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rainydaydream-gal18 · 27 days

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(The Bad Batch) A Rainy Evening With Him

Author's Note: Happy Bad Batch eve! I hope you enjoy!

Warning: Storms, Established Relationship, Fluff

The air on Pabu was rather humid. Well, it always was. But you detected something else in the air late that afternoon in the middle of a project. You paused your task to look up at the sky, noting the gray clouds that were gradually rolling in. The wind picked up and tugged at a nearby banner so hard that you could hear the fabric whipping repeatedly.

The citizens of Pabu began to pack up and head indoors. Boats were making their way in for the evening. No one was panicked. There was no rush. Everyone was moving in an unhurried, orderly manner, but with purpose.

You looked around for a particular Bad Batcher in hopes of finding him before the rainstorm began...

Hunter:

It seemed as if Hunter had been looking for you too. You saw him standing at the base of a stairwell, tilting his head to search the crowd of people making their way to their homes. When he locked eyes with you, that familiar smile crossed his features. He took your hand, drawing you closer to him.

"Storm's coming," he said. "But you already knew that. it's nothing major, but it's not the kind of weather to be working in."

"Ah, so that's why everyone's making their exit," you said, glancing around. Hunter nodded and began leading you up the stairs, off toward where the Batch's quarters were.

Just as you made it to the patio, a few droplets fell on your skin. You and Hunter both walked under the cover of the patio, watching as more drops fell, speckling the stone floor outside. It was a quaint little patio with a cushioned swing. You gave Hunter's hand a tug and went over to sink into the cushion comfortably. He followed the unspoken request, pressing his leg against yours as you both sat side-by-side on the swing.

Hunter put an arm around you, and you leaned into the contact. His warm scent mingled with the salty sea air, like a sandalwood candle.

"I love this weather," you admitted. "Sunny days are great, but there's something about a little rainstorm once in a while."

He nodded in agreement. "The air smells good."

After that, neither of you felt the need to say anything more.

He planted a kiss on your head, and the two of you enjoyed the wind and the sound of the rain falling on the top of the patio, until it was time to go inside.

Wrecker:

You saw Wrecker on the docks, having just come in from fishing on a boat. He smiled when he saw you, strutting over to give you a big hug in greeting.

"They said there's a storm, so we are done for the day," he informed you, setting you down gently. His hand didn't release yours. "We should probably get back before the rain hits."

"Good idea," you replied with a nod. The two of you moved with the steady flow of the crowd as they headed back to their homes. There was no hurry, even as the wind continued to pick up and blow palm tree leaves around. By the time you reached the first stairwell, a few droplets of rain fell on your cheeks and hand.

"Oh, it's starting!" you remarked, showing him the drop on your hand. Wrecker grinned as a few fell on him also, and the two of you automatically began to move just a little faster. The crowds had cleared for the most part, so you could pick up your pace.

At one point, Wrecker just lifted you up and carried you up the final set of stairs, with the both of you laughing in glee as the rain started to pour. He barreled into the Bad Batch's living quarters, quickly plopped you down on the nearest cushion, and shut the door. Your body shook with laughter as you got to work on gathering some blankets and pillows. Wrecker helped you make a little spot for the two of you to curl up under some blankets and watch the rain.

Wrecker held you securely against his chest, his arm extended, so that you could rest your head on it beside him. The rain began its barrage on the roof and against the windows, but it began to fade into a dull sound in the distance as you focused on Wrecker's breathing and the low rumble of his voice as you both talked.

Tech:

You made your way to the one place you knew Tech would be. Normally, he'd be out working on projects somewhere across Pabu; but after the Bad Batch's latest mission, the current ship the squad occupied needed some fine-tuning.

Okay, perhaps a little more than fine-tuning.

The thud of your shoes on the ramp paused as you stopped to take in the state of the weather once more. Things had certainly moved along since you began your trek to the ship. Rain clouds cast the island in a gray darkness, though you could still see the sun peeking out in the distance.

One drop plummeting to the sand turned into two, and then that turned into many. Pretty soon, it became a downpour. You closed your eyes to enjoy one more gust of wind before climbing the rest of the way up the ramp. You walked down the hall of the dark ship rounded the corner to see the incredible mind himself seated in the cockpit.

He seemed to be running a diagnostic to finalize the repair process on his datapad. He heard your approach and looked up.

