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bloodycassian · 3 years

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Tender - Azriel x reader - Pregnancy fic. Fem! reader. LONG!!!

Prompt - Hi! I just read most of your imagines, and i loved them! You have me as your faithful follower, I don't comment much because English is not my first language. Could you write one where az manages to perceive that reader is pregnant right in the middle of the war?

You woke to yelling. Not screaming. Not fear or pain, but battle cries that you'd grown to love. They made your blood sing in harmony with the Illyrian voices. It made your heart hammer in your chest, and your muscles tense - ready to fight. Azriel groaned beside you, curling around your waist like a vise. You managed to break free from his muscled arms. Pale light shining through the tent tinted his shadows a light gray. They wrapped around you, drawing a chill down your spine. The war cries grew louder. "Get up. It's time." You shook him, pulling on your light armor. He covered his face with his hands, and did not leave the cot. He groaned again when you pulled the blanket off his mostly naked body. He was never a morning person. Cassian rushed in when you were putting the last of your gear on, and Az froze. His grip on his pants went white knuckled. Cassian's face was pale, and before he could say anything Azriel was hurriedly pulling on the rest of his clothes. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the Warlord. "It's a diversion." You said, voice hollow. Cassian's slight nod was enough to make the breath leave you. "It's going to be fine." Azriel grunted, pulling his tunic over his head. "We just need to move the troops. Get Rhys here." He waved a hand at his brother dismissively. Cassian grabbed Az's wrist. He forced the male to look at him, to see his worried eyes. You tensed, ready to defend your mate even against Cassian's might. "Rhys is on the battlefield already. We're on our own." His voice was low, and the warning in his eyes was enough to make the hair on your arms raise. Azriel pulled away from him, slowly. He began strapping his weapons belts on, pushed his hair back and sighed. "Where do you need us?" The air was cold, and the howls of battle echoed across the hills. Azriel's shadows curled around your legs, comforting. Then they slithered their way across the valley where the battle was beginning. + You could barely raise your sword by the end of it. The mud had been the most challenging part of the entire fight. The enemy horses had done a good job of making obstacles when they fell in the mud, lame with broken ankles and necks. You wished to put them out of their misery, but there was no time. The forces seemed to come in waves. Like a test against your small unit. Few were lost from your side. The dewey grass steamed in the morning light, carrying up the reek of enemy blood with it. You wiped your face, trying to get the taste of dirt and blood out of your mouth. Sharp stinging pain seared your ribs under your arm. You hissed. Then, you felt the warmth of your own blood. You swore, and looked for a medic that wasn't tending to wounded on the ground. Some Illyrian bodies were being lifted away, high into the air for burial at their homes. You dared not take a healer away from more critically injured soldiers. You nodded grimly to the ones that you passed. They were covered in blood, and yet still gave you fierce grins when you went by. They respected you. More than any other Illyrian Female before you. It was sad, but you hoped to forge a new path for other females of Illyria. You held an arm under your side and limped your way out of the mud. The packed mess inside your boots made moving your feet hard. You couldn't wait to shower. You spotted Cassian far down the field, and watched as he raised his sword high over his head. Your stomach twisted in pity for the suffering animal under him. You looked away before you could see the lifeblood drain from the horse's neck. He sent a blessing to the Mother for the animal, and continued on to the next suffering soul that would meet its end via his blade. + You hadn't seen her in a long while. Too long for a friend, but she gave you that same look she always did when she saw you hobbling up to her for help. Jeva was your favorite healer, and one you knew could keep a secret. She was round, and her voice was light and comforting. She smelled of nutmeg and berries. Something you had appreciated about her since you had met. "What is it this time?" She waved you inside, holding the tent flap open for you while you dumped your battle stained gear on the wood hutch beside the entrance. The tent was light and airy, filled with small plants of different varieties and cluttered with boxes and books everywhere. Her desk and bed were shoved to the corner, and a long wood table took up the majority of her area. As if she had known you were coming, she already had potions of different types laid out on the end of the table. "Probably nothing." You said, pulling off your armor as gingerly as you could manage. The soft light flickered and changed to a harsh beam when she laid you down on her exam table. "I'm not supposed to be healing anymore you know. I'm retired." She clicked her tongue at you, earning a pained grin. It was hard for you to bother a healer for any amount of time for something that you were sure was so small. But something about it stung too much for it to be just a scrape. And you knew Cassian would lecture you about it being infected if he saw through your mask to the pain. Az would force you to see one anyway as soon as he learned of it. "You know I wouldnt be here unless I had to be, Jeva." You said through your teeth as she cut away your muddied undershirt. "Oh, I know. That's why I have my best potions ready." She laughed, then paused. Your shirt lay limp on the table. Her eyebrows knitted together at the sight of your open wound. "Is it bad?" You asked, craning to try to look for yourself. She held you down. "Metal. Fragments are still in here, likely why it hasn't healed yet." You relaxed at that, grateful that it wasn't worse. "Thank the Mother. Az would have yelled all night." You rolled your eyes, and sighed as she started working on you. The first part was always the worst. The stinging hot potion that made the nerves around the wound numb. "One-" She began her countdown, then poured. You growled at her, gripping the end of the stained table hard enough to crack. "Easy..." She warned, and smoothed down your hair. She knew how to take care of her patients, that was certain. You relaxed as the stinging eased. The dull ache that it left behind turned into a bad memory. "I'm going to extract the blade then we can close you up. Simple and easy." She picked up her tools and began tugging away at your side. You could have fallen asleep with the relief the numbing potion brought. And with her humming in the air around you, it was a struggle not to. The time seemed to pass quickly, but when the clank of the metal tools jolted you from your dozing, the tent was lit in orange from the sunset outside. "Relax, we're going to close it up now. Once the potion wears off you will still be sensitive." She placed her hands over you, and the familiar warm vibrations of her healing magic set in. Then it stopped abruptly. You cracked open an eye, then narrowed your brows at her. "What is it?" You said gently, then again when she didnt reply. She stared at you, mouth agape. Her eyes locked to yours, even when you sat up to demand she tell you what the problem was. "Am I dying?!" you took her hand gently, in case she was going to push you away. Then she started laughing, her hand gripping yours back. The warmth glowed in your palm, the light radiating out from it was starkly contrasting the tent walls bedecked in orange. The light she emitted shot through you, and you felt the wound tingle, and seal. You stared at her in shock. That amount of healing power was incredible. Especially for field medics. "Youre not dying, no..." She waved a hand, fanning herself. Her eyes were glassy with tears. She sniffed and clutched your hand tighter. "Quite the opposite, darling." She pulled you in for a warm hug. + You spent the rest of the evening with Jeva. Until she got a hurried message about student healers needing help on the battlefield. You stayed in her tent as long as you could manage with the ringing in your ears. You stared and stared at the mirror across from you, showing you the bloodied warrior that you wanted to be. That you wanted to stay. The warrior that carried the Shadowsinger's child. The thought made tears sting your eyes. You refused to let them fall. You had been ignoring his tugs down the bond for well over an hour. You knew he was concerned, but you couldn't bring yourself to shout back down. The only thing that echoed in your mind were Jeva's words "You're pregnant..." Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. You nearly punched her when she told you she wasn't joking. The only reason you even believed her was because of that powerful zap of healing she sent to you. That she sent to scan your body and make sure the fetus was okay before you even knew about it. You could barely hear half the words she said as she told you your options. You roiled with the thought now. The Mugwart she left on the table was daunting. You desperately wanted her back. Jeva would be able to deliberate with you. You knew she would tell you to do whatever makes you happy. You knew that. But you wondered how ethical the choice that made you happy was. Bringing a child into a world of war seemed cruel. Even if it made you happy. You distantly noticed Azriel as you passed him, walking to the forest edge just passed your tent. Worry laced the bond between you. You tried not to show anything back. But you knew he felt the tension, the void there. "Where the hell have you been?!" Azriel's eyes were furious when you passed him, his wings flared out slightly. You couldnt even look at him with anger back. Your emotions ran wild. You were frozen, and as numb as the potion Jeva had given you when she began removing the blade. "Do you know how worried I have been?! I sent Cassian to-" He tried to grab for your hand to stop you, but you flicked him away. He stopped for a moment, stunned. Then returned with more energy than before. That yawning abyss in your bond was growing darker with shame, worry and anxiety. His shadows roiled around him as he caught up. "You dont get to-" "Azriel..." You stopped in the edge of the clearing. The small meadow was silent in the darkness, not even the monsters of Prythian dared roar tonight. Your mind did all the roaring you could handle, anyway. You tried to focus on the swaying grass, on the soft smell of wet bark and pine hanging in the air. "Dont try to excuse this I need to know you're okay and-" He stormed in front of you, ready to burst with rage. His fear always made him angry. And for good reason after losing so many close to him. A tear ran down your cheek, your face burned hot with hundreds of feelings at once. Fear, pain, shock, joy, hope.... elation. You wanted his children. You wanted to help raise his child. You wanted to see Azriel be a father. You knew he would be the best damn Illyrian father there had ever been. The thought hit you like a well placed punch. He saw your paleness, your tears and stopped his yelling. You fell to your knees, the mud splattering all around you. You wanted to lay down. Lay down and think about the implications of carrying his child. Would it be good for the baby to be born at all? Just because you wanted it didnt mean it needed to happen. You knew that Jeva would give you a potion to extract it without hesitation if it was what you wished. "I'm-" You choked out, fighting the panic that flooded you. Your mind roiled with the conflict of your mind and heart. It turned you into a muddied, dark ocean on the bond. A turmoil that he couldn't see past. If you were an ocean, he was your lighthouse on the cliffside. Signaling you home. His eyes darted to your body, to your hands and how they wrung together in front of you. "I'm sorry. I just-" He sighed and took one of your hands. "I'm sorry." He kissed the back of it and brought his forehead to yours. He normally needed a lot longer to cool down after a fight, but seeing you in tears shocked him out of his pride. "I shouldn't have said that... I know you can take care of yourself." his voice was low, and he ran a hand comfortingly down your back. A hysteric laugh bubbled from your throat. It sounded like a sob. You didn't know exactly which it was. He sat back and pulled you into his lap, despite the grass being dewey and damp. He rocked you there for a few seconds before you had to tell him. Before he could be too close if he didnt want you anymore. The doubt crept into your head, and the nerves ate at you. Your heart raced, you could feel it in your neck. "Azriel..stop." You pushed away from him, to catch his beautiful dark eyes. They were painted in a silver hue by the moon above. You took in his face, the curve of his cheeks and lips for possibly the last time. You had to consider the worst possible outcome. You braced yourself for the rejection, for the pain of his reaction. You knew it had to come out. You knew you had to say it now or you never would. Your stomach flipped over and over. You opened your mouth, a soft sob wracking out of you before you began. He froze. Went utterly still, his shadows even stopping for a second before whirling faster than before. Your eyes went wide. His nose flared, eyes narrowed. He held you closer, sniffing at your neck. He pulled back and his eyes were even wider than before. His mouth fell open when you nodded. "I'm-" "Youre-" his face went through a whirlwind of different emotion. Then, he broke out into a small laugh. He couldn't stop. You felt the tears running down your cheeks and didnt bother to wipe them away. "Honey... I'm sorry." He stopped laughing suddenly. "What do you want to do?" His eyes were masked, his expression the most serious you'd ever seen him. His aura on your bond seemed to go completely gray and still, as if he didn't want you to see him. He masked everything. In preparation for whatever you decide. The gesture made your heart squeeze in appreciation. You stammered, resting your forehead on his. "I dont know." You muttered, voice cracking. Then, he was wrapping his arms around you in a smothering hug. When he pulled away, he cradled your face in his hands. The hands that had seen so much cruelty in his life. The possibilities of the same thing happening to your child made your heart race. "I'm here for whatever decision you make." He brushed your cheek with a thumb. You nodded and let him hold you like that for a while. Quietly rocking back and forth with you in his lap. + You were near falling asleep when the war cries rang out again. Illyrians howling for their leaders to join them. Another onslaught of death coming their way. The calls were distant, but Azriel tensed the second he heard them. Your blood went cold. He buried his face to your chest, as if he wished he could hide there. "I'm not going." He said when you tried pushing him away. "I wont leave you." He promised, locking his muscled forearms around you. The echoes of battle cries faded. He stroked your hair, and traced his fingers along your back. Then he swore. "Let me take care of this." He said, voice edged with anger. Nerves pricked at your stomach, but you stood, wobbling on your feet slightly. He took off into the night sky painted in silvers and blues by the full moon. Then came racing back down right behind Rhys. the high lord took one breath and then he was hugging his brother. Azriel shoved him off, and they shot into the night sky. Well, Azriel did. He dragged Rhys with him. Grunts of pain and fleshy sounds of punching rang out. You followed them high into the air where they had their conversation. Your wings led you around them with ease. "Stop fighting and use your words, boys." You warned. You recognized Azriels growl and smiled to yourself as they broke apart. Rhys adjusted his tunic and cleared his throat. "I need you there. Cassian is handling the Western front, the others need a leader." Azriel began protesting against the high lord. "I cant with my mate-" "I know it feels impossible right now but-" "I will not, Rhys-" You set your jaw. If they wanted to fight over if you needed protection or not, you would take the option off the table all together. "I'll go." you said, voice strong since hearing Jeva announce what grew inside you. Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant. You shoved the thoughts away as far as you could. They both turned to you, horror striking Azriels features. "Absolutely not. No." Heat and rage flared down the bond. It made you want to defy everything he said. You locked eyes with him and glared. Rhys glanced between you with tense shoulders. He cleared his throat. "It would be a good compromise, Azriel. You can go together to the Eastern front. Think about it." He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and gave him a grim smile. "I wont say a word." He said, summoning the darkness around him then winnowing away. Azriel's cold eyes made him look like a statue. "Let's go." He said, and started circling lower. Back to the meadow. "I'm going, you cant stop me from following you." You said, expecting a fight. He said nothing. You were met with that silence that drove others crazy tryin to find out what he wanted from them. The bond seemed to snap taut, then go into a relaxed state. He was hiding. You knew it, but would rather have silence and peace than him trying to fight you again. He walked you back to the tent, and exhaustion took you under before you could remember him laying down with you. You hoped it it was exhaustion, and not whatever the baby was doing to you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't resist the urge to cradle your belly while you slept. There was no bump, but it felt like the most natural thing to do now that you were aware of the being inside you. You slept hard, and awoke to the breakfast bell chiming. The sounds of slow footsteps marching through the mud kept you awake. Azriel was gone, but the candle on the table was lit. A note lay there waiting for you. His messy scrawl made you smile, the familiarity of his writing reminded you of the notes he would leave you when he had to leave early for meetings with Rhys. "Back by nightfall, lover. A guard is at the tent, ask her to bring you anything you need. -A" You peeked outside the tent to see Jeva there, her long fur coat shimmering in the morning light. Her breath clouded in front of her when she gave you a soft smile. "Good morning." She pulled a muffin from her coat. "Your favorite." She winked, and you pulled her inside. She had a fire roaring by the time you finished your food. "How are you not freezing?" She complained, blowing into her hands to keep them warm. You brushed the crumbs from your shirt and really took into account the changes you'd noticed lately. How hungry you'd been, how tired after the easiest days. "Do you know... How um..." You gestured to your stomach. She gave a small smile and nodded. "Only a month or so." She said quietly. You stared at your stomach, as if waiting for something to answer you. To give some sort of affirmation that Jeva was right. She continued warming herself by the fire, and soon the tent was filled with her warm chestnut smell. Cassian entered the tent when you were starting to doze off again. The wool blanket on your lap reminded you of a time when you first met Az. Your heart squeezed at the memory of those long nights shared together by a fire. Taking your turns on watch duty. You shook yourself from the memory. Cassian froze. His face scrunched up at the sight of you. The scent, you realised. You swore to yourself, and Jeva only nodded when he looked to her. "Youre pregnant?" He asked breathlessly, and you could smell the fear and excitement coming from him. In fact, you could smell the smoked meat on his breath. And the cold air that clung to him from outside. It was refreshing, like a cool drink on a hot day amid the dry heat inside the tent. "I'm sorry, I shouldnt have.." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to remain focused. "Its okay, Cass. What's going on? Az left me this note." You handed it to him. His lips moved as he read it. He went white as bone. Your stomach dropped. + Azriel had gone in the night to take out the entire eastern flank with a small group of Illyrians. You felt your world skittering away as Cassian told you. Your vision went blurry, and tears fell, dripping on your hands that clenched the wool blanket. "He's on his way here now. He had to answer to Rhys first." Cassian waited for you to say anything. But your lips just couldnt form the words. The hurt, anger... the betrayal you felt for him going to battle without you. And defying a direct order from his high lord like a fool. "I suggest you leave before Azriel comes back. It may get messy." Jeva spoke for you, and you were grateful. You gave Cassian a nod of thanks before he turned and left. The cold wind that blew in from the door gave you goosebumps. "Take it easy, you dont want to be too stressed." Jeva handed you a mug of tea and gave you a small squeeze. You could smell Azriel before he entered. Jeva shot him a glare, but said nothing. "I'll be in my tent if you need me." She promised, gave you a look that said 'find me after' and left. Azriel took off his armor plates one by one. A bit too slowly to be considered normal. Stalling. You said nothing. You let the tension roil out of you, let it hit him down the bond. Like a wave getting ready to break. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his wings. The mask he wore cracked when he saw your fists balled in the blanket. "I couldnt risk you... or the babe." He tried to hide the fear that shone through. The fear of his mate or child being hurt in battle. He wouldnt be able to stand it. The fight was needed, anyway. He needed to get out his instincts to protect protect protect. You said nothing. You let that looming wave grow larger. He sighed, and sat at the end of the cot beside you. "I'm sorry. I needed....I needed to get my head straight. I should have told you. I'm sorry." That wave crashed, not on him though. Internally, guilt and fear melting in on yourself. "I cant lose you, we... We cant." You said through your teeth, trying to hold back the tears that begged to spill over. He tried his best to hold back his surprise. "We?" He asked, a small smile playing on his full lips. You gave him a grim smile. "If you're...ready to be a father. I like imagining you, with my child." "Our child." He said with a bubbling laugh. You laughed with him, and it turned to hysterics. He wiped tears from the corner of your eyes. "We're going to have a baby?" He cradled your face, looking into your eyes. You took one of his hands, and placed it on your flat belly. "Yes. We are." You said, voice quivering. He wrapped you into a hug, and you cried together in the cot.

#acotar #acotar fic #reader x azriel #azriel x reader #azriel

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navegandoaciegas · 4 years

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Bubble Gum: Spoiled Rotten

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Sugar Daddy AU)

Warnings: jealous!bucky, brat!reader, smut, explicit language, age difference, cockwarming, brat taming, edging, overstimulation, unprotected sex.

Summary: Spoiled brats get punished, and James knows just the right way to teach you a lesson.

Written for @world-of-aus au writing challenge.

If looks could kill, James’ steely eyes would have burned a hole through your thick skull already. He draws a deep, steading breath to regain his composure and keep under control his blood pressure that skyrockets everytime you get on his nerves.

You’ve been on your worst behavior all day.

It’s clear you do things for the sake of riling him up, he can see it written all over your mischievous face and the devious smirk you shoot his way, and you do it because the punishing way he fucks the brat out of you is usually the reward you like best.

It’s the reason you’re humoring this hunky sales assistant who’s probably ten years younger than him, a good six inches taller and built like a fucking brickhouse, as he tries to flirt with you. James frowns observing the strain of his biceps against his button down shirt when he lifts your very heavy shopping bag.

No one needs that much muscle mass unless they’re Steve Rogers or Sam Wilson. Very tasteless, in his honest opinion. The guy could’ve at least gone for a size larger.

Your laugh snaps him out of his murderous trance.

“Thank you, Tommy, I’ll see you soon.” you chirp, placing your hand on one of his outrageously bulging biceps.

“Always a pleasure, miss.” is his flirtatious response as he shoots you a beaming smile and a wink, completely ignoring James’ presence at your side. The audacity.

“Are you done yet?” he grunts, glaring at Tommy’s very broad retreating back.

You hum, grab his hand and lace your fingers with his, guiding him outside of the store and into the sidewalk. “I got everything I needed.”

“Yeah, I bet. Timmy seemed real dedicated to meeting your every need.”

It comes out whinier than he intended, and the pout on his lips gives out kicked puppy vibes instead of seething, menacing man.

You let a sound between a coo and a snort and clutch his arm, peppering kisses on his shoulder. “What, you jealous or something?” A teasing smirk spreads on your glossy lips, “I didn’t take your for the possessive kind, Mr. Barnes.”

“Just get in the damn car.” he mumbles and opens the door for you, slapping your ass as you get inside.

Tonight he’ll have to teach you a lesson you won’t forget.

You huff for the tenth time in a minute, brows furrowed as you glare at James, who’s been ignoring you since you’ve gotten inside his penthouse. He keeps typing on his computer, ignoring your pretty lace set and your numerous attempts to get his attention.

You’re puzzled by his behavior. You’ve been getting on his every last nerve since this morning, sending him provocative pictures during his meeting and acting like a brat, and he hasn’t snapped yet like he usually would, spanking your ass red and fucking you until you’re sobbing.

“James, stop working.” you whine like the little spoiled child you are, “Hello? I’m here.”

He hums, not even lifting his eyes from the spreadsheet in front of him. “I’m doing what I’d have done today had you not sent me those pictures, bubbles. You know how distracting you can be?”

“I know.” you quip, hips swaying as you make your way to where he’s hunched, and sit on his desk. “That’s why I did it. Now leave this and come to bed with me.”

A wicked glint crosses his face and is gone in an instant.

“We don’t need the bed.” he tells you, his warm hand caressing your thigh and travelling higher and higher until it meets your panties, “Do we?”

You shake your head, spreading your legs open as he moves his chair between them. Slowly he brings his face down to your inner thighs until his hot breath fans over your cunt and his beard grazes your skin. You let out a moan when he leaves open mouthed kisses along the thin ridges of your stretch marks, tracing up until he meets the sheer lace of your panties. His eyes, pretty sapphire eyes, bore into yours as he trails up to your mound and lower belly, his hands keading the flesh of your legs and ass. Hooking his fingers around your underwear, he slides the lace down to your ankles, and you toss them away with an impatient growl.

Tingles spread like wildfire with every soft touch of his lips until your walls are throbbing and you’re burning up with desire.

“So wet bubbles, all for me?” James chuckles, his long fingers teasing your clit, never enough to relieve you of the coil in your core, just the right amount to make you feel like you’re losing your mind.

You grind your hips on the table, chasing his fingers and some relief while his name pours out of your mouth like a prayer as you beg him for more.

The wicked glint is back again before he delves in your dripping folds, and a satisfied sigh escapes your lips. James latches onto your swollen clit while his tongue swirls around your cunt and his prosthetic fingers pump in and out of you. The sounds of him sucking hard on you and slurping your juices and the squelch of your wet pussy fill his office.

You feel the coil in your belly get tighter with each swipe of his tongue, your walls convulsing around his fingers.

“Daddy, please, I’m close.” you whine, getting impatient with the way he seems to be taking his sweet time torturing you.

Just as you’re about to cum, he pushes himself away from you, and you feel the hot waves of pleasure retreating back, leaving disappointment behind.

“What the hell James?”

“Such a brat, bubbles. You really don’t deserve to cum.”

You rush to apologize, promising you’ll do better, and James nods, seemingly satisfied with your pleads, digging in your aching cunt again. He licks a wide strip of your folds and pokes your entrance with his tongue, your juices covering the bottom half of his face.

He fucks you with his mouth, giving it all he’s got until you’re writhing on that desk, your toes curled and eyes rolled to the back of your head. The heat in your pussy becomes unbearable, and your clit is so sensitive and overstimulated that his hot breath fanning over it makes you arch your back in pleasure and pain.

Once again, he stops just in time before your release. And again, he resumes back to eating you out like a man on a mission, before stopping, repeating the process all over again, edging you multiple times until tears and mascara are streaming down your face and you’re cursing him out and sobbing about how much you need him.

“What do you need, babygirl? You need daddy to fuck your tight pussy?”

“Yes, please daddy, please fuck me, make me cum all over your cock.” you mewl, hand reaching for your cunt before he slaps it away and tuts you.

“Do you deserve to be fucked?” he asks, palming himself through his pants, “Do you think you deserve to cum after what you did today?”

You squirm, trying to soothe the throbbing ache in your pussy, but James is unrelenting and keeps you still.

“Sending me those photos during a meeting, you know I can’t concentrate when I see you like that, what were you thinking, you dumb little baby? Flirting with that Timmy guy while we were out and ignoring me all afternoon?”

“I’m sorry daddy, it was stupid of me, but I won’t do it again.” you promise, “But please I can’t take this anymore.”

He almost caves in, his stupid heart clenching whenever he hears your soft cries, but he enjoys the way you beg a little too much to give in so easily. Not tonight. Tonight he’ll make you suffer before he gives you what you want, just like you’ve done all day.

“It’s my fault that you’re spoiled rotten, bubbles.” he continues, grabbing your thighs and pulling you down until you’re straddling his lap. “Always giving you what you want, never telling you no.” He maneuvers you so that you’re hovering over his hard cock “I need to set you straight. Need to discipline you.”

You yelp when he impales you on his length, the stretch welcome and filling after so long. When you wiggle above him, expecting him to fuck you hard like he usually would, his flesh hand gives your face a delicate slap before he grabs your cheeks and squishes your mouth.

“Bad girls don’t get to have fun on daddy’s cock, babygirl.”

The outraged look on your face is comical. “What?”

“You heard that. Now you’re gonna sit still on daddy’s cock until I’m done with work. And then I’ll fuck you, if I feel like it.”

He gives you one last evil grin before yanking you flush against his chest and ignoring your cries and pleads as he holds you still and resumes back to working.

You try to wriggle your body, but everytime his hard cock hits a different spot inside you, you regret it. You can feel every vein and every ridge on his thick cock, your walls gripping it tightly, your arousal dripping down its length, and yet all you can do is cry your frustration out on James' shoulder.

The stretch, the heat, the way his skin brushes and bumps accidentally over your sensitive clit, it’s too much and not enough.

“Daddy?” you purr after what feels like an eternity.

He hums in response, and you turn to face him, hoping your pleading eyes will convince him.

“Please? My knees are hurting and I need you so bad, daddy.”

“Did you learn your lesson? Will you be a good girl for me?”

“The best.” You beam at him.

He sighs, knowing damn well you won’t be, but unfortunately for him, James can never resist you for too long.

In an instant you find yourself bent over the desk, the wood digging painfully in the soft flesh of your belly, your toes hovering over the ground.

“Beg for me, bubbles.” He growls in your ear, his prosthetic hand caressing your back, “I want to hear you beg me to fuck your pretty pussy until your legs give out.”

His words shoot straight to your cunt. “Please, please, please fuck me daddy, I need you to fuck my pussy.”

You let out a strangled moan when James slants himself inside you, your position allowing his cock to reach deep into your core, until his tip hits against your cervix.

He ruts against you, his cock slamming in and out of you, your walls gripping him like a vice as he pounds into you like a wild beast. He grabs a fistful of your hair, and you arch your back to meet his movements. You both know you’re not going to last long.

“I can feel you, so tight on me. You like it when daddy fucks you like a whore, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, oh my God, harder.” you beg, “Please, just like that.”

You feel your orgasm near, your pussy spasming around his cock and bursts of electricity travelling from your center to every nerve ending of your body. It’s bliss, it’s a hot surge of energy encompassing you whole until you’re moaning and drooling like a mindless fuckdoll.

