any longer, you let go and orgasmed loudly.

You were all feverish cries and jagged moans, unsure whose name you were moaning as your pussy gushed and clenched, your silky ridges gripping and contracting against Ronnie’s cock as you rode your high.

“Ohh, fuck. I’m gonna come-!” Ronnie sputtered, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth, unable to stop himself as your walls spasmed and fluttered around his cock, milking every last drop of his seed.

Your knees began to buckle as Paul grasped hard on your hips. “Say my name,” he begged. “Tell me you love me-my, uh, cock.”

“Yes, Paul. Fuck me. Cum in my ass; I love your big cock!”

Your words sent him catapulting into his crescendo. Shattered breaths and broken grunts escaped him as he reached his climax, emptying himself inside of you before swiftly pulling out and collapsing beside you.

The room was silent as you laid between both men, all of your chests heaving as you greedily sucked in breaths. You were completely blissed out, the feeling indescribable as you came down from the most intense and mind-blowing orgasm of your life.

“That was… “ you murmured, unable to find the words as you pressed breathless kisses of gratitude against each of the boys’ lips before nestling into your husband's embrace.

“Such a good little wife,” Ronnie hummed before you both gave in to exhaustion.

And as you slept soundly in Ronnie’s arms, making it clear where your heart was aligned - Paul laid beside you wide awake, analyzing the events from earlier. He knew there was no use in denying it; he was in love with you - his best friend's wife, and there was no coming back from what had just happened.

—————

Thank you to @/MissPandulce on Twitter for the FANART 😍

#officer ronnie peterson x reader #ronnie peterson x reader #ronnie peterson x you #ronnie peterson #paul sevier #paul sevier x reader #paul sevier x you #the dead dont die #midnight special #ADCU #adcu community #ronnie peterson x paul sevier x reader #temogemo

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thatsadorbsyo · 4 years

Text

Julia and Augustin - Argy-Bargy (22)

The Trivium fountain sits in the heart of the city, right at the border between three busy streets and a small but lush greenery park. Julia often takes her lunch here, sitting on a bench that overlooks the fountain from the other side of the intersection, with her back to the trees and her eyes on the crowd that idles nearby, catching the spray from the spout.

It’s a natural place for them to meet. She’s halfway through her meal of greens and vegetables wrapped in flatbread when Augustin pierces her bubble by sitting down, unannounced, in the empty seat to her left. The medals and decorations of his station chitter at his breast when he lowers himself to the bench, and she has to shuffle to wrap the rest of her food in paper before leaning over to give him a firm, warm hug.

Augustin’s hold is stronger than his brother’s was. His hair is kept neatly braided, and his uniform is pressed and crisp. His posture is impeccable and his hands are clean. Functional and utilitarian, just like her. Sometimes, Julia wonders if she tried to marry the wrong Naevos. Maybe that was her sin.

They hold each other for a moment longer than they should; long enough for her to dip her chin down on Augustin’s shoulder and smell the soap under his collar. It’s a touch too far toward intimacy, and she breaks away immediately. His embarrassed smile mirrors her own, but despite the social overstep, they maintain eye contact for a prolonged moment, open and hopeful. Almost as though they’re both waiting for the other to speak.

The moment passes. If either of them had good news to share, it would have come out just then. There’s nothing to say; Lucas is as gone as he ever was.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” she starts, smoothing down her skirt and subtly brushing a few crumbs off of her lap. “How’s your father?”

Augustin sits back, spine straight, looking dead ahead in front of them. Watchful, alert. A perfect guard. He squares his shoulders and settles into the seat in a gesture reminiscent of her own father, of a man larger than the confines of his body. The wood creaks quietly. “Retired,” he answers with a restrained smile. “Old man earned it three times over. I’m here to see him before I ship out.”

Julia licks her lips, following his gaze to a cluster of children across the street, tossing coins into the fountain. Backward, over the shoulder. They toss them in blind faith, but still each one finds their way into the water. “Where are they sending you?”

“As close to Werlyt as they can get me.” It sounds as grim as it feels. “Legatus van Varro is really putting them through the grinder out there. So they need to flesh out a few cohorts, and I need soldiers to lead.” He shrugs; it’s a sealed deal.

She chews on her lip now, turning something over a few times before speaking. Her fingers twine together in the hammock of her lap, her food forgotten. “What if you took a different assignment?”

Augustin glances sidelong at her, expectant but reserved. Ready to call bullshit. “Like what?”

“It’s a secret,” she hedges, and he twirls his finger at her. Get on with it. “I, ah,” Spit it out already. “I made an absolutely fucking heartfelt pitch and convinced my praefectus to let me go to -- to go undercover. Recruiting.”

He narrows his eyes, but says nothing.

“For aetherologists. I’ve gotten as far as I can.” It hurts to admit this; she all but points at the pearl in her forehead. “Salutatorian of my class at the Academy and I still can’t save the damn world from itself, not with my... handicap.”

His nostrils flare. Augustin turns his head, displeased with something she’s said. What is it?

She presses on. “I need to learn from the people who do it best. From the people who can do it. These stunts they keep pulling with the production factories is embarrassing, and even if we truly believe they’ve shut them down, who’s to say that there aren’t old samples still floating around? In the black markets? On their way to who knows whose hands?” She’s pleading now; she can’t help it. Julia nearly reaches for Augustin’s hand. She doesn’t say what she’s thinking: Lucas was right. She should have listened to him when she still had the chance. What might be different now, if she had?

Augustin lets out air. “What does this have to do with me?”

Julia returns her hands firmly to her own lap. She looks down at the grass, composing herself. How is it that this is the man who humbles her, while barely speaking a word? “I need protection,” she admits, her voice small and timorous.

“I’m not your fucking bodyguard.” Clipped. It’s angrier than she believes the situation warrants. “Eorzea is the last place on this star that I want to be, do you understand? That place ate my mother. It swallowed my brother. Now you’re going to march straight into its maw with open arms? And you suddenly have the balls to ask me to come with you? Not a chance.” Augustin’s composure is falling away. His voice is loud; it carries to the children at the fountain, who pause and turn their heads to look.

“You’re already going to Werlyt--”

“I don’t have the luxury of telling my tribunus no. But you? You, I can say no to.”

“I’m sorry.” She doesn’t know why she’s apologizing.

Augustin pulls it in, swallowing the rest of his anger with visible effort; the apple of his throat actually bobs in place. She fixes her ponytail, and he straightens his coat. How had this gone to shit so quickly?

“The work that you’re doing is good,” he concedes in a softer tone, at the same time that she lifts her hand. Don’t, it says. Just don’t. Don’t baby me now that you’ve told me the truth; I’m a big girl.

They both look back over to the rambunctious kids tossing pocket change into the Trivium fountain, running in circles and wasting handfuls of coins on superstitious wishes. It’s stupid. It’s so damn stupid, which is exactly what she’d said to Lucas the day they first met at this same fountain. He’d handed her a silver piece in return. Do something stupid with me, then.

“Do something stupid with me,” Julia breathes, extending a hand to Augustin with her palm up. She wiggles her fingers inward toward her palm, expectantly. Pass me a dime. Let’s make a wish.

#ffxivwrite2020 #julia lux tyrus #augustin quo naevos #so uhhhhh #i was going to edit this but then i looked at the clock and realized what time it is #so im posting this fucker not only without editing it but also without even re-reading it #i hope it's coherent #goodnight i love you #IC post

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starkerisendgame · 5 years

Text

Mirror Image

The boy in the chair was not Peter. Or rather - It was Peter, just not their Peter. As it turns out, Doctor Selvig had been correct. Doors opened from both sides, and portals were the science-magic version of doors.

They had opened a door to another reality, and the reality reached through, dragging Peter across and stepping through in his wake. That had been all the strength their attempt had to spare, and the portal had promptly collapsed.

Sitting across from them, was a boy with Peter’s face. An almost exact twin, barring the fact that this boy was even paler. An almost translucent white that seemed to bring out the fact that his eyes were like arctic ice. Eerie in a way that made Tony uncomfortable, should he connect with them for too long.

This Peter had scars, too. A jagged, vertical one down his throat, and one on the rise of his cheekbone, stretching up towards his right temple. What looked to be a handprint was barely visible under the shirt, fingertips reaching across his left collarbone. Tony felt sick staring at them.

There was another two fundamental differences in this Peter, too. He somewhat had a version of the Iron Spider, except...It lived within him. Activated as his call and stemming from a sickly familiar blue glow, visible under the shirt fabric.

This Peter had a reactor.

Icy eyes blinked demurely, and Not-Peter cocked his head with a pitying look. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, almost seductive. “Look familiar, Mr Stark?” and when he lifted his gaze, the smile was sharp, more a dangerous baring of teeth. Tony ground his teeth, jaw ticking.

It was Peter, but it was all wrong. This Peter fought like a cornered animal, rabid and out to kill. At Tony’s side, the Winter Soldier slowly slid his tongue over his bleeding lip. hand pressing gauze to the puncture wounds at his side. Tony couldn’t help reaching up, fingertips barely skimming the outline of his own saving curse.

“He gave it to me” Not-Peter continued, eyes fixed on Tony with a lethal, gleeful stare. Tony couldn’t help jerking, looking up at the boy. Was he a boy? It was hard to tell. He seemed young, but hardened. More muscular than their Peter, and a little taller. He?

Not-Peter practically purred, a vicious smirk settling on his mouth. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know, do you? See, there isn’t just a me, back there. There’s a you, too”. Tony stepped closer, shoulders squaring. If there was a him in this other world, then Peter was safe. Right? The hope and relief must have been open on his face, because a bitter, crushing laugh broke his thoughts.

“Well. Not a you exactly. Although you have his face. His name. No...This Tony Stark is a God among men. He perfected Extremis, and he conquered that pathetic little planet. They all bend the knee to him. And your soft, sweet little version of me? He’s going to eat him alive”. It tapered off into a snarl at the end, and the only thing that stopped Tony surging forwards was the Soldier’s hand on his chest, immovable and solid.

“Leave us” he spoke quietly, almost a whisper. But Not-Peter’s head tipped again, a challenging mix between a pout and a smirk on his face. Tony sucked in a breath, turned and looked into the steady, grey eyes of his companion. After a moment, he jerked himself from the grip and turned away, hands shaking as he left the confined lab.

Within it, the Soldier tossed aside the gauze and pulled a chair from a nearby workbench and drew it back-first in front of the other-worldly boy, sinking onto it with spread thighs, arms resting over the ridged back. Not-Peter looked delighted, eyes blatantly roaming the body on display, the metal arm that tapped its fingers in an idle pattern.

“Now you...He would like you. I know the look in those eyes” Not-Peter purred, flirty and low. “Although...The arm. He’d want to make some adjustments to that. He likes to improve his toys”. The Soldier cocked a brow, unimpressed, but interested none the less. From what this boy said, his reality’s version of Tony was evil. The villain, not the hero.

The boy’s lashes fluttered as another sonic pulse wracked his body, followed closely by a minor electrical one. A hasty set-up, designed to contain the metal coursing through his body. Not enough to kill him, but enough to take away the chance of him breaking free.

“Our Peter. Where did you take him?” He asked after a moment, his own head tilting as he waited for the boy to recover. He had deduced fairly quickly, that regular torture would not work on this other Peter. The boy had been broken as many times as the Soldier had, and was beyond the reach of typical pain.

“You so rudely interrupted my time with him. I had to give him something to entertain himself with whilst I investigated” Not-Peter shrugged, looking idle and unconcerned. Their Peter was with the evil twin of Tony, then. That meant their timescale for fixing the portal was now on a strict limit, if the form of the boy before him was anything to go by.

“Tell me about him”.

Not-Peter looked almost dreamy, exhaling a soft sigh and squirming amongst the heavy restraints. “Mr. Stark is a Deity. He’s not like this pathetic copy-cat. He’s Superior. And I am his. I was like your Peter, once. Soft. Delicate. Weak. But he was kind enough to perfect me, the same way he brought himself above everyone else. He is a King”. His voice was a mixture of fierce, soft, proud.

So this...’Superior’ Tony had taken this Peter on as a...Project? Pet? Undoubtedly, they were either together, or this Peter idolised that Tony to the point of wishing they were. He reached out, tapped a metal finger harshly to the reactor with a loud clang. The boy stiffened, snarling at him with bared canines.

“And torturing you. Modifying your body. Breaking you open to force all these little bits of himself inside. That’s his love?”.

The low smirk, the sharp gaze. Defensive, offensive. It was enough. Regardless of if his Tony loved him, this boy loved his Tony. The Soldier hummed thoughtfully, pressed against the reactor before taking his hand away.

“He will come for me” Not-Peter rasped, looking gleeful. Vengeful. “He will break yours, first. Will make him cry, and scream. Make him beg. If he survives, he might be lucky. He might become like me. Although...You should hope he doesn’t. I don’t like to share”.

The Soldier looked thoughtful, hand raising to tap the reactor again, tracing the light pattern visible through the thin, dark shirt. “Your Stark. Does he know how to inter-reality travel?” The boy looked rueful.

“He was just beginning to toy with the idea. After all, why rule just one world, when you could rule them all?”. So. Evil Tony did not know how to open the portal. At the least, it kept them safe from the man invading, before they were prepared. But it also meant the only hope for Peter lay at their own shoulders.

The Soldier rose gracefully, keeping touch with the pulsing reactor. The boy watched him carefully, following his movements as he shifted around his chair, placed a boot between the boy’s thighs, and promptly kicked him over. He moved swiftly, pressed his foot to the boy’s stomach without gentleness, and ducked down, grasping the ridge of the reactor.

“Do you think I am like him?” He asked softly, meeting the sharp, hateful gaze from behind strands of dark hair. “He broke you. Bent you. He made you cry. Scream. He made you beg. Do you think the blood on our hands is the same?” He asked, locking his grip.

The boy almost spat on him, a sickening smile spreading. “You can’t hurt me. You could never hurt me as he did”. It was as far as the boy got, because the Soldier pressed his hand to his ribs, and begun to slowly, steadily, pull. The boy was still baring teeth, but the fury in his eyes had lessened, replaced with something almost wary.

“What are you doing?”.

The Soldier did not answer. Simply enforced the connection between metal, pulling slowly, but steadily. Skin begun to falter against the grip, and the steady fury begun to bleed away from the boy’s eyes. From wariness to realisation, to cold resolution.

Skin tore and the boy’s breath staggered on his inhale, eyes widening. “You are bent. But still breakable” the Soldier noted, pulling harder. The metal jostled, flesh coming apart around the pull of metal. Wet blood begun to soak the material, and the Soldier felt the reactor slide upwards. The boy whimpered, but the steely gaze remained, tinged with fear as it was.

The Soldier let go, pulling away and pulling the chair upright as he withdrew. “I will break a piece of you, for every mark that Stark’s boy returns with” he promised, leaving the room. Tony was a breath around the corner, looking sick and resigned.

“Did you hurt him?”. His voice wobbled, thick with sorrow. When Tony looked up, his eyes were raw with unshed tears. The Soldier frowned slightly, looking down and flexing the fingers of his metal hand.

“He is not yours. And he is not above pain. In his reality, you are the villain. A perfected form of Extremis has allowed you to dominate the world in his reality. That boy is his...Plaything. But they have yet to create a portal, which means we have the upper hand”.

It was no consolation, and the Soldier knew the implication that his words held. Their Peter was not safe there. Least of all in the hands of Stark’s alternate self. The proof was in the boy they had left behind.

“If you two are in that reality, there stands a good chance that we may come up against other people we know there. People like me. And there’s a large possibility we aren’t good there, either. I will get the others together, bring them up to speed. You should go back to the original blueprints of the portal”.

The Soldier moved off, and then it was just Tony, shaking against the wall and doing his best not to think of the boy with Peter’s face, just a thin layer of concrete and glass away. He knew he should walk away. JARVIS could keep an eye on the boy, and the Tower was one of the most secure places in America. If needed, Barn Doors Protocol could be activated.

Except.

He found himself stepping through the doors, shuddering as glacial eyes fixed onto him. Not-Peter’s head tilting slowly, and a cross between a smirk and a pout quirked his lips. “Awh, now isn’t this just adorable?” He murmured, lounging where he was tied. Tony’s jaw ticked and he stopped, scowling.

“Tell me what is going to happen to Peter” he demanded after a moment, approaching warily. Not-Peter’s lips tipped into a sharp grin, and he shrugged lightly, tipping his head to look casually around the room.

“Mm, hard to say. Daddy’s never exactly predicable”.

Daddy.

Not-Peter’s gaze flicked to him, as though knowing Tony had tripped over the word, and he simpered, licking slowly at his canines.

“He could be dead already. Daddy doesn’t have much patience. Or maybe he’s lucky, and he’s gonna end up just like me. Or perhaps....Perhaps Daddy enjoys having another broken little thing with my face. Perhaps he’s enjoying hearing my voice begging again”.

“And if he likes it enough...Your precious little knock-off could be getting pounded into the wall as we speak”. Tony stiffened, leaning close, and Not-Peter was practically grinning now, eyes laser focused. “Does he beg for you, you weak little copy? He’ll beg for Daddy. Does his tight little ass milk your cock, hm? Daddy’ll split him in half. He’ll never be tight again”.

Tony struck him. He didn’t mean to, and even Not-Peter looked surprised for a moment, blinking slowly before turning his head, now outright delighted. A sliver of wet, pink tongue dipped into the slight break of skin at the corner of his mouth.

“Does that piss you off? Knowing your wet piece of ass is gonna come back all sloppy and used? Or are you worried Daddy’ll ruin him forever, huh? Worried you’re gonna get him back and all he’s gonna want to do is crawl right back to-” Not-Peter’s voice cut off as Tony gripped him by the jaw, drawing their faces close together.

“Do you think your version of me would still want you, if you came back all sloppy and used? Do you think he’d keep you around, if he knew you bent over like a good little slut for the ‘weak’ version of him?” Tony asked after a moment, forcing himself to say the words. Forcing himself to steel his voice.