"Oh, hello." He greeted you in a light, airy tone as he adjusted his goggles. "I saw the storm, and I was just about to comm you."

You smiled affectionately at his concern. "Well, I'm here. How's it looking?" You leaned over to peek at his datapad over his shoulder, and he scrolled through the results of the scan for you to see.

"It took me all morning and this afternoon, but everything seems to be in order."

"That's great. I'm glad to hear that." You took a seat in the co-pilot's chair, watching the ripples of rainwater pounding against the shield of the ship. "It's so beautiful out."

Tech's gaze found yours again, waiting for you to elaborate.

"I just like rain every now and then. The air smells so fresh, and the wind feels kind of exhilarating."

"I can relate in finding beauty in it," he agreed. "Although, I am glad to have completed the repairs before the shift in weather. It would've been...inconvenient."

You nodded. "Certainly." While Tech went back to finalizing his work, you smiled at an idea that popped into your head. You rose from the chair and headed into the back to grab some blankets and pillows from the bunks. When you returned, Tech looked up curiously to see you arranging them just so on the floor beside some crates in the hall.

You extended your hand toward him, motioning for him to join you. "Now that you're done, come sit with me?"

Tech typed something out lightning fast on his datapad before shutting it off. To your delight, he sat down against the crates and opened his arm for you to scooch in up against his side.

"This is...nice," he said, gazing down at you with a soft smile on his You breathed in his scent, exhaling contentedly as you rested your head against his shoulder.

With the rain pounding against the hull of the ship, you two spent the rest of the stormy evening just talking and exchanging a kiss or two.

Echo:

You were already inside the Bad Batch's quarters, shaking the rain from you, when the front door opened. Echo entered, glancing around as if he were looking for you. When he saw you, his whole expression lightened.

"I had a feeling you'd be here," he said. "That storm rolled in pretty fast."

"Yeah, it sure did," you replied, taking his hand in yours and giving him a soft kiss on the lips in greeting. "Isn't it nice, though? We get to relax for the rest of the evening."

He seemed entranced by the kiss and nodded. "Uh-huh, very nice."

"Want to get cozy on the couch?"

Echo nodded at the proposition, and you snatched up a throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over the both of you as you curled up on the couch together.

You laid your head on Echo's chest, listening to his heartbeat thrum within it. His hand rested on your back, occasionally patting it gently. Your gazes were fixed on the nearest glass window where you saw the wind carrying all sorts of tropical leaves in a flurry. The rain continued to escalate, and you sighed deeply in contentment.

Neither you nor Echo felt the need to speak for a while. You simply enjoyed the sounds of the storm outside and the close contact. At some point, the rise and fall of Echo's chest became slower, deeper. You realized that he had fallen asleep, and you smiled to yourself. Planting a kiss on his chin before settling back in, you let your own breathing slow. It wasn't long before your eyes grew so heavy that they fell shut, and you fell asleep.

Crosshair:

As soon as you'd heard that everyone was heading home for the evening, you started looking for one person in particular. Crosshair found you first, approaching you after you'd hardly begun your own search.

"It's nothing serious," he told you when you took his hand. "But it's nearly the end of the day anyway, so people are going home."

"Works for me," you replied, giving his hand a squeeze. He began to lead the way through the throngs of people making their way toward the steps. You relished the way his hand felt in yours, and the way the wind blew so fiercely against your skin, and the way it felt like you were breathing in the freshest air with each gust.

You and Crosshair made it to the Bad Batch's quarters and went inside just as the rain began to fall. You couldn't help but remain at the doorway with your hand resting on the glass, watching the gray clouds rolling over the island and he way the trees danced in the wind.

Crosshair had initially walked halfway across the room, but when he paused and noticed where you stood, he backtracked and returned to your side. He propped the door open and slid down to sit right in the doorway, looking up at you in an unspoken offer.

You smiled and scooched in next to him, breathing a sigh as you rested your head against his shoulder and felt another gust of wind blow over you. It made you shiver, and yet you felt so cozy.

"Thank you," you whispered, and you felt Crosshair's chin rest on your head in response. His arm wrapped around you gently and took hold of your hand.

A comfortable silence fell over you both as you watched the storm. You would exchange the occasional kiss, and you both stayed like that for some time, enjoying each other's company and also the weather...

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7ndipity · 8 months

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Mine

Namjoon x Reader

Summary: Joon gets easily jealous, but do you mind, really?

