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fullfiresiren · 3 years

Text

beauty of the dawn

jujutsu kaisen

fushiguro toji x reader

The notion of a loving family was something foreign to Fushiguro Toji. Family, to him, was a bitter word -- full of hate and abhorrence. Abandonment and fear were a commonality in his own childhood. But in you, he finds a warmth he didn’t think he deserved – a home he craved, a love that makes him feel safe; full of gentle touches and soft kisses. But he’s scared. He's broken, and angry, and he knows the threat of his family is always lurking close, snapping at his heels, ready to devour. You bring the notion of family to his doorstep, and he spooks. He panics. He can’t let them find you, he can’t and he has to give up the only feeling of warmth he has ever known to do so.

It haunts him forever – leaving behind the only woman he ever loved, and a child he will never know.

word count: 3.8k.

notes: *inhales* ANGST— lmao but really, I live for it. Toji may be a bad person, but I suck dick, not morals, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ bro I fr don’t even know what came over me. This has been like the smallest headcannon for me and somehow it turned into this horribly sad piece, and although Toji is a dick, I also think he is an incredibly complex character that, at the end of it all, was just a desperate father trying to look out for his child. I think he deserves much more than he got, and he kinda gets shat on in this fic lmao I'm so fuCKING SORRY FOR THAT--

warnings: nsfw/18+, angst, hurt no comfort, abandonment, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader

“Take me,” he prays, panting secrets that fall from his lips onto your soft skin; promises of pleasure as he breeds you deep. “Take all of me.”

And you do – over, and over, and over again.

Hilting him to the deepest part of yourself, and holding him close, so close, his breath a hot ghost across your face as he leans his forehead against yours. You keep him there until he is finished, taking his seed like it was sacrament. He gives you everything he has to offer, and only when you have slipped into a light slumber does he pull away.

He never strays far, though, and he cannot stay away for long. You are like sweet honey and warm sunsets; the breathing embodiment of a life he was never before privy to – the promise of something better; a miracle. Far from the cold depravity and sharp pain of his own family, in you, he found only warm touches, and words of tender affection. Toji feels so overwhelmed by the amount of love he has for you, that sometimes it’s unbearable. He feels so happy he could die.

He is not an honest man, by any means. He kills for a vocation -- and enjoys it, too. It’s something he’s good at. It’s an easy way to make money, and it helps him pay for his half of the rent on the meagre apartment you share. It also lets him keep the fridge full, make sure you’re always warm, and that you’re never without. He doesn’t really care about himself or what he has to do – so long as you’re happy.

The weight of his body is always heavy between your thighs, his chest solid, thrusts slow and deep, stretching you, making a perfect fit for himself inside you. He likes drawing it out – each time he takes you. He enjoys seeing you beg for release, relishes the way your tears slide down your flushed cheeks, because he likes being the one to kiss them away, knowing he is the only one who ever makes you feel this good. His name sounds so perfect when it falls from your lips at your height of ecstasy, and the way you take him in has him swearing he can see heaven.

You see a side of him that no one else does, but he’s dark, he’s toxic. The amount of sadness in his soul is challenged only by the sheer force of his anger. He's sure that he wasn’t always like this, but... he can’t really remember a time when he wasn’t. Everyone and everything was his enemy. He’s never really told you much about his family, or his past. His childhood had been dark, you assumed, based on the way he flinched around children, and steered clear of any conversational topics that included them or parental figures.

Toji Fushiguro was untouchable to everyone, and only just tangible to you.

He wants to be able to give you everything. He wants to lay his head on your chest in the depths of the night when he’s feeling lost, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to come home every night, no matter what happens to him throughout the day, and be able to feel the brush of your soft lips; to taste your tongue with his – god – he wants to. But he’s afraid. He’s scared. If he gives you everything... if he shows you who he really is... what happens if you see something you don’t like? Will you pull away from him? Will you cast him out and abandon him – just like his family did? Toji isn’t feeble by any sense of the word, but he thinks that would be the one thing that would break him.

That’s why he’s only let you see glimpses... and only every now and then.

He’s just so miserable when he’s alone. He’s angry at the world, and you’re the only thing that soothes him. The only thing he has ever loved.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror when he comes home, locked away in the too-small bathroom. You hear the keys turning in the lock; a signal of his arrival, and the door to your apartment opens, bringing with it sounds of paper bags crinkling, keys being tossed into their bowl, and huffing exhales as he struggles to kick his heavy boots off.

“Toji?”

“I’m home!” he calls, his voice a deep timbre in his chest, smooth like rich oak.

You follow it, leaving the safe space of your bathroom to find him, and when you pass the threshold into your small kitchen, he’s lifting bags of fresh groceries onto what little counter space you have. The movement carries with it droplets from an October rain that had caught him by surprise on his walk home, ones that hang from the edges of his black hair and drip down onto his damp black shirt.

“Toji,” you repeat, beaming as you bound into your small kitchen. “I have wonderful news!”

He spares you a glance between unpacking vegetables, dark eyes tracing the curve of your face, hands grasping at packets of food that need to be tossed in the fridge, and cans to be stacked in the shelves.

“Hmm?”

He offers you his face, leaning in close, pausing in his task to receive a small blessing of affection from you — a soft kiss against the scar on his lip that has his eyelashes fluttering closed, and then one more fully against yours – always greedy for any love you bestow, always chasing just one more, just once more, just another, my love, just one more...

He continues with his chore, but only when you giggle at the fluttering of kisses he peppers across your face, your jaw, suckling at your neck, your hands against his chest pushing him gently, urging him to finish his task – but not before you give him another deep kiss, all giddiness and mirth swimming in your gaze. He can’t help the deep chuckle that spills from his lips at seeing you so happy.

“Toji,” you begin, and he’s rummaging in the paper bags, brows furrowed because he could have sworn that he bought three carrots, and not two -- “I’m pregnant!”

He stills.

He can sense your beaming smile, almost feels the warmth of it on his cold skin, and it only makes him shiver.

The seconds tick by without any form of reaction, and the atmosphere grows horribly tense. Toji doesn’t look at you, but he can see from his peripheral vision that your smile slips at the same time that your shoulders round and you make yourself smaller, unconsciously closing off. You’re twisting something in your hands, suddenly nervous, and he has a nauseating feeling that settles in his gut, because he knows exactly what it is that you’re holding.

It’s proof.

“Are you... happy?” you ask, and you hate that you have to. It’s like a punch in the gut, and you’re afraid. This was not the reaction you were expecting at all.

“Are you sure?” he doesn’t know why he asks that.

He isn’t looking at you, and he isn’t moving – he’s not even blinking. You feel your hands becoming sweaty as you clutch the positive pregnancy test, mouth dry. A quickly increasing panic creeps over your skin, gripping you by the throat, and you honestly have no idea how to traverse this kind of response to your news. In the bathroom you only practiced scenarios in relation to a beaming, positive reaction.

Which room should we make into the baby’s room? Our baby can always sleep with us, though, and I know they’re definitely going to prefer you – I'm hopeless with kids... but I hope they look like you, Toji – a perfect combination of everything I love about you!

Do you want to pick names out? I hope it’s a girl... but a boy would be wonderful, too! I know the baby will adore you, no matter what! Do you have any names you like? We can name them after someone you love? If it’s a boy, I want to make his middle name yours...

Why didn’t you think he was going to show apprehension or reluctance? Why were you so idiotic to assume this is something he desired when he’s never given you any signs of wanting to start a family? He’s probably feeling entirely overwhelmed – and no wonder – you have no tact about this. Fuck, you’re stupid. You fucking idiot. Pathetic, dumb, worthless--

“Y-yes,” you reply, and your voice is a shadow of its former self. “I took three tests. I have one here--”

“How.”

You flinch a little under the curtness of his words.

“W-what—?”

“How did this happen?”

“Uhm...” your voice sounds so frail when you speak, and you can't help it. He’s making you feel like you’ve committed a horrendous sin. You’ve managed to combine the epitome of affection between the two of you into the creation of what will become a child – a perfect mix of the two of you, and yet, you’re beginning to hate yourself for doing so. You didn’t mean to... it was an accident... “We don’t... you know... use protection... and we... have sex... a lot...”

“I thought you were taking the pill.”

You feel like you want to throw up.

His entire body is unnaturally still, and he’s not looked at you once since you’ve told him. You are pretty sure that the can in his right hand is warping under the violent pressure of his grasp, and you wring your hands around the test nervously, the weight of it somehow heavy against your palms.

“I... don’t take the pill...” you remind, and then as an afterthought, you add, “I’m sorry.”

Words you never thought you would say in relation to this. You never though you would have to apologize in this kind of situation. You exhale a shaky breath, and it seems to bring him back to reality. He sets the can down on the countertop with more force than needed, and you try your best to blink back tears as you ask, “You’re... not happy... are you...?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and it hurts to say – god, it hurts. The words sting when they leave your mouth, like a hard slap against your face, but the ache is not nearly as bad as the way his silence is wounding you. You feel like you’re about to collapse from the amount of pain you have in your heart.

“I need to go somewhere,” is the most he offers you, before he’s turning on his heels and striding past you, leaving the apartment you share.

The noise of the front door slamming shut echoes in your mind long after the sound itself has gone.

He never did come back.

— — — 5 years later — — —

In the end, you were blessed with a baby girl, all chubby with round, rosy cheeks. Dark hair and eyes like her father, but soft and gentle like her mother. She was an almost perfect child. She never cried, and she never fussed, content in just being close to her mother. She listened when you spoke, and learned fast, growing just as quick, and you would die for her. She was your blessing; Akemi – the beauty of a new dawn.

You’re sure that he would have loved her more than life itself, but you try not to spare any thoughts his way anymore.

Toji gambles his life away, blowing through anything he earns as quickly as he makes it, drowning himself night after night in heavy alcohol to dampen his senses until they are nothing more than a faint hum in the back of his brain.

With any luck, those things will kill him long before the guilt does.

He fucks faceless women, drunk beyond sense, and when he finishes, he leaves before they sleep.

“Hate me, (y/n),” he sneers, turning sharply to vomit up onto the wet asphalt, breath a shaky exhale as he stumbles into the cold night, thoughts only on you – only ever on you – unaware that he’s crying. “Hate me. I fucking deserve it.”

His face is smeared with bile and tears, and he is so fucking angry -- so desperately sad, and he cries, and cries. He wants to go home. He just wants to go home. He wants to meet her – his darling daughter – he wants to hold her, and kiss her forehead, and tuck her into bed. Fuck everything that he thought – he would have been a great father, he knows it – and you knew it, too. He’s so lost without you, and he wants to lay his head on your chest in the safety of your bedroom, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to feel the brush of your soft lips again; to taste your tongue with his, moan your name into your parted sigh, make you feel him again.

He screams, but it catches in his throat before he can, and he splits his knuckles open when he sends a furious punch against a brick wall.

He can protect you from a lot of things – but not the power of his family. Not that. He’s just one man, and they’re so many. He has a heavenly restriction, and they are all blessed with both innate and inherited techniques, passed down through eons. He knows what they’ll do if they ever found out about you – about the child, and Toji swears on everything he has, that he won’t let them touch you – or her. Even if he won’t be able to. Even if he’ll never be able to hold his daughter, to thank her for being born, to cradle her against his chest and feel her wrap her small fingers against his – he won’t let the Zen’in have her. He won’t.

But that doesn’t mean that he deprives himself from watching over her – or you. Eyes follow the two of you home from her pre-school, singing nursery rhymes to your hearts content, watching as she orders “up, up, mommy!”, squealing happily when you lift her onto your shoulders. He imagines himself in your place; lifting her to higher heights, hearing her giggle a chorus of happy songs as your hand finds his, lips on his scar as you tell him how much you love him.

But he always keeps his distance, dark baseball cap shielding his features, and leaves before you feel someone following you.

It becomes increasingly hard to keep it at that. He starts pushing the boundaries, testing how close he can get. He knows he shouldn’t -- he has no right to – but when she dropped her stuffed toy one time in the supermarket, and you were oblivious to it, he finds himself bending down to grasp the too-soft toy in his calloused hands, dropping it in your basket when your back is turned, and your brows are furrowed as you regard the price difference between her favorite flavor of juice compared to the off-brand ones.

The thrill of being so close, of doing something, anything fatherly, was like a fix – a short relief from the aching despair and loneliness constantly plaguing him, and he finds himself doing it more and more – always pushing, always testing the waters. He even smiled at her once when she caught him staring, and she sent her own toothy grin back at him. His heart soared.

His daughter’s name was Akemi, and he first heard it when it fell from your lips one warm afternoon. He wants to write her name on his heart – right beside yours.

He wants to give her something – a pretty gift, but he doesn’t know what. He was never good at buying presents, and would only ever bring you flowers, since it seemed like something that could never go wrong, and would always bring a bright smile to your face. Flowers would be strange for a child, though. He twists the dainty silver bracelet between his large fingers, thinking bitterly that this was the same way you held the pregnancy test all those years ago. He didn’t really care how much it cost him. He’s sure that the salesman added unnecessary tax and extras to the price just to give himself more commission, but Toji doesn’t care – he just wanted something pretty to give to his daughter.

When he finally sees her enter the park, small hand tugging yours happily, his mind goes empty, and he can’t stop staring. You are as beautiful as ever, and it’s no wonder his daughter is so ethereal when she has you for a mother.

She is perfect, he thinks -- too good for this life -- and even though it’s the worst thing he has ever done, he is reminded that pulling away from you was the only way to save her from his family. It looks like she escaped the curse of inheriting any of his bloodline's techniques, and what’s more so – it seems like she, too, is oblivious to curses; skipping past them as she chases leaves that skit about the dirt path of the park, her teddy in her arms. Toji dips his head down when she draws near the bench he’s sitting on, the brim of his baseball cap keeps his face hidden, and his sadness known only to himself.

“Excuse me?”

He bristles when her voice floats past his ears, so gentle and sweet.

“Hey, mister,” she pokes his knee with her slim finger, so tiny compared to the size of his body, and he jerks at the contact. “Is this yours?”

She’s holding the bracelet in her small hand, the silver glinting in the morning sun, offering it up to him with large eyes, so close to him. At this distance, he can see the true color of her eyes – exactly like his own – and the small freckles that dot her skin. The longer he stares, the more his chest constricts painfully, tightly – he’s finding it hard to breathe, and he exhales suddenly, sharply snatching it away from her.

The force of the movement causes her to stumble a little, tripping over her feet, and before she knows it, the man who was once sitting before her has entirely caught her in his large arms, scooping her up before the ground has a chance to harm her.

She blinks once... twice... swaddled in his arms, sitting against his broad chest, and Toji frantically looks for you, finding you caught up in talking to another mother, too busy to notice. He knows he would scold you for it if he was still in your life, but when his daughter laughs, he snaps his head back to look at her, forgetting what thoughts he had in his mind at the glinting sound of her happiness.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, “You’re fast! Thanks for catching me!”

He doesn’t know what to say – if he should say anything at all. His plan was to give her the bracelet, telling her that it was a late birthday gift from someone that loves her very much, and walking off before she (or you) has the chance to catch on or respond. But now that he’s inches away from her, holding her close as she peers up at him, he’s lost again. He’s lost, and he can’t breathe. He needs you to steady him, but you aren’t here, and he doesn’t know what to do, what should he do, what should he--?

“Where did you get that scar from?” she asks innocently, her large eyes suddenly trained on the mark beside his lips.

“F-from an accident,” he mumbles, “a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she hums, hands splayed against his broad chest, looking around her, swaying her legs absentmindedly. “Wow, you’re really tall! I can see everything from up here!” she exclaims happily, “My mommy’s not as tall as this, so when I sit on her shoulders, I can’t see nearly as much as I can now!”

“Oh,” he mutters, not really knowing what to say, “is that so?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “Mommy’s not as big as you are either.”

At this, he gives a genuine laugh – a sound he hasn’t heard fall from his lips in a long, long time, looking at her with quiet adoration.

“She’s not as fast as you either,” she continues, “you were super-fast!”

“She’s strong in her own ways, though,” he mutters, offering her a soft smile.

“Do you know my mommy?”

He bristles, actively avoiding her gaze. His heart is racing from this much interaction with his daughter, and he’s sure she can feel it under her small palm. It beats for her – if only she knew, and Toji contemplates, for the briefest of seconds, just telling her. The thought leaves his mind as soon as it enters. He doesn’t have that choice, and he doesn’t deserve it.

“Not really,” he mutters, dipping down slowly to set her footing on solid ground once more.

“She’s really pretty,” the little girl continues, playing with the soft fabric of his t-shirt in a small moment of fondness and familiarity, “and nice – and she makes great food!”

Toji realises only after the fact that his hand had settled on top of her head, and he’s stroking her hair softly, thumb caressing her cheek when he moves to cup her face. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, and Toji is overwhelmed with a plethora of emotions. Pride in you for doing all this by yourself and raising such a wonderful child, shame for abandoning you and his daughter, mirth, anger, warmth, sadness, love--

“Akemi!” you call, seeing her lift her head at the sound of your voice. “This way, honey!”

“Oh, I have to go now! My mommy is calling me!” she perks up, gripping her teddy a little tighter and offering the man a smile. “Bye-bye!”

“W-wait!” he calls, thrusting the gift into her small hands. “This is for you, uh... f-from me...”

She looks down at it, before her whole face lights up, and Toji is suddenly breathless – she looks so much like you when she’s surprised, happiness blossoming over her face the same way it would on yours.

Toji feels a deep-rooted emptiness inside his body when he watches his daughter retreat away from him; a living embodiment of all his failures to you, and yet, as he sees her long, black hair whip out behind her, he realizes something else — she was your promise delivered; a combination of everything good between the two of you, in itself a miracle. He might not be in her life, but he was also partly responsible for creating something so beautiful, so ethereal.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but if he was ever fortunate enough to be granted a second, it would be a miracle; a holy gift.

A blessing that would accompany the beauty of dawn.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro toji x you #angst #pregnant!reader #abandonment #dilf toji

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Hue and Cry II

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, threats, chase.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find a place to hide for the time being.

Note: Got this done quickly and was surprised with myself. Gearing up to go back to work tomorrow. I’ll try to catch up on responses after work and check in with y’all.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You didn’t stop running until the dawn. You didn’t head for the village as you knew that would be the first place the lord and his party would look. You kept to the forest despite the howls and the hoots of unseen creatures. You stopped to bury your cap and apron under an overturned trunk. If it was known that Barnes was searching out a servant, it would be better to be less obvious.

As the horizon turned to a soft amber, you found an overhang and nestled into the small nook. You turned your back to the bitter morning air and tried to sleep. If you kept going, you would only pass out in the open. Your slumber was shallow and fitful. You were stiff as you woke up just after noon and climbed out of the cranny.

You feasted on nuts and berries gathered along your clueless path, eating as the twigs and branches pulled at your skirts. You weren’t sure where you were or where you were going. You could be out of the county or you could be five minutes from the castle. For your luck, you could have just gone in circles.

The second night you found a cave and slept there instead of pressing on through the dark. You were itchy from a brush with poison ivy and your feet throbbed from the endless trek. You got a few hours under your eyelids before you emerged and carried on.

What were you doing? Where were you going? If you did manage to evade the wrathful lord, what then? Knock on the doors of another castle and barter an apron with your fingernails dirty and your face wind burned?

The third night saw your stomach squeezing painfully as you failed to catch a rabbit and drank from a river eagerly. You slept between two broken logs and woke to the sound of hooves. You didn’t move as you listened to the voices. None were familiar and the only prey they spoke of was some doe they sighted moments ago.

“Nolan spooked the creature just behind the hill, my lord, if we hook around the lea, we might catch it by the stream,” a man said.

“I’d rather the stag. He must be close,” a deeper timbre replied, “you and Nolan take your course and I’ll search these grounds for the mate. Whistle if you sight our game.”

“Yes, my lord,” the other responded and the horses cantered away.

You stayed as you were as you heard the remaining man dismount and tramp over the carpet of leaves. You rolled onto your stomach and wriggled away from the noise and kicked yourself out from between the logs. You kept on your knees as you crawled around the other side and headed for the nearest tree.

His footsteps softened and you kept on, hoping your dirty dress helped you blend into the wild. You pushed yourself behind a trunk and pressed your back to the bark. If you sprinted out, he might just think you another frightened creature. If he sought a stag, he would be uninterested.

You nodded and readied for your flight. You took a breath and yelped as suddenly a figure appeared before you.

“I thought I heard a rustle,” the man said as he looked down at you. He was a lord, you could tell by the pin at the nape of his cape, “you look to be lost, my lady.”

“My lord,” you stood and bowed your head, “I only wandered too far. I can find my way back.”

“Way back where?” his hands went to his hips, “you look as if you have been wandering for a time.”

“I only tumbled and mussed myself,” you lied, “my lord, my apologies, I did not realise this forest was noble land.”

“It is easy to break the threshold of the common lands and the noble sprawl. It would be quicker on horseback to reunite you with your home, would it not?”

“I am grateful for such generosity but I would be remiss to accept, I might go on my way and--”

“Where do you hail from, lady?” he squinted.

“The village over yonder,” you pointed away from him, “it was a game and I did go too far.”

“And the village you speak of? What is it’s name?” he asked.

“Ildersin,” you uttered, one of the three nearest villages to the castle you knew.

“Ildersin? That is far and beyond my holdings,” he tilted your head, “one cannot wander there in less than a day so I warn you now to be honest or I would have your tongue out with hot pincers.”

You gulped and looked away from him. He stepped closer and caught your wrist.

“I could chase you down easy on my horse’s back, trample you into the mud, so answer me now or I will take you to the stocks,” he snarled.

“My father,” you said, “my father, he does beat me and I waited until he was abed to leave but I lost the bundle I did prepare for the escape. You see, my spare clothing and my food… I only did want to be upon my own and toil for one who does not lash me.”

