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doppelnatur · 2 years

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A Trans Body’s Path in Eight Folds

by Cooper Lee Bombardier

One: right concentration

A trans body sightsees at Carlsbad Caverns. It pays admission and enters the gap-toothed maw. Eyes are open but not working at first, seeing only the green opposite of the hot white outside. Soon, the trans eyes forget the world’s way of seeing in favor of its own vision in the cool balm of dark. It feels a kinship with the stalactites fanging down from the dark ribbed roof, growing and changing ever so slowly, drip by drip. An inch a century if that. The waiting and the long unfolding to become, molecule by molecule. In the yellowing glow of a miner’s headlamp, the trans body spelunks toward nature’s confirmation of the impossible made manifest, and vows to cultivate the patience of a cave.

Two: right action

A trans body visits a lover in a high desert town in the American Southwest. While running—near to panting from altitude—on a community center treadmill, this trans body spots another trans body on an adjacent treadmill two machines over. A wash of warm recognition floods the one at the sight of another. The trans body runs in place and listens to punk rock through headphones while shaping a way to connect with the other trans body. Hello, it imagines saying, me, too. Or: I am your people. Too stiff? Too awkward? I am so happy you and I are here together in this place of all places. How many more of us might be here? Slowing the treadmill down to run-tripping on the flapping black rubber belt, the trans body knows it cannot make any reach toward the other. More likely than a welcomed connection, it could be received as an affront, a highlighting of some failure of detail, or worse, a dangerous positioning of crosshairs on the back of the other. One trans body might go undetected, but two trans bodies begin to shape an identifiable pattern. Two trans bodies dismount treadmills, sweating, alone.

Three: right speech

A trans body meets another trans body for coffee. In the span of drinking a twelve ounce Americano, one trans body is smudged out and rendered invisible by the other. Countless people wield the power to erase a trans body, but nothing wounds to the same extent as when it happens by the hands of another trans body. A trans body rents a place with a friend. The friend leans on the trans body sometimes as if they were spouses or two old trees bordering a field who fell into each other in a windstorm; hard to tell who is holding the other up. The friend sometimes shakes out tired assumptions about “X” or “Y” like wet wash about to be pinned to a line that only extends in two finite directions. One day the friend-spouse directs the trans body to do something in a highly divided public space. When the trans body reminds the housemate-friend why this suggested action would not be ideal, how it would expose, embarrass, or worse—imperil a trans body, the spousemate says: sometimes I forget you are trans, sharp with darts of exasperation like the trans body’s transness is the most difficult thing in the world for the housemate (and friend) to bear, and yet the easiest thing in the world to forget.

Four: right view

A trans body is denoted “A” at birth but by surviving over half a lifetime of social misadventures, zigzagging rat-maze bureaucracy, hustling the system, defying critics and naysayers huddled around smoldering embers of damp fires in all worn camps, performing emotional sorcery, the application of rudimentary medical technology, and a highly-honed ability to charm service workers and gatekeeping personnel at each level of the salt-sea lock, is able to exist in relative comfort as “B.” This trans body’s ability to live as “B” magnetizes to itself praise and blame in equal and alternating currents. This trans body’s comfort in inhabiting “B” does not stand as a referendum on “A,” nor upon A1, A2, A3 . . . B1, B2, . . . nor does it deny the existence of “C.” It simply feels like if it has to choose a climate—say, the sandstone hot dry desert or the gray-green damp pine woods—it chooses woods. The trans body still loves the desert for its own magic light, but a place only feels like home when it is home.

Five: right intention

A trans body telegraphs thinly coded messages out over the wire. The information is everywhere but the connections are fleeting when they are soldered together at all. Birds fly out with destinations imprinted in their minds and scrolls tied to their feet. Sometimes they land and other times never come home to roost, eliciting neither hope nor surprise. They do the work of gossip but are much cuter, albeit in an archaic way. The messenger birds are too troublesome for white urban middle-class young adults to co-opt. Far offshore there are other trans bodies bobbing like tiny ships in blueblack water, their little red lights blinking out: I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. . . . Within the empty shape of a few beats, a slower light arcs out from atop a rocky cliff, slicing the black water apart from the black sky like a cake, its beam refracted through the thick-scaled Fresnel prisms of the lighthouse lamp, in a brief whip and sweep away it answers back: Alone, alone . . . blink, sweep . . . Alone, alone. . . . On land the fallen are called bodies, but at sea the lost are called souls.

Six: right effort

A trans body goes to the low-cost clinic on indigent status and performs a show. The most complex and personal interstices of self and body are reduced to carved primary colored wooden blocks and ABCs. The trans body has been trans longer than the doctor has been a doctor. The teacher pretends to be a student. The trans body is a bad kid in school who says what you want to hear to avoid detention. This trans body trains the doctor to see it as a patient and its need as deserving of care much in the same way wolves once trained humans to see them as dogs.

Seven: right livelihood

A trans body lives and dies a young trans life within the cold blue frame of a screen. Another trans body takes shape in the late afternoon of midlife, confounding those around in concentric ripples that dissipate with distance. Ejected and unwanted; as burnt as toast from the chrome slots of society, a trans body walks a rain-soaked alley bearing a heavy bindle stiff as an exhausting punishment for noncompliance. One trans body bikes the bridge and stops at the midpoint to stare at the river below and listen for the call of sirens, while another trans body’s fist connects with the jaw of a would-be attacker. Another trans body jostles past on a downtown sidewalk, unnoticed, while another stands at a podium, grasping a bronze trophy of recognition. A trans body cradles a child in tender arms. Despair and hope pulse through a trans body in equal measure. Beneath flesh, the bones of the trans body are as likely as the non-trans body to receive the frequency of either vibration—only the path of sound differs.

Eight: right mindfulness

The trans body asks for something so internal and deeply known to be named, something that longs for a witness in the clean light of day. The trans body asks for an expansion of what is perceived to be conceivable, to be included in the taxonomy of the “real.” The human mind often discovers that what we thought to be one thing is indeed another, and that new knowledge is embraced with joy—Pluto is not a planet; we are a galaxy among countless others; we can listen to the sound of a comet streaking a fiery brushstroke across the silence of space; we can measure the code of our DNA against the matrix of the trees. Human hearts and imaginations swell at what is possible. A trans body asks that the wonder of the world contains it within all of the world’s resplendent glory.

#I love this poem so much #trans #Cooper Lee Bombardier #a trans bodies path in eight folds

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udayg · 11 months

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The Middle Way

I hope you enjoy reading my new blog post: “The Middle Way: Conflict and Balance in Contemporary Society” I hope you find it inspiring, informative and engaging.

Conflict and Balance in Contemporary Society Three Buddhas, Inner Wall, Level 4, Borobudur, photograph by Anandajoti Bhikkhu There is a Buddhist axiom which rests at the very heart and foundation of Buddhist philosophy. In simple terms, it is to “seek the Middle Way” — to find the balance between the “extremes of sensual indulgence and self-mortification.” (Wikipedia entry on Middle Way). This…

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wileys-russo · 8 months

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mrs williamson II l.williamson x reader

leah williamson supremecy always, all day every day

mrs williamson II l.williamson x reader

"-and now it's charlies turn for show and tell!" you clapped your hands together to gain your students attention, their chatter slowly ceasing as you sent them an appreciative smile for their quick listening.

a knock on the door however had their heads turning and your eyebrows raising in surprise as your wife stood there with a sheepish smile, clad in her training tracksuit with her hands shoved in her pockets.

"okay 4D, everyone turn our listening ears on nice and loud for charlie and i'll be right back! take it away my friend." you gave the boy an encouraging grin as he launched into an animated recount of how he had broken his arm over the weekend, waving his bright blue cast around as he did.

"hi?" you stepped outside of the classroom, sending the blonde a surprised smile. "hi gorgeous, sorry for the interruption i tried to just leave it with reception but they said to come find you here." leah smiled apologetically, the two of you pulling one another into a quick hug as she sweetly kissed your cheek.

"you left your house keys and i've got late training, double session. figured you'd want to be able to get back inside tonight!" the girl grinned as she pulled away and you sighed appreciatively, pecking her lips as she dropped the keys into your hand.

"miss just got a kiss! miss just got a kiss!" your head snapped sideways meeting the cheeky grin of several bored eight year olds gathered in the door frame. at your warning look they all scattered, hurrying back to their seats as leah chuckled.

"i see the stern teacher look works on other people than just your sister then?" leah grinned in amusement, referring to her teammate alessia who was your younger sister and the reason the two of you had even crossed paths years ago in the first place.

"hey you've got an arsenal hoodie on! do you like football? miss williamson can she please come in and talk about football?" a different students head popped around the door frame, shooting both you and your wife his best puppy dog eyes.

you glanced to leah who gave you a small shrug, murmuring she didn't have training for another hour. "i guess it's my turn for show and tell then!" you chuckled, grabbing leahs hand and leading her inside, twenty sets of eager eyes following your every move.

"alright boys and girls! listening ears on again please. this is leah, she's a professional footballer and as russel pointed out she plays for arsenal." you introduced your wife who leant against your desk, folding her arms over her chest and sending your students a warm smile and a wave.

"miss that's not just a footballer that's leah williamson, she's the england captain and my sister loves her! she has her shirt too." william, another student, piped up enthusiastically from the back as the room.

"miss williamson if you and leah have the same last name, are you sisters?" one of the girls asked curiously and leah hid a laugh behind a fake cough as you sent her a firm warning.

"no julie, leah is my wife. i took her last name when we got married!" you explained patiently, your students all ohhing in response and their was a brief pause of silence before the room absolutely erupted into chatter, the kids all shooting question after question at your wife.

"okay 4D we do not yell over the top of one another! we use our manners and we wait our turn and display our..." you trailed off expectantly, nodding your head suggestively to this weeks words written on the board behind you.

"patience!" your students echoed back causing a bright smile of pride to tug at your lips, leah noticing as her heart melted, always having had the largest soft spot for the obvious passion you had for teaching and your students.

"okay who has a question for leah? hands up, she'll call on you one by one." you instructed as at least half the room raised their hands eagerly, wiggling impatiently in their chairs as leah chuckled and began to point them out.

"leah do you love miss williamson?" "most of the time." leah smiled cheekily in response causing a few giggles to break out from the kids surrounding her.

"leah does miss williamson snore?" "oh yes, she sounds like a truck!" leah answered, mocking the noise as your cheeks flushed bright red and even more giggles met leahs ears, causing her grin to grow.

"leah what's your favourite thing about football?" "oh thats a hard one! but i think playing in a team and having lots of really supportive people around you on the pitch, the girls i play with at england and at arsenal are some of my very best friends." leah answered sincerely as you nudged your shoulder into hers with a soft smile.

a half hour later and you had to interrupt the game of two touch leah had got going on with your students using a crumpled up piece of paper, quietly reminding her that she had training and clapping out a pattern to gain the attention of the room, your kids clapping it back and settling somewhat.

"leah has to go to training now! but can we all please give her a big cheer and a thank you for spending her time speaking with us today?" you called out as your students echoed an enthusiastic thank you, a few of them rushing in to hug leah who tensed in surprise before her face softened and she ruffled their hair and pat at their backs before they went racing back to their desks at your request.

"everyone grab out your books please! quiet reading time until the lunch bell goes, i'll be right outside so i will hear if anyones chitter chattering, remember my listening ears are always on!" you warned tugging at your ears as leah smiled softly and your students giggled but did as you asked.

"thank you lee, they loved that." you stepped outside and walked leah a few feet away with a smile, wrapping your arms around her neck as hers snaked around your waist, the blonde pressing a tender kiss into your hair.

"i loved that. would you maybe want me to come back with some of the girls? run a little friendly game and do some easy drills?" your wife offered as you made a face of surprise.

"if you have time? they would actually go mental if you could." you agreed eagerly, your wife reassuring she was sure it would be fine but she would check with jonas this afternoon.

"maybe on a friday afternoon, i know you said they go stir crazy so close to the weekend." leah chuckled and you sighed, nodding in agreement at how hard fridays were to keep them all engaged.

"that would actually be perfect. but you better go baby, you'll be late and i don't fancy hearing you moan about all the extra laps you'll have to run if you are!" you teased, your blonde rolling her eyes and pinching playfully at your side for the comment, pecking your lips a few times.

"miss got another kiss! miss got another kiss!" "4D i told you my listening ears are on!"

"i'm home!" you heard the front door open and your wife call our tiredly, hearing her kit bag thump to the floor as her sliders squeaked across the floor, the girl making a brief stop in the kitchen to chug a glass of water.

"in here love!" you called back, curled up on the lounge with your laptop on your knees, lesson planning for the week ahead. "hello gorgeous." your wife sighed and you were quick to move your laptop to the side as leah collapsed tiredly on top of you.

"tough session?" you hummed, running your hands through her hair as she nodded, face pressed into your stomach. "my arms feel like they're going to fall off, my legs are like jelly, can we just sleep here on the lounge?" leah mumbled into your top as you let out a beat of laughter and she moved so her chin rested on your chest, looking up at you with a tired but loving smile.

"i think i have something to lift your spirits baby." you gently tapped at her to signal you were going to get up, the blonde rolling off of you as you stood, rummaging through your work bag.

"you made quite the impression!" you smiled softly, handing leah a stack of papers as your wife pulled herself into a sitting position and began to rifle through them, her face softening significantly as she did.

"they did these for me?" leah asked quietly, eyes scanning the brightly coloured drawings with a tender gaze and you hummed your confirmation, sitting back down beside her and stretching your legs across her lap.

"i was ordered they were to go straight to you from my bag as soon as i next saw you or else i would be in some serious trouble with the artists." you teased, leah flicking through them again with a beaming grin.

"thank you, that's made my day." leah grinned, carefully placing the stack of papers down on the coffee table and pawing at your hoodie, needily pulling your body properly on top of hers and burying her face in your neck.

"i love you, mrs williamson."

"okay my friends listening ears on please! settle down, settle down." you clapped and called out over the incredibly restless group of children who were bouncing from foot to foot, whispering excitedly to one another as the looked toward the small huddle of women stood behind you.

"now i know we are all very excited, but i need some calm and some quiet so we can meet our new friends!" you stood back a little and gestured for them to step forward, everyone gathered on the oval for the final hour left of the school day.

"now this is alessia, steph, caitlin, katie, lotte and we all already know leah." you introduced as each girl gave a wave and a grin to the group of children stood in front of them. "your wife!" one of the boys piped up with a cheeky grin and a giggle as you sighed but nodded, rewarded with a chorus of fake kissing noises.

"okay enough of that or we'll go back inside and do our timetables!" you warned as a hush instantly fell, smiling happily and stepping aside for leah to take the reigns.

"you look like miss williamson!" one of the girls pointed to alessia with a frown as your sister smiled. "that's because she's my little sister" you explained, again a round of ohh's coming from your students in response.

"her big little sister!" alessia smirked, the much taller girl patting your head mockingly causing the children to giggle, leah stepping in and beginning to speak.

"the bossiness isn't just reserved for your friends and family? those poor children." alessia tutted from beside you as leah explained the first training drill your class was going to do, using katie and lotte for a demonstration.

"alessia if you so much as utter one word that i find inappropriate or teach them anything they don't need to know about me, i promise on nonna i will tell gio exactly how his pool table got broken." you murmured quietly to the blonde stood beside you who shot you a filthy look at the threat but remained quiet, bumping her shoulder into you and walking off after lotte with her assigned group.

"leave her alone!" leah chuckled pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as you rolled your eyes. "you always take her side, you're supposed to be my wife! i am sick and tired of the two of you teaming up against me." you huffed with a shake of your head.

"i am technically her sister in law, i'm just being supportive!" leah teased, grabbing at your waist and stealing a kiss when no one was looking, whispering for you to stop being grumpy before jogging off to help katie.

despite that the afternoon went off without any real issues, your students as expected absolutely adoring the girls and an afternoon full of physical exercise and sunshine.

"miss williamson its your turn now!" one of the boys kicked the ball at you, all of them taking turns to shoot at goal as you shook your head. "this is meant to be fun for all of you not for me!" you kicked the ball back as your students all began to protest your decision.

"she's just scared she'll miss!" alessia teased from where she stood in goal beside lotte, cocking an eyebrow at you challengingly, leahs hand coming to rest on the small of your back from where she stood watching on beside you.

"you won't miss, we believe in you!" one of the girls shouted, half of your students all cheering you on as the others took your sisters side, joining in as she boo'd you.

"i think you have to now babe, you've riled them up again." leah chuckled quietly, rubbing your back comfortingly as you sighed, stepping forward toward the goal as the cheers got louder and lotte swiftly stepped out of goal, mumbling a good luck to her blonde best friend.

"come on, surely you've grown out of your two left feet by now!" your sister mocked, you having had the pleasure of growing up relentlessly teased by both her and your older brothers for your astounding lack of athletic ability.

"go on williamson, show her what you're made of!" katie encouraged with a grin, squatted down amongst the kids and starting a clap and chant of your name.

only spurred on further by the confident smile on alessia's smug face, countless memories of having footballs kicked at your head and being forced to stand in goal by your brothers, you placed down the ball and took a step back.

taking a step forward you connected with the ball as it sky rocketed and headed right for alessia's face, your sisters expression paling as she ducked and there was a swish as the ball smacked against the back of the net.

your students all screamed in delight right as the bell rang, and you yelled out over the top of them a big thank you for being so well behaved, wishing them all a safe and happy weekend.

you helped your wife to pack up the goals as half your students all raced off, eager to start their weekend whilst others hung around chatting to the girls. "i'd be watching your back if i was you love." leah grinned, nodding to a very unimpressed look plastered on your younger sisters face as she shot you a dirty glare.

"i know about far too many things she did behind our parents back for her to do anything, she's all bark and no bite." you chuckled, grabbing the cones and leading leah over to the sports shed where everything was stored.

you were caught off guard as your wife closed the door and promptly pressed you against it, wasting no time connecting her lips to yours, not having a chance to show you much affection all afternoon.

"you know i might have paid attention in school if teachers looked like you my girl." the blonde rasped into your ear with a cheeky grin, peppering butterly kisses down your jaw as you smacked at her shoulder.

"i didn't know you had a teacher and student fantasy darling?" you teased, your wife rolling her eyes and nipping at your neck as you warned her firmly about leaving marks, reminding you were still in your workplace.

"i married you for your mind and not just your stunning good looks, obviously." leah tutted, grinning as she sweetly pecked your lips a few times and pushed off of you, moving to open the door but frowning as it didn't budge. "it's old, it gets stuck sometimes!" you rolled your eyes, but frowning as you tried but also couldn't budge it.

though as you glanced out the window and locked eyes with a familiar mop of blonde hair and a smirk, your eyes narrowed. "open it! right now alessia." you ordered firmly, yelling so she could hear you as your sister only cupped a hand to her ear with a confused frown, mocking that she couldn't hear you as katie doubled over with laughter, stood beside her.

"russo." leah intervened, pushing you lightly out of the way as you opened your mouth to let your sister have it, your wife sending the younger girl a stern look who huffed, rolling her eyes and disappearing, the sound of movement indicating she'd removed whatever was blocking the door.

"you know in any other circumstances i'd have taken full advantage of being locked in a room with you mrs williamson." leah husked out in your ear, hands teasingly roaming your body beneath your polo as her lips pressed a tender kiss behind your ear.