“Tell me you’ll be my good girl.”

“I’ll be good for you daddy, I promise.”

His cock swells inside you, and the fullness of his hot spurt spilling inside you is enough to tip you over the edge, your orgasm wrecking through your body as you spasm and shake, your toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, his strong arms holding you close to him, so close you feel the errantic beat of his heart.

Your mind is swimming in a daze, and you’re spent, and satisfied, in pure bliss as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck and whispers soft praises into your ears. You hiss when he pulls out of you, and he watches enthralled his cum drip out of your cunt and down your thighs.

When you feel his tongue trace its way upwards, licking you clean, you let out a surprised yelp. He chuckles, bringing his face close to your pussy.

You want nothing more than cuddle with him and fall asleep in his arms, but James has different plans for you.

“What, you thought it was over? I never said I was done punishing you, bubbles.”

Part of sugar, spice and everything nice. Can be read separately or as part of the series. Message me in you want to be added to the taglist.

Leave some feedback if you liked it please💗

#bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #sugar daddy bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you

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theworldofotps · 3 years

Text

Silent Stranger (Part 1)

Pairing: Dexter Lumis x Reader Word Count: 2,377 Description: New to NXT, Y/n makes some new friends who warn her to stay away from one of their coworkers. Misunderstood and silent Dexter can’t help but admire the new woman at work.

Part 2

Part 3

Dedicated to the sweet anon who said they would like to read some Dexter fics in the future. And I had been planning to but never had an idea, my sweet friend Rachael gave me this idea which I love. Anon I really hope you like this, and thank you so much @new-zealand-chic for all your help. Xx

Warning: Povs switch between first and third person throughout the fic. They are separated by ~~~ so hopefully you don’t get confused. ____________ Tag list:

@hungmanhorsecarriage @writtingrose @sjwrites22 @sassymox @the-beastslayers-queen @thewrestlingwarehouse @new-zealand-chic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @xladyxfatex @biforrollynch @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666 @lilred91 @xbreezymeadowsx @rebellious-desires @youcantreignonmyparade @melblacc @undiscovereddisneyroyalty

If you wanna be added to the list lemme know. _____________

“Glad you could finally join us Y/n we’ve heard some amazing things from the PC about you, I truly hope you enjoy working here with us at NXT.”

“Thank you so much Hunter I really appreciate it, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

I smile shaking his hand, standing I pull my bag over my shoulder following behind him as he leads the way from his office.

“I’ve already gone ahead and asked Shotzi to show you around just until you learn the ropes and know where everything this. She was thrilled to be the welcome committee, any questions you have just go ahead and ask her.”

“Thank you that takes away some of the nervousness I had.”

Following Hunter, down a few halls, we come to the back area where a few superstars were sat at tables doing their own thing or eating.

“Hey Shotzi come here for a moment please.”

I watch as an energetic woman comes over quickly her green hair standing out brightly, at least I wouldn’t lose or mistake her for someone else.

“What’s up boss?”

“This is Y/n, she’s the new superstar I was talking to you about the other day.”

“Of course the one I’m showing the ropes to, it’s so nice to meet you I hope that you enjoy working with us here.”

“Thank you, it’s nice to met you too I really appreciate you helping me.”

“You’re welcome, it’s no trouble at all I know how hard it can be when you first get here and who better to befriend on your first day than me?”

Shotzi laughs and lets out a little howl then hooks her arm with mine quickly leading me away from Hunter who chuckles waving. Walking around Shotzi points out a bunch of different areas and even introduces me to a few of the other wrestlers sitting or walking around.

“What do you think so far?”

“It’s great better than I ever dreamed it could be I’m honestly so excited that this is going to be my life.”

Smiling as we sit at a table with some bottles of water and a bag of chips to share I look around watching everyone.

“Is this everyone?”

“No way, there are some in other parts of the building working out and some didn’t come in today. But you’ll see most of them on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.”

“Okay got it.”

I say eating a few of my chips as nervous as I was to be finally here I was more excited and hoped to befriend some of my coworkers.

“Once you’ve finished eating we can head over to one of the practice gyms and do some work to practice for whatever match you end up having first for your debut.”

“Sounds good to me I’m more than ready to get started.”

Shotzi smiles at me patting my back as we make small talk finishing our snack then heading off to find a ring to work out in. ~~~~~~~ Dexter walks quietly down the hallway he had just finished a match and gotten a shower. Since he wasn't needed for anything else tonight he was going home. Adjusting his duffel bag on his shoulder, he gets halfway through the center before feeling a smaller body crash into his from behind. Thinking it was someone doing an unexpected promo he quickly turns around stopping when he sees the new woman that joined NXT a few weeks ago.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to run into you. I'm trying to hide from my friend and wasn’t watching where I was going.”

She says and gives him an apologetic smile, Dexter offers his hand helping the woman up off the floor looking her over to be sure she wasn’t hurt then gives an incline of his head. She was trying to keep her balance as she adjusted her shoe. Hearing someone call her name he turns and leaves continuing on his way to the parking lot. Not noticing the woman left standing behind, staring after him. Getting into his car he starts it pulling out of the lot and driving back home.

That was the first time he had seen her face to face, the last few weeks she was at Full Sail he had taken a genuine interest in her. He had learned a little about her having overheard conversations with their coworkers while he was eating lunch. He honestly was kind of hoping to run into her sooner or later and found himself wanting to befriend the woman. He just wasn't sure how to go about it, maybe it was just best for him to be silent and wait. It was what he did best and he really didn't want to let people know he was curious about her.

The drive from Full Sail to his house was filled with a little music playing on the radio. Other than that his mind was just wondering, he couldn't help but smile when he moved and the faint scent of your perfume hit his nose. You hadn't even touched him for that long. Parking in the garage once home he goes inside. Dexter was more than ready to sleep; he just needed to brush his teeth and change into pajamas. Stepping into his bedroom Dexter begins stripping crawling into bed once he is changed and settled. He was excited to go back to work to see you.

~~~~~~~~~ Looking up from my book I smile seeing Finn walk into my room carrying a small vase full of flowers.

"Y/n delivery."

"Hey Finn, wow those are beautiful where did they come from?"

"I don't know I was coming to see if you wanted to grab lunch with Shotzi and I. They were sitting on the floor outside your door and there is a card that says. 'Hope you enjoy these flowers, they pale in comparison to you.'"

“Awe that’s so sweet.”

Standing I took the flowers, smelling them then reading the card, it was typed out so I wasn’t able to find out from handwriting who sent them.

“I wonder why they didn’t sign their name.”

“Well if you ask me I think you have an admirer.”

“Oh come on Finn I haven’t even been here that long how could someone admire me?”

Setting the flowers on my small table I read over the card once more as he sighs dramatically and sits down next to me.”

“Because you’re an awesome person who just seems to draw people in even when you don’t mean to. I know you don’t feel like you’re good at making friends but people just can’t help but want to be around you.”

“If you hadn’t trained me at the PC would you have felt that way when I came here?”

“Probably then again I don’t know, being the champ makes me busy so it’s a probability but I’m sure we would have become friends quickly anyway.”

“Awe that’s sweet of you.”

Pinching his cheek lightly I laugh as he swats my hand away standing back up and stretching.

“You wanna go get some lunch?”

“Yes I’m hungry.”

Standing I grab my phone pocketing it and following Finn from the room shutting the door behind me, placing my arm through his grinning.

”Lead the way Prinxey.”

~~~~~~~~

Dexter watches from the shadows as Finn picked the flowers up that he had left for y/n, he really hoped that you liked them. Waiting until you left he walked over with a small gift box full of a few things for a self care day. Opening the door a crack he slides the gift in, he didn’t want to invade your privacy by going all the way in. And he was thankful you hadn’t remembered to lock the door before you left. Closing your door gently Dexter quickly leaves just to keep anyone from spotting him. Going back to his room he sits down to start on a drawing he was doing for you.

For the next month Dexter left you small gifts, drawings and notes just something to make you smile. Nobody could tell you who it was doing this all and he couldn’t believe his luck that you hadn’t found out it was him yet. You two still had no communication apart from the night you ran into him. He was good at staying hidden and to be honest he was nervous about how you’d react. It wasn’t any secret that a lot of people thought he was weird and even a bit scary. But the few people he had managed to befriend they all stayed out of each other's intimate relationships. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to go changing that now. ~~~~~~

"I can't for the life of me figure out who's been sending these gifts."

"Have you gotten any new ones lately?"

Looking across the table at Johnny whose wife I was currently feuding with, I nod my head. Reaching into my bag I pull out the most recent picture. Handing it to him I watch as he looks it over then shows it to the guy beside him.

"I can almost guarantee you that it's Lumis, he's the only person around here I've seen that draws like this."

Johnny says and hands the picture back with a chuckle.

"Which one is he?"

I ask as if I didn't already know, I had been paying attention to Lumis since that night I ran into him. There was just something about his presence that made me want to know more about him.

"He's that really tall guy kind of blonde colored hair, mustache and muscles he wears those leather gloves when he wrestles."

Johnny says and then points towards the door over my shoulder.

"That one right there, aye Dexter! Are you the one sending these weird pictures to Y/n?"

"Like you'd actually stand a chance?"

The guy sitting with Johnny laughs loudly, frowning I watch as Dexter stops in his tracks staring at our table. He quickly turned away leaving the catering area.

"Why would you do that?"

"Oh come on y/n don't worry or waste your time on Lumis he's a freak that's why he stays to himself."

Johnny listens to his friend before turning his attention back towards me.

"You'd do your best to stay away from him y/n honestly."

"I think that should be my choice to make and right now I'm going after him. I suggest you two find something else to do then be awful to someone who just doesn't wanna talk to people."

Grabbing my things I quickly leave the catering area looking down the hallways. I had no idea where Dexter had gone or even what room he stayed in. Pulling my phone out I text Finn.

Y/n🎶⭐: Do you know where Dexter's room is?

Hitting send I begin walking around if Finn couldn't help me I may have to find a staff member who could.

Finn😈👑: It's one hall down from mine left turn

Finn😈👑: Why?

Y/n🎶⭐: Cause Johnny thinks he's the one that's been sending me the pictures and gifts and they called him out on it and I think they made him feel bad

Y/n🎶⭐: So I wanna talk to him

Finn😈👑: Dexter doesn't really talk to anyone here except for the few people that he's friends with

Y/n🎶⭐: It's worth a shot

Finn😈👑: Just be careful and if you need anything let me know

Y/n🎶⭐: I know thanks Finn

Pocketing my phone I make my way down the hallways heading for Finn's room. Once past it I go down turning left. I look at the doors, not all the superstars had their own changing rooms but Dexter's was one of the only few back here. Taking a deep breath I knock on the door then step back to wait and see if he opened the door.

"Hi Dexter."

I wave after he opens the door.

"Can I come in please?"

Dexter steps out of the way after a moment of hesitation, stepping inside I walk a little farther in his room and look around. He motions to the couch, smiling at him I sit down fiddling with my fingers in my lap.

"We haven't formally met apart from me running into you, I'm Y/n. I wanted to come and apologize for how Johnny and whatever his friend's name treated you. I didn't think showing him the picture would cause that, I was just hoping he could help me figure who sent it."

Pulling out the picture I place it on the small coffee table between us.

"Did you do this? Are you the one who's been giving me the flowers, little gifts and drawings."

Watching Dexter rub a hand against his neck then nods his head, smiling at his gaze darting around the room I place it back in my bag.

"I want to thank you for everything. It was really sweet of you. You don't have to be embarrassed about it either if you were, I'm actually quite flattered."

I explained looking around the room, he hadn't said anything yet and I wasn't sure what else to really say.

"I know you don't really say much but maybe would you like to exchange numbers? I think we could be really good friends, and it would be easier for you."

Dexter nods and grabs his phone, swapping we put our names in and I hand it back.

"Well I guess that I better go, I have a practice match coming up and I don't wanna miss out. Thank you again."

Standing I walk to the door Dexter holding it open for me, stepping out I turn giving his hand a light squeeze then quickly making my way back towards my room. I felt really good about how it went and I hoped we could be friends. Stopping at my door when my phone goes off I pull it out smiling.

D. Lumis👁️👁️: Would you like to go get coffee or something sometime? Maybe Wednesday morning?

Y/n💮: I would love to😊

#wwe #dexter lumis #dexter lumis x reader #dexter lumis fic #nxt #nxt fic #fluff #dexter lumis one shot #dexter lumis fanfiction

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firefly464 · 4 years

Text

The Real World - Chapter 8

ok this chapter is slightly shorter, so sorry about that!

Made in collaboration with @i-have-this-now

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~~~

The week passed by rather quickly, and without incident. Every day, Tommy would try to talk to Wilbur. And every day, something would happen. He would always walk in on Wilbur talking with someone else, or drawing up some sort of battle plans. Sometimes he would just end up talking himself out of it, mostly out of fear of Wilbur’s reaction. He couldn’t bear the idea of his friend looking at him with disappointment, and maybe even fear. The fact that he was lying only made it ten times worse. With every day he put it off, the harder and harder it became.

Every night, he would sneak out to go and train with George and Dream. His knowledge of sword fighting hadn’t exactly improved much, but it was odd. The repetitive motions of sword fighting felt familiar to him, as if he had done it hundreds of times before. It didn’t make any sense, considering how he had never picked up a sword in his life, but it was definitely there. Perhaps it was muscle memory from the other Tommy? That would make the most sense, but even so, it was strange. Either way, his sword fighting skills were increasing dramatically. He was still nowhere on the same level as George or any of the others, but he could at least last for nearly a minute now in a sparring session. Considering how he had started not even able to stand properly, he saw that as an improvement.

The three of them would trade stories as they trained, each one learning new things about the other world. It was nice, being able to relax and just hang out with friends again like nothing had changed. Of course, the swords broke the illusion slightly, but it was still something that Tommy looked forward to each and every day.

It was the night before Tommy’s deadline passed, and the three of them were out training like normal.

“No way. You’re lying, there's no way that's true.” George’s voice cut through the thoughts in Tommy’s mind as he tried to catch up to what was going on.

“I’m not! I swear it's true!” Dream replied.

“So you’re telling me that I can’t see all the colors?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“That’s complete bullshit. You’re such a liar. I think I would have noticed something like that.”

“I’m serious! Here, look at this.” Dream pulled Tommy over and held up his jacket sleeve to the boy's blonde hair. “How different are these two colors?”

“I dunno, they look pretty similar.”

Tommy couldn’t help but burst out laughing. He had known about George’s colorblindness, but he hadn’t actually considered the fact that he may not even know about it in this world. It made sense, there was no way for him to figure it out. And if he had lived with it his whole life, then he would have never even realized that something was wrong.

“George, these are completely different colors,” Dream said, clearly trying his best to not laugh.

“What? No way, no they aren’t. They look the same!”

“Pffft, I swear that they are completely different colors,” Dream said with a laugh.

“Christ man, I knew your eyes were messed up but I didn’t realize that they were that bad,” Tommy teased, earning an indignant squawk from George.

“My eyes are perfectly fine thank you very much!”

“Yeah, alright Big G, whatever you say.” The three of them talked like that for a while, late into the night. Tommy wasn’t sure what time it was when he finally left, but he had walked back to his little shack with a smile.

~~~

Tommy stood at the entrance to the underground bunker for what felt like the hundredth time that week. God, he hated walking through the damn tunnel. It was small and cramped, not to mention just downright creepy. The memory of the piercing bell only made it ten times worse. Every time he stepped foot inside the small tunnel, he was terrified that it was going to ring out again, leaving him shaking, scared, and alone on the rocky ground. He had already chickened out from talking to Wilbur several times that week, just out of pure hatred of the tunnel.

Now though, he didn’t really have an option. George’s deadline had passed the day before, and now his only hope was to get to Wilbur before George did. Tommy wanted Wilbur to hear the story from him, not from someone else. If George was the one to tell him, then he would likely jump to conclusions. Conclusions that George simply didn’t have the ability to explain away. No. Tommy needed to be the one to tell Wilbur. It was only right.

With a trembling breath, he stepped into the long, dark corridor. The silence surrounded instantly, suffocating him, drowning him. He shook his head desperately. He wasn’t going to let something like a stupid tunnel stop him. His fingers began to dance across the hilt of his sword, creating a slight pinging sound. It wasn’t much, but the soft noise helped to fill the all consuming silence. It was ok, he was going to be ok. The sound of his footfalls against the stone helped to comfort him as well. As long as he kept moving, the sound would continue. Just as long as he kept moving, he would be ok.

He was about three quarters of the way to the bunker when he first heard the muffled sounds of voices. It was the sound of arguing, of shouting. Wilbur’s voice drifted through the tunnel towards him, echoing throughout the small space. “What?! Then where the fuck is Tommy?!” he cried out, his voice filled with desperation and fear.

George's reply was faint, too far away to hear, but Tommy had a decent guess of what he had said. He didn’t know. No one knew. The other Tommy had disappeared and no one knew what had happened. For all they knew, he could have died. Fuck… that was probably what Wilbur was thinking as well. He needed to get in there, to explain himself.

“That doesn’t- how the fuck do I know you’re not lying?!” Wilbur shouted. Tommy ran towards the sound of voices, desperate for a chance to explain himself. He needed to tell Wilbur the whole story, from his point of view.

As he burst into the small bunker, he couldn’t help but look around in awe. What had once been a small, three by three room was now a multi-room underground house. Only the main room was surrounded by obsidian, but the other rooms had small doorways that could easily be blocked off and covered if needed. Tommy had to admit, it was an impressive sight to behold. At the center of the main room sat a table covered in different maps and plans. Bookshelves lined the walls, all filled to the brim with different books. It was the type of area that should have felt cold and empty, but was somehow filled with a lively warmth.

At the center of it all, standing over the table, were his friends. Wilbur towered over George, staring at him pleadingly. “Where the fuck is he? How did you even know any of this?!”

“Wilbur! Will, I can explain,” Tommy said, putting his hands in the air to show he meant no harm.

Wilbur crossed over to the entrance in three strides and placed his hands on Tommy’s shoulders. His eyes burned with anger and pain, but there was an undertone of regret as well. Perhaps regret that he couldn’t do anything? Or regret that he hadn’t noticed sooner? Tommy didn’t know. “Where is he?! What the fuck did you do to him?!” He shouted, shaking the younger teenager as he interrogated him.

“I-I don’t know! I didn’t do anything, I swear! Just give me a chance to explain, please!” Tommy pleaded, trying to get his friend to see reason.

“Bullshit! I fucking knew something was up with you, but I didn’t think that it was something like this! Who the fuck even are you anyways?!” “I’m still Tommy! Just give me a chance to fucking explain myself!” he cried, pushing Wilbur away. “Trust me, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. I just want to go home”

“I don’t give a fuck about what you want. All I care about is the fact that you’ve possessed the body of my right hand man, and apparently you’ve been plotting with the men of the DreamSMP,” Wilbur snarled.

“What…? Wha- no, I didn’t! I had no say over any of this! I was living my normal life when suddenly I was here! I’ve been trying to figure out a way to go home ever since!”

“Oh really? And when did that happen? How long have you been ‘trapped’ here?” he asked, making air quotes with his fingers.

“I dunno, two weeks maybe? I-It happened during the duel with Dream…”

“Right. Two weeks that you could have come and talked to me. Two weeks that you could have come and asked for help, or just told me what was going on. Instead, you sneak out in the middle of the night to talk with Dream. God, you’re just as bad as Eret.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “How did you…?” “I fucking saw you! Did you really think I was going to let you go out in the middle of the night without backup?! No, of course not!” “So you followed me?!” “Yeah! I needed to make sure that you weren’t going to go and do something stupid! Low and behold, you went directly to talk with Dream of all people. The only reason I didn’t confront you was because I knew I needed to trust my right hand man. But apparently he’s gone! He’s fucking gone and I had no clue!” His voice broke on the last sentence as tears started to form in his eyes. Hastily, he wiped them away.

“What the hell was I supposed to say? ‘Oh hi Wilbur, by the way I’m a Tommy from a different dimension where all of this is just a fun video game. Oh also the man that tried to kill all of you is the only person who I can actually talk to about this because he’s going through it too,’” Tommy scoffed. “Do you even realize how ridiculous that sounds?! You would have said I was insane and then called it a day. I wouldn’t even have had a chance to fucking talk.”

“You could have at least tried! If you really are just a different Tommy, than why the hell did you not trust me enough to talk to me? I would have listened!” “Because you were at war! You were in the middle of a fucking war and there was just never a good time. Believe me, I thought about it, but you just always seemed so stressed out and I couldn’t find it in myself to add more to the pile.”

“But you still should have tried.” Wilbur turned his back to the boy and walked over to the tables. “Who else knows.”

“Uh, Tubbo thinks I have slight amnesia, but other than that, it's just George. Dream knows since he’s in the same boat as me, but that's besides the point.”

He nodded gravely. “Right. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to go out there and tell Tubbo that his best friend may be dead because of you, and then I want you gone. I want you out of my sight. Until you can tell me exactly what happened to the real Tommy, I want you out of these walls. Understood?”

Tommy could feel his heart shatter. No, this couldn’t be happening. He had just started to get used to the supportive family that L’Manberg provided, and now it was being taken away. Even worse than that, he needed to go face Tubbo… He wasn’t sure how his friend would react, but it likely wasn’t going to be good. Still, this was what he deserved, wasn’t it? He had technically caused the disappearance of this world's Tommy, even if he didn’t do anything on purpose. The other boy was still gone because of him. “Of course… Yes sir,” He said solemnly.

“Good. George, I want to thank you for bringing this to my attention. I may not consider you an ally, but you have gained my respect.”

“Thank you Wilbur. I felt that you had the right to know. Come on Tommy, let's go,” George said, as he walked past Tommy and into the dark tunnel once more. Tommy spared one last glance behind him before he followed George, trying to get one last look at his friend. All he could see was a tall, hunched over figure. As the two of them walked towards the daylight, the boy swore he could hear the distant sobs of a heartbroken man.

~~~

be careful what you wish for :)

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#this is what you guys wanted right?#its totally what you guys asked for :D #im just gonna tell myself that this is what you asked for :D #god everyone in this world just needs a hug #The Real World #The Real World AU #dreamteam #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #wilbursoot #wilbur soot #mcyt #mcyt au #dream smp #my writing #fanfiction #L'manberg #tommyinnit

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skzafterdusk · 4 years

Text

han jisung + “Put My Hands On You”

This was requested from the Dean Title Track Prompt List I posted where you can pick an SKZ member and a song for a drabble fic

Word Count: 1.9k words

tags: angst, fluff, and (mentions of) smut- oh my!

Summary: That friends with benefits trope we all know and love. Even though Jisung is sure you’d end up in his bed no matter how, he wishes you guys had met on different terms.

Jisung doesn’t have many regrets in life, but he wished you and he had met differently, not in a way that was so...typical. But he’s sure no matter how you guys did end up meeting each other, you’d both still be in this same position:

The lights off, the street lamps and vibrant nightlife of the city just outside his window enough to illuminate your bodies, enough for him to enjoy the way your naked back concaves. In the warm glow of those street lights, the muscles in your back dance to their own beat, or maybe it’s the rhythm of his hips as he pounds into you. And even with your moans muffled by his covers, there’s a silence that fills the air in a comforting way.

The chemistry had been palpable from the start with you two. Still, Jisung wishes it had been under different circumstances. Then, perhaps, you wouldn’t feel the need to leave after you’ve washed up. Maybe then, you would just lay with him, allowing him to admire the way your lashes were conditioned and soft from your own tears of pleasure, and the red tint to your swollen lips.

But alas, your meeting Jisung was so typical it was swaying on the border of unbelievable.

See, the thing is, Han Jisung wasn’t normally the person to go to clubs. Sweaty bodies, crowded rooms with a majority of its clients under some sort of influence...the music is too loud and never quite that good-

Yet, there he was, at a club, out of obligation because that’s the sort of thing that comes with the job description as a singer, an idol, an artist.

It’s this fun little thing called “networking”, and if he wanted to get a producer as well adored as Seo Changbin to agree to help create what would undoubtedly be a record hit for the young artist, Jisung needed to be there, that night, up at the producer’s booth in the VIP area.

But all of that had already been worked out by then. The deal had been made, numbers were exchanged, and Changbin offered Jisung to party with him the rest of the night. Again, his acquiescence was purely out of obligation.

It meant, though, that when Jisung insisted on going down to get himself and Changbin some drinks so he could move around, he would bump into you, leaning against the bar, waiting for your own drink.

It doesn’t stop Jisung from asking to buy you a drink, more out of a loss of a way to actually talk to you.

You’d looked irresistible that night, silver earrings and a matching necklace adorning your skin, your outfit of choice seemingly made just for you with how well it fit, accentuating everything that Jisung couldn’t keep his eyes away from.

You raised your glass with a warm smile, answering his idiotic question. You wanted him to know that you weren’t meaning to tease him or even turn him away. Simply, he needed to try again, and find another way to spark conversation.

“Sorry. I didn’t notice your drink. Kinda just saw you.”

You scrunched your nose, but still giggled at his words. This wasn’t your first drink of the night, but even in sobriety, he would have seemed cute.

“That was fuckin’ cheesy, dude. But thanks.” You had to lean in close so he could hear you without yelling at him. The lights weren’t that dim, but you then realized why he looked so familiar, and gasped. “Oh, woah. You’re Jisung! I listen to a lot of your music.”

Stricken with flattery, said artist had been brought to stillness, unsure of how to respond. A simple thanks seemed too lame, and too much like the end of the conversation. But he didn’t want to come off as creepy.

And you’d caught onto his inability to respond. Even if you hadn’t known this man by name or face, he still was just very...cute.

“Are you here with someone else?” you asked.

“Ah, I’m getting drinks for me and my...uh, I’m getting drinks for someone in VIP.” And, as if on cue, the drinks magically appeared in front of him. “Would you wanna...join...me?”

Your eyes grew big in shock. “You want me to come up with you to VIP?”

He shrugged. “You seem like you’re fun.”

You grinned brightly, already picking up your own drink. “I can be tons of fun.”

And, to Jisung, he’d never met a person as honest as you, ever. You introduced yourself easily, and led Jisung through conversation that he may not have been able to initiate himself. The night carried on in that way, and it had been you that offered Jisung’s moment to exit for the night.

A goddamn lifesaver.

“Not the partying type?” you inquired once you were out in the open night, the cool air of early fall sending a chill down your spine.

“Not really,” the singer confessed. “I like being with people one-on-one, y’know?”

You stood closer to him. Although there wasn’t the same need to lean in for him to hear you, you still whispered your words as if you had the biggest secret. “We’re alone now. Or we can be.”

After your first night together, he thought he could write a song about you. He could wax poetry about the way your thighs felt gripping his waist, or the way your light touches sent him into a headspace almost foreign to himself, some place he’s only been to in his dreams. He hadn’t thought much about it when you left that night, cause you turned at the ajar door, leaving the gentlest peck on his cheek. Warmth had spread through his chest, and he thought he could write about that as well.

But he held off, waited until you texted him a few days later, asking if you could see him. He offered to make dinner for you first; you obliged, but you never made it to the bedroom that night, and most of the food had to be thrown away because of its inedibility.

Jisung doesn’t remember the night that the warm spread through his chest began to ache like his heart wanted to crawl out of his chest. You still liked to kiss him before you left, but you were still leaving.

Maybe if he’d met you at a coffee shop instead, or maybe on your way to your university campus, then you wouldn’t feel the need to leave so suddenly. Something about clubs screams fun for one night or just plain fun in general. Maybe you think the night means sin and nothing else.