He breathed through his nostrils as his thumb brushed the stitching along your cuff. He dropped your arm and his jaw ticked. His blond lashes flicked and he considered you and the dirt as one.

“You seek work?” he asked, “and asylum from your violent father?”

“Yes, my lord, er,” you blinked innocently, “I know not where I’ve found myself but I would serve you loyal if you would keep me from the stocks.”

“You can hold a broom? Empty a pot?” he asked.

“I can,” you assured, “my lord.”

“You have good manners for a farm maid,” he mused, “I might find a place for you in my kitchens.”

“My lord? You might direct me to the nearest village so I might find labour there, instead, I would not presume to further tax--”

“My castle is big enough, another hand would be more help than a burden,” he stepped back and waved you around the tree, “I will accompany you back to my keep and return to fetch my men… you look to have been out here long enough.”

“Truly, my lord, I--” you saw his impatience in the vein along his forehead and bowed your head, “I am most grateful.”

“Let us be off or my men might be lost without me,” he said.

He lifted you onto his horse and climbed up behind you. You’d never been astride with a man against you, it was awkward and crowded. He snapped the reins and the horse fell into step. He steered it away from your hiding place.

“Might I ask where I am, my lord?” you ventured.

“This is Astrens,” his voice rumbled through you, “And I am its lord, Duke Steven Rogers.”

Your heart sank as you recognised his name and your mistake. He wasn’t easily known with his beard, newly grown since his last visit to the Lord Barnes’ hold. He was of the few who were granted company with the miserly lord of the castle but there was a chance yet he did not know you. You were after all, only a servant.

🏰

Lord Rogers handed you over to his steward. You were reassured as you were given a cap, apron, and a new dress. You washed out of a basin and reported for your new duties.

It might just be far enough away that you wouldn’t have to worry about Barnes. He never went far from his estate and Astrens was out of the way of the capital. Even if it didn’t work, it gave you time to plot a real departure.

You were sent to the laundries to sweat over boiling cauldrons as you stirred the linens with a large stick. The steams seeped through your clothing and left you out of breath as you wrung out the sheets. You hung them outside along the line and helped beat out the old woven rugs.

After nights in the forest, your first day felt far from a return to normalcy. You were in a new place, you had new duties, and you didn’t know anyone in the castle. You’d worked in Lord Barnes’ manor since his father was still alive and you were only a kid. It was only a few years before Barnes took over but you remember it being much easy to ingratiate yourself to the staff.

You were shuffled onto a feather mattress in the servants’ quarters with three others. The snoring, snorting, and coughing kept you awake and you missed the chirp of crickets and scratching of critters. You woke more tired than any night spent among the trees and went back to the laundries.

Your days took on this pattern, sleep, eat, work, and do it all over again. You were forgotten among the other servants and it really seemed like you might just be able to hide among them forever.

Nearly a week into your time as Astrens and the castle blustered to a storm. All the drapes were to be taken down, beat, and washed, and all beds were to be stripped and redressed. Servants littered the corridors scrubbing, sweeping, and running from chamber to chamber. When you asked what the occasion was, the response was vague. Lord Rogers is hosting a guest.

You weren’t used to the rush. Visitors were rare at the other castle and rarely were they accommodated so wholly. If they had a place to rest their head and fill their stomach, Barnes felt they could not gripe. Even his greetings were not required on such an occasion.

You helped with the scourging and scouring of the linens and the drapes. You worked so hard you didn’t even have the energy to gulp down the lumpy stew allotted to the servants. You fell into the heap of your bedmates into dreams laced with your own snores. You dreamt of the forest and the sound of hooves.

Another early morning and the gears began to grind once more. Darcy sent you away from the laundries to help refresh the rushes in the entrance hall with several others. You scattered herbs over the grand carpet that displayed scenes of hunting through the seasons.

You wondered if perhaps Rogers was to be betrothed at last, the news of his first wife’s passing had sent many into gossip even before she was buried. Or maybe the king would make progress to the ancient grounds of the historic castle. You let your mind wander as your body was led by habit.

You heard the rolling of the carriage and the clip clop of horses. You followed several other servants as the tall doors were opened and you peered out into the yard at the party. You backed away as Lord Rogers emerged from the archway that led to the spiraling stairs and crossed the carpet. You could hardly hide your curiosity as you reluctantly followed the other servants. It would be unseemly to remain as Rogers welcomed his guests.

“James!” Rogers’ voice boomed and you stopped just outside the chamber as you looked down the stairs that led to the servants quarters, “it has been too long.”

“It has,” Lord Barnes’ responded and your eyes went wide as Deandra hissed for you to go. You couldn’t move as you listened and she abandoned you with a flutter of her fingers, “you know my father only ever called me James.”

“Ah, Buck, I’m kidding,” Rogers chuckled, “it is a pleasure to have you drag yourself from your hermitage.”

“You would make me regret it already,” the other lord chirped, “but the king did request my presence at the tournament and he did not allow for refusal. I’d prefer to travel with a friend, my only friend.”

“Oh, the sentiment, Lord Barnes,” Rogers preened dryly.

“I don’t know if I should be able to wait to tussle until the tourney,” Barnes jibed, “oh, this old place, has it been so long?”

You shoved yourself away from the door and clamoured down the stairs. You nearly tumbled down the last few and caught yourself on the wall. You sidled past Agnes and towards the laundries. Harriet called after you as you passed and rushed out the doors past the muddy puddles of dirty water and hanging sheets.

The grass was slick beneath your shoes as you raced for the stables. You only needed to hide there for a time and sneak out before they closed the gates. You didn’t make it past the first stall before you heard the steel whine. You turned as Lester greeted you with the tip of his sword.

“The master has been searching for you,” the toothy guard smirked, “oh and what a reward I shall have for bringing him a prize of his own.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #hue and cry #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark fic #dark!fic #fic #series #miniseries #medieval au #au #medieval!au #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #captain america

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the-iceni-bitch · 3 years

Text

Fix You

Pairing: angsty!soft!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Words: 4173

Summary: Bucky has been working hard at getting over the trauma that came from being the Winter Soldier, and you do your best to help him through it. But a particularly painful memory almost breaks him.

Warnings: ANGST (I’m so sorry y’all), explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex (F receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex), soft!broken!Bucky, fluffy ending, TW: this fic contains implications of animal cruelty in a character’s past. It is extremely vague and non-specific but I will put a warning in the text itself if you still would like to read but this particular type of thing upsets you. Please be mindful of it my soft babies!! SMUT, 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: This is my entry to the Happy Hoelentine’s Day gift exchange hosted by the absolutely fabulous @chrissquares, @drabblewithfrannybarnes and @amythedvdhoarder. My giftee was @bucky-the-thigh-slayer happy v-day sweetie! 😘

Soo, apparently, I cannot just write a sprinkling of angst, I have to write cut your heart out of your chest and watch it beat in front of your face angst. This fic made me cry while writing it so if you are a big softie, you might want to skip this one. Don’t worry, I gave everyone a nice, fluffy, soft ending to soothe the pain!

Happy Hoelentine’s y’all! Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!

dividers are made by the lovely @chrissquares

not my GIF

You weren’t sure what had initially roused you from sleep. Maybe it was the fact that you were used to Bucky’s frame being draped over you, smothering you with his body heat. Whatever had woken you at first, the sound of shattering glass snapped you from your dazed state immediately.

You flew out of the bed and ran towards the bathroom. The light was leaking from underneath the door and when you wrenched it open, you swore under your breath.

Bucky was seated on the floor by the tub, his head in his hands as sobs wracked his chest. The mirror over the sink was smashed, pieces of reflective glass scattered all over the counter and across the floor.

You ignored it, not even noticing as you cut the bottoms of your feet while making your way to him. You knelt beside him and drew him to you, tucking his head under your chin as you ran your hands over his back, trying to calm him down.

“I’m here, Buck.” You murmured as you pressed your lips to his hair. His breathing was coming in ragged gasps as he leaned into you, and you could tell he was still upset. “Do you want to talk about it, honey?”

He just shook his head as another sob ripped out of him, his fingers wrapping in your sleep shirt.

You knew this was all part of the process. Bucky had been working with Bruce and his psychiatrist for 6 months now on identifying and moving past his repressed memories, but damn if it didn’t break you heart every time a new one popped up. This one must have been especially painful, he hadn’t had a breakdown like this in months.

“Sweetie, I’m gonna call Bruce, ok?” He was still a mess, even with you there, and it made you worried.

“No, don’t leave me.” He looked up at you desperately as he leaned against your shoulder, his eyes a startling blue from his tears as he pleaded with you.

“Shit, Bucky.” God, you fucking hated seeing him like this. You felt so helpless. “I can call from here. FRIDAY? Let Banner know we need him, stat.”

“Will do, Y/N.” The AI chirped back at you.

You reached your arm to the sink and turned it on, running a washcloth under the warm water before bringing it back to rest against his forehead.

“Y/N? Bucky? It’s me, Bruce.” You heard Banner call from the front door.

“Yeah, we’re in the bathroom.” You called. Your shoulder was soaked with snot and tears as Bucky continued weeping against you.

“Jesus, what happened?” Bruce hissed when he found you, picking his was through the broken glass as he knelt to examine Bucky, opening his medical case.

“I dunno Bruce, I woke up and found him like this.” You did your best to straighten Bucky up as Bruce took his pulse before pulling back to assemble his otoscope.

“Ok, Barnes, I’m gonna give you a sedative, buddy.” Bruce murmured as he dug in his case again, bringing out a vial and syringe. “I called his doctor when I heard from you and she’s on her way, but she was in Chicago for a conference, so she won’t be in until later this morning. She gave me the ok to calm him down for now.”

You just nodded as you stroked Bucky’s hair, doing your best to distract him as Bruce wound the tourniquet around his arm before plunging in the needle. He released the band before pushing down the plunger, and you felt Bucky relax against you almost immediately.

“I hate this so much, Bruce. I just want to be able to do something for him.”

“You’re doing it, Y/N. I don’t think his recovery would be going so well if he didn’t have you.” He looked down at your feet and winced. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“What? Oh, fuck.” Now that Bucky wasn’t occupying your attention, the slices on your feet and knees were throbbing.

“I don’t think you need any stitches, but I’m gonna use some skin glue to keep these from opening up repeatedly.” He muttered, rinsing the cuts with a betadine solution before patting them dry with some gauze.

“Thanks Bruce. Can you help me get him back to the bed?” You asked as he finished his work, throwing a towel over the broken glass and shoving it out of the way.

“Sure.” You each put one of his arms over your shoulders and hauled him to his feet, shuffling awkwardly back to the bedroom. “Dr. Laurent should be here around 10, if you could get him to the med center around then?”

“Of course Bruce, thank you so much.”

He just waved you off as he left, closing the door gently behind him. You changed into a new t-shirt and climbed back into bed, curling yourself around Bucky as you tried to fall back asleep, failing miserably.

It had been two weeks since Bucky’s breakdown. His nightmares had gotten better, but you could tell he was still upset about things. He was barely talking to you, and he hadn’t initiated sex during that whole period. You could maybe coax some small talk out of him over meals, but you could tell he was avoiding talking to you about what he remembered. All you wanted to do was comfort him and he wasn’t letting you.

Dr. Laurent assured you that they were working through it, but that this particular memory was harder to move past. All you wanted to do was comfort him, but he wouldn’t let you close.

The two of you were sitting together in silence, you were going over some field reports with your feet resting in Bucky’s lap as he read some trash mystery novel that you would usually tease him about. Your phone rang from the coffee table and you stretched to pick it up, grinning when you saw it was your sister.

“Hey Frankie!” You said cheerily as you picked up. “What’s going on?”

Bucky smiled to himself sadly as he listened to you chat with your sister. He felt so guilty about what he was doing to you. You were amazing, and kind, but he was so worried that if he let you all the way in, you’d see what a monster he was and leave him.

“Oh my god, a puppy!?” You squealed, and Bucky felt all the blood drain from his face. “Send me all the pictures! We’ll have to come visit soon and meet him.”

Bucky stood up and walked towards the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water and drinking it down greedily.

“Hey, Frankie, can I call you back tomorrow? Great, love you!” You had picked up on Buck’s change in demeanor and followed after him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He muttered, filling his glass again and taking a sip.

You let out a deep sigh at his attempt to dodge. You knew you weren’t supposed to push him, but watching him withdraw from you like this was killing you.

“Bucky, please talk to me.” You pleaded, fighting the urge to go to him and wrap your arms around him, drawing all his pain into yourself as you held him tight.

He shook his head at you as he set his glass down on the counter, avoiding making eye contact. “I can’t.”

You took in a sharp breath at the crack in his voice and your resolve broke. You took three steps forward and pressed your body to his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringin his forehead down to lean against yours.

“It’s ok, I’m not going anywhere.” You murmured, bringing up one hand to run through his hair, trying your best to soothe him as you watched tears leak from his eyes.

“Promise?”

“Fuck, of course I promise.” You murmured before pressing your lips softly to his. “Bucky, I’m not going to leave you. I love you.”

He buried his face in your neck and let out a deep sigh, inhaling your scent and letting the warm comfort of your body relax him. You kept stroking his back and hair, waiting for him to speak.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️

“When I first woke up,” He started after several minutes of silence, still not looking at you. “They would never let me outside. It was almost a year before I saw sunlight. They eventually let me out once they were sure the brainwashing had done its job, but only for a little while. There was…”

He choked on his words and you made soft soothing sounds against his cheek, doing your best to not hold your breath as he opened up to you, worried you were going to spook him like a baby deer.

“There was this tiny stray mutt I found on the compound one day. It was hiding in a little hole in the wall with an injured paw, scared of everything. I managed to sneak out some of my rations the next day for him, and did the same thing for the next week. He wouldn’t take the food from me directly, but I would leave it for him, and it would all be gone when I came back.

“It took a few weeks before he would take the food from my hand, and a couple more before he would let me pet him. Seeing that little guy was the best part of my day. The only break I had from the fighting and the torture. Sometimes he’d crawl into my lap and curl up, and those were the days I thought about making a run for it.” Bucky finally looked at you, giving you a sad smile as he pressed his forehead to yours again before screwing his eyes shut. “I named him Vladik.

“I don’t know why it took them so long to figure out he was there. The guards were supposed to be watching my every move. I wasn’t supposed to have anything for myself, no happiness or solace. And that was all he was. Just a harmless little friend. But the Soldat couldn’t have any friends.

“When the doctor in charge of my programming found out, he told me to bring him the dog, and he… he made me…”

⚠️END TRIGGER WARNING⚠️

He started sobbing before he could finish, and you felt tears running down your own cheeks as you held him tightly, the two of you sinking to the floor as Bucky wept in your arms. You curled yourself around him, wishing you could do something to just take all of that pain from him.

It was an hour before either of you moved. You were stiff from leaning against the counter for so long, but until Bucky started to straighten up, you didn’t even notice. He drew you up after him and you moaned as you unfolded yourself, your legs tingling as blood rushed back into them.

“I love you so much, Y/N.” He whispered against your hair with a heavy sigh, drawing you into another deep embrace. “Fuck, I’m exhausted.”

“I love you too, honey.” You murmured, pressing your lips to his forehead. “I’ll be right there.”

You left him to strip out of his clothes as you headed to the bathroom, locking the door behind you as you splashed cold water on your face, trying to keep yourself from having a meltdown.

You were so relieved he had finally opened up to you. But every fiber of your being just wanted to fix all of this, and the fact that you couldn’t was killing you. You choked back a sob as you bent over the sink, bile rising in your throat. It took you a few minutes to fully calm down, but you got your emotions under control with some deep breathing.

You splashed your face a few more times before heading back out to the bedroom. Bucky was still up, sitting on the edge of the bed as he waited for you. He gave you a small smile as you walked toward him, wrapping his arms around your middle and nuzzling his face against your stomach. You moaned as he started to lift your shirt, pressing his lips to your skin softly as his fingers traveled to brush against your breast, squeezing it gently.

He held you tightly and turned his body until you were laying on the bed underneath him. He crawled up your torso slowly until his face was hovering above yours. His vibranium palm cupped your cheek softly as he gazed into your eyes before bending to kiss you, his mouth needy against yours as he bit at your lips before pressing his tongue to yours, drawing a whine from your throat.

Bucky ran his hand down your throat before his fingers started working to unbutton your blouse. He made quick work of it and his mouth moved to your neck as he slid it down your shoulders. You gasped and moved your hands to wind in his hair as he unclasped your bra and wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking softly and swirling his tongue around it until it was peaked and sensitive. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he moved to your other nipple, and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he continued to move down your body.

His tongue dipped into your navel as he worked at undoing your jeans, pulling them down your legs swiftly along with your panties before diving between your legs.

He had missed this. Those soft sounds of want you made were a panacea for his wounds, soothing his heart as he moved his lips over your sex, his tongue running through your folds as he lapped up your arousal. You arched into his mouth when he pressed against your clit, your hands digging into his hair as his hands gripped your thighs, keeping you spread open for him.

He moaned against you as you wriggled beneath him, your back arching and relaxing as he brought you closer to your release. You grip on his hair was bordering on painful as you tightened it, and he relished your loss of control as you fought to close your thighs around his head and press him even closer.

“Mmm, Bucky!” You moaned as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly. He finally released your legs and you wrapped them around his neck as he pushed two metal fingers into you, making you yelp.

He scissored his fingers inside you, stretching your canal as he drew obscene squelches from deep within you. He loved the feel of your pussy clenching and fluttering around him, trying to draw his fingers even deeper inside you as he edged you towards your climax.

When he curled them against that sweet, secret spot within you, you lost it. Your heels duck into his shoulders and your back arched you off the bed violently as you clamped down on his fingers. You screamed as your release flowed into his mouth, making him moan as it covered his chin. He licked his lips as he straightened above you, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. It tasted like home.

He gazed down at you lovingly as he removed his boxers, kicking them away before bending to kiss you deeply. Bucky kept his mouth on yours as he crawled onto the bed, tucking his knees under your thighs as he pressed one palm against the small of your back, drawing you up to straddle his lap.

“I love you so fucking much.” He whispered against your lips, running his fingertips through your hair before his tongue was invading your mouth, curling against and tangling with yours as he stole all the breath from your lungs. His metal hand curved over your ass as he ground his hips into you, running his cock through your slick folds. “I need to hear you say it, please doll.”

“God, Bucky. I love you.” You panted as he positioned himself at your entrance, making you whine as he breached you with just his tip. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he pulled you onto him and you hissed through your teeth as you stretched around his length, relishing in the sting you felt each time he entered you.

“Never leave me.” He pleaded as his hips started moving, his thrusts slow and sensuous as he stared deeply into your eyes, watching your face contort with pleasure as you lost yourself in the feeling of being filled with him.

“Never.” You murmured as he buried his face against your neck. “Fuck, baby.”

Your head rolled back as he picked up the pace just barely, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with each thrust and bringing you close to your edge. He nuzzled himself between your breasts and mouthed against your soft slopes gently as you tightened one hand around the back of his neck.

One particularly forceful drive had you falling backwards with a gasp. You managed to catch yourself on one arm and you pressed your toes against the mattress on either side of his hips, doing your best to keep your balance as your pussy clenched around him.

“Fuck, right there.” You whispered, your nails digging into his neck.

He brushed his teeth against your nipple and you almost collapsed against the bed, but Bucky wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly to him as your body spasmed uncontrollably, quivering in his grasp as your pussy fluttered and your release seeped out of you, soaking both of your thighs.

“You feel so good doll.” He murmured against your chest as he kept fucking into you, still moving in rich, deep plunges that made it hard for you to breathe. “So tight and warm. I fucking lose myself in this pussy.”

All you could do was whine as you wrapped your legs around his waist and gripped his neck tightly. You took in a sharp breath when he suddenly lifted himself off his knees and pushed even deeper into you, his cock hitting a new spot inside you that had you seeing stars. He gripped his hands tightly at the small of your back as he ground against you.

He hit you at just the right spot and you came again, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his hair as your body vibrated against his. He inhaled your scent with a moan as he fell forward, catching himself on his vibranium hand before he collapsed on top of you.

You kept your body wrapped tightly around his as he held you in that position with one arm, carrying all of your weight as his hips started moving violently, slapping against the back of your thighs as soft wet sounds came from between the two of you. It only took a few thrusts before you were cumming again, screaming against Bucky’s neck as the coil in your stomach snapped, your muscles finally giving out as you rode the wave of your pleasure, your body rolling underneath him as you released his neck and he let you sink back onto the bed, your arms falling above your head and your feet coming to rest on either side of his knees.

Bucky kept one arm hooked under the small of your back, arching your body at a beautiful angle as his hips started to stutter, his cock twitching inside of you as he neared his own end.

“Gimme one more doll.” He whispered, mesmerized by the way your tits bounced with each thrust of his hips, and the way your face had that blissful, fucked out look as you bit your lip and screwed your eyes shut.

He ground his hips in a circle with his next thrust and smiled as your body tried to curl off the bed. You sobbed as you came, crying his name as your thighs squeezed his hips and your cunt milked his cock. He collapsed on top of you as he came right behind you, his spend shooting into harshly, painting your canal in thick white ropes as his hips stilled.

You held him to you tightly, refusing to let him go as the two of you drifted off to sleep. All you wanted was to rest with him inside you, and he needed to feel you around him, to let you know that you were his home, his haven against all the pain of his past. You smiled as you felt his breath grow deep with sleep, your hand resting on his back as your own slumber took you.

Bucky made a lot of progress over the next few weeks. Telling you had lifted a weight from his shoulders that he didn’t realize he was carrying. His sleep was still interrupted by nightmares occasionally, but every time he woke up to find you next to him was like a balm for his soul.

He was finally starting to feel truly happy, and that made you happy. Dr. Laurent had finally given the ok for him to start going on missions again, and that was great, but he really found fulfillment at home with you, and the best part of his day was when he walked through the front door to find you waiting for him.

