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pisupsala · 8 months

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Of All The Stars in The Sky | 14 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 7.9k

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Chapter 14: Shadow Waltz

Bradley sinks into his seat before his legs might give out from under him. What did he just see?

His breath comes out in short bursts like he can’t fully draw a breath before it forces its way back up from his lungs.

It’s like his throat is being constricted. Why didn’t he call out? He could have jumped. Pulled the emergency brake and jumped out. Ran to you. Warned you.

The thoughts are coming and going in quick succession, nothing fully taking hold. Burying his head in his hands, Bradley tries to calm himself. Eyes screwed shut, he replays that moment over and over. The figure closing in on you. You’re oblivious. Why didn’t you turn around? Didn’t you hear the footsteps?

Why didn’t he call out?

He could have done something. Helped you. Saved you. The doomed scene replays in cutting sharpness every time he closes his eyes, leaving his insides quaking. Every heartbeat is like a sledgehammer coming down.

Bradley doesn’t know how long he sits there, hunched over on the hard wooden seat, backpack weighing him down. Everything is distant like he’s not really there.

He is stuck in the moment you disappeared.

“Don’t draw any attention to yourself once you get on the train,” Your voice is so close and clear that Bradley is suddenly back in that small room, in bed with you. A moment in time when this was all just a plan. A rough sketch. Bradley’s reality was entirely between those four walls. You’re laying on top of him, naked, soft breast pressed against his chest. Even now, it feels more real than the jerky cadence of the train. Fingers gently caressing the quickly forming scars on his face, your tone is distressingly businesslike. “It’s your one chance, Bradley.”

“I’m sure I can manage,” He replies easily, leaning into your touch, lips brushing against your fingertips. Your hands are warm.

But you never said it would be at the cost of you. The thought shoots through him like lightning, distorting the peaceful scene and drowning it in panic. Your giggle sounds strange in his memory, the once beautiful sound.

Time passes strangely; Bradley has no sense of how many stops the train has made, how many people flittered past him. Everything is a blur. The city is far behind him now, replacing the colorful buildings with green hills and lush forests.

The train should take several hours before it reaches its destination. You told him so. Finally, Bradley’s breath evens out. It’s not the first time he’s seen someone seconds before their demise. Hell, he’s been the cause of those doomed final seconds plenty of time. He’s seen his brothers-in-arms go down in a ball of fire.

He remembers all of them.

But it was never supposed to be you. No matter how blasé you were when you told him you could have died many times over already. How bravely you faced danger. Because Bradley remembers how softly your voice was when you admitted you didn’t want to die.

No matter how much he tries to calm himself, focus on his breathing, and steer his mind to here and now, the strange tension won’t leave Bradley. It’s like a cold hand wrapped around his neck, setting him on edge. He is far from safety and should focus on the task at hand. Your sacrifice—the icy fingers tighten, constricting Bradley’s breath for a second as the realization that you might be dead sets in a little bit deeper—he cannot let your sacrifice be in vain.

He is alive because of you.

He needs to go to the coordinates that you got for him. Find his contact. Get instructions. And get out.

It’s deep in the afternoon when the train stops in a nondescript town near the southern border. Most people have gotten off in the last large city about an hour ago—when Bradley looks up, only two other people are left in the wagon.

This is the place.

Getting up, his muscles and tendons creaking in protest, Bradley disembarks. He’s been sitting the whole journey but feels like his body has been through a marathon. Tiredness is seeping into his bones, overflowing from his brain.

He looks around. The station is no more than a concrete slab and a small abandoned building in the middle of the forest. A single dirt road leads up the forest—the only sign of life is a sliver of smoke billowing up through the trees. There must be a house there.

“The station is here.” Your voice is eerily close again. Leaning over the table, one knee on the chair, your finger prods the map. Bradley leans closer. The map is slightly too large for the small table, with one side hanging off the edge. His compass, which he didn’t even realize you had, is in your other hand.

“From there, you need to head…” You narrow your eyes as you think. The little crease between your eyebrows suddenly becomes evident again. “South-west.” You conclude.

“That will take me in the opposite direction of the path,” Bradley observes, his fingers brushing against yours as he traces a route over the green fields of the map. Nothing indicates there is anything for miles in that direction.

“Look for a game trail,” You look up, your face so close to his. Even now, Bradley can smell your soap. “A small path in the high grass, an opening in the underbrush.”

Your fingers follow his toward the small ‘x’ you’ve drawn on the map, the exact spot of the coordinates. On the map, it’s in an indistinct area in the middle of the forest. There are no marked paths or landmarks around. It has to be. It’s a delicate balance, as it needs to be a spot where you wouldn’t wander past wholly by chance but is also not terribly suspicious to be waiting there.

Bradley will know when he sees it.

As suddenly as you appeared before his mind’s eye, you are gone again. Not even the smell of your soap lingers in the spring air. Opposite the dirt road, a trail of flattened grass disappears into the forest. Just like you said there would be.

As he starts walking, he tries to remember how you looked as you did the mental math, trying to figure out how long he would be walking, figuring out which train to get. Your lips were pursed, still hunched over, fingers tapping against the map quickly.

“It should take me about 90 minutes,” Bradley offers. Your eyes flash, almost defiantly, as if you’re determined to prove him wrong. Mouth open, like you’re about to say something, he can practically see you do the math in your head.

“Yeah, 90 minutes sounds correct.” You finally admit, although not without difficulty, pulling away from him. It makes him laugh—you’re so determined to figure it out and do everything right. To eliminate every variable, be ahead of everyone and everything. But distance and speed calculations are daily chores for Bradley. There’s a surprising amount of math involved in flying—had he known that before he enlisted, he might have paid closer attention in school.

The track doesn’t stop when he reaches the forest. There are no markers, but the path between the blueberry bushes and ferns is clear. Now that he is sure no one is around him, he digs his compass out of his pocket. Heading south-west. Ninety minutes.

Bradley glances around. It’s quiet—no one seems to be around. Although he’s only a few meters into the forest, it’s secluded. Quickly slipping the backpack off his back, Bradley digs through the neatly packed contents. You’ve taken so much care getting him everything he’ll need; you had it all thought out. For a moment, Bradley’s movements slow. No. He needs to be on time. From the bottom of the backpack, he pulls his carefully wrapped gun. It feels strange in his hand, even though it’s his—he hasn’t seen it since you took it from him months ago. Unwrapping it, Bradley inspects the piece. It’s clean, and it’s still loaded.

He desperately hopes he won’t have to use it. He has no spare ammo—it’s a tool of last resort. Choosing not to dwell on it, he double-checks the safety before tucking it into the waistband of his pants on his back.

There is still no sound but for the forest. It doesn’t bring him any piece of mind.

Looking back, Bradley can barely remember the hike. Let alone the train ride. It already feels like everything happened in the past—a different lifetime. He’s lived so many now. The small room under the roof in Prague is just as far away as his barracks room in England. But the anxiety stays—it wanes in moments, only to come back full force suddenly as his thoughts inevitably turn back to you. You’re so intricately woven into every aspect of his life in the past months; almost nothing doesn’t remind Bradley of you.

The sun is streaming through the pine trees. In the forest, the air is cool despite that. Bradley needs to keep pace. Glancing at this watch, he knows he should soon be coming up to the rendezvous point—just ten more minutes.

His stomach growls. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, too distraught to eat anything on the train. Everything is still just passing by him. Bradley isn’t hungry. When he was in boot camp, fresh out of high school, he was never hungry either—so much was weighing him down. His mother’s death, Mav, and the horrid reality of boot camp. But Bradley also knows it’s not about being hungry; it’s about survival.

A clearing appears—although clearing might be too much credit for the sudden widening of the path. It’s just a few meters across where the ground has been walked bare to the mud. Overgrown with moss, a large log peeks out on the edge of the clearing.

This should be it—nothing strange about a weary traveler sitting on a log to rest.

Bradley sits down heavily. The hike wasn’t strenuous, and the weather is pleasant, but the ever-present tension and the feeling of being caught between fight and flight are steadily sapping his energy. Unwrapping some of his provisions, he chews mindlessly. The bread, the cheese—everything tastes like nothing to Bradley right now. The water in his canteen isn’t in any way refreshing; it instead feels like it’s a stone on his stomach, weighing him down further.

Sitting there, the sounds of the forest suddenly intensify. Bradley can hear how the wind picks up through the crowns of the trees. Leaves rustle, branches creak—something small is scurrying through the underbrush. A mouse or a squirrel, perhaps. Bradley focuses back on chewing. The food still tastes like nothing.

From here on out, he has no idea how long or far he has to go. He has provisions to last him several days, hoping it will be enough. Sitting on a large log in a quiet forest on a sunny afternoon is strange—Bradley feels like he should be running, fighting, doing something. Anything. Not just sitting here, waiting.

But right now, he can’t go back. Neither can he go forward. Bradley is precisely where he needs to be right now, and it’s out of his hands. Truly, everything had been out of his hands the moment that night fighter tore his fuselage to shreds with a well-aimed salvo of bullets.

It was easier to just go along with it when you were by his side. It distracted from his doomed fate well enough and for long enough. But now, Bradley feels more powerless, more aimless than before. Despite all the precautions, it might not have been enough for you. To save you.

For all you did to save him.

Deep inside, the cold rationale of years of training, years of seeing comrades die, and the many decisions Bradley has had to take are clear. Going back for you would mean you both die. It would render everything you’ve done for him useless. You fulfilled your mission. Now, he has to fulfill his.

He doesn’t want to think about that now.

Bradley swallows heavily, trying to get the acrid taste out of his mouth. You were not just part of a mission—he is pretty sure it was not just a mission for you anymore. It wasn’t for him.

A pack of cigarettes is tucked into one of the backpack's side pockets. Just when he reaches for it, tension creeps up his spine. Bradley is not alone anymore.

The man appears suddenly like he just materialized in the clearing. Not a twig that snapped under his boot, not a rustle of leaves as he moved. His face is tan; the skin is weathered from this sun, aging him. He looks at Bradley top to bottom—the man is dressed like a tramp in old and faded clothes, patched up with mismatched fabrics, holding himself awkwardly, almost as if he's injured, but his eyes are sharp. Discerning.

When Bradley observes him a bit closer, he notices the man's boots are outfitted with new soles despite his overall shabby appearance.

Grinning, he tips his hat.

“Flash.” His voice sounds raw, like he hasn't spoken out loud in years.

“Thunder.” Bradley replies automatically. The man grins a little bit wider but doesn't say anything else. Bradley waits for him to say something, to introduce himself, or to start a conversation. However, the man seems comfortable in his silence, simply grinning at him in a friendly manner, beckoning Bradley as he starts walking off the path into the thick of the forest.

He passed the challenge; this man is the contact, of that, Bradley is as sure as he can be under the circumstances. And while it's not like he expected this to be a hike between friends, the clearly self-imposed muteness of the man is unsettling.

Quickly repacking his rucksack, Bradley leaps up, following the man.

They walk, with only a drink break, until dusk. The hilly terrain is turning more rugged, with boulders sticking up from the forest floor higher and higher. When the man finally stops and motions for Bradley to sit down with him, pulling out a tin of beans from his pack, Bradley cannot help but ask.

“Where are we going?”

The man, focusing on prying off the lid of the can, ignores him, scarcely looking up to acknowledge Bradley even said anything. Hesitantly, Bradley starts unpacking some of his own food—bread doesn't sound so bad now. The long hike hasn't done much to make him any hungrier. But he needs to eat. And bread is better than the cold beans the guide seems to be spooning down without blinking, anyway.

After what seems to be a much too short time, they are up on their feet again, walking through the dark forest. He sets a relentless pace for all the posturing the guide does to appear awkward or injured, he sets a relentless pace.

Bradley can't help but try again.

“How long do we have to travel?”

No reply.

“Are we going to walk all night?” He grumbles under his breath, annoyed now. The guide is the first person he has spoken to, besides you, in months. The only other people he ever saw were your fellow resistance fighters—the officer from the signal corps and his angry sidekick. The disconnect from everyone and everything around him is a constant irritation, like a weeping wound.

“Patrouille.”

The sudden, raspy reply has Bradley snapping his head up.

Pointing west, where the sun is rapidly setting, he continues: “Kaserne.”

The guide simply turns around and resumes his path as if that explains everything. German wasn't exactly on Bradley's curriculum, and languages weren't his strong suit. You would know. And if you didn't know, you would probably figure it out, if only to to outsmart him.

You would never fully admit it, but the reason you really didn't like doing crossword puzzles with him is not because you couldn't take on the challenge—it's because he would always guess the answer faster than you. And as it turns out, you are an adorably poor loser regarding intellectual pursuits.

What Bradley would give to see you frown at him again, just knowing you were safe.

So they travel at night. It’s cold and dark—the ground uneven and slippery, as you warned him. When dawn breaks, they hide in the undergrowth or caverns scattered through the mountainside. Bradley feels like he hasn’t slept in days, but neither has he been fully awake. He is sure he can hear your voice somewhere between dreams and waking. It’s always so close like you’re next to him on the cold ground—your breath ghosting over his skin as you whisper to him. He can hear but can’t see you; he’s scared to look around, only to find nothing.

The small square of cloth stays securely tucked in the breast pocket of his coat. Close to his heart. Bradley’s hands are so dirty he’s scared to even look at it. Sometimes, he brushes his hand over the pocket, imagining he can feel the folded edges through the thick fabric. Imagining you are still with him, however intangible.

He scratches off the wax from a match with shaking fingers before lighting it. The faint light from the burning tip is the only clear shape he can see. Everything else is formless, different shades of dark. In the absence of snow, like when you led him down the mountain, there is nothing to reflect the starlight. It makes the forest feel emptier and darker—the sound echoes louder, and strange noises travel.

His mind is leading him in circles, down a well-worn path.

By now, Bradley has replayed those last few seconds of you on that platform so many times in his head, he’s not even sure anymore what he saw. Were you grabbed? Did they run past you? Did you turn in time?

He’s not sure if his brain is playing tricks on him through the sleep deprivation, or his heart is trying to protect him in the most horribly cruel way—but the memory that was once so clear, seared into his mind’s eye, is playing out just a little bit differently every time he thinks about it. You turned. You moved out of the way. Dashing past the figure, you hid in the winding medieval streets you know so well. You would be alright.

You have to be.

The cold rational pierces his heart, but Bradley knows he has to accept it. He made the right choice. He shouldn’t have turned back—you wouldn’t want him to. Every time he thinks about it, the knife twists a little bit more, not allowing the wound to heal. Somewhere, he doesn’t want it to. He deserves to suffer. If - if something happened to you, it’s because of him. The pain should be all his.

As the days and nights melt into each other on the way to the airfield, Bradley is less and less sure of what he actually saw. Just existing is sapping him of every bit of energy now. The food you have packed for him is running low, and Bradley would kill for a hot coffee by now.

The guide doesn’t answer when Bradley asks how much longer. Whether he doesn’t understand or chooses not to understand is moot. It’s not like Bradley has the energy to argue with him. He just wants to get out of here.

Three nights in, Bradley feels like he's at his limit. The dark, the silence, and the uncertainty grate him to the bone. But he has no choice but to carry on. Gritting his teeth, he keeps walking. His feet hurt. His head hurts. His heart hurts.

The torch's strange moving light, deep at night in the cold mountain air, gives Bradley more time to think than he is comfortable with. There is nothing to distract him from himself. People pay good money for a hiking holiday in Europe, but Bradley can't help but be bored. It's like every emotion is slowly getting filed down to a stump.

It didn't take him all that long to figure that "patrouille" was German for patrol—freely inferring that "kaserne" is a base or stronghold of some sort, which is the reason they travel at night. Barely enough of a challenge to keep his mind occupied.

When you are continuously exposed to danger, when your fight or flight instincts are constantly kicked into high gear, everything becomes dull. The tension and anxiety are always there; they are just so constant they are now background noise.

Sometimes, when Bradley wakes up and he sees the open sky above him, his heart clenches. Like he expected to wake up somewhere else. Like he wanted to wake up in that small room again. At the same time, it fills him with dread. Making his heart race in panic. The idea of being locked up in a small room again terrifies him.

Another long day and an even longer night go by.

It’s late, pitch black all around, when Bradley feels tarmac under his boots for the first time in months. It’s a strange feeling. He has no idea where he is or what day it even is, but the tarmac and the vague smell of jet fuel lingering in the air feel familiar.

As they emerge from the forest, Bradley looks around in awe. This is an airfield. In the middle of the mountains, shabby and clearly long abandoned. But an airfield.

This must be it.

At the far end of the runway, he can make out the familiar, terrifying shape of a German warplane.

A man disembarks from the cockpit of the plane, waving them down.

Bradley walks around the plane, inspecting it with fingers trailing over the body. He's been up close and personal with many makes of enemy planes, but never like this. It's fascinating in the most morbid way.

The men are talking to each other in low voices. Circling the plane, Bradley sees it's a one-seater.

“Am I flying?” He asks, interrupting the tête-à-tête between the two other men. Finally, he receives a full verbal reply—although it comes from the other man, a rather young-looking and even younger-sounding man, and not the guide.

“With me, yes.” As he steps closer to Bradley, he can now see he is dressed like a pilot. A German pilot, specifically, the iron cross displayed prominently on the collar peeping out from this thick lambskin jacket. His accent, however, is very precisely British—too precisely, it’s almost caricature-like.

Bradley doesn't get time to dwell on it, or ask any follow-up questions, as he is quite unceremoniously and forcefully helped into the hold where bombs are normally stored. The pilot hands him another jacket and together with the guide, they slide an oxygen bottle into the hold with Bradley.

“It gets quite cold, I'm afraid.” Everything the pilot says sounds strangely rehearsed, like he never held a conversation in English before. “Put on the mask when we reach altitude.” He adds.

Bradley just nods. The guide is grinning at him again, simply tipping his hat in greeting.

“Thank you.” He replies, nodding back at the guide just before the hold closes.

It's safer for everyone if no one knows everything. Not even names. That also means you will never know who you owe your life to.

Oxygen mask clutched in his hand, Bradley closes his eyes. The sound of the engines, the smell—it’s like coming home. Not the home where he wants to be, but the one he knows best. Despite his nerves—this is the most dangerous part of the journey, relinquishing the last bit of control that he had—he starts dozing off.

Bradley is exhausted, physically and mentally. It’s bitterly cold.

He can feel your weight draped over him as he slips out of consciousness. He can smell your soap. Bradley’s fingers brush over his breast pocket.

“Bradley, my love,” Your whisper floats through the air. The slightly lilting syllables of his name—only you say his name like that—still send shivers down his spine. It feels so familiar.

The engine's drone fades into the background, warping into a soft hum.

It’s not cold anymore. Bradley can feel the sun on his face, and he knows, without opening his eyes, that he is home. It’s high summer, and he’s sprawled out on the beach. And you are here with him. His heart soars at the realization—but his eyes are so heavy.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Your sweet voice sounds distant and incredibly close at the same time. Bradley blinks heavily against the burning sun. You are leaning over him, your hair blowing around your face. The sky behind you is cloudless, such a heavenly blue.

Bradley’s limbs are heavy; he feels like he can’t move. He can barely keep his eyes open, but he wants nothing more than to see you. He can see you again. He still wants to tell you so much—the words stick in his throat, tongue paralyzed. You’re smiling down at him fondly. The summer sun is bathing you in a warm light, casting an ethereal glow around your body.

“Shhh,” Your fingers trace over his lips. “You need to breathe.”

Bradley blinks slowly. He is breathing. Like you can hear his confusion, you giggle—the teasing sound wrapping around him in impossible patterns, like it’s carried on a gust of wind.

“You need to breathe,” You reiterate, grin still on your face, hands cupping his face. Brushing your nose against his, Bradley allows his eyes to close again. He’s fighting to stay awake. He wants to stay here with you.

“The air is getting thin, my love,” Your voice sounds strangely distorted, overlapping like an echo without a source. His thoughts are sluggish, struggling to comprehend what you could be talking about.

“You need to breathe.”

Your voice sounds more urgent now. Bradley peels his eyes open; you’re still smiling down at him, your face not betraying any of the urgency in your voice. Reaching out, his fingers trace over your bare shoulders—your skin is so warm from the sun. The silty sea air is crisp, brushing through your hair. Bradley shakes his head, still lacking the strength to say anything. He shouldn’t have to; all you need to do is lean closer and kiss him.

As if you can hear his thoughts, you move toward him again. Your lips are brushing against his tantalizingly. Why do you insist on teasing him so? Don’t you know how worried he has been? How much he has missed you?

He reaches out for you, limbs heavier than lead, intent on closing the space between you. Bradley is not in the mood for your games and teasing—not right now. He needs assurance you are okay. You are laughing, so light and carefree, but he wants to feel you. His fingers tangle through your hair, pulling your face to his.

“Put on the goddamn mask.”

The sudden loudness of your voice, callous and commanding, like it’s been amplified to an almost deafening volume, forces Bradley’s eyes wide open. His heart is racing. It makes no sense; you’re still smiling above him. The blue sky is flickering with darkness, like someone is playing with the lights.

Suddenly, Bradley’s neurons start firing again, and he forces the mask clutched in his hand over his face. As the oxygen fills his lungs, it’s like he’s waking up: the strength returns to his body, and his vision sharpens.

Unfortunately, all he sees is the darkness of the hold.

It’s bitterly cold again.

***

“Let me go!” You jerk yourself back so violently, desperate to free yourself from the iron grip in your arm, you nearly send yourself keeling backward, pulling your assailant with you. Stumbling, he pulls you back harshly, using his much more extensive and heavier form against you.

“Don’t make a scene!” He barks at you.

You never liked Jan. But now you hate him.

“Make a scene?” You hiss venomously, digging in your heels. “You’re dragging me through the train station like livestock.”

You know people are watching, although they hurry past you without a word. People don’t like getting involved—no one wants trouble. You’re dressed for a day out in the country; Jan is wearing an old, ill-fitting suit. You make an odd pair if you were just walking down the street, but arguing like this, you’re practically a sideshow.

A man in a dark coat passes, staring at you both a little too long, disapprovingly. The moment Jan’s grip loosens, you yank your arm away from him, clearly awkward under the man's stare.

“Stop being so goddamn difficult,” He bites at you. “And start walking.”

You want to tell him to go fuck himself, turn on your heel and leave. But there’s a reason he made it out here. After the decimation of the resistance network, the survivors split off—some staying in the city if it was safe enough, like you. Others reformed as partisan fighting groups because their identities were leaked to the authorities, and they couldn’t reintegrate into society like Emil, or simply because they saw that as the way forward, like Jan.