But now, Jisung’s head is pounding just as his heart, blood pumping through his veins as he crashes from his release.

You rest your head on his chest even if your skin is just as damp.

“Think you have another round in you?” your words still sound breathless, like you’re desperately chasing for air.

Jisung’s body reacts to the words, thoughts already filling his head at the hope of fucking you again. But the desire scalds him in an almost pleasant way.

“Gonna have to give me a few minutes.”

You grin, lifting your head from his chest. “I can wait.”

The silence is soothing, and the artist likes the way the air cools you both down. It makes him feel like he can say anything daring. So he does.

“You know...you don’t have to leave after we finish. You can stay here...sleep here.”

“Really.”

Jisung turns his head to look at you. Your eyes are on your fingers as they draw patterns on his chest. The way you asked...it hadn’t sounded like a question at all. It sounds almost...accusatory.

“(Y/N), did you think you had to leave after we were done?”

You shrug, but you finally match his gaze. “Artists are a different breed, and I understand it. I understand how you like to find the beauty in the mundane, and how it can feel life-altering when beauty gets you drunk. People that constantly think about words are always trying to find the best way to…” you sigh, finding the right words, “Always trying to find the best way to get people to feel how they feel.”

“But, what does that have to do with us?”

“I’m okay with you craving beauty in others, needing to find out who you are with me or with someone else. There’s so much emotion to be had that ironically, words and labels can put a damper on-”

The artist huffs, sitting up abruptly, running a hand through his hair. “If you don’t wanna date me, just say it. Don’t try to soften the blow because you pity me.”

“Pity? How have I ever pitied you?”

“You didn’t think I noticed the way you handled me the night we met?”

Sitting up, your brows lace together in confusion. “You were shy. I thought it was cute. I still do think it’s cute.” You remember the way you felt about him then, how the idol with adoring fans seemed to stutter over his words as if it mattered what he said.

You place a hand on his shoulder, letting your fingers walk up his neck, massaging and petting at his skin. His head falls into your hand, chasing your touch. For as open a person you know yourself to be, it’s possible that you have been holding yourself back from this man.

“I would love to date you, Jisung.” Your words are soft and sincere. “I just didn’t want to rush anything because I was happy with just getting to see you, kiss you...touch you. And if you didn’t want to learn more about me, I was okay with that, too.”

“But I do. Probably since the moment you sat next to me in that booth. You let me be me and you didn’t ask me to be something I’m not.” He leans back, your faces suddenly so close to each other. “You don’t know how many nights I wanted to grab your arm and pull you back into the bed, just so we could talk until the sun came up, or how much I want to send you cheesy pictures when I’m in the studio. Hell, I’ve even wanted to drive you home if you absolutely couldn’t stay the night.”

He kisses the hand still holding his jaw, and whispers, “Anything to just spend more time with you.”

“Cheesy,” you reply. “But...I’d like that, too.”

You don’t really understand the warmth that spreads through your chest as he smiles at you so sincerely. It’s a barely there lift of the lips, and yet you grin happily.

“So,” you start, biting at your bottom lip. “Are you ready to go again, or…”

His low chuckle brings you back, excites your body with anticipation. “I still need some time, but we can always start with you.”

You’re not mad at the suggestion. “Do what you wish.”

Jisung still thinks he could write a song about you. The words come so naturally, feel just as right as the way you moan in his ear and whimper against his mouth. And he does. The lyrics are sprawled on napkins, parcels of paper, and behind his eyelids. He’s excited to know what else he could write about with you in his life.

Val’s Note:

I hope you enjoyed this next installment in the Dean Title Track Fic series. This one isn’t gratuitous smut, and I’m sorry if that is what you are here for. But This song sparks more than sex even though...that’s literally what the song is about. Hopefully it still is a good read. Tune in next time!

#skz fluff #stray kids smut #skz smut #han jisung #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids headcanons #dean title track series #han jisung smut #han jisung fluff #han jisung x reader

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.16

Down the Memory Lane

Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2) x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?) Word count: 3880

Summary: You don’t remember your soulmate and all you knew his now is his name, his looks and that you have died on him... but perhaps you could at least learn the sweet parts of your story too?

Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing, light angst and fluff, oh, and Dean’s human skills in overdrive for a bit ;)

Story masterlist

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The ten minutes it took Steve to return from the communal kitchen was enough of a breather, allowing you to put yourself together at least a bit. A bit. You spent most of the given time staring blindly ahead with your brain in overdrive, alternating it with the urge to get up from your ass to inspect the room closer.

Steve had your favourite tea stocked; did he have a picture of you somewhere? Was there anything that would clue you what he enjoyed doing when he wasn’t working? What did he like to wear? If you opened the rather spacious closet, would you find a pile of white tank tops and sweats like the ones he was wearing now or would there be a variety of shirts – blue ones, preferably, ones that would bring out his eyes? Was he a tea drinker like you (apparently)? Was he a health freak or that kind of a person who could eat anything and still stay fit due to lucking out and probably working out like a half of a day?

What was the notebook placed on one of his nightstands with a pencil on it? Was it a diary? A place to write down random thoughts? Things he remembered to do right before falling asleep, writing them down rather than leaving the bed to complete the task instantly? Or did he like drawing? Writing stories? Poetry?

So, so many questions… the anxiety from meeting him was still more than present, but now the curiosity was gently nudging it away. You felt calmer. The minutes were enough for settling your frantic thoughts.

That was what you kept telling yourself until Steve showed up with two mugs that smelled like heaven and… a plate of cookies.

They looked like sugar cookies (how did you know sugar cookies again?) and your mouth instantly started watering. You were very quickly falling for this man. It probably helped he knew how to make you fall for him, because he knew what you liked better than yourself, but damn.

You watched him put the items on the table, waiting for him to sit. He seemed more at ease too, as if the short time apart helped him collect himself, though his eyes were red-rimmed as if he had a quick cry and a freak-out; to which you could easily relate.

Nevertheless, his whole body appeared more relaxed, the tension in his shoulders dissolving. His features were soft, less worries clouding his expression. He even gave you a brief smile, gesturing towards the coffee table.

“Steve, how dare you?” you quipped in return, making him freeze.

“What did I do?” he asked, sounding wounded and alarmed.

“Cookies. How dare you to serve cookies with what apparently is my favourite tea. What is it, by the way? It smells amazing.”

His smile shone brighter when he realized you were only being playful. Why were you being playful again? Where did it come from?

“Black tea. Flavoured sweet cherry. And I thought… uhm, I saw the cookies in the kitchen and thought you might like some,” he revealed, the subtle blush rushing back to his cheeks, much to your delight. The tips of his ears turned pink too. It was adorable.

While you believed there was more behind his statement, you didn’t call him out on it. Yet.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You took one of the mugs to your hands, gently blowing the tea, swirling the aroma. Yeah, you could see this thing being your favourite beverage. When you sipped it carefully, you were sure.

Glancing at Steve, you saw him watching you, clearly content with your reaction. You smiled at him over the edge of the mug before setting it down again.

“So… what was the first thing I told you?”

“…that there must be a mistake,” he admitted slowly, a hint amusement soaking through his voice.

You, on the other hand, were horrified.

“I did what?! Oh my god, why would I do that?”

Steve’s amusement only seemed to grow, a bashful smile curling up his lips, an eyebrow slowly rising.

“I told you I really was 95. If you want to get into conversation about which of us should reconsider thinking before speaking, you might need a better argument here.”

That… yeah, okay, you had to give him that. But still.

‘There must be a mistake’ and ‘I’m sorry’? Wow, you rocked this whole talking to your soulmate for the first time thing, didn’t you?

“…okay. That’s fair. But that must have been terrible for you to think that… I dunno. Maybe thinking that I would consider meeting you a mistake, right?”

Steve shrugged and delicately –yes, delicately, despite his huge hands – pulled at the straps of his top, revealing the words for you to see.

Oh, great, the first time when you met him, there was even an ‘Oh no’ involved.

Upon seeing the lines of ink, your heart tried to beat its way of your chest. You convinced yourself it was the words and the words only. It had nothing to do with the fact you peaked a patch of skin you hadn’t before. It wasn’t that you could see his muscles shift. Nope.

Your mouth also didn’t feel like watering; that would be embarrassing. And inappropriate.

You really hoped Steve would think that the heat in your cheeks was caused by seeing an evidence of your perfect human skills showing when meeting him for the first and the second time (for the first time but the second time?).

You cleared your throat awkwardly and lowered your gaze.

“Uh-uh. You told me you were hoping to meet me at very late age, because otherwise would be weird. Not ideal either,” he remarked and once again, he was right of course. After all, you remembered the confusion it caused when you had been trying to figure out what it meant. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. Both yours and my words actually have perfect explanation.”

You hummed, encouraging him to continue, taking a cookie.

Which was a mistake. Like, a real fucking mistake.

Because they weren’t sugar cookies. They were peanut butter, you knew that much even though not being sure how.

And you very quickly understood that you loved peanut butter cookies. You almost choked on the heaven that exploded in your mouth.

Steve raised a questioning eyebrow, but the way he bit his cheek gave him away. He knew exactly what he was doing.

You pointed an accusing finger on him, earning a sheepish chuckle and a confession. “I was hopeful.”

“Uh-um. Good call. I honestly know like five people by their name so far, but you are quickly becoming my favourite,” you joked, turning horrified a second later.

How did you make fun of your amnesia?

Steve stiffened too, but he was fast to recover. He breathed in shakily, catching your gaze, his suddenly serious eyes boring into yours.

“Look, I know… this must be really hard for you, but… if you let me, if you let me,” he emphasized, the blue with just a drop of green of his eyes calming and sincere, “I’ll help you. We contact your family, your friends, we tell you everything we know. We help you to explore what you like and what you don’t and… and if it’s different from what you liked before, that’s fine. These are… stupid cookies, but they made me think. You just met me, I’m aware, but I want to be there for you. If you let me, I will.”

You watched him breathless, absolutely taken aback by the honest aura around him. He meant every word. You barely registered that he took your hands into his again, too busy processing what he was saying, moved to tears. How much kindness and strength this man carried? How was he even real?

“Someone… something up there might be offering me a chance to fix what I messed up so badly, but it’s not guilt why I’d wish to be with you, I promise. I like you. You’ve just met me, but I already know you’re amazing. If there is a chance that maybe… maybe you could like me too, I’ll do everything to prove to you that I could be worthy of carrying the soulmark linking me to-- oh god, please don’t cry.”

You blinked, realizing that silent tears indeed started rolling down your cheeks. You stopped thinking.

You freed your hands of his hold, catching a glimpse of panic in his expression at that and then you couldn’t see his face, because you attacked him, throwing your arms around his neck, making him sway hazardously. You had a hunch that he wouldn’t have even flinched in any other case, the solid wall of muscle he was, but you took him by surprise.

The moment he steadied you both, his shaking hand went to rest flat on your lower back, his other arm curling around you in what could only feel like protectiveness. He held you a bit tighter than was decent, a barely contained tremble in his embrace. It might have even been a little painful, being squished like that, but you weren’t about to complain.

“Oh sweetheart,” he whispered softly, lowering his head to nuzzle in your hair slowly, as if he was afraid you’d withdraw with that action.

Not fucking happening.

This felt familiar.

It felt like scratching an itch you weren’t quite aware of having ever since you had woken up from the dream called Death.

It felt right.

Which made you cry harder, ironically enough. You were a mess of a woman, happy tears mixing with those of regret and shame, but Steve still held you, steadily now, his doll and sweetheart, and you felt warm and comfy and safe, pleasant sensation curling around your heart like a fluffy blanket.

“You’re already doing it,” you murmured into the fabric of his top, already damp with your tears.

“What was that?”

Why did he sound apologetic for such petty thing like not catching what you were trying to mumble, when he was being the rock to your emotional raging sea?

You cleared your throat, this time taking care to articulate like an actual human being. “You’re already doing it, Steve. You’re so nice to me, so considerate and I’m such a mess. Keep this up and I’m not gonna think but know I don’t deser-“

He squeezed you tighter in what felt like a warning and you realized that once more, you were being ridiculous. This wasn’t a competition. And if you were self-conscious about being Steve’s soulmate, worrying you might not be enough with what a mess you were, well, he didn’t need to know. God knew he probably felt the same, his past choices haunting him.

“Just… thank you, Steve. I couldn’t wish for a more amazing soulmate,” you said honestly and when he pulled you closer after that statement despite you not thinking it was possible, you sensed his gratitude.

You stayed in his comfortable embrace for a while, just breathing in, wrapped in a somehow soothing scent.

A giggle escaped you when you realized what exactly Steve must smell.

“What?” he muttered lazily, clearly enjoying the proximity as much as you were – hell, probably more, because this could be what he was used to.

“Just wondering what it’s like to be hugging a girl who smells like men’s shampoo.”

His body shook with hushed laughter in response and he eased his embrace, retreating enough to look at your still damp face. He dared to fix your hair a bit with his gentle fingers, smiling sadly.

“It’s about as surreal as seeing you in plaid,” he remarked, sparkles in his eyes, and you had to admit that yes, your choice of clothing didn’t quite suit you. This couldn’t be your usual wardrobe. “But if this is gonna be the new you, I’ll take it. I meant what I said. It really doesn’t matter what you wear or smell like, though maybe next time I’ll just lend you my things instead. I like it. I like you.”

No. Don’t. It would be really awkward to start crying again. Stop that. Nope- don’t you dare…. You closed your eyes and breathed through the burning sensation in your eyes and rather focused on the pleasant warmth pooling in your chest.

“Steve, stop turning me into a puddle of jello. You’re laying it on a bit thick here,” you whispered, mentally begging him not to stop.

He was so sweet.

And apparently was a little shit too, because the corners of his lips twitched.

“Sorry. Can’t seem to help it.”

You couldn’t but roll your eyes at the cheekiness somehow tangled in flirtation and absolute seriousness.

“It’s… not bad,” you assured him, feeling a bit self-conscious under his intent gaze. “I guess I’m just apologizing in advance if I’m not… responding the way you would wish or you’re used to. I know you said you’d take what you can get, but still—“ Upon seeing the silent warning in his eyes, you pressed your lips together to contain the babble threatening to spill out again. “Okay, shutting up now. Tell me about how exactly we met.”

“Uh-um.”

“Can we stay like this though? Please?”

You looked up at him, hopeful, your heart skipping a pleased beat as he allowed you to nestle into a less neck-breaking position, letting you to lean onto his shoulder as his lips slowly curled up in a spine-melting smile. He made space for you by moving his arm on the backrest, allowing you to rest rather against his chest than shoulder.

Yep, this was it. This was your new favourite place… your only favourite place? Never mind.

“Only if you have another cookie and finish your tea,” he teased, his fingers daring to tickle your arm lightly.

“Hard bargain, Captain,” you chuckled, but obediently reached for not one, but two cookies, offering the other to him.

He accepted it with a smile. “Deal with it.”

“Oh, gladly. Now spill…”

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Steve talked for a long time, smoothly moving to different stories of you two after the meet-cute; and there was no mistaking it, it had been a meet-cute, sweet and a little embarrassing.

His narrative was surprisingly detailed – he remembered what the weather was like, what you were wearing, little things about Ryan, who was apparently your best friend. It should sadden you, all the things you forgot, but with the way he was talking it was as if you were there.

Simultaneously, the sharpness of his memories broke your heart – it only showed just how important those moments were to him. And you knew nothing of them.

Despite being intrigued by the stories and curious about what Steve had to say, you soon found yourself dozing off. You blamed the strange familiarity, Steve’s soothing timbre and the gentle warm embrace that instinctively made you feel safe and at home. You didn’t think he realized he started rubbing your arm in tender periodic motions, slipping into what he actually knew – unlike you – way too easily.

“Steve, should I send the Winchesters who brought her here to a hotel for the day?” a low voice asked, sounding from too much of a distance for you to bother opening your eyes.

“Unless Tony lets them stay. Tell them we’ll pay all of their expenses and not to worry about her. I promise to take care of her and not to let her out of my sight,” an equally hushed voice replied.

“As you wish.”

Your body felt too heavy, yet like belonging to someone else, your mind floating above it. You couldn’t move. You felt the change as you were being moved, warmth of another body replaced by soft cushions and a thick blanket smelling of comfort and home was tucked around you. A soft brush against your forehead and a light weight over the comforter in one particular spot on your arm.

“They don’t seem assured, Steve. They say they’ll wait for you so you could talk.”

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know, Jarvis. I’ll see them in a minute.”

You were far too gone into the dreamland to know just how long Steve sat beside you on the mattress, his hand on you to make sure you were truly here in his bed, no matter how little you remembered, silent tears of happiness and a pained smile never leaving his face.

You were only aware of your dreams being sweet, tasting of peanut butter and cherry flavoured black tea.

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Steve was a bundle of nerves and heavy emotions by the time he finally forced himself to leave her bedside. It was one of the hardest things he ever had to do – both leaving her and spending the better part of the afternoon and evening with her.

He was… less cautious than he should have been from the very moment she walked into his room with Natasha at her heels, he was aware of that, but just seeing a person that looked exactly like her to very last freckle on the side of her neck was like a punch to his solar plexus; seeing her walking, talking and breathing was making his chest ache and as much as he wanted to believe from the start, he forced himself to be just a tiny bit cautious.

It all went out of the window the moment she said the words written on his collarbone. She was alive. His beautiful, sweet soulmate was alive and well, and nearly perfect.

Steve knew it was profane and that he should be grateful for such miracle; he was, God, how grateful he was and he was willing to do everything if it only meant she would stay, but meeting with her gaze, still admiring and curious, but not adoring as it used to be, not so full of tender love, because she had no real memory of him, broke his heart to tiniest pieces, shattered it just like he did to the mirror when finding his new words.

She didn’t remember him. He was her soulmate to her still – but a stranger. When she threw herself around his neck eventually, the sensation was as bitter as sweet. Steve belonged to her – he was so entirely hers with every bit of his very being – but she wasn’t his.

It made him swallow thickly as he leaned onto the wall by the door to his room, unable to summon the strength to deal with the men who had brought her back to him.

He was honestly grateful – beyond words, actually – and his actions towards her were genuine, every word true, every single of his smiles, her presence truly making him happy, but by God, there was a lot of pain he had to swallow whenever she asked him something about them and he was confronted with her amnesia once more.

Confronted with him being nothing to her.

Steve didn’t know how long it took him to actually emerge from his position, his eyes burning with fresh tears, but when he entered the common room and a snarky male voice welcomed him, he knew it was longer than it should have.

“Well, look who it is. The great man himself,” the shorter man of whom Steve assumed was Dean exclaimed and it caused both the other hunter – Sam, Steve recalled – and Bruce, who kept the brothers company, massage the bridge of their nose tiredly.

Steve sighed and nodded politely as the brothers stood up from the couch. Bruce had clearly dined them with a take-out judging by the boxes on the table, which Steve was grateful for. He mentally noted to thank his friend later.

“Dean Winchester, I presume,” he croaked, wincing and clearing his throat at the pathetic sound it released.

The sandy-haired man quirked up. “I see my reputation precedes me. Good. Because, you see, I’m a big fan. Really. You’re doing an A+ plus work, most of the time. But something happens to Nat--- ugh, you know who I mean – on your watch again, I’ll find you, skin you and make sure your soul never finds rest.”

“Dean…”

Steve only nodded at the threat, ignoring the scolding look the taller hunter gave his brother.

“What he meant to say was: nice to meet you, I hope it went well. She… uhm, she is your soulmate, right? You exchanged the right words?” Sam asked kindly, his eyes compassionate and inviting.

Steve smiled tightly, ignoring the knot in his stomach and deliberately passed on the unspoken question if it did go well. He assumed it had, but… well.

“Yes,” he whispered softly, offering the man a hand to shake, which was instantly accepted. “We did. Thank you for bringing her here. Keeping her safe. Taking care of her. I already asked Jarvis – we’ll make sure to pay any expanses-“

“Alright, stop with the speech, Captain. We did what he had to – what we wanted to. She’s a good kid. She deserves the best, though she wasn’t always willing to accept that as a fact. If you want to help guys with little money, that would be nice. But we’re not bounty hunters or some shit. You’re not paying us for her,” Dean stated, sending a white lightning of rage though Steve’s body at his implication.

She was not a merchandise to order and have delivered. She was a human being. Steve was very much aware of that.

He took a deep breath to tell the man what an inappropriate comment he had made. “Mr. Winchester-“

“Oh god, don’t ever call me that again. And relax. Please. I’m not totally serious. Calm your tits.”

“Captain Rogers, I apologize for my Neanderthal of a brother. He grew rather protective of your soulmate as did I. I assume she’s asleep-“ Sam interjected again with his diplomatic talk and Steve forced the indignation aside, trying to remember he was beyond grateful. He only nodded once more. “Good. We thought to stay in town in case she needed anything. We left a small bag for her, but she doesn’t have much, she’s modest. Had a little trouble eating, worrying about spending our money. Please, make sure she eats.”

A sharp pang hit Steve’s chest when hearing another implication of her doubting her worth. He had a lot of work to do. He was going to spoil her. So much. As much as she let him and just a tiny bit more. She always seemed to have a weak spot in the form of his pleading eyes, she was a pleaser and Steve would be very much pleased to give her everything. All of his things, all of him.

“Thank you for telling me. I’ll look out for that. Hopefully, she’ll let me.”

“Good. You do that. She just needs a little push sometimes,” the older brother smirked and finally shook Steve’s hand too, possibly going for tighter grip than necessary. Good tactics that didn’t quite work on a supersoldier, but Steve met his gaze to hint him he received his message again clearly.

Hurt her and you’re a dead man.

Steve felt the same about everyone.

“Now, she has our number and we should probably hit the hay. Before we leave though…” Dean hesitated and the sudden lack of snark surprised even Bruce, who released his head from his hands as he had rested his elbows on his knees, sitting on the couch, embarrassed for their guests; he looked up curiously as Dean continued.

“Can I have an autograph? I really am a huge fan…. And I’d love to touch the shield.”

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Part 17

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Thank you for reading, lovlies, and if you happen to leave ♥ or/and comments, reblog... thank you for that too :-*

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years

Text

Monster Match #26: Duamutef (Lemon)

The Traveler's Masterlist

For @one-halloween: “My pronouns are she/her and my orientation is pan. I'm small (like 4'9") with waist length brown hair that's bleached in an ombre style. I dress in a kind of retro style (so like 80s acid washed jeans and crop tops). Uhh I love reading, writing and gaming as well as hiking and working on a car or something like that. I'm often quiet but around people I like I can be the jokester of the group.

Cliché but I like partners who are taller than me, and those I can joke around with. Someone who is also loyal and honest as well as loving and will take interest in hobbies. The things I dislike are dishonesty and secrets. As well as someone who takes life way too seriously and won't crack a joke here or there. Also someone who doesn't take interest in what others do. I was thinking if you could make it NSFW that would be great.”

You’ve been matched with Duamutef!

Duamutef is one of the four sons of Horus and one of the protection gods of the four canopic burial jars, specifically the jar which contains the stomach. In war, the most frequent cause of death was from injuries in the torso and stomach, and Duamutef protects this organ, both in life and in death.

Duamutef was originally represented as a man wrapped in mummy bandages; however, from the New Kingdom onwards, he is shown with the head of a jackal and is an example of cynocephaly which, in Greek mythology, is a creature with a human body and a canid head, specifically a jackal.

What gives a god their power was the belief of their followers; however, many of the ancient religions had either died completely or were far less worshiped during modern times, affording the gods of those pantheons less power. While some gods lamented this decline in their abilities, others found it freeing, and delighted in the opportunity of roaming the earth as they wished. One such deity was Duamutef.

As a lesser god, even people who followed the revival religion Khemetism didn’t tend to worship him as much as Anubis or Ma’at or his father Horus, so he decided to come to earth and travel the world, learning about an era with which he was unfamiliar.

Of course, you didn’t know all that when you met him. He introduced himself as Tua, an exchange student from Egypt. He was a mysterious figure and his age indecipherable to you. Sometimes he seemed young and boyish, easily a full foot taller than you, always smiling and laughing. However, there was this ageless look in his eye that told the story of a very old soul. He was tall and dark, just like in fairy tales, and already very popular on campus.

It surprised you when he took notice of you. You were a quiet girl, unassuming and not the type to draw attention, so his sudden interest in you was a little startling.

“Excuse me,” He said one day, coming up to you suddenly. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“That’s probably because we’ve never spoken before,” You said. “And I don’t think you know any of my friends.”

“An oversight. My apologies,” He said, smiling. “I make it my aim to know everyone in every place I go.”

You looked at him in alarm. “There are hundreds of people attending this college.”

“I am aware,” He said, still smiling. He had those deep, dark type of bottomless black eyes one could get lost in. “I’ve managed to at least introduce myself to most of the people, but it seems I have missed you. Forgive me.”

“Honestly, it’s not a big deal,” You said. “I’m nobody, really.”

“That’s not true,” He said. “Everybody is somebody to someone, and I’d like to be a friend to you. My name is Tua. May I ask yours?” He offered his hand to shake and you shook it, telling him your name. “Will you walk with me? The cafeteria is offering something called a corndog I’m eager to try.”

You laughed. “Don’t get too excited about that. It’s not exactly a culinary masterpiece.”

“But it’ll be new. I like new. I spent a very long time in one place, and now that I’m out in the world, I want to experience as much as I can.”

“Were you homeschooled as a kid or something?” You asked.

He laughed again. “Or something. My family had a lot of responsibilities many years ago, you could say. After working my whole life in the service of others, I think I’ve earned a vacation.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” You said. “It can be tough when your parents expect a lot from you.”

“That’s the truth,” He replied. “So, corndog? I’ll treat you.” He extended his hand toward the cafeteria.

You echoed his laughter. “I don’t know if I’d call it a treat, but sure. That sounds nice.”

From then on, Tua spent a lot of time with you. He seemed to go out of his way to seek you out. He said he enjoyed listening to you talk about things, saying that your perspective was entertaining. You didn’t mind his presence. He was earnest and funny and he always wanted to hear your opinion on things. He’d often come to the bookstore where you worked to get your recommendation for new books to read. He seemed confused by a lot of western culture’s practices and often asked you for advice or to explain things to him. His open curiosity and wonder with the world around him was very endearing.

You weren’t sure why he chose you to help him navigate life in the western world. Surely there were better candidates in the large pool of people who followed him around. He had a legion of fans who hung on his every word and shadowed him like love-struck puppies, but he dodged them consistently to spend time with you. There were more attractive people of several genders that he could have had his pick of, but he decided on you, and you were slightly baffled by it.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked you one day while you were ringing up his new purchases. He must have a significant library by this point. “There’s something called a farmer’s market I’d like to go see.”

“I can’t go tomorrow,” You said. “My friend’s car is acting up and he wants me to take a look at it. From what he’s telling me, it sounds like his alternator is shot, and if that’s the case, that’s a full day’s work.”

“You can fix cars?” He asked. If he had animal ears, you’d swear they had perked up when he said that. “How interesting. I don’t know anything about cars. Can I observe?”

You shrugged. “If you want to. Make sure to wear stuff you don’t mind getting dirty. It is very hard to get motor oil out of clothes, trust me.”

“Of course,” He said.

“Here,” You said, taking out a pen and running out a length of receipt paper to write on. “Here’s my address. He’ll be dropping it off around 9 A.M. and picking it back up after his shift at work.”

“Excellent. I won’t be late.”