Warnings: Swearing, Joonie’s kinda possessive, very suggestive

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! Sorry it took a few extra days, this month’s been a lot, but we’re finally starting to feel better! This one started off angsty in my drafts but somehow turned out way more suggestive than I planned (At what point should I start a blog for spicy fics? lmk)

Masterlist

Requests are open

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It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on in Namjoon’s head that evening, mouth pressed into a hard, thin line as he only half followed the conversation he was currently in the middle of, but you could feel the weight of his eyes constantly tracking you from across the room as you talked with one of the other artists that were at the event Joon had invited you to as his plus one.

You fought the slight urge to roll your own eyes as you caught his hard stare through the crowd, trying your best to ignore him for the moment and keep your focus on your own conversation.

This was starting to become a recurring situation between the two of you; if he saw you getting too close (in his opinion anyway) to another guy, or sometimes anyone at all, his stubborn jealousy would rear its ugly head, turning your normally sweet and understanding boyfriend sour and possessive.

He, of course, vehemently denied that that was what it was, that the other person was just giving him bad vibes and he was just looking out for you, although you couldn’t help wondering if/when he would notice that the those ‘vibes’ he kept picking up on was just their interest in you.

Almost as if on cue, you felt a familiar pair of hands land on your waist, thumbs rubbing soothing patterns against your sides through the fabric of your outfit, though it was unclear whether it was meant to calm you or him.

“Having a good time?” He asked, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. You didn’t miss the way his tone went up at the end in annoyance, despite his rather feeble attempt to mask it.

“I am, what about you?” You replied, tilting your head to look back at him.

“I think I’ve had my fill of socializing for one evening. Shall we go?”

“Do we have to?” You asked.

“I would like to.” He said, leaning closer. “I’ve also had my fill of other people stealing your attention from me.” He whispered in your ear, making you shiver.

The car ride home was unusually quiet. You noticed that he was still tense based on the way he was gripping the steering wheel, but you chose to leave it be, leaving him the responsibility to present the topic to you if there was something truly bothering him.

You barely made it through the door though before he was on you, catching you in a bruising kiss as he pressed you back against the wall.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” He mumbled against your lips. “Couldn’t stand the way they kept looking at you.”

“They weren’t.” You gasped between kisses.

“You don’t see what I do.” He said, trailing kisses over your jaw and down your neck to your pulse point.

“Who cares?” You replied, hands struggling to find purchase on his shoulders.

“I do.” He practically growled.

“You shouldn’t.”

Your response made his head whip back up to look at you. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because they don’t matter.” You said, cupping his face in your hands, feeling the heat of his skin against your palms. “I only want you, no one else. You believe that, right?”

He sighed, instinctively leaning into your touch. “Of course I do, I just don’t like people thinking that they can take what’s mine.”

“Yours?” You raised your brows at him. ”What, like you own me?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not! You belong to only yourself. But-” He stopped, unsure of how to continue.

“But?” You urged, catching him off guard as you wound your hands into his hair and gave a quick tug.

His eyes darkened. “But you're mine.” He pressed another hot kiss to your mouth, stealing your breath as he spoke. “You’re mine and I’m yours. Only yours.”

You relented for the moment, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of him as his hands ghosted over your body, making you press even closer to him.

"Mine."

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kissitbttr · 2 years

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eddie and mean!cheerleader girlfriend have their first fight part 3

read pt 2 and pt 1

a/n: hii i just hit 1k🥺💞 thank you for the love I appreciate u guys sm <3 also, it wasn't as long as i thought it was gn be because I snipped snapped some of them lol

the nervous feeling in his body hasn’t died down as eddie steps out of the van. his stomach churns at the sight of Jason’s party. it was never not packed and the last time he was here, he could barely breathe. the sight of people drinking, throwing up and making a fool of themselves causing him to scrunch his nose in disgust. the music is far worse.

but one thing he needs to remember is that he’s here for her. and for her only

just as he expected when he enters the party, all eyes are set on him. possibly millions of thoughts swimming inside of their minds, ‘the nerve on this weird ass dude to be in a Jason Carver’s party’. obviously they are far too drunk to actually beat his ass so they let the longing stares do the job.

“feelings mutual buddy” eddie smiles sarcastically to a guy who gives him a dirty look. rolling his eyes after as he walks away.

he hates high school students. but mostly the kids in hawkins high

his eyes wander to each and every corner of the room, fingers tapping against the rough material of his jeans. something he does when he gets nervous. why is it so hard to find her? could she probably locked herself in a room?