As much as you hate to admit it, as much as you despise thinking about it now, Jan’s sudden appearance means something is happening. It’s probably urgent, but it’s undoubtedly important.

For five seconds, for five fucking seconds, you want to not think about the war. Whatever message Jan has for you should wait. You want to crawl into bed and cry, mourn having to say goodbye to Bradley.

Because you will never see him again.

You can wish, you can dream—but realistically? If you both make it out alive, god knows how long the war will be. He will have forgotten about you by then.

You always knew this; you felt it in your bones, especially in the last few days. You set yourself on fire to silence that nagging voice in your head, so determined to experience everything about Bradley that you could, to the point you allowed yourself to believe him. Truly believe him, even just for a few days. Because no matter how much you want to soothe your hurting heart with his sweet promise, the illusion that he will come back, you need to face reality. The world didn’t stop. People are still disappearing, still dying. Every day, you still wake up in a country under brutal occupation. And Bradley is gone.

But you’re not even getting a chance to feel sorry for yourself, you think angrily. Crawl into bed and cry, drink too much with Eva, and probably cry some more—normal things.

Except you haven’t had a normal day in years.

Blinking rapidly to stop the tears, hands jammed deep into your pockets; you follow Jan like a child being led to detention. He walks several meters in front of you, stride confident, weaving past people—you follow, trailing, practically dragging your feet. To the outside observer, you are two strangers just going in the same direction. The streets around the station are busy; trams are thundering, cars are honking, and people are pushing past.

Shoulders pulled up; you stare at the tips of your boots as you walk. You can feel the corners of your mouth pulling down. At this point, you can’t even pretend to look neutral. You notice Jan turning into a side street from the corner of your eye. The narrow alleyway leads into a backstreet, connecting the city center to quiet residential areas. Sighing, you follow.

However, he takes another turn, legging it to the park behind the national museum rather than veering further up the hill, away from the crowds. Jan doesn’t look back at you once, assuming you’re following.

Your curiosity won’t allow you to turn away and go home. So, with a face like thunder, you shuffle after him. It’s a beautiful day. You hate it.

It’s good for Bradley, though. It shouldn’t be cold tonight. And at least it won’t be raining as he hikes to the rendezvous point. You hope the weather stays mild; you hope he stays safe.

Your heart sinks further as you realize you’ll probably never find out. Bradley filled your head and heart with so many dreams; perhaps the kindest thing you can do now is dream for him. He’ll make it out. He’ll be safe. He’ll return to Virginia Beach and live out his days in peace.

Maybe one day you can find peace in that.

The gravel of the park path creaks under your boots. You wonder how much further Jan will walk to ensure you’re not being followed—it’s making you impatient, but you know better than to stop him or start looking around to confirm that no one is actually following you. Glancing at your watch, you realize it’s not even noon yet. The day feels so much longer—the rollercoaster of emotions seems to have expanded time. It feels like you’ve lived full days in just a matter of hours.

Jamming your hand back into your pockets, you descend the pedestrian underpass leading out of the park under a busy road. The rolling thunder of cars, trams, and trucks resonates through the walls of the underpass, almost overwhelmingly so. Jan stopped walking halfway through—he is lighting a cigarette, waiting for you to catch up.

The further you walk down the stairs, the louder the noise gets—it’s practically shaking the walls. It’s like stepping into a liminal zone, the sparse artificial light looking strangely ominous, with no trace of the sunny spring day outside. And the stench. God. Stale alcohol and piss - it’s so penetrant you swear the air feels heavier, like a haze, as you arrive at the bottom of the stairs.

You swallow heavily, unsure if you want to keep breathing through your nose but also not really wanting to open your mouth.

Sauntering up to Jan—the smell of the cigarette amplifies the underpass's stench in a wholly new, disgusting dimension—you send him a suffering look.

“Really?” You force out, unable to keep the disdain out of your tone.

The way Jan is moving has a measure of frustration to it; the way he flicks the ash off his cigarette is a little too fast, his shoulders squared, and his movements a little too sharp. He ignores your rhetorical question.

“The Gestapo is looking for you.” Jan doesn’t look at you, keeping his gaze averted toward the end of the empty underpass.

“What?”

It’s like a bucket of ice suddenly dropped down your stomach. Your heart is suddenly beating a mile a minute. Panicking, you grab Jan’s sleeve, forcing him to look at you.

“What do you know?” You demand forcefully, trying to keep your voice stable, but the panic is rolling off you in waves.

“Someone saw you -” He jerks back, but you don’t let go of his sleeve. “Look, I don’t know. All I heard was the Gestapo was looking for a cleaner of your description who works at the Ministry of Interior.

“Why?” You’re desperate now, grasping at any straw to get in control of the situation. “And who told you that?

“You know I can’t tell you that,” He sounds contrite, gazing down for a moment, taking a drag of his cigarette. “But you need to get out of the city before they arrest you.”

Stunned into silence, you finally let go of his sleeve. Jan’s round face looks pained, his eyes darting around the underpass. You are breathing hard, the noise from the underpass in your head now, roaring and pounding. You can’t think. The stench is burning your nostrils, choking you.

“Go stay with your parents out east.” He adds, not unkindly. “Just until this all blows over.”

You shake your head.

“I need to go home.” You can’t articulate why, but you need to go home. You need to get clothes. Pack. You need to burn your false identities before they search the place. Yes, that’s it. Home.

“No!” Jan grabs your shoulder, shaking you out of your reverie. “Don’t go home. Get the first train out of here.”

Where is this sudden urgency coming from? It’s not like he just led you on a walk away from the central station. You feel a strange twinge in your stomach, but it’s so slight you barely acknowledge it.

“No,” You force out. “I must go home first—I can’t just leave.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I can’t!” Your sudden exclamation echoes. Jan, whose face is growing red splotches from frustration, clamps his hand over your mouth, silencing you. Tearing yourself away from him, you bite your tongue not to scream at him again. He throws up his hands before digging out another cigarette. He doesn’t offer you one but focuses his angrily shaking fingers on striking a match.

“This isn’t a game.” Jan cuts at you. He keeps his gaze averted like he’s too furious even to spare you a look. You are just shaking your head like you’re trying to shake your thoughts into place—to start making sense out of the chaos. In any other situation, you would never let any comment like that from anyone, but especially not Jan, go without defending yourself. Fuck.

“I’m going home.” You leave no room for argument, turning on your heel.

“Is he still here?”

The question makes you stop dead in your tracks, the blood rushing in your ears drowning out the noise around you. You feel that twinge in your stomach again, stronger this time. One thought suddenly looms large over the chaos in your brain, silencing everything: you can’t make sense of this because it doesn’t make sense.

“I can help-”

“The mission was completed.” You cut him off flatly, not turning back to face him. Don’t elaborate. Biting your lip, your mind races to put the puzzle together. Something is off. You can feel it in your gut. It just doesn’t quite fit.

How did Jan know you were at the station?

If he knew you were there, he must have seen Bradley.

And if he didn’t see him, what did Jan think you were doing there?

Slowly, you turn to face Jan again, blinking, face wiped clean of emotion. His movements are sharper now, like he’s going through the motions forcibly, never looking anywhere for more than a few seconds. He’s shuffling in place, like he wants to run from the situation, but is rooting himself in place.

As you finally take the time to observe Jan, you realize his movements don’t look like frustration. They look like nerves.

Now that the maelstrom of emotions and panicked thoughts in you has finally stilled, you can feel it. The weight of the realization is crushing—it’s just not adding up.

Trust your gut.

It’s like the world suddenly jerks into movement again. The noise is picking up into a deafening roar, the stench so heavy it’s misting over your eyes. Your body sets in motion before you can fully rationalize what you are doing. You need to get out of here.

You’re halfway up the stairs out of the tunnel when you hear Jan screaming at you, his lumbering footsteps closing in. Now is not the time to stop—lungs burning, heart pounding in your throat, you push on. You have a head start, which is your only chance to outrun Jan, who is larger and stronger than you. Nearly tripping over your own feet in your mad dash to get away from him, you cut through the shrubs surrounding the park, branches whipping against your body. When you think back to the moment later, you have no idea how you summoned the strength to scale the iron-wrought fence, nearly pivoting off the top as you tried to avoid the pointy spears decorating the top.

Don’t look around. Don’t look around.

You have no idea if Jan is still following you, but looking around will slow you down, and you can’t afford to lose a single meter of your head start. Blind panic is your fuel now.

The main street is busy. It’s nearly lunchtime, and people are filing out of offices into shops and restaurants. You’re attracting attention, dressed so casually, running like mad—but you can’t stop now. A tram is just leaving the stop, bells ringing loudly. If you go a little bit faster, if you push yourself a little bit harder—desperately, you reach out, your fingers only brushing against the open balcony's metal handle for the departing tram.

You are breathing so hard, your focus singular, to get out of here; your heart nearly stops when you hear Jan calling out your name. He’s so much closer than you anticipated.

Straining, a strangled sound escaping your lips, you push harder. The tram is speeding up, you only have seconds left.

You can’t miss this tram.

It one final burst of energy that you didn’t know you still had in you that propels you forward just enough to grab onto the metal bar. Using your momentum, you jump, crashing onto the rear balcony unceremoniously, bashing your head and elbow against the dirty floor.

You stay down for a moment, your mouth completely dry, spleen aching, head throbbing.

It’s a good thing Bradley left today. If the Gestapo really is looking for you, you couldn’t protect him anymore. Now, all you can hope is that he makes it out.

He will. He has to.

Sitting up, you roll your shoulder back to give your lungs more space as you catch your breath like Bradley showed you. It’s a good thing he isn’t here anymore, but… who can you tell now what happened? It’s like only now you realize that Bradley is not waiting for you at home. It hurts.

He’s no longer there to kiss you, ease your mind, and help you navigate this situation. Despite your ceaseless attempts to convince yourself that everything about your time was temporary, a lightning-in-a-bottle moment between two lonely souls and nothing more would ever come from it, the realization is dawning on you that you’ve grown accustomed to having him around.

The only person that you could speak freely to. The only person who could truly see you.

Bradley was the only person that knew you—the person you are now, the person you’ve been forced to become.

And he accepted you.

Suddenly, you feel like crying again. Sitting on the dirty tram floor, people staring down at you as they pass—you feel so incredibly alone.

Finally getting up and dusting off your pants, you enter the tram, trying to blend in with the crowd. A part of you wants nothing more than to go home, crawl into bed, and forget this whole goddamn day.

But you can’t ignore what Jan told you—his story doesn’t add up, but surely he wouldn’t lie about the Gestapo looking for you. It’s not even a question of why; plenty of things you have done could get you arrested at any point. Stealing, forgery, break-ins, harboring a fugitive…

So it’s a question of what—how much do they actually know? And how much more information will they want to extract from you?

Your head is still throbbing—from the impact, the confusion, and the tears you’ve been holding back the whole morning.

Whatever happens next, you need to get rid of any evidence. If the Gestapo wants to pin something on you, they will find a way, but the line ends with you. You will not give them anything that could lead them to the others.

That’s the least you can do.

The closer you get to home, the worse you feel. It feels like lead is being poured into your boots, making every step harder. You are completely unsure of what to do now. After you get rid of the evidence, what will you do? Should you stay with your parents like Jan suggested? Wouldn’t that put them in danger?

You can’t even think about that right now.

Your stomach is churning by the time you unlock the heavy wooden door to your building. Something is wrong, and if your head weren’t feeling like it was about to explode, you would probably have stopped to examine your gut feeling. But you don’t have time. The quicker you get this done, the better.

Blindly, you make your way up the stairs. Voices of neighbors are echoing through the halls—it’s strange for so many people to be out of their houses. You are not in the mood for building gossip, so you hope you can slip into your apartment without any nosy aunties catching you. As you reach the first landing, you hear someone call your name. Can you pretend you don’t hear them? You keep your head down, legging it to the next flight of stairs at the far end of the landing.

However, before you even make it to the first steps, your downstairs neighbor blocks your way—despite her being old enough to be your mother, she exudes so much class it’s age age-defying today her normally carefully coiffed blonde hair is… well, messy. Flyaway hairs are sticking out of the casual bun on the back of her hair. The sleeves of her normally crisp ironed blouse are wrinkled as she rolled them up in a hurry. It’s certainly not how your appearance-conscious neighbor, in all her vanity, would ever show herself.

“Anna, don’t go upstairs,” Worry is etched on your neighbor's face, her piercing blue eyes imploring you to stay. She is holding you by your shoulders. It’s an almost motherly gesture—it’s possibly the strangest part of an already confusing situation. You’ve known this woman for the majority of your life—she lived here before your family moved in. But you think that in all those years, you may have at most shaken her hand.

You don’t have words. Unceremoniously, with an incredulous frown, you pull away from your neighbor, pushing past her on the stairs. You break into a jog going up the stairs.

Today can’t end soon enough.

Something changes in the air the moment you reach the top of the stairs. Your neighbor’s voice still echoes through the hall as she screams out your name. Her frantic footsteps are coming after you. The second-floor landing is unusually crowded; more neighbors are looking at you in shock.

It’s like you walked on stage for an audition, unprepared. Eyes are on you from every angle, staring.

Why is the door to your apartment opened?

You should have stopped walking at that moment. You should have listened. Turned around.

But you speed up. You need to know. You need to find out exactly what happened.

Tearing through the doorway, you immediately slip on the soaked wooden floor. Clumsily, you break your fall by planting your hand on the floor. Your palms take the brunt of the impact, the ache ringing all the way up through your shoulder, your hands getting coated in the sticky liquid covering the floor as you scramble to get up.

But you cleaned up all the coffee this morning.

There is commotion behind you, but it could be on the other side of the world as far as you are concerned.

Because across from you on the floor, in the semi-darkness of the apartment hallway, Eva’s lifeless eyes are staring at you accusingly.

She’s wearing your skirt, the rusty color blotted with the blood flowing from her head.

note | sorry i was going through some shit and stuff and I literally just finished writing the missing scenes - sorry for any oddities, it's almost 1am here, I will revise this tomorrow again but I also felt bad for taking so long

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x oc

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icanfixhimclub · 2 years

Text

𝐼𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦？ || 𝐵𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑦 𝐵𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑤／𝐵𝑜𝑏 𝐹𝑙𝑜𝑦𝑑

Pairings: ex!Bradley Bradshaw x f!oc, bob floyd x f!oc

Warnings: cursing, that’s it, let me know if I missed anything

Summary: After Rooster leaves for the navy, leaving you behind too all those years ago, he’s surprised to be called to topgun for a mission to see you casually under someone else arm

Notes: I haven’t seen tgm yet so please bear with me! I’m sure there’s so incorrect things but I promise I’m trying my best. Also originally inspired by Someone else calling you baby by Like Bryan but kinda took a different turn

“I’m really sorry y/n, but I don’t want anybody to mourn me if something happens, I couldn’t knowingly inflict that on you.” Bradley explained, tears welling in his own eyes at the sight of yours. He tried to grab your hands but you pulled away, shaking your head.

“No. No I knew what I was signing up for when I started dating you Bradley, I knew that you would go up there, I was ready for that. This isn’t you protecting me, this is you growing up.” It was true, you still had a year of high school, and Bradley was already going on without you.

“I’m sor-“

“Please just leave Bradley.” You begged, holding back sobs. He frowned and took a deep breath, turning away and walking off your porch and into his bronco. That was the last you saw of Bradley Bradshaw.

That was almost 15 years ago, and to say Bradley regretted it was the biggest understatement of the year. He still thought about you every day, every girl he’s been with was never like you, never made him laugh like you did. If he could go back and warn himself that he was making the biggest mistake of his life he would. These thoughts were running through his head as he pulled into the Hard Deck parking lot.

It wasn’t the loud chatter coming from inside the bar, nor the smell of alcohol that made him stop, it was the sound of a truck pulling in, your guys song, and a almost familiar laughter. Would you go with me by Josh Turner was playing as the truck parked and Rooster turn around to look through the window. There you were, and you looked as beautiful as ever.

Your hair was longer and was back to your natural color, you had small wrinkles but that was to be expected. Those silver aviators you loved so much were sitting atop your head, holding back your hair. The most major difference? In the driver side was a brunette with slicked hair, thrift store glasses and a button nose. You didn’t seem to notice him as the brunette got out and opened the door for you, helping you out of the truck and holding hands into the bar.

Rooster released a breath he didn’t remember holding. Had is really been you? Who is he kidding, of course it was, he could spot your laugh a mile away. When had this happened? Had you really moved on? He laughed at himself, it had been almost 15 years and he expected you to stay heart broken for ever. He took a second to collect himself and walked into the bar with a cocky smirk. He quickly spotted the group of aviators that were also assigned to top gun, and much to his dismay, there in a corner sat you and the mystery man.

Pleasantries went by in a blur, his mind focus on the way you were clinging to ‘bob’s arm and having a quiet conversation between yourself. “I’m gonna go grab a drink, do you want anything?” You ask quietly, standing up.

“I’m ok, baby, thanks.” You smiled as he kissed your cheek then headed over to the bar. Rooster followed, standing beside you and clearing his throat.

“Y/n…” he said slowly, he saw inhale then turn to greet him with a tight lipped smile. He took you in up close, how your eyes still had the same sparkle and you had a new scar, just a small one by your right ear. “How’ve you been?” You laughed breathlessly.

“Well that’s a start,” you mumbled, “I’ve been okay, just finished getting my nursing degree.” He smiled, he knew that’s been your dream since your mother fell ill in your sophomore year. He cleared his throat.

“I’m proud, how’s your mom? Did she recover?”

“Yeah, she’s fine and dandy now, taken up gardening again.”

Rooster laughed, a genuine laugh, one that used to make you feel all warm inside, but that feeling was long gone. “So, I see your with, uhm, Bob now. When did that happen? I guess I’ve missed too much.” He tried to hide it but you saw it. The small glint of sadness, the flash of heartbreak.

“Almost 5 years now. Met while he was stationed near my university in South Carolina. This is my first time traveling with him on base though.” You played it off like you didn’t care, like there had never been anything between you and Bradley Bradshaw, like you couldn’t tell that just by the look in his eyes he was still head over hells in love with you. But that doesn’t matter, not now anyways.

“Ah, I’m,” he hesitated, “I’m glad you’re happy sugar.” He tried it out, to see if the name brought back anything for you, even just a small memory, but he saw the look of pity in your eyes.

“Brad,” his heart skipped a beat at the old nickname, “don’t make this harder for yourself. I’m happy with Bob, I really am. I can see it in your eyes, the hope that you always had, but you lost that chance years ago.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, and he was thankful, because it would’ve hurt worse if you did. You grabbed you drink and went to walk away but Rooster grabbed your wrist. “Bradley-“

“Please, just listen. I’m sorry, for that night. If I could take it back I would. I would of told you I’d never leave you, that I love you and would’ve wiped away your tears and held you in my arms. God I cried so hard that night wondering if that was the right decision. God it wasn’t, it was the worst decision of my life. I think about you every day, wondering what we could’ve been if I wouldn’t have fucked it up. If I would’ve kept my mouth shut and held you close and never let you go. Dear god I miss having you in my arms. I miss the way you laugh and the way you’d steal my sunglasses when you forgot yours.

The way you’d know every Josh Turner song by heart and swear that if you weren’t so drop dead in love with me you would marry him. I just, what I’m trying to say is,” he sighed, “I’m sorry. And if one day, you miraculously realize that maybe, just maybe you do still love me, I’ll be here waiting. Even if that day never comes.” He didn’t realize he was crying until you hugged him and he felt everything at once.

He relished in the feeling he would never get again, wishing you didn’t pull away. Your voice was soft as you spoke, “It won’t.” With that, you took a deep breath and turned around, returning to your seat behind the new love of your life. Leaving Bradley to sit at the bar like a kicked puppy. You didn’t look at Rooster the rest of the night, you couldn’t bring yourself to when you knew his eyes were already on you.

Almost 15 years ago, Bradley Bradshaw broke your heart on your front porch, and until this night, he thought that was his worst mistake. But now he realized that his worst mistake was listening when you said to leave, instead of staying and wrapping his arms around you, saying he didn’t mean it and that he loves you with every inch of his being. His worst mistake was letting you fall in love with someone else.

#tgm fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bob floyd x reader #bradley bradshaw #female oc #angsty #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw

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invisibleraven · 8 months

Note

"Your smile is beautiful. I want to see it more often..." + Rulie?

Reggie sighed as he wiped his hand over his face wondering yet again why he decided to take up photography. There were only so many flocks of geese and sunsets to capture on film right?

He was kind of stuck on his final project which had the topic Everyday Beauty-the subject matter was up to im but time was running out, and he honestly wasn't sure what he could shoot.

"Why don't you just take photos of us?" Bobby joked. "We're hot shit!"

"That is actually not the worst idea," Reggie mused. "Taking pictures of the parts of us that we don't see as beautiful, but show inner beauty!"

"Okay, I was joking but that sounds amazing Reg," Bobby said, clapping him on the back.

Reggie took up his camera, and planned each shot, asking each of his friends to pose for him, showing off the parts of themselves they felt the most insecure about. They parts they had been mocked for, or felt ashamed of. No holds barred, but Reggie would let them choose what they did.

A shot of Luke, shirtless, proudly showing off his top surgery scars.

A close up of Alex's hands, covered in callouses and holding a bottle of Ativan.

Bobby hugging Celia, the flag to the Philippines held between them.

Willie sitting on his skateboard, clutching his cracked helmet in one hand, and the key to his childhood home on the other.

Flynn with her hair in it's natural state-no braids, no weave, but a brilliant smile on her face.

Carrie standing by herself, a blurred crowd all around her, face frozen in a silent scream.

Reggie even took a picture of himself; capturing the rosacea on his cheeks, the freckles on his nose, and the crooked grin that had been the source of shame for so long.

He only hit a wall with Julie.

"It's stupid," she muttered. "I know it's a stupid thing to be insecure about."

"What is it?" Reggie asked.

"My smile," she said. "Kids always made fun of the gap, about how it made me lisp when I was younger, always whistling at me."

"Is that why you never smile for us?" Reggie asked quietly.

Julie nodded. "And I know you guys wouldn't make fun of me, but it's so hard to make those voices go away, to believe anything but the negative."

"I get it," he replied. "I suffered through years of braces and a retainer and I hated smiling with either one. But you know what I did?" Julie shook her head at him. "I smiled more. If I made it seem like they couldn't bother me, they stopped trying."

Julie giggled at that, releasing her smile, and Reggie held a hand to his heart.

"Your smile is beautiful. I want to see it more often..."