“If you say so,” You said, handing him his purchases. “Here you go. That D&D book is a classic. I think you’ll really like it.”

“Much appreciated,” He said with a smile, nodding politely as he left.

He arrived the next morning carrying a sack of donuts and coffee. You were glad he already knew what kind of coffee you liked, because he drank his very strong and you wouldn’t be able to stomach it. You had to do a double take when he took off his jacket and revealed a v-neck black shirt and tight black jeans. Normally he wore a pair of slacks and a button-up, so this look was quite a change and you were having trouble not staring. He was skinny, but he had a lot more muscle definition than you would have suspected.

“I hope I’m not late,” He said. “There was an accident on the way here. No one seemed to be hurt, but there was quite a backup on the highway.”

“No, you’re fine,” You said. “My friend hasn’t even shown up yet. Let’s eat before he gets here. Eating with grease on your hands is a bad idea.”

Your friend pulled up as you were inhaling a bear claw. You introduced him to Tua, they exchanged brief pleasantries, and your friend took off for the bus stop down the road.

“He seemed nice,” Tua said.

“He’s gay and single, if you want his number,” You laughed as you popped the hood of his Honda Accord.

Tua laughed as well. “I appreciate the offer, but he’s not my cup of tea. Or coffee, if you will.” He took a big gulp, and you shuddered.

“I can’t believe you take that black. It’s got to be so bitter.”

“We didn’t have sugar where I grew up, so I’m used to it.”

Your head rocked back. “Where did you live that you didn’t have sugar.”

“Near Cairo,” He replied. “It was called something different when I was born, though.”

You made a face. “Cairo was founded in 969 AD. You’re not that old.”

He smirked. “How old do I look?”

You stared at him, trying to gauge his age, but blanked. “Let’s just get to work.”

The alternator was indeed going out, and while changing it out wasn’t rocket science, it was labor intensive work for someone as small as you were. You were actually glad to have an extra set of hands to help. In addition to the alternator, you also found a crack in one of the hoses that was also going to have to be replaced, as it was leaking coolant.

Both of you were elbow deep in grease by the time you decided to take a break for lunch. You went to order a pizza as he went in to wash his… self. He somehow managed to get grease all over his face. You had a sneaking suspicion he just liked getting dirty.

After putting in your order, you went back outside to clean up the area around the car and put away the tools you didn’t need anymore in their rightful place in the toolbox when you happened to look up to the bathroom window. You had to squint and blink, because something was… off.

Tua had taken his shirt off to clean up, but something was odd about his head. It was larger, darker, and blurry almost. It almost looked like an animal’s head. Maybe it was just how the frosted glass reflected the color of his hair, but it didn’t look… normal. Something on the top of his head resembling ears flicked back and forth. Something that looked like a snout opened and shut, as if inspecting its teeth. The head shook like a dog slinging water from its fur. You blinked, and he had put his shirt back on and his head looked completely normal again.

Were you going insane?

Tua came back out of the house, the water from washing his face and neck glistening on his skin. You didn’t realize how bug-eyed you were until he tilted his head in concern.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

You shook your head to clear it. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I thought I saw… nevermind. It doesn’t matter. Pizza’s on it’s way.”

“What did you see?” He asked neutrally.

“It doesn’t matter,” You said. “It was probably a trick of the light.”

“What if it wasn’t?” He asked in the same neutral tone, watching your face. “Hypothetically.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

He sighed, shook his head, and his usual smile was back in place. “No matter. What kind of pizza did you get?”

You let the matter drop, but it nagged in the back of your mind for the rest of the day.

That night, your dreams were unusual. You dreamt of a dry place, of women in soft, sheer gowns and men in short skirted garments. Shaved heads and wigs.

In one of the dreams, a woman led you to a huge, grand hall made of stone. There, sitting on a throne of ebony inlaid with gold and jewels, was a man. He had a falcon’s head on a fit human’s body. He held a staff in his hand, and on his head perched a red and white pschent, the crown of Pharaohs. Behind him were four gigantic statutes of other men and women. He sat at their feet, surrounded by attendants.

The woman gestured for you to walk forward, and the man on the throne waved a hand. All of the attendants left him, leaving you standing there alone with him.

“My son has shown you interest,” The man said, his voice booming throughout the chamber, though his mouth never moved. “That is unusual. He and his wife have divorced millennia ago, and he has not taken interest in anyone for many, many years.”

“Your son?” You repeated. “Who is your son?”

“Know you not who I am?” He asked, standing and laying his staff against the armrest. “The god of the sky above and kingdom below. The wisest of my siblings, the most benevolent. Am I a stranger to you?”

“I’m sorry,” You said hesitantly. “I’m not really religious.”

He sighed. “I suppose that’s to be expected. The power of our pantheon has declined dramatically. I must be grateful that the revival in modern times has allowed us to rise from our sleep and reclaim any sort of rule.” He stood to his full height, which had to be at least seven foot. “I am Horus. You are a friend to my son, Duamutef, blessed with the head of a jackal, the animal of death, guidance, and protection.”

“The head of a jackal?” You asked. “Like a dog? So I wasn’t hallucinating? Tua really has the head of a dog?”

“In so many terms, yes. Tua, as you know him, asked for my permission to travel the world, and I granted it to him, hoping he would stop pining and bring his knowledge of the new world back to his peers.”

“How long is he allowed to explore?”

“Not that long,” Horus said. “A few centuries.”

You gaped at him. “You realize that since the industrial age, humanity and its technology is advancing very quickly. The world isn’t the same as it was ten years ago, and it will be different in another ten years.”

“Oh,” Horus said, seemingly baffled. “That’s alarming. In the ancient kingdom, it was as if time stood still. Once we gave humans the knowledge they needed to live and create, things carried on as it always did for over three millennia.”

“Things are different now,” You said, perhaps too boldly considering you were speaking to a god.

“It would seem so,” He replied thoughtfully. “Duamutef is eager to learn, however. As long as he sends back a report, I suppose he can stay in the mortal plane as long as he wishes.”

“I’m sure that would make him happy,” You said.

“I think you would, too,” Horus said, looking down at you. A falcon can’t smile, but you felt kind approval radiating from Horus’s body.

“I would?” You said. “I’m his friend, just a girl he follows around because I explain things to him. I’m not special. Besides, I don’t even think he likes me that way.”

“Aren’t you?” Horus asked patiently. “Doesn’t he?”

You flushed. You hadn’t really considered it. He seemed way out of your league. “Well… even if he did, how can I be worthy of a god?”

“You are worthy. You do not need me to tell you so, nor do you need him to. But he has chosen you, and I am pleased that he is happy and moving on. He has been alone for a very long time.”

“This is a lot to process, you know that?”

“Indeed,” Horus agreed. He turned and went back to the throne, sitting in it. “Take some time to think it over, but do not make him wait long. My son’s happiness is important to me.” He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

You woke covered in sweat and gasping. That… that couldn’t have been real, could it? Thank god… or gods… that tomorrow was Sunday. You needed a full day to just… deal.

Monday, you returned to school, both confused and… a little excited. There was something innately fascinating knowing an actual god was walking around campus, acting like a human. While you weren’t a fan of the fact that he was hiding it from you, you were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Just this once.

You saw him in the courtyard surrounded by his usual fans. His magnetism suddenly made a lot more sense. You wondered why you were so resistant to it.

“Tua!” You called. He looked up, caught your eye and smiled, walking over. His gaggle of… worshipers?… followed behind him.

“I need to talk to you privately,” You told him in a terse undertone.

“That sounds serious,” He said, still smiling, though he looked concerned. “What about?”

“Your father came to visit me,” You replied.

The smile slipped and the color drained from his face. “Uh…” He said to his group, trying to laugh lightly. “Sorry, friends. Family business.”

They groaned in disappointment but thankfully dispersed. He took you by the hand and led you to the side of the Sciences building.

“What did he say to you? Was he angry?”

“No,” You said. “He told me he was pleased.”

Tua sighed in relief. “I’m glad. I was worried he was annoyed with my decisions. He said he wouldn’t interfere, but I’ve been concerned because I hadn’t heard from him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, folding your arms.

“What, that I’m a lesser god of an ancient religion that had almost died out, until the recent revival?” He said shrewdly. “Would you have believed me.”

“Your real head might have convinced me,” You replied. “The jackal?”

“Ah, yes,” He said. “I figured you had seen it the other day, but you didn’t press the issue, so I hoped you’d think it was a figment of your imagination.”

“Why didn’t you want me to know?” You asked.

“I did,” He said. “But I wanted to tell you myself, when the time was right.”

“When would the right time have been?”

He shrugged and looked at the ground. “I don’t know, I guess. I almost did, the other day, but I was nervous.”

“Your father told me something else,” You said carefully. “That you had been alone a long time. That your wife divorced you and that you had been pining for a long time. He also said…” You cleared your throat and swallowed. “That you had chosen me.”

He looked at you through his lashes, looking apprehensive. “Can… can we discuss this later? Somewhere private?”

“Come to my house after school. We’ll talk, okay?”

He nodded, looking self-conscious, turned, and jogged away, dodging his fan club and ducking into the Arts building.

Later that night, you paced in your living room, waiting for him to arrive. When you heard his car pull up, it took every ounce of willpower to not dash outside.

When he knocked, you opened the door to find him holding flowers and a gift bag.

Oh god.

“I figured if the cat was out of the bag, I might as well try,” He said. “Here.” He handed you the flowers, which were your favorites, and the bag. Inside was a book.

“Someone wrote a book about me,” He said. “Well, about me and my brothers. It was written while we were sleeping, so there’s a little missing, but I’m happy to fill in the blanks.”

“I don’t like that you hid this from me,” You said as you moved aside to let him in.

“I’m sorry,” He said. “I didn’t mean to hide it. Most people don’t look that closely. You’re the first person to see my true self.”

“That’s not entirely true,” You said. “I only saw an outline, a shadow.” You folded your arms. “So show me the real you. I want to take a good look.”

He took a deep, calming breath, and his body shimmered. His head elongated, black fur sprouted from his neck up, trailing down his spine and the middle of his chest. His normal modern clothes disappeared and the traditional gathered skirt of ancient Egypt appeared around his waist, ending at the knee. His eyes were silver and had markings around them. He wore no crown, but there were markings where a crown might have once sat.

“Is this what you saw?” He asked. Like his father, his mouth did not move when he spoke. Instead, his voice came from all around you.

“Something like it, yes,” You confirmed.

“Are you frightened?” He asked hesitantly.

“No,” You replied. “I’ve had time to come to terms with it. I think I’d be more freaked out if you had sprung it on me out of nowhere, maybe.”

“See? What else was I to do but keep it to myself?” He said in exasperation.

“I guess I see your point,” You admitted. “But no more secrets, okay? There’s nothing I hate more than people keeping secrets from me.”

“If that’s so, then… there’s one more thing I must confess,” He said slowly.

“I think I know what it is,” You said, bracing yourself. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

He cleared his throat and stood tall. “I have become… enamored with you. I don’t know when it started, but it came to me quickly. Perhaps it was because you didn’t fall into worship of me, as others have done. As gods, it is humankind’s natural inclination to bend the knee to us, but you did not. Perhaps it was your patience with me and my multitude of questions. Perhaps it was the extent of your knowledge. Perhaps it was all of those things. But I care for you. I do not expect you to return my feelings, but I would wish to remain close to you, in whatever form you desire. Friend, companion, lover. It is your decision.”

You laughed a little. “That’s a hell of a declaration. I mean, you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

He looked startled. “Is that something you wish?”

“I don’t know.” You moved closer, considering him. “Are you any good at it?”

He took your hands. “Well… it has been some time. I may be out of practice.”

“Give it your best shot,” You challenged.

His lips curled into a smile, and he pulled you into an embrace. Tall as he was, he had to bend to reach your lips. His kiss was light, but experienced, and he lingered for many minutes. When he pulled away, you were seeing stars.

“How was my technique?” He asked playfully.

You shook your head to stop it from spinning. “More than adequate,” You chuckled. “You’re not quite as rusty as you claim.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear,” He said, and kissed you again.

You weren’t sure how the two of you made it into your bedroom, but suddenly there you were, the bed right next to you. You began shedding clothes and pulled at the belt that gathered the skirt at his waist. It fell into a pile at his feet, and he stepped out of it, lifting you into the air and setting you gently down onto the bed.

You began to shake a little. You hadn’t had a serious partner before and while this wasn’t your first time, the sex you’d had before hadn’t been as… significant as this was turning out to be. Were you going to fast? You’d known him for months but it was only in the last few days that you’d known he was carrying a torch for you. It had been a lot to process, and still was. Were you rushing into it?

He seemed to feel you tense. “Are you alright?”

“I…” You struggled to find the right words and not sound insulting. “I feel like we’re moving to quickly? I’m not even sure how I feel, and we’re already in bed with each other. I just… feel…”

“Rushed?” He said. “It’s alright, I understand. This was a lot to lay on you at once. We can stop.”

“That’s just it, I don’t know if I want to stop. I don’t know if I want to keep going. I don’t even know for sure how I feel about you, or the situation. I feel really overwhelmed.”

“It’s alright,” He said. “Why don’t we just lay here for a while and be still and give you some time to find your bearings. I can leave you to think for a while, if you’d like.”

“No. No, stay,” You said. “Just turn off the light and let’s be quiet for a little while. I just want to think.”

“Of course,” He said, reaching for the lamp switch. The two of you were bathed in darkness. He lay next to you, and you allowed him to put his arm around you. You put your head on his chest and listened to his slow heartbeat. It was strangely reassuring: you almost expected him to not have a heartbeat at all.

At some point you must have fallen asleep. He still lay with you, his body illuminated in the moonlight, slightly propped up on the pillows, watching you sleep. He smiled when he saw you rouse.

“Good evening,” He said quietly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to doze off,” You said.

“It’s no problem. I actually rather enjoyed it. You’re very cute when you’re asleep.”

“Don’t be silly,” You said, smacking his chest.

“I’m not!” He chuckled. “You make very adorable noises.”

“Hush, you!” You said, tickling his side.

“Hey, hey!” He exclaimed, squirming away. “Don’t do that!”

“Oh, is the big, bad god ticklish?” You asked playfully, dodging his arms and going in for more tickles. “Is he? Is he ticklish?”

“No!” He cried, trying to wiggle out of your grasp, whimpering like a puppy. “I shall retaliate if you don’t cease!”

“Oh yeah?” You taunted. “Whatcha gonna do about it, big man? Sniff me to death?”

“I may just!” He said, putting his muzzle in your ear and sniffling.

“Ah!” You squealed. “It’s so cold!”

“You like that?!” He said, tickling you back and pressing his nose to your neck. “Have some more, then!” He licked at your neck and shoulders. He grabbed your hands and held them above your head as you wiggled underneath him.

At some point, the mood shifted. The weight of his naked body on top of your naked body was exhilarating and made your heart race. His licks slowed and went from playful to deliberate and were interspersed with open mouthed kisses. He let go of your hands and touched your body. You instinctively pulled your knees up and wrapped them around his waist, holding him close by the back of his head and petting down the fur of his spine.

“Is this alright?” He asked heavily, breathing hard.

“Yes,” You whispered in reply. “Yes.”

Some more minutes of touching and kissing and licking later, he reached between the two of you and rubbed his knuckles on your clit, making you moan against his lips. He rubbed himself and you at the same time, then pushed the tip against your entrance, gently pushing himself inside of you. Your head fell back onto the pillow, your mouth wide open, your brows furrowing. He was thick and long, but no so that it was painful. You whimpered as he inched all the way inside and pulled out slowly, thrusting inward and pulling outward.

Slowly, but with gaining speed, your bodies moved together. Wordlessly, he flipped you so that you were on your stomach and pulled you toward him, reentering you and thrusting vigorously, while you gripped the sheets desperately, crying out in pleasure. You bit the pillow and shut your eyes as you felt the ecstasy well up in you, your inside walls clenching and contracting. He huffed and grunted above you, gripping your hips as your bodies smacked together over and over.

You could feel beads of his sweat dripping onto your back as he sped up again, groaned loudly, and spilled himself into you, gushing out with each jerk of his hips against your body. When he was spent, he withdrew and fell sideways as to not crush you. You lay on your stomach for a few moments, allowing yourself to catch your breath and cool down, before turning over and sliding into his arms. You’d change the sheets tomorrow.

“I hope this means you accept me,” He said sleepily.

“I always accepted you,” You said. “I just wasn’t sure what I wanted my role to be in all this. I’m still not sure. I think starting with a date might be nice.”

“Of course,” He said. “Anything you want. I am your humble servant, at your beck and call.”

“You’re not my servant,” You said firmly. “And I’m not yours. We’re partners or we’re nothing at all.”

“I understand,” He said, turning on his side. “So, my partner, where would you like to go for this date?”

“I don’t know,” You said. “This’ll be your first date on the mortal plane, won’t it? Do what you love to do: research it.”

He laughed. “That sounds like fun.”

To get your own Monster Match, buy me a Kofi!

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Match #Ancient Egypt #Egyptian God #Duamutef #Four Sons of Horus #one-halloween

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

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#1 or #13 for indruck? sfw or nsfw, dealer's choice :)

I went with 13 and NSFW: “we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine”

The concert was a bust, Duck is learning that, at the ripe old age of 24, his body can no longer stand up to a mosh-pit, and Juno had to cut out early, taking the car. Which is fine, he can take BART home.

Except there was a fucking game tonight and everyone and their goddamn uncle is packed onto the train. He dips and shoves his way in, spots the sole empty seat towards the back and makes it there before it’s taken. He sighs, turning to sit, only for a black clad figure to slip in behind him.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

The man looks up, startled, and Duck sees he has earbuds in and was staring at his phone when he sat down.

“Excuse me?”

“That was my seat.”

“Clearly not, since I’m sitting in it.”

“I was about toFUCK!” The train jolts and he loses his balance, landing in the seat-stealers lap.

“Agh, hey!”

“Fuckin’ busted ass infrastructure.” God it feels nice to be off his feet. Fuck it, he’s staying here.

“Are, ah, you planning to get up any time soon?” The man is trying to push him off, so Duck puts all his weight into his lap.

“Nope, gonna stay right here because it’s my fuckin seat.”

“It is not! It is a public train, no one has claim to a seat!”

“There’s rules!”

“It was empty so I sat down. I have been up on my feet since four in the morning, for goodness sake, I just wanted to sit.”

“Join the fuckin club.”

“Get. off” He grunts, continues failing to move Duck, “agh, why are you so heavy?”

“Hey!”

“Look, normally I enjoy having a bear in my lap, but not when you’re cutting off circulation in my thighs.”

“I’ll take my own weight again if you stop pushin me.”

“Fine.” The man crosses his arms, slumps back in the seat. Duck adjusts so he’s no longer just dead weight.

“You’re really going to sit on me the whole ride?”

“Yep.”

The man grumbles something rude, shoves his earbud back in and stares angrily at his phone. Duck pulls his phone out, but keeps glancing at his new chair. The man’s hair is dyed silver, with black patches that suggest he did it himself. His ears are pierced, his glasses are dark red, there’s a weird orange crystal around his neck, and his jacket is covered in patches. Duck knows his type; some willowly gay trying to hard to seem edgy. He’s probably on his way to the suburbs on the other side of the tunnel. And he’s gotta ride in his lap for a fucking half hour.

He snorts in bitter amusement and turns on a video. About ten minutes later, he realizes he’s not watching alone.

“Don’t you got your own phone?” He turns, finds the stranger’s head cocked in interest, still engrossed in his screen.

“Hey’ he snaps his fingers in front of his glasses, “I asked why the fuck you’re looking over my shoulder.”

“Because our positions mean your screen is right in my sight whenever I look up.” He glares, then adds, “although now I’m mostly just watching for fun. Who knew plants could be so interesting?”

Duck almost offers to share, then decides he’s not getting seat-stealer ear-gunk on his headphones. He turns back to his phone with another annoyed grunt. And promptly flicks on the closed captions in case the stranger wants to read them.

Twenty minutes into the ride his butt is falling asleep, so he shifts in the stranger’s lap. The man hisses, bumping an arm into his side to still him.

“Stop moving.”

“I’m just--oh” he registers the unmistakable feeling of a denim-trapped cock bumping his ass.

“Jesus, man.” He giggles at how ridiculous it is; he spent half last week trying to get various guys into this position with him, and now some dipshit on a train’s done it by accident.

“I’m, I’m sorry” it’s still a hissing whisper, “it’s vibrations from the train plus friction, I didn’t mean for it to happen, so for goodness sake stay still.”

“Why? Ain’t my fault you got a hair-trigger down there.”

“You'd be singing a different song if our positions were reversed.” The voice is creeping up an octave.

A wicked thought enters his head, “Who say’s I ain’t in the same boat now?”

“Because I can see you, you jerk.”

“Eh, I ain’t all that big. Thick, but nothin’ to write home about, not to mention these jeans are kinda loose. So I could be getting wound up as we speak and you might not spot it.”

“Talking about your dick is not helping the situation.” The man is staring him down now, hunger flitting around beneath mortification on his face.

He escalates the game, wiggles his ass slightly, “Might wanna rethink those tight jeans next time.”

“If, if nnnh!” the man stifles a moan against Duck’s neck, then giggles “if this is how you flirt, I think I might know an issue with your approach.”

“Naw, this ain’t how I flirt.” He turns, exaggerates his drawl, “if I were flirtin, I’d ask if a tall drink of water like you was in the mood for some bear huntin. Tell you I liked your style, liked the thought of you under me in bed,” he reaches his hand up, runs his fingertips along the man’s cheekbones, and from so close he sees an excited, playful glint in the eyes behind the glasses, “liked how that face is cut-diamond gorgeous.”

The glint disappears, “Please don’t tease. Not about that, anyway.”

“I ain’t.” The sincerity sparks between them without warning as he splays his fingers on a cool cheek to gingerly cup it.

“That, uh, that is, uh, I’d say all that if we we’re flirtin’.” He turns back around, flustered and wrong-footed by his own damn feelings. He wants the other man to start the game again. He wants to say he’s sorry, ask if they can start over. He wants someone, anyone, to make the decision about what to do next for him.

The stranger obliges him, wiry arms slipping around his middle as breath tickles his neck.

“Since we’re playing what ifs, were I flirting with you, I might say that the shirt you are wearing is very flattering.” He hesitates, and Duck realizes that in spite of being around him, his arms aren’t actually touching Duck. They’re waiting, patiently, for a sign to continue.

Duck takes the bony wrists, drawing the arms close, and chuckles, “you did say you liked my type.”

“I did. Or, ah, I do.’ One hand pets Duck’s thigh. Keeping an eye out for onlookers, he guides the other stealthily under his jacket and shirt, shivering as cold fingers tease his skin.

“Well, uh, how do I measure up, ahehe, hey, no, was tryin to show off this bit.” He guides the hand currently petting his belly up to the noticeable muscle near his pecs.

“I know, and it is very nice” A purr in his ear now, “but I like this bit just as much.” His other hand rubs circles on Ducks belly through his clothes, “it’s all such a pleasing shape.”

A kiss on his neck makes him sigh, and he fights to get the upper hand again, to not just melt, to make this a game again because the game feels safe.

“Seems like your dick’s calmed down some.”

“Yes, thank you for holding sti-AH” another moan in his shoulder, another high laugh as he jerks his hips without warning, “you dick.”

“Pretty sure that’s your dick.” Duck grins at him, enjoying the fact he’s still holding him, savoring how he can nuzzle his cheek even as he whispers, “sure as hell’d like to make it mine, though.”

“Is that so? I’d like to see you try.” The man practically snarls, lust dripping from every word.

He doesn’t get to answer, drowned out by the voice announcing his stop.

“Shit, that’s me, gotta, uh, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Getting off the train?” The man points at the opening doors, “this is my stop too.”

They make their way off and onto the platform. It would be easy to lose each other in the crowds, slip away and pretend nothing ever happened. Yet Duck keeps his pace slow and, when they do get separated, he finds his new friend has chosen the exit turn-style with the longest line, conveniently allowing Duck to catch up with him.

When they reach the street, night air chilling with fog, Duck decides to be reckless.

“How close is your place?”

“Six blocks that way.”

“Mine’s four this way.” He holds out his hand. The stranger takes it, grinning, and they’re off, stopping only when crosswalk and Saturday night traffic demands it.

“Almost thereah!” Duck jumps a little when, as they’re stuck waiting, the other man steps directly behind him, kneading his ass.

“MmM, apologies, this has been tempting me ever since you sat down.”

“You were rubbin off on it, ain’t that enough?”

“That was on accident. This” he squeezes harder “is on purpose.”

“C’mon.” Duck growls, dragging them across the intersection and to the door of his apartment. They’re stone cold sober but take the stairs like drunks, fumbling and mis-stepping as they laugh and grab at each other.

Duck slams the door shut and shoves the taller man against it, making him stumble and bring them both to the floor. He kisses him hard, biting his lip and pulling silver hair while bony fingers dig into his back and ass. Their tongues tease together and he gets a hint of metal, pulls back.

“Stick out your tongue.”

Instant compliance as the other man reveals his pierced tongue through panting lips.

“Damn, gonna have some fun with that later.”

“Why, why wait?”

“Because” he tugs a fistful of hair, making him whine, “you’re gonna get that nice cock out and get real hard so I can ride you.”

“Yes, ohyesyes.” He’s frantically undoing his pants as Duck stands and strips his own off, tossing them and his boxers into the laundry.

“Stay.” He rifles through his tiny nightstand, finds two condoms and his lube, returns and barks, “legs out in front of you.

Lean legs still half-trapped in jeans slide forward, red canvas sneakers scuffing the floor.

“Now” Duck straddles him, tearing open a condom as he does, “you keep that dick nice and hard while I get ready. Then I’m, fuck, gonna use it like a toy.” He pushes the first finger deeper, moaning, grits his teeth trying to get the second in as the silver-haired man slowly strokes himself, licking his lips as he stares at Duck’s hardening cock.

“C’mon, fuck, there we go” he breathes deep, gets three fingers in and flexes them.

“Don’t, nnnn, rush on my account, I’m enjoying the show.” He runs his free hand up Duck’s body, purring appreciatively.

“Cute how you think you’re the one settin’ the pace.” He pulls his fingers out, grabs the second condom and rolls it down that perfectly average but nonetheless mouthwatering cock, “fuck, yeah, yeah,” he sinks down the first few inches and the other man’s head thunks back, hands flying to gratefully cup and paw his ass.

“Oh goodness, ohyes, you, your ass is amazing.”

“Think so? Then how about you, nnfuck, thank me for the pleasure of fuckin it.” He sinks down nearly to the base, a high gasp coming from his partner when he does. Based on their exchange on the train, he’s expecting the man to tease, or maybe snark at him.

What he gets is a desperate, blissed out expression and, “thank you, thankyouohgodthankyou” as his hips buck wildly, making Duck grunt with each thrust.

“There we, fuck, there we go sugar, now you got the idea, you be good and fuck me like youFUCK, mean it, maybe I’ll even cum on you.”

A whimper as the thrusts quicken, Duck bouncing as best he can with the angle and speed. He dips forward, kisses him messily, then switches to tender pecks up and down as face until laughter joins the moans.

The he grabs the other man’s hair and yanks hard enough to pull some of it out, making him sob with pleasure and pump madly up into him, delivering two retaliatory smacks to Duck’s ass.

“Oh fuck yeah” Duck grins, “you like it rough, don’t you sugar?”

“Yes, god yes, AHnnnn” Duck bites his neck this time, chuckling when he hears his feet kicking against the wood floor.