There was something akin to startled fear, just a brief flicker, that crossed Not-Peter’s eyes. It was enough. Tony forced himself to smirk, slow and cruel.

“Mm. I’m not so different in another universe, then” he remarked, pushing away Peter’s jaw and standing, giving the boy a crude, cold once-over. Then he turned away, striding for the door. The sound of Not-Peter’s thrashing and howling followed him the entire way out.

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puddygeeks · 4 years

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Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 35: Cᴏᴠᴇʀᴛ Oᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs

Masterlist

Episode: Remember Me

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for.

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Jasper, Monty, Miller and I spent the night rotating shifts to keep watch. Although we tried to sleep between our turns, it was difficult to relax as we nervously anticipated a raid at any moment. Nothing had changed by the time that morning came and Jasper raised our concerns to Maya, who promised to look for Harper. Maya stressed the importance that we behaved normally but I couldn’t ignore the deep rooted fear in my chest as we sat in distracted silence over breakfast. It was haunting to sit in the middle of the busy room, observing the others happily eating and enjoying the company whilst we met each other's eyes with blank expressions.

Once we’d finished our meal I received a message to remind me that I had to attend an appointment to have my stitches removed. I nervously parted from the boys, who would only allow me to leave once I had confirmed where I would be and how long it should take. I knew that it was necessary for both my healing and to maintain the illusion of ordinary life and they promised to riot if I didn’t come back. I was shaking with nerves throughout the process and I couldn’t help expecting to be drugged or bound at any moment. The consistent terror caused my body to flood with adrenaline and I could hardly concentrate on the idle chatter of the doctor as she worked.

By the time the stitches had been successfully removed and I was walking back to the dorms, I felt in a state of disbelief. I was confused that they hadn’t seized the opportunity to abduct me and it only served to build the constant alarm that I was experiencing. The only credible theory that I could comprehend was that I was too visible; I caused a scene often and they felt that our people would notice if I disappeared more than they would with Harper.

I entered the dorms to find Jasper, Monty, Miller and Maya sitting on the bunk beds opposite each other and the boys immediately noticed me with eager expressions. They both rushed to hug me tightly in relief and almost bowled me over with the force of their excitement. I giggled lightly as their reaction and once I’d extracted myself from their grip I settled on the bed between them. Maya claimed that she had to return to her duties and excused herself from our company. Miller glimpsed at us awkwardly and quickly made an excuse to leave too.

“How was it? Did they do anything funny?” Jasper quizzed as he examined me with an obvious concern. He reached over to slide my sleeves up and I reflectively tore my arm from his grip with more force than intended. “Sorry.” He muttered quietly and I caught Monty regarding me with wide eyes.

“No it’s okay.” I breathed and took a moment to calm my rapid heartbeat. I didn’t like to be guarded with them but I wasn’t comfortable allowing even them to see the wounds. “It was fine, completely routine. They just took the stitches out. Their doctor says that I’m healing nicely, no more bulky dressings.” I smiled weakly at him in an effort to dissipate the tense atmosphere that was now around us. “I still don’t think I’ll be getting my arms out anytime soon though.” I confirmed in a poor excuse for an explanation for my reaction and cleared my throat awkwardly.

“You don’t have to be ashamed of them, Indie.” Monty advised gently and I shifted on the spot.

“Anyway, I looked around as much as I could but I couldn’t see anything untoward going on in there. At least from what I could see, Harper isn’t in medical.” I reported quickly as I attempted to change the topic and I was pleased when they followed my lead. I appreciated their kindness, but it was still too overwhelming to discuss.

“Maya hasn’t been able to find anything either, it’s like she just disappeared.” Jasper commented and I sighed in disappointment. I had hoped that they would be an update by the time I returned from my appointment and every moment that Harper remained missing only increased the dread in my stomach. “It’s strange that they just let you come back, I mean I’m glad that they did! It just doesn’t make any sense. Surely it would have been an easy opportunity.” Jasper added thoughtfully and I shrugged at him.

“I think they’re trying to choose people that they think won’t be easily noticed as missing. People like the three of us: we’re too high profile, they know that the others look to us. At least for the time being, they’re still trying to be sneaky.” I explained my theory and fiddled with my hands anxiously. It wasn’t a nice thought and I realised that we would have to watch our people closely from now on for any quiet members who could easily disappear.

“Well, we’ve got a plan.” Monty leaned forward with a determined expression as he spoke and I raised my brows. “We can’t just wait for Clarke and hope that she’s going to come to save us. We’re going to send a message on the Arkwide channel asking for help.” He revealed and I felt my eyes widen at his idea.

“You’re gonna send an SOS to the Ark?” I repeated in surprise. “What if we get caught? Or what if Mount Weather hears it? I’m all for aggressive action but if they realise that we’re onto them, they’ve got no reason to keep up this nice act.” I questioned and found myself ringing my hands together again. I was frustrated with myself for my anxiety and wished that I could share the determination that the boys imparted.

“We won't get caught. Maya’s gonna help us out and Monty’s got a solid plan.” Jasper clarified and I continued to look between them doubtfully. “We managed it last time, we can do it again. Plus we’ve got you now, we’re the dream team.” Jasper smiled in a way that tried to be encouraging but I could still feel the tension in the air.

“Last time one of your group disappeared, I can’t lose you two.” I mumbled as I felt my confidence crumbling to worry.

“You won’t. You’ll be right there with us to keep us safe. We can do this Indie! We’re a family, we stick together.” Monty urged and I nodded reluctantly as I tried to summon some faith in us.

A couple of hours passed whilst we sourced the items that we needed for the plan and Maya checked the guard schedules to allow us the easiest access to where we were going. Monty discovered from the schematics that the radio wires passed through the art storage room on route to the command centre and we planned to intercept them there. Maya arrived to guide us and we followed as she wheeled a container into the room. Monty pushed ahead with the schematics in hand to find the exact spot where the wires should be. I hadn’t fully absorbed the finer details of Monty’s plan and hovered at the back of the group nervously. He shined the torch at a painting, then down at the plans in his hand before turning to face us.

“Right here, the communication lines are behind this wall.” He confirmed as the others scurried around cleaning the space as I stared at him in bewilderment.

“I’m sorry, did you say behind the wall?” I blurted as Milled slid a sledgehammer out of the container that Maya had wheeled in and I raised my brows at him. “I thought the plan was to not get caught?” I gasped as I glimpsed between them and felt anxiety gripping my chest. I found myself wishing that I’d taken more time to examine Monty’s plan before agreeing to it.

“Big ass enough for you?” Miller smiled as he showed the hammer to Monty and I crossed my arms in annoyance at being ignored.

“Wait.” Maya interrupted sharply just as Miller prepared to swing at the wall. “They’ll hear you.” She warned as she held an arm out to halt him mid motion.

“This was the plan!” Miller exclaimed in an unnecessarily aggressive manner as he glanced at her with frustration. “I knew it. She’s afraid of losing her blood supply.” He turned to lean into her space and spoke with clear accusation in his tone. I noticed that Jasper nervously watched them with a conflicted expression.

“Look, you don’t have to like me Miller and you can blame me all you want for what my people are doing but I’m trying to make things right.” Maya growled as she fearlessly stepped forward to meet him and I could hardly believe the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Damn it people, we don’t have time to turn on each other!” I hissed, finally losing my patience as I kept glancing back over my shoulder in fear. I couldn’t control the overwhelming feeling that we were about to be caught at any moment and the image of the chamber was almost constantly present at the back of my mind. I turned towards Miller with my arms crossed in disappointment. “Miller, you've always been a stubborn idiot, use your head! We make a whole bunch of noise, the guards come running, we end up in those little cages with the grounders. We have to be smarter than this!” I detailed in an effort to break through his temper and sighed to regain control as I finished speaking.

“5 seconds.” Maya breathed under her breath and I glanced over to find that she was staring intently at her watch.

“What happens in 5 seconds?” Monty probed and I found myself studying her with wide frightened eyes. I couldn’t keep the growing tension in my chest and my mind raced with the idea that she may have set us up after all. I felt my hands shaking and tried to formulate a backup plan to get the boys out of harm's way.

“Miller realises what a dick he is?” Jasper spat defensively and I was glad for his sass, which broke through the spiralling thoughts that were flooding through my consciousness. I caught his sly wink in my direction and it caused a slight smile to spread across my face.

“Come on Jasper, I thought you didn’t believe in miracles.” I taunted in an effort to break the tension between the group. Once again, I was thankful for the boys who continued to be the only people able to draw out the personality that I thought had died inside of me. Before anyone else could raise the conversation back into an argument an alarm began to blare out. I stiffened up with a feeling of cold dread creeping down my spine and stared at the others with a horrified face before finally setting my eyes on Maya, who smiled at Miller smugly.

“Friend owed me a favour.” She crooned with a clear sense of satisfaction and I released a deep, relieved breath that I hardly realised I was holding. Jasper smiled fondly at her, before turning to address Miller assertively.

“Time it to the blasts.” He ordered with an authority that was surprising to witness and I was proud to notice how well he was growing into the responsibility.

Miller began pounding the wall with the hammer in the same rhythm as the blaring of the alarm bells and I paced around whilst they worked as I felt too jittery to simply watch. After a few minutes, I placed myself on watch for any guards around the corner to keep myself busy. I felt my breathing become shallow and rapid as I waited with a mounting anxiety. I sensed Maya's approach and she positioned herself beside me awkwardly.

“How’s it going over there?” I grilled without taking my eyes from the far side of the room and started to bite my nails in a gesture of stress. It was obvious that I had lost the calm determination that allowed me to manage tense missions back in camp and I wondered if I was even suitable to be part of them any longer.

“They found the wire but Monty’s struggling with something jamming the signal.” She advised gently as she scanned the room in an antsy manner that reflected my behaviour.

“Of course.” I sighed bitterly and rolled my eyes. “Nothing’s ever as easy as we plan.” I muttered under my breath as I reflected on the numerous missions that had gone drastically wrong in the past and she peeked over at me in pity.

“I know it can’t have been easy for you all out there.” She mumbled as she assessed me and I turned to meet her eyes with an irritated expression. I could hardly believe that she would even attempt to discuss our struggles and I was envious of the safety that she had existed in her entire life. I knew that it was unfair but I couldn’t deny feeling that she wouldn’t be able to understand the hardened survival instincts that we’d been forced to develop.

“You have no idea.” I spat and I felt myself glaring at her for a moment before jolting myself to return my attention to guarding. She sighed as she allowed us to slip back into silence for a few minutes and I could hear the others quietly working behind us. I noticed from the corner of my eye that she seemed to be deep in thought and I strived not to allow her to distract me.

“Jasper told me about your family, and about Bel-”

“Don’t!” I snarled in a sudden burst of temper and I sharply turned my full attention to her in fury. “You may be helping us out for the time being but that does not mean that you and I are good, nor does it mean that I trust you. I lost everything out there, Jasper and Monty are all I have left and your people want to use them as human blood bags. I will die before I let anything happen to them and you had better believe that I will take every single person in this bunker with me if necessary, including you.” The words fell out of my mouth in a venomous rant and I was powerless to stop them. She stared at me with wide eyes that revealed how stunned she was at my reaction and seemed unable to form any words. I returned my attention to the door and immediately picked up the sound of footsteps.

“We’re out of time.” I gasped as I spun on the spot and ran back towards the others with Maya hot on my heels. “We have movement, it’s time to go!” I hissed as soon as they were in view.

“The guard is coming, cover the hole.” Maya ordered. We frantically set about organising paintings and furniture to cover the hole in the wall where Monty had been working. Miller and I packed the equipment we had brought with us back into the container and carried it out between us, with Monty beside me. As we rushed to the door Monty grabbed my arm to halt me.

“You two go back the way we came, I’ll take a different route back. It’ll look suspicious if too many of us are seen together. Meet you back at dorms.” He spoke frantically and although I opened my mouth to disagree with him, he rushed out of view before I could, leaving me frozen to the spot in panic. Miller shook me to gain my attention and when that failed he pulled at the container to urge me to move.

We returned to dorms to discover that they were empty and I noticed with a surge of dread that Jasper and Maya weren’t behind us either. Miller and I occupied ourselves with returning the items we had borrowed before they could be discovered as missing and I hoped that would kill enough time for the others to return. We found Jasper and Maya waiting for us and Miller rushed to turn up the music in the room so that we could talk.

“They find the radio?” Milled investigated nervously whilst I scanned the room for any sign of Monty.

“No. Where’s Monty?” Jasper glimpsed between us and my stomach dropped as I stared back at him with wide eyes.

“I thought he was with you?” Miller breathed and I covered my face with my hands as I felt myself descending into panic. My heart pounded in my ears and I could hardly catch my breath.

“I haven’t seen him.” Maya confirmed and I groaned as I moved my hands into my hair in a stressed gesture. I could feel that I was rapidly losing control and I felt my skin becoming clammy.

“He said he was going to take a different route back, I couldn’t stop him before he ran off. Did he say anything to you guys?” I asked between deep breaths as I battled to remain in control. I knew that if I allowed myself to slip at all then I would collapse into hysterics and I reminded myself that this would not help Monty.

“He was talking about trying to get into the command centre?” Maya revealed as if she had only just realised that this was relevant. “He said that he only needed 5 minutes but I told him it was impossible.” She explained with a subtle peek at Jasper with furrowed brows.

“Okay, so he might’ve tried to get there. We can’t panic just yet, he could just be flying solo. We need to have faith that he’ll be back.” I urged and I was relieved when they nodded back, as it confirmed that the controlled facade that I was forcing was believable. I wasn’t sure where I was finding the strength to speak so calmly when on the inside I was falling apart. I tried to keep my focus on my earlier goal to take as much of the strain of leadership for them as I could and channelled my energy into staying outwardly strong. I felt an immense understanding of the pressure that Bellamy had endured back at camp and my heart ached for him.

“I’ll start looking for him. I won't be able to come back with an update until tomorrow without being suspicious. Until then, you need to act normal! Monty might be undercover somewhere, if they suspect anything is wrong it could put him in danger.” Maya ordered us firmly before she exited the dorms and left us to stare at each other blankly.

It was another long, painful night and I had horrific nightmares of Monty any time that I fell asleep. Every time that I woke, I examined his bed with disappointment. I tried to keep the hope alive that he would creep back in from some insane solo mission, but my mind continued to conjure up images of him enduring torturous experiments at the hand of the doctors of the mountain. When morning came Jasper and I wandered the halls in a dreary state, hardly able to see where we were going through the fog of our minds. Neither of us ate anything again and Miller managed to force down some food from each of our plates to cover us. I watched Jasper in concern as he withdrew further into himself and felt my resolve waning.

By midday when Maya reported that she was still searching but had found no sign of him yet, we were both beginning to crumble. Miller warned us to find something to occupy ourselves with and insisted that we were too obviously distressed. We sat side by side on Jasper’s bunk bed and leaned on each other for comfort. I cleared my throat as I struggled to think of something that could distract us enough to pull us out of the pit that we were rapidly sinking into. Jasper leaned further into me with his head against my shoulder and I stroked his hair gently. As I played with his long locks, an idea struck me.

“When was the last time you had a hair cut Jasper?” I inquired in a flat tone and as he straightened up to survey me, I forced a weak smile.

“I don’t know, probably on the Ark.” He shrugged in a disinterested manner. “Who cares?” He added with a despairing tone to his voice that caused my heart to ache.

“We need to look busy.” I sighed in defeat. “I’m thinking if I give you a haircut we can avoid suspicion without having to hang out with others and pretend to be fine. It’ll just be you and I, we can still be sad.” I detailed the best sales pitch that I could manage through my emotions and he nodded solemnly.

“Sounds like a good idea, I’ll find some scissors.” He answered as he carelessly got to his feet and I moved to follow. “Indie, I...I don’t think they’ll give them to me if you come, not after…” He trailed off as his gaze darted to my wrists and I nodded awkwardly.

“Right, I’ll just wait here.” I forced a smile to cover the embarrassment that I felt and he wandered from the room with a heavy shuffle. I paced around anxiously as I waited for him to return and was pleased when he entered the room carrying a box. I inspected the box in confusion and he smiled weakly as he placed it down.

“I had a thought. Your hair is getting a little dulled down, when did you last have some colour in it?” He remarked with a twinkle of playfulness hidden deep behind the sadness of his eyes and I felt a pang of hope at the sight of it. “Well, I seem to remember it being a much more firey red when we first got here. I can’t cut hair but I know my chemicals and I could definitely mix up some dye. What do you say, you cut mine and I’ll dye yours?” He suggested and I smiled genuinely for the first time since Monty disappeared.

“Sounds time consuming, it’s perfect. You first.” I agreed and a small laugh escaped my lips.

I settled on the edge of the bed and motioned for Jasper to sit on the floor between my knees with his back to me. I had the box of supplies on the bed beside me and as I picked through its contents I was impressed at what he’d managed to gather. I quickly got to work on organising Jasper’s heavy mop of hair. I was careful to only cut off the smallest amount of length as I was all too conscious that I didn’t really know much about hairdressing. I worked in comfortable silence for a while and had to admit that I was glad to be spending time with someone who I didn’t feel the need to force conversation with. Once I’d done neatening up Jasper’s hair we swapped places and he made mixing ingredients to create his home made hair dye seem simple. He pulled gloves from the box and scanned me in an assessing manner before his attention landed on my jacket thoughtfully.

“You should probably take that off for this Indie, I don’t want to damage your safety blanket.” His expression was sympathetic as I reluctantly slid the precious item of clothing off and placed it carefully on the top bunk so that it couldn’t get accidentally splashed. As I leaned up to do this, I noticed Jasper staring at my wrists and I squirmed awkwardly. I quickly took my place on the floor in front of him and was immediately glad that I couldn’t see his pitying face anymore. Jasper occupied himself with running a comb through my damaged hair and cleared his throat to speak.

“You can talk to me about it, you know.” He spoke softly and I pondered my wrists with a sigh. I knew that this conversation would need to happen sooner or later but I wanted to avoid it for as long as possible. It was such an intimate experience that I wasn’t sure I could explain it and even if I did, I worried that no one else would understand the way that I felt.