"Stop!" Julie protested, but now she seemed unable to stop smiling, bright and beaming.

"Can I please take a picture?' Reggie asked. "Maybe if you see yourself the way I do you'll finally realize how beautiful you really are."

"That's the point of your project isn't it?" Julie asked.

"Pretty much."

"Okay then," Julie agreed, letting Reggie pose her against a flowy curtain, leaning towards him and unleashed her smile once more.

Reggie took a moment to take her in, and was sure his hands were shaking as he lifted the camera. Taking picture after picture, capturing Julie as she smiled and laughed, and finally pulled him in for a picture of the two of them, faces squished together, their smiles filling the frame.

Reggie didn't submit that one, instead printing it off and it lived on his nightstand, and it was that pose that they recreated on their first date after he aced his project, after they got engaged a few years later, and again at their wedding.

And Julie's smile was big and bright in every single one. Just as beautiful as always, just like her.

#filled prompts #ficlet #rulie #julie and the phantoms

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haledamage · 1 year

Note

Chin for Kira and Adam 👀👀

[ CHIN ]: as they stand close to one another, the sender hooks a finger and tenderly lifts the receiver’s chin, tilting it up so that they can look at one another, and running a thumb across their skin lightly.

A bit of closure I found missing from TWC book 3. Spoilers for pretty much the whole book. 1700 words, Kira/Adam, also starring my truest Wayhaven OTP, Kira/Emotional Vulnerability because my girl thinks she’s Elsa. You can’t “conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know” your way out of this one, Kingston, with musical guest “Adam’s attempt to distance himself is no match for Kira being sad”

There was an envelope on the kitchen table that had Kira’s name on it.

She approached it cautiously, half expecting it to be another fancy invite to some horrifying auction. When nothing jumped out of the shadows or attempted to kidnap her, she gave in to her gnawing curiosity and picked it up.

It looked like a perfectly normal letter, addressed to “Agent Kingston” with the facility’s address underneath. A yellow sticky note was attached to the front covered in Rebecca’s familiar, tidy handwriting:

“Kira, This letter was given to me by mistake. I apologise for opening it, but I promise I stopped reading as soon as I realised it was written to you.”

Kira laughed fondly to herself at her mother’s message. Always so formal, even when accidentally committing mail fraud.

She turned the envelope over to find the neat slit that had been cut across the top, and pulled out the simple sheet of notebook paper inside. She didn’t recognise the handwriting, so she scanned the note quickly to see who it was from and why:

The Agency told me this was the best way to get in touch with you. I really hope they gave me the right person because otherwise I’m going to sound crazy. I guess there are two Agent Kingstons here? This is for the one in Unit Bravo, so if you aren’t her, can you get this to her? Thanks.

Hi. You probably don’t remember me. But I wanted to thank you for saving my life. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be in Trapper custody now. Or worse.

I don’t know how you did it. The last thing I remember was that big man with wings taking me, and then I woke up in the hospital a few days ago. The doctors said someone found me unconscious in town and brought me in.

The rest of the words on the page blurred as Kira’s eyes filled with tears. Her knees gave out under her, and she didn’t bother trying to catch herself before she collapsed to the floor, clutching the letter tightly as she tried to breathe around the lump of emotion in her throat.

As if in a daze, she looked down at her arms, her mind conjuring the memory of long, jagged lacerations carved into them, and the girl that had done it. She remembered her face with vivid clarity, wide-eyed with terror as Sin had practically ripped her from Kira’s grasp.

Several of those marks had scarred, leaving a permanent reminder of that day etched into her skin. One of them bisected the tattoo on her wrist, the black crown broken into two uneven pieces. Numbly, she pressed her thumb to it; she could feel the frantic flutter of her own pulse underneath.

“Kira? Kira!”

She barely heard her name being called. The first time, cautious and surprised, or the second, harsher with the edge of fear.

But she felt it when Adam joined her on the floor. His arrival broke through her daze and what little remained of her composure, and tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

Adam’s hands shook as he wiped them away. Kira could feel the tremble in his fingertips where they brushed her face. She covered his hands with her own before he could try to hide it, pressing them more firmly against her skin. Even after everything, she still craved his touch, greedy for every second of it she could get.

He swallowed hard, but didn’t pull away. “What’s wrong? What can I do?”

She shook her head, attempting to give him a shaky smile. “Nothing. Everything is fine.” It sounded so ridiculous, she couldn’t help but laugh. It just sounded like a sob.

Finding the fallen letter on the floor, now tear-stained and partially crumpled, she held it out to him. She watched his expression as he scanned it, but whatever reaction he may have had never showed on his face.

Somehow, Kira’s voice remained strong, even if the rest of her was falling apart. “When she wasn’t with the others at the auction, I--I thought she was--” She didn’t know if she meant to say “dead” or “already sold”, or which would have been the worse fate. A new wave of tears came, and she squeezed her eyes shut as if it could stop them. “But she never made it to the auction. Sin never handed her over. He saved her.”

Adam hooked a finger under her chin, gently coaxing her to open her eyes and look at him. When she did, he smiled softly, eyes warm and shining with pride. “He didn’t save her, Kira.” His thumb brushed lightly over the swell of her bottom lip. “You did.”

A ragged sob tore its way out of her throat, and Kira buried her face in Adam’s shoulder before another one could escape. His arms immediately wrapped around her, pulling her closer until she was practically in his lap.

Through everything that had happened these last few weeks, Kira had refused to let herself cry. She had kept moving, one persistent step at a time, bottling up all her pain and fear and heartbreak. Through the bounty, and the kidnappings, and the breaking and slow mending of her friendship with Verda. Through too much work on too little sleep, and juggling more and more secrets, and buildings collapsing on her head. Through swallowing her rage as she met Anwir’s eyes and hiding it behind a hollow but convincing smile. Through the constant tidal flow of Adam’s affection, pulling her close only to push her away again while all she could do was try to weather the currents.

If she was honest with herself, she’d been fighting to hold everything in for a lot longer than that. Since Murphy’s assault on her apartment. Since she learned the truth about the supernatural. Maybe since the first moment Unit Bravo had stepped into her office.

But this one tiny, unexpected victory had shattered all her hard wrought restraint. The bottle was broken, and everything came pouring out.

Adam held her through all of it, warm and strong and solid, the only place in the world that she felt truly, completely safe. His hands were a soothing weight in her hair and down her spine, his voice a comforting rumble in her ear, though she was too far gone to process anything he was saying.

Even when Kira finally ran out of tears, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to let her go. That felt new. A delicate tendril of hope unfurled in her chest, and for once she let herself feel it without trying to push it away.

Taking a deep and blissfully unfettered breath, she sat up a little, just far enough to rest her temple against his cheekbone. “Thank you.”

Adam chuckled, a gentle and fond sound that made her heart do somersaults. “There is nothing you need to thank me for.”

She leaned back a little more so she could see his face. “For being here to put me back together. Again.” This time when she laughed, she sounded like herself again.

Adam brushed her hair out of her eyes before settling his hand against her cheek. “I will always be here for you, Kira.”

“I know.” And she did know, but it felt so good to hear it out loud. She mapped out the shape of his smile with her fingertips, tracing the curve of his lips and the slight indentations of his dimples. Committing all of it to memory. “I’m here for you too. Whenever you need me.”

“I know.” He almost sounded like he believed it. That was new too.

Before either of them could sabotage the moment by overthinking it, Kira leaned in and kissed him.

It was nothing like the first kiss they shared. There was no edge of despair or desperation, none of the bitter taste of “goodbye”. It was slow and sweet, heat simmering under the surface but never boiling over to become something else. Hungry, but without any bite.

Adam broke away first, gasping in a shaky breath, and Kira braced herself for the inevitable moment when he closed himself off again. With as raw as her emotions were, she’d need a little more time to swallow down the pain.

Except it never came.

When he turned away, it was only to brush his lips against the inside of her wrist. He trailed light kisses along the length of one of her new scars, followed by a firmer kiss on the broken crown tattoo, and a final one in the center of her palm.

He looked up at her, naked need in his eyes and his lips still pressed to her skin, and she forgot how to breathe.

It took every ounce of restraint she could muster for Kira not to immediately grab him and kiss him again.

Adam didn’t give her the opportunity. He dropped her hand and his gaze, suddenly unable to look at her anymore. Clearing his throat did nothing to make his voice less rough. “How do you feel?”

Weightless. Like if you keep kissing me like that, I could fly. “My head is fucking pounding.” It was also the truth, but a much safer one. Still, she couldn’t help but add, “Except for that, I feel great, actually.”

The glint in his eyes told her that maybe he’d heard the part she didn’t say, too. He knew her too well not to. “Then I shall make you some tea, to help with your headache.”

“Wait.” She grabbed his shoulders as soon as he started to move away, clenching her hands into his shirt like it would make any difference if he actually wanted to leave. “Can we… just stay like this a little longer?”

Adam didn’t respond except by settling back down on the floor. He leaned his back against a nearby side table, and then his arms wrapped around her again, pulling her close. Kira released a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. She rested her head on his shoulder and melted against him, trusting him to hold her up.

The rest of the world would still be waiting for them, when they finally decided to move. But for the first time in a long time, Kira felt ready to face it… eventually.

#rhi writes #twc #kira kingston #kira/adam #it bugged me that even though we as players knew what happened to that girl the detective never found out #so I wanted to give kira some closure and she decided 'oh I'm going to fall apart about this thanks'#sometimes you just gotta have an emotional breakdown in the kitchen at 10am ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#I like to think the rest of unit bravo started to walk in on them #but felix went NOPE LET THEM HAVE THIS and shooed nate and mason away before they could interrupt #(kira is one of those people who looks pretty when she cries and I hate her for this a little bit)

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sukirichi · 3 years

Text

personal disaster

Toji took the personal invitation to be your personal disaster.

REQUEST. toxic toji + enemies to greater enemies + toji railing reader in front of someone they’re seeing because he doesn’t want to see you happy but he doesn’t want to “keep” you either

PAIRINGS. toxic toji x reader x mafia! leader noritoshi kamo (he’s just witnessing the fun, dw)

CONTENT/WARNINGS: rough sex, slight bloodplay, violence, toxic toji, toxic and abusive relationships, choking, begging kink (you’ll be surprised in what way), degradation, mass murder, mentions of blood, cuckolding, overstimulation, reader is kind of crazy, hate fucking, neck slicing, IT’S DARK okay? unedited too, sorry for typos and grammatical errors

WC: 3.5k+

masterlist !

Your arm looped with your fiancé’s, his possessive arm wrapped around your waist. He glared at everyone who stared at you with a lust filled gaze, his cold eyes alone enough to send his people staring at the ground with a tug of their jackets to hide their erection. You almost felt bad for them, knowing that they always saw how your pussy took Noritoshi’s cock so well, but that was it.

They could only see but never had a taste of the specimen you were because you were the mafia leader’s fiancé, soon to be the Queen of his empire while you sat pretty next to him, getting richer and richer with each passing second before you fulfilled your duty and birthed him an heir.

Noritoshi wasn’t in a rush, though. He was a man of sensual pleasure, wanting to take his time with you and getting to know you, and take his time he did.

There was not a day that he didn’t have you moaning under his silk sheets, wrists already chafed from the handcuffs he insisted on using you, simply because he was a man who liked to exert dominance and craved being in power. You never denied him – how could you when all you had to do was spread your legs and you got that coin?

You were beyond a slut for him, however, and this much was clear when Noritoshi announced that you were his and his only.

When even that didn’t deter the curious hands of his people from pumping their cocks at the thought of you, Noritoshi have had enough. He roughly slammed his lips to yours before he melted at the sweetness of your lips, soon turning gentle before he slipped a ring inside your finger to make it official.

Noritoshi, dramatic as ever, wanted everyone to know about this engagement as loudly as he could without opening his mouth.

Your fiancé had a flare for the theatrics, which was why he didn’t blink an eye as he got you an expensive designer dress, hand-stitched, and flaunting you around – flaunting his soon to be wife hanging off of his arm proudly.

He guided you into his limousine until you reached a night sky nightclub that was notorious for its luxury. Not even the richest people belonging in the top tier of society could afford a single ticket, much less a private room. Noritoshi made the right choice by walking with you down the hallways, the walls transitioning from a glossy black to a velvet tint, leading into one of the VIP rooms that was already surrounded by his guards.

The whole way there, Noritoshi didn’t loosen his grip on you, making sure his hand was cupping your ass to flash your ring and his.

Several envious gazes and curious ones later, followed by hushed whispers before the pair of you disappeared behind the double doors, Noritoshi loosened up in his seat, satisfied that he’d marked his territory successfully.

Noritoshi uncapped a bottle of fine whiskey served by a shivering waiter, while you sat next to him, legs crossed enough that the poor blushing waiter flushed at the sight of your bare cunt.

You checked your nails, smirking at the velvet black acrylics Noritoshi was generous enough to let you borrow his black card for. The dress you wore was infinitely superb too, the bust firm enough to push your breasts high enough that the outline of your cleavage was just a step away from exposing your nipples – a tease, as always – just as how Noritoshi wanted.

He was like that; always dangling the treasure right in front of people’s mouths as they salivated in hunger, then bringing it back to his grasp just before they took a bite.

How Noritoshi, you thought.

Out of nowhere, muffled gunshots could be heard from the outside, your eyes cat-like as they glared at the door, waiting for people to burst through. Not a second later, one of your guards rudely invited himself in, pushing the curtain that hid a secret exit as he started babbling nonsense about a madman or something.

“What’s wrong?” Noritoshi asked calmly over his glass, swirling the glass with a satisfying clink. “What’s all the commotion about?”

“Sir, you need to leave! There’s an assassin here and he’s easily taking our men down!”

“Assassin?” he scoffed with a pinch of his brow. “What do you mean assassin? This is a private nightclub – isn’t our security tough?”

“Yes, sir, but he’s easily overpowering us—”

“This assassin you speak of,” you stopped inspecting your nails, placing them over your knee instead. A smirk painted your bold red lips when the guard’s eyes trailed downwards to your shaven cunt, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the sight before he turned away, stiffening harder once he met Noritoshi’s glare. “Is he tall, dark, has a scar running down in his lip and has a crazy look in his eye?”

“Y-yes, that’s exactly him.”

“Do you know who he is, darling?”

You scrunched your noise, uncrossing your legs out of poor mercy to this man. He looked like he’d faint soon – seriously, didn’t Noritoshi have enough sluts for his men to fuck? “An old friend of mine, although I could hardly call him that when he took everything from me,” eyes darkening at the memory of him, you pushed yourself off the velvet cushions of the couch, swiping at the gun strapped to your thigh. “You should leave, Toshi. I’ll handle him.”

“You’ll handle him? It’s unsafe – we need to leave—”

Sigh, he always worried too much over you. It was so easy for him to forget you lived an equally dark life prior meeting him, so you pressed your lips against his, making sure to mark the edges red to remind him he had nothing to worry about. As always, it shut Noritoshi up, his hands coming up to caress at your ass.

“He won’t hurt me,” you assured, palms laid flat on his chest. “Now go.”

Noritoshi wasn’t given a chance when you nodded at his guard, who got the message and dragged his boss away rather harshly behind the curtain. Smirking, you made your way outside, adrenaline rushing through your veins and heat seeping into your core. This night just got a lot more interesting.

Your fun was spoiled, however, when you were met with blood stained walls and limbs torn everywhere. A sneer made its way to your face, not because you were disgusted by the sight, but because he was still as boring and upfront as ever.

He never let you had your fun.

“Toji,” you greeted the tall man sitting on top of the pile of bodies, brows raised because it’s been a long time and he still hadn’t changed. He still wore the exact same fitted black shirt that looked like it would rip into pieces at each of his movements, which to your surprise, never did. “Still as messy as ever, huh?” you clicked your tongue, bunching your dress up with your fists as you stepped over the bodies, making sure not to slip from the sea of blood. “Jeez. You’re not even the least bit concerned about the cleaners.”

“Sweetheart,” he crooned, mirroring your smug expression as he jumped down his throne of corpses, roughly tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eye.

Even with high heels, Toji effortlessly towered over you, reminding you again and again of the strength difference. Though you held your ground pretty well, and he knew this too, otherwise he wouldn’t have struggled so much in his mercenary work the moment you came.

“It’s so nice to see you again – or is that what you wanted me to say?” Your lips stretched for a sinister laugh, Toji beating you to it when his strong hands came to wrap around your neck, slamming you on the wall hard enough he blurred in your vision for a moment. You kept chuckling through the lack of air, tongue darting out to lick the blood of his knuckles. Toji growled, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you’ve done to me, bitch. You ruined my pretty face with those nails of yours.”

“Can’t blame a woman, Toji, you weren’t letting me cum.”

“To be fair, you were leaving me after you killed all my clients when I kindly asked you to keep your hands to yourself,” Toji sneered, head darting down to rip the diamond necklace Noritoshi got you onto the ground. You whined upon seeing the crystals scatter onto the floor, millions worth now dipped in blood. What a fucking shame. “But you’ve always been a naughty little minx, aren’t you? You just can’t keep your hands off of beautiful men.”

“Trust me, Toji, what’s inside their pockets are a lot prettier than faces,” you giggled as your hand came up to trace the scar on his lips, eyes narrowed into appreciative slits. “Nothing would ever be prettier than this.”

“Is it still a face you want to sit on?”

“Fuck, yes,” you admitted, pushing yourself off the wall to wrap your legs around him.

The momentum took Toji by surprise, forgetting that you were just as strong as him as he staggered two steps backwards. His grip tightened on your hip to steady you both, the sharp blade of his weapon poking against your thigh threateningly.

It didn’t bother you, and you only nuzzled your nose against his almost affectionately, staring him in the eyes as you mumbled, “I fucking missed you.”

“Then why did you leave?” he grunted while grinding you down on his cock, hissing for a split second when your killer heels dug into his lower back. He could feel blood leaking from how the shoe pierced him, but he made no move to push you away, enticing you to kiss the corners of his lips to worship his scar. He was so beautiful, sinfully gorgeous that you always lost your mind around him.

He was your end, your ruin, your destruction – and you left in a poor attempt to keep your heart safe.

“How long has it been since I had my hands on you, huh, pretty thing? Six months, maybe more? Time gets so blurry when I’m not buried in your tight cunt,” Toji buried his nose in the crook of your neck, using the blade of his sword to tear your dress open, leaving your lower half revealed to him.

“Oh, you asshole, that was expensive!”

“Don’t give a fuck, baby,” he rolled his eyes, and of course he didn’t. Toji wasn’t any better than you; both your minds were always clouded and hazy with sex. “You smell different. Got another man?”

“Hmm, and he’s much better than you are,” Your words ticked Toji off, knowing full well he always hated it whenever you poked at his ego. Toji was a man of many things, and every time you implied that he wasn’t something, you could expect that he would fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to feel your legs for days. Now that was exactly what you wanted, so you kept going, your nails travelling under his shirt to leave more scratches at his already ruined back – all thanks to you. “He’s rich, classy, handsome, praises me instead of calls me a little slut—”

“Aren’t you?”

“I am,” you agreed shamelessly with a sultry laugh, looking back at him with a devious glint in your eye. “But I like being worshipped every now and then.”

“Haven’t I done that enough? You talk as if I never made you feel good.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, nothing can still compare to your cock, Toji,” Your other hand shoved itself down his pants to feel him, soft pants leaving those pretty mouth of yours when felt his cock bare, the tip already wet with pre-cum.

Of fucking course Toji executed his missions on commando mode – he couldn’t be bothered to keep his fat cock imprisoned.

“But he’s richer. And he’s willing to marry me, breed me until I’m swollen with his children and pamper me afterwards. He’s willing to make me his.”

“You fucking slut,” Toji shoved his tongue inside your mouth, the moans spilling from your lips to his only encouraging him to align his huge length onto your already dripping cunt – always so wet and ready to be filled by him – before he slammed you all the way down. The sudden stretch had you biting on his tongue to muffle your moan, Toji’s hands bruising as he cupped your ass. Toji clenched his jaw upon feeling your walls embrace him warmly, his breaths ragged and faint.

It made your chest swell with pride at the thought that only you could make the infamous Fushiguro Toji this disarranged.

“What is it with you sticking to alpha males all the fucking time?”

“A princess wants her throne beside a handsome prince, Toji. Just because your family didn’t like you, doesn’t mean mine did too. I grew up being told fairy tales while you ran rampant in the streets,” you bit back, the sinister laugh painting the blood red walls dark because you knew Toji better than anyone, and one of the things that always set him off like a bomb was the mention of his abusive family.

You couldn’t wait to see how he would ruin you, and you moaned loudly when Toji grabbed your jaw until your cheeks were squished, the cold of his blade held against your throat sending a shiver down your spine.

“Are you the slightest bit aware of how much I want to kill you right now? Slice your lovely neck and fuck you while you suffocate in your own blood?” You gasped as you felt warm liquid slowly bleed out from the slightest cut, your blood sliding down your chest and under the leftover materials of your dress. Toji used his bare hands to rip the dress apart, your tits bouncing the moment they were freed from its confines.

The guttural groan that echoed from his throat was pure animalistic, similar to the carnal thrusts of his dick that pummelled into you. He pushed you flat on your back until your skin pricked with the shards of glass on the bar countertops, the pain only adding to your pleasure.

Toji kept you locked underneath his arm, his hands choking the air out of you while you clenched around him repeatedly, your walls sucking him in tight enough that Toji lost rhythm in his thrusts. “Only you would like that, Toji,” you choked out in a broken gasp, the man above you growling when you picked up a broken wine glass to push his hands off of you.

Blood coated both your bodies as Toji drove his dick deeper, hitting all the spots that only he could ever reach.

“I’m a man of rare taste.”

“So fucking rare,” you teased. Toji’s middle finger and thumb met once they wrapped around your neck, pulling you off the table to bounce you on his cock, using only his masculine virility and raw strength to fuck you good.

The sudden change of position had the tip of his cock pressing into your most sensitive spots, Toji’s angry grunts sinful yet so erotic as your bumpy walls kissed the veins of his cock.

Toji suddenly wrapped an arm under your breasts, flipping you over until you were met by the sight of Noritoshi standing still outside his VIP room, his gun aimed at the both of you. “Uh-uh – I wouldn’t do that if I were you, pretty boy,” he warned, his words taking a huge hit on Noritoshi when his arm wavered. “One cut is all I need and your lovely fiancé’s body would be swimming in her own blood. Now, you wouldn’t want to waste such a beauty, right?”