“where are you, baby?” he whispers to himself, head turning from left to right and that’s where he spots one of his closest friends. “robin? robin, hey!”

the short haired girl whips her head towards the voice, a big smile on her face as she waves. “eddie, hi! i didn’t think you would enjoy a place like this”

she’s holding a red solo cup, offering him one in which he turns down.

“i don’t. came here for y/n. have any idea where she is? she called to pick her up.”

“oh yeah-shit! last time i saw her she was in the kitchen with some guy. looked to me she was about to kill him.”

“some guy?!” his eyebrows are raised. “was it brandon?”

robin could only shrug. “maybe. brown hair in a quiff, he was pretty touchy with her. you should go to her.”

eddie clenches his jaw, “okay, yeah. thanks.”

he walks away before robin could respond, squeezing his way through a sea of people. holding back the disgust as he the reek of sweat filling up his nostrils. god, he swears he could throw up in any minute

eddie finally breathes in relief as he reaches the kitchen. internally glad that it isn’t as crowded.

it doesn’t take long to find her. she’s leaning against the wall right next to a fridge. his heart immediately turn into hearts when he realizes what she’s wearing tonight. soft cotton tank top with lace details embroidered under her breasts and a low cut denim skirt that’s short enough to let her thighs full on display.

she looks so beautiful.

then he moves back to see her face. he notices that her eyes look bored, shoulders slump with arms crossed. unamused at the fact that this man keeps talking. but he doesn’t miss the frightened look on her face.

from the back of his head, eddie could tell exactly who it is. her fucking ex. the ex who broke her heart and made her think that she wasn’t good enough. one that took her far too long to open up again.

“brandon, seriously i do not want to talk to you right now. leave me the fuck alone.” she jabs her fingers to his chest, not really in the mood

“oh come on baby! when are you gonna ditch the loser and come back? i said i was sorry!”

she shakes her head. “can’t hear you over that cock flavored breath washes over me. back. off”

“stop being fucking difficult, y/n” brandon starts getting angry, taking another step ready to whisk her away, “you know I don’t like difficult.”

did he just fucking threaten her?!

“she told you to back off.” eddie steps in, glaring at the jock and watches him slowly turn around. he misses the glee on y/n’s face when she hears his voice. happiness taking over when her boyfriend appears

brandon snickers, squaring his shoulders as if he’s gearing up for a fight. “the fuck you just say to me, freak?”

“i said. back. off” he responds in a cold tone, glaring up to him. “you deaf or something?” eddie tries his best not to swing a punch and ruin his face.

now eddie might be an inch or two shorter that brandon. but there’s no denying that he’s far more intimidating when he’s angry. balled fists with teeth clenched and eyes look like it could kill someone with a single hard stare.

“she’s just playing hard to get, man. she knows she wants me. it’s only matter of times before she dumps your weird ass and get back with me.”

y/n scoffs, pushing herself against the wall and walk over behind eddie as he puts his hand to cover her as an instinct . “don’t get your hopes up, you stupid fuck. Eddie is much more of a man than you are.”

upon hearing that, eddie clears his throat. hiding the blush prominent on his cheeks when she compliments him. “bab-y/n? mind waiting outside by my van for a minute?” he pleads after turning to look at her, holding back the urge to grab her hand.

she contemplates for a while. eyes keep switching between the two. worry grows inside her that eddie is gonna bruise him up. as much as she loves seeing brandon with a black eye, she can’t risk eddie getting beaten up by the rest of basketball team. she can’t handle seeing it. it would hurt too much.

“I’m not going to punch him.” he whispers in a reassuring tone with a small smile as if he read her mind. “just wanted to talk ‘s all. okay?” hands itching to reach out and touch her,

she stares at him with a bitten lip, nodding slowly. “be quick, please.” with that she walks away, not before giving one last glare to brandon.

“god, when did she become a soft bitch? she was never like that with me. you brainwashed her or someth-“

before he could finish his sentence, he’s startled by eddie’s sudden grip around the collar of his shirt and slamming him hard against the wall.

