#did i draw glasses so i would avoid drawing eyes? YES I DID

[runa-falls]

cocktails

gif from @pirateherokillian

pairing: jake lockley x shy!reader

summary: you finally gain enough courage to make a move on your best friend

cw: explicit (18+), dub-con (reader is tipsy), afab!reader, dry humping to piv pipeline, fingering, multiple orgasms, longing/pining losers, love (?), push-over!jake, needy!reader, 'just the tip' is never just the tip, alcohol consumption, pet names, daddy kink, creampie, fluff :3 -- not beta-read

wc: 5.1k

a/n: pls, it was never supposed to be this long. i'm sorry for taking FOREVER to write this. anyways, this is based off my blabbering in discord -- i dedicate this to my whores (affectionate) <3

mk masterlist | main masterlist

----

You don’t drink. 

At least not in front of Jake. 

Alcohol makes you…indulgent, to say the least, and that’s a side you’ve been holding back from your best friend. 

Yes, you’ve had a drink or two at some group hangouts in the past, but this, you, Jake, and a few bottles of gifted wine, surprisingly has never happened in the past. You’ve made sure of it.

What almost makes it worse is that Jake’s always been a sweetheart about your choices to avoid drinking around him. After your first few bouts of excuses and timid declines, he doesn’t pressure you to keep up with him when he’s knocking back shots or drinking pitchers of beer. 

Whenever your other friends press another drink into your hand, he subtly takes it for you, drinking it in large gulps before returning the glass from your hand. And when he pulls away, his fingers always find a way to graze against yours. Thankfully the bars are usually dimly lit so he can’t see the blush heating at your cheeks. 

He doesn’t realize it’s because of him. He’s the reason bartenders give you weird looks when you ask for watered-down vodka cranberries or why you’re always the last one standing in your friend group whenever you go out. This restraint around alcohol has gone on for years all because you harbor an intense attraction for your best friend. 

It didn’t start that way. He crashed into your quiet life and obliterated the dynamics of your friend group. When you first met him, you thought his cocky and blasé attitude was overcompensating for something.

He’s always been a natural sweet talker, not afraid to approach people and get what he wants, but it seemed too good to be true. He’s too charismatic, too interested in the dull life you live, how did he dig out a hole and place himself so easily in your life?

Easily, too easily, you fell for his sweet words, words that would inevitably draw you into his orbit and leave you hanging off of every syllable. 

You learned that no matter what he says, or does, he’s just being friendly. He’s just like that with everyone. It means nothing when he gives you a cheeky grin from across the bar or when he consistently insists on walking you home at night. Sure, he might stick closer to your side than anyone else's, but it’s just because you’re best friends. Right?

Of course, girls have tried and failed to lock down your best friend, misinterpreting his outgoing personality as him propositioning them. And they always come to you – whining over his lack of interest, the sudden and unexpected rejection of their advances, and grappling for any advice from his girl best friend. 

“He’s single, isn’t he?” The words are said over the thin rim of a martini glass. She glances over at you with hopeful eyes framed by beautifully dark lashes. 

You barely knew the girl’s name, but she offered to buy you a drink (a shirley temple) so you stayed for the conversation, however, you weren’t expecting the topic to circle back to Jake. But after watching her down a couple of martinis, gushing more and more about the man you’ve been pining after for an eon, you felt too bad to leave her. 

“Um…as far as I know.” It’s a little uncomfortable, talking about Jake like you’re his keeper.

“Then – then why won’t he go out – or even hook up with me?” Her voice has gotten louder with the exasperation of her inquiries. You look around at the bar, hoping she can keep it together before you’re kicked out for causing a ruckus. 

“Look, I don’t know if I’m the best –”

“But you’re his best friend, right?”

“Yes, but –”

“What’s his type?”

His type?

God, you wish you knew. It would make things a lot easier for yourself (and the world). But you genuinely don’t know. You’ve never seen him with a girl. Sure, he could be hooking up on the side, but why would he tell you?

You look down at your glass. All that’s left is ice, melting into an amalgam of pink-tinted liquid around the one maraschino cherry you refuse to eat. 

“I don’t know.” You mumble.

—

You’re already through a bottle and a half, lounging comfortably on the overstuffed couch in your living room. Something is playing on the TV but it’s all a blur behind the feeling of his thigh pressing against yours. 

Jake has never been afraid of showing his affection through physical means, whether it’s greeting ladies with a friendly peck on the cheek or ruffling one of the guy’s hair when he goes by. It’s natural to him. Casual.

But with you, he’s mostly hands-off. 

It’s not that you deign to feel his touch, to feel the scratchiness of his whiskers rub against the edge of your hairline, or lower against the sensitive skin of your throat, you just can’t control your reactions when he does it. Even the light touch of his hand against your lower back when he guides you has you standing straighter. 

He noticed your strong reactions to him and backed off, assuming you were uncomfortable or unused to friendly touches. And it was fine until you would do anything to feel him against you again, just one more time. It’s desperate, really, but you don’t really care when he looks at you with those cocoa-butter eyes. 

And now, he’s closer than ever but still hands-off. He politely sits next to you, one arm slung over the back of the couch and the other in his lap. But not touching you. 

He’s been making commentary about the dumb hallmark movie you impulsively rented, pointing out all the unrealistic plot conveniences and bright red flags that the main character blatantly ignores. He seems relaxed. 

You aren’t.

Two stained wine glasses sit on the coffee table, dangerously close to the edge, still holding a sip of liquid. You can barely make out the intricate print of his lips on the edge of the cup, highlighted by the brightness of the hallmark snow scene. 

You want so badly to steal the glass away and lick up the residual bitter-sweetness of the wine that’s touched his lips. To taste him, even indirectly. Or directly. Lick the sweetness straight from the source, tongue intermingling with him as he takes just as much from you. You feel yourself pulse from that image alone.

“Bunny?” Heat prickles against the back of your neck as you realize how far away your brain is, thinking such filthy and depraved thoughts of the man who is sitting right next to you. 

He dotes on you like a person would their favorite pet cat. He calls you pet names, ones that make you bite your tongue and hide your face in your hands. Bunny was the first one and the one he uses the most. 

It came out of nowhere, really. You were both at a small house party and Jake convinced you to join his team in a game of beer pong. You were still a bit nervous around him, still surprised when he’d seek you out for a conversation or to get your opinion on something entirely irrelevant. 

You told him upfront that your hand-eye coordination leaves much to be desired, but he was determined to teach you. The first few throws were pitiful, so pitiful, in fact, that the other team gave you a freebie to make up for it. 

“Here, lemme give you a hand.” You couldn’t even react before he was sidled behind you, his chest nearly flush against your shoulder as his hand wrapped around your wrist. Your body is frozen, soaking in the overwhelming closeness.

You can barely decipher the individual cups of beer with his voice low behind your ear as he directs you, “Keep it right….there” He lets go of your arm and you already miss his touch, “and put a little more power into your throw.” 

He steps back, giving you space to take a breath and refocus. 

You throw it, more mechanical than you would’ve liked, but it – miraculously – goes in. 

Immediately you turn around to get his reaction, the praise that you secretly crave from a man you barely know. 

He grins down at you, “You’re a natural, bunny.” 

And the nickname stuck.

You look over at him, lazily blinking up to meet his fond gaze, “Hm?” You feel all fuzzy inside, overexcited yet pinned down by the unexplainable need to stay close to him. 

He smirks down at you, arm subtly lowering to barely touch the back of your head, “What’cha thinkin’ about, sweetheart?” You try to lean into the feeling of his arm, hoping that if you ease into it, he won’t notice. “You had this… faraway look in your eyes for a moment.”

Oh, he noticed. But there’s no way he knows what you were thinking, right? A flash of embarrassment stings hot in your cheeks. You don’t think when you shyly nuzzle your face into his bicep to avoid his curious eyes, “I think I just zoned out or something.”

He hums, “You tired?” You turn your face to look at him, cheek resting against him. God, he smells so good. You never want to move from this spot. “Want me to tuck you in?” His voice coos teasingly, but you soak in the sweetness of it. He can be so soft sometimes.

Scrambled words echo in your mind: But if you go to bed, you’ll leave. You’ll take your arm out from under me and leave me here to think about you, all alone. Why can’t you just – Your thoughts quickly dissipate when he pulls you closer to him, hand at your waist to press your body against his.

Your hand presses delicately against his chest in surprise and you can barely feel the soft thrum of his heartbeat underneath the firmness of his muscles.

You softly shake your head, “Not tired.”

“Sure, baby.” 

Baby. 

That’s new. 

Your thighs involuntarily press together with how good it sounds coming from his lips. Directed at you. Somehow, even with all the pet names he’s given you throughout the span of your friendship, this one hits home.

He says it with the casualness of a boyfriend and tenderness of a lover. You can almost feel him panting it against the crook of your neck as he pushes inside of you, hand clutching yours as his hips roll perfectly against yours. 

You don’t even realize your legs are rubbing together like a cricket at dusk until a warm hand wraps around the top of your thigh. He pulls them apart, spreading your legs like you’ve always dreamed he would. Despite the suggestive position, you still whine at the loss of friction, thoughtlessly fighting against the insisting tug of his hand.

He hushes you gently, a soft tone barely easing your frustration. You latch your fingers onto his wrist, attempting to guide him to the spot that you really need him to touch, but he barely budges. His grip on your thigh tightens when his name drips brokenly from your lips. 

“J-Jake…” 

“Sweetheart, stop.”

“But –”

“Please.” Jake looks down at you with a pained expression, all past chivalry betrayed by the darkness pooled in his eyes.

You look up at him with misty eyes and flushed skin, innocence in the palm of his hand. “I need you.” You bite your lip at your admission, stained red from the wine, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. You pull at him again and this time he lets you. Both of you look down as his hand cups you over your shorts.

“You’re too drunk right now.” The whispered attempt of resistance falls on deaf ears as you arch your hips into his touch. Neither of you notice that the movie ended, leaving you in a silence where only the exchange of breathless pants can be heard. 

“Touch me.” You whine, desperate for anything. Desperate just to be accepted by him.

His gaze briefly flicks up from where he’s touching to regard your eagerness with half-lidded eyes. He shakes his head and looks away like he’s looking for answers on the blank wall next to him. “I…shouldn’t.” 

You start to panic when you feel his hand pull away. It can’t end like this. You hold onto his wrist when a particularly needy idea pops into your mind. If he doesn’t want to ‘defile’ you, then fine. You’ll do it yourself.

“I…c-could i just rub myself against you?” You berate yourself for sounding so meek, so unsure, but you’ve never done anything like this before, never had to take control of the situation. “Like, if you don’t want to…um, touch me.” He looks at you wordlessly, gorgeous lips parted at your suggestion.

His tongue brushes over his bottom lip, “I– Okay, sure…” 

With his permission, you push up against the couch to get up and straddle over him. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting it with how his hands barely hover over your body like he’s unsure whether he wants to pull you closer or shove you off his lap. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah.” He sounds strained, “But just for a little bit, alright?” 

“Ok.” You promise though you’re sure that once you get a taste, you’ll never want to stop. You have to make this good for him so he’ll want you back.

You settle against him, body thrumming with anticipation when your clothed cunt meets the prominent hardness under his jeans. So he does want it. His hands clasp onto your waist when you start to move over him, hips experimentally rolling against his.

Jake watches you move over him with a look of deep hunger and awe. It’s endearing how shy you are, even now grinding on his lap. Your movements are clumsy – unpracticed as you desperately try to chase that spark that’ll satisfy the heat buried deep down inside of you. 

“That good, baby?” 

You nod, mewling quietly as the seam of his jeans drags perfectly against your clit. Pleasure pools in your stomach, nudging you closer and closer to the edge. You hold onto his shoulders as you work yourself over him, panting from your effort. He starts to cant his hips upwards to meet your thrusts, pressing his erection roughly against your core to show you just how much he wants you. 

All you can think of is how good it would feel to have him bare against you, skin to skin. When you meet your peak, body hot and trembling as you rub against him, the end never comes. It’s not enough. You’re just left teetering at the top with no drop in sight.

You huff, “Jake, can I – just…please.” You let your hands drop from his shoulders to start working on his belt.

“What is it bunny, what do you need?” He looks so good under you with his wrinkled shirt unbuttoned just so to give you a peak of his collarbone and the newly open belt hanging from the loops in his tight jeans. You undo the button, fingers briefly fumbling as your knuckle brushes against his bulge.

“Just need to feel you.” You paw at the waist of his pants, trying to subtly indicate that you need his help to take them off. But he sits there and smiles sweetly at your frustrated huffs. 

“And what about me?” He says in a teasing drawl. He drags you closer to him and cups your face until your lips nearly meet yours. He’s so close that you can make out the light dusting of freckles that grace his nose and cheeks. Amber eyes bore into yours as he whispers, “You’re using my body and haven’t even given me a kiss yet.”

“Oh.” Your gaze drops to his lips, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, baby.” He leans in, “just kiss me.” Your eyes flutter close when you meet the softness of his lips. You immediately melt into the gentle caress of his hand on your jaw with a sigh as he desperately keeps you close. 

Jake groans, drinking in the sweetness of your lips, a taste of pure heaven melting on the tip of his tongue, before hungrily deepening the kiss. He licks against the seam of your mouth, begging you to open yourself up to him. You surrender yourself to him, letting him slide in and taste you from the inside out. 

Your hands move up from his shoulders to his soft curls, tugging eagerly in an attempt to hear the soft groan that rumbles in his chest. He nips at your bottom lip, suckling it until it’s pink and tender, wanting to leave a mark so you’ll always think of him. He can’t help but press against you when you whimper for him, grinding eagerly against your center, wishing he was inside of you instead.  

“Just the tip.” You mumble it against his lips. He’s too far gone to clearly hear what you said, lost in a thick fog of awe, lust, and…love. At his silence, you pull away to look at him, scared you’re asking for too much. “Jake.” He nods thoughtlessly, chasing your lips, already missing your taste. He almost whines when you pull away from his touch, but quickly comes back to reality when he sees the way you’re nervously looking at him. 

He squeezes your waist comfortingly, “Anything you want, bunny.” You smile at the pet name and gratefully peck his lips. He tries to deepen the kiss, hand already pressing against the back of your head, but you cheekily pull away before he gets too far. You stand up, ignoring his objections and clingy touches as you get off of his lap. 

You fluidly slip your shirt over your head before carelessly dropping it to the floor behind you. There’s fire in his eyes as he sits back on the couch and watches you reveal the cute bra that cups you so perfectly. You tease the edge of your waistband as you look down at him, “Off, please.” You gesture at his jeans. He follows your directions, quickly shimmying his pants off, eyes on you the whole time.

You follow him, tugging your shorts off to show him the matching panties. You squeak when warm hands abruptly pull you to the couch, eagerly wandering over your waist and hips as he buries his face against your neck. 

“Can’t help it, baby,” His touch drifts up to cup the underside of your tits, trailing carefully over the curve to memorize the shape of you. “You’re just so fucking pretty.” He groans hot and heavy against your neck as he squeezes your softness. 

You’re back on top of him, naked thighs draped over his, skin against skin, and now, you can feel all of him. He’s pressed so deliciously against your core, pulsing with pure desire and heat. The only thing separating the two of you is fading self-control and a pair of thin panties.

His mustache tickles against your throat as his lips drift over your pulse point. He presses heady kisses against the edge of your jaw, gauging where your most tender spots are. 

“Oh–!” Your thighs clench around him when he touches a particularly delicate area near your ear. He gently nips at the spot, holding you tighter when you moan at the feeling.

Jake lets out a broken groan when you reach between your bodies and take him into your hand. He tries to continue giving your body loving attention with his lips, but his kisses get messy, dragging lazily over your shoulder and collarbone, with how distracted he is by your touch. He has to pull away for a breather and hold himself back from thrusting into your fist when you squeeze him teasingly at the base. 

“Bunny…” You both look down and watch as your smaller hand slowly strokes him. His cock is flush with need, leaking so prettily as you try your hardest to make it good for him. You slip your other hand under his shirt, running your fingers against his coarse happy trail to his rippling muscles. The couch groans next to you as he harshly grips the arm, barely holding himself back with white knuckles. “Oh, f-fuck.” His body stiffens under you as you brush your thumb against the sensitive underside of the tip. 

You tenderly massage the spot, watching in awe as he continues to spill over your fingers, making a mess that drips onto your inner thighs and the edge of his shirt. He groans at the sight, his cock throbbing desperately in your hold.

As beads of white paint your fingers, your mouth waters just thinking about how he tastes. You feel ravenous to see him cum, to watch how easily you can ruin him. “H-hold on, cariño. Give me a second.” Jake chokes out. His hips stutter under you before he pulls your hand away.

"Whyy." You whine, pouting up at him with starry eyes. You reach for him again with the hand he isn’t holding onto, brushing your fingers against his sensitive cock. He shudders for you with a broken groan. 

“I'm close-- just – stop for a moment –” Both hands are pinned to your side as Jake’s chest heaves under his shirt. He rests his head back against the couch, eyes closed as he struggles to hold himself back. 

“But…I want you to.”

“I know, baby,” He lifts his head, dark eyes boring into yours, and pulls your hands behind you. You squirm in his lap, back arching at the position, suddenly remembering your own desperation. It feels good to be bound by his hands, to let him do whatever he wants to your body. “But I don’t wanna finish if it isn’t in you.” 

Your face heats in embarrassment. “Oh.” 

Jake picks up on your sudden shyness immediately. 

“You like that, don’t you, bunny?” He smirks, “The thought of me filling you up, then dripping out of you?”

You bite your lip, “A little bit.”

“A little, hm?” He ponders, “Well why don’t we try it out and see.” Your thighs clench around him at the idea.

“Ok.”

“Sit up, let me see how wet you are.” He helps you raise yourself on your knees so you’re hovering over his lap. Letting go of your wrists, he drags his thumb against your clothed cunt; The fabric has a darkened splotch along your opening, teasing him with evidence of your lust. “Aw, sweetheart, you’re soaked…” He nudges your panties to the side, slipping his fingers against your wet opening. “Gonna ruin these pretty little panties, hm?” You nod wordlessly, hips desperately pushing against his touch.

He gently slides against your dripping entrance, making a mess of your cunt with teasing circling motions. Wet, decadent sounds fill the limited space between you as his fingers prod ever so slightly against the spot where you need him most.  A helpless sound is pushed out of you when he finally eases two fingers inside of you.

“Is that good, bunny?” He coos as he slowly fucks his fingers into you. It’s only his fingers, but he’s already filling you up so deliciously. His dark eyes are hungrily locked on how he fills you up over and over again, slick dripping down his knuckles and over his palm. “Hm?” 

You nod again, brain foggy with pleasure. “Yes, J–” You can barely get a word out when he curls his fingers up, pressing so sweetly and deep against the sensitive walls of your cunt. You have to stop yourself from wrapping your legs around his wrist, it feels so good. “Uh–!” You almost fall over and have to hold onto his shoulders for support as he begins to speed up. 

“That’s it, baby…” Your grip on his shoulders tightens as he rapidly presses against your g-spot. You’re already hurdling towards the edge and he can feel it with how you start to clench around his fingers. “Make a mess of my hand..” Within a handful of thrusts, you’re gasping out with pleasure, your thighs shaking over him. He takes his hand away and holds you against him to keep you sitting upright as your body is overtaken with euphoria. You pant against his shoulder, trying to gather your senses. 

You can feel him under you, hard and wanting, throbbing as you whimper and arch against him, letting the pleasure work through your body. Even when you’re barely coming down from an orgasm, you’re still longing to be filled with something more. But he ignores his own needs, instead focusing on you, softly pecking the top of your head and rubbing comforting circles against your arms. 

You lift your head from his chest to look at him, taking in his flushed cheeks and dark eyes. Jake stares right back, unabashedly, in awe. “You’re so good to me, bunny.” You shiver at the praise. At the comfort. You shyly divert your eyes to stare at the marks you’ve left on his shoulders. 

“Only for you, Jake.” You don’t see it, but his lips lift into a small smile at your words. 

His hands drift down from your arms to hold you by the waist. “Only for me.” He echos, solidifying the statement. 

You gasp when he suddenly presses you down against his cock. Looking back up at him, he meets your wide eyes with a mischievous grin, hips rolling teasingly against yours. “And I’m all yours.” You position yourself over him all while keeping eye contact, wanting to drink in every microexpression on his face. 

“Yes.” You both sigh as he barely brushes against your wet opening. He takes a deep breath, clutching your hips as you begin your descent.

Your body slowly manages to swallow the first inch of him. And – oh – it’s so much better than you expected. He stretches you so fully, even barely inside of you, filling you exactly how you need him to. 

You let out a strained whimper from the back of your throat as you slowly lower yourself onto his lap. You whine as your body desperately clenches and stretches to accommodate him inside of you. His hold on your hips tightens as your thighs meet his, now fully impaled by his hard cock.  

“I thought it was ‘just the tip’.” Jake tries to tease, his deep voice gravelly with lust, but it comes out as more of a groan than a taunt.

You slowly shake your head, body trembling as you get used to the feeling of him inside of you. 

“You said you’re all mine, daddy.” The words practically melt from your lips, lethargic with heat. It catches him off guard. You moan, hips slowly moving over him to feel him deeper inside. “M-mine,” You repeat with a pant, so lost in desperation that you don’t even notice the way he’s looking at you, frozen in place. 

“I-I did say that, didn’t I?” He doesn’t know what else to say, brain overheating from your ministrations. You’ve never called him a pet name before, let alone used the word ‘daddy’ anywhere near him. You’ve always been a shy little bunny around him, always preciously out of reach, a tease to fantasize about, but now you’re wrapped around him, moaning beautifully destructive words. 

What really surprises him is the way he’s eagerly throbbing inside of you from that word. Desperate thoughts float in his mind: She wants me to take care of her, she needs me.

“Fuck me.” He groans to himself, willing his body to hold back from cumming inside of you right then and there. 

“P-please.” You beg with a broken voice, thinking he’s talking to you. Jake just nods understandingly and holds you closer with an arm wrapped around your torso, wanting to feel your whole body against his. He starts off slow, pressing up into your kneeling body with measured thrusts as he dots kisses along your neck and shoulders. You sigh something wistful before meeting his movements, eagerly lifting your hips against him. 

“God, bunny, you feel so good.” He can't help it, you’re all-encompassing like this, with your pretty little sighs and panted breaths, it’s everything he’s ever wanted, so he starts to speed up, projecting his desperation into his actions. Your back arches at the change of pace as he pumps into you, and it only makes him feel deeper. “So tight around me.” He pushes against your front wall on every thrust and you swear it makes you see stars. 

Your clit inevitably rubs against him as your bodies move with each other and it takes your pleasure to another level. You’re sure the sounds you’re making verge on embarrassing, but he seems to eat them up anyway. “Ah, right there--! Jake –”

“No, bunny,” He grits out, “It’s daddy.”

You whimper, “Daddy – ” He feels you flutter deliciously around him as your head begins to lull backward. He groans as your cunt sucks him deep inside, desperately milking his cock as you’re seized by ecstasy.

“Fucking take it, sweetheart.” 

“I-I think m’gonna…” Your eyes roll back before you can finish your sentence and white fills your vision. You let out a keening sound as you gush over him, thighs clenched around his as your second high moves through you. 

His eyes squeeze shut as he gives in and starts fucking you at a punishing pace. Your mouth drops open around an empty moan. You can only hold onto him as he takes what he wants from your body, intensifying your orgasm with sloppy thrusts. With a few more upward pushes, he lets out a breathy grunt and finishes inside of you, painting your walls with his warmth. 

You both stay in this position for a little longer. 

You can feel Jake’s heart beat rapidly against your chest as you cuddle against him. He’s still recovering from the onslaught of sensations and emotions. Both of you are sticky with sweat and slick, but neither of you care. His cock is still inside of you, keeping his cum locked inside as you dutifully warm him with your cunt. 

“Such a pretty girl…” He croons, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. He looks down at you with such sincerity in his eyes, that it’s almost overwhelming. You bite your lip nervously at the compliment and attempt to look away, but before you can, he’s tilting your face up with the light touch of a finger, “Really? You’re gonna act all shy with my cock still in you?”

His words only make you squirm on top of him. He nearly chokes at the accidental stimulation. 

“You can’t just say stuff like that.” Your voice is small and cute.

“Then how am I supposed to fluster my girl?” 

Your eyes widen. His girl? 

“Your girl?”

“My girl.” He hums with a small smile before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

#jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley smut #moon knight #cw: dubcon #cw: dub-con #oscar issac fanfiction

[fuctacles]

Under pressure

For @subeddieweek Day 1 | M | 1177 | accidental subspace, non-verbal communication, sleepover, Steve-instinctive-Dom-Harrington | Ao3

Eddie avoided fights because he was a coward. A pussy, even, he'll admit. But there was a whole other reason for him avoiding sports.

He wasn't a big fan of physical contact. 

But since he's become better friends with Steve Harrington, he's been discovering things about himself. Things he wished would have stayed hidden. Forever.

The first time, it was a tussle for the remote. Eddie refused to watch another episode of whatever the fuck capitalist media was trying to spoon-feed them, while Steve was adamant there was a plot that he was invested in. One elbow to the gut and some pulled hair later, he landed underneath the guy, his weight pinning him to the ground.

Melting his bones.

Soothing.

"You okay?"

Steve sounded concerned about Eddie's sudden silence, and his mind scrambled to salvage his dignity. All he could manage was a groan, which Steve thankfully interpreted as a sign of pain and not the sudden weakness that it was. 

He instantly hopped off of him, apologizing.

Eddie has been avoiding and yearning for the touch ever since.

He had never considered Steve like that, but apparently being sat on was the biggest turn-on for his poor little dick, and now it was all he could think of at night.

His doom comes when he has to sleep over after a night of drinking. Steve insisted they share a bed, that it was alright, and Eddie foolishly believed him. 

It is fine until Steve rolls over to put away his glasses. 

"Shit, sorry. I just gotta..."

They didn't think this through, because Eddie was the one next to the bedside table, the one Steve was trying to reach. He almost crawls over Eddie to accomplish it, his weight heavy on top of him, pressing him to the mattress and making his mind go blank. 

He bites his lip so hard he probably draws blood, but it doesn't stop the whimper Steve's body literally pushed out of him.  Steve freezes. 

"Are you alright?" He drops the glasses and shoots up. "Did I hurt you?"

Eddie can't answer. His brain is screaming at his mouth, but he can't manage a single word, all he can think of is Steve's body back on him, that weight pressing him down, immobilizing him. He could probably reach pure bliss with just that.

When he doesn't get an answer, Steve pulls on his shoulder to flip him on his back. Eddie whines in protest but doesn't have enough control over his muscles to stop him. His shame gets put on display and Steve's eyes widen.

"Eddie?"

His pupils are huge as he blinks owlishly up at his friend.

"You okay?"

Eddie nods.

"Do you need anything?"

You. On me, against me, in me.

He shakes his head slowly, not breaking eye contact. This seems to frustrate Steve.

"Eddie, come on," he groans. "Clearly something's wrong. Do you need water? I can bring you some." He moves to stand up, but Eddie's in the way. He has to throw his leg over him, and Eddie presses his eyes closed, begging his body not to react.

It's enough to alert Steve, though, and he freezes hovering above him, mid-movement. 

"Huh."

It's a soft sound, barely there, and Eddie decides to keep his eyes closed. Maybe if he does, whatever realization Steve has gets forgotten, and he moves on, brings him the damn water, and maybe throws it on him like on a horny dog. Maybe that would help him.

But no, the ‘huh’ is followed by Steve settling down on his hips.

Oxygen escapes him in a whiny breath, and his body presses up without his control, seeking that delicious weight of another body. 

"Want to make out about it?" Steve asks out of the blue like any normal person would in these circumstances. But Eddie doesn't answer him, he can't, and he doesn't know. He can only stare and writhe under him, making tiny sounds of need he can't comprehend. Steve frowns down on him, partially concerned, partially curious. 

"Don't feel like talking?" he asks. Eddie gives him a nod. He hums. "Can you answer some yes or no questions? Nod for a yes and shake your head for no."

Nod.

"You can blink twice if you don't know or don't want to answer. Okay?"

Nod.

"What do you do if you don't want to answer?"

Eddie blinks twice.

"Good. Great." Steve smiles, and Eddie mirrors it through his haze. "Are you feeling alright?"

Nod.

"Do you need water?"

Shake.

"Do you need the bathroom?"

Shake.

"A snack?"

Shake.

Steve considers him, perched on top of his body. Eddie tentatively reaches up, palms resting on his thighs. Steve's gaze follows his fingers, where they just rest with no ill intent, only there to touch.

"Will we talk about it more in the morning?"

Eddie hesitates. Does he want to talk about it? To bring his shame to the light of day, confess the budding crush on his friend? But Steve doesn't seem angry, he's not kicking him out of the bed. He's being soft and gentle and trying to understand. Maybe in the morning, they could understand it together. Tentatively, he nods.

That eases Steve's frown a bit, but he sighs when another problem hits him.

"I don't know what else to ask," he admits with a huff. 

Eddie wants to help, so he slides his hands up, towards his hips, and tries to convey as best as possible where he wants him. He stares into his eyes, begging him to understand.

"Want me to lay down on you?"

He nods furiously, excited to get what he needs. 

Steve looks down. It's a minuscule movement of his eyes, but it's there. He will know if Eddie's hard when he moves, but he needs the heads-up. The bulge in Eddie's sweats is noticeable but not fully there, to Steve's relief. Having his friend under him in such a pliant state is already overwhelming as it is, and he knows Eddie will feel his own chub when he moves. 

"We're just sleeping tonight, alright?" Steve clarifies and Eddie nods without hesitation. "And cuddle a bit, I guess." Eddie nods again.

He moves, watching his friend’s face for any sign of distress. Eddie’s hands slide around him in an embrace that's more comforting than Steve's ready to admit, and soon they're chest to chest, legs tangled, and he has to crane his neck to maintain eye contact.

"That alright?"

Nod.

Eddie's hands squeeze him minutely and Steve settles down against his shoulder, finally resting his full body weight against him.

The man underneath him sighs, and it's like his whole body deflates. He makes a content sound in the back of his throat, and Steve wants to cry. It's so endearing and so comforting to have Eddie trust him like that. To have him turn into mush in his presence. 

He hopes he's not overstepping when he presses his nose to Eddie's neck, inhaling him and softly caressing his skin when he murmurs a "goodnight, Eds."

#sub eddie week #sub eddie munson #steddie #mine #cj x subeddieweek #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #steddie oneshot #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #ff #st #stranger things 4 #steddie one shot #subeddieweek

[thatanimeramenchick]

Yandere Vox x Secretary Reader Part One

No one asked for this, but whatever. Bite me. I’ll get to the asks, I swear

3,516 words

Part Two - Part Three

–-

The last thing you wanted was to draw attention to yourself. In a place like hell, where the worst of society sunk together and only somehow seemed to get worse, it was a good idea to not catch other people’s eyes. If their eyes were on you, it was almost never for a good reason.

So when you decided to start working, it made sense you would do something quiet and in the background like data filing for a large media company. While there were many more unsavory jobs that paid more, you wanted to avoid the obvious and dangerous crime life of hell as much as possible in your daily life. You had had enough of being unwillingly tied up in that kind of stuff when you were alive. You might as well spend your eternity in some type of peace, or at least as much as someone in hell can get.

So, you made sure you were presentable as you walked into Voxtekk on your first day to work, dressed simple business attire and keeping a quiet demeanor.

“There you are!” said who you presumed was your new boss, a short man with glasses and a blue hair dye, “Was wondering if you were going to show up!”

“Sorry,” you said, “The traffic was bad.”

“Well, you better get used to leaving early,” he said, “Traffic is always a bitch in this part of Pentagram City.”

He continued to speak as he led you to the elevator.

“So, I’ve been told you have a lot of experience with this sort of thing on earth,” he said.

“Yes, I did library work while I was alive,” you said.

And some smuggling. Especially with weapons.

You didn’t think it would be necessary to tell him that though. The job had come in handy though by giving you a knack for remembering where things were.

“Good, good,” he said, “I expect you’ll be able to figure out how to do this on your own then.”

He led you to a room that was filled with file drawers as well as a large computer off to the side.

“There’s thousands, if not millions, of files in here, both physically and digitally. It’ll be your responsibility to make sure that everything new brought in gets put in its proper place, as well as that anything that is requested can be easily found,” he said, “As the biggest media company in hell, it’s important that we know at all times where every piece of information or media can be located.”

It was overwhelming, like the world’s largest and most complicated library. It made your head spin a little looking at it all, but you always liked a challenge.

“You think you can handle it?” he asked.

You nod with some confidence, though you don’t quite feel it. This was going to take some getting used to.

“I hope for both our sakes you’re right,” he said, “Last filer I hired couldn’t tell left from right and Vox fried me to a crisp. Took me a good week before I was able to regenerate properly.”

Crap, that sounded bad. Note to self, don’t let that happen to you.

“I think I’ll be all right,” you said.

---

It was a bit overwhelming the first few weeks. You were competent enough to keep things in order though. Your experience was paying off, and you weren’t hearing any complaints or news about any assistants getting fried, so you supposed you were doing your job well enough.

Within two months of starting your job, you finally met the rumored big man himself. He had come in one day, visibly in a bad mood as he walked over to your desk, a man trailing behind him.

“I don’t know why I even pay you morons,” he said, “I have to hear important information secondhand from fucking Valentino because you can’t be bothered to keep up with what’s happening in hell.”

“Look, sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to not tell you,” he said, “I just didn’t think you’d care.”

Vox had stormed over to your desk.

“So you KNEW and thought it would be a good idea to just not tell me at all?” he said.

“T-that’s not it! I just-”

Vox held up a hand to interrupt him before turning to you.

“I want the file we have in here on Alastor,” he said, a static buzz of irritation on the last word, “Now.”

“Of course, sir,” you said.

You hurried over to the file cabinet and quickly located it.

“See, not everyone around here is as useless as you are,” Vox said to his other employee.

You saw the hapless employee mutter something under his breath out of the corner of your eye, and before you knew it a chain had appeared and Vox yanked him closer.

“What was that?” he said

“N-nothing, sir!” said the now visibly sweating employee.

A shock went through the poor guy before Vox released him.

“Useless,” he said, “You know what? I think you need some time learning exactly who is in charge around here.”

Vox pointed a clawed finger at you.

“You,” he said, “It’s your lucky day, kid. You wanna promotion?”

“Um… yes?” you said.

“Great. Samuel, have fun in janitorial work for the next decade,” he said, “You’re being replaced. What’s your name?”

“F/N,” you said.

“Hope you have customer service experience as well as filing,” he said, “You’re moving up to my office. Need someone with a functioning brain to run the front desk. Pack up!”

You hesitated for a minute before grabbing the stuff under your desk. You figured the last thing you wanted to do was piss this guy off more than he already looked.

---

Despite him being in such a bad mood that first day, you soon found that most of the time Vox was relatively calm, at least compared to what you heard about the other employers in this building. While he at times could get pretty irritated with things, especially if a certain never-to-be-named demon was brought up by an idiot intern, he rarely took it out on you. He usually took the daily bothers of running the company in stride.

Besides that, running a front desk of an office wasn’t too different than running the front desk at the library. You didn’t have to do near as much organizing in terms of files, but you still did spend a lot of time making sure that everything in Vox’s life was organized from his meetings to when he had lunch.

He didn’t talk much with you outside of work related stuff, which is why you were so surprised when you found out what he was doing one day.

It was a nice enough morning, at least as much as a nice morning can be in hell. You took a sip of your coffee briefly as you stretched and looked out your office window. While you missed the blue sky of earth, the red sky of hell had its own sort of charm you supposed. You glanced down, looking at the people walking back and forth, small as ants. Running around willy nilly. Someone was moving into the building that afternoon, a common occurrence here, as you had heard talk that Valentino liked to keep his employees in close quarters. Seems like they had a similar taste in furniture to your own. Almost frighteningly so.

Except… wait. Was that your sofa? And your dresser? Your bookshelves? You lowered your coffee to the windowsill as you squinted down at your entire catalog of furniture being moved into the building. Something wasn’t right.

You knocked on your boss’s door and entered in a bit of a rush as you heard him say to come in.

“Vox, what on earth is going on?” you asked, trying not to sound panicked.

“F/N, that could be ten different things. I need you to be more specific,” he asked, his tone nonchalant as he didn’t even look up from his phone.

“I just saw what I’m pretty sure was all my belongings being moved into the building,” you said.

“Oh yes, that. Well, I had wanted to surprise you, but I guess it’s too late for that,” he said, somewhat absently, “I hate that you have to take such a long commute to the other side of town. And I know all the apartments there are so run down, I figured I’d just move you into the studio like a lot of our other valued staff.”

What? While it was true your apartment was kind of rinky dinky, it was yours. And you liked the privacy and soft solitude it offered after work. Besides, you didn’t like the idea of your boss just moving you willy nilly without your permission. Still, you didn’t want to show him you were upset.

“Vox, you don’t have to do this,” you said, “I’m ok with where I’m at. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Think of it as a courtesy as my secretary,” he said.

You could feel your entire face tighten as you got more frustrated. Some of it was probably starting to show, despite your best efforts.

“I never asked for this though,” you said, trying to tread carefully, “and I like my old apartment. I… I don’t really want this...”

“But you do want this,” he said, finally looking up at you, “You want to be in a nicer apartment, closer to work, safer, don’t you? You always want to be here.”

That… You supposed that was true. Something about his tone soothed you, sent a pleasant lull through your skull and made your body relax as he looked in your eyes. Your protests now seemed a bit foolish and childish. In all honesty, you supposed it just made sense that you move in to the studio. Everything you needed was here, truly, why would you want to live away from here? You did want a nicer apartment without the stressful commute.

“O-ok,” you said, a small uncomfortable feeling of doubt still in your stomach, “Yeah. That’s true. I do want to be here more… closer to the office...”

He smiled at that and walked over to you. He placed an arm around you, guiding you back to your own office.

“Of course you do! And besides I already had them move everything here, so why don’t you just go back to work, and they’ll have finished moving everything in by the time your shift is done,” Vox said, “I guarantee once you’ve had time to think it through you’ll be glad we did it.”

“If you say so,” you said.

As he walked you back to your desk, he continued his calming chatter.

“That’s a good girl. You and I both have a lot of work today, anyway, so I think we can agree that you should just focus on that for now,” he said as he nudged over to your desk.

You sat down and turned to the planner on your desk as you heard your boss walk into his personal office and closed the door. You just stare blankly for a good minute, feeling a little light, like you were on Zoloft before shaking your head back and forth. Might as well just go back to work. You could think more about this later.

---

It had been happening so slowly. One day, week, month at a time, Vox was implementing himself into your life inch by inch, despite the fact that the two of you weren’t bound on paper. He had moved you into the building, where you knew that you were almost constantly on camera. He kept you so loaded down with work you barely had a social life anymore, with no time to hang out with friends or date. The pay was ok, you supposed, but it felt minuscule compared to the amount of work he was expecting you to do on a daily basis.

And then there was the… weirder things that had been happening. Whenever you tried to talk to him, he had a way of getting you to forget about whatever it was you were upset about, at least for a little while. But it would always come back eventually, and as you thought about it more, it irritating you that he was dismissing your concerns.

You hadn’t really noticed it until he had gone on vacation for a week with the other Vees. You had been quite busy with work, but without him there to calm you down whenever your “concerns” came up, you realized that maybe you had let your priorities get a little askew. You needed a career change.

So, perhaps against your better judgment, a few days after he had returned, you had left a two weeks notice on his desk before he came in. It only took about fifteen minutes after he came in for him to summon you to his office.

“F/N? What is this?” he asked, holding out the letter.

“It’s my resignation,” you said, trying to sound steady and confident.

“I’m sorry… your what?” he said

“I-I regret to inform you that I will be moving out and relocating to the Doomsday Sector in two weeks,” you said, “I appreciate all that you’ve done here for me as I worked here, but I am making a career change.”

He looked baffled for a second, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying before chuckling a little.

“No, you’re not,” he said, “You don’t want to leave he-”

“Stop!” you yelled out with more force than you intended.

As soon as he had started speaking that familiar fuzzy feeling had entered your mind, and you had closed your eyes, shaking your head. You didn’t want him talking you out of this.

“I-I’m sorry,” you said, as you reopened your eyes, but didn’t really look at him, “But I don’t want to talk about this.”

It was awkwardly silent for a minute.

“Is it a pay thing?” he finally asked, “Because that can be adjusted. You do good work. I certainly wouldn’t mind paying you more.”

“It’s not a pay thing,” you said, “It’s not anything. I-I don’t want to talk about this, so I’m going to go-”

“You’re not leaving!” he said, slamming his fist on his desk.

You jumped, a little surprised at his reaction. While you knew he wouldn’t be thrilled, you hadn’t expected him to be so volatile. He was always so calm and collected that this kind of reaction to something so minuscule confused you.

“Vox, I know you like my work, but I think you’re overreacting a little bit,” you said.

“Overreacting?” he said, looking pissed, “Overreacting?!”

He grasped at the air, a look of surprise entering his face when no chain appeared. You look at him bewildered. Had he really just tried to…?

“Vox, we don’t have a contract?” you said, “Did you forget that?”

Had he really gotten so comfy with you that he thought that you were another one of his little pets? To hell with the two week notice, you were going today.

“I think I should go back to work,” you said.

He didn’t say anything as you went back to your desk. You finished filing information extra fast that day, doing a bit of a sloppy job. As soon as it was noon, you left for what appeared to be a lunch break, but you had decided was actually going to be your escape.

This situation was getting uncomfortable. You hurried to your room and haphazardly threw clothes and necessities into your suitcase. Anything you left behind on accident you would just have to replace. On a final note, you shoved your wallet into your back pocket and walked over to the door.

Except it didn’t open. The nob didn’t even turn when you yanked on it. You tried it a few times, to no avail.

“Dammit,” you murmured under your breath, and you pounded your fist on the door.

You were about ready to start kicking it when you heard a burst of static behind you. You turned to see your boss coming in through the camera system. While it had always been an eerie feature to your arrangements, it was a million more times so to see Vox using it to his full advantage.

“What the hell is going on?” you asked.

“I should be the one asking that,” he said, “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“None of your damn business!” you said, “I don’t know what security you have on this door, but you better take it off now or-”

“Or?” he asked.

Now it was your turn to look tense as he gave you a self-satisfied smirk. You could feel your face flushing in a quiet rage as he spoke. Though you were hiding them behind your back, you could feel your fists clenching, as well as the shape of you mouth hardening.

“Vox, you are being ridiculous! We don’t even have a contract! I’m not bound to you, so you can’t keep me here,” you said.

He cocked his head at you, raising an eyebrow, “Oh really now?”

Something about the nonchalance in his tone only pissed you off more.

“Yes, really!” you yelled, “I’m not staying here. I’m leaving whether you want me to or not.”

“And just how do you expect to do that?” asked Vox, “Jump out the window? I mean you could splatter yourself on the ground, but it’d be a bit rude considering I’ll have to send some unlucky interns to scrape you off the pavement and put you back in your room until you regenerate.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and clenching and unclenching your hands with an unnecessary amount of force. You tried to calm your voice down.

“Vox, I understand that you like the work I do for you, but you’re being ridiculous,” you said.

“You think this about work?” he said, “F/N, don’t act stupid. I can get a new secretary anytime I want, ten secretaries. You and I both know that’s not what this is about.”

You looked at him confused. It wasn’t?

“For someone who is so smart with data, you are being so unbelievably slow right now.”

He advanced on you, causing you to shrink against the frame of the door as he leaned over you. He pushed you against the wall and gripped your chin in his hand, forcing you to look him in the eye. It all happened in a flash, too fast to register, and before you could realize it, he was pulling you into a rough kiss.

It wasn’t what you had expected, though it wasn’t as if you had thought a lot about what kissing your boss would feel like. On the rare occasions when you had wondered about it, you had assumed kissing Vox would be like kissing the screen of a laptop. Apparently though, he had a literal working mouth as you could clearly tell from the sensation of his tongue and even teeth connecting with your own. Your chin ached in his firm grip, which could have been more tender if it didn’t feel like he was keeping you from turning your face away. You tried to do so, but he didn’t even seem to notice it, he was so preoccupied.

He held you like this for a good two or three minutes, his saliva coating your mouth. Though it was barely there, you could feel a slight buzz to it, as if some of his electricity was in his fluids. He finally released you though, some of his spit getting on your lips as he removed himself. A sigh filled the air as your lips parted.

“Even better than I thought it would be,” he murmured

He shifted a bit and was leaning in for another kiss when you kicked him in the shins.

“Ow!” he said, releasing you and giving you time to dart away.

You had moved in a burst to the other side of the room, glaring at him with what you hoped was resentment. There was also something else though. A feeling of deep rooted anxiety and fear was stirring in full force, despite the fact that over the past few months you had been pushing it down as much as possible. You hoped he couldn’t see the weakness in you.

Whether he did or not though, you could tell he was visibly pissed for a minute. He finally got his features under control, but as he spoke his tone held all of the avarice that had left his face.

“Whatever,” he said, “Contract or not, you’re still mine, and you’re not going anywhere until you accept that. Throw a tantrum if you want to, but you’re stuck here.”

You watched as he went back into the camera system as easily as he had come. You curled up on the floor, burying your face in your arms.

#yandere x reader #hazbin hotel #vox #yandere vox #vox x reader

[katz-chow]

how time passes

a/n: domestic price is the only price i will take, thank you very much. my submission for @glitterypirateduck's christmas fics. song? "love to keep me warm” by dodie & laufey. why? you'll see :) merry christmas everyone 🎄

warnings: gn!reader, fluff, sfw, cold, snowy night, leading up to a smut ;)

For John, there’s a certain aspect of life that he isn’t all too familiar with. Domesticity seemed like a world away, hidden almost. Of course, he sees it all around him; in how young couples shop for decorations for their first Christmas, or how older couples shop for grandkid presents for their nth Christmas, how candles are rare to find nowadays, all the colorful ones taken by menorahs sitting on windowsills.

He remembers it clearly when he first realized how teasing a normal life can be. It was on the same cobblestone street that he finds himself on right now, right through the glass planes of a small cafe. In a way, domesticity found itself behind a China cabinet, displayed and just an inch away from his grasp, and yet the veil between them remained locked. The feeling of being a lover, a husband just right on the other side, staring back at him like window shopping. How frustratingly fleeting it is.

The wind blew a bit more wildly back then, snow caked upon the roofs of the many buildings that surrounded him, all occupied with families. He remembers the way his hands would go numb from the hours that he walked around the market square, just to avoid the rickety radiator in his flat.

But that was years ago and the heater of the cafe he’s sat in seems unbearably warm. John sat himself in the corner, two drinks on the table and a tiramisu that he knew he had to get as soon as he set his eyes on it. Unconsciously, he looked at the gold watch on his wrist, just to check the time instead of looking incredibly pitiful alone in a room of company. He cleared his throat, then looked around; a Christmas tree with paper ornaments of children’s drawings littered through its branches, the electric fireplace that changed colors, and the soft jazz that played through the speakers.

His phone buzzed next to him on the small round table. He looked at the notification with a dash of his brow, a storm’s approaching. More snow. A chuckle bubbles up in his throat as he thinks of the irony of his first Christmas back in town almost 5 years ago, the same cold but not the same emptiness.

Almost as if on cue, the jingle of the bell at the door rang out and there you were to greet him. Still in your work clothes but with a long overcoat and a much too big scarf around you. If John could say it to you, he would say you look swaddled up like a baby. But he’s a gentleman and he knew that if he did say that, you’d refuse to put on the much-needed layers and opt to freeze to death.

He waves you down when he sees the way you stand there, hands in your pockets as your eyes wander around. He sees your eyes land on him and you bright up as you waddle over in your snow boots. He stands to pull the chair out for you, scooting you in.

“You look toasty.” He compliments, sliding the warm mug of a mocha latte over to you. He smiles even more when he sees you take off your coat and scarf, quickly grabbing the mug and holding it close to your nose. “Don’t burn your nose off.”

You glare at him playfully as you take a whiff of the chocolate goodness presented to you. “Maybe then I don’t have to smell you and that detergent you accidentally bought.”

John throws his head back, exasperated. Did he buy the wrong detergent and does it smell so obnoxiously strong you have to dilute it with an unscented one? Yes. Will you let him love it down? No, unfortunately.

He watches as you take a sip, sinking your shoulders down as you let the warmth fill you up. “This is really good, I’m glad you picked this place.”

“Saw it a few years ago, thought it’d be nostalgic to be back.” He replies simply, taking a sip from his own.

You place the mug down and narrow your eyes at him, “Nostalgic? You took your ex here or something?” You say accusatively as you place your hand into his palm on the table.

He winces at how cold your hands are compared to him. “Something like that…”

The last time he was here, he ordered one tiramisu and one latte. He then stayed for hours, watching people walk in and out, taking advantage of the buy one get one half off promotion that the young cafe had to offer. He thought about how unfair it was that even drinks came in pairs during the holidays and he’s still painfully alone. So, something like an ex.

“Your hands are freezing, Baby. Where’d you put your mittens?” He asks as he holds your hand tightly, rubbing his thumb over your fingers.

You smile cheekily towards him, opting to stuff your mouth with a spoonful of tiramisu instead of answering. This caught his attention as he pressed on, a small chuckle following his words.

“I forgot them…” You mumbled, obviously, you did! You squeeze his hand back and look around the cafe, avoiding his gaze entirely.

You see him shake his head as he laughs, and you look back at him, laughing and smiling sheepishly along. The scene was unreal, music in the air, warmth filling every bone in your body, and your favorite person ever, holding your hand.

He lays out both his palms in front of you, signaling for you to take advantage and settle your own hands on his. You do and he cups them together, rubbing some heat into them. Softly as ever, his beard tickles your knuckles as he gives them a small kiss on his lips. You feel your cheeks heat up just a bit, stinging from the cold they were previously in. You slip your hands out from under him and place them on each side of his neck, he grumbles, annoyed.

“We’re so cringe…” You muttered quietly, now hyperaware of the public setting the two of you were seated in.

He grasps your hands again and holds them close. Deciding to completely ignore the comment you made, he switches over to pepper your knuckles in kisses instead. “Wanna get outta here then?”

You nod and he lets go off your cold hands, which you promptly stick in between your thighs to warm up. John waves to a barista, pointing out to the snowy scenery. She seems to understand as she gives the two of you two paper cups and a box for your cake.

The two of you link arms and he pulls you out of the cafe, bundled up even more than when you came in with his beanie on your head. His other hand holding the bag of your little treat.

Snowflakes gently and steadily fall on your shoulders and head as he leads you back to his car, you having taken a cab over from work. John looks around at the nearly empty streets, most people taking shelter within the shops or in the comfort of their homes. He looks at you, a content smile painted your face even if the tip of your nose was turning pink and your hands still cold in his coat pocket and in his own hands.

You didn’t seem to complain about the how Jack Frost nips at your cheeks. And even if you did, he knows it’s not all too serious as you still down the packed streets full of cars.

“You cold, Darling?” He leans down a bit to whisper in your ear.

You look at him, your eyebrows raises in the cutest way. You shake your head and continue to watch the way the two of you were headed.

John didn’t think much about anything else, just the way your thumb rubs over his hand in his pocket, the crunching of score under your boots. He didn’t even think about his movements as he turned and backed you into the nearest wall, his body shielding you away from the world as you felt his breath on the tip of your nose.

“You’re so beautiful…” He grins down at you. The to-go bag now hook onto your arm as your hands found solace in his pockets.

You giggle at him and kiss his nose, then both his cheeks. John’s hands find either sides of your face as he cups it. His thumbs rubs and pinches the apples of your flesh.

He leans down and gives you one good kiss on your lips, you quickly melt into it and your hands escape to wrap around his waist under his coat. The kiss rushes through your veins, your body not feeling so cold anymore.

He pushes your head back a bit more with the force of his kiss. Fingers sliding back into the locs of your hair and into the back of your head, cushioning it from the hard, cold bricks.

“I’m warm now…” You giggle as he pulls away from you. Your teeth makes in contact with your bottom lip and your eyes big and glossy to draw him in.

He laughs and gives you a kiss on your forehead for good measure. John gives out a shaky breath as he leans to the side of your face, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “How about we hurry home and I warm you up more effectively?”

A breath hitches in your throat as you nod just a bit. He chuckles and kisses your cheek, pulling you into a u-turn when he realized y’all meant to take a right at the cafe.

#katzwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #fanfic #cod ghost #captain price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x imagines #price x reader #john price x reader #price call of duty #captain price x reader #cod price #captain john price

[m1dn1ght-hag]

Hi! Can I request diavolo reacting to reader who had become his wife/queen being hit on by another king who us visiting the devil domain? Saying things like "you are a lucky man", being overly touchy with reader, even going as far as asking if diavolo was willing to " share"?

note: I’m SO sorry this took so long to come out 😭 I just graduated so hopefully I should have more time to focus on being mentally ill 😝💪 the ending doesn’t rwallt fit the mood of the rest of the writing but i like jt too much tk get rid of it

somewhat proofread 😭

Content warning: uhhh catcalling???, inappropriate comments, objectification, jealous Dia

Fem!MC

—

It had been a slow day for Diavolo, and knowing he had to attend a formal party after work helped a little to ease his nerves. The thing he’d be looking forward to all day is seeing you, who’d be accompanying him as his plus one. (as if you weren’t going to be invited anyways.)

He appreciated all the effort his citizens put into celebrating him, however he was simply too exhausted after how slow the day had been dragging on. It was his birthday and he was still forced to attend business meetings and keep up with his paperwork to avoid falling behind. (Barbatos’ orders. He’s scary when he’s angry, and Diavolo did NOT want to feel his wrath.)

A simple knock on his door alerted him of Barbatos’ presence, speak of the devil, before the butler let himself in. Upon entering the room and seeing Diavolo hunched over his desk, slowly dwindling away at the stack of documents he clicked his tongue.

"Young lord," he started, drawing Diavolo's attention away from the paper, "it's time to get prepared, we must leave in the next hour."

With a relieved sigh, Diavolo stood his stretched his aching limbs, glad to be going to the party seeing it as a distraction from the endless paperwork he had to sign.

——

Being with you at the party definitely brightened his mood as the two of you chatted and laughed together, occasionally interrupted by a demon cheering birthday wishes.

“Oh, Dia, I’ll go get us some drinks.” Diavolo smiled as the nickname naturally slipped past your lips, “what do you want?”

“Whatever you’re getting, my dear.” seeing the unamused glare you sent him made him chuckle.

“You better not complain,” you reprimanded jokingly, patting his arm before heading to the beverage table.

He allowed his eyes to follow your figure before he heard a whistle next to him. He turned his head in the direction of the noise to see someone eyeballing you. Diavolo quickly noted the other demon was the crowned prince from another kingdom, visiting in place of his father to celebrate Diavolo. He also noted that he was very, very drunk. A risqué compliment slurred past his lips followed by a hiccup before he noticed Diavolo.

“Oh! Lord Diavolo,” He laughed too loud for comfort, “congratulations!”

“Thank you.” Diavolo replied with fake gratitude, curtly nodding.

“Yesss, you caught a real beauty alright.”

“Excuse me?” Diavolo scoffed, ‘caught?’

The other prince tipped forward, gasping when his drink nearly spilled over before, sloppily, regaining “balance” and downing another flute of demonus. He called over a waiter who, begrudgingly, handed him another.

“You know-“ a hiccup interrupted his speech, “-you should sharee, she’s a pretty one and I’d like a bite if her myself.”

“Excuse me?” Diavolo repeated, feeling his blood begin to boil.

The demon bellowed, waving the new glass of Demonus in the air, “you heard me, yes you did!” He hiccuped, “you’re a lucky man, alright!”

Diavolo glanced over towards you, and felt a wave of relief upon seeing you were still at the beverage table, now chatting with Lucifer. He was silently thanking his friend for occupying you at the moment; he could only imagine how uncomfortable it would have been for you to listen to some drunkard babbling about your body so inappropriately.

You caught his gaze and sent him a pleasant smile, waving. The angry expression he wore faded momentarily as he returned the smile and waved back, before turning his attention back to the drunken demon standing before him, who’d tipped his head back and downed another flute of white wine.

You quickly finished your conversation with Lucifer and dismissed yourself, eager to get back to your boyfriend.

“Hey Dia,” you greeted, interlocking your fingers with his and rubbing your thumb along his, “sorry I took so long.”

Diavolo flinched at your touch and inwardly cursed, sending the demon another nasty look before trying to drag you away from the offender. “That’s quite alright my dear, you could have stayed longer.”

A whistle startled you and caused Diavolo to let out an irate sigh. You turned your attention to the source of the noise, a brow quirked. “Excuse me?”

“Mc, no,“ Diavolo’s plea fell to deaf ears as the demon started talking.

A hiccup followed by a string of coughing as the demon slurred out a provocative comment, waving around the, now empty, flute merrily and swaying closer to the couple.

Diavolo instinctively stepped in front of you, holding you behind him so the demon wouldn't try grabbing you. "End this behavior at once or I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Ohhh-" the demon gagged and swallowed, "don't be that way, I'm just sayin' we could share her, y'know?"

Before Diavolo could react, the demon reached forward to touch you, barely grazing your arm before Diavolo harshly elbowed his arm away. Barbatos interfered before anything got too out of hand and grabbed the drunkard's arm, twisted it behind his back, and escorted him away from the scene, telling him that they’d be sending him back to his kingdom and informing his father of his behaviour.

Diavolo would have to remember to thank Barbatos later.

He turned to you, both hands on either shoulder, his previous anger dissipated and was replaced with concern. “Are you alright, my dear? I deeply apologize for the way he was treating you.”

“I’m fine,” you cup his cheeks, watching the way he melted in your hands, rubbing into your hold, “are you okay, Dia?”

He angled his head to place a tentative kiss to the palm of your hand, a pleasant smile returning to his face, “I am now, my dear. Thank you.”

You gently pinch his cheek, earning a giggle from him before you also began giggling, “what for?”

“For choosing me.”

“Oh, Dia you big sap,” you pinched his cheeks again before pressing a kiss against his lips, feeling him smile against yours. You would have kissed him so more it you two weren’t in public, surrounded by the presence of many nobles, who’d frown upon the un-princely show of affection, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my dear,” he cupped his hands around yours, before pulling them away from his face and straightening his posture, “now that we won’t be interrupted again, where are the drinks you were wanting me to try?”

“Oh,” you cupped your free hand over your mouth, “I forgot them by Lucifer, I saw you and got distracted.”

Diavolo laughed, squeezing your hand, “well lets go over, together this time, shall we?”

#diavolo om #diavolo x reader #obey me #om diavolo #obey me x reader

[quillsandblades]

A levihan fic I wrote inspired by the wonderful art of @addiej01

Lucky

Dust motes and overflowing sewerage. Dirty streets, uneven houses, and a large rocky ceiling, cutting out the sight of—Levi could only imagine what it may look like— the sky.

A typical day in the Underground.

Levi was eight, and pissed off at the random men that kept showing up to the small room where they lived. His mother had, as usual, sent him away, sneaking him out through the window and drawing the threadbare curtains over it before anyone could see him. He knew she was doing it—whatever it was—for him, and it also hurt her. And it involved men.

She had explained patiently to him that she was working and he must never peek through the window or she would be very angry and sad. But he’d seen her tired eyes, pale face and the dried tear tracks on her cheeks. He’d seen how she would wince in pain when she moved, and he’d heard her silent sniffles in the deep night when she thought he was asleep. He blamed the men, and her work, that she was so adamant on hiding from him.

He had been tempted to look through the window once. If he knew what was hurting her, he could find a solution. But her words had rung sharply in his mind and he knew if he followed the impulse, his mom would never ever forgive him.

So there he was, wandering the streets on yet another day, feeling helpless and cursing life with all the ferocity a child could muster.

Levi knew his way in the area around his home quite well. He was familiar with the narrow alleyways and passages that ran through the district like a tight network of spider webs. And just like a spider web, they were traps for all the stupid flies that dared to venture into it.

Levi was not a fly; rather he was one of the spiders, albeit a smaller one. Having grown up on those streets, he knew exactly what kind of person to avoid and how to avoid them. As a child he did lack many talents needed on the streets, like strength, fighting tactics and killing, but he knew how to survive, and that’s what mattered most. He was pretty quick and stealthy as well. Though his mom didn’t like the idea of stealing and Levi went along with it, it was still a handy little skill.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he instantly looked around. The distant sound of hurried footsteps compelled him to dive into a gaping alley. He flattened behind a dripping pipe, holding his breath, partially due to the stink, and peered out.

A tall, burly man marched through the street; waves of anger were emitting from him and he was fingering the gun in his belt, moving with a purpose.

As he’d suspected, it was one of the spiders. A big one. Levi wouldn’t want to be in its pincers. He waited with bated breath, until the man was out of sight and it was safe for him to come out. But just then, he heard a small squeak and jerked back, fists raised.

‘Who’s there?’ he called out.

When nothing but silence answered, he stepped back into the alley, and squinted in the semi-darkness, eyes roving, searching—there!

A small figure was hunched behind some boxes. Another squeak sounded.

Levi approached it and realized it was a kid, around his age. The kid stumbled back as Levi came closer, hands held in front of him . . . or her? It could be a boy, sure looked like one. He wore glasses and was dressed in fairly bright and expensive looking clothes, but they were covered in dirt, and his short brown hair framed his face in messy strands.

He looked terrified, but was doing a fairly good job in masking it.

‘Who are you?’ Levi asked, folding his arms.

‘H—Hange,’ surprisingly the voice sounded female.

Levi raised his eyebrows, ‘You a girl?’

‘Uh, I . . . yeah,’ her eyes darted around, unsure and nervous.

‘You’re not from here,’ Levi stated flatly.

She winced, ‘Well, yes . . . but I swear I’m not gonna cause any trouble! I just wanted to look around! I’ve never seen the Underground before!’

Levi rolled his eyes; as if it was such a delightful place. So she was from the surface, and completely oblivious to this world. What an idiot.

The perfect fly.

He decided it was better not to let the girl, Hange, wander around by herself, so he accompanied her to the gates. Besides, he had nothing to do anyway.

She liked talking, as he soon found out. A lot. And throughout their little journey, she chattered happily in his ear. In a span of forty minutes, he knew everything from the name of her pet dog to the annoying governess who made her sit through hours of lectures on how to be a proper lady, even though she didn’t want to be one. Apparently, her father was a kind-hearted doctor who had come down to treat the victims of a prevailing disease in the Underground. Naturally, Hange wasn’t allowed to come with him. And naturally her unbridled curiosity made her slip in while her father crossed through the gates. How she managed that feat was beyond him.

He learnt quite a lot about life above the ground, and realized just how different it was from his own. But he really wished she would shut up for a while, otherwise he was sure to have a headache soon.

Thankfully, the gates came in sight, and she turned to him. She was grinning, and her eyes were shining brightly.

‘Thanks for being my guide, Levi!’ she exclaimed.

‘I wasn’t your—’ his retort was cut short as she enveloped him into a hug.

‘Bye! I’ll see you tomorrow, okay!’ she shouted in his ear.

‘Oi! Get off four-eyes!’

She laughed at the nickname and headed towards the gates, preparing to sneak out. She might get caught but it wasn’t like he cared. She’d managed to come in after all, he was sure she could go out as well. He turned on his heel and walked away.

***

True to her word, Hange came down again the next day. He saw her descend the giant stone steps with a man that could only be her father. It seemed she’d somehow convinced him to bring her along this time. She beamed down at him and adjusted the bag at her shoulders, as the guards held them up by the entrance.

‘You were waiting for me!’ she jumped in excitement as she rushed down.

Levi scowled, ‘I wasn’t.’

Of course he wasn’t waiting for that moron to come; he was simply walking around the gates. It’s not like he was bored or anything.

‘Your father let you come today,’ Levi pointed out.

‘Yeah! I asked him sooo many times yesterday that he just had to,’ she said.

‘But he only agreed when I told him I made a really nice grumpy friend,’ Hange skipped ahead, full of energy. ‘So, where are we going today?’

‘I’m not your friend,’ said Levi, ‘and we’re not going anywhere.’

‘Oh c’mon grumpy pants,’ she pouted. ‘Show me around! I even brought food for us today; we can have a picnic somewhere!’

Levi shook his head, equal parts amused and irritated. What did she think this place was? An amusement park?

‘You can't fool around here,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s dangerous.’

‘Buuut I wanna explore,’ she whined, ‘and you know the Underground well. Pleeease Levi.’ She looked at him with big, pleading brown eyes.

He sighed and trudged ahead, ‘Come on.’ It wasn’t as if he was busy, some company wouldn’t hurt.

‘Yes!’

He led her to areas that he knew were relatively safer. Four-eyes tagged along, staring at the shops, houses, bars and people as if she’d never seen those things before. He noted that she stared at the stone ceiling every now and then, mouth half-open in wonder.

‘These people,’ she began after a while, ‘they’ve been in the Underground all their lives?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So that means none of you have ever seen the sky?’

He nodded stiffly. Hange gasped.

‘That’s horrible! You’re telling me you don’t know how it looks like when it’s clear, or cloudy, or early in the morning, or when the sun’s setting?’

‘I don’t.’

She stopped and grasped him by the arms, bending forward. Levi leaned back, eyes widening.

‘Don’t you worry Levi, I’ll take you to see the sky!’ she said earnestly. ‘Why don’t you come with me today when I leave?’

‘I can't,’ he shook his head. ‘None of the Undergrounders can leave just like that.’

‘Oh,’ her shoulders slumped and she frowned, crestfallen.

But then her eyes lit up once more, ‘Y’know, my mom’s a painter, and I just remembered two of her really good paintings about the sky. I’ll bring them tomorrow for you to see!’

And with that she bounded forward, calling for him to catch up.

Levi stood there for a second, not knowing what to make of this overly enthusiastic girl who somehow felt it was her duty to show him something he’d always wished but never had the chance to see. Was this what they called kindness? He couldn’t be sure.

Four-eyes insisted to see a livelier place next, so he took her to the market square, bustling with people. She moved around the stalls with a bright gleam in her eyes and gushed over the local handiworks. After she’d looked around to her heart’s content, they both sat down on the large steps of a storehouse and four-eyes took out food from her bag. Bright-colored fruits, bread, sandwiches, an orange drink.

The sight made his mouth water. How long had it been since he had a proper meal? Weeks? Months? How long since his mother had eaten anything?

Hange nudged him, ‘Go on, I brought this for both of us.’

He picked up a piece of bread gingerly and took a small bite. It was warm and sweet and so painfully real that for a moment he just savored the feeling of something solid and edible filling his mouth. He tore off a large bite, then another and another, filling himself with food. He finished the whole loaf in a minute.

Levi glanced at Hange, expecting her to be staring at him judgmentally, but she was simply chewing an apple, gazing around thoughtfully.

So Levi picked up a sandwich and bit into it, taking time to chew properly and eat slowly this time.

‘So . . . you said you lived with only your mom,’ she started.

‘Hmm.’

‘Where’s your dad?’

‘Dunno, and don’t care,’ he shrugged.

‘Can I meet your mom?’ four-eyes asked eagerly.

‘She’s busy right now, working.’

Her face fell. He hesitated, and then said, ‘Maybe another time?’

‘Of course! I would love to!’

She began taking again, telling him about her life, her little adventures back at home. This time he threw in small comments here and there, making her laugh out loud. It was a nice feeling: to learn that you could make someone smile widely just because of your words.

Much too soon, it was time for her to go. She let him—more like forced him—to take the rest of the food home, and promised to come down tomorrow and show him the paintings.

The next day, Levi greeted her with the words, ‘I want to show you a place.’

‘Ooh!’ Hange was all excitement as she followed him.

He went to the far corner of the district where the tumbledown houses gave way to the high walls that marked the end of the city. The spot was a mess of cracked rock and broken stones protruding from the ground and rising up to a great height.

‘C’mon,’ Levi said, lodging his hands and feet between the gaps in the stone and hoisting himself. He looked back down at four-eyes, ‘Can you climb up?’

She nodded, a bit uncertainly but followed his lead. It wasn’t that hard, the rocks weren’t slippery or steep, but they did have a long way to go. Levi focused on climbing up and kept checking on Hange in between. She seemed to be doing okay.

Finally they reached the wide ledge at the top and Levi pulled himself up and then helped Hange. They both sat there, catching their breath for a while. Hange produced a bottle of water from her bag, drank some and then handed it to Levi.

She turned to look back and gasped.

‘Whoa!’

The whole Underground city was spread out below them. From their great height, the houses looked like children’s toys. The buildings were squashed in close to each other, with narrow streets weaving between them. The tall towers stood out majestically among them. Everything shined in the flickering lights of the city.

Levi looked at four-eyes and almost smiled at her expression of awe. She was quiet for a while, watching the scene intently.

‘This is beautiful,’ she said finally in a quiet voice. Then turned to him and smiled, ‘Thank you for bringing me here, Levi.’

He turned away from her and mumbled, ‘Yeah whatever . . .’

Hange chuckled and settled back comfortably on the ledge. Then opened her bag and took out various food items and patted the space beside her. Levi sat down and they began to eat, looking down.

‘I noticed that there aren’t any plants or flowers in the Underground,’ said Hange.

‘How could there be any, you moron. There’s no sunlight.’

‘I know, but look at that,’ she pointed to the roof that felt way closer now that they were up there. It was damp and covered with fungus. ‘There are parts of the roof that have grown thinner than the rest,’ she went on. ‘And the stone will continue to weather away due to wind and water. It’s possible that a hole might open up in here. So if sunlight comes in there’ll be greenery.’ She smiled.

‘Like I care,’ said Levi, although he did find the idea nice.

‘You will care when it happens. A little green would look good here—oh! I just remembered! I had to show you something!’ she unzipped her bag.

‘Is it those paintings?’ Levi asked, curiosity seeping through the indifference.

‘Yes that too, but there’s one more thing!’ Hange pulled out a book and held it up.

‘I don’t know how to read four-eye,’ he said flatly.

She simply opened the book and pulled out a small leaf from it. It resembled a flower, and had four bright green petals. She held it out to him.

‘That’s a clover leaf,’ she said proudly. ‘And they usually have only three petals. Four petals are sooo rare that people say if you find one, you’re really lucky!’

Levi held the leaf in his hand and observed its fresh green color. Lucky, huh?

‘People will make up anything to satisfy themselves,’ he said and handed the clover back to her. She carefully placed it between the pages once more.

‘But still, seeing how rare it is, it’s still quite a precious thing,’ Hange countered. ‘I’m so glad I found it.’

Next she pulled out two pieces canvas from her bag and showed them to Levi with a grin, ‘As promised, I brought you a glimpse of the sky!’

The two paintings were a splash of color that was so rarely seen in his world.

‘This one’s a sunset,’ she pointed to the one that looked like fire. Molten red and orange hues bathed the canvas, mingling into a gold-yellow. Distant black silhouettes were painted that Levi recognized as mountains and horses. A huge pale orb—the sun—was half-hidden between the hills.

‘And this one’s a clear sky.’ The second painting showed a soft blue shade dotted with something that looked like fluffy pieces of cotton. Little red-roofed houses peppered the ground, surrounded by vibrant green fields. He could see small figures of children, frozen in time, chasing each other. He could almost hear their laughter.

‘You like it?’ Hange asked.

The places in both these pictures felt free. The people there could look up and see an infinite stretch of something that wasn’t the roof of a cage. Something that washed them in different colors at different hours of the day. It wasn’t a monochrome black all the time.

‘It’s . . . nice.’ He said quietly. This was just a picture; the real thing would be a hundred times better. He wondered if his wish to go out in the open would remain a wish forever.

‘I think,’ Hange’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, ‘the clover leaf really is lucky.’

He raised his eyebrows, ‘And what makes you think that?’

She shrugged, ‘I found the leaf. Then I met you,’ she locked her warm brown eyes with his. ‘And that was indeed very lucky.’

Levi tore his gaze away, not knowing what to say. Hange laughed quietly, ‘You’re a really good friend, Levi.’

Hange kept coming for many days. They would talk, play around, and often climb onto that ledge. She would tell him about the outside world and he would mention brief fragments of his life and the Underground. Once Hange sneaked in some of her mother’s paints and they both spent a good amount of hours on their ledge, making a mess of the colors. He liked the routine; it was the first time he’d made a ‘friend’ and Levi was actually having fun.

One day four-eyes came to him with a sad smile; she was carrying just a book, no backpack. Her father didn’t go off to attend to his patients as he usually did, but stood back at a distance as she approached him.

‘Hey,’ she whispered.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘We’re leaving,’ said Hange. ‘Father’s work here is done, we won’t be coming back.’

Oh.

He knew she wasn’t going to come down everyday forever, but . . . he hadn’t expected that day to come so soon.

‘I asked him to let me just meet you one last time and only then I’d go,’ she said. Then she handed him the book, and opened a page in the middle. Upon it sat that clover leaf she’d shown him before, carefully dried and pressed between the pages.

‘I dried it. If you keep it inside the book, it’ll last for quite some time.’

Levi shut the book and looked at four-eyes. He had to say something.

‘Thank you,’ he said. She smiled, this time happily. Then he said, ‘And this won’t be last time we’re meeting, four-eyes. I’ll get out of this hellhole with my mother and then we’ll meet again.’

Her eyes widened, and then gleamed behind her glasses. She crushed him in a hug, and he let her do it this once.

‘All right then, I’ll see if you keep your word Levi.’

***

‘The name’s Levi,’ he stared down at the lined up soldiers who would blindly throw their lives away in the name of freedom. Isabel and Farlan stood on either side of him, both alert and cautious.

Then his eyes caught a familiar sight of messy brown hair and glasses. Vague memories stirred within him.

. . . I’ll see if you keep your word . . .

Well, he did keep it. Here he was, beneath the vast open sky, and four-eyes was right in front of him. He held back a smile. How lucky indeed.

#levihan #hange zoe #levi ackerman #levihan fanfiction #my writing #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #levihan fanart #enjoy

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: The Stranger

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: lady whump (barely), being threatened with a knife

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 3800 || Approx reading time: 16 mins

The Stranger

Teaser: “I’m sorry!” he repeated, but he was still cackling, and when she returned to the bedroom, his entire body was splayed across the bed, chest heaving and eyes watering. “I wasn’t trying to.”

Bree was immediately suspicious when the first thing Will did upon laying eyes on her in the morning was quell a burst of laughter.

“What is it?” She sat up straight, letting the blanket fall away.

“I, uh…” He bit into his fist, obviously making a valiant effort not to howl at some mystery affair that he found endlessly entertaining. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” With a growing sense of trepidation, she watched his gaze travel over her again. “About what?”

He cleared his throat, eyes still alight. “Well…” Gently, he pressed two fingers to the side of her neck, which did little to illuminate the reason for his mirth. “Really? It doesn’t hurt?” Bree merely stared at him, and this appeared to be the moment that through let a new torrent of laughter. “Go look in a mirror,” he wheezed. “I’m sorry.” This, by far, was the most alarming thing he could have said, and she leapt up, running for the nearest looking glass.

She gasped when she saw the splotch that had appeared on her throat overnight—not the kind that Baden had left there so many times before with furious, choking fingers, but one of a different sort. “Will!”

“I’m sorry!” he repeated, but he was still cackling, and when she returned to the bedroom, his entire body was splayed across the bed, chest heaving and eyes watering. “I wasn’t trying to.”

Overcome with the admittedly pleasant memory of the activities which had resulted in the bruise on her throat, Bree began to laugh, too.

“Those things take forever to heal, too,” he said, wiping his eyes and drawing her back into the comfort of the bed. Soft cotton and warm, bare skin enveloped her once again.

“How would you know?”

He snorted, guiltless. “How do you think?” Grinning rather devilishly, he nipped at her neck, away from the incriminating bruise and gently enough to avoid coaxing out another.

She flicked him on the arm. “You’re a wicked boy.”

He batted his eyes. “Who? Me?” The façade of innocence vanished as he winked.

“Yes, you,” she said helplessly, but she couldn’t be angry. Not truly. Even if the evidence of what they had done the night before was splashed across her throat in brilliant purple glory.

Something, a dark voice reminded her, that went against a set of vows she had taken four years before.

The idea of being an adulterous wife, which it could not be denied that she now was, fell upon her as if from a great distance, a hazy sort of accusation that rippled around her like a cloud of dust. Drifting close, but not choking. It was true, and yet…

Bree wondered if it made her wicked—that she could not bring herself to feel a single speck of remorse, even as that low, accusing voice hurled at her a dozen horrid names and told her that retribution for her unfaithfulness would come soon enough.

“Hey. You okay?”

Will was talking to her, she realized. Saying something that had to be important, if he was the one checking her attention.

“Hmm?” She turned her look into his face—the dusting of freckles, the sleep lines creasing his cheek, the fading bruise at the corner of his mouth from the fight with those horrible boys a few nights before. “I’m sorry. I was…” She paused. “Daydreaming. What did you say?”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trailing his hand to her shoulder and down her arm until it landed on the bandage. “The inn. I’m going to get our stuff.”

“What?” Illogical though it was, fear pounced almost instantly—that he would be hurt, that he would be caught, that he would never return. “By yourself?”

Biting his lip, clearly trying not to laugh, he confirmed, “Yeah.”

“But what if someone—”

“Bree,” he said, “I’ll go faster on my own. And it’s hardly anything, so it won’t be much to carry. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Something did happen the other night.”

With a soft, barely suppressed sigh, he laced his fingers through hers. “I mean, yeah. But what are we supposed to do? Leave the money there?”

“No,” she said, wavering. “I suppose you’re right.”

Will waved his free hand in the air. “Did I hear that right? Did someone just say I was right about something? And could it have been the clever, smartass lady herself?”

“Oh, stop,” she said, laughing. “But, really—you’ll be careful?”

“What are you talking about? I’m known for being careful.” When she fixed him with a dubious stare, a smirk fought its way onto his face. “I’m always sensible. And cautious. And, uh, p…prudent, and…”

“You’re a terrible liar,” she said, and Will feigned an indignant scoff. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Please.”

Kissing her suddenly enough to steal the very air from her lungs, he asked, “How’s that for a promise?”

Giddy, Bree said, “I suppose it’ll do.”

***

After the relatively meagre breakfast they cobbled together with what little food they found—and after she’d bullied him into helping her tidy up from the meal—Will headed for the door, promising to return soon. Watching him put on his boots, Bree was struck with a new worry—and a new suspicion. Quickly, before he could disappear, she asked if he was planning any other secret missions, like his visit to the townhouse the day of the drop. A guilty smile crossed his face.

“Okay,” he said, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck, “you got me. I was gonna check the drop points.”

“You don’t have to keep things from me,” she told him, folding her arms.

“I know. You just worry a lot.”

Bree raised her eyebrows, letting a pointed stare slide over every mark still on his skin despite the weeks of freedom. “I’ve never seen you without some kind of injury. Shouldn’t I worry?”

He snorted, gave her a kiss and a promise to return in one piece, and went.

In his absence, peace settled over the townhouse save for the sound of the street outside, and even that was not so terribly loud. Bree watched a group of raggedy-looking children run past, throwing dead leaves at one another and chasing an alarmed-looking orange cat. It seemed terribly foreign, that near-palpable wild abandon, that fierce and feral energy with which they scampered through the streets. She’d never caused a ruckus with the boys and girls of her neighbourhood, for there were none to cause a ruckus with—at least, none whose parents would let them. They’d all been much the same as her: meek and pale and exceedingly well-behaved.

Well-behaved for a time, Bree thought with a smile, running her fingertips over the ink on her arm.

With the kitchen tidied and only the crackle of the fire to keep her company, Bree inspected the bookshelf. Its wooden slats sagged under the weight of more books than she would have ever expected to see in the headquarters of a ring of thieves, boasting titles and authors that astonished her: Dickens, Carroll, Browning, Chaucer, Blake, Wordsworth, Ovid, and even more.

Someone in Iustitia aecum, it seemed, was a kindred spirit.

One title winked up at her like the stars referenced on its first page, and it was with this book that she curled up by the fire, finding joy in her solitude for, perhaps, the first time in her life—because, for the first time in her life, she did not dread the return of the one who had left, but rather awaited it with warmth and welcome.

Sleep crept over her despite the daylight hour, settling upon the quiet townhouse in drapes and folds, luscious like the layers of a ballgown. Drifting to sleep in the soothing heat by the hearth, Bree wondered when she had last been so lazy—so delectably, wonderfully peaceful—as to rest like this while the sun still hung in the sky.

How long it was before she awoke, and what it was that roused her, Bree could not tell. But something bristled through her when she woke; a needling sense, a trickle of icy water down her back, called to her that something wasn’t right, and it needed her attention now.

But when she lifted her head, wincing as her neck groaned in pain from the strange angle at which it had fallen while she slept, she found nothing amiss.

Swallowing, Bree rose. Was it wise to call out? If it was Will, there should be no danger—right? But why would Will be sneaking around?

And if it wasn’t Will…

“Hello?” she called, tiptoeing across the room. It was silly, how tremulously her voice pierced the air. What reason was there to be frightened? None. She had probably just heard a bump or a cry from outside and jolted awake.

Of course, no one answered, and Bree breathed out in relief. She was being foolish; there was no one there. Embarrassed but at ease, Bree turned back toward the hearth, where the fire was almost out.

A hand latched onto her arm and yanked.

Bree cried out as her feet were nearly swept out from beneath her; someone was hurling her backwards. Forceful. Furious. Silent.

“H—”

A hand slammed hard over her mouth as the back of her skull cracked against the wall. Bree gasped, squirming against the hold of her attacker, whimpering and trying to gather the wherewithal to call for help.

“Who the hell are you?” a voice hissed. A woman’s voice. She was glaring right into Bree’s face, eyes glittering with suspicion. “And what the ever-loving fuck are you doing in my house?”

My house…

Bree tried to scream and shove the stranger off her, but the woman pressed a knife against her throat, point first, digging in until it hurt. “Hey. Listen the fuck up. We’re going to have a conversation, and if you scream, you’ll be sorry. Understand?”

Her house?

Bree nodded, her heart close to leaping right out of her chest when the knife remained precisely where it was.

“Yes,” she gasped when the woman’s hand lifted slightly. When Spider’s hand lifted slightly. For that was who she was, wasn’t it? If this was her house? “I—I understand.”

The hand fell away entirely, and Bree took a breath unencumbered. The girl still did not pull the knife away.

“Let’s hear it, then.” Despite the menacing glare and the very sharp blade, Bree could not help but notice that Spider was undeniably beautiful. Tight curls the deep hue of a starless night framed her face, and keen brown eyes gazed out from a visage so finely boned and free of imperfections, Bree almost wanted to weep. But there was nothing fine or gentle in her voice. “Who are you?”

“Please put the knife away,” Bree whispered, a response she knew was stupid, but the prickle of the knife-edge against her throat was one of the only things she could concentrate on.

Heaving a sigh, Spider removed the blade. Still, she didn’t move, keeping Bree pinned against the wall, her eyes as sharp and wary as ever. “Spill.”

“I’m—”

The last of the logs in the fireplace collapsed into ashes, startling them both. Spider whipped around, relaxing only when she realized it was the dying fire making noise. However, when she turned back to Bree, there was a touch of amusement to her features that had not been there before—and of confusion.

“You broke into my house just to read Romeo and Juliet?”

Bree wasn’t certain which question to answer first, so she merely stared.

Spider sighed again, and to Bree’s astonishment, she let go entirely. “Okay. Hurry up and, for the last time, tell me who you are and why you’re in here.”

“I’m Bree.” It came out as a squeak, and it seemed once again like the most foolish and unhelpful thing she could have said, but anything was surely better than nothing.

Spider sighed. “Okay? Bree who? Why—” She stopped suddenly, then repeated, “Bree.” Her eyes grew wide. “What’s that short for, huh?”

In a whisper, Bree told her, and the girl went still.

“Breanna.” Outside, the sun went behind a cloud, and the glint of her knife faded as the sky darkened. “I know who the fuck you are. I’ve seen the posters. What the hell are you doing here?” Her face had gone terribly pale, and though it was quiet, almost impossible to hear, Bree could have sworn she heard her mutter, “He fucking wouldn’t.”

“Will brought me,” Bree said quickly, and Spider came back to life. Bree side-stepped away as the girl moved toward her again.

“How the hell do you know his name?”

“He told me!” Bree wanted to look Spider in her eyes, to seek some smidgeon of understanding there, but it was hard to take her attention off the knife.

“You? He told you, Mrs. Breanna Hatchett?”

Unable to help herself, Bree flinched.

Instead of a further barrage of questions, however, her flinch was met with silence.

Bree dared to take her eyes off Spider’s knife, and when she did, she found a piercing gaze on her, too. It was still suspicious, yes, but curious now—heavier, laden with something that seemed dangerously like pity.

“He didn’t fucking kidnap you,” Spider said. Bree shook her head. “So how’d you end up here, then?”

With a shuddering breath, Bree confessed, “I ran away.”

Spider’s gaze roamed around the room, lingering on the abandoned copy of Romeo and Juliet, the wool blanket Bree had fallen asleep under, the now-dead fire, and then Bree once again. When they landed on the much-too-conspicuous bruise, she groaned.

“Well,” she said, sighing heavily as she tucked away her knife, “there’s a story here, isn’t there? How’d you two get…” She made a face. “... all tangled up together?”

At the utterly absurd—and inadequate—characterization of what existed between her and Will, Bree laughed, and to her surprise, Spider joined in, albeit hesitantly and somewhat darkly.

“Let’s start again,” said Spider. “You tell me the whole story, and I’ll leave the knife where it is. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bree agreed, accepting Spider’s offered hand. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

“If you don’t already know it? Not until I’ve heard all about whatever the fuck adventure you two have apparently been on for the last few weeks.”

Chewing on her tongue, wondering if she would regret her next words, Bree asked, “Are you J, C, or G?”

Spider slapped her palm to her forehead. “I’m going to kill that little bastard. What else did he blab about?” She shook her head, then looked around. “And where is he? We all thought he had to be dead, till we saw the posters.”

“He’s coming back,” Bree said. “He went—out.” She glanced at the chairs by the fire. “Should we sit?”

“No,” Spider said stiffly. “I need tea for this. We’re going to the kitchen.”

There did not seem to be much choice in the matter, and so with her heart still pounding wildly, Bree followed.

True to her word, Spider left her knife alone while Bree recounted, in as much detail as she thought necessary, the story of how she and Will had crossed paths and ended up in the Iustitia aecum townhouse. Spider was a good listener, keen and attentive, but once Bree got to the night they made it out of Baden’s prison, she interrupted.

“Let me get this straight.” With hands wrapped around a cracked cup, seeming not to mind the intense heat that had to be seeping into her fingers, Spider fixed Bree with a doubtful stare. “It was you? You were the one who got him out?”

Unsure if she should feel smug or offended at Spider’s look of disbelief, Bree nodded.

“You’re mad,” Spider said bluntly. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are that even worked? What a perfectly outrageous miracle that is?”

“I know,” said Bree quietly, thinking of Mrs. Bristow and how fortuitous her appearance had been. “But…I couldn’t stay. And I couldn’t leave him.”

For a long while, Spider was silent. Her eyes remained fixed upon the scratched tabletop, fingers changing colour from how tightly she gripped her cup of tea. From somewhere Bree couldn’t see—Spider’s pocket, she guessed—there came the faint ticking of a watch, and she let herself fall into the rhythm it played out by the second.

“Thank you.” Spider’s words were sudden, her voice soft—the gentlest it had been since she’d accosted Bree by the fire. “For helping him.” A shine seemed to glitter in her deep brown gaze, but when she blinked, it was gone. “It was mad, yes. But that was awfully brave of you.”

As Bree opened her mouth to reply, the front door opened and a voice, excited and breathless, split the air.

“Bree! You won’t believe it! Your message, it was gone! One of them must have—”

As Will barrelled into the kitchen, bringing with him muddy footprints and crisp autumn air, he froze.

“Holy shit,” he gasped.

“You little shit,” Spider said at the same time, leaping to her feet. “We thought you were dead.”

Bree clapped a hand to her mouth as Spider flew across the room and flung her arms around Will, nearly knocking him over as his slippery boots slid along the floor.

“Fuck! You gone crazy?” he yelped, but he was laughing, and he embraced her back.

“God, you’re so lucky I decided to hug you,” Spider said, her voice thick, “because it was a toss-up between that and slapping you silly.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know!” Spider said. She still had not let go. “Where have you been? We’ve been so worried.”

“In jail?”

“After that, you idiot! You know what I mean.”

Will laughed—quietly, uncertainly, almost sadly. “Colette, how the fuck was I supposed to find you?”

At this, the girl whose name he had accidentally revealed pulled away. “Way to go, dumbass.” Quick as lightning, she wiped her eyes. “Guess that secret’s out, then.”

“Oops,” he said, going red. “Sorry.”

Glancing back at Bree, Colette shook her head, smiling now, and said, “Well, whatever. You’re alive. You’re all right. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

“How the hell’d you end up here, anyway?” Will asked. “Where are the others? Are they okay? Are they still—”

“They’re fine,” said Colette gently. “I told them—well, Ja—Wolf—to stay the fuck away until I found out more about the note. I mean…it was your writing, but…”

Bree watched the conversation unfold, as Colette hinted at the suspicions they’d harboured that perhaps Will had been rearrested and coerced by the police into leaving notes for them in some form of a trap; as she berated him for tracking mud through the house; as he scoffed and rolled his eyes but obediently removed his boots, flinging them back toward the door; and as he stood beside Bree and demanded accusingly to know if Colette had behaved herself and kept her knife under control.

“Define behaving,” Colette said slyly, and Will’s eyes narrowed. He held tightly to Bree’s hand.

“Did she try to stab you or anything?” he asked suspiciously.

“Only a little,” said Bree and Colette together.

Will glared at his friend. “What the fuck?”

“What was I supposed to do? I came here to drop off the rent payment and look for you, and I found some random-ass woman instead.”

“She’s not some random-ass woman,” Will said tartly.

Colette sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry, but I didn’t know that then, so I’ll ask again—what should I have done?”

“Really,” Bree said to Will quietly, “it’s fine.”

His fingers clasped a little tighter, and he looked down at her injured arm. “You don’t need any more fucking cuts or bruises.”

“Well, no, but she’s right… I was alone in your house.”

Colette seemed quite ready to defend herself further, apparently wholly unintimidated by Will’s annoyance, but as she was about to speak, an unexpected noise from the front door had all three of them alert and listening.

“Oh, those fools,” Colette whispered as footsteps drew near, seeming to know even before the intruders came into view who approached. “Why would they ever listen to me? I’m only the most sensible person here. But never mind that.”

When Bree looked up at Will’s face, she was astonished by the emotions she saw there—not fear as she anticipated, but something else entirely. Something expectant, almost nervous.

Even…excited.

Two more figures appeared in the kitchen: the tallest man Bree had ever seen and another whose face made her gasp.

Whose face was staggeringly similar to the one she had been gazing into since she ran away.

“Holy fuck,” Will breathed.

The man who had to be related to him by blood, and closely related at that, said, “Oh my god.”

Will’s hand went slack in hers, and Bree let go, freeing him to meet the man who could only be his brother—to be enveloped in such a fierce hug, it brought tears to her eyes.

“You’re alive,” the man choked, and Bree saw that he was weeping. “You’re alive.”

“Get off me, you asshole,” Will said, but he wasn’t letting go, either.

Colette turned her face away from the brothers. In a motion that was surely meant to be surreptitious, she brushed at her eyes, but Bree could not help but notice the glimmer of tears she was trying to banish. She caught Bree staring, however, and for a moment it seemed she might be annoyed to have been detected in her moment of vulnerability.

Then she smiled.

“I was so scared,” Will’s brother gasped. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d lost you forever.”

Family, Bree thought, watching the tall man approach and clap a hand on Will’s shoulder. That’s what this was. Even if only Will and the man who seemed he might never let go were the only ones with shared lineage, even if it seemed impossible that Colette and the tall man could be related to the brothers at all, Bree knew she was looking not just at the inner circle of Iustitia aecum, but at a family—brethren who loved and cared for one another with no concern for the blood that flowed in their veins.

And perhaps, Bree thought, as Colette turned her beaming face back to the brothers and as Will pulled away from his brother and glanced back at her with such exhilaration on his face that it made her heart swell and glow…

Perhaps there was room in this family for one more.

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✨

#lps the queen of lies #whump #whump story #whump writing #original writing #original story #original content #lady whump #guy whump #romance #angst #tw knife #....do i need to tw the hickey...

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Damage Gets Done - SAS Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 8

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 |-| Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Summary: Tension runs high as the SAS carries out a potentially disastrous raid on Benghazi

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Language, descriptions of graphic violence, implied death, Randolph Churchill

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl @trenchenjoyer @dcyllom @footprintsinthesxnd

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Diana crouched down to eye level with the jeep's side mirror, squinting against the sun that reflected in the glass behind her as she did her best to tuck every last curl safely away beneath the headscarf she had shrouded herself in. Their raid on Benghazi was fast approaching, and it had been decided amongst the group that the easiest way to smuggle her into the city would be to dress her like a regular civilian, rather than attempt to explain away her military garb.

Once she had finished the task, pinning back one last curl that simply would not stay put on its own, she had moved to stand, but the sight of her own reflection gave her pause. It was rare that Diana remembered much of anything of her mother, but some days she looked so remarkably like her that it seemed to draw long-buried memories back to the surface. She had those same dark eyes, the same curve of the lips and point of the nose. She could almost half-remember sitting in her mother's lap as she put on her hijab each morning, the calming tones of her singing keeping the child from getting in the way. When she was herself, the similarities were hardly noticeable. But now that she dressed like her mother too, those brief, hard years were becoming visible again in the back of her mind, as if watching on through a veil.

"Hey," Jim Almond's voice rang out behind her. Springing upwards to resume her regular posture, she glanced at him with a welcoming smile. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Diana nodded assuringly. "Yeah, I just... I look like my mother." She grinned at the confession, and he couldn't help but return the smile. Jim squeezed her shoulder affectionately, and their heads both turned as Stirling's voice came from over by the well where he stood with Randolph Churchill. Since the Prime Minister's son had arrived, she had managed to avoid speaking to the man, but it appeared Stirling was not going to make it easy on her.

"You've been summoned, milady," Almonds teased, and she slugged him gently in the shoulder, kicking up sand as she marched over.

"Oi," Diana greeted, tipping an imaginary hat to Stirling as she rested a hip against the side of the well.

"Diana, it seems you haven't yet been introduced to Mr Randolph Churchill, here," David spoke. His tone was jovial, friendly, but she could tell he was teasing her, and sent him a sideways look as Churchill reached for her hand, pressing dry lips against the back of her palm. She did not attempt to disguise her grimace, especially as she heard Pat and Johnny chuckling at her discomfort from back by the truck.

"A pleasure," He greeted, maintaining his attempt at a charming smile even as he noticed her wiping the back of her hand against her trousers.

"Winston's boy, eh?"

"... The Prime Minister. Yes."

She shrugged. "Not my Prime Minister."

Randolph let out something between a huff and a laugh. "Oh, you didn't vote Labour, did you?"

Diana's brow raised as she lit one of the cigarettes in her pocket. "I'm Egyptian, Randy."

"Right, yes... Of course... You're a rather striking young lady, you know."

Stirling almost choked on the dirty water he had pulled from the well as he tried not to laugh, and she stomped hard on his foot, digging in her heel. "Yes. I do know. Is that all?" When neither of the men spoke, she nodded firmly, patting Stirling on the shoulder. "Wonderful exercise, thanks David."

Pat was still laughing at her as she returned to the others, his enjoyment only enhanced as she flipped him off, propping herself against the back of the lorry with her elbows.

"He liked you," Cooper teased, a boyish grin overtaking his expression as he jammed a fresh cartridge of bullets into his gun. Beside him, Reg didn't say a word, his brow furrowed, expression thunderous, the only sound coming from him the occasional indecipherable grumble.

"Fuck off," She sang, holding her cigarette between her teeth as she sifted through the bullets they had brought to fill the small pistol she had been given to conceal on her person. To go with her civilian costume, Sadler had acquired her own car - a creaky, unassuming thing with a bad paint job, but an almost brand-new engine that could get her out of a tight spot should the need arise. It was risky, to enter Benghazi alone, to separate herself from the rest of the group, but once inside the walls she would find them again, and finally receive a gun that was worth a damn.

Seekings had scarcely looked away from his weapons since the moment of her approach, checking and re-checking every gun and knife he had on his person as a permanent scowl etched his face. His hat was resting in the truck bed beside Diana, and she noticed, seizing it by the visor and planting it firmly onto his head, forcefully capturing his attention. A smile curled the corner of her lips, and he couldn't help but do the same, finally able to take in her new appearance up close. He missed her hair - the only part of her wild enough to reflect the spirit inside. She looked wrong without it, every inch hidden from the world.

"Chin up, soldier," She teased. Reg hated this plan. He hated it more than he'd ever hated any of Stirling's batshit insane ideas before.

They were putting Diana in danger. More danger than they ever had before. She would take her own car into Benghazi, alone, with nothing but a tiny pistol to protect herself and a cache of explosives hidden under her seat. They were relying on nothing but her pretty face and Arabic tongue to get her into a building none of the others would dare try to breach for fear of a bullet to the skull. And worst of all, she didn't seem to care.

"You're good on the plan?" He prodded.

Diana let out a chuckle at his uncharacteristic concern. "All good."

There was no certainty they'd all see each other again after tonight. And one question plagued Reg - one question he ached to know the answer to yet could never bring himself to ask. Did she remember that night in Stirling's flat? The night she had spent sitting on the hardwood floor in that wonderful dress, the night she had kissed his bruised knuckles and smiled at him and made him feel all kinds of confusing things. If only she cared as much for herself as he did.

In order to avoid any suspicion, Diana was ordered to pass the checkpoint into the port city an hour before the others - a measure taken to dispel any possible assumption that they may be arriving together, but an altogether risky move. If the others were intercepted at the border, she would be in Benghazi alone, forced to carry out her objective and escape without any backup whatsoever. In the Great War, General Hannigan had made his reputation through acts of reckless daring, and it seemed he had passed this lack of regard for self-preservation onto his daughter. A quiet fell over the small group as the time came for her departure, a duffel bag of explosives hidden in a compartment Sadler had hollowed out beneath her seat. Diana seemed unphased, quickly affirming their rendezvous point with Stirling, but the others watched on in grim silence, hesitant to even wish her good luck for fear of jinxing their fortunes. They all knew there was a chance that this could be the last time they were all together. It wasn't an impossibility. They'd lost Eoin. They'd lost Jock.

Tonight had the opportunity to ruin everything.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The desert road unfurled itself before her, the wheels of the car kicking up sand as Diana streaked across the landscape, radio tuned to a local station as she sang off-key to an Arabic cover of a Billie Holiday song, occasionally interrupted by static from the terrible reception all the way out here.

It was not until the checkpoint came into view that she realised she was driving altogether much too fast, and the breaks let out a terrible shriek as Diana attempted to slow down, jostling the wooden barrier with the bonnet as she rolled to a clumsy stop. Now she remembered why Stirling had initially appeared so horrified at the prospect of letting her drive herself.

One of the soldiers marched up to her window, knocking harshly on the glass until she rolled it down to let him speak. He scolded her in a flurry of Italian that she only partially understood, and Diana attempted to thrust her forged papers at him, matching the man's irritated tone in her own rambling Arabic, spouting meaningless nonsense whenever she ran out of things to say once she as confident he didn't understand a word.

The soldier examined her papers, occasionally asking her questions as he peered closely at the writing. Diana could only decipher a few words here and there - certainly not enough to gauge the soldier's meaning - and so she continued her meaningless tirade in the hopes of moving things on.

"I really like this song!" She declared, brow furrowed, tone angered as she pointed sharply at the radio, the soldier's expression growing more confused by the minute as he attempted to decipher what the frustrated woman was yelling at him. "It's very good! But I'd like to get moving, I'm very hungry!"

"Cosa?" The soldier asked, still clutching her papers.

Diana resisted the urge to roll her eyes, reaching out and tearing the document from his grip. "Is this really the best your lot could do? Fucking embarrassing really." His mouth hung open, gaping as he found himself helpless to decipher a word of her ranting. With a pointed gesture towards the barrier, she finally seemed to get through to the man, who hurriedly ordered for her to be let through.

Nodding to the soldier in mock appreciation, Diana cranked the radio back up to full volume as she passed, resuming her sing-along as she trundled towards Benghazi, taking extra care to regulate her usually reckless driving as she entered the pedestrian-littered streets. It wasn't entirely unheard of to see a woman like her driving alone here, but just unusual enough to ensure that, whenever she slowed down or stopped for traffic, she would hear a wolf whistle or jeer from some passer-by. It was nothing Diana hadn't heard before, but still, her grip on the steering wheel tightened with agitation each time.

Benghazi was littered with administrative buildings and headquarters for the Nazi and Italian forces, with guards at every entrance. This was not a problem. Diana didn't need an entrance. One of the key Italian admin buildings had a side wall facing a nearby alleyway, used almost exclusively by street vendors and tourists, when there were any. But there was not a guard in sight, for the wall had no doorways or windows that could be used for infiltration. Engine rumbling to a stop, she yanked the gearstick, pulling in to park along the side of the alleyway. Rummaging below her seat, Diana retrieved the explosives she had been given, concealing them in a small compartment she had sewn into the bottom of her handbag, hidden beneath all manner of day-to-day belongings.

The only explosive she left behind was a primed Lewes bomb, prying open a loose seam in the driver's seat cushion with her fingernails and burrowing it deep inside among the stuffing. Worst case scenario, the car would be removed by guards hoping to keep the perimeter clear, and provide a helpful distraction come nightfall.

Best case scenario, this explosion would rip a hole straight through the building, killing dozens.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The moment their truck pulled to a stop, Reg was on the lookout, his gaze scouring their surroundings for any sign of Diana among the sparse, moving crowds of civilians.

"Hey," Almonds hushed voice reached out to him as they clambered out of the truck bed. "She's not coming. Stirling told her not to be seen with us until it's time to go." Reg almost questioned this - questioned why, of all things, Jim knew he was searching for Diana. But it struck him as best not to ask, best not to come face to face with his own weakness that apparently everyone could see. This wasn't the time for it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Diana had spent her afternoon in a nearby cafe, sipping on herbal tea to calm the beating of her nervous heart as she waited for nightfall, pretending to read a book as she watched the soldiers walking around in her peripherals. Anyone who had paid enough attention would have noticed that she hadn't turned the page in almost half an hour, but there were hundreds of women in Benghazi who looked just like her. She was utterly unremarkable, utterly unworthy of notice. The disguise was working wonders.

But darkness was falling. And the longer she stayed, the more suspicious her presence would become. Ensuring her headscarf was still on properly, Diana departed, shoving her book back in her bag as it covered the concealed explosives within. She prayed the carefulness with which she handled the bag had not been too obvious as she made her departure, slipping away down a nearby side street.

The car was still there. She made a mental note as she passed, tossing a crumbled paper bag containing a Lewes bomb into a nearby trashcan, one of many lining the back wall of another administrative building. Laying individual charges was never going to do a significant amount of damage, but it would certainly provide ample distraction. If the guards were too busy chasing after exploding bins and cars, they would miss the real targets.

She wanted a cigarette, but frankly, the idea of smoking one so close to a bag full of bombs made her nervous. Diana was just about to throw out her matchbook as a precaution when a lone guard turned the corner towards her, rifle slung lazily over his shoulder, gaze pinned on her from the moment he entered the space.

"What are you doing?" He called, eyeing the matches in her hand with suspicion. His Italian accent was heavy, but his English wasn't half bad. He thought she was a local - that was good, he was searching for some in-between dialect to bridge the language barrier between himself and the Libyans.

"Smoke break," Diana replied simply, trying to maintain the accent of her mother tongue even as she spoke her second language. It was difficult - she had been taught Arabic by Egyptians and English by the Brits, it was not a line she was used to blurring.

The guard flicked his wrist, beckoning her closer as he reached into his breast pocket for a proper lighter. As she plucked a cigarette from the battered box in her bag, he held the flame up to her, just far away enough that she had to lean in towards his chest, dipping her chin to meet it. She could feel his eyes on her, tracing every inch of her face and quickly travelling downwards. His hand reached up, knuckle brushing lightly against her cheek. Diana felt the urge to recoil, nausea dredging up the pitifully sparse contents of her stomach. Instead, she pulled herself back up to full height, a pleasant smile curling her lips as she took a puff of smoke.

"Pretty girl like you shouldn't be out here alone," The guard tutted, a glint of lust in his eye that made her want to vomit straight onto his boots. "Anything could happen."

She let out an easy laugh, shaking her head slightly. "Well, then it's a good thing I have your gun, isn't it?"

He paused for a moment, head tilting to the side as he squinted in confusion. "...What?"

Diana's hand shot out at his face, not even pausing to drop the cigarette, its burning butt scorching the flesh of the soldier's cheek as her fingernails met his eyes, scratching painfully at his corneas. Before the man could scream, her free hand, balled into a tight fist, punched him sharply in the windpipe, and the guard choked for breath, staggering backwards as blood began to run down his face from where her nails had taken chunks out of his eyelids.

Blinded and winded, he groped for his rifle, but Diana seized it in an instant, a kick to the stomach sending him toppling backwards onto the ground. If she had shot him, she would've drawn half the guards in the port. Besides, this was more fun.

"Fascist fuck," She muttered, tearing off her headscarf, curls erupting outwards like a lion's mane as she balled up the fabric, stuffing it down into the guard's mouth so he couldn't speak. With the pocket knife tucked in her boot, she sliced off one of the straps on her bag, using the long strip of fabric to bind the man's hands behind his back. The guard whimpered helplessly, sounds muffled by the fabric that he found himself unable to spit out as his feet lashed out, kicking wildly but never landing a blow, his vision still blurred and useless in the dark.

Diana manoeuvred the thrashing, whining man into a nearby alcove, propping him up against the backdoor of a local restaurant. Delivering a swift, sharp blow to the head, the guard fell unconscious, and she was free to leave his limp body for someone else to find once she was long gone.

But now there was a problem. Her disguise was ruined - her headscarf gone, bag noticeably torn, blood staining her fingernails. A wad of spit was enough to clean most of the visible dirt from her hands, and she realised she had little choice but to get rid of her bag. Carefully retracing her steps back towards the car she had abandoned, Diana tossed the entire cache of explosives into the trunk and made a run for it. Perhaps multiple distractions were off the table for tonight, but this distraction was certainly about to be a big one.

Tousling her hair and undoing the top few buttons of her shirt, exposing a sideways view of her cleavage, she felt satisfied with her new disguise. If she couldn't pass as someone's dutiful housewife, she could at least do her best to blend in with the local prostitutes.

God this was humiliating.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Reg and the others were waiting impatiently behind a nearby car, anxiously watching Stirling and Churchill approach as soldiers swarmed their truck, which had - until now - been their only means of escape. David approached the group, strolling casually so as not to betray his agitation, although his brow began to furrow as he surveyed the group.

"Where's Diana?" He whispered, leaning in close. Reg thought he might vomit.

"She's supposed to be here?" Riley hissed. One by one, their expressions began to fall with concern.

"I told her to meet us at the rendezvous, she's supposed to-" Stirling had gone from a state of panic to one of confusion, trailing off as his gaze locked itself upon something behind the others. Reg turned to follow his eye, brow raising as he spotted Diana across the street, purposely avoiding meeting their gaze as she strolled through the crowded space. But something had changed since that morning - she looked different. She looked good.

There was no time to express relief, no time to calm the thumping of his heart as Stirling ushered the group out from their rendezvous spot, marching across the street. They were making it up as they went along now - the most dangerous way to be. But she didn't follow, simply stood in a nearby doorway, leant casually against the wall.

"Seekings, go over and pretend to chat her up," Stirling ordered under his breath. Reg suddenly realised what was going on. "Get her over here with us, now."

Seekings slipped away from the group, taking extra care to look at ease, confident, not like he was following orders. His eyes met Diana's, and he stepped up onto the doorstep beside her, the pair standing close. "...You look different," He pointed out.

"It's been an... eventful afternoon," She explained. As she spoke, she maintained an easy, flirtatious smile, ensuring that anyone passing by would still believe she was a prostitute trying to chat up a client, despite the words being exchanged. Reg felt the blood rushing to his cheeks, turning his face redder by the second.

"We've gotta go," He said, and she nodded, following alongside him as they moved to rejoin the others. He felt her gently nudge his side, and slug his arm casually over her shoulder. They would have to keep up this pretence until the very last minute, until they were somewhere free from any prying eyes. But Reg couldn't even pretend to dislike the position he now found himself in, her body slotted against his in a way that just felt right, her shoulder somehow comfortable as it dug into his side. Her hair blew gently with each exhale he took, and he was almost too distracted to pay attention to the others, watching her instead of the guards Johnny was attempting to negotiate their way past. Reg couldn't even understand Italian - in his mind, this was a much better use of his time.

It seemed Diana had realised this distraction, for a sharp poke to the ribs alerted Reg that they were moving again, sauntering past the men after whatever ruse Cooper had concocted had worked. "Start paying attention," She muttered, beginning to smirk.

But there had been no time to formulate a retort before an earth-shattering explosion rocked the ground beneath their feet, a great ball of fire turning the sky red as a building burst into flames a few streets over. It was bigger than the blast from any single Lewes bomb, and Reg raised a brow, looking down at Diana who had begun to cringe slightly. Stirling turned to stare pointedly at her.

"I had to improvise," She shrugged, and Reg almost laughed before his own charges exploded somewhere behind them, and the group broke out into a sprint, making a wild dash for the nearest side road that could potentially promise a means of escape.

The first explosion had been so huge that almost every guard in the port had began running towards it, and once the other bombs went off as well, the place was plunged into chaos, no one sure of which crises they should tend to first.

"Where's your gun?" Stirling hissed as she ran alongside him.

"Like I said, change of plan," Diana huffed, catching a pistol as he tossed it over to her, the group crouching around the corner of a nearby building to evade the scattered guard force.

"Well, y'know," Almonds shrugged. "At least the bombs worked."

She let out a breathless laugh, but no sooner had she stopped running was she compelled to start again, dashing towards a jeep Reg had managed to commandeer.

"You got it?" Diana asked, a grin spreading across her face as he touched two wires together and the engine burst to life, rumbling steadily as they dogpiled hurriedly inside. They trundled away at a regular pace, so as not to draw attention, but it may as well have been a hundred miles an hour for how quickly her heart beat inside her ribcage, chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath, feeling as if it were the first full breath she had taken since the moment she had first arrived in Benghazi.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Stirling's car ahead had burst through the checkpoint they had passed that morning in a flurry of bullets, picking up speed, the jeeps going faster and faster by the second until they were streaking across the desert. Johnny had been standing atop the back of David's jeep, mowing down the nazis with his machine gun as they passed. As they passed back into safe territory, he turned back to face the second car, grinning elatedly, and Diana replied with a whoop, laughing at their success. She had not quite realised how scared she had been to die tonight until the relief of surviving had settled in, and now she was euphoric, the desert wind whipping her hair wildly in all directions.

Reg had the wheel, unable to tear his eyes from the road for how fast they were travelling, but he began to grin as Riley started singing a raucous drinking song, Diana and Jim joining along by the second verse. Almonds had taken off his hat, jokingly attempting to plant it on her head, but she let out a yelp as the wind caught its brim, tearing it clean off as the hat vanished into the night. They laughed at this too, everything suddenly hilarious as they were consumed by the joy of victory. The jeep's side mirror had been jostled in their hurried attempt to climb in, and rather than reflecting the road behind, Reg could see her - smile visible even in the darkness, both hands trying in vain to hold down her hair against the desert wind.

It may have been the greatest night of his life.

#sas rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes oc #sas rogue heroes fic #sas: rogue heroes #reg seekings #david stirling #pat riley #johnny cooper #jim almonds #oc: diana

[darkhangels]

14. lullaby

enjoy the silence masterlist

morpheus x f!reader

warnings: smut, minors DNI

words: 4831

When you arrived in the dreaming that night you very foolishly thought that Morpheus would somehow have covered the hickies for you. He had done similar things before after all, if you went to bed wearing a little less than normal you would end up in the dreaming with the outfit you had worn that day or the pyjamas you would normally wear to bed. So surely he would’ve covered them, made them disappear to avoid embarrassment.

You had already dealt with the mocking from Lorna and Veronica early on in the night, as they both practically bombarded you with intrusive questions and making your face flush. You did not need it from Matthew and Mervyn as well. Lucienne would surely notice but keep to herself about it. It’s not like they would’ve known it was their Lord Morpheus who had in fact attacked your neck so deliciously but still the point stood.

So when you arrived in the dreaming only for Matthew to let out an extremely alarmed croak before letting out a strangled, “Jeez kid!” at the sight of you, you were more than embarrassed. You turned to one of the windows in the library, looking at your small reflection and yep they were still there. You had hung your head in shame and covered your inflamed face with your hands.

“Someone's had fun” Matthew croaked with a sly tone to his voice.

“I thought they wouldn’t have shown in the dreaming” You groaned and Matthew let out a huff.

“Oh they’re showing alright!” He cackled. “So, who’s the lucky guy or girl?” He asked in a mocking tone sidling up to you.

You scowled at him ignoring his question, making your way over to Lucienne. “Oh come on! Tell me!” Matthew croaked and you rolled your eyes, biting back a smile before rather nervously greeting Lucienne.

She studied you over the top of her glasses with her usual tight but warm smile before her gaze turned to your neck only for a second, her eyes widened before she cleared her throat and plastered a smile back on turning to your eyes with a look that screamed ‘I’m minding my business but what the fuck?’.

And then of course Merv walked in, immediately drawing attention to you. “Holy hell! What the fuck happened to you, kid?”

Matthew sighed. “Don’t bother, Merv, She won’t budge”

“I fell down the stairs” You muttered.

“Fell down the stairs?” Merv repeated with a scoff. “And what did the stairs have a pair of lips as well?”

You blushed and groaned again, wishing to explode right then and there.

“Merv,” Lucienne warned, studying the pumpkin over her glasses.

“What? I’m just saying what everyone was thinking!” Mervyn exclaimed.

Matthew fluttered his wings “And she still won’t tell me who did it!”

You turned to the bird with a glare, “And I won’t”

Matthew's head cocked to the side. “Besides I thought you liked the b-”

“Matthew!” You shouted through grit teeth, eyes widening at the raven beside you, your blush simply growing by the second.

Merv started lighting his cigar. “Whoever it is had a hell of a time”

“Yes, thank you” You deadpanned to the pumpkin

“Usually the boss gets rid of anything like that in the dreaming, so I don’t know why you still have them” Matthew croaked.

You scoffed, “Probably to embarrass me, that’s why”

Merv cackled. “Well someone tell him, it’s working”

You winced your eyes shut and squeaked something about going to find a book in a rather high pitched voice.

You turned on your heel and quickly strode into the forest of bookshelves, hiding away from everyone as you let embarrassment wash over you. You let out a sigh of relief as you fled from everyone's eyes, your gaze fluttering to the bookshelf beside you as you ran your hands over the fingertips of the spines of books that were so ancient you couldn’t even comprehend their age.

You reached out for one of the books, a bright sapphire, the words written in Latin, of course you didn’t understand it but you could simply feel the history radiating off of it, off of so many of these books. You had quickly become accustomed to the dreaming and the many wonders it brought alongside with it. But when you were alone, able to marvel at the most mundane things you realised just how fantastical this realm was.

The only way to describe it is that it truly was the realm of dreams and surrealness. Nightmares too, though you hadn’t ventured those parts yet and hoped you would never have to, you had quite your fill of nightmares, enough to last a lifetime.

The nightmares still managed to wove your way into your everyday life, still when you were about to fall asleep a small part of your mind wonders, fears, that you would wake up in a dingy dark cell surrounded by cult members watching a raven be brutally murdered.

Still the croaks of ravens makes a cold chill drip down your spine with dread, of course the irony wasn’t lost on you. You feared the sounds of Ravens and yet one of your closest friends was a literal talking Raven.

But you couldn’t help but wonder if it was just irony, just a coincidence, maybe it was a sign, an omen?

Now you on longer had the nightmares you had begun deeper research into what they had symbolised. Freud, witchcraft, you name it. You had researched it.

The typical contender was that dreaming of Ravens meant misfortune was on the way.

But that doesn’t matter does it?

The dreams had stopped after all now, the reasoning behind them was simply a rogue demon.

Nothing else.

Surely?

“What are you looking for?”

You jumped out of your skin causing the book to fall from your hands before Morpheus quickly caught it without so much of a struggle. “Sorry, you scared me”

“My apologies” He said, watching you curiously before his eyes darted to your neck, his gaze darkening as his lips twitched up in amusement.

You followed his gaze down to your neck and you huffed. “Yeah I have you to thank for this”

“It rather suits you” He muttered darkly and you swallowed harshly at his tone.

You scowled at him as your mouth twisted into a reluctant but unavoidable smile before his lips gently brushed against yours.

He pulled away and you tried to hide your grin. “So, what were you looking for?” He asked again, looking down at the book he caught in his hands.

Your gaze turned down to the book he held. “Nothing in particular, just admiring how old some of these books are”

You gently took the book from his hands. “Ancient words, forgotten by time” You muttered under your breath, fingertips dragging along the hardcover before returning it back to the bookshelf.

Morpheus peered at your admiration, his heart growing soft at the concentrated look on your face.

You turned back up to him with a warm smile. He grabbed your hand motioning for him to follow you, intertwining your fingers with his, a glowing expression on your face you followed closely behind him as he swept through the library out into the rest of the dreaming.

You felt the warm sun hit your face and graciously enjoyed it, it was always the perfect temperature here, no matter what. Unlike the waking world's cold and unforgiving winds.

You smiled at random dreamers and dreams who meandered around and Morpheus watched all too proudly.

You had met many of his creations, he was very proud of his realm and what was his. Though there were a few names that Lucienne or Matthew would mention that you would never hear Morpheus talk about, one was a creation called The Corinthian, apparently he was one of the best nightmares created. Created all too well and skyrocketing into madness and humanity.

You shuddered at the thought of the nightmares, your earlier thoughts coming to haunt you. “Morpheus?” You bit your lip turning slightly to him.

He hummed in acknowledgement.

“Do dreams have meanings?” You asked hesitantly.

His eyebrows furrowed. “You’re asking the King of Dreams if Dreams have meanings?”

You huffed slightly, a loose laugh falling from your lips. “Like if I dreamt of a snake, would that snake symbolise something in my life?”

Morpheus looked upon the dreaming, taking in his realm with his pale eyes. “Sometimes, sometimes not”

You sighed slightly. “What does that even mean?”

Morpheus thought slowly, considering his words carefully. “Dreams are a manifestation of the subconscious and unconscious, if there is something persistently on your mind then it will more often than not appear in your dreams” He turned to you. “Whether it manifests itself as exactly how it is seen or symbolised behind metaphors it is still the subject”

Your eyebrows furrowed trying to make sense of what he was saying, Morpheus took in your reaction before licking his lips trying to explain further. “If you were to dream of a snake, it could simply be a snake or it could be something subconsciously growing on your mind manifesting itself as the snake”

You nodded slowly. “So there’s no definitive answer?”

“No, though I can usually tell in others dreams whether something simply is, or whether there is more behind it”

You bit your lip. “Ok and the snake would signify different things to other people, not just one whole meaning for everyone, right?”

Morpheus turned to you now with a curious glint in your eyes. “Yes though they can often be similar, dreams are far too subjective to be generalised” He huffed ever so slightly. “Despite how determined humanity is on finding meanings to their dreams instead of simply letting them be”

You swallowed harshly, there was truly no definitive way of finding out what the nightmare meant without asking the demon, and you were not going to hell.

Just because it may not have meant anything to you currently doesn’t mean it couldn’t have been an omen for the future.

“What about omens, can dreams be omens?”

Morpheus stopped walking beside you and slowly turned to face you instead, regarding you with both curiosity and slight concern. “Why do you ask?”

You let out a breath of air, your gaze dropping to the stony path to the palace you were both standing on as you nervously fiddled with your fingers. “The nightmares” You weakly responded.

Morpheus' eyes softened in realisation.

“I know that they are gone,” You shook your head ever slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I can just forget about them, what if there was a reason?” You looked up at Morpheus again. “There had to be a reason, the same nightmare every night for almost forty days” You whispered.

“If not a meaning then a sign, an omen” You muttered.

Morpheus stepped closer. “The reason,” He spoke slowly and gently. “was a rogue demon who preyed on you, because you were vulnerable”

You nodded though unconvinced. “But can they?”

His forehead creased in confusion. “Can they what?”

“Be omens”

Morpheus sighed slowly regarding you before answering. “It is known that from time to time the fates may interfere in dreams, as they do with all of the endless’ realms”

You let out a shuddery breath. Lucienne had mentioned them before and of course you knew from your limited knowledge of greek mythology about the fates.

“But that is beyond rare and would not happen if your nightmares were being influenced by an outside force which they were” He explained, seeing the fear in your eyes.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief and smiled weakly at him. He stepped closer, “Why do you fear them only now? They are gone” He whispered, taking your hand in his.

You looked down at his pale hands, how much bigger they were than yours as his thumb slowly stroked a circle into your skin, looking up back to his face you gave him a sad smile. “I have more to lose now, I guess”

Morpheus knew he should’ve returned you back to the way you had dreamt before right then and there.

Severed the connection between the two of you in one devastating swoop.

And yet the King of Dreams was not yet ready to face the truth.

He was simply not strong enough to let you go.

He regarded you with a kind expression before leaning down and kissing you so softly you were almost unsure you had felt his lips against yours at all. A rush of butterflies fluttered through your stomach at the feeling and you smiled helplessly against his lips. His lips travelled down your jawline to your neck, before you pulled away. “Nope, not again, this is humiliating” You said pointing to the abundance of hickies on your neck.

A smirk grew on his face. “I’ll just have to mark you elsewhere then”

He went back to your neck, “Uh Morpheus, we are kind of in public” You nervously laughed.

You blinked and you were suddenly back in the palace, in one of the many corridors. You stumbled back at the strange feeling and looked around you before looking back at him. He gently pushed you against the wall, kissing you as you gripped onto his neck, pulling him into you, hungrily nipping at his lips tugging with your teeth making a low groan come from the Dream King. He threw his head back as you made your way to his neck before he gently closed a hand around your throat pushing you back against the wall slowly. “And what do you think you are doing?” He rasped.

You shrugged innocently. “Marking you”

He raised his eyebrows. “Marking me?” He repeated.

You looked up at him through your lashes in a sultry manner. “Well it hardly seems fair I have all these marks and you have none” You went back to his throat, “My king” You hissed against his skin.

Morpheus’ head rolled back as you worked your magic along his neck before he grabbed your chin, crashing his lips against yours messily. You groaned into the kiss trying to pull away, “Stop trying to distract me”, your eyes flitted back to his neck before Morpheus grip on your chin stopped you from doing so.

“I’m afraid I far prefer marking you” He said in an all too cool tone.

“You keep telling yourself that” You hummed before kissing him again, his tongue this time infiltrating your mouth making you fall into a million pieces as you leant against the wall, your knees becoming jelly as one of Morpheus’ hand gripped your waist, pinning you against the wall yet also keeping you up right.

“You were saying?” He darkly whispered in your ear.

You felt weak against him as his tongue roamed around your mouth and he pinned you against the wall, as he infiltrated every one of your senses. He removed himself from your lips moving to your cheek as his other hand left the grip on your waist and swiftly cupped around your core, his other hand reaching for the waistband to the shorts you had worn to bed, You jumped at the electric jolts sent through you, raising one hand to your mouth to muffle any kind of moans or shrieks that would leave your lips.

“Not here” You squeaked looking around anxiously at the empty corridor that any of his subjects could’ve walked down any second.

“Very well” He muttered against your ear.

Another blink and you were in a monochrome room. With a black chair and an accompanying black bed littered with silk sheets. His quarters. You soon realised.

You looked up at Morpheus beside you, your eyebrows furrowing. “I thought you said you don’t sleep-”

You answered your own question as realisation rippled through you staring into his eyes. Before you looked down blushing, “Oh”.

He gently took your chin, moving so he could kiss you again, his other hand reaching down past your stomach entering your shorts, his finger sweeping over your clit making you softly whimper into the kiss as he stroked gently against you. Your breathing quickened as he oh so slowly teased you before you bucked your hips behind you feeling his hardened member against you, he let out a groan before he removed his hands from you, sitting down on the edge of the bed. You took your shorts off before you threw your legs over him, straddling him. You were unsure how and when but he had taken his coat and shirt off leaving him with just his trousers on. Allowing you to admire his god-like body. Slowly he landed down onto the sheets, you following him down, leaving a trail of kisses on his neck.

“Come here” He muttered, underneath you

Your eyes flew over to him and your forehead creased before letting out a huff. “What do you mean, I’m right he-”

“No” Morpheus growled and he softly yet firmly grabbed you thighs pulling you down so that your entrance was aligned with his lips.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Morpheus this i-”

“Relax” Morpheus spoke, his words vibrating between your thighs. “Let me pleasure you”

You let out a yelp, his hands gripped around your thighs pulling you down before he hungrily started lapping you up. You almost lost your balance as your hands threaded through his hair at the shocks rippling through you, his tongue slowly tasting every part of you. Your thighs started to shake under the pressure and you let out some whispery moans.

His tongue started to speed up and you grip on his hair tightened as you hips bucked against his mouth, all previous shyness nowhere to be seen. The soft ache in your stomach tightened and tightened, setting you aflame with every touch Morpheus pressed to you. High pitched, shuddering moans falling from your lips.

Morpheus was beginning to understand your body better than anyone ever had, better than maybe even yourself. He started to memorise every part of your body that was your weakness, every bit of skin that made you moan so prettily for him. It made teasing you, if he must, all that much easier.

He wished to keep you in his quarters forever, hearing every single illicit sound that he could possibly make you scream.

Your cheeks flushed and you threw your head back. “Morpheus!”

You arrived at your climax and slowly crawled off of him, your thighs shaking ever so slightly as you breathed heavily trying to get your head back on. Morpheus sat up and made his way over to you as he softly kissed you, feeling your aftershock tremors tremble through your lips.

You gazed at him from under your lashes. The dark desire rooted deep in his eyes yet so gentle. His lips, soft and plump. The way his face was so perfectly sculptured, how smooth his white silk skin was.

And butterflies rippled through you.

How lucky were you that it was him.

Him.

With the gorgeous starry eyes.

And you were in his bed.

“You are gorgeous” You rasped out.

You didn’t get to measure his reaction because his lips were already on yours practically the second the words even so much as left your mouth.

He slowly moved your thighs apart as he shrugged his trousers down before he slowly entered you. You doubted you would ever quite get used to just how big he was but you welcomed it. Your head rolled back onto the silky black pillows as he slowly thrust into you whilst leaving soft kisses on your mouth, jaw and neck. His hands intertwined with yours as you both rocked to the steady rhythm as Morpheus’ low grunts slowly turned into moans echoed around the room.

He started to speed up and more moans reverberated through the room from the both of you and you hoped that the palace walls were soundproof, though you couldn't bring yourself to care so much, not when you were literally in Lord Morpheus’ bed, underneath him.

His raven hair stuck to his sweaty forehead as his jaw tightened and flexed with every move as if he was restraining himself, he threw his head back showing off his neck as his lips shuddered open letting deep moans fall through the air. And just like this with him on top of you, colliding into you did you realise just how powerful he was. This was not just the King of Dreams and Nightmares, he was the dreams and nightmares.

More than a god.

The Prince of Stories.

The Oneiromancer.

The fucking Sandman.

And he was Endless.

And your moans became louder at the thoughts and you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him into you, making a dark hiss come from his teeth.

He was becoming close you realised as his deep moans became higher in octave with each thrust, you clenched him into you and he released himself as his forehead fell on yours making the two of you writhe in ecstasy as your orgasms rippled through the air.

A few seconds of heavy breathing later and he placed a kiss on your cheek. “You always take me so well”

You could have orgasmed again at the words as you clenched against him again, silently praying he hadn’t felt that but of course a small smirk grew on his face. “I will bear that in mind for the future, rogue dreamer”

You blushed and let out a huff before playfully swatting at his shoulder, he exited you and pulled his trousers up before laying beside you. You let your head rest against his arm and he stiffened only for a second before opening his arm up wider so you could rest against your chest.

His skin was warm and yet it always surprised you, you had thought surely considering his cold exterior his touch would be Icey, but he was always so warm. The kind of warmth that lulls you into a comforting sleep.

“You’re always warm” You muttered against him.

He hummed absentmindedly, the vibrations from his chest humming softly against you.

“Thought you would be cold like a vampire” You continued.

“A vampire?” He repeated with amusement.

It was your time to hum then, “Well you did mark up my neck pretty well” You laughed to yourself, “Don’t tell me you sparkle in the sun too”

You rolled your head back to look at his face as he stared at you like you had grown two heads before you chuckled again, “I’m afraid someone may have taken your appearance for inspiration”

Morpheus raised his eyebrows. “I believe many humans have”

You scoffed at that. “Yeah, you’re telling me I think your style practically started the Goth subculture”

His lips twitched at your words as he stared off into the distance, a comfortable silence ensuing.

You enjoyed the pure serenity of the moment, as you felt his chest moving up and down with every breath he took. The soft whispers of his breath were so peaceful that had you not already been asleep you would’ve fallen asleep into a soft slumber

Morpheus’ voice croaked seemingly out of nowhere. “If the nightmares ever start again, you come straight to me” He hoarsely whispered.

Your forehead creased in confusion as you looked back up at him. His face was etched deep in something. “I will” You nodded.

His eyes flew down to yours, gleaming like stars only for a second before returning to the Icey blue. “Swear it”

You were taken aback by his sincerity and you swallowed slightly as your lips parted taking in his face. “I swear it” You softly answered.

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

A week and a half passed.

And life?

Life was the best it had ever been.

You’d spend your days in the waking world as happy as can be but counting down the minutes till you fell asleep and would be reunited with your life in the dreaming.

Morpheus would visit occasionally in the waking world but it was rare as he did not want to depart from his realm for too long, understandably so.

You would spent your time in the dreaming helping Lucienne with books, speaking to Matthew about whatever crossed the birds mind and ‘annoying’ the shit out of Mervyn though you knew the pumpkin secretly liked his time with you.

And the best part of it was when you were with Morpheus (which was most of the time). When you were not exploring the endless sights of the dreaming with him, he’d whisk you away to a remote corner of the palace and whisper sweet nothings into your ears.

He was past the point of seducing you.

He was romancing you.

In every way possible.

In soft and gentle touches, exchanged glances when you were in company with others, the way he held you when you were alone.

And you were completely and utterly infatuated to a point of no return.

Morpheus too, hell, ask Matthew, he hadn’t seen his boss in such a good mood before.

So much so he was starting to catch on, so was Lucienne, and so was the rest of his subjects. It wasn’t particularly hard to see.

When the two of you would stare at each other, both momentarily forgetting the rest of the world. Or when a soft rosy blush would creep on your cheeks by something he simply says or does. When they would see how their Lord looked at you when you weren’t noticing.

Oh yeah, they knew.

But especially Lucienne and Matthew.

If it wasn’t the sometimes strange noises they would hear it was definitely the way the Dreaming's weather had been. Lucienne knew it the second you had arrived in the dreaming the second time for seemingly no reason whatsoever.

She knew how much of a romantic fool her Lord was. They all did.

And Lucienne couldn't help but be happy for her king and you, her friend.

But as your friend she couldn’t help but worry.

She had seen it all.

Nada, Calliope, Thessaly. All of them.

And she couldn’t stand to see you be heartbroken.

Nor her King.

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

You were working besides Lorna, the coffee shop was always busier this time of year, more people wanting hot drinks after stalking the cold weather of course.

So when your phone repeatedly kept ringing because you would not pick up due to the mass line of people, you were more than annoyed. Finally the people dwindled down and you picked up the phone with an angry huff.

“Hello” You asked through gritted teeth, your annoyance evident.

“Well, well, well look who decided to pick up” A familiar voice rang through the phone and you felt your blood boil.

You hadn’t spoken to her since the night of the reception.

“What do you want, Mum?” You sighed, placing one hand on the counter tiredly leaning against it, Lorna sending you an apologetic and worried glance.

“I just thought I’d let you know that despite what happened, I’m willing to forgive you and invite you round for Christmas”

You let out a huff as you stared at the ground. “Forgive me?”

“Yes, well you know Christmas spirit and all that” A tight voice replied.

You shook your head. “No, I’m not the one in need of forgiving”

“I beg your pardon”

You took a deep breath, “You heard me, you treat me like I’m just some burdensome piece of shit on your life and I’ve had enough, I’m done”

“How dar-”

“If you want to apologise, I’d be happy to hear it, but if not don’t call this number again”

“Excuse me?” She practically squeaked through the phone.

“Merry fucking Christmas, Mum”

And you hung up, slowly turning to Lorna at her shocked face before she started slow clapping. “That was so cool”

You grinned. “I think I did a bit much at the end though”

Lorna shrugged. “She’s had it coming for a long time”

You nodded in agreement, before the two of you closed the shop down for the night. Before you both stepped out into the cold winter night, streets bustled with crowds of people getting their Christmas shopping. As festive lights hung from the building lighting up your way.

Lorna turned to you. “Y’know you seem really different recently”

Your lips parted in confusion. “How so?”

“You’re so much more confident and yourself, self-assured” She smiled.

You blushed at her words. “I hadn’t noticed”

Lorna nodded slowly. “Whoever this Murphy guy is I think he’s really good for you”

You started to beam at her before she pulled you into a hug. “See ya tomorrow!”

You waved her goodbye and skipped to the bus stop, ready to finally go to sleep.

To go to the dreaming.

To go to Morpheus.

#morpheus #morpheus x you #morpheus x reader #morpheus fluff #morpheus imagine #morpheus smut #dream of the endless smut #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x you #sandman netflix #the sandman fanfic #sandman x you #the sandman x reader #the sandman #sandman smut

[empty-cryptid]

Since AO3 is struggling at the moment, I'll post this here for now and put it on AO3 later. This is set before "Reading Glasses", a story I wrote some time ago.

Edit: Now posted to AO3! HERE

Step One (Reading Glasses)

When Antonio suddenly appeared beside him and excitedly held up a drawing he did, Bruno tipped backward in surprise. After a breath, he took the picture and held it further away from his face so he could see it properly. "Oh wow, this is great! Is it Chispi?"

"Yeah! Chispi sat and let me draw her even though I can't talk to her right now."

"That was nice of her. I wish my rats would sit still for a portrait. Very nice job, Antonio."

"Thanks, Tío!"

Antonio took his picture back and ran out of the house to show it to the next family member he wanted to see it. All of the Madrigals were in temporary accommodations until Casita was rebuilt, so he was running from house to house.

Pepa watched the interaction with a small smile, happy that her brother is finally back with them and can meet her little boy.

Beside her, Julieta, who usually noticed things first, hummed and lifted an eyebrow. "Bruno, how are your eyes?"

"Hmm?" He looked up, "What do you mean?"

"Well both Pepa and I have reading glasses now, so I was wondering if you also needed some."

"Oh. Hmm, no, I think I'm alright?" Bruno shrugged.

"Somehow I doubt that. Here, try my glasses." 

Julieta handed her glasses to her brother along with a recipe card. "Try reading this without the glasses, then with them."

"Alright." He held the card away from his face at arms length and read it.

Pepa chuckled. "Oh he definitely needs glasses." 

Bruno glanced at her, then placed the blue cat-eye frames on his nose before looking back at the card. "Oh wow."

"Do the glasses help?" Julieta smirked.

"Yeah." Bruno admitted while he looked at the card.

"We'll take you to the optometrist tomorrow."

He suddenly looked nervous as he looked up at her through the lenses, making his already big puppy dog eyes look even bigger. "Why do I have to go? Can't I just use yours sometimes?"

"You have to get a proper check up anyway, and yes that is a requirement, so let's start with the eye doctor. It's the easiest one," Julieta explained.

"It's to make sure you're healthy, Bruno. You've gone too long without a check up. We'll be right there beside you," Pepa said.

"W-well ok…I-I guess if you're there too…but I'm not excited about it." Bruno hunched down and pouted.

"You'll get some reading glasses out of it. With all the reading you do, I think you'll appreciate that," Pepa said.

"F-Fine…"

…

At the optometrists office, Bruno was sat behind a machine while he anxiously fiddled with the edge of his ruana. Julieta put a hand on his shoulder and Pepa smiled at him from the doorway. Having his sisters there with him helped keep him calmer but he was still nervous about leaving Casita.

The doctor came over to him after writing down a few notes. He was warned beforehand to tell his skittish patient what he's going to do before he does it to avoid too much flinching and possible panic by the anxious man.

"Alright let's get this over with, eh?" 

Bruno nodded and offered a pitiful smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"None of this will hurt, but I'm going to get fairly close to you, alright?" The doctor explained.

"O-o-okay…" Bruno stuttered. He released his ruana so he could cross his fingers. While in the office, he wasn't allowed to throw salt around in order to keep the equipment safe.

The whole process went smoothly besides a few of Bruno's more intense flinches knocking the equipment. The doctor calmly reset what was bumped and continued.

"How does that look?"

"That…that looks, um, clear. I-I can read it."

"Is this better?"

"Y-Yes."

After a few more tests, Bruno was free to go. He was thoroughly done with everything and hid underneath his hood while his sisters took over for him. They showed him a few frames they liked and he picked one after trying them on. Finally, he was taken home.

Bruno was completely exhausted from the whole ordeal, so he decided to take a nap in the borrowed room he shared with his sisters. The triplets refused to be separated for the first month at least.

…

A week later, at a picnic lunch with the whole family, Pepa presented a package and gave it to Bruno. 

"This arrived today." She pushed it into his hands and waited eagerly for him to open it.

He started to open it while the rest of the family watched curiously. The box held his new reading glasses. He pulled them out and tried them on, shyly smiling at his family.

A smattering of compliments and little jabs about getting old came from his various family members. 

"When did you go get your eyes checked?" Alma asked.

"Um, last week."

"We noticed he might need them when he was holding everything at arm's length," Pepa giggled.

"Turns out he has the worst eyes of the three of us," Julieta informed them.

Everyone processed that information quietly, knowing a few factors probably contributed to that before Félix broke the silence. "Lookin' good Bruno! You'll find it much easier to read now." He held up his own glasses that were usually sitting in his shirt pocket.

"Thanks," Bruno said with a smile. He put his glasses away and hugged his sisters. "Thanks for helping me."

"You're welcome, now eat hermano, you need to put on some weight." Julieta said as she filled his plate.

Pepa put a hat on his head. "And tell us if you're getting too hot, you're so pale you'll burn easily. Here, drink more water."

Bruno laughed then, thoroughly happy to be back with his family. The emotions overflowed into tears and he started crying. Both of his sisters hugged him tightly and he let it all out.

"I'm so sorry! I love you so much, I'm sorry!" Bruno wailed.

"It's ok, Bruno. We're here, let it go." Pepa said as she rubbed his back.

"We love you too, hermano. We love you so much." Julieta squeezed him and kissed his cheeks.

After a while, he calmed down and uttered one last apology, embarrassed at the display.

Agustín replaced the hat that fell off his head and said, "Don't worry about it. Everyone needs a moment sometimes."

Julieta stuffed a buñuelo into his mouth, effectively breaking any tension. "Now eat, you're too scrawny." 

So he did. They all got their fill of the good food and pleasant conversation, just enjoying the afternoon together. Camilo and Mirabel started a fútbol game and all the kids formed teams.

"C'mon, join us!" Camilo called to the adults still sitting comfortably.

"You guys have fun, we'll enjoy watching you!" Félix replied.

"You guys are no fun." Camilo rolled his eyes as he returned to the game.

"I'm far too stuffed to run around right now…" Bruno sighed tiredly.

"Get used to it, I'm going to put some weight back on you." Julieta said with determined finality.

"'M not complaining, I missed warm food," Bruno flinched, "Sorry…"

"No need to be sorry. We talk about things now," Alma said. She briefly looked at her daughters for confirmation and got two nods before returning to her book.

Pepa put a book in one of Bruno's hands and a glass of water in the other. "It's hot, drink more water. Now, this book is one I thought you would enjoy. I read it a few months ago and instantly thought of you."

After drinking his water, Bruno looked at the cover and turned it over to read the back. He held it out at arm's length for a moment before Pepa put his glasses on for him. 

"Oh, right…heh." Bruno chuckled at himself and brought the book closer. "Hey this looks pretty good! Thanks!" He immediately opened it up and started reading it. 

Julieta put an arepa into his hand and he automatically started nibbling on it, lost in the story. She and Pepa stifled their giggles at that before turning to watch their kids play their game. 

…

Bruno got used to pulling out his glasses eventually. He lost them sometimes and usually found them on his head where he had forgotten about them. 

The glasses caused Pepa to notice his colour was returning to the healthy dark olive tone he was supposed to have. He had gotten some tan lines where the arms of his glasses sat along the sides of his head from reading outside for hours on end. 

He had a much easier time seeing his sobrinos' drawings, writings, and whatever else they wanted to show him. He didn't notice the intricate detail of Mirabel's designs or the subtle additions of tiny rats on Chispi's back in Antonio's drawing before getting the glasses.

Some months later, they even contributed to Julieta noticing her determination was starting to pay off when he lifted his shirt to clean them, revealing the start of healthy weight returning to his middle. 

Bruno appreciated the glasses for allowing him to read comfortably, his family enjoyed seeing the positive changes in him. That visit to the eye doctor started him on his path to health and reconnecting with his family one small step at a time.

👓 💚 👓 💚 👓 💚 👓 💚 👓 💚 👓

#Fic: Step One (Reading Glasses) #encanto #my writing #fanfic #encanto fanfiction #viva la pancita de bruno #bruno madrigal #julieta madrigal #pepa madrigal #the madrigals

[laughingsapphic-creates]

Inukag week, Day 2: Possession

Didn't quite make midnight on this one, but I had work. Hopefully I make tomorrow 😅

@inukag-week

~~~~~~

In My Head

"Kagura, let Kagome go! I'm your opponent right now!"

It had just seemed like a regular run-of-the-mill jewel hunt. Local demon, relatively harmless, suddenly goes haywire? Sounded like a sacred jewel shard causing problems, same as usual. And it has been a pretty standard fight, until Kagura showed up. Kagome had chased her down with sacred arrows while Inuyasha helped beat down the demon - a burrower, easily handled with reference to their fight with Kageromaru a while back - and followed once it was weak enough for Sango and Miroku to handle.

So yeah, standard fare. Until Kagura had grabbed Kagome and hauled her up onto her feather.

"Better hurry along, Inuyasha!" Kagura crowed, turning Kagome's face in her hand from her perch above the trees. "Naraku has such plans for your pretty little priestess."

"You give her back now!" He demanded, disliking how desperate he sounded.

"Inuyasha!"

Trying to avoid Kagura's notice, Kagome tossed something off the feather, and Inuyasha snatched it from the air as he leapt after them. The cool glass and faint rattle of its contents told him what he needed to know without taking his eyes off of the rapidly shrinking transport.

Inuyasha did his best to take chase, but as the feather rose into the sky, and the wind whipped their scent trail into nothing, Inuyasha slowed, trying to keep sight of the speck he thought was them until they vanished into the clouds.

He kept running in the direction they had disappeared in, a shout of frustration clawing its way from his throat.

"Inuyasha!"

Skidding to a halt, he turned to watch as Kilala landed on his left, with Sango, Shippo, and Miroku in tow.

"It was a trap. Kagura grabbed Kagome and flew off with her," he growled. "She used the cloud cover to hide before she could get too far, and I can't pick up their scent anymore."

"Great. Just perfect," Sango sighed fingers tightening in Kilala's fur. Miroku held up a tainted shards, frowning at it.

"We got the shard that Naraku planted on that demon, but lost Kagome in exchange. It was a distraction, but a costly one for him. He probably thinks he'll take it back easily when we go to rescue Kagome."

"But if Naraku wants the shard back," Shippo considered, "why did he make it so hard for Inuyasha to follow Kagura?"

Inuyasha looked down at the vial in his hand, gritting his teeth with another growl as his fingers clenched around the glass. With barely a thought, he lifted the little bottle to his mouth, pulling the cork out with his teeth and dumping their one remaining shard into his hand.

"Inuyasha! What do you think you're doing!?"

The half demon looked at Sango, the crystal point pinched between two claws.

"I've had what we'll call a scientific theory for a while, and now seems as good a time as any to test it," he stated, looking at the shard as he spoke. "Naraku can communicate with and control demons and humans through shards he's corrupted, right? Is it that wild to think that maybe Kagome could do the same for shards that she's purified?"

"Yes! That is wild! And crazy, and stupid!" Shippo decided, jumping to Miroku's shoulder to try and draw Inuyasha's attention more easily.

"And what do you suggest? Kagura's wind blew out any scent trail they might have left, and she got away fast enough that she was out of sight before you three even spotted me. She could've changed directions once they were out of sight, so we'd end up running even further away before we figure out where they've gone!"

"You shouldn't rely on the jewel's power like that. We've seen what it can do to other demons, you can't be so cavalier about this," Miroku insisted, clearly agreeing with Shippo.

"Would ya just listen? I ain't interested in the power right now! Kagome's spiritual power purified the jewel. Don't get me wrong, I know what it's still capable of. But if Kagome's spiritual power is in this shard, it could connect me to her so I can track her." Pulling the collar of his robe down, Inuyasha used a claw to cut slightly into the skin there. "Look, worst case scenario, it won't work and I'll take it right back out, I promise."

Sango paused, watching blood bead at the cut beneath Inuyasha's throat. He could see her considering as she met his eyes - it was definitely a risk, they both knew that. But if it worked, it might be a way that they could save Kohaku the next chance they got.

Another beat passed, and she placed a hand on Miroku's free shoulder.

"We'll try it, just for a minute or two. We don't know if Kagome is able to connect through the shards the way Naraku is, but if she can, it should only take a moment to establish a connection."

Inuyasha nodded, hesitating for only a moment before pressing the jewel shard into his open wound.

Immediately, he felt the low-level aches and scrapes from his altercation with Kagura and the other demon fade - skin knit back together, pains eased, and Inuyasha felt the skin beneath his throat close up around the jagged edges of the shard. Power coursed through him, and he could immediately understand why other demons got addicted to this. He could sense the darkness trying to take hold, but more than that, he felt the warmth and light that he'd come to associate with Kagome's reiki.

Clawed fingers still resting on the jewel at his collar, he reached out in his head, looking for the parts that felt the most like her.

Kagome? Come on, talk to me. Can you hear me?

There was a beat of silence, and he could feel the others looking at him.

"Alright, Inuyasha, I think it's time-"

Something reached back.

He shushed Miroku, trying to focus.

Kagome?

I-Inuyasha?

"I've got her," he announced

Kagome! Are you okay?

I'm fine, we're still flying. What are you doing in my head?

I used the jewel shard to connect with you. Listen, can you see any landmarks we can use to find you?

The jewel-? Inuyasha! That's not why I threw it to you and you know it!

Explanation later. I'll take it out after we find you, just tell me where you are!

An image flashed in his mind: the mountains to their right, already much closer but still distant, and with a dark, unnatural shadow on what should've been the sunny face. And if he really focused, he could feel a tug on his chest, pulling him towards the mountain.

You hang in there, Kagome. We'll be there soon.

Smirking softly to himself, Inuyasha looked up at the mountain peak Kagome had shown him.

"There! That mountain! They're getting close to Naraku's castle!"

Kilala transformed and they mounted up, taking to the skies.

Inuyasha scanned the clouds for any glimpse of Kagura's feather, but found himself distracted by the lightness in his head. Kagome's presence was somehow a one-to-one mix of mental fog and perfect clarity. He couldn't hear the thoughts she wasn't intentionally thinking at him, but he got some impressions - indignation and righteous fury (he wondered if what kagara had said to trigger that), but also a confidence that was almost smug. She was hundreds of feet in the air, with Kagura, on her way to Naraku's castle, and he could barely feel any fear from her. It was an afterthought, barely worthy of note.

He didn't know what being possessed by Naraku through a jewel shard felt like first hand, but according to Sango and Kagome, it was a dark, cloying sort of thing. Like your head was filled with miasma and rot and decay that made you willing to do anything for relief. Inuyasha yasha had quietly likened it to his faint memories of being a full demon when the Tessaiga broke for the first time. That constant stream of RIP/TEAR/ENDURE/SURVIVE/KILL that occasionally reared its head in his nightmares didn't sound too similar to their experiences, but it was the closest comparison he had.

Having Kagome in his head, meanwhile, felt like the polar opposite of that wild, cornered animal that he had become in demon form. Comfort instead of desperation, compassion instead of cruelty. It was hard to say if it was the spiritual power or just Kagome herself, but either way, it was probably the closest to enlightenment that Inuyasha would ever get.

This feels weird, right? Kagome asked, her voice light and sweet against his consciousness. Not bad, but definitely weird.

You're telling me, he agreed, wondering what sort of impressions she might've gotten from him, if any.

As if hearing the question out loud, her voice came again.

You need to relax. I can feel you stressing from here.

You're one to talk! Where the hell is your sense of self-preservation?! In case you missed it, you're being kidnapped and brought to Naraku!

You and the others aren't far behind, right? What's there to worry about?

That impression of confidence he felt before strengthened, pushing out that negligible sense of fear. He wasn't sure if she could feel the pride/wonder/satisfaction that he felt in response. He knew, after so much time together, that Kagome trusted him. That she believed he would and could come and clutch when she needed him. It was different, though, to feel it in his own head with the same surety as the phases of the moon or the cycle of seasons. Sun shines, grass grows, birds fly, and he and Kagome protect each other.

You're closing in on us; I can sense the jewel now, not just you. How do you want to do this?

"We're getting close," Inuyasha announced. "Stay low and stay quiet."

Is Kagura holding on to you?

No, I'm sitting behind her now. But she keeps glaring over her shoulder at me

They were getting quite close to the shadow in the mountainside, and Inuyasha could now make out the silhouette of the castle.

Inuyasha paused, refocusing on the clouds. As soon as the cloud cover passed for just a moment, his eyes were drawn right to Kagome's figure on the back end of the feather, a good ways above and a bit ahead of them.

"Sango," he hummed, voice soft but laced with a venomous determination. He nodded up at the shape floating overhead. "As soon as Kagome drops down, be ready to knock that witch out of the sky. I'll give Kagome some extra hang time, but try and catch us before we get too cozy with the ground, got it?"

Sango nodded, adjusting her weapon and letting Miroku and Shippo lean out of the way. Inuyasha brought his feet up, crouching on Kirara's hindquarters. Giving everyone a glance over, Inuyasha looked back up at the feather, catching Kagome looking at him.

As soon as she looks away from you again, fall back off the feather.

There was nearly a breath of hesitation before he felt the confirmation/understanding/trust in response, and he didn't even have time to enjoy the rush of warmth he felt in response before her voice in his head muttered here goes nothing.

He saw Kagura shift, and right on cue, Kagome quietly leaned back and slipped right off the tip of the feather.

Inuyasha leapt lightly from Kilala's back, angling himself to his descent aligned with Kagome's. He heard the indignant shriek Kagura gave as she was struck, and felt Kagome's disappointment that she hadn't seen it mirror his own.

When his arms came up around her, he was caught off guard again when she let off a wave of safety/security/affection/knewyou'dbehere while smiling up at him

"Hey you," she greeted, breathless and almost laughing.

"Hey yourself," he shot back, ignoring the fact that he was definitely red in the face and there was no way she'd missed it. He looked around for Kilala, who circled around to catch them once Sango had caught her hiraikotsu. Landing easily at the base of her tails, Inuyasha helped Kagome to sit before doing so himself.

"So, do we stay or do we go?" Sango asked, looking back at them while pulling the strap of her weapon over her shoulder. "I'm guessing we only have a few minutes before the saimyosho or another incarnation shows up. Do we go to them or let them come to us?

"Put me down for a tactical retreat. We spent all morning tracking that demon and didn't even have breakfast," Shippo whined, crawling down Miroku's back and into Kagome's lap. "This is probably just another fakey illusion castle with another fakey puppet Naraku. And if it's not, it'll still be there after we eat and rest."

"Regardless of whether it's real or not, we should take a step back and come up with a plan. Kagura wanted me at the castle, and said Naraku had plans for me. Even if it's just a puppet, no plan of his means anything good for us," Kagome pointed out. Looking back at Inuyasha, she offered a smile, pushing out reminders for food/rest/comfort toward him. Ears flattening, he sighed, crossing his arms.

"The edge of the forest. Away from any villages. If we're gonna get attacked, last thing we need is a bunch of humans caught in the crossfire."

Kagome's smile softened, and she leaned back against him. An hour or two to rest, and maybe play with this connection a little more before diving back into danger.

~~~~~~

Shippo, stop kicking the fourth wall, you're gonna break it.

If I wanted to get this posted tonight, I had to cut it off here. But Kagome being able to connect with people through purified jewel shards the way Naraku does tainted ones is something I've idly played with before, and I might touch on it again just for funsies.

#inuyasha #inukag #inukag week #inukag week day 2 #inukag week 2023 #tayto writes

[therewasatale]

Don’t fall for me

On Ao3

Based on prompt.

The small balcony was the only place in the cottage that wasn't covered in blood. It was supposed to be a normal hunt, they should have just bickered like they always did before going home.

"Don't fall for me."

For a second Alucard's eyes changed, a cold wave ran through his heart, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't put on his false grin properly. Instead, he let out a small scoff. "How idiot do you think I am?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" The priest answered without turning around. Slowly he played with his broken glasses between his fingers before putting it in one of his still working pockets. He had to do something that would occupy his thoughts.

As always, they were sent out to kill every monster inside the building. They were made for this, and only for this. To fight, and kill, and get up over and over again.

Alucard watched the iscariot's back, waiting, and not knowing what to say. Everything changed, he just wasn't sure how much did he lose.

"Don't fall for me," Anderson repeated, and gathered himself so he was finally able to face the vampire. There were shadows around his eyes, drawn by the full moon light.  

He really shouldn't, right? Alucard still just watched his rival. This was so sudden, too sudden.

The silence waited around them, nothing dared to move deep inside the thicket of trees.

Anderson knew he should get away as far as he could. With a heavy heart he stepped beside the vampire, not even looking at him. He had to follow his faith, he offered his life to being a weapon, so he could serve his Lord to his last breath.

After another step a hand stopped the Iscariot.

"Why?"

"Don't ask question you already know the answer for," still he avoided the vampire's eyes. "I'm a priest, you're a vampire."

"Everything comes back to that in the end, doesn't it?"

"I vowed to serve God, to be his weapon, to send every monster to Hell."

Alucard's fingered clung in his coat. "So, you would still kill me after all we gone through? If I'd have only one life?"

"Yes," he lied.

After a second full of sorrowful silence the vampire nodded, and let his arm go. "Good."

Anderson glanced down at his arm, he ached for that touch. But that was it, wasn't it? They couldn't, and must not step over the line, or they would be lost forever. No matter what they felt, monsters like them must follow their orders.

Behind them the wind rose and playing with the tree's leaves as if they were feathers. They got picked up, dancing around in the moon light. It should have been a beautiful night for hunt.

And yet, Alucard couldn't even look up at the moon. No matter how many ungodly, powers he had, his pierced heart didn't heal.

Something changed forever.

"Go back to your master, we're done-"

A hand grabbed his coat and the lips on his own silenced him. It was so sudden, his heart started to hammer in his chest, and his mind became occupied with thoughts rushing and running into each other.

Finally, the depth of his soul had the chance to take over, without thinking he closed his eyes. As he kissed back, the fingers desperately gripped him drawing him closer.

It was a short kiss, he only let it go before his mind wrestled back control.

He pushed the vampire against one of the walls, a bayonet slid inside his palm and he stuck it hallway inside the wallpaper next to Alucard's head.

"What are you doing, you fool?! I just said-"

"You kissed back." There was no mocking tone in the vampire's voice only warmth.

"I-" Anderson had to swallow as he was forced to look into Alucard's eyes.

"You kissed back!"

That smile sent a shiver down om the Iscariot's spine.

"Shut up! You shouldn't have down that, can't you understand?!"

But the vampire kissed him again, he held into his coat and pulled him closer.

It wasn't right, his mind told him. But every part of his soul urged him to step closer to vampire and kiss back again.

It was wrong, he shouldn't have focused on his rival's desperate yet gentle lips. And yet he couldn't think about anything else. He felt Alucard's hunger, and he let it take over him too.

His arms locked around the vampire's waist, pulling him even closer, filling that tiny space that still remained between them. A tiny shiver ran through him, as he felt fingers playing with his hair.

Seconds turned to minutes, and he only pulled away when he finally needed to take a breath. He was as flustered as his rival, but even after the kiss he couldn't let him go.

"We-, shouldn't have-"

The gentle fingers now stroked his chin. When did the vampire took his gloves off?

Alucard didn't say anything, his adoring eyes told more than enough. Carefully he touched the scar on his rival's chin, it was something that reminded him that he still had a lot to learn about Anderson. A warm smile that even reached his eyes spread on his face as the priest moved closer to his hand.

Alucard then stole another kiss from him.

"Don't fall for me." Anderson swallowed, as a crimson blush spread under his eyes.

"I won't."

Alucard's voice made his heart skip a beat. As he moved closer, the tip of their noses brushed against each other.

"I can't fall for you," he whispered to the vampire's lips, and kissed him.

#hellsing #hellsing fanfiction #alucard #alucard hellsing #alucard fanfiction #alexander anderson #father anderson #andercard #alucard x anderson #copper

[oumaheroes]

‘Nowhere to Run’

Day 2 of Whumptober

Cornered/ Caged/ Confrontation

My own Whumptober rules can be found here, if you’re unsure what’s going on

Characters: France, England/ FrUK

Day 1

Full Masterlist

-----

‘You always fucking do this!’

A glass shatters by Arthur’s head. His husband’s chest heaves, hair a ruffled mess from pulling at it or running his hand through it too many times. He is leant on their kitchen island counter, his eyes fixed on Arthur filled with tears and Arthur has never hated him more.

‘You knew what today was! You knew what we were supposed to be doing and you fucking did this on purpose!’

‘I forgot.’

‘That’s a fucking lie.’ Francis’ face is twisted, venom pulling his lips into a snarl, ‘That is a God damn fucking lie.’

‘It is not,’ Arthur’s voice is clipped, he can hear it but he can’t soften his words in time, ‘Work was busy and I entirely lost track of time; you can call them up and confirm if you don’t believe me.’

Francis shakes his head, ‘You’re avoiding it.’

‘Why would I avoid it?’

‘Because you don’t want to do it! You don’t think that we need to!’

‘I said that I was sorry, Francis, what more do you want me to do?’

‘I want you to give a fucking shit! I want you to try-‘

‘I am trying!’

‘Oh!’ Francis’ laugh is bitter, ‘Oh yes, yes I’ve noticed you try.’

‘This wasn’t my fault,’ he says, and he knows by the way that Francis’ eyes grow hard that he’s said the wrong thing.

‘And it’s never your fault, is it, Arthur?’ Francis draws himself up and pushes off of the counter, ‘It’s always somebody else.’

They fall silent, the air between them thick and strained with several unsaid arguments at once. The kitchen clock ticks, its odd warped ‘tock’ sound that Alfred finds so funny a loud echo that makes Arthur want to grab it and smash it into the table to silence it forever.

‘We can go next we-‘

Francis cuts him off, ‘You don’t care Arthur. That’s the problem and you prove it time and time again. We-‘ Francis indicates to Arthur and to himself, ‘are not your priority. We-‘ he indicates upstairs now, to their children sleeping overhead, ‘are not your priority. The only priority you have is work and nothing else matters half as much.’

Arthur bites his cheek. There’s a hot pressure in his chest, several horrible thoughts that he can’t give name to building there and threatening to burst out of him.

‘And we’re your priority?’ he says and, then before he can stop himself, ‘That’s why you went and fucked-‘

Another of their nice wine glasses meets the wall with a tinkling shatter, the lukewarm wine it held splashing up the cream walls like blood. Glass shards scatter into unseen crevices, sharp reminder of their hatred left as gifts for their children’s feet to find.

Arthur is glad that he said it. Glad that, by saying it he has evened the fight. Arthur is not the only reason Francis is pushing for marriage counselling, he has his own guilts that he wishes to abate. He feels as guilty as Arthur does which is why he’s so angry with Arthur for not wanting to go, Arthur is denying him this fucking self righteous peace.

This is what Arthur hopes, at least.

Hopes that Francis feels guilty, hopes that he feels as though he has also done wrong by them. Hopes that it really isn’t just himself who is ruining their marriage.

Fears that he might be.

But perhaps there’s just a part of Arthur that likes to see Francis undone, likes to see him fall apart so completely. His beautiful husband is so very ugly when he is angry and a dirty, horrible part of Arthur loves to know that he can rip this side of him to the surface. That he can still make Francis so raw, so human- just for him. A side of his husband that no one else get to see, not even the man he fucked instead of him.

Maybe, that’s what Arthur needs to see- some emotion from Francis that isn’t cool indifference or dismissal. Anger means that he cares, means that there is something there to hurt. Something there still worth fighting for.

The cold silences hurt Arthur more than his shouting ever can and now, this is all they have left.

Day 3

#aph england #aph france #fruk #aph fruk #hws england #hws france #aph #hetalia #hws #heroes writes #whumptalia #whumptober #whumptober 2022 #couples therapy au

[shitpostingkats]

8 and 18 for the YGO ask meme? P.S. Helloooooo ^.^

8. Favorite antagonist/villain

You know? Shoutouts to Brron! He doesn't get enough love. I really love his design and they way he's animated in the show, this sort of creaky dusty mummy that doesn't have any bones and joints in all the Wrong places.

18. A random headcanon

Ooh I can't narrow it down to just one so I'll do some for each series I've seen.

DM: Atem is stupid nearsighted and this is why he does the squinty squinty whenever he takes over. This is really impressive because he's the one who actually passed the drivers test for Yugi (Yugi's a fine driver, he just couldn't get through the exam without having a panic attack) and to this day no one knows how he did it because the man is coke-bottle-glasses-blind and needs help crossing the street most days. Yes, this means Yugi has technically driving illegally his entire life. No, he doesn't feel one bit bad about it.

GX: Listen to me. I am looking directly in your face. Tyranno Hassleberry would be an amazing principal/chancellor of duel academy. He's a friendly leader type who loves learning and being in charge of rowdy hooligans. He effortlessly takes command of the student body like three times in the series. He's weird and fun and would be utterly beloved by his students because yeah he talks like a retired army colonel but he also goes off on hours long tangents on the cretaceous period and lets any student who wants avoid going home over the holidays tag along on his archeology digs and/or camping trips. He seems to be friends with the entire work force of pro duelists and duel historians and duel physicists and regularly invites them to the island to give presentations. I know Shepard set the bar low but Tyranno Hassleberry is going to raise it.

5Ds: I haven't posted any art of it, but I like to draw Yusei with tattoos! He gets a new one for every person that's important to him, so he has a full sleeve on his right arm (though his tattoo for Martha is right over the scar on his stomach) and even gets the dragon head inked back on after the end of the series. Also as stated previously I fully believe in my heart of hearts that Carly Carmine is a lesbian. And I believe with certainty that she should go on a date with Stephanie (the server from blue eyes coffee). Stephanie opens up her own little queer coffee shop called "Les Bean" or smth and Carly becomes a full on investigative reporter who keeps getting in trouble with the cops because she and her six foot tall emotional support himbo investigate leads by picking fights with violent criminals and there's really nothing anyone can do about it.

Zexal: I haven't finished with the series yet but I am full to bursting with headcanons for what astral world is like and if the show wants to contradict me it is welcome to try. I think astral world is completely underwater and filled with bioluminescence and weird deep sea creatures. Everything is floaty and sways in the currents and an astral's hair is like the fronds of a sea anemone and it is customary/fashionable to have schools of fish swimming around in it. Some astrals decorate their bodies with coral and plants and are floating ecosystems. There's a good deal of Societal Value attached to how many creatures you are in symbiosis with. Astral himself doesn't know exactly why he feels so grief stricken when he sees Yuma fiddle with the beads in his hair, or feels so lonely when he looks in an aquarium, but he's working on it, and as far as he's got Yuma, then he's not alone at all :)

#I've gone in to depth on my favorite villains in each part in my part breakdowns so yeah shoutouts to Brron #GX season 3 really is such a specific brand of body horror #this kinda turned in headcanon central whoops #answered asks #ask game #yugioh dm #yugioh gx #yugioh 5ds #yugioh zexal

[cyrille-leclair-de-fontaine]

Sleep doesn't come easily, but Cyrille is undoubtably exhausted, so it does draw him down in fits and starts. When he finally slips into deep sleep, he feels heavy, weighted down as if by some other force. He blinks open his eyes, taking in whatever surroundings Chero has decided to let him see.

The area around looks like a.. very overgrown garden. If there was a roof, it was entirely black and far too high to even dream of reaching. Literally. There were vines all over the place, and some of them shift away at Cyrille’s presence. 

"Chero?" He turns around, gaze skittering across the greenery. "I'm here. You said you'd talk."

“Yeah, I’m back here. Can’t really move right now, so you’re gonna have to come here. Don’t get eaten by sundew.” A voice calls.

"Sundew?" Cyrille starts cautiously towards the voice, keeping a wary eye out. This place feels oddly more… real than even his most recent dreams. "Can you ever say things clearly?"

“They’re orange plants with little white stem things on them. They’re carnivores. They will eat you if they can reach you.” A laugh. “Also, no. It’s been a standing issue for ages now!”

Okay, avoid getting close to the orange plants. Got it.

Carefully making his way through the dense foliage, he keeps looking around for the source of the voice. "...where are you?"

“Near the only real wall in this place. Just keep walking towards my voice and then I think you’re good.” A pause. “Oh! And also listen out for a hissing noise. And maybe small wisps of smoke.”

"...why." After a second he spots a wall through the densely packed leaves, changing his path slightly.

“You’ll see in a bit. It isn’t as bad as it looks. And sounds.”

He finally reaches the wall, looking around for Chero. Or anyone at all, since he doesn't really know what he looks like…

“Up here, blondie.”

No ceiling means the top of the wall is actually reachable- and climbable, when you have multiple arms. The hissing noise gets louder as Chero jumps off the wall and lands next to Cyrille. He had scratched the wall with one of his hands as he had fallen to make sure he didn’t break his leg or something.

Casually tightening the bow in his hair, he smiles at Cyrille. “Hey. Welcome to basically hell.”

Cyrille crosses his arms, unimpressed. "I'm here. Can you tell me what I want to know, now?"

“Yeah, yeah. Give the chains a moment to catch up.” He gestures vaguely at the sky.

As if he jinxed it, chains quickly appeared on his four wrists, ankles, and neck. The smoke and the hissing noise seemed to be coming from the ankles and neck. Oddly enough, the chains were made of glass- the ones that were hissing, that is. The other four were made of some glowing white material.

“Speak of the devils. Okay, we can talk business now.”

"You said there's a way to wake him up faster. What is it?"

“Oh! Right, I did say that.” His smile stretches the tiniest bit. “There are a various amount of options. One could be you breaking me out of these fuckers.” He taps his chin. “Even if you don’t like that, all the others are considerably worse.”

"Just list them out for me."

“Okay, let me think.”

He silently counts in his head for a moment, his fingers raising with each number.

“You could take his place, somehow find a way to get my core back, kill Scara- which I’m sure you won’t do. You would rather end yourself than even harm him.” He rolls his eyes. “What else.. you could give me a bit of your spirit so I can break out myself, but that’ll cut your lifespan by a bit. And then there’s killing me. Which would be a problem for everyone, because if I explode Scara might too. Might. I’m not sure.”

Cyrille is quiet for a long moment, grimacing as he turns the options over in his head. Chero was right about them all being unappealing… But for Scara? Then something Chero said catches his attention. "Get your core back?"

“Yeah! That’s the thing he stole from me in the first place- well, one of them.” He stares at his hands for a moment. “Whatever. Anyways, yes- he currently has it on him and it’s part of the reason why he kept coughing up blood last dream. Cause he was activating a part of magic that I don’t even use anymore.”

"How would I even get it? Is it on him physically, or would I need to share a dream with him again and convince him to give it to me…?"

“You’d have to catch him in a dream again, convince him that he actually has it because I’m not sure he even fully knows, and then you kinda gotta just stab your hand into his chest and pull it out.” Chero shrugs. “Although, after what happened last dream.. he may be avoiding you for a little bit. He was crying a lot more than usual this time when I started bothering him.”

"...because I'm a fucking idiot, yeah." He pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "And hypothetically, how hard would it be to break those chains? Because that sounds like the only other acceptable option."

“The ones on my neck and ankles are glass, so you can probably just hit them and they’ll break. These ones though-” He holds out his four hands. “Are uh- I actually don’t even know what they are. But if I can’t break them now, I could probably break them if I had my magic back.”

He shrugs again and leans against the wall. “There’s also the option of waiting it out. For either the chains to erode because they no longer have Rhea as a power source, or for me to die.”

"And who knows how long that will take…" He considers the non-glass restraints with narrowed eyes. "I could probably break the glass, at least… Then I guess I just have to sleep enough for Scara and I to meet up and… try to convince him."

“That works! And you get to take a bit of whatever anger you may have out, so that’s another bonus.” Guess - have to —- — — a bit —---. “I would say be careful, but I doubt any glass is gonna get stuck in your skin.”

"Yeah, yeah." Cyrille reaches down to grab a rock, hefting it. "Hold still. I'm going to try and deal with the cuffs themselves so you don't have them hanging off you and… smoking."

“Whatever gets these things off.” He shrugs again, but then remains still.

Kneeling down and hooking a hand through the gap between skin and glass, Cyrille doesn't hesitate to bring the rock down, shattering it into glittering pieces. He repeats the process with the other ankle, then stands, regarding the collar thoughtfully. "...if I miss, don't be pissed at me."

“Eh, I probably won’t feel it.” He shakes out his feet, making sure he doesn’t wince at the shards of glass that decided to stick themselves directly into his ankles. He’ll deal with that later.

Shrugging, Cyrille grabs the collar and brings the rock down again. It only cracks the one side, so he hits the other side too, and it falls into two pieces on the ground.

Cyrille tosses the rock over his shoulder. "There. Wake me up now, I think I need to talk with Scara's brother before I try to catch Scara in a dream… Don't want him waking me up because he thinks I'm sleeping too much."

Chero rubs his neck, then nods at Cyrille. “Sure, sure. But wanna know something funny?”

"...what."

He smiles again. “I don’t think you thought of the possibility that I’d stop Scara from reaching you.”

And without waiting for a response, there’s a large flash of light, and Cyrille is thrown out of the realm with Chero’s laugh echoing all around.

Cyrille jolts up in bed, breathing hard, then buries his face in his hands. Why is he a fucking idiot…

Did he just make everything worse?

#alone by myself again

[asa-writes]

Aphrodite of Old Hall - 05

“Acta, non verba”

Anthony Bridgerton x F!OC / Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: angst (my poor benedict bby :( )

Closing the door gently, Elisabeth turned towards Anthony. He was sitting on his leather chair, a glass of brandy in one hand and a most puzzling look on his face. Seeing the absence of chairs, she did the most unladylike thing that came to her mind and sat down on his table. Looking down at him, she sighed. "You wanted to talk to me, so talk." After another few seconds of him avoiding her eyes, she scoffed. "Or are you thinking of fucking me on the table right now?" He shot up from his chair, slamming his glass onto the table and grabbing her by the waist. "I wasn't. Sounds like you are, though."

She parted her lips in surprise. "I..." Anthony chuckled maliciously and shook his head. "Now she's speechless. Would you look at that. And you wanted Benedict to court you?" She tightened her lips and tried pushing him away. "Whatever do you mean by that? He is kind, romantic, sweet and, most of all, respected my boundaries! You didn't even make an effort of getting to know me, no, you were mad that I contradicted your fantasy of me and then you went off to sulk and do god knows what whith god knows whom." Anthony flared his nostrils, and she could feel his hand pressing harder against her back, before pulling it away again. "Take those stupid accusations back. What I meant was that he would want to live a quiet life in the country. I see that you are passionate - this passion has already been wasted on your dead husband, now you want to waste it on him as well? Yes, he's kind, romantic and all of that, but he himself told me that he wanted a simple life and wife. You are anything but simple! I can give you the life you deserve!" His emotions came out with every word he said and that was just too much for Elisabeth.

She dug her fingernails into his arm and came as close as she could to him without having to touch him. "Prove yourself to me, then. I cannot stand here and believe you when all you do is talk about your affection to me in these wonderful little speeches and then leaving me high and dry for the next few days." Anthony pulled her towards himself and groaned. "Yes, fine, I will do anything that you would like me to do. But what's stopping you from just kissing me? Why, why, why must you say all of the things that you do and yet act as though you were begging to be mine?", He mumbled in her ear and felt a shiver running through her. "I cannot be wooed by actions or words alone. I need to know if you are interested in me, as Ellie, and not the tempting Lady de Gressy. Now please, I wish to go and, if you really think that I should be yours, prove it to me." With that, she gave him the most fleeting of kisses, tore herself free, opened the door and sighed one last time. "And don't you DARE! mention my George to me again! Ever!", She seethed and slammed his door shut, returning to the drawing room, huffing and puffing.

Violet and Benedict seemed to have heard her last sentence and Benedict quickly hurried towards her and hugged her. "You shouldn't have gone, my dear. He can be a real pain sometimes." His scent and soothing words calmed her down greatly. She let go of him and turned to Violet. "Lady Bridgerton, I am ever so sorry for disturbing your morning like this...", She said apologetically. Violet who blinked a few times before smiling. "It is I who should apologize... I shouldn't have asked and maybe closed the door..." Then her whole face lightened up. "Listen, my dear, we were thinking of having a lovely evening with some of our family's friends, a soiree one might call it, and I would love to see you there! Wouldn't that be nice, right, Benedict?", She said gleefully clapping her hands. Benedict agreed and to pass the time, they took some more tea and afterwards Elisabeth had excused herself to get changed and promised to return as soon as possible. For whom though? The sweet one or the passionate one?

Loitering around the entrance, Eloise had caught Elisabeth as she was making her way to the dining hall. She smiled and, in true Eloise fashion, linked her arm with Elisabeth's. "Anthony's finally come out of hiding and I have not a clue what you did, but him and Benedict have both dressed as if they were to meet the queen and are prancing around like flustered peacocks." Elisabeth shot her an amused look. They slowly walked through the halls, giggling away.

Entering the room, a most peculiar sight had greeted her; Anthony running to greet her and Benedict winking at her. "I think that this is going to get interesting", said Eloise and hurried off to Penelope Featherington, who, as it looked like, was trying her hardest to get Colin Bridgerton's attention. Anthony had taken her hand, kissed it ever so softly and handed her a drink. "Good evening, my Lady. I hope to see you enjoying it thoroughly..." He whispered into her ear and re-joined a beautiful couple, whom Elisabeth thought to be the Duke and Duchess of Hastings. Benedict nodded at her and greeted her warmly. "Good evening dearest. You look ravishing tonight." She blushed and took a sip of her drink. By God, that thing was strong... Hopefully she could still walk out of this house at the end of the night.

"You look most handsome indeed.", She said to him. "I wonder what you have told Anthony this morning... He's a changed man and has even asked for Mama's forgiveness for the way he had barged in." Benedict took a nervous look at his brother, whose eyes never seemed to leave the both of them. "He still pulled me to the side, before the guests had arrived and told me to forget you, that impetuous little ... you know."

Elisabeth rolled her eyes and gave Benedict's hand a reassuring squeeze. "He's jealous, that's all." With that, Benedict's eyes widened, and people had started taking their assigned seats.

Sitting between the shy Penelope Featherington and Daphne Bridgerton, the Duchess of Hastings, was to be the saving grace for Elisabeth's evening. She would not have been able to bear sitting between the Bridgerton brothers, and to be able to show them the same amount of attention... Yet still, she sat across from Anthony, who by any means seemed to enjoy watching her blush at every second she looked up from her plate. As the footmen brought out the food, Elisabeth raised an eyebrow. Anthony smirked. All of the food served were her favourite dishes. How sneaky could one be, she wondered.

Daphne leaned over to her and, with the pretence of quickly fixing a small ribbon in Elisabeth's hair, she whispered: "Jesus Christ, Elisabeth, I have never seen my brother behave like that. Has he proposed already?" Trying to giggle as quietly as possible, Elisabeth blushed. "Which one?" Shocked, Daphne put a piece of asparagus in her mouth. "What do you mean, which one? Anthony of course! Are you trying to tell me that Benedict has also set his sights on you?" Trying to swallow as fast as she could, Elisabeth nodded as lightly as she could. Both of them simultaneously looked over at Benedict, who smiled sweetly at them, looked like he was enjoying his Lady's attention. When they turned back towards their plates, Elisabeth could see Anthony's eyes piercing her.

He stood up, clinked his knife against his glass and stood up. Daphne gasped. "What's his plan?" Smiling broadly, especially at Benedict (who, by now, was starting to get annoyed at his brother's antics) he gestured a footman to come forward with a bouquet of flowers, which were placed on the table, blocking Penelope's view of Colin and transforming the room into the smell of Asters, Camellias, Heliotropes, Red Roses and Tulips. What these flowers meant, everyone knew immediately: love, love, love... Elisabeth's heart beat so fast, she was afraid to pass out. He understood perfectly well what she had meant today and was pulling it off in the grandest possible way. "To you, my petite fleur, I shall dedicate this toast to. Let us drink to the perfection that is Lady de Gressy." Everyone clinked their glasses and was wiggling around, trying to catch a glance of the woman who had put Lord Anthony Bridgerton under a spell. A deep crimson blush spread across Elisabeth's face, as she thanked him quietly. It wouldn't have mattered it she had mouthed it; everyone would have heard anyways. She had seen the worried glance that Violet gave her second son and as soon as she had turned around to look for him, she could see that he was gone.

One might think that the evening is finished for the Ton; but not for our besotted Viscount and, as it was evident for everyone to see, his bride-to-be...

“Lady E's secret” <= Previous

#Bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x oc #regency #bridgerton fanfiction #fanfiction #asa writes #asas fics #bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton angst #bridgerton fluff