“I know, I just don’t have anything to say.” I muttered as I sharply removed my attention from the developing scars and realised that I had little endurance for viewing them.

“You never talk about them.” He sounded reluctant when he spoke again and I could feel him meticulously separating my hair as he tried to focus on the task to make the conversation less awkward. I didn’t know what to say and was overwhelmed with the feeling of wanting to escape. “I know that it's hard but part of the healing is talking about it, leaning on your friends. You seem like you’re pretending Octavia and Bellamy didn’t exist, like it’s taboo to talk about them. We all miss them, you can share the grief.” He described and although I was glad that he felt he could be honest with me, I was upset by this accusation. I gulped as I felt my eyes filling with tears again and I struggled to battle them down.

“I’m not pretending that they didn’t exist. What would I talk about? The fact that I couldn’t save either of them, or maybe that their faces haunt me every night?” I voiced and I felt Jasper flinch behind me. “You want me to share my good memories with my best friend so that everyone can feel sorry for me? Or should I discuss all of the times that I could’ve told B-” I abruptly cut myself off, unable to cope with the pain of his name on my lips and stuttered for a moment, staring at the floor as my heart ached. I wasn’t ready for this conversation, I wasn’t sure if I ever would be. “I never told him how I felt. I wasted my time with him and now he’s gone. There’s nothing more to say.” I breathed with every word causing a stabbing pain in my chest. Jasper sighed and I could feel that he was overwhelmed by my words, as he took a few minutes to decide what to say next.

“Bellamy knew how you felt about him Indie, everyone did. It was clear as day. And I know that he felt the same about you too.” He asserted and I felt a single tear escape my composure. I quickly brushed it away and bit my lip to hold back the dam of emotions that threatened to tear me apart.

“You can’t possibly know that Jasper. And now we’ll never know for sure. That’s just something I’ve got to learn to live with.” I replied bitterly, wishing that he would stop discussing it. “I miss both of them every minute of every day. It’s all I can think about. I don’t want to talk about it too.” I explained with a tone of finality. A few minutes passed in tense silence as he started to apply the cold dye to my hair and I sniffed in an effort to fight back tears.

“I’m sorry for what I said when I visited you in medical. I felt awful for my part in your loss.” He whispered with regret evident in his voice. “You were suffering, I should’ve been more patient with you. And to make it worse, I was wrong after all, you had every right to be suspicious of this place.” His tone gave in to bitter resentment and I could understand this feeling well. “I’m really sorry Indie, I wish I could take it back.” He expressed this with such remorse that my defences finally softened slightly and he put a hand on my shoulder that I immediately reached up to squeeze in my own.

“It’s okay Jasper, we were all working through stuff. I forgive you.” I answered calmly and I felt a weight lift off his shoulders even without facing him. I was glad that I’d been able to remove this guilt from him.

“Hell, I was wrong about that, I was wrong about the Ark, who knows what else I was wrong about.” He started and I hummed in response. “Maybe Octavia and Bellamy made it, they’re survivors. Miller said he was carrying Octavia the last time he saw her and that she wasn’t with Bellamy when he saw him in camp, he would’ve left her somewhere safe-”

“Don’t.” I hissed as I closed my eyes tight and took a deep breath in an attempt to soften my voice. I didn’t want to lash out at Jasper and I battled to contain the vitriol that threatened to escape me. “Don’t do that Jasper, I can’t handle that kind of false hope right now. I have to believe that Monty is okay and that he’ll come back, that is all my mind can manage.” I explained carefully as my hands shook from the impact of his words.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He muttered as I shifted uncomfortably on the floor. He finished applying the dye and wrapped a bag around my hair so that I could move without staining everything in the immediate area blood red. I had been touching my head in stress, so I had bright red splodges all over my hands and as soon as I turned around he noticed. He patted the bed for me to sit beside him with an amused smile. He pulled a clear bottle of liquid and some rags from the box to clean me up. I was impressed with how thorough he had been in planning for this and it only made it painfully clear how badly he needed something to focus his mind on. He ran his fingers gently on the scar on one of my wrists and I flinched involuntarily but didn’t withdraw from his grip this time. He met my eyes with a hurt expression and when he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. “Please, don’t ever do that again.” He requested with a sorrow that stunned me. I felt my eyes welling up, and sniffed to contain it. I took a deep breath and prepared myself to face the conversation that he needed.

“I didn’t want to die Jasper, not really. I just wanted the pain to stop.” I clarified and I felt an unexpected wave of relief at my confession. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I have to keep you boys safe and I can’t do that if I’m dead. You two give me a reason to live and you help me to control the feelings.” I admitted with a sad smile and gazed thankfully at him. Instead of smiling in return, he furrowed his brow with concern as he viewed me.

“And what about after we get out of here?” He questioned and I sighed as I considered my answer.

“I’ll still need to keep you safe.” I asserted but there was still an uncertainty in my words. “I couldn’t leave you to your own devices, you seem to always find trouble.” I suggested lightly, but the truth was that I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I didn’t know how I would manage without my focus on the danger that threatened them. I was painfully aware that it was all that was holding back the madness that I’d felt in the medical ward. For now, I had them and I was determined to keep it that way.

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hedwigstalons · 4 years

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High Expectations - Ch5

Just a quick sketch today. There were many other snapshots I would have liked to have drawn for this chapter but I need to build up the skills first. Instead you will have to make do with Gordon feeling the effects of his celebrations and reaching for the aspirin.

Thanks as ever to @willow-salix for general cheerleading, confidence boosting and reading through as daft times of the night.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four

And for those that prefer to read on AO3

Chapter Five

The sound of his phone dragged Gordon out of a groggy sleep. The first day in months, maybe years, when he hadn’t set an alarm and his phone had to ring right through the middle of his much needed rest. The shrill tone sawed through his head and he screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the sound.

It didn’t work.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the ringing cut out. His head was pounding and his throat felt curiously sticky. The relief was short lived though as the phone started up again, each electronic trill stabbing into his brain like hot needles. He fumbled for the device and blearily read the name on the screen.

Dad

He half threw, half dropped the device back onto the tiny bedside unit that was mostly taken up by a half empty bottle of something local. He wasn’t too sure what the bottle contained, the only recognisable part of the label was an obscenely high ABV rating. His head was telling him clearly that whatever was in the bottle it was a mistake he didn’t want to repeat any time soon.

The ringtone was replaced with the bleep of an incoming message. Gordon made a second fumble for the device to read the text.

Dad: Call me in the next 3 minutes or I’m contacting security to look for you

Gordon looked at the time on his phone and sat up in a rush. A sickening wave washed over him, partly from the realisation that he was late meeting his family and partly the after effects of whatever it was he had been drinking the previous night.

Recollections of the previous night’s festivities came back in a hazy swirl. Both the swimming and gymnastics events had reached their conclusion and the two contingents had come together to celebrate their medal haul. Both squads had achieved glittering success. Someone had ventured out into the wider city and come back supplied with a selection of drinks, one of which Gordon had evidently liberated and brought back to his room. The coaches had turned a blind eye to the celebrations which had carried on into the early hours.

The bed covers next to him rustled exposing a mass of raven curls. A finger was trailed down his chest and dark eyes blinked at him sleepily.

“What’s the matter, babe? Come back here and keep me warm.”

The realisation that he wasn’t alone snapped Gordon’s senses back into action. Tempting as it was to just sink back onto the narrow bed and curl up with whoever had found her way to his room Gordon knew better than to treat the message as an idle threat. In precisely 3 minutes his father would be at the security desk for the Athlete’s Village and approximately 3 minutes after that one of the security personnel would come barging into his room.

At least he had made it back to his own room. Every room in the village was identical from the layout and furniture right through to the cheap print adorning the wall. Thankfully there were enough personal effects lying round that marked the space out as his own territory. The good luck card from Alan was in pride of place on the dresser, the grinning yellow smiley on the front a reminder of the blonde sibling who had become his biggest fan. The rather more sedate offerings from the rest of the family were arranged behind.

First things first though; he needed to buy some time. He picked his phone back up off the bedside unit and hit the speed dial button for his father. The call connected before the first ring had finished and Gordon winced slightly and the abruptness of the answer.

“Gordon, where are you? You were due out front ten minutes ago”

He tried to adopt a tone that suggested apologetic rather than hungover.

“Sorry Dad. I was in the shower and lost track of time.”

There was a slight humpf down the line which showed his father was annoyed but not currently inclined to launch into a full blown reprimand for his lateness. Gordon knew he was pressing his luck but he ploughed on.

“Um, one of the coaches wants see me quickly before I head out. I’ll only be another 20 minutes tops. I promise I’ll be with you as soon as possible.”

He closed the call before his father had time to protest. It didn’t sit right to lie but he really needed to buy some time to shower for real. At least he now had 20 minutes to get everything sorted out but the clock was most definitely ticking. Crisis one was averted, or at least delayed.

He turned to his bedfellow. He didn’t recognise her from swim camp so could only assume she was one of the gymnasts from the celebrations of the previous night. Finding her there was not a massive surprise, he had been to enough high level competitions to know that the concluding night often led to a release of tension and pent up adrenalin in more ways than one. The euphoria of success and, in the case of swimmers being in close proximity to barely covered bodies, led to various amounts of bed swapping once the medals were awarded. The coaches tended to turn a blind eye. It seemed like the gymnasts celebrated in a similar fashion.

“Mmm, a shower sounds good. I hear you’re quite talented in the water.” Her voice purred and the hand swirled lower down his chest. Gordon felt the rush of blood to his groin where it pooled in an embarrassing fashion.

Unlike the swimmers who tended to make their way back to their rooms of their own accord it seemed that the gymnasts, or at least this particular one, did not observe the same niceties. This was going to be awkward.

“Um, I’ve got to go and meet my family. You need to go.”

“That’s it, Gordon? You’re just throwing me out?” Her tone had turned from sultry to venomous in an instant. She evidently knew his name but he couldn’t honestly afford her the same courtesy. Sasha maybe, or perhaps Sarah, he really didn’t know. The last he remembered he had been getting close to the guy who competed in the parallel bars who had arms to die for and abs like a rack of eggs. Evidently last night had taken a different course. He wondered what had happened and whether he still had a chance with Mr Parallel Bars later that night.

He hung his head slightly, wishing the pounding behind his eyes would just stop. “Look, I really need you to go. I wouldn’t put it past my Dad to find his way up here and be waiting outside the door with a stopwatch.”

The dark eyes narrowed slightly and the lithe figure unfolded herself from under the duvet. She was clad in a soft grey longline tee-shirt and Gordon got the distinct impression that was all she was wearing. She bent neatly at the middle to scoop up the remainder of her clothes without bending at the knee. The tee-shirt rode up, exposing a pair of pert buttocks directly in front of Gordon. Definitely a gymnast and definitely not wearing anything else. She slid on a pair of joggers and shoes, each movement was smooth and elegant to the extreme. She turned as she reached the door and the look she shot Gordon could have killed but he was deliberately facing away, not meeting her eye.

With the room now his own Gordon rushed to get ready. A quick dunk under the shower woke him up but couldn’t wash away the pain of the hangover. At least the alcohol no longer seemed to be sweating out of his pores but he added a generous dab of cologne anyway. Fresh clothes followed. The celebration of the night before had evidently been rather heavy on the alcohol and the light through his window when he finally opened the curtains felt like it was burning his retinas. He dug through his kit bag and unearthed a battered pack of painkillers, a couple of tablets were thrown down his throat chased by a large glass of water.

His eyes swept the room. The Athletes’ Village was meant to be off limits to anyone not competing but he wouldn’t put it past his father to use his influence to get a pass. Alan was eager to take in every element of the experience and a visit to Gordon’s room was probably on the kid’s bucket list despite it looking like nothing more than the poor relation of a cheap hotel room. The bottle of liquor was moved to the bottom of his kit bag ready to be given away later, the churning feeling in his stomach left him sorely tempted to sign the pledge and vow himself to a future life of total sobriety.

A glint of foil wrappers in the waste bin caught his eye. At least him and his gymnast had played safe courtesy of the supplies left by the Olympic Committee in every room. Evidently the organisers of the Games were well aware of what athletes could get up to in their spare time with physical exertion not limited to the tracks and venues. He packaged up the detritus of his celebratory fumble to be disposed of in one of the bins well away from his room. Some parts of the Olympic experience did not need to be shared with little brothers, or the rest of his family for that matter.

He made a detour via the cafeteria to snag a carton of orange juice and a muesli bar from the breakfast buffet before heading for the exit of the Village. A pair of aviators shoved hastily over bleary eyes before he left the dim confines of the building completed his ensemble. Now he just needed to plaster on a cheery smile and get through a day with the family.

He really hoped the painkillers started to do their job soon.

xoxoxox

Jeff stood at the entrance to the Athlete’s Village surrounded by four out of his five sons. The fifth was evidently still inside the compound and was running late.

The minutes ticked by.

Jeff Tracy was not a man who liked to be kept waiting. His elder sons had soon learnt that tardiness was a trait that did not go unpunished. Each in their turn had tested the limits to their father’s patience and found that the line did not bend; lateness resulted in a swift loss of privileges. Having two phone calls divert to voicemail followed by the information that he was going to be kept waiting even longer would have seen Gordon grounded for at least a month had they been back at home. As it was, it was the last day of the family trip to the Games and the only one they would get to spend with Gordon so he gritted his teeth and locked the parental sternness deep inside.

It was Alan who spotted Gordon first, his eyes eagerly glued on the entrance door to Gordon’s block. The teen throbbed with excitement at seeing his hero of the hour. If the family had hoped that a week of watching swimming, plus a few other events when Gordon wasn’t competing, would dull the youth’s enthusiasm they were sorely mistaken.

Gordon winced slightly as Alan barrelled up to him, nearly sending the orange juice flying.

“So, can I see it then?”

Gordon frowned slightly behind his shades. The kid was far too cheerful for this time of the morning.

“Nice to see you too Alan. Now, see what?”

“Your medal. You did bring it down, right?”

“Sorry. I didn’t think carrying a hunk of gold around all day would be a good idea. It’s in the safe in my room.”

Alan’s face fell. His brother had just won a real life gold medal and to hear he wasn’t going to get a chance to see it was like finding out Christmas had been cancelled. You would have to have been of a different planet to not feel the disappointment radiating off him. Gordon’s protective nature kicked in.

“Tell you what. I’ll see if you can come up to my room later, before you go. I’ll even let you wear it.”

As though a switch had been flicked Alan was back into full blown excitable mode, flinging a barrage of questions at Gordon in between giving his own edited highlights of the trip. The energy radiated off him and Gordon tried to absorb some of the pure enthusiasm. Alan in a good mood could steamroller over any other emotions in the vicinity. He bounced. It was a trait that had pulled many a brother out of the depths of despondency in the past; none of them wanted to let the kid down. There was a natural instinct to protect their baby even if the baby was now shooting up in height and no longer the grubby toddler of the past.

By this point the others had started to congregate around Gordon, hanging back slightly until Alan had had his moment. The bond between the two youngest was clear to see and the elder siblings didn’t want to intrude on the reunion. Alan looked up to Gordon with barely concealed adoration and Gordon had an attitude that was almost paternal to the younger boy.

Once Alan had paused for breath the others started stepping forward to offer their own congratulation in a mix of glowing words and hearty back slaps.

At last Jeff stepped forwards.

“You did good, Gordon. So, what did your coach have to say?”

Jeff’s eyes were steely. Put on the spot Gordon dredged his mind for something convincing..

“He just wanted to let us know that there was no pool training for the rest of the games because water polo needs the slots but we still need to keep up with some gym work while we are here.”

“And that took twenty minutes?” The tone was one of barely disguised scepticism, accompanied by a raised eyebrow, and Gordon squirmed slightly. He decided to change the subject.

“Oh. I just wanted to thank you guys for all coming. It really meant a lot to have you up there on the balcony for every race. How on earth did you manage to get the same seats every time? I thought the tickets were a random allocation.”

“Not totally random.” John spoke quietly from the back of the group. “The algorithms were pretty easy to figure out.”

“You played the system?”

A nod and a slightly smug, self-satisfied smile.

For every single heat there had been a cluster of Tracys in the same place on the balcony. Left hand side, level with the end of the pool at the opposite end to the starting blocks. Knowing that they were all there to support him, in easy eye line from his starting position, had given Gordon strength before each race. No searching around needed, a quick glace up to the railing had been all he needed to help him get in the zone. To find out that John had manipulated the system to ensure they could always be found in those same seats meant a lot.

Seeing the family in those particular seats had an extra level of poignancy for Gordon. From his earliest days of swimming lessons those were the seats his mother had always sat in to watch his class, often with John in tow as he was too young to be left at home. As lessons progressed to competitions she had kept to the routine and always sought out those same seats until that fateful turning point in their lives when she couldn’t. Evidently, under all the stresses of Harvard study, there was still a big brother that remembered those early days before Gordon had gained total mastery over the water and the reassurance he gained from knowing where to find a friendly face. It was a level of effort and consideration Gordon rarely encountered now from his plus one in the pecking order.

“Thanks John. I mean it.”

“So what do you want to do now, golden boy? This is your day to celebrate although it looks like you might have done a bit of that already.” Scott ruffled Gordon’s hair in a way that did his tender head no favours. He had witnessed and partaken in his fair share of the morning after and Gordon’s shades were fooling no one. Gold medal or not, Scott had no compunctions about throwing his younger sibling under the metaphorical bus. He received a scowl in return. To Gordon’s eternal relief Jeff either didn’t pick up on the comment or was choosing to ignore it; he was not in the mood to be bawled out for underage drinking and the hangover was proving punishment enough.

“Maybe just some sightseeing. I’ve really not had a chance to see anything of the complex. Oh, and I want to eat something without having to check if the micronutrients fit with my plan. You cannot believe how bored I am of protein shakes and vitamin drinks.”

The family moved off. It might technically be Gordon’s day but Jeff was undoubtedly the one they all deferred to. Each brother circled their father like moons around a planet. It had been so long since they were last all together.