“Y/N!” he suddenly dropped his gun, hands raised in surrender beside his head. If Toji wasn’t driving his dick like a fucking animal, you would’ve broken Noritoshi’s nose, ashamed that he surrendered so easily. Noritoshi’s dark eyes turned to Toji’s, heat seeping off of him in waves. “I will never forgive you for what you’re doing!”

“Wasn’t asking for forgiveness, shorty,” Toji pressed, using two fingers to split your lips open, giving Noritoshi the show of his life as Toji’s fat cock stretched you open completely, your puffy lips wrapped around his swollen length.

You knew you looked so dirty right now, skin covered in blood, wearing nothing but your black heels that accentuated your legs while Toji split your body in half.

A strangled moan was pulled from you when Toji hitched one of your legs, his arm hooked behind your knee, completely exposing yourself to Noritoshi. Even though you couldn’t see yourself, the squelching of your pussy taking in Toji’s cream filled dick was so pornographic you couldn’t help the heightening of your arousal, breasts bouncing as Toji kept up his relentless pounding.

“Come on, sweetheart, let him see how much I’m stretching you out. Watch as she loses herself around my fact cock like the fucking whore she is,” Toji laughed, silencing your incoherent fucked out mumbled by shoving a thumb through your lips, smearing your lipstick to the side as if you weren’t a mess already. “Oh, look at his face. You don’t mean to tell me he doesn’t know how filthy you are, huh, sweetheart?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“What the fuck did you say to me?” Toji slapped your ass, your walls clenching around him on instinct. Noritoshi’s eyes widened when you only moaned in response, the blissful smile on his ace rendering him silent. “Not so threatening now, huh, Kamo?” Toji leered, snickering at the apparent tent growing in your fiance’s pants.

It was absolutely sickening that he got off at the sight of his pretty little fiancé be used by some other man, but Toji respected all kinks, even if he didn’t have much respect for Noritoshi to begin with.

“Come on, sweetheart. Scream for me. Say my fucking name like you always used to. Let’s show this pretty boy here how awful you are before he regrets being with you,” Toji snapped his hips harder into you, causing you to see stars that mixed with the sight of Noritoshi falling onto his knees, your name a plead for his lips.

Toji’s cock only twitched at the sight of seeing someone so helpless, to see the infamous powerful Kamo leader beg for Toji to save you and let you go.

He always knew he had a begging kink, but he didn’t think it would come in this form.

“T-Toshi—” you moaned out, eyes snapped shut. You couldn’t think anymore, the only sounds filling your ears were Noritoshi’s cries and Toji’s ragged pants in your ear, his hand pressing down on the apparent bulge of your lower stomach every time he bottomed out.

“I said, say my fucking name.”

“Toji, Toji, fuck!” you leaned backwards and placed your head on his shoulder while he grabbed your hair to kiss you, that familiar heat beginning to form in your core. Unable to help it, your moans fell left and right, loud enough that it drowned out Noritoshi’s pleads. Toji laughed at both of you – called you the dumbest lovers alive – so he kissed you, more tongue and teeth than lips, his thrusts sloppy and desperate. “Oh, oh fuck, yes, yes, right there, oh!”

“You can never fuck her like I do. You can never make her feel good like I do. See how she’s moaning so pretty for me? You can never have her.”

“You’re so fucking unfair,” you cried out, hands tugging at his hair. Toji never let up for even a moment as his thrusts slowed; the new pace he set slow yet deep. Toji pulled out his cock slowly to make you feel him inch by inch, your walls licking at his cock vein by vein until only the tip was left inside, before thrusting full into you in one swift movement of his hips. “You can’t just break up with me and – fuck – tell me I can’t be with others.”

“I own you, sweetheart – I’m your personal disaster,” Toji taunted, large hands groping at your breast when your eyes snapped open, his last final thrusts turning your pussy to mush.

You came around him, hard and overwhelmingly so. Your hands wrapped around his bicep to steady your shaking legs, his name spoken like a prayer with malicious tone as if to curse him. Toji pushed you off his cock until you fell on the floor, his rough hands grabbing at your jaw again to face him, thick spurts of his cum painting your face.

Taking them all in like a good girl, Toji swiped his length over the slope of your nose and pushed the still hard cock through your lips. His hands gripped your head tight as he fucked into your mouth, nothing but anger shown through that scarred face while your jaw fell slack and sore.

“And I’ll break you over and over again until you’re reminded that you’re mine.”

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Love For The Faceless

Corpse Husband x Youtuber!Reader(Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Y/N is a YouTube gamer who has recently gained a much larger following thanks to the streams she does with her friends. Naturally, considering her faceless and bodiless nature, people are starting to get curious about her. When she finally follows her friend Corpse’s example, a lot more than her hands is revealed.

Requested by anon, you know who you are 😉 Thank you so much for placing a request and hope this fic fulfills the expectations you have for it.

“Hey!“ I greet the lobby as I finally hop into the Discord call after quickly saying ‘hi‘ to my audience.

I’ve been a YouTuber for four years now and I’ve only recently started streaming, encouraged to do so by my best friend Rae. She’s the one who got me in multiplayer games such as Among Us and Phasmophobia which led me to meet her amazing gaming squad that consists of some of the most famous names on the platform. They are all wonderful people and I will forever be in Rae’s debt for introducing me to them. However, becoming friends with Felix, Sean and the rest of the team brought not only a more fulfilled life, but also a small boost in following. Who am I kidding, it wasn’t small. It was overwhelming, terrifying even.

My YouTube channel had a little over a million subscribers at the start of quarantine and now....now it’s closer to three million. Speaking of three million, I’m about to reach it any day now and it’s really hard to believe. I’m a gaming youtuber and I’ve never considered changing my genre despite expecting to not get any attention whatsoever, with all the big names on the platform. I was convinced not even as many as a hundred people would stumble across my videos and now here we are.

My OG subscribers are very supportive of my sudden growth and are defending me when my newer fans ask for a face reveal or whatnot. While we’re on that topic I might have to mention that not even my YouTube friends, and that includes Rae have seen my face. I’ve been faceless and bodiless for the entirety of my time on social media. Some claim I do it to grab more attention or for dramatic effect, but the reason is beyond that. I’m not shallow. Actually, shallow people are the reason I don’t show my face. I’ve never been the prettiest, but my middle school bully thought that I wasn’t lacking self confidence enough. As a result, I ended up with a not so handsome scar on my right cheek that starts from the corner of my mouth and nearly misses my eye. Yeah, it’s a long and pretty noticeable scar that has thankfully become less and less obvious as the years have progressed. Still, it’s not something I’d like to show to my viewers.

Eight ‘hi’s greet me back, each making my smile grow wider. “Sorry I’m late guys. Technical difficulties.”

“Don’t worry.“ Rae’s voice dominates over the rest, “Corpse still isn’t here so we’re waiting for him.“

I mute myself on the Discord call and take a look at my comments. I’m most flattered by the comments about my voice. Seeing as how they don’t have much to compliment about me other than my content, they make the nicest comments about my voice, personality and humor. Those comments are the ones who warm my heart most. Even when people in my day to day life compliment my appearance I can’t find it in me to believe they are being genuine. I’d like to believe these amazing people are being one hundred percent honest when they tell me they like me for who I am and not for what I might look like.

“Sorry I’m late guys.“ A deep voice causes me to even physically jolt, switching my focus from the comments to the Among Us lobby where my eyes land on the newly materialized black avatar.

“Hi Corpse.“ Rae greets him.

“Hello mister who broke Twitter!“ Sean laughs, provoking the laughter of the rest of the players.

“Yeah, congratulations man. That’s a big deal.“ Felix chimes in.

“Thanks guys, but I think you’re forgetting we’re talking about a picture of my hand.“ Corpse chuckles timidly. I have noticed how shy he gets when someone gives him a compliment - like a snail slowly withdrawing in its shell. I find it adorable.

“That’s what makes it even better!“ I unmute my mic, sending my own congratulations.

“While we’re on that topic...“ Rae begins, waiting for the rest of us to shut our traps, suggesting she has something important to say. “Y/N, do you ever plan on doing a reveal like that? Not a face reveal. Just a body part reveal.“

I have no problem talking about the subject with friends but I get nervous when I’m supposed to discuss it with my fans. Seeing as how everyone, including myself, is streaming right now, I get a bit of a stutter in my speech. “Haven’t thought about it yet. But I guess a body part reveal is harmless.” I cringe immediately after letting the words leave my mouth, “That sounds so weird.”

Rae knows that I’m not too fond of my face, but I haven’t told her about my scar yet. I let almost all people I’ve met online think I’m using my lack of appearance for effect. For the mystery of it all. Mysteries attract people which equals attention. Attention equals views and the domino effect continues.

“Just a suggestion. No pressure.“ Rae adds quickly, knowing full well I get anxious when the subject is brought up in front of cameras. “Let’s get this game started, shall we.”

* * *

The idea dwells in my mind, sitting on the back burner even after I disconnect from the Discord call. I’m sitting in my gaming chair, which was a gift for my two million milestone, and weighing out the pros and cons of the action Rae suggested I take.

“It’s a picture of your fucking hand, dummy. How bad can it turn out?“ I say out loud, shaking my head at my indecisiveness. “You’ll be fine.”

In a blur, two pictures are already posted on my Instagram. The first one captioned ‘Took a leaf from my friend’s book. Did I do it right @ corpsehusband?’ and the second ‘Thanks, Rae. These are on you.’

Rae’s POV

As I’m watching a movie in my living room, I get a notification from Instagram, informing me that Y/N has posted for the first time in a while.

I scoff, “More like the first time in forever.”

The first thing that comes to my mind is the possibility of her reaching that three million milestone that’s been long time coming. I bring the glass of water that’s sitting on my coffee table to my lips, taking a sip as I tap the notification. The picture I see makes me hurry to put the glass back down so I don’t drop it. Y/N’s hand. Her fingers are covered with several thin rings each. And here I thought Corpse had too many rings, this girl has at least two on every finger!

Then my eyes land on the second picture she has posted only minutes after the first and my heart drops. I struggle to get the water that’s been sitting in my moth down my esophagus while my mind is struggling with the task to comprehend the picture I’m looking at.

Another hand is resting on top of Y/N’s. A hand also covered in rings but fewer and larger. The nails are painted black.

I think I know who it belongs to.

Before I can even finish the thought, I’m dialing Y/N. She picks up after the second ring, sound cheery as ever as she greets me. “Hey Rae!”

“Don’t you ‘Hey Rae’ me!” I practically scream. I hate being kept in the dark about anything ever so this is just driving me mad. On top of all, she’s my best friend, for fuck’s sake. “Is that Corpse in the photo with you?!”

“Ugh....“ the cheeriness to her voice is all but gone now.

I go on with my rant, not giving her the time to reply. Not that she would reply. I bet she doesn’t know what to say. “So he knows where you live?! Or was the picture taken at his place?! He knows what you look like?! You have seen him! He has seen you in real life but me, your best friend, haven’t!!! You are breaking Covid 19 protection laws to take pictures?! Are you fucking serious, Y/N?!”

There’s a long moment of silence which frustrates me even more but I literally have run out of things to yell and the power to be angry. I mean, I still am, I just can’t express it.

“Rae, sweetheart, please calm down. You’re scary when you’re mad.“ This girl has some fucking nerve! She’s on the verge of laughing!

“Listen here you...“

“Rae, please stop scaring my girlfriend.“ That oh so distinguishable, oh so familiar voice interrupts me.

I am flabbergasted, for a lack of a better term.

“Now that we’ve got you quiet, I can explain.“ Y/N pics up the conversation, “Corpse and I have been dating for six, almost seven months now. We started dating around Easter after talking for quite some time. We moved in together at the end of September. All thanks to you, Rae. You’re the best.” She pauses to breathe in real quick, “There, all caught up?“

I’m in no less shock than I was before she explained. Actually, I think I might be even more confused now. It all just feels like a fever dream. “Yes...no. I don’t fucking know! I need details, Y/N!”

“Details later.“ Corpse makes his presence known once again, “We’re watching Family Guy right now. Talk to you later.“

“Love you, Rae!“ Y/N calls out before the line goes dead.

My arm goes limp, dropping my phone on the couch next to me.

“Motherfuckers” I mumble under my breath.

Y/N’s POV

It’s been a week since Rae has stopped talking to both Corpse and me. I know she just needs some time to cool off. In the meantime, the rest of our friends were informed and, as oppose to Rae, were nothing but supportive and overjoyed. I bet Rae feels the same way though. Sean, Dave and the rest of the gang have confirmed that she’s incredibly happy for us and says she noticed a spark between me and him since day one, but she can’t help but be mad at us, and especially me, for not telling her sooner.

“Any regrets?“ I remember Corpse asking me when we hung up on her after dropping the bomb.

“Not being able to see her face when she saw the picture.“ I beam at him, feeling as content as ever.

He laughs, agreeing with me before leaning down to kiss me.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios

#corpse #corpse husband #corpsehusband #husband #corpse husband fanfic #corpse simp #corpse husband fanficiton #corpse fanfiction #corpse fanfic #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband x reader #x reader #reader #request #requests open

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heytherejulietx · 2 years

Text

tipping point - bughead

↳ requested by @crazymisscarly for my writing for riverdale again prompts. i don’t know how this got so sad i’m so sorry lmfao i got carried away i hope you enjoy it all the same!

↳ a / n - sooo this is my first time writing for riverdale again since like october? i honestly thought i was done writing for this fandom, but the earlier seasons still have a chokehold on me lol. i had so much fun writing for bughead again so please feel free to send in more prompts!! i hope i’ve still got the hang of the ship :)

↳ content warnings - brief mention of s/h, violence mention, implied anxiety

↳ 1.2k word count

↳ just a reminder that reblogs are seriously appreciated as it helps my work get seen by more people! <3

↳ masterlists

@bucky-j-barnes @kpopgirlbtssvt @freezing82 @mullysmyheart @thegrxywitch @akitoxx @lovin-aurelia @musingsofanextrovert @bugheadsfangirl @bc-jh22 @cheryllclayton @tabberrss @thestaredown @middleagedresidentofriverdale (some of the tags won’t work) join my tag list

The car was silent. It had been for the past twenty minutes, and Betty was under the assumption that it would stay like that until they got back to town.

The gentle drag of Jughead’s fingers against her thigh was pretty much the only thing that was keeping her grounded at that point in time, from letting her mind wander too far into the dark like it did sometimes. Her hands were curled into fists at her waist where her arms had wrapped around herself, making her smaller against the seat. Her fingernails dug into the soft cotton of her jumper instead of her palm. The half-moon scars hadn’t been reopened in months, and she wanted to keep it that way. Even if it was hard in times like that.

If she closed her eyes and thought hard enough, the sound of the shattering glass at Veronica’s cabin could be heard again. Or the many voices that were shouting in the living room, demanding the four friends to kneel. An involuntary shudder ran through the blonde at the memory; the way the wooden flooring pressed against her knees uncomfortably as she knelt down, her hand holding such a tight grip on Jughead’s that it trembled.

Maybe it wasn’t the threats that had scared her so much. Looking at those faces, covered by black hockey masks to obscure most of their features, it just reminded Betty of the Black Hood, the serial killer who had called and traumatised her for weeks on end. And even though the sociopath was dead, it still scared her. If her phone rang unexpectedly sometimes it made her flinch, and her heart beat against her chest painfully as she answered, even though she knew it couldn’t possibly be the Black Hood. She had to change her ringtone after a week when she kept getting scared by the ironically cheery tune. Or if it wasn’t that scaring her, then the thought of what those men could have done to them brought her mind back to the night that she’d helped her mother dispose of the body in her house, the night that still left her feeling nauseous when she thought about it.

The car hit a pothole in the road, and the sudden jolt that roughly brought Betty out of her thoughts caused her to flinch, her hand gripping Jughead’s wrist with immediate fear. Her eyes had blurred over with unshed tears so she couldn’t see as her boyfriend moved beside her, but she felt the hand as it left her leg, and his arm wrapped around her shoulders instead.

“Betty,” His voice was low against her temple, as he probably didn’t want to disturb Veronica and Archie with the hushed conversation. “Take a deep breath.”

It was only then that she realised how much she had been trembling, and her lips parted to suck in a deep breath as her hand gripped onto his jumper, making a fist in that material instead. Her seatbelt was making it harder to completely tuck herself into him, so she pulled the top of it to slacken the belt which allowed her to shuffle closer to him as the tears finally started falling.

“We’ll be back soon,” He was whispering into her hair as he pressed a kiss to her head, and his free hand moved to replace the other on her thigh, gently dragging his fingers against the skin once more. “We can go and stay at mine or at yours, wherever you want. I won’t leave you alone.”

The thought of staying under the same roof as Chic after that night made her stomach lurch, so she had started shaking her head as soon as he mentioned her house. “I can’t go back to mine.” She whispered tearfully, and she felt him nod against her head.

“You don’t have to, you can stay at mine.” Jughead held her a little tighter, and Betty sniffled as she pushed herself closer into his embrace.

She didn’t say anything else for a while. His fingers continued to gently trace along her thigh, and she allowed herself to focus on that touch again, the warmth of his hand against her trembling leg. Her eyes squeezed shut as she focused on his touch, so that she didn’t think about the cabin, or the Black Hood, or the body. The sound of the Black Hood’s voice in her ear over the phone. The blood that stained her hands and clothes as she knelt on her kitchen floor. The smell of the bleach as she scrubbed the-

“Hey guys,” It was Veronica’s voice that broke her train of thought, and Betty blinked through her tears to look up at her equally tired best friend. “We’re here.”

Betty had to force her fingers to unwrap from around Jughead’s jumper so they could get out of the car. His hand remained a gentle touch against her arm as she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car, and once he had followed her outside his palm moved to her lower back to keep her steady. She was still trembling somewhat, and when she took a glance over towards Veronica and Archie they were stood just about the same way on the other side of the car to them.

The bright neon lights from the Pop’s sign blurred her vision even further, and Betty had to blink another few times before she could see clearly. The pink light reflected off of the recently-polished car in front of them, like how the candlelight in the cabin had reflected off of the axe-

Jughead pulled her into her arms, and it was only then that Betty truly realised how much harder it was getting to suck in a breath through her suddenly thick throat. He was mumbling something that she couldn’t quite hear as his hand cupped the back of her head, and she gripped onto the soft material of his jumper again as she forced a breath in. She had been feeling even more anxious recently, with the incident with Archie and the Black Hood, and then the body at her house. Maybe this was finally the long-awaited tipping point that she had been expecting for months, ever since the Black Hood had started calling her.

“Betty?” Veronica’s hand was on her shoulder - it was smaller and more delicate than Jughead’s hands on the back of her head and her waist. “We’re home now, it’s okay.”

She nodded into Jughead’s shoulder, and took in another breath as she gripped onto him tighter. “I know,” The words were a little choked out, but were still honest. “I just… it’s a lot.”

Betty didn’t need to say more because she knew that they’d understand, and she was given evidence of that when Jughead held her more lovingly against himself, his touch less worried than before. Veronica gently rubbed her shoulder before the touch was lifted, and Betty heard her mention that she and Archie would get them a table inside to give them a moment alone. The thought of guilt passed through her thoughts, that they had all been through the same thing so she shouldn’t need special treatment, but in that moment Betty was too tired to need anything other than her boyfriend’s support.

“I’m okay,” Still, she didn’t want him to worry about her on top of everything else, so the words were mumbled into his jumper as she held onto his waist. “Really.”

“Me too.” The words were mumbled against her forehead, before a gentle kiss was left behind afterwards. He wasn’t okay either and she could tell, but there was comfort in the fact that they were home, and it would allow them to get through it together.

#riverdale #bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead fluff #bughead fic #bughead fanfic #bughead drabble #betty cooper #bettycooper #betty cooper x jughead jones #jughead #jughead jones #jugheadjones #jughead jones x betty cooper #riverdale drabble #riverdale fanfiction

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graaythekwami · 3 years

Text

The Little Things - ML One-Shot

(Spoilers for the season 4 episode Hack-San)

-------

"Out for a solo patrol, Chat Noir?"

Chat Noir jumped slightly, not quite use to hearing an unfamiliar voice up here on the rooftops, and turned. The figure was standing on a chimney a ways from him, the reds of her costume matching the setting sun.

"Scarabella?" Chat Noir said, looking at the temporary Ladybug heroine he had met the other day. His surprise quickly gave way to worry, eyes widening slightly. "Did something happen to Ladybug? Is there an akuma out right now? Is–"

Scarabella held up her hands, but didn't come closer. "No no no, everything is okay– I just wanted to talk to you, that's all, and Ladybug said you often did some patrols in the evening..."

He gave a tight smile, shoulders relaxing slightly. "Not really a patrol, not like what me and M'Lady do when we patrol. It's just... to get some fresh air, I suppose."

He was slightly startled when he turned and found Scarabella walking towards him, as he hadn't heard her steps. She had some papers in her hands, and an uncertain smile on her face. She paused a little ways away from him.

"Is it okay if we talk for a bit?" Scarabella asked. "I don't have a lot of time, and then I can leave you to your... 'patrol'."

"What's up?" Chat Noir asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. His feelings on Scarabella were... mixed. She was an ally and she had spirit, but he would be lying if he said there was no bitterness when he thought about her. About what she knew and why she was there.

"I... I wanted to just show you this," Scarabella said, holding up the papers in her hand, before carefully setting it down on the roof near him, before retreating back slightly. "I had to edit out a few 'tips' for identity reasons, and Ladybug doesn't know I'm showing this to you, but considering my sudden appearance I figured maybe it would help if you saw it."

Chat glanced at the papers, then back at the spare heroine. "I don't want to go behind Ladybug's back."

Scarabella blinked, then let out a small laugh. "Oh, no, no, it's not like it's something I can't show you. It's just the list of tips she gave me of how to be Ladybug while she was gone."

"Okay?"

Scarabella smiled. "Read them, would you? Please?"

Chat Noir looked at the papers, before carefully picking them up and unfolding them. Sure enough he found a list of 'tips', each one carefully numbered off. His eyes scanned down the list, noting a few numbers were missing, which must have been the editing she had been referring to.

Chat Noir's eyes jumped back up to the top, and began reading. He could tell right away that it was indeed written by his Lady, and he could almost hear her voice as he read.

Tip 1 - Keep the earrings in at all times, they are easy to misplace. DO NOT TAKE THEM OFF.

Tip 2 - Always have sweets for Tikki on hand.

Tip 3 - Not just for recharging if an akuma appears, make sure you have something she can snack on if she's hungry.

Tip 4 - No. Seriously. Holders know no fury like a kwami starved.

Chat Noir snickered, knowing fully well what she meant. His interactions with Tikki had been limited, and she had been a very sweet kwami. Ladybug told pretty much the same story... except for the times she didn't have cookies or macarons on hand for her kwami. It turned out the little Ladybug kwami was just as passionate about her sweets as Plagg was with his cheese.

Tip 11 - Tell Chat Noir what's going on right away if an akuma shows up. Since I wasn't able to talk my way into staying in Paris like I thought I didn't get time to tell him I was leaving.

Tip 12 - If you see Chat Noir patrolling at night don't worry, it doesn't mean there's an akuma or somewhere you need to take my place. My Kitty is a free spirit and Paris is our city.

Tip 13 - Leave out croissants for him if he happens to come by where you are on patrol.

Tip 14 - The chocolate covered ones are his favorite. Chat loves anything with passion fruit too.

Tip 15 - Chat Noir likes any kind of sweets, actually, but try to get him his favorites if you can.

There was a small smile on his face as he read, eyes carefully looking over each word, warmth in his heart. The tips soon drifted back towards things regarding the Miraculous, a good dozen involving Lucky Charms and explaining how the yoyo worked.

Tip 25 - Lucky Charms might be bigger than you think! Be prepared to leapt out of the way in case a piano comes crashing down instead of a pencil.

Tip 26 - Don't ask Tikki to explain Lucky Charms. She'll be vague and she'll do it on purpose.

Tip 27 - Don't try to force a Lucky Charm to work. It's just kind of instinctual? I don't know how to describe it.

Tip 28 - Ask Chat Noir for help if the Lucky Charm is too confusing. He's been Misterbug before and has helped me defeat villains with countless Lucky Charms.

Tip 29 - Just ask Chat Noir if you have any questions, he's a professional.

Tip 30 - Don't ask him so many questions though that you stress him out! Akuma fights are hard enough and with him being the most experienced he'll have enough to worry about without a bunch of questions.

Tip 31 - Just follow Kitty's lead, he knows what to do.

Tip 32 - Chat Noir has good instincts and enhanced senses, listen to him.

Tip 33 - When Chat Noir makes a joke try to laugh, even if you think it's not funny. It makes him happy. :)

"My jokes are always funny, My Lady!" Chat Noir exclaimed in protest, though there was a smile on his face.

Tip 34 - Make sure Chat Noir is happy.

Tip 35 - Don't make fun of his purring, he's self conscious about it even though it's adorable. (He embraces everything cat except for the purring, I don't know why.)

Tip 36 - Purring doesn't always mean he's happy! Cats can purr when they're hurt! If he takes a hit and you hear him purr then you got to defeat the akuma as quickly as possible! Sooner you can cast the Miraculous Ladybugs the sooner Chat Noir isn't hurting!

Tip 37 - Don't let Chat Noir take any hits for you.

Tip 38 - Seriously. He does that way too much and I don't like watching it. Stupid self-sacrificing cat. Make sure he stays safe.

Tip 39 - Or else.

"These aren't even tips at this point!" He said, holding back a laugh.

"She does that a lot," Scarabella said with a fond smile. "With 675 'tips' a good chunk of them are ramblings."

"Six hundred and what-?" Chat said, quickly flicking through the papers and towards the end. Sure enough the very last one stared back up at him, the same number as Scarabella had promised.

Tip 675 - When you say "Miraculous Ladybug" don't forget to throw the Lucky Charm.

He flicked back a few more pages, eyes scanning the various notes that had been left. Many were just like he had expected when Scarabella had first told him what the list was: advice on what to do with different types of akumas, how the timer worked, tips for finding the akumatized object, and what to say to a victim after they were freed from Shadow Moth's control.

But then there were others, small little mentions of him and things he hadn't even realized his Lady knew or noticed, things he didn't know people cared about.

Tip 142 - If Chat Noir is dismissive with how his day has gone crack a few jokes. He tries to cover up when he's had a bad day and this is the best way to lift his spirits.

Tip 143 - Chat Noir loves hugs. Quick hugs, tight hugs, long hugs, he adores them.

Tip 144 - Chat likes to be scratched under the chin and behind his faux ears. It makes him purr, but don't mention the purring (see tip 36).

Tip 145 - Chat Noir is a cuddler.

Tip 146 - Ignore all the last few tips. Respect Chat Noir's personal space.

Tip 147 - But don't be distant either, support him! Fist bumps, pats on the back, you know, be friendly.

Tip 148 - You better be nice to my Kitty. I'll be watching all akuma coverage.

Tip 149 - No booping Chat Noir on the nose. That's our thing.

Tip 150 - No bonking him with the yoyo, carrying him in your arms, or using the nicknames 'chaton' or 'kitty', again those are our things, not yours.

Tip 151 - You can use the nicknames 'Chat' or 'CN'.

Tip 152 - He may kiss your hand. Chat Noir is a gentleman, don't let the costume fool you.

"M'lady..." Chat Noir said softly.

Tip 355 - Let Chat Noir handle the media, he's a pro at that.

Tip 356 - Don't leave him alone to deal with all the reporters though, that's a lot of pressure.

Tip 357 - Chat's ears and tail can tell you a lot about how he's feeling. I've read a lot of cat behavior articles and it's helped me a lot.

"Hey!" Chat Noir protested, even though his Lady wasn't here to see it.

Tip 598 - If anyone makes any comment about Chat Noir being dangerous or being a sidekick, you don't hold back.

Tip 599 - If it's a reporter that makes this comment give me their name and who they work for so I can make sure they never get an interview from the heroes again.

Tip 600 - Send Chat Noir a cat meme on the yoyo to cheer him up if anyone does say anything about him.

"I need to go," Scarabella said softly. "Feel free to keep those, I... I just wanted you to know that she was thinking about you. You mean a lot to her, Kittycat."

Chat Noir looked up at Scarabella, vision blurring slightly, but a smile was on his face. "I don't think 'Kittycat' was on the list of approved nicknames, Scar."

Scarabella scowled. "Well I can tell you that one isn't on my list of approved nicknames either."

Chat Noir grinned. "I'm sure it will grow on you."

"Purrhaps," Scarabella said, before giving a salute and a smile. She then tossed her yoyo, swinging away. Chat Noir watched her for a moment, before looking back down at the list he had been given.

He smiled, holding the papers close to his chest as he laid down on the roof, letting out a happy sigh.

#hack san #ml hack san #ml spoiler #ml spoilers #ml season 4 #ml season 4 spoilers #chat noir #scarabella #alya cesaire #adrien agreste #fluff #hurt/comfort

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theunholygrails · 3 years

Text

Foolish Games Part 2

Masterlist

A/N: Introducing new characters and some drama! Percy is still sexy as ever :'(.

Warnings: BJ

I woke up to a door slamming so hard it joined the symphony of my pounding headache. I groaned, hoisting myself over the back of the couch to investigate to intrusion. A brunette head of long sweeping hair rushed through the foyer, barreling towards the kitchen. A familiar mop of black hair hurried after.

Reyna was speaking so fast in Spanish my brain scrambled to keep up. I noted lots of curse words followed by a series of sentences too fast I was surprised she even knew what she was saying. Percy was answering in slow measured words, probably fighting a hangover of equal measure. I ducked behind the back of the couch, reaching for my phone plugged in on the coffee table.

It was noon. 2% battery and a couple messages from friends. Nothing from my ex thank gods. Five from Annabeth being nosey. I opened my uber app, squinting in the sunlight breaking through the cream curtains. I managed to get my driver secured.

A door slammed and I winced, peaking to check that they were in another room. I did not immediately spot my dress in the chaotic. I grimaced remembering the midnight swim. When I sat up I finally noticed the white tshirt I wore and the basketball shorts. And then I went rigid remembering what happened after the swim.

“Motherfucker,” I whispered.

Now I really had to get out of this house. I checked the arrival time of my driver. Three minutes away. Great. I made my way on shaky knees to the large wooden front door. My keys were still in the collection dish. I grabbed them quietly and turned the door handle a fraction of an inch before another door slammed open and Reyna came barreling back into the foyer, brown eyes landing promptly on my guilty ass. Behind her, Percy pursed his lips into a thin line and raised both of his hands to lay on top of his head. His biceps strained nicely against the thin t shirt.

“The fuck is this?” Reyna whispered.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” I babbled.

“It’s just Noa, Rey. Gods,” Percy said.

“I can see that, Percy!” She snapped. I was glad her spear was not strapped across her back this morning. “Why is she sneaking out of my house in your clothes?”

“People were swimming last night. Her clothes got wet.”

“I’m sure the fuck they did.”

“Zeus, Rey! You ended it with me. Why does it even matter?”

“Because I still fucking love you! I’m sorry, okay?” She burst out crying and Percy instantly pulled her against his chest. The memory of being in those arms drove me out the door like a nest of hornets.

~~~~

“I’m just saying. You have nothing to feel sorry for,” Annabeth paused to sip her iced coffee. “Unless they get back together and then you sleep with him. But as of right now, you’re good. Trust me. Been on the Percy train. We’re still friends. You’ll get over it. Just a harmless rebound for both of you.”

I groaned, laying my chin on the cool metal table parked outside our favorite coffee shop positioned between our New York apartments. Just two Manhattan women enjoying their Sunday afternoon. The air was cooling as fall neared. I pulled my baseball cap closer to the top of my sunglasses.

“Should I call him?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Let him deal with his relationship drama. Reyna is a lot to deal with. Still nothing from fuckface?”

“Nope and that’s fine.”

“Good for you. We will hydrate you, get you a good dinner, hit the gym before work in the morning and then get back on our bad bitch mental track. Agreed?”

~~~~

“Good Monday, yogis,” I chirped from my desk at the corner of my studio.

The third class was beginning to trickle in and I was settling into my rhythm. Hot yoga was next and hopefully I would sweat out all the negativity I’d allowed lately. I was in the middle of emailing back a potential client when someone rapped at the wood of my desk. I glanced up to a blonde male who waved gently.

“Heya, sansei Noa,” he said.

“That’s karate. Can I help you?”

“Do you do trial classes?”

I hit send on my email and closed my laptop. The guy was built like a poser with the defined muscles and chiseled jaw but his voice was soft and tempered. He was clean shaven and dressed like a basic gym bro.

“Normally you have to schedule them beforehand because of class size,” I gave my standard answer.

“Right, my bad. Sorry. I was just passing by the front and it looked like the kind of place I needed right now. Can I go ahead and pick a date then?”

I was staring too long into his pale blue eyes, honed in on the polite response. A nice change from the daily demanding consumers. “You know what? Ive got space right now if you like? Have you ever done hot yoga?”

A brilliant white smile showcasing sharp canines. “My favorite.”

“Perfect. I just need a name, number and email to get you a file started.”

He leaned large hands on my desk. “It’s Luke Castellan.”

Before he could give the contact information, I cut him off. “Wait. I know you.” His tanned skin paled significantly.

“I…”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” I blurted out.

His eyes skated around the room and he leaned in closer. “That’s not supposed to be public knowledge. I assume you’re a demigod?”

“Luke, you trained me. We took fucking sculpting together. The Apollo table was right next to the Hermes one for fuck’s sake.”

He winced. I heard a murmuring from the rest of my class I was disturbing with my volume. I collected my shock finally. “Take a seat if you want. We should talk after class. I need to start.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry Noa.”

I waved him off and walked over to my yoga mat. I sat cross legged and drew in an even breath to smooth out my emotions.

It was a slow 30 minute class. Each pose and movement dragged on. Finally, I dismissed the group and nodded Luke outside. He was waiting on the bench outside of the studio I split renting with a few other instructors. I sat next to him, wiping sweat from my face with the towel slung over my pink sports bra.

“Alright, talk,” I said.

“Not much to say. I was given a second chance at my hearing. Here I am. Starting over.” A shrug of well-defined shoulders. The muscles flexed beneath his gleaming sweat. His red tank top stuck to his chest and stomach. “I wish I remembered you, truly. That time is such a blur in my life.”

“It’s ok. You were a lot older than me and to be honest I had a massive crush on you so I probably hid most of the time.”

A surprised smile slipped across his lips. “I’m assuming the betrayal helped you get over that?”

I laughed outloud, slapping his knee. “No shit! So where are you staying these days?”

“Just around the corner actually. Got a job at the local gym.”

“Yeah I bet the fuck you did.” I squeezed his forearm between both of my hands. I wanted to roll my eyes at me falling back into my school girl giddy at him. Betrayal of the gods aside. He was even more gorgeous than ever. The scar down his face gave him a dark sexy vibe. Like a bad boy even though he claimed he was rehabbing himself now.

“So how, did you feel about the class?”

“I mean, I’d like to sign up for it a couple times a week, that’s for sure. And I’d like to take you out to dinner to make up for not remembering a beauty like you.”

I almost bit my cheek biting out the response of “Yes!”

“You’ve got my number,” he said, chuckling quietly. “I’ve got to get to work.” He shouldered his gym bag and excused himself.

The bike back to my apartment was spent reliving my tween fantasies about bad boy Luke. I opened my apartment door and screeched seeing a man sitting at my kitchen counter. Percy turned to face me.

“You know you live in New York? You should really lock that.”

“It was!” I snapped.

A quick grin. “Yeah. But it was easy to break into.”

I dropped my bag onto the floor and brushed past him to get a protein shake from the fridge. “I have to shower and get prepared for my night classes.” I told him.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t either.”

He paused, studying my face in the shitty lighting of the single bulb hanging between us over the counter. “Are we good, Noa?”

“Of course. What’s a little head between friends?”

“Okay…I can’t read you. Can you not play tough just for a minute?”

I chugged the shake and set the bottle down between us. I leaned my arms on the chilled counter, bun knocking against the light. “Honestly, Percy. I’m fine. We are good.”

“Reyna moved back in.”

“You’re engaged again?”

I drank from the empty bottle to give myself something to do. He watched me with those green eyes. He’d known me for far too long. He was nearly impossible to deceive, but I was determined today. The fact that I had dreamt of fucking him two consecutive nights was irrelevant if he was off the table. Even if his lips did look incredibly juicy tonight. Even if they had done near illicit things to me just nights ago.

“I don’t know. She said she wanted to work on things. And it’s her dad’s house, so I can’t ask her to go and I don’t want to go to my mom’s and admit defeat.”

“You know you could stay here, Perc.”

He worked his jaw silently, then rubbed his hands over his face. “Thanks. I do know. Even if we aren’t officially back together, I think we should work on it…” he trailed off.

“And not tell her about you eating me out?” I leaned closer because I was mean to both him and myself. Because I knew this top combined with this angle gave him a simple opportunity. And he took it.

His tongue slid out between his lips as his eyes flicked down, stayed, then dragged deliberately back up. “Probably not,” he agreed.

For a long moment neither of us said anything. He had more to lose now than me. We were no longer on equal playing fields. So, I left the ball in his court. “I’m going to go shower.”

I was done washing in the first ten minutes. The second ten was giving him a little wiggle room to decide. I had my hand on the faucet to cut off the water that was beginning to go cold when I heard the door creak open. I watched through the fogged glass, catching a hold of my breath. I watched as he tugged his shirt off. My stomach flipped over itself when he reached for his jeans. What had I done?

The opening door let in a rush of cool air, perking my skin to attention. My eyes raked unapologetically over his naked, aroused body. His dark hair quickly slicked against his stubble covered jaw. His eyes were no longer the sea green but murky like the deep water of the ocean.

“Hey,” he said quietly, cautiously.

“Hey,” I giggled, reaching out to touch his rough jaw. He winced, catching my hand with his. “We probably shouldn’t kiss again.”

“Sure, whatever you want, Percy. What can I do to you?”

He groaned, turning his mouth into my palm, scraping teeth against the vulnerable skin. “Touch me,” he said.

My free hand instantly planted against his chest, scraping at the muscle. His eyes fluttered closed, head tilting back to expose his throat. I slid my other hand into his thick hair, tugging it tightly between my fingers and pulling to grant myself more access to the strong column of his neck. I bit it first, backing him into the tiled wall when he shuddered. I kissed over the reddening skin and moved my hands to his flat stomach, feeling the shuddered breaths beneath my touch.

“Like this?” I asked.

His reply was unintelligible. I kissed down his chest, moving my hand lower still as I went. When my fingers brushed over the v-line of his hips, I shifted my route away from the center and to his thighs. An annoyed grunt escaped his lips. “Hush,” I scolded, getting my knees under me. The now cold water was hitting the back of my neck and flowing down my body. I placed my hands on the inside of both his thighs, trailing them upwards and upwards until he nearly contorted when I gripped him. He let out a scandalous string of curses that quickly turned to moaning silence when I took him into my mouth.

He unraveled in minutes and I let him cum all over the breasts I had teased him with earlier. I rose in front of him, my own rosy cheeks mirroring his. “Now we’re even.”

#percy jackson smut #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson #logan lerman smut #logan lerman fanfiction

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bestiesenpai · 3 years

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Toji with a little bunny hybrid, that’s the tweet. TW: noncon that turns dubcon, forced orgasm,

Bunnies were fast, evolution had trained them to be that way. Always skittish and ready to run, a predator could come at anytime and kill them. You were no exception, running as fast as you could right now.

“L-leave me alone!” You sobbed, running through an abandoned neighborhood. Ducking in and out of alleys, there was always the feeling of that man chasing you and he wasn't far behind.

“C’mon little bunny, I have a carrot for you!” He shouted back, laughing maniacally at his own words. Doubling down on your efforts, you took an unexpected turn and lost him.

There were some old boxes behind a dumpster, and you dove right into them. Curling yourself tightly into a ball, you tried to calm your shaking breath and trembling body. Listening keenly to the world around you, it was silent.

“Caught you!” A hand dove between the boxes and grabbed the base of your ears, yanking you up and into the alleyway.

“Stop! Stop! Let me go!” Your screams were mixed with frantic sobs, your hands clawing at his to let you go. “P-please sir!” You hiccuped loudly, looking up at him with eyes clouded with tears.

“Well would you look at that! You’re pretty cute!” He says it mockingly, shaking you by the ears for effect. “You got a little tail too?”

“Stop!” You try to fight it, but he turns you around and chuckles at your little white tail. His hand gives it a sharp tug and on instinct your leg kicks back and nails him in the shin.

“Got some fight still you in, huh.” Facing you again, the man smirks widely at you. He’s truly getting a kick out of this and the scar at the corner of his mouth stretches as well.

“L-let- let me go.” Whining now, you thrash your body a few more times.

“I got someone paying me a lot of money for you and I’m not about to let that slip away. Now come here.” Easily manhandled by this burly creature, you’re held by the waist under his arm, like a limp doll.

It’s not far from where you are to where you’re going. A nondescript housing block in a poor neighborhood. The man walks past a few people in the halls and all of them avoid looking at your pleading face staring back at them. Whoever this man was made people scared.

“Home sweet home, bunny bitch.” Dropping you on the floor as soon as he kicks the door closed, the man snorts when you scramble away to the farthest wall. It’s a small studio you’re in, the kitchen not even a few feet away from your head. There’s a mattress on the floor in the corner, messy blankets and pillows strewn about.

Your eyes catch sight of the small window above the kitchen sink. It would be a tight squeeze, but if you could just push enough of your body out you could make it, even if it was a long way down.

“Hey.” Grabbing your head roughly, the man turns you to look at him. “You tryina jump out that window?”

“N-no!” Pushing him away, you feel the corded muscles of his chest under his shirt. There was a thing on his shoulder, it looked like a worm, and you’d seen it spit out weapons for him.

“Think about leaving this place, I’ll cut off one of your feet. They’re good luck, aren’t they?”

“No!” You shout again, tucking your feet under yourself. With a sick laugh, the man pushes your head against the wall and leaves to the bathroom. He can hear you crying outside the door, cursing him and whoever was making him do this.

When he comes back to the main room, your cries immediately stop. You clam up, simultaneously avoiding his gaze and watching him. It’s cute to watch you, still amped up from adrenaline and scared.

“Say bunny, you got a name?” He asks, grabbing himself a glass of water. You took one glance at him and went back to staring at the floor. “Hey!” The man barked, kicking the wall right by your head and planting his boot on it, making you scream. “I asked you a fucking question, didn’t I?”

“I-it’s-it’s-”

“It it it it’s what?”

“(Y/N)!” Throwing your hands in front of your face, you wanted to avoid his pointed gaze. Fresh tears were falling now, dripping down your chin.

“What a cute name for a cute bunny.” He sneered. Looking down his nose at you, he grinned. “Not that it matters but my name is Toji. Toji Fushiguro.”

“Okay.” You whispered pitifully, nodding your head. The more Toji looked at you, the more he was beginning to like you. You were a cute little bunny thing, absolutely scared beyond all reason, and seeing you cower and make those little noises had him getting excited.

Taking a drink of his water, Toji poured the rest on your head. Jerking away from the stream, the water caught the back of your shirt and soaked it. Toji laughed, watching you scurry away to the other side of his room near his bed.

“Don’t like water?” He teased. The water had stained your back, making your shirt see through. Toji could see the straps of your bra plain as day, and when you lifted your shirt to try and fan it dry, he got a glimpse of your bare back as well.

What happens next is a blur. One moment, your trying to dry your shirt off, the next your face is being pushed into the edge of the mattress and your shirt hiked up your back.

“Stop!” You try to reach back and hit him but it’s no use, you don’t hit hard enough to stop him from yanking your shirt off.

“I can’t have you getting sick with that wet shirt on, little bunny. Best if we take it off.” Tojis hand that’s not holding you down takes your bra off in one go. Your hands rush to hold onto it and protect yourself and in doing so you’re nudged by his knee further onto the bed.

Your arms are crossed tightly across your chest as he flips you over and the look of determination you have makes him grin. It’s funny that you think you can stop him from doing what he wants, it truly is.

Grabbing your wrists, it takes him all of two seconds to rip your bra off and pin your arms to your sides. You’re kicking him in the chest and stomach, but Toji’s used to it. And besides, a little bunny like you doesn’t have nearly enough strength to fight off such an offending predator.

“Ya know, the guy who wants you is a real sick fuck.” He says, sitting on top of your legs and staring at your chest. “He wants to do all sorts of things with you, he told me himself.” Toji can see your eyes begin to widen slightly. “Oh yeah, little bunny, he said he was going to fuck you raw every chance he got, forcing you to take his cock whenever he wanted. He wouldn't even get you wet, just sticking it in and hoping you bleed and cry every time.”

“Stop it.”

“You know what he said he really wants to do with you?”

“I don’t wanna hear it!”

“He said he’s gonna get a group of all his friends and watch as they abuse your little holes until you pass out. Probably drug you up so you can’t run away or make any noise, too. Gonna tie you up and-”

“Stop!”

“Do you not like that? You don’t want to know what your future holds?” Toji wasn’t lying either, it was the truth. There were so many other things the two of them had discussed, much sicker than what even he was used to. “And if you get pregnant-”

“No, no!” You’d had enough. You don’t want to know anymore. “Please, I’ll do anything, don’t take me to him!”

“Anything?”

“Yes! I don’t want to go to there!” Sniffling pathetically, you finally looked him in the eye. Anything would be better than what he had described was waiting for you.

“Make me happy and I’ll see what I can do for you.” Your face falters, you know exactly what he means but you refuse to believe it.

“W-what?”

“Don’t play dumb little bunny.” Letting go of one of your hands, Toji grabs your breast roughly. “You know what I mean.” Giving your nipple a harsh squeeze, Toji smirks when your hand flies up to hold his wrist.

“I-I-”

“I’ll take what I want either way, but at least you’ll have a fighting chance.” Leaning down over you, the expanse of his chest is enough to block out the one overhead light that's on.

Unable to answer verbally, you bite your lip and nod your head. Your gaze wavers from his, dropping down to where his shirt has dipped and exposed more of his chest.

“Good girl.” Squeezing your breast a little softer this time, Toji makes his descent. Smothering you with his lips, he bites you to make your mouth open and slide his tongue in. He laps at the few drops of blood that drip out, the metallic tang mixing with your saliva.

The kiss is easily overwhelming, and you let go of his wrist to push at his face. You’re quickly running out of air, getting lightheaded as the seconds tick by. After you’re sufficiently drained does Toji break the kiss, watching the saliva drip down your face as you gasp for air.

Bumping your chin up with his head, Toji bites down on the side of your neck. Breathlessly, you squeal, smacking him in the face from the sudden pain.

“You’re such a rough little bunny, hitting me like that.” Toji coos, licking at the mark that’s quickly bruising. He doesn’t mind it, likes it actually - prey that’s still willing to fight back is the best kind.

An unintelligible whine leaves you, and he bites you again. The pain is enough to make you wriggle and every so often you hit him again when it’s too much. Every smack on his face makes Toji groan a little bit, rutting his hips against yours each time.

After your neck is sufficiently covered in the marks of his teeth, he moves to your chest and does the same thing. His messy black hair is tickling you, and you let go of his face to brush it away from you.

“Getting soft on me?” He teases, looking up at you.

“No!” You’re quick to answer. Toji laughs at that and nips at your skin one more time. Quickly capturing one of your nipples, he isn’t gentle with it, rolling it between his teeth and pressing on it too hard with his tongue.

It makes you groan, but otherwise you try to remain silent. It hurts, and there’s no reprieve from it as he switches to the other one. Your skin is littered marks, bruises you’ll feel for a long while after this.

Gasping loudly as Toji rips your bottoms off, you try to stop him from forcing your legs open.

“Thought you wanted to make me happy, bunny?”

“Not there, please!” You shake your head, legs struggling against the iron grip he has.

“Hm.” Grunting and rolling his eyes, Toji hoists your legs up behind the knee, forcing them against your chest. “Look at your little cunt.” With a cocky grin, Toji hooks your panties to the side and stares. “You’re a little wet.”

“No, no I’m not.” You shake your head again, harder this time against the mattress.

“Liar liar.” He tsks. His finger dips down to your slit, making you jump and hit your head on the wall. “Careful now bunny, don’t want you getting hurt.” Swirling his finger, Toji presents it to you. You are wet, regrettably so, and it makes shame soak you.

Screwing your eyes shut, you let out a little whine when he pushes his finger inside you. It’s thick and calloused, much bigger and more unforgiving than your own. He pumps it a few times, rubbing the pad against your spongey walls.

“I wonder...” Toji thinks out loud. His finger slows to a stop before fully withdrawing.

“Woah!” You’re pushed and pulled again until you’re laying the right way on the bed, your head pushed into the pillows and your ass up in the air. “What’re you doing?!” You shriek, trying to push yourself up to look at him. Toji is now behind you, gripping your ass in his hands.

“I just want a taste, bunny.” Spreading your ass apart, Toji spits directly on your asshole, smirking as it and your cunt clench around nothing. It drips down into the slick beginning to seep out, mixing together until they’re the one and the same.

“Ah!” Your body lurches forward when his tongue comes into contact with your cunt, and it earns you a harsh smack on the ass.

“Don’t try and run away now.” Toji speaks, his voice slightly muffled with how close he is. His tongue easily finds your clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking it.

“T-to-” It feels good, it feels good and you hate that it feels good. Your body gets hotter, and you’re fighting with yourself to not push back against him. With a firm grip on you, Toji shoves his tongue as deep as it’ll go inside you. Drawing out a long moan from you, he laps at your cunt and nearly cums from feeling your walls contract around his tongue.

Obscene slurping noises fill the room as he eats you out with a fervor, thumb finding your clit and rubbing it quickly. You soon lose the battle with yourself and begin to try and hump his face, bouncing your hips and pushing yourself into him.

“Good little bunny.” He pulls back enough to speak and then goes back in. He smacks your ass again, grinning when you yelp. The sting from his palm makes you push back even harder, practically grinding yourself on his face.

“I-I’m gonna-” You pant, overwhelmed with the pleasure that he’s forcing on you. Your senses are quickly becoming overloaded, stinging your brain and making it go foggy.

You cum with a loud cry and Toji fucks you through it, his mouth moving even faster to drink up your release. His tongue has made you an even bigger mess than before, a mix of saliva and your release smeared all over your sex.

Pulling back, Toji lets your spent body fall limply to the mattress. Your tail is twitching randomly, your legs still shaking slightly. Almost gently he coaxes you onto your back, gripping your chin to focus your attention on him.

“You don’t think we’re done, do you?”

“Huh?” The words he's saying don't make sense, but you watch him undress regardless. His body is beautifully sculpted with multiple scars and plenty of muscle. When his cock is freed from his pants, it slaps loudly against his stomach. It’s huge both in length and in thickness, waking up part of your brain in fear.

“Say ‘ahhh’.” He sticks his tongue out, forcing your mouth open with his hands. Climbing up your body, he cages you in with his knees on either side and puts the tip of his cock against your lips.

“I-I’ve never-” Your words are cut off as he pushes his cock past your teeth and into your mouth.

“Don’t bite me if you know what’s good for you.” He’s still holding your mouth open and you open it a little more so your teeth don’t graze him. The look in his eyes is enough to tell you to be careful, even if this is your first time.

Toji starts you off moderately easy, shallowly thrusting his cock into your mouth. Your tongue lays dead, unsure of what to do - or if you should do anything at all. Eventually, Toji lets go of your mouth and it stays open.

“Suck.” He commands, pushing in one of your cheeks. “Like it’s a lollipop.” You do as you’re told, hollowing your cheeks and sucking. There’s saliva pooling in your mouth and you rapidly swallow it, making Toji shiver at the feeling.

“This is gonna be your favorite candy, little bunny. The best lollipop you’ve ever had.” He says it more for himself than for you. Grabbing the side of your head, Toji thrusts a little harder into you, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag.

Your eyes fly open and look up at him, but it’s no use. He sees the pleading look in your eyes and the way tears prick your lashes, but he doesn’t stop. He does it again and you gag harder and slap his thigh.

“Remember the teeth.” He warns, and then he’s forcing your nose to brush his stomach with a tight grip on your head. There’s pitifully frantic noises coming from your throat, clicking against the tip of his cock and making him groan.

Toji lets you go, lets you get a couple proper breaths in before he does it again. You begin to cry as he fucks your throat, your mouth struggling to stay open and hollow your cheeks. Snot begins to run down your nose, mixing with your tears and saliva.

“Oh, don't be so sad.” Toji mocks, roughly wiping away your tears. “I thought you’d like this? Am I wrong?” He knows he’s wrong and watching you try to nod in agreement makes him chuckle. “Oh well.” He shrugs, pushing your face down again. Your body is actively trying to get him out, he can feel your tongue and throat and hands pushing at him.

Only when he's on the verge of cumming does Toji stop. He lets your head go and fall back onto the pillows. You’re absolutely spent, and curl up into the pillow as best you can, staining it with your tears.

You don’t try and fight him when he moves down your body again and wraps your legs around his waist. The tip of his cock slaps against your clit a few times, making you jolt but otherwise unresponsive.

“Hey bunny.” His voice is a whisper, making you turn your heavy head and look at him. “You a virgin?”

“Yeah.” Wiping your nose like a child, you expect him to say he’ll go slow. Nothing about him suggests that, and you know he won’t, but there’s still hope.

“Not anymore.” Is what he says instead. He bottoms out immediately, groaning loudly as his cock is stuffed into your cunt. The tip bumps your cervix, instantly molding your walls to fit around him.

Your shout echoes in the room. One leg unwinds from him to kick at his chest, and Toji catches your foot before it slides up and hits him in the face.

“Careful now.” Squeezing your ankle, he puts that foot on top of his shoulder and nestles even deeper inside of you. Grinding his pelvis against you, Toji looms over your face. Kissing you again, he draws out slightly.

He humps you shallowly at first, getting a feel for your body and how tight you are. He can barely pull out until you’re sucking him right back in, milking him with every stroke.

Pulling out fully, he does one full stroke and you moan into his mouth. He smiles at that, his teeth hitting against yours. He repeats the motion a few more times, building up the slapping of his hips against yours.

“Toji!” You finally say his name as you turn your head to the side and break the kiss, gasping for air again. The pounding of your heart is so loud that you’re sure he can hear it too. It’s making your ears ring, and tears are once again misting your lashes.

“Say my name like that again.” He groans, dropping his head to your neck and biting down on a mark already there. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. The foot on his shoulder slides off and rejoins along his waist.

“To-ji!” You squeal, bumping your hips up when one of his hands goes back down to rub your clit. The stimulation from his cock is already too much, making you go dizzy, and the added sensation of his calloused fingers massaging the swollen bud had your back arching high off the bed.

“Fuck yes, bunny.” Sitting up slightly, he looked down between your bodies. “You’re absolutely creaming on me.” You had no idea what that meant, but you nodded like you did. Pressing his chest against you, Toji lifted your hips up.

“Ah-ahhh, To-” Babbling like an idiot, you cum on his cock, squirting all over him. Your nails raked down his back leaving angry red trails, your body clenching up tightly.

Pulling back to look, Toji and you stare at his crotch. It’s absolutely soaked and so is the inside of your thighs. Giving your thigh a slap, Toji forces you onto your stomach and shoves a pillow under you to keep your hips up.

With your legs laying flat out behind you and Toji on top, you can’t move around too much save for gripping the blankets and pillows. His strokes are even faster in this position, using gravity and his strength to his advantage.

Toji presses his chest nearly flush with your back, one hand holding him up while the other grips your stomach to keep you up. His breathing is ragged and loud in your ear, and he rubs his face against them.

“So soft.” He mutters, and he briefly lets go of you to tug on them. His hands are sweaty and it transfers over to you, making the fur on your ears damp.

“Toji!” You gasp, rolling your head around.

“Ssshhh, shut up.” Letting go of your ears, he smacks your thigh. “You like it, I know you do.” You truly can’t think of anything at this point, whether you like what’s going on or not. Getting fucked through your second orgasm and hurtled into overstimulation, there’s not much you can do, let alone think about.

Spreading your legs a little more, Toji pulls back slightly and fucks into you as hard as he can. Your ass jiggles with the force, stinging with every slap of his skin against yours.

Desperately, his fingers find your clit again and you nearly tear the pillow underneath you.

“Toji, Toji- plea-se! Ah, I-” The words coming out of your mouth make no sense and he pays them no mind.

“Make me happy, bunny.” Toji needs to feel you cum around his cock one last time, and you’re quick to deliver. With a sharp cry, you cant your hips up and back onto him, your back bowing hard.

Feeling the impossibly tight squeeze of your cunt, he finally cums himself. His pace doesn’t falter, if anything it picks up as he fucks his seed into you. Toji doesn’t stop until he’s gone soft inside you and his hand is cramping up. Slowing down, he collapses on top of you, crushing you with his weight and enveloping you in his sweaty body.

He shifts to your side and brings you with him, making sure his cock doesn’t slip out. Nestling you on your side, he pulls your ass flush to him and feels his cum squish out.

“Mmmm, Toji-” You groan, trying to slide him out of you.

“Aht, keep me warm bunny.” He gives your thigh a tap.

“Okay.” For a minute, he’d thought you had passed out, but then you speak again. “Are you still going to give me away?”

“You made me happy, so I’m keeping you.” You grin for a moment, happy at the outcome.

“When do I get to leave?”

“Never. Why give you to that sick bastard when you’ve already got one right here?” Toji feels you jolt and he’s quick to wrap his arms around your middle so you don’t run, even if you’re too fucked out and tired to walk he doesn’t want to take any chances.

“B-but you said-”

“I never promised I would let you free. I only promised to see what I can do for you. And this is what I can do for you.” Accentuating his words with a few hard pats on your cheek, Toji grins when you let out a whine and start crying.

“Toji!” Pushing your head into the pillow, you sounded like a child who wasn't getting their way. “Please...”

“Quiet now, bunny. You need to go to sleep.” Putting his hand over your mouth, Toji took a deep breath, ready to get a few minutes of sleep as well. “We have to get to know each other more, and you’ll want plenty of rest.”

#toji fushiguro

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mrs-johansson · 2 years

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With fire and blood - Chapter 2: Avengers - I got red in my ledger

Part 3 1/2

Part 3 2/2:

“So…” I let out a sigh. “On my first day of intense training, I had a meeting with Fury. He told me why I am on intense training. He said that he would’ve asked you, but obviously because you have a history with them you can’t go. The media doesn’t have any pictures of me so it was an easy way in. Uhm… so yeah training started and I was freaking the fuck out, that I’m not gonna be enough and I will not be ready in a month. So when I had that little moment at training, when I was… slightly aggressive it was-“ “Slightly…” She interrupted with an eyebrow raise. “Yeah… sorry about that,” I smiled carefully. Natasha shrugged. “I liked the outcome of that outburst, not gonna lie,” she leaned back, making me chuckle lightly.

“Okay, fair enough. But yeah, so I asked Fury not to tell anyone about it, except the two agents who were already involved,” I said. “And uhm… I was thinking if I should say that I’m leaving for a mission, not specifying where so you wouldn’t be mad at me but then I realized you would interrogate me until I tell you, so I rather kept it a secret. I wrote a letter, did you get my letter?” I asked and she nodded. “Nice words,” she said, making me look down with a smile. “I tried,” I shrugged. “And then you left…” Nat whispered. I nodded with tears in my eyes, not wanting to look at her. “They flew me out to Russia and made sure that the red room knows where I am,” I took a shaky breath. “I’ve got a new name obviously,” I said, hoping to get my shit together. “Stasya Orlova… it kinda fits you,” she said, probably trying to make me feel less shitty. “I guess… Anyways,” I cleared my throat and blinked a couple times, getting rid of my tears. “I was on the streets for 2 days and then I was kidnapped as planned,” I started. I didn’t look at Natasha. I just couldn’t. “They took me in, took all my belongings, assigned me a bed and gave me clothes. And then uhm…” I was thinking so hard about what happened after that but I guess it was the serum. “They gave me this serum… uhm… then everything is a blur, that’s why I had the journals, those are the only things that could help SHIELD. But I remember the meeting with Dreykov and…” I closed my eyes, letting my head fall on my knees. “Sergeant Barnes,” I whispered and suddenly felt her hand on my back, carefully stroking it. “It was so bad Nat,” I shook my head, before she pulled me closer to her, taking me by surprise. “I know, it’s okay, it’s over,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around my shaking body. She rested her chin on the top of my head. Her fingers caressing the exposed skin on my bruised arm. Nat pulled me closer but she accidentally touched my lower stomach so I winced, moving away a bit. Her arms flew away quickly looking down at me with worried eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry,” she said shyly and I shook my head. “It’s okay, it’s just very sensitive still,” I said, embarrassed about it even though she went through the same. “Where is it?” She asked softly. I looked at her questioningly. “The scar, where is it?” “I- lower stomach,” I mumbled. She frowned. “Why?” “What why?” I said. She raised an eyebrow and I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. “Can I see it?” She carefully looked into my eyes. I was hesitant about it, why would she want to see it? I got out of bed and lifted my shirt a bit, taking the bandage off, revealing the long scar on my stomach. She moved to the side of the bed, looking at the stitched up wound. She lifted her hand to my side and I flinched. Damn… “I’m sorry…” I mumbled. Her palms slowly came in contact with my skin, giving me goosebumps. “You can trust me,” she looked up at me and I nodded. Natasha’s eyes wonderd down on my stomach. She observed it for a couple seconds before her facial expression changed way too quickly. “What?” I asked and she stood up. I let my shirt fall down looking at Nat. “Come with me please,” she took my hand, pulling me out of the room. “Where are we going?” I asked. “Dr. Cho,” she blurted out. “Why? She already checked my injuries,” I said, trying to keep up with her. And just then we reached the medical department. Dr. Cho was looking at some papers then heard us come in, looking up from the files. “Oh hi,” she smiled. “Can I talk to you? Like now.” Natasha asked well… It was a statement. “Sure,” Cho stood up and Nat let my hand go. “Nat what is happening?” I looked at her. “Stay here for a second,” she walked out of the room with Cho, leaving me all confused.

All I could see is the two of them talking, mostly Natasha and the doc nodding. Then they came back. Cho smiled at me then went up to her computer. “Hey…” Nat touched my arm and I flinched again. “Y/N look at me,” she said softly, turning my head towards her with a hand on my cheek. “Cho’s gonna do some tests, okay? She’s not going to hurt you, just check out something, yeah?” “Why? She's already done them,” I said. “I just want to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Will you lay on the bed please?” The doc said. I did as she asked and Natasha sat on the chair next to me. “Okay, I know this is gonna be hard but I have to ask about your sessions with Barnes,” she said, making me shoot my eyes closed. “Why is that?” I sighed. “Please…” her voice was calming. I opened my eyes and turned my head to the side so I could see her. “Go ahead…” she nodded and placed her hand on mine trying to comfort me. While that, Cho put some gel on my stomach which was hella cold and it almost touched my scar. It was a bit uncomfortable to say the least.

“Okay, when was the last session with him? Before you got pulled out,” Natasha asked. “About 3 months I think… Not sure, I don’t remember everything,” I sighed. “Why did they stop?” “They didn’t tell me. I came back from a mission one time, I got treated in the medical care and after that I was not taken. I guess it was for the surgery, one week before Fury got there, they… you know,” I said, my eyes welling up with tears. “Was your training any different in those three months? Did they check up on you more often?” I frowned, trying to think back. “I uhm… yeah, I didn’t have physical training but that’s all I remember,” I said. “That’s okay. Thank you,” she leaned close to me, my eyes widened and then she kissed my forehead and stood up. “So?” She asked Cho. I looked at them and I could see the doc nod. I was waiting for Natasha’s reaction but because her back was facing me I couldn’t see it. Cho glanced at me before getting a paper towel and wiping the gel off of my stomach. “What is it?” I asked her and she sent me a sad smile. “She’ll tell you,” she said before bandaging my scar up. “Take these. It’ll ease the pain.” Cho gave me a pack of pills. “Thanks.”

Natasha turned around, avoiding my eyes at all costs. “Come on,” she motioned with her hand to get up and I followed her out of the room. “Natasha tell me what the fuck is happening?” I told her and she just kept going until we reached my bedroom once again.

*Third Person POV*

After she closed the door she crossed her arms, walking closer to Y/N. “You should sit down,” Natasha said. She didn’t know how to break the news to Y/N. Haven’t felt this nervous in a long time. “Why? Just tell me,” and now Stark was annoyed. “Sit down,” Nat calmly demanded. “I’m not gonna sit down. You drag me out of the room to have a check up which I already had and you don’t say a word about it. Now, tell me why-“ And that’s when Natasha had enough of yelling. “You were pregnant.”

The room fell silent. Y/N frowned and her breath hitched. Her shoulders fell, like all the muscles just gave up in her arms. She was looking at Natasha with those big eyes, which were slowly welling up with tears. “No…” Y/N mumbled, already shaking her head. “No… I- I couldn’t… They said I can’t have children. I’m… Don’t tell me… Don’t put that idea in my head… I’ve been trying to process- that I will not have a goddamn kid because of those people and you tell me that I was preg-… No I… I can’t be…” She rambled, tears streaming down on her rosy cheeks. Her fingers in her hair, pulling on the locks of hair.

Natasha stepped up to Y/N pulling her hands down from her head and cupping the Stark’s face. “Look at me,” she said softly. Y/N still thinking out loud about the possibility that she was indeed pregnant. “Y/N look at me honey,” the redhead’s thumbs softly caressing cheeks.

Her teary eyes finally met Natasha’s. Those once sparkly eyes were just such a faded color. It was everything in between blue, green and brown. It was filled with sadness and fear. “Tell me it’s not real. Nat please don’t…” she whimpered. Y/N closed her eyes, lowering her head. “Sterilization is not performed on the lower stomach where you have the scar. It’s from C section,” Natasha said it. That was it for Y/N. Her body gave out. Nat quickly wrapped her arms around the woman, keeping her from falling to the ground. Y/N clinging to Natasha like her life depended on it. “Please don’t…” she cried out, not wanting to believe what she’s being told. “I’m sorry,” Natasha whispered as she pulled the girl closer in a comforting manner.

She did feel horrible to be the one to tell Y/N, but she wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it. She thought she saw Stark in her most vulnerable state while she talked about her time in the Red Room, but this. This was just heartbreaking for her to see. All the pain she saw in her eyes, Natasha felt it too. She couldn’t be this emphatic with anyone before and she didn’t know if it’s a good sign or not. But all she could think of is that she has to be by Y/N’s side as she goes through this painful phase in her life. That’s the least she could do.

The sound of Y/N crying was the only thing heard in the room. Her tears were unstoppable as she realized that they took her child away from her. The child she didn’t even know of until this moment. The serum that they gave her made her forget everything.

“Let’s sit down,” Natasha said softly, moving to the bed letting Y/N sink down slowly. She started to calm down, less of the loud crying and more like a mourning crying. Silent and broken.

Nat squatted down in front of her, taking her hands, trying to get her attention. “Do you want me to bring something? Water or anything?” The caring Natasha, Y/N adored so much, started to crawl out. “Do you want me to call your dad? Or Pepper? Maybe Happy?” Y/N shook her head. “Do you want to be alone? I can lea-“ “No, don’t leave me… please,” she shot her head up with worried eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not leaving,” she gently squeezed her hands assuring that she’s there. “Want to watch a movie? Order some food? What do you want?” Natasha asked but Y/N couldn’t think of anything. The redhead was waiting for any idea but nothing. She understood though. “Okay…” she said quietly, standing up. Y/N quickly looked up at her hoping she’s not leaving. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes. I’m gonna bring some stuff,” she said, leaning down to give a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, letting her hands fall in her lap as she stepped away. “Get comfy, I’ll be back,” she said.

*Y/N’s Pov*

Watching Natasha leaving the room I buried my face in my hands. Squeezing my eyes, I let out a quiet cry. The pain I was feeling was indescribable. My eyes were burning, I felt cold but I was sweating. My hands shaking and tears streaming down my cheeks.

I didn’t want to believe it. It was so difficult to believe it, especially when I don’t remember half my time there. I don’t remember when I was told I’m pregnant, if they told me. I don’t remember being pregnant. I don’t remember having the surgery and I don’t remember anything. The only thing left was the scar.

Standing up from the bed and stepping in front of the mirror, I lift my shirt up just enough to see the wound. I’m curious if I would already be showing by now. I would be in around the 3. months. Turning to my side I tried to imagine myself with a little baby bump but I just couldn’t. When I looked up from my stomach I saw Natasha in the mirror, standing in the doorway with a couple things in her hands.

I quickly let my shirt fall, covering the scar. I turned around and looked at the stuff she had. “Donuts?” I raised an eyebrow at her, seemingly catching her attention with it. She looked down at the donut box like she forgot she had that. “I thought you would want some,” she said softly. I walked up to her and took a couple things out of her hands, and placed them on the bed. She did the same and as I wanted to sit down she grabbed my hand and made me face her.

I gave her a questioning look then suddenly she placed her left hand on my stomach. My breath hitched into the back of my throat and I jumped a little, barely noticeable. Her touch was soft and careful, giving me a feeling that I’ve been craving for so long. Comfort.

“I know this baby is not here and we can’t bring them back, but I know they’re up there,” she glanced up, most likely referring to heaven. “Looking out for their mama.” As she said that my eyes welled up with tears once again. But this time I think they were happy tears. The way she said that I was their mama was the sweetest thing. “And that little baby knows that he or she has the best mama in the world, even though you couldn’t spend time together. You must think there’s no way you’re gonna get over this and the pain you feel right now is unbearable, but you’re gonna be fine.” She said, still keeping her soft hand on my stomach and the other resting on my hip, keeping me steady. “You are the strongest and bravest woman I know. You were willing to go in…” She paused, taking a breath before continuing. “In there, knowing what I went through, just so you can help others. So don’t ever doubt yourself, even if you feel at your lowest. It’s gonna be hard for a while, yes but there’s only better after this. You know… Pain only makes us stronger.” She smiled softly.

And that was the moment I fell in love. The way she spoke, so lovingly and caring. She let me see this, vulnerabil side of her, letting me know that she can be a big softie if she wants to be. And I’m sure I’m not saying this because I’m in a very emotional state but this woman is just amazing.

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. Instead I just wrapped my arms around her neck pulling her into the comfiest hug. “Don’t you dare to ever leave me, Romanoff,” I said, tightly holding onto her as she wrapped her arms around me. A chuckle left her mouth and leaned her head against mine. “Never.”

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagines #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x y/n #black widow x female reader #black widow x you #black widow imagines #black widow x reader #y/n stark #stark reader #marvel #the avengers #red room #gxg

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starbornsinger · 3 years

Text

Favourite Distraction (Gwyn x Azriel One-shot)

Summary: During a training session, the line between friendship and romance becomes more and more blurred for Gwyn and Azriel. Fluff, some steam. Set in the Nepenthe universe.

Word Count: 2.4K

“The chances of you making it out of this alive are slim.”

Well, the blade at Gwyneth’s neck certainly proved that point. The sharp tip pressed into her skin, threatening to slice her open with the slightest flick of a wrist. “If I apply any pressure, I’d go straight through your neck. If you move, I’ll slice your throat.”

Nowhere to go.

Gwyn’s teal eyes scanned the surrounding area wildly, landing on the sword which had skittered a mere foot away. Even with her fingers splayed painfully, the priestess could only graze the hilt of her weapon with her fingertips. There was no way she could grab hold of it, not without risking death.

She gulped. Pinned to the floor on her stomach, the cold steel of the dagger kept her from fighting back, and Gwyn knew she was running out of options. Bargaining was her last resort.

“I—” “Don’t move,” the male repeated harshly, his knee digging into her spine. “My hand might slip.”

Gwyneth was stuck. She had no escape.

“Damn it,” she swore under her breath, and patted her hand on the solid ground. “Alright, you win.”

Azriel withdrew his blade at her tap-out; he was sitting on her back, practically crushing her lungs with the weight of him. Six months ago, she might have panicked at a male being so close— and being trapped by him as well. But Gwyn had made great strides in her journey to healing, and now, the comfort and trust she had formed with Azriel was unbreakable.

“Not bad,” he mused lowly, flicking dust off his shoulder. “But not good enough.”

“Well, when you’ve got a blade to my jugular, defending myself gets a bit tough,” she choked out, as Azriel lounged on her as though she were a bit of furniture. She rubbed her neck, where a small bead of blood had formed, and wiped it off. It smeared on her freckled skin, but didn’t seem to notice. “Are you going to get off of me, spymaster?”

Azriel shrugged. “I’ll think about it,” he replied dryly,but she could hear the grin in his voice. Gwyn scowled, and rolled onto her side, effectively pushing him off of her.

She laid on her back, staring up at the sky as she panted. “Must you make everything so difficult, Shadowsinger?”

“I doubt your opponent would be any easier on you,” he replied, not missing a beat. It made her want to throttle him. “Well then. Thank the Mother my opponent is only you.” The priestess smirked, and Azriel had the nerve to look mock-offended. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky you,” he echoed, with a twinkle in his hazel eyes. Gods, he was handsome, Gwyn thought, sitting up. She drew her knees to her chest, resting her chin atop them. Azriel sheathed Truth-Teller. Gwyn watched silently, chewing on her lip. He stretched his wings momentarily, shaking them out as though it were a sore muscle. He looked so peaceful, Gwyn thought, as the sun shone through his wings. It made the reds and blues dance, and illuminated every vein and curve. The hair that looked raven black most days now looked reddish-brown in the sunset, which cut his features in a most handsome way.

Even sweaty and tired, he still managed to be so damn handsome. Azriel was distracted, thankfully, and so Gwyn could take a moment to take in all his features. She sighed softly. She was falling way, way too hard. But Mother knew she’d die before she admitted it.

Azriel must have assumed she was tired— which in truth, she was— because he glanced in her direction, and announced, “We can stop for today. It’s close to dinner. I’m sure you’re hungry.” He pulled himself to his feet, offering her a hand. The shadowsinger then paused, looking down at his scars with a frown, and began to withdraw. His shadows thickened.

No.

Gwyn’s hand shot out to grab his, gripping it tightly. Azriel blinked, the only indication of his surprise, and hoisted her up alongside him. She dusted herself off, then stood up straight. The two of them stood mere inches from each other, practically chest-to-chest as the Valkyrie looked up at him. “If— if you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind another round,” she heard herself saying. Wait, what? The priestess amended quickly, stumbling over her words a bit, “I um, I had a late lunch. With Nesta. So I wouldn’t… I mean, only if you want to. I’m sure you’re tired of training.”

ꕥ

Azriel didn’t want Gwyn to leave. Not really. Nor did his shadows, really. So when she had asked for an overtime lesson, he felt a bit pathetic about how his heart seemed to skip a happy little beat. His shadows were clearly elated; a moment ago, they had been swirling with the blackness of his insecurity, and now? It was like watching an excited puppy pace back and forth. They danced and darted, and it took all of his control to wrangle them away from Gwyn. They shot towards her, curling around her arms and waist in a misty embrace. She let out a laugh, the sound ringing beautifully. Every smile, every giggle: it was all carved into his mind. A brand, a disarming he was glad to accept.

Gwyn’s lips twitched upwards. “Is that a yes, then?”

Azriel scratched the back of his head nervously, looking away from that piercing teal gaze. “I suppose it is,” he replied. The spymaster was a bit surprised at himself, really, surprised to see how relieved he was that she had asked. And Gwyn, it seemed, was relieved as well. She exhaled, letting her shoulders sag a bit, and chuckled. His eyes caught on the bit of exposed skin her white tunic had revealed, admiring the splatter of freckles on her collarbone. Her skin looks so damn soft, he thought, as his shadows once more crept out to caress her skin. They settled on her shoulder, and she tilted her head to rub her cheek against a tendril. She grinned at him, her lips curling back to reveal that bright smile of hers. With this priestess, he swore he had found religion in an entirely new way.

Azriel shook out his hands, then clenched them into fists and got into a fighting stance. He narrowed his eyes, studying her. Where would she strike first? How would she try to trick him? She seemed to be doing the same, because she had a damn smirk on her face that the spymaster couldn’t help but return.

“What?” She laughed, as they circled each other. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because that’s how you’re looking at me!” He replied, with a snicker. Gwyn’s foot pivoted ever so slightly, and he anticipated the punch that was thrown seconds later. Ducking low, Azriel managed to avoid that swift hook of hers, throwing one of his own.

“I am not!” The priestess protested, using her padded forearm to block his hit, then raised her knee and slammed it into him. Azriel let out a loud “oof”, stumbling back a step. He clutched his side, praying she’d take the bait. “Yes, you are,” he said between exaggerated pants. Gwyn did as he’d hoped: she raised her other leg to strike his uninjured side. Faster than lightning, his shadows wrapped around her ankle, suspending it mid-air.

Gwyn’s eyes widened, and she looked at him in disbelief. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” He asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. When the Valkyrie was yanked to the ground, she let out a cry of frustration, slamming her fist on the mat. She propped herself up on her elbows, squinting up at him.

“You know, you make it especially difficult for me to like you sometimes, Spymaster,” she scowled, as Azriel crouched down beside her.

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” he drawled. He couldn’t help but tease her, especially considering that he had beaten her in mere seconds. “I thought you wanted another round.”

“I did,” she replied, then suddenly, her leg swept out and smashed into his. He went toppling backwards, losing his balance and falling on his ass. “We’re not done yet.” Gwyn grabbed hold of his forearms, trying to grapple with him. They were a tangle of limbs and fists, tossing battle strategy out the window for an all-out brawl. It was a rare moment for Azriel, one where he decided that, for once, he’d have a bit of fun.

ꕥ

Gwyn was laughing once more, as they rolled around on the mat like warring toddlers. She wasn’t a small woman by any means, standing only a half foot shorter than he, but she was thin and flexible, which meant trying to grab her was like trying to catch a summer breeze. Grappling with each other alone in the ring, Azriel tried his best to pin down the nymph, but that only seemed to encourage her more. Those tricky fingers of hers now began tickling him, and Azriel’s eyes widened.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he giggled.

The Spymaster of the Night Court was giggling. He was chuckling at first, which evolved into a laugh, which then turned into an eruption of giggles and guffaws. He flailed his arms, trying to push her off. Gwyn was absolutely stunned. She’d never heard such a sound from him; Mother, he barely even reached a dozen decibels. But now? Now his shadows swirled about them, rippling from each laugh that escaped those perfect lips of his.

Gwyn was seeing stars, and it wasn’t because of the approaching twilight.

“Stop— No, not there!” He managed to choke out, grinning like an idiot. Tears came to his eyes as she attacked his abdomen, his underarms, his neck.

“No,” Gwyn shouted back, with a devious smile. “You’re a feared Ilyrian warrior who kills great beasts! Can’t you fight off the Tickle Monster?” But Azriel was too overcome to respond, trying to push her off and retaliate by attacking her sides. The priestess clambered on top of the male, sat atop his hips as she straddled them with her thighs. Finally, she managed to pin his arms to the floor, leaning over him as he gasped for air.

Azriel’s wheezed, letting out a chuckle. Gwyn had him pinned by the wrists, and although he could escape if he tried, he didn’t want to. Because he had realized the position they were now in.

And he liked it.

Gwyn seemed to realize too, because her face turned even redder than her hair. She was straddling him, and she could feel every inch of his body, the soft bulge that pressed in between her legs. The bulge that was slowly hardening as it absorbed the heat of her. The priestess swallowed, his hands still pinned above his head. Azriel made no move to escape, looking up at her like— Like he wanted her.

His hazel eyes, usually dark and brooding, were sparkling like the night, focusing all of his raw emotion on her with an intensity she didn’t think she could handle. There was mischief in his gaze; there was affection.

His lips parted slightly, and he inhaled slowly. Was he smelling her? Oh Mother, could he smell her? Gwyn swore silently, realizing that her own scent had changed from its usual flower sweetness to something smoky, and tangy. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to trap the heat she was feeling down there.

He missed nothing, glancing at her hips and then back up at her face. Gwyn bit down on the inside of her lip. A strand of her hair had fallen from behind her ear, and she tucked it back. With one hand now freed, Azriel lifted it. Hesitantly, he set it on her thigh, scanning her eyes for permission. All she did was offer a barely perceptible nod. He slid it up higher, to the curve of her hip. They had gotten closer, their faces inches apart as her hair curtained their faces. The shadows around them had thickened, wrapping around Gwyn’s waist and neck.

He wanted her badly. There was no denying it. The spymaster had felt desire for Elain, but what he felt for Gwyn was magnetic. She made him laugh, made him smile. She would be the destruction of every wall he had painstakingly built, and gods, he welcomed it. Those teal eyes of hers were foggy, darting up and down his body. The priestess was stunning. He loved every state of her: her robes, the dress she had worn to Nesta’s mating ceremony, how she looked after training. Even when she was a sweaty mess, the afterglow of her rosy cheeks made his heart skip.

His hand trailed that path from her hip to her thigh, as they stared at each other in silence. There was a humming in his head, a euphoric feeling he only got from faerie wine. Gwyn bit her lip, an action that set him aflame, then cupped his cheek. Her thumb traced his cheekbone, running over his lips and parting them.

“You’re beautiful,” she said absentmindedly, and Azriel blinked, a bit taken aback. He let out a soft laugh.

“I’m beautiful? I’m a male, Gwyn.”

“And?” She challenged. “Males can be beautiful.” She lifted her chin, letting out a hum. Her fingers brushed over the cleft in his chin. “They all say you are.”

“Who?” He asked, his voice soft, low.

“Anyone in Prythian with a working pair of eyes. You’re quite popular, you know,” she mused, her voice smooth as silk. Azriel’s shadows toyed with the strands of her hair, brushing them gently.

“Am I popular with you?”

Gwyn was quiet for a moment, and he worried he’d overstepped, withdrawing his hand—

“Yes,” she said quietly, placing her palm over his. He froze. “Your shadows are too. Or rather, I am with them.” She glanced around them, to see the cocoon of night that had formed, contrasting the setting sky. Azriel hummed his agreement. Gwyn paused again.

“You're our favourite,” he quipped quietly, and that seemed to make her blush deepen. Gwyn gulped, looking around as though trying to grapple for something to say.

“So, uh, does this mean I win?” the Priestess stuttered. She motioned to their position, snapping Azriel out of his trance. He blinked in surprise, before his face contorted into a devious grin.

“Not a chance.”

He shoved her off him, and she fell backwards laughing, kicking his chest.

And then the fighting started all over again.

#sjm #acotar #acosf spoilers #gwynriel #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #acosf #azriel #shadowsinger #acomaf #gwyn berdara #gwyneth berdara #gwyn x azriel #gwynriel fanfiction #acotar fluff #acotar fic #gwynriel fic

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cybertronian-cupid · 3 years

Note

Hello! Hpoe you're both doing good! I really love the insecticons and there isn't much love for them. So could I request some tfp Hardshell x reader smut? Thank you. Have a nice day/night.

You can have all the Insecticon smut you want anon. This was a blast and a half to write ~Mila💟

We hope you enjoy it!💥 And we wish you have a good day/night as well!💞~Gregoria🏩

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The high-pitched shriek Hardshell aims at the approaching Insecticon causes his spike to pulse inside them. Their mouth is busy chasing after the smaller set of mandibles gripping the sides of their face, teeth weakly scraping at the metal, hips bucking ever so slightly. Their hands move from the thick neck and grab at the hinges at the back of the larger mandibles, tugging Hardshell closer with a whine.

“Stop that.”

His visor focuses on them once more, the harsh red glow of it dimming.

“I must make my claim first,” Hardshell’s helm lowers, teeth pressing against their neck in imitation of a kiss, mandibles caressing their cheeks. “Our Queen deserves only the best.”

A smile tugs at the corners of their mouth when they look up at him with big eyes, lips forming into a pout.

“And can you really say you’re the best?”

A surprised scream is torn out of them when his clawed fingers grip their waist, squeezing hard when he pushes more of himself inside of them. They can’t speak around the long tongue that forces its way down their throat. They furrow their brow at the taste of dust and the tang of energon he produced for them earlier in the day. He came with the rest of the Insecticons after their most recent mission, nearly knocking down the wall to their chambers in his hurry to attend to the needs of his Queen.

His.

Oh, the way his engine ticks and rumbles when he hisses at them makes their core throb. They can feel three clawed fingers edging closer, but this time Hardshell moved away, his wings fanning out for the challenger to see; he thrusts deeper, the lower part of his spike expanding and extending. The thin ovipositor sliding its way inside of them, penetrating as deep as possible.

His tube-like tongue withdraws and they’re left panting as a thick droplet of the sweet, pink energon slides down their chin.

“I will prove it to you, My Queen.”

They can feel the round, surprisingly cool eggs making their way inside them. Their thighs clench from the speed at which the eggs are pushed in. Just as they’re starting to adjust and enjoy the sensation, even starting to rock themself to make him feel good, Hardshell fully withdraws. They make a questioning, needy noise, and his mandibles click in amusement. The clawed fingers of the other Insecticon are already running over their chest, spike fully extended and weeping transfluid; the ovipositor bulges with the shimmering marble-looking eggs.

“I will let the rest of your hive show you how well we can please you,” and he takes the position at the door, guarding them and those he deemed worthy to be in their presence. The newcomer buzzes and whistles in inquiry, the visor half focused on Hardshell. Instead of using words, they let out a long note that without a doubt lets him know that the Queen is in need. In no time at all, the newcomer’s spike – thinner, but nearly as long as his ovipositor – starts penetrating them. His pace is shaky and barely restrained, if the claws shredding the soft material of the pillows under them is any indicator. They can feel the eggs rolling inside of them, the muffled clinking of the glasslike outer layer sending shivers down their spine.

Once again, it feels too soon for the spike to leave them. They aren’t empty for long, however, with a shorter, thicker spike taking over and setting a shallow pace; they aren’t sure at first if their walls are clenching around a spike or an oddly shaped ovipositor. It doesn’t matter in the end, as they feel hot transfluid coating their insides, turning the stretch and discomfort into heightened sensations of need and craving. Their arms turn numb, legs kicking weakly as they pant. Their eyes roll back with waves upon waves of pleasure. Vision turning blurry, they breathe short moans every time a new spike enters them, and more eggs are left inside.

The rhythm itself is almost like waves. The caress of mandibles on their body, the claws running over their hair, their lips wrapping around a tongue filling their mouth with nectar, sliding more eggs down their throat. Their knees are maneuvered so there are spikes grinding through their openings, valves riding the tops of their knees; their hands are wrapped around two other spikes, fingertips twitching against the sensitive mix of organic and metal mesh. Their upper body is lifted by the spikes of two soldiers using their armpits, the insides of the elbows, the space where their neck slumps to their shoulder, slowly rocking into any opening their Queen has to offer.

They feel their orgasm near, almost reaching its peak before they’re empty again. Their lovers change places and crowd around them, the heat of their bodies not enough to soothe the ache when there isn’t a spike stretching them.

Each time it feels like they’re left empty for too long, still not full enough of eggs to be satisfied. The hissing of the whole hive and the sensation of anticipating, excited fields bouncing against the outsides of their chamber makes their heart swell and their sex throb again, fiercer, nearly painfully when a spike exists them and there is no one next in line to fill them. Their eyes open, their mouth clicking demandingly. They feel their head being turned by a pair of scratched mandibles, a tube tongue playing at their lips. They suck at it, drinking and responding to the clicking above them with their teeth gently nibbling at the appendage in their mouth.

Once they’re done, the tongue withdraws and they look down on themself, giggles spilling from their mouth. All of their bedding and themself are drenched in a sticky mix of transfluid and nectar, valve and oral lubricants, their cum, and the aphrodisiac that the Insecticons kept pumping into them alongside the eggs. They aim a loopy grin up at Hardshell’s scarred faceplate. His visor soothingly pulses at them, prompting them to lay back down. Their face is gripped by his smaller mandibles and they open their mouth, tongue languidly licking at his fangs, insisting for them to open for more of the delicious nectar waiting inside. Instead the familiar, just right stretch of Hardshell’s spike fills them, his ovipositor doing most of the moving, prompting shaky, breathless pleas and praise from their mouth.

“Our Queen,” the metal sound of chimes and bells echo throughout their chambers as Hardshell’s faceplate nuzzles against their forehead, “half of your hive has pleased you so far.” His spike rocks into them, and they eventually register the transfluid entering them alongside the eggs. The hard glass marbles sink below the softened fertilized eggs. “Are they to your satisfaction?” He starts clicking at them, the noise urging and demanding a response.

They kiss his jaw and chirp a short command at him.

I need more.

The whole hive rumbles like distant thunder when more Insecticons displace their mass and enter the chamber.

They caress the back of Hardshell’s mandibles, tugging him closer and clicking demandingly.

Stay.

Everything afterwards is once again a blur of pleasure, never-ending waves of it, the content buzzing of their hive, all combined with the ticking and warmth of their mightiest warrior serving and tending to His Queen.

#valveplug #tfp valveplug #tfp hardshell x reader #tfp hardshell x s/o #tfp hardshell x nb!s/o #tfp insecticons #tfp hardshell

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softtransbf · 3 years

Text

Fresh Blood, Old Scars Part 1

You'd disappeared 15 years ago without a trace- what's Yancy supposed to do when you walk into Happy Trails Penitentiary and don't recognize him, because he's transitioned? canon compliant trans!yancy/reader

Reader: he/him trans man, no physical description

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of violence, canonical and parental. deadnaming and misgendering before either of you came out (none by anyone who knows the correct name/pronouns)

Word Count: 2,690

“Hey Yancy, I heard there’s fresh blood comin’ in today for some sorta museum heist.”