“Good, I like it too.” He murmurs, kissing the new bruise before biting down on it a second time.

“AHGOD, god, please, I’m, I’m close, I want to come, please sweetheart, please-”

“Duck.”

“W-what?”

“My name, fuck, that’s my name.”

“Ohhhhh” the man nods, understanding, then tightens his hold on him, “Duck, please, you feel so good, so amazing, please let me cum.”

“Alright sugar, since I’m feeling, fuck, so fuckin generous, you can cum in my ass.”

Two more thrusts and a high, breathy cry signal the taller man doing just that, his whole body shaking under Duck. He’s fighting to stay upright, panting as he looks to Duck for direction. Duck grabs his left hand from his hip and places it on his dick, guides it swiftly up and down.

“Mnnff, yeah, like that, like that sugar, fuck that feels good.”

A pleased whimper as a narrow nose and metal glasses frames presses into his neck, the man clinging to him with his other hand.

“You like that? Like bein’ good for somethin?”

“Yes, yes, want to be good, want to be good for you.”

A pang of affection and he kisses his cheek even as he growls, “you wanna see just what you’re good for.”

A nod, and so he cups the back of the man’s head, shifting it so he’s gazing down as his cock.

Duck snarls “That’s what you’re fuckin, fuck, good for, and goddamn you do it well, fuck, fuck, ain’t been this fuckin hard in months, fuck, shit.” He comes, dropping the cool hand as spend dribbles down their joined fingers.

Then he slumps forward, hoping for a few seconds to catch his breath before the man up and leaves. But all he does is loop his arms around him, breathe shaky as he nuzzles and kisses Duck’s hair. So Duck takes his time, let’s his breathing recover, enjoys the feeling of fine hair under his fingers and heartbeat next to his own.

“I, ah, I don’t wish to bother you, but could I have a tissue? I have, ah, eh, well-”

Duck sits up and immediately giggles; the man has cum across the left lens of his glasses.

“Shit, sorry about that. Here, I can get ‘em clean.”

A shy smile as the glasses are handed off, and he’s face to face with deep brown eyes, still glazed with contentment.

“Be right back.” He kisses him once. His search for a clean cloth, however, leaves him vulnerable.

“OWFUCK, jesus Taco!” An enraged ball of blonde fur savages his ankle and his friend sits up, alarmed.

“Do you need help?”

“Naw, ow, he’s just pissed that we made a racket and woke him up.”

“Oh dear, that was very rude.” The man holds out his hand and, to Duck’s surprise, gets a headbump and a “mrrp” instead of a brush off.

“My, aren’t you soft and lovely. You said his name was Taco?” He keeps scritching the cat’s head, smiling, as he looks at Duck.

“Yeah. And, uh, speakin of names, I, uh, I never got yours.” The admission is at once thrilling and shameful.

“Indrid.”

“It’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you, Indrid.” He holds out the now clean glasses and Indrid slips them on, before tilting his head and sitting up on his knees to look at Duck’s thigh.

“I assume this tattoo is because of your name?”

“Eeesh, yeah. Long story short, ex of mine got tattoo equipment and offered me a hundred bucks if I let him practice one on me. I needed the cash, but I was a dingdong and let him choose the design. Thought he was real funny.”

“Please tell me he did not go on to become a professional” Indrid wrinkles his nose at the cartoonish image.

“Nope. Got bored with it. Like he did, uh, most things.”

“Ah.” Indrid nods with perfect understanding and sympathy, “you know, it would take a little design work, but I could correct this into something knew, something you might like.”

“Not unless you got a-”

“License? Almost. I’m finishing up my apprenticeship at Cobra over in the city. I might even be able to swing you a, ah, shall we say, friends and family discount.”

“Shit, really?”

“Of course. Why would I offer if I didn’t mean it?” He looks up, so sweet and genuine that Duck wants to fall to the floor and cuddle him up.

“Do you, uh, do you want to shower? With me? We’re both kinda sticky.”

“Very well.” Indrid stands, following him to the bathroom, “though you’re warned, I like it hot.”

Duck turns on the water, kisses him playfully on the nose, “I gathered.”

Indrid laughs, pulls him into a kiss, smiling all the while.

They swap tattoo stories as they shower, Indrid explaining the designs on his arms and complimenting the realistic pine tree on Duck’s arm. By the time they’re dried and bundled in various tray sweatpants and shirts, Indrid is asking him about what he does.

“Golden Gate Park. My, that must be a master gardeners dream.”

“It’s pretty damn cool, even if I’m still just low level help.”

“You must” Indrid yawns, leaning against him in bed, “you must tell me all about it.”

“In the mornin’, sugar.” Duck lays down next to him, grabbing his thickest blanket to compensate for the shitty heat in the building.

“I don’t” another yawn “I don’t wish to impose, I can call a ride or something, or just walk home.”

“Do you wanna stay?” Duck asks softly.

“Yes. Very much.” Indrid nods, smiles sleepily when Duck gently removes his glasses and sets them on the nightstand.

“Then stay. Please. Fuck, Indrid, I know we got off on a bad foot but I’m so fuckin glad you stole my seat. I wanna get to know you so bad.”

“Was my seat, but agreed.” Indrid smirks as he cuddles closer.

“That’s good enough for me, sugar. Sleep tight.”

He switches off the light and curls up in the arms of the happiest accident he’s ever had.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #meet ugly #prompt fills #the author does not condone this method of conflict resolution

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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

Text

A Handmaiden’s Lies: Part 3

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Tom’s honestly shocked when you show up at the camp the next day. It’s quite impressive you were able to find your way back through the thick trees and brush. The girl with the white hair scowls as she trails after you, but you’re back to being a statue as you stride past bigger, bulkier men without batting an eye. They all watch you go with barely concealed resentment bubbling in their eyes. Tom made it clear that you were not to be touched, and nobody’s going to go against Tom, no matter how much a few of them might want to.

Tom won his position as leader fair and square, no matter how bloody. Nobody wants to be the next stain of red on his hands.

The sun is high in the sky and shade hard to find. Scarce a wind blows to challenge the heat. Tom pauses in sharpening his sword and lifts his sweaty curls off his forehead, relishing the feel of fresh air on the overheated skin.

Midday patrol was just sent out, though Tom doubts they’ll find anything. Only other rogues and bandits ever occupy the forests, and most parties know not to mess with Holland’s gang. The rest of his crew mills around the camp. He knows they’re murmuring, resentful he’d called off their crusade of destruction. He tries to keep the majority happy, but they also need to remember that he is leader and that what he says goes.

If they want to challenge him on it, they can.

You don’t gloat or anything when he catches your eye. Without a change of expression, you step over a pile of horse droppings smoothly. Tom appreciates the good grace of that while simultaneously cursing the poop boys for not staying on top of their work. Behind you, the blonde has less grace; her nose wrinkles at the sight of the mess.

You stride right up to Tom. At his side, Paddy tenses. Last night Tom’s inner circle was informed of the situation, and Paddy took it as well as could be expected.

“What do you do for fun?” you ask without preamble. Behind you, the girl rolls her eyes.

Tom blinks. “Pardon?”

“Fun,” you repeat slowly like he’s not right in the head. “What do you enjoy, apart from robbing civilians and destroying property?”

As if he can’t help himself, Paddy has to open his mouth: “Better question is what you do for fun. Watch paint dry?”

Your lip curls as you look at the younger boy. “I’m sure you meant for that to be a much more cutting insult.”

Paddy flushes.

“What I don’t do for fun is insult my friends and family,” Tom says pointedly. Your eyes slide to the ground before snapping up. “And to answer your question, I enjoy riding and dueling.”

Your eyes light up at the mention of dueling and it dawns on Tom that this is your olive branch. He’d nearly rejected it by telling you off but thankfully he’d saved himself.

“Duelling looks like a useful skill,” you say.

Tom nods.

“I was never allowed to learn. It’s considered improper.”

“Everyone should be taught how to defend themselves,” Tom says. “What if you have to protect the queen?”

The girl with the white-blonde hair clears her throat and you kick her. It’s such a moment of warm familiarity that Tom has to smile. “Sorry about Henrietta,” you smile. “She considers it improper as well.”

The girl, who must be Henrietta, casts her eyes to the sky. Tom can recognize the look of someone praying for patience; he’s seen Haz wear that expression often enough to have it memorized.

“Well, you should learn,” Tom informs you.

Henrietta laughs after a brief moment of awkward silence. Your eyes widen a little as you stare at Tom, obviously waiting for him to say something, but his mind is blank. What’s neutral territory here? If he changes the subject it’ll be obvious but not as awkward as the silence. Do you want to continue talking about duelling? Is there a coded message in your abrupt question and trailing sentences? Why are you making Tom’s head spin? He’s never been this nervous around girls before.

Paddy mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Dear Gods.” Then, louder, he says, “Y/N, would you like Tom to teach you how to duel?”

Tom’s eyes widen as you smile and nod—almost shyly? He hadn’t considered you would ever be bashful about anything. “Yes!” he exclaims. “Uh, Pads, take Henrietta to, uh… Zendaya. I’m sure they’ll get along great. And, Y/N, we can go… duel. Together. With swords,” he finishes stupidly, internally cringing but unable to stop himself.

“Mmm-hmm.” You clasp your hands in front of your body and follow Tom to the makeshift armory. Most camp members just carry their own weapons, so the armory doesn’t have a wide selection to choose from. They’re all spare weapons.

Tom picks up a thick sword about the length of his arm and tests it. It’s heavy—probably too heavy for someone that’s never wielded such a weapon in her life. Life in the castle tends to have such perks.

Tom stashes that sword and pulls out a slightly shorter and thinner sword. You should be able to wield it.

Tom unsheathes his own sword from his belt and demonstrates how to hold the weapon. You take his instructions easily and sometimes anticipate them. Your eyes may be untrained in duelling stances, but they’re still sharp, keen to focus on every little difference between Tom’s stance and yours.

You’re not good at duelling. Not at first. Tom can tell you don’t want to admit you’re struggling but the sword trembles when you hold it up. Your muscles obviously aren’t used to such exertion, which makes you slow. Tom suggests a break after a while and you seize the opportunity for a rest. You’re obviously not the type of person to admit to weakness.

After the break you return to practice with renewed vigor. You practice a basic parry in slow motion until you’ve got it and only then do you instruct Tom to speed up.

It takes hours (and a few more breaks) by the time you’re able to parry at a speed remotely close to the speed of duelling, but you look so pleased with yourself Tom can only applaud you.

He can see you applying that unholy determination to any skill in your life. Tom can’t imagine you’re incapable of doing whatever you set your mind on.

“Can all of your men duel like you?” you ask just as the sun begins to set. The trees are already casting long shadows on the ground.

Tom shakes his head. “The skill variety is wide. What swordsmen do reside in the camp are impressive as well, though none have trained as long as I have.”

“Do you not tire of not having a home?” you ask again, reminding Tom of those leading questions about duelling before. He narrows his eyes slightly, wondering where you’re going with this, but replies easily enough.

“I do have a home.” He looks to his tent.

“But a permanent one,” you press. “Your skills—all your men’s skills—are impressive. Surely there are positions for men such as you in the kingdom?”

“What, so eager for me to stay now, is that it?” Tom teases. There was no home for Tom when he was a child here. Why should now be any different?

“Become a soldier for the queen,” you urge.

Tom just stares at you.

“A war is coming,” you add. “The only thing more dangerous than being a group of rogues scant forty men with no allegiances travelling between kingdoms is being the leader of said group whose soulmate is influential in a castle. Your group cannot fight off Thanatoia alone. You’ll be slaughtered. Or worse—you’ll be tortured with the hope that I’ll give up valuable state secrets for you.”

“Yes, because you wouldn’t, would you?” Tom asks bitterly, sheathing his sword.

“I’m trying to protect you,” you snap back, eyes slits of anger. All traces of comradery brought on by sparring are gone.

Tom ponders the treeline until you sigh and dash the sword to the ground, perhaps petulantly. Without even a good-bye, you take your leave.

Tom doesn’t watch as you do.

~~~

He doesn’t sleep.

Is Tom really prepared to serve a kingdom that threw him away as a child? Is he prepared to take a final side in the budding conflict?

Is he prepared to be away from you for a whole year again—maybe longer, if war is declared; barricades can be constructed, hostages taken, innocents murdered.

Is he prepared to leave his men behind?

No, Tom decides in the morning, he’s not. He won’t leave his men. He also won’t leave you without the guarantee that he’ll see you again. If his men truly decide that they would rather wander than enlist, he’ll go with them, but not without you. He’ll kidnap you if he has to. Sure, you’re stubborn and loyal to the queen and you’ll probably hate him at first. But you’ll get over it, and even if you don’t, at least Tom will know that you’re safe.

~~~

“We’ve lived for years like this!” Anthony argues. “Thantoian troops won’t dare to find us in the woods in our own territory.”

“Deesee is neutral in this budding war!” a short, squat boy with a hundred pounds on Tom chimes in. Beady little eyes peer at his leader with resentment from underneath thick eyebrows and a protruding forehead. “Worst comes to worst and we could stay there. They’re not about to drive us out.”

“And hide from the fight like cowards?” Sam argues back.

“It’s not our fight to begin with!”

Tomas swears and spits on the ground, drawing his sword. The familiar shink of metal on metal has everyone backing away. Everyone except Tom. He clenches his jaw, hand resting on his own sword.

“What are you doing, Tomas?” Harrison asks cautiously, one hand held out as if it’ll help diffuse the situation.

“I’ve had enough of Holland’s pansy ass leading,” Tomas declares, leveling the point of his sword at Tom’s chest despite being a good ten feet away. “Fight me like a man, unless you’re too much of a bitch.”

Someone in the crowd laughs nervously.

“Are you sure about this, Tomas?” Tom asks slowly, drawing his own sword.

“‘Course I’m ready,” the other boy scoffs. “Ready to skewer you.”

“I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me,” Tomas laughs, “I won’t be the one getting hurt. And after this, I’ll take the bitch that suggested this stupid idea to my tent.” He leers.

Iron meets iron in a clang that makes a few people flinch. Tom’s eyes narrow at the other boy’s strength as he pushes against Tom’s sword. Tom takes a step back, testing the waters. As expected, Tomas follows him.

“You know what I’m going to do to your bitch, Tommy?” he taunts.

Criminals. Tom keeps the best of them in line, but a few dishonourable rogues find their way into every camp. He grits his teeth and smashes the hilt of his sword to Tomas’ hand, relishing the other boy’s grunt of pain. “I don’t imagine you’re going to do anything to anyone after this, Tomas.”

Tomas lunges, his sword missing Tom’s chest by a hair. Tom barely jumps to the side in time. Before Tomas can rebalance, his arm is gone from his shoulder.

The crowd sucks in a gasp. Tomas screams.

Tom doesn’t like to leave loose ends, so he runs him through with his sword.

“Would anyone else like to complain?” he asks, eyes blazing. Tomas is dead now, but his words—what he’d said about you—they run around his brain, echoing and echoing and he wishes he could kill Tomas all over again for even thinking them.