"if you're trying to distract me from murdering alessia, it's not working." you huffed, your wife tugging you away from the door and once more holding you against it, pressing her lips to yours in a bruising kiss, removing the air from your lungs.

"better?" leah pulled away with a smug smile, pressing one more kiss to your lips as you nodded a little dazed and leah opened the door.

"alessia you better start running!"

leah rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest, stepping out of the sports shed and standing beside steph and katie with a shake of her head, watching as you chased after your sister.

that was her girl, and she loved you endlessly for it.

#woso #woso x reader #alessia russo #woso fanfics #woso imagine #engwnt #alessia russo x reader #woso blurbs #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader

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dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd · 8 months

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We’re In This Together

You’re having a hard time coping with everything that's happening to you and your crew, but your Dream Visitor knows how to make you relax and keep you on the right path. His path, of course. You know about his true form and you’re intrigued by what those tentacles can do for you.

AKA please will an eight foot monster wrap his tentacles around you and lovingly use you as his fleshlight.

***

It’s been a bitch of a day. Your stomach is churning as you recall the manic gleam in Gale’s eye when he spoke about keeping the crown’s power for himself. Wyll wants you to decide whether he should sacrifice himself to save his father’s life. Karlach is going to die and you don’t know what to say to her, because there’s nothing you can say. To top it off, Lae’zel has been kidnapped by that madwoman, Orin.

Everything is too much. You rub a tired hand over your face as you sit before the crackling flames of the campfire. Who decided it was a good idea to put you in charge?

Tomorrow. You’ll fix it all tomorrow, you tell yourself as you crawl into your bedroll, your throat burning with despair. Everything will be clearer after a good night’s sleep, or maybe something will kill you and you won’t have to think about it anymore. That would be nice.

There’s blackness all around you as you drift off to sleep, and then stars prickle into life in the sky. You’re no longer at the camp, but in a dreamy, ethereal location with marble columns and purple twining flowers.

You see a tall elf with long, white hair, a handsome face, and knowing eyes striding toward you. He’s so beautiful that he takes your breath away, but this isn’t his true form. You’ve seen the real one, and he’s a mind flayer.

He stands head and shoulders over you in glinting armour, folds his arms, and gives a heavy sigh. “What a bundle of self pity you are tonight.” But there’s gentleness in his eyes as he says it.

“Shut up, Mr. Perfect. If this is all so easy, switch places with me and you do it.”

“We’re doing this together,” he assures you in that deep, velvety voice.

Are you? You want to trust him, but you’re still unsure of his motives.

He reaches out and takes your hand in his enormous one, and the gesture is so kind and comforting and you need comfort so much right now that you allow it.

Looking deep into your eyes, he says, “I would spare you if I could. You know I’m nothing without you.”

His thumb rubs circles on the centre of your palm and it feels so good. Why does he always know exactly what to say and do to make the tension in your body melt? And other parts of you melt as well.

He knows that, doesn’t he? He knows everything about you because he lives inside your mind.

“Yes, I know,” he says, answering the question that you didn’t ask aloud. “I’m flattered, but I’m nothing thinking about me. I’m thinking about you. I can help you relax,” he offers, the smallest smirk on his lips. “It’s the least I can do for you after all you’re doing for me.”

You’ve seen that smirk before. It’s the same pleased, secretive smile that was on his lips as he boasted that he saved your life. Twice. Then again when you spared his life inside the Astral Prism. He was so proud of himself for convincing you to be on his side, but he is a mind flayer after all. Everything about this species seems to be about domination and power.

“Why have you appeared to me in your elf form?” you ask.

He flicks a sideways look at you, that same self-satisfied smile on his lips. “No reason. I just felt like it.”

“What’s the real reason?”

“You are too clever, little one. You read me as easily as I read you.” He laughs softly and takes a look around at the heavens. When he finally turns back to you, his eyes have darkened. “Because I’m hoping to seduce you, and I believe you’re more attracted to this form.”

His confession sends a hot spark shooting through you. No doubt this is more manipulation. He’s trying to use you, but maybe you can use him right back.

Experimentally, you reach up and cup the nape of his neck. Stroke his strong jaw with your thumb. He’s solid and warm. Very solid. He feels real.

Moving toward you, he whispers, “I am real. Close your eyes.”

He waits to see what you will do--lift your chin to receive his kiss, or tell him that you're not crazy enough to try this with him?

If he wants to touch you, you can think of no better way to relax tonight. Your eyelids drift closed, and a moment later you feel the brush of his lips across yours, soft and questioning.

You open your eyes and you see that he’s wearing not the armour anymore, but robes that reveal his strong shoulders and chest. Heavens, he’s beautiful. The world can go away and leave you alone tonight, because crazy is looking and feeling pretty wonderful right now.

You hook your fingers into the fabric of his robes and pull his mouth down to yours.

He kisses you insistently, and you moan as his tongue flicks your lips.

“That’s right,” he murmurs softly in between kisses. “Just relax, little one. You’re safe here with me.”

You’re in your soft and thin sleeping clothes, and his large hands slide down to your ass, gathering you closer and kneading your flesh as he pulls you tightly against him. Your body molds to his muscles, you breasts pushing against him and your nipples tingling. This feels more real than anything that happens while you’re awake, and you give into it completely, opening your mouth so his tongue can caress yours.

He lifts you up in his arms and lays you down on blankets that have suddenly appeared.

You deserve someone kissing you and holding you like you’re precious.

It’s so hard being strong and steely all the time.

You don’t have to be strong right now.

You can be sweet and soft and surrender to this..

You frown slightly. Are these your own thoughts, or are they his? Some of them feel like his, as if he’s pushing them into your mind and making you believe them, but you don’t want to shove them away. It’s everything you want to hear right now.

Your Dream Guardian pushes your robes up your thighs and drags your underwear down your legs, hunger and possession lighting his eyes. He strokes your inner thighs wonderingly, like he’s never felt anything so soft.

Then he pushes your thighs apart and runs his fingers down your sex. “So pretty. I have been imagining the way you taste. I know that it’s...” He lowers his head and caresses you with his tongue, making you gasp and jump. “Wonderful.”

With a deep, contented sigh, he licks you again. As your breathing picks up, he strokes a finger down your sex, and then pushes it inside of you, all the way to the knuckle. You cry out loudly. Oh, by all the gods in the heavens. Nothing has ever felt so good before.

As he goes on licking and thrusting his fingers into you, you whimper and clench your hands on the blankets.

“This is one thing I like about this form. A tongue,” he murmurs.

“Which form do you prefer?” you gasp.

“Whichever you prefer,” he answers smoothly.

This form. Of course this form. Right? How would you even touch and kiss in his mind flayer form?

But even as you’re enjoying his soft tongue on your clit and his thick fingers pushing inside you, your heart and your core crave something...more.

Finally the words spill from your lips. “I want your true form.”

Your Dream Guardian sits up and looks at you, and for the first time you see worry in his eyes. The desperation of someone who hasn’t known intimacy in a long time. “Please let me stay like this. I worked so hard to make you trust me so I could finally kiss you. I can only persuade you so far that you...I don’t want this to end.”

You reach up and touch his face. “Who says it will end?”

He thinks about this for a moment, his fingers still moving in and out of you. Then he lowers his head and tastes you again, more insistently now. His voice is roughened with desire as he says, “You’re already irresistible. If I transform, I don’t know if I’ll be able to let you go until I’m finished with you. It’s a primal form. Everything I have will want to latch onto you. You have to be sure.”

Everything he has. His tentacles? The mental image you get makes heat pulse through you, and he groans.

“Yes, just like that,” he whispers.

You’re so close to coming. Heat is balling up inside you as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, hitting that sweet spot over and over. You don’t want this to end either. There’s so much more the two of you could have together. “Please,” you beg him. “I want your true form.”

He sucks thoughtfully on your clit, and this slowly sits up, considering your body. “It seems a waste not to use this form when I know you like it. Let me just…” He pulls off his long robe so his naked body is revealed to you. A breath-taking form. Strong thighs. A muscular stomach. He’s hard and his cock is thick and beautiful.

Wrapping his hand around his cock, he moves so he’s braced over you, and you feel the broad, plush head of him pushing against you, and then sinking into you, inch after inch of his length. He’s right. This is wonderful. His body is entrancing as he slowly starts to fuck you.

With each thrust, you moan louder and louder, your hands clenched on his shoulders.

“Yes. Beautiful. You’re so good to fuck. You take me so well,” he whispers. His voice is hypnotic. The adoring expression on his handsome face is everything you’ve ever craved. Heat swells inside you with every thrust and drag of his cock. It grows and grows until you can’t take it anymore. Your nails dig into his muscular shoulders and you cry out, pulling him closer and deeper into you until you’re left shaking and gasping.

“So you do want me like this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you as he pulls out of you. “Then let us try the other way.”

You open your eyes to look at him but he covers them with his hand. Suddenly, the air around you shifts. Everywhere you’re touching him suddenly feels bigger.

When he takes his hand away, it’s a purple colour tipped with black claws. Your Dream Guardian is looming over you in his true form, with its tapered skull, luminous eyes, and four long tentacles where a moment ago there was a mouth.

So strange. But not unfamiliar by now. And...alluring. You reach up and stroke your fingers over his smooth, fleshy tentacles. His hands stay braced against the ground, but his tentacles move over you, exploring your breasts, your hips, between your thighs.

He watches you carefully as a tentacle pushes inside you, deeper than his cock. Thicker. It pulsates, making you cry out. Your whole body feels alive.

His cock has grown larger and turned a deeper purple than the rest of him, aggressively thickened, and with bumps along the underside and a slightly tapered head.

You don’t get much chance to look at it before he moves closer, the tapered head slipping easily into you, and thrusts inside you. You feel every bump. The tapered head probing sharply. The stretch of a thickness you’re not used to. He feels so strange, but as you cry out, you hold onto his shoulders with both hands, watching in fascination as the monstrous and strange cock moves in and out of you.

“Yes. This will work. But you need more. I want to give you everything.” His reverberating voice speaks inside your mind.

He pulls out and two of his tentacles snake down to caress your thighs before slowly massaging your sex. Pleasure ripples through you and you close your eyes and relax back. This feels right. This feels even better than his handsome elf form. His tentacles are firm and fleshy and first one of them pushes inside you, and then the other. You reach down and stroke your clit as the thick, slippery tentacles slide and thrust inside you.

He pulls you up and astride him. You put a hand out to steady yourself in his embrace but, faster than a striking snake, his other two tentacles wrap around your body and pin your hands behind your back.

Without pulling his tentacles out, he pulls you firmly and sharply down on his cock. The sensation is overwhelming. You’re not sure if you can take much more.

You feel a victorious growl inside your mind. He’s hungry for you. Greedy for you. “I have wanted you like this ever since we were connected. I am with you everywhere. I hear all your thoughts. I am always inside your head, but your body has fascinated me just as much. Each time your power has grown and evolved, I have craved you more and more. You’ve held yourself apart from me. You wouldn’t let me dominate you, but now you haven’t no choice.”

His clawed fingers dig into your waist, pricking sharply. Your sex clenches at his possessive, dangerous words, and then allows him deeper.

You can do this.

You want this.

A tentacle snakes up and wraps around your throat. You open your mouth to tell him that you don’t want him to stop, but the tentacle pushes past your lips and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I can hear you. I hear every thought you have. You can never hide from me. You’re mine.”

Your mouth waters around his tentacle. You feel saliva stream from the corner of your mouth and down over your breasts. So many wet, squelching, sucking noises fill your ears, along with your muffled moans and the deep rumbling from within his chest.

“You don’t want to think. You want to surrender to me. Have me dominate you completely. Fill you so full until there’s no room for doubt and uncertainty. Until there’s only me. Forever.”

One of the tentacles inside you slowly wriggles free, and he continues to move you up and down on his cock. Almost like a rag doll. You’re helpless in his grip. The tentacle pushes against the tight ring of your ass. That isn’t anything you’ve ever felt before. Your eyes open wide and alarm shoots through you.

The Emperor sends a soothing impulse into you at the same time as his tentacle slips inside you, just a little at first, and then worming deeper. Gentle ripples flow along its length in time with his cock moving in and out of you. By all the gods, that feels so strange, but so good. Your head falls back. Your eyes close. He moves even deeper into your throat. Deeper into your pussy adn ass. He would never hurt you. He only wants to give you pleasure, and he feels so good everywhere that he’s deep inside you.

“So good. So obedient, and all mine. This is what I can do for you. Only me. You love this, don’t you? Feel how good it is to surrender and do exactly what I say. Just a little more and we can be together forever. Just a little more. Just a little more…”

The mind flayer pushes deeper and deeper, stretching your ass, and making your pussy throb. Your core is lighting up with every rough thrust. All the delicious tension is winding your body tighter and together.

“You were made to be fucked like this. You were made for me. Only me. ”

Suddenly, all the tension in your body releases in an overwhelming rush. Your core burns with golden light. You feel his victory and self-satisfaction stabbing through you along with his cock, driving your climax higher and higher. You’re his. He owns this pleasure. He owns you.

Every place he enters you convulses against his cock and tentacles, gripping and squeezing him. His pride and victory turn to urgent pleasure as your body works its magic on him. His thrusts grow sharp and selfish. Needy. Faster. His panting fills your ears and his pleasure fills your mind. He hasn’t let go in so long.

A spasm goes through you as he bursts inside you, and he pulls your body roughly against his and rocks you back and forth in his embrace. You’ve never felt anything like this. You never want to leave him. He lets go of your hands, and you wrap your arms around him.

Slowly, you both open your eyes. He lays down on the ground, taking you with him and withdrawing his tentacles from everywhere but keeping his cock inside you.

With your cheek pillowed against his shoulder, he strokes you lovingly and murmurs, “I need to stay inside you longer. I’m not ready to let you go. Sleep. You may stay here with me as long as you need to rest. Time passes differently here, and when you finally awake, you’ll be deeply rested, your mind will be clear, and you’ll understand everything you have to do for me. For you. For us.”

You close your eyes, your whole body relaxing and feeling deliciously full, and you drift off into dreamless sleep.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I hoped this pleased your horny monster heart. Please leave me a comment/reblog and let me know what you think.

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #the emperor #dream visitor #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #i hope you like tentacles #tav you lucky bish #reader x the emperor #reader x dream visitor

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dirtyvulture · 4 months

Text

Darkest Knight - Part 3

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You meet a pretty woman in a bar...

Word count: 5568

AN: Click here for Part 2!

Despite that you finally get to sleep in a familiar place, it’s still hard for you to fully relax. Even after the feast Ororo had prepared for you and Natasha, the hot shower, and the fact that you’ve hardly slept eight hours in the last three days combined, you lie in bed next to Natasha, restlessly twisting and turning in the blankets.

“Don’t you want to fight back?” the guard taunts, slapping the tip of his cattle prod on his massive door of a shield.

You look down at your hands, which are wrapped in clunky metal gloves that encase your entire fist up to your mid-forearm. You can’t release your claws through them; you learned that painful lesson very early on.

“Come on, animal!” Another guard whistles at you. You crinkle your nose in distaste when you smell the fear on the men surrounding you. Despite their attempts to exude a macho and alpha persona, they’re close to wetting themselves in fear at being locked in a room with you.

One of the guards inches towards you, his cattle prod buzzing with blue electricity. You snarl in warning, shifting your feet that are chained to heavy shackles bolted to the floor. Even if you manage to kill every one of these guards, you’re still not going anywhere.

“Don’t make this easy for me.” The guard’s face lights in a crazed smile. He lunges at you, cattle prod first, which you easily dodge. You reel your fist back and punch as hard as you can at his knee. The guard screams as his leg folds backwards. He collapses, crying and whimpering, as the other guards converge on you at the same time.

The sharp pain of the prods stabbing into your back is immediately followed by the explosive burst of electricity and you fall onto the floor next to the guard, your entire body seizing and spasming. Two of the guards jump onto you, flattening you like a pancake and knocking all the air out of your lungs.

“You’re gonna regret that.”

Your head is pressed into the ground by a boot, but you have no strength to fight all of them at the same time. A cattle prod jabs at your throat and you hardly have time to register the pain before the electricity crackles and stuns you into unconsciousness.

You bolt upright, pillows and blankets flying. Your chest is heaving and you’re soaked in sweat. The side of your neck–where the Widow had stabbed you with her taser–stings with phantom pain.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?”

Natasha’s voice brings you back to the present. You’re not back in captivity, you’re not being tortured by the guards, you’re in your room at the mansion with Natasha next to you in your own bed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, wiping at your forehead feverishly. “Just need the bathroom.” You feel Natasha’s eyes on your back as you get up and walk over to the connecting bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and taking a few bracing breaths. Your heart is pounding still and you know you won’t be able to go back to sleep any time soon. It’s almost three in the morning, according to the clock on your nightstand.

“Y/N?” you hear Natasha call you again, then the rustle of blankets as she tries to get up.

“Stay in bed,” you say. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

Natasha is uncomfortable to be left behind. She knows that you’ve just had a nightmare because of the sudden way you woke up sweating and refusing to talk. She’s sad that she doesn’t know how to comfort you and wishes you weren’t so guarded about some things, but she recognizes that whatever gives you nightmares is a deeply personal and traumatic experience that you aren’t ready to share with her.

The door opens and you slip out silently, leaving Natasha to wonder in the darkness of your room.

You’re not sure where you’re headed, but your feet take a familiar path down the hall out to a balcony. It’s numbingly cold outside, especially in a wet short-sleeve shirt and sweatpants, but you welcome the freeze as you lean on the railing, looking out at the garden of the mansion. You rub at the patch of skin on your neck where the Widow tased you, but the memory from your nightmare dredges up a worse pain.

The time when you were held hostage by the government, experimented on like a lab rat, brainwashed to follow orders and commit the most unspeakable crimes on humanity. The bits that you do remember make you physically ill and you wish you could dunk your brain in bleach to permanently forget them.

With shaking hands, you take a lighter and a box of cigarettes out of your pocket, quickly setting one aflame and sucking in a deep lungful of smoke. It’s a terrible habit, even you’ll admit, but it’s a momentary distraction from the pain that you know will never go away. You flick the ashes over the railing, lulling yourself back into calm with the familiar motion.

“You know the professor doesn’t like it when you smoke on campus,” someone says from behind you and you startle. It’s Jean, dressed in a light, almost see-through nightgown.

“Um, sorry. Forgot,” you mumble, averting your eyes from her and stubbing the flame out on the railing. “Why are you up?”

“Your thoughts are very loud.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” While mindreading was a power mortals could only dream of, you were familiar with the real annoyances and headaches it could cause. It wasn’t a power that could necessarily be “turned off,” and even though you knew Jean tried to respect your privacy, sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

“No, it’s okay.” Jean moves to stand next to you. The wind blows her scent in your direction, and the memories it sparks immediately has you turning red with embarrassment when she turns on you.

“Really?” she asks with a tone of amusement.

“You and Scott are still going strong I see,” you deflect. “No chance for us, I guess.”

“Y/N,” she says.

“Sorry,” you apologize again. Things between you and Jean have always been complicated. But a part of you will always see her as the one that got away. “Well, if you ever get tired of the Boy Scout, you know where to find me–”

“I couldn’t do that,” Jean says, and you sigh. “Besides, someone is much more interested in you than I am. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Hmm?”

Jean pushes against your shoulder. “I had a feeling your super senses were just for show sometimes. You’ve always been a bit of a dummy.”

“Dummy? Ouch.” You feign being hurt. “And I don’t know about anyone else being interested in me, you know how boring I am.”

“She doesn’t think you’re boring,” Jean says.

“Who? Nat?” It takes you a second. “I hope you’re staying out of her head, Jean,” you disprove. “She’s kind of new to the whole mutant thing.”

“Her thoughts are almost as loud as yours,” Jean defends. “And always on you.”

“Me?” You wonder what kinds of thoughts Natasha’s had about you.

Jean shrugs. “That’s for you two to discuss. But I’m not getting in between that. Besides, you know you like her, too–”

“Stop it.” Although Jean spoke the truth, you truly couldn’t imagine Natasha wanting you. You were, well, you, with all of your trauma and issues. You had lived for centuries and never found anyone willing to settle with you. Natasha would be no different, you were sure.

“Give her a chance. She really likes you, that’s all I’m going to say.”

You wonder if this is Jean just making things up to get you off her back.

“I’m not,” she says, clearly in your head again.

“That’s not fair, Jean. Get out,” you grumble, fishing in your pocket for the cigarettes again.

“Good night, Y/N,” she says, turning to walk back to her room down the other end of the hall.

“Good night, Jean.”

You light another cigarette, letting the smoke drift around your head. You don’t notice Natasha peeking out from behind the curtains. She had only caught the end of your conversation with Jean and was shocked that she had been the topic, especially with the kinds of things Jean had been saying about her. But Natasha had been secretly thrilled to hear that you might like her just as much as she did you. It seemed like this Jean person wasn’t a hindrance, but actually a help.

She watches you for a few more minutes, noticing how the smoking calms you down. Once she’s sure you’ll be okay, she goes back to your room to pretend to be asleep.

***********************************************************************

Fortunately, Scott does not do as he threatened and wake you up at six, so you and Natasha are able to wake up naturally and you take her downstairs for breakfast. In the kitchen, she perches on a stool while you cook scramble eggs for her. Just as you sit down to join her with your own plate, a young girl bursts in and makes a beeline for you.

“Y/N! Why didn’t you tell me you were stopping by?” the girl asks in a southern accent.

“I got caught up with a few things, darling.” You get up from your stool to hug the girl, careful not to press your cheek against hers. She’s wearing long-sleeves and gloves, so you let her hold onto you for as long as she likes. “Good to see you again, kid. Nat, this is Marie–”

“Rogue,” Marie corrects, winking at you.

“Hello.” Natasha offers her hand to Marie, who doesn’t take it.

“Oh, it’s not personal,” Marie says. “Y/N can explain–”

But you’re not really in the mood to, so you swiftly change the subject. “Where’s your boyfriend?” you ask her, and she blushes.

“Bobby’s in class. I think.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Because I wanted to come see you,” Marie giggles. Natasha wants to melt as she watches you interact with the young girl. You seem so casual and at ease it almost startles her, such a contrast to the broody and grumpy person she had been traveling with for the past three days.

“Well, I don’t want the professor coming after me saying I’m keeping you from your studies now,” you tease. “So get back to class, kid.”

“It was good seeing you, Y/N! And nice meeting you, Nat!” Marie bounds off.

“She’s cute,” Natasha comments.

“Yeah,” you agree. “You know, I found her the same way I did with you. Poor thing was clearly lost in a bar, so I brought her home and…” You pause as Natasha lifts her eyebrows at you. “Not like that, Nat. Come on.”

��I hope not. She seems a bit young.” Natasha is both jealous and annoyed now. She had thought her first meeting with you had been a special coincidence, fate causing your paths to cross, when clearly, you’ve had the same encounter with someone else before.

“Marie was seventeen when I found her,” you explain. “She was running from her parents after she discovered her powers. She…She can’t touch people. At least not skin-to-skin, or she’ll absorb the life right out of them. Or for people like me, our powers.” Your face darkens like you’re reminded of an unpleasant memory. Natasha reaches over the counter to touch your hand but you pull away before she can. “She’s a good kid and she’s doing a lot better now. I’m proud of her.”

Natasha can hear the sincerity in your voice. You talk about Marie like she’s your own child and she briefly wonders if you have any.

“When was the last time you were here?” she asks.

“It feels like forever, but it was probably only a year ago,” you answer.

“Everyone seems to act like it was much longer,” she teases.

“I know. I didn’t realize they’d miss me that much.” In fact, it was hard for you to think you were missed by anyone. You’d been alone almost your entire life, moving from place to place, person to person. Permanence was not in your vocabulary and you did as you pleased with little regard for consequences. Even your friends here couldn’t convince you to stay for long, although you came back more often than you ever thought you would. Oftentimes, you wished you had someone you could share your life with, but after being alive as long as you had been, you convinced yourself this was only wishful thinking.

After breakfast, you load the dirty dishes into the washer together. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour now.” You offer Natasha your arm, which she takes while trying to suppress a smile. With classes ongoing, there would be little distractions to interrupt you. You walk with her out the back door of the kitchen, wrapping around the side of the mansion to the sprawling backyard, marked with a basketball court, a garden, and even a little cemetery of its own.

“So, if Rogue–Marie–can ‘absorb’ people’s powers, what can your other friends do?” Natasha asks, trying to be as subtle and respectful about the question as she can.

“Well, Ororo told you the kids call her Storm. Where do you think they got that one from?” you ask.

“Because she can make storms?” Natasha guesses.

“If she wants. Or she could do literally anything she wanted with the weather.”

“Anything? Like, actually anything?” Natasha has trouble grasping the concept that a singular person could have the power to control the weather at will. She had heard rumors of people like Storm–of people like you–but didn’t know if they were true or simply a fantasy conjured up by the Red Room to scare them.

“Tornadoes, floods, heat waves, you name it. And Scott doesn't just wear those glasses to show that he’s a douchebag twenty-four-seven. He can emit laser beams from his eyes, so the glasses stop him from frying everything he looks at. Although I’m pretty sure he’s wanted to take them off in front of me more than once,” you add with a chuckle.

“So, what is your thing with him? And Jean? And what can she do?” Natasha peppers you all at once.

“Um…” You scratch your head nervously. “Jean has…telepathic abilities.” You answer the easiest question first.

“Like, she can move things with her mind.”

“Yes. And…she can read your mind.”

You wince when Natasha goes bright red, redder than her hair.

“But she doesn’t do it on purpose. She’ll mind your privacy,” you add hastily. You remember how shocked and embarrassed you’d been when you first learned Jean had access to your deepest and most vulnerable thoughts–and also your lustful fantasies of her and you.

“Were you and her…a thing?” Natasha asks, holding her breath while she waits for your answer.

“It’s complicated.” You sigh. “But yeah, at one point we were…a thing. Not anymore, obviously.”

Natasha knows it’s silly to be jealous when you and Jean are adults and supposedly past your fling, but she’s worried that you still might have feelings for her. “Do you still like her?” she asks, having no intent to beat around the bush.

“She chose Scott over me,” you say, although this isn’t quite the answer Natasha is looking for. “So I need to get over her and get a life of my own. I’m sure someone will come along…”

“Maybe someone has come along.” Natasha looks at you, nervousness and adoration in her eyes.

“You hardly know me,” you reject.

“But I want to know you. Please. Whatever you’ll tell.”

You appreciate her earnestness. “Let’s sit down then. It’s a long story.” Natasha warms at the thought of you finally opening up to her. You lead her to a bench in the shade of some trees, just in time as a bell rings and children swarm out of the mansion, carrying bags and books, hurrying off to their next lesson.

“How old do you think I am?” you ask Natasha.

“I don’t know, like 25?”

She looks stricken when you laugh, hoping she didn’t underestimate too badly.

“I was born in the 19th century–we estimate–so I’ve been about 25 for probably over 150 years now,” you reveal.

“Oh my God.”

“I know, hopefully you’re not turned away by it,” you say. “I guess you can just say it means…I’m experienced,” you defend with a smirk.

“So, you can’t die or you don’t age?”

“Both, I think. It’s part of my…mutation.” You don’t like using that word, but sometimes there’s not a better way to explain it. “Along with the healing and the claws.”

“And the metal?” Natasha had heard of mutants who could turn their bodies into metal, but not of one who had metal growing inside of them.

There’s a long pause. “No,” you finally say. “That was…um…” You wish you understood why it was so hard to talk about sometimes. It wasn’t like you remembered most of it, anyway. You had spent long, exhausting sessions with the professor trying to unearth the memories your own mind had locked away from you.

You take a deep breath. “I was part of this government program. The ‘Weapon X Project,’ they called it. We’re not sure if my participation was initially voluntary, but in the end it didn’t matter. They turned me into a weapon, that’s all you need to know,” you spit, surprised at the frustration that suddenly boils inside of you. “They had the metal surgically grafted to my bones and brainwashed me so I knew nothing but violence and destruction. I was the best soldier they ever had. I couldn’t die, I had weapons built into my own arms, I listened to every command they gave…”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Natasha says, resting her hand on yours.

“You know the funniest part is that I served in a lot of wars. But I wasn’t a soldier. I was a nurse.” To this day, you wondered what the government saw in you to recruit you into their program. You weren’t a naturally aggressive or violent person at heart. You just wanted to help people. “I wish I could forget the things I do remember.” You bow your head and Natasha instinctively leans forward to touch her forehead against yours. “The pain I caused. The innocent lives I took–”

“Y/N. Hey. None of that was your fault,” Natasha says.

The memories flash through your head. The hot blood on your face and hands that wasn’t your own. The laughing of the guards as they strung you up like a pinata, batons at the ready. The smell of your own fear as you lay helpless on an operating table.

Natasha wraps her arms around you as you tilt forward, burying your face in her neck. When you inhale her scent, slightly flowery with a hint of your shampoo, you calm down almost immediately.

“I know what it feels like,” Natasha whispers. “To not be in control of your body. To not be able to stop yourself from hurting someone.”

“You do?”

She nods. “The Red Room.”

And it suddenly clicks for you, although you’re not sure why it took so long. Natasha, while not necessarily a mutant, was likely treated the exact same way you had been in the Weapon X program. Here is one person who could understand you better than anyone else–even better than the people who could actually read your mind.

“You have to forgive yourself. Because you weren’t in control of yourself,” Natasha says.

“I should’ve resisted harder,” you whimper.

“No. You did everything you could. Besides, they would’ve found someone else to get their dirty work done if you refused.” Natasha is unbelievably wise for her age. You’re sure this is your good karma finally delivering this beautiful and understanding young woman into your life.

“Thanks,” you mumble, finally pulling back from her. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

You shrug. “You didn’t ask to be taken to another country, stuck in a truck for three days, dragged to a place filled with freaks like me–”

“Don’t say that. You’re not a freak and neither is anyone else here,” Natasha says. “You saved my life. Multiple times. I never asked you to and I never had anything to give you in return, but you did. And you still are. I can’t be more grateful for the night that I stumbled into that ratty old bar and met you.”

“Hey, the beers there are pretty good,” you defend good-naturedly.

“But the person I met there was even better.” Natasha’s hand comes up and rests on your cheek. You see her staring at your lips and you lean forward, unusually hesitant, but you don’t want to ruin this moment. “Can I…” she whispers.

“Of course, darling.” You press your mouth to hers, softly at first and then with a bit more force. Her tongue brushes your lower lip and the taste of her is toxic, causing a low growl of contentment to rumble in your chest. Your hands rest on her thighs, drawing yourself closer to her when–

“Hey, Y/N! Is that your new girlfriend?”

You yank back from Natasha with such speed Natasha thinks someone has forcibly torn you from her. Your head whips around and you see Kitty Pryde running up to you, books held in the crook of her arm, as she waves and whoops at you. A frighteningly tall, muscular guy trails behind her at a distance.

“Does no one go to class around here?” you grumble, getting up just in time for Kitty to fling herself at you.

“I didn’t believe Marie, so I had to come see for myself,” Kitty says, squeezing you so tightly you can’t inhale. “You disappear for fourteen months and then you finally come back with a new girlfriend–”

“Kitty,” you snap, wishing she wasn’t so forthcoming with her thoughts, even though you had been the irresponsible one for kissing Natasha out in the open.

“Hi, I’m Kitty!” The teenager ignores you and turns to Natasha.

“Nat.” Natasha is amused by her energy and your clear annoyance with her.

Kitty comes back to your side and leans in to whisper, although she still talks at a volume you’re certain Natasha can hear. “I think you picked a good one, she’s really pretty.”

“I know,” you hiss back, fighting a smile when you see Natasha light up in the corner of your eye.

“When are you guys eating lunch? Peter and I can join and make it a double date–”

“Oh, so you two are official now?” you ask. Kitty’s infatuations with him were utterly comical, and you wondered if he finally said yes to her only to get her to leave him alone.

“Well, no. But we’re working on it!” she insists.

“I see,” you nod in mock understanding, mostly because you don’t think you’ll ever understand the mindset of a teenage girl in the 21st century. “We’ll see you later then.”

“Perfect! Bye, Nat!” Kitty runs back off to join Peter.

You look back at Natasha and offer her your hand to help her stand up. “Sorry about…her.”

“I like her,” Natasha says. “And I like how much everyone here seems to like you, especially the kids. I knew you were a big softy under all that–”

“Okay, okay,” you growl, slipping your arm around her waist to bring her closer to you. You kiss her cheek lightly, feeling her skin heat up as she blushes at the affection. “Now, where were we–”

“Y/N. NATASHA.” A familiar voice booms out of nowhere. Natasha whirls around, looking up and down frantically in search of its origin. “PLEASE SEE ME IN MY OFFICE WHEN YOU TWO HAVE A CHANCE.”

“Is that…the professor?” Natasha asks.

“Yeah. Although he usually sends a messenger if he wants to communicate…”

“How did he do that?”

“Oh, he’s inside our heads,” you answer a little too casually. Natasha hardly has time to ask another question before you’re pulling her back in the direction of the mansion. “Come on. Let’s go see him before he sends Scott after us…”

***********************************************************************

“They know you’re here, Natasha.”

The words sent Natasha into a panic. Her perfect world has suddenly shattered with a poisonous dose of reality. She had almost forgotten the danger she was still running from, which removes her from her cloud nine high almost immediately.

“Then I need to leave,” Natasha says, pacing Professor Xavier’s office. “I’m putting everyone here in danger–”

“Nat, sit down,” you beg, feeding off her anxiety. “Please?” You hold out your hand and she finally grasps it and plops down next to you on the professor’s leather couch. “You’ll be safe here. I promised, remember?”

“But you’re not safe!” she emphasizes. “And neither is anyone else–your friends, the children–”

“We won’t let anything happen to them,” you assure.

“We have three days until they come,” Professor Xavier says.

“Three days–How do you know that?” Natasha asks.

Professor Xavier ignores her questions. “We’ll scare them away, but it won’t be a permanent solution. You are extremely important to them, Natasha. They aren’t happy to have lost you.”

“You’re…You’re not going to give me up, are you?” She clamps down hard on your hand, so hard that if your bones hadn’t been infused with metal, they might’ve cracked.

“Of course not. But we will have to discuss a long-term solution.”

“So, we’ll keep moving then. Right Y/N?” Natasha looks at you desperately and you shake your head.

“There isn’t a corner of this planet you can hide from them on,” Professor Xavier says.

“So we go to them. Right?” Natasha’s brain is churning with endless scenarios. This is not the first time she’s wished for a normal life. To come home to a loving family, to relax and spend time with them, her only worry being what to cook for dinner. But if she had led a normal life, she wouldn’t have met you. She might not have known about the population of people with actual superpowers.

And while no one–not even her–knew the location of the Red Room, she was certain Professor Xavier could figure it out with enough time (if he didn’t already know). But Natasha couldn’t endanger any of you more than she already had. This was her fight, not yours. As devastated as she would to have to leave you, she refused to put your life at risk because of her own past.

“Natasha, just remember that you aren’t alone.”

She almost jumps off the couch when Professor Xavier’s voice echoes in his whole office. You’re sitting completely still, not even blinking, and Professor Xavier looks at her with a calm smile. Natasha still doesn’t understand how he does that and realizes you never told her what his powers are.

“You know who you can trust and ask for help.” Professor Xavier’s mouth doesn’t move at all. “She cares about you more than you know. And she won’t let anything happen to you.”

Natasha glances at you, still frozen in time. She reaches out to caress your cheek, so overwhelmed at the thought that someone actually likes her and would protect her. Her whole life she had been forced to be entirely dependent on herself, not able to trust another soul, and then you had come along and convinced her that she didn’t have to live like that anymore. What had she done to deserve you?

“Thank you,” Natasha says, even though she isn’t sure you can hear her.

“She is just as thankful to have you. I’ve never seen her this excited to be around someone before. I know you’ll be good to her and take care of her in turn.”

“Of course.” Natasha couldn’t imagine treating you otherwise and she knows the professor knows this as well.

“Nat? Are you okay?” you ask suddenly, acting as if you hadn’t missed a beat in the conversation.

“I’ll be okay,” she says. “Because I have you.”

***********************************************************************

The impending third day weighs heavily on Natasha’s mind, so much that she can hardly enjoy her new relationship with you. At night, you’ve now finally welcomed sharing a bed with her, letting her snuggle up to you so she can share your body heat. You’re surprisingly more affectionate than she figured you would be, but you are still very careful whenever you hold her hand, almost as if you don’t trust yourself to be gentle with her. But Natasha knows you’ll never hurt her and she is very patient to show you.

“Bless their hearts to attack on a weekend,” Ororo says as you watch the last van full of children pull away from the mansion. Jean and Scott, at the professor’s instruction, had organized a last-minute weekend retreat for the students, sending them far out of the city where they would be out of harm’s way. Some of the older students, like Marie, Bobby, Kitty and Peter, had volunteered to stay and fight the Red Room agents. You weren’t very comfortable with the idea of them staying, but they refused to leave.

“Hopefully the school is still standing when they return on Monday,” Scott notes and you glare at him.

“They won’t bomb us. Imagine how that would look in the news,” Jean says.

“We’ll be okay,” you remind Natasha, who is exuding waves of pure anxiety. She wraps her arms around your waist, burying her face into your shoulder. You catch a glimpse of Jean looking at the two of you, but you’re not sure if she’s jealous or happy for you.

“The goal is to scare them off. Not destroy all of their numbers,” Professor Xavier chimes in.

“I’m just here to do whatever I need to to protect this school,” you mutter, although you’re not exactly looking forward to the bloodshed either.

“Yes, I know,” Professor Xavier says. “If you can keep their blood off my velvet curtains this time I would greatly appreciate it–”

“Yeah, yeah,” you interrupt, turning away in embarrassment. You and Natasha head back into the mansion while the others see off the last van. She goes with you to your room for some private time. You freshen up with a shower (having gotten a little sweaty helping the kids carry their overstuffed luggages into the vans) and Natasha writes in her new journal Marie gave to her. You come out of the shower, fully dressed but your hair wet and ruffled in a way that Natasha finds extremely attractive, so much that she immediately comes over and sits on your lap the moment you rest on the edge of the bed.

She looks deep into your eyes and you almost shy away; if you didn’t know any better you would have been sure she was trying to read your mind. Your hands circle around her back, holding her firmly on your lap as she leans forward to kiss you. Her hands bunch up in the front of your shirt when your lips touch as if she wants to hold you there forever–and you would gladly let her.

You fall back on the bed, Natasha wasting no time to straddle you and she grinds herself along your abs. You can smell her arousal and it makes your mouth practically water. You cup her bottom, squeezing teasingly and she gasps, a lustful spark lighting in her eye. Her fingers pop open the top few buttons of your shirt and she dips her head to nip at the exposed skin of your neck and chest.

“Nat,” you pant, jerking your hips up as you feel your own arousal building. “Are you sure you want to–”

“I want you so bad,” she whispers and a jolt runs through you. “But I…” You freeze, afraid that you’re inadvertently pressuring her.

“I can wait,” you assure.

“It’s not that.” She shakes her head. “It’s just…I haven’t really…” Natasha looks away from you in shame. While she isn’t exactly a virgin, she’s also never been intimate with anyone she’s ever cared about. She’s nervous to disappoint you or that she won’t be able to make you happy.

“It’s okay,” you say, kissing her softly. “I’ll show you what to do.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Natasha sits back with a grin, reaching down to unbutton the rest of your flannel. You lay there patiently as she looks at you shirtless for the first time, admiring the defined muscles of your abdomen and shoulders. She licks her lips as she runs her hands along your exposed skin, which twitches and flexes as you hold back a laugh from the way it tickles. “Y/N, can I–”

The door suddenly bursts open and Ororo appears, wild-eyed and agitated. Natasha flops on your chest and you hold her protectively against you, completely annoyed at Ororo’s interruption.

“They’re here,” Ororo pants.

“What do you mean, ‘they’re here?’” you repeat, sitting up and struggling to button your shirt back up.

“They changed their plans last minute. Come downstairs now!” Ororo dashes out and you wonder if she even had time to process what she had seen you and Natasha doing.

“We’ll continue this later,” you tell Natasha, kissing her on the forehead and running out of your bedroom.

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

AN: It's getting hot in here. 👀

Part 4 is here!

Please leave likes, comments, and reblogs! 🥰

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

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formulaforza · 7 months

Note

hbd my lil' lemonade connoisseur!

I'm saying blurb for Charles; him coming to surprise you at University or something?

—the nearness of you

summ. title from this. i'm only twenty-two days late on this req. that's got to be a new record for me. 800+ words.

It was like any other day as of late. Full of brutal seven-am alarms and even more brutal eight o’clock classes across campus. Half a dozen assignments due before the end of the week, a baker’s dozen by the following.

Campus was surprisingly dead and the weather was wonderfully crisp and you had no idea the turn your evening was about to take when you’d decided to take a walk at sunset, to clear your mind with the cool autumn air.

It greets you with a shudder and the sound of browned leaves crunching under your feet. It was like a scene from a movie—something utterly fall-ish and romantic. When Harry met Sally, maybe. All cable knit sweaters and falling leaves and careful scenery.

Unbeknownst to you, he—Charles, your Charles—is walking around the same campus, enjoying his walk a hell of a lot less than you are. He doesn’t notice the smell of burnt orange or the falling leaves on the green grass. He’s too occupied trying to find his way to your friend’s hall—to your friend’s dorm—to you. His mind is full of mumbled directions and the pursed lips they leave. Of how perfect yours are, of how badly he wants to kiss them.

He’d been planning the surprise for weeks. For months, almost, since before you’d even left home for the year. He’s prouder of his ability to keep it secret from you than he is of his directional skills. Carefully, he’d coordinated the whole thing with your friends to ensure the perfect surprise, and it was finally here. It was finally here, as long as he could find his fucking way around.

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket, a text from your best friend. She was asking you to swing by her dorm ASAP, swore she had a shirt of yours that you could swear you’d folded and put away two nights earlier. You complied, though, and gave her your ETA before making a U-Turn on the path you were walking down.

When you finally make it there, you’re surprised to find her always-open door is shut. You’re even more surprised when you move to turn the door handle only to find it locked. You look around the hall like a trick is being played on you because her door is always open. Always. And you don’t think she even knew there was a lock.

You knock, thrice, and call her name on the other side of the door, reminding her that this isn’t as funny as she surely thinks it is. Nothing, however, could prepare you for who answered your knock.

Charles. Charles with a bouquet of flowers. Charles with a bouquet of flowers and a big goofy smile on his face. Your stomach drops three separate times in a single second—from annoyed your friend isn’t answering, to horrified by someone else answering her door, to recognizing that it’s him. That he’s in front of you.

You squish the flowers horribly, completely disregard their presence in your joy of slamming yourself into him with the force of every hour apart. “Putain, c'est quoi!” What the fuck! you say, and your voice comes out far more cracked than you’d intended on it being.

With Charles, you’ve found that you don’t realize just how much you miss him until you’re with him again, ambushed by the reality of it all, of everything that is to love about him. There’s so much, so much more than you realize each and every time you’re apart. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but you’re always fond of him. The fondest.

The evening unfolds into a flurry of laughter and stories and love. So much love. It’s like his presence had cast a spell over campus, made it all magical and energized like it was your first time there. The buildings fall into the background, nothing more than the scenic backdrop for your love story, for your catching up and calming down.

Your dorm becomes a cozy haven for endless conversation. Spontaneous chest games and first-hand accounts of last week’s race keep you smiling, and his never ending genuine interest in your life here makes you fall head over heels over and over again, every word that leaves his mouth making you feel particularly cherished, like the luckiest person around.

Dusk turns to dark and the two of you sit together at the dorm window, watching the same stars you’re always looking at. The same moon that serves as a reminder the world is never too big, the distance is never too much. It doesn’t matter where the two of you are, it’s always the same moon and stars in the sky. It’s a silent kind of love, careful like an early morning, beloved like a matching cup of coffee.

It’s a short visit. Too short, always too short, but it ends with promises of more, of this weekend and that.

You should be sad when he leaves, maybe, but you aren’t. You aren’t. You’re just full of love, and so, so happy to spend even a few hours with him.

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sapphic-coded · 2 months

Text

I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Series Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Reader is a messed up assassin and misses her gun home. Childhood trauma hanging out in the background. Hunted animals. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Life has been crazy. It still is. But this series is so much fun to write. Please know that your comments and love have kept my days bright. I read all your comments. Your likes and reblogs make me do my happy dance. It makes me happy that you guys are enjoying this series as much as I am. I apologize for the wait. I hope this new chapter makes up for it!

Taglist: @natsxwife @iliketozoneout @newawakening9 @natasha-1million @ilovemcuff @taliiiaasteria @alowint @yerisdumbass @natashasilverfox @fxckmiup

Chapter Eight: You Can't Raise Hell With A Saint

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1993

You watched the station wagon slowly back out of your driveway from your bedroom window. As you watched, you folded and then unfolded the piece of paper in your hand several times. Your father’s departing words echoed in the back of your mind.

“This is vital to maintaining our relationship with our allies. Remember. When the time comes, we must position ourselves on the correct side.”

You waited until the station wagon disappeared from view before your attention shifted onto the snowman across the street. Your father is gone for the weekend. Your assigned homework is already completed and buried in your backpack. You had hoped for two uninterrupted days with your friend. You two had discovered a perfect hill for sledding not too far away. You had hoped you could return to it this weekend with Nat. But before your father had left, he had given you an assignment. One you were not allowed to ignore.

But if you finish it quickly like your homework…

You turned away from the window and got dressed. The house was quiet as you descended the stairs and hunted through the kitchen for breakfast. Your father had given both your brother and sister assignments. You figured your siblings were already out doing them. You found an opened pack of pop-tarts hidden behind the jar of two dead mating frogs. You ate the delicious blueberry pop-tart and washed it down with tap water from the sink. Once breakfast was done, you pulled on your snow boots and put on your heavy winter coat. You unfolded your father’s note once more to reread the words hastily scribbled in fine black ink. Then, you refolded up the note and shoved it into your coat’s pocket.

You left out the back door and pulled on your gloves as the morning winter air scratched at your face. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you headed towards the treeline. The woods behind your house stretched onwards for roughly two miles. It was one of the reasons why your father had chosen to settle here. He could disappear into this patch of quiet woodland and no one but you and your siblings would know.

For a while, the only noise was the steady rhythm of your footsteps and the chirping of birdsong as you left your house behind and walked deep into the woods. The sunlight shone brightly off the surface of the snow and made your eyes water if you stared at it for too long. You felt the wind beginning to pick up and blow against your back as you walked. Your pace did not slow until you reached the base of a tree with a dead hare hanging from a snare.

You knelt down into the cold snow and pulled your hunting knife from your coat pocket. You cut the rope and lifted the dead animal up by the rope’s lead. Its dark lifeless eyes stared at you and you searched for any ounce of pity. When you didn’t find any, you stood up and continued walking. The weight of the hare hanging from the small noose made you feel less alone. You kept walking until you spotted a smooth, round rock. You picked it up and it nearly covered your whole palm.

You tied the end of the rope around the rock as you continued further into the woods. The light of the sun had started to dim when you finally reached a large pond. Your feet carried you to a narrow dock that stretched out over the water. The wooden boards groaned beneath your feet as you came to the end of the dock. You looked down into the dark water. It hadn’t frozen over yet which made your assignment easier. The wind continued to blow at your back as you tossed the dead hare into the water. The lifeless animal hit the cold water with a splash and floated on the pond’s surface for a moment. Then the dark water pulled the dead hare down into its depths. You waited for some kind of response. A sign that your assignment was complete. But nothing happened. So you turned and started the trek home.

Your thoughts returned to your friend as you began following your footprints back the way you came. You would have the whole rest of the day to do whatever you wanted. And tomorrow you wouldn’t have to waste any time with another assignment. Your immediate future was bright and that fueled your quick pace.

But your pace started to slow when you lost sight of your footprints in the snow. The wind that had been blowing must have covered them up. You ignored the first sour taste of fear and kept going. You had planned to just follow your tracks back home, but you could make it back without them. You had only gone in one direction. It wouldn’t be difficult to find your way back home. You shoved your gloved hands into the pockets of your heavy coat as the wind now blew against your face.

The light of the sun continued to fade as you made new tracks in the snow. You were going in the right direction. You had to be. But you spotted new bushes and weird leaning trees that you hadn’t seen before. You felt yourself shivering against the cold as the light faded into the coming dark. You kept walking until you finally leaned against a tree and sank towards the freezing ground. You closed your eyes and tried to curl yourself up as much as you could within the fading warmth of your coat.

You don’t know how you messed up your assignment. You thought you knew your way back. You thought this would be so easy. Your father had dragged you and your siblings out here plenty of times. Yet you’re lost and you don’t know what to do other than sit here and–

“Y/N!”

Nat.

Triskelion, Washington D.C. – 2012

You miss your little piece of woodland paradise. You had discovered the small cabin during your fourth job. You had been posing as a realtor for your target. The cabin had caught your eye because of its remoteness. It was tucked away along the mountainside and far enough away from all the main roads that all you heard when you stepped outside was birdsong and the wind brushing through the trees. It was the perfect spot to kill your target. The cabin had been left on the market for years and only maintained by a vendor who came out once a season to keep the place from falling apart. You would have no interruptions to deal with. If your target tried to flee, it would be a long run back to a main road. And even if your target got that far, they would need to run from there back to the nearest town. This spot was an open playground. You could kill your target however you wanted. Chase them around if you were feeling energetic. Sever their head with an axe like a lumberjack cutting up wood.

But when you had pulled up to the cabin for the first time, you realized that you couldn’t do any of that here. Sure, you had plenty of space. The cabin was remote. The main road lightly traveled. When you let out a scream to test if anyone would come running, no one did. It wasn’t until you walked through the cabin and into each of the small, cozy rooms that you understood why you couldn’t bring your target here. The cabin felt too much like a home.

The pictures that hung on the walls were snapshots of the owner’s life. Frames full of smiling faces and captured happy moments. You saw the lives of their children begin with innocent, small, round confused faces and stop at handsome young faces decorated in medals and gowns. The furniture bore the nicks and marks of a life used. You could even see the spots of soot left behind in the fireplace where the vendor failed to clean.

You had only ever been in a home like this once before. You had sat down onto the couch in the cabin’s small family room and looked over at the kitchen. You imagined the smell of Nat’s home. You imagined Nat’s mother standing in the kitchen. It was the only thing you could think of. You sat there for a long time. It had been the first time in years that you thought about your friend without all the other stories hanging onto the memory. You thought about Nat. You thought about how happy you had been around her. You tried to imagine her as an adult, but you couldn’t. She was dead, and you were no longer the kid she met back in Ohio.

You ended up killing your target during a private tour of a much larger home far away from the cabin you found. By the time you had bought and moved into the cabin, the new owners of the other much larger home had only finished finding all your target’s missing fingers. The cabin had become your home. Your place to unwind after your jobs. You had filled it with everything you knew that belonged in a home. You loved the feeling of walking through the front door after a long job and just breathing in the smell of your home.

Your bunk is nothing like your cabin. You are buried beneath all the important floors. Your room has no windows. Your room has four white walls, harsh overhead lights, and a white tiled floor. The brightness of the room often gives you a headache which is why your favorite time to be in your bunk is when you are sleeping. All the lights are off and you can listen to the hum of the air conditioner. The best part is that you don’t have to wear that stupid suit when you are in here. You are even allowed to speak, however the only person you ever talk to is Rumlow.

You miss your cabin so much.

The lights in your room come on when the door opens. The twin sized mattress you lay on offers the bare minimum of comfort, yet you don’t bother to sit up. Instead, as you wake and hear familiar footsteps, you drape your arm over your eyes. It successfully blocks out the harsh light, but does nothing to stop the approaching footsteps.

“The bosses up top were impressed with your Bardstown mission,” Rumlow says.

You can’t fight back the small laugh that works its way past your curling lips. With your arm draped over your eyes you can see Sikora’s bent neck clearly. You can still hear each crunch as his body collided down each step. “I killed one person and they weren’t even my target.”

“Which worked out in your favor,” Rumlow says as his approaching footsteps stop. “You played your part. The mission was a success, and no one will look deeper than that.”

You lift your arm away from your eyes and let it flop down to your side. The harsh lights already make your eyes water, but you focus on Rumlow who stands beside your bunk looking down at you. “Do you find your work fulfilling?” Instead of answering you, he turns and steps away from your bunk. You sit up. “Satisfaction is very important to me.”

Rumlow causally makes his way over to a small table. He picks up the half finished bottle of bourbon Nat gave you before leaving Bardstown. You couldn’t drink it then. Removing your helmet around her would go against everything Rumlow has been drilling into your head. But you had ripped your helmet off the moment you returned to your bunk. You had brought the bottle to your lips, and you had drunk so much while thinking of her.

“What are you asking for?” he asks.

“Let me work,” you reply. “Without the suit and the rules. Tell me who the bosses want dead, give me back my gun, and let me kill them.”

Rumlow sets the bottle down. “That’s not how this works.”

You roll your eyes and flop back down onto your bunk.

“I also don’t have your gun,” he adds.

You close your eyes and swallow back the urge to yell. You hate this role so much. If you were impressing these bosses so much, why wouldn’t they let you show them how good you really were? What was the point of all the secrets if most of SHIELD was really HYDRA anyways? Or at least, most of the important people. Or whatever Rumlow had told you during those first few days.

“The bosses were also pleased with how you handled Romanoff,” Rumlow says.

Your eyes open and you stare up at the bland white ceiling. You fight back the smile you know is coming when you think back to the best day of your life. You hope you end up on another mission like that. Just the two of you. The one little new piece of your life that made tolerating this role just a bit more manageable.

“How do you feel?” Rumlow asks.

Like you want to pour over the office directory until you find her office. You’d race up there and sneak in when she isn’t around. You’d sit in the comfortable office chair that you hope she has up there. You’d take your helmet off and wait. And when she finally enters you’d spin around in her chair for a proper dramatic entrance.

You turn your head to look at Rumlow. “Depressed. My favorite gun is lost.”

Rumlow holds your stare. You know what he’s looking for. Perhaps if he could read minds then he would have found it. Instead, you hide all your fantasies and memories behind your little lie. It’s easy. You do the same trick your father always did. String together a story from bits and pieces of truth and mold it into what you need. You know it worked when Rumlow finally breaks your little staring contest. You don’t move when he turns away from you. You don’t want to give away your victory.

“You have training with Rollins in twenty,” Rumlow says before he leaves.

You wait until the door to your room shuts behind him before you get up. You move towards the table and grab the half empty bottle of bourbon. You bring it to your lips and take a sip. The smooth amber liquid washes across your tongue and burns down your throat. You think of when she handed you this bottle. You remember the way her hands briefly brushed across your gloved ones.

You set the bottle down and change while your mind lingers in that memory. Rollins is already waiting for you when you arrive at one of the training rooms a few floors up. Bright sunlight pours through the windows that run along the far side of the training room. You feel uncomfortably hot underneath your suit, and you already miss the cool kiss of the air conditioning that hums in your bunk. When you see Rollins in the training room, your interior visor screen lights up with data you already knew. Except for the healing ribs. That part is new.

Rollins leads you over to a bunch of blue mats. The hand to hand combat drills still feel weird. You know what you are supposed to do. You had learned back when Rumlow first shoved you into this stupid suit that going for kill strikes was not in compliance. You had to work your way up to kill strikes to make everything more believable.

“You’re not an assassin anymore. You’re a SHIELD agent.”

Which wasn’t even the truth. You found that this dance they forced you to do felt awkward. Your movements felt sloppy as you fought not to go for the opening that would put your target down permanently. And when a kill strike was considered acceptable, it always came far too late. It never felt right. These lessons pressed up against the memories of your training back in Ohio, and it often left you feeling more frustrated than anything else.

Your training with Rollins is quickly following the same trend as all the others. Your punches feel sluggish and off. Every time Rollins dodges your hit or counters, you know exactly what you should have done instead. Your frustration grows as you hold back. Your thoughts scream at you in the roar of your father’s voice. You want to give in. Why trade blows when it can easily be only you hitting your target? But you’ve already tried giving in. You had managed to bloody your knuckles a bit before Rumlow had started talking to you about compliance. Everything had stopped despite your urge to keep going. Then you were back at the beginning as if your outburst hadn’t happened.

Rollins dodges one of your punches and delivers a blow to your torso that pushes you back a step. He doesn’t advance. He stands there and waits as you swallow back all the foul words that usually tumble out of your mouth whenever something hurts. It’s hard not to say anything. Especially when he stands there looking bored. But you aren’t eager for them to start fucking with your mind again, so you keep quiet. The sound of your heavy breaths fills up your helmet as you return to your spot in front of Rollins. You duck under his right arm as it swings out. Your fist slams into his healing ribs and the noise he makes is exactly what you needed to hear. His cry is short-lived as he quickly masks it with a grunt. He retreats from you, and you let him. You watch as his breaths become more labored as his hands press against the very spot you hit. You don’t know if you just broke one of his healing ribs. It hadn’t been your intention, but you certainly didn’t pull that punch.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

Her voice steals your attention. She stands by the door dressed in a dark gray sweatshirt and black joggers. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, and her head tilts slightly as her question is first met with silence. Well, more like your silence and Rollins’ heavy breaths. You could shatter this stretch of quiet in a heartbeat, and you want to. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you bury the urge. Your eyes greedily take in the sight of your friend. You are grateful for your stupid helmet as your eyes run down the length of her legs and stop at the black sneakers that cover her feet.

“I thought you were heading back up to New York with Rogers,” Rollins finally says.

“Eventually,” she replies with a slight shrug and walks further into the training room. “But I have some stuff I need to take care of first.” She uncrosses her arms as she casually approaches the mats. “You should head back before anyone from medical catches you here.”

“I’m a bit busy training the quiet one,” Rollins says.

You should have tried to break his ribs. He’d be too busy dealing with that pain to put a premature end to this wonderful moment.

“I can take over,” she offers.

Your helmet conceals the wide smile that cuts across your face. You don’t know what you have done to deserve so much alone time with your friend, but you will happily do whatever it takes to keep ending up in these wonderful moments. You don’t hear Rollins leave, and when you look over at the man, you can tell that he is unsure if he should leave. The questions he cannot voice are written plainly across his face and your smile falters. Is he…is he not going to leave? Is he really going to ruin this for you? You want to tell him that his concerns are unnecessary. If you were going to spill the beans, you would have done it the moment you and Nat were alone on the quinjet. Or sometime in Bardstown. Not in some fancy building secretly full of HYDRA agents ready to put you down with just a couple of random words.

“Don’t worry,” her voice pulls your attention back to her. Despite the fact that she is addressing Rollins, her focus is on you. You spot the beginnings of a smirk that stirs up something inside you. Something exciting and warm. “I won’t break her.”

You hear Rollins sigh and you feel the buzz of your excitement grow.

“If you do, you’re the one having that conversation with Rumlow,” Rollins replies. “Not me.” Rollins gives you one last warning look before leaving. You watch the man’s retreating form and feel at ease when you see his hand come up to gingerly touch the spot where you hit him.

When you look back over at Nat, you find her pulling her dark gray sweatshirt over her head. The uncomfortable heat that sticks to your skin beneath your suit returns as you feel your hands begin to sweat inside your gloves. You ignore the information that attempts to clog up your visor. Your focus is first on the black sleeveless shirt she wears. The hem of the shirt gets caught briefly on her sweatshirt and lifts to reveal the barest hint of a firm ab. You blink when the shirt falls back down.

Nat sets her sweatshirt aside and steps onto the mats. “Are they always that serious around you?”

You nod, but you are not thinking about Rollins, or Rumlow, or how painfully serious both tend to be at all times. You are too consumed by the realization that you have never seen this much of your friend before. No. That wasn’t it. You can recall several old memories of warm summer days and cool lake water. But you hadn’t felt like this back then. You are staring at her lean biceps and you just want to touch her.

She steps forward. “Your missions with them must be fun.” She shifts into a fighting stance and raises her fists. “Let’s see what you can do.”

You raise your fists and shift your stance. Your smirk at your friend’s earlier sarcasm falls away as your visor’s screen identifies multiple places to strike first. You know what you want to do, but that option isn’t listed anywhere on the screen. If it wasn’t for Nat standing in front of you, you would have quickly returned to your sour, frustrated mood. But instead, you wait for her to strike first. A few moments pass and all you two do is slowly circle the mats. You realize that she’s waiting for you to strike first. A hint of your concealed smile returns. You happily oblige.

Your fist swings towards her, and you feel her arm quickly block your strike. Your focus is on her face, and you can tell that she barely had to think about her reaction. You continue to move in a slow circle and she does the same. You fall back into the training that Rumlow has been drilling into you since they freed you from that chair. You move in and strike. You frown slightly as she blocks or dodges every one of your strikes. It makes you feel like she’s in your mind. That she knew what you planned to do the exact same time you did. You retreat back a step when your fifth punch doesn’t land.

You wait for her to move in with her attack, but it doesn’t come. You know she can’t see your face, but it feels like she can when she offers a small shrug and that small smile creeps back in.

“I’m guessing that was your warm-up?”

You know it’s bait, but you take it anyway. You move in with another series of attacks. Every single one of your punches feels just as sluggish as before. The rhythm feels off. You feel like each attack is wrong. Your strikes aren’t landing and just as you are about to sink into the seething grip of your frustration, you see Nat’s fist coming towards you. Your hand catches her wrist before her fist can make contact with your helmet.

You watch as her brow arches in a silent question. You ignore the data that races across your visor’s screen and focus on the weight of her wrist in your hand. The familiarity of it lures out pieces of warmer memories. The touch of her hand taking yours. How her touch would melt the rigid cold left after early summer mornings with your father. You abandon the awkward dance you have been following. You can hear whispers of your father’s voice in the back of your mind as you take a breath and move.

Her wrist slips free before you can pull her towards you. She goes on the offensive and the attacks you block send you back a few steps. You spy her foot moving to hook behind yours and you maneuver away from that pitfall only to feel her fist connect with your side. The pain is barely there. You two are sparring. But it lights a very familiar fire inside of you.

You press forward with an onslaught of strikes that feel more natural. She continues to block most of them until you manage to slip past her defenses and successfully hook your foot behind hers. As you sweep her foot out from underneath her, her hands come up to latch onto the fabric of your stupid suit. She lets her falling body pull you down, and you both land on your side. Your one hand reaches to dislodge the grip she has on your suit while your other instinctively reaches out towards her neck. You feel her legs wrap around your waist and in one quick movement, you are on your back. Her hand stops yours from reaching her throat and pins it against the mat. She quickly pins your other hand to the mat, and you stare up at her as your heavy breaths fog up your interior visor.

She doesn’t let go of your hands as she looks down at you. You know all she can see is her own reflection staring back at her, and you want her to pull the stupid helmet off your head. You wouldn’t be breaking the rules if she exposed this game. But she doesn’t. Instead, she leans down just an inch or two closer and asks, “How do you feel about opera?”

You shrug.

Her smile returns as she finally lets go of your hands. She gets up and you instantly miss her warm weight on top of you. You sit up as she returns to where she left her sweatshirt. She digs into her sweatshirt’s pocket, pulls something out, and tosses it towards you. You catch it. You can feel another burst of excitement rush through you as you stare at the phone in your hand.

“That’s yours,” Nat says as she pulls her sweatshirt back on. “I thought it might be easier for us to communicate. I already loaded my number into your phone.”

You have her phone number. You don’t move from your spot on the mats as your fingers wrap tenderly around the phone. Direct access to your friend without needing to go through anyone else or jump through any additional hoops. It feels like you’re back in Ohio. All you need to do is cross the street, and she’s there waiting for you.

“I’ll be in contact soon,” she says as she moves towards the door. “Don’t put Rollins back in medical while I’m away.”

You watch her leave. You wait until she’s gone before you lean backwards onto the mat and let out a quiet, short laugh.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #my fanfic #fic: i swear that i don't have a gun

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lilibethwrites · 2 years

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Growing Pains

Aemond Targaryen and Y/N ‘Velaryon’ grew up together. They played and stumbled and fell in the halls and empty chambers of Red Keep, retreated to study tomes under the God’s Tree in the courtyard, and took turns distracting the cooks as their pockets pulled at the seams with the stolen lemon cakes. As Y/N and Aemond’s mothers drifted apart, the young prince and princess grew closer—much closer than either of them thought was possible.

This is a slow-burn, multi-chapter fic that will be (heavily) canon divergent at times. Both Aemond and Y/N are 18+.

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 (Finale)

Warnings: None for this chapter

Word count: 2180

A.N: This was in the works for a while, but only as a vague idea. Aemond being a total diva and enamouring everyone pulled it out of the drafts and put it together at lightning speed.

“Mother, please. This is not necessary,” Y/N stood still in front of a polished mirror as her soft protest fell on deaf ears. Behind her, Rhaenyra Targaryen held a brush gilded with delicate, gold dragons, and the soft bristles glided through silky white hair.

Rhaenyra would never admit it to anyone but herself in the safe retreat of her mind that half the tears she had wept the night Y/N was born were because she was blessed with a head full of white hair like a true Targaryen and Velaryon. Rhaenyra was relieved. She was relieved that at least one of her children would be spared the cruel jabs and accusations wherever she went. True, their words couldn’t be called accusations if they had truth to them, and what set Y/N apart from her older brothers was not blood, for they shared the same father, but a bit of luck or perhaps an intervention from the old Gods or the new. But the specifics eluded Rhaenyra, and no one needed to know any further.

Y/N had servants doting her from the moment she took her first breath—and not only because they had to, but because she was, not unlike her mother, a delight to be around—and yet for the ten and eight years she’s been alive, her hair was gently brushed and braided by her mother. Despite the fact that Y/N loved nothing more than to run around and come back to her chambers come afternoon with scrapes and dirt across her face and her hair a dishevelled disaster, Rhaenyra carefully brushed and braided her hair unceasingly, morning after morning.

So, a dismissive—loving, but dismissive nevertheless—hum was all Y/N got out of Rhaenyra.

“Two or one? Perhaps one over, and one under?”

“Only one, please. Leave the rest as is, I’m to take Tessarion out of the pit soon.”

Rhaenyra, in curiosity, cocked her head to the side to catch Y/N’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror. Meanwhile, her deft fingers dove in and out of strands of white hair, creating a tight, single braid that would soon twirl into a simple bun with a few pins.

“Have I not told you? Apologies. She hasn’t flown in days, and the weather seems well. It would do her good to—”

“Flying alone, are you?”

“No,” Y/N’s voice came out weak. A stronger “no” soon followed. “Vhagar is coming, too.”

“You mean Aemond,” Rhaenyra’s shapely brows furrowed into a disapproving frown.

It didn’t take a Sister of the Faith or the Spymaster of the court to know that Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent weren’t what they once were. A collateral of their bitter falling out was her somewhat sudden disapproval of how much time Y/N had spent with Aemond. “That boy’s nothing but bad influence,” she’d complain over dinner. Daemon would hum in agreement, though the agreement, Y/N knew, did not come from his heart. Y/N always had her suspicion that Daemon and Aemond had mutual respect, and perhaps a slight hint of admiration for one another. Though both were too proud to ever be anything other than reverential to one another whenever they crossed paths. Even so, Daemon saw Y/N with Aemond several times, and reassured Rhaenyra that she only spent time with the servant girls, helping them fold heavy tapestries all day long.

Y/N however, felt differently. Despite her childish cruelty towards Aemond before he’d claimed Vhagar for himself, he was nothing but sweet and kind to her. She was in on cruel pranks played on him, parading around a much smaller Tessarion whilst asking him why did he not have a dragon, and could he perhaps be a bastard himself since his egg hadn’t hatched.

“You know, Tessarion was a goddess in old Valyria. Mother helped me choose a name for my dragon. From the tomes of our Maester. When will you get a dragon? You’re older than me. Besides, everyone else has one. Except for you,” Y/N once pressed Aemond as a child, instigated and encouraged by her brothers and Aemond’s.

“Perhaps never,” Aemond responded quietly, unbeknownst to both himself and Y/N that things would change quite soon.

And change they did. Aemond claimed the biggest dragon in the known realm. He changed, too. He hopped off from his first flight as a man: colder, calmer, more distant and cruel. Yet he always reserved a warmer, softer place in his frozen heart for Y/N.

Aemond never regarded himself handsome, and he was too smart to fool himself with Alicent’s excuses as to why young ladies around Red Keep avoided her. But not Y/N. Never Y/N. She beamed up whenever they sat across from each other at the breakfast tables and dinner feasts. Though their games changed, the time they spent together never lessened. She seemed almost *happy* to see him, but Aemond took great care to remind himself it was a kind, friendly gesture from a well-behaved lady. Though he couldn’t dare say it out loud unless he risked a playful slap to his broad shoulder with a feigned-stern warning that Y/N was not a lady.

“By the Gods! I’m NOT a lady. I’ll wear an armour, like you. Don’t laugh. You will see. I will never get married. I won’t fall in love. It’s absurd. Mother says she said the same thing once, but she ended up fighting in the same battlefield all women do,” Y/N stomped her feet to the pit just last week with Aemond following behind with a lopsided smile.

“And what battlefield is that, my not-a-lady?”

“The birthing bed, of course! It’s absurd. Truly. It’s a horror! I’m never falling in love.”

Aemond only hummed, nodding as Y/N trailed off, nearing the end of another one of her rants about the perils of ladyhood. Though that time, his face fell. There was a stinging ache inside him, as if Ser Criston finally got him in one of their training sessions. Why did it matter if Y/N disavowed love? So what if she was sworn off marriage? Didn’t he do the very same as he stared at the grotesque scar that ran across his face? Besides, if she were to fall in love, it would be with a handsome and flirty Lannister, or a ravishing Velaryon who would whisper promises in her ear that he’d sail her across the whole realm, showing her palaces and gardens from the comfort of her own ship. Y/N grew into an attractive lady, and while Aemond himself grew taller and muscular, he was not fortunate enough to grow another eye in place of the one he lost. Though the trade was far from fair, sometimes a certain thought snuck into his mind, especially when he was with Y/N: he would trade Vhagar back for his eye, and then, perhaps Y/N would see him differently. It was a silly thought, and he chased it off as soon as it came, but by the Gods it was persistent.

“Good morning,” Y/N squinted an eye to stare up at the man with his back to her. She needn’t see his face to know her dragon-riding partner. Not because almost all her waking thoughts were plagued, in one way or the other, with him—it was indecent and quite frankly went against what she’d promised herself—Gods, no! But, well, he was tall and stood a certain way and shifted his weight from one foot to the other a certain way and his hair blew in the tender morning breeze a certain way and that breeze carried a certain scent that Y/N could distinguish from a feast hall full of smells—only because they grew up together. Perhaps Maester was right and reading too many romances was indeed perilous for a fresh mind like hers.

“Morning? Is it not past noon?”

“No. Perhaps you have suffered a blow to your head.”

Aemond smiled first. He always let Y/N win their playful bickering.

A gentle tap on his arm signalled him to follow along, though with his long legs he could’ve easily caught up with no warnings. His arms were folded behind him. Perhaps it was a feeble attempt at ensuring that his hands didn’t defy his mind and reach for Y/N’s, or perhaps, they were just comfortable like that.

“Are you excited?” Y/N broke the silence, stepping closer to Aemond, who always had to arch his back or crane his neck to meet her height. It amused him how petite she was in comparison. It reminded him of the times he carried her behind his back, with her legs locked around his waist and her arms almost suffocating him with how tight she’d clutched his neck from behind.

“What for?”

“The wedding, of course. Gods, you behave as if Aemon is not your brother sometimes!”

“Can you blame me?”

“No…” Y/N trailed off. She found that she couldn’t blame him for much, but perhaps for coming into her mind and filling her ears each time a suitor introduced himself to her, or when the Maester bored her to death with another history lesson.

“Well, are you?”

“No. I suppose not. Frankly, I’m not certain why I even asked,” Y/N chuckled. She could be herself the most and speak with no reservations or designations when she was around Aemond. The idea that he would soon follow after Aegon and marry a woman infuriated her. They could no longer spend as much time together as they could now, and they couldn’t be as close as they were either. The grass-green dragon of jealousy got the better of her. Oh, how she wished he’d let his arms idle by his side as he usually did. She would take his arm and tell him if she absolutely had to marry someone, she’d choose him, and she wouldn’t hate the notion of giving him a baby or two who would look exactly half like him and half like her. And despite telling herself this exact tale almost every day, she never quite gathered enough confidence and courage to do such a thing.

So instead Y/N flew alongside Aemond as usual. He showed off and she admired whenever she thought he didn’t look. High up above the clouds, Y/N thought about never landing down again. She fantasized about taking off with Aemond. She had once read in a tome about how the old Valyrians got married, and the words turned into pictures in her mind as she watched Vhagar glide through a flock of birds. The blood was first drawn from a palm she thought about pressing against hers whenever sleep eluded her. Then, the sharp Dragonglass cut hers, and the flow of their blood united in a mysterious Valyrian magic. Then—then, Aemond pulled Y/N out of her sweet fantasy and back to the clouds they were flying above.

“It’s getting late. Your mother might worry.”

“Or perhaps you’ve had enough of my company? Would you rather be elsewhere?”

The smile faded from Y/N’s face as the silence went on. It was a “yes”, then? Aemond did want to be elsewhere, perhaps with someone else, and she would find out through a silly tease.

“No. But I would rather you were not in trouble on my account.”

The delayed, stoic answer didn’t do much to comfort Y/N. So, that’s what he would come up with as an excuse to cut our time short? Might as well admit that you would rather be anywhere but here, why won’t you, Aemond?

“Actually, yes. We should land. I forgot I have a suitor coming all the way from the Eyrie.” That was a lie, and an immature one at that, but Aemond didn’t need to know.

He looked back over his shoulder. The hiss laced with disappointment and fury was swallowed up by the wind raised by Vhagar’s wings.

Back at the Pit, Aemond was courteous as always, hopping off Vhagar first to hold his hand out to Y/N, helping her off her dragon. Though this time, his hand didn’t reach for her waist to aid her in her small jump, and the lack of his touch through his gloves and her heavy brocade riding coat burned her flesh from the inside out like scorching iron. His face was turned to the side, his hands idle with the saddle on Vhagar as Y/N idled, praying to all the Gods she knew to pry a word of assurance out of Aemond’s mouth. A sweet, warm confirmation that they are still—well, friends. Yet it never came. A quiet, almost distant “Be well, princess,” was all that she got and a sharp piece of Dragonglass cut her open from neck to the heart. Far more painful and deadlier than an open palm, and no matching cut to bind their lives together, either. Perhaps the idea of marrying the very next lord that asked for her hand and getting away from King’s Landing—a place that once held much hope and happiness but now nothing but anguish—once and for all wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #hotd

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nomadman108 · 8 months

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One Way to Look at Life

Yes, it’s true: life is precious.But gold? Silver?And what about diamonds?Something to think about. Peace & love

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 8 months

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Back to School Night

Roy Kent x Teacher!Reader

Warnings: Language, gross dads hitting on their kid's teacher

1.2k words

Teach Me Tonight Masterlist

You survived two more weeks of corralling twenty-four eight-year-olds, standing outside for drop-off and pick-up duty, and accepting smiles from Roy Kent. It was a good first few weeks of school, full of getting to know a pretty great group of students and avoiding making a fool of yourself in front of the football coach who insisted on saying hello to you whenever your paths crossed.

Now you returned to your classroom at just after four, refreshed in a nicer dress than usual and a little pair of heels, makeup retouched and hair down. Back to school night- the most dreaded and exciting night of the year. In about an hour, parents would be wandering into your classroom, inspecting every inch of your classroom and asking questions that should really be addressed in a proper sit-down meeting. Some of the dads would give you the onceover, which would have some of the mums giving you icy stares. At the end of the night, you’d be desperate to take these shoes off and get a glass of wine in your hands.

At least this year you’d be seeing Roy Kent.

You flittered around the room, straightening things up and keeping an eye on that clock that was moving much faster than usual. As you pushed in the couple of chairs that the kids had forgotten to get, Leanne poked her head in.

“Ready?” Her voice had that teasing lilt she’d adopted ever since that first happy hour of the year, when she chuckled watching you sip the drink Roy Kent had sent over.

“Ready as I can be,” you huffed, blowing some hair out of your face. “You?”

She shrugged, stepping into your classroom. “Same.” Her eyes scanned the self-portraits you had hanging on one wall. “Those are great.” She pointed to one. “Nice to see Miss Phoebe’s moved on from drawing the female form.” She smirked. “Wait’ll her mum sees this.”

“God, I hope she comes.” You folded your arms across your chest. “Three weeks and I haven’t met her yet. She’s the only parent I haven’t seen.”

Leanne tilted her head at you. “What d’you mean? You haven’t seen her when she drops off Phoebe or picks her up?”

You shook your head. “It’s always Coach Kent, isn’t it? Dr. O’Sullivan must have shit hours, poor thing.”

“Interesting.” Leanne’s smile was mischievous. “I swore Phoebe’s mum dropped her off about half the time. What a coincidence that Uncle Roy has to handle things this year, when Phoebe’s got a very pretty teacher.”

“Oh stop,” you begged, rolling your eyes. “He’s probably just enjoying the way I get all flustered when he’s around. Little ego boost for him. Stupid Roy Kent and his stupid handsomeness.”

Leanne’s smile widened as she glanced at the clock, which showed almost five. “Well, better get ready to see that stupid man.”

“No, I am not married,” you repeated for the third time, your cheeks hurting from the fake smile you wore as another dad stood far too close. “Anyways, Lily sits right over there, feel free to take a look at the letter she wrote for you and her mum.”

Relieved to have distracted the dad whose wandering eyes made you feel like you needed a shower, you let out the quietest sigh you could manage. Other than a handful of forward fathers, the evening seemed to be going well. Most parents seemed pleased with the classroom and assured you that their children enjoyed having you as their teacher. You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that you had yet to see-

“Hi.”

That gruff voice had you actually gulping.

Fuck, fuck.

Plastering on that teacher smile for the millionth time in the last half hour, you turned around to find Roy, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Beside him was a woman in scrubs and a ponytail, eyeing you with curiosity and a coolly raised eyebrow.

“You must be Phoebe’s mum,” you gushed far too cheerfully, offering her your hand. “So nice to finally meet you.”

She smiled, her eyes shifting to Roy for a flash of a moment before shaking your hand. “Yes, sorry we haven’t met yet.”

You shook your head. “No, I understand. I’m glad you could make it tonight.” You nodded towards Phoebe’s table. “Pheebs’s desk is right over there. She wrote you a letter.” Knowing you were failing at suppressing a grin, you glanced at Roy. “She wrote one for you, too, Coach.”

His smile could probably bring about world peace, you thought. It was just that damn wonderful. “Little idiot really made more work for herself, writing two letters,” he hummed, earning a glare from his sister. He offered you that little salute, the one he gave you most mornings and afternoons, and turned to follow his sister to Phoebe’s desk.

Your entire body grew warm when you heard Dr. O’Sullivan playfully hiss, “So that’s why you insist on dropping my kid off every day.”

When Roy glanced over his shoulder to look at you, you pretended to be busy looking at a child’s work. “Shut up,” he mumbled, unable to hide the red tips of his ears and his embarrassed grin. “Maybe I just like my niece, ever think of that?”

Dr. O’Sullivan’s laugh rang in your ears. “Then why are you blushing so hard, Roy-o?”

You had to turn your entire body away before either of them noticed your own blush. With your back to them, you allowed yourself a smile, vibrating with giddiness at the idea that Roy Kent came to school to see you. That you made Roy Kent blush. Even with the way you tried to suppress your little crush, it was thrilling to think that he might genuinely have one too. After all, it was one thing for nosy coworkers to tease you; it was another for Roy Kent’s sister to tease him.

Remembering where you were, you busied yourself with other parents, chatting about what a pleasure it was to teach their children and how excited you were for the new year. After avoiding the touch of a particularly well-known father, you found yourself face-to-face with Roy. He quirked an eyebrow as he watched the man scamper away.

“They really have no shame, do they?” He wrinkled his nose. “You should keep a flask in your desk. Every time a dad hits on you, you take a swig.”

You rolled your eyes. “Poor kids wouldn’t learn a thing. Their teacher’d be sloshed all the time.”

His small laugh had you blushing. “Maybe not the best idea, then.” He gazed at you for a moment, as if he was thinking. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to say something, anything. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he stuck his hand out. “Well, have a good night.”

Praying he didn’t feel you trembling, you shook his hand. His sister’s teasing had you feeling bold enough to give a small squeeze before letting go. “Good night, Coach.”

Roy paused again, still thoughtful. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he finally murmured. “At drop-off.”

Absolutely failing to hide your silly grin, you nodded. “See you tomorrow.” You quickly said goodbye to Dr. O’Sullivan, who’d wandered over while you drooled over her famous brother. Her smile was far too amused and had you blushing even harder than you already were.

On their way out the door, Roy couldn’t help but look back and offer one last little wave, that stupidly perfect smile playing on his lips.

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten @gothicwidowsworld @taytaylala12 @amieinghigh @klaine-92 @misshall14 @rosesheerio @goose-101 @gee72sstuff @alainabooks143 @lwritesstuff @hayden-maximoff @optimisticsandwichgladiator @veryprairieberry @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir

#roy kent teach me tonight #roy kent x teacher!reader #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fluff #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic

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loveharlow · 6 months

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SINEMIES

PAIRING‧₊˚ Rafe Cameron x Kook!Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [2.8k] Returing to Kildare after years away, your mentality may have changed but you still have some old habits...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mild p*rn without plot but the plot was fun to write, smut

A/N‧₊˚ part of my angstober event!

˗ˏˋ rafe masterlist ˎˊ˗

A COMPACT MIRROR WAS HELD UP TO YOUR LIPS AS YOU TOUCHED UP YOUR LIPS, blotting them together before clamping the small object shut. You could feel the car finally come to a halt before the driver turned to face you.

“We’ve arrived, miss.” He announced, tone chipper and bright as always. You pulled a neatly folded one-hundred dollar bill from your bra and held it out to him, watching as he took the bill as humbly as possible.

“Thank you, Martin.” You thanked your personal driver, the man who had fathered you possibly more than your own, who was always gone on 'business'. Business being running around sleeping with women who were half his age and sipping Martini’s in a hot tub on a skyscraper rooftop 500 miles away.

“My pleasure. You stay safe now.” He insisted, raising a brow as you offered a smile and reached for the handle.

“Will do. Have a nice night.” You bid farewell as you swung the door of the sleek, black vehicle open, taking extra care to make sure your legs were never too far apart as you stepped out. The dress you picked out was just brushing what was considered ‘business casual’. You held your matching clutch close to your side and tried your best to ignore the way your heels made the arches of your feet ache.

Wiggling your fingers at the man behind the wheel, you shut the door and watched as the car drove away. Turning your attention to the house you hadn’t seen in years and honestly hoped to never see again. The Cameron Residence was practically a historical landmark in Kildare. The house hadn’t aged in the years you’d been gone — walking out of it as a heartbroken eighteen year old girl and walking the path up to the door as a refined twenty-two year old woman.

You could hear the low, classical music playing and the faint chatter of the guests inside. Shadows passing by as silhouettes in front of the curtains, the only lights that were on being on the first level of the home.

You wasted no time, even in your careful observing, in taking strides towards the front door which would undoubtedly be unlocked, walking carefully as to not trip over your feet and make a fool of yourself.

When your hand touched the doorknob, pushing open the only structure keeping you from the rest of the party, it was like stepping into a new reality. It was a reality you’d left behind in exchange for college campus life, which was more homey. More comforting and cozy, it kept you grounded.

This reality was superficial, so superficial it nauseated you like never before. Art pieces on the white walls that cost way too much money and had no real meaning, sports trophies that were bought with wealth statuses and daddy’s money littered amongst coffee tables and mantelpieces.

But you’d only have to suffer a couple hours and get what you came here for.

“You made it!” A voice beamed close to your ear, turning to see Sarah Cameron walking speedily in a pair of heels and a cream colored silk dress. Her arms were up as she made a b-line in your direction, a genuine smile falling across your face. You adored Sarah. She was probably one of the most genuine people who ever lived on Figure Eight.

She embraced you tightly, swaying side to side as she did. “Oh, I missed you. We have so much to catch up on!” She gushed, releasing you from her grasp to grab a hold of your wrist instead. “Everyone’s in the backyard. C’mon, they’ve been waiting for you.” The ecstatic blonde girl gave you no time to greet her back or return her affections as she dragged you through the crowd of middle-aged business men and women.

Stepping into the backyard where circular tables were set up with white tablecloths, candles placed perfectly in the middle of each one. It wasn’t long before your eyes landed on them all standing around one of the set ups. And it wasn’t long before they spotted you too, waving you and Sarah both over.

When you came to a stop in front of them as Sarah released your arm, you were pulled into another embrace by Ward himself. “Oh, honey, look at you!” He cooed, giving you a tight squeeze before pulling back and letting his hands rest on your shoulders. “You look beautiful. Where’s your father? Is he going to make it?”

You gave the man a pained smile. “Thank you, Mr.Cameron. No, he won’t. He’s in the city on ‘unofficial business’.” You spoke, spite evident in your voice. “You know how that goes.”

Ward gave you a comforting smile and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly before removing his hands. “Well, give him my best when you do see him.” With the conversation ending there, you turned your attention to the rest of the people surrounding the table.

Rose perched under Ward’s arm, Wheezie leaned over the table with her elbows propped up on the surface while she fiddled with her phone, and Rafe.

He stood directly across from you, hands in the pockets of his slacks as his eyes bored shamelessly into yours.

You stared back for a moment, narrowing your eyes. After a moment, you gave him a thin-lipped smile and small nod of your head in acknowledgement of his presence. “Hi, Rafe.”

“I didn’t think you’d be coming this year.” He spoke, voice deeper and more raspy than you remember. But you had to admit, he looked better. No longer strung out on drugs, mind racing all over the place. He looked tamed.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You assured him. The tension was palpable and you’re sure the rest of the Cameron family could feel it as Rose and Ward dismissed themselves to greet guests while Sarah dragged Wheezie to go eat all the sample foods in the kitchen with her.

You and Rafe had dated practically all throughout high school. It was good until it wasn't. Rafe made you fall in love with a version of him that didn't exist and when the mask slipped there was no putting it back on. The relationship became the bane of your existence at some point during it. It couldn't even be described as toxic. Vile is probably a better word.

Once it was just the two of you, Rafe rounded the table to stand next to you as a waiter came around to hand you each a glass of champagne. You sat your clutch on the table and sipped on the beverage as he stood silently next to you, both of you facing forwards watching the party go on around you.

“Are you going to say something?” You asked flatly, tracing the rim of your glass.

“Why are you here?”

“Was I not invited?”

“You only ever come because your father asks you to just so he and my father can talk about property and money. But your father isn’t here. So why are you?” He pointed out.

You chuckled smally to yourself, finally turning your head to look at him as he did the same. “If you think I’m here for you, don’t flatter yourself.” You poked, leaning your weight on the table. “I’m surprised Ward didn’t mention anything to you.”

His eyebrows pinched together. “Mention what?”

“I came here to talk to him. About his company.” You started, taking a short sip of your champagne before continuing. “I want it and if my offer is good enough, he’s going to sell it to me.”

You'd struck a nerve in him. Nostrils flaring, fists balled on the surface of the top as he tried to compose himself. He had never been good with managing his anger. It was good to see that some things never change.

“Why the fuck would my father sell our family business to you?” He spat. “It’s mine. He said it was mine.”

“Well, it seems daddy lied to you.” You shrugged, looking Rafe in the eyes. “Like father, like son.”

Rafe’s eyes were running wild, his cheeks a deep shade of red. He took a step closer to you, placing his lips next to your ear as he spoke. “You’re bluffing. You've always been a bad bluff so, just say you missed me so we can fuck and you can go home.”

“I didn’t travel over two-hundred miles for you, Rafe.” You shot back, voice at his level now. “You never fucked me good enough for that type of commitment.”

“That’s funny. Considering all the screaming you were doing the night before you left for your fancy little Ivy-League School.”

“You mean the night you begged me to come over? Crying about how you needed me-” You were cut off when Rafe abruptly gripped your upper arm, swiftly dragging you through the huddles of guests, into the house, and into the first open bathroom. He practically used your arm to throw you into the vacant area, closing the door behind himself.

His hands were trailing your thighs and underneath your dress before you could speak, his face only inches from yours. You didn’t think you’d ever miss his touch. It was always so rushed and rough. But now it was deliberately gentle and borderline seductive.

“I will never forget the easiest way to get you to shut up. You're still the same.”

You snarled at him, mumbling an insult under your breath.

You hadn’t taken notice of the way your hands balled up your dress at the sides in your annoyance, making it easier for his hands to maneuver its way to the front of your panties, pressing the lightest of pressure to your clit.

Your words had died in your throat, all insults and jabs getting swallowed down as you eyed him up and down while your heart beat out of your chest. Your lips were parted with small breaths leaving your lips every few seconds, refusing to give him complete satisfaction. “This doesn’t change anything.”

A smirk edged on his face before his head dipped down, using his nose to tip your chin up to gain access to your neck. You put up minimal struggle — you knew this wasn’t what you planned to do once you got here. You were here to rub the deal in his face, not fuck him in the downstairs bathroom of his mansion. But that plan became increasingly harder to carry out while he was sucking and licking your neck in all the right places that made you bite down on your tongue to keep quiet while his fingers moved your panties to the side, making contact with your bundle of nerves. One of your own hands released your dress to grab the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The tips of his calloused fingers gilded easily through your dripping folds. He sighed into your neck at the contact and you could feel him smile against your skin, his fingers tracing your core leisurely. “You don’t hate me nearly as much you think you do.”

His words made your blood boil and your legs go weak all at the same time. If he was going to fuck you, then he needed to do just that and shut up while he was at it.

Your free hand ran its up his clothed back, cupping the back of his neck as he resumed his assault on yours. You had to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from making noise that any guest within ten feet of the door would hear as he eagerly pushed two of his fingers inside of you. You were never the quietest.

Your grip on his neck grew tighter, nails digging into the skin as his thick fingers curled and pumped between your legs. You’d been with other guys since Rafe but he knew you too well, which gave him an advantage that you hated. “Oh, fuck…” You muttered when you could no longer hold your profanities in your chest.

Releasing the hand that remained on your dress, you grabbed his wrist in a desperate attempt to shove his digits deeper into your core.

He must’ve taken this as a sign that you wanted much more than he was offering because it wasn’t long before his fingers went from carefully massaging your g-spot to ramming into you callously. Your mouth fell open, the hand grabbing his wrist now gripping his forearm, feeling the veins on his biceps through his shirt.

His head retreated from your neck to crash his lips against yours. His kisses no longer tasted like coke how they used to —- chemical and bitter. The only thing you could taste was the fruity-sweet undertones of the expensive champagne. It made your heart clench in the slightest of ways, knowing that just maybe he wasn’t the same person he was when you left.

But you knew he also wasn’t someone you could ever be with.

You were just about to reach your climax when he pulled his fingers back, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You didn’t even have a second to complain before he was dropping you to the floor, feet landing on the hardwood floor just in time to catch yourself.

Rafe hiked up your dress above your hips, pulling your panties down like a man starved and turning you to face the wall before using a hand on your back to bend you over. One of your own hands came up to slap itself against the painted surface, keeping you steady.

You could hear him unbutton his pants before letting them drop down his thighs, hearing his shoes shuffle closer behind you before you felt the warm head of his cock, smearing precum over your heat.

He wasted little time in pushing into you, a small groan leaving his lips as both of his hands went to grip your hips, pulling you back onto him with every thrust forward. Quick breaths and low moans were leaving your lips with every slap of his hips against yours.

His pace was moderate, but he was so deep that every push back into you felt like a kick to the gut in the best way possible.

You only felt a little shame when you realized this was exactly where Rafe wanted you. But this didn’t change anything after the fact. And he didn’t know that yet.

You started to feel that knot in your abdomen wind itself tighter again, pulling and pulling until after one particularly deep, knee-trembling thrust and the unexpected feeling of his fingers rubbing circles into your clit, you snapped. Coming around him as your nails scratched against the wall and you let out a long, breathy moan.

He wasn’t far behind you, grip on your hip growing tighter as his thrusts grew more rapid and sloppy, pushing you farther up the wall as your body began to straighten itself out, trembling as his circling of your nerves hadn't let up and he rode out your own high while still fucking into you. You felt the familiar feeling of him spilling inside of you within seconds. You didn’t think you would ever forget it.

You didn’t let him bask in his post-sex haze for long, pulling your garments back on and into place after he pulled out before silently moving around him to see yourself in the mirror. You fixed your loose strands of hair and lip gloss that somehow ran down your lips and onto your chin. You could see the blur of him in the reflective surface behind you as he pulled his pants back on, hair messed and skin red.

Once you deemed yourself decent, you creaked the door open, peeking to see who was near. When you figured the coast was clear, you slipped out of the door, leaving Rafe behind.

You weaved your way through the crowd of people that had thinned out somewhat, heading for the backyard where you realized you had carelessly left your clutch on the table. Making it back to the table where Rafe had dragged you from, half-drunk glasses of champagne and your abandoned clutch on the surface, you grabbed it, ready to turn around and find Ward.

But of course, the second you turned back to the patio doors, Rafe was just inches behind you.

“You’re leaving now, right?”

You couldn’t help but scoff humorously. “What?”

“You got what you came here for so you’re leaving.” He said as if he had it all figured out. You didn’t think he seriously thought you were bluffing about the business proposal. Poor thing.

“I already told you, Rafe,” You started, shaking your head with a small grin on your face. “I’m not here for you.”

His face morphed into one of great annoyance and mild anger as your name was called, echoing outside. Your gaze shifted behind the irritated man to find Ward coming your way.

Stopping in front of you, he spoke without really noticing his son’s presence. “I’m so glad I caught you. I’ve been busy all night but-” Suddenly, he seemed to notice Rafe’s figure in front of you, hesitant eyes whipping between the both of you to carefully select his next words, not aware of the fact that his son now knew the one thing he didn’t want him to. “...I’d really still like a chance to talk about… that thing, before you go.”

You nodded, only really wanting to conceal the childish smile on your face. “That’d be great, Mr.Cameron. I’ll be sure to stick around.”

The older man gave you a grateful nod, pitifully eyeing his son before heading back inside. Your own gaze shifted back to Rafe, you could’ve sworn you saw steam rising from his ears. And though you felt a twinge of guilt, you just couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You are a lot of things Rafe,” You started, picking up your champagne glass from the table behind you before looking at him again. “But better than me is not one of them.”

General taglist; @livlaughquinn

Event Taglist; @timmytime17

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

#angstober23'#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #drew starkey fanfiction #obx rafe

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play-now-my-lord · 7 months

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Alright, listen up boys, here's the new plan. I'm on communications, I'm gonna be coordinating this little operation from here on out. Jimmy Clean's obviously still the inside man, gonna make a map to the vault and set up access codes so we're in and out clean. For the inside crew, we got a couple of role shifts. Paulie Ears, you're still gonna be on any locks Jimmy Clean can't get us through. Jimmy Snake Eyes is gonna have the bag, and we'll get you each a clean piece the night of, just in case anything goes wrong. Outside crew is the big changeup. Siddhartha, the new plan is, you're gonna be our bodhi tree man. You achieve enlightenment and lay out a path for all living beings to escape the endless cycle of reincarnation and the suffering generated by negative karma, not least of which from this job. Seven, eight folds on that path oughta do, no need to go nuts. And obviously that means Awakened Paulie is gonna be driving getaway instead of what we originally planned

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sunnynwanda · 2 months

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Black hole: The revelations

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

"So, why the hell were we getting married?" Hero questions, leaning back on the bright green bench to look nonchalant. Villain sits next to them, rubbing a finger over their furrowed eyebrows. They've ended up on this bench after the coffee shop at least three times. Hero glances at them in expectation of an answer.

"Because that's what is supposed to happen," Villain confesses with a deep sigh. Their mind is running a mile an hour, trying to figure out what went wrong to leave Hero with the wounds and memories of their wedding day. "But, every time we do, you die by the end of the day."

"You were the one that stabbed me," Hero counters, gaze fixed on Villain's profile against the morning sky. They can't help the way their eyes are drawn to their archnemesis every damn time they cross paths, be it in battle or civilian life. So goddamn beautiful.

They should have figured this out sooner, Hero thinks. They should have started dating sooner.

"To try and get you out before it happens again," Villain's voice reaches them through the haze of their thoughts, their face still averted from Hero, as if it pains them to talk about it. Pretty sure that's exactly what it does.

Hero considers the situation for a moment before shifting to sit sideways on the bench, folding their foot under them. "Why does it seem like no one remembers anything?"

"Because they don't," Villain's hand comes to rest on their folded knee without a second of thought. Hero doesn't comment on it for now.

"Why?" They tilt their head, watching Villain intently. They figure it must have been a tad too intense when Villain turns to face them at last.

"Because it did not yet happen in this version of reality." If that statement was supposed to clarify anything for Hero, it did not. If anything, it got them even more confused. Villain's powers never made proper sense to them.

"What are you talking about?" They inquire, busying their hands with the hem of Villain's shirt. The soft fabric feels familiar to the touch.

"We got together eight months before our wedding," Villain explains, eyes locked to Hero's fingers twisting their favourite shirt. They never liked it that much until Hero commented how it brought out their eyes. They wore it for each one of their first dates ever since. "Today."

A gasp is all that leaves Hero's parted lips, so Villain continues. "This was our first date because you stumbled into me and demanded I get you a coffee, and I did. We started talking after that and spent the entire afternoon together. It picked up from there."

"Like today?" Hero looks up at them through their lashes, and Villain knows they won't find their voice, so they nod instead, unnerved and exhaling shakily. "But I only came because when I woke up, I found a cut between my ribs and a ring on my finger. That dream felt eerily real, so I decided to confront you and see if it's your doing."

"That's the issue. I come back to this day to try and track what I need to change to ensure you stay with me. It was supposed to only be me remembering all of it." They pause, taking a deep breath to slow their racing mind. "Come to think of it, I've been so caught up in trying to find a solution to keep you alive I never asked why you always come in the first place."

Hero has no idea. They won't admit feeling the need to see Villain was an everyday thing - way before their relationship happened. Or is set to happen, to be precise.

"How long?" Noting the confused expression on Villain's face, they elaborate. "How long has this been going on?"

"Too long for my own liking," Villain rakes a hand through their messy strands, the wind not helping the disaster that was their hair. Hero has to stop themself from reaching out for a touch.

"Vil, were all of my dreams your attempts at fixing it?" They lean back, and Villain wraps an arm around their calves, bringing their legs onto their lap. Hero is stunned at how natural physical contact with them feels.

"Yes," they choke out, their jaw tight with pent-up emotion. They don't know if they can handle Hero remembering any or each of those times.

"Twelve times?" Villain almost jolts at the sharpness in their voice. Hero can feel it scratching the back of their throat like shreds of glass. "You've lived those eight months twelve times?!"

"Look, believe it or not, I love you," Villain meets their eyes, love, pain and despair equally present in their gaze. Hero watches something else flash to life in the depths of their soul, burning bright as they take hold of Hero's face with calloused fingers. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you alive. Right now, something has changed."

"Why?" They don't dare to move away, struggling to swallow when Villain's thumb rubs soft circles against their cheek.

"I don't know," their voice is barely audible as they speak, entranced by the proximity. "When I reset the time, I'm the only one keeping my memories and wounds. You never remembered anything nor had any injuries."

"Or this?" Hero brings their hand up to their faces, pointing at the wedding band. Villain's eyes widen slightly, despite seeing it previously in the coffee shop. "Yeah, I figured it was off. Does this mean we're onto something?"

"Might be," Villain sighs, catching their wrist and laying a gentle kiss on their knuckles. "I hope so."

Hero intertwines their fingers, offering Villain a small smile as they battle their tears. They cannot even begin to imagine what living all those months must have felt like - knowing what they were leading to, grappling to find a solution. To no avail. Time and time again. "We'll find a way out."

"I've watched you die twelve times," their throat clamps up, threatening to spill years' worth of tears, but they squeeze their eyes shut, willing the storm within to calm. Their voice breaks nonetheless. "I don't know if I can handle another one."

"Hey, we're in this together now," Hero ensures, tilting their chin up with their free hand, the other still holding Villain's tight. "And we have eight months to figure it out. That's plenty of time."

"It's not as long as you'd think," Villain's smile is soft and sad as they draw Hero closer and hug their head against their chest. Hero can hear their heart racing, the pattern torn and uneven when Villain litters kisses onto their hair. "Not when it's all you get with your love."

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Masterlist

A/N: I didn't intend to do another part for this one initially, but I might just be forced to because they feel too alive in my head. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this and thank you for reading! xo Sunny

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

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lunarw0rks · 9 months

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Old Bones | Chapter Eight

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): toxic/abusive relationship, PTSD themes, blood and gore, violence, death, gun mention, hurt/comfort, strong language

Word Count: 6k

A/N: long chapter for u guys<3 (not proofread in its entirety)

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

Quatervois

You waited at the counter until the hum of his truck was far into the distance, then removed yourself from the stool, dumping out the untouched cup of tea.

It was time to get everything you prepared together.

The truth was, when you stormed up to your room, you hadn’t slept a wink. First, you laid out the only warm outfit you had left; that thick pair of jeans, and one of your sweatshirts. The coat Simon lent you was downstairs, so you would wait until morning for that.

It felt like an eternity—waiting for the brooding bodyguard to finally hit the hay. He spent longer reflecting on the argument than he actually did work, which you’d see when you occasionally poked your head around the landing to spy on him.

When his bedroom door finally closed, you crept down the stairs and found yourself seated in front of his laptop, still up and running, displaying a search image of the location Cal had messaged.

It was one of the old offices used by his employers—a large, no longer operational building. Neighboring it was the progression of building a strip mall; vacated or bulldozed structures.

With its vast dimensions and emptiness, the location became an ideal spot to get cornered.

You clicked on the navigation icon and purchased a ticket departing from the nearest train station. A few streets over from the meet point, that’s where it would drop you off.

The walk was manageable enough, and you already made up your mind the second your phone buzzed that day.

You squatted below the sink, reaching in the under cabinet for the pack you packed during the night. If Simon spotted you in those warm clothes, his suspicions would get the better of him—so, it was better to change now, in the kitchen, so you could be out the door behind him as soon as possible.

After you slipped them on, you folded the ones you were previously wearing and left them on the countertop.

The clock loudly ticking displayed the time you were running out of—6:48. If you were going to make it to the train station by eight, you needed to get moving.

When you reached the front door, a smaller bag slung over your shoulder, you cased the place again. One, to make sure you hadn’t left anything behind; two, in case this adventure went horribly wrong.

Though plagued by solitude and adverse weather, your time here proved to be warmer than any day spent with Cal, and that counted for something.

With swiftness, you reached for the coat rack and put on that thick coat. If you had any chance of making the walk, you were going to need it. You palmed the pistol residing inside the bag, then the ticket receipt you printed off folded in your pocket.

Everything was in order, in spite of this being a fresh, completely reckless plan.

Your crunching steps continued seamlessly, off the porch and onto the snow-hidden dirt path. Your own sense of direction was the sunrise, guiding you along the well-trodden path. The tree branches above form a natural archway, like a portal leading from solitude to society.

The cabin behind them grew smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing from view, swallowed by the dense trees.

The chilly embrace of winter wasn’t much of an embrace at all. It stung at all your uncovered skin as if pricking you with a thousand tiny needles. Each breath expelled into a small cloud in front of you, increasing when there was a steep incline.

With each step, the snow deepened, but you pushed forward, following the trail that would eventually take you to the nearest town. Lights from the distant buildings began to pierce through the forest's darkness, beckoning like beacons of civilization.

That is if you could call it a town—it was a truck stop and a diner off an exit. You thought ahead several hours before, scheduling a taxi to take you to the train station. It was the only logical way to make it there ahead of Simon.

Alas, after a few minutes of waiting, the driver pulled into the icy lot of the rest stop. Neither of you made an attempt for conversation. He was most likely disgruntled making the trip out here, and you were on the way to face your past.

You let out a loud sigh finally resting your fatigued legs in the backseat, slipping him the last of your pocket cash.

The journey from the cabin had been more than just a walk; it was a journey from seclusion to your next chapter, a possibility of putting an end to this hell. If not, maybe it was that twisted fate catching up to you, just like you thought it would.

—

The rhythmic clattering of the train wheels was the only overbearing noise as you were peering out at the passing landscape. The scenery was a blur, much like your thoughts. Too chaotic for the memories to resurface, and too quick to grasp what you were walking into.

That morning, there was no speech in the mirror. You’d only thought of getting there, not what you would do when this train came to a stop.

Clammy hands fidgeted with the hem of their jacket, then placed a reassuring hand on the gun in your bag, as if to be sure of its presence all over again.

When it went through a tunnel, the low hum of conversation from fellow passengers only served as a reminder of the forthcoming confrontation that you couldn't avoid any longer. There would be no time to hesitate, or force yourself into silence—it was all going out in the open.

As the train approached its destination, you felt like your heartbeat synchronized with the slowing rhythm of the wheels. The minutes felt like eternity, each tick of the clock amplifying their unease. This was utterly insane, but you couldn’t back out now.

Finally, the train came to a halt, and the station name flashed on the windowpane. You were the first passenger to scramble with your luggage and hurry onto the platform.

Though trains were faster than cars, you never made the mistake of underestimating Simon’s determination.

You strolled through the narrow aisle, faces of other passengers passing by in a blur. You were on autopilot until you reached the neighboring streets, then you were agonizingly lucid.

The winter chill gripped the city streets, leaving a thin layer of frost on the pavement. You pulled their coat tighter around your frame, the cold seeping through the fabric and sending shivers down your spine.

The city seemed to hibernate under the winter's grasp. The streets, probably once bustling with activity, now wore a quiet and somber demeanor. The bare trees stood like sentinels, their branches reaching towards the gray sky, and the occasional snowflake drifted gently from above, adding to the melancholic picture.

As the destination drew nearer, your steps became slower, hesitant. The heart in your chest pounded loudly, and each breath felt shallow. It was as if the city itself sensed your trepidation.

Once you had made it through the suburbs, you were encroaching on the meeting spot. You could spot the height of the building from down the dead street. Not a construction worker, or even a jogger in sight.

In comparison with the demolition, it looked nearly abandoned.

Then, you laid eyes on the office building. Its windows were fogged up from the warmth inside, and its stature was backlit from the risen sun.

One car in the lot, and it wasn’t Simon’s truck. It was a black SUV, probably the very one Cal came here in—rented, just for this meeting.

You could’ve been walking into anything—dead before the door closed, but that was an outcome you were already well prepared for. It wouldn’t be the first time you stared death in the face, either.

Your first look at the interior wasn’t a half-demolished office space, or a dark and abandoned one. It looked to be freshly un-operational, given the fact that the fluorescents were on, and your shivers were soothed with a running heating system.

The design was bland and contemporary, with an absence of decorative clutter. Polished marble tiles covered the floor, their smooth surface reflecting the soft glow of recessed ceiling lights overhead.

The walls were adorned with tasteful and artistic decorations, such as abstract paintings, which hadn’t been removed yet. Beside them were nails still embedded in the walls, most likely where the employees once hung their achievements.

There was a dedicated cubicle for security, cameras and a buzzer to access the upper levels. You ran your fingertip over the dust coating the top of it, though the access buttons wouldn’t be of much use.

There was an elevator already waiting, with a box placed in the door so you could board it. He’d already thought of everything, naturally, though the mere thought of him made you chunderous.

When you stepped inside, your fingers hovered over the buttons until you remembered the signs. If you were to take a guess, he had probably chosen the CEO floor for himself. With a few hesitant clicks, you were on your way up.

You took advantage of the time, removing the pistol from your bag and into your waistband. Within a minute, the doors opened to an even more luxurious floor than the ground. A long hall leading into the CEO’s office. A rug ran the course of it, only blank side tables and a fake plant filling the numbing space.

Your guess concerning the floor was correct, given the fact you were faced with an assistant as his. Much like him, only more tweedy and straight to the point.

Your wired expression did little to phase his blank one. He outstretched a hand toward your coat, slipping it off your shoulders for you, and then taking your bag for you. You pondered, if he knew what was in store for you, if he was a part of this plan, if he even knew who he was working for?

He took the leading position, guiding you to the office. The hallway seemed to stretch infinitely, prolonging the inevitable confrontation ahead of you, if there was one. A logical person would think he would’ve killed you a long time ago if that’s what he wanted, but Cal's temperament was anything but logical.

The cold metal of the gun provided a feeble reassurance, icing against the anxious sweat running down the curve of your spine.

The assistant's free hand reached for the metal knob, twisting it with ease. When the door revealed tre office to you, it was dripping with bleak grandeur; large paned windows on the north wall, meeting chairs in the corners, empty floor to ceiling shelves, and the large desk in the middle.

Once you spotted the man seated in that CEO chair, the once confident and brave facade you had constructed now felt fragile, on the verge of shattering into a thousand pieces.

Approaching a year, this was the first time you had seen him face to face. His face remained blank, but not emotionless, like he was just as perplexed seeing you. Still, the eye contact wasn’t any less imperious.

The room's atmosphere was heavy with tension, an agonizing ten seconds before he said a word.

“Set her things outside, and leave us. It won’t be long.” Your pulse was thundering in your ears, but his voice knelled nonetheless.

You turned your head, giving the assistant a pleading look, but he’d already made his journey to the door again.

His feet, which were propped onto the desk in conceit, had now been placed back on the floor. Before you could do anything about it, he was standing a good five feet from you, and it was just the two of you now.

The gun, hidden under their shirt, served as a reminder of the darkness that led you here. All the things that went right, all of them that went wrong. Though the visible wounds had long healed, your inability to move or speak were a visible enough reminder.

“Relax, I’m here to talk.” Cal tongued the inside of his cheek, taking a few steps closer to you again.

When his arm outstretched, you half expected to already be on the ground with the wind knocked out of you, but instead he was grasping for the bottle of whiskey on the table behind you. The moment he’d leaned in, reached around you, that familiar lump in your throat came back.

Though in your mind you were reassuring yourself, your body remembered him; the way your hairs stood up, how your fists clenched at your sides in apprehension.

But he hadn’t done anything. He removed the cork, and poured the malt into two small glasses, reaching one of them out to you.

Your body did the work for you, as if you were watching the scene from an overhead view, not truly the one standing there in front of him. Your fingers gripped the glass, your legs carried you toward the chairs in front of “his” desk—all without a single thought.

It wasn’t until he talked again, that you were forcing yourself to be present in the moment.

“Did you take the truck here?” All the buzzing of the fluorescents, the hum that came from his throat—it was all so overbearing, like your mind hadn’t caught up to sitting in front of him yet.

The traumatic memories resurface with an intensity that made it near impossible to speak, as if the wounds of the past had been freshly reopened.

It took a few seconds to process, before you couldn’t finally open your mouth to reply. “Yes.” Your throat had a dryness to it, leaving your speech weak and aching with hesitation.

Cal's eerie sense of calm had an uncanny ability to make you feel like a cornered small animal. If you could sink further into the chair, you would. Every stare, every movement his hands made, rekindled the nerves you had tried so hard to suppress.

“You should’ve reached out to me sooner,” he scoots the chair back out, making a slow lap around the desk, as if he were a relentless shark, circling its prey in the water.

His drink remained in his hand, but he hadn’t taken a drink from his glass either—it was nothing more than a prop. When he moved from the chair to his feet, yours moved as well, as if acting on an instinct.

You slid your glass across the desk and took a few steps counterclockwise around the desk, but his sluggish rotation continued, and an amused chuckle left his lips as you maintained the distance.

“Do you have any idea what it was like, cops at my door on Christmas Eve? I was worried sick, had to clean up that mess myself.” He only continued his point from before, both of you halting the circle you’d made around the large desk.

When you failed to answer him again, you failed to keep moving as well. Your eyes followed him from top to bottom, the placement of his feet as he glided, the position his fists were in.

And now, he was a foot from you. “You took the truck here?” He questioned again, his tone dripping with mockery toward the lie you’d told him.

“It was me.” Your last trace of your determination surfaced alongside the lie.

A wicked beam spread across his face as he detected the lie woven into your words. You studied the chilling glint in his eyes as he savored the moment.

Cal stepped closer again, examining your dwindling confidence, feasting on it. No matter how loudly your mind bellowed to move, to get out of there, your legs remained rooted in the spot.

With a low, mocking chuckle, he leaned in closer, so close you could smell the intoxication on his breath. “I would believe you,” his arm shot out, making you jolt in surprise.

He reached around your waist, pulling the revolver from your waist band, “but you were always a shitty liar, Babe.” The iron in his hand was sent flying across the floor, landing somewhere by the door, now too far for you to reach for without attempting to run.

You couldn’t conceal how you flinched when the piece hit the wood floor, echoing off the walls and replaying in your head just like his taunts—how he was speaking now, how he did then, all composed into a head-splitting, taunting symphony.

All the words you had rehearsed, all the things you wanted to say to him, evaporated like mist before you could utter another syllable. He was relishing in the power, how he’d caught you in his grip again with just a few words.

The once fierce voice within you, which had screamed to run, now echoed with a sense of despondence. Why had you come here? What made you believe you could confront him?

The world around you blurred, like you were still watching this unfold from above. The past plagued you, as if you were still the same you from a year ago. He’d reduced you into something so small, without laying a hand on you.

Deep within, a voice pleaded for escape, for you return to reality. Cal’s arrogance was like a suffocating thundercloud, building and building until he found the weakest spot to strike. His words were like sharp daggers, aimed to wound and control, slicing through your healed scars like a relentless storm.

The blizzard howled around Simon’s truck, swirling snowflakes obscuring visibility like a relentless white curtain. The snowflakes danced wildly in front of the headlights, creating an otherworldly scene of swirling white.

Inside the car, his heart pounded with a mix of nerves and adrenaline, as well as self-reproach for how he behaved. He left you behind to finish the job, at least what he was telling himself was “just a job”. No matter what he told himself, or how many times, his deep regret was his motivation to finish it.

He had to, because it was for you. Even if it was his last act of service before he dropped you off in town, collected his last envelope of cash, he had to do this.

The road stretched ahead, an endless tunnel of white, and Simon pushed forward, trusting the sticky note he pasted on his dash with the address scribbled on it. With every passing mile, his mind was focused on the task at hand, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on his tense shoulders.

The snowfall threatened to obscure any landmarks or points of reference, but he spotted the tall building through the low-visibility, nonetheless. It looked like the images he pulled up, only without the decor on the outside, or the plague above the double doors.

The blizzard wrapped the area in an eerie silence, which was what Simon noticed next. One SUV in the front; he brushed away the ice coating the windows, finding it empty.

He kept his head down as he advanced up the entrance, placing a firm hand on the entrance door’s handle.

Whether it was an army, or just Cal, he was well-prepared for whatever he was walking into.

The silence was wrenching among other things; how long he stared into your eyes, but you couldn’t divert yours from his, the way he ran his thumb over the rim of his glass before setting it down, still an uncomfortable inch from your face.

“Did you come here to kill me?” He queried, licking along his bottom lip as if he already knew the answer. Cal didn’t need your answer, your face already was one.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve done for you?” He just kept going, increasingly losing his composure the longer you were cornered before him. For once, it wasn’t wrath, it was his faux tenderness. His fingers found the hem of your shirt, then ran up to your shoulders to place his palms on each of them.

Your murmur was pathetic, finally ripping your gaze from his. “Cal…”

It wasn’t that he made you pity him, but it was how close he was to you for so long, whether he treated you badly or not. He was still a piece of you, legally your other half. How the both of you changed so much, during and after the marriage—it was arcane.

The months of pent up emotion had begun to pool corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. How close he was, the familiar feeling of his breath on your neck—a disturbing reminder of all the sensations you tried so hard to bury.

When his fingers began to slide down your arms, it was taking every bit of your being not to headbutt him in the nose, just like Simon had taught you.

Next, his hands engulfed yours, running over the small nicks and scars that littered them. “I forgive you, for leaving me. I just… Let my feelings for you get the best of me sometimes, you know that?”

Unfortunately, you did understand, in more ways than one. With no lifeline in reach anymore, all you could do was stand there, hoping whatever end to this would come soon.

Whether it was you, or him with blood drawn, wasn’t your concern anymore. You only concerned yourself with never having to do this again. All those things you thought of saying to him, all the fury-driven plans you once had; null and void now.

It felt mortifying, how he so effortlessly diminished your credence—that he was, in fact, the problem.

“Do you forgive me?” As he shifted his hands to your waist, his grip intensified, enough to leave visible imprints even through the fabric. He began to lean in closer, his alcohol-soaked lips brushing against your cold-chapped ones.

Instincts took over, a primal force pushing you into a state of defense. Your muscles tensed, fisting the glass of whiskey on the desk in front of you. When you found it, you used every ounce of your force to smash it against his temple.

It hit his skull with a sickening thud, releasing a cascade of whiskey that splattered in all directions. Tiny fragments of glass danced in the air like deadly confetti, glinting maliciously under the dim light. Some landed on you, as did the amber liquid.

When your eyes released their squint, he was still keeled over, holding the impacted skin.

“You fucking bitch…” His speech came out a pained growl, prompting you to hasten in the direction of the door, where the gun was still laying.

His stomps were close behind, nearly making you lose your footing before you reached the piece. It found your sights, iron glinting in the light where he’d thrown it.

Your fingers touched the cold metal only a few moments, before his hands clasped your shoulders and jerked you back. The snow on the bottom of your shoes made you slide, causing you to land on your back, scrambling for the gun again.

But he was quicker, always, and now blinded by agony-induced rage. “After everything!” His eyes were still winced, his teeth still gritted, but his hands found you again quickly, practically bolting your body below him.

“I lied to the cops, to protect you.” You batted at his chest, his throat, attempting to claw at his weak points, but he pinned your wrists next with just one of his hands. “All I asked, was that you fucking listen to me!” He showed little struggle, his other hand finding its way to the collar of your shirt, which he used to plummet your head into the ground a few times.

All while he did it, his voice was anything but a yell—it was a low, calculated grumble, like he had stewed on his plans for months.

Your head was spinning, too cloudy to do anything after the impacts, though the strength of your struggling limbs did little in opposition. This was it, the day he would finally catch you, do what he’d always planned on doing.

His actions mirrored that of Christmas Eve; you, below him and helpless, while his hands leave you battered and loathing. It was like you were watching an instant replay of that night, all over again—his brows furrowed in sinister concentration. You blocked out the sight with closed eyes, refusing him to be the last thing they see.

It seemed he had an unshakable hold on the situation, as he always did. You were trapped in an inescapable hold, unable to do anything more than pray it be quick and painless.

Simon already had his pistol drawn as he cleared each room, eyes sharp and focused on any sign of enemies. The lobby was empty, only a few signs of melting footprints leading him to the elevator, which did not respond when he pounded on the buttons.

After a few smacks, it dinged, as if he had been granted access to it. There were no spare minutes for questions, he needed to find Cal, and now.

If he wasn’t on the ground floor, he was probably on the top.

The ride was agonizing, with no sounds of people, only the grinding of the track as it went up the elevator cables. When the doors slid open, he raised his pistol in front of him, in search of the target.

The hallway leading to the grandest office was empty, but someone had been there recently. He next examined one of the side tables, still with an idle steaming cup of coffee placed on it. And next to it, items that made his heart race; the coat he lent you placed next to your backpack.

He couldn’t believe his eyes, or his racing thoughts. You had somehow gotten here first, or worse, been abducted from the cabin after he left. Simon was already cursing himself for betraying you, if he was the reason Cal found you too, he would never forgive himself.

A hand found his shoulder, but it wasn’t an attacker. Nonetheless, he whipped around, expecting it to be Cal. It was a suited man, probably the one who collected your things before you were taken to the next place.

He thought he was angry before, but that was nothing. He could practically feel his throat burn as he shoved the man into the wall, the barrel deep into his stomach.

“Where did he take her?” He hissed, his other hand an iron grip on the assistant’s shoulder. The man took too long, still stunned and overpowered. “Don’t have bloody time for this.” The silenced pistol moved from his stomach to his head with swiftness, and he pulled the trigger just as quick.

His body, now dead weight, slid down the wall with a trail of blood following him. The only remaining door was the CEO office—his last hope of finding you.

The sound of a struggle was hard to miss; a glass breaking, a thump, and the muffle of an irate male voice.

Simon lost all semblance of stealth, thumping down the floor of the hallway until he reached the door, kicking it just below the lock with all of his force. It split open on impact, but the scene in front of him didn’t change.

He recognized Cal from behind, wearing one of his signature suits, but it was now scuffed and stained with crimson. With only seconds of studying, he spotted your shoes peeking out underneath him, kicking about as he gripped your throat.

You were losing your vision, eyes only catching glimpses of Cal’s concentrated expression as began putting pressure on your windpipe, using all of his force. It was a scalding, stinging sensation from your throat to your eyes, sending the taste of blood on your tongue as you gasped for the oxygen already lost.

The smacks you were giving, the tugs on the fabric of his suit, they were unsuccessful at releasing his ever-tightening grip.

A loud buzzing filled your ears once the ringing muffled itself; dark spots clouded your vision one by one, like rain droplets engulfing you. Once again, for the last time, he had overpowered you, only this time the window of opportunity had long closed.

Your once trembling limps had begun to go limp, vision nearing that final close of unconsciousness. The grunts and pleas were long squeezed out of you, only a rattling breath now as Cal used the last of his remaining strength to finish the job.

The fear had long disappeared, as did the anger and pain; it was the absence of feeling—your last few glances of him, blinded by his temper, sputtering inaudible curses toward you.

And then—the pressure ceased in an instant, though his hands remained. Without your vision, your other sensations that were dwindling had now gone into overdrive; the pounds of pressure on top of your chest, as you took in a wheezing breath again.

When your eyes forced themselves open again, it was still the same view of the office ceiling, still with that same weight on you.

Disoriented, you craned your aching neck down at yourself, seeing Cal slumped on top of you, his head spurting blood all over you, running through the creases of your skin and down the fabric of your shirt.

It was like your muscles had gained consciousness as well, allowing you to shove the dead weight off of you. His lifeless body rolled itself onto his back, a bullet hole still smoking through the middle of his head.

It was too fast to process yet, how one second you would’ve been laying there, but it was him. Him, who you hated with every fiber of your being, but yet, it wasn’t a feeling of closure.

Your hand reached for your damaged throat, placing a hand on the tender flesh. “Cal…” You said it, just as you did earlier, only so much of a croak the only place you could hear it was your own head.

Now knelt beside his body, you allowed yourself to take in the sight of him—one you knew would never leave you now. How his hands felt around your neck, how gruesome he looked now, and how his blood had covered every inch of you.

The hand once on your throat, you moved it to touch his chest, indeed feeling no beating heart inside it. If it weren’t for Simon’s determined grip pulling you away, you would’ve stared at the sight all night, unable to separate on your own.

His hands were gentle, despite how you attempted to pry them off of you, still in a wide-eyed state of shock. “Don’t look.” You heard him say, through the faint ringing in your ears.

Your body didn’t have the strength to fight him, ending with your head shoved into his chest as he guided you out of the room. He ignored his own advice, giving Cal’s corpse one more lasting look, before he turned his attention fully to you again.

One hand held kept your head buried into his chest, while the other kept his pistol ready just in case, though there were no signs of an ambush coming. Cal had truly set this meet with only one person on his side, intending on the meet ending with you choked out.

When he reached the hall again, he turned your stumbling figure to face the wall, to not see the assistant still slumped over by the elevator. He grabbed the hanging coat and draped it over your shoulders.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he ushered you inside, concealing your view of the carnage until the doors closed, though he wasn’t sure you were lucid enough to notice, he couldn’t help but shield you.

Simon allowed all of your weight on him as your legs nearly buckled during the ride, keeping you steady for its entirety. When the doors opened, his eyes scanned through the large windows facing the entrance.

Still, only the SUV and his own car remained parked. From what he could tell, this place was dead.

Each guiding step, his eyes were trained on the path ahead, but the coast remained clear. Through the tinted windows, the blizzard had worsened since he arrived. Only the black paint of the two cars through the flurries remained, being his only guide to his truck once he pushed the double doors open.

He palmed the handle to the passenger side, scooping you up and buckling you into the seat with tenderness. Once he took another look around him, spotting nothing but snow in front of him, he climbed into the truck and turned the key again.

You had already passed out in the seat next to him, probably in a mix of shock and fatigue. How you ended up here before him, or why, he didn’t know—what mattered to him was that Cal was dead, and you still had air in your lungs.

He cringed at the thought of nearly being too late, nearly finding lifeless with no sign of Cal—he had found you in time, and your husband was dead and alone, just like he deserved.

—

The headlights illuminated the path up to the cabin, now sometime in the middle of the night after his long drive back. He’d left you in the truck, still dormant with your head against the window.

Simon stepped inside the cabin, only flicking on the hallway light to not overwhelm his eyes, which were exhausted, and well-adjusted to the darkness now. His soaked boots squeaked against the tile as he reached for the faucet, turning the knobs until it was the right temperature.

While the faucet ran, he retreated outside again, lifting you into his arms again.

Your eyes reopened at the sudden disturbance, but you allowed yourself to be carried into the cabin again. You were in no position to fight him, and quite literally couldn’t speak against this pampering.

He used his foot to close the passenger door, then the front door. His carrying continued, holding all of your weight with no strain on his muscles. It was nothing to him; even if it was, he owed you this at the very least.

The remaining energy you had left was put into keeping yourself upright when he set you down. He cut off the faucet, putting his fingers in the water once more to test its warm temperature.

Your eyes remained half-lidded, bloodshot from their lack of oxygen hours ago. His fingers remained gentle, merely brushing against you as he lifted the hem of your shirt until it was off your head.

He kept his eyes trained on the wall ahead as he undressed you, getting you out of the blood-soaked clothes clinging to you. He tossed each piece to the side, then allowed you to get into the bathtub on your own.

When you lifted each sore leg over the edge, he kept his arm out for grabbing. Still, his eyes roamed anywhere but you, allowing you the privacy to sink deep into the water without his prying eyes.

You lowered yourself into the warm water, an audible sigh of relief when it soothed your muscles. The transparent liquid slowly turned a deep merlot the deeper you sank, slowly soaking off the blood stains that littered you.

Limp hands gripped each side of the tub, a blank stare up at the ceiling of the room—the only part of you he did pay any attention to.

“Do you need my help?” He muttered, about to turn and leave you to bathe on your own.

You only responded by a slow head shake, though, it was clear you wanted to say something. At first, he only nodded and reached for the knob, respecting your need for isolation right now.

“Simon,” he heard you croak, prompting him to turn his head again, “stay in the room.”

He dropped his hand, only giving you one more look of reassurance before he returned to his place by the tub. He heard the sound of you scrubbing your skin, the water sloshing around.

Simon waited patiently with his back turned as if it was second nature to him. It wasn’t—this tenderness was new to him, and he didn’t want to stop.

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011 @stunkbiggu @bi-witch-bxtch @warm-milk-with-honey @xheera @kiamewrites @01trickster10 @m0chac0ffee @tizylish @midwesternwitchery

#mw2 #call of duty #mw2 fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost mw2 #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #simon riley angst

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kiwanopie · 2 years

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ran across this picture of pro!hero shinsou and immediately died of brainrot. part time college professor shinsou x bimbo!reader [if you think this is ooc then maybe you should just kiss me on the lips then.] suggestive

Seeing your face in full for the first time is already enough to twist his stomachs in knots. Fold it over itself a few times until it’s tightened in a neat little hitch, and his lungs the pretty bow on top the moment her mouth opens. Plump lips that kiss each word on its way out and nearly leaves him envious. His brain barely registers what’s actually been said until he’s taking a moment to revise.

And then he short circuits.

“Are you interested in having sex?”

Shinsou stands there a little stiller than he should as his student stares up at him curiously, doe eyes blinking expectantly at the older man as the cool training ground air dries out his slightly gaped mouth and his brain buffers at the reality of things.

You breathe in a little briskly before nodding again, looking away briefly like you’re chiding herself. “Oh, sorry,” You redouble. “Are you interested in having sex with me?”

This is his reality right now.

Shinsou Hitoshi is not a religious man, a spiritual man, sure; but he has never been quite so comfortable with the idea of god’s and otherworldly forces - so powerful that they foresee the outcome of his and the lives around him. He doesn’t like the thought of greater powers or deities of any kind. Invisible men that pull his strings or any leveraged omnipotence that could disrupt the equilibrium of reality or nature. He believes in Then and Now, and any paths he may take in the latter are his choice and his doing. His fate will always be in his hands.

….Although - He stares at that familiar soft tawny now softened by the evening sun. Exposed shoulders veiled by dark thickets of bouncing curls and about eight months of over the shoulder glances and lingering stares that are apparently being cashed in right before him. Even a man so dead set on his ideals might have to reconsider at an opportunity like this. Maybe there is a big man in the sky. Maybe he’s been watching him piss away his love life for the past twenty seven years and decided that this was the time to knock him on his ass about it. Maybe this is a gift?

Maybe this is a test.

There’s a long second he spends blowing out empty air before his voice can seep into the atmosphere.

“Wha-…You’re… seriously asking me this?” And he can’t tell if he means that out of disbelief or genuine curiosity.

You must take it as the latter, because you nod so genuinely - so cutely. That his teeth instinctively start to grind against each other. “I hope this isn’t an inconvenient way to ask. You’re usually really busy outside of our training bumps and I doubt your assistant would take me seriously if I made an appointment for this reason.”

“It’s also…” And he almost feels like the weird one for saying this. “…Wildly inappropriate.”

“Oh...” You pause, and for a moment he expects you to finally tune into how bizarre this situation really is.

Until you’re hitting him with another curveball. “Rejecting me would also be fine then, Sensei.”

That makes him openly grimace - throw his head back a bit and remind himself that: No, that isn’t the worst thing you’ve said since this conversation started. And yes, rejecting you was always a valid option. You say it so cooly that he’s almost afraid that you’re indifferent about the whole thing to begin with. Which begs the question:

“What’s this about?” Shinsou furrows.

You finally move your gaze from him to an empty corner of the wall as you fidgets on your feet a few tense seconds, wrapping your arms around yourself with a short hesitant shrug of your shoulders and pout in a way that can only be described as troublesome.

“I’ve… I can’t put all of my focus on climbing up the ranks anymore. Or on studying… or on anything else for that matter,” You start shyly. “All I’ve been thinking about for the past few months is you.”

The more you continue the closer he gets to self-destructing. “To be fair, I thought I admired your skill and resolve. - Which I do. It’s just… I like the sound of your voice and how it sounds when you talk to me. And the way you handle us trainees, and me whenever I mess up. I like the way your fingers feel on my leotard.”

The fact that he can see you riling yourself up at the thought of him, redistribute the weight on your feet like you’re looking for friction - His mouth doesn’t know whether to dry or salivate and for his sake he hopes his suit is thick enough to hide the bulge that’s steadily forming.

“All I can think of is having sex with you, Sensei.” You say truthfully. “And at least if you reject me then the humiliation of that’ll-“

“I’m not gonna reject you.” And the way your eyes light up makes his lungs feel near to bursting. Seriously, have you seen you? What chump would be so out of his mind to pass up something like this?

But he steps in a little closer, enough to get a whiff of oat and honey, and finely scrubbed in sugars. It’s an ego trip to see you start to fluster a bit. Although he’s sure he’s not faring any better.

You’re bathing in his attention. “But _____ - Sweetheart, it sounds like you just have feelings for me.” Shinsou exhales a little breathlessly. “A regular confession would’ve done just fine, and we could’ve gotten to the good parts later.”

“I feel the same way about you, y’know?” He pinches one of your cheeks. “‘Have for a while, actually,”

You simper. “You have?”

He nods with a warm hum. You’d purr in his hands if you could. “And now that everything’s out in the open, don’t you feel a little better? ‘Can finally think straight, huh?”

“No, now I wanna do it even more.”

Ah,

He pats your cheeks a few times as he raises his back to look over at the rest of your fellow classmates, flashes an innocent little lazy smile toward the field as he looks out for any wandering eyes and prays that that overhead bell is close to ringing.

Shinsou finds a secure grip on your jaw when the coast is clear. “Okay,” His smile sharpens. “That’s okay. - Hey, how about you try and make it through this bump and if you can do that; I’ll sneak into the ladies locker room and fuck you stupid. How’s that sound?”

The way your lips form into a pout by the force of his grip nearly has him pulling you forward to press his against them. “S’good, shensei. Thawnk yew!”

#there are some physical descriptors in this unfortunately #i was very much in my own world while writing this #shinsou hitoshi x y/n #shinsou hitoshi x reader #hitoshi shinso x y/n #hitoshi san #mha shinsou #my hero academia shinsou #bnha shinsou #shinsou x reader #shinsou smut #bnha x reader #bnha #bnha shinso hitoshi #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader

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