“you stay the fuck away from her” eddie seethes, knuckles turning white. “you don’t go near her, you don’t look at her, and if you even think about her… I’d beat the shit out of you myself.”

brandon looks extremely mortified. all those years he watches the long haired kid getting bullied and called names, never once he has seen eddie doing something about it. he never thought that eddie is capable of being violent.

eddie has always been the type to know how to control his emotions. something he learns from when he was a kid because he refuses to grow up like his old man. he doesn’t care about those basketball idiots making fun of him and his friends. It’s nothing.

but when it comes down to her, he personally wouldn’t let that slide.

“a-alright. sure man. whatever you say.” brandon chuckles nervously as he feels the grip around him starting to loosen.

eddie slowly lets go, not giving him another word before walking away from the scene. if it wasn’t for y/n, he probably already had his hand around that prick’s neck. giving him a piece of mind.

he doesn’t even want to begin to think what could happen if he hadn’t showed up in time. she was already both scared and exhausted having to tolerate his actions. he was a pushy motherfucker, never liked him from the beginning

“found her?” eddie suddenly finds robin rushes over to stand by his side when he’s about to walk out of the party. “she okay?”

“yeah. I’m taking her home. thanks robin, enjoy the party” he pats her shoulder, earning a grateful smile from her.

“thanks dude, oh and hey eds?” robin calls when he stops mid track between the steps on the front porch, turning back to look at her,

“don’t fuck it up again.” she says hinting at the fight the two just had weeks ago. “she misses you, you know? talks about you all the time.”

hearing that statement just makes his stomach flip. it sort of gives him hope. maybe there’s a part of her that actually wants to fix things as much as he does. as small as it can be

“not planning to.” he shoots her a smile before continuing to walk down the steps and back to his van. immediately seeing y/n hugging herself due to the wispy cold air, her lips are shivering and eyes looking away.

eddie shrugs of his leather jacket, without thinking twice. “here. put this on, okay?”

she looks up and smile softly.“thank you” taking it in her hands before putting around her body, inhaling that familiar scent of him she misses so much.

“shall we?”

the drive is pretty quiet, neither of them actually wanted to start something. y/n has her head against the window, mouth shut with her legs crossed and eddie is dying to hear her say something. just anything really.

the silence is driving him nuts.

“I’ll drive you home, okay?” he asks, only to receive no response. her gaze is fixed on the window, staring out into the open.

“you’ve eaten anything? had some snacks maybe?” he’s making a small talk in hopes that she’ll respond. or even just throw a glance to his way. he badly wants her to do that. just one.

he missed being around her. seven days without her presence feels like eternity, the way it’s making him feel should be forbidden. hands clenching every now and then because he’s aching to touch his girlfriend.

if he still had the right to call her that

eddie tilts his head to look back at her. and just as he thought . no answer. he figures there’s nothing he can do to get her to talk to him so he stays quiet.

he doesn’t blame her for not wanting to talk to him. she probably called him because he’s the only one she knows who has a ride and would take her home. he shouldn’t be having high hopes anyway.

after all, all of this happened because of him.

“actually” she starts. “i don’t wanna go home tonight, can i come over to yours? if it’s okay”

there’s a sense of happiness bloom in his chest when he hears her speak. eddie tries to brush off the smile dipping into his mouth after hearing it. the excitement then begins to bubble inside of him, butterflies as you may call it. he feels like a five year old kid hearing his mom say yes to ice cream for breakfast.

clearing his throat before speaking, he musters up a normal tone. “yeah sure. no worries. you could never be a bother to me.”

inside. he’s dying.

‘stay cool, stay cool. my girl is here with me. she’s coming over. don’t crash the van’ he thinks

“okay.” she responds shortly, head resting against the window. “i didn’t eat by the way. couldn’t. the party smells like hot acrid barf so i had no appetite.”

he snorts out a laugh. she’s so funny without even trying. “we can have some at my place. not just pop tarts. i did some groceries awhile ago with Wayne so we can make a sandwich or something.”

with an raised eyebrow, she asks “you finally went to the supermarket? tell me, was it scary?”

“okay now don’t make fun of me. the old people who go there are so… i don’t know, weird! you know that!” he replies seriously,

she giggles, tucking her messy hair behind the ear. “i don’t actually but you can think whatever you want.”

he admires the way her lips curve into a smile. and how her hair gets messy but still manage to compliment every detail of her features. even with mascara dotting the crinkles by her eyes,

twenty minutes after they arrive at the trailer park, the couple walk into his home. this is not the first time she’s been here, she stayed over a few times because his place is somehow far more comforting than hers. not that she hates hers, it just feels more … home?

his bed would probably her favorite part. nothing is better than laying down with her boyfriend, having small talks about what ever after going through the amount of sex they had when his uncle is not home. he would also spend an hour or two teaching her how to roll a blunt.

“i could make you a sandwich if you want?” eddie speaks up, locking the door behind as she sits on the dining table. “or that ramen cup that you like so much. i don’t have it but i could go to the market right now and get you one-“

“eddie” she stops him, a warm smile on her face. “a sandwich sounds good.”

he nods, before heading to the kitchen to pull out the ingredients. he’s no chef but he makes a mean grilled cheese and ham sandwich. it’s the only meal she would eat from him, other than that, that man is clueless when it comes to cooking.

“no ketchup?”

“no ketchup” she repeats, eyeing his back with a lopsided smile. “you’ve been working out?”

he cocks an eyebrow, “what makes you think that?”

“your back seems… toned. and i noticed your arms got bigger too.”

god, why does she have to do this?

“really?” he tries act like the words don’t faze him. “have you noticed the pudgy stomach too? seems like i gain some there.” with that he laughs a little

she frowns. he could probably joking but she doesn’t miss the sound of insecurity seeping in his tone. she hates it when he does that. he doesn’t have to tell her but she just knows it.

“okay, no. stop that. you look fine. a little roll doesn’t hurt anybody.” she shrugs, leaning back against the chair.

“you sure you’re not just saying that?” he asks in a playful manner, walking back to her as he puts the plate down in front of her. “there.”

“if i only wanted you for your body, i would fuck you and sucked your cock before leaving. you know, you’re much more than that.”

he flushes, crossing his arms before taking a seat next to her. “always the foul mouth on you.”

“better than being a fake.” she replies, biting on the sandwich. “wait. that one’s not true, I’m definitely contradicting myself. people still say I’m a fake ass bitch.”

he laughs. not because it’s a fact but how brutally honest she is about herself, though he reminds her from time to time that her entire personality isn’t just all that. there’s much more he can see through her and whether she chooses to believe it or not. he does. he just wishes people could see what he sees

because seeing her happily munching on the sandwich with messy hair and how her pupils glow at the cheesy goodness is like finally finding his happy place. when you look at this girl at this exact moment, you wouldn’t think she’s capable on hurting anyone.

which brings him to that one exact problem. one where he called her all the nasty things he knew she didn’t expect him to say. to this day, he regretted every single thing he spewed out of his mouth. there’s nothing he wants more than to tell her he’s sorry, that the hurt he has caused has been on his mind on daily basis.

“I’m sorry y/n.” he blurts before he can say anything,

she stops chewing to look at him, “what for?”

he takes a deep breath, trying to remember all of the things he wants to say to her. everything has to be perfect “shit, i had this rehearsed in my head but i keep forgetting. s-sorry.”

‘fuck you, stop being cute’ she thinks

“take your time i guess” she still needs to be a little mean. because there’s no way she’s letting him off the hook that easy.

she can’t erased what he did to her. it still hurts

he leans forward, hands clasps with his eyes shut. trying not to tear up infront of your person is difficult when you’re the one who fucked up. and he has no right to actually feel that way.

“what i said to you… was out of line, it was unforgivable. you’re not insecure. you’re…. perfect” he exhales, trying to catch her eyes but she keeps looking away from him. “and when i mentioned your exes? it was not okay too. what kind of a boyfriend does that.”

“i agree you were being a fucking dick.”

nodding, he smiles sadly. “i second that. but it’s not true, all of it.”

“then why did you say it?” she questions,

“i-i was in a heat of the moment i guess” he gulps, “it was never meant to go that far.”

“oh yeah? how far were you willing for that one to go? did you calculate the fight or something?” she’s starting to feel upset, looking at him with a confused look. “you know, no matter how angry i am at you… i would never pull that type of shit that you did. it was traumatizing to hear. you know that?”

her voice cracks at the end, and it makes him feel more shitty than he already is. the way her eyes beginning to water and how her lips tremble just shows how vulnerable he makes her feel. it’s a sight he never wanted to see

“n-no! y/n i-fuck, i know i could never take back all of those things i said to you but i said it anyway. it was fucking s-stupid. i took my girl’s biggest insecurity then used it against you and it was not fair for me to do that. to anyone for that matter. believe me when i say that, please baby you have to. i have been drowning myself in regret for the past couple of weeks and-“ he draws a deep breath to keep him from falling apart,

“i don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.”

no matter how mean or bitchy y/n is, she always has a soft spot in her heart for the ones she loves the most. and as angry and disappointed she is at him, seeing him break down just takes a huge chunk out of her heart.

she knows that he didn’t mean it, it’s eddie we’re talking about here.

this man may look like a menace but he refuses to even kill a fly.

and she doesn’t want him to keep blaming himself to the point that he believes he’s nothing but a fuck up. he’s better than all those shitty guys she has dated, and she confirmed that to him before. because it’s the truth

“i know” her tone is soft and calming. she taps her finger underneath his chin so he’ll be able to look at her. heart soften at the sight of her boyfriend’s glossy eyes and how the fear in his eyes is easy to be found when the thought of losing her completely tears him apart.

“look, eddie” she begins with a sigh. shifting her weight to face him. “the day you came into my life … you built this home inside of me. a small comfortable bed in my heart with thick white duvet and boxes of pizzas, refusing to leave… and i am so happy that you didn’t despite knowing the choice that you can. sure you tend to keep it messy at times but you never forget to put it back together.”

he listens. every word. and he fails to notice how his heart warms at her choice of words. it almost sounds like he had received a love letter from his significant other.

her eyes then cast down, gazing at the small heart tattooed on his ring finger. “I’ve thought so much before letting you in because i know love hurts. people are capable to give you unbearable amount of pain once they find the things that you care about the most. they would eventually figure out how to use those things against you… the process of putting yourself back into one piece is exhausting which i hate having to go through that again and-“

“and i just did it..” eddie interrupts. realizing the disaster he put her heart through. gulping as the memory of calling her ‘insecure’ comes flashing back into his mind. “god… i fucking-i hurt you so bad and i never thought i would be the person to do that to you… I’m a fucking dick”

“what? hey no. stop” she tells him. forcing him to look at her by reaching out to palm his cheeks. “you’re not a dick… i mean you were at the field that day but entirely? no. baby, you’ve changed my life.”

eddie searches for the security and reassurance in her eyes. then he studies every single detail of her features, the way her lips curve into a small grin trying to comfort him. trying to make him believe

“and i believe you have no power in hurting anyone. especially to the ones you love the most-“

“i love you” he blurts, “i love you the most. no one else”

“yes. i know” she nods, brushing few bangs away from his forehead. “you show me every day. and i am so grateful.”

how could even the universe let him have the most precious girl like her? why do they trust him enough to take care of her when he knows for a fact that there are people who could provide her with better love and experience?

she could’ve chosen one of their beating hearts but instead she chose his.

“i should’ve been the one trying to comfort you, not the other way around” he laughs through his tears making her laugh as well.

“you already have.” she responds truthfully, thumbing the thin skin underneath his eye. “i love you. okay?”

“i love you back” he replies, eyes dropping to her soft lips and he’s eager to kiss her but he doesn’t want to overstep the boundaries. “and i am sorry. for everything.”

“you said that, my love” she giggles, kissing his nose. “i forgive you but i swear you pull that shit one more time, I’ll leave your ass and I’ll make sure you don’t get any clients anymore. got that?”

he nods his head fast after hearing how quick she is to switch her tone. yup, he’s still scared of her

“promise, gorgeous.”

“good” she lets go of his face and he struggles not to tug her hands back and keep it there.

“oh and uhm…. can i take a shower?” she looks at him, fiddling with the loose string of her top. “i smell like someone poured chardonnay on a woman who’s been dead for six months”

he emits a chuckle with his head shaking. even at this state, she still manages to pull a joke or two,

“you don’t need to ask” he tells her with a beam and stands up. heading towards his room with her trailing from behind. grabbing his ‘motley crue’ tee from the drawer. one that she loves to steal. “I keep this here, yeah? towels on the rack.”

“uncle wayne… when will he be home?” she asks

“around 2 i guess. he’s off to meet up with some of his friends after work so I’ll be alone for a while.” he informs with his arms crossed,

she hums, walking towards the bathroom while taking off his jacket then her top and throwing it on the floor—on purpose— giving him a show.

eddie eyes her bare back for a quick second. it is not easy having to resist the urge from planting kisses on her soft skