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walnutcookie · 1 year

Text

i need to talk about almond again

clearly the people who draw him as a tall muscular wrinkleless perfect handsome faced buff hot guy know jack shit about almond cookie cause that is NOT him . hes a weirdo hes a loser hes fucking pathetic hes not even a good guy hes a cop and hes literally canonically arrested children And also tried to arrest a whole fucking dragon this guy is so sick in the head he looks like a poor little cat whos been stuck in the rain but if you brushed its fur back and now it looks even weirder. he canonically tried to buy butter pretzels painting with coffee cups and i tjink thats so fucking funny

look at this . Fuckinf thang okay hold on im gonna get a little sidetracked here but this pisses me off sooo bad

they changed his line because it was too sad or some shit but ONLY IN THE ENGLISH DUB . this line is canon TO ME and nobody can tell me otherwise Fuck you he hates his job so much he started it when he was in his 20s because he was following in his moms footsteps and then she died from a fleeing wizard soon after he started his job and he was left without guidance to his job or life in general because she was his only local family and he hates his dad so hes completely alone and scared and eventually he does get used to things but he no longer uses magic and doesnt consider himself a wizard and he trusts them considerably less

and then things get better and he feels like hes stable enough to have a kid maybe ! so all by himself he bakes walnut and hes doing a little dancey dance around the kitchen as she cooks hes so excited to have a lil daughter and when the magic settles in and shes alive and in his arms he Absolutely melts . she is sooo tiny and delicate and tinspney he is just like Oh my fuckign god i will kill for this thang .he watches her grow up and raises her all by himself (well he gets babysitters since he cant always watch her as a single dad, usually latte) and hes soo proud of her and shes just so smart and cute and also is scarily similar to his mom . he'll never admit it out loud but hes scared of how ambitious and brave walnut is. shes awfully persistent on her dream to grow up to be a detective like her dad and it scares him how smart she is but also hes sooo proud of her shes AMAZING and solves every case shes ever gotten . but he always makes sure to protect her however he can, he controls all the cases she handles and stays very involved to make sure things dont go wrong. rogueforts antics are usually the least dangerous so hes fine with her taking on their antics ,, and despite him swearing to never use magic again when walnut came out as trans to him he did a little spell to help get rid of some of her dysphoria like his mom did for him :] (and then proceeded to pass out becausr he hasnt done a spell in 20 years and magic is incredibly draining)

hes so so scared that shes going to meet the same fate as his mom and he'll be alone again . granted he has close friends to support him this time but it hurt so bad when he lost his mom hes horrified to have it happen again. and after walnut gets cursed and he almost loses her he snaps. suddenly hes obsessed with his job. he has lost ALL TRUST in wizards (other than latte and bus other really close friends) where before he was a lot more laid back, had a dad bod, was much more cheery and took care of himself, now hes starting to neglect himself in favor of his job. just like his lines in crk, he skips his lunches so he can take on more calls. now he feels obligated to do it, to protect the streets of parfaedia so he doesnt lose someone again. mans ages 30 years in a few months because he refuses to sleep and eat and relax. mans is stressed as fuck holy shit he needs a vacation hes geeting sooo many gray hairs. his detective work has started to interfere with his teaching job too, and his classes are getting cut short. his entire life is crumbling apart because hes so desperate to make sure walnut is safe and eventually it probably gets to the point where hes convinced himself that this is what his job is all about and he forgets the reason WHY hes working so hard (to keep walnut safe) he ends up just believing that hes always needed to do this and hes not overworking himself and he needs to try harder and it isnt bad for him . he only takes breaks so he can spend time with his daughter and go to amusement parks nd stuff with her . he has a hard time staying awake but he'll fight the drowsiness to make her happy

hes grumpy as shit man before he was pretty chill and outgoing but now hes just a big old grump . partially because hes sleep deprived but mostly because he hates his job soo much. he hates it he hatee his job sooo much but girl hes convinced he has a responsibility to protect the city and if he leaves it alone for 2 minutes itll burst into flames and also the fact that walnut would be SHATTERED if she found out he quit because her dream job was too hard . so he pushes through

hes soo clumsy he'll trip on THE AIR and fall and scrape his chin and break his arm and then he'll get up and run right smack into a pole . the reason i draw his nose bandaged is because he breaks it like every three weeks hes the bisexual man whos wiping his bloody nose seductively but its not seductive its because he just ran into a wall all of his senses are fucked up btw. his sight and hearing isnt so good because of old age (hes like 40 btw and he has glasss but refuses to wear them) and hes burnt the nerves on his tongue and fingers with coffee he cant feel or taste for shit and his hands feel like sandpaper and hes broken his nose somany times that his breathing is shallow and raspy God damn this guy is pathetic. miserable little wet cat of a man. he has so many scars and they arent impressive at all tjhey all come from tje stupidest things ever and he has the WORST FUCKING LUCK TOO he'll be walking under a line of trees and get hit by a falling acorn TWICE.

anyone who draws him muscular is WRONg SO VERY WRONG hes built like a twig hes weak as shit and can barely lift a rock he cant pick up walnut anymore the only tjings hes good at are running and throwing handcuffs. also he does NOT have a smooth and clear handsome face he looks incredibly tired (he is) he has eyebags and wrinkles and his nose is broken and his face is scarred Fuck you

the only times hes not grumpy is when hes with a loved one or with a kid . hes actually pretty sarcastic and sillay around walnut and latte and eclair (and later roquefort) and he chuckles a lot but hes always very nice around kids . Aside from arresting them in all of his canon art and even the cutscenes he really only smiles around cream puff/walnut/the player (whos mesnt to be a student),,, especially with walnut he looks so happys in the canon art :] AND in the newest detective event whrre he helps the little kid GWA (ALSO IF YOU TAKE HIM BEING FRIENDLY WITH KIDS THE WRONG WAY IM MAULING YOU HES NOT A CREEP HES JUST A DAD WHO DOES DAD THINGS BITING YOU BITING YOU BITING YOUT) i think hed be the type of guy to see a student crying at their desk and pull them out of class to ask whats wrong and give them a pep talk if tjey need it ,,,

also he definitely has a sweet tooth and he denies it . he wants to keep that cold hardened detective look so he stays away from sweets but girl walnuts halloween candy isnt just disappearing out of nowhere . I was really happy actyally because the cake shop thingy confirmed my hc and HE ACTUWLLY SAYS HES NOT A SWEETS GUY AGAKWBFLDH (he doesmt show any sign of denial but shhhhh trust me he secretly looves sweets)

and tjen . His health gets soo bad one day when he gets home he actually just passes out. Not just in a "i am tired" way he literally hits the floor hard (this also happens to be on the same night he confessed to roguefort). he wakes up in the hospital and walnut is Traumatized (thats for another ramble) and now is trying to help him better health by doing things like leaving sticky notes reminding him to eat and urging him to sleep and he feels HORRIBLY GUILTY that his own 12 year old daughter has to help him with self care but hes made these horrible habits for himself that are hard to break . and he struggles a lot!!! but hes trying

then soon he starts dating roquefort (secret identity of roguefort if youre new to my blog) and with their little family of three theyre all a little better :] with the efforts of walnut and roque combined almond is back into Healthy habits . woohoo!

and then he sees the wizard that killed his mom and chases her and Fucking Dies

which like . man he spent so much time worrying about losing walnut and having to feel the pain of losing his family again that he forgot she might feel that pain if she lost him.

anyways if you read all of this i am Kissing you on the lips . keep in mind none of this is canon im just rambling about my interpretation of almond (which is the correct one /LHJ)

ASKS ARE VERY VERY WELCOME Idk if i missed anything

#almond cookie #roguefort cookie #walnut cookie #cookie run #tw blood #almond rambles

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rainsoughtflowers · 2 years

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guys pls saebyeok and eunhyuk and AND eun yoo alone scaramew will cry

fallen star

tw/cw - major character death, angst, mentions of blood.

a/n - hi keo. uhm. so turns out i couldn’t leave her alone :D i feel kinda bad but not at the same time BFJDB anyways enjoy!

ALSO LAST PART FOR I HUNG THE STARS FOR YOU I SWEAR IM DONE WITH THIS AU I JUST HAD THIS IDEA FOR SO LONG AND NEEDED CLOSURE.

you used to believe that perhaps the girl you met that fateful winter day was simply a fragment of your imagination.

it was easier than the reality of what was true. that weeks spent on hopeless pining, longing stares and beating hearts resulted in the letter you kept crumbled down from wear inside your pocket. that the feelings that had blossomed and nurtured now lay wilted, decayed and forgotten like an abandoned garden. that sae byeok would never come back, no matter how many shooting stars heard your desperate cries each night.

a year had been enough to have you accept the thoughts, the colors of the leaves the only indicator of the time passed. because everything still felt the same. you still went to that small art shop tucked snuggly between the two buildings, leaning against the aisles and drawing aimless scribbles into the parchment of your notebook. you could feel everything too. could still feel the warmth of sae byeok’s body beside yours, knees bumping and shoes pressed together. could still hear the quiet tone of her voice, soft and hushed and everything nice. you still saw her sometimes, too, waiting for you like she always did despite her insisting otherwise. and yet deep down you knew things had changed, much more than you realized. much more than you let yourself believe.

you sighed quietly into the strong aroma of paints and chalk, blinking away the figments of your imagination beginning to surface once more. it happened too frequently for your liking, and each time it left your heart throbbing painfully inside your chest until it stopped, and you were left feeling nothing at all.

‘come on. it’s been a whole year. you need to get over it.’ you thought angrily to yourself, grabbing the nearest set of paints and putting it into your basket. your visit at the time was for supplies instead of a place to draw, a big project coming up where your teacher asked for only acrylic paints to be used. you weren’t very familiar with the techniques related to the paint, but at least it allowed you an excuse to stay busy and not think about the freckles splayed across skin.

“uh, excuse me.”

you glanced over at the voice, surprised about the appearance that greeted you. it wasn’t necessarily because of the bright red hair that felt out of place, but rather the age of the man and the suit he was wearing. definitely did not look like someone who would come to an art shop, at least not for himself.

“yes?” you asked, a little cautiously.

he smiled, kind enough to have your tense stance falter ever so slightly, “do you come to this place often?”

you sighed a little in relief, realizing that he probably just wanted to know about what supplies to get. you ignored how it reminded you of a different encounter many months ago, “i do. usually come here everyday.”

he nodded, hesitating for a moment before speaking, “if you don’t mind me asking, can i see some of your work?”

“oh, sure! here, give me a second.” you pulled out the notebook from your bag, opening it to the first page littered with motion drawings and random sketches. he flipped through the pages, intrigued, until stopping on one that had his entire body going completely still.

“this one is…” he trailed off, glancing between you and the graphite smeared onto the page. your own eyes landed on the drawing, body growing cold at the familiar sight.

quickly you grabbed the notebook from his hands, holding it protectively to your chest, “sorry, these ones are private,” you hastily stuffed it into your bag, eyes downcast to hide the tears threatening to break through, “if you’re looking for advice you can always ask the workers. i have to go.”

“wait!” the sudden rise in tone and the alarm in his voice caused you to pause, seeing the conflicted look across his face. he swallowed, eyes switching between you and your bag before remaining on your face, “do you know a girl named sae byeok?”

his tone was much softer that time, but you still felt frozen in your spot, rolling the familiar syllables within your mind. your lips parted, so many thoughts running through your head but none finding a place on your tongue. you swallowed, asking the easiest question you could muster, “what did you say?”

“sae byeok,” he repeated, seemingly desperate by the way he looked at you, “did you know her?”

“did i know her?” you almost laughed at yourself. at the whole predicament. a whole year, and despite you thinking that it was enough to forget about the girl you met, all the images centered around her felt clearer. you remembered the butterflies gracing ribcages, the sunsets on your cheeks, and the stars across her face. a bitter smile found its place on your lips, heart aching quietly inside your chest, “i loved her.”

the man, or rather gi-hun, took you to a nearby coffee shop. he said it’d be better to talk there than inside the store, to which you only partly agreed. despite it being a much appropriate setting, the coffee shop he brought you to was the same one you took sae byeok to as well. you didn’t sit in the same seats, thankfully, but each time you glanced over and spotted the table you recalled the wonder in her eyes at showing her the sketch made up of her features.

“how do you…” you paused, taking a quick sip of your tea to help soothe your throat and ease your anxiety, “how did you know her?”

gi-hun remained quiet for several moments, as if he were trying to find a suitable place to start. finally, after a silence far too long for your liking, he muttered quietly but loud enough for you to hear, “did she tell you about the games?“

“yes.” how could you forget? you read the letter left to you so many times you practically had the words memorized.

“i was there. we played together,” his tone lowered ever so slightly, his attention drawing to the untouched cup of his coffee, “we were teammates.”

seeing gi-huns crumpled state had your heart pounding, afraid of what the expression meant. but you needed to know. you had to be sure, “is she…” you trailed off, not wanting to utter the words you tried to deny for so long. it would be too real if you said it aloud. written permanently into the universe you could not change.

he lowered his head ever so slightly, and gi-hun didn’t even need to utter his next words for you to know, “i’m sorry.”

“how did-“ you choked on your words, scrambling to pick up the world that just shattered by your feet, “how did she die?”

“there was a game…the glass exploded at the end. she…she was unlucky enough to have been the closest one.” gi-hun also struggled with his words, his eyes never quite reaching your own.

you pressed a hand your lips, fingers trembling against the appendages as you pushed down the tears and tried to ignore the tightening in your throat. you tried not to imagine it. the blood flowing out of her body. the desperate tone of her voice and the struggling of her eyes to remain open. had she been in pain? was she scared? did she pass with regrets? “sae…”

“she told me about you. before she died,” you glanced up at the words, awaiting what was to follow. this time gi-hun did meet your eyes, red rimmed but gentle, “she loved you very much. and i uh, i promised her something.”

gi-hun reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. when you held it between your thumb and pointer fingers you read the letters to be an address, confused by the unfamiliarity.

“what is this?“ you asked, sparing a quick glance up.

“its the place cheol is staying at. she told you about her brother right?” at your nod gi-hun continued, “i promised sae byeok that i would take care of her family. that included you. there’s….there’s enough money to let you live a comfortable life.”

you stared at the piece of paper, feeling emotions you couldn’t quite place. but you knew one thing, and it was that you didn’t want money. you didn’t want a life of luxury or comfort. you just wanted sae byeok. just one more moment with her. one more smile. one more laugh. one more hug in the pouring rain where the roar of the falling droplets allowed only you two to hear the thoughts kept in your hearts. no amount of money could buy that.

“again, i’m really sorry. if i could i…i would’ve taken her place. it should be her here right now, not me,” gi-hun was staring down at his hands, tears building up in the corners of his eyes. the guilt he felt must’ve been heavy, the thought urging you to reach over and place a reassuring hand over his own.

“thank you for watching over her.” you whispered. you didn’t know much about gi-hun. but the fact that he was there, comforting you and giving closure for both you and the girl now among the stars told you enough.

he nodded, appearing relieved, “if-if you ever need anything you can call me. it took me a year to get my shit together but i intend to keep my promise. anything at all, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“thank you mister.” you smiled, grateful for his offer. gi-hun tensed at the words, as if they were familiar and brought back a memory he had forgotten. but just as quickly he was smiling, nodding while standing up from his seat.

“take care.”

it took you a couple days to gain enough courage to visit the address gi-hun gave you. it wasn’t really that you were scared, or doubted his intentions, but rather you were nervous. you had heard so much about cheol from sae byeok. she always spoke of him so fondly, and despite not having met him before her words alone were enough for him to find his own place in your heart. but, what if he didn’t like you? what if you couldn’t take care of him? you were just a college student after all, but it was sae byeok’s brother and you were willing to try for the sake of protecting one of the only things she loved. but what if that wasn’t enough?

you breathed out a shaky breath, the cloud steadily disappearing into the air. slowly you brought your hand up and formed a fist, knocking three times on the door before you. when you heard the rustle of movement from beyond you took a step back, rocking on your heels while waiting.

an older woman greeted you, to which you realized was the friend’s mom gi-hun told you briefly about. she smiled at you, warm like hot cocoa, and you returned it with one of your own, “uhm. sorry to intrude…is there a boy named cheol here?“

her smile widened, perhaps having been expecting you, and she turned towards the stairs inside the house and yelled out a loud ‘cheol!’ into the distance. it echoed, bouncing off the walls and blending with the sound of feet rushing down the steps. a boy, small and no older than ten, appeared behind the older woman, peering at you curiously. it was almost laughable how similar he looked like sae byeok. the only think lacking was the splash of freckles on his cheeks and nose.

“hi…i’m (name).” you waved your hand, relieved when he returned it and stepped out to now stand in the doorway.

“are you the person my sister always talked about?“ he tilt his head towards the side, the action and big brown eyes causing your heart to tighten.

“yup,” you laughed, trying to keep the mood light, “that’s me.”

he rushed forward, small hands bunching the fabric of your shirt. you only remained still for a brief moment before putting your own hands around his small frame, fingers running through the strands on his head. he mumbled something, muffled by your thick jacket, and you had to maneuver his face away from the fabric to hear him properly, “thank you for making my sister happy.“

you were taken aback, not expecting the words of gratitude. you felt something roll down your cheek, and hastily you crouched down low, holding the small boy closer to your body, “thank you for having such an incredible sister.”

the sobs pouring out of your mouth never seemed to stop. you wanted to be strong, for the sake of the precious boy before you. yet you found yourself unable to stop the tears, heart and body aching all over again, just like that day you received the letter. and cheol, sweet cheol, patted your back gently whilst releasing his own small sniffles.

“my sister isn’t coming back…is she?” he whispered quietly, the broken tone of his voice causing you to pull back and hastily wipe away the tears on his cheeks.

“we can wait together, hm?” you smiled, keeping your voice steady while stroking the apple of his cheeks, “that means we have to take care of each other.”

cheol let loose another small sniffle, before nodding his head and burying his face within your jacket once more, “okay.”

you don’t know how long you sat there holding onto the boy, whispering quiet reassurances while fixing the mess of strands that was his hair. cheol probably saw through your little white lie, but you wanted to try. to try keeping his bright spirit as warm as the sun. to make sure he knew that his sister loved her, and didn’t leave because of the lack of it. that sae byeok would’ve wanted you both to be happy, even if she weren’t there to witness it all.

maybe hung stars and shooting comets weren’t enough, but this, holding cheol and having gotten to love her, was.

menu. upside down peach cake.

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queenshelby · 3 years

Text

Roommates – Part Fourteen

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1,580

Warning: Fluff

Note: This plays in 2020. It’s all fiction and not based on Cillian’s real life and family.

It has been a week since Cillian found out about Laura’s lie and, as expected, it took him some time to come to terms with it. Whilst, on one hand, he was relieved that she wasn’t pregnant after all he had been through with her, he was also somewhat disappointed by it. After all, he had been looking forward to finally becoming a father after him and his ex-wife Lindsay went through IVF for many years unsuccessfully.

Luckily for him, you knew that he was struggling and you were there to pick up the pieces and support him through this horrible initial week after he had found out.

Unfortunately for you, Laura had also since found out that you were involved with Cillian and ceased the opportunity to seek revenge which, for some reason, she still thought she was entitled to. Her friendship with most of your mutual friends had been destroyed after it was found out what she did. But this wasn’t your fault you thought. It was hers alone.

After sending you at least ten text messages, telling you how you were the most horrible person who had ever walked this earth, she informed James and most of your other friends and Cillian’s family about your relationship with Cillian in order to get them to turn on you instead of her.

As a result, James kept calling, messaging and emailing you constantly and you ran out of options on how to block him after he obtained several new phone numbers and email addresses so that he could harass you, thinking that you had been involved with Cillian for years.

As for your family and friends, you found it difficult to explain to them that there was only some truth to what Laura was saying. You tried hard to make clear to them that you were not in a relationship with Cillian and it was Cillian’s mother herself who didn’t take your and her son’s explanations serious.

‘I think my mother is set on the idea that we are together’ Cillian chuckled as he handed you the invitation to her 70th birthday which specifically mentioned you as his plus one.

‘She told me about it already. She also enquires about your wellbeing on a daily basis, darling. Apparently, you aren’t very forthcoming to her about your feelings. Luckily, her birthday not until after Christmas’ you laughed.

You had always gotten along well with Cillian’s mother since you met her almost ten years ago.

‘I am not sure if I should be more amused by the fact that my mother talks to you more often than to me or that she thinks that we will be out of lockdown by January next year’ Cillian then said, smiling before offering you a cup of tea.

‘Well, you know your mum and I get on like a house on fire, sweetheart’ you then joked before approaching Cillian and kissing him gently.

You didn’t usually kiss. Kissing was only to initiate sex which you have had plenty off over the past week even while Cillian was feeling rather depressed about what happened.

You knew that sex would get his mind of the pain Laura had caused him and you were more than willing to distract him from all the madness in his life.

In turn, sex led to you sharing a bed and, since you had sex every night and sometimes even during the day, you pretty much slept in the same room continuously for weeks on end. Sometimes you would stay in Cillian’s room while, on other nights, he would come to yours. It was almost like musical chairs.

But tonight, this was all about to change as, in the morning, you had just gotten your first period since you started being intimate with each other.

As such, you quickly apologised for the kiss you had just given him to ensure that he wouldn’t get the wrong idea about your intentions.

‘Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to initiate anything. I was just sneaking in a cheeky little kiss’ you said somewhat embarrassed as you quickly pulled away from the kiss.

‘No period sex then I suppose?’ Cillian joked, knowing very well that this was off the table for you even though he had explained to you that it wouldn’t bother him.

‘Absolutely not Cillian’ you giggled before reaching for some more of the pain killers on the kitchen counter.

‘Well, if you change your mind tonight, you know where my bedroom is’ Cillian winked and you couldn’t help but shake your head in disgust.

‘Trust me Cilly, I won’t’ you chuckled.

‘Alright then. No sex tonight. Got it’ Cillian chuckled before offering you to fill up your hot water bottle. ‘How about I fill this up for you, we have some wine, order some pizza and watch a movie?’ Cillian suggested as he took the hot water bottle from you.

‘That would be nice’ you said, smiling and wanting to kiss him again, but refraining from doing so for obvious reasons. You reminded yourself that you weren’t more than friends with benefits, regardless of the rumours out there which Laura had spread.

***

Half an hour later, you finally settled in the living room with your hot water bottle and two glasses of red wine.

Being so close to Cillian and unable to be intimate with him bothered you and you could see that it bothered him too as he tried hard to keep his hands to himself.

Occasionally, you felt his hand brush over the top of your cotton pants and then move away quickly as if he was a shy little school boy who was doing something naughty and who thought you wouldn’t notice.

It was strange, the fact that you both only ever showed affection towards each other while, before or after you were having sex. But then again, of course, it was normal considering your arrangement. You were friends and, if kissing wouldn’t turn you both on so incredibly much, you probably wouldn’t even be doing that in the bedroom.

But even just in that moment, where he was sitting next to you and was watching a movie with you, you wanted to kiss him desperately and a kiss was all you wanted.

You felt the urge to snuggle up against him and rest your head against his chest but you thought that this also would be inappropriate you restrained yourself from it for the remainder of the evening.

***

At around 10 o’clock, you finally called it a night. You were tired and exhausted and needed a good nights’ sleep.

Unfortunately for you, sleep was something you struggled with and it was when you lay in your bed for an hour, tossing and turning with your eyes wide open, that you realised what was missing.

It was the warmth which would normally radiate from Cillian’s body when you cuddled up against him and it was the scent of his skin you breathed in when laying in his arms.

Even if you couldn’t be intimate with him, you wanted to be near him, kiss him and cuddle him and feeling this way about him wasn’t something you were prepared for.

***

Little did you know that you weren’t the only one craving this kind of closeness and non-sexual intimacy. Cillian also was laying on his bed, restless and unable to sleep, realising that something was missing.

He adored the smell of your hair and the softness of your skin pressed against his. He loved spooning against you while you held his arms tight as he wrapped them around you.

He also loved the little sounds you were making in your dreams when there was clearly something pleasurable on your mind.

He soon realised that his efforts to simply fall asleep like this on his own were going to be futile and he decided to get himself another glass of water from the kitchen and settle with a book until he would be tired enough to go back to bed and try again.

***

‘Still up?’ Cillian asked as he walked into the kitchen and saw you filling up your hot water bottle again.

‘I can’t sleep’ you pouted while moving aside and allowing Cillian to fill up his glass.

‘Me neither’ Cillian then said before making a suggestion which could possibly change that.

‘Do you…uhm…want company…in bed?’ Cillian then shuddered somewhat reluctantly.