You were excited for Valentine’s Day. It felt like the first holiday you could really enjoy as a couple as he had made so much progress. You were thankful that Steve had kept him occupied all day, giving you a chance to work on your present for him. He was out for a run in the rain right now as you put the final touches on the meal, reviewing the recipe a final time as you set the table, shrugging to yourself and lighting the candles.

You almost dropped your match when you heard him open the front door, cursing as you narrowly avoided setting the tablecloth on fire.

“In here baby!” You called as he came inside, shaking himself from the rain. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Aww, doll, this looks… is that aspic?” He asked, one eyebrow cocked as he eyed the meal you had set out for him.

“Sure is!” You said with a grin as you eyed the brown, gelatinous entrée, doing your best to tamp down your nausea. “Steve said it was your favorite back in the day, so I decided to surprise you.”

“Steve?” He asked, a grin spreading over his face as he ran his fingers through his hair. “You asked Rogers what to get me for Valentine’s Day?”

You studied the look on his face and looked back at the meal, considering things.

“That motherfucker.” You said as he broke down, laughing hysterically. “I’m going to murder that giant.”

“I can’t believe you thought I would actually like this!” He said, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I dunno, the 30s were a weird time!” You cursed yourself in your mind for being so gullible. “Well shit, I wasted a whole day. I’m ordering Chinese.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself doll, it’s the thought that counts.” He said, giving you a mock pout before wrapping his arms around you and kissing your hair. You yelped when you felt something move in his hoody.

“What the fuck, Barnes?” You screeched as his pocket squirmed, something inside it making a tiny squeaking sound.

“Uhh, don’t be mad.” He said sheepishly as he tucked his hand into his pocket and drew out a tiny, white kitten who was screaming bloody murder. “I found her in a ditch when I was on my run, and it didn’t seem like her mother was anywhere nearby. I didn’t want to just leave her out there.”

“Oh my fucking god, Bucky!” You reached out and he handed her to you. You wrapped your hands around her loosely and cradled her against her chest. “We need a heating pad.”

“What?” He asked confused for a second.

“She’s barely a week old honey, she can’t regulate her own body temperature, go get my heating pad from the bathroom.”

“So, we’re keeping her?” He asked, a grin spreading over his face as he rushed into the bathroom.

“Of course we’re keeping her Barnes.” You scoffed at him. “FRIDAY, we need kitten milk replacer as soon as possible, and specialty feeding bottles for newborns. And get a vet here too.”

“On it, Y/N. There’s a house call veterinarian that can be here in one hour, and the rest of your supplies should arrive within 30 minutes.”

“Thanks FRIDAY.” You were making soft cooing noises at the baby as Bucky came back into the room with the heating pad, and he practically groaned at the smile you gave him.

“Happy Valentine’s day, doll.” He murmured as he kissed your hair and wrapped one arm around you, handing you the heating pad.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Buck.” You whispered back at him. “What should we name her?”

“What do you think of Alpine?”

Tags!

@buckysnumberonegirl @slothspaghettiwrites @captain-asguard @starlightcrystalline @harrysthiccthighss @quxxnxfhxll @bonkywobble @chrisevanscardigan @chubbybuckydumpling @StanAllStarks @blackestpinkworld @fistmebuckyskywalker @wandering-spiritash h @khadineberry @shutupstevie @muzzyandbusy @slytheriin2002 02 @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl @isysen en @drabblewithfrannybarnes @stargazingfangirl18 @jack-skellingtons-stuff @chrissquares

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buildmeafairytale · 3 years

Text

Demon Boyfriends: Elow &Siphorus

Suprise! I wrote something! What’s better than one demon boyfriend, you ask? Two demon boyfriends, duh. I started this literal months ago, and I’m not going to lie, it's very self indulgent and porny. My praise kink is clear and in full swing. I was going to make one of the characters a hard core brat but he turned soft, what can I say. Anyways, I hope you guys like this! This is a link to my Ko-Fi, everything is appreciated but nothing is expected. <3

Life has been going great for you. Too great, really. You landed a well paying job in a cute small town named Talon Valley. You found the cottage of your dreams in the forest a few miles out of town. It was perfectly desolate and had a garden already set up in the back, as well as shelves that will work perfectly to store your potions. You already picked a great altar space, as well. It was your first time living alone, and you were excited to finally practice your craft in peace.

Except there was no peace, and you soon discovered you were not alone. At first, the misplaced items didn’t phase you. You were still unpacking and you really didn’t know where you set things most of the time anyway. Only after the first couple weeks when things were supposed to be in their places, did you start to notice.

You were a witch, sure. But that didn’t mean you weren’t easily spooked. You didn’t want to make things worse, so instead of doing a cleanse that could anger something stronger than you, you did a few charms and protection spells on yourself. That did nothing to stop the tiny torments. If anything, they increased. Not only were several potions moved, but they were mixed together haphazardly. Then your blinds would open after you had closed them, or your fridge would be left cracked. All harmless things, but knowing someone or something else was doing this was enough to have you constantly on edge. You just wanted to relax, dammit!

You never thought of this side of living alone. During the day, you were living in a beautiful cottage in the lush green forest, but at night it felt as though you were in a haunted cabin in the woods. You really couldn’t take it anymore. You had cried and whimpered all night when you felt you were being watched, and by the time the sun rose you had resolved to deal with this.

You gathered some materials and made your way out of the house. After all, a summoning spell required a lot of concentration and you certainly wouldn't be able to do it in there. You found a nice clearing not too far from your home, and set up. You lit a few candles, did a few incantations, and waited. You were about to give up when, in a puff of smoke, a demon appeared. They were crouched down with blue flames dancing around them, but even still they seemed massive.

As the demon uncurled and stood himself upright, it seemed as though more and more limbs appeared. You counted six arms coming out of him, his whole body a gradient of black to white. His pitch black fingertips seemed as though they were covered in soot, and as you got closer to the middle of his body his skin was more and more milky white. Hooved feet clap on the ground. He had dark eyes and horns like a ram’s curled on the side of their head, with long black hair in between, and he towered over you.

He lowered himself and took your shaking hand in one of his large ones, his pure white eyes staring at you.

“It is lovely to meet you, my master,” his voice is like velvet, and he flashes you his sharp teeth at you before placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. “They call me Siphorus. I cannot wait to be of service to you.”

You let out a bleating laugh, unsure what to make of this. You weren’t expecting such a large and powerful demon to come; you weren’t even out of the broom closet and this kind of thing should take years of real practice.

“Um, master?”

He chuckled under his breath, “Yes, master,” he rose, “You summoned me and I am under your command. I promise to fulfil anything you ask of me.”

You ignored his suggestive promise. Smooth as he may be, you were out in the middle of the woods for a more important reason. “You can just call me Lily if you’d like? And well, I sort of need your help with something?”

“Like I said, I am under your command, master,” he prompts you, a clawed finger lifting your chin up.

“There’s something in my house,” you tell him, clearing your throat and putting some space in between the two of you. “Something spooky and it...watches me I think. I don’t know how to make it go away by myself.”

“A powerful witch such as yourself?” he frowns “No matter, I shall play the role of your gallant protector.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Honestly, who talks like that? For someone who looks so formidable, he’s a bit on the odd side. At least he is going to help you.

He starts towards your house, although you aren’t sure how he knows the way.

“Ah yes, I can feel his presence here.” Siphorus opens the door for you with a flourishing gesture.

As soon as one of his hooved feet lands on the other side of your doorway, chaos breaks out. Cabinets are slamming, furniture is being overturned, and the lights are flickering.

“She is MY master! GET OUT!” A voice yells out as lightbulbs start to explode. You let out a scream as glass flies at you, covering your face and burying it in the stomach of the demon by your side. With a wave of his hand Siphorus halts the glass midair, something you probably could have done if you hadn’t been so panicked. You step away from him once again, your face hot. You try to convince yourself it’s from his inner hellfire, but you aren’t too sure.

Siphorus clicks his tongue in a disapproving manner. “Now now, let us not make a mess of our sweet Lilians home, hm?”

An angry hissing sound responds back, things slamming and shaking but nothing as messy.

“This is quite the tantrum. Honestly, show yourself and be gone!” Siphorus calls out, and a figure starts to appear.

White hot flames spiral out in your living room and from within it steps another demon. This one is almost as tall as Siphorus, but not quite. He is lanky, and his skin textured, light colored but red seemed to be pumping underneath, as if it was scar tissue. This one only has one pair of arms, and has no hair. His eyes are cat-like and stare straight at Siphorus, flames around him roaring even stronger.

“GET OUT!” the figure yells, and you flinch into Siphorus once again.

The flames suddenly go out, and you turn to see the other demon looking at you now.

“What,” he paused, swallowing thickly. “What is going on? Did you...find a new demon?” He asked, his voice sounding distraught. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You stand there confused at his words. He doesn’t sound scary at all, if anything he sounds heartbroken. The fear melts away, and you take a step away from Siphorus.

“What do you mean a new demon? This one belong to you?” Siphorus asks, eyebrow raised. You just shake your head, and he heaves a dramatic sigh.

“Of course I belong to her. I became attached to her weeks ago and she brought me home. She was walking in the forest and I felt her energy. It was lonely so I came with,” he hissed these words out, eyes turned to slits.

“She was scared and I had to keep her safe! She was making protection charms and satchels and sticking them everywhere.”

“From you, you nimwit! She didn’t even know you were in the house!” Siphorus admonishes him, “You should have at least presented yourself!”

His face falls further and the demon places himself on one of your dining room chairs, dwarfing it.

“But, she never asked for me? I was never summoned to do her bidding, or had any reason to show myself. I just thought she knew I was here, and would ask me if she needed anything. Since she didn’t ask, I just watched over her.” he sniffles, and you get a knot in your throat.

A pitiful “Oh,” passes through your lips. You move over to him, letting him scoop you onto his lap.

“I just wanted to be a good demon, I’d never had a master that was such a nice witch,” he whines high in the back of his throat, nosing at your hair. You coo at him the way you would a scared puppy, doting on him with attention and sweet pets on his scarred and hairless head.

You then hear a scoff from Siphorus, both you and the new demon turning to look at him.

“What?”

“The two of you are absolutely pitiful, do you know that?” Siphorus asks, baffled.

You stay cuddled up, “Well, wait - what is your name?” you look up into his eyes, his fangs pushing into his soft looking lips.

“Elow, master,” he replies into your hair, still trying to get as close as possible to you.

“Elow, it’s nice to meet you,” you tell him, giving him a sweet smile he readily returns. “Well I’m absolutely fine with Elow staying. And I don’t think we’re pitiful.”

Siphorus sputters. “Well, I suppose we have a bit of a problem, then. You summoned me to get rid of him, and I cannot leave until your summons are completed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just don’t feel good about making him leave now, Siphorus.” You tell him, and feel Elows long arms wrap even tighter around you.

“Yes, Siphorus. Please don’t make me leave now,” Elow asks him, eyes wide.

You assure Siphorus you will help him in any way that you can.

“You can stay here until we figure out how to let you go back, of course. I- do you sleep?” you ask them. “I can get some rooms ready for you!” And you scurry off, hoping that the two demons get along.

You aren’t sure how to act now that you have both demons staying in your home. Firstly, you layout some ground rules as far as Elow touching your potions and leaving the fridge door open. He looks so sad after your gentle scolding, so you take some time to comfort him as well. The two of you snuggle up on your small couch and watch a movie. He’s informed you that he has been starved of contact for a long while, and he basks in your touch. You enjoy it as well, and his warmth lulls you to sleep. When the two of you wake, you are covered in a blanket. It’s soft and black, and not one you had seen before. It smelled slightly of fire.

The three of you had settled into a routine. On the days you went to work, you came home to a clean house, and a meal. It was all so domestic, and occasionally one or both of your demons would produce a human glamour and come with you into town. They always kept on sunglasses, though, because they couldn’t change their eyes. You doubt the inhabitants of Talon Valley would mind. Siphorus had informed you that most of the people living here were some kind of supernatural being. As a witch, you fit right in.

So well, in fact, that you had befriended another witch already. She was much more confident in her abilities, and had already figured out a solution to Siphorus being stuck with you.

Coming back from a visit with her, you had mixed feelings. You had a solution, sure, but you had grown so fond of your demon. You didn’t want to let him go, and already felt hollow just thinking about him departing. You creak the front door open while lost in thought and were unprepared for what you were seeing. Standing in shock, you take in the scene before you.

Through the doorway, you can see Elow on top of Siphorus. His head is thrown back, and high pitched moans leave him. You can make out the deep bass of Siphorus encouraging him as Elow bounces on his cock, thoroughly impaled. Siphous is leaning back on one set of hands, with the others on either side of Elow’s hips and face. Elow’s own hardness bobs between his thighs, long and thick. It’s textured like the rest of him, but redder. You feel your own face get hot, and the gasp that leaves your lips is what finally catches your demons’ attention.

Elow is embarrassed and won’t look at you, trying to hide behind a tangle of sooty arms. Siphorus just smirks at you, taking in your doe-eyed appearance. You feel as if your heartbeat is between your legs.

“Isn’t our Elow so beautiful,” he draws out, running his hand along the other demon’s flank. Elow shudders, still fully seated, and you nod. “So beautiful, so good for me. For us,” he purrs into Elow’s ear, his milky eyes still locked on yours. This time Elow actually moans, weather that be from the thickness spearing him open or the words alone, you are unsure. Siphorus beacons you closer, and you feel as though you are under a spell.

With a touch of your magic, the door is shut and locked. Your feet carry you closer to them, and Elow peaks at you, somehow both demure and debauched. He isn’t much smaller than Siphorus, really, but he looks tiny like this. He whispers a “Hi,” into your hand, kissing it gently. You return the sentiment, caressing his face. He squirms and whimpers, and you see his cock jump. “Oh, honey,” you coo, and pull him in for a sweet kiss. One of Siphorus’s hands tangles in your hair, while the other of the set is on Elow’s head, encouraging you two. He encourages you vocally too, his pleased throaty moans making your kiss turn feverish.

“Join us, master,” Siphorus implores you, a hand wandering down your thigh.

Behind the lust you feel for them, a sense of nervous insecurity rises when you go to take your clothes off. You pull off your outerwear, taking your time. Your demons must sense your hesitance, as they pull you between their intertwined forms, Elow at your back.

“Shh master, just focus on my hands,” Elow tells you, ever so sweet. His hands move along your breasts, kneading the flesh there. One rises up, covering your throat. He doesn’t apply any pressure, just holds his hand there. His thumb comes up to brush along your lips, and you take it into your mouth without a conscious thought, sucking and wrapping your tongue around it, an action that draws moans from both of your demons.

“Do not try to hide from us,” Siphorus’s voice is but an echoing growl, teeth pressing into your ear. “We can smell you, master. The air is thick with your want, let us serve you.” From where you rest on his torso, you can feel his hips moving, along with Elow’s hardness pressing against your lower back. You whimper around the thumb in your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Elow removes his hands, and you let out a pleading moan, not wanting them to stop.

“You have to tell us, master. Tell us what you want, and it’s yours, please,” Elow says, his voice a breath of a whisper.

“Yes, darling, just tell us,” Siphorus echoes the sentiment, and you feel dizzy with want.

“Please,” you breath out, “Please touch me. Take me,” you plead to them.

No sooner do the words leave your lips their hands wrap back around you. You push your butt back onto Elow’s pulsing cock, rolling against it. He whimpers out, and you can only imagine how full he must feel. You use your magic to take your clothes off, not wanting to break the contact with your lovers. Feeling them against your skin is worth any nervousness you may have been feeling. Siphorus captures your mouth in a kiss, and although you may be his master, it is clear who is in control. The press of his teeth to your lips has your hips jerking, and you’re sure they can both feel how wet you are perched on Siphorus’s muscular abdomen.

Siphorus’s hips are moving harder now, meeting Elow’s bouncing ass. A pair of Siphorus’s hands wrap around your hips and in one fluid motion, hovers you on top of his face. Your hands find his horns, steading yourself. He makes a loud, wounded noise at your grip, and Elow moans out at the particularly hard thrust that follows. You take that as a sign to loosen your hold, and pack his reaction away in the back of your mind for another day. You then look down and see Siphorus’s tongue, so very long and pink, seeking out your heat.

He suddenly growls, and flips you around so that you’re facing Elow, and his tongue presses into you. It stretches you and you feel it press against your walls, long enough that it can still curve to press to your clit. The sensations are overwhelming, and you cannot help but rock against them.

You get to watch Elow being fucked, and you meet his mouth in a frenzied kiss. Both of you are being held tight by Siphorus’s hands, being pleasured by him. The hands around Elow are thrusting him up and down, and the peek you get of Siphorus’s member has you clenching harder around his tongue. He laps up the wetness spilling from you as if he is starved, the noises coming from him sound as if he is tasting salvation. Elow acts much the same, drinking from your mouth as if it is the finest wine.

You feel all too much and not enough, and you wrap a hand around Elow’s cock. It’s hot and heavy in your grip, and Elow turns to putty, begging.

“Please don’t stop, please master,” he whines, high in his throat. Incoherent noises keep coming, and you assure him you won’t stop, pressing yourself further onto Siphorus.

“Not gonna stop honey, wanna make you feel good. Such a sweet demon, aren’t you? My sweet demon.” You praise him and his movements turn jerky. The noises leaving him become even more frantic and high pitched. He reaches a crescendo and spills into your hand, covering you in his thick white cum. You don’t stop until he is pulling away from your hand, a whimpering mess convulsing on your other demon's cock. Your other demon, who is now redoubling his assault against your cunt, seems close as well. You watch him tense up and with an animalistic grunt, fill up Elow with his seed. His tongue is still fucking into you, and the visual he and Elow provide is all that is needed to push you over the edge, tensing and jerking away as your climax leaves you breathless.

The three of you pull yourselves apart, you considerably more out of breath than your demons, who are much quicker to recover. Elow is behind you while Siphorus leans upright against the couch, stretching out his many muscles and preening before you. You let your eyes rake over him, and you feel desire bubbling in your skin.

His nostrils flare, and his eyes dig into you even harder, predatory. You feel your heart pound and you’re sure he can smell your want, just as he said.

“Oh, Lily, you think we are done with you?” Siphorus asks you, reaching over to tuck a sweat soaked strand of hair away from your face.

“I hope not,” you whisper out, ignoring how hot you feel your face getting. You gnaw on your lip, and feel Elow stretch his arms out. You lean into them, already feeling breathless.

“C’mere master, please? Can I have you this way?” He asks, tucking you to his front. One hand moves to rest on your throat while the other goes to your leg. You nod eagerly, letting him hoist your leg up as he nudges his member against your opening. He ruts against you before seating himself inside in one lazy thrust. All of your nerve endings are ablaze, and your hands wrap around his forearm, keeping his hand pressed against your neck. He keeps a slow pace, and molasses runs through your veins. The moans that leave you sound desperate, and you watch as Siphorus fists his cock, his other hands tweaking his nipples and moving up and down his body.

You can feel the magic he is putting off, and it’s as if his hands are touching you from where he is in front of you. He is content with watching this time, it seems.

“Deeper, Elow. Give it to her deeper.” Not just watching then, apparently. He is giving orders as well. You moan out as Elow follows his direction and presses deeper into you, an eager “Yes'' leaving his lips. A phantom hand, courtesy of Siphorus, is circling your clit. The slow but persistent pleasure had you throbbing and jerking back into Elows arms, the two of you overstimulated together in the best of ways. More phantom hands ghost over you and go to Elow, who lets out a whorish moan at the feeling.

“Good boy, just like that,” Siphorus praises and nods.

You whimpered and met his milky gaze, “You too darling, you’re such a good girl for us. Such a good little master, aren’t you?” he asks, his smirk downright predatory.

His words pull a noise out of you that you didn’t think you were capable of making. Between his words, phantom hands, and Elow’s deep movements massaging your inner walls, you don’t last long. You feel yourself tense again, sparks flying through your veins as you milk the cock nestled deep inside you. Siphorus is still talking to the two of you, praising you though you can’t make out the words. Elow finishes too, locking himself inside you as he fills you with his seed. He grunts and makes breathy sounds into your neck as he continues to fill you.The warmth of it has aftershocks rippling through you, and you lean your head back against his shoulder as the two of you enjoy your afterglow. He slips from you minutes later, and you feel his plentiful cum running down the inside of your thighs. You should feel a bit grossed out, but all you feel is sated and claimed.

Siphorus must have finished with you as well, since you feel tendrils of his magic cleaning you up. They run up and down your body, prompting you to further melt into them. Your eyes peek open and he is there, smiling and pressing his lips to your forehead. “Shh, let me get us comfortable,” he tells you, before conjuring up a nest of blankets and cushions for you, all with a subtle fiery scent. You and Elow don’t even have to move, all the better since you still very much feel boneless. If Elow’s soft and content noises are anything to go by, he feels the same. Siphorus nuzzles himself in, the three of you tangled together.

“May I admit something, my dearests?” he asks us, answered only with a humming affirmative.

“I- Well, I didn’t have to stay. I’ve been free to leave but I just really, really wanted to stay.” You had not heard him sound so vulnerable before, and you squeeze one of his hands. You’re surprised, but not upset by the news. If anything, it lifts a weight off of your shoulders.

“Pft, tell me something I did not already know,” Elow teases him, his eyes still closed and a smile on his face.

Siphorus sputters, taken aback, but it turns into hearty laughter.

“I’m glad you stayed,” you tell him, kissing him in your half - asleep state.

The blankets and content hum of magic in the air lull you to sleep, surrounded by your loves.

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barelyalivebutnotdead · 3 years

Conversation

Chaos

[The bat-brothers: Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian sitting at the dining table in the Wayne Manor. They all sit in chairs lines up, facing the Fanon version of themselves: 'Perceptions']

Tim: (reluctantly) So, these guys are our 'perceptions'?

Dick: (nodding, slightly uncomfortable) Yeah, Zatanna said she will drop by once she has figured out to fix this without collapsing the multiverse in on itself.

Tim: (gulps and points at Fanon!Tim sitting directly opposite to him) Why do I- I mean, why does he look like that?

[Cut to Fanon!Tim with sunken cheekbones, pale skin, skinny frame and dark, chapped lips. He looks undernourished and his eyes are laden with dark circles from sleep deprivation. He looks like a zombie.]

: readmore:

Tim: (whispering to his brothers to not offend the Fanon versions) He looks like a zombie...

Dick: (speechless)

Damian: (Smirks) That's the vibe you emit, Drake. Face the truth.

Jason: (also speechless, raised eyebrows, regrets life and death decisions that led up to this moment.)

Dick: (has the most optimistic 'wtf' look on his face looking at Fanon!Dick)

[Cut to Fanon!Dick sitting on the chair with a huge, 440-watt smile. He looks like the himbo version of a dog wagging his tail.]

Dick: (in both wonder and bemusement) I swear I can see rainbows and sunshine in his eyes...

[Dick internally wonders where Fanon!Dick got the childlike innocence from, considering his sanity has been crumbling for a long, long time now]

[THUMP!]

[Cut to Fanon!Tim faceplanting on the table. Jason looks like he regrets coming back to life. Tim is unsure what to do. Damian's eye is twitching from being around the Fanon imbeciles. Dick is this close to giving up on everything.]

Fanon!Jason: Oh no, baby bird! (Worriedly goes to Fanon!Tim and lifts his head)

[Fanon!Damian sits with hands folded and a scowl, in Fanon!Dick's lap, who hold him very dearly]

Jason: What the fuck?

Tim: What the fuck?

[Fanon!Jason lifts Fanon!Tim's head to reveal a... Less than pleasant face]

Fanon!Tim: (in a very scratchy, weak voice) Coff- coughs -fee! (and then THUMPS on the table head-first, again.)

[Fanon!Jason catches ahold of Fanon!Dick by the collar and gets into his face]

Fanon!Jason: You weren't a good brother to me and now you can't even take care of my Timmy?!

[He huffs and leaps for the kitchen to make coffee.]

[Dick facepalms, he cannot see this. Jason flinches in fear of Alfred's swear jar each time he hears Fanon!Jason swear from the kitchen. Tim buried his face into his hands and slumps against the table, he wishes to disappear and never face reality again. Damian is already reaching for his sword.]

Fanon!Damian: (scoffs) Let the imbecile die. A pathetic soul like his deserves a pathetic death like this.

Damian: (he stands on the table wielding the sword to Fanon!Damian's throat, eyes raging green) What the hell did you just say?!

Fanon!Dick and Canon!Dick: Shut up, Damian! (Who said that to which Damian, I'll let you decide)

[Dick and Tim pull Damian back from killing the Fanon!Damian, fearing that killing them would cause something to go wrong in the multiverse]

[Fanon!Jason returns from the kitchen with a tray in which he decorated a large mug of coffee, a flower vase and a bowl of hot soup.]

Dick: (In astonishment and disbelief) Jason?

[Fanon!Jason doesn't answer him. He goes and sits by Fanon!Tim and sets down the mug of coffee. Then, with cooing words, feeds Fanon!Tim the soup, gently.]

Jason: Where's my crowbar.

Dick: (Lets out he most tired sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, others are unsure whether he is frustrated over Jason's crowbar or the Fanons.)

Tim: (Turns to Damian with an earnest, pained expression) Damian, kill me before this is embedded into my memory forever.

Damian: (takes a breath and turns to Tim, his voice polite, soft and genuine. Vicarious pain and embarassment flashing in his eyes) I hate this too, Drake. Believe me, I really do. But since this hurts you more than it hurts me, (In the same soft, genuine, polite voice but evilly dramatic tone) suffer.

[Dick looks at Fanon!Dick, somehow glowing with childlike happiness.]

Dick: I wonder how he is so happy?

Alfred: Sirs? It is time for Dinner.

[The boys all get up and help in setting the table. Chaos ensues]

Jason: I'll get the plates. Tim? Get the caserols.

[A very 'undead' Tim walks in, dragging his feet and hunching over with slumped shoulders.]

Fanon!Tim: (Groans) Coffeee!

[Despite having met death, Jason backs away from Fanon!Tim for the fear of God knows what. He watches in a moment of sheer patience Jason didn't know he had as Fanon!Tim streches for the coffee jar on the top shelf, knocks it off as he collapses and proceeds to shove the raw coffee grounds into his mouth. Jason slowly backs away from him.]

Jason: (to Tim, visibly shaken up) I'm not going near that Tim, you shouldn't either.

Tim: (Putting down the caseroles a little lazily) Is that what my 'perception' is? A zombie looking Edward Cullen who survives on coffee and (shudders, refering to when Fanon!Jason fed Fanon!Tim soup.) That.

Jason: I'm going to get Zatanna to erase my memory of this event.

Tim: Yeah, call me too.

[Fanon!Damian sits atop of Fanon!Dick's shoulders, carrying a bunch of spoons while Fanon!Dick walks with glasses in his hands, laughing with Damian while he growls in return]

Dick: (thinks, Should I try to be as happy as him? Then looks down to see Damian watching in stoic horror as Fanon!Damian begins acting like a baby.)

Dick: (Opens his mouth to express his thoughts)

Damian: (Looks up at Dick and squints into a mini-bat-glare before Dick has the chance to say something) Grayson, I know what you are thinking. If you ever try to manhandle me like a baby, you will lose an organ.

Fanon!Tim: (Walks by shoving a handful of coffee grounds into his mouth) I hope it's a spleen. We'll have something in common to talk about then.

[Both Damian and Dick are thorougly spooked.]

Fanon!Jason: (Quivering out of anger at Fanon!Tim's broken, sad, lonely tone) Your fault, Dick!

[Dick gulps wondering if the Fanon!UniverseJason ever got out of the pit madness.]

Jason: (In a tone more broken, hopeless and sad tone than Fanon!Tim's) Why...

[Everyone sits for dinner. Alfred serves]

[Fanon!Dick suddenly gets up, walks up to Fanon!Damian and hugs him. Fanon!Damian responds with a bite. The he goes and hugs Fanon!Jason, he responds by shoving Fanon!Dick away, grumbling about how cruel he was to Tim. Finally, he goes to Fanon!Tim and gives him a hug. He is too busy chugging more coffee to respond.)

[Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian are exasperated, to put it simply.]

[Dick slumps onto the table. Jason finally pulls out his crowbar. Tim crumbles upon himself. Damian closes his eyes in an attemp to not lose whatever is left of his sanity.]

Dick, Jason and Damin: (in unison) I wish I had stayed dead than waching this.

Tim: (feels more nightmares of Jason coming to his nights.)

Author's note: Okay, I admit, this may not be as funny as I meant it to be but... I can suck, you know? Besides, this may be terrible but in a universe with the CW's PowerPuff Girls script, it cannot objectively be the worst. And yes, I categorize this as a shitpost.

Sorry for creating this, but I had fun.

174 notes · View notes

monsterfloofs · 3 years

Text

The Ghost in the Parlor (Sfw and anonymous protagonist!)

It was one in the morning when you rose from bed, sliding on a pair of slippers and feeling your way through the dark to exit your room. The sound was faint, barely audible, but you knew. . .

He was playing tonight.

As you weave your way towards the stairs, you could hear the chords beneath you, the stirring voice of a piano pulling you through dark corridors. As you stop and peer over the banister. You can see from up above, candles alight with a ghastly blue fire. Their light casting eerie wisps of shadows to dance upon the floor. In the middle of this spectral scene was a luminous form sitting at the old grand piano. His spindly fingers like spiders upon the keys, procuring the tune that wafted up the stairs. The sound is sweet and melancholic, mourning things that have been lost, and the ever present march of time. Always moving, never relenting.

You knew all this because you had asked him, it was his favorite tune to play. He played it often and there were times where you could almost feel his deep rooted bittersweet sadness. Tears would spring to your eyes and you would have to mop your face with your sleeve. Tonight the song felt especially lonely and with careful footing you crept down the stairs, your shadow timidly trailing after.

"Have I disturbed you?" His melodic voice intones as you sit down beside him. "No, I came to hear you play, if you would have me as company mister Sterling." "Sleep is for the living" he sighs wistfully, "You should be asleep, dreaming sweet dreams of tomorrow."

He talks to you but his hands, ah his quick and nimble hands keep playing. You watch them sweeping across the keys, mesmerized until he stops. You blink and look up at him. His face is turned towards yours, an eyebrow quirked inquisitively. "A little distracted, were we?" You smile sheepishly, "Ah, yes, I'm sorry, but your hands do work magic. What had you been saying?"

He gives an embarrassed huff, "It's late is it not?" They pale eyes staring at you unblinkingly from beneath round vintage glasses. "Well yes," you reluctantly agree, "But I have missed your nightly performances. And I was hoping you could give me another lesson tonight." You say softly as he flexes his long spindly fingers. "Ooh. . . perhaps. You have always been kind to me. Letting me keep you up at odd hours of night with my prattling."

"You know I would stay even if you didn't give me a lesson. Your music is beautiful." He turns his head away from you, but you can see a hazy pink color introduce itself onto his countenance. When he turns back the color has all but bled out, except for some swirling traces. "I have had nothing but time to perfect it. Though as despairing as it may be, to watch seasons pass without being able to participate in the world, I still have my music. I wonder, is it what holds me here? Is my comfort my cage? Alas-- Dear, aren't you going to put your hands to the piano? You did ask for a lesson you know."

You look up at him before doing as he asks. Aligning your fingers to the keys, "I thought you were still deciding. . ." "Oh," they respond absentmindedly, "Don't mind me, I'm particularly lost in my thoughts tonight, death, life, it's all just one big mess. . ." Sterling rambles on talking about music as you sit together playing chords and sections of songs. As you are still learning the basics he keeps things simple, most of the time you are echoing his voice on the piano or remembering notes and chords. But he has seems to have become happier with having someone he can talk to, rather than to stew lost in his own thoughts.

"You are doing quite well," A pleased smile tugging on his lips, his crinkled eyes twinkling. "Have you been practicing?" "A little. . . Not as much as I would like though." You slid your hands onto your lap and smile. "Thank you for the lesson, I appreciate you taking the time to sit with me and do that. I hope I'm not inconveniencing you."

"Of course not," he sniffs, "I. . . am very fond of your company." There was something with the way he said it, that stirred your heart. You can feel your own face grow a little warm, "I'm glad. . . haha." He glances at you, his hands poised to begin playing again. You swallow hard and press on, "Though I h-have to admit, I am more than a little fond of you."

--BADOOM His hands slip hitting the keys too hard and causes a loud blunder of noise. Practically falling off his chair, Sterling’s hands shielding his face in embarrassment. "I-I. . .WHAT?" He stammers, your eyes widen that he reacted so dramatically. "I just meant that, I c-care about you a lot--" The candles snuff out around and you are suddenly plunged in darkness. The ghost has left the building.

Your head flops into the piano, a few keys playing as your face presses into them. You give a groan of defeat Dammit! Way to go, you probably just killed him. . . AGAIN. Despite his usual stuffy demeanor he can get easily flustered. He tries to hide it under a punctual and proper air, but was a much shier person than he let on. You liked that about him though, there were little things that he did that just enchanted you. He was a deep thinker, and he always took the time to explain things and be patient with you. So of course, you had to go and fall in love with a ghost. You had been trying to gather the courage to tell him your feelings for about a week now. Slowly working your way towards the right words you say. But like music, timing was just as important as the notes. To be honest you had gotten so nervous you are sure you had fumbled in both regards. You sigh heavily, best head to bed, perhaps you can try and talk to him tomorrow.

You slink away in defeat, retiring to your chamber until sunlight streams through your window. Leaving a dappled trail of light and warmth inside your room. You grumpily turn over in bed, refusing to move until you have properly sulked for just a little while longer. Trying to wrack your brain how you were going to approach the ghostly pianist now. With Sterling being so shy, you weren’t sure if his reaction was bad or good. Only time will tell, but in the meantime you're up and making breakfast. Then busying yourself with doing chores around the house and trying not to let your mind settle too much into last night. You go about whiling away the hours until sunset. That's when Sterling becomes active inside the house. You don’t exactly know where he goes during the daytime. You have attempted in the past to nonchalantly snoop around in the basement but to no avail.

Before you know it, the sun is setting in the sky. Golden light filtering across the floor, flooding the rooms with dying light. You peer into the parlor, and step inside. Running your hands over the black and white keys. You can feel a faint prick on the back of your neck, you turn around and You startle, coming face to face with the musically inclined ghoul. You put a hand on your heart. "Oh my goodness!-- Sterling!" you sigh weakly, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. “Hello,” He murmurs faintly, you look up at him, feeling suddenly shy. All this time you had been waiting to talk to him, and now only an awkward silence fills the room. Both of you starting to speak at the same time.

“I’m sorry, what were you going to say?”

“N-no that’s alright, please, continue”

“Aaah-- why don’t you go first, I was the person who upset you last night”

A hand flutters anxiously to the glasses upon his crooked nose. "You didn’t upset me. You, w-well surprised me. I was flattered, but I don’t think you truely want anything to do with this old goat." "H-huh? What do yo--" He cuts you off with a flourish of his hand. "I'm an old man dear, not just old, decrepit. I died in 1839, my bones are buried outside, wouldn't that bother you?" His face flushes an eerie pink and he splutters in embarrassment. "I mean, it should bother you. . . " A light bulb blinks on in your head and you stare at him with new found insight. "Y-you, like me too, don't you. . ." "I beg your pa--" "It was you, wasn’t it?" With a rush of feeling, you practically jump a foot off the ground from excitement. "I was always wondering about those poems left on the door step-" your mouth goes agape. "And those flowers!" His eyes dart back and forth in a panic, his mouth wobbling. "W-what??? Me? I don't know anything about that!" You can tell he's wanting to bolt and you make a grab at one of his translucent hands. Surprisingly your fingers successfully curl around it and his shoulders jerk up. Trying to calm yourself down before trying to talk to him. You were spooking him, a novel thought, but not what you had been intending to do. So you take a different approach, "Why. . . didn't you ever tell me?" The specter is sweating bullets now, he mops his brow with a wispy handkerchief. "I-I” he groans in defeat, “A ghost cannot do romance! A ghost cannot do much of-- of anything! No matter how I felt, I couldn't keep you here, you deserve to be free, to experience life to the fullest. Not to be shackled to me and this house." You flush, truly surprised by his answer. "But, I don't want anyone else, I like you. . ." Tentatively you take his hands and hold them gently in your own. His expression quivers, looking down before he gently pulls away. His fingers wisping through your skin before reconstructing themselves back together. He puts a hand into his breast pocket before he pulls out an envelope with a flowery wax seal. He looks away from you but hands you the letter, his expression flushing as that same red color is introduced into his normal pale blue complexation. You look up at him searchingly before you gently take the letter. The smooth paper has a fragrance like all the rest of the notes you recieved, like roses and vanilla. You carefully peel back the floral seal, opening the envelope.

You watch Sterling lights the candles at the table in the parlor. It has been a week since the two of you had become a couple, and you cannot remember a happier time, then the hours you have spent together. “Didn't you say, a ghost cannot do romance?” You tease him with a smile, your eyes crinkling as you watch him with a loving gaze. He huffs softly, "That I did, and I wish more than anything I could take you to a fine dinner out of this house. . . " He pinches the wick of one last candle, and when he removes his hand, an enchanting blue fire flickers to life. “I think a candlelit dinner at home is just as lovely.” He looks at you for a moment, before he gives a little smile, “If you say so darling.” “I do.” He bends down to give you a chilly peck on the forehead before he sits down at his piano, flexing his fingers before he begins to play. The blue lights of the candles flickering to the sound of his haunting melody. But the tone has changed, no longer lachrymose. You can hear something happy stirring in the song that projects itself out of the house, and into the starlit sky.

#monster x reader #ghost x reader #fluff #sfw #ghost x human

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equalseleventhirds · 3 years

Text

i said i wouldn't write it but i did

vaguely a sequel to this, but far in the future and focused on jon (annabelle features briefly tho. she's fine. annabelle will always be fine in my fics.) with ofc the presupposition that they've failed in one world but kept trying, bcos i think that would be fun*!

*(by which i mean heartbreaking, i'm so sorry)

There are rules, to the traveling, or at least there seem to be. There are certainly questions to be asked and points to be made, about how many instances count as a definitive rule rather than simply a pattern. But Jon likes to think of them as rules. He's always preferred concrete answers, even if it turns out they're less the truth and more just a convenient way of conceptualizing things.

So he has rules.

First: the Fears always come through on the same day. October 18, 2018. Or, given the impact history has on calendars, the equivalent of it; he'd once spent months trying to correlate the forty-third moon of cycle 1852 with his calendar just to prove his point, but the math had all worked out.

(Which does indicate, at least to Jon, that yes, the Fears probably did originate in his home world, Georgie. He'll take his petty wins where he can get them. For as long as he can remember the discussion, and the people, he's proving wrong.)

Second, it is still his tapes that the Fears follow. For every apocalypse there has been a new catalyst, but none of these new rituals supersede his. Maybe it's a testament to the strength of the Web's original plan, or maybe it's just something about Jon himself. He knows what he thinks, but... well, there isn't enough proof just yet.

Third, in spite of endless attempts to trap them and stop them, Jon is always able to travel with the Fears. Perhaps they simply can't stop him, as the original antichrist he apparently is; dozens of apocalypses in dozens of different universes, and Jon can always feel his rightful place as ruler of that terrible fearscape calling to him. He hasn't taken it yet, but it's there, and the Eye cannot abandon its true pupil without his permission.

Or perhaps they simply don't care. Every attempt so far has led to the exact same result, after all: another world left behind, another death by starvation averted, another new feast for the Fears to sink their teeth into.

Fourth, he always passes out upon entering a new world.

It's kind of annoying.

---

It is slightly unusual for him to wake up warm, comfortable, and covered in a blanket, but Jon's not about to complain. It's nice. He doesn't get a lot of comfort, and he likes sleeping in a bed, especially since he's always eldritch-nightmare-free in a new world. For a limited time only, of course.

He's fairly certain he's inside; aside from the softness underneath and around him, the air is still and temperate, the light through his eyelids is artificial, and all he can hear is the faint whirring of appliances and the whispers of two muted voices.

"—complete stranger, definitely dangerous, looks like he's from hell—"

"Okay, fine, but I wasn't going to leave him, and anyway haven't you noticed he's a bit—"

"A bit what? Scarred? Bloodstained? Glowing eyes, because I don't think I need to remind you, Martin, his eyes were absolutely glowing when you found him—"

Martin. Now there's a name. Not an uncommon one, but... he thinks he knows that voice.

Or. Well. He might know both of those voices, actually, which is even more interesting than waking up in a bed.

Jon opens his eyes.

He's met himself before, is the thing. Not in every world, and not always particularly recognizable, but he's met himself. He's met versions of Martin, too, and eventually stopped going completely useless with heartbreak every time. The merest handful of times, he's found both of them in the same world, sometimes something almost like friends, but usually not.

The fact that they have their arms around each other, casual, comfortable, close, is both entirely unexpected and perfectly, wonderfully, terribly familiar. Jon briefly considers crying about it, but there are more important things to be doing. For example.

"The glowing eyes aren't actually that sinister. I mean, they are, but not for the reasons you're probably thinking."

Jon—the other Jon—jumps at the sound of his voice, then leans forward. Curiosity, of course; that hardly ever seems to change. "You—the glowing—who are you?"

"Jon," this new version of Martin scolds, and for just a moment he's back home, with his Martin, with that exasperated tone—but no, this isn't his Martin, and he's also leaning forward now, his voice turning gentle. Concerned. Coaxing, like he's a spooked animal, and Jon doesn't think his Martin has ever talked to him that way. "How are you feeling? We found you unconscious in the street."

He can feel Martin's curiosity too, pushing forward under his concern, just as questioning as Jon but too polite to outright say it yet. He has to cut this off, or he really will cry.

"Mm... no," he says. "Well, yes. But also." Good lord, he's confusing them. Par for the course, but he should probably try to be somewhat comprehensible.

He holds up a hand, extending one finger. "I am... fine. More or less. Trust me, I'm used to this, and this isn't even the worst way it's happened." Another finger joins the first. "My name, as I believe Martin has guessed but then dismissed, is Jonathan Sims. I am not you from the future, nor am I lying, nor am I crazy, because—" a third finger "—interdimensional travel is not only possible, it has happened, is happening, because of and along with terrible monstrosities I am determined to stop, and I have explained this too many times to too many people to have much patience for anyone being shocked and disbelieving, much less a version of myself doing so, so you can either get over it and move on or I can go elsewhere and do something useful."

"Excuse—"

"And," he continues, pushing himself up so he can sit and lean forward even more intensely than his counterpart, "I would actually rather not do that just yet, because I have an extremely pressing question for the two of you."

"Um," Martin says, and "What," says the other Jon.

"How," Jon asks, deepening his voice to exude solemn, ominous, and eldritchly important, "did you two start dating?"

---

It was so... normal. Apparently. Two people, mutual friends, a chance encounter. A prickly exterior ("He hated me," both of them had claimed), but without the insecurity of being Head Archivist and the fear of dread powers beyond his comprehension, their friends had helped him open up and—eventually—apologise. A budding friendship, and then a romance, and then...

It isn't a version of them Jon has seen anywhere else, in any of the worlds he's traveled to. Normal as it is, it's a highly improbably scenario, and certainly not the same as his relationship with his Martin had been. But it was, in an infinite number of worlds, still a possibility.

Jon isn't quite sure how he feels about that, knowing that some version of them could have fallen in love without the trauma, but that they hadn't managed it.

His hands aren't shaking, as he lights his cigarette. At least there's that.

"I quit, you know," his counterpart says from behind him. "Years ago. I'd forgotten about those until you asked."

"Well then, thank you for indulging me." He gestures, meaning the cigarette, meaning the bed, meaning his claims about reality, meaning his intrusive, gossipy questioning. Meaning everything. He's not sure it gets across.

The other Jon laughs, quietly, and moves to stand next to him. "I am my worst enabler."

"Oh, that's hardly true."

"Mm." They're silent together for a while, but Jon is restless (both of him), and eventually this reality's version opens his mouth to ask. "Do you—do you know why I—I don't want to say believed you, I'm still not sure I do, b-but, didn't throw you out immediately?"

"My myriad charms?" They both laugh at that.

"Jonathan Sims," he says, as if that explains anything.

Jon takes a drag of his cigarette, considering. He could probably Know, but... indulging himself. "What about me?"

"No, not you, or. You know. You. But your name. Jonathan Sims. I decided you weren't, weren't a deliberate lie to trick me, or a future version of myself, or a mind-reading monster—"

"Well—"

"—when you said your name, because none of those things would have said that." He smiles then and holds up a hand, and—oh—his ring glints. "I've been Jonathan Blackwood for a while now."

They'd told him married eventually, but he hadn't even thought about his name. He's certainly thinking about it now. "Jonathan Blackwood," he says, soft, to himself. And to himself. "That... that sounds good."

"It does, doesn't it."

Whatever they might have said next is lost as an incredibly loud engine roars nearby and a sleek black motorcycle pulls up in front of them. Jon sighs and takes one last drag of his cigarette as the rider removes her helmet.

"Been off finding yourself, then, Jon?" Annabelle asks.

"Oh, extremely funny, yes. Did you steal that?"

"It was a gift."

"Of course it was."

The other Jon is staring at them both, his eyes repeatedly drifting back to the web-covered hole in Annabelle's head. "Who—what is—is that a—"

"She's a spider monster," Jon supplies helpfully. "She came with me, although apparently she did not pass out in the street this time."

"Two streets over, I think. Pity, I would've loved a nice nap in a proper bed, but I did get this motorcycle out of it. Come on, Jon, you can mope on the way."

"I have not been moping—"

"Haven't you? You're not the one who deals with how maudlin you get every time you meet yourself—"

"Yes, fine, thank you, we can go." He stubs out the cigarette and pauses, looking at himself. "Uh. Tell Martin—well, goodbye, I guess. I'd say I hope we meet again, but if you're lucky we won't need to?"

"...sure."

"And I'm—I hope you—that is, I'll do my best—well." He sighs. "Things are about to get... dicey, for the world in general. But just, look out for each other, and we'll try to handle the rest."

"Jon, we should be going."

"Yes, all right, all right." He gives himself one last, probably not very reassuring smile, and climbs on behind Annabelle.

They do have work to do, after all.

#fanfiction #algie writes things #many thoughts head full...........#i am so many theorizing. u kno how it is.#uhhhh so the TINIEST spoilers for the most recent episode? idk #tma spoilers #once again just TINY ones not actually plot ones #at least not that we didn't already get from annabelle's big explanation episode #jm #but also it's complicated #u kno #jon has bittersweet conversations & thoughts and annabelle gets a motorcycle #it's what each of them needs i think

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

Photo

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 2-24 NIGHT: 时间针脚 The Patchwork of Time Translation

“Acting is inseparable from life, as are shadows to people. It is something that we cannot run away from.“

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

A couple of employees rushed over in a panic. They inhaled sharply at the sight of the mess that laid before them.

MC: Sorry!

Staff A: Don't mind, don't mind. It's not your fault.

Staff B: If we're to fault someone, then it should be that guy who simply ran away after wrecking our stuff. That's so inconsiderate!

Staff A: Let's not dwell on that now. Lin Yao's going to be using this fresh flower assemble for her photoshoot tomorrow. Let's hurry and split up the work so that we can fix it back up.

Lin Yao, huh…

I feel like doing more for her.

I tightened my hold on the paper bag in my hands, deciding to stay behind to help everyone clean things up.

The night grew as time passed. Everyone was almost finished with what they were doing.

One of the employees let out a huge contagious yawn, and soon, everyone caught the yawning bug.

I'd heard that everyone had pulled a couple of all-nighters just to set up everything for this photoshoot. They're all probably exhausted to the bone.

MC: There are only these fresh flowers left. I can do it myself, so you can all just go home and have a good rest.

Staff A: That won't do…

MC: Don't worry about it. You guys have to run the whole photoshoot tomorrow, so it's better if you use this time to get a proper night's sleep instead.

Staff B: We'll go first then. Thanks. We'll treat you to dinner next time!

The ceiling lights in the distance were a little dim, elongating my shadow. I was alone in this huge place.

I lifted my head to look at the background board, standing high and tall. Only the upper right corner needed a little colour correction. I stood on tip-toes and stretched my arm upwards to reach it, but my arm couldn’t reach high enough.

MC: A little more… Guess it'll be better if I fetch a stool…

??: Want me to help?

A pair of warm narrow eyes entered my line of sight.

MC: …Mr. Lu? What are you doing here?

Evan: I just came out from the studio next door and saw that the lights were still on here. I decided to drop in for a look, and here we are.

Evan: I never thought that I'd be seeing you here.

MC: Next door? Is that Team B's photoshoot area? You really do attend to everything yourself...

His gaze lands on the brush I was holding. He immediately removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

He smiles, spreading his hand out before me to signal for me to pass him the brush. But, just as I was about to politely decline...

Evan: Allow me.

Evan: Although, can you guide me? It's my first time doing this sort of thing, so I'm afraid I'll make a mistake somewhere.

He looked at me with a smile, not giving me a chance to turn him down.

He’s helping me again, yet he doesn’t wish for me to feel bad about it; just like the night we first met.

MC: Sure. I'll hold your jacket for you.

Evan: Thanks.

I nodded, holding his suit jacket for him as I pointed to a corner of the background board.

MC: That one on that side needs a little touch-up.

Evan made a noise of approval, turning to look in the direction I was pointing at.

❖☆———————————★❖

Arm raised, the strokes he made were bold and firm. The white brush sweeps across the scratched background, covering it with a new coat of colour.

The faded areas regained their colour bit by bit and slowly blended into the rest of the background board.

Evan: Is this okay?

Evan turned back around, his smile tinged with a slight hint of rarely-seen reservation.

MC: Yup! Superb!

He said that it was his first time doing something like this, but he'd gone and executed it pretty well.

Bright moonlight shone in from the windows, illuminating his face, fixed with a look of utter concentration, and casting his long shadow onto the wall.

I don't know why, but I couldn't help the snort that escaped me when I suddenly recalled the shadow bunny from the lift back then.

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan: And what are you laughing at?

He’d finished the required touch-ups before I realized that he was done. He glanced at the slight smattering of blue paint that got onto his wrist and shook his head.

Evan: Did you see me accidentally getting paint onto my clothes and planned on not telling me about it?

That man, the very same one who’d been the epitome of calmness up on the stage, so far out of reach, now wore a boyish smile on his face.

MC: This paint doesn't seem like it can be washed off...

Evan: That’s fine. It will serve as a memorable piece of memorabilia.

MC: Because it’s your first time painting?

Evan: Because you don’t seem to be blaming me at all.

Evan: I apologize for not having informed you earlier.

MC: ...Huh?

I didn’t understand what he was talking about for a while; not until I met his apologetic eyes. Something clicked in my mind.

He must be talking about how he’d hidden his identity from me.

I shook my head.

MC: Don’t worry about it. I know that you didn’t do it on purpose.

Evan: You do?

MC: It was the succession ceremony that day. I’d have known in the end either way, so there’s no point in trying to hide it from me.

Evan: I’d prefer if you could address me the same way you always do, even now.

MC: Okay. Thanks for the help today, Evan.

The night breeze blew past, bringing a slight chill in its wake.

Evan: If I remember correctly… This doesn’t seem like it’s part of your job description.

MC: Yeah, it isn’t…

I nodded, not knowing how I should go about telling him about Lin Yao.

Evan: You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to.

MC: I was just thinking, that maybe… the people we see might not be their true selves after all…

Evan looked to the front, his eyes as gentle and cold as the moonlight.

Evan: Acting is inseparable from life, as are shadows to people. It is something that we cannot run away from.

MC: Is everyone acting then?

Evan: Everyone is.

MC: But, why?

Evan: Because they’re afraid of being mistaken, looked down upon, and forgotten.

MC: But, what if they were forced to act? I mean, what if they were being forced to live as someone else dictates?

Evan: Are they fighting back?

MC: I think so, but they're not lucky enough to succeed.

Evan: So, you're worried about them?

MC: Yeah…

Evan: For people to get themselves out of the misfortune that has befallen them, they will first have to gain awareness of it. And it seems like they have already achieved this.

Evan: There are too many people who do not realize, or have long since gotten used to their unfortunate life.

Evan: That would be truly unfortunate.

The empty room made his words echo faintly, making it sound like some sort of prophecy that was being told.

The wind howled outside the window, the rustling of leaves growing ever stronger. It looked like a storm was brewing.

❖☆———————————★❖

❖ Location: Dark Alleyway

The moonlight was like a flower blooming ever so quietly, swaying gently in the wind. In an alley not too far out, a streetlight, illuminating white light, suddenly blinked out of life.

A panicked figure collapsed into the alleyway, holding down onto their hat. It spooked the flock of birds that had taken residence up in the trees. However, he didn't stop there. He hurriedly walked ahead, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

Stepping on the ground illuminated by mottled moonlight, the man that had been chasing after him stopped to pick up an orange-coloured origami butterfly from within the fallen leaves. The faint metallic tang of blood hung in the air.

The erupting blue flames illuminated his sharp, predatory, eyes.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-21) | Next Part: (Chapter 2-24 Light) / (Chapter 3-1)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #For Light and Night

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mythicamagic · 3 years

Note

“Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!”

AN: ...yeah so I'll post part five in a few hours and THAT will be the ending to this Ex Sesshoumaru saga. Smh. I wrote too much of this. Read the other chapters - here.

----

She can't recall how it started.

It wasn't as though either of them had woken up one day and decided to pursue something. They'd become 'companions' of sorts- not quite friends, not casual acquaintances either. Kagome spoke with him while sitting on the grassy hillside, wearing full miko garb and explaining about future technologies.

Talking turned into meeting up regularly. Meetups turned into secret rendezvous.

Kagome wagered she'd been a source of intrigue for the demon lord. A window into the future. He listened with rapt attention and intelligent, sharp eyes. His questions were short and to the point- humour dark and smirking. Kagome found him endearing, in an irritatingly proud kind of way.

She learned about demon culture and his shining, unblemished heritage. How his ancestors had created magnificent weapons that could cut through stormy skies and block out the sun.

Kagome really couldn't say how it started.

He still hadn't been keen on humans, deeming them weak. A few were the exception to the rule. Kagome had figured that was enough. To be counted amongst those few meant she was 'special.'

She felt special, kissing him. Being loved by him made Kagome glow golden, radiating power and contentment. He encouraged her to train, to build up her reiki to new heights so that she might shock and amaze like no other miko before her. To go beyond the title of 'Shikon Miko.'

But centuries of bigotry didn't just 'go away' overnight, nor was it cured by love. He still thought of humans as beneath him. He loved her despite her humanity, not because of it.

In hindsight, Kagome shouldn't have been surprised by his reaction to her hypothetical question.

"If we ever have kids, do you think they'll be recognised as heirs?"

"What?"

Kagome shifted atop a pillow within his room at the Western Stronghold, setting down her book. "I'm just saying, I know your court is still pretty old school with how they feel about Hanyous. Think it'll impact our kids being able to take over the Western Lands?"

What a naive question. She'd been so wrapped up in how he made her feel- Kagome hadn't stopped to consider the possibility that he hadn't changed enough. Not enough for such a question. She'd asked hoping to be assured. That he'd comfort her with the knowledge that any children they had would be respected.

They wouldn't end up like Inuyasha. Ignored. Cast out.

Sesshoumaru had looked at her with such a perplexed, complicated expression. He spoke slowly, as though breaking the news to a child.

"A Hanyou will never rule the Western lands."

The surprise had set in- like she recognised the handle of the knife buried into her gut, but the pain hadn't registered yet. She'd questioned him, of course. His explanation wasn't any more encouraging.

"Hanyous only live a few centuries. I cannot entrust something as important as the longevity of these lands to one, nor can I guarantee they would mate a demon to extend their lifespan."

"Why don't you just say what you mean?" she uttered coldly, betrayal simmering in her blood as she stood. "You don't want one. You don't want an imperfect kid with me."

"That is not what I-"

"You don't have to say it," Kagome glared. "It's there, behind every word you just said. When were you gonna clue me in on this, huh? And what the hell is your plan?- because if you intended to keep me as a fucking mistress all this time while you play happy families with a pure-blooded bitch then-"

"No-" he snarled, terrible and thundering. Sesshoumaru got in her face, large hands curling in her hair, thumbs stroking the shells of her ears, trying to soothe. "I would not have you be Izayoi. You would be my mate. I would make you my Lady. We may have pups."

"That's very considerate of you," she sneered, flashing blunt teeth. "And where's this pure-blooded youkai kid coming from, hm? Because I sure as hell can't give you one."

Golden eyes slid away. It was as though a part of him knew, recognised that his duty would put him at odds with what they'd created together. He looked young, suddenly.

"I will create an heir with an inconsequential demoness."

"Inconsequential?" Kagome stared, hysteria bubbling up inside her. She broke away from him, his touch feeling unwanted, cold. "You'd use some poor woman just for that?"

"You are attributing human emotion to this," Sesshoumaru uttered, gaze flicking back to her. "She would be honoured by it. Her family would want for nothing-"

"Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!" Kagome burst, tears blurring her vision. "Can't you hear yourself? You'd still have to sleep with her, with a stranger. She'd carry your child for months, only to be torn away from them? Or would she live here? Would I have to see her every damn day and know- be reminded that I and my child weren't enough for you?!" her voice broke, a wave of emotion slamming her in the gut, only just registering and truly feeling the implications of her words.

His expression cracked, eyes widening, recognising he'd hurt her. Long claws unfurled.

"Kagome-"

"No! No, I'm done," Kagome backed away.

Years of sadness and mistrust loomed over their relationship suddenly, where before there had only been lazy mornings or evenings spent resting her head on his thigh, listening to long claws plucking the strings of a koto and inhaling rich, spicy scents of smoke from an ornate pipe.

"Don't talk to me. Don't even look at me," blue eyes swimming with tears glared. "Thank you for clarifying everything, Lord Sesshoumaru. I just wish you'd told me this two years ago."

He tried to touch her again- only for the miko to slap his attempt away with a crackling hiss of holy energy. Sesshoumaru was forced back, his hand steaming, narrowly avoiding being burned as Kagome backed away.

She'd never seen the look of pure, unadulterated surprise and distress contort his regal features before. But Sesshoumaru was proud. Sesshoumaru was a being carved from stone, who could not be moved by the words of a mere mortal.

He let her go.

Kagome didn't so much as grab her bag. She hitched a ride on Ah Un and made for Kaede's village. It wasn't long before she'd said her goodbyes, propelled by distress and anger into a hasty decision.

She jumped through the well, never to return.

It was a terrible, disappointing end to her feudal fairytale.

---

Rising slowly, Kagome blinked tired lids open, coming to a silent conclusion in the cold light of day. Picking up the phone, she called Natsuki and scheduled a meetup.

Promptly breaking up with him.

He didn't seem terribly shocked by the news.

"So… are you going to him after this?" He asked point-blank.

"What?"

"That silver inuyoukai I sensed on you last week. Figured you had something else going on."

Stiffness rendered her shoulders tense. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "for making you feel that way. I'm not going to him, but I have been thinking about him."

"Heh, you've been thinking about him but not going? Sounds difficult."

"It is," she smiled, reaching over the table and squeezing his fingers. "Goodbye, Natsuki."

The way he'd eyed her hand, just for a moment- warily- as though wondering for half a second if she'd taken her pills, only strengthened Kagome's resolve.

She knew what she wanted now.

---

Dressing up that night, she wore her best things. The nicest pair of earrings, shoes, right down to her dress and underwear. She did everything to allow herself to relax, soaking in a tub with candles littered around the edge beforehand.

Glancing at her pills on the nightstand, Kagome grabbed her purse before leaving, having not taken them all day. The effects should've worn off by now. Walking down the stairs, she experimented with a light flex- pink static racing over her skin in a faint crackle.

Dark hair fanned out, soon settling about her shoulders. Kagome took a long, indrawn breath. Life flowed through her veins. Her heart pumped, alive, healthy. Too long had she soaked herself in misery and settled for any half-decent demon cock willing to tolerate her power. Her species.

No more.

Kagome headed straight for the youkai bar.

She slipped in, a known regular by now. Unlike usual though, after grabbing a drink she didn't content herself by sitting at the bar until a tall dark and handsome stranger approached her. Kagome downed it to ignite a fire in her throat, hissing quietly and setting down her glass before easing around grinding bodies on the dance floor.

Standing in the centre, with speakers booming, vibrations thrumming through her- multicoloured lights flashing overhead in the much too dark room, with sweat and youki plastering to the air like heady vapour, Kagome took a breath. Beefy hands met her waist, intending to 'dance' with her - before she let reiki flow.

Younger demons immediately backed off, spooked by the mere suggestion of power. The hands left her body as she met their gazes. If they wanted to touch her, they'd have to reach her.

Dark eyes turned to the miko, intrigued. Some started to approach, but she gradually turned the facet of her holy powers higher. Bigger, more arrogant males kept moving closer. They could match her, tame her. She was just a priestess, after all. They hadn't been anything substantial in centuries.

Kagome held her head high on the half-empty dance floor, pink energy now static and visible, racing over her body like a live wire. And still more poured into her aura, seeping out like a huge barrier. She wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

Even the bravest stopped, all demons now pressed back against far walls, snarling at her, some evacuating the bar.

Kagome's heart shuddered. Her shoulders fell. All that, and she still hadn't let everything out. Maybe she was supposed to make herself smaller. Maintain the air of an unassuming priestess by a big strong demon's side. Settle. Accept it. What had she been expecting?

Feeling foolish and a little selfish for spoiling everyone's night, Kagome stepped back with the intent of recalling her energy.

A palm met the pink barrier, a sharp sound ringing out like the crack of lightning. Youki -familiar, dominating, unique- crashed against her aura, creating a plume of sweeping mists. Through the pink haze, Sesshoumaru stepped forward.

Unlike his usual modern look, the glamour was absent this time.

Kagome's eyes widened, oxygen briefly freezing inside her lungs. His markings were on full display. Seeing him again, really seeing him, awakened a strange feeling inside her.

Kagome grit blunt teeth, refusing to soften. She allowed another wave of her reiki out, creating a blazing inferno that licked along the wooden floors and sent every other demon fleeing.

Golden eyes narrowed slightly, but Sesshoumaru kept his palm raised, long hair whipping around him.

As reiki slid through the gaps of his fingers, he took a step closer. Followed by another. Red youki buffered its natural opposite, creating sparks and wafts of charged steam. He walked around the room, slowly tightening the circle around her like a predator closing in, though not without effort.

Kagome had never felt anything like it. She'd never let so much loose before. She could even keep going, she could-

Sesshoumaru's hand closed over her wrist, eyes hazed red. He panted, face lingering close. "Enough. I can withstand you, dear one," he said in a rush, light burns dotting his cheek and forehead. "But those outside cannot. You could obliterate every demon within a 5-mile radius if you wished, but I know you do not want that."

Kagome blinked, shaken. Catching her breath suddenly, she trembled, holding onto him.

His presence stabilised something, allowing Kagome to slowly begin reeling blistering power back. Her body weakened, forehead finding his shoulder as pink power receded back inside. Wild youki died down not long after.

And that was how Kagome Higurashi was barred from the only youkai establishment in the city.

#Sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #asks

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star-spangledstud · 3 years

Text

MIND GAMES - THREE

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The team goes on a mission. You meet someone who might expose you.

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence

Note: Wanna be tagged in future chapters? Shoot me a message :) Sorry for being MIA for so long. I’ve been sad. Blegh.

SERIES MASTERLIST.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

Over the few days that follow, you become increasingly paranoid. It’s your own fault, because you shouldn’t have lied to the people that have welcomed you into their homes with open arms, but lying is a survival skill that you were taught many years ago, and old habits die hard. You become shadowy, avoid team members in the hallways and common areas of the penthouse floor you all share, and stay in your room as much as possible without alarming anyone. Of course Natasha knows something is up, but Steve doesn’t, and he waves off her concern as you simply ‘needing more time to adjust, Nat’. You watch their body language during breakfast – one of two meals a day you simply cannot get out of without causing anyone’s alarm bells to start ringing – and engage in light conversation wherever possible to keep them out of your hair.

Guilt gnaws at your insides when you find yourself wandering the deserted wrap-around balcony at nearly 3 a.m., brain searching for a clue to any bad things that might happen. If any one of them figures out you’re ex-hydra you’re done for, that much you know, but the man with golden hair and twinkling azure eyes might just be your ticket to safety.

The thought alone sickens you, because you vowed never to mess with someone’s feelings to get what you need ever again. It’s a twisted thought, but the vines of its root wrap themselves around the stem of your brain nonetheless.

A month after first moving in, you’ve already figured out their routines. Steve’s the early riser of the bunch, getting up every morning at 6:30 a..m. sharp to go on a run around the city. On rare occasions, he manages to convince Sam to come along with him, but more often than not, he remains in his bed until at least 10 o’clock, when Steve’s already come back to shower and get dressed for the day. Tony and Bruce are in the lab 24/7, both of them constantly bickering about artificial intelligence and microbiology among other matters you can’t even begin to understand. As a result, you don’t see them around too often, a notion you don’t particularly mind. Clint left to be with his family two weeks ago and hasn’t been back since, and Natasha leaves all the time, sometimes for days at a time. You don’t dare to ask anyone where she goes when she disappears, but nobody seems surprised to find her seat at the dining table empty again.

It’s a gloomy day when you wake up to find the entire place void of all life. Not even Steve, who’s adamant about his morning coffee, is there to grace you with his presence when you walk into the kitchen that Saturday morning. The counter is clean, no empty coffee cups, half-eaten bowls of oatmeal or bread crumbs to indicate anyone’s eaten yet, and all of the chairs are still perfectly lined against the table.

Your pulse involuntarily quickens to an uncomfortable pace, and you bite the inside of your cheek until the metallic taste of blood is heavy on your tongue. With quick steps, you walk towards the common room, footsteps loud in your ears when you consider where they might be. As expected, there’s nobody there. The TV is switched off, there are no dents in the heavy fabric of the couch from where Steve usually sits, and again, no empty cups or bowls can be found on the coffee table. You have the jitters when you finally get to the library, which is again void of all life.

Black socks covered in small holes squeak across the wooden floors when you walk around the room. It’s not surprising to see the library vacant. You’re sure Avengers have more pressing matters to tend to than reading books on any given day, but it was your last hope nonetheless. With your head tilted to the side, you focus on scanning the titles that line the walls. You follow every shelf in the room until your eye finally catches something. You take the book with a sigh, flip through its tattered pages, and wonder for a moment which one of the Avengers has read the crap out of Pride and Prejudice. Definitely not Sam, judging by his internal monologue. That guy doesn’t appear to have an ounce of romanticism inside him.

“They’re out,” a gentle voice suddenly says behind you, “Steve didn’t want to wake you up this morning to tell you.”

You slap your hand over your heart in surprise, and inhale sharply, “Jesus Christ, doc. You scared the hell out of me.”

Bruce throws his hands up in the air and shrugs his shoulders, “Sorry, it’s just me.”

“Are they on a mission?” you ask, feeling your heart jump in your chest like a skippy ball.

“Yeah, they should be back in a few days. Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You swallow thickly, noticing all of a sudden how your mouth is dry like sandpaper, “you just spooked me, that’s all. What kind of mission is it?”

“Intel gathering, in an out. That’s why I didn’t come. They only bring me when they need the green guy,” he says.

“Oh yeah,” you reply slowly, “how’s he holding up?”

“Asleep,” Bruce smiles, then clears his throat, “for now, anyway. Would you like to get some breakfast?”

You follow Bruce through the rain, which started to gust from the grey sky just as you were getting dressed. You’d rather have said no, but you knew you couldn’t; it wouldn’t be polite to decline his offer. Besides, he’s oblivious, and for whatever reason, he trusts you. When he bites into his chocolate croissant, you know why – Steve’s let you in. This notion once more confirms the thoughts that have been occupying your mind for the last week; Steve is your one-way ticket to inclusivity.

You shudder at the thought and fake a smile before taking a large sip of coffee. The cafe is small, mostly empty, and your seat by the window gives you a perfect view of pedestrians struggling in the howling, icy wind. One year ago, you could never have imagined yourself sitting in a café with a cup of coffee clutched between your fingers, chatting with someone who you could potentially call a friend. The idea alone of being able to enjoy a warm mug filled with freshly brewed coffee would’ve sounded preposterous to you.

There was no warmth with HYDRA. Only cold.

It takes the team three days to return from their mission. Three long days, during which you spend most of your time with Bruce in his lab, perched on a desk-chair with a book in your hands while he works on – actually, you have no idea what he’s working on. You quickly grow to become fond of him, because he doesn’t feel the need to constantly fill the silence between you with empty words. His thoughts are coherent, focused on his project, and the lingo is too advanced for you to understand, which makes it easy to drown out. His inner monologue is quiet, except for a few angry words from the Hulk when Bruce becomes frustrated with his work, but that only happened on day two, and only for ten minutes.

Steve smells like gun powder and sweat when he hugs you softly against his chest after exiting the Quinjet. Natasha waves at you, and the smile that dons her dirt-caked face surprises you, but you return it nonetheless. Sam even ruffles your hair, causes a sound to escape your throat that you haven’t heard yourself make in over a decade; a strange combination of a snort and a chuckle that sounds like music to your own ears. Your heart pounds again, but in a good way this time, because for a small moment in time, you’ve managed to put the guilt on the back-burner. The roaring engine behind you falls silent at last, and nobody else visibly exits the plane before you make it inside.

“You held up okay?” Steve asks as he follows you back inside the building.

You nod in response and shove your hands deep inside the pockets of your hoodie, “I’ve been helping Bruce with his research.”

“Oh, did you? How’s it coming?” he asks.

His eyes sparkle like two tiny stars even through the exhaustion that nearly forces them shut every time he blinks. He’s exhausted, you can tell, and you have to bite your tongue before you make a comment about the state he’s in.

“I mostly sat there while he did all the thinking. Turns out computer science isn’t really my thing after all.”

Steve fights a yawn that threatens to overcome him, and nods, “yeah, I feel you. I can barely get the damn things to start. I’ve given up on technology.”

He turns back to face you when he’s come to a halt in front of his room.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you where I went,” he tells you, meaning it as he says it, “we kinda left in a hurry, and you were still sleeping.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, “I understand.”

He quickly retreats after that, leaving you once again with nothing to do. You go back to your room to grab the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice from your nightstand and, after plopping down on your bed, flip to the page where you last left off. You read for a while, before the idea to make some tea with warm milk and honey pops into your head, and you skip along the hallway to the kitchen with the book securely wrapped in your arms.

You’re surprised to hear Steve’s voice when you enter the common area, and a smile appears on his face the second his eyes fall on you. You raise one arm to wave at him, but a loud gasp and a large thud followed by the sound of breaking glass have you freezing on the spot before you can open your mouth to greet him at all.

Your head snaps towards the source of the sound, causing your neck to twist and crack painfully. Red, glowing eyes meet your large ones when you dare to look up at whoever made the noise, and the book in your hands falls to the ground with a loud bang that startles everyone in the room. You stumble backwards when you can feel the woman standing before you deep inside of your head, and you nearly trip over the rug when you instinctly try to get away from her. Frantically, you scramble to stop her from seeing more than she’s already seen. Still, by the time you manage to build up a mental barrier to keep her out of your head, it’s already too late.

You haven’t seen her before, and you can’t remember for the life of you if the image of her has popped up in any of the Avengers’ heads. Your brain is mushy, images hazy as you try to focus on keeping the woman from digging around deeper. You can see distant memories of your time with HYDRA flash before her eyes, and the images blur with the present in a spasm that makes your eyes water.

Wanda Maximoff lets out a shrill, piercing shriek, one that chills everyone to the bone. Thor, who you didn’t even know was there, is by her side before she can collapse onto the cold, hard floor, and Steve jumps up from his chair before you have time to register his movements. He grabs your arm and drags you out of the kitchen, fingers digging painfully in your tender flesh when he pulls you away from the scene. Sympathy fills Sam’s dark brown eyes when you turn back around to look at him, and guilt roils in your stomach when the redhead sinks to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

Your arms hang limply to your side when you watch Steve pace back and forth around his room. You’re waiting for him to yell at you, to tell you to get the fuck out of the compound and never return, but he remains awfully quiet. His silence confuses and unnerves you simultaneously.

His eyes, swimming with unimaginable depth, find your face while the scent of his cologne and pure testosterone invades your nostrils. Pressure clamps down on your chest, and the intensity of his gaze causes you to shiver. Never in your entire life have you wanted to read someone’s mind more.

“Are you alright?” your head cocks to the side, mouth twitching while you try to find words.

You nearly gave that woman an aneurysm, and he’s asking you if you’re okay?

“Yes,” you stammer, “I’m so sorry.”

“Wanda is telepathic,” Steve says, “she has trouble controlling what she sees sometimes.”

“Like I said, I’m so so-”

A soft exhale leaves your lips when Steve’s hands find their way to your shoulders, and your voice dies down in your throat when he bends down slightly to meet your eyes. Calloused fingertips penetrate the thin material of your t-shirt, and the warmth of his hands creates a buzzing sensation just beneath your skin.

“She was in Europe, scouting the location of the mission with Rhodey. She’s been in Eastern Europe for a while, that’s why you haven’t seen her. I should’ve told you about her.”

“Will she be okay?” you ask. You hardly recognize your own voice.

“Sam’s got her. She’s stronger than she looks. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good.”

You don’t know how to respond. You crave a cigarette all of a sudden, even though you don’t smoke. Alcohol then, maybe, to numb down the prickling sensation of firing synapses and goosebumps that line your bare arms. Yeah, a good couple of shots of whiskey will do the trick. Not vodka though, you hate that stuff.

You bite your bow-shaped lips and inhale deeply. Steve is so close that you can feel his breath fanning across your face. It’s wrong, being so near him after what just happened. You’re on thin ice. It won’t be long before the entire team, undoubtedly informed by what Wanda just saw, comes barging into Steve’s room, ready to drag you away to prison or worse, put a bullet through your skull. You deserve it, you think, for what you used to do. For who you used to be. You almost want somebody to call you out on your shit, because then at least you wouldn’t have to hide it anymore.

But seconds turn into minutes, and nobody comes. It’s quiet, except for the sound of Steve’s breathing and the steady beating of his heart, and you realize when he looks at you with sympathy and sincerity that you hate yourself for lying. It’s an ironic realization, because lying is like second nature to you. HYDRA spent so much time ingraining it into your brain that it’s become almost like a second language, a means of communication that flows so naturally that you don’t even have an accent anymore. It’s brought you many things, and ruined even more people.

Your hands are going numb from how hard you’re clenching them into fists. Steve’s thumbs are rubbing small circles on your shoulders, and it takes all of your effort not to shake them off. You’re disgusted with yourself, bile threatening to rise to the back of your throat while the sensation of his warm fingers on you is the only thing left for you to feel. The world is dark and cold, but the heat radiating from Steve’s hands is just enough to stop you from getting frostbite. The concern is evident on his face, from the deep crease between his brows to the thin line of his lips; he’s worried about you, someone he doesn’t even know. Someone he would kill if he’d met you under any other circumstances.

You want to go home, you think to yourself, but as soon as the thought appears do you smack it down with your fist. You don’t have a home, you scold yourself, just like the doctors would tell you when you cried and screamed on the dingey operating table in the early days, when they didn’t control you yet. When they still wore their special masks to stop you from controlling their minds so they could freely fuck with yours.

It’s an icy reality, one that rattles you to your core every time it makes an appearance. Steve’s eyes are still scanning your face, which is twisted and contorted into a painful scowl before you even realize what’s happening.

An inexplicable panic washes over you, heart jackhammering in your chest while your cheeks turn a sickly shade of pink. A bead of sweat rolls down your back, followed by cold shivers that envelop your skin in ice. The scent of laundry detergent and cologne hits you like a truck, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from gagging.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice melting and morphing into the sound of rain slamming against the window like gunfire.

“My head,” you cry out in a desperate whimper, “it hurts.”

Steve forces your body down onto his bed, and while you begin to writhe in pain that causes white spots to dance in front of your eyes, he closes the curtains to keep the light from coming in. His mother had head aches all the time, and she’d be in bed for days on end if they got bad enough. He remembers her clear as day, lying in bed with an empty bucket next to her on the floor in the dark, because the light hurt so bad it would make her vomit sometimes. He’d tiptoe around the house because the sound of his feet creaking across the floorboards would pain her. He recognizes her in you, lying on his bed with your hands clutching the sides of your head.

“I’ll get you some aspirin,” he says, quieting his voice, the incident with Wanda long forgotten as instinct takes over.

Tears blur your vision at this point, and it takes every ounce of focus that you have left to keep yourself from screaming out in pain. Aspirin won’t help, but you don’t possess the capability to tell him not to bother. You’ve experienced this type of pain before, and have endured it without medicine each time. Many times actually; while you were forced to extract information from the people taken and captured by HYDRA with whatever means necessary. This time however, it’s come as a surprise and it’s caught you completely off-guard, although you suspect Wanda’s poking and prodding has something to do with it.

With all the strength you have left, you manage to pull the covers over your head, engulfing yourself in darkness and warmth to drown out your senses. The sudden darkness is disorienting, but you welcome it with open arms. Steve opens his mouth, but shuts it, and heads for the door without uttering another word.

All you hear when Steve exits the room is the sound of your former victims crying out in despair.

NEXT CHAPTER.

TAGLIST:

@foxyjwls007 @littlegasps @hurricane-abigail @idk123906 @ bubblicious-trashcan @wooya1224

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alltheworldsinmyhead · 3 years

Photo

(WHILE COLLECTING THE STARS) I CONNECTED THE DOTS

or, how Nesta accepted the bond and decided to give living a try // ao3

Adoption /Self-Discovery/Domestic/Witch!Nesta/Mating Bond/Nessian/found family bc why the fck not/Healing

Heal the scars from off my back

I don't need them anymore

You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars

I've come home

The first thing she notices is how small the girl is.

Her feet are dangling far from the ground and, even though she’s perched on a stroll and Cassian is kneeling on the ground, he’s still towering over her frame. The top of the child’s head barely sticks above the table. Her tucked-in wings make her look even tinier; tiny and miserable, wrapped up with a blanket like an abandoned kitten.

Nesta’s still high on all the magic. There is dark paint smeared all over her skin and her veins are buzzing with the sheer power that she and her coven has just leeched off the very bones of Illyria. She’s only starting to regain some composer and maybe that is why, for a good few minutes, she stays on the corridor and watches as Cassian patiently asks the girl if she wants something to eat or to drink, if she’s warm enough, if maybe she wants to take a nap, hearing nothing in return except for the stubborn, shell-shocked silence.

It’s only when the child pulls her knees up and hides her face in the material of the blanket when Nesta actually makes her presence known.

‘’Hello?’’ she calls quietly from her place on a threshold, not wanting to spook the girl further.

To Cassian’s credit, he does not whip his head towards her – but, after all, he probably knew she’s been here all along.

He always knows she’s near, just like she does.

‘’Hello, Nesta.’’ He says and there is something so heavy, so terribly dark ringing in his voice that she cannot help but shiver. ‘’Sorry, darling, are you fine sitting alone for a while here? I’ll be right back.’’

He raises his hand as if to pat the girl’s knee, but decides not to half-motion; it falls awkwardly to his side when he slowly raises to his full height.

The girl just buries deeper into the blanket.

Something about her – the clear despair radiating from every pore of her body – pulls Nesta towards her like a siren song. She cannot tear her eyes off her, even when Cassian ushers her to the corridor, his hand burning her lower back.

‘’Sorry for no heads-up.’’ He whispers, face half-obscured by the shadows.

It’s almost dusk; the lovely pink light of the dying sun makes everything less real somehow. Or maybe it’s still the magic, the leftovers of it from the sabbath, she’s not sure.

She knows why he’s apologizing. Strangers still threw her off, especially here, in this – space they’ve created. The space where she walks barefoot and with her hair unbound, only for him to see. But how he knows that she doesn’t feel comfortable with unexpected visitors, she has no idea. Sometimes, she wonders how the hell Cassian even knows half of the things he knows about her, because she doesn’t tell him even a quarter of them.

Unexpected visitors that make her uneasy definitely don’t include little lost girls, though. Especially since there’s an unpleasant pounding in Nesta’s head when her mind starts to mull over why the girl would be here in the first place.

‘’Oh, stop being an idiot. Why did you bring her here? Is she- is her mother-‘’

‘’Gone? Yeah.’’

Nesta closes her eyes so tightly that the whole night sky blooms on the underside of her eyelids.

That’s Illyria. – he told her the first time when he came home reeking of blood, his knuckles scraped to the raw meat. – It happens.

And there was not an ounce of acceptance in his voice, only this defeated helplessness. The same helplessness she’s hearing – she’s feeling – now.

‘’She doesn’t have anyone else left? No family?’’

‘’No one. Her father was killed in the war, as far as I know.’’

It happens. Females disappear. Females evaporate. Females appear with their wings clipped, with blood running down their thighs. Females find themselves in the wrong place, the wrong time… especially young, pretty widows, trying to make a living in any way they can, selling whatever they have, including themselves.

Nesta does not have to ask for more details, does not have to dig deeper. Cassian fixes her stare on the chandelier above her head and breaths deeply and, when she looks down, she can see dark bruises blooming on his knuckles, turning them all shades of purple.

Her hands are still cool from the autumn air. He shivers when her thumbs brush across his tender flesh.

‘’Those who did it to her – they won’t do it again to anyone else, will they?’’

‘’No,’’ Cassian growls, his fingers curling around hers. ‘’No, they won’t.’’

She lets her lips curl into a smile, the one that makes Devlon piss his pants whenever he throws a hissy about her coven, or rather about her dragging the clipped females to the woods at night to howl to the moon, as he calls it.

‘’Good.’’ She breathes out.

Her eyes slide on the wooden panels on the wooden panels, back to the kitchen; through the ajar door, all she can see are the black curls, the small talons on top of the girl’s wings peeking from the folds of the blanket.

She’s just so small. She cannot be possibly older than five.

‘’What’s her name?”

“Nicassia.’’ Cassian answers without meeting Nesta’s eyes and something akin to a laugh bubbles in her chest. Nicassia. What a pretty name, swishing like a mountain stream on the rocks, like the wind in the valley.

Ni-cass-ia.

It seems the irony has not escaped Cassian too, because he smirks slightly at her stunned silence.

‘’What are the chances, huh?’’

‘’Yeah.’’ She sounds a bit breathless. Nicassia. ‘’What - where are you planning to take her?’’

She rather feels than hears his hesitance when he says:

‘’Well. There’s an orphanage in Velaris-‘’

Something tightens like a rock inside her core. Of course.

She bites on her tongue. Stop being ridiculous, Velaris is not the source of all evil in the world. She has no doubt that they will take care of her well there – keep her well-fed and clothed, educate her. Give her the care and attention she needs. Maybe she’ll be treated as something … something else, different, but not worse, Feyre would never allow that. Still-

There’s this nagging thought, coming back to her over and over again as she raises her eyes to the small bundle of misfortune on the stroll in the kitchen Nesta has started to think of as hers – what about the things they cannot give her in Velaris?

Nesta’s been living in the Illyria for three years now; she keeps count of every day while pretending she’s absolutely not doing that. And during this time, she has just begun to grasp the magnitude of her ignorance of how these people live and how they think and feel – but she also knows now just enough to realize that there will be no coming back for Nicassia if she’s sent to the Night Court so young.

No one will teach her the songs to keep the rhythm while sewing – no one will teach her how to sew in the first place, how to weave the promises and good fortunes into the fabric. No one will teach her the strange language, full of whistles and hard vowels, impossible to really grasp for somebody who did not grow up hearing it every day. No one will teach her how to put pebbles on the windowsills for protection or to hang bundles of herbs above the fireplace for prosperity and health. No one will make a rowan necklace for her upon her flowering, every hope, and dream that her mother has for her captured on the rope along with the fruits.

No one will teach her the sacred, secret language of Illyrian females, the rites and rituals of their womanhood. If Nicassia grows up in Velaris, she will be forever an outcast in her own home. Not High Fae and not quite Illyrian either.

She will once sit around the fire with other females just like Nesta does with her coven and she too won’t be a part of the story.

And Nesta cannot bear this thought, cannot help but fixate on it.

‘’Nesta.’’

Cassian’s hand is warm and steady on arm, gentle, when he squeezes it.

He’s always gentle with her now, hesitant almost. She’s trying not to miss the times when he was challenging her with every move, every word, driving her insane. It’s better this way, when everything between them is so delicate, fragile like an eggshell. It’s better like that, she tries to convince herself every day, every night laying alone in her bed, her very skin burning from desire.

Sometimes he sleeps beside her to keep her nightmares at bay, but honestly, she almost prefers the nightmares to this unbearable, painful distance between them.

‘’You cannot – you can’t keep her, Sweetheart.’’

She knows what he means by that – she knows he means all the sleepless nights and the emptiness still present in her eyes more often than not. Her still too-skinny hands, her still-not-quite mastered powers. How she would not touch booze for all days of the year except for the anniversary of her father’s death when she gets so absolutely pissed that she sleeps through the next week. The fact that they share fears and dreams and silence, trade quiet feelings, small kisses, absent-minded caresses every day, but they have still not traded the actual words, did not dare to voice anything they feel for each other.

She knows he only wants to protect her.

But maybe a time for coddling has passed. Not when there is a child sitting in their kitchen, small and alone in this world and this time, she has power – power, and strength, and will – to help her.

‘’Maybe I can’t’’. she says softly, slowly. Nicassia’s dark curls spill on her shoulders. Nesta’s hands itch to braid it the way it’s supposed to be braided, just like Emerie explained to her one time- first parted in two, then divided into four strands and woven together (Health. Protection. Love. Devotion.). Nesta’s no Illyrian, but she can learn. She can ask her coven to teach her, to teach her how to sing lullabies in Illyrian, which bedtimes stories she should tell-

Ni-cass-ia.

Nesta thinks about a boy of five, dumped onto the cold mud, taught over and over again in the most horrible way that he has to kill, beg or steal for every little crumb of love in his life, that it will never be given freely to him, that he will never be worth it.

Nesta thinks of a girl of eight, burning with anger too vast to be contained, only learning decades later how to be gentle, how to allow others to be gentle to her. She thinks of Feyre and Elain, of loving too much and not enough simultaneously, of not knowing how to feel anything without this magnitude of feeling devouring her whole.

Nesta turns around to face Cassian, her hands gripping his too-strongly. There’s fire – fire- burning inside her brighter than any magic ever did, hotter than any rage ever did.

She needs us. – she thinks and then: I need this. I want this.

I want this for us.

She doesn’t remember ever wanting anything more. She doesn’t remember the last time she has felt so much.

How can they continue to pretend they’re walking on eggshells when she feels every rise and fall of his chest as if it was her own? When she could’ve as well grabbed on this bond between them or hang herself on it, that’s how strong it is. Forged from some ancient metal. Hardened in flames.

Cassian kneeling on the floor in front of this girl. Nesta coming home.

‘’But maybe we can.’’

His eyes burn golden, staring down at her. She can almost hear his heart stumbling in his chest. She’s trembling, waiting for him to tell her, no, to tell her that’s insane and wrong, to try to reason with her.

But maybe her own heart is painted on her face or maybe the implication of her words are too vast, too great to grasp, or maybe it’s that fact that all her walls go down for a moment when she’s too desperate to keep them up and he sees her for what she truly is for a moment, or maybe it’s all of those things altogether or something else entirely – but Cassian doesn’t say no.

He looks to the kitchen again, his jaw clenching and eyes turning soft when one of Nicassia’s bare feet emerges from the blanket to dangle above the floor.

‘’Are you sure?’’

One step, two steps before she’s so close she could’ve counted the freckles of hazel in his eyes.

Be brave.

‘’I want this with you. I want her. Do you – do you want it too?’’

And she means more than Nicassia, or rather – she means all Nicassia can possibly mean, the whole ocean of dreams she has never dared to venture into, so deep they could both drown in it.

In her grand romance novels, he would’ve pulled her into his arms, give her a sweeping kiss. But in these books, there seems to always be a perfect moment for everything, the exact seconds when stars align and the realization comes like a lightning strike. Nesta does not believe in this type of love any more- doesn’t believe in the perfect moments. It was always Feyre’s brand of romance. Everything in Nesta’s and Cassian’s story has always been complicated and ill-timed. She doesn’t expect to be swept off her feet or wooed anymore.

She just wants to come home. Finally, after all those lonely years.

Cassian doesn’t give her a grand kiss. Instead, he raises their linked hands to his lips and whispers against her skin – quietly, like a secret, like an oath:

‘’I do. Fine then, love.’’

And for a second she can almost see that small boy entering Rhysand’s mother’s cottage in the war camp, craving family and belonging above all reason once again.

Her body turns soft, jelly; her arm raises up, palm resting in the crook of his neck, thumb brushing the line of his jaw. She’s on her tiptoes before she realizes she has even made a move.

For the first time since they met, they meet each other halfway; his forehead resting on hers, his hand pressing hers to his heart.

‘’Fine then, love.’’ She echoes and, all at once, warmth erupts under her skin like a raging forest fire when the bond tugs on her insides and snaps in place, sweet and familiar, the gravity keeping her feet on the ground.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acosf

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pregnant-piggy · 4 years

Text

Back again - part II

Sirius Black x reader

Words: 3600+

Warnings: swearing

part one

A/N: I’m back! Stressed af, but I could not leave you without part two! So I’m doing this instead of learning for my exams :) It’s the final part, but don’t worry cuz I have more Sirius content for you! XXX

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The street you walk in is completely dark. Every curtain is closed and only four street lanterns are working. You squeeze your eyes to see what the house numbers are. Afraid anyone will see you, you don’t use your wand, but it lies steady in your hand, hidden in the pocket of your coat. You take a few steps closer to a house and read that it is number 14. You step back and walk further. After a few minutes you come to the right house, number 38. You walk to the door and knock.

Nerves rush through your veins as you wait for the door to open. You had never been here before, but Dumbledore had told you this was the right address. You weren’t sure though, it didn’t really seem like a place that-

The door opens, interrupting your thoughts. You look into the light brown eyes of Remus Lupin. He looks shocked; his jaw is dropped and his hand is clasped around the door frame. After a few seconds his confusion changes into a small smile then into a big grin. He pulls you in his arms and holds you tight. You sigh happily; it had been years since someone hugged you like that. A tear rolled down your cheek and you wiped it away with the sleeve of your coat.

‘Come in, come in,’ Remus says with a throaty voice. You step into the small house. You enter a small, dark hall filled with a single coat rack, where you hang up your coat. The living room is just as dark as the hall, but there is a fire burning fiercely in the cold.

‘I’ll get you something to eat…’ Remus mutters and you feel he needs to take a few deep breaths alone in the kitchen.

It is not a very big room and it is filled with a brown couch and a bookcase full of books. Waiting for Remus to return, you walk to the bookcase and look at the books. A summary on vampires; Magical creatures: dangerous or not?; Five ways to defend yourself in front of trolls. Your eyes scan all the books and they stop at a big book without the name on it. You smile when you see it is a photo album filled with pictures of you and your friends. Pictures of sleepovers in the boys’ dormitory, trips to Hogsmeade, photos of birthdays and other parties. On one of the pages you see your favourite photo.

All of you on Halloween in you third year, dressed up as each other. Sirius had gone as Peter and had filled his backpack with candy; Peter dressed up as James, with huge glasses and really messy hair; James had painted his hair red to be Lily; Lily had stolen a big sweater from Remus and was holding up five books; Remus was you, he wore a (y/h/c) wig and your favourite dress; you dressed up as Sirius, wearing his huge T-shirt and you had painted your hair black. You look at your bag that is lying on the ground. That T-shirt is in there. You had never given it back to Sirius, you loved it too much.

You are browsing through the album and your attention is taken by a picture of you and Sirius. You have fallen asleep on the couch in the common room and Sirius is sitting next to you looking at you. Under the picture someone, and you recognise Lily’s handwriting, has written: If you only knew what you feel for each other. You look back at the picture and realise that it is taken in your fifth year. You and Sirius weren’t dating yet but you had told Remus and Lily about your crush, and apparently so had Sirius. You start to cry; you can’t wait to see Sirius.

Remus enters the room and you turn around wiping away your tears. He looks from your face to the book back to your face.

‘I didn’t know you had this,’ you say to Remus. You sit down next to him on the couch.

‘Well yeah, Lily and I made it. I haven’t opened it since she and James died.’ You see the sad look on Remus’ face and you close the album. ‘When did you got here?’ Remus asks you.

‘This morning. I wanted to come to you, but Dumbledore insisted that I came to him first. I met Harry and he told me about what happened since Sirius escaped.’ You sigh; it had been a long day and you were tired, but you still want to hear Remus’ side of the story.

You rest your head on Remus’ shoulder and close your eyes. ‘France sucks you know? Stupid French people with their cheese and baguettes. They ruined baguettes for me!’ You hear Remus chuckle and continue your rant. ‘The only good thing there were the pastries. But they were expensive as hell! And the French wizards! Merlin, are they annoying! I never understood a word they were saying, which is not very nice when you’re duelling. Luckily that only happened a few times.’

Remus suddenly turns to you and looks you in the eye. ‘You haven’t changed at all have you?’ he asks with a smile. ‘I missed you. I could have used your enthusiasm and positivity, it has not been nice…’

Seeing your questioning face, Remus begins to tell you about the things Harry didn’t. About the new Order, about his time with the werewolves, about the night at the ministry previous summer.

He talks all night and is finished when the sun already starts to rise. You have listened to him without interrupting. Your eyes are red from the sleep you are lacking, but you wouldn’t have wanted this night to be any different. It was nice to talk to Remus again. You had missed him so much. His smile and sarcastic comments, yes, but also the way he listens to your stories and how he trusts you even after this much time apart.

‘The next meeting is next Wednesday. Are you coming?’ Remus asks you while cleaning up his coffee table, that was covered in coffee mugs and candy-bar-wrappings, and you shrug.

‘I don’t know, I think I need to think about what you told me and what Harry told me, but I don’t think that will take until Wednesday. And to be honest I could really use some sleep right now. I haven’t slept for like two days.’ Remus laughs softly and gets up.

‘I have a guestroom,’ he simply says and walks upstairs. You grab your bag and run after him.

- -- -

You are lying on your bed, looking at the ceiling. Despite not having slept in 48 hours go can’t seem to fall asleep. The things you heard today are spooking through your head. Every time you close your eyes you see Sirius’ face, but he is talking to you, saying that he doesn’t recognise you, asking why you took so long to come see him, why you haven’t freed him.

You look at the clock hanging on the wall. It is 4 o’clock. You turn on the bedside lamp and sit on the edge of the bed. After minutes of doubting to grab your bag and take out a notebook. It is filled with letters that Sirius wrote you, during summer vacations and later when he was away for missions.

Sweet (Y/N),

It has only been two weeks since the vacation started but it feels like I haven’t seen you in months! Here at home everything is acceptable. Mum and Dad haven’t noticed I sneak out at night.

I know that you would say I shouldn’t sneak out and that I should be careful. But you don’t have to worry, I came up with a perfect system that I am not going to tell in case this letter falls into the wrong hands.

Next week I am going to James. He is back from his holiday then and he asked me to spend the rest of the vacation there. Maybe you can come over sometime?

Yours, Padfoot

You smiled at the letter. Sirius had written it to you in the summer before fifth year. It wasn’t unusual for him to write letters but every time you got one you had felt special.

Sweet (Y/N),

Please come save me from Prongs. All he can do is talk about Lily, about her hair, her eyes, her face, her skin, her fucking everything! I know you probably have better things to do but I don't think I am going to make it until the first of September if someone doesn't save me!

You smile at Sirius' words. You remember going to James after you got that letter and Sirius literally hugging you so tight that you couldn't breathe. You had blushed and stepped back, softly smiling at the situation.

Browsing through the letters you lose track of time. You cry and laugh at the memories in your love’s handwriting. You haven't read them in a long time, but still remember every single one of them.

Slowly the letters get more and more personal and romantic. Sirius wrote you about everything, every small detail of his life. You get to the period after Hogwarts. The letters he wrote to you when he was away for missions. Or when he was away with James, Remus and Peter on their monthly ‘Man-Break' (for Remus).

You are still smiling when you reach the last letter in your notebook.

My love,

Only two more days and I'll be back. I miss you and I know you miss me too. Everything is alright here, though James is stressing because he thinks he is going to miss Harry's birthday. I have tried everything to calm him down but so far nothing worked. I'll come up with more ideas.

Have you already got a gift for Harry? James said he maybe we could get him something quidditchy (he came up with that word! Don't let Remus see it!). I know Lily wouldn't really like it, but she cannot refuse it if we give it.

I really want to see you. I miss you so much. I know you think this is dangerous and it is, but we’re trained for this. I promise you I’ll come home. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again and kiss your lips and watch every stupid, cheesy, romantic film you want to see.

James is calling for me. Probably to ask what he should write to Lily.

I love you, Sirius

That had been the last multiple-day mission Sirius had gone on. He had promised you that he could never leave you for that long. He would still go on missions, but they were less dangerous, mostly because Lily had forbidden James to go on life-threatening missions, and never for more than two days.

You close your notebook and look at the clock. Two hours have passed since you started reading. You fall back on the bed and close your eyes thinking about your friends and how much you miss them.

When you wake up two hours later you don’t remember falling asleep. You slowly get up and walk down. In the kitchen you find Remus drinking his coffee and reading the paper.

‘Morning,’ he says when he sees you. You mutter a ‘good morning’ back and fill a cup with coffee.

‘So how did you sleep?’ Remus asks when you sit down.

‘Fine,’ you lie and take a sip. Remus squeezes his eyes.

‘Then why do you look like shit?’

You laugh. ‘I have been thinking, and I think I am going to the meeting Wednesday.’ You take another sip of your coffee. ‘So what is the plan for today?’

‘Well since it is such nice weather-’ You laugh; it has been raining since you got here. ‘I thought maybe we could take a walk or something and I have to go to the library to bring back some books.’ You smile, that is such a ‘Remus’ way to spend the day and honestly, you are up for it.

- -- -

You have so much fun with Remus and the two days go by fast. Together with him you feel home. It brings back memories of after Hogwarts, when you and Remus stayed home together while Sirius went out on missions. The both of you then only fell asleep at sunrise, your night filled with worries.

And even now you stay up late with Remus, but not to worry about Sirius, or at least Remus doesn’t; you are still scared what will happen if you see Sirius. You spend your nights talking about your time in France and his time here back home. You learn more about when he was a teacher at Hogwarts and he tells you about Harry and all the ‘adventures’ this one has been on.

Staring at your bag on the floor on the floor of the room Remus gave you, you try to take dep breaths. When you agreed to go to the meeting, you didn’t expect to be so nervous. What if Sirius doesn’t want to see you? Or worse, what if he found someone else? You feel nauseous, like you haven’t eaten enough.

‘Are you ready?’ Remus asks. You get up.

‘Yes, let’s just get it over with,’ you say.

Outside Remus gives you his arm and you take it. After looking around to be sure no one sees you, Remus disapparates and are being pulled with him. You hold in your breath and close your eyes. The familiar feeling makes you even more nauseous and light-headed. When you land on the sidewalk of the street you open your eyes and take a deep breath. Remus is standing next to you also looking a little sick but when he opens his eyes he smiles at you.

In front of you appears the house you had only been to twice. One time when you picked up Sirius with the Potters and a second time after you graduated at Hogwarts to pick up some stuff for Sirius. You had gone with James and Remus and luckily Sirius’ parents weren’t home. When you look at the house you notice it has not changed at all. The front door is still the same black colour and it looks like it is the same paint it was twenty years ago. All the curtains are closed and it looks like there is no one home.

You and Remus walk up to the door and Remus knocks on it. You take deep breath and your legs are shaking. The door opens and Mrs. Weasley appears. She smiles at Remus and her eyes widen when she sees you.

‘(Y/N)!’ she gasps. You smile softly at her reaction and let her take you into a hug. ‘I haven’t seen you in so long! How are you?’

‘Shall we discuss that inside?’ Remus asks, while looking around the street and Molly nods. You follow them inside and look around.

You are standing in a dark hall. The walls are painted dark grey and the floor is black. On the ceiling there is a chandelier with a lot of dust on it. It gives you the feeling you are in a haunted house. Even the Shrieking Shack would be a better place to live.

‘Cosy,’ you mumble and Remus laughs. Molly walks to a door that leads to the kitchen. There are a few people already there but no one notices you.

‘How long have you been here?’ Molly asks you as you sit down and slowly people start to recognise you. Their eyes widen and some jaws drop. Swiftly you are surrounded by people who ask you questions and want to know how you are.

‘But I thought you were in France?’

‘What was it like there?’

‘Weren’t you banned from England?’

And then someone asks a question that makes your stomach turn upside down.

‘Does Sirius know you’re here?’ You look at Remus and then shake your head.

‘No, he does not, I got back here Sunday and I haven’t had the chance to contact him,’ you answer. You answer all the other questions but the later it gets, the more nervous you feel.

After half an hour you hear a familiar voice.

‘What is going on here?’

You recognise the voice. Of course you do. It is a voice you could never forget, not even if you tried. It is the voice with a little rasp, a deep, heavy sound. It is the voice that makes your head spin. The voice that makes you shiver. The voice that you haven’t heard in fifteen years. The voice of the man you loved, still love.

The people around you step aside so Sirius can see you. With every person that steps aside you can see more and more of the person you came for. The man with the long, black, silky hair and the stormy grey eyes. You see his feet, his strong legs, his hands. Merlin, his hands. His beautiful muscled hands that used to touch your body every second you were near him. Every time you were near him his hands instantly found your body. His hands on you back, your hips, your shoulder, your thighs, your hands. His hands were everywhere.

You hesitate. You are afraid to look him in the eye. You are afraid he is not the person he used to be, you are afraid he has changed. Not that change is bad, but what if it is?

Slowly you look up. Sirius is still looking at the other people around you. He hasn’t noticed you. Yet.

He follows the direction everyone is looking at. You can feel your heart beating and you are pretty sure everyone can hear it. Finally his gaze meets yours and he doesn’t move. He drops his hands alongside his body and stares at you, with an open mouth. You form a little smile when you see his face.

‘Hi,’ you say softly but loud enough for everyone to hear it. People around you look between you and Sirius; you can see their heads moving, but all you can focus on his the man in front of you.

Sirius closes his mouth and then opens it again to say something. But nothing comes. The fear in your head gets worse. This is what you imagined. He doesn’t want to see you, he probably moved on from you, you are nothing but an ex for him. The girl he used to date.

You feel tears coming up, but you refuse to look away. You want to see his reaction, no matter how much it will hurt you. Sirius shakes his head and you feel like you have been stabbed. Your nails scratch on the table when you move your hand and you hear it. Everyone does. The room is absolute silent. Nobody makes a sound. Everyone is staring at you or Sirius.

You keep staring into Sirius’ eyes. Then slowly you start to notice a glimmering in his eyes. No metaphorical one, but a physical one. Sirius is crying, or on the edge of. The corners of his mouth go up and the slightest smile appears on his face. You feel the relieve falling off you. Your heart starts to beat harder, but more lively. The blood rushes through your body.

The little smile turns bigger and bigger, until Sirius is grinning. You let out a laugh from relieve and people around you start to smile carefully. Sirius walks towards you and you get up. When he is in front of you, he takes your hand and places his other one on your cheek. You look him in the eye and you feel like an idiot smiling so much. You start crying at the sight of Sirius’ tears. The tears roll down your face but Sirius keeps looking at your eyes. Your faces are now inches away from each other and you could easily lean in and close the space but something is keeping you from doing that. The fear is still in your body. Fear of being rejected after all these years.

‘Stop crying,’ Sirius whispers and you feel his breath against your skin. ‘Everything is alright, love.’

You kiss him immediately when you hear his words. And without hesitation he kisses you back. It is a rough, but passionate kiss and you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Feeling Sirius’ lips on yours makes you relax. Your hands on his chest, his hands on your back and in your hair.

People around you start to cheer and you smile into the kiss. Before pulling apart Sirius bites your lip and you moan softly so only he can hear it. You can see the arousal in his eyes and you grin. You take his hand and pull him out of the room. You drag him to the nearest room and close the door behind you. You stare into Sirius’ eyes and he kisses you again, rough and passionate, but also soft, like he is trying to express his feelings through his kiss.

‘Fuck,’ he breathes when he breaks the kiss. You rest your heads together and you giggle. The tears are still running down your cheeks but you don’t care. You relax when you feel Sirius’ hands on your back. You stay like this for a long time until Sirius says:

‘I missed you so much. I thought I would never see you again, where were you?’

‘France.’

‘France?’

‘Yeah, the ministry apparently doesn’t appreciate weekly letters about how much they fucked up.’

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328 notes · View notes

reyescarlos · 3 years

Note

51 with Tarlos please and thank you. AND I’m glad my yelling at you meant I could send in this request. Please expect more yelling, always.

you are my biggest bully but also my greatest motivator. thank you for your service, ma’am.

#51 “You had another nightmare, didn’t you?”

Carlos wakes up, his shirt sticking to his back, his face covered in a light sheen of sweat. He struggles to catch his breath as he sits up, a hand flying to his chest over his quickly beating heart. This sensation is nothing new and yet it still floors Carlos each time he wakes up like this.

After these last two weeks he should be used to it.

He looks to the left in bed but of course the space is empty. TK is at his own house, in his own bed, undoubtedly fast asleep like any rational person would be at this hour.

Carlos settles his back against the headboard, his stomach twisted into knots. He tries in vain to get his heart to stop racing, to settle himself and find some semblance of calm. It’s not an easy task and as the seconds tick by, Carlos realizes that this may not be a job he can handle on his own. He hesitates before reaching over to his nightstand and disconnecting his phone from the charger. His eyes adjust to the bright screen before him boldly stating that it’s 2:17 in the morning.

He knows he shouldn’t call. It’s the middle of the night, a time when a phone call could make a person jump to horrible conclusions. This is hardly an emergency; he isn’t in any danger but TK is something of an anchor for him, his voice alone enough to settle him on even his worst days. It’s selfish, he thinks, to trouble his boyfriend now but if he could speak to him for even a few seconds, Carlos thinks it will lull him back to what hopes will be a peaceful sleep. Before he can put too much thought to it, Carlos presses TK’s name in his contacts and puts the phone to his ear.

Four rings chime and Carlos contemplates hanging up just then before there’s a break.

“Carlos?” TK asks, his voice heavy with sleep. Carlos mentally kicks himself.

“You were sleeping. Of course you were. I’m so sorry. Go back to bed.”

TK clears his throat on the line before speaking. “Not a chance. Are you hurt? What’s going on? Talk to me. Is everything okay?”

Carlos licks his chapped lips and sniffs, shaking his head even though TK cannot see him. Concern is so heavy in TK’s voice. He can just picture the troubled look his boyfriend must be sporting now to go with it.

“I’m alright, really. I’m at home and I’m okay. I shouldn’t have worried you. Goodnight,” he quickly says before hanging up.

TK calls back but Carlos doesn’t pick up, feeling foolish for calling his boyfriend in the dead of night just because he had a bad dream. It makes him feel like he’s a kid again, racing straight to his parents room and wedging himself between them when he got spooked during a storm or couldn’t rest.

He’s an adult now—and a cop no less. Feeling brave should be common practice for him. Roping TK into this mess was a grave oversight on his part. He feels guilty for not answering but embarrassment flares throughout him, burning in the pit of his stomach.

Carlos does his best to fall back asleep on his own and shake the images that flitted through his mind earlier but the task is far easier said than done. It’s all too easy to recall that call from two weeks ago.

He’s curled onto his side, still wide awake when he hears the chime of the doorbell.

Padding across his room and down the hall to the front door, Carlos flips on the switch for the front step and peers through the peephole.

TK stands there with his hands burrowed into the front pocket of his hoodie, shivering a bit. Carlos hurries to unlock the door, to welcome him in every sense of the word.

“TK, you didn’t have to come over,” he says, moving back to let TK enter.

“You called me at two in the morning. You needed me so I’m here,” he says plainly.

TK steps closer to him, cupping his face. “Maybe now you can tell me what’s keeping you up?” he asks gently.

Carlos sighs and closes back the door, flicking the lock. TK keeps his eyes fixed on him, clearly not willing to let up on getting to the bottom of this. Carlos appreciates the concern but it only makes him feel more foolish for reaching out in the first place.

“It’s so embarrassing,” he says, rolling his eyes at himself.

Even just saying that much aloud makes him feel ridiculous but from the way TK’s brows furrow, he can tell his boyfriend views things differently.

“You had another nightmare, didn’t you?”

There’s nothing accusatory or judgemental in his tone at all and it makes Carlos love TK all the more. Finding the words to admit to what led to him calling felt insurmountable. But of course TK would be able to fill in the blanks.

For two weeks since his unit was called to an active shooter scene, Carlos has been haunted by the things he witnessed that afternoon. He’s done his best to shake it off and some nights are truly easier than others to endure. But TK has borne witness to Carlos’ fitful rests, been there right beside him when Carlos wakes up shakily from dreaming.

Carlos shudders in spite of his best efforts to control it but the memory of the shootout is so vivid. His dream recounted it all in stunning clarity to the point where it felt as if Carlos had somehow gone back in time and was sincerely living that horrific day over.

He’s only able to nod, his body feeling cold.

TK sighs in understanding, wrapping his arms around Carlos and rubbing his back soothingly.

“That was a horrible day. It makes perfect sense why it’s still affecting you. You went through something extremely traumatic.”

Carlos groans and breaks away from the hug, walking over to the living room. TK is right on his heels, eyeing him carefully as they sit on the couch.

“I’m a police officer. I should be able to move on and I swear, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“You’re human. It’s only natural that you’d react to something like that. But pretending like it didn’t happen? Not talking about it? That’s not helpful. Trust me,” TK says, that final sentence piercing through.

TK knows about hardships and personal demons. He’s been so candid about his past and it never fails to make Carlos’ heart swell with pride seeing how far TK has come in all the months that they’ve known each other.

“Maybe I could take some time off, just for a little while,” he suggests.

“I think that’s a great starting point, definitely.”

“Guess it also couldn’t hurt to talk to someone about it either.”

TK smiles widely at this and nods, kissing Carlos’ cheek. “I like the sound of that.”

#tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #starlightbuck #kimmy writes #wow I suck at prompts lol ily

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lu-undy · 3 years

Text

Chapter 100 - SBT

Here it is! Ladies and Mentlegen, we did it, 100 chapters, and the story’s not finished yet ;-;

"Hey, you alright?" Mundy looked down but Lucien did not want to part from his arms.

"O-oui."

Hearing the stutter did not convince Mundy.

"What is it, love?"

"I don't want to leave your arms. I know it is selfish of me to say but I need to get it out of me." He slowly raised his eyes to Mundy. "I cannot live without you, Mundy. I mean this in the most serious way there possibly is. The thought of you leaving me puts tears in my eyes uncontrollably fast. I…" Lucien sighed. "I know that your father would rather you left me but…" He lowered his head and gently headbutted Mundy's chest. "I don't want that to happen. I-I just can't."

Mundy gave Lucien a second but he saw how distraught and preoccupied his lover was. He raised his head and slowly, the context appeared. The dance floor, the people, the musicians, the restaurant. They had all disappeared for God only knew how long.

"C'mere, we gotta go back home."

There was no dessert, no final full stop to their dinner. Both of them needed to have a serious discussion and Mundy felt that Lucien was boiling to burst out but held himself back only out of habit, because he used to bottle it up all the time.

When they reached home, they entered hand in hand and Mundy turned to remove Lucien's long, black coat from him. The Frenchman was paralysed. It was taking him that much energy and focus to not spill what the walls of his lips struggled to contain, that the rest of his body couldn't afford to move. The Aussie helped him out of his high-heeled boots and turned to him.

"Let's get upstairs."

"I…" Lucien raised glistening eyes to Mundy. "I can't…"

"Then, I'll carry you, c'mere, gorgeous." Mundy slid a hand behind Lucien's knees and another behind his back. "There we go…" Lucien curled up in Mundy's arms as he carried him upstairs, in the bedroom. "And… There we are… on the bed." He gently laid Lucien there and the minute his arms left him, Lucien reached for him and clawed on his arm.

"Please…! Stay with me…"

"I am, I just wanna remove my jacket… Here… Now the bowtie, the vest… Open up a few buttons on the shirt, and here I am, sweetheart. Now I can hold you, there we go, and you can tell me everythin', go ahead…"

They were lying on the bed, on their side, facing each other. The bedroom was dark so Mundy just switched on one of the night lamps.

"I am so sorry…" Lucien closed his eyes, out of shame.

"Why?"

"I organised all this for you and now it's all about me, I'm… I am a disgrace…" Lucien hid his face in his gloved hands.

"No, Lu', please…" Mundy gently took his wrists and pulled them off of his face. "Tell me."

"But I was supposed to surprise you and take care of you, not…"

"Not what?" Mundy brushed a lock of Lucien's hair behind his ear.

"Not… Not fall in love again with you."

Mundy smiled.

"Hey, I feel the same for you, darl'. It's alright."

"Non, Mundy, I wanted to take your mind off things, to make you dream, for one evening, and now I am just realising that… Mon Dieu…"

"Whatever it is, get it out, Lu'."

"I love you so much and so deeply… I cannot afford to see you go! My head tells me that you might and my body just cannot bear it. I am sorry, this does not help you at all, in any way." Lucien looked away.

"Hey." Mundy put a hand on his cheek and made him face him again. "It's not all about helpin' me. We gotta help you too. Now, listen here." Lucien raised his eyes to his lover's lagoon blue ones. "I'll say it now and I'll repeat it every bloody day if needs be. I won't go away from you. Whatever happens with my Dad, it's lasted for long enough. If he accepts us, he does, if he doesn't, he doesn't. I'm not gonna run after him my whole life; did it for forty-odd years already, and it didn't amount to anythin'. Now you look me in the eye, pretty thing." Mundy slid both hands on Lucien's cheeks and pushed his forehead against his. "I won't ever go away from you, you hear me? Ever. D'you hear me?"

Lucien nodded.

"Say it."

"You won't leave me…?" Lucien's voice broke.

"I won't leave you. Wherever I go, you come with me, whether he likes it or not. I don't live for him. I live for myself. And Mum's fine with us, she understands. Dad's never understood me anyway, and if it's not gonna change even after the ten years away and all, then so be it."

Lucien's eyebrows jumped.

"Yeah, I'm not sayin' this like that. I really thought about it. Not only is he weighin' a ton on my shoulders but he's preventin' us both to sleep and he's puttin' tears in your eyes now? It's unfair. You don't deserve to cry for this, you don't deserve to cry for anything, baby." Mundy closed his eyes, his forehead still against Lucien's.

And the Frenchman broke. His tears started streaming like two black rivers of diluted mascara down his cheeks and his overall face.

"M-Mundy, you don't have to…" He sniffled. "You don't have to be so harsh."

"I'm just so bloody tired of it. I was happy and he's breakin' it all now? No, I won't let him, c'mere." Mundy wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled him close. "Cry if you want to, gorgeous angel, but I won't let him hurt us anymore. The only reason he thinks he can make me change my mind is because he assumes I'm listenin' to him. Well, that's it, not anymore! He will have to listen, bloody hell!"

Mundy rolled such that Lucien was lying on top of him.

"I am so sorry… I don't want to push you to make such drastic decisions… Because…"

"Why, beautiful? Tell me everythin'." Mundy asked confidently.

"Because you are being exactly like him if you do…"

Mundy's eyebrows jumped. He hadn't thought of that, he hadn't seen it that way.

"Then, tell me, Lu'. Tell me what I should do…"

Lucien looked into Mundy's eyes and smiled.

"Stay as you are, mon amour, please. Continue living your life the way that you have, continue to smile at whatever makes you happy, continue to… continue to please, love me."

"I…" Seeing Lucien plead with his voice, his tears and his eyes was a strong sight to behold. "I never stopped lovin' you, Lu', and I won't."

"I am so sorry…"

"Stop apologisin', please."

"Non!" He exclaimed. "I am supposed to be the older one, the calm one, the one with reason! And look at me now! In tears, I am in tears… This is shameful, I sincerely apologise to you, please, don't look at me…" Lucien covered his face again but Mundy pulled his hands away.

"No, luv'. It's you and me in this couple, not just me. You don't have to carry everythin' on your shoulders. I'm a grown up man and I'll carry everythin' with you!"

"Mundy...?"

"Yeah?"

"I… I love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart. But hold on, your make-up's sinking everywhere, let me grab some tissue and some water. I'll clean you up." Mundy kissed Lucien's forehead before going to the bathroom, he came back not a minute later to find Lucien sitting on the bed, his back against the bedhead. Mundy sat next to him. "Here… Let me wipe all that mess, yeah?"

"My apologies."

"Told you, don't apologise, beautiful…" Mundy wetted a tissue with some water and Lucien closed his eyes. He then felt the cold tissue gently wipe his eyes and eyelashes. "There… Hold on, need more tissue, that stuff's really sticky, eh?" And it soothed Lucien, the periodic movement of the cold tissue on his eyelids lulled him slowly.

"Oh, I think most of it is gone on your eyes. Now, let me wipe your cheeks… There we go… You can open your eyes, now."

Lucien obeyed and his eyelids fluttered slightly. He saw Mundy give him the first earnest smile in weeks…!

"Mon Dieu, your smile is a delicacy for my eyes."

"The whole of you's a delicacy for the whole of me, I mean… Look at all this, eh?" Mundy's head went down Lucien's silhouette. "You completely shaved your face, your legs, and even your chest, eh?"

Lucien nodded with a smile.

"I hope you don't find this too unsettling, it will stay like this for a week or so before it all grows back up."

"Unsettlin'? You joking? It's bloody sexy…" Mundy answered, his eyes still everywhere along Lucien's dress.

"You prefer it if I shave everything off?"

"I don't care… I just… You're hot anyway."

Lucien's eyebrows jumped.

"I am surprised that you didn't… How shall I phrase this…? You didn't push me back when you realised that it was me."

"Lu', look at you… Gloves up to the elbows and, dress with a cut up to yer thigh, the stockings! Gosh, the stockings… And the boots you had! How the hell could you walk and dance with heels that high?"

"Well…" Lucien chuckled.

"You did it a few times before, eh? Back when you were a spook, I guess?"

"Non." Lucien shook his head. "I never wore heels that high before. I trained on my own for this one occasion."

"You trained?"

"I went to Richard a few times and put the boots on just to get used to them."

"Y-you what?!"

"It is quite tricky if you are not used to it." Lucien explained. "It's all a question of delicate balance."

"No, I didn't mean it that way, I meant… You… How long've you been preparin' this then?"

"Does it matter?"

Their eyes met and Mundy smiled wider.

"That bloody sentence used to get on my nerves so much from you."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Back when you were a spook, you were usin' it all the time to not answer a question."

"And I still do, hm?"

"Yeah, apparently."

They chuckled.

"But Lu'?"

"Oui?"

"What now?"

"Well, I would need some help to remove this dress. The zipper is behind my back." He answered nonchalantly.

"But if I don't help you, does that mean you keep the dress longer?" Mundy raised a cocky eyebrow and Lucien smirked. He liked where this was all going.

"I am afraid so, Mundy." Lucien faked his distress.

"Don't be afraid, doll, c'mere…" Mundy went on all four in front of Lucien and pushed his lips against the Frenchman's, who sank to lie down on the bed. Mundy was on top of him, pushing him deeper and deeper in the mattress while Lucien wrapped his arms up around his lover's neck.

"M-Mundy, wait."

"Mh?" Mundy broke the kiss.

"Are you feeling alright?" Lucien asked. "I did not organise all this to just… Have a moment of intimacy. It was first and foremost to help you think about something else, see something else."

"And you did brilliantly, love. I feel back like I used to be. You're right. Let Dad do whatever he wants. I'm livin' my own life, and that life is with you. Hopefully he'll accept it in time, otherwise, bah… At least I've got Mum."

Lucien cupped Mundy's face.

"That sounds more like the compassionate Mundy whom I fell in love with, oui."

"Happy?"

"More than that, delighted. You?"

"Impatient." Mundy answered.

"For what?" Lucien asked.

The Aussie lay down on him and went to his ear. He murmured a few words there and Lucien's eyebrows jumped before he bit his lip.

"Me too, Mundy. Would you prefer me out of the dress and feminine attire?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk…" Mundy shook his head. "Can't say I don't like it if I never try it, eh? 'sides, I like it quite a bit…"

"Oh?" Lucien's eyes snapped wide when Mundy's hand went to his hip, on one side.

"Your waist's so thin… I can almost hold half of you with one hand only." Mundy bent down and resumed his heated kisses with his lover. "Bloody sexy, you are…"

His hand went from Lucien's hip, down to his thigh. Mundy pushed the slit on the dress wider and slipped his fingers through, to caress his lover's thigh on the black nylon stockings. Lucien breathed louder, almost moaned, and Mundy chuckled.

"Come up here, need to open yer dress, doll." Mundy pulled Lucien to sit up on his knees and he went behind his back. He pushed Lucien's long hair to the side and took the zipper in his hand before sliding it down slowly.

"Hm…" He then gently pushed the dress left and right, off of Lucien's shoulder. The Frenchman lowered his head and felt Mundy's strong hands on his arms left and right, while his mouth was busy on the back of his neck and shoulders. He was leaving a trail of hot, slow pecks, like the footprints of his journey across Lucien's body.

Lucien wrapped his arms around himself prudely and Mundy let his hands roam free on his lover's back. His fingers ghosted his spine, his shoulder blades, his sides. Lucien whimpered and his skin prickled everywhere.

"Ticklish?"

"A bit, oui."

"Right… Let's get you out of this dress, yeah?"

Lucien nodded and in a few seconds it was done.

"Oh, wow… Didn't expect that…" Mundy's eyes discovered that from Lucien's black underwear hung a few satin bands that kept the stockings up. "Gosh…"

"I might have overdone it, maybe." Lucien lay back down on the bed.

"No, what are you talkin' about… You're just… I could eat you…"

Mundy originally wanted to remove his own clothes but there was no time, he was too eager…! He lay flat on his chest between Lucien's legs that he gently opened, while caressing them up along the stockings, all the way to his thighs. Yeah, Lu' had shaved his legs and thighs completely off, his skin was so smooth…!

Mundy got closer and started kissing his soft thighs, to which Lucien moaned and trembled.

"Guess you can feel it more now, eh?"

"Oui…!" Lucien screwed his eyes. "You are so warm… Your lips… They burn…"

Mundy smiled and went on kissing Lucien's inner thighs. He gently pulled his legs to rest on his shoulders and back and got closer to the Frenchman's nether regions.

"Mmh, someone's in the mood, eh?"

"Guess whose fault it is…" Lucien looked down and they exchanged a smile.

Yes, Mundy could clearly see the outline of his lover's masculinity through the underwear. But he didn't want to remove it, not when it was connected to the stockings.

"C'mere…"

"Hah…! Mundy…!"

The Aussie kissed his lover's member on top of the underwear, again and repeatedly, exploring everywhere along its length and underneath it.

"Oui… Oui…" Lucien panted. He raised his head and arched his back while Mundy continued to push his hungry lips on his lover's most intimate regions, albeit hindered by the underwear. But he felt it nonetheless, the Frenchman was loving the attention there, and the restraint of the underwear just made his eagerness grow more. He slid his hands on Mundy's head and the Aussie growled. The vibrations of his deep voice sent bolts of electricity along Lucien's body. "Mundy… Please…" He started to sweat.

"Yeah? What is it…?"

"Please…" Lucien put his hands on the elastic band of his underwear and started pushing it down.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk…" Mundy pushed them away. "Let me do it for you, yeah?"

Lucien nodded.

"Right, what do we have here…? We gotta loosen these lil' laces, yeah?"

He nodded again.

"C'mere…" Mundy pulled the black laces between Lucien's underwear and his stockings… with his teeth. One by one, they yielded and soon, the Aussie bit his lover's hip before his teeth slid down to grip onto his underwear and pull down as far as his head could reach. "Mmmh…" He removed Lucien's underwear completely and threw it away. "There we go now, much better, yeah?"

"Oui." Lucien whispered, his hands still brushing Mundy's hair.

"Oh wow…" Mundy's eyebrows jumped when his eyes ended up between Lucien's legs again. "You shaved there too?"

Lucien nodded.

"Wow… You look so… I'm… C'mere, I need you…" Mundy's hands went to touch where he was used to feel thick and short hairs, above Lucien's masculinity. It was smooth as it could be now and he loved it. He kissed the skin there repeatedly before a question popped in his mind and interrupted him. "Lu'?"

"Oui?"

"Did you shave… behind as well?"

"Take a look for yourself…" Lucien gently rolled and offered the sight that Mundy couldn't resist.

"Hold on, 's too bloody hot in here, need my clothes off."

"Oh, allow me, please." Lucien rolled again to face Mundy and the Aussie nodded.

"Sure."

They were both kneeling on the bed, facing each other, as Lucien kissed his lover in his neck while undoing the buttons of his shirt, one after the other, slowly. He threw his long gloves away and his hands slid on Mundy's torso, up, through his chest hair, on his upper chest and around his neck.

Distracted. Lucien got distracted and just wanted to feel Mundy's chest against his own. He pulled him into a kiss and stuck his entire torso to him. Mundy took a second to remove his shirt before lacing his arms around his lover.

"Mmh… Mundy… So virile…"

"Course, I'm a man, eh?"

They spoke between the lapping sounds of their kisses, making the air gently snap.

"Non, you're my man."

"And you're my little doll, tonight, yeah?"

"Oui, tonight and forever."

"Mmh, I like the sound of that… Let me get my trousers and the rest off…" Mundy removed his clothes and threw them away before turning again to Lucien, who was lying down on the bed, his long, slim legs seductively sliding against each other. "Gosh…"

Mundy dived to Lucien's lips, he splayed his hands left and right flat on the bed. He kissed, lapped and licked as much as he tasted them. Sweet, Lucien's lips were so sweet. He pulled on his bottom lip and sucked on it gently. Gosh, he couldn't get enough of the taste.

Lucien moaned beneath him, he let his jaw loosen, opened his mouth and let Mundy have his way. His lips were kissed, lapped at, but soon the Aussie moved to his cheeks. He delicately stroked them, and with restraint, he dropped equally soft pecks under his ear, down his neck.

Lucien noticed that it was different. Mundy was being more… gentle, he was taking his time. When he arrived on the Frenchman's chest, he laced his fingers between Lucien's and took his time, kissing the bare and hairless chest, playing with the pink nipples, ghosting them with his teeth and pulling moans and whimpers out of Lucien's lungs.

But Mundy soon stopped and moved away on the bed. Lucien's eyebrows jumped in surprise but soon he relaxed when Mundy crawled back and resumed his position between Lucien's legs.

"Open yer legs, yeah… Beautiful…"

Lucien looked down and bit his lip.

Pop.

The plastic bottle was opened. So much for taking his time, Mundy was preparing him already?

"C'mere, sweet doll…" Mundy pulled Lucien's legs on his shoulders again and got closer to his aching member. He kissed it and lapped at it, gently swirling his tongue around it with closed eyes, hugging the thin hips and thighs wrapped around his neck. He caressed them, felt the softness of the skin, then the stockings and he loved it. He didn't want Lucien to remove them, no, he looked far too good like that.

"Oh-!"

Mundy gently worked a first finger while his mouth was on his lover's needy end. Lucien tried to relax when-

"Hold on… You really…?" Mundy gently rolled him around and put his hands left and right where he loved it so much. Lucien thought he just wanted to get better access for his fingers but… "Gosh, it's so smooth…!" And without further ado, he dug in with his teeth and lapped enthusiastically with his warm and slick tongue. Lucien cried under the surprise and grabbed a pillow, clawing his fingers in because he needed to grab something, grasp it and hold on to it dearly.

But soon Mundy came back from his fit of lust and continued to prepare his lover. He had turned Lucien on his back again.

"Oh, wow… Someone's… leaky, eh?"

Lucien tried to land back to reality and looked down on his body. The shy puddle on his abdomen screamed how much he craved his lover.

"S-sorry, my apologies-ha…!"

Mundy added another finger and took his time.

"Don't apologise. Never apologise for this…" He kissed his abdomen around the proof of Lucien's lust crime and raised his eyes to the Frenchman. Their eyes locked. Tension for an instant. And Mundy gently stuck his tongue out and cleaned his lover's mess.

"Mundy-!" The sight made Lucien's head roll back and his back arch. He screwed his eyes shut hard. "Mundy! Mundy! Hah!" He panted and Mundy could see the throbbing along his lover's length.

"Like it, eh?"

"Nnnh…!" Lucien nodded, his eyebrows arched high up, and he bit his lower lip to shut himself up. Mundy gently removed his hand and coated his own masculinity generously before laying on top of Lucien. He was an inch away from his face.

"C'mere, you porcelain, snow-white doll…" They kissed and Mundy didn't wait to lead it the French way.

"Mh?!" Lucien got taken aback by the bitter taste on Mundy's tongue and his eyes snapped wide when he understood what it was. But the surprise was very temporary, because before he could fully realise, his eyes had rolled up in bliss and Mundy was positioning himself.

"Yeah, there we go, I'll go slow tonight, need to love you good…"

And Mundy's hips rolled slowly until he was but one with his lover.

"Hah… Huh… M-Mundy…?"

"Breathe slowly… There you are, yeah…" He put a hand on Lucien's chest and lay down on his lover.

"Mundy?"

"Yeah?"

"I love… I love you… I love you…" Lucien panted.

"Me too, but let me love you good, yeah?"

The Frenchman nodded, in a needy way, and that was it.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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