No one says a word.

~~~

You arrive at the camp a little past high noon. You march in with a scowl on your face, obviously ready to fight even if you don’t know how, but what you see stops you in your tracks. For a brief moment, pure shock flits over your face as you stumble and your fists unclench.

The whole camp is silent. Those who had quarreled during the discussion don’t dare to do more than glare after Tom had officially shut down the debate. Little more than ten tents remain erect. All the boys and girls with rolled-up tents sit on their packs, eyes glued to your form.

The winter had been harsh and they’d lost a few men to the cold, not to mention the worry about the upcoming war that had plagued the camp, but Tom hadn’t expected quite this many people to agree to work in the castle. Not a single camp girl refused the invitation. Only the bitter men, content to suffer only to spite the kingdom that threw them out, refused. Anthony, one of them, spit on the ground by Tom’s feet and called him a traitor. It stings.

In the middle of it all is a boy lying face down on the ground. It doesn’t take a genius to tell that he’s dead. You don’t balk at the sight or even doubletake. Your eyes seek out Tom’s and he almost wants to drop the gaze, expecting shame or disappointment, but you’re inscrutable as always.

He almost feels dirty when he remembers what Tomas had said about you. Those words will always be etched into his memory, much as he doesn’t want them to be. What would you say if you knew what one of his followers said about you? What would you do if you knew that some of the men you’re taking in might have been Tomas’ friend?

If you had been expecting more or fewer men, you don’t let it show. You don’t even hesitate before calling out, “In exchange for the queen’s protection, land, food, medicine, and all other services, will you agree to be a worker in her castle? Will you clean, cook, and fight without complaint?”

“Yes,” Tom says after that anticlimactic ending. He’d expected a few more words and you’d even hesitated at the end like you’d been searching for more to say.

Harrison takes his lead: “Yes.” Soon enough, everyone that has packed has agreed and you nod, satisfied.

“The queen will go hungry before you will,” you add. “All she requires is your loyalty.” And with that, you turn to go. Tom scrambles to catch up.

“The queen won’t really…” He trails off awkwardly. That’s simply not how royalty works.

You shoot him a glare out of the corner of your eye. “The queen is connected to her kingdom, Holland. You’ve just become a part of it. She protects her own.”

“But she wouldn’t starve to death to let a soldier eat,” Tom presses. “Not without leaving behind an heir. And she’s younger than me. There’ll be no heir for a long time.”

“She has a younger brother. He’s prepared to take the throne as well,” you point out.

Tom shakes his head. He thinks you’re exaggerating your queen’s greatness a little bit, but he has to trust you. Right?

“You forget the queen’s curse.”

Tom scoffs. “That magic myth? She’s connected to her kingdom or something?”

“Not a myth,” you say softly. “You also forget that nobles are representatives of the areas they govern. Whatever the majority of that area decides on, they must support or be replaced. Marvel is not as Deesee or Thanatoia.”

Tom has to admit he doesn’t know much about how Marvel is governed. He didn’t live in the kingdom long enough to learn. He’d just always assumed it was similar to its neighboring kingdoms. Of course, resentment had kept him from studying Marvel whenever he came to ransack and destroy.

Properly chastised, he closes his mouth.

You sigh dramatically at his side and reach into the pocket of your skirt. Out comes a delicate handkerchief.

Tom’s stunned when you take his face in your hands and wipe it gently. The handkerchief dips down to his neck before you retract, showing off the red smears on the once-white surface before shoving the ruined object back into your skirt.

You say nothing about the blood or the body, but Tom knows that you know what he did. He just doesn’t know how you feel about inviting a killer into your palace. He doesn’t know how you feel about your soulmate being a murderer.

You are frustratingly unreadable.

A Handmaiden’s Lies Taglist:

@andreasworlsboring101 @juliebean247 @lisannehus

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight@andreasworlsboring101

Let me know what you all thought or if you’d like me to put you on a taglist!

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #reader x tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #reader insert #you x tom holland #MCU #mcu fanfic #mcu au #harrison osterfield #au #robin hood au #soulmate au #zendaya

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lawfulpride · 4 years

Text

Back by popular demand! A conversation between Davos and Thor, Part II. Thor played by @honourablebravery.

captaincoffee07/25/2020

Thor, never the best at 'reading a room', is not foolish enough to be entirely oblivious. Good at this? Nah, probably not. Oblivious? Not so. The slight crease in his brow furrows further and further inward, before he moves to seat himself beside Davos-keeping a good forearm of space between them so Davos doesn't feel crowded in. "Well, you scarcely know me now, generally I have learned that speaking with someone on friendly terms can change that." They clearly have some sort of shared ground, and Davos seems to burn with the need to speak. Perhaps as Loki, he's forever been unheard Thor thinks, a pin-prick of bitterness touching his heart. "Is it something that you would wish to discuss? I am no wordsmith, but I have a gentle ear, and the ability for pragmatism."

Hopeful07/25/2020

"It's . . .. . " Davos ducks his head. He's been working on this: hard. But revelations of his personal struggles remain shameful terrain he was trained for 28 solid years to keep to himself. "It's. Not." He sighs, and looks up. "It's not seemly. For someone like me. I am. I am still learning that I have the right to be." He blinks. "Well. Human."

He gives Thor a long look. " . . . the person I put all my faith and trust in was my brother. When we turned 28, we were the two final contestants, out of all the monks in our temple, to go to trial for the most prestigious title--and responsibility--of my homeland. I was winning. Winning, but I couldn't kill him, even though that was the custom, so I begged him to yield. He was losing badly, but he still wouldn't listen to me, he kept fighting. And I kept winning. And then the light passed over the windows of the temple, and blinded me for but a moment. And Danny . . . his name is Danny, Danny Rand . . . .you've surely heard of him, he is as rich and at least half as famous as Mr. Stark . . . . he took the advantage and disarmed me, and won."

"In that one moment everything I had ever wanted, everything I had ever dreamt of becoming, was gone." He grinds his jaw. "But I was still willing to stand by his side as he took the Iron Fist . . . .the title and the duty of which I spoke. And he thanked me by abandoning us. Abandoning me."

"Coming back here. To play white Kung Fu hero to a city full of reprobates."

captaincoffee07/25/2020

Something about Davos not even being 30 yet both startles and alarms, Thor's brow knitting continually, until it's nearly a flattened line of scrunch. "Siblings are not forged in blood alone, family is family, a lack of a blood bond means little when the pain is so true, the experiences so raw, and the moments so introspective, sharp and clear. Birth right can only account for so much, it's what we know and experience that makes a relationship. This man, Danny, he is your brother, in the truest of it's definition. And you have bene hurt, both by his betrayal and abandonment, and by he effectively sneering in the face of your love and accomplishments." Thor blinks, seemingly startled by how much he's said. "Of course..I can only know this from an outsiders view' He says, quickly. Aware that-regardless of what Davos currently describes, he'd probably not appreciate Thor actually insulting the man. He knew that feeling all too well. "Davos..if I may..what is it you wish to ask him? Can it even be quantified in singular statements? What drives you now?" He saw Davos was indeed human, but he keeps this quiet, not sure how this moral complex is for the other, or what about it disturbs him so. He hasn't enough information yet for that.

Hopeful07/26/2020

Davos folds his arms across his chest. As he is wont to do, he listens closely to Thor's ruminating. The god clearly speaks from experience. "Of course." He looks up suddenly, eyes bright with a different kind of light, one not altogether gentle. "Your brother is the sorcerer who attacked this city in 2012." He would love to do battle with such a formidable creature, but he also knows that to say or even think such a thing toward this good man's beloved family member is unkind. " . . . . as for your question, I don't. I don't know."

"I cannot imagine what I would say."

captaincoffee07/26/2020

There is anger there. Thor can sense it. What he cannot discern is it's direction, and he is not about to make the situation escalate by asking. He feels pain, but he doesn't know quite why he feels pain. For a moment, he wishes he understood people, emotions, nuances better. He tries, and he hopes that is something. "Yes, Loki attacked New York here..in 2012..he was..unwell..very very unwell, that is not..I wish to not make it sound as if I'm excusing him, but much has come to light, since that moment." He chuckles, fondly, almost, reaching for his ice coffee. "You know.' Having a small sip. "It's entirely possible you won't know until you are within five inches of Danny's face that you'll know exactly what you wish to say"

Hopeful07/26/2020

"it might be unwise for me to ever see him again." Davos looks down at his right fist. He flexes it, over and over, slowly, as though something there is missing: the hand that, briefly, held the Iron Fist, when for a time he stole it from Danny. A twitch of muscles, that meditates on what might have been. "I have spent many months rebalancing my chi, recovering my self-control and my....clarity...in knowing right from wrong. Seeing Danny makes me violent and irrational."

"...it did not used to."

captaincoffee07/26/2020

Thor nods, slow, steady, and hopefully with understanding. "Unwise..yes, but are you settled?" He asks, "If you think that it would be possible to never see him, to never have that moment again and carry out your life with something else on your mind, could you do so? I would never advise anything that could hurt you, but I only ask, does it feel wise to you?" He continues, a little quickly. "You seem a man whom carries burdens like brands, Davos. A man who will always feel the burn of things that fester, that he believes wrong, because not having the resolution to something you believed in so deeply..I don't know if you'd be content, letting it go..because to you, it'll always feel like some slow moving knife taking pieces from your spine until someone yanks it back out." He could be wrong, and he truly has little clue where this babbling he speaks comes from..maybe Davos had a way of making everyone more introspective.

Hopeful07/26/2020

Davos sets his jaw. He stands, and moves to the door. But he pauses, and turns. His hand tightens into a fist at his side. He turns it and examines his palm. And he returns to the couch, and sinks back onto it. "You are right."

captaincoffee07/26/2020

He worries for a brief moment if he's said something upsetting, but then Davos just..sits back down. "I cannot speak for you, nor your best interests, Davos..but..I do..I cannot say I do not worry. Your energy is very..intense"

Hopeful07/27/2020

The Steel Serpent looks at the Thunder God in his gauging, serious way. "I was born to protect, and I must find something to protect, or I will run mad." It's a confession, a tacit agreement.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Something to protect. It seems there could be a double meaning to that..but it feels..rude to ask. He's not sure how to respond, precisely. "What about protecting yourself..and what you believe in? It may..I feel that there are causes, things you sympathize with, perhaps, if devotion is what drives you..looking somewhere to it?"

Hopeful07/27/2020

"That is why I am a shifu at several training centers now." He rubs a palm down the back of his scalp, and inclines his head toward Thor in a single nod. "That is what I seek. Truth to my purpose. To be devout, to the people who need to learn to protect themselves. Some of them are children. Some women battered by the pigs who have abused the sanctity of marriage. Some teenagers."

"It's only...Can you miss the person who abandoned and betrayed you? I fear that is my dilemma. Yet I don't trust myself to speak to him without reverting to shameful ways."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Norns, what a loaded question. And such a question does not have a simple response-it cannot, at the heart, have any response not loaded and situation-based. He decides to hone in on the most simplistic part of the question (or what Thor thinks is the most simple) "Yes, I think you can' He says, gently, 'But you and I both know there is more to it than that..is there not?" The set up is a clear opening I can expand upon this should you desire it. You are safe in my company.

Hopeful07/27/2020

"Please explain." Davos takes the opening, finally sipping his nearly forgotten tea.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"Betrayal..is not a black and white issue, and it of course, determines on the type of betrayal." He's hesitating, but it's clearly in result of thinking how best to word what he desires to bring to the table here. "And how badly you are hurt by said betrayal. I think that, if one is to look for forgiveness after a betrayal has occurred, then context is utterly crucial."

Hopeful07/27/2020

"I don't want forgiveness, I want him to beg it! And I want to still tell him to go to hell!" Davos speaks ferociously but his whole body tightens, trying to regulate the emotions he keeps too constantly locked up in the dark. "I want him to have never left, I want us to be home! I would have gladly yielded him the honor he was bestowed if he had just taken it seriously!"

A long pause and he draws out a shaky exhale. "Forgive me, I should not have raised my voice."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Thor's first instinct is to reach out, he's tactile, after all. But he doesn't have consent and he's not sure what a man like Davos thinks of such things. Knowing full well some individuals hated touch. His fingers flex against his own leg, a slight inward curl, "Anger is not always something shameful" He points out, gently, "Sometimes it is good to let it out..lest it consumes us." Unless Davos believed anger a shameful thing, "You are not..." No He puzzles, then tries again, "This is a safe haven, Davos"

Hopeful07/27/2020

"A weapon does not know anger." The words are hollow and come from a dead place behind Davos's now shuttered and lightless eyes. "A weapon does not indulge in emotions. It is dangerous. I do not think you unsafe. On the contrary, you are .....you are quite kind."

"I want him to have valued me...as much as I valued him." That's the root of it all. That's the bottom line.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"You're a human first, Davos" He lets that sit, a moment. 'I was not always good...maybe this is why I make such an effort now..maybe I always had goodness inside, but could never access it..or..something." Words are not his strong suit. "You know the truth that you cannot force him to value you...Davos, it hurts..but Danny's blindness is not because of you, but him, and whatever has completely clouded his mind, his vision, his everything."

Hopeful07/27/2020

Davos bites his tongue halfway to saying "I know that!" because. Does he? Intellectually, perhaps, but not in his heart of hearts. "I have never been exposed to what...the Western world, I believe, refers to as 'positive reinforcement,' but I shall attempt to believe your words are true."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"In truth..I do not quite grasp that concept either. My..my father's belief to me..was that..as long as you did what he claimed was 'good' then..it meant something. But it had to align with his personal visions. Order, regulation, he saw the future, did he? Maybe he claimed such, not sure...but I was so brash, so arrogant. And after years of encouragement from him to be so, he tells me no, it is too much, humble yourself..and I do..but it still did not align with his beliefs" "Loki suffered worse for it. He saw right through him at points..he always was to clever.."

Hopeful07/27/2020

Davos lifts his head from where it's been resting, in his hands, and studies Thor perceptively. "My parents are like your father. It's exhausting. I'm very sorry. The price of being the model pupil, always, is steep. But I succeeded often in being what my mother and father...mostly my mother, demanded. It was just that it was never quite enough. I could always be more perfect. And when I was not, I did not exist."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"And I, to you, I am sorry..but if I may?" He has no idea how to preface it, simply launching himself head-long into words and hoping it sticks "I have learned, and I cannot claim this to be universal, these parents of ours..they have ideas, they want things accomplished. My father wanted a King, and he molded me to be just that, but when I started to eek from his mold, he punished me. He had two sons..well, Loki is Loki, but we grew up..side by side..and he made it seem as if the throne was allowed to both of us, but he deliberately kept the truth at bay. I was to take the throne, Loki not, and in his eyes we both failed because of what? Because HE couldn't be arsed to communicate openly? Because he treated fatherhood like putting pieces into a puzzle? Adding sealant to a sculpture? How can we do wrong or right when to him, sharing his thoughts was not..we were never worthy of his true voice, only spiels I have to wonder were rehearsed, he even banished our sister and told NOBODY." Now Thor is raging, that tell-tale fiery personality that still lingers beneath the surface, even to this day, rising like an encroaching flame. "She was too powerful..for him..' he scoffs, 'Imagine.." Lies, lies, deceit. Half truths. "Davos, we..we could never live up to what our parents desire, because their desires are not tangible, they are unrealistic, they always were. To the offspring are a means to an end, a continuation in a storyline they've crafted and could never finish, because we have agency. If they wanted someone to carry out legacies, whatever, to their exact specifications, make models, or something, do not expect that people with brains and feelings and hearts are blank slates waiting to be guided about like dogs!"

Hopeful07/27/2020

Davos watches Thor storm around his own lodgings, his inspirational words turning into a blaze of still unresolved emotions. The Kung Fu master blinks slowly once. He then smiles, a small soft smile, almost modest in nature. This is so familiar. Danny has a temper like this, too. Danny likes to rail against injustices, too, albeit a bit more sanctimoniously than this Thor fellow does.

Something about it is as comforting as the commiseration, the empathy, within the words themselves. He stands and walks over to the ranting god, and lays a hand on his bicep. "Are you alright?" he asks, and it's clear he actually cares. Davos isn't much of a deceiver.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

The touch does not startle him, it is both welcome and relieving. "..Are you?" He asks, quietly. "I.." He chuckles, 'I am a Thunder God for a reason, it appears." Aware that the moment is radiating tension, but comfort in the same shared space. 'Our lives seem oddly similar, Davos, in some ways."

Hopeful07/27/2020

"I am, in fact." Davos huffs a laugh through his nose, and nods. "Perhaps we are."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Thor's grin turns downright radiant, pleased with the good discussion, moving to turn himself more fully, his own wide-palmed hand loosely grasping Davos's shoulder. "I am glad, to have given you some chance to alleviate some burdens, and I would be honoured to have you as a friend."

HopefulToday at 2:17 PM

Davos reddens. Particularly his cheeks and ears. They aren't especially large ears, but with his shaved head, they become prominent. He could face down any foe with his fists, and with his keen wits, he could navigate nearly any delicate intellectual scenario as well. But being told by a friendly behemoth that he wants to be his friend, that it would be his honor? That's intimidating to someone trained to disregard emotional attachments altogether, save those which pertain to loyalty, and to devotion. "I." Oh, but it's very good for him, this scenario. "I would also be honored." He grasps Thor's shoulder, in return. He has to stand on his tiptoes.

#Interactions: Thor Odinson #ic #Davos #Davos Iron fist

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inahazzze · 5 years

Text

A Long Way From Home (Part 2)

You’re travelling and meet Harry in your hostel when you share a bunk bed in a tiny mixed dorm room. It’s a long week.

READ PART 1 HERE

A/N: ALWFH part 2 is finally here!!! I’m sorry it took me so long but this part is a hefty 9.5k so enjoy!! A huge thank you to my wife/cheerleader @sadwishlist and one of my favourite people on the planet @sleepyeyedstyles for beta reading for me! <3

Warnings: smut, alcohol, anxiety, swearing

“So… you speak Japanese?”

“Oh, yeah, a little.”

“Sounded like more than a little,” you say, placing your elbows on the long dining room table. You take a bite of your cornflakes, raising your eyebrows at Harry for downplaying his understanding of Japanese. There are a handful of other people eating the hostel’s basic breakfast a few seats down from you, but you’re focused entirely on the light green eyes before you. He looks down and blushes, smiling into his toast.

“I picked up a little bit when I was in Japan recently.”

“Nice,” you say. “How long were you there for?”

“A little over a month,” he says into another bite of toast, smearing a bit of jam on the side of his mouth. You have an instinct to reach over and wipe it off for him, but stop yourself before your body can act on the thought. He licks up the jam with the tip of his tongue and then wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand. You look away, thinking about how it’s too early in the morning to think about his tongue. You clear your throat and try to focus on getting to know him a little better. You’ve noticed that he hasn’t really opened up about himself very much, so you find yourself always wanting to know more. He’s got that mysterious, intriguing quality about him that won’t stop drawing you towards him.

“What were you doing there so long?”

“Just travelling around, you know,” he says. You’ve noticed that his answers are often vague, so you try to lightly prod him for some more information.

“What was your favourite place in Japan?” You ask, hoping for a lengthy story that says something about what he likes.

“Probably Tokyo,” he says. You wait for him to continue but he doesn’t say anything more.

“I’d love to go someday,” you say, trying to continue the conversation without feeling like you’re interrogating him. “Any recommendations?”

He hums and thinks for a minute before responding. “Do you like animals?”

You’re a bit thrown by the seemingly random question but don’t hesitate to answer him. “I love them! Except lions, they’re scary.”

“I don’t think you’re very likely to run into one in Japan,’’ he laughs. “I only asked ‘cause seeing the deer in Nara is a must.”

“Ooh, I’ve heard of that!” You respond enthusiastically.

“It’s amazing. There’s so many and they come right up to you,” he says.

“That sounds so cool.”

“It is. And I did a Japanese cooking class that was awesome, so I’d recommend that too.”

“Yum, what’d you make?”

“Okonomiyaki and a killer ramen,” he looks pleased to report.

You beam at him, thrilled that he’s engaging with you and seeming more animated than yesterday. “You’ll have to give me the details of where you went.”

He agrees with a warm smile and then turns the conversation back towards you. You talk about the places you’ve been recently, and discuss the long list of places that you both want to visit in the future. The conversation is so natural and comfortable that you stay there talking until the hostel’s breakfast room is cleared for cleaning. You’re not sure what to do next, so you ask a staffer at the hostel’s front desk. She recommends a few options, but you and Harry decide on Elizabeth Park for its gardens and Vancouver city views. Neither you or Harry have been there, so you get to experience it for the first time together. If you’re honest with yourself, you don’t really care where you go or what you do as long as it’s with Harry.

You have to take public transport there, and spend the whole train ride sitting next to Harry with the top of your thigh pressed up against his. You feel like your leg is on fire from the smallest contact, and the fire spreads throughout your body. This isn’t something that usually happens to you – there’s just something about Harry that your body instinctually responds to. The longer you’re sitting next to him, the more you have to stop yourself from pressing your thighs together. It’s something you can ordinarily get away with in public but Harry would definitely notice. You’re a bit annoyed that you’re already itching to touch yourself because of Harry and it’s only mid-morning, but at least you can blame the low hum of vibration tickling your body through the seat from the train’s running engine.

When you finally arrive at the right stop, you leap up from your seat in relief. You see Harry furrow his brow a little but he doesn’t say anything. Walking from the station to the park, you try to steel yourself with several deep breaths of fresh air. You walk with Harry in a comfortable silence and mentally reprimand your body for misbehaving already.

The park is beautiful and rich with colours that shine vibrantly in the sun. Your eyes flit between the soft greens of the flourishing trees above you, to an overgrown patch of violets in every shade of purple and blue you could imagine, to the glimpses of multicoloured roses in various stages of blooming. There are tennis courts with families playing, the odd runner or cyclist, and dogs of all sizes making new friends across the lawn. It feels peaceful and alive in a way that downtown Vancouver didn’t. As much as you love the city, there’s something special about nature that makes you feel happy and at home. Everyone is always in a rush in the centre of cities, hurrying from one place to the next without really looking around - but here, time is irrelevant and you can just enjoy your surroundings without feeling stressed.

You take another deep breath, basking in the feel of the sun pressing down against your shoulders like warm breath across your skin. It’s a pleasant light burn that relaxes your muscles and tugs a smile at your lips, causing Harry to smile at you in response. He can see how much more at ease you are in this environment, even more so than when you went to Stanley Park yesterday.

You continue to walk together in a comfortable silence, and the path that winds around the park and gardens only become more beautiful at every turn of a corner or round of a bend. When you come across an impressive large glass dome of a greenhouse, you’re in awe of how the sunlight reflects off of the interlocking triangular panels of the structure. It somehow manages to look futuristic at the same time as perfectly fitting into the landscape. In front of the building is an array of fountains built into the ground, and you can’t help but giggle as you watch a group of children chasing each other through the water jets. Everything about this place is peaceful yet joyful, and you find yourself more relaxed than you have been in a long time. You almost forget that Harry is next to you, until you turn to find him watching you with a grin on his face.

“What?” You question him. He only shakes his head and mumbles that it’s nothing, walking further down the path ahead of you. You follow him and consider asking him again what his grin was for, but the thought immediately leaves your mind when you see the first view of Vancouver ahead of you. It’s breathtaking, especially on such a bright and sunny day, and it leaves you staring with your mouth agape. You can see downtown, the water, all the way to North Vancouver, and even further to the snowy mountains in the distance. You’ve expected a nice walk in the park and maybe a pretty view, but not this. This - stumbling upon sights that surprise and excite and astonish you - is why you love travelling.

As you look out over the spectacular view of Vancouver with a lovely stranger at your side and a sense of ease in your heart, you feel a sense of gratitude wash over you. Travelling is a luxury that you certainly haven’t taken for granted, but in moments like this you feel overwhelmed by how lucky you are to have these experiences. You get to see the world, meet new and interesting people, and create memories that will last a lifetime. You get to try new foods, learn about new cultures, and sometimes even jump out of your comfort zone. It can be scary, but it’s worth every minute.

Remembering that Harry is beside you, you try to swallow your emotions and hope that they’re not showing on your face. You’re not upset, just a little dazed by how happy and lucky you feel in this moment. These are the moments that you live for.

“Y’alright?” Harry breaks through your thoughts to ask you. Perhaps you weren’t as good at hiding your emotions as you thought.

“Yeah, fine,” you mumble in an unconvincing drawl that causes Harry to furrow his eyebrows at you. But he doesn’t push you on it and accepts that you must not want to talk about whatever was going through your mind. “Lunch?” He asks and you nod your head with a smile. There’s still quite a bit of the gardens to walk through, so you decide to see the rest and then find lunch after exiting from a different side of the park that you entered from.

The path winds down a steep hill around every type of flower and plant that you can imagine. You stroll slowly to try and take it all in, but there’s so much to see. You don’t know that much about the flora, but it’s pretty to look at. It’s clearly been well designed and carefully maintained to be kept in pristine condition. If you lived here, you’d love to come to these gardens to read or draw for a few hours.

Once you reach the end of the park, you and Harry find a cute little cafe to have some lunch. You both grab some sandwiches and chat about mundane things like the best flavour of milkshake and the best cartoon. Harry’s adamant that the best cartoon is one called Big Mouth, which you can’t argue with since you’ve never seen it, and your choice is the cartoon Daria that you grew up loving. Harry also loves Daria, and mentions that he used to love watching it with his sister Gemma. It’s the first time that he’s mentioned any family members, so you’re a little surprised but do your best to not show it on your face. You want to know more about his family and his life, but you also don’t want to push him away or freak him out. It’s clear to you that’s he’s a very private person and will tell you whatever he’s comfortable with in his own time.

You’re pretty exhausted from your lack of sleep and anxiety last night, coupled with the long walk in the sun through Elizabeth Park, so you decide to spend the late afternoon by taking a nap in Harry’s bunk. Once you mention a nap, he agrees that it’s a good idea and then promptly leaves you in the dorm alone. You promise to meet him at the hostel’s downstairs bar area after dinner at 8pm, so you know you have plenty of time to rest and grab some food later. You hate wasting your time in Vancouver like this, but you know that you’re too tired to do anything anyway. You don’t want to push yourself too hard and get sick, like what happened to you when you were travelling in New York City.

As soon as you climb into Harry’s bed, you’re engulfed by the smell of him and the feeling as if he’s there with you. It’s comforting and homely and a little musky, but in a pleasant way. You curl yourself beneath the tangled sheets and breathe deeply into the thin pillow until all of your muscles relax. It doesn’t take long before you fall into a deep sleep.

By the time you force yourself out of Harry’s bed and finish a quick dinner from the Tim Horton’s across the street from the hostel, it’s already five to 8. You hurry back to the hostel to meet Harry at the bar, but find the area littered with people. Everyone is animatedly chatting with one another, some holding glasses of beer that they drink in eager gulps. You don’t know any of them, and already feel a bit overwhelmed by the unexpected crowd of people in the small bar area. You’re just deciding whether to abandon your promise to Harry and head back to your room when you feel a light touch on the small of your back. You jump a bit at the feeling of the hand on your back but relax when you turn and see Harry’s vibrant green eyes shining at you. The mostly empty glass in his hand and his slackened eyelids tell you that he’s clearly had at least one drink already.

“You coming?” Harry asks you with a hopeful smile.

“To… where, exactly?” Your eyebrows furrow and you wonder if he told you before your nap and you somehow forgot.

“The pub crawl!” He drawls in an excited tone, prompting a whooping shout from a few people surrounding you.

“Oh- um, I… I dunno,” you say, stammering your words as you think through the unexpected suggestion.

“It’ll be fun!” Harry’s face lights up even more. “I mean, you don’t have to,” he clarifies and lowers the volume of his voice so that only you can hear. “But I want you to come.”

You look into his eyes, seeing the familiar genuine expression paired with a more unfamiliar timidness. You’ve never seen him look even slightly unsure of himself until now.

“Okay,” you say softly in response. If Harry wants you to spend the night with him, then you’re going to say yes even if it pushes you out of your comfort zone. You’ve never been on a pub crawl before, and it makes you nervous. But maybe that’s a good thing - travelling is all about experiencing new things, meeting people and having fun. You’re about to say something more to Harry, but you’re cut off by a booming voice that floats over the crowd in ringing precision.

“Alright, who’s ready for the pub crawl?” You hear, and turn your head to see the tall bearded man who checked you into your room. He has an Irish accent and a warm, laid back smile. “I’m Ben, I’ll be leading us around to the five pubs of the night.” Another whoop breaks out from the group that’s already grown by a few people since you arrived. “I have a map of where we’re going for each of you in case you get lost or want to leave. It’s a half hour per pub, so don’t get too comfortable.” People are starting to talk amongst themselves so Ben raises his voice to make sure he’s heard. “At the bottom of the map you’ll see a band which you can rip off and put around your wrist, it’ll give you 20% off all drinks and one free shot per bar.” A rapturous cheer fills the space, and you can feel the energy of the group prickle your skin like electricity.

You grab a map from Ben and mill out of the hostel’s front doors along with everyone else. You’re heading to a bar called The Tap first, which is only a few blocks away. Most of the group are deep in conversation the whole way there, but you and Harry walk beside each other in silence. You spend the walk listening to two girls behind you conversing in rapid Spanish, only catching a few random words that you know. It’s a good distraction from the constant awareness of Harry’s presence next to you.

When you arrive at the first pub, you head straight for some booth seating near the back. At least half of the group head to the bar for their first round, so you figure that you might as well wait it out as you’ve never been assertive enough to be served quickly at a bar anyway.

Harry slides into the booth beside you, followed by Ben and a few other people that you think you’ve seen at breakfast or in the hostel’s hallways before. Classic rock plays on the overhead speakers, and Harry hums along with it perfectly. His voice is smooth and rich as butter but there’s also something else in his tone that’s raw and real. You can’t imagine how he must sound when he’s probably singing if he sounds this good merely humming. You turn your head to look at him in interest, but he stops humming as soon as he catches your eye.

“What?” He asks. You don’t know how to respond, or what to say, or even exactly what you were thinking. You just found yourself astounded by this mysterious man who you happened to meet by chance and couldn’t stop thinking about. What was it about him? How did he seem so comfortably familiar yet surprise you at every turn?

“Nothing,” you reply, darting your eyes to your lap.

“You alright?” Harry asks into your ear so that the others in the booth can’t hear the question.

“Yeah, fine,” you say, but Harry raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “I’m just a bit tired still, s’all.”

He quirks his lip up and starts to get out of the booth as the people next to him get up to let him out. “I know just the thing.” He heads towards the bar and Ben takes Harry’s spot next to you.

You strike up a light conversation with Ben in Harry’s absence, mostly about how he started working at the hostel and what his favourite places in Vancouver are. When Harry returns, you notice that he’s clenching his jaw and not as relaxed as he was before. He’s holding two drinks and two shots, and you gulp at the ease with which he’s holding so much in his large hands. Harry slides into the booth opposite you and passes over a dark brown drink with a thick layer of white foam resting on top of it. He explains that it’s an Irish coffee which is black coffee with whiskey and sugar mixed into it, to both wake you up and start your night of drinking. A clear liquid in a two shot glasses sit next to the beer that he bought for himself. You thank him profusely for the drink and take a sip of the rich concoction that you hope makes you loosen up for the rest of the night. It’s strong, and not very pleasant, but you happily drink it anyway.

As you slowly enjoy your drink, you talk to Ben and a girl named Sian from Scotland. You don’t talk very much, but you enjoy the easy company and the conversation around you. Across from you, Harry silently nurses his drink and listens. He darts his eyes towards you occasionally and looks as if he’s holding himself back from saying what’s on his mind. You wonder whether he’s thinking about you, because you certainly can’t stop thinking about him.

By the time you’re only halfway through the Irish coffee, you already feel more awake and social. You start to talk to Sian and Ben more, but Harry remains quiet. You try to include him in the conversation, but his mind seems a bit far off.

When Ben calls for the group to move on to the second pub, you haven’t had your shot or finished your cocktail. Harry hasn’t had his either, so you make eye contact with him and gesture towards the tiny glasses. His lip quirks up for the first time in a while, which you consider a small victory that you’ll take. You don’t know why he’s acting so weird, but you also don’t want to ask him about it. Maybe he’s just shy.