Gordon was immensely grateful for Alan’s presence. The excitable pup filled in any awkward silences and kept their father’s direct attention off of Gordon. Even with the success of a gold medal win less than twenty-four hours behind him there was still an aura of disapproval at Gordon’s temerity for keeping everyone waiting although this gradually dissipated as the day wore on.

Over lunch, a greasy burger of Gordon’s choosing that was so far removed from his usual meal plan as to be from a different galaxy, Jeff sat back and watched his five sons. He couldn’t remember the last time they were all in one room. Even Christmas was no longer a given what with Scott’s Air Force commitments.

Age and circumstances had changed the dynamics but from oldest to youngest they were still brothers and the longer they spent in each other’s company the more Jeff saw glimpses of the children he remembered. There was certainly more laughter than he had heard for a long time. Alan stayed firmly attached to Gordon as though the last few weeks without him had been an eternity.

None of them knew when next they would all be together again. The family would be flying home that night but Gordon needed to stay on a few more days until the closing ceremony. By the time he and the rest of Team USA returned Scott would be back with his squadron.

For a few rare hours there was no school, work or training making their competing demands. No business meeting. No classes. No Air Force issuing orders. Just a family together, albeit one not used to spending time together any more.

All too soon it was a family being ripped apart again by punishing schedules and varying commitments. As Gordon watched everyone head off to the airport without him the gut-wrenching pang of being an outsider hit him. He knew it was just circumstances that meant he was being left behind but for a moment he was left feeling very alone. He knew it was probably just exhaustion making him feel maudlin. He should be relishing the freedom of having a few days to himself rather than resenting his father for heading straight back to work. He shouldn’t be feeling jealous of his brothers getting to spend time together without him. He shouldn’t be worried if anyone was checking whether Alan was getting to bed at a reasonable time.

He headed back up to his room sorely tempted to drown his sorrows with the last of the liquor still hidden in his kit bag.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #my art #high expectations #Gordon Tracy #Olympics #family time #celebrations

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nekolatte · 4 years

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Chapter 7: Sword

Preview: She had to be soft, smooth and blemish freeー she had to be perfect, without a single hair out of place.

A fine sheen of sweat coated Weiss’s skin, causing fair hair to stick uncomfortably to her forehead and cheeks, layers feeling heavier as they soaked the perspiration. It was difficult to breathe correctly with the knight's helmet settled securely over her head, but Coal was adamant that every bit of the armor was needed if he even dared to swing a sword in Weiss's general direction.

Appropriate, as Coal didn't pull back on his swings while belatedly teaching between each. He barked orders and corrections like a drill sergeant, as if Weiss was someone far below rank, and she had to constantly stay her tongue from rebukingー while in the training yard, garbed like a knight-in-training, she was below him. She had to remind herself constantly that there was a purpose for all this, even if she had to drag her aching body back home without anyone within the palace being the wiser. Up and down her arms, her legs and chest, Weiss sported discolored bruising on her usually perfectly flawless complexion. Thankfully, Atlesian fashion allowed for the deep purples and repulsive yellows to be easily covered, though she had to give up certain luxuries to keep the maids from gossiping.

She already missed having her hair washed by more skillful hands.

Seemingly angered by a heavy sigh from Weiss, Coal sidestepped her wide swing easily and drove the pummel of his practice sword roughly into the back of a shoulder. A curious shock vibrated through her arm and down her spine, causing her fingers to slacken and her knees to give. All it took after was a hard swing of the sword against her back to bring her down into the ground with a clang of metal and a grunt of pain. Coal rolled her over and looked down at her with a concealed level of disgustーhe didn’t require a helmet.

“If you’re not going to take this seriously, why are you wasting my time? Just because you have the luxury to dawdle and pick up swordplay for a weekend activity does not mean the rest of us do.” Though the blade dull, it still had a point that allowed it to pierce the packed earth beside Weiss’s head as Coal drove it down and walked away. “After all, ‘it is the only route open to me’.” He mocked her with a shrill imitation of her voice, and as Weiss struggled to get up, watched as he instructed Katt over for what was, presumably, a proper use of his time.

Though different in weapons and tactics, they flowed separate yet equal in their spar. Katt’s strange combination of a heavy weapon and hand-to-hand style challenged Coal’s solid and structured sword and shieldplay. Weiss still wasn’t certain if they were showing off or attempting to instruct her by example, but whatever the intention she only ended up envying their abilities.

Weiss stepped away from the crowd that was gathering from Coal and Katt’s match and shrugged off the many layers of the knight suit to slip back into her dress. The dressing room was vacant, and the pieces she used easily blended in with the scattered bits of armor the knights deemed someone else’s responsibility to set to rights. While she had fixed herself up as best she could, she still didn’t feel prepared to walk back out where dozens of eyes would be on her again. She especially didn’t feel prepared to confront Coal again, after another humiliating lesson. They couldn’t keep this up forever, as Ironwood would run out of reasons to visit his colleagues at the academy, and Weiss had no tie to the knights like he did.

Maybe she should just give up and stick to what she was good at: sitting quietly and looking pretty.

“There you are.” The deep tone had her tensing, twisting toward the sound and hovering over the helmet still in her grasp as if caught doing something she wasn’t supposed toー which, in hindsight. But Ironwood didn’t look ready to demand answers to why she was alone in a room reserved only for knights while her appointed escorts were outside dueling. Instead, his brows drew together with concern, his previous light mood inching towards tension. “What’s wrong?”

It was at that moment Weiss felt something wet roll down her cheek. She thought sweat at first, not used to such laborious activities (even dancing had never required this much stamina from her), and went to swipe it away with a sleeve, but found more beads falling no matter how quickly she mopped them up. In fear and embarrassment, she turned away and scrubbed furiously at her face, though the harder she pleaded with herself to stop the more tears fell. She didn’t know what triggered the responseー why now, of all times, did she decide that her treatment under Coal was enough to get her to show emotion.

Everything out of his mouth, from the very first moment they met, was factual but it never hurt her like it did now. Was it because he echoed her own words back?

Ironwood’s heavy presence appeared at her side, movements oddly silent despite his size. An awkwardness fell over the room and made her realize all over again how much they were strangers to one another. Though they played lovers, there was no real intimacy between them, and seeing her in such a vulnerable state like this was the most intimate they’ve been, overshadowed only by a similar event weeks prior. A memory blurred by time and emotion, though his vow to her remained oddly clear.

“Is it because I left you alone?”

Weiss turned to look up at Ironwood despite how her eyes burned, watching him trying to read her, trying to solve her problem as if she was another political pawn that needed to be coaxed a certain way. She hated how that made her feel and turned away to stare down at the helmet in her lap. It took a moment to find her voice, and she was thankful that Ironwood was at least patient enough to wait for her.

“Did you… Did you teach Winter how to use a sword?”

There wasn’t a response for a few seconds, and what followed was careful. “I did not see her official training, but instructed her personally once she gained rank.”

Silence fell over them once more, but less stagnant than before. Something easier to breathe in, even if Weiss hadn’t gotten the answer she was hoping forー if she had learned what Winter had gone through to gain her independence, then maybe Weiss could find some instruction in it. She hated how that sounded, even in her own head; the future queen of Atlas, still turning to her big sister for direction. She felt misery start welling up in her chest again, something familiar that just made her wish for her rooms back at the palace, and was startled when a hand delicately took her wrist and turned it over.

Weiss hadn’t worn gloves for the last few trips to the academy, as more articles of clothing to take off and put back on meant less time training, and immediately regretted it when Ironwood seemed to know what he was searching for in particular when a gloved thumb ran over a hard callus beneath her ring finger. Even with standard gauntlets, the friction of holding and swinging a sword was enough to cause them on both hands. No matter the oils or lotions she used every night, they didn’t go away fast enough before she was swinging a heavy piece of metal again. An activity which a princess definitely shouldn’t be participating in. She had to be soft, smooth and blemish freeー she had to be perfect, without a single hair out of place.

Calluses were out of place.

“I am not upset, and I definitely will not tell your father,” Ironwood went on to say and did not stop his idle petting of her palm. Weiss chanced a glance up at him and found his attention focused on the movement of his hand, warm beneath hers. “But I wish you trusted me a bit more to confine in what you planned on doing.”

His brows drew together, and he did look upsetー displeased, evenー when he turned to face her. “You’re a princessー”

Weiss quickly snatched her hand back; she frowned at the tone, at him . If anyone would’ve understood, she thought it would be himー if anyone thought to support her actions, she thought it would be him. Disgusted at herself for having entertained the idea, Weiss quickly stood and slammed the helmet down on the bench they were sharing and stormed out of the room, out to the training field and towards the exit they usually used when waiting for the carriage to be brought back around.

Her husband followed, of course, no need to keep his pace quick as his long strides easily caught up, and she hated that she couldn’t even storm off properly.

Nothing was said, however, while Ironwood ordered their carriage brought and exchanged a few last pleasantries with the academy brass he decided to grant his presence to that day, before they were in the carriage and riding back to the castle. The streets passed idle by, Weiss purposefully staring out the small window and refusing to even acknowledge the knight-general was in her immediate vicinity, despite their knees brushing every so often when the carriage rattled over a rough patch of road.

“Oh, this is ridiculous. I am not an angsty adolescent.” Curiosity got the best of Weiss, and her eyes flickered to watch Ironwood loom close, startled into leaning back firmly into a corner of the carriage, though her entire presence was ignored entirely. Ironwood knocked on the window separating them from the coachman. The frame slid open and a questioning tone filtering from somewhere beyond. Ironwood ordered the carriage to stop at a particular address and reclined back into his seat with a very adolescent huff.

Weiss watched him cross his arms over his broad chest and stare out the window as she had done before. Her earlier irritation was waning, curious now without feeling any sense of danger from the prospect of being taken somewhere she didn’t know. That had to show some growth to their relationship, that she could trust him at least this much.

A few more odd turns had them within the market area, where upper class artisans sold to equally upper class patrons. Weiss couldn’t bring herself to ask why they were here just yet, and waited within the carriage as Ironwood stepped off. She hadn’t been instructed to follow, and thought that maybe Ironwood was running a quick errand and she didn’t need to bother. But he was patiently waiting at the carriage door, hand outstretched and head tilted in curiosityー asking without words if she was coming along. Of course she took the hand and used it to help herself out, excitement vibrating through her at the thought of just being out, of exploring a city she would soon be ruling.

The time of day cast long shadows from between the buildings, broken in regular intervals by flickering Dust-lanterns that glowed a gentle gold over the narrow stone streets. Most people were walking, with only the occasional carriage and ridden horse leisurely parting the sparse crowd. All manner of upper socialites were out with varied accompaniment, browsing the wares on display within store windows or watching the occasional entertainer that set up post in more open spaces. It was livelier than she imagined, having always had new clothing and jewelry shipped directly to her after it was tailored to her specifications.

Browsing for purchasable items felt like a novelty, and lost herself in the moment while she glanced around excitedly that she nearly missed the fond expression on Ironwood’s face. She still wasn’t used to the effects it had on her and felt utterly childish that he happened to catch her so unawares. Composing herself made the smile diminish, dim into something tender and special, but far more appropriate for society to accept.

Ironwood offered his arm this time, and the two moved together down the path of shops while she heard the carriage being drawn away behind them. She nearly forgot about the dispute they had prior, attention drawn to all the displays they passedー dresses, jewelry, books and fabric, curious little trinkets and even an apothecary despite Atlas’s lack of diverse flora. Twilight descended upon them without Weiss noticing, yet they seemed no where near their destination if Ironwood’s demeanor was anything to go by. He allowed Weiss to stop them from time to time when she wanted a better look at something, though she refrained from pulling him into a shop in case they were recognized.

Besides a few pointed stares and some light whispering, no one seemed bold enough to approach actual royalty. Shopkeepers would be another beast entirely and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with it, saving the last reserves of her courtesy for whatever the knight-general had planned. But the hour and silence were starting to wear on her, despite her attempts at small talk, and the shoes she wore were not meant for extended use like this. Thankfully their destination arrived before her patience (and the hem of her dress) wore out completely, and Weiss was escorted through a tactfully decorated door of a blacksmith’s shop.

The inside was comfortably warm compared to the sharp chill of the typical Atlesian weather outside, thanks in most part to the large hearth roaring with life in the back of the shop. It cast a dull light on the various weapons set on display, making them glisten from their well-polished surfaces and embedded jewels. They all seemed rather extravagant, and more for show than practical use, something that seemed out of place with Ironwood’s apparent tastesー yet he approached the shopkeep with the familiarity of a returning customer.

Weiss thought it impolite to eavesdrop on their conversation, despite it being spoken at an appropriate volume, so she took the opportunity to wander and get a better view of the items on display. She didn’t know the different classifications of swords, as there seemed to be many in style and form, but she was particularly drawn to a set with narrow blades, appearing far lighter than the practice blade given to her for use at the academy. She had no eye for this particular craft yet found herself attempting to appraise them all the same, briefly wondering if the store owner would have the gall to scold the crown princess if she just picked one up to look at it more closely.

She decided against putting the owner in such an awkward position, and turned her attention back to the pair to see if Ironwood had concluded his business and they were getting ready to leave. Yet she found the store owner gone and Ironwood was, in fact, watching her with a slight smile to his eyes. He approached when caught, pulling from his easy recline against the counter, and folded his arms in a militant stance behind his back. He was at her side in three long strides, gesturing at the blades with a nudge of his chin.

“Interested in rapiers?”

Finally, a name to the weapon.

“They seem... interesting.” The answer she gave purposefully vague in case this was another test. And once again, she wasn’t certain if she passed or failed when Ironwood took one of the rapiers into his handsー one open palm on the blade itself and the other on the handle. He offered the latter to her and Weiss took an unconscious step back.

“Rapiers are primarily a fencing sword.” With a simple shrug, Ironwood took the hilt firmly in hand and held it aloft, seemingly studying it with a critical eye. Weiss watched a gloved finger run smoothly over the flat metal. “They are best utilized as thrusting weapons because of their thinner frames, more adept in open spaces than the cramped front lines of a militant formationー though any blade in capable hands can be used in any manner of new and creative ways. It’s an elegant weapon; I’m not surprised you were drawn to it.”

“I only…liked the way it looked.” It felt like a lie, even to her own ears, and felt them redden when one of his brows skeptically rose. “Itー It’s very beautiful.”

“Though the shortsword is standard issue amongst new recruits, they’re encouraged to expand their weapon prowess and knowledge as they progress through their training.” Ironwood set the rapier back into place and picked another one up within the same display, Weiss feeling herself reddened with every new word spoken. She didn’t understand what Ironwood was playing at but felt like she was being castigated. “Lady Winter chose the saber for its sweeping motions to favor her fighting preferences. Meanwhile, your escort, Knight Katt, chose the flail. Though, considering she is a faunus and has a natural superior strength and stamina over her fellow comrades, a heavier weapon would work best in her favor. It is always about finding what best works for you; what you can accomplish.”

After appraising the new rapier, an almost-white metal with vine-like finishes, he offered the weapon up again. A cold moment of hesitation washed over Weiss, suddenly far too aware of the room, the crackling fire somewhere behind herー how empty it was and the muffled sound of people just on the other side of the thick wooden door. Anyone could walk in and see the crown princess taking up arms, no doubt ready to spread rumors that she was going to run off and play knight like her sister, or that the knight-general was working his way through corrupting all the Schnee heirs. But when would another chance like this present itself? Coal was particular to what she could and couldn’t touch, and anything with a sharp edge made him froth at the mouth if she got too close to it.

So Weiss took the chance, slowー careful . Her fingers slipped over the handle, feeling too large in her hand. The weight of it was so awkward that she nearly dropped it when Ironwood let go of the blade and had to use both hands, one on top of the other, to keep herself steady. The shortsword she used in training was more evenly weighted, while still felt heavier at the endー as if the driving force would come from her and not the sword itself.

“You’re a princess, Weiss.” Ironwood’s tone was soft and rumbled warm like a purr that she shivered despite herself, knowing the act did not go unnoticed. “A shortsword is far too common for eminence like yourself.”

Ironwood moved in her peripheral, Weiss struggling to keep utterly still despite the moderate weight in her hands causing her arms to ache. Her previous encounter with Coal’s sword to the shoulder was aching in time with her rapidly beating heart, and the heat on her skin only increased when she felt the solid presence of the knight-general at her back. He was imposing in ways that should not feel reassuring to her, yet was torn between melting into the large expanse of his chest and making a run for the door as his arms came up. Palms slid over her waist first and she tried not to squeak like a caught mouse as she felt them shift her ever so slightly, correcting her posture as they went. Up and over her arms, feeling as if her dress wasn’t there at all for all the sensations that bled through the fabric. Something deep inside her ached, but she didn’t know how to tell him when his palms finally came to settle over hers, efficiently encasing her with his body.

This was intimate. This wasn’t fleeting touches and chaste kisses to appease nosy nobility, or empty words and phrases to reassure the masses of what they thought they knew. This was them: James, a loyal knight before a duke, and Weiss, a yearning spirit before an icy shell. There was nothing here that would benefit their truce and yet they both allowed it, with Ironwood being the one to instigate it when his needs for this union were already guaranteed. Weiss felt confusion all over again, and remembered to breathe once Ironwood finally stepped awayー the lingering caress as he pulled back could’ve just been her imagination.

The rapier felt heavier than before, and Weiss immediately set it back onto its display, using the opportunity to give the knight-general her back while she composed herself. Ironwood seemed to take that as his instruction to leave, and rang up the shopkeeper to talk a bit more before Weiss rejoined them and both were escorted out with promises of discounts and gifts should they ever decide to return.

The sun was truly gone once they stepped out into the bitter night air, Weiss able to see her breath with every deep exhale. The day’s events had worn her down, and she wanted nothing more than a steaming bath and to sink into a mountain of pillows. She didn’t know when the knight-general would make another visit to the academy but thought of ways to coerce Coal into training her with a rapier. Money was the first and only thing to come to mind, distracted in her thought process that the sudden firm weight on her shoulders had her jumping away.

But the weight followed her, and it became apparent almost immediately that she had nothing to fear and just made a fool of herself for the hundredth time that day. Ironwood’s jacket had the lingering heat of him in the fabric, easily banishing the chill that was threatening to aggravate her injuries.

A hand against the small of her back had her meekly following while her attention was kept on the jacket offeredー on the way it engulfed her and covered more of her than some of her dresses did. On the memory of where the arms that once were in these sleeves had been, and on the scent she still couldn’t identify that wafted gently from the high collar. It was becoming familiar despite the mysteryー inviting when she had nowhere else to turn to.

#sets this free into the wild #ironweiss #these vows we make

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geirskogull · 4 years

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Nameday

TLDR: It’s shameless birthday themed smut with the bare minimum of a plot because i wanted to try writing something with no end goal as like, a warm up? after the holiday break in writing kinda thing

Archive Link

Rating: Explicit

Words: 2.5 k

Danica Voss grasped the hand of her fellow dragoon feverishly, a devious smile on her face that bred worry and interest in equal measures as she dragged him deeper and deeper into the labyrinth that was the Forgotten Knights inn rooms. Estinien, for his part, followed with reluctance in his step. “A Surprise” she had told him, “Just for you”. Already he was on edge.

The sudden lack of her warmth in his hands snapped him from his misgivings. Warmed, and then suddenly, cold and empty. To see her, just steps inside the door of a single room. Empty save for a bed, a couch, and a fire, the base requirements for an Inn room. A gentle look rested on her face as she beckoned him in.

“What exactly do you have planned, and why? If I may ask yet again, my lady” for the Third time in fact. He crossed his arms and the threshold of the room. She laughed, shaking her head almost exacerbated with him, and his obliviousness.

“My lady? Getting fancy now are we?” She started back, tilting her head, a cheshire grin never leaving her lips. “Well, ser Estinien, I heard from a particular very blue bird that it was someone's nameday.” He groaned, Aymeric would pay for this.

“Sadly, said bird didn’t tell me till last minute so a material gift is still in the works but-” her voice danced in the air, singsongy, teasing. “I’d figured we could have some fun together in the meantime.” She put her hands triumphantly on her hips, a hero's smile on her lips.

“And why must it be here, and not say at the bar?” He pressed, crossing his own arms with much less mirth and much more confusion.

“Well, I figured you’d want some alone time”

“But yet I’m with you.”

“By Rhalgr Estinien do I have to spell it out?”

“Yes! All I see at the moment is one very excitable woman interrupting my evening with talks of surprises in a broom closet!”

“This is far from a closet, but if you’d like to fuck me in one I’m sure theres one around!”

Before his eyes could comprehend her movement, Estinien felt the solid thunk of the door at his back and a rush of air leave him. Blinking, repeatedly, he gazed down into the mismatched eyes suddenly so much closer, whose keepers hands rested now on his chest.

He felt a low rumbling laugh echo from his chest, matching hers from moments before, as he wrapped his arms around her lower back. Dragging her closer to him, pressing her as tight as he was to the wall. Wrapping himself around her, all encompassing, leaning down to whisper into her slightly pointed ear.

“If you wished for that, Dee, you needn’t have gone through these theatrics.” She pouted. He felt his icy heart melt a fraction, as she looked away, sad. Gently, he traced a hand up her back, to her neck, then to her chin, tilting her head back towards him with the lightest of pressure. “I am you’re spear after all.”

She couldn’t help but snort and giggle, her momentary melancholy gone with but a simple joke, a smile returned to her face.

“...I just wanted to surprise you, can’t do that if I just outright tell you now?” She whispered, gentle, as the giggles passed. Kissing his cheek, lingering as she did so, as soon as the words left her lips.

“I’m sure that you very much could still surprise me even if you had.” He responded in turn, grasping at her face as she pulled away, crashing his own lips not to her cheek but to her smirking mouth. Delighted in yet another round of muffled laughter.

“Oh, I’m sure I still will.” She stepped back a moment, peeked over his shoulder at the door, and then back at him. “Because it’s your turn, Mr. Nameday.”

Estinien blinked, repeatedly. His mouth hung agape. Danica turned from him, sat atop a nearby coffee table, and chucked her boots across the room. Letting her words hang with a smile.

“My Turn?” He wasn’t sure if he was following. He trotted next to her, taking a seat on the couch, you know the surface meant for sitting, not too far behind her. She smiled wide, tilting her head back to look at him with a mock innocence.

“Oh you know, silly. Your turn to decide how we want to do this.” He could feel his face warm, and his pants tighten at the concept. Her smile grew devious, once more, ah so this had been her plan. The gift was not some rough meeting in the depths of an inn, but a change in how they normally did their rare rutting. When time and fate actually allowed the two of them to be in the same area for more than a few minutes.

“So!” She clapped her hands together, and snapping him from his idle thoughts of their previous exciting evenings. She must have moved when he was consumed by his thoughts, for now he found his fellow dragoon perched like a very comfortable cat, relaxed, in his lap. “What do you wish us to do Ser Estinien?”

What did we want them to do? Or perhaps what did he want her to do to him? Or vice versa. He raised a finger to his lips in thought, while Danica raised her own to his jaw, tracing gentle kisses down his neck. He could feel his heartbeat quicken. He had so many options, so many idle thoughts from lonely nights he could invoke.

“Knees.” He blurted out, suddenly. Surprising the fellow dragoon paying such gentle attention to his neck. He could feel her smile against his neck as she slinked down to the cold wooden floor between his legs. Tracing her nails down his chest, resting ever so slightly upon the laces of his breeches.

He would be lying if he said her display wasn’t intoxicating. He hardened further, as she played, teasingly with the strings. She smiled, eyes intent on her slow, methodical work. One hand tugging at them, the other tracing lazy circles on his hip. Too slow. Too careful. He squirmed, impatient.

She chuckled low, forgoing her gentle work in favor of a hard yank of his pants. Throwing them over her shoulder to the inn room floor, only to be quickly followed by his small clothes. Leaving him open, and obviously excited, in the cool night air. He shivered, face red, and tousled her hair as she looked up at him.

She hummed, pleased with herself, as she took him in her hand. But beyond that, she did not move, as if waiting for direction. When she received none, for he was far too enthralled by the pressure upon his lance, she smirked and gave him a few solid pumps. He threw his head back upon the couch, letting an unshackled sigh of contentment echo across the room.

Yet her hand would not be enough, no, he wanted more than contentment he wanted to hear her own echoing primordial screams of ecstasy and feel her every touch. To move and breath and be one. But that would require moving and at the moment the short term goal of just being between her lips would be enough.

He dropped his fingers from her hair, where apparently they’d been nestled to her jaw and then to her lips. Prying open her mouth with little effort, letting his thumb rest upon her tongue. Looking up at him, she tilted her head not confused so much as demanding he make his desire clear.

Even if she had an inkling of what he wanted, she wanted to be sure. She was no mind reader after all, and she wished only to make sure his nameday was actually nice for once. He smirked down at her, obviously enjoying the image before him.

“You are far too dressed for this, Dee” He spoke, his voice a pleasant rumble that warmed her to her core and then some. She began to stand, with full intent to fix that situation, but was stopped by his strong hand. “But perhaps I wish to dirty them, first.” He chuckled, pulling her closer, leading her mouth towards his waiting member.

“And plus” his voice was but a whisper, his hand a ghosting presence upon her jaw as he removed his thumb from her mouth. “I’m sure your mouth is much warmer than Ishgards air.”

Sure enough, it was. Warm and oh so welcoming. The feel of her mouth upon him, enveloping him, it took all his strength to not buck up into her mouth with each strong pull of her lips. And with his strength spent there, he could spend none to muffle his moans. His haughty grunts and exhales spurned her faster, harder, to see which limits she could reach until -

She felt a weak hand upon her shoulder, pausing her, yanking her back. Letting his hard, twitching, spear drop from her lips. His face was red, sweaty. His eyelids heavy and voice hoarse. He opened his mouth to speak, but found words lacking. Instead with great discomfort he stood, at brought her up with him. His length, still weeping with desire, screamed at him for stopping her but yet. Yet he wanted more. If this was to be as she put it “part one” of a nameday gift he wanted something more than a rather fine blowjob in a shady inner room of a tavern. .

Roughly, he grasped at her clothing, attempting to free her from its confines with little regard for if it ripped or not. He wanted more, more of her, as much as he possibly could have. For her part, she helped by moving them both backwards, stumbling towards the bed, consumed by the very same carnal fervour that had enveloped Estinien.

When finally he had managed to rip her small clothes off, and free himself from the confines of his loose shirt, the two of them had fallen back upon the bed, but yet the fire did not subside. His hands wandered, grasping and grabbing at every part of her body, squeezing her close as his lips wandered her shoulders and up her neck. She sighed into his touch, only then to whimper and moan at the sudden strong presence of his teeth.

“Mine,” she could have sworn she heard him whisper into her neck before repeating the surprising, marking gesture. “My love, Mine.” He repeated, lips moving up her neck, teeth digging as they went.

She couldn’t help but think he was right, especially with him cocooned around her so. Her heart was very much his, and the rest followed suit.

She inhaled sharply as she felt his fingers at her soaking entrance. Snapped from idle musings misplaced in the fires of their joining. His teeth still firm at her neck, her hands still firm upon his back, drawing up red lines even now.

First, a singular finger entered. Not enough, her mind cried out, Not enough. She squirmed upon his digit, desiring so much more. Impatient. But thankfully her impatience was shared. What was first one, became two, and then three with little room to prepare for another. She screamed in delight, her voice echoing through the halls, much to the probable chagrin of their neighbors.

Perhaps, if her mind was less clouded by the knowledge that she wanted to be pierced not by his fingers but by that second lance of his she’d have actually worried about volume.

Instead, all she knew was the sudden absence of even those three digits. Then, just the teasing warmth of him pressed close, rubbing against her core. She squirmed, urging him forward. Part of him, the mischievous streak, urged him to pause. To let her squirm, as was his right if he was so in charge this time. But that fragment of him was drowned out by the primal desire to take her, and hard.

And so he did, hilting himself inside of her in one smooth motion. She arched her back up, moaning loud into the night air, an echo of his own plaintive whine.

“Mine.” Yet again, echoing into the night air. For once she found the strength to answer.

“Yours”

She was unsure if the words reached him, he seemed almost feral, wild, with the pace he set. Punishing, yet intoxicating. Blinding, she could do naught but grasp at his back wildly, and feel. Slamming into her, again and again, lost to whatever mindless part of him urged him forward, consumed by his desire to hear his name upon her lips muttered and screamed with such reverence, such hunger he did not deserve.

When her fingers caught upon a knot in his hair, and tugged hard, he lost even that sense of desire. Grunting hard, picking up his pace yet still. The lewd sound of their flesh colliding the background noise to their panting. Keeping time with every single moan.

When her sense were stolen, pulled under a wave of completion so strong that she could not even scream his name out, he yet continued. When her she could see faint stars dancing around him, when she was sure she would not be walking the next day with how jellylike her legs felt, he continued. Moaning deep to her neck, letting his teeth graze the marks he had left earlier. When her fingers dug into his shoulder yet again, feeling the threat of yet another wave pulling her under, it was then that he spoke his final order.

“Inside” He managed to grunt out, breathy and slick with his own sweat. She gave a frantic, begging nod. Only then, with a violent shudder and a final deep drive, did he join her over the edge ecstasy. Moaning her name, the only word left in his language, as he emptied inside of her.

He tried, and failed, to not collapse atop her into a warm tangle of arms. Bumping heads and noses as he tried to roll off of her. She laughed, after a moment regaining her composure, and clung to him like a testy vine. He didn’t mind, wrapping his arms tight around her in turn, nuzzling his nose, tired and lazy, into her hair.

“I promise I got you an actual gift too.” she spoke, her voice heavy with sleep. He responded with a tender kiss, before leaning back upon the rough blankets of the bed. She smiled, full intent on pulling the blankets over them, and continuing her light conversation. Avoiding the tangles of sleep, but found that plan side tracked by a final gentle declaration by the former Azure Dragoon.

“My love.”

To which she found only two words, and a single sleepy action a feasible answer.

“Your love, always.”

And with that, she crawled back to his arms. Rested her head upon his chest, and allowed him to be her blanket for now.

#ffxiv #ff14 #estinien wyrmblood #estinien x wol #Danica Voss #established relationship

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silentexplorer18 · 5 years

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Recovery: A Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter Short

Summary: Coming back to Hogwarts after the war was not a simple task. While everyone may be attempting to recover, recovery isn’t coming easy to some as it is to others.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter (Drarry)

Warnings: A bit of PTSD, guilt, negative self image postwar

Read it here on AO3.

Masterlist

Returning back to Hogwarts after the war wasn’t an easy task.

For some, it was like returning to an old home. The building was damaged and many tablemates were missing, but it was, nonetheless, a place of growth, understanding, and renewal. Hogwarts was home, the real place where these kids grew up, grew into themselves. However, even though that was true for many, a multitude of students had a hard time feeling like they belonged confined within the walls of Hogwarts after such a traumatizing and maturing ordeal.

Everyone was coping in their own way.

Neville was buried in the greenhouse, tending to plants nearly constantly. It gave him a sense of peace, being able to grow and heal such vulnerable things.

Luna was often found wandering toward the thestrals, creatures that now were much more visible to the students returning to study, or wandering about the castle spreading good natured kindness.

Hermione and Ron were inseparable; though it often resulted in one doing an enjoyable task while the other one sat in quaint (or whiney) silence, they tended to enjoy being with one another.

Ginny confidently took on quidditch, pulling a routine into her life once again and pushing herself to be a person her family would be proud of, a person her brothers would be proud of.

But Harry wasn’t handling the transition so well. For once in his life, he had no purpose, no destiny to fulfill. And now he was famous, being traipsed to news agencies and meetings to receive praise for his bravery, for defeating the Dark Lord. He was a hero.

But he didn’t really believe that.

So being back here, surrounded by people, most notably the youngest years, constantly praising him and idolizing him for his bravery, despite all the other brave people that had fought alongside him, made him feel quite sick.

Although he still worked in class, he often found himself receding from the rest of the students, finding places to hide away from the world.

He wasn’t the only one.

Draco Malfoy was not well liked among those left at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Most of the Slytherins hadn’t bothered to come back, but with the trials his family was facing for their part in the war, Draco figured the grounds of Hogwarts, though rather hostile, would provide a far more comfortable environment than what the manor would most likely provide.

That being said, the grounds were still hostile.

I mean, you don’t just walk over to Voldemort’s army and expect a warm reunion from the people you’d been fighting against.

He was a coward.

That’s what each day reminded him.

So Draco often found himself curled up in the foliage near the Black Lake, eyes gazing over the hazy water. The leaves would rustle with the breeze, the gentle noise blocking out his thoughts in a way the loud chatter of the Great Hall never could. With nothing but the natural world providing him company, Draco could almost forget the feelings of self-loathing and shame that whirled through his mind like the Tasmanian Devil, wrecking every good thing in its path.

At first, he was just curling up beside the lake, out in the crisp foliage near the murky depths during the day, but as the weeks progressed, he found himself beside the lake more and more often.

Under the twinkle of starlight, the pads of his fingers would rub against the rough stone slabs he settled on, eyes tracing the scene before him. He liked it that way, settled out there with the dark and deep woods pressing against his back. Night made Draco feel better; he was by himself on that rock because the world was sleeping, not because he was, in fact, alone. For those fleeting hours of darkness, he would feel once again like he wasn’t completely and totally alone in the world, isolated from all others due to his actions.

Everyone was avoiding him.

For good reason, of course.

He was a coward, after all.

He always would be.

The dark mark, now reduced to a complex, aggravated scar across his pale flesh, would always brand him as a coward.

And, truthfully, it hurt.

It hurt to know that there would never be a place for him in this world, that he would have to settle for being worthless in the eyes of the wizarding community.

At one time, his name had equalled power. He was the heir to the Malfoy estates, afterall, but now his name only set him apart from the world.

He no longer belonged.

For even in life after the war, he would always be a Death Eater, regardless of whether he chose to be one or not.

So when Harry Potter stumbled onto his little paradise rock one night, Draco expected to taste death, a flavor he imagined to be remarkably sweeter than the vile taste of guilt that constantly bubbled at the back of his throat now, to come swiftly. That was what Potter wanted, wasn’t it? Vengeance? Draco let them into the castle. Draco allowed Dumbledore to be killed. Draco allowed so many people to be killed. He was a murderer. And Potter wanted him to pay for it. Right?

Briefly, he closed his eyes, shuddering slightly at the autumnal chill in the air. He waited, expecting a curse, probably a painful one at that, to slip from Potter’s chapped lips.

But the words never came.

Instead, the dark haired boy moved beside Draco, body resting against the hard ground as he allowed his eyes to trace over the water.

The two sat in silence, Harry examining the landscape while Draco eyed him suspiciously, attempting to keep the look of horror out of his usually hollow eyes. Numbness from the insults of his peers had been his only savior these last few weeks.

The blonde couldn’t figure out which was worse: the fact that he was sitting beside Harry Potter or the fact that Harry Potter made no means to insult or kill Draco for his past actions. The quiet was haunting.

After a few minutes of silence, Draco spoke. His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper as he attempted to choke out the words that had been clawing up his throat since Potter arrived. “Are you not going to hex me?”

For the first time that night, Harry’s eyes, as vibrant as the greenery shrouding their stooped figures from the castle, settled on Draco’s own, surprise clearly evident in his features. “No, Malfoy, I’m not.”

Draco cast him an uncertain gaze, as skittish as an abused puppy. “Then what are you doing here?” Although he’d intended for the phrase sound a tad more biting, the words were soft, unsteady against the night air.

“I saw you coming out here all the time. I wanted to see how you were handling everything. Figured maybe your way could help me.”

With a scoff, only mildly halfhearted, Draco’s eyes fell back over the lake, gaze wandering across the treeline. “I thought you hated me, Potter.”

Harry hummed, eyes following Draco’s across the lake. “The war’s over. Let’s put that behind us now.”

Silence lapsed between them as they each settled into their own minds, slowly growing more comfortable having a warm figure by their sides. As the leaves rustled and the water gently rippled from the creatures below, Draco realized that maybe things weren’t quite so bad with Harry being here, too. But why was he here?

“What could you possibly need help with?” he muttered softly. “You’re a hero.”

“Oh sod off,” the boy replied, eyes still sweeping the scene before him.

The rest of that night they spent in silence, watching the world break into amber beams of warmth as the sun rose on the horizon. Only then did they leave. Slowly, diligently, they made their way back to the castle to spend another day day in agony. While Draco was isolated for his mistakes, Harry was isolated for his accomplishments.

Yet neither knew quite how much the other one suffered.

Draco expected that night to be a singular instance in their lives where the two appeared beside one another without a vengeful rivalry flourishing. However, it was not.

Throughout the rest of that week, Harry would arrive at Draco’s spot after hours and sit with him. Sometimes he’d bring a snack or a spare cloak to keep both of them warm, other times he’d come as he was; regardless, silence permeated the air around them. The companionship was nice, comforting, in a way, and neither wanted to ruin it with idle chatter.

But that didn’t stop the thoughts that would whirl through Draco’s mind each time Harry settled beside him on the cool stones. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand why, after everything, Harry would choose to come sit beside him each night. Draco was nearly the embodiment of everything Harry hated. He couldn’t fathom why the raven haired boy would choose to acknowledge his existence, let alone remain in his company, each night.

Because Draco couldn’t see that Harry was struggling, too.

But Harry could see past Draco’s brave facade.

And Draco knew it.

So when Draco sat at the edge of the water that evening, wishing ardently for the inky blackness of night to swallow him whole, he didn’t bother to hide his ragged breaths or the tears trickling down his angled cheeks when Potter approached.

Because Harry already knew.

His father has been sent to Azkaban, mother leaving for France in an attempt to avoid shame from those left in the wizarding community. Eventually she would come back, she assured, but in the meantime, he was on his own. Indefinitely.

And then in potions one of the students was harassing Draco, who now sat at the very back corner of the room. He would perform his work diligently, but would seldom speak, unlike the intelligent, quick witted Draco he’d been before the war. Usually, he worked alone, avoiding all others like the plague, and, typically, that worked. However, when the potion got a tad messy, requiring all the students to push up the sleeves of their robes, Draco had refused, and, softly, politely, asked the sweet Hufflepuff that sat a table over from him if she would be kind enough to help with the messy part. Of course, she was kind enough, despite all that Draco had done that could’ve very easily allowed her to refuse his request.

Yet not everyone was quite so kind.

As she stepped forward to help, some boys in the row in front of him began to make an ordeal of it. Some of them taunted him, mocked him for his mark or insulted the sweet girl for opting to help Draco, others called forth the professor, who swept before him with a dark glare, warning him he either must do his own work or forfeit the assignment.

For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy swept his bag up off the floor and marched out of class with the full intention of failing the assignment.

Because anything was better than having to stare his scar in the face.

Anything was better than acknowledging who he was, who he had been during the war.

Harry was surprised that night to see the blonde sat upon the ground in khaki pants, an emerald sweater pulled delicately over hands, but he wasn’t surprised to see the tears washing down Draco’s face. He knew the news. He saw the way people treated Draco in the halls. He saw Draco in a way the boy would probably never fully understand.

The last thing Draco expected to happen that night was for Harry to hunker beside him like he usually did, draping a large, warm cloak over Draco’s legs and delicately placing a chocolate bar in the Slytherin’s lap. Harry leaned toward him a little, their shoulders brushing and sharing warmth as Harry let Draco cry every tear he could possibly shed.

When his breathing finally returned to normal, Draco finally croaked out the first of many thoughts that had been bubbling in his mind from the moment Harry Potter first joined him in his secret space. “What could you possibly need help learning from me?”

His tired eyes fell upon Draco’s watery ones, and his face softened at the image before him. A few moments of silence lapsed between the pair as the dark haired boy gazed upon his companion. He stayed quiet, watching Draco’s pale face contort in frustration and confusion while Harry just stared at him with those solemn eyes.

When he didn’t respond, Draco continued, a bitter, pained tone straining his voice as he wiped the tears from his face with his sweater sleeve. “I mean, you’re the bloody sodding hero after all. Everything’s gone right for you. What could you possibly need from a person like-” his voice cracked, “a person like me?”

With a sigh, Harry scanned his face once more before he spoke. “Draco, why do you come out here? Sit out here day and night?”

The boy paused, clearly not anticipating having a question thrown back in his face, let alone his once arch nemesis using his first name so casually after years of rivalry. “You know why,” he grumbled, shooting Potter a half hearted glare, a feeling of vulnerability bubbling up his throat.

“Tell me anyway.”

“I’m alone,” Draco muttered, gaze once again drifting out over the landscape he’d spent countless hours studying. “I was a Death Eater. I stood for everything that was wrong and now everyone hates me for it. I’ve lost everything I had in life, and it’s not that easy to deal with.” He sniffled again, eyes darting back to Harry’s face cautiously.

“And I did something that sets me apart from everyone else,” Harry murmured back, eyes trained on Draco’s thin features as he continued. “I’m alone-” Draco scoffed, earning a stern glance from his companion. “I’m set apart from everyone else in this school because I did something different. Everyone is pressuring me to be some ‘golden boy’ that I’m certainly not. I just did something different, and now everyone wants something from me.”

“But you’re a hero. I’m a coward. We’re nothing alike.” It came out as more of a whispered statement than something emotional, but Harry could still hear the pain hidden behind Draco’s tone as he uttered the word ‘coward.’ He hadn’t forgiven himself; something told Harry that Draco probably never would.

His bangs fanned out across the top edge of his glasses as he shook his head at the broken blonde before him. “I’m as much a hero and as much a coward as you are.”

“How do you figure?” the boy replied with an indignant glance.

With a sigh, Harry turned toward him once again. “My destiny was to die. I had to die so everyone else could live. Had it been my destiny to kill others so that everyone could live, I don’t think you and I would be sitting here today with the war over.” Draco’s glance was confused, quizzical as he eyed the boy who for so long he’d considered a hero of the wizarding world. “You went against what you wanted, hurt people, to protect those you love most. While you may see that as cowardly, that you went along with Voldemort’s plan, became a Death Eater, I don’t. You were doing it to protect your mother. You went against everything you wanted to do just to keep her safe. I think that’s pretty brave of you, myself. And me? I died instead of sacrificing others, killed myself so that my friends could live. But if my fate had been to kill them? Kill anyone other than myself? Defy my beliefs? I don’t know that I could have been brave enough to go through with it.”

Draco’s eyes were glassy and wide, gaping at Harry as if he’d just discovered an entirely new person. “You think I’m brave?” he whispered, tears already dripping down his pale cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Harry whispered back, pulling the cloak a little higher up on their figures.

The bugs were chirping through the forest, leaves delicately crinkling behind them as the light breeze fluttered through their thin clothes. Slowly, Draco rose to his feet, offering a chilly hand to Harry. “Let’s go back. We can find something warm to eat in the kitchen.”

Gathering the cloak, Harry took Draco’s hand in his own. Together they walked back to the castle, cold hands clasped together loosely. It was an odd sensation, they both pondered, but one they could certainly get used to.

It would be nice to be a little less alone.

After all, everyone was coping in their own way.

A/N: I thought I’d try something a little different, so let me know what you all think. I’ve been reading a bit of Drarry recently and I thought I’d take a whack at it. Not really sure how pleased I am with it; there are parts I love and parts I’m not quite sure of, so shoot me a message/ask/comment and let me know what you think! I hope you all are having a great day!

#draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry #draco malfoy x harry potter #harry potter x draco malfoy #fanfic

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crackspinewornpages · 4 years

Text

The Tempest- William Shakespeare

A1S1

There is a storm at sea, the shipmaster tells the boatswain to order the mariners to move or they’ll run aground. Alonso asks them where the shipmaster is they keep telling him to stay below, Gonzalo tells them to be patient, they tell him to leave them alone and go below. (storms at sea are scary as shit if the professional sailors are telling you to get below get the fuck below) Gonzalo tell them to remember who they have onboard, they’re not having it “None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor: if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more:”p.1 Tell him again to get to his cabin and out of their way, Gonzalo says he looks like a drowning man, “If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miresable.”p.1

The boatswain call orders and ask if Sebastian, Gonzalo and Antonio want to drown when they come back up. Sebastian curses at him and the Boatswain tells him to work then, (I like these boatswain they don’t take shit) Antonio then insults him saying they’re not afraid as he is of drowning. (you say that now) Gonzalo warrants him for drowning but the ship is leaky and the boatswain give more orders. The mariners show up soaking wet lamenting that it’s hopeless before leaving. Gonzalo wants to help them, Sebastian and Antonio complain and Gonzalo says he’ll be hanged yet in spite of the water. The sailors call farewell to each other, Antonio wants to sink with the king and Gonzalo says, “Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground:”p.2

A1S2

On an island Miranda asks her father to stop the storm, “If by your art, my dearest father, you have put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.”p.2 She watched a ship sink and suffers thinking everyone had drowned. Prospero tells her there’s nothing to worry about, he’s taken care of her, but she is ignorant of the art and what he is. (that’s because you never taught her) He lays down his mantle for her to sit on as he tells her (and also the audience) his backstory. He’s already made sure no one died in the wreck, Miranda interrupts that he’s tried before to tell the story but stopped since it wasn’t the time. Prospero asks if she remembers before they were on the island when she was three. He doubts but she remembers some women that took care of her.

He says it’s been twelve years since he’s been Duke of Milan and she was practically a princess. Miranda asks what happened to change that, by blessed and foul play. “By foul play, as thou say’st, were we hear’d thence: but blessed help hither.”p.3 His brother Antonio, he loved him and put him in charge of his state and governmental duties while he studied his magic. Antonio then betrayed him, turning the state against him. “to credit his own lie,-he did believe he was indeed the duke: out o’ the substitution, and executing th’out word face of royalty, with all prerogative:-hence his ambition growing,”p.3 (well you ignored your duties and shoved them off on him of course he would feel like it was him that deserved the title) He played the role for Prospero, all he cared for was his library, but Antonio swayed the king of Naples to Miranda’s shock. “I should sin to think but nobly of my grandmother: good wombs have borne bad sons.”p.3 (oh sweety)

Prospero continues that the king exiled them both in the night since they couldn’t execute them, they were sent out in a rickety boat in the middle of the sea. (so still executed and why Miranda too she’s three) Miranda kept his spirits up as by divine intervention they came to this island. Gonzalo felt sorry for them and sent water and food, clothes and his favorite books and Miranda wishes she could meet him. Prospero finishes that on the island he educated her, Miranda is thankful but still, what’s his reason for the storm. Bountiful Fortune brought his enemies to shore but no more questions and orders her to sleep. (wouldn’t it be great to just sleep on common)

Prospero calls up Ariel who comes to answer his commands, she played out the tempest as he wanted with waves and fire. All but the mariners plunged into the foam and Prince Ferdinand was the first to jump. None of them were harmed and she scattered them around the island and Ferdinand is alone. The ship is in harbor and the fleet is bound for Naples after seeing the ship supposedly wreck. (and not bother to look for survivors) Prospero says she performed well but there’s more work to be done, Ariel complains, “Let me remember thee what thou hast promis’d which is not yet preform’d me.”p.5 her freedom. She’s served without complaint for a year, he asks if she’s forgotten that he already freed her from Sycorax, no.

Sycorax from Argier, banished since they couldn’t kill her with her child and was brought here. Ariel was her servant, too delicate to act on her abhorred commands so was imprisoned in a pine tree for a dozen years even after Sycorax died. She was left alone with only her human shaped son Caliban, who Prospero now has in his service. He heard her torment and freed her, (you already freed her from the tree what else bounds her) she’s thankful and will do as he wishes. (this is on the verge of an abusive relationship ‘I got you out of your bad situation after you refused to serve someone now serve me or I won’t free you’) After two more days he’ll release her, she asks what to do, he has her be like a sea nymph and be invisible to all but him. She leaves and he wakes up Miranda to see Caliban and he calls him to do orders.

Caliban comes in insulting them and Prospero promises painful cramps that night for it. Caliban says this is his island and it was his mother’s and they took it from when they first came. They treated him well and he loved them and he showed them around, his mistake (really makes you feel sympathy for him). Prospero calls him a lying slave who tried to rape Miranda (sympathy gone) and calls him abhorred. He took pity to him and taught him, “which any print of goodness will not take, being capable of ill!”p.6 So he was deservedly confined to the rock and orders him to find firewood quickly or he’ll give him cramps.

Ariel comes back singing with Ferdinand following, wondering where the music is coming from. Prospero asks Miranda what she sees, she calls it a spirit, he corrects her. “A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows and strays about to find ‘em.” “I might call him a thing divine; for nothing natural I ever saw so noble.”p.7 Ferdinand sees Miranda, calls her a goddess and asks if she could show him how to live here and if she is a maid. (like that’s the most important thing right now) She is a maid and he’s happy to hear his own language and wishes he were in Naples.

Prospero says he is the Duke of Milan and to himself that they could control him and he’ll free Ariel for this. Miranda wonders why her father speaks like this, “This is the third man that e’er I saw; the first that e’re I sighe’d for: pity move my father to be inclin’d my way!”p.7 Ferdinand says he’ll make her the Queen of Naples and Prospero acts upset but is happy at the development. He acts like he thinks Ferdinand is a spy but Ferdinand and Miranda protest this, Prospero calls him a traitor and tells Miranda not to talk to him and he’ll be a prisoner. Miranda pleads for him Prospero orders him to put his sword up and Miranda begs. Prospero warns he’ll scold her for advocating for Ferdinand when she ‘sonly seen two men, she says she doesn’t want to see any others. (I know it’s part of the plan but there is point since this is the only man she’s seen that she isn’t related to or tried to assault her) Ferdinand says he feels his father’s loss, “to whom I am subdued, are but light to me, might I but through my prison once a day behold this maid:”p.8 (Shakespeare and his insta love) Prospero is happy his plan worked but asks what use he is, Miranda tells him her father is better natured, Prospero says he’ll be free but to do as he commands.

A2S1

On another part of the island everyone else is fine and Gonzalo tell them to cheer up, “So have we all, of joy; for our escape is much beyond our loss.”p.8 Their woe is common in sailor widows but this is a miracle they survived, Antonio, Sebastian and Alonzo aren’t impressed. (if I went through that I wouldn’t either) They look around the island and notice their clothes are untouched from the sea, fresh like when they put them on in Africa for the wedding. Sebastian calls it a sweet marriage and hopes they’ll return and they talk of the widow Dido. Alonzo wishes he didn’t marry his daughter there since they wouldn’t be her now and Ferdinand wouldn’t be lost and he won’t see them or Naples again.

Francisco tells him Ferdinand may be alive he saw him swimming in the sea to shore, Alonzo doesn’t think so. Sebastian says he may thank himself for this loss, not blessing Europe with his daughter rather than losing her to an African, banishing her from his eye. All of them including her between loathness and obedience, lost Ferdinand now Milan has more widows it’s all his fault. (not helping Antonio) Gonzalo chides him for speaking like that, rubbing salt in the wound when he should make him feel better instead of bringing down their moods. “It’s foul weather in us all, good sir, when you are cloudy.”p.9

Gonzalo wishes for a planation by contraries. “No occupation; all men idle, all; and women too, but innocent and pure; no sovereignty-“p.10 Sebastian and Antonio cut him off, Gonzalo says all things with common nature should produce without endeavor but nature should bring abundance to feed people. (you know farming is a ting) Sebastian and Antonio mock him, Alonzo wants to join in, Antonio says they’re laughing at Gonzalo, who says they laugh at nothing. This is when Ariel arrives (thank god) invisible with music and all but Alonzo Sebastian and Antonio sleep, as he told Alonzo he’ll guard he does so and Ariel leaves.

Sebastian remarks on the strange drowsiness, Antonio blames the climate but they’re not tired. Antonio claims to see a crown on his head, Sebastian says that’s sleep talk but they’re wide awake and they talk. Antonio says the lord is weak remembrance, “for he’s a spirit of persuasion, only professes to persuade,-the king, his son’s alive, ‘tis as impossible that he’s undrown’d as he that sleeps here swims.”p.11 Sebastian doesn’t have hope and Antonio asks who’s the next heir, Claribel Queen of Tunis. Antonio says there’s space, how can Claribel measure back to Naples Sebastian could rule. (killing the king to take the throne doesn’t usually end well)

Sebastian believes he follows and remembers how Antonio supplanted Prospero. Antonio says it’s true, now look at him, his conscience doesn’t bother him. Here lies Sebastian’s brother, “no better than the earth he lies upon, if he were that which now he’s like, that’s dead; whom I, with this obedient steel,-three inches of it,-can lay to bed for ever;”p.11 They plan to frame Gonzalo and talk as Ariel reenters and sing-warns Alonzo awake and he sees the two armed. Sebastian lies that they heard a bellowing, didn’t he hear, he heard nothing, (my god you’re dumb to believe this) Gonzalo heard a humming and should search. Alonzo wants to look for his son and they leave, Ariel says that Prospero shall know what she did and the king is looking for Ferdinand.

A2S2

Caliban is walking, carrying a bundle of wood, wishing Prospero would get sick then Trinculo shows up. Trinculo is lamenting there’s nothing to make shelter since another storm is coming when he sees Caliban. “What have we here? A man or a fish? Dead or alive?”p.12 Then he goes on saying he smells like old fish before saying he’s an islander that suffered a thunderbolt. (we get it he’s ugly) As the storm is coming he decides to wait under a gaberdine until it passes, that’s when Stephano shows up singing and drinking ad Caliban tells him to sop tormenting him.

Stephano asks what’s the matter thinking it’s a trick and Caliban thinks he’s a spirit tormenting him. Stephano wonders how this monster knows his language but then decides he could take him to Naples as a present for royalty. (look up human zoos) Caliban keeps saying not to torment him he’ll bring the wood faster and Stephano decides to give him wine to stop his fit. Trinculo hears Stephano and scares him when he comes out but convinces him he’s no devil but is his friend. Stephano asks him about Caliban and Trinculo tells him he thought he was struck by a thunderbolt and he hid out of the storm and Stephano warns him not to shake him because his stomach is upset.

Caliban realizes they’re not spirits, “That’s a brave god and bears celestial liquor. I will kneel to him.”p.13 Stetphano asks Trinculo how he escaped, he himself was saved by a sack and his bottle, Caliban swears on said bottle to be his servant. Trinculo says he swam to shore like a duck Stephano says he’s more like a goose and gives Trinculo a drink and he has more his by the seaside. Caliban asks where he came from, he’s the man in the moon and Trinculo calls him a weak monster. (they keep calling him a moon calf I don’t get it) Caliban will show them around and calls Stephano a god and he’ll be his subject and Trinculo finds it all funny. (well this is the comedy part) “A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! I’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, thou wonderous man.” “A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard!”p.13 Caliban goes on about the things he’ll do for him and Stephano has him lead the way believing everyone else is drowned and Caliban starts singing about his new master and freedom.

A3S1

Ferdinand is carrying a log saying some sports are painful and nobly undergone to rich ends, his task is heavy but Miranda gives him pleasure, he has to move a thousand logs and she cries seeing him. Miranda wants him not to work so hard and rest, her father will be busy for three hours, she’ll carry the logs. Ferdinand tells her he’d rather break his back than her dishonor herself, Miranda says it will be easy for her as she wants to do it and he doesn’t, he looks weary. “No, noble maiden; ‘tis fresh morning with me when you are by at night.”p.14 (dude she already likes you) He asks her name, she gives it against what her father said.

Ferdinand calls her the top of admiration, he’s liked several women but never any without defect or a full soul. “but you, O you! So perfect and so peerless, are created of every creature’s best.”p.14 (you just met her lighten up on the praise a bit) Miranda’s never seen another woman besides herself, she call men like him a good friend and her father, but wouldn’t wish any companion but him. Ferdinand says he’s a prince and a king wouldn’t endure this and has her speak he’ll be at her service for her sake. She asks if he loves her, “I beyond all limit of what else; the world, do love, prize, honour you.”p.14 (he fell hard and fast) Miranda cries because she’s happy and unworthy, she’ll be his wife and if not, die his maid or servant. Ferdinand says he’ll be her husband, “Ay ‘with a heart as willing as bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand.” “And mine, with my heart int and not farewell till half an hour hence.”p.15 They leave and Prospero is glad his plan is working but there’s still much to perform. (his machinations lay undetected for years for he is a master of deception)

A3S2

On another part of the island with Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo are drinking and Trinculo says that including them there’s five on the island who are the other two. Caliban say he won’t serve him as he is not valiant. Trinculo asks if he lies being half fish and monster, Caliban asks Stephano if he will let Trinculo mock him. Stephano says he’s his subject and won’t suffer indignity to Caliban’s thanks. Ariel comes invisible as Caliban is telling them he’s in servitude to a tyrant that cheated him of the island, he’s not lying. “I say, by sorcery he got this isle; from me he got it: if thy greatness will, revenge it on him,”p.15 he’ll be lord and he’ll serve him. He’ll have him go to sleep so Stephano can put a nail in his head, Ariel tells them they can’t startling Caliban who beseeches Stephano to beat up Trinculo for interrupting. (I guess all this was funny back then)

Stephano tells him to stop and Trinculo says he did nothing and Ariel says he lied angering Stephano who hits Trinculo. Trinculo says it’s not him, blaming the bottle causing Caliban to laugh. Stephano tells hm to continue his tale, it’s Prospero’s habit to sleep in the afternoon that’s when you can brain him or knife him, (poison him drown him bash him on the head) burn his books and damn his daughter. She’ll be his bed and bore his brood (who whoa whoa this just stopped being funny) and Stephano likes this plan and asks Trinculo if he is. In a half hour they’ll carry it out and they sing but stop when Ariel plays a tune. Stephano calls the devil to show itself Trinculo begs forgiveness and Stephano mercy, Caliban says not to be afraid, “the isle is full of noises, sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.”p.16 Sometimes music, sometimes voices and Stephano would like it when he is king and they follow after it.

A3S3

On another part of the island is everyone else, Gonzalo says he can’t go any farther. Alonzo doesn’t blame him he’s tired too and lost hope he’ll find Ferdinand alive and Antonio and Sebastian talk about their next advantage. There’s music and Prospero, invisible, watches as a banquet appears and shapes invite the king to everyone’s amazement. Gonzalo says if he reported this in Naples no one would believe him, the islanders have a monstrous shape but are mannered, more kind than most humans you’d find. (well given your current company I can understand) Prospero aside, “Honest lad, thou hast said well; for some of you there present are worse than devils.”p.17 (see he agrees with me) The shapes vanish but leave the feast behind and Antonio won’t taste it and Gonzalo assures there’s nothing to fear. (dude that’s fairy food there’s probably broken church glass in it)

Ariel arrives looking like a harpy in thunder and lightning and the banquet vanishes. He calls them men of sin, the sea belched them up on an uninhabited island, “you ‘mongst men being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;”p.17 (I’ve noticed Shakespeare been using a lot of apostrophes in this play I don’t know why) They draw their swords she calls them fools she and her fellows are ministers of fate, they might as well harm wind and water, she is invulnerable. “But remember,-for that’s my business to you,-that you three from Milan did supplant good Prospero; expos’d into the sea, which hath requit it, him and his innocent child.”p.17 A foul deed the powers didn’t forget, she enchanted everything against their peace and gave Ferdinand worse, only death, this isle is nothing but sorrow to them. She disappears and the scene comes back and Prospero is happy with the performance and he’ll go back to Ferdinand and Miranda. Alonzo is freaking out (pretty reasonable reaction) and Sebastian declares he’ll fight it and Antonio and Gonzalo say they’re desperate from their guilt.

A4S1

Prospero says he’s punished and to make amends to Ferdinand he’s given his daughter, but she’ll outstrip his praise, he believes it. Prospero says she’s his gift but if he takes her virginity before the ceremony he is in for shit. Ferdinand says he won’t succumb to lust because he hopes for a fair and long life. (can I just see a modern day version of this where Prospero’s magic staff can turn into a loaded shot gun like it’s played straight but everyone is a country redneck) Ariel then arrives, she performed well and he needs her to do it again, bring them to this place and show them the couple. Basically says he’s setting up a blind date with a twink (actual word used) and she asks if he loves her dearly. (is there some Stockholm thing going on) Iris, Ceres and Juno come to perform a masque to celebrate the betrothal and bless the couple. Juno and Ceres sing and Ferdinand is in awe of the spirits, “Let me live her ever: so rare a wonder’d father and a wise, make this place paradise.”p.19

Prospero tells him to be quiet or their spell won’t work and Iris calls the nymphs to help celebrate. The spirits celebrate by dancing and vanish when Prospero remembers Caliban’s conspiracy to kill him. (yeah there’s still a conflict) Ferdinand and Miranda note he’s acting weird, Prospero tells Ferdinand to be cheerful the spirits he called just disappeared but he’s troubled and tells them to retire and he’ll go for a walk to calm down. When they leave he calls Ariel they have to prepare for Caliban and she tells him they are drunk and she charmed them with music into a pool. “A devil, a born devil, one whose nature nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, humanely taken, are all lost, quite lost;”p.20 (I can see how people can see Caliban as a racist caricature) and Prospero swears to plague them all.

Ariel comes back with fancy clothes and hangs them on a line and she and Prospero are invisible as Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo arrive soaking wet. Caliban warns them to walk softly and Stephano says the so called harmless fairy has only played a prank on them and he and Trinculo claim to smell horse piss and are getting impatient. Caliban tells them to be patient and talk quietly and Trinculo complains of losing his bottle in the pool. Caliban tells them to be quiet as they are here to enter the cell and do the deed but Trinculo becomes distracted by the fancy outfits. Caliban gets irritated that they’re going through the clothes and losing time and They start to pile the outfits in his arms. (I guess people had low standards of comedy back then because this is just annoying back to the plot please) Sprits enter in the shapes of hunting hounds and drive them off with Prospero cheers them on. “Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour lie at my mercy all mine enemies: shortly shall all my labours end, and thou shalt have the air at freedom.”p.21

A5S1

Prospero and Ariel enter his cell, his plans are coming to a head and Ariel tells him he said at the sixth hour their work would end. He did say that and asks about the king and the others, just as he left them in the line-grave until he releases them. They’re dismayed and Gonzalo is crying and if he saw them his feelings would change, she’d think so if she were human, he would too. “Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, yet with my nobler reason ‘gainst my fury do I take part: the rarer action is in virtue than in vengene: they being patient, the sole drift of my purpose doth extended not a frown further.”p.22 (is this like a thrown in lesson at the end of the episode) He has her release them then soliloquys that he’ll give up his magic, “I’ll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I’ll drown my book.”p.22 (As this is apparently the last play Shakespeare wrote people see it as a goodbye to is playwriting besides that I can see Prospero decide to give it up as studying magic and putting off his duties was what got him in this situation in the first place)

Ariel reenters with Antonio and the others standing charmed in the circle Prospero made and speaks to them. He calls Gonzalo honorable and loyal who saved him then calls out the king and his brother, “-most cruelty didst thou, Alonzo, use me and my daughter: thy brother was a furtherer in the act;”p.22 Says he and Sebastian planned to kill the king and he forgives them and tells Ariel to get his hat and rapier and she’ll be free. (what binds her she’s already out of the tree) She sings as she helps Prospero and he says he’ll miss her and for her to wake the sleeping ship crew and bring them there.

Gonzalo says trouble and amazement are on the island and asks for some heavy power to get them out, then Prospero introduces himself and welcomes them. Alonzo asks where he’s been or if he’s there to abuse him and begs forgiveness and how is he living here. Prospero welcomes them as his friends except for Antonio and Sebastian, “I here could pluck his highness’ frown upon you, and justify you traitors: at this time I will tell no tales.”p.23 (these guys orchestrated the attempted murder of you your daughter and the king and you won’t say a thing while they’re all there there’s forgiveness and there’s stupidity) The devil isn’t speaking for him, he forgives his brother’s faults but requires his dukedom restored. Alonzo begs for how he survived and met them, they shipwrecked and lost his son Ferdinand. Prospero says he also lost his daughter and the king is remorseful, “A daughter? O heavens! That they were living both in Naples, the king and queen there!”p.23 (funny you should mention that)

He wishes he were in the sea where his son is and asks when he lost her, in the Tempest. (I see this as him emotional torturing him a bit) Prospero knows they’ve been through much but he is real and he landed on this shore and is lord of it and welcomes them to his court and to look around. The cell opens to reveal Miranda and Ferdinand paying chess and she accuses him of letting her win. Alonzo thinks it’s a vision Sebastian calls it a miracle and Ferdinand is relieved the seas are merciful. Alonzo is overjoyed and asks how he came here and Miranda is amazed at all the people. “How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, that has such people in’t!”p.23 (oh honey you’re going to have such a huge culture shock) Alonzo asks who she is, the goddess that brought them here, Ferdinand says she is as mortal and his.

She is the daughter of the Duke of Milan who he heard is renown but never met before who gave him a new life and became his second father. Alonzo asks for his forgiveness, Prospero tells him to stop (please) it’s all in the past. Gonzalo asks the gods to drop a blessed crown on the couple he is beyond joy that in the journey to marry Claribel Ferdinand found a wife while he was lost. Alonzo takes their hands, “Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart that doth not wish you joy!”p.24 Ariel comes back with the ship crew and the boatswain are happy to find them alive and good news the ship was repaired and ready to set to sea. As they explain how they were put to sleep Prospero sets Ariel free. Alonzo says they have to conduct an oracle to shed light on this strange place, Prospero tells him not to bother and he’ll resolve him and aside to Ariel tells her to set Caliban and the other two free.

She returns with them wearing stolen clothes and Caliban is afraid Prospero will chastise him. Prospero says that Caliban’s mother was a witch that could control the moon (is that why he’s called moon calf) and the three have robbed him and plotted to kill him. “two of these fellows you must know and own; this thing of darkness is I acknowledge mine.”p.25 Alonzo recognizes his drunken butler (a butler’s original purpose was to serve wine I guess showing them as alcoholics was funny back then even Tolkien did it) and Trinculo and Caliban is a strange one. Prospero tells Caliban to take them to his cell and he has his pardon. “Ay, that I will; and I’ll be wise hereafter, and seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass was I, to take this drunkard for a god. And worship this dull fool!”p.25 Alonzo tells them to return the clothes and Prospero invites them in for the night and he’ll tell them the story of his life and wishes Ariel well.

Epilogue

Prospero says he gave up charms now has his own faint strength to either stay here or be sent to Naples but let him not since he pardoned the deceiver and got his dukedom back. He asks the audience to now free him from the island, “unless I be reliev’d by prayer, which pierces so that it assaults mercy itself and fees all faults. As you from cries would pardon’d be, let your indulgence set me free.”p.25 (now clap dammit)

#the tempest #william shakespeare #books #book summaries #drama #tragicomedy #romantic comedy #play

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qvill-s · 5 years

Note

oo o I recently got discharged from hospital & seeing your prompts open is the icing on the cake!! may I request the "you'll always be safe with me" from the soft sentence starters with dorothea? thank you so much for everything you do 💖💝💞

NOTES: i’m so sorry i got this in so late, but i hope you’re doing better nonnie !!!

there’s some nightmares about typical wartime stuff going on in this one, but i tried not to make it too descriptive. nevertheless, please tread carefully bbs

dorothea + “you’ll always be safe with me” right under the cut !!!

You wake with a jolt, jerking upwards off of the bed, covered in sweat, chest heaving, fists clenched into the sheets. The dredges of your nightmare linger around the edges of your vision, the dead and those you’ve killed flitting in and out in pale, faceless shapes with hands that extend ever further, reaching, reaching reaching—

Vaguely, you register the feeling of a hand around the crook of your elbow and you flinch in alarm. Immediately, the hand retracts, slinking backwards, and you crane a cautious eye over your shoulder to find its source. When you find only Dorothea pushing herself off of the bed, the worried green of her eyes trained on you all the while, you let out the shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding.

She rises slowly, moving to sit next to you, and her voice is nothing more than a whisper when she asks, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you bite out against your breathlessness. “I’m fine.”

There’s a moment of silence—her touch hovers over your shoulder—before you lift up your corner of the blankets, saying, “I’m going to go get a drink.

“Let me get it for you,” she says, insists, her hand finding itself back into the crook of your elbow. You find the strength to stop yourself from flinching, but she seems to feel your hesitation just as keenly, because she accompanies her next word with a squeeze to your elbow. “Please.”

“Okay,” you say, but you wish for anything but, and the word leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.

She flashes you a small smile in response, earnest, eager, drained off all the drowsiness she may have housed, as she gets out of bed. When she leaves the room, peeking back in long enough to tell you, “I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere, okay?” it feels as though the universe had gotten the tiniest bit darker. The shadows, you note, grow long without her by your side.

In the furthest corner of the room, on the side hidden from the light of the moon, you think you see something move. You blink and blink and blink, and you feel as though it shifts its position every time you do so, inching ever closer to where you sit huddled among the sheets of your bed. Eventually, you snap your eyes closed and bury your face in your hands—if you can’t see it it doesn’t exist if you can’t see it it doesn’t exist—counting the seconds until Dorothea returns.

It’s a little pathetic, honestly, that you should still keep seeing the monsters of the war from five years ago, that you should be haunted by the faces of the friends you’ve killed when everyone around you has so clearly moved on and made something better of their lives.

You are the only one stuck in the past, in that same battlefield, in that same moment, over and over and over again. You are the only one stuck on your blade to his neck, the defiant look in his eye before—

( ”Surrender,” you tell him, plead, because you remember him as one of your dearest friends during your Academy days. You remember sneaking out of the dormitories to haunt the empty halls of Garreg Mach in the dead of night, of squeezing into alcoves and hallway closets to avoid the guards. You remember how he encouraged you to talk to the girl who was now the love of your life, who mesmerized you with the curl of her dark hair as it laid upon her shoulder and the bright green of her eyes that belied a sharpness she kept well hidden, and who mesmerizes you still.

Your blade presses closer to his neck in a weak attempt to coax him to speak. His face twists into a grimace when a sliver of skin opens up and beads red, adorning his neck in a set of blood-red pearls that gleam in the haze of dusk and the battlefield.

His brown eyes narrow into a glare as he says, “Never.” )

Dorothea announces her presence with a soft call of your name. When you lift your head from your hands, you find her standing by your side, cradling your cup in the palm of her hands. She hands it over to you—chamomile, you realize, when you inhale its earthy, floral aroma and feel some of the tension leave your shoulders—with a kiss to the skin above your brow and a gentle hand smoothing itself across your shoulder.

As she settles herself beside you, an idle hand tracing nonsensical patterns on the knees hidden under the thick fabric of the blankets, you realize you don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve her kindness, the gentleness of her touch, the simple, wordless way she tells you to take as long as you need.

“I’m here if you need me,” she says, a careful, open-ended statement that tells you you’re free to speak of what had frightened you if you so wished. And you wish,

( ”There’s still time,” you say, desperate to find another way, to spare him, to fight with him at your side once more. Your voice softens, “I don’t want to kill my best friend.” )

you wish,

( ”Our friendship died when you chose to be on the wrong side,” he snarls, a primal sound broken up by his hacking coughs as he fights against the arrow in his thigh and the gash in his stomach. He meets your eyes in a blaze, the brown of his eyes melting into a fiery bronze as he tells you, “I will never join your cause.” )

but there’s a fist closed tightly around your neck, a lump in your throat that makes it hard to speak.

At your lack of response, she affixes you with a gaze that’s both piercing and gentle and coaxing all at once. In a tone so soft and so gentle that you are wholly unworthy of receiving, she asks you, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Both contemplatively and definitively, you decide that she is much too good to be burdened with your childish troubles and regrets. “I’m fine.”

She holds your gaze. After a beat of silence, she closes her eyes, head falling towards her chest as she lets out a sigh that sounds much heavier than her body can hold. The hand on your knee travels up your body, a phantom touch tracing a trail across your skin as it hovers over to the free hand on your lap, followed by eyes that do not—will not?—meet your own. “I wish you’d rely on me more.”

Her quiet confession hangs heavy in the air, and the lump in your throat grows larger, the hand around your neck tighter. You say the only thing you can think of saying, choking out a pathetic little “I’m sorry” as you stare at the hand that covers yours.

Her fingers are delicate, pale and long, and they fit perfectly in the spaces between your own. You turn your hand over and press your palm to hers, weaving your fingers through her own until her hand is caught tightly in your grip.

How do you tell her that she deserves better?

How do you tell her that she deserves someone stronger, someone resolute and unwavering in their actions?

How do you tell her that she deserves someone who doesn’t grapple with the past, with the things you’ve done and the things you didn’t do, the actions and the inactions of the war that killed so many?

How do you tell her these things and still convince her to stay?

Your cup is now empty, drunken down to the last drops, to the bitterness of the tea leaves that managed to soak through, and you wait with bated breath for a sign, for the words of your heart that you can’t seem to place.

“I still think about it, you know,” she tells you, a quiet murmur breaking through your thoughts like a ripple on calm waters. “The war. I’ve… I’ve done some things I’m not proud of. I think we all have. But back then, it was so easy to forget that those people had a family, that they had someone waiting for them back home. Now that the war’s over…” She sighs. “It’s a little harder to put aside.”

“Even after all these years?” You inquire softly, surprised to hear that Dorothea—brave, self-assured Dorothea—felt the same way.

She nods, a solemn bob of her head, as she says, “Even after all these years.”

( You think, briefly, of sparing his life, of pretending to kill him and move on to a more faceless enemy. You look over your shoulder to see if anyone is watching, and catch the eye of your professor. There’s a glint of understanding in your professor’s eye, and you watch their mouth form a grim line as they, in response, solemnly, damnably, shakes their head.

With a heavy heart and your breath locked in your lungs, you swing of your blade. You close your eyes when you hear the sound of flesh ripping and choked, watery gurgles, pretending that it is a stranger. You pretend that you’ve never had meals or took tea with him. You pretend that you’ve never heard the sound of his laugh, or seen the mischievous glint in his eye. You pretend that the hours and hours and countless hours you’ve spent by his side have never happened. You pretend that he is a stranger, and that he always has been. )

“Me too,” you say, a choked confession ripping its way out of the confines of your throat as the tears you held back start to drip down your cheeks. With her free hand, Dorothea lifts your chin up from your chest and brushes the first droplets of your tears with the pad of her thumb. When the stream grows and she can no longer keep up with its current, she wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as you bury your head into the shoulder of her nightgown.

For the first time since the war, you cry. You cry for the people who lived, for those who will have to carry on with their lives with the loss of a loved one weighing heavy on their hearts. You cry for Dorothea, for loving you so deeply and so tenderly in all the ways you didn’t deserve, for the sadness you never knew she still carried. You cry for the people you’ve killed, for the soldiers you didn’t know and the ones you did. Most of all, you cry for your friend, for your inability to spare him, and for the blood-red pearls that were the last gift you will ever give him.

Sometime between then and now, the two of you find yourselves back under the sheets, with only the occasional hitched breath as a remnant to your tears.

In a sudden burst of bravery—or perhaps it was your drowsiness speaking—you ask, “You’ll stay with me, won’t you, Dorothea?”

She gives you a watery smile as she presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until we’re old and grey, my love.”

She wraps her arms tighter around you, and you return the favor, kissing the notch between her collarbones as you bury your face into her neck. She sighs, a soft, sweet sound, smoothing a hand down your back once, twice. “I’ll keep you safe until then.”

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem imagines #fe imagines #fire emblem dorothea #fe dorothea #reader insert #yeet i say as i post this without editing #there was a tag on ao3 for this what was it #oh yes #no beta we die like glenn

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queeniewriteshockey · 5 years

Note

“i can’t sleep, can i stay here?” with nolan? thank you!

Stay the Night Part 1

Word Count: 1480

I was doing okay with this keeping things short thing and then this asshole comes along and derails that. I really like writing this guy.

Part 2 Here Part 3 here Part 4 here

The hours ticked by as your tossed and turned in your bed. The noise of the city was too much for you. The neighbor had decided that 1 in the morning was an appropriate time to start vacuuming their entire house and your mind screamed. You felt like a cartoon character; eyes wide, bloodshot and scratchy. Nothing was helping anymore. You couldn’t sleep. There was no godly way to make it work for you.

The only option was to get up, but your roommate was asleep. How? You had no idea. She could sleep through an apocalypse, though. It wasn’t fair and it made you grumpy. You didn’t much care for her anyway, though you kept that to yourself because you didn’t want to be rude. You especially didn’t like the way she looked at your best friend. Jealousy was a green-eyed monster and she lived nestles deep in your bones.

The fact that the roommate was asleep left you with very few options. You could plug into your computer, maybe watch something on Netflix until your alarm went off and drag your dead ass out of bed to start your day, or… you could actually leave the little townhouse you rented with her and see what you could find in the dark of the Philadelphia night.

You’d only been in town for a few months, having moved out there after finding a job. You didn’t tell anyone that the reason you had picked Philidelphia of all places in the world was that of Nolan, but those that knew you knew he was your dream. It wasn’t the job you were chasing. It was stupid and you felt silly, but you couldn’t help it. Especially because Nolan himself was encouraging of you moving out there. He missed you, too. Just not the same way.

You traded out pj’s for a pair of work out pants and a flyers sweatshirt. You’d lived in it practically every day since you’d gotten it. You had to support your best friend regardless of other feelings that simmered under the surface for him. It was too cold for slides by themselves, but like most athletes, a pair of socks paired with the slides was as good as any closed toed shoes.

Once you were outside, you were greeted with blissful silence. You had known it was loud within the confines of your townhouse, but you hadn’t realized how onesided the noise was. The cold air cleared your mind and woke you up a little more. It was a nice night, but the feel of the city was off. It wasn’t the nicest of areas, that you lived in, but there were considerably worse areas. You’d picked Fishtown for the hipster artsy vibe, but artists kept shit hours, as you were noticing.

There was a little coffee shop down the way, right next to Art Machine Productions, but you knew it was closed by now. Really, you had nowhere to go and nothing to do. It didn’t stop you from getting into your car and turning the engine over. If you were being honest with yourself (you weren’t) you already knew where you were going before you put the car in gear and headed down the road.

It was as if autopilot had engaged the second you hit the main roads out of your neighborhood. You found yourself pulling into a parking sport at Nolan’s within minutes. The engine idled softly as you contemplated your entire existence and more importantly, your reason for being where you were. There was a light on in the upstairs bedroom, which told you he was likely still awake, but you had no way of knowing if you’d be bothering him by just showing up.

Not that he would ever tell you if you were bothering him. You’d known him for years. The two of you had been through a lot together, there wasn’t a moment in your friendship that you didn’t think you could go to him when it really mattered, but it was different now. You’d finally admitted your feelings for him, at least to yourself. It was starting to stress you out, but, you couldn’t sit in your car all night and didn’t want to go back to your noisy house.

You were at a crossroads, your head bowed on the steering wheel, listening to the little demons who’d cropped up in your mind. Each one fed you a reason to go knock on Nolan’s door. Followed quickly by one that explained away why you shouldn’t. You nearly jumped out of your skin when something hit your window. You did scream when you realized it was a man but a second later, a peel of laughter, told you it was your asshole of a best friend.

“What the hell, Nolan!” you asked once you’d rolled the window down in your car.

“You should have seen your face,” he laughed, “I wish I’d thought to grab my phone. That would have been the best picture.”

“You’re an asshole.” You were mad at him, your words held heat to them. Your heartbeat far too fast and your cheeks warmed with embarrassment.

“Yeah, but you love me,” he countered.

He wasn’t wrong, of course, but you still rolled your eyes at him. “I might be rethinking that.”

He pulled a face, one you didn’t really understand before he let an easy smile fall on his lips. His hand slid over his heart and he groaned. “You wound me, Y/N.”

The action made you laugh. All you could do was shake your head. “You’ll heel, you’re good at that. Or maybe… what’s her face can nurse you back to health.” Your words, while smooth and easy, felt bitter on your tongue. Luckily, Nolan appeared to be oblivious.

“Tssh,” he said softly, “we broke up.”

You hadn’t expected that response, nor had you really expected the way your body had reacted. It was almost like a spike of anxiety burning its way through you. A knot twisting in your gut.

“But seriously,” he said, not bothering to give you time to respond to the bomb he’d dropped on you. “Why are you here?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you told him, deciding on the subject change for a moment. “Can I stay with you, tonight?”

“Of course you can,” he said as though the question was a ridiculous one.

The fact that he was willing to entertain your request made you both more tired and more wired. You had known he would say yes, but it didn’t make asking any easy. Not anymore. Rolling up the window and shutting the car off gave you the time to at least put yourself back together. You were just tired. That was all.

Climbing out of the car, it was obvious that you hadn’t planned ahead. You had your phone and purse and literally nothing but the clothing you were wearing. “Thanks, Nolan,” you said as your car chirped with the alarm.

“What kind of guy would I be if I just left you out here to die? You can always stay with me.” His arm slid around your shoulder and pulled you into him as the both of you headed inside.

You didn’t answer his questions, instead decided to go back to a topic that he’d tried to drop earlier. “Why did you and that chick break up?” You asked, just as you got inside. It was nice and warm inside his home. Inviting and cozy, albeit a bit messy.

He shrugged off the question as he let you go. “Turns out I like someone else. It wasn’t really fair to her.”

That was decent of him, but you weren’t really focused on the niceness of his actions, your mind had gotten hung up on the first part of the statement and it wouldn’t let it go. You hoped against everything, that he wasn’t going to tell you it was your roommate he liked.

“What do you say we go to bed? I’m tired and you look exhausted.”

“Nice. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re not going to tell me who you like?”

“Nope.”

“It’s TK, isn’t it?” You joked as both of you headed down the hall to the bedroom.

There was only one in the tiny apartment, but the two of you were close enough that you’d grown up sleeping in the same bed. It was some sort of pathetic cliche Dawson’s Creek bullshit, but it worked for the two of you.

“Absolutely,” he said with a laugh before he snagged you around the waist and pulled you against him. His nose brushed the back of your neck causing goose flesh to erupt on your skin and send a shiver down your spine. An involuntary gasp slipped from your lips as he did so. “It’s totally TK. I think I’ll tell him tomorrow over breakfast.”

-Fin-

#nolan patrick imagine #n.patrick: requited love #n.patrick: angst #n.patrick: fluff #nolan patrick #Anonymous #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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scenarihoes · 5 years

Text

Just a moment

—pairing: knuckle bine // reader

—a/n: wanted to write something emotional but soft :3 this was really long but tumblr didnt save it so heres the chopped version

warnings: none

In the wake of a thousand tremendous pitfalls, there is peace to be found within the chaos. Through the brush and the hours spent in pain, you search almost endlessly and often in vain just for a instant where it may not feel as though you’re aimless. There are times when it feels like happiness is something that rests just inches beyond your reach, a ghost just outside the glass walls surrounding you.

But then, just as it feels your body is going to internally combust on itself and spark into a million pieces, you find it. Or, perhaps, it finds you. Calm, serenity, void of the soul crushing doubts save for the anxieties that still just barely reside in your streams of blood. You find that somehow, even though the fate of the world hangs by a string tearing at the seams, there is a wish granted. A single star falls just before you.

You find a softness that’s almost rendered itself a stranger to your tired body, battered, bruised.

Safe within the confines of Knov’s nen abilities, you, along with those closest to you, await the orders to close in on the final fight. A war, a battle that will surely end in misery, success, or even worse, both. That, in itself, terrifies you. Time lingers and you bathe in the ability to collect yourself but the uncertainty of where you may be only hours later can make it hard to really feel that things will be alright in the end.

It is the eleventh hour, dangerously close. The hand of a clock edges and stretches towards the stroke of midnight and the dawning realization that what is to come may forever change the course of everyones lives. The fate of the earth rests within you, your friends. Your plans and your will to push through. Though you’ve always been confident in your abilities, the enemy you’re to face stares you down with eyes and power that make you want to shrink in on yourself.

But, of course, you do not.

Though you feel as if you’re being eaten alive by your fears, there is a strange part of you that also feels numb. It feels as though you’re sitting idle whilst fire roars beyond your body, not yet reaching your skin but so very looming.

Eleventh hour. Tenth, ninth, eighth, were all spent entirely stressing and worrying. Plan after plan, worry after worry, the fear that even with your combined efforts it may not be enough and the world will feel the horror that the king bestows upon it. But, but, but, for just a moment, barely before the war begins, you let yourself be at peace.

The weight of the world leaves your shoulders just long enough. You take two steps back from the edge of the cliff you’re prepared to throw yourself down, plunge into the roaring waves that await you. You touch the grass and find the sky.

Held up by a strong chest, and even stronger arms that wrap securely around the shape of your body, you find love.

Your ear presses to Knuckles bare chest, and his heartbeat is a melody that threatens to lull you to sleep. He lays flat down on the even, white flooring, you being the weight resting atop him. It wasn’t your idea- you were much content with remaining tucked at his side, but the very instant he rolled onto his back you were dragged right with him. He’d even gone so far as to grasp his discarded, loose shirt and splay it over your form as a makeshift blanket.

Comfortable, you do catch yourself dozing off a few times. But, for the sake of your heart, you stay awake. This a moment you want to hold onto for as long as you can, remember all the fine details and the way his chest rises and falls with ease, a time spent just breathing and existing. No fighting, no fears.

He’s much more relaxed than you are, not nearly so trapped within he confines of his own head.

Somewhere, feet away, Morel and Shoot converse lowly but the sounds of their voices are so easily drowned out, shoved to the very back of your mind. Right now you are not focused on them. Not yet.

With such little time to spare between the scenes, caught between the crossfires of seemingly one war after the next, you’ve learned to be appreciative. Miles stretch beyond the horizons, journeys that feel as though they may never end. Rarely are you able to breathe, and so, with that knowledge, you do fight to stay awake. You cannot bring yourself to lose this so quickly.

You cannot bring yourself to stop feeling the body so tightly pressed against your own.

Knuckle’s hand glides along the length of your back and pets over your spine, your aching muscles. He soothes you, releases the tensions hiding within your body. It reminds you calm down all over again, to really let yourself have this moment. You let out a deep, content breath and feel your anxiety simmer back down into the base of your gut once more.

“This is nice,” you breathe against him. His chest rumbles when he hums in agreement. “I wish we could do this more often.”

“Mm, we will. Once this is all over.” The gruffness of his voice doesn’t match the softness of his words. Your lips upturn into an almost bittersweet smile.

“When this is over?” Peeking your eyes open, you gaze up at him, quickly trace the outlines of his face and remind yourself of your blessing. His eyes crack open and he nods once, twice. You, however feel pessimistic anyways. When your eyes fall, he frowns.

“Oi, this will be over.” He says. “Don’t go thinkin’ this is the end or somethin’.”

Knuckle always disliked it when you let your nerves get the better of you. As you sigh and resettle against him, you realize his heart rate has picked up just the slightest amount.

Your eyes close. “Promise?”

His quick silence is so loud, but it was to be expected. There is so point in a promise save for the weight it brings, and you’re both aware of it. Promising an outcome in a world where the future is riddled with unexpectancies is, in it’s own way, self destruction. A set up for failure. But still, for your sake, Knuckle swallows and trails his hand up your body until he can brush a loose hair from the shape of your face.

“M’ serious, damnit. It’s gonna be fine, you’ll see.” He pauses, and then, he delivers. “I promise.”

Even though it’s a set up, even though it, in the end, means nothing, you still can’t help but feel a little bit better. He promises.

The shirt resting over your body is reshaped to cover you even more. He makes sure to.

You want to believe him as much as he believes himself. Desperately, you want to latch onto his words of assurance and feel that he may be right. Feel that, because he said so, everything will turn out as it should. You want to imagine a life where this may be over and done with, a life without the fear of the unknown and the stress it takes to hold up such a heavy, heavy fate. Time crushes you with every tick that trudges towards midnight.

You let out a short, shaky breath.

“I love you,” You say. You say it just incase it may be the last time you murmur it into his chest. You say it, and his breath stutters. His shoulders shake. The pit in your stomach grows as you part your lips to speak, “Don’t cry,” but your lower lip quivers, “Or I’ll cry too.”

“I’m not cryin’,” Knuckle almost chokes on the lump that’s formed in his throat. “There’s no reason to cry.”

So, he isn’t so self assured as you previously believed. But, even despite that, you try to believe him as he holds you all the more tighter. He thinks just as you do- to bring you closer, closer.

Just incase it may be the last time.

“I love you,” You say it again but softer this time. Tears brim at your eyes but for fear that should they fall, they will not stop, you blink them away. Barely audible, you tell him you love him, and he hears you.

What conversations may exist outside the world you’ve momentartity built with him are unheard. Everything that isn’t his voice, his heartbeat, fall upon deaf ears. For just that moment, it is only you and him, two bodies held fast to one another in trepidation that once it over there will be nothing left. Though the fate of the world rests with jagged edges in the palms of your clenched fists, you allow yourself this moment. You allow yourself to finally close your eyes and whisper something so terrifyingly fragile.

He hears you. He swallows hard and rubs his thumb into your skin.

With a cracked voice riddled in uncertainties, only sure of but one thing, he says,

“I love you too.”

#this was so much longer before but im too unmotivated to retype it all out #hxh #hunter x hunter #knuckle bine #scenario #x reader

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