‘Cillian, I am not going to have sex with you, I told you that’ you said somewhat amused by the fact that he was still trying to convince you otherwise.

‘I didn’t mean for us to have sex Y/N’ Cillian then explained and your eyes widened immediately.

‘So, you mean just us sharing a bed to sleep?’ you asked confused, causing Cillian to nod.

‘Just to sleep and maybe kiss…if you want to’ Cillian said almost shyly.

‘Just kissing?’ you asked again, unsure about his motives.

‘Just kissing’ Cillian confirmed.

Tag List:

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@peaky-cillian

@severewobblerlightdragon @ysmmsy

#cillian murphy #Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine

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castieltrash1 · 4 years

Text

dangerous territory → clint b.

gif credit (x)

summary → clint stays behind during a mission, leaving you alone with him in the avengers building. seeing him sprawled out on the comfy lounge room couch gives you some naughty ideas -- only adding to the tension your relationship already has.

word count → 6.7k (literally wtf)

warnings → i ignore the entirety of iw/endgame except for clint’s makeover, extreme sexual tension, smut; switch!fem!reader, switch!clint, couch sex, oral (both recieving), fingering, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, praise

a/n → literally idk if i should be ashamed or not but im Horny 4 Hawkeye!!! oopsie !! also there are like .3 smut fics for him on here and im determined to fix that

---

Quiet was not a word you’d use to describe the Avengers Facility.

In fact, with Steve’s loud orders, Bruce’s lab explosions, and Sam’s boisterous laughter -- not to mention the never-ending petty arguments that managed to revert the Avengers to 11th graders in their first debate club -- it was the farthest thing from quiet.

But, now, with zero disagreements and zero distractions, you’d been able to enjoy the building all to yourself. Almost. Of course, the one time you got to avoid a mission, you ended up falling into an even worse situation.

You’d covered for Wanda last mission, and she’d insisted on paying you back for the newest one. It wasn’t high stakes by any means, but the work itself had countless components and everyone who was nearby -- or at least on the planet -- had been called in to fill some role.

Everyone, of course, except you. And Clint.

Suddenly the idea of being stuck in the Quinjet with everyone’s post-mission moodiness sounded very appealing. You could feel a headache growing as you wandered around the kitchen, doing anything and everything in your power to avoid him. He was not supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even like stepping foot in the place unless the world was in immediate danger.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice his odd attitude. Natasha gave him a confused look when he mentioned staying behind, but decidedly hadn’t commented, almost like she’d already pieced together the reason for Clint’s actions. Knowing her, she probably had. But, even Wanda shot a glance that worried you -- though you seemed to be the only one to catch her squinted green gaze before it disappeared. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what she saw in his mind.

Sure, you had a couple of ideas as to why he would choose to isolate himself with you, but you tried to not let those thoughts consume you. The others wouldn’t be back till midday tomorrow -- if all went well -- and you were not about to spend the next 36 hours soaking your panties with stupid fantasies.

Unfortunately, even when ignoring Clint, your mind was still focused on him. When you passed by the gym or shooting range, antsy to get your daily work in, one quick thought of seeing Clint’s arms -- tensed as he loaded his bow, muscles straining and eyes focused on his target -- was enough to have you quickly walking in the opposite direction.

But, now, as you make your way into the lounge to relax, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You have just as much of a right as Clint does to walk around whenever and wherever you please. In all honesty, you feel even more entitled considering you’re the one actually living in the tower (at least most of the time.)

He’s exactly where you expect him to be -- he may be fast and quiet on his feet, but you’ve been keeping tabs on him, for your own sake.

It’s a bit odd seeing a book instead of a bow in his hands, but you’re not entirely sure you should be focused on how his fingers wrap around the thin pages, thumbing the corners so gently--

“Done avoiding me, are you?”

Well, shit.

His gaze remains on his book -- though the very few pages he’s turned assures you he’s not paying attention to whatever riveting story Tony has stocked his shelves with.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. There’s a moment of temptation to take a seat next to him on the couch, as close as possible. To feel his strong arms around you, smell the raw masculine cologne he always wears a bit too much of -- heavy on his neck and sharp jaw that you know your lips could curl around so perfectly if given the chance.

You swallow heavily and take a seat in the chair across from him, sinking into the expensive fabric.

“Tony picks good furniture, right?” Clint sighs, book closing without so much as a dog-ear mark as he leans back.

It’s silent for a second, and you’re entirely sure you’ve missed a part of the conversation during your mini black-out, but Clint doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, waiting patiently for your answer. You consider it a small win and accept the change in topic with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Didn’t think price made such a big difference.” There’s a firmness to the chair that keeps you from sinking, and mentally, you consider if it’d be strong enough for other activities. “How much you wanna bet he spent on each of these chairs?” you question, genuinely curious. “I gotta guess at least two grand.”

Clint’s cool eyes glint playfully. “Three,” he challenges with a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Though, you should really try this couch. Definitely my favorite thing here.”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his tone -- the kind that you’d miss if you weren’t trained in reading people. It’s not unexpected, though. You’d have to be a fool to not recognize the exact same longing stares, the same lingering touches that Clint offers you. But, that’s what makes it all more intimidating. It’s an unspoken thing, and at this point, that’s what feels most convenient -- even if your lonely nights spent moaning his name are growing far too common for comfort.

Still, you can’t exactly ignore him, and his eyes follow you closely as you make your way to the couch, falling into the comfy cushions with a huff.

“Wow.” You laugh. “No wonder you’ve been spending so much time down here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “So you have been paying me some attention. Interesting.”

If he notices you shift as far to the other end of the couch as possible, he doesn’t mention it.

“Don’t take it personally, Barton,” you huff. “I’m used to keeping an eye on everyone around here.” It’s not entirely a lie, but he manages to see right through the half-truth regardless.

“So you avoid everyone, then?” There’s no hurt or misunderstanding in his voice, not even confusion. He knows what you’re doing, knows why you can’t bear to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back onto the couch.

He just chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach clench unconsciously. You expect him to keep pressing you, work you up until you spill your guts, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even say a word as you hear the rustling of paper and feel the couch move slightly as he shifts.

You turn your head towards him and open one eye, then both as they go wide. Clint has taken on a whole new level of comfortable, feet perched on the coffee table and one arm resting on the back of the couch while his free hand flips through the same first few pages as before.

In all honesty, you suddenly find yourself happy that Steve and Tony are gone -- otherwise they’d be scolding Clint for his manners, and most definitely not ogling his firm legs in those tight, black jeans.

You drag your gaze back up his body, stopping near the hem of his shirt, where his new position has allowed for the fabric to ride up his stomach. It’s just a sliver of skin but the image is enough to make your heart race. There’s a faint dip in the muscled hip line leading to his jeans, and if you stare extra hard, you can see the light trail of thin hairs disappearing under the fabric.

Swallowing heavily, you quickly look back at Clint’s face, holding back a gasp as he stares back at you.

“So,” you fill the silence before he can, mentally thanking Natasha for her training on keeping your composure. “How’s that book of yours?”

Clint just grins for a second -- you both know he’s caught you. “It’s alright. Not the most interesting thing in the building right now, though.”

You gulp. “Yeah… The place is big. Lots to explore. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room--”

“I have a feeling you know that’s not what I mean,” Clint cuts you off with a chuckle, and you send him a challenging glare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoff.

He hums, before his tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You’re sounding awfully like a broken record today.” His icy, pale eyes return to his book, and you watch as he lifts his thumb to his wet lips, tongue darting out the lick the tip. You can practically feel the action, and almost whine in disappointment when his hand returns to flip the page.

Clint is downright grinning at this point, and you know he’s taking in every breath, shift, and blink of yours. “But, I know you’re not actually confused,” he continues. “In fact, I’d argue you like this game of ours a bit more than you should.”

You know if you brush it off again, he’ll drop it. He’s too nice to make you uncomfortable, and his statement hangs in the air with a heavy weight.

“You know, Barton?” you shift from your spot on the couch, eliminating a good chunk of the space between you and him. “I think you’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” He raises a brow, and you would believe his undisturbed look if you didn’t see his fingers twitch against the spine of the forgotten book.

“Tell Nat that,” he jokes, and you grin. Seeing that little crack in his facade, the way he fills the conversation with a joke, the discreet but heavy swallow he tries to hide -- it’s all enough to power you to move closer, until there are mere centimeters between you two.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ll be telling Natasha anything from this conversation of ours.” Keeping your attention on the slight tense of his jaw, you push the book from his hands, and he immediately drops his feet from the table to discard it in their place.

You pause for a second, glancing at Clint’s lap then back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab your hip.

“Get over here already,” he groans, both arms wrapping around your waist to situate you in his lap. His hands are warm and firm and everything you could have ever imagined, and you automatically roll your hips down onto him. There’s a pleased moan from you both, and his own hips jolt in a way that sends you even closer to him, until your chests are touching.

He immediately dives for your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he breathes you in deeply. “I gotta admit,” he murmurs, letting his lips graze the bottom of your jaw in the most sinful way, “you look so much better sitting here than standing around in the kitchen.”

You drag your fingers through the long hair on the back of his head, tugging it playfully. “You’ve been watching me, Barton?”

He hums, squeezing you just as teasingly. “I do a lot of staring when it comes to you, babe.”

You pull him from your neck by his hair, and he looks up at you with the most mischievous glint in his eyes. The nickname makes you undeniably flustered, but you force the embarrassment away.

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s what you call creepy,” you mumble, leaning down so Clint can feel your words against his own lips. He immediately darts forward, but you pull back with a sly grin, watching his eyes darken at the action.

“I think,” he growls, catching you off guard as he pushes you back onto the couch, making you jostle as you try not to fall off the edge. He steadies you with a large hand, and you only jolt again when he uses his free hand to spread your legs, caging you in as his hips drop between your parted thighs. “You’d be a hypocrite for saying that.” He drops back to your neck, and you can feel his smile before his teeth sink into your skin lightly -- just enough to make you gasp.

He continues to litter your neck with kisses, and you watch in awe as his toned arm tenses by the side of your head -- the thick black lines of ink rolling as his muscles flex.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you taunt, back arching as his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to right below your chin. “You gonna fuck me?”

Clint bites the edge of your jaw in retaliation to your words, before he pulls back just enough to stare at you with a lustful gaze.

“Not yet, baby. Not that easily.” One of his hands trails up the front of your thigh, before it busies itself with the hem of your shirt. You try to hide your disappointment, but Clint notices it, of course, and just shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on letting you leave this couch anytime soon. You’ve made me wait long enough for this… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, and you hungrily reach and tug until he’s as close as possible -- until you can feel the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously against your thighs as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. It’s messy and entirely uncalculated, and your nails catch in the wrinkles of the back of his shirt while his own fingers tug impatiently at the bottom of yours.

You part from him for a second, and his own greedy mouth follows yours, only managing to press against the side of your lips. “You act like you’ve made this easy for me,” you retort, and his chest rumbles against yours as he chuckles.

“Oh honey, I think I’ve made it quite obvious I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you walked in here.”

“Clearly, not obvious enough.”

Clint huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. “What’d you want me to do? Huh?” He shifts so his words make their way directly to your ear, each syllable accentuated with a puff of hot air. With him this close, neck just below your nose, you can take in the heavy smell of that sharp cologne you love so much.

His calloused fingers dip beneath your shirt, but instead of the obvious trail up, his hand trails down to play with the hem of your shorts. “Tug these little things off in front of everyone? Show them all how worked up you get me wearing these? Is that what you want?”

Your hips lift in a silent plea, and you groan. “They’re comfortable.”

“Maybe for you, but I find myself very uncomfortable when you wear them.” He snickers, and if you weren’t so turned on, you’re sure you’d roll your eyes. Only Clint Barton could make a joke about untimely hard-ons during a time like this.

“Then why don’t you take them off?” you groan, and he shakes his head while muttering something about you being bossy.

Still, his words betray him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, as slowly as possible while his eyes drink in the new area of exposed skin. “What part about taking my time with you did you not understand?” The corner of his lips tug in that mischievous way of his, and you have a sneaking feeling his patience is as fleeting as your own.

Proving your point, Clint tosses your shorts over the back of the couch with a grin, then pushes you further up the cushions. You’re almost sitting, shoulder blades knocking the arm of the sofa while your legs bend at the knee to accompany Clint, who scoots back. It’s the perfect and most disastrous angle to be at as you have to both feel and watch his deft fingers trail up from your knee.

You’re a hundred percent sure the effects of your arousal are extremely obvious, but he doesn’t comment on the wet patch of your panties -- though you see his eyes focus on the area between your legs for a second too long before his gaze flickers back to your thighs.

His calloused fingers trail the edge of fabric around your legs, rough skin providing a type of friction you can’t begin to explain. His touch is fleeting and he changes the amount of pressure with every swipe of his thumb, always pushing just enough to let you know he’s holding you down. That you can’t escape him -- as if you’d even think of trying to do so.

“Your legs are so sexy, you know that?”

You let out some type of pleased whine, a sound that Clint relishes as he tightens his grip on your thighs. “Make the prettiest sounds, too,” he continues, and then his fingers are right there. One hand holds your left leg down, while the other covers your panty-covered core. His thumb rubs into your desperate, throbbing clit, and you use your little amount of freedom to push your hips up, wanting, needing more.

Clint immediately presses you back down, and you watch his tattoos shift just slightly as he adds more weight to his hand on your thigh.

“Please, please.” You revert to begging at your lack of movement, losing all shame in regard to your desire. It’s obvious you need Clint -- any excuses or lies from before long forgotten. You need his movements to speed up, the slow circles of his thumb providing barely enough friction.

He just chuckles, but relents a little and you downright purr as the thin fabric of your underwear drags against your tingling nerve endings. It’s impossible to move under Clint’s weight, but all the muscles in your lower half flex and twitch as they desperately search for release and relief.

“How about…” Clint trails off, fingers moving upward to grab the waistline of your panties, “we get these off?”

You’re sure if you nod any faster you might make yourself dizzy, and Clint just smirks in that knowing way. That way that lets you know he has you right where he wants you. Right where he’s been waiting to have you.

The article of clothing is soon flung behind his shoulder just like your forgotten shorts -- and you can only faintly remind yourself to make sure you grab everything before the others return. Though, at this point, you think anyone could walk in on Clint between your legs and you’d still be begging him to make you cum -- audience or not.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint groans, palms sliding between your thighs to spread them, giving him a full view of your glistening core. “I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” Seeing his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and greedy fingers, you’re not sure you can reject that statement.

He removes his hands for just a second, but you don’t dare close your legs, and he has the audacity to wink. Before your mind can even process the action, though, he’s pulling his shirt off, arms crossing over his chest as they show off in their full glory. Hips, stomach, chest, arms -- they’re all exposed so quickly and your eyes drink in the features as fast as they can. Clint throws the shirt to the side -- you have a feeling he’s utilizing his perfect aim to create a clothing pile -- but you just stare at his shoulder, where the ink spreads to areas you’ve never had the chance to see before. The olive green accents contrast against his tanned skin, which has gained a light sheen from the sweat of his arousal.

As he leans back down, Ronin’s portrait stares you dead in the eyes -- quite literally. If you didn’t know the deeper meaning, you’re sure you could mistake the skull as a danger warning to the man pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee.

Short hairs chafe your legs as Clint makes himself comfortable, pressing his jaw against you. When his hot breath dances over your center you almost squeeze your thighs together, but he’s there to push them apart with a chuckle.

“No, no…” He pulls away barely, and you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re gonna give me what I want, ok?” His fingers are gentle, and so are his eyes when he glances up to you. He’s hopeful, pleading almost, but stays respectful. “If that’s ok, of course.”

You almost want to cry, because how could he think any differently, but you just nod. “Please Clint, touch me.”

He sends you a lopsided grin, and then he’s right there, pressing a kiss against your clit. The feeling is completely different from before, lips slick and soft unlike his rough thumb. All the air in your lungs leaves your body as you let out a sigh of relief, body finally relaxing as it gets the touch it needs.

You reach down and your nails scratch his scalp lightly before you grip his hair in a tight hold. He nuzzles against your hand and groans against you, and the feeling of control makes your blood run hot through your veins. One of the most powerful men on Earth is between your legs, sucking softly on your clit like it's the only thing he could ever want.

He traces circles on your thighs with his coarse fingers as he warms you up with gentle licks and the occasional curl of his lips around your most sensitive area. You let him have the satisfaction of your spread thighs, but you periodically tug on his tousled locks to remind him that he’s the one between your legs. It’s the perfect balance of dominance -- the type that makes your head spin and your eyes roll back into your head.

Clint presses another kiss to your clit before traveling lower and the intimacy of the action makes your skin flush. You can tell he’s not going to be holding back for much longer though, if the desperation of his descent is any indication. His fingers join his attack as he spreads your folds, tongue dragging the entirety of your core.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he mutters, mouth impatient as he covers as much skin as he can at once. It’s fast and downright dirty as he presses his tongue into you, eliciting a groan from your parted, panting lips. You’re dripping at this point, and he laps up the mix of saliva and arousal with a yearning thirst.

It’s all so overwhelming. His fingers are digging into your skin -- likely to leave faint marks -- and the scruff framing his jaw scrapes and leaves your skin burning, while the softer locks between your fingers are a comfort to steady you.

The heat building in your body is entirely unbelievable, and your back digs into the couch as you arch into Clint, desperate for all he’ll be willing to give you. You press him closer, and he moans at the power in your hands -- the control you have despite him hovering over you. It’s a mental trip for you both, your stomach and pelvic muscles clenching as they react to his generous, eager giving.

“God, Clint, gonna cum.” The words barely feel like they’re coming from your own body, jaw slack as you tremble in his hold. His index finger presses into you slowly, while his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit. The change of stimulation has you reeling, your grip on Clint loosening as you feel his warm words against you.

“Kinda the point, sweetheart.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you know Clint is smirking -- you can practically hear it in his voice.

His finger curls to press against your front wall, and he rubs it gently once, twice, before he lets the digit drag out, sinking in again even slower. The leisurely thrusts continue as his tongue returns to circle your clit, his cocky words from before silenced as he puts his mouth to work. Your breath grows heavier, heart rate increasing with every second. His middle finger joins the first with a steady push, and you clench desperately as they curl and press and rub and reduce you to nothing but putty.

You’re right there and Clint knows it -- somehow he knows it. His fingers move faster, harder, and his lips wrap around your clit with even greater determination. There’s a shift, fingertips grazing the perfect spot as he sucks desperately and it’s over. You’re crying out his name, thighs shaking and you clench and flutter around his never-ceasing fingers. There’s a moment where all senses leave you and all you can feel is Clint, and the spread of warmth between your legs. Your ears ring and your own moans become faint background sounds.

And then, you’re pulling his head back, his tongue still trying to work your sensitive clit. He fights your tug on his hair but you must be begging because he finally relents with a huff. You can hear his breathing, and you feel his shift as he leans back over you, fingers still working you through your high.

“Look at me,” he demands, and his free hand drags down your cheek. “C’mon, open your eyes.” He forcefully grabs your chin, and your eyes open too quickly for your mind to process. It’s all so bright and you have to blink away the splotches of color coating your vision. Clint takes up the entirety of your view, lips wet and eyes dark. “There you go, baby.” He’s grinning and panting and his fingers are still fucking moving.

You whimper and glance down -- as much as his grip on your jaw will allow -- and the view of his tattooed arm between your thighs, veins pulsing as he fingers you is imprinted in your mind permanently. It’s a never-ending high that goes on for a second too long before Clint finally, finally eases his fingers from you. They’re practically dripping with your release, and he wastes no time bringing them to his glossy mouth.

It’s hypnotic to watch as his lips close around his fingers, nostrils flaring as he sucks them eagerly. They come out clean, and his chest rumbles with a groan. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Fuck.”

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, chest heaving and shirt clinging to sweaty skin. But, there’s finally a moment where your legs feel somewhat solid, and you take advantage of the opportunity, bending your leg to put the bottom of your foot on Clint’s bare chest.

He shoots you a confused but intrigued look, and you respond with a lopsided grin as you push him backward, until he’s the one stumbling to find a spot against the arm of the couch. Faintly, you consider the move would be much sexier with a pair of heels digging into his skin, but this will have to suffice for now. Maybe next time -- if there is a next time, of course.

“Now, what are you up to, baby girl?” Clint is practically vibrating with excitement as you gather the strength to push yourself off the couch, ignoring the slight twitch of your exerted thighs.

“Take your pants off,” you say, with little shame. “Now.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone get undressed so quickly and the hastiness of Clint’s actions leave him with very little coordination. It takes him three tries to get his belt undone, and he pokes himself with the metal prong when his eyes return to glance at you.

Raising a brow, you put your hands on your hips, and he speeds up. The button and zipper take him twice as long, but the sound when he finally tosses his belt and jeans off to the side is well worth the wait.

He licks his lips, looking up at you -- waiting, watching. Your earlier thoughts regarding his legs are heightened tenfold as you take in his toned thighs and hard cock in-between. He’s thick, the bulge pressing against his boxer-briefs making your heart skip a beat. The mere idea of him stretching you open has you growing too impatient for what you have planned.

“Keep going.” You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t sound too shaky.

Clint’s quick fingers make work of the fabric, and you focus on finishing yourself off. You pull your shirt off and let it drop to your feet before your hands move to unhook your bra. You’re barely sliding the straps down your arms when you hear Clint huff, and you look back to him.

“I wanted to do that,” he almost whines, chest puffing.

You roll your eyes but laugh, and toss your bra to him. He catches it with a wink, before throwing it behind him. Immediately, his gaze drags over your chest, excruciatingly slow. You know he’s taking in every inch, every natural mark that decorates your torso. Normally, you’d feel odd being examined so closely while still being at a decent distance -- but Clint is observant and his eyes are hungry.

Finally, his dark eyes reconnect with yours. “You gonna come sit or should I just grab you?” His tone is playful and daring, but you hear the hint of arousal that suggests he wouldn’t be opposed to tugging you into his arms. You don’t have time for games anymore, though, so you stand between Clint’s legs, and he pats his thigh playfully.

“Hmm…” You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes glistening with mischief. “Not yet…”

You make your descent to your knees perfectly paced, fluttering your lashes as you look up to Clint from between his thighs. He cusses and his arms fall limply to his side as he resigns himself to the torture he knows you’ll be sure to deliver.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you tease, fingers sliding up his thigh. Your nails against his skin have him tensing, muscles quivering.

He groans, and tosses his head back. “That was before I made you cum. Just wanna fuck you now -- make you shake again.”

You pinch him. “Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Barton. You should know that.” But, you still let your palm graze over his hard cock, twitching at your touch. He’s firm and warm, and when your fingers wrap around his length, you realize how deliciously thick he is, filling your grasp fully. The length is there too, just enough to not be intimidating, but the girth has your core throbbing.

“Fuck, Clint,” you groan, giving a slow jerk of your wrist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He’s pulsing in your hand, skin flushed and precum beginning to drip from the head of his cock. It coats your hand on the second stroke, easing the drag. Soon enough, he’s practically glistening, and your mouth waters. You have to taste him.

He calls your name, voice trembling, as your tongue darts out to flatten against his tip. “Oh God, please.” He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his tensing thighs, and you’d grin if you weren’t taking him deeper into your mouth. Another part of the burning, fervid desire deep in your veins lights up as your lips wrap around him -- tongue greedy for more as it laps everything it can reach. A growl reverberates through his entire body, and the sound makes your thighs clench.

You spare him a glance, and he looks destroyed. Sweat gathers on his forehead and the veins in his arm pulse as he grips the cushions to stay steady. Sane. Calm.

His knuckles are white and you relieve them by grabbing his left hand in your own, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. He’s squeezing you like you’re his lifeline, and you reward him with your free hand around his base.

“Fuck fuck, I’ll cum too fast with you doing that,” Clint grunts, and you watch his chest heave as he tries to steady his breathing.

You pull off him with a line of spit, breaking it with your hand as you use the saliva to glide your fingers. He’s still throbbing, and you trace his underside vein with your wet thumb. “I thought that was the point, right?” You repeat his words from earlier with a grin, pressing a kiss against his thigh as your hand speeds up. He’s so close and he needs it so badly, but he finally pulls his hand from yours to grab your moving wrist.

“Not until I fuck you.” He pants, and begrudgingly removes your hold from his cock. “And a couple times, at the very least.”

Your heart races at the mere thought of as many rounds as you can handle, with Clint making you cum again and again. Still, you stand slowly, silently hoping he’ll push you back to your knees and cum down your throat.

But he doesn’t. He watches closely as you straighten out, and you quickly move to straddle him. “Fine, but you’ll let me ride you, understood?” Your thighs brush over him with the lightest touch, and with just one solid movement, you could have him sinking into you. But, you wait. You watch as he swallows heavily, eyes hooded.

Clint gives you a lopsided smile. “No complaints here, babe.” And with that, you reach down to hold his length, pressing the tip against your clenching, wet, core. He gasps, but you shift just slightly, until he bumps your clit. It’s too much and too little all at once, and you let out a soft cry as he jerks upward, precum coating the swollen nub. You reward yourself with one more drag down from your clit before letting the head of his cock push into you.

You’re immediately clenching around his length, and Clint’s calloused fingertips dig into your hips as he helps steady you. It only takes a couple breaths and a slow spread of your thighs to take him fully, arousal coating his cock quickly. He barely holds himself back from rutting into you right away, but you rock your hips and grip his shoulders regardless.

“Fuck,” he half-groans, half-whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Your nails dig into his skin as you roll again, letting out an incoherent babble of his name as your clit gains friction from his own warm body. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your thigh onto his, and it has you shuddering. It’s so dirty and your fingers move to Clint’s hair, desperately clinging at the long strands. His forehead presses to yours, and he smells like the most dangerous concoction of sweat, cologne, and mint toothpaste you’ve ever had the honor of inhaling.

You join in an almost-kiss that’s all teeth, but he brushes his tongue against your cupid’s bow in a much gentler way, and you know he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine in reaction. He squeezes your hip gently in reassurance, and then his grip on you tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but you can feel the years of arm workouts, and you know there’s no way to escape -- as if you’d ever want to.

Clint’s knee jerks and then he’s thrusting up into you with such force it leaves you breathless. He holds you down and all you can do is gasp and hold him tighter as he pushes into you harder and faster. Every shift provides a new angle and friction as his tip stimulates your sensitive walls.

Your thighs shake desperately and you can hear the wet slap each of his movements provide as you coat his cock in warm slick. He grins at the sight, one hand drifting from your hip until it reaches your throbbing clit.

“Look at you,” he coos and punctuates the words with a rough circle of his thumb.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, but the lack of Clint’s hold gives you a second to grind against him. He grunts as you do, and you chuckle breathlessly against his parted lips.

“And look at you.”

He retorts by way of another rub against your clit, and your laughter quickly turns to a drawn-out moan.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to cum.” He pants between every word, but he’s determined to deliver the compliment that makes your face too warm. You’re not sure how he knows you’re so close -- it must be way more embarrassingly obvious than you thought -- but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s letting his cock drag inside you slowly, with a hard thrust every few seconds. Not when the pressure on your clit is changing so rapidly you can’t breathe.

When you do cum, with a broken cry and shaking torso, Clint doesn’t let up. He goes faster, harder. It’s a never-ending high that turns your brain to mush, and your body into even less. Your thighs burn and your toes curl but all you can feel is the delicious length buried deep inside you.

It’s only during the beginning of the cool down that you tug a little harder on Clint’s hair, and roll your hips a little more. “C’mon, Clint, please. Please fill me up.” His chest rumbles against yours with a throaty growl, and you continue to ride out your orgasm as he fucks into you with a few more desperate, shaky thrusts.

He cums in you thick and warm, with a groan of your name. It tumbles from his lips sinfully, and you commit the sound to memory. The rasp of his tone and the sight of his wet, swollen lips.

It’s not until he eases out of you slowly, and you feel the drip down your thigh that you’re grounded and reminded of exactly where you are. On a multi-thousand dollar couch. Owned by Tony Stark.

“Oh my god, Clint.”

His eyes are closed and you’re sure he’s about three seconds from sleeping for eighteen hours, but he manages a tired smirk. “I know. That was good.”

“No! I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He half-opens one eye. “What?”

“I think we stained the couch.” A quick glance between Clint’s thighs all but confirms it, and you’re not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the very large wet spot staining the blended fabric.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now. After everything that just happened.”

You playfully slap his shoulder as you roll onto the cushion next to him with a huff. He nudges you back with his arm before clearing his throat, and letting out a butchered impression of your voice. “Oh Clint! Your dick was just so amazing!-”

“Oh my god!” You cover your face but nothing stops the laughter that rumbles through your chest -- even if he’s got your tone completely wrong. He just chuckles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side with a sigh.

“How much do you think we’ll owe Tony by the end of the day?” He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, but presses a chaste kiss to your hair. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t planned out every surface we still need to fuck on before they get back?”

“Clint!”

“See, you keep screaming my name but for all the wrong reasons.” Now you can feel his grin against the top of your head, and it comes into view as he stands with you still in his grasp. You’re not sure how he maneuvers it, but he’s got you in his arms before you can even blink, and the look he sends you tells you not to complain or even question it. He’s not even out of breath -- all things considered -- and when you glance in the direction he’s heading, your eyes widen.

“You have got to be joking…” You squirm in his arms as he sets you down on the table used for almost every meeting, and the mere thought of defiling it forever makes you squeeze your legs together shyly.

But, Clint is quick to spread them, all with a cocky grin and a far too confident tone.

“I don’t know about you…” He begins, as his fingers trail up your thigh. “But I think we could reach ten thousand by midnight.”

If you distantly hear FRIDAY warn adamantly against it -- neither of you mention it.

“Better get started then, Barton.”

---

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fanfic-she-wrote · 3 years

Text

Imagine being the reincarnation of Dracula's long lost love: part 2

Part 2 to this imagine:

https://classic-movie-imagines.tumblr.com/post/628840508622553088/imagine-being-the-reincarnation-of-count-draculas

It was supposed to just be a dabble, but a lot of you guys liked it. I also kind of wanted to continue it myself. It takes off before the carriage fight scene at the beginning of Dracula AD 1972. Part 3 coming up! 😄 Hope you like it!

You stumbled out of the castle, Dracula's pained expression still fresh in your mind. When he saw you he looked so unbearably sad. You hadn't expected such an expression from someone that was supposed to be a monster, an expression that was very human. All of a sudden, an agonizing howl could be heard emanating from the dark depths of the castle. Something inside you wanted to go back, but Van Helsing held onto your hand tight as he lead you into the nearby forest.

Once you and Van Helsing were at a safe distance, you turned to him and asked, "what did he mean, Lawrence?" He paused, staring at you, looking hesitant.

"Lawrence?"

"There is a legend," he began. "That before Dracula became a vampire, he had a wife. Not much is known about her. Some speculate that she died during childbirth. Others say it was murder."

" What do you think it was?" You ask, pressing him for more information.

"I can't say for sure, but whatever it was, it was enough to drive Dracula to the edge. He became a ruthless warlord and was supposedly killed during a battle, but we know otherwise." Lawrence said, quickly glancing at the castle in the distance over his shoulder, a dark red moon hung over it making it appear all the more menacing.

"So, he thinks...Im his wife?" You ask, pointing to yourself. " That's impossible! I wasn't around then."

Van Helsing nods. "My dear, anything is possible. But, nevertheless he does. Now that he's seen you, he'll do everything in his power to get you back." He said as you walked through the forest to the nearby town.

Secretly, you sort of wanted him to find you. He intrigued you, and you wanted to know more about him, not just from Van Helsing told you. That and he was very attractive, his eyes entranced you the most. Something about them seemed... familiar.

You arrived at the inn you were staying at with your mentor, Lawrence Van Helsing. He taught you all the lore about monsters and cryptids, vampires obviously intriguing you the most. He was reluctant to bring you along on this case, but you insisted. Now, he really wished he hadn't. If only he had left you in London where you were safely out of Dracula's grasp. He didn't want the same fate to happen to you as he had seen it happen with so many others. He...he...well that didn't matter. You didn't share the same feelings anyway.

"It's nearly dawn. I doubt he'll try anything now. You should get some rest Y/N." Lawrence said, walking you to your room. You suddenly yawned, not realizing how tired you were until now. You turned to face him.

"You too Lawrence." You said knowing he probably wouldn't anyway.

"I'll try. " He assured you with a faint smile.

"Well goodnight--er good morning?" You scratched your head, unsure what term to use. You weren't use to such a strange schedule. He chuckled.

"Sleep well Y/N." Lawrence said, softly brushing a stray hair out of your face before turning and heading towards his own room.

You noticed that Lawrence was acting strangely towards you lately. He seemed to become more withdrawn, which troubled you. He was normally a very warm, welcoming man. Sometimes, he looked like he was going to say something, but then would change his mind. You didn't want to bother him so you never brought it up.

You changed into your sleepwear and fell upon the mattress, sinking into it as though it were quicksand. It didn't take you long to drift off to sleep, your thoughts wondering off to the mysterious vampire alone in his castle...

#dracula x reader #hammer dracula #christopher lee #van helsing x reader #x reader #reader insert #classic movie imagines

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earthfire-75 · 3 years

Text

Kashmir

Chapter One, Part Two: Kashmir (The Trick is to Keep Breathing)

Author’s notes: co-written with @nature-and-music , beta-ed by @lady-jane-revisited

A lopsided smile tugged at his lips, “I’ll get them for you.”

“No thank you Robert, Grant gave me the money and I’ll pay for it.”

“Oh please, just one of them then?”

I shook my head, “No it’s fine. Besides, we need to head back.”

He pursed his lips and huffed, “Alright, if you say so.”

The purchase was completed and it was time to head out, however Robert was speaking to the woman behind the counter; or flirting no less. She nodded her head and wrote something down on a note by the dresses that he brought to her.

“Thank you darlin’, have a pleasant rest of your day.”

I chuckled, “Giving her the number to your hotel room?”

“Not exactly, Anjelika. Come on we better hurry, the party’s going to start soon and you still need to do your hair and makeup,” he informed.

Somewhere along the line, we lost the other three band members. Robert took me to the hotel they were staying at, figuring they would all meet up there anyway. He let me borrow his bathroom to change and do my hair and makeup.

“What kind of party is it? Formal or informal?”

“Well, I’m wearing a suit, if that helps?”

I rolled my eyes. “Ok.” I picked out the longer dress and started getting ready. I could hear Robert rummaging around in the other room and assumed he was doing the same. I just finished when Robert knocked on the door.

“I need the mirror, love. Gotta comb out my hair and beard.”

I flung the door open, grabbing the comb from the counter. “Don’t you dare take a comb to those curls! Tell me you have a pick.”

He swallowed. “Technically? I left it at home?”

I didn’t say anything else, but grabbed his hand and pulled him out to the common room and to the couch. I then sat, pulling him down next to me. It was then I noticed what suit he was wearing, and still with his beard. Fuck! He wasn’t yet wearing the jacket, but he had the vest on and the top two or three bottoms of his shirt were left undone. Now it was my turn to swallow hard as I leaned in with the comb to fix his beard. Then I started to run my fingers through his hair carefully.

“If you forget your pick again, use your fingers, not a comb or brush. You could ruin your curls otherwise.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Good. Now, we should probably get going.”

We both stood and, as Robert grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch, we left the hotel room and headed downstairs. “The party is being held in the hotel restaurant,” Robert informed me.

At first, the party seemed more like a meet and greet with the other roadies and their tour manager, who seemed unimpressed that I was “some bird” Jimmy picked up off the street. But none of the boys were having it. Robert happily reassured the crew that I was indeed more than “some bird,” that in fact I was assigned to be a part of the touring as well. To be equipped with the behind the scene matters and the roadies would simply need to learn to live with this sudden change. Being the new kid in town was never easy, and I was feeling beyond self conscious about this, however I had to keep my intrusive thoughts at bay. New learning opportunities would be coming up and it was all a matter of learning the ropes. Even if a fair amount of the crew thought of me as another to be shared among the members of the band, especially with Robert since he had locked arms with me.

The party started off fairly quiet at first as we all sat down at our tables to listen to a congratulatory speech from Grant. He had nothing but high expectations for everyone involved and that this tour would be bigger and heavier than the previous one. I felt a hand touch my lap and I followed the arm to see Robert’s concerned expression. I gave him a little smile to reassure him that I was alright. The last thing that I needed to do was interrupt Peter in the middle of his talk, and right before my first day no less.

A line was formed as everyone made their way to be serviced by the chefs. All manner of succulent cuts of meat, freshly cooked fish, bubbling champagne, and assorted hors d'oeuvres were ready to be served. Everything looked so delicious and oh so appetizing, I just simply couldn’t believe my eyes. As we stood in line, I overheard Jonesy and Jimmy mention something, although it was hard to hear amongst the chatter of Robert talking to Bonzo.

“How do you suppose they’ll feel about touring?” Jimmy asked.

Jonesy shrugged, “Well, hopefully their antics won’t take away from the show. And your guitars won’t get demolished as well.”

Jimmy scowled, “If he even thinks about touching any of my guitars, I’ll bash his head in!”

“If you do, she’ll end up giving you a black eye. You know that she has a bit of a ‘short’ temper,” the bassist chuckled. “Besides, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Well you're the bass guitar player, none of your things will be obliterated,” Jimmy whined.

Bonzo joined in, “Not unless a certain someone decides to shove a cherry bomb in the strings.”

Jonesy smiled and rolled his eyes, “Well I suppose I’ll just need to stand close to Thunderfingers won’t I?”

Guitars being destroyed? Cherry bombs? My curiosity peaked, however I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation. At least not until I knew a little more of what or who they were referring to. We made our way to the table and enjoyed our delicious food and sparkling drinks. The champagne flowed like rain down our throats as the appetizing meals made our mouths water. A few questions were directed to me regarding how I was feeling about the new job and I answered honestly.

I smiled meekly, “Well I’m very excited about this. This is going to be something different for me for sure, but I’ll do my best.”

“You will darlin’, you will,” Robert smirked as he patted my hand. “So how long have you been playing and singing?”

“Well, for a while actually. I just picked up a few lessons from my dad and just… learned a bit on my own.”

Jimmy noted, “I did a bit of session work when I was a lad. Learned a few things myself along the way.”

Robert butted in, “Well I hope we can hear more of your singing and playing while on tour. I think you’ll sound wonderful, and the audience will love it.”

I felt myself clam up a bit at the prospect of playing before a live audience, even though it was a touching notion on Robert’s part. I didn’t think it was necessary to get myself even more involved than necessary, especially since a fair amount of the road crew weren't exactly pleased with me being here. I gave Robert a little smile and a shrug and let him know that we could put that idea on the back burner.

“I’m curious though…who were the three of you talking about earlier? You mentioned something about guitars being destroyed?” I asked. I had hoped they would have said more by now, but since they hadn’t and my curiosity was getting the better of me…I had to ask.

Jonesy laughed a little. “Interesting wording. We were talking about another band who will be touring with us. Interestingly enough, they are called The Who. They’ve got a habit of destroying their equipment. Jimmy was concerned it might spill over to ours as well.”

I know of them, of course and of that particular habit, though I had thought they had stepped doing so by this time. Then again, it's a different universe, likely also a different timeline. “I see,” I said instead. Looking at Bonzo, I got his attention. It was as good a time as any to talk to him, but I didn’t know what the other boys knew.

“Bonzo? Can we talk? Alone?”

“Uh, sure. Looks like there’s a spot at the bar surprisingly clear of people.”

We got up from the table and walked over to the bar, ordering ourselves a drink before I started the conversation, but Bonzo beat me to it.

“So…yer a Nightbane too?” He asked with such nonchalance.

“Yeah, I am. So are you. Do they know?”

“Yeah, they do. Rob found out first. He was there during my Becoming. Scared the daylights out of ‘im, but it was like he still knew it was me. Jimmy found it ‘fascinating’. Jonesy took it the worst, almost left the band when he first found out. But he came around.”

I nodded in acknowledgment and downed my drink. How did the fact that they all knew Bonzo was a Nightbane make it both a relief and up my anxiety about them finding out I was one too? Would they be able to accept the creature beneath as easily as they had with Bonzo? Granted my other form wasn’t monstrous in the traditional sense, yet, I still worried it would scare them off at best.

Bonzo smiles a little. “Don’t worry, Jonesy might freak out a little, but I really don’t think you need to worry about Rob and Jimmy at all.”

“Thanks, Bonzo.”

Someone cleared their throat behind us and we turned to see Robert. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but the other bands just showed up. I thought you might like to meet them, Anjelika.”

He stepped to the side and I found the members of The Who standing there, looking at me. I knew each of them by name and face, even as they introduced themselves, though I did a double take as my eyes landed on the shortest member. There, with the same blue eyes I had seen so many times before, was a very feminine looking Roger Daltrey. Now I know I’m not in my own universe…

“Rogina Daltrey,” she introduced herself to me, her blue eyes never leaving mine.

“Anjelika,” I responded back with a smile and she in return gave me a smirk.

“Bonzo!” Keith uttered, a drink in one hand as he hugged his fellow drummer, “You gained a few stones since last I saw you.”

Bonzo rolled his eyes as he chortled, holding his head in a strong arm grip. Keith complained that his champagne would fall out, but that didn’t stop Bonzo from treating him like a sibling. “Moonie, why don’t you and the lads say hello to our new friend here, yeah?”

John and Pete made their acquaintances, Keith was able to give her a little wave of his hand until Bonzo finally let him go and gave him a good slap on the back.

“You’ll have to excuse Keith, he’s a bit loonie as you can see,” Pete explained. “So what brings you here?”

“Well I’ll be going on tour with the band, and it looks like I’ll be seeing you four as well.”

Rogina interjected, “Is that right? What will you be doing?”

“A roadie, so I’ll be around helping with getting everything ready,” I mentioned.

“She might even do a bit of performing as well,” Robert mentioned proudly.

I was silent as The Who stared at me, my throat becoming dry. I tried to play off his comment as a joke, “Good one Robert. He’s just kidding-”

Rogina tilted her head as she looked at me, “Are you sure? Because if you can sing, we’d love to hear you.”

My heart was pounding, all I could give her was an unsure shrug, “Um, another time… maybe. Say why do you all go get something to eat, the food is very delicious here.”

Keith was already off to find himself a plate, with John closing in behind him. Pete kept himself occupied with discussing business matters with Jimmy and Grant. Rogina on the other hand decided to stay and talk a bit more. Everything about this Roger was pretty much the same: The height, the golden corkscrew curls, ocean blue eyes, toothy grin, muscular arms, and stylish clothing. Still it was odd speaking with her, considering the obvious factors such as a slightly higher register in her voice and the presence of breasts that protruded from her suit.

“So how did you manage to work with Zeppelin?” Rogina asked.

I tried to answer as best as I could, “Oh well… you see Jimmy let me know that a spot was available actually.” I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t tell her that Jimmy had found me like an abandoned cat in an alleyway that he felt sorry for. A little of me to say, but still I couldn’t seem to add that in.

“Is it true what Robert said about you performing? I mean you seemed awfully quiet when he brought it up.”

I sighed at the question, barely keeping myself from pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m quickly learning that Robert's a little like a puppy…very excitable. I played a little bit for them to prove that I know what I’m doing with the guitars. Something came over me and I sang a little bit too. I never agreed to playing in front of anyone else. Let alone in front of a huge audience.”

Rogina’s smile softened at that. “He really is, though I’m sorry to hear you won’t be playing. The offer is always open and I meant what I said, I'd love to hear from you. if you change your mind.”

I returned her smile and I knew I was going to love this version of Roger too. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

G made his way over with a couple other people, one looked vaguely familiar, the other I didn’t recognize. “Anjelika! I want to introduce you to Ahmet Ertegun, owner of Atlantic Records. He’s here to support the boys. And this is Alice Cooper, joining us on the American leg of the tour.”

Both men stuck a hand out for me to shake. I took Ahmet’s first who placed his other hand over mine gently. “I must thank you for joining the road crew, dear. Though, I must admit, I was shocked to hear you were a woman. Forgive me, I mean no offense, it’s just never been done before.”

I smiled at Ahmet, trying not to take offense. It may be a different universe, but apparently the ‘70’s were still the ‘70’s. Turning to Alice, I shook his hand next, barely recognizing him without the makeup.

“I don’t know if shocked is the word I would have used, but I guess I am a little surprised. Didn’t figure I’d see a female roadie for another decade at least. Don’t get me wrong, I love that women are getting more and more involved in rock. And if anyone gives you any shit, just say the word.”

My smile grew wider at Alice’s genuine words. “Thank you, I appreciate that. Though, I assure you, I can handle myself.”

“I’m certain you can, but the offer is still on the table. I would like to stay and get to know you a little more, but I need to get back to my girlfriend. It was nice meeting you, Anjelika.”

“I’m sure there will be time to get to know each other more on the road and it was nice to meet you too.”

“Fair enough. See you tomorrow, then.” And with that he was off. G and Ahmet soon excused themselves to go talk to the boys and I was left at the bar once more with Rogina next to me.

Rogina sighed, “I know this must be all new to you. Believe me that being a woman involved in rock and roll seems to weird people out, especially guys.”

I gave her a reassuring grin, “Yeah, I’m sure you probably have gone through a lot.”

Rogina took a sip of her flute, “I may have a few stories. One of them involves Keith actually.”

I leaned in, “What happened?”

“Well let’s just say he thought that he could get away with copping a feel. He lost a couple of teeth that night,” Rogina chuckled. “The bastard will never live that moment down.”

I wasn’t sure if I could share a laugh with Rogina, even though she was able to find humor in such a terrible situation. All I could muster was a nervous smile and a nod.

Rogina took another sip of her champagne, rested her head on her palm, and pondered, “So is this your first time working with Zeppelin?”

“Yes actually. And I hope that I��ll do alright while on tour,” I admitted.

“I think you will,” Rogina claimed with a warm smile. “So what would you like to drink? The champagne is alright, but I think I’ll get a whiskey instead.”

I was taken aback, “Oh well… a beer sounds good.”

Truthfully, a Nightbane could easily drink any of these mortals under the table. As to how I would do against Bonzo, a fellow Nightbane, well that would be a matter for another day. Still I was grateful knowing that Bonzo could understand, and hopefully the remainder of Zeppelin, Who, and Cooper would as well. However it was too early to let the rest of them know. In time I would say something, only when the moment felt right.

As we waited for our drinks, I felt a strange looming presence behind me. My throat went dry the moment I turned around to see John Entiwistle, the Ox himself, towering over the two of us. Rogina on the other hand casually remarked, “I thought you were supposed to be babysitting our dear boy.”

“Well quite frankly I need a break from him,” John mentioned with a deep chortle. “I think as long as nothing blows up tonight, he’ll tire himself out eventually.” He gestured to the bartender and asked for a glass of cognac.

Rogina nodded and asked him, “Where did Pete go?”

“Probably talking some poor bastard’s ear off about Lifehouse,” he laughed.

“Oh come on John, the man just wants to share his work to the world,” Rogina noted.

John leaned in towards me, “She says that, but even she gets tired of his songs about teenage angst.”

Rogina scowled at him, “I do not.”

John raised his eyebrows, “Keep telling yourself that Rog. It was Anjelika right?”

I nodded, “Yes John.”

He responded with a handshake, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you as well”, I responded with a return of his handshake. “I take Keith's handful?”

Rogina and John laughed. “That’s putting it mildly some days.” John admitted.

“I swear the man can’t not cause trouble in some fashion or another for even a few hours.” Rogina adds.

“I think there’s some unspoken rule that drummers are all crazy,” I chuckled.

“That explains everything, actually.” John said with a chuckle of his own. Rogina just shook her head.

I looked up to see the time on a clock on the wall. Midnight. Where had the time gone? “I should head up to get some sleep, I want to be up early to grab a few things I forgot earlier today from the drug store across the way. Besides, I’m assuming the roadies will be up earlier than the bands to pack up the buses.” Downing the last of my beer, I shook John’s hand again. “It was nice meeting you.” I set the empty bottle on the bar and left a few bills before turning to Rogina. “Thank you for the beer.”

She surprised me by pulling me into a hug instead of giving me a handshake. “Any time. And I’ll add to what Alice said earlier. Anyone gives you any trouble, let me know, I’ll kick their ass.”

“Thank you. But I really need to go.” With that I went to find G to figure out where I would sleep tonight. I found him still with the boys, though it appeared that Ahmet had left. I explained to G that I wanted to get to bed and why, but it was Robert who interjected.

“You can stay in my room for tonight,” Robert offered. “The rest of your things are still there from earlier.”

I had forgotten about that. Hesitantly I nodded in agreement, even if I was worried about what the other roadies, especially Cole, might say. “Alright, as long as this doesn’t become a habit. Just for tonight.”

I could see the disappointment behind Robert’s eyes, but he agreed. “Here, take my key, just leave the door unlocked so I can get in later.”

Nodding, I took the key and thanked him before heading upstairs to the room, getting as comfortable on the couch as I could.

@brownskinsugarplum76 @m-faithfull @jimmys-zeppelin @lady-jane-revisited @firethatgrewsolow @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @callmethehunter @tremble-and-shake @tophats-n-lespauls @princesspagey @tangerine-page

#led zeppelin fanfics #robert plant fanfiction #the who fanfiction #roger daltrey fanfiction #fem!roger daltrey #alice cooper fanfic #robert plant x reader x roger daltrey #no smut #yet

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cicada-bones · 3 years

Text

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 6: The Forgotten Child

Sorry about that last cliffhanger! (though I hope my speedy update will help! I start school again this week - so I knew I needed to get this out before my workload started to pile up again)

Please let me know what you think! I know im really bad about replying to comments, but I promise I love and appreciate every single one ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

word count: 6619

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

As they entered, Aedion rose from his seat at the kitchen table. It seemed he had spent the past hour just sitting around, waiting for them. And stewing. However, now that he had finally removed his cloak, Rowan could actually get a good look at the young demi-Fae.

He was tall, over six feet, and surprisingly well-muscled. He wasn’t ambidextrous, but from the way he carried himself, it seemed as though his swordsmanship might be just as proficient off the left side as the right. And he had this certain…arrogance, a weight in his step and a glint in his eyes, that told Rowan he’d been winning his fights for perhaps a bit too long.

And those eyes, those Ashryver eyes – they were so like Aelin’s that Rowan almost felt they might even be twins. Along with that golden hair, the hard cheekbones, and those broad shoulders – Aelin and Aedion were two side of the same gold coin.

Though Rowan didn’t think he would’ve ever expected to discover that Aelin was the tamer side of that coin.

The second Rowan appeared at Aelin’s side, he felt Aedion’s gaze lock with his. And the challenge that burned in it had not dimmed one bit.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. But he felt sighing. With everything they were facing, with the King and the Valg and Arobynn and the keys and everything, the gods still had to go and foist another Fenrys on him?

Aedion’s eyes flicked over him, appraising. “You never bothered to tell me how handsome your faerie prince is, Aelin.”

She scowled, and a muscle in Rowan’s jaw pulsed. But before he could speak, Aedion was jutting his chin at him and saying, “Tomorrow morning, you and I are going to train on the roof. I want to know everything you know.”

Aelin clicked her tongue. “All I’ve heard from your mouth these past few days is Prince Rowan this and Prince Rowan that, and yet this is what you decide to say to him? No bowing and scraping?”

Aedion just sat back down, his smirk plastered to his face.

Yep, just like Fenrys.

“If Prince Rowan wants formalities, I can grovel, but he doesn’t look like someone who particularly cares.”

Well, if this was the game the young wolf wished to play, Rowan could certainly oblige him. So he made sure his face was carefully blank before he replied. “Whatever my queen wants.”

The scent of pepper and burnt wood was so strong Rowan could practically feel Aelin’s irritation. But still, he didn’t tear his eyes away from the young warrior-prince.

And Aedion just stared right back, stared as if he were used to everyone quickly looking away, stared as if this was the first time his power had been truly questioned in years. And it made Rowan realize that Aedion had actually expected that Rowan would yield to him. Without a fight.

If they were in Doranelle – or actually even if they were just outside, and not in this tiny wooden box where neither of them could escape Aelin’s watchful gaze – Rowan would make the demi-Fae pay for his insolence.

He wouldn’t kill him – no, just teach the warrior-prince a lesson he would be unlikely to forget.

It didn’t matter that Aedion was her family, didn’t matter that Aelin might care for her cousin more than she did for Rowan. Didn’t matter that she and Aedion had so much more history, or that they carried each other’s scents – Rowan was her bloodsworn. Her carranam.

Rowan was Aelin’s Second until she informed him otherwise. And Aedion would have to learn to accept that. Just as Rowan would accept whatever place Aelin decided that Aedion would take in her court. Even if that place was in her bed.

Rowan heard the brush of fabric as Aelin leaned against the sink, folding her arms tight against her chest. “If you’re going to have a pissing contest, can you at least do it on the roof?”

Once again, Rowan was the one to break their stare, turning to look at Aelin with his brows raised. Pissing contest?

She just frowned at him. Don’t kill my cousin, please.

“She says we’re no better than dogs,” Aedion said, filling the silence. “So I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually believes we’d piss on her furniture.”

But as he spoke, the warrior-prince’s scent wafted over Rowan, and this time, it was easy to smell Aelin on him. To pick the scent apart, note by note, and sense every emotion, every facet.

Rowan could taste the snow on him, the winds of Terrasen. Could taste the years of the sweat and blood of battle. Could even taste the Fae blood pumping through his veins – the wildness, and the magic. And then Rowan got that feeling again, that feeling of something familiar…something he just couldn’t quite place.

That familiar thing wasn’t Aelin after all. It was something else – someone else…

“Aedion needs a bath, too, I know,” Aelin said, noticing his strange concentration.. “He insisted on smoking a pipe at the taproom. He said it gave him an air of dignity.”

Rowan tilted his head to the side, sniffing at the air, only barely registering Aelin’s words.

Aedion realized that Rowan was scenting him, and he shifted in his seat, his face twisting into a concerned, inquisitive expression. A look that Rowan knew very well. It was an expression he had seen thousands of times before, in hundreds of planning sessions, war councils, or in casual conversations over a few drinks.

A look he had seen on Gavriel’s face. And the missing piece of that familiar scent fell into place.

The fur, the warmth – the young wolf in front of him was the son of the Lion.

The words came slow. “Your mothers were cousins, Prince, but who sired you?”

Aedion didn’t shift an inch. “Does it matter?”

“Do you know?” Rowan pressed.

Aedion shrugged. “She never told me – or anyone.”

Aelin was catching on far more quickly than her cousin. “I’m guessing you have some idea?” she hedged.

Rowan turned to look at her. “He doesn’t look familiar to you?”

“He looks like me.”

“Yes, but – ” Rowan sighed. “You met his father. A few weeks ago. Gavriel.”

Rowan thought he might be able to hear a pin drop – in the next town over.

Shock billowed through the room like clear smoke, and all three of them were completely, perfectly still. Rowan could practically hear the gears turning in Aelin’s mind as she worked through it, piecing it all together – the timelines, the heightened strength, the strange way Gavriel had acted while at Mistward –

“He asked me,” Aelin murmured. “He asked me how old I was, and seemed relieved when I said nineteen.”

Rowan only nodded. He remembered that time for himself, that time two decades earlier.

Rowan and Lorcan had been off, representing their Queen somewhere in the far East. In a court that had treated them well, but bored them to tears. Gavriel, however, had been in Varese. Where he had obviously met Aedion’s mother, and gotten her with child.

Then abandoned her, and never spoke of her again.

Aedion’s voice was hoarse as he finally spoke. “The Lion is my father?”

Rowan just nodded at the young general, at the son of his oldest friend. This would change everything.

“Does he know?”

“I bet seeing Aelin was the first time he wondered if he’d sired a child with your mother. He probably still doesn’t have any idea, unless that prompted him to start looking…”

As he spoke, for the first time, Rowan found himself considering his own history.

For over two hundred years, he’d traveled the world. Bedding without thought, without consequence. It was difficult for the Fae to conceive, that was true. But for all he knew, he had a child waiting for him out there somewhere.

Rowan had never felt more reckless and irresponsible than he did in that moment, looking at the child that Gavriel had left behind.

That kind, compassionate male, the leader who had tattooed the names of his fallen men on his own skin, had thoughtlessly abandoned his own son. If Gavriel had been capable of that, than what had Rowan been capable of? Cold, heartless male that he had been?

Aedion was just looking back at him. But this time, the stare was made of nothing – no fire, no challenge. It was empty. And Aelin seemed to be getting worried. She moved towards the table, her hand reaching out to brush her cousin’s. The touch soft, gentle.

Their eyes met, and Rowan couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that cut through him. “This changes nothing,” Aelin said, her expression open, and kind. “About who you are, what you mean to me. Nothing.”

There was a moment of silence while Aelin brushed her thumb over the back of Aedion’s hand, trying to give him what small comfort he could. It made Rowan’s heart ache.

Suddenly, she pivoted back to face him. “What does this mean where Maeve is concerned? Gavriel is bound through the blood oath, so would she have a claim on his offspring?”

“Like hell she does,” Aedion spat.

Rowan paused for a moment, considering. His voice was gentle when he spoke. “I don’t know. Even if she thought so, it would be an act of war to steal Aedion from you.”

“This information doesn’t leave this room,” Aelin said, calm and calculating. “It’s ultimately your choice, Aedion, whether to approach Gavriel. But we have enough enemies gathering around us as it is. I don’t need to start a war with Maeve.”

But she would. She would start a war for him, if he asked her to. Rowan could see it in her eyes. And he couldn’t help but wonder if she would do the same for him.

“It stays with us,” Aedion managed to choke out, his voice rough. Once again, the boy’s eyes met his - that challenge smoldering there once again.

But this most recent stand-off didn’t last particularly long.

Aelin clicked her tongue at them. “Stop doing that alpha-male nonsense. Once was enough.”

Rowan didn’t so much as blink. “I’m not doing anything,” he said, perhaps a little too innocently.

“Insufferable,” Aelin muttered, giving Rowan a playful shove. “Are you actually going to get into a pissing contest with every person we meet? Because if that’s the case, then it’ll take us an hour just to make it down one block of this city, and I doubt the residents will be particularly happy.”

Rowan finally turned away from Aedion, letting their stare break with a near-audible snap. He did Aedion the courtesy of pretending not to hear his quiet, relieved sigh.

Particularly as Aelin was truly getting annoyed with him. I thought I asked you to leave my cousin alone.

You just told me not to kill him, not that I had to leave him alone.

Aelin’s frown deepened as she crossed her arms, waiting.

Rowan pursed his lips. “It’ll take time to adjust to a new dynamic,” he admitted, somewhat reluctantly.

Aelin seemed almost shocked that he’d said even that much. Rowan grumbled at her.

Aedion, however, was riding a high. Rowan could hear the blood thrumming in his veins, and his muscles were stretched tight as a drum in that chair he was pretending to lounge in. “Aelin never said anything about sending for you.”

Rowan’s eyes slid back to the wolf’s, icy and intent. “Does she answer to you, General?”

Aelin just rolled her eyes, obviously deciding to treat the tension building between the two males as if it didn’t exist. “You know he didn’t mean it that way, so don’t pick a fight, you prick.”

Aedion stiffened, catching the insinuation beneath Aelin’s statement. And now Rowan had to hide a victorious smile.

If she was asking Rowan to stand down, then it was because she was worried that Rowan would hurt Aedion. Meant that she thought Aedion was the one who needed protecting, that Aedion was the lesser warrior.

But Aelin probably didn’t know that – and she had never been a bloodsworn warrior either. So no matter how loyal, no matter how caring or compassionate, she had no idea the lengths to which Rowan would go to keep her safe. No idea how solidly, how permanently, he stood behind her. Even on the smallest of things.

“I’m blood-sworn to you,” Rowan tried to explain, “Which means several things, one of which being that I don’t particularly care for the questioning of others, even your cousin.”

Before the words were even all the way out, Rowan knew that he had made a mistake.

Aelin had gone pale as a ghost, freezing in place. And Rowan found himself searching for his magic, reaching out to test shields that were no longer there, calling the winds towards him to sense for any unwelcome intruders. But he had no powers to call.

Instead, he scented the air, his mind straining to listen for even the smallest of noises. But there was nothing. Only the sound of Aedion’s ragged breathing.

The wolf was a man whose whole world had come falling about his ears. And he was looking at Aelin with more than just shock, more than just hurt. His eyes were filled with the pain of betrayal.

Of a betrayal so close, so unexpected, that it shattered the very air to pieces.

Rowan found himself preparing to leap in front of Aelin, preparing to rip into the young warrior-prince with everything he had if he made so much as one move towards his queen.

“What did he just say?” The boy’s words were excruciatingly soft.

Aelin squared her shoulders, her words clear and steady. “Rowan took the blood oath to me before I left Wendlyn.”

“You let him do what?”

Aelin raised up her hands, whether to soothe or protect, Rowan wasn’t sure. Nor did he have any idea why the hell Aelin had kept this a secret from her cousin. Though judging by this reaction, she might have simply been scared.

But perhaps…was Aelin ashamed of him?

But her voice didn’t shake. “As far as I knew, Aedion, you were loyally serving the king. As far as I knew, I was never going to see you again.”

“You let him take the blood oath to you?” Aedion was bellowing now, and it took all of Rowan’s self-control to keep from stepping between the two cousins, to keep from lunging at Aedion and knocking him to the floor.

Then, all of a sudden, Aedion was leaping towards the fireplace, his arms reaching towards the trinkets atop the mantelpiece.

But before his fingers got within an inch, Aelin had flung out a vicious finger and was advancing on him, Rowan following close behind. “You break one thing, you shatter just one of my possessions, and I will shove the shards down your rutting throat.”

Aedion spat at her feet, but didn’t move another inch towards the fireplace. “How dare you? How dare you let him take it?”

“I dare because it is my blood to give away; I dare because you did not exist for me then. Even if neither of you had taken it yet, I would still give it to him because he is my carranam, and he has earned my unquestioning loyalty!”

Rowan kept very still.

“And what about our unquestioning loyalty?” Aedion roared, “What have you done to earn that? What have you done to save our people since you’ve returned? Were you ever going to tell me about the blood oath, or was that just another of your many lies?”

Aelin snarled, vicious and intense. And from the look on Aedion’s face, Rowan could tell that he had forgotten she had Fae blood in her too. The idiot.

“Go have your temper tantrum somewhere else.” Aelin said. “Don’t come back until you can act like a human being. Or half of one, at least.”

Aedion just swore at her, foul and filthy, and before Rowan could stop himself he was lunging towards Aedion, knocking aside the furniture hard enough to flip it over –

But then Aelin threw out her hand. Stopping him in his tracks.

Aedion looked at him and laughed, the sound brittle and cold. Then smiled at Rowan in that infuriating, overconfident way. A smile that had started a thousand brawls. A smile that Rowan had seen countless times on Lorcan’s, Fenrys’, and even his own, face.

So Rowan knew exactly what lay behind it. And he also knew exactly how he would strike Aedion down if the wolf pup decided to take it beyond just a smile.

Rowan carefully moved back to the chair, righted it, and sat down, casually as anything. But before Aedion could react, Aelin pointed at the door. “Get the hell out. I don’t want to see you again for a good while.”

Aedion didn’t hesitate before striding over to the front door and flinging it open so hard he nearly ripped it off its hinges. And then it shut behind him with a soft, very final, click.

Silence fell in the apartment as Aedion’s footsteps faded away down the stairs, until Aelin stood and walked into her bedroom, beginning to pace. She didn’t shut the door behind her, so Rowan figured it was alright for him to follow behind her.

After a moment’s consideration, he perched on the edge of the mattress, which was exactly as plush as he’d expected it to be. For long minutes, Aelin didn’t even acknowledge him.

She was turned inwards, her thoughts battling with each other, her scent a raging cloud of anxiety and anger and regret and fear. And Rowan wanted to pummel Aedion into the dirt for making her load any heavier.

His queen carried more burdens than anyone should have to, burdens heavy enough to curve the spine of even the most hardened warrior. Seeing her struggle like this – it was enough that Rowan had to physically force himself to keep from launching himself into the night after that arrogant warrior-prince.

He understood why Aedion was enraged, he really, really did. If Aelin had rejected him in such a way – he would have felt exactly the same. He probably would have felt worse. But never, not in a thousand lifetimes, would he have ever made that reaction her problem.

Rowan wondered if Aedion was always so hot-headed, so volatile, or if this reaction was because the circumstances were so extreme. He wondered if Aedion would make a good King.

Rowan decided to give the male the benefit of the doubt. He owed Aelin that much at the very least – after spending so many weeks thinking the worse of her, without any justification.

Even if that anger, that hatred, had mostly been a reaction to this inexplicable, undeniable feeling, this thing between them. Even then, in Varese, it had been there. And it had scared the shit out of him.

But still, Aelin had always been older than her years. Older and wiser. And by contrast, Aedion just seemed so young. Rowan was sure the male was experienced in war, and even in playing the role he had been forced into in Rifthold’s royal court. But at negotiating? Maneuvering? Compromise? Rallying enemy forces to their cause? Rowan was less sure.

But he had to admit, the wolf was indisputably powerful. The rage and aggression and power that had come off of him – Rowan didn’t think he’d seen its like from any other demi-Fae than Lorcan.

The boy had potential. Potential that Rowan would have to figure out how to harness, to use to their goals. To form the beginnings of Aelin’s royal court. For no matter any reservations Rowan might have about Aedion, it was clear that it would be the three of them who would form its backbone.

Still, Aelin hadn’t ceased her pacing. At this rate, she was in danger of wearing a track into the rug before the fireplace.

“If that’s any indication of what to expect from our court,” Rowan said at last, “then we’ll never have a dull moment.”

Aelin didn’t bother looking over at him, instead flinging out her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Don’t tease me right now.”

Rowan just waited, knowing she was gathering the words, hating that pain and sorrow and guilt on every line of her body. He’d sell his soul to the dark god to never have her look like that again.

Aelin scrubbed at her face, huffed a short sigh. “Every time I turn around,” she said, approaching the bed and leaning against the carved post, “I feel like I’m one wrong move or word away from leading them to ruin. People’s lives – your life – depend on me. There’s no room for error.”

Rowan could offer her nothing but the truth. “You will make mistakes. You will make decisions, and sometimes you will regret those choices. Sometimes there won’t be a right choice, just the best of several bad options. I don’t need to tell you that you can do this – you know you can. I wouldn’t have sworn the oath to you if I didn’t think you could.”

She sat down on the bed next to him, their thighs close enough to touch. This close, Rowan could see every single fleck of gold in her eyes. This close, it almost felt as though her scent enveloped him like a cloud of mist, like a second skin.

And at the moment, that scent was rife with tension and worry and guilt – like layers of sour spice and rotten fruit. But as the two of them sat together, all of that seemed to fade away, a veil being lifted, to reveal true scent beneath. It caressed him, soft as a bedroom whisper.

Aelin shook her head. “It was so much easier being alone.”

“I know,” he said, clamping down on the instinct to sling his arm around her shoulders and tuck her in close. Instead, he tried to focus on the sounds of the city around them, the light rattling of the windowpane in the wind, the patter of vermin in the streets below, the chirping of birds overhead.

One of the first things he’d wanted to do was survey the apartment, to make sure each and every piece of it was completely secure, to familiarize himself with the space. But then he had let himself be distracted, by Aelin, by Aedion – and so the apartment remained unsafe, and unfamiliar.

Rowan sighed at himself. It made him feel…helpless, to have to do everything the old-fashioned way. To not be able to handle things that had been so simple, so basic, with his magic. He felt off-balance. And at a time when being off-balance could be fatal to her.

The minutes ticked passed in quiet companionship.

“I said some appalling things to him,” Aelin said, eventually.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rowan responded, unable to help the growl. “He said some equally appalling things to you. Your tempers are evenly matched.”

She let out a breathy chuckle, her body finally relaxing into the mattress. “Tell me about the fortress – what it was like when you went back to help rebuild.”

So Rowan smiled as he told her about mining stone and remaking the wall, about working with a Malakai who no longer seemed remotely intimidated by him, about repairing the damage done to the base of the castle where the tunnel had lay hidden.

And when he spoke of training Luca, and of Emrys’ request, Aelin was punching him on the arm and scolding him for disappointing her friends like that. “Why didn’t you stay? Luca obviously needed your help!”

Rowan just shook his head, his face darkening. And here it was, the news he’d been avoiding all night. Not wanting to add yet another weight to the pile on her shoulders.

“Just say it,” she said, with a direct, unyielding sort of look. And Rowan wondered if she realized that for all she complained about his alpha nonsense, she was pureblooded alpha herself.

Rowan took a long breath. “Lorcan’s here.”

She straightened. “That’s why you came.”

Rowan nodded. “I caught his scent sneaking around near Mistward and tracked it to the coast, then onto a ship. I picked up his trail when I docked this evening.” Her face was pale, so he added, “I made sure to cover my tracks before hunting you down.”

Aelin still didn’t say anything, just processing. Adjusting. Recalculating.

His former commander would certainly require some recalculation. He could prove completely disastrous. Rowan really needed to make sure the apartment was secure, as soon as possible.

When she remained silent, Rowan continued. “He doesn’t know you well enough to immediately pick up your scent. I’d bet good money that he got on that boat just to drag me here so I’d lead him to you.”

Aelin swore with creative colorfulness. “Maeve probably thinks we’ll also lead him right to the third Wyrdkey. Do you think she gave him the order to put us down – either to get the key, or afterward?”

“Maybe.” The thought was enough to shoot icy rage through him. “I won’t let that happen.”

Her mouth quirked to the side. “You think I could take him?”

“If you had your magic, possibly.”

Irritation rippled in her eyes – enough so that he knew something else nagged at her. “But without magic, in your human form…You’d be dead before you could draw your sword.”

“He’s that good.”

Rowan gave her a slow nod.

She looked him over with an assassin’s eye. “Could you take him?”

“It’d be so destructive, I wouldn’t risk it. You remember what I told you about Sollemere.” Aelin’s face tightened, remembering, even as the thought of having to destroy Lorcan clanged through him. If it ever came to that, Rowan would know things were truly desperate.

Rowan sighed, shoving those worries aside. They were pointless. “Without our magic, it’s hard to call who’d win. It would depend on who wanted it more.” Once, Rowan might have let him win, let Lorcan end him just to put a stop to his own miserable life, but now… “Lorcan makes a move against you, and he dies.”

Aelin didn’t blink at the violence that laced every word. Another part of him – a part that had been knotted from the moment she left – uncoiled like some wild animal stretching out before a fire.

Aelin cocked her head. “Any idea where he’d hide?”

“None. I’ll start hunting him tomorrow.”

“No,” she said. “Lorcan will easily find us without you hunting him. But if he expects me to lead him to the third key so he can bring it back to Maeve, then maybe …” He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. She let out a hum. “I’ll think about that tomorrow. Do you think Maeve wants the key merely to keep me from using it, or to use it herself?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Both, then.” Aelin sighed. “The question is, will she try to use us to hunt down the other two keys, or does she have another one of your cadre out searching for them now?”

“Let’s hope she hasn’t sent anyone else.”

“If Gavriel knew that Aedion is his son…” She glanced toward the bedroom door, guilt and pain flickering on her lovely features. “Would he follow Maeve, even if it meant hurting or killing Aedion in the process? Is her control over him that strong?”

“Gavriel …” He’d seen the warrior with lovers over the centuries, and seen him leave them at Maeve’s order. But he’d also been the only male of his cadre who had stopped that night to help Aelin against the Valg.

“Don’t answer now,” Aelin cut in with a yawn. “We should go to bed.”

Rowan immediately tensed, and as casually as he could, he asked, “Where should I sleep?”

She patted the bed behind them. “Just like old times.”

Rowan clenched his jaw. He’d been bracing himself for this all night – for weeks now. “It’s not like the fortress, where no one thinks twice about it.”

“And what if I want you to stay in here with me?” Aelin’s eyes bore into a him, a completely different kind of challenge than the one set by Aedion. But one equally fraught. And one that burned far hotter.

Carefully, Rowan said, “Then I’ll stay. On the couch. But you need to be clear to the others about what my staying in here means.” There were so many lines that needed to be held.

Aelin was off-limits – completely off-limits, for about a dozen different reasons. The stupidest possible thing he could do would be to give in now, to let that desperate, craving part of himself win out so easily. She wasn’t his to claim.

Aelin only shrugged, irreverent as always. “Then I’ll issue a royal decree about my honorable intentions toward you over breakfast.”

Rowan snorted. And though he didn’t want to, he said, “And – the captain.”

“What about him?” she said, a little too sharply.

“Just consider how he might interpret things.”

“Why?”

She’d done an excellent job of not really mentioning him. But there was enough anger, enough pain in that one word, that Rowan couldn’t back down. “Tell me what happened.”

Aelin didn’t meet his eyes. “He said what occurred here – to my friends, to him and Dorian, while I was away in Wendlyn – that it was my fault. And that I was a monster.”

For a moment, blinding, blistering wrath shot through him. And all he wanted to do was to reach out to her, to brush her hand. To cradle her face.

Rowan stayed frozen in place.

She still wasn’t looking at him as she said, “Do you think – ”

“Never,” he said. “Never, Aelin.”

At last she looked up at him, her eyes as old and tired as her throne. Looking nothing like a girl of nineteen.

“If you’re a monster, I’m a monster,” Rowan said, smiling at her gently, but making sure that his fangs glinted in the candlelight.

She let out a rough laugh, close enough that her breath warmed his face. “Just sleep in the bed,” she said. “I don’t feel like digging up bedding for the couch.”

Maybe it was the laugh, or the silver lining her eyes, but he said, “Fine.”

He was such stupid fool when it came to her. He made himself add, “But it sends a message, Aelin.”

She lifted her brows in a way that usually meant fire was going to start flickering – but none came. Both of them were trapped in their bodies, stranded without magic. He’d adapt; he’d endure.

“Oh?” she purred, and he braced himself for the tempest. “And what message does it send? That I’m a whore? As if what I do in the privacy of my own room, with my body, is anyone’s concern.”

“You think I don’t agree?” His temper slipped its leash. No one else had ever been able to get under his skin so fast, so deep. “But things are different now, Aelin. You’re a queen of the realm. We have to consider how it looks, what impact it might have on our relationships with people who find it to be improper. Explaining that it’s for your safety – ”

“Oh, please. My safety? You think Lorcan or the king or whoever the hell else has it in for me is going to slither through the window in the middle of the night? I can protect myself, you know.”

“Gods above, I know you can.” He’d never been in doubt of that.

Her nostrils flared. “This is one of the stupidest fights we’ve ever had. All thanks to your idiocy, I might add.” She stalked toward her closet, her hips swishing as if to accentuate every word as she snapped, “Just get in bed.”

He tried his best to keep his eyes from following them, and failed completely. Then loosed a tight breath as she and those hips vanished into the closet.

How he would survive the weeks to come holed up in this apartment, he had no idea. What with the antagonistic warrior-prince on one hand, and the irresistible queen on the other – the Fae in this house were far too used to getting their own way.

And the month apart had only seemed to increase his attraction to Aelin. The idea of sleeping at her side, his skin inches from hers – all the blood in his body seemed to rush through him, burning as it went.

This was going to be agony.

Rowan stood from the bed, heading to the bathroom to see if washing his face and readying for bed might make him see sense. The cold water helped, but only barely.

When he returned to the bedroom, Aelin was still in the closet, changing. So Rowan gingerly moved over the plush mattress and slid between the silken sheets. The cloth was filled with her scent – and Rowan couldn’t lie to himself and say that he didn’t love it, being wrapped up in her scent.

Another minute passed, and then Aelin emerged, a smirk on her face, and –

Rowan jolted upright, the bed groaning. “What in hell is that?”

Aelin didn’t pause or look over, but he could feel her satisfaction at his outburst. Instead of deigning to answer the question, she just walked into the bathroom, casual as anything.

Rowan barely heard the sound of the tap turning on, the splash of water as she washed her face. He could barely hear anything over the pounding of his heart.

He tried his best to think of something, anything else. But he couldn’t. That image was burned into his mind like a brand.

Aelin had changed into a delicate pink lace nightgown. There were no sleeves, only thin straps that rested atop her shoulders, while the torturous hemline grazed just below her collarbones, the lace trim fluttering slightly as she walked. And through the thin material, Rowan thought he could just see the shapes of her nipples poking through, right at the peaks of her breasts.

But all of that was nothing, nothing, to the rest of the dress. The nightgown fell over the planes of her stomach, pulling in at her waist and highlighting all of her beautiful curves. And coming to an end right beneath her hips, only barely covering her ass and leaving the entire expanse of her long, muscled legs, completely bare.

Rowan was speechless.

When she returned, her face freshly washed, Rowan finally managed to find his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You forgot the bottom part.”

Aelin ignored him, instead walking about the bedroom and blowing out the candles, one by one by one. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“There is no bottom part,” she said, flinging back the covers on her side. “It’s starting to get so hot, and I hate sweating when I sleep. Plus, you’re practically a furnace. So it’s either this or I sleep naked. You can sleep in the bathtub if you have a problem with it.”

Rowan growled, more frustrated than she would ever know. “You’ve made your point.”

“Hmm.” She slid into bed beside him, making sure to keep a careful distance between them. Something that Rowan vaguely remembered wanting, but for the life of him he couldn’t come up with a single reason why.

His very skin ached with need. The need to reach out, to close the space between their two bodies, to feel her skin beneath his hands, to rip that nightgown to shreds –

Rowan breathed, concentrating on slowly freezing his body in place, locking his muscles tight. He wasn’t a rutting child. And he had some gods-damned self-control.

Aelin settled into bed beside him, and for a long moment, the only sounds in the bedroom were the rustling of fabric on skin. She settled with her back to him, the sharp points of her shoulders poking through the skin, those long, ragged scars prominently on display.

The tattoos he had painstakingly inked only a month before had already started to fade in places, making a few of the characters difficult to read. Likely because it had been into scar tissue. He had to actively stop himself from tracing their shapes, from skimming his fingers over the soft expanse of her back…

Rowan’s voice was carefully blank as he said, “I need to fill in the ink a bit more in a few places.”

Aelin turned to face him, her pupils widening in the dark, “What?” she asked, confusedly. As she turned, her breasts spilled out onto the sheets, pressing together under the weight of her arm.

Rowan looked up at the ceiling.

“Your tattoo,” he said. “There are a few spots I need to fill in at some point.”

“Fine,” she said, and Rowan couldn’t be sure, but he almost thought he caught a hint of disappointment in her tone.

Another moment passed in silence, and almost against his will, Rowan found himself saying, “I’ve never seen – clothing like that.”

She rolled back over to face him again, her eyes lit up with a playful delight. “You mean to tell me the females in Doranelle don’t have scandalous nightclothes? Or anywhere else in the world?”

Before he could think twice, Rowan was speaking, “My encounters with other females usually didn’t involve parading around in nightclothes.”

“And what clothes did they involve?”

“Usually, none at all.” He knew he was being reckless, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Aelin clicked her tongue at him. “Having had the utter delight of meeting Remelle this spring, I have a hard time believing she didn’t subject you to clothing parades.”

Rowan turned his face back towards the ceiling, this time because of the image of that repulsive, conniving female. His thoughts couldn’t have been farther from the memory of the time he’d spent with her. “We’re not talking about this.”

Aelin chuckled, the movement making the lace on her collarbones shake slightly. If every night was going to be like this…

“Are all your nightclothes like that?” Rowan asked tentatively.

“So curious about my negligees, Prince. Whatever would the others say? Maybe you should issue a decree to clarify.”

Rowan growled, and Aelin answered through a wide grin. “Yes, I have more, don’t worry. If Lorcan is going to murder me in my sleep, I might as well look good.”

“Vain until the bitter end.”

But Aelin would not relent. “Is there a specific color you’d like me to wear? If I’m going to scandalize you, I should at least do it in something you like.”

“You’re a menace.”

And Aelin laughed, and the sound of that laugh was worth the pain of a thousand nightgowns. Was worth the entire month apart.

And before he knew what he was doing, Rowan said, “Gold. Not yellow – real, metallic gold.”

“You’re out of luck,” she murmured into her pillow. “I would never own anything so ostentatious.”

And through all of his frustration, Rowan was smiling at her.

Soon, Aelin had fallen into a deep sleep, her bare shoulders falling and rising with each breath, the tiniest whine escaping through her nose.

And yet thirty minutes later, Rowan was still awake, forcibly staring up at the ceiling as he tried to calm the roaring in his blood by sheer force of will. A roaring that was steadily shredding through his self-control.

Shit.

He was in such deep, unending shit.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

···

please let me know if you would like to be added to this taglist!

bolded tags are broken or do not work

@lemonade-coolattas / @morganofthewildfire / @punkassbookjockey26 / @sassys-world / @swankii-art-teacher / @westofmoon / @rockgirl321 / @throneofglassthings / @booknerdproblems / @cityofchelsea16 / @jesstargaryenqueen / @rowanwhitethornisbae / @imaginedhaven / @tiredbutstillreading / @sheharahu / @manonlochan05 / @emilyoftheshadows / @queen-of-glass / @sjmships / @autophobiaxx / @whimsicallyreading / @officialasianbitch / @daips /

#warrior and the wildfire #watw #rowaelin #rowaelin ff #rowan pov #queen of shadows

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alyasgf · 3 years

Text

She

mlb masterlist

ao3

Summary- she by dodie alyanette songfic!

alya has a huge crush on marinette, like huge, but she knows it’s unrequited.

Word Count- 1354

Notes- kinda short, but im trying to get alyanette out of my system because i have like twenty other prompts i want to get to :’)

Begin

Am I allowed to look at her like that

Could it be wrong when she's just so nice to look at

When Alya first saw her she couldn’t help but stare. She was beautiful. With her mesmerizing sky blue eyes and dark blue pigtails, Alya couldn’t help but stop in the doorway to admire her. After watching her for a minute she noticed the blonde girl beside her who seemed to be yelling.

It was only then that she took the chance to make her first impression.

“Hey! Who elected you Queen of Seats?”

Okay so maybe not her best line, but it seemed to work. As she pulled the girl away she could feel the nerves seep away. The blue haired girl seemed clumsy, but good natured. She learned the girl’s name, (“Marinette.” She told her as they shared a macaroon,) and even after the absolute insanity of the day, over superheroes and villains, all Alya could think about was her.

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep She tastes like apple juice and peach

You would find her in a polaroid picture And she means everything to me

After months of sharing secrets and sharing time, Alya and Marinette were easily each other's closest confidants. They’d spend almost every spare moment together. Marinette would groan and complain about her boy problems and Alya would scheme with her on new ways to finally catch Adrien’s attention.

Sure, at first it hurt to hear the girl she had a massive crush on talk about the boy she was in love with, but once Alya accepted that her feelings would never be reciprocated, it became easier.

Still, there were moments when Alya swore they could be something more.

It had only happened a few times. Only late into their sleepovers, and always platonic to Marinette. Small kisses that were followed with giggles and jokes.

“Have you ever wondered what it’d be like to kiss a girl? “ Marinette asked one night, after hours of movies and sweets.

Alya choked. “What?” She sputtered. She had to be dreaming, surely Marinette hadn’t just said what she thought she said.

“You heard me.” She replied, laughing. “Not that I’ve spent too long thinking about it, or like specifics or anything, but I don’t know, it's an experience?”

“Sure, I’ve thought about it.” Alya said absentmindedly, brain replaying each and every one of the fantasies in which her best friend featured in. “Just a few times.”

“Well, would you want to? Y’know, with me?”

Again, Alya lost control of her breathing. Her heart began to race and palms began to sweat. Was this really happening?

“Oh c’mon,” Marinette laughed again, now at her friend’s shocked expression. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, it’s just if I were to have my first girl kiss with anyone, I’d want it to be you.”

Alya tried not to focus on how she worded that question. ‘First girl kiss.’ Would there be more? More importantly, would Alya share the experience with her more than once?

She looked at her friend. She was red, and where there was once a playful, curious expression there was an unsure one, red from blushing.

“I’m sorry. I probably made you uncomfortable, didn’t I?” Marinette rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, face getting impossibly more red. “It’s fine, you don’t have to, I-”

“No, I want to!” Alya blurted out, worried she had ruined her one chance. “I mean, I’m not uncomfortable with it if you aren’t.” She added hastily. A million thoughts ran through her head at once. ‘Am I actually going to kiss Marinette? Is this a dream? Dear god tell me I’m not dreaming.’

“Okay!” Marinette said excitedly, as her expression changed to one of excitement. Alya nearly swooned at that. Marinette looked that way at the prospect of kissing her. She could barely breathe.

Alya’s brain short circuited. She wasn’t sure how it happened, one second she was gazing into Marinette’s eyes, the next there was a quick press of peach flavored lips on hers. It was over in an instant.

Marinette laughed while Alya attempted to draw out her usual confident self amidst the red cheeks and lingering taste of fruit.

They always laid close at the end of each sleepover, Alya’s face buried in Marinette’s hair as the smaller girl snored lightly on her chest. She smelled of strawberries and pastries always, but in moments like these it was so strong Alya couldn’t help but be reminded how deeply she had fallen in love.

She was picture perfect in every light. Eyes always so full of hope and a creative glint. Her smile and willingness to help nearly everyone made her personality that much more magnetic. Her hands were always warm, always soft, save for the occasional cut or two from her clumsiness while designing.

Alya couldn’t remember life before her, and couldn’t begin to imagine being without her. She was like a drug, so immersive and addicting that Alya would never be able to stay away for long. She was her best friend, but more than that, she was her soulmate, and if that had to be platonic, so be it. Marinette was just like that, so appealing that people wanted to be around her in any way they possibly could, in any form they possibly could.

I'd never tell

No I'd never say a word

And oh it aches

But it feels oddly good to hurt

Love. Even though she felt it so strongly whenever Marinette was near, she was content in keeping the emotions to herself. Marinette was frustratingly straight, between Luka and Adrien, she didn’t stand a chance. The only thing that would result from a confession would be confusion and unrequited feelings.

So instead Alya stole moments when she could. A few long glances, kisses in the dark, hugs that lasted a second longer than normal, these were what she could get, this was what she lived for. The rush she would get from it, for just a second tricking herself into believing that they were anything more than moments between friends.

But then the second would pass, and all she would be left with was a dull aching in her chest to pull her back into reality. It hurt, hurt more than anything in the world sometimes, but she would never trade the feeling, it reminded her she was alive, reminded her how colorful the world could be by Marinette’s side.

and I'll be okay

Admiring from afar

Cause even when she's next to me

We could not be more far apart

Cause she tastes like birthday cake and storytime and fall

But to her

I taste of nothing at all

Sometimes the feelings would overwhelm her, late at night long after Marinette had wished her goodnight over the phone, with an ‘I love you’ that stripped Alya’s heart down to it’s core knowing it would never be meant in the way she always dreamt it’d be. She’d clutch her pillow, tears streaming down her face.

Deep down she knew it was all a lie. Of course she wasn’t content with keeping her feelings bottled up, but what choice did she have? Marinette would never feel the same way in a million years, no matter how much she loved Alya, it would always be through the lens of friendship and nothing more.

As close as they were, there would always be a disconnect. Miles and miles of unspoken words, longing stares, and kisses that ended far too soon. Marinette would always see these at surface value, with nothing more to be discovered.

For Alya, Marinette was a warm bed after a long day, a warm cup of tea in a furious winter storm, a bright spot in an otherwise dull world. For Marinette, Alya was just a friend. A close, irreplaceable friend who she loved more than anything, but a friend nonetheless.

Alya would drift off to sleep with dreams of firsts with Marinette, while Marinette dreamt of another.

She was meant to be with Adrien, and Alya was meant to watch from afar, forever dreaming of a love from a girl that would never see her in that light.

End Notes- btw marinette totally likes her but repressed sapphic vibes, yknow? sorry they didnt end up together but if you want some resolution i have a fic where they are happy together that you can find here!

#miraculous marinette #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #mlb marinette #mlb alya #alya x marinette #marinette x alya #alyanette #alya cesaire #marinette dupain cheng #marinette cheng #mlb netflix #mlb fic #she dodie #she

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archer3-13 · 3 years

Text

Early Concept Arts of Dimitri, Claude, Edelgard

Consider it an occupational interest of sorts, We dont have much in the way of early concept art for three houses unfortunately. Most of what i’ve seen released is more so late development and reference sheets on that front. For a while now however there have been some early looks into dimitri, claude, and edelgards character designs that i feel might be worth a quick glance at.

well start with dimitri since his is the least changed in comparison to the final product, though not without its interesting notes.

like i said, not too much is overall different. The cape and sword belt thing [dont remember the proper term] are identitcal, dimitris hair and face, and well the gauntlets look slightly different compared to the final release they are still there, though strangely without the leg armour which is instead normal boots in the garreg mach uniform style.

the most notable and obvious change is of course the lack of the upper body armour, followed by a change on the trimming of the outfit which is the standard gold as opposed to gunmetal grey/dark silver seen on the final outfit. in place of the upper body armour you’ll note that dimitris actually wearing a near identical uniform set up as the final version of school edelgard wears [namely the cravat and gold chain mind you] so perhaps those are suppose to be elements of a standard/baseline house leader uniform originally as opposed to edelgards unique flair? At least at some point during the development? Certainly these elements were either dimitris first before being moved onto edelgards design later, or were edelgards first and were attempted to be utilized in dimitris design as well before being scrapped from him and kept to edelgard. That certainly gives me the impression that this is a fairly late early design piece though as it were, considering how close it is to dimitris final school design. Something that can very much not be said for claude and edelgards early designs.

moving onto claudes

We see that either leicester was a lot different of a place in early development, or claude was a lot less subtle about his foreign origins. funnily enough, you can also see similar elements of a ‘standard house leader’ in this version of the uniform, the jacket being more in line with edelgards final jacket and dimitris early jacket and claudes even sporting a cravat like the other two. if his cape wasn’t covering the other side of his outfit i wouldn’t be surprised if the golden chain was there as well. speaking of that cape though its certainly very different compared to the final cape he wears. Not only is it drapped on the front on the opposite side of his final design, it has a series of black lines cutting into it. and as opposed to the longcoat design of his final uniform hes sporting a similar length shirt as other garreg mach uniforms [with the sleeves pulled up form the looks of it], a fabric belt, and even poofier pants [with golden embroidery on the sides which further give it a more foreigner vibe then his final outffit] then his final design along with shorter boots. on a smaller note youll also notice that hes missing his left ear earring, though otherwise his face and hairstyle are the same as the final version.

the keen eye of you will also notice that this early claude design actually shares quite a lot in common with another claude design. Namely, claudes post timeskip outfit. Cape draping over the front right side of the body, short coat and poofier pants, a cravat, and most importantly the belt which is near identical here to his post timeskip belt

its even worn in a very similar fashion. Why they would do this im not sure, claudes late inclusion in development perhaps pressing them to settle on reusing these elements as opposed to something more unique? Or did the design staff like these elements enough to continue them into clades post timeskip design? questions questions.

now onto edelgard, who i’ve held off for last because hers is by far the most radical departure of design, and she has a lot more content to go over

first to start off i’ll just quickly mention the elements that held over to her final design: white hair, ribbons, leggings, lavender eyes. Now that that’s out of the way... it really is quite the design shift isn’t it and kinda what i meant when asking which came first with the garreg mach ‘house leader uniform’ elements as it were. Was it dimitri, or was it edelgard? Regardless this certainly feels like to me the earliest design of the lot with edelgard sporting almost none of the garreg mach uniform elements [perhaps they were closer to this originally? perhaps edelgard wasn’t even a student initially?]. You’ll also notice that the reds on her outffit are much more subdued compared to the final outffit, a bit of purple splashed in as opposed to the pure red she sports in the final design. And as opposed to the shorts she wears in the final design, here shes sporting a dark blueish skirt along with a black... belt thing.

additionally her house cape [lacking decoration but with some of it pulled over the front when it is there] colour is black as well indicating that yes the black eagles house colour was very much suppose to be black initially. Additionally the uniform itself well not having much in the way of parallels to the garreg mach uniform does invoke elements of 19th century military officer uniforms rather strongly, especially the two to the right which go all the way up the chest to the neckline belt thing. though maybe the original garreg mach uniforms were more to this style in general? Her own cravat is also in a much different style and black as opposed to white like dimitri and claudes early design cravats. additionally well we can’t see the rest of he legs its seems she was originally suppose to have much taller boots as well looking at the little bit of black we can see on her legs there. she does have a gold chain as well but its hooked under her right arm, and her sleeves like the gold cuff trimmings.

Youll also notice that shes got a much different hairstyle here, not only sporting some rather straightesh bangs and an alternating ribbon colour of lavender or red, consideration as to whether or not she should have a bit draping in the front, slight differences in the long side bits of her hair and even some consideration of if she should have hair buns or even short hair altogether [though her designs lean more towards long hair]. Either her hair was giving them a lot of trouble, or her early designs here are damn near the beginning which im inclined to believe. We even have a sheet dedicated to trying out different styles for her

the one they ultimantly landed on, minus the front sweeping hair, you can see in the bottom left. I kinda prefer the top left one myself though, though thats probably due to its similarities to saber from fate/stay’s hairstyle. The top left one reminds me a lot of lysithias hairstyle incidentally, which might possibly mean that lysithias character [atleast her look] sprang from unused edelgard concepts.

overall:

i prefer dimitris final design myself since it suits him and his story better, but its also so similar to his final design that i feel part of it might just be better familiarity with the final look. Either way it generally works.

Claudes early look i find fascinating in terms of how it seems to have carried over into his post timeskip look to some degree. in the end though i prefer his final look for what they eventually decided on with his character, someone sneaky whos hiding his cultural origins. The final design speaks more to a claude that much more open about those origins instead.

edelgards... im stuck on because her early design speaks to me of a much different game in terms of look and story, well her final design meshes better with even claude and dimitris early designs. However if i had to pick one i prefer from visual looks alone... i’d say edelgards early design with short hair [the one on the far right of her first picture essentially]. I like the implication of the uniforms in general looking closer to that obviously since im a sucker for that visual look [perhaps even have more individual flair to each countries school uniform including designs and colours], and a sucker for short hair in general, but i feel the militaristic aspects of the early design suit edelgard better and the shade of red more appealing in general here. Maybe blend this one and her final design to get the perfect edelgard outffit? idk.

#fire emblem #fe3h #fe16 #claude #dimitri #edelgard

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good-rwbyaus · 3 years

Note

AU where instead of Jaune having a semblance that turns him into a harem protagonist, his semblance let’s him turn OTHER people into harem protagonists.

// Yes. Good. Time to suffer Blake. 8D - mod lilac

Title: JAUNE IM GOING TO KILL YOU

“You! You did this!”

Oh crap. The last person he wanted to see was here, and here he was still stuck in a hospital bed from the Battle of Beacon, unable to escape or run away. He couldn’t help sweating as the dark-haired faunus approached, hand pressed against her abdomen, and then leaned forward without doing anything.

For a moment, he hoped. And then the hands around his neck proved that hope was nothing more than a four letter word for lie. Immediately, the other girl started tightening her grip and shaking him against his bed, head banging against his pillow.

“When I said it might be interesting to become a Ninjas of Love protagonist, I didn’t mean you using your Semblance on me in real life,” Blake screamed angrily, “Do you know what sort of month I’ve had because of you?”

“Acck. Blake. I need to breath. Blake,” he said as he patted the other girls’ arms to mark his submission. He wasn’t actually getting hurt, but as he knew from living with seven older sisters, sometimes the feeling of getting revenge justice was enough.

Otherwise, if they don’t think you’ve suffered enough, that’s when your life gets miserable.

“I thought everyone around me was going crazy! Everyone proposing to me out of the blue,” Blake screamed, “And they were!” She loosened her grip on Jaune’s neck as she took deep breathes, “Then Pyrrha came to visit me, and since she still seemed sane, I told her what’s been happening to me. Guess what I found out. Apparently Jaune Arc has a semblance that turns people into harem protagonists!”

“What did I do to you to deserve this?!” Her hands twitched again as if ready to go for another round of strangle the blond.

His hands immediately went up to prevent such a thing from happening.

“Blake. If you choke me to death, this is going to keep happening.”

“Jaune. If you don’t stop it now, I will throttle you and then run home to Kuo Kuana.”

“It can’t be that bad. What, you got proposed to by three or four peopl-”

Blake’s eyebrow and ears began twitching.

“...I take it that’s not what happened.”

“Three or four?!”

“...Maybe you want to tell me what’s going on before you extend my hospital stay,” Jaune asked carefully. The girl glared at him before taking a deep breath.

"It all started with Sun...”

=================

Sun:

“Hey Blake. I was thinking about you, and I got you this,” Sun smiled, rubbing his head sheepishly. An amethyst necklace, beautifully displaced inside a red package, laid in his other hand, shining brilliantly.

The sparkle - the shine - they caught her eye immediately. It glittered and caught her attention in a way that really tickled her, but she couldn’t help but glance at the package the necklace was in. And that dropped cold water onto her appreciation. She frowned.

She lifted her gaze to meet Sun’s.

“Sun?”

“Yes?” Sun asked excitedly.

“Did you steal this?”

Sun averted his eyes as he continued speaking confidently.

“Why I’d nev-”

“The security tag is still on it.”

“-er think about giving you something I haven’t stolen myself.”

Blake just glared at the boy who quickly excused himself.

=================

“I didn’t think much of it at first,” Blake said, “But random people started - out of the blue might I add - propositioning me while the Vytal Festival was going on - especially Shade Academy. I just thought they were an overly forward bunch cause they were part of the whole “live hard, live free” crew. ”

Blake stared darkly at Jaune, who just slid lower into his hospital bed.

“But then my team got involved.”

=================

Ruby and Yang

“Blake~”

“Blake!”

“Ruby? Yang?” she turned around for just a moment, only to be immediately accosted by the two sisters. Ruby hung to her right arm, and Yang hung onto her left arm. They spoke at nearly the same time.

“You’re looking incredibly dashing today, Blake, “ Yang said with a wink.

“You’re so pretty today,” Ruby said in awe, “That is not to say you’re not prett-” The awkward girl trailed off before finding a way to quickly change the subject.

“Stop copying me, Yang,” Ruby said with a pout.

“I said it first,” the other girl grinned.

Uhhh. What was going on? First Sun, then the random people, and now Ruby and Yang.

“So what about going on a ride with me and Bumblebee through the town?”

“No, Blake’s going to go with me to Vytal’s Weapons Exhibit, not on a boring ride with you.”

“What’s so great about looking at a bunch of old weapons?”

“You take that back! Can’t be any worse than just driving around boring Vale.”

“Wel-”

Maybe she should stop this before things get worse.

“I already have plans - uh - to stay in Beacon and curl up near the fireplace and read an interesting book that I recently purchased,” Blake said carefully as she lightly twisted out of the sisters’ grips.

Ruby glanced over at Yang, and Yang at Ruby.

“Why does that sound really similar to the words you said to us on the first day we met?” Ruby said.

“Well, she was probably just saying that just to get rid of you.”

“No, she was telling you to go away. She liked me when we first met, “ Ruby said smugly as she pointed her thumb at herself.

“Let’s ask then. Hey, who were you telling to g- No. I thought of a better question. Who do you like more, Ruby or me?”

As a connoisseur of horrible romance novels, she knew that question was a horrible trap. She needed to use all her tactical skills to escape this situation.

Step 1. Stall.

“I-I-I like you both,” Blake stuttered out, already seeing the dissatisfaction on both girl’s faces.

“That’s a copou-”

“C’mon, Bla-”

Step 2. RUN.

She then created a clone to distract them as she crashed out of the nearby window. A pair of affronted screams could be heard as she ran for the treeline.

Sorry, clone.

=================

“I’ve been camping in the Emerald Forest to avoid them,” Blake said frazzled, “Do you know what it’s like to be the subject of sisters trying to compete for affection?”

“Uhhh yeah,” Jaune laughed, “I have seven older sisters, you know.”

“Why would you do this to me then?”

“Ahaha. Sorry, but you were the one who expressed interest in the life of a harem protagonist.”

Blake’s gaze moving between his pillow and his face probably wasn’t a good sign.

“Uhh. So that’s it?” Jaune said quickly.

“No! It affected my entire team!”

=================

Weiss:

“Uhhh Weiss. You didn’t have to prepare all this,” Blake said, not quite able to stop her drooling. In the middle of the Emerald Forest was a small seafood banquet, and to someone that had been living with her own subpar cooking skills for a week, it was a godsend.

“It was my pleasure. It’s been a long time since we could just sit together like this,” Weiss said daintily, sipping her tea on the table she prepared, complete with cloth drapings.

“Yeah, especially since Ruby and Yang seem to have gone insane.”

“How so?”

“The last time I went back to Beacon, Ruby tried feeding me her home cooking, and I nearly died from the taste. Yang taunted her because her own cooking was miles better, and now Ruby’s on a quest to improve her cooking and making me the taste tester.”

Weiss winced sympathetically before smiling. “Well, you’re here now. Just take a seat and just enjoy the food.”

“Thanks,” Blake said as she sat down, grabbing a couple dishes and devouring them as fast she could endure.

It was then she felt a peculiar feeling against her calf. Thinking it was just a bug, she just swung her leg, and the sensation went away.

But after a couple more seconds of dining, she felt it reappear - and it was now on her knee now.

Immediately, she lifted her head from the dishes to stare at Weiss, who had an innocent smile on her face as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“Weiss?”

“Yes, Blake?”

“Is thaaaa...”

Warning bells started ringing in her head; that foot now on her thigh was reaching just a tad bit higher inch by inch. And immediately, she stood up, face burning like it’s been out of the sun.

“SorryWeissIrealizeIhavetogocatthefeedBye!” she spilled out in a panic as she ran like a Goliath was after her.

As she entered into the woods, her ears caught Weiss’s parting words.

“Wait Blak-. Does that mean Blake isn’t into this sort of stuff then?”

=================

“As it so happens,” Blake said rubbing the space between her brow, “a couple of my Ninjas of Love books have gone missing from underneath my bed mattress. The one with that dinner scene in particular.”

“Sounds like you read some really raunch-”

Blake slightly reddened and sent Jaune a glare.

“Uhh, sorry. So that’s gotta be it then.”

“No. Because guess who also has a sister?”

“Weiss has a sister?”

Blake sighed.

=================

Winter:

“I wanted to see the girl who had my sister’s affections,” the white-haired girl who looked a lot like Weiss said calmly. She had cornered her inside a cave, out-maneuvered her to the point where she had to hide - and still found her.

Winter’s hand lifted her chin. “You really....are pretty.”

Her face burned red at the affectionate gesture.

Shadow.

Run.

=================

“That doesn’t sound like a confession though, “ Jaune said skeptically.

“With the way my month’s been going,” Blake said dryly, “you really want to bet on that?”

Jaune shook his head laughing nervously.

“No bet. No bet,” Jaune waved his hand.

“Besides she was part of the cavalry during the Battle of Beacon.”

=================

Adam:

“Adam, I’ve never thought about you that way,” Blake choked out, the pain through her gut making her curl onto the ground.

“What! You can’t deny me. You’re mine. And you always will be. And if I can’t have you....”

Her once mentor’s blade shimmered in the flames, pointing towards her neck as she struggled to ready her Semblance.

“Hey! Someone’s trying to kill Blake!” someone screamed out. It sounded a lot like Yang.

A blur of fire and ice practically detonated the spot Adam was standing in, sending him to the wall opposite to her charred worse than Ruby’s cooking. Familiar figures dropped in through the roof, took one look at her, and then charged towards her assailer with unmatched ferocity.

Adam proceeded to get his ass beat by the rest of Team RWBY, Sun, Winter, and Cinder.

=================

“Wait wait wait. Cinder? How does she enter into the picture?” Jaune said incredulously.

“Apparently she’s the mastermind behind everything,” Blake shrugged, “According to her confession, she took one look at me and realized all the wrongs she’d done and wanted to work hard to atone.”

Jaune couldn’t help but stare disbelievingly at that.

“Winter’s boss couldn’t believe it either,” Blake pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I guess all’s well that ends well. You got saved, Vale’s still standing. All of us are alive,” Jaune laughed.

“Yeah, except for this little problem of me having a harem!” Blake growled.

“Wait. Where’s Blake?” said a voice outside the room.

“She’s awake?!” said another voice.

“She shouldn’t be walking around like that. Should be resting with the best medical care Vale could offer.” said a third.

“Crap. They’re here,” Blake said frantically, glancing over at a nearby window. “Fix this, Jaune, or you’re not going to like what happens next.”

Opening the sliding window, the girl dove through and quickly skedaddled towards the treeline of the forest that was becoming her home.

Meanwhile....

Jaune felt a foreboding feeling as his room door slid open, and the stares of three panicking members of team RWBY settled on him.

“Jaune, have you seen Bla-” Ruby said before her gaze locked onto something at his side.

Jaune glanced over to see what Ruby was looking at - the open window.

“So, Jaune, what do you think you were doing with Blake alll alone?” Yang said with a smile that wasn’t a smile.

“Ehehe. Nothing. I’ve just woken up. I didn’t even see her today.”

“Really? I don’t think you’re telling us the truth,” Weiss said calmly, “Ruby?”

“Yes?”

“Close the door.”

Sweating, Jaune clandestinely started pressing the nurse call button under his sheets, hoping someone would come before these three had their way with him.

#Anonymous #rwby au #rwby #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #ruby rose #yang xiao long #sun wukong #jaune arc #mod lilac #rwby fic #blacksun #ladybug #checkmate #bumbleby

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astralprcjects · 3 years

Text

first of all, if you saw me accidentally post this when it was half done, no you didn’t <3 but anyway, i’m following the trend and throwing out some ideas for connections !! i’d love some new plots, so if any of these catch your eye pls don’t hesitate to come yell at me :))) discord is the best place to reach me ( jojo she-ra#5493 ) or tumblr ims work just fine too !!

i get very confused whether likes are just for support or if you’re interested in any plots so pls pls just dm me or drop a reply and i’ll come to you !! i’m not scary i promise just nervous like a shaky dog <3

a few important points:

mars is a lesbian, so romantic plots can only be taken up by female and non binary characters.

rosalie is bisexual and polyamorous – they have no interest in monogamy. she likes to form connections with people, and so much prefers casual flings and dating with no strings over one night stands.

both of my characters use she and they pronouns interchangeably. please don’t refer to them as women or misgender them in any way ( i’m always happy to answer any questions if you’re confused !! )

── 👻 M A R C E L I N E

extroverted friends – a lot of mars’ friends are introverts and she loves them dearly, but sometimes they just needs to be around people who match their energy !! so friends who will happily get excited with her and share their own passions in return ?? they’re extremely loyal and latch onto people quickly, so would be over the moon for that energy to be matched. ( open – all )

the non-believer – this muse doesn’t believe in ghosts or aliens or anything supernatural. so, naturally, mars has made it her life’s mission to change their mind. they have constant debates and light-hearted fights; they both enjoy trying to prove the other wrong. ( open – all )

horror movie besties – mars loves a good scary movie, but they always appreciates a familiar shoulder to hide behind. she and this character share a passion for horror movies and have regular movie nights. they always accompany each other to see the latest scary flicks in the cinema or re-runs of old classics. ( open – all )

unrequited crush – someone that mars is close friends with, who she is sure she feels more than friendship for. they respect their boundaries and will always be afraid to tell them, but can’t help but quietly pine from a far. ( open – f/enby )

requited crush – same as above, except the other person feels the same and now they’re dancing around each other ( open – f/enby )

friends who grew apart – they used to be close, mars used to tell them everything, but something pulled them apart. perhaps they both had feelings for the same person, or your character became irritated by mars’ constant pestering. mars can also get bored easily, maybe she became bored of this person too ?? or maybe mars had a crush on them and pulled away out of panic. ( open – all (f/enby only for ex-crush) )

amicable exes – they dated for a few months and it was great, but other circumstances caused them to break up. they didn’t see each other for a while, but later reunited and realised that, although they had both moved on, they still really cared for each other and struck up a strong friendship instead. now they are each other’s go-to for relationship/dating advice, since they know each other so well. ( open – f/enby )

co-workers and work connections – mostly fellow journalists, or people who work in the magazine/newspaper industry. marcie works freelance, so she works for various publications across the city and would have contacts in most places who she can call upon for favours. they would also have a string of contacts from previous articles they’ve written; perhaps she has interviewed your character or they are someone with a lot of connections themselves which she can utilise. usually at a price, of course. ( open – all )

no man is an island – mars is desperately trying to become an author, but they can’t do it alone. so anyone who works in the industry is a valuable asset – publishers, editors, fellow authors, you name it and mars probably wants their number. she can go to these people for help and advice when she faces a setback, or just wants to use their placement in the industry to try to launch her career. they are, of course, always well compensated with baked goods and cups of coffee. ( open – all )

rivals – mars can be incredibly irritating and she knows that, but she doesn’t appreciate when people are cruel or rude to her about it. this muse simply can’t stand marcie and so the feeling is mutual and they avoid each other at all costs, even if the universe sometimes has other ideas. ( open – all )

── 🌹 R O S A L I E

gossip sources – people always know people who know people and rosalie is insufferably nosey. she always wants to know everything that’s going on and can never keep her opinions to herself. as such, she is an excellent person to go for if you need to rant or want impartial advice, just as long as you remember to tell her not to spread the news beforehand. otherwise the entire borough of queens might know your business by lunchtime. ( open – all )

college friends – rosalie studied at nyu from 2012 to 2016, so could have crossed paths with all kinds of people during this time !! maybe they’ve stayed in touch ever since, maybe they lost track of each other once their lives divulged but now have an opportunity to reconnect ?? ( open – all )

makeover victims – rosalie loves all things beauty (makeup, hair, nails, fashion, the full works) and, even more than that, loves experimenting on other people. these characters are her canvas; whether they have an event they’re attending, or are off on a date, or even just fancy an afternoon of being pampered, rosalie will always be at their doorstep with a fully equipped makeup kit if they just say the word. ( open – all )

practically cousins – rosa’s family is huge and they are well known for inviting anyone and everyone over for dinner, especially if those people don’t have family of their own or are far away from home. rosalie’s friends are considered family and are welcome in their home. ( open – all )

friends of her family – the above courtesy is of course extended to their family member’s friends. perhaps this muse is close to one of rosalie’s siblings, but doesn’t get along with rosa at all. the two try to get along over the dinner table (mostly to avoid her abuela’s wrath), but outside of that they bicker relentlessly and can’t seem to ever see eye to eye. ( open – all )

rivals – rosalie is an insufferable gossip who can’t keep their mouth shut unless they were sworn to secrecy. maybe she spilled a secret of your muse’s by accident and they have never forgiven her for it ?? she’s not spiteful and is very openminded so it would be something she thought was harmless or common knowledge, which also means she doesn’t really accept that she did anything wrong. ( open – all )

heartbroken – their dating life is a mess and they tend to pull away if things get too serious, so she’s likely to have a string of people who have been hurt by her distancing herself from them. maybe there was a miscommunication and rosalie thought they were only hooking up but the other thought they were dating ?? or maybe they were something more serious, but rosalie broke it off when it got too real ?? there are lots of options to play with !! ( open – all )

casual hookups – because she doesn’t want to get attached, rosalie has multiple casual partners. neither party wants anything more serious, but it is fun to hook up with each other and go out on dates without any of the strings that usually comes with that. if we want the d r a m a, perhaps your muse actually does want more, but rosalie is scared to commit. ( open – all )

industry friends – actors, directors, screenplay writers etc. the entertainment industry is a tangled mess of egos, but when you make friends you keep them close. these are people rosalie can run lines with, they tell each other about auditions and support each other through the madness that is the career path they’ve both chosen. rosalie is never afraid to speak her mind, so she is always someone that can be relied upon for constructive, impartial advice. ( open – all )

#( always down for brainstorming !! these are just to get the ball rolling and some ideas of what i'm looking for #if you have any ideas for other plots or things you want to do that marcie or rosa could be used for hit me uP i'm probably gonna be into it #especially if it hurts them <3 )

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deaddovecoterie · 3 years

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butterflies

marinette dupain cheng x adrien agreste || ladybug x chat noir

fandom: miraculous ladybug

rating: T (maybe R to be safe for next chp? ahaha jk jk,,, unless?,,,)

word count: 1.8k

genre: angst. just pure angst. maybe fluff if you squint real hard

warning(s): swearing, vaguely unedited, blood mention

a/n: heyyyy :DD im back on my writing bullshit with my favourite personnnn (guess who) @whoseblogsthis cause me and this talented mf co-wrote this :’) ky i just wanna know what it feels like to carry every ff we write together on your back because of my linguistic incompetence. anyway this is my first mlb fic so i hope yall like it i guess !!

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“...Bystanders have not been hurt, although Paris’ superheroes have not made an appearance yet…”

There was unrest among the students of Francoise Dupont High School as Adrien listened to his friends talk quietly amongst one another. Thunder rumbled in the distance as heavy, chilling rain poured down from the skies. There was a gloomy eeriness that clung to the air, a quiet that made the high schoolers feel like they were just waiting for something to shatter the silence. Grey clouds were collecting, casting the city in shadow-like darkness.

Another Akuma attack had been reported yet again. The Parisian superheroes were more than glad to help out, but it was obvious they were tiring: their moves became sloppier, their conversations shorter, and their patience thinner.

Adrien listened to the chatter exchanged between Alya and Nino, while Marinette remained quiet. She looked tired, which really wasn’t that uncommon, but her fatigue seemed to spill into all of her activities. She had less “pep in her step,” as Alya had said, and her eyes weren’t nearly as bright as they used to be. Not that he meant to pay attention to such things, of course, but it was hard to not notice. Even Chloe, who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone but herself, had laid off on the harassment. Adrien chalked up his attentiveness to Marinette as nothing more than being a good, concerned friend, but as of late that excuse was becoming harder to sell, even to himself.

It started about four months ago when they came back from summer break. Everyone had gone back to school and while Adrien was physically there, he was mentally absent. Kagami had just gone abroad for school again after they’d broken things off. He would have liked to say it was a mutual breakup, but she was the one who brought it up. Kagami was wise beyond her years so when she told him that his heart wasn’t in the relationship, he knew she was right. He expected his first heartbreak to be gut-wrenching, but it wasn’t. He felt sad, sure, but not in the way that leaves you paralyzed in bed for weeks on end. At the time, he wondered why that was, but the answer was obvious: Marinette.

When he got to school, it was almost as if she could see the gloomy cloud over his head. She was there for him when no one else seemed to notice, her stuttering and fumbling hardly present in their conversation. In the beginning, he felt almost guilty for confiding in her. It would’ve been ignorant of him to believe she didn’t have problems of her own (who didn’t?), but it was a fact known by many that Marinette Dupain-Chang was one to do whatever she could to help the people she cared for.

It was then that he noticed it: the butterflies. It was like a tsunami of anxiety, excitement, and shyness all rolled into one whenever she did anything: the way her hair moved in the breeze, her clear laugh that dared him to smile, but most of all, her kindness. Marinette was one of those people that you couldn’t hate. She was that person who helped others even when no one was looking. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help himself when he started falling for her every move.

She didn’t know, probably never would, but she had him whipped.

The blonde was snapped back into reality when his best friend nudged him: “You coming?” Nino’s brow arched in question.

He looked across the street, where his bodyguard was waiting for him, standing by the driver’s side door of the sleek black Audi. Though it’s been the same car since Adrien was like thirteen, it still looked brand new.

“I forgot my homework,” he said to Nino, calling out to his bodyguard to repeat the same thing. With a barely discernible nod of approval from the bodyguard, Adrien turned back toward the school doors.

Adrien grumbled as he jogged away from his friend group: “Well, Nadia, Paris’ superheroes happen to have vaguely normal lives too if you weren’t aware.”

Plagg floated up from Adrien’s pant pocket and did circles around his owner’s head. “You put too much faith in humans, they don’t think about that kinda stuff. To them, you and Ladybug are untouchable.”

“Yeah, well we’re not,” he mumbled frustratedly. He pressed his palms into his eyes tiredly and took a deep breath before dropping his arms back down to his sides.

“Plagg claws out,” he muttered.

Plagg liked to think he knew his miraculous holder quite well. Despite the kwami’s demeanour and seeming distaste toward anything non-cheese related, he did have feelings. Yes, he loved cheese, but he also loved Adrien. He had spent the last two years with Adrien, and he knew something was terribly wrong with his owner.

He’d ask later. The cat-like kwami entered the ring miraculous, and with that, Adrien Agreste was gone, replaced by Chat Noir.

The leather-clad hero headed toward the disaster zone, the rain not doing anything to help his vision. He landed on a rooftop near the Akuma attack and swiftly surveyed the scene. Upon not seeing Ladybug anywhere, Chat Noir sent a quick message to Ladybug, highlighting the damage, before swooping in to hold off the Akuma.

xXx

To put it simply, Marinette was struggling. It had been the fifth Akuma attack that week and after two years of being Ladybug, her excuses were becoming weaker and weaker as time went on. Adrien’s abrupt exit was odd, but she didn’t have time to think about it as she felt the ground shake slightly. It didn’t matter how exhausted she was, she couldn’t put off her duties any longer.

“I uhm, I forgot I had a question for Miss Bustier. I’m going to go see if she’s still around and I’ll uh just stay here until Ladybug and Chat Noir get everything taken care of!” she flashed her friends a thumbs up and with that, she ran back inside the school, toward the locker room. She opened her tiny purse in order for Tikki to emerge. “This is bullshit,” she muttered to herself.

Tikki gasped in shock. “Marinette!”

“Sorry,” she mumbled half-heartedly, “You wouldn’t happen to care if I maybe just happened to not show up and let Chat handle it?”

The glare that the small kwami sent her way told her otherwise. “Something about this one tells me that you’ll need all the help you can get,” she told her owner.

Her stomach twisted with anxiety, both confusion and shock washing over her face. Tikki had never talked about the dangers of an Akuma before, which alarmed Marinette. Shit.

“Tikki, spots on.”

Ladybug swung with all her might as her trusty yoyo grabbed onto buildings and chimneys, the sounds of destruction nearing. A black blur, undoubtedly Chat, streaked the cloudy, grey sky as an akumatized villain screeched out. Her eyes skimmed over the cobblestone streets in front of her, but nothing could prepare her for the screams of terror and bloodied civilians that scattered the scene below.

Her feet had only touched down on the ground for a second when she heard him.

“Nice of you to drop in,” Chat purred, startling her. “You’re late,” he added, his voice icier than expected.

“Cry about it,” Ladybug responded coldly.

“Meowch m’lady,” he said in mock hurt.

“Sorry,�� she muttered to her partner as she took him in. His blonde silky hair was plastered to his head from the pouring rain, the droplets permeating the black leather. If the suit wasn’t skin-tight before, it certainly was now. She had to tear her eyes away from the sight of him, her sensibility screaming at her to focus while her eyes wanted nothing more than to drink in every inch of him.

Literally what the fuck, she said to herself. Now was no time to pine for her partner.

The Akuma that stood before her was physically underwhelming in stature, but her clothing made up for it. The girl in front of them held herself at around 5’3 and couldn’t be more than 18, but her wicked smirk sent a chill through her spine. The girl was clad in an array of green from forest, sage, to mossy shades, the dress that adorned her body looking like that straight from greek mythology. It was made up of grand silks, almost entrancing Ladybug and Chat with the way that the fabric moved like rippling water. It was ethereal, really, but the closer she looked at it the deadlier it became.

From around the waist and shoulders, long strips of silk floated behind her like the snakes on the head of Medusa. They almost seemed to bend to her will, the fabric defying gravity. Not only were pieces of the dress floating, but so was her long dark hair. In her hand was a staff made from tree trunk like material. Resting atop her head was an obsidian black crown with spikes the length of Ladybug’s hand.

After looking around at the already distraught state of the street, their evaluation was over: she was not going to be another walk in the park.

“Shit,” Chat breathed out. It was at that moment that the villain opened her mouth to address both the heroes and bystanders.

“Citizens of Paris, I am Gi Mágissa. I am not here to compromise with your heroes. Others in the past have failed to retrieve what Hawk Moth desires, but I will not: today will be the day that you remember as the fall of Ladybug and Chat Noir.” Her voice resonated as if it was echoing off the walls. She shifted her gaze to the left, her eyes locking with the two of them.

“Give me your miraculous and I may decide to spare you and your city,” she said in a dangerously low voice. Her voice was smooth, yet it cut right through the two partners like a freezing wind in the dead of winter. Under any other circumstances, her words would be humorous, cheesy even, but this was not like anything else they faced.

Chat laughed as his trademarked smirk appeared. “Funny, because I don’t remember agreeing to that,” he said in mock thoughtfulness, almost like he was trying to recall a memory.

“Chat,” Ladybug hissed, “I’m starting to get the feeling that you won’t be able to joke your way out of this one,”

“C’mon m’lady, live a little.”

“Yeah, well I might not be alive to do so if you keep being an idiot.” Ladybug could feel the frustration rising in her as Chat continued to appear so casual and relaxed. How could he not sense that this was so much worse than before?

Chat turned to her and she could finally see his eyes. Despite his outward appearance, she saw the nervousness in his gaze. There was almost a buzz in the air, a metallic smell that made them wrinkle their noses: blood, iron maybe.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

#haley writes #fanfiction #mlb #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom #adrein agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ladynoir #adrienette #adrien x marinette #ladybug x chat noir #chat noir #cat noir #mlb fanfic #mlb fanfiction #angst #fluff #fanfic #ky tag

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themusicplayedherlife · 4 years

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Unrequited (Part 6)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader characters: bucky barnes (texts), reader, steve rogers (mention), natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff, pietro maximoff, sharon carter (mention) word count: 3k+ warnings: uhhh, none? i thiink??? correct me if im wrong, probably many mistakes, forgive me summary: things are changing and its startng to get hard to keep up a/n: so, i lied, this chapter isn’t as long, but because i cut the chapters in half, working on the next part still, but thought this one ended at the right moment, and trust me, it did. i can’t wait to truly introduce sam and really stir the pot with wanda :3

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Wanda doesn’t look at you, keeping her eyes on the mug full of tea in front of her. She hasn’t taken a single sip of it since you set it down in front of her and if someone was staring at you the way you’re staring at her, you wouldn’t either. But you can’t help it! She’s a stranger in your home!

Sure, a stranger who happens to be Pietro’s twin and who you offered to stay with you, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s not only someone you don’t know personally, but she’s someone you don’t know personally and showed up unexpectedly in your apartment!

“So,” you start slowly, “how exactly did you get in?” It comes out more aggressive and accusing than you meant it to sound like. You practically wince at the end of your question.

Her face morphs, uncomfortably neutral expression changing into one of alarm. “Pietro. He gave me a key—he said it would be all right and that you had allowed me to stay with you until I find my own place.”

“We did, but we weren’t expecting you tonight or to even have a key,” you admit, trying not to repeat your earlier mistake. She’s already feeling uncomfortable, no need to make it worse. “But it’s fine.” Wow. That was not convincing enough. That sounded completely half assed and maybe just a tiny bit passive aggressive! Get it together!

“I’m sorry—“ Her hasty apology is cut off by the front door being thrown open by an angry Natasha, emerald eyes sharp and sweeping the room until they land on you and Wanda.

“I promise I was going to tell you both—“ Pietro’s voice flows into the apartment from behind her and she whips her glare in his direction as she walks into the apartment. “Natasha—“

“Don’t,” she warns him, raising her hand to cut him off. “She’s already here, can’t do anything about that.”

Wanda scrambles to her feet, plaster on a sweet smile. “Hello, you must be Natasha, I’m—“

“I know who you are.” There really isn’t an edge to her voice when she talks to Wanda, maybe a hardness in her eyes from being taken aback by her presence, but no anger. “Welcome, Wanda. Please excuse me, I’m going to change out of my clothes and then we can have a proper talk.” She makes her way deeper into the apartment, dropping in front of her bedroom door and looks over at Pietro before disappearing into her room.

While you’re not entirely happy at having been blindsided, you can’t help but reach out to Pietro. A warm hand on his shoulder and gently patting it like one would with their pet, not that Pietro is a pet, but sometimes he could act like one. “You okay?”

He sighs. “She gave me the silent treatment the whole way here.”

“In the uber?” She could’ve been distracted texting Clint like she was earlier with you.

Except, Pietro shakes his head, understanding what you were trying to insinuate. “No, Steve dropped us off. Lots of chatter, but she was blatantly ignoring me.”

Your mouth parts at his confession—Steve did? Does that mean he didn’t leave with Sharon? Is there hope for you yet?

“What about you? You okay?”

You snap your head in his direction, pausing in your petting to find him directing the question at you and not his sister who is standing awkwardly by the dining table. “Peachy,” you promise, even though you’re not entirely sure of that yourself. “Wanda? Would you like me to reheat your tea?”

She glances away from you and nods. “Yes, please, that’d be great.”

Taking her cup of lukewarm, almost cold tea, you dump it back into the small pot you had heated the water in, and turn on the burner.

Natasha’s bedroom door opens and she steps out dressed in comfy pajamas before veering a sharp right and entering the bathroom.

“Would it be best if I find a hotel to stay at tonight?” Wanda offers quietly and Pietro rushes to her side, ready to convince her otherwise, but it’s you that ends up speaking up.

“Ah, no, no, don’t worry. Natasha is just—processing,” you eventually settle on, not entirely convinced at your choice of word. But it’s basically what she’s doing, taking in all the information and trying to figure out how best to handle it. A trait she learned from her dad. Or, she’s bustling in anger and trying to hold back from exploding. A trait she also learned from her dad. “Don’t worry, she’s not mad.” You think.

Sometimes you can’t tell.

It seems to be enough for Wanda, probably trusting you to know her best. “Thank you.”

Pietro and Wanda sit down at the dining table, her hand in his as they speak in hushed tones, a foreign language—Sakovian—being traded back and forth. You give them their time, their own moment to process this—whatever this is or turns out to be.

With a sigh, you reach into your phone just as it vibrates in your hand—a new message from Bucky. As the water boils, you turn off the heat and carefully refill the mug with Wanda’s tea, all the while reading the prior messages he sent in order.

James Bucky: How's the party?

James Bucky: Please tell me you found Steve.

James Bucky: The only reasonable and acceptable answer to why you’re not responding is that you found Steve and are flirting with him

James Bucky: I’m bored, so I started watching the Lion King and Lion King 2

James Bucky: I am definitely not Zazu

James Bucky: Kovu was done dirty

James Bucky: I’m not Simba either

James Bucky: I’m Kovu

James Bucky: He’s my kindred spirit

James Bucky: Hey, Steve and Sam just got home and told me you disappeared during the party? You okay?

Placing the empty pot back over the turned off burner, the smile that had been on your face falls when you read his newest message.

You: I’d have preferred to be watching those movies than be at the party

You’re about to lock your screen when the speech bubbles appear, and a second later his messages roll through.

James Bucky: Why?

James Bucky: What happened?

James Bucky: You okay?

James Bucky: Need me to kick someone’s ass? Because I can kick Steve’s ass.

You purse your lips and hover over the keyboard, wondering if you should tell him or be vague. “That’s the whole point of this, right? Getting their attention?” Exhaling softly, you throw your head back—are you two friends or not? You can’t fucking tell when Bucky says things like that and then things like this. Why won’t he make up his damn mind?

You: A lot happened

You: I’ll let you know tomorrow or another day.

You watch the text bubbles as they appear and disappear repeatedly, until finally, he sends:

James Bucky: Right.

James Bucky: Sounds good.

James Bucky: Have a good night.

You stare at his messages and reread them over and over before sighing and typing out one last message.

You: you too, Bucky.

Turning back to the twins with Wanda’s cup of tea, you gently place it down in front of her. She and Pietro pause their conversation, both of them sending you grateful smiles. And you can’t help but notice how similar their smiles are. Most pictures you’ve seen of Wanda have her smiling tightlipped—forced almost, while Pietro’s are wide and toothy. But this time, they’re both mostly identical, grateful and small.

The bathroom door opens and Natasha steps out with a pale face—little hairs around her face clinging to her forehead and eyes a little bloodshot. She’s patting her face with a small, cotton towel. “Sorry, I needed to get more comfortable to have this talk.”

“I completely understand.”

“Why tonight?” Natasha doesn’t beat around the bush, immediately questioning the twins. “We thought you weren't in for another few weeks? Or so we were told.”

Wanda winces, and Pietro does too, the two resembling a Cocker Spaniel and a Labrador Retriever being reprimanded by their owner.

“I—it’s completely my fault I had to change my flight to earlier and—“

“No, I made her change her flight earlier just in case—“

They’re both talking over each other, making it hard to hear what either of them are saying, but with a simple clearing of her throat, Natasha is able to quiet them down.

She sighs, leaning back into her seat. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re here now, but I just wish you would’ve told us so we could’ve been ready,” she directs the last bit to Pietro. “We haven’t bought the air mattress we were thinking of getting—“

“Or made space for your things,” you finish for Natasha.

Wanda straightens in her seat and shakes her head. “It’s okay, really. I can’t thank you both enough for even thinking of allowing me to stay. I can sleep on the couch and my things can stay in my bag.” She says it with so much eagerness and gratefulness that it takes you by surprise. “It’s not a big deal.”

You and Natasha both share a look of uncertainty and you can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same thing as you.

“It’s only until I can get a place of my own.”

Your eyes slide to Pietro, who looks away from you three, lips set in a frown. His hands on the table are balled, nails probably digging into the soft flesh of his palm. Does he feel guilty? Or is there more to this?

“Take your time,” Natasha assures her as Pietro meets your gaze. The hardness around his eyes soften and his hands slowly come undone when you lift an eyebrow in his direction. “I’m sorry we can’t offer you something more permanent, but…”

“No, I understand. Thank you,” Wanda says, gaining your attention as she flashes you both a small smile, “both of you.”

Natasha nods and pushes herself away from the table as she stands. “Why don’t you take my room for tonight? I’m sure you’re tired after a, what ten hour flight?”

“Twelve,” Pietro interjects softly.

“No, no, I couldn’t possibly—“

“It’s fine.” Natasha wraps an arm around your shoulder. “I’ll just stay with this one for the night.”

You nudge her side and she chuckles.

Wanda excuses herself to get ready for bed, leaving you, Natasha, and Pietro in the living room to dwell in silence for a second before Natasha breaks it.

“Is your sister okay?” she asks, her arm around your shoulders dropping to her side.

Pietro stills, eyes darting between you two. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just tired.”

You frown, worry growing from the way Pietro’s eyes take shifty glances at the closed bathroom. “That’s not what we—“ A hand settles on your thigh, squeezing gently—a warning.

She shakes her head when you send her a questioning glance.

“Okay,” she says. “Why don’t you take the couch for the night? I’m sure Wanda will feel more comfortable with you here.”

He pauses, maybe thinks about his unresolved mess with Crystal, but then he nods with a small smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

Natasha is already in bed by the time you’re done using the restroom, but she’s not asleep, she’s sitting up and resting against the wall, scrolling through her phone with a smile on her face just like earlier this evening.

You slip in next to her and she locks her phone, placing it on the high, thin dresser next to her, before sliding down with you.

“When’s the last time we shared a bed?” she asks and you shrug in response.

“Probably senior year?”

“A long time.” She turns to face you. “We should do this more often, then. Give Wanda an actual bed once in a while.”

You laugh, agreeing as you nuzzle into your pillow, but as you think back on the conversation that happened only moments ago, your smile falls. “You felt something was off, too, right?”

Her own smile falls. “Yes,” she answers with a little trepidation, eyes glazing over as she mulls over her thoughts. “I don’t think it’s any of our business. If it were just Pietro, then I’d push for answers, but…”

“I know.” You have to respect Wanda’s privacy. You hardly know the girl anyway, and even if you did, you can’t exactly force a person to unload all their problems onto you, especially not one that you semi accused of breaking into your apartment. Besides, it’s not your place.

“Enough about that.” She bites her lip, green eyes twinkling with mirth. “I saw you talking to Steve.” You groan, lifting the blanket to cover your face and she laughs, the sound tinkering loudly in your room even if she tries to keep the volume down. “I think that was the first time I didn’t see you flailing about.”

“Please stop,” you whine, fighting off the heat beginning to crawl under your skin.

She tries yanking away the duvet, but you resist by holding on tight. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you disappeared when Sharon showed up,” she says this much more softer, worried. “When I couldn’t see you anymore, Pietro and I grew worried. And when I saw Sharon…”

That makes you pause, allowing Natasha to harshly tug the duvet and she practically jerks away from you, having not expected you to not put up a fight. She blinks at you after a moment and her eyes soften when you ask, “Did he notice?”

“No.” A pang in your chest, and a sigh escapes your lips as you roll onto your back. “He did notice that you left—” when though? Soon after? An hour after? “—but didn’t connect your disappearance to Sharon.”

What were you expecting? He notices you’re gone and realizes it was because he left you for Sharon? Why would he notice? When all of his attention has always been for the blonde and her sweet smiles. So what if he called you cute? That doesn’t mean anything. Especially not compared to his ex.

“Of course, he didn’t,” you murmur, but you don’t want to talk or think about Steve, or Sharon, or have your heart broken more than once tonight. Instead, you push away your self doubt and insecurities to a more playful tone, “So, Clint, huh?”

Her worried expression gives way to something brighter, warmer. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him sooner.”

“More surprised and maybe a little disappointed,” you say with a half shrug, mostly out of jest and she chuckles. But you are curious and she knows you are. You haven’t been hounding her for answers, giving her her space and you’re really hoping she’s ready to spill.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew there was something, you know? He’s a good guy and we’ve really clicked these past few weeks.” She sighs, but it’s more frustrated than dreamy, and it takes you by surprise. “He—he actually found me while I was arguing with my mom on the phone after one of my classes.”

Natasha and her mother arguing isn’t a new occurrence. They had a strange relationship, always biting and hostile, full of witty remarks and sarcasm that would sometimes make you feel very uncomfortable. Every argument always revolves around Natasha’s so called rebellious attitude.

Unlike her dad, who allowed Natasha to follow whatever dreams she had, her mother placed heavy expectations on her. She’s the reason Natasha does ballet, but it’s also the reason why Natasha never pursued a more ambitious dancing career. She would make Natasha train late into the night before a recital, had her on harsh, strict diets, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She hated it.

Her majoring in History and Communications and attending the same college as you, was her trying to get away from whatever plans her mom cooked up for her future. And her father was more than happy to help her with her plans if it meant making her happy and causing grief to her mother.

You’re making her sound worse than she is. She’s not a complete monster; she loves and cares a lot about Natasha, wants only the best for her only daughter. However, there’s no denying she’s overbearing and blinded by the things she could not accomplish and wishes her daughter would in her place.

“Dad finally served her the divorce papers.” You know that sounds harsh, but for years now Natasha has been wishing her parents would just divorce instead of making each other miserable, and by extension, her. But they needed each other, whether it was for appearances or money. Keeping the image of a happy, united couple did them well, especially when it came to her grandparents. However, behind closed doors, when it was only them three and maybe the help, the pent up anger and tension would always come undone. “She’s angry since she signed a prenup.” Her fingers tap harshly over her stomach. “She’s trying to get me to do something about it.”

“And what exactly does she think you can do? Convince your dad to give her more of his assets?”

“Basically.” She lets out a stuttering breath. “I do think mom deserves more than what dad’s offering, she practically built his whole career, but even if he listens to me about other things, he’s not going to listen to me about this.”

Before you could even think about the question, it slips from your tongue, “Why didn’t you tell me?” And you regret it immediately—how could you be making this about you, right now? But you can’t help it, she usually tells you everything right away, it’s you that takes longer to confess and vent.

“You’ve been distracted lately.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you want to disagree, tell her “no, you’ve been the distracted one,” but you bite your tongue this time around as she turns to face you, settling on her side.

“I thought it was because of Bucky.”

Your reaction is involuntary, the scrunching of your nose and the harsh shake of your head. “Bucky?”

She flashes you a small smile. “You’ve been hanging out with Bucky a lot.”

Oh my god. “He’s tutoring me!” Which isn’t the whole truth, but at least it’s partly true.

She chuckles at your quiet outburst. “I know. For your scholarship,” she says with a teasing lilt and gently shove her. “But after earlier today, I realized it might have to do with Steve, instead.”

You don’t say anything in response staring at her, and she stares back, green eyes watching you carefully before sighing.

“You’ll let me know when you’re ready, right?”

“What?”

“Whatever’s going on with you and Steve?”

There’s literally nothing going on with Steve, only hopeful dreams, and yet, instead of telling her this, you find yourself saying: “Of course,” like the biggest liar on Earth. She smiles and you wrap your arms around her, nuzzling into her arm. I’m so sorry, Natasha. She sighs gently, turning into you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you while this was happening. You must’ve been frustrated.”

She laughs humorlessly and you squeeze her just a little tighter. “That’s an understatement, but I’m okay now. Clint’s been an angel, listening to me unload about my parents, making me laugh. He’s a really good guy.” She squeezes you back.

You smile and she nuzzles her nose into your hair like a cat seeking warmth and comfort. “I’m glad he’s been there for you.”

“Yeah.” This time, she sighs dreamily. “Me too.”

And although you’re happy for Natasha, your heart drops to your stomach as you think of Bucky and your piling half truths.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #marvel imagine

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elderbwrry · 3 years

Text

Even if he doesn't say so

A little darkgingerpilot Witcher AU I discussed months ago with @cleversturmhond I have no concept of how time passes anymore

Summary: The Witcher meets a bard, the bard meets a mage, and they travel the continent. Kylo knows what he feels, but he can't seem to act. Hux acts without talking about things. And Poe... well, what does Poe feel?

Tags: Witcher AU, Inspired by The Witcher, Slow Burn, if you count 13k as slow burn i guess, within the story its slow burn, fantasy medieval setting, Self-Indulgent, Mage Hux, witcher kylo, Bard Poe, scenic, They're oblivious, sex references, Yearning, i guess, im slapping a mature on it for sex references and some minor violence but honestly ehhh idk, darkgingerpilot

Chapter 1/2/3/?, wordcount 5012

also on Ao3

Whenever someone asked Kylo, he always said he preferred to keep to himself and the company of Silence, his horse and his best companion for the very fact of her name; she didn't talk, she didn't disturb the meditative quiet of his lonely rides, and, most importantly, he wasn't unsure how to curry her favour. An apple would do it. His current companions, on the other hand...

For some gods-forsaken reason, Poe and Hux were quarrelling about a composer who had been dead for over a century. When the three of them had first started travelling together years ago, and in the short time since they'd reunited, such discussion had been endearing; both of them were opinionated about certain things, and their conversations often turned into little debates over whatever topic arose while they were travelling. This was one of those occasions, Kylo enjoying listening to their thoughts and voices filling up the worn country roads. A throwaway comment had become interesting; Kylo didn't actually know much about this particular composer, whereas Hux and Poe both did, and, though Kylo didn't often contribute to these discussions in any great detail since the other two were both so much better with words, he did like to learn something new occasionally. But now, several hours into their journey and still on the same subject, it was just getting fucking annoying.

“I literally studied her work. You can't just turn around and say she wasn't revolutionary,” Poe objected, trotting along between Silence and Hux's own horse on the wide bridleway, looking up at Hux indignantly.

Poe's lowered position made it seem slightly laughable when Hux looked down at him and countered, “Since I actually met the woman, I think you'll find I can,” before prompting his horse to walk on ahead of them.

Poe picked up his pace a little and continued the argument, making some musical point Kylo didn't understand either. He tried to tune them out a bit as he let Silence drop back a short distance behind the them.

Considering how much time the three of them spent around each other in recent years, Kylo supposed he should be glad disagreements as lengthy as these were relatively few. And, certainly, they were fewer even than when it had only been Kylo and Poe on the path together.

[break]

Kylo had met Poe many years ago – at least a decade, if he thought about it – when he'd been compelled by his work to go through the city he'd been born in. Not only was the place particularly unfriendly to Witchers, but also had relations of his – distant now, yet he wanted to avoid them nonetheless – in positions of authority. Kylo had used a fake name, a low hood to hide his eyes, his scar, and stuck to the dingiest taverns, but a curly-haired, high-born young man had recognised him anyway, sitting himself down confidently at Kylo's corner table, offering his name, and saying, “I know you. You're that famous Witcher.”

Kylo had eyed his unwelcome acquaintance – Poewas what he introduced himself as – guessing that he couldn't yet be twenty summers old. Of course, Kylo was no good with ages – his own longevity had corroded his sense for them until everyone seemed either old or young in confusing measures – but Poe's next request had practically confirmed his suspicion.

“Would you let me come with you?” Poe had asked the second the bar-wench had placed down Kylo's ale.

“Come with me where?” Kylo grunted. He wasn't in the mood to bodyguard some noble, out for the first time in a world without castle walls.

“Well, where are you going?” Poe's eyes had glinted as he offered Kylo a charming smile.

Kylo had appraised him again, taking in his youth, his rich clothes, his courage, and summarily said, “No.”

Poe's smile didn't drop, even though Kylo could see his only half-amused chuckle for the frustration it was. “Come on, I just wanna see a bit of the world. Get away from my guardian's expectations.”

“The Queen?” Kylo had asked, an imprudently displayed gold ring on the youth's finger catching the light.

Poe had shrugged a yes.

It only made Kylo refuse all the more. The Queen was one of the people Kylo was known to by unfortunate fact of his heritage, someone he never wanted to anger, in case of her having some cause to meet with him personally. Poe, while not her blood family, would surely be missed, as her ward, were he to make off with a Witcher, especially with the one so primarily known for the massacre at Crait.

Poe's gaze went steely at Kylo's final dismissal, and he'd left the tavern quickly after that. It couldn't have been two years later when Kylo encountered the young man again, fine doublet swapped for something a little more incognito in orange and brown tones, a lute slung over his back and all the more determination to see everything.

Kylo hadn't refused him a second time, and he wouldn't have been able to, since Poe no longer had any qualms about following him uninvited. Thus, he had a new travelling companion.

Just as he suspected, Poe was a liability in some aspects of the job where monsters were concerned, but Poe had also dragged him, limping, back to camp before, bandaged his wounds, fetched his potions. His life had undeniably turned for the better with the bard around; Poe was a talented musician, it turned out, and the extra income and incentive to stay at inns meant Kylo was now more acquainted with feather pillows than he'd ever hoped to be. The positive company had made Kylo better as well, at talking to people, at putting up with them, at giving life nuance. His path was lighter with Poe on it.

They became comfortable around each other. They began to argue, about the silly things people who know each other well and cared for each other deeply argue about, about which direction to head in, which inn to stop at, about the jacket Kylo had left to get trampled by the last monster he'd fought. Barely a day went by without some kind of silly quibble to that effect, but it never truly changed the form of their relationship.

Then, they'd met Hux.

[break]

Kylo had been around long enough that he'd thought he'd heard of most of the other powerful, non-mortal beings on the continent, so randomly running into an evidently strong mage like Hux, who he'd never heard of, was a bit surprising. Kylo had been employed to go and rid a keep up on the hill of whatever it was that was plaguing it. He was expecting to take a while to figure it out, but when he arrived, the malevolent spirits were revealed easily by the mage already locked in battle with them.

The fight the man was putting up was impressive, given the sheer number of foes. He was spewing fire everywhere, manipulating the elements to his will, his bright hair and swan-white robe whipped around by the wind he was creating, but eventually Kylo could see he was losing, and so joined him in the fight. It was fortuitous that they were both there, as Kylo certainly couldn't have defeated them all on his own either. When the last spirit was destroyed, however, Hux had spun round, announced that he had decidedly notrequired the help of some filthy Witcher, and flounced off. He'd gotten about ten paces when he collapsed from the sheer exertion of having used his magic in such a manner.

So Kylo had carried the mage back to camp and laid him down on his bedroll to recuperate.

Poe was travelling with Kylo at that time, and, though he was surprised to see Hux, he seemed very glad to see Kylo back from the fight, juiced up on potions but otherwise unharmed. His smile had made Kylo's heart do something he didn't really understand, the same thing it did when Poe met his gaze during a performance at whatever tavern they were staying at, the same when Kylo said something complimentary to him. Indeed, it was becoming more and more of a common feeling, and Kylo was finding that he rather liked it.

When Kylo suggested he should probably go find a rabbit or something for dinner, Poe seemed happy enough to watch over the mage until he returned, and Kylo had picked his way into the forest they were camping on the edge of with his head full of thoughts of Poe. His distraction had meant he took longer than usual to catch something, and when he got back, it was to find Poe backed against a tree, Hux threatening him using a dagger Kylo hadn't realised he'd had on him.

“Kylo!” Poe had shouted when he saw him – and again, the weird thing Kylo's heart did around Poe – equal parts relieved and pissed off.

Hux relaxed only slightly at knowing whose camp it was he had been brought to, and, once Kylo had convinced him to lower the weapon, he protested strongly that he didn't want anyone's help or charity, and that he was offended to have been carried around like some damsel. Poe told him he was very welcome to fuck off, but it soon became clear that Hux wasn't in any shape to be going off on his own, so he stayed with them that night.

Kylo was settling in to sleep on the opposite side of the fire to Hux when Poe dumped his bedroll down next to him, closer than usual – cue the weird heart thing again – and lay down. All Kylo had managed to ask was, “What are you doing?”

Huffing, Poe leaned up to peer over Kylo's arm at where Hux was lying, turned away from them on the far side of their little camp. “He tried to kill me today. I don't wanna wake up with my throat cut for some magey shit.”

Kylo considered pointing out that Poe wouldn't wake up at all if his throat had been slit, but he was more struck by the implication that Poe was trusting him to protect him. Usually, people were more likely to fear that Kylo would be the one killing them after whatever monster he'd been hired to dispatch, but Poe was different, and always had been, really. He insisted that Kylo had good in him, that he wasn't all the darkness that Witchers were supposed to be. He wasn't entirely right, of course, but it was nice to have someone hope in him.

So instead of making the bard move away, all Kylo had said was, “You'll get cold, so far from the fire,” and offered Poe an extra side of his own blanket.

One night of Hux staying with them turned into two, into three, into a week's travel to the neighbouring city. In fact, Kylo was almost sad to see the severe mage leave, as it meant he and Poe went back to their usual sleeping arrangements, instead of curling up together with Kylo as his shield.

[break]

Months later, to Kylo's surprise, Hux sought him out. He was after a gem of something something and he needed hired muscle that he could trust would actually get the job done. Hux had found them by the coast, and the first thing he said as he took Poe in was, “You're still travelling with him, are you?” Kylo wasn't sure whether the question was meant for him or Poe, but they'd both answered definitively.

The month and a half of travel it took to reach the mountain cave system in which the gem was kept saw Poe and Hux grow accustomed to each other, if not strictly friendly. Poe didn't resume his habit of sleeping next to Kylo, Hux didn't try to kill Poe again, and eventually they stopped speaking to each other in jibes and barbs.

Hux and Kylo also ended up bonding; they would sit together in taverns while Poe was performing and talk, about things that they remembered from when they were young, things Poe had learned only from his history professors. It was nice to have someone who related, who had experienced similar things to him, who understood what it was to be not-quite human and tied to a duty they didn't quite want. Hux had been raised in magic, it turned out, and, as they talked, Kylo realised it wasn't so different to being raised into killing as he had been. The small, commiserating smiles Hux offered struck Kylo deeply, and one day he realised that Hux, bathed in the yellow, glowing tavern light, was beautiful.

When they reached the cave systems that were their destination, Poe had to stay in the local town while Hux and Kylo went in search of the gem, since the place was too unknown and dangerous to risk him coming. And it did turn out to be dangerous; Hux and Kylo each saved each others' life a few times, had several close calls, and, once all the stress and danger of the adventure had turned into the satisfaction of success, they translated that pent-up tension into a vigorous fuck on the way out.

“I don't know why you keep him around,” Hux commented as they trudged back to the town to meet Poe, gem firmly in his grasp. “He can't help you with your work like I could.”

Kylo supposed that was true. “He helps me be better,” Kylo replied, which was also true.

Hux made a derisive sound. “Does he, now.”

Kylo shook his head at Hux's tone. “Why don't you like him? You have plenty in common.”

“It's not that I don't like him,” Hux said, tossing his head to get a strand of hair which had slipped in front of his eyes out of the way. Considering Kylo was grimy and dishevelled from the fighting, Hux's deep crimson tunic still looked remarkably put together, and it gave him a haughty air as he said, “I know his type. I've served them in courts all over the continent for centuries. They think they're entitled to everything without working for it and without thanking the people who actually make it possible. He's just another ungrateful, mortal noble.”

Kylo thought about what he said for a good minute. “You're wrong,” he said.

[break]

Back at the inn, Poe had the entire town in the palm of his hand thanks to his songs. He looked charming as ever, flashing smiles to all the ladies who were fawning over him, but Kylo was happy to see that, when Poe spotted them enter, his smile softened and a new light entered his eyes. This time, the flip in Kylo's heart felt more natural than ever.

When Kylo emerged from the bathhouse, Poe was already waiting in his room for a full account of the adventure so he could turn it into his latest ballad. Kylo related what happened as he usually did, keeping to the bare facts and trusting Poe to make them into pretty wordplay later, until he got to the end, at which point he decided that Poe didn't strictly need to know that Hux had pushed him up against the wall of the cave and kissed him with a ferocity he wasn't likely to forget any time soon.

But Poe noticed the brief hesitation and looked up from his little book where he'd been scribbling notes. “What?” he asked.

Kylo shrugged. “Nothing. We left to come back here,” he said, pulling the shirt he was wearing off and reaching for a different one.

“Did something bite you?”

Kylo could hear the frown in Poe's voice, and he turned back to see Poe's eyes locked on a slightly bruised, reddish ring low on his neck. A vague recollection surfaced in Kylo's mind of Hux tugging down his collar, once his outer layer of armour was off, and digging his teeth hard into the flesh over that spot. He hummed, reaching up to rub at it and thus hide it from Poe's sight. “Must have.”

Poe stood up and approached, batting Kylo's hand out of the way, which he couldn't find the motivation to resist. When Poe ran his thumb over the bruise, he was so warm Kylo pushed into the touch. If Poe noticed, he didn't comment, his brow was deeply furrowed. “What kind of monster even has teeth like that?”

A knock came on the door. “Kylo,” Hux called from outside, “we need to talk about payment.”

“I'm...” Kylo hesitated, feeling strangely and suddenly like he'd betrayed Poe. “I'm coming.”

Kylo wasn't sure what about him looked guilty, but Poe seemed to realise at that moment where the mark came from. “Oh,” he said, stepping away and back to his book.

Not long after that, Poe announced his intention to head back to his home kingdom. Kylo's mouth went dry. It was Hux who had to ask the platitudes – did he have some business to attend to? How long did he think he would stay? - which Poe replied to blandly, something about responsibility to his mentors. Kylo wanted to ask him to stop, to stay, but all he managed to get out was, “I'll miss you.”

[break]

Time passed.

Poe left for home, taking his light and song with him.

Kylo spent one winter with Hux, back in the keep where they'd first met, which Hux had appropriated for himself, but it was all wrong; there was a grounding influence missing, without which the two of them spent more time treating each other angrily than well. The sex was amazing, but eventually, it felt hollow. The day it became clear that the harshest weather had blown over, Kylo was back on Silence, looking for the next contract out on a monster, something he could hack into pieces without thinking.

The seasons changed, fled and returned until it had been another year. Kylo was firmly back in the blank swing of contract, monster, payment, move along, but the campfire felt lonely after dark, when he had nothing to occupy his mind. He started talking to Silence; she never replied.

Sometimes, Kylo found himself wondering how long it would be until he ran into Hux again, and if he would even want to see him. Maybe he could make the way they left things up to him. They'd had something, after all, and, though it hadn't been perfect, he missed that feeling of love and understanding and protection which Hux provided. Kylo didn't hold out much hope of seeing Poe; he never went near his home city, and why would Poe venture out again? He'd seen his share of the world. He was back in his real life, now.

But eventually, those nights of wondering wore Kylo down, and, quite without intending to, he found himself directing Silence down the path to the kingdoms neighbouring Poe's.

There, Kylo found himself invited to the royal tourney of Queen Phasma, as a guest of honour. She was a renowned warrior, and Kylo reasoned that it would be rude to decline the request of such an esteemed ruler. He reasoned that perhaps she would even have some work for him. He reasoned a lot of things, in his attempt to deny to himself that the real reason was hope that a tourney would be more than enough cause for a neighbouring noble to be in the area, or even just a bard...

The festivities were festivities. It was strange, to watch others fight instead of having to do it himself, and for performance rather than necessity. Though sometimes the rush of people grated on him, Phasma was a gracious host and Kylo enjoyed the good food well enough, always keeping an eye out for some shock of red hair, or those cheerful, dark curls he so hoped for.

His vigilance yielded one of those prizes.

A tall, beautiful, severe looking man entered the great hall one evening for the feast, walking directly up to the main table at which Phasma and Kylo were seated, and didn't even falter when he recognised Kylo's distinctive scar, yellow eyes, dark garb.

“Hux!” Phasma exclaimed standing and marching around the table to pull the man into a hug, which he returned with surprising readiness, “My dear friend, it has been too long!”

Hux gave a half-bow. “I'm sorry I'm late, I was caught up with business.”

“Ah, yes, business,” Phasma said knowingly, “and where is Lord Dameron?”

Hux's eyes flitted over to Kylo's for the briefest of seconds. “Altogether too caught up with his teaching to bother with a tournament, I'm afraid.”

“Well you must tell him I want him at the next one.” With that, she made to retake her seat again, gesturing at Kylo. “Kylo, this is Hux, currently an advisor to court in the neighbouring kingdom and the most talented mage in all the continent. Hux, Kylo, the Witcher.”

“Yes, we've met,” Hux understated, settling his gaze on Kylo fully, now, and extending his hand to Kylo over the table. Not sure what he was expected to do, Kylo gave Hux his hand, and Hux took it, raising it to his lips and kissing Kylo's knuckles.

Kylo wasn't entirely certain if he could blush any more, since the mutations which had turned him into a Witcher, but if he could, he was sure he was, what with so many people around to witness a display of affection which Kylo was unused to at the best of times. Along with that, relief, because it made him feel suddenly like all was forgiven without him having to wrangle the words around an apology.

“Hux, stop that and sit down!” Phasma reprimanded, “The players will begin soon.”

It was only as Hux sat down that Kylo realised the empty chair on his right had likely always been for Hux. No sooner had he settled than the players flooded the floor, dancing into their performance of an old, famous play, something about two supernatural kings vying for the affection of a mortal with all sorts of fanciful gifts.

“This version is better than the original,” Hux remarked a short while in, and Kylo hummed out an assent, though he had never seen it when it first was performed. He was probably too busy wading through drowner guts, or something similarly uncouth.

“So, you're in Poe's court, now?” Kylo asked instead. “Is he king?”

“No,” Hux remarked, picking up his goblet of wine and keeping his gaze on the players. “Nor does he want to be. The Queen has plenty of other worthy successors, and Poe would much rather go back to spending his days as a bard.” He tutted. “Even if he doesn't say so.”

“Why are you there?”

He sighed. “I wanted to see what you meant about him not being like the others, so I offered my services to the Queen.” Kylo hummed again, and this time, Hux turned to look at him. “You were quite right. He's different. I find myself rather taken with him.”

Kylo reached for his own wine now, his mouth suddenly dry. “Oh. Have you..?”

“No. Kylo...” Hux placed his cup down and leaned to the side so his shoulder was brushing Kylo's, even as Kylo was resolutely not looking at him. “He misses you. And I know you miss him.”

As if by design, the lutist started to play, and both their eyes went to the young woman performing in the corner. Kylo found himself thinking, perhaps uncharitably, that she wasn't as talented as Poe, her song wasn't as sweet.

Hux didn't fail to notice this. “I think we should travel together again,” he said.

“We?”

“You and I and Poe,” Hux said, as though it were obvious. “Like we did those few months travelling in from the coast. I've found myself thinking about them a lot.”

Kylo shrugged. “It was only a few months. Things have changed since then.”

“Which is why we should give it another try.” Kylo jolted in slight surprise when he felt Hux's cool hand lay over his own on the arm of the chair. He turned to find Hux looking directly into his eyes. “Stay here for a week after the tourney is over, and I'll have convinced him to come. Kylo.” A tacit command from Hux, as usual, instead of a request.

Kylo nodded.

[break]

So Kylo waited by the city gates, where Hux had sent a messenger bird that he should meet them. He was nervous, when he first spotted the black dot on the distant path that he was sure was them, shuffling from one foot to the other and gripping Silence's reins tight, like that would do anything. He was wondering how he should greet Poe; hello, certainly, and he didn't think he'd be able to stop himself from smiling, but he found that he also wanted to give him a hug, press their lips together, feel that he was really thereagain, after the nearly two years they'd spent apart.

It turned out he needn't have worried, since Poe sprang forward and clasped him into a hug without prompting, talking immediately about where they would be going and how good it would be to be back on the road.

Hux had merely given him a look that said I told you so, and followed after the excitable bard.

That had been nearly two weeks ago.

It turned out that Hux was entirely right; things were different than before, and they were better. The things that had changed were these:

Hux had brought a horse with him, this time, and several other magical items, such as a tent which was far larger inside than it appeared. Poe hadn't bothered with a horse, since he hadn't needed one before, and had thus left the money with which to pay for its upkeep back at home, planning instead to sing for his money like he used to. Kylo rather liked this; it reminded him of old times, when he steadfastly refused to let Poe ride Silence, in case it tired her out too much. The tent, on the other hand, felt annoyingly like Hux was living in style while the two of them were stuck outside, since Hux had never invited them in and Kylo, for one, wasn't about to invite himself.

It seemed Hux and Poe had also developed a much closer friendship, in the time Hux had spent at court. It made Kylo feel a little like he had missed out, like he had time to catch up on, like there was something impenetrable he couldn't access. Kylo supposed it must be similar for Hux, since he and Poe had known each other for so long before he met them, and again for Poe, given that winter when it was only him and Hux, but times like these – Poe and Hux discussing something so academic that Kylo knew so little about – could be daunting as much as interesting.

Mostly, Kylo felt like he still had to make something up to Poe, and he wasn't sure how to do it. He should probably just have a conversation with him about it, but the words never came, and bringing it up when nobody was thinking about it would, he was sure, just sour the mood. And if he just left it, the tension would have to break eventually.

[break]

Ahead of him on the road, Hux and Poe's little argument seemed to have reached a peak point. Kylo had been too lost in his thoughts to pay attention to what they were saying, but now Poe had stopped walking, raising open arms in that way of his that was almost defeated, but actually said he still thought he was right. It was very cute, like he was a turtle with a lute for a shell, and Kylo couldn't help but think his annoyed expression was charming as well.

When Silence reached the spot where Poe was standing, watching Hux ride on with his usual haughty confidence, Kylo hummed. “Did he win?”

Poe huffed, moving again to keep up with Silence's ambling pace. “No, but he's acting like he did. He always thinks he's right.”

Kylo thought about it for a beat; Hux did indeed always think that he was right. It was one of the things that had caused friction in their attempt at a relationship that one winter. It wasn't that all three of them couldn't be stubborn, more that Kylo and Poe had much more ability to hold out against each other's pestering than either of them seemed to have against Hux. One narrowing twitch of those steely-grey eyes, and anyone with even half a sense of self-preservation would surrender. So Kylo could sympathise with Poe's little pout.

They came to the edge of the forest, the village where they planned to stop a short way before them across a few fields. Kylo drew Silence to a halt and put out a hand to Poe, who looked at it first with surprise and then joy. He quickly allowed Kylo to help him up, settling just behind the Witcher, his chest pressed to his back, their thighs brushing against each other with every movement. Kylo could feel it all, and he tried not to let his stomach flip too much when Poe's arms snaked around his sides, hands locking at his front. He cursed inwardly that today he'd chosen to forgo some layers in favour of his cooler shirt.

But then Poe was saying to him over his shoulder – though it felt more like murmuring in his ear - “Come on, I wanna see Hux's face.”

Kylo prodded Silence to walk on, closing the distance on Hux. As they passed, Kylo felt Poe remove one hand to wave at the mage. Looking around, it was in almost slow motion that Hux's expression went from one of mild astonishment to annoyance to jealousy.

“See you there, Hugs!” Poe said, and Kylo smiled to himself.

#darkgingerpilot #armitage hux #poe dameron #kylo ren #kylo/hux/poe #kylux #darkpilot #gingerpilot #my writing #fanfiction #witcher au #fantasy medieval au #even if he doesn't say so

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gerberbabey · 4 years

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cocaine | kiara carrera

madison bailey rlly met her gf ON TIKTOK, thats wild and now i see that my chances arent as low as i believe. anyways love that for them.

writing this made me so damn depressed. like if anyone would like to fall in love w me, im just here...chillin.

masterlist | cocain series: 2 | 3

summary: Kiara falls in love with someone who isn’t willing to love anymore (story inspired by the mentioned song and this scene).

warnings: that gay shit, cursing, angst, underage drug use, underage drinking, mentions of dying, unrequited love?

♫ Cocaine by Pink Sweat$ ♫

Kooks could talk as much shit as they wanted but it didn’t exactly stop them from showing up at the boneyard for a kegger. They whined and complained about Pogues but still came around to the other side of the island because they knew they would have a good time.

“It’s like watching National Geographic,” Kie winced and you sputtered out a laugh, stumbling back as you tried to keep the water from dripping onto your clothes. There was a pocket of Kooks jumping around to the music, moving in a weird sort of unison that was both stiff and awkward.

“Ew,” Kie laughed as you leaned forward to spit out the water that you had been trying to drink. To be honest it wasn’t that funny of a comment but you were also high of your ass so everything was hilarious.

“I can’t breathe,” you huffed out and Kie had to hold you steady when you stumbled into her. You were laughing so hard that it was at that point where you weren’t even making any noise. She couldn’t stop herself from laughing because of how hard you were laughing.

“Oh my god (Y/N) it wasn’t even that funny!”

“Then why are you laughing?!”

“Because you’re laughing!”

The two of you burst out into another fit of giggles as you wrapped your arms around the girl, resting your head on her chest as she wrapped her arms around you and struggled to keep the two of you standing.

“Are you two ok?” Pope walked up to the two of you just as you stumbled into the sand in a laughing heap. You let out one giggled and took in a deep breath as you stared up at Pope, your head hazy and heavy.

“Chillin dude,” you drawled out and Pope shook his head before he helped the two of you up. Kia brushed off the sand from her curls and you gave an aggressive shake of your head as you brushed out the sand from hair at the same time. Kie let out a noise and Pope stepped back to avoid any sand flying at him.

When you stopped you stumbled to straighten up. Everything around you was moving fast and yet slow at the same time and you let out a laugh.

Kie couldn’t help but look at you with a dopey look on her face. She wished she could tell you just how much she loved you. The day Kie had realized she was in love with her best friend was a bit of a stressful one. Kie was a firm believer of the “No Pogue on Pogue macking rule”. Not only did she believe it would change everything if broken, she also didn’t want to have a reason to be tied down to the Outer Banks. She loved her friends, her family, and her life on the island but she knew she was capable of so much more. Deep down in her heart she knew that she was meant to travel the world. That the best way for her to succeed was to get out of the Outer Banks and into the world.

But then one day she looked into your eyes and knew she loved you. That she was in love with you.

You were friends with the Pogues before she’d joined the group but you were the first one she met. You met the rest of the Pogues through JJ, and then had integrated Kie into the group after you started working at The Wreck.

After the betrayal of Sarah Cameron and the pain she went through being ostracized by her entire school, meeting you and then the boys had been her saving grace. Sure you weren’t jumping to your feet to try and help baby sea turtles into the ocean, but you always listened to her. You understood her.

“I mean everyone’s freaking out about plastic straws but the cups are like...more plastic,” you added to her rant and she nodded enthusiastically.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!”

She was pretty much convinced the two of you were soulmates the day you had played her a playlist that you made just for her.

Yet even though she was so head over heels in love there was too many reasons why she couldn’t tell you.

One of the biggest reasons was your lack of faith in love and relationships. Convincing you that falling in love and being in love was a good thing proved to be a difficult feat. You’d been hurt so much by the concept of love that you’d moved past the point of thinking you’d ever fall in love. You left it behind and believed wholeheartedly that it wasn’t something meant for you. You didn’t believe in marriage and didn’t believe that you would ever find that person. You’d stopped looking and that meant that you couldn’t and wouldn’t see Kie in the way she wished you would.

“Yo (Y/N)!”

You and your friends turned at that and Kie watched you grin as you ran up to the boy who called you. You jumped into his arms and Kie bit her lip.

“Dude! What the fuck is up?!” You yelled as the boy laughed and let you down. You were jumping around excitedly, “Yo when did you get home?”

“Yesterday.”

“Who’s that?” Kie asked JJ and the boy turned to look at what she was talking about.

“Huh? Oh that’s Quincy, he graduated last year I think? Went to the Navy or something, him and (Y/N) were really close.”

“Oh.”

Kie wondered why she never heard about Quincy.

“Kie!!!” You waved her over and Kie pushed down that weird feeling that was rising up and hid it with a smile. She moved to stand by you and tried not preen when you took her hand in yours, intertwining your fingers and holding on tight. She hoped that Quincy would conclude that she was yours. (You may not have been hers, but she was wholeheartedly yours).

“Kie this Quincy. He was my fuckin plug before he left,” you laughed and Quincy crossed his arms and gave you a look. Kie felt a little relieved but then thought about this.

“Didn’t you start smoking when you were like...in middle school?” Kie asked and Quincy laughed while you shrugged.

“Yeah, can you imagine how I felt seeing this 12 year old asking me if I sold?”

Kie tried not to cringe. You’d been smoking for way longer than she’d known you. Your tolerance surpassed JJ, likely because of your lack of tolerance breaks. Kie could argue that at least you’d only smoked weed and hadn’t dove into other, harder drugs. The one time you had, Kie nearly had a heart attack and the boys almost killed a boy for urging you to take it.

You’d told her once that you just really liked how being high made you feel. The strain you smoked made you feel relaxed. It eased your mind and your body.

You told her that you started smoking after your parents separated. They’d fallen out of love and decided that rather than being adults and dealing with their issues themselves, they’d put the weight and stress of their problems onto your shoulders. A year later you had decided you were going to quit because you’d fallen in love with your boyfriend of a year and a half. You nearly did stop getting high, but then your boyfriend broke up with you, didn’t tell you you why, and then ghosted you.

3 days later he’d posted about his new girlfriend (he’d reassured you nothing was going on between them when you were together. The time stamp of the filtered picture told you and everyone else otherwise).

Kie wanted to spite the people who’d led to the walls you built around your heart.

You had guided Kie and Quincy back over to the other Pogues and Kie couldn’t help but cling to you that night. She didn’t like Quincy’s familiarity with you. It was kind of childish really but it’d been a while since you’d looked eager to interact with anybody who weren’t the Pogues. Kie’s heart skipped a beat when she realized how absolutely ok you were with her holding and touching you.

“Hey...(Y/N)?”

“Hmm..?”

The two of you were laying in her bed. The kegger had ended some time ago and though the two of you would’ve usually stayed at the Chateau with the boys, she’d decided she wanted to spend the rest of her night alone with you. She’d appreciated Quincy taking the two of you to her house.

“You really don’t think you’re going to get married?” she questioned quietly and she watched you open your eyes and look into her own.

“Hm...Yeah. Probably not,” you told her honestly.

“Why not?”

“...I don’t know. I don’t think I’d want to commit to someone that much. Plus...I don’t think anyone would wanna commit to being with me either.”

Kie would.

“But what if someone loves you...so so much, but you just won’t open yourself up to them? Would you really risk losing that before you even know it?”

You stayed silent at that. This was something that constantly went through your mind. sometimes you thought about those “what if” moments constantly. What if you’d given that boy a chance? Would you be in love with him now? Would the two of you be happy?

Yet you also thought: but maybe the two of you would be miserable instead. Maybe it would just lead to more pain.

“I don’t know if I could deal with being hurt because of love again.”

“...Ok...”

The two of you eventually drifted off to sleep. Kie’s chest hurt but she dreamt about kissing you.

Kie sometimes wished that she could be the one to bring your heart out of its hiding place. She wanted to be the person that you were willing to finally love. She wanted you to toss aside the risk of getting hurt because she’d make it clear to you that she would never hurt you.

JJ had gotten too high once, and had told her that you and him sometimes went to the dock and just sat there in silence. That the two of you would allow your worries to ease just by being beside one another and that you both knew that even without talking, or venting, or even smoking, you understood how JJ felt and JJ understood how you felt.

Kie wanted that.

She wished she didn’t have to push so hard for you to feel comfort in her, but she would continue pushing nonetheless. Despite how close the two of you were as friends, vulnerable moments were rare with you.

“Kie, I need you to leave this alone ok? It’s seriously not any of your business,” you’d tried to shake her off and she only became angrier. The boys had shuffled out of the room the moment you’d walked in with Kie yelling at you.

She had went to pick you up and caught you snorting a line of...something, in your room.

“None of my business!? I can’t just let you hurt yourself like this (Y/N)!”

“Kie you smoke with me! Fucking weed is killing me just as much as any other drug would! If you cared so much then don’t cherry pick what you decide to care about!”

“Don’t ever tell me how I feel!”

“God you’re not my fucking mom Kie, just stop!”

“No (Y/N)!”

You’d stormed off after that argument. Out of all the people in your life you thought Kie would be the last person the chastise you for anything you did. You thought she understood. Kie felt terrible when you didn’t come around to the Chateau or even talk to her and the Pogues for the rest of the day. Kie’s heart was in your hands and you were squeezing.

The next day, Kie had bursted into your room crying.

“You can’t be mad at me for just wanting you to be ok...” she sobbed and you held her tight to you.

“I know Kie, I know. I’m sorry,” you mumbled into her hair before you gave her a kiss on the forehead. She pulled back to look at you and she took in the worried expression on your face. She was hyper aware of the feeling of your thumbs stroking her cheek. Kie shut her eyes and leaned forward to press her lips onto yours.

Her heart broke into a million pieces when you gasped and backed away.

“Oh my god...” Kie sobbed and stood from where the two of you had clung to each other on your bed, “I’m sorry-I just..I’m gonna go-”

You couldn’t say a word as you watched Kie rush out of your room.

“Fuck!” she yelled before the door slammed shut.

part 2...?

#outer banks imagine #kiara carrera x reader #kiara carrera imagine #kie carrera x reader #kie x reader #kie imagine #kie carrera imagine #x reader #reader insert #angst #romance #poc!reader #woc!reader #outer banks #obx #obx imagines #outer banks fic #obx fic #outer banks fanfiction

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