The shot feels like acid crawling its way down your throat. You’ve had shots before, but you don’t usually have them so early in a night of drinking. It leaves a nice warm feeling in your stomach, but you don’t think you’ll have any more shots from the other pubs. Looking up, you find Harry giggling at your scrunched up face from the shot. You reach over the table and playfully whack him on the arm, to which he only giggles more. Even though you can still feel the uncomfortable acid burning your throat, you think that it was worth it to get Harry laughing and smiling again.

On the way to the second pub, the cool night air doesn’t feel as chilly anymore. You’re very comfortable in your t-shirt and jeans, and don’t feel as underdressed anymore. While some of the other girls are in nicer clothes and heels, others are wearing similar casual outfits as you. Harry isn’t dressed up either, and the pubs aren’t exactly fancy venues. The second place is even more grungy than the first, but it feels homely and welcoming with its dim lights and cute little tables for four. As you walk in, you can sense Harry’s hand hovering behind the small of your back. He guides you both towards the bar to get drinks together, and you don’t bother to debate why he’s bringing you along this time. He orders you both a beer, and you thrust the money at the bartender before Harry gets a chance; seeing as he paid for the last round.

You would’ve been happy to continue talking to Ben and Sian, but they’re already deep in conversation at a full table. You notice that Harry is pleased about something, but you let the curiosity escape you when you spot a table with two chairs free. You end up talking to a couple named Mateo and Sofia from Argentina, who are a bit reserved at first but lovely. Harry speaks up a little more in this conversation, asking the couple about their favourite cities to visit in South America. You mostly listen as they talk about the national parks they’ve all visited and the ones they’re yet to trek. You’re just happy that Harry seems to be in a better mood and more engaged than before, so you’re not fussed that you don’t know what they’re talking about.

You go to the bathroom and grab yourself and Harry another beer on the way back, enjoying how the rich malt coats your throat. You see Ben at the bar and chat to him for a bit, mostly about different types of beer. It’s not a particularly interesting conversation, but you nod your head and smile anyway.

When you return to the table and hand Harry his beer back, he thanks you but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. You wonder what he might’ve talked about with the Argentinian couple while you were gone - perhaps the discussion about national parks turned dark or became awkward in some way.

Before you know it, you hear Ben call across the bar that it’s time to head to the third venue of the night. The crowd whoops and skulls their glasses before filing out the door with significantly more enthusiasm than the first pub. You stumble a little when you stand up, suddenly noticing the alcohol in your system. Harry is by your side in an instant, holding your upper arm gently and asking if you’re okay. You tell him that you feel fine and just stood up too quickly, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

The fresh air is delicious on the walk to the third pub. You feel like you have a little pep to your step from the warm buzz of alcohol flowing through your limbs, and you enjoy the feeling. You’re not quite drunk, but you’re definitely in the happy tipsy zone where you feel on top of the world. It’s giving you a pleasant dreamy feeling, almost like you’re floating as you walk next to Harry.

Once you turn a corner onto a main well-lit road, Harry slows you both down to take the pub crawl map out from his pocket and look closely at it under a flickering streetlight. Other hostel guests in the group pass you by without question.

“How are you feeling?” He asks you again, this time looking you dead in the eyes. “Do you…” he takes longer than he usually does to think before he finishes his sentence. “Do you want to… go back to the hostel? Instead of goin’ to the pub?”

Your eyes widen at his question, wondering what it could mean. Does he want what you do? Could he be suggesting something that has gone only unspoken between the two of you for the past few days? Or is he merely being a gentleman who wants to make sure that you don’t get too drunk and get back to the hostel alright?

You realise that you’re merely staring at him instead of giving him an answer, but he’s patient and waits for you to think it through.

“Um… yeah. That’s a good idea.” You finally decide to tell him, realising that you were only excited about the pubs because you got to be with Harry at them.

“Okay, cause we can just walk down that way to get back,” he says with an outstretched hand pointing down a street. “And the other pubs only get further away.”

“It’s a plan,” you say, immediately regretting the choice of response.

The journey back to the hostel is mostly silent, but your mind is racing. In fact, you find yourself so distracted wondering what Harry is thinking about that you end up tripping on your own feet and nearly falling face first onto the gravel sidewalk. Luckily, Harry catches you in time - even though he’s tipsy himself and probably has slowed reflexes. You take a deep breath and thank him for saving you from both the injury and embarrassment. He probably thinks that you’re more drunk than you are, but you’re sure that you tripped because of the distraction of him - not to mention that you’re already uncoordinated at the best of times.

Harry’s not showing his alcohol intake as much as you are in his body language, but you can see how tipsy he is based on his flushed face, narrowed eyes and far-away gaze. He looks over at you every few seconds, and keeps one arm held very closely behind your back in case you stumble once more. You know that you shouldn’t - but you’re tempted to trip up a second time just to feel his firm hands on your arm and waist yet again.

When you finally arrive back at your room, it’s dark and you can hear light snoring from the Japanese girl that you saw Harry speak to this morning. Thinking back to then, you can’t believe how long ago that felt considering you barely knew anything about Harry this morning. You feel like you’ve never learned more about a person in a single day until today. Once Harry follows you into the room, you can only see by the light of the moon. It casts a pale glow in one long streak on the wall next to the window. Once your eyes adjust, you can tell that the other bed above the Japanese girl is still untouched. She’s fast asleep and facing away from you, and you can see that she’s got an eye mask on and neon yellow ear plugs in.

You stumble through the room, blindly making your way the few steps towards the bed with your arms pointed out in front of your body. When your hands collide with the metal divider of the bunks, you stop abruptly in your track. Before you can say anything to Harry, he runs directly into you, pushing you into the bed. You hit the metal of the bed and it sounds worse than it feels, either because of the alcohol or the reverberation of the sound in the quiet room. Either way, you’re not very bothered by it because you’re distracted by the butterflies in your stomach screaming about being right next to a bed with Harry this close to you.

“Oh shit, are you alrigh’?” He asks you frantically and unnecessarily loud.

As a response, you start to giggle uncontrollably, and he joins in as soon as he realises that you’re fine. You’re both trying to smother your laughter so as not to wake up your roommate, and luckily you notice no change in her consistent snores. As your bodies both shake with laughter, Harry suddenly takes your shoulders in his hands. You jump a little, not expecting the touch. You’re still facing away from him and he’s chillingly close behind you. He begins to lazily massage into your shoulders, slowly moving his hands like waves on your skin. His touch is firm yet careful, and you feel immediately relaxed and comfortable under his hold. You’re both in a trance from his movements, almost paused in time, but you sense that he would let go of you in a heartbeat if you showed any signs of discomfort.

“But really, are you okay? That sounded bad,” Harry says, all the while loosening the tense muscles in your upper back and neck. You don’t mean to do it, don’t even realise what’s happened until after the sound leaves your mouth, but the massage feels so good that you let out a light moan. Your hand shoots up to cover your mouth in an instant.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he says with a satisfied chuckle, and you’re really glad that he can’t see how embarrassed you look right now.

“Guess we should get to bed then,” you say. Except that neither of you move. You think back to your conversation this morning, where he offered to swap beds with you and even joked that you could share a bed. It was an easy flirtation to laugh off this morning, but it’s feeling far more tempting and possible now. You look up at the top bunk with dread, knowing that you won’t sleep again if you have to go back up there. You’re frozen in place, undecided on what to do next, when you hear the sound of fabric brushing against skin from behind you. When you turn around to look at Harry, your eyes go wide. He’s taken off his shirt and is already undoing the top button on his jeans.

“What the fuck?” You say, eyes wide and voice strained in shock.

“What?” He calmly whispers back. It takes him a few extra seconds because of the alcohol, but he manages to pop out the button of his jeans and bring down the zip. You’re taking the opportunity to appreciate his myriad of tattoos that still stand out despite the lack of light in the room, and your tipsy mind lets your eyes linger on his body even though he’s clearly noticed your gaze.

“Why are you taking off your clothes?” You manage to ask.

“Are you planning on sleeping like that?” He says, gesturing up and down your body.

“Well, no, but…” you stammer, unsure of what to say. “I’ve got pajamas.”

“So are you gonna get into them or just keep standing there ogling me?” He says with one eyebrow raised. You can feel the embarrassment rush over your face, so you turn towards your suitcase to pluck out your matching set of summer PJs. You make sure that he isn’t facing you and take off your shirt, replacing it with the soft red tank top that’s most comfortable to sleep in. You then take your bra off under your shirt, only slightly struggling with the clasp and straps. You can hear from the bed’s straining springs behind you that Harry is climbing onto the mattress and getting comfortable. It’s surprisingly loud in the nearly silent room. The only other things you can hear is your roommate’s light breathing and the distant sounds of Vancouver still alive with nightlife. You glance behind you again to make sure that Harry is still looking away, and see that his face is lit up by his phone screen. You quickly shimmy out of your jeans, feeling the cool air on your legs raise goosebumps across your skin. You’re a little dizzy trying to put on your silk pajama shorts, and end up needing to hold onto the bed’s metal railing to keep your balance. The Japanese girl is still breathing evenly and clearly in a very deep sleep.

When your shorts are on, you turn back to the bed and pause, unsure of what to do. You feel like your brain needs to catch up and process everything without the sight of Harry almost naked in the bed before you. He’s under the covers, but you can’t help but think about the glimpses of his body that’s burned into your memory. You feel hot and cold at the same time, and shiver at the odd sensation. Harry senses your presence and looks up from his phone to find you awkwardly motionless in front of your shared bunk bed.

“You coming?” He asks.

Your confusion shows on your face with a frown and furrowed brows. He responds by pulling back the covers and shifting his body over as close to the wall as he can get. You finally understand in your tipsy haze that he’s offering you a spot.

“But it’s a single bed.”

“I’m a cuddler anyway,” he says in a tone that is far too calm and collected for the present situation. The light from his phone screen turns off but you still catch his cheeky expression.

You’re conflicted. You like Harry, and have enjoyed all of your time with him so far, which has felt like so much more than two days. But you don’t really know him that well, and this is something that you never do. You try to remain a little objective about the fact that you’ve barely known him two days, because you feel as if you’ve known him for years. He’s so easy to talk to, kind, thoughtful, genuine, and funny. His smile brightens up every room and you feel such a natural chemistry with him that you can’t deny.

You don’t know if he just has a flirty personality or is genuinely attracted to you like you are to him. You’re already mortified at the thought of making assumptions and being rejected by him. Your skin begins to prickle with the familiar feeling of panic. Your options are to return to the top bunk, or sleep in the same single bed as Harry. The choice should be easy, but your tipsy mind is faltering at the thought of your body pressed up against his.

His confident smile is replaced with concern when he sees panic in your eyes. “If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll go up to the top bunk and you sleep here, it’s really fine.”

You think for a moment, considering why you’re so hesitant. It’s not that you don’t want to crawl into the bed with him. You do, more than anything. You want to be that person who does this kind of thing on a whim because it feels right. But you’ve always been the type to overthink and miss opportunities that you later wish you’d taken up.

As you contemplate your next move, Harry watches you patiently. After a minute, he tries a new approach to convince you to join him.

“You’re not thinking of going up there again, are you?” He raises a brow. “You wouldn’t even make it up there in one piece given the state you’re in.”

“Hey, I could get up there if I wanted,” you say, slightly slurring your words. This only further proves his point and he giggles at your grumpy scoff.

“Oh, really? You wanna try, then?” He’s mocking you now, but you don’t care because his dimples are on full display and his eyes are shining - even in the dim light. This is when you give up, and decide wholeheartedly that you’ll join Harry tonight.

“I like to be up against the wall, if that’s okay.” You say in a soft voice.

He grins widely and shifts back to where he was initially, allowing you the small space tucked into the wall. You’ve always felt safe there, as it helps to keep you grounded from your anxiety.

Harry seems relieved at your decision, even blushing a little bit. The only problem for you now is that you need to climb over and on top of him to reach the empty space in the bed.

Resting your knee against the side of the mattress next to Harry’s thigh, you duck your torso down so that you’re parallel to his body. Leaning over him, you can almost feel electricity between your bodies. Your hairs are standing on end, like they are pulling you down towards his body. Your mind falters at your proximity to him, and his scent of mint and gin. There’s another scent that catches you, something musky and floral that you’ve never come across. It’s comforting and warm, and makes you want to melt into him until you smell the same.

As you lift your leg over his body, your inner thigh grazes against the outside of his thigh, skin to skin. You shiver at the contact and he takes in a sharp breath. You feel like you’re immediately more intoxicated from the overwhelming scent and grazing touch of him alone. Hovering above him, you pause for a moment and make eye contact. Even in the dim light, you can see how light and soft his green eyes are while looking upon you with enlarged pupils. Your brain tells you to move towards the wall, but your body stays put above him. And as you don’t go anywhere, Harry shamelessly moves his eyes down your body.

His gaze feels like fire, or ice, or anything that takes control of your body and encompasses you in the feeling alone. He drags his eyes back up to yours, and you swear that his pupils are so large that there’s barely any colour left there. His muscles are tensed and you notice that his skin bares the same goosebumps as yours. You don’t dare look down at his body the way he’s glanced over yours, even though you can sense his eyes daring you to.

After what feels like minutes but must have been only seconds, you manage to pull your leg over his body to gracelessly land in the bed next to him. Your back hits the freezing cold wall and it sends a sudden shiver down your spine, leading your body to instinctively jump away from it – straight into Harry’s arms. You don’t even realise what’s happened until it’s too late. Your chest is pressed firmly against the soft warmth of his naked torso and your face is only a breath away from his. Harry seems just as surprised as you are, but he doesn’t move away. You let out a shaky breath, taking a moment to notice how his lips are slightly parted and glistening against the reflected moonlight. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and glances down between you where your bodies meet. His forehead brushes against yours with the movement and the light touch causes you to arch your back even further into him. On any other night or with any other person, you might be embarrassed at such a response to someone barely touching you. But you can’t find it in yourself to care, and it’s not just the alcohol talking. Harry’s intoxicating all on his own – and you feel unbelievably alive being this close to him.

You make eye contact and hold it for a few moments, both daring each other to protest or move. He keeps hold of your gaze and slowly snakes his hand along your side – up your thigh, over your hips, and into the dip of your waist. It feels like your body has ignited, set ablaze by his rough fingertips taking their time with your shivering body. You realise suddenly that one of your arms has become numb while crushed under your body but you can’t find it within yourself to care. Harry, still holding eye contact with you, trails the hand on your waist behind your back and presses lightly so that you’re tightly held in his arms. You can feel your nipples hardening against his chest and wonder if he can feel the sensitive nubs poking into him through your tank top.

There’s a pause where you both even your breathing, him just holding you close, before he adjusts his hips to shift sideways and meet flush against your own. You draw a sharp breath, feeling how hard he is against your upper thigh with barely any fabric between you. Your mind jumps to life and your arm finally moves from your own thigh across to his. You get as far as the hem of his boxer briefs before he breaks the silence.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispers, sounding unconvinced himself. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” you challenge him. He lets out an exasperated breath.

“I want you,” he says with surety. “But we can’t if… you’re not able to… think about it properly.”

“Harry, I wanted you before I had any alcohol. And I feel it but I can also still think clearly, I promise you.” He looks at you for a moment as if considering your words and then gives the slightest nod.

“We don’t have to have sex right now,” you say, shocked by your own confidence and the boldness taking over you. “I just want to touch you. Is that okay?”

He shivers out a quiet yes, and your hand continues to move up his thigh and over his hip. You bypass his cock to tease him a little and travel up his tensed torso, tracing your hand over his tattoos as you’ve imagined doing for the past two days. He begins moving his hand again too, going back down your body until he’s cupping your ass and squeezing gently. You’re exploring each other’s bodies silently and all you can hear is the sound of your heartbeat reverberating in your ears.

Your fingers dance across his shoulders and back until they land on his stomach, tickling the trail of hair just above his crotch. You move lower and lower until your hand pushes the band of his underwear down his thighs, releasing his cock to spring up against your joined bodies. You look him in the eyes as seductively as you can manage as you reach down between you and wrap your fingers around him. You both breathe in sharply – him from the feeling of you finally touching him, and you from the shock at just how big he is.

He’s already rock hard and throbbing in your hand, and you haven’t even done anything yet. You squeeze him gently, marvelling at how your fingertips can’t touch each other around his thick shaft. You keep your hand in place and let your thumb wander over his head, caressing along his tip until you discover all of his most sensitive spots. He’s biting his tongue but can’t stop himself from breathing in heavy, shaking bursts. You can feel that he’s too dry, so you remove your hand from around his shaft and lift it up to your face. He looks confused for a minute, and then his eyes widen in aroused surprise as you very slowly lick one long stripe from the base of your palm to the tip of your fingers. You keep eye contact with him the entire time, and he lets out a light hiss when you dip your fingers into your mouth with sucked in cheeks. You don’t know what’s gotten into you but you have no plans to stop – you feel hypnotised and utterly helpless to stop whatever it is you’ve begun.

When you return your hand to his cock, it’s gotten even harder and seemingly even bigger than it was just a moment ago. You slick your saliva up and down his shaft, squeezing a bit as you reach the base. Around his tip, your touch is smooth and feather-light. You familiarise yourself with the feel of him, imagining how the bump of the thick vein on his side would feel inside of you. He’d be the biggest you’ve ever had, and you can feel yourself dripping into your underwear at the thought of him fucking you. Once the image is in your head, it stays there while you work at him and feel him unravel before you. It’s a powerful feeling – knowing that you’re the reason that he’s feeling so good and beginning to squirm in your arms.

Your hand twists and turns as you work his shaft, making sure to graze the underside of his cock with your thumb every few thrusts. A few times, you even feel him twitch in your hand. His hips begin to jut up into your hand, matching your rhythm and allowing you to run the full length of his shaft with each thrust. He’s clearly concentrating on remaining quiet but can’t help the tensing of his muscles and rough pulls on your skin with his free hand. He runs his fingers up your back and buries his hand into the hair at the base of your scalp. He closes his hand into a fist and your back arches at the dull pull of your hair.

You make eye contact yet again and this time it’s more intimate than ever. Your hand slows down and holds firmly in one place as you both look over each other behind hooded eyes. Harry then uses the hand in your hair to push you towards him, and your lips lock. It’s immediately passionate and wet, as you seem to have skipped past the hesitant or innocent first kiss that you might’ve had. You’re doing things out of order but neither of you care because it all feels so right. He tastes exactly like he smells, but somehow even sweeter. Your tongues dance together in an easy and natural rhythm, without any stumbling or awkwardness that often comes along with a first kiss. You let Harry lead the kiss and fall even further into the intoxication of him. Your mind is in the clouds, and your body is following instinct.

When you finally part from the kiss, panting and blurry-eyed, he moves his sweaty torso back a little bit so that he’s no longer pressed completely against you. He glances down between your bodies at your stock-still fingers around his cock and bites his lip.

“Go on,” he says, and you shiver at the command. You continue, and Harry releases the arm pinned under him so that he can explore your body with both hands. You do the same and he shivers when your second hand wraps around him. He dips his fingers under the hem of your tank and sighs when he drags them up to massage over your bare breasts.

“So beautiful,” he whispers in a tone of heavy arousal.

“You’re so big,” you respond with the first thing that comes to mind. He chuckles lightly and his dimples appear in a smug grin. You’re not usually so forthcoming with thoughts like this, but something has seemed to take over you tonight.

“This is all I’ve thought about,” he admits, sounding truly vulnerable and unsure of himself for the first time.

“Me too,” you reassure him. “I wanted you since the first time I saw you.” You brush your fingers against the head of his cock, collecting the pre-cum beading up. His mouth opens in a relieved but pained expression, and he presses his sweaty forehead down against yours.

When he collects himself, he returns to a self-assured smile. “Oh, I know. I saw the way you looked at me in the towel when we first met,” he whispers in a deeper voice than you’ve heard come out of him.

“Can you blame me?” You say, playing into the praise he’s clearly enjoying. “Been thinking about touching you since then.” You’re both speaking in the softest whispers you can manage, basically breathing dirty thoughts into each others’ mouths.

“What have you been thinking about?” He asks you, his voice strained and husky. “Tell me.”

“Touching you,” you whisper, barely audible. “Like this.” You squeeze your hand harder than you have yet and twist at the same time, eliciting a deep groan from the back of his throat.

“I wanna touch you too,” he moans, moving his palm from where it rested on your breast down your skin until it hits the top of your shorts. “Can I?”

“Please,” you mutter. You help him move your shorts far down enough for him to access your underwear, but you need him too much to take the time to fully remove them. Every part of your body is on fire, and every touch of his hand against your skin reverberates through you like waves. He takes a moment to tease you by dragging the tips of his fingers along your soft inner thighs, which sends chills down your spine and makes your head instinctively fall back. But then he lightly brushes his fingers over your vulva, and it takes everything in you to not loudly moan at the feeling. You can feel that you’ve soaked through your underwear, which might have embarrassed you on another day, but today all you can do is push your hips up towards his fingers to urge him on.

Harry catches your eyes in the dark and watches you as he hooks his thumb into your underwear and pulls it out of the way. He bites his lip and stares at you intensely when he first runs his fingers through your folds, clearly enjoying the way that your mouth drops open at his touch. He collects your arousal over his fingers and drags it up to coat your clit before circling against its hood with the pad of his ring finger. It feels so overwhelmingly good that your muscles begin to clench and your thighs instinctively try to close around his arm. He doesn’t hesitate to move his leg so that he’s holding yours open and apart. He then leans forward and starts kissing your neck, all the while circling your clit with masterful fingers, causing you to feel like you’re going to fall apart. It usually takes longer for you to get to this point, but you’ve wanted Harry so badly since the moment you saw him that it’s like you’ve been wound up and ready for days.

After a minute, you feel something warm twitch in your hand and realise that your palm is still loosely wrapped around Harry’s cock. You’ve been too overwhelmed and distracted to do anything for him, but it only turns you on more to think of getting him off at the same time that he’s getting you off. You suddenly squeeze him tightly and rub your thumb over his head, and he lets out a surprised squeak that cuts through the silence of the room. Your breath catches in your throat at the reminder that you need to be as quiet as possible, but there’s absolutely no way that either of you can stop now. You test another squeeze around him, and he exhales lightly in relief. He can’t be that far off at this point, but you don’t care because neither are you. And it’s not just the fact that you’d both been drinking a bit earlier in the night - there’s something about him that’s electrifying and sets your body alight in a way that it never has before.

You already think you’re going to burst from the way Harry’s touching you, but it gets even more intense when he brings his middle finger down to tease your entrance and press into it slowly. He replaces his ring finger with his thumb so that he’s still touching your clit, except that the added element of his finger inside you makes you want to scream. When he presses a second finger in and moves them around against your walls, you know that you’re absolutely done for.

All you can focus on is pumping your hand up and down Harry’s shaft, but his fingers feel so good that you struggle to keep a constant rhythm. Harry’s movements also become messier as they go, as you both become frantic and desperate for your releases. When you can barely hold on anymore, and Harry is clearly on the verge of cumming too, you meet each others’ mouths with a passion that you’d both been hiding but wanting to let out. As his tongue dances against yours, you’re overwhelmed with the fact that all you can feel and breathe and sense is him. And he brings something out of you so powerful that you’ve never experienced it before.

It’s more blazing than fire and more chilling than ice, and it encompasses every cell in your body. Harry holds down your shaking legs with his own but he can’t stop your chest from curling in on itself until your forehead presses between his neck and shoulder. And for one extended moment, everything stops. Even your breath stops for the rush overtaking your body in waves of flaming relief. Time doesn’t exist - only feeling does. Only you and Harry and every place that your bodies meet.

At some point, the tension ebbs out of your muscles and your body starts to relax. And that’s when Harry starts to shake and curl into you just as you did to him only seconds before. You focus all your energy on working him through his release, and you swear you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight. You can see the sweat beading on his bent forehead in the low light and his lips are a plump cherry red. His eyes are tightly shut and his expression almost looks like one of intense concentration. He holds on to you tightly and restlessly bucks his hips into your hand, until you feel the viscous warmth pool across your fingertips. His body goes limp against yours and you both take a minute to catch your breath and listen to the now thundering silence.

In the absence of his whispers and kisses and heavy breathing, you can hear the distant sounds of cars and people hollering on the street. The hostel’s downstairs bar plays dance music that you can feel the bass of if you concentrate. Someone just went to the toilet down the hall, or maybe the sound is a person taking a late night shower. Your roommate is still snoring lightly, thankfully unaware of the night’s events. It’s almost shocking remembering that the world is still here all around you.

But the loudest thing that you hear is your own heartbeat hammering away in your chest. You can feel it reverberate where Harry’s fingers just were, like your body is mourning his touch. You don’t know what to say or do now - but you’re feeling more sober than ever.

You don’t regret it, not for a single moment, but you’re a little worried that he might. Your mind whirrs at the thought of every worst case scenario that could follow such a high - what if he doesn’t want to spend any more time with you after tonight? What if he goes into the top bunk to avoid cuddling after your orgasms?

But then Harry caresses your arm gently with the tips of his fingers and your worries fade away into thin air. He looks soft and vulnerable; prettier than you’ve ever seen him. His eyelids weigh down with drowsiness but he looks completely content. His fingers snake behind your shoulder, and his palm presses against the centre of your back until you’re drawn flush against his body. You breathe in his comforting musky scent, and smile at how safe you feel in his arms. He swiftly collects the blankets from the end of the bed to drape over you both and adjusts his other arm to rest under your head like a pillow. You feel yourself drifting and sinking faster than ever, and already know that you’re going to sleep like the dead. You’re not sure if you’re already dreaming or not, but you swear that the last thing you notice before you fall into unconsciousness is the feather-light touch of Harry’s lips against your forehead.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #one direction #one direction fan fiction #one direction fanfiction #writing #a long way from home #alwfh

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malachi-walker · 4 years

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Rhythm & Blues Worldbuilding: Magicats

Since I finally got the rock star au up here and I'm working on the next chapter, I thought I'd share some of the worldbuilding ideas I've incorporated or plan to incorporate regarding how a world shaped by hybrids in addition to plain old humans would differ from our own. And since Catra of course is the protagonist along with Adora, it'd behoove me not to start off with the Magicats. ;) Though I do plan on making a post later covering the other kinds of hybrids as well (also for the love of God, crew-ra, please give me names for their individual races so I don't have to come up with shit like "lizard-kin". I'm begging you.)

World building goodness under the cut.

Quick note: although I do draw some indirect inspiration from real world cultures (specifically the clusterfuck that was colonial condescension to anyone who wasn't them) I do deliberately try to avoid taking customs from any real world culture. Because that has... Unfortunate implications. So most of what I discuss here is stuff I came up with on my own, but if something does match up with the real world it is unintentional on my part and feel free to let me know.

Standing with the other races

Out of all the hybrids the Magicats tend to be the most isolationist and closed off to outsiders, partly because they have a very small population size to begin with and partly because they along with the lizard-kin got hit hardest with the animal/predator comparisons. Although the current world has mostly gotten over that bullshit apart from some racists (note: I specifically use the term racist instead of speciest because writing speciest makes my memories of my editing teachers screech in the back of my head, but also because a running theme in the rock star au is that hybrids are still PEOPLE and should be treated as such, and drawing attention to it with words like "species" kinda defeats that purpose.) the average person on the street still doesn't know a whole lot about Magicat culture, and most of what they do know likely comes from old stereotypes or really suspect sources rather than actual Magicats. This is improving as more Magicats make their way into the public sphere and the internet has opened up new pathways for their voices to be heard, but it is still a work in progress.

Biology

General rule of thumb for Magicats for me is finding good middle ground between cat characteristics and people characteristics. Good example is that unlike cats, Magicats can eat chocolate, but too much of it in a short amount of time can build up to toxic levels. There are apps available that let them keep track of how often they can indulge. Same thing with alcohol; alcohol and Magicats is similar to a person with a very mild, non-lifethreatening allergy, i.e. they can get shitfaced very quickly on a comparitively low amount and it takes a bit longer for their body to metabolize out of their system. This is actually based on personal experience with my dad, who only drinks once in a blue moon and is thankfully a very mellow/happy drinker, so watching him get sauced on one-and-a-half rum and cokes is a pretty fun time. XD

Other dietary considerations: they're not complete carnivores, but they do have a greater meat to other food groups proportion than humans. Like sixty-forty percent, and heavy carbs and starches make up the smallest percentage of their diet because it's harder for their digestive system to process. Their front two molars are pointed like a predator's but their back molars are flat like humans'.

Like Catra has demonstrated in show, they possess phenomenal reflexes and agility, as well as heightened senses of smell and hearing--the hearing in particular is their primary dominant sense alongside vision. Speaking of vision, like cats they are red colorblind and shades of yellow are washed out compared to what we would see, but they see the rest of the color spectrum just fine. But like humans, they have a sharper clarity of vision than a cat would and aren't nearsighted.

Oh, and while it probably won't come up in the series itself, they do experience a heat cycle about once per year, but unlike in most fanfics they are still fully in control of their faculties and decision making capabilities. A Magicat in heat is no more likely to be sexually attracted to someone than they would be outside of heat, and it really pisses them off when people imply otherwise. It's kind of like when a human woman has her period but also feels horny. So if they don't want to get with a partner they should be left alone or treated like any loved one dealing with a rough period: patience and warm blankets.

Cultural Stuff

We're getting into the fun stuff now, though some of it will be saved for a future fic where Catra takes the time to learn about her own culture during her three years of homelessness. (Also please note that a lot of these are just general touchstones and actual viewpoints may differ from Magicat to Magicat.)

1. Magicat culture is an interesting mix between interconnectedness and individuality

And by that I mean that as a culture, Magicats do consider themselves to be an interconnected unit and to have a responsibility towards one another to assist as needed. However, they also have an emphasis on the individual as a complete being in and of themselves. This shows up most prominently in interpersonal relationships: unlike humans, who place a great emphasis on things like monogamy and marriage and the solidity of family units, it's not uncommon to see Magicats who are single parents of any gender, or never have kids, or maybe have a lifelong partner but never get formally married. That's because their culture makes it clear that one person is already whole on their own, and while having a partner or family is always nice it's not a requirement. It's up to each individual Magicat to decide what they want out of their lives, and there's usually no judgment whether they decide to get married and have kids or just stay single for their entire lives.

With that said, if a Magicat decides to get formally married (as in making an actual declaration of "this is the person for me") it is a BIG DEAL. Because again, culturally speaking it isn't a requirement, so making that commitment is a huge deal for them, and they often make that permanent. So if a Magicat decides to settle down completely with a partner, they use freeze branding to permanently turn a section of their fur white in a way that look similar to a quarter sleeve tattoo in a very distinct geometric pattern*. That basically tells every other Magicat on sight that this person is wholly dedicated to their chosen beloved. Younger Magicats will also use cold branding to replicate tattoos like other races, but the marriage brand is always distinct, both due to the particular geometric design work and because it is always on their dominant arm, to signify that they are offering their strength to their beloved for the rest of their lives. If their partner is another Magicat they will also get a matching brand, otherwise it depends on the particular race (humans typically get tattoos.)

*My personal mental image of what this resembles is similar to Maori or Pacific Islander forearm tattoos, but not a 100% match because 1) cultural appropriation is gross and 2) the logistical practicalities of doing that via freeze branding would be insane. So that general vibe but simplified. Feel free to flex those imagination muscles.

And before anyone asks... This may or may not come up later in the au. ;) ;) ;)

2. They have certain social rules dealing with other Magicats.

These will be explored in greater depth during the fic, but basically a lot of Magicat etiquette centers around who the other Magicat is to you and stuff like location. For example, they'll typically use honorifics to refer to Magicats who have been teachers to them or assisted them in some way as a show of respect.

The most obvious rule of etiquette to outside observers is that whenever two Magicats meet for the first time and wish to demonstrate respect for each other, the one who approaches the other will come forward slowly until they are just a bit beyond arm's reach. They will then take a half step forward with the leg that corresponds to their dominant hand and then offer that arm to the other. This is the cue for the Magicat being approached to mirror the pose regardless of what their dominant hand is (up until then they will remain in a straight and relaxed position and wait for the signal.) Once this is done, the two will clasp forearms and briefly dip their heads forward into the other's space for a single shared breath before breaking apart. This is a sign that they are now free to move closer to one another and can now interact in a way that is indistinguishable from what outsiders would consider normal conversation between new acquaintances. The purpose of the greeting is for the one approaching to demonstrate their respect for the other and ask to be let into their space; telegraphing which arm they favor symbolizes showing someone a strength of yours and is a sign of trust.

Again, this doesn't apply to all Magicats and the younger generation in particular tends to eschew or pick and choose what etiquette they follow, but in general they do like it when the old traditions are observed, especially by younglings. They don't use this system of etiquette with other races and usually instead adapt their behavior to the person they're interacting with.

Other Misc. Details

I was originally going to have Catra be a motorcycle lesbian because duh, but while doing my due diligence in researching motorcyle safety I ran into a few reasons why that isn't a good idea.

The first is that part of the reason why motorcyle helmets work in the first place is because the evenly curved surface provides an equal distibution of force when striking something. This is why novelty helmets like ones with cat ears or stuff of that type are considered dangerous; they break up that curved surface and thus can't redistribute that force as evenly. So not only would a motorcycle helmet like ours be uncomfortable for a Magicat and disabling to one of their primary senses, trying to design one to accommodate their ears would increase the danger to them in case of an accident.

The second is that I've already established in the au that overheating is a constant concern for Magicats, and proper protective clothing for human motorcyclists already carries a huge risk of overheating us without the added consideration of having fur. So it would be a trade off between solid protection at heavy risk of personal discomfort and overheating or eschewing that protection and increasing the chance of serious injuries. And yeah, Magicats have good enough senses that they could probably backflip or throw themselves clear if they're about to crash, but just getting off the bike isn't gonna do much if you then smack into another vehicle at 60 mph.

And that's kind of a shame, because otherwise Magicats would be ideal safe motorcyclists. Their spacial awareness and sense of balance is phenomenal, and they'd be great at anticipating and reacting the movements of other drivers. I just couldn't make it work with rock star!Catra because she's a lot less reckless. Canon!Catra I could see taking the risk. Don't get me wrong: if you wanna make Catra a sexy, motorcyle riding catgirl you have my full support. I just couldn't justify it in this au.

Honestly, there'll probably be more later, but I'm tapped for now. Would love to hear what if any of you have any thoughts. And of course, if you like what you've read and haven't already, check out my rock star au under the Rhythm & Blues tag or the masterpost list. ;)

#my fics #worldbuilding #rhythm & blues #the catradora rock star au #magicats yo!#mildly nsfw?#in the sense that we talk about sex from a biological level #did I just write an entire essay on fanfic worldbuilding?#yes. because I wanted to and it makes me happy.

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randomkposts · 4 years

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The crack twilight shipping conversation

E :-"I took care of those girls who spread rumors about you"

"What girls?"

"Not important "

I have back flashes of this kid and I'm like yo she scares me.

K : Jane is terrifying. Just not in the same way to Bella as she is to others.

"We are going to Yellowknife, so you can see the northern lights at this time of year! They are glorious! This guy has agreed to fly us."

"Jane, I don't- wait, why is he shaking"

"Juicebox is also excited to see the northern lights"

Shaking man: "Absolutely ecstatic"

"I made sure that all the warm clothing fits your size! It's even real fur! "

Crack twilight ships

K - E, Crack AU, where Jane is the one who imprints on Bella, going after James for crime, and Bella has to deal with the insane situation of "I think I was kidnapped by a child, and the child is trying to woo me."

Except Jane's Idea of wooing is terrifying and surreal, and has some pretty bizarre stuff to try to impress her.

"Jane-"

"But let's double check!"

E -OMG

K :-”Jane, why do you always give people such strange nicknames? Quickmunch, O delicious, lunchmeat, mosquito bait, and now juicebox?

Except for Jaccob, who you just called stinky

Why do you call him that?

-Because he just is

He doesn't smell any worse than any other athletic teenage boy. You haven't even seen him since he got sick.

Hey, does she have a nickname for Bella, you think?

E -Jacobs sweating furiously at all these vampires

K -It's because he's a wolfy shapeshifter, but for story purposes, Jane has no Idea, just that she hates Bella's childhood friend.

Alec, who is back in Voltera, but Jane talks on the phone too, assumes she's being possessive of who Bella spends time with, and views him as a rival.

He tells her that.

E - The fact he face times this stuff. Supportive bro vampire.

K - Don't kill the rival Jane. Bella will be crying, and you don't want to spend time with her mourning. Maybe take her on a trip, and get some personal time

E -She does, but also scares ppl to give them cool shite.

K -I had a crack thought once, where I thought what's the randomest most out there mates I can give vampires. , where Jane's mate was a random old man that she met in the food chamber, was like ,"wait don't kill him!" It became quite a debate.

Alec's, on the other hand, was a toddler he met on a job, where a lady had been vampired, and had bad control. The kid wasn't even related to the target, just on a walk in a bad place and time. He can't get the face out of his head.

Neither of them are decided on who has it worse.

But Bella being shippable with almost any vampire in the series has way more potential for comedy.

Still, question, does Bella ever come to return the affection?

Edward is hundreds of years older than her, but looks roughly around her age. Staying beautiful, and around his age was something Bella found important to her in their relationship.

Jane, for all she is also centuries older than Bella, can not easily be mistaken for a young adult. Admittedly it could be claimed, possibly by dwarfism, but given that physical appearance is important to Bella, and plays a part in her affections to other people, how would that play into any potential relationship with Jane?

K - God, weird how what starts as crack, leads me to wonder about real questions.

If that random old man is in fact Jane's soulmate in the crack mate's verse, should she take her mate in the form she finds him, or eat him and hope he reincarnates. Is there only one possible match, or are there potential matches walking around that finalize when conditions are met? Is the old man, at his age, fit to be a mate to a centuries old vampire of a young body? What if he's amnesic. How would that translate to vampirism?

Should Alec keep tabs on the toddler who could be his mate, or let them go and hope for another chance encounter?

E -Probably yes, even though you are aware she is older than you, she is mature maybe *I debate on that due to they stay in that state forever* but you can't get over the fact that is a child's body

K -If Alec chose to keep tabs, when would be the time to reintroduce himself? And how?

E - I say let them go, cause this is a bit too close with the Renesmee and Jacob kind of thing

Hmmm I say reincarnation is kinder?

K-Is reincarnation even real, or a hope?

How would you find them?

E -They have vampires, werewolves and shit, but does reincarnation really draw the line?

First off how did they even know they were mates?

K -It is, though I can't see Alec child napping the toddler, and raising them himself

Some voice in their head screams "Mine!"

Edwards was just weird, because he thought his voice meant " my meal"

E -Bwhahaha

Oh God Eddy

K -The Cullens are unusual in that they turn people in life threatening situations.

Still,Carslie and Esmae certinally had some affection between them, before she commited suicide.

Why did Rosaline get Emmet turned again?

Beyond the bear wound, I mean?

She doesn't seem the type to go out of her way to do something like that for just anyone.

Maybe it was blurred by the blood, and the need for control, but something about him called out to her, I think.

"Rosalie confessed to Bella that she saved Emmett from dying because of his innocent look, dimples, and curly hair that reminded her of her best friend Vera's child, Henry, and that ever since the day she saw the baby she always wanted a child of her own just like him."

Somehow, I doubt she looked much at the appearance of someone covered in blood. She is trying to resist killing after afromented bear mauling.

That sounds like a post rescue justification.

E - True. Always wondered about that.

K - Anyway, I think he might just send Gianna, or something to guard the kid for a bit, if he decided to keep tabs. Gianna is just glad to be temporarily spared, and hopes that job success may mean Alec turns her into a vampire, or at the least, doesn't kill her.

E -Shot, i would make sure that kid have the best life ever if that means he doesn't kill me

K - But anyways, to a vampire who is not rescuing a human from a dangerous situation, or abstaining in general, sometimes they get a sense of "Mine!" About humans they see.

Jane, as a member of Voltri, where mates are occasionally found like this, has heard, and does not question, and in fact jumps on the opportunity.

Her human smells delicious, and is resistant to her gift, and absolutely perfect. Now, how to not kill her, while making Jane the center of her world.

That kid has aunt Gianna, who is not really an aunt, but is... A family friend now, and full intent to make the kid happy.

Gianna is a dead secretary as of Breaking Dawn, I think, But Alec has a need for the human, so he can borrow her.

She's well aware of her morality, at this point.

Also, get rid of that James guy, who found Bella while she was hiking in the woods, in this verse.

E - Yeah lets get rid of him!

Honestly the image of a grown asa man getting his ass handed to him by some 12 year old cracks me up.

K -While Bella might find inclination to view Jane romantically, possibly, sexual orientation may be an issue for her.

In cannon, Bella had the higher sex drive then Edward, and would have prefered that to marriage, indicating she may have a higher sex drive then romantic inclination.

Book Bella didn't show much interest in women, and I don't know what way she swings in this AU, but either way, that Jane has the body of a child would probably complicate things in that aspect.

Would Bella be exploring cross orientation here, or having a crisis for her finding a sex drive for someone who's body is closer to a childs then an adults?

Both would be complex issues.

-It does!First she takes him out with mental fire, then she fights and tears him up, in hopes of impressing her would (will) be mate!

E -Crisis at the sex drive, cause again kids body, and I'd be hella creeped out. And orientation since I haven't seen her show much interest in woman so that's a lot of issues for her to start on

"And here we see the alpha female show her dominance by obliterating the high male in order to impress her mate"

K - Its kind of weird to even talk about it, yes.

But it would come up in this context

Bella herself, would probably be creeped out

Jane, might be less so, due to being centuries older than her, and living in a different time with different marriage standards

E - Bella is like "oh honey no, that's. ..no"

K -Jane was born in England around 800 A.D, the daughter of an Anglo-Saxon woman and a Frankish soldier.

She was 12-13 when transformed.

Let's bump it up to 13, because while both are far too young for being burned at the stake, 13 is slightly more

----

Was reading this

----

"Contrary to Victorian beliefs that pale, delicate women were the most attractive, Brown says that actually, muscles are key. It's the earliest known example of #fitspiration:

"All women would be healthier and none the less beautiful if they possessed firm muscles and strong limbs; this scarcely any one could controvert."

Even if she wants to consign herself to a life of singledom: "And if a girl never intends to marry she should be none the less mindful of her health."

Brown explains that women are often less inclined to discuss sensitive maladies than their male counterparts. But that's wrong.

"Young women should learn that to neglect disease is to create more," he stresses.

"Secondly, they should appreciate the fact that, though they may get very little sympathy from either the other sex or their own, there is no execuse for not taking their complaint boldly and sensibly to that quarter made for them, namely, their doctor."

---

And this guy sounds kind of radical for the time, and possibly today even, for some, but why does that last line still feel relevant to today's attitude of women's health.

#Twilight #crack shipping #Random K #A conversation with my friend #we share ideas #and worldbuild #bella x jane

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absence-of-decomposing · 4 years

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Demametamort

Have you ever heard of the term Demametamort? If so then this story might make sense to you. If not then please please refrain from looking it up in my personal dictionary and stick around till the end for an explanation. I will now begin his story.

Imagine a light grey sky, like the ones that make rainy days feel emotionless. Then imagine an unofficial road that borders on a cliff. The cliff has a hard drop into the ocean and at that moment a car had been recently met with sharp rocks and the high-pressure water. The water surrounded the tan automobile in waves that hit the skin of investigators like knives.

If you looked around a bit more you could see the face of a boy who had somehow survived the tragedy. As he stood emotionless and highlighted by red and blue he was led to dry off while his 6-year-old body was drenched in saltwater. His dark hair and green eyes accompanied by a police officer to the ambulance where most adults looked in awe at how torn up this child was, frantically moving to apply pressure in the right spots. No one could explain how he could have survived the impact and sharp rocks; if that didn't do him in the water would have. This is a prime moment we can look at as an example of how things always worked out in his favor, as long as he didn't bring attention to it he could avoid any consequence.

The most shocking part, however, took its place in the unphased attitude of the child. Every adult at the scene was shocked he survived, shocked his parents had dragged him along for their suicide, shocked. Shock is what defined the atmosphere so they wrote off Luca’s behavior as him being in shock.

Little did they know this boy genuinely didn't care. His parents were scared of him but he didn't know why so why should he care? All he did was draw on the walls. Sure it was with the neighbor’s pet mouse but no one seemed to miss it after he stole it at the end of his playdate with their 13-year-old daughter. They just got a new one. And sure, his babysitter didn't know he stole it but to him, the rodent would be much more useful being used as paint than in a cage where it sat in its own mess and made squeaking noises.

Apparently, this was the last straw. His parents started to talk about how they “couldn't do this anymore!” and “At least it's not as bad as when he was 3.”. Luca doesn't remember what other things he's done but no punishment made his actions not worth it so he had little memory of anything that was deemed “bad”. His parents tried to punish him for his behavior they really did, but it was hard to punish him when he stopped showing his “art” to them. In the end, they considered getting Luca into therapy but this had his mother and father worried about being judged as parents so, in the minds of a couple of parents whose will was stretched too thin, suicide would probably sound like the only option. They loved their son so maybe that's why they brought him with, or maybe it was an attempt at stopping his actions.

If we move on to the next event of his life you'd see a hospital room with white walls and a small window, where he stayed for a couple of weeks until a caseworker came to situate him into a foster home. You'd see his emerald eyes opening in the hospital bed and his small feet moving to pack up his pencils and toys before his hands where being held on either end by a perfect cookie-cutter family. You'd then see him staying in that home for many more years because the Bander family took a liking to his obedient behavior and witty humor, and as Luca grew in this privileged household he learned to accommodate to people's expectations because that meant he could keep practicing his illegal passions without losing the attention he received from others. The same kid who played football in high school was watching people bid on body parts on the dark web. The same kid who laughed and teased his friends about being stupid compared to his straight A’s was the same kid who was planning to kidnap a few of those same friends and turn their beings into soulless sculptures. He was pleased with how smoothly his plan worked, how the laws of not just humans but of karma has never touched him. He reveled in how simple everything was and how godlike he was compared to his peers who were always facing a misfortune and getting dragged for their underage drinking or for harassing a girl at school. It was when he made his first kidnapping, one so obviously tied to him that it would hurt the observing eye. That is if eyes were ever on him, despite the girl nailed to the walls of his basement being his girlfriend, no one ever questioned him. That is when he realized he was different, god must not know he exists. He's a ghost among men and as visible to every eye as he was not there. I think this is when he rationalized the idea of, “If God doesn't know I exist, then neither does death. Right?”

Today Luca is a couple of years out of high school, he lives in a studio apartment while on a break from college and has a body count of 7 and his work has been all over the news. As he sat on a leather couch and toyed with the volume of his Tv his frustrations grew and grew.

“Stop ignoring my work! It took me ages to make that!” He whines in frustration to no one in particular as the screen flashed images of his sculpture made of a female body whose bones were exposed due to the skin and muscle being nailed apart like a dissected frog. It zoomed into the bone where he was mastered the art of carving into. After cleaning the bones and draining the blood of the body out, he drills away to create designs so beautiful it could be compared to Chinese ivory or jade sculptures. Beautiful waves of the sea that represented the girls' love for surfing, a few animals like tigers and rabbits also danced along the streams of her life. It was truly beautiful despite its canvas. Lucas carefully tanned skin started to shift over to the arm of the leather couch before placing his hand down for support and standing. He began to pace around, mumbling incoherently. He then made his way to a laptop that was propped up on the counter of a kitchenette.

“I will make them see, they will worship me. People have begged for this! They loved being used, they cried in joy when the found out they had been chosen by ME!” he claimed. His shadowy whispers did hold some truth however, a few victims had fallen victim to love him and would do anything for his approval.

However, Lucas fetish for attention was currently driving him mad as his fingers type away at the obsidian keys and made the finishing touches on a public Instagram. He began to upload image after image with his name and face next to countless bodies and gore that he had only ever shown in private forums. The next morning he woke up outrage on his phone and in the news. He had missed calls from his family and friends and he just smiled in glee as he picked up the phone and called his mom back.

He expected to be greeted with admiration like the last girl he carved but in his delusional mind that was realistic, I guess. He was greeted with screams and tears.

“Luca why! Tell me this isn't true? This is someone else framing you right baby?” she said with obvious distress.

“Mama I just made another sculpture, it's not a big deal.” He said, confused at her reaction.

“They have feelings, Luca! FEELINGS! And I am not your mom anymore. I'm calling the cops.” she said shakily before hanging up.

Luca didn't think she was being serious, I mean she knew he that would affect him, right? He put on his apron and gloves and had just picked up the head of a dog he had recently started to work on as a side project when a loud, sharp knock was made from outside his apartment. With head still in hand, he opens the door only to be tackled down by police forces and dragged outside in cuffs. Bright rays of light burned into his eyes as he yelled and laughed. His confusion apparent and his resistance futile. He had dropped the dog's head in the process and suddenly he began to cry out.

“Get off me! Its what they wanted! You know you can't kill me right?” he laughed. This was met by a shaky voice.

A woman was standing in the crowd with puffy eyes and sagging skin. Her auburn hair mirrored that of his last victim, and she held a gun. Without a moment's hesitation, she said,

“Want to bet?” before her shaky hands released the firm hold on the gun to pull the trigger.

Lucas's life didn't flash before his eyes. His life didn't matter much to him but when he fell to the ground he looked at his reflection in the pooling blood coming from his throat. He recognized the look on his face and that similar to those when he was 6. He recognized shock and fear in his face before he was put into the black void of death.

Crippling and quiet black and was like white sound in a realm with no structure. No walls or floor yet his non-responding conscious was suspended in it. Time did not exist and although empty it was not peaceful. It wasn't a place that provided a feeling of tranquility nor did it scare. It was completely empty. That was until Luca's vision reappeared through opening slits. He could suddenly see a different and darker black, his hands could suddenly feel silky cushion on his hands and his mind was suddenly able to register these things. He was awake, but was he? How could one tell when he all he could see was darkness and the smell of wet soil encased his nose. One would have to define being alive and being dead, what requirements are there to be considered living? Is it the ability to crave and breathe air? To need it? Because Luca definitely craved air but no matter how much he gasped there was no oxygen to fill his lungs. Wheezing was barely possible and when his fingers moved to touch the scabbed hole in his throat, it explained why. Gasp after gasp he was brought back to nothingness and his suffocation was over. Until it wasn't.

He woke again and the events repeated.

Again.

And again.

So, do you think you can guess what a “Demametamort” is? If not I will let you in on it.

A Demametamort is someone who believes they are above, beyond, or better than death. They don't think they can die or can change death. And sometimes they can.

#oc #creative writing #new word #imaginary word

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years

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Ambien for Hunters with Archangels Trapped in their Heads

(Dean/Cas fic, Coda for 14x14 “Ouroboros, Bedsharing, Domestic Feels, 2.3 k)

Dean admitted to Castiel he has trouble sleeping. So after being overwhelmed one night, Castiel decides to help Dean lower his guard for one night.

(Link to Ao3)

Dean needed sleep. For the fourth night in a row, Dean stared unblinking at his ceiling when he should be unconscious. The thought flit across his mind that he might as well put up a few posters, to give his eyes something else to look at. But Michael’s consistent pounding knocked it out just as quickly as it popped in. He tugged his pillow out from behind his head and over his face, screaming his frustration into it.

Dean didn’t know how long he stayed like that. Not enough that he suffocated himself, but a good amount of time so that the drum inside his head was put off by a different tempo. A faster one, outside his own mind, that was interceded by frantic pleas in a worried voice. He shot up; flicking his lamp on so Dean could better see his door. Rushing over, Dean opened it up, stopping Castiel before he broke through the wood.

Castiel froze, fist raised and angel blade drawn at his side. Dean glanced at the weapon before trailing up to his face. His eyes were wide, eyebrows raised as high as they could go, and his lips were parted.

Dean hazarded a grin. “You okay there, Cas?”

“I…” he swallowed around his words, sheepishly dropping his fist. “I heard… I felt that you were… in distress.”

Blushing, Dean turned over to his bed where his pillow and blankets were messily strewn about. “Yeah,” he told him, “It’s – um… it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with.”

He felt Castiel move behind him, breath ghosting at the back of his neck. “Michael?”

Nodding, Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said, voice a low growl, “It’s… I’m used to… you didn’t…” He stopped, taking a deep breath, facing Castiel again. “Thanks for coming, though. S’nice, knowing you… care and all that – all that junk.”

Castiel smiled, laying his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’ll always be there if you need me, Dean.”

Licking his lips, Dean tried to collect any errant moisture to wet his quickly drying mouth. “I know…” He stepped away. “I should… probably try and get back to it.” Dean jerked a lazy thumb backwards, “Got a good feeling tonight could be the night!” The joke landed on shaky legs, neither of them laughing in the increasingly thick atmosphere. Failing to find anything else to say, Dean left Castiel in the doorway.

However, instead of leaving Dean as he expected, Castiel waited until he was on the other side of the door before closing it.

“Cas what are you –“

“You’re still having trouble sleeping?”

“I would think that’s obvious…”

Castiel moved closer, standing over Dean on the other side of his bed. “I’ve read in… certain studies, that people tend to sleep easier when there’s someone else in the room with them. Someone they trust.”

Dean huffed. “I doubt having you watching me like that all night is gonna help any…”

“I don’t have to stay here,” Castiel continued, fingers gently stroking Dean’s sheets. “I could busy myself nearby at your desk or… or I could lay with you.”

Dean’s heart stopped, jumping up into his throat before falling back down to beat at double its speed. “You – uh… are you offering?”

Castiel shrugged. “Only if you think it might help.”

The ball bounced back into Dean’s court. He frowned, staring down at how his hands have mangled his blanket. It was hard coming up with any reason why Castiel’s suggestion was a bad idea. Any list he started immediately fell apart as Michael’s barrage grew in strength. Dean kneaded at his temples, sighing. “Why not?” he said, “Not like I’ve got a whole lot of Hail Mary’s in my back pocket.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. He went to sit, only for Dean to shoo him off. “What?”

“You’re not getting into my bed like that.”

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“Besides it being everywhere,” Dean said, “It’s… I’m not gonna get any sleep knowing you’re dressed like…”

“Like an accountant? A flasher?” Castiel sighed, pulling from a catalogue of things Dean had compared him to in the past. “A creep.”

“Like you’re ready to leave.” The confession punched him in the gut, forcing Dean to crouch over himself. He strangled the blanket, unwilling to look up at Castiel even after hearing his quiet gasp and pitying hum. Dean readied himself for Castiel to turn away, then, and pretend like he never suggested this to begin with.

He heard fabric rustle in the background. “Dean?” Castiel asked, “What would you prefer I slept in?”

Dean willed his blush away, using some of his strength keeping Michael at bay to look at Castiel. He had shucked his trench coat, and fingered the buttons underneath his loosened tie. Biting his tongue, Dean very carefully chose his next words. “Boxers are fine, and whatever undershirt you got on, too.”

Castiel stripped down to that, even tugging off his socks and balling them up. Then, without any preamble, he got into bed with him. He sat in Dean’s bed, leaning against the headboard, legs crossed over each other.

It was a strange sight for Dean. He hadn’t seen Castiel under dressed in reality. There were some things he got wrong. His muscles were more defined than he realized, and he wasn’t sure if the lamplight made his skin look tanner. The boxers he wore were loose and white, a thick outline in the center that emphasized how happy his trail ended. That was another thing; Castiel didn’t seem like the type to have body hair. But it was there, where his shirt rode up and all the way down to his toes. He had been staring at his feet for quite some time before Castiel cleared his throat, drawing his attention back up to him. One eyebrow was raised, and he smirked. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Like a chastised child, Dean quickly ducked his head down. Turning his back to Castiel, Dean lay down and drew the blanket up to his chin. “Can you turn off the –“

Flick!

“…Thanks.”

Dean felt Castiel’s eyes on him, the powerful gaze moving down from his taut shoulders to the curve of where he’s tucked his legs underneath him. Its heat scorched him, and made it more difficult than ever to fall asleep. Still, he kept silent. Dean didn’t trust himself to speak, unsure what words might escape.

Castiel seemed to not have this problem. Flick! “You’re uncomfortable.”

Frowning, Dean rolled over enough for Castiel to see his dimples. “Yeah, and…?”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” At that, Dean rolled back over, hiding his blush yet again from his friend. “Dean,” Castiel tried, “Please. You can tell me anything…”

Sighing, Dean adjusted himself once more. He now sat next to Castiel, arms side by side. His skin burned hotter than Baby’s hood in a Texan summer where it met Castiel’s.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “It’s… it’s not like you can really do anything. I’m – uh… I’m not really used to having another guy in my bed.”

Castiel skewed his head to the right. “I don’t understand, to my knowledge you and Sam have shared beds many times in your life.”

Snorting, Dean shook his head. “That was different.”

“How so?”

“Well I was never a…” He stopped, biting his lip. Dean nearly let slip a dangerous fact that, with an archangel in his head, he wasn’t too keen with sharing just yet. But his guard had been lowered, as he was wont to do when around his angel. Michael punched the door, the simple lock shaking. Dean drew into himself, reinforcing his defenses. “You’re not Sammy,” he shrugged.

His curt response wasn’t lost on Castiel. “Even so,” he said, after a long pause, “I don’t think this will work if you aren’t receptive –“

“And maybe it won’t work even if I am?” Dean cut him off. He ran a hand through his hair, breathing a sharp whistle through his teeth. “Christ, Cas, why are you being so nice?”

“Because – because you are burdened and –“

“And what? It’s not like this is new to me. Dad’s secrets, the Mark, and now Michael? My whole life has left me nothing but tired and… and I don’t get it…” Out from the corner of his eye he saw Castiel’s forlorn expression, and it seizes his heart. Losing all fight, he continued in a quieter voice. “I know you’re trying to help. I’m… I’m not used to this. I’ve always had to… shoulder it all on my own, and – well, it’s hard for this old dog to learn a new trick.”

Castiel doesn’t respond, and his heart cracks. He covers his eyes with both hands, rubbing at them. “Look, I’ll understand if you want to just go – I get it. This wasn’t the easy plan you were expecting –“

“No!”

He tore Dean’s hands away, holding them within his own. Castiel stared at him softer than he’s ever seen, sure that he was looking past Dean’s face and into his very mind to find Michael’s cage. Stumbling upon Dean’s inner self hunched over in front of the door as the archangel continued his attempts at freedom.

“No,” he repeated, much softer, “Dean I… I won’t leave you. It would take a powerful being to force me away from your side. All I want to do is be near you and… and make you happy. Michael… there’s not much I can do, for all my angelic power. But this I… it’s the simplest thing I can offer.” He shook, as if whatever Dean chose to do next could break him.

The man beside him was amazing. Castiel would charge headfirst into danger with no care as to the possibility of death, a trait that gnawed at Dean’s own nerves. But here, this charged emotional moment seemed to be worse than facing down an army of demons with no back up for him. Dean smiled at the display of humanity. “I… I’m so used to taking care of things.”

“For once, Dean, let me take care of you.”

The weights that were tied to Dean’s shoulders dropped, and they sagged for what felt like the first time in years. “I’m so tired, Cas…”

“It’s all right,” Castiel comforted him, drawing Dean near, “Lay down, I’m here…” He was guided to Castiel’s chest, pillowing his head up against it. Instead of listening to the simple cadence of another heartbeat, Castiel’s body hummed like an engine. The sound puts him more at ease then ever, and easily overpowers Michael’s banging. Then, with one arm wrapped around his chest, Castiel runs his fingers through Dean’s hair. His petting, coupled with the melody he sung under breath, all helped drive him into a comforting blackness.

Dean chuckled. “Who knew cuddling would be the key to defeating Michael?”

“Well the answers we search for always did come from unexpected places…”

“Yeah, unexpected...” Dean shifted in place, staring up at Castiel’s jaw through his lashes. “Speaking of… when did we get so domestic?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just… I’m not one for all this touchy-feely crap. Not that I don’t like it it’s… never really found anyone who’d want to do this, especially with me.”

“You and I have known each other for… ten years, is it?”

“Give or take a couple of months.”

“That’s a long time,” Castiel said, “Even to someone like me who has been around for millennia… I’ve done more in that time than I ever did as a simple soldier. And while there are things to be proud of and to regret… what I most cherish are the bonds I’ve built here on Earth. Ours especially.”

“I… I feel the same,” Dean told him, “You… you’re not someone I thought I could ever have in my life. Not because you’re an angel… but because you’re so – so good. You’re my best friend, and you’re there for me even after all the mistakes I’ve made.”

“I’m no innocent either,” Castiel whispered into his hair, “You know all my sins, the pain I’ve caused.”

“But you’re you, and I’m me and…” Dean grinned into Castiel’s chest, “I’m lucky that we keep finding our way back to each other. That even though the world keeps crapping on us, at least it gave us this.”

Castiel agreed with him. Snuggling in closer, Dean wrapped his arms around his friend’s torso. He tried to cover his yawn with Castiel’s chest, but it didn’t work.

“You should go to sleep Dean.”

Dean whined. “But I’m enjoying this too much…”

“I’ll still be here when you wake up.” Dean stilled, turning his neck to stare at the wall across from him. Castiel sensed his unease. “Dean?”

“What if I’m not?”

“What if –“

“What if I go to sleep, and Michael breaks free. And I never wake up, and he’s here and you’re here and –“

“Dean.” Castiel pulled him tighter against him. “You can let your guard down tonight while I’m here… you always can for me.”

His earnest tone struck at Dean’s heart, and obliterated any energy he had to stay awake. In his last few moments of wakefulness, Dean forced out his last few words for the night. “Thanks Cas,” he slurred, “’Love you.”

Castiel paused, resuming his ministrations after a long beat. “I know, Dean,” he said, “I love you, too.”

“Good.” Then, he descended into unconsciousness.

Flick!

Inside his mind, at Rocky’s Bar, Michael kept pounding away. Dean’s eyes drooped closed every so often, each time staying like that longer than he’d like. As if sensing it, Michael rattled his cage harder than he has before. When it seemed like the lock was going to give, Castiel stepped into view. He forced the pin down once more, and then moved to sit beside Dean. Drawing him into his arms, he let Dean’s head rest against his shoulder.

“Let your guard down… you always can for me.”

Dean did willingly, putting his trust in Castiel. With a smile, Dean rested, waiting for when he could wake up and be with his angel once more.

Michael’s yells didn’t bother him tonight.

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