“Oh? Know anything else about these guys, so we can give ‘em a proper welcome, Bambam?”

“I know some. The first guy, Mark Iplier, claimed to have been in charge of the whole thing, but from what my sources said, it’s the partner that ran the show- just real quiet-like. I’ve been told that he don’t say a word.”

“Got a name for this, uh, silent partner?” He chuckled at his joke.

“Y/N L/N.” Yancy’s stomach dropped the way it always did when he heard that last name, your last name. Get your shit together. Wrong first name, and Bambam said he and his. Bambam don’t use pronouns other than they/them unless they’re sure. It’s just some guy with the same last name.

“Yance, you okay?” Tiny waved his hand in front of Yancy’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, just, uh, thinkin about how best to greet dese guys. The usual, wit Don’t Wanna Be Free ready just in case?”

“Right off the bat? You really think they’re that high of a flight risk?” Sparkles finally spoke up.

“I, uh, I don’t trust dem silent-types. They’s always schemin’, got somethin goin ahn in their heads.” And if he's anything like- yeah. Gone before you know it.

“Okay, if you say so. I’ll go let the others know.” Yancy didn’t even register who was speaking; he was too lost in memories.

- 15 years earlier-

Yancy knew it wasn’t cool to be excited for the first day of school when you’re a senior in high school, but he didn’t care. He didn’t need or even want to be cool- all he needed was to be your friend. Well, maybe not just friend. You’d been gone for almost the entire summer, and he’d spent the whole time figuring out how to both ask you out and tell you that he’s a guy.

He practically skipped across the street to your house so you can walk to school together, like you had every day since middle school. He knocked- nothing. Rang the doorbell- still nothing. He checked the back door and the spots where you had hidden spare keys over the years- nothing. All the curtains were drawn, too, so he couldn’t see inside. He kept trying as long as he possibly could before he had to sprint to make it to class just barely in time. All day, he kept an eye on the door, waiting for you- the two of you made sure to sign up for the exact same schedule before you went on your vacation. At lunch, he went to the office to see what he could find out.

“Y/DN isn’t a student here anymore- Mr L/N just told us last week.”

“What? Do you know where they went?”

“I’m sorry, hon, I don’t. All I know is that Y/DN is no longer a student here.”

He’d never ditched a class in his life, but that was the last thing on his mind as he ran home, crying. He didn’t stop crying for weeks.

-Present -

He’d never wanted to be wrong more in his life, but there you were. Looking better than he’d ever dreamed, following Mark around silently as he blabbered on about wanting to rally the other inmates to try to break out. No. I lost you once, and it cost me everything. I’m not about to lose you again. He quickly spread the word to skip pleasantries with the new guys and prepare for the song. As he was, you made eye contact with him from across the room. His heart dropped; you didn’t recognize him. You looked right through him, with the same calculating expression you gave everyone else. Of course he wasn’t gonna recognize you, dumbass. You’ve been on hormones for years and have had top surgery. Usually Yancy loved that he couldn’t see anything of the person he used to be in the mirror, but today he hated it more than anything in the world. Stick to the plan, Yance. He doesn’t recognize me, but it might be better this way. This way, I can get him to stay and get to know me as I am now, and he won’t be disappointed that I haven’t become anything like what we dreamed of so long ago.

Yancy couldn’t have planned it better, Mark practically begging Jimmy to punch him through the wall right before the show started, leaving you alone.

The number went great, as always, but then you showed him a picture of your parents. He knew that picture; you took it when the four of you went on a vacation together before you started your freshman year of high school. He also knew that he had once been in the picture, but you’d cut him out. The tape and staples that had been holding his heart together since you left fell away.

He stuck with his usual response to people citing family for wanting to leave, for the most part. No one at Happy Trails knew about you, and he’d killed his parents before they could leave him, so he’d kept his true abandonment issues to himself. Face to face with you after all these years, though, he couldn’t stop himself from adding “they’re always just gonna leave you behind” and a warning about trifling with the past. You flinched a little at both of those, and a spark of hope ignited in his chest- maybe you hadn’t forgotten about him, even if you didn’t recognize him now.

Then you still chose to leave. The rest of the rather single-sided conversation was a blur to him. Later, as he was tending to his injuries in solitary, he remembered calling you handsome and/or beautiful and your blush when he did. And, of course, you knocking him flat on his ass. He’d challenged you to a fight, because he’d always been able to beat you before. The part that truly left him confused, though, was why he offered to help you break out.

All he’d wanted for the last fifteen years was to go back to the day you left and beg you to stay. He’d told himself dozens, maybe hundreds, of times that if he ever saw you again, he’d do everything in his power to keep you with him. On his darker and angrier days, he truly meant everything. But here you are, and he offered to help you leave. This is what you get for even hoping someone might stick around. Let’s just do this. I gotta stop in with the warden first, though…

“Me? Out there? With you?” He chuckled. You had no idea that, with that simple gesture, you offered him everything he’d wanted for so long. Fuck, I don’t deserve him. I still love him, but he deserves someone better than the angry, selfish man I am. The fragments of his heart splintered even more. “I, um. I done a lotta bad things. And, uh.” He made himself brighten up. “This is home! For now, anyway. Maybe next time parole comes up, I’ll, uh” take it and go find you like I should have fifteen years ago. And I’ll spend every minute until then trying to become the kind of man you deserve. “Anyway, I gotta get back to it. You take care now, you hear? And, hey, visitation! Every third Sunday!” You looked down at the box you’d brought with you, and he ran. When he got back to his cell, he cried genuine tears for the first time since that August day when his world turned upside down.

- 2 weeks later, visitation day -

He knew hoping you’d come was a waste of time, and that he was just setting himself up for more pain. He’d learned the hard way that when you were gone, that was that. But still, there he was, looking up every time a guard walked into the room. As expected, they never called his name. The rest of the inmates gave him a wide berth as he went back to his cell for the night, and they were right to. He was itching for an excuse to fight. No one gave him one, though, so he told himself he’d find one tomorrow and got ready for bed.

When he got to his cell, it took him just one second to realize there was someone on his bed, pull them off, and shove them against the wall. It took him three more to process that it was you, and then another five to step back and let you go.

“Sorry for scaring you, Yancy. I didn’t mean to. It’s just… it’s visitation day, but I’m still wanted for the escape you helped me pull off, and I haven’t decided if I want to come back for good or not.” He stood there, frozen. You chuckled nervously. “I get it, your turn to be the quiet one. I’m sorry about that, by the way. There was a lot to process all at once, and I just kinda shut down when I get overwhelmed.”

I know. I remember that you didn’t say a single word our first day of high school, Yancy wanted to say. He wanted to say something, anything, but you being there and so close was just too much.

“Okay, so, honesty time; there’s a specific reason I came back.” You took a deep breath. “I haven’t been able to shake this feeling that I know you, somehow. But I know I’d remember meeting you- no way I’d forget someone like you. Anyway, I'm probably way off base and ridiculous. I guess I just wanted to tell you?” You ran your hand through your hair. “God, that sounds even flimsier than it felt in my head. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It, uh. It means a lot that you came back to say that.”

“Uh, Yancy? What happened to your accent?”

“Shit. Um. C’mere.” He muttered, as he sat down on his bed and pulled you down next to him. He prayed that you couldn’t hear how his heart started racing when he noticed your knees were touching. “No one here knows that the accent isn’t how I always speak. Not even the warden. I’ve been here five years and haven’t dropped it once. Anyone learns about this, and you’re dead, understand?” He knew that the threat was empty, but you seemed to believe it.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I gotta ask, though- why fake it? It seems like a lot of effort. You don’t owe me an explanation, of course, but since you’re heart-on-your-sleeve about your parents, it must be one hell of a reason. I bet it’d feel good to let it off your chest. I can promise to leave and never come back if you do- a burden shared is a burden halved, and if I’m gone, you can be 100% sure no one here will know.”

He took a deep breath. “Something flipped my world on its head, and I needed to distance myself from who I was before. That’s an odd phrase, though- ‘a burden shared is a burden halved’. Where’d you pick that up?”

“Oh, um. The mom of someone I loved a long time ago used to say it a lot. It just kinda stuck, I guess.”

“Loved, huh? You break their heart, or did they break yours?” Yancy was surprised he got the words out without his voice shaking or cracking. You were silent for a long time, and Yancy was sure he’d pushed too hard and you would completely shut down or, worse, leave altogether.

“Sorry, I haven’t talked about this… ever." Your voice shook. "I’ve never talked to anyone about this. I don’t know if I was loved back, but if so, I was the heartbreaker. I didn’t mean to be- I couldn’t control having to leave, and I didn’t know I wasn’t coming back until it was too late. I couldn’t say goodbye. I’ve hoped every day for the last fifteen years that my feelings were unrequited, though. I’m happy to have the pain of an unrequited first love if it means she wasn’t heartbroken.” The incorrect pronoun stung a bit, but you didn’t know, and you’d loved him back all those years ago. He was invincible.

“Have you tried reaching out? Even if your feelings were one-sided, I think you owe it to both of you to say them, at least once.” He reached out and took your hands without thinking. You didn't stop him, and he felt like he could fly.

“I tried, actually. About eight years ago, I'd, uh, escaped and was finally an actual person again after everything that was done to and taken from me, so I started looking for her. But it’s like she vanished off the face of the earth five years to the day after we were separated. It’s actually how I met Mark- I got into some deep and shady shit looking. I only gave up last year. Nothing turned up in seven years of searching, so I have to figure that she did something incredibly stupid a decade ago and got herself killed.”

“I didn’t die. Just the name did.” Yancy breathed. A half second later, he realized he’d said it out loud, and his heart stopped. You took your hands out of his and scooted away.

“Yancy. Are you trying to tell me that you’re- that we- oh my god. It is you. I knew I knew you. Everything else is different, but I should have recognized your eyes. I guess some part of me did. But you- I- I thought you were dead.”

“As you can see, I’m not dead, Brain. And for the record, your feelings were definitely not one-sided.” He reached out and cupped your cheek with one hand.

“Shit, Pinky, it really is you.”

Yancy had dreamed about how seeing you again would go in a million different ways. Not a single one of those included you practically jumping into his lap and kissing him with a lifetime's worth of love and want.

He let out an undignified whine when you broke the kiss. “Wait, wait. You knew from the second I walked in here who I was, didn’t you? You tried so hard to stop me from leaving… but then you helped me do just that. You chose to stay here when I asked you to come with me. Then I came back, and you got me to say all those things… And we’re both trans and wound up here? This is all just. So much. I can’t- I can’t do this.” You got off his lap and scooted to the far end of the bed.

“What are you saying, Y/N? That you’re leaving? Again?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

You stood up and faced him. “You do not get to play that card. You don’t know how much I went through trying to find a way to tell you I was sorry, that I didn’t know that the trip was a permanent one until we were on the other side of the country. Dad said that I'd never see mom again, and he’d kill me if I tried to get in touch with you or anyone else from back home. He broke my arm to prove he meant it. I can’t stay here to unpack all of this. I have to go. But you can come with me. I mean it even more now than I did last time. I’m not leaving you, I’m leaving here.”

You walked to the cell door and looked back at him with a sigh. “But I know you, and you have a family here. I’ll get you my address- it’s your turn to come to me, when you’re ready. I’ve waited 15 years to be with you again, what’s a little bit longer?” Without giving him a chance to respond, you kissed him again and were gone.

#yancy x yn #yancy x reader #yancy x male reader #yancy x trans male reader #yancy ahwm #ahwm fanfiction #otp: don't want to be free #self ship fanfic #self shipping fanfiction #self shipping fic

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pigeonp0st · 3 years

Note

Hey can you do a fic where reader is under mind control of some sort from an enemy and is forced to attack Nat and the rest of the avengers and Nat has to talk her out of it and calm her down something rlly intense and angsty pls

Natasha Romanoff x Reader #6

Words: 2,177

Warnings: Agnst

(tell me if there’s more I should add)

Notes:

I realized after I finished writing that I didn’t have Nat talk R out of it like you asked...I solved it in another way...i’m sorry!! I hope you enjoy anyways, thanks a lot for requesting (and sorry for spelling mistakes...there’s probably a lot) also sorry for this in general...I’m disappointed in it and the ending...I was sleep deprived and delirious for half of it...

———

It was supposed to be a simple mission, and a simple day. You and Nat had planned to head to the beach for the first time in a long time afterwards and everything. It was supposed to be a good day.

Good day...ha.

The sad truth is, is that things don’t always work out the way you expect them to. Sometimes things go horribly wrong.

Sometimes you get mind controlled by the ‘big bad’ and hurt the people you love most. Or maybe that stuff only happened to people like you. ‘Heroes.’

——-

You were conscious. That was the cruel agonizing part of it all. It’s that with every swing of your knife, every landed hit, every plea that fell from their lips, you knew what was happening.

You knew what was happening but could do nothing about it. Well...you could, technically, but it hurt. It hurt to fight. The pain was similar, you imagine, to what it feels like getting burned alive and then ran over eighteen times.

You didn’t think you could do it. Your will power wasn’t that strong. You would probably die trying to gain control—

It hurt. It hurt. You didn’t want to. You couldn’t, you—

Natasha. Natasha was saying; “fight it, Y/N, fight it,” and to you and to the pain that fighting the mind control caused, she may as well have been saying, “die, Y/N, die”

And yeah. Okay. For her, you will. For her you must.

Tears were running down your cheeks, it was the one thing the mind control didn’t have control of. It was...weird. Weird feeling such an immense amount of pain, such an immense amount of suffering, and being unable to show it. Unable to scream. You were silent, but your body felt loud, your head felt loud.

For a long minute you couldn’t hear them, you couldn’t even register the things you were seeing, all you knew was pain, everything outside of that was illegitimate.

Then, silence. For a brief, blissful moment before it was gone again. Nat’s arms were around you, and you were shaking, but completely still otherwise—finally, finally, you weren’t hurting them— “You’re okay,” Nat whispered, and how could that concept, in a few moments of agony, become something so foreign. Have you ever been okay before? Have you ever lived without this much hurt?

———-

“Nat,” you croaked, the words shaking almost as roughly as your body. “Natasha, kill me.”

Those three words, said with an immeasurable amount of desperation, were just as much not your own as your body was at this moment. They were said in a moment of pain.

Somehow, Natasha knew that. She knew that. She knows what you look like when you’re experiencing physical pain. It’s been seared into her mind countless times, but that doesn’t prevent her heart from aching as much as it does when you start begging.

“Natasha please, please baby, please. Somebody, please! Before it—”

And then you were screaming, and Natasha hates how it’s even worse than the begging.

Somehow you’ve managed to gain control of your vocals, but your body isn’t yours again, she realizes it when you start struggling against her arms…it’s a terrible thing to realize.

“Stop,” Nat yells, so obviously terrified and raw that half of the Avengers freeze where they’re circling you. “Stop fighting it, it’s okay, it’s okay.” She holds you as tightly as she can, with her eyes screwed shut. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And god, she hates the way it sounds like a goodbye too, but she just knows that even if you could register her voice right now, you aren’t going to listen.

You’re going to keep fighting to protect her and the others, because it’s what you’ve always done.

So Natasha takes a deep breath, in and out, and tries to think about her options. She tries to think about her options with you struggling and trying to reach for your knife, and the Avengers circled around her with nothing but ashen expressions that speak of nightmares to come, and she doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know.

There’s no safe way for her to knock you out for a long period of time, not ones that won’t cause long term problems afterwards, but she doesn’t need any because suddenly your body stops struggling, and stops moving, and you’re slumped unconscious in her arms.

It’s a great relief for everyone until Natasha lifts her hand from your pulse, and says, shockingly and terrifyingly devoid of emotion; “I think she’s going into shock.”

——

Everything is a blur to Natasha after that. She recalls yelling, lights, arriving at the hospital, a countdown of; one, two, three, and then she’s sitting in a seat next to your hospital bed wondering when everything went so wrong.

——

All Natasha hears when she closes her eyes is you screaming in agony at the top of her lungs, and all she feels is the phantom touch of your cold ashen skin against her hands.

You’re okay now, Natasha reminds herself. You’re going to be okay, but there’s something deeply traumatizing and everlasting about the moments where you’re sure everything won’t be—the moments you’re almost sure the love of your life won’t be.

Hearing someone you love beg you to kill them, seeing the person you love most in so much agony, it’s...scarring...but Natasha will be strong. She has to be, because being weak hurts too much, but more importantly; you need her to be.

As traumatizing as the experience was for her, she knows that yours was just as bad—if not worse. You were strong for her, so she’ll be for you.

Like protecting her to you seemed like your only option, even while you were hurting so much because of it, it’s Natasha’s only option too.

So she’ll keep it all together, until you’re back to normal and she doesn’t have to anymore.

——-

Natasha startles when you wake up. She physically startles, because the first thing you do is start sobbing, sobbing hard enough to make Natasha concerned that you’ll start hyperventilating.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asks, up from her seat in a flash to be by your side, “is he still mind controlling you? Are you still hurting?”

You aren’t looking at her, Natasha realizes with a large amount of grief. You won’t look at her, but you’re shaking your head no to her questions, and she supposes that perhaps you are okay—physically.

She wants more than that for you, so she sighs, heavily and sadly— because she can’t protect you from this anymore than she was able to protect you from the mind control—and wraps her arms around your distraught form.

“It’s okay,” Nat mumbles, and then winces and corrects herself because it’s so clearly not. “It will be okay.”

That she is sure of, but you aren’t.

“Natasha,” you force out (Natasha tries not to remember the way you said her name yesterday), “You’re covered in- you’re covered in bruises and cuts...baby, i’m so sorry.”

Your voice cracks on sorry, and Natasha closes her eyes to prevent her own tears from falling. “It wasn’t you,” she whispers fiercely, “i’m not mad at you. Of course i’m not.”

“You should be.”

You pull away from her then. Natasha feels the loss in her heart, she’s sure.

All she wants to do is hold you in her arms and never let go, but with the amount of unjustified shame you’re feeling she doubts you’ll let her.

“Your arm,” you stutter, “did it need stitches?”

Natasha won’t lie to you, so she says nothing—instead she tries to meet your haunted eyes. It’s a useless attempt.

She knows what you’re remembering, and she hates it. “The cut on my neck...it wasn’t that deep. It shouldn’t even scar.”

“I didn’t ask you about the cut on your neck, Natasha.”

Natasha tenses where she’s standing, caught off guard by the loathing in your voice until she realizes that it’s not directed at her, but at yourself.

Your eyes finally, finally, meet Natasha’s. They’re tear brimmed, scared, and unbelievably angry. “I’m going to kill him,” you rasp brokenly, “Natasha, i’m going to kill him.”

——-

Nat says nothing. She just continues to stare back at you.

“He had no right, Natasha, he had no right to do that to me,” your face is crumbling now, anger turning back into devastation in an instant. “Nat, why—why was it me? I—god, i’m so angry, i’m so—i’m so sorry. I’m sorry, i’m sorry. God...what did I do?”

Natasha still says nothing, why isn’t she saying anything? You want to yell at her, you want her to yell at you, you want—you want.

“Is Clint...is he okay?” You ask wobbly.

You remember vividly the moment you stabbed him, and the betrayal on his face, the betrayal on everyone’s faces until they realized you weren’t in control of your own body.

“He’s okay,” Natasha says simply. Then, “the man who did what he did to you...Wanda is handling it. She’s able to block out his mind control.”

“Okay.”

“Can I hold you?”

“What?”

Natasha shifts where she stands, looking down. She’s never looked more uncertain. “You didn’t seem to want me close before...I wasn’t sure…”

Oh.

“Nat,” you whisper, heartbroken, “I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust I’m me.”

Natasha tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and leans down to kiss your temple. You want nothing more than for her to get away from you. You don’t want to hurt her ever again. You can’t. “Oh baby,” she laughs a sad sort of laugh, “you’ve been handcuffed.”

And that, for whatever reason, starts another wave of unreleased tears, but you're laughing now too...if only at the insanity of your situation.

You feel restricted by the handcuffs, trapped in the way you were during the mind control, but you also feel safe. Safe from doing harm, so you allow her, between breaths, to join you on the hospital bed.

She lets out a relieved breath when you do, both because she’s allowed to hold you, and because you’re laughing...yeah it might me a manic sort of laugh, but it’s something.

Something is better than nothing. It’s a start.

——

“Natasha, I can tie my own fucking shoes.”

Nat looks up at you from where she’s crouched by your feet, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Then why’d you ask me to do it?”

“W-What? No I didn’t.” Mind controlled. You were mind controlled again. Fuck—

“Yeah you did,” Natasha reminds gently, “while you were eating your disgusting jello.”

Oh. Yeah.

You release a shaky breath, laughing quietly all the while, because wow. Wow. You’re losing your mind. “I totally remembered that...they just slipped something into my jello…”

Natasha watches you carefully for a few moments before rolling her eyes and getting to her feet. “Tie your own shoes.”

“Asshole,” you mutter bitterly under your breath. Natasha pretends not to hear you and simply presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you,” she confesses quietly. Natasha’s been saying as much over and over again since you first awoke.

“Now I feel like the asshole. Just go get the discharge papers.”

Finally, Natasha laughs.

——-

You’re healing still, emotionally, the Avengers and Natasha are very aware of that. They’ve been as gentle as they can possibly be with you since you left the hospital a couple of weeks ago, but now—now it’s time for an intervention.

So naturally, you press the big red emergency meeting button Steve hides in his room and force everyone to meet in the living room.

“I’m not sad anymore,” You announce to them all when Wanda asks why the fuck she was woken up for.

The grumbling immediately quiets.

“Well,” you pause, considering, “I...am. Deep down. I’m tryna work through it but it’s kinda hard now that I'm forgetting a lot of what happened.”

Natasha sits up at that, alarmed. “You’re forgetting?”

You wave your hand dismissively. “My mind is blocking it out. I’m traumatized...but pretty okay otherwise.” The others don’t look convinced, so with an annoyed groan you relent. “I’m thinking about seeing Steve’s therapist. You guys should too.”

A chorus of protest instantly comes forward, not to your surprise...but Wanda...Wanda does surprise you.

“I am, too.”

Then Natasha, “I...was actually considering it myself.”

Well then.

“I’m also considering making my own sitcom,” Wanda continues, resting her head in her hand. “What do you guys think?”

“Stick to therapy, Wanda. Stick to therapy.”

At that, everyone comes forward in agreement.

You’re sure, in that moment, that with these people you’ll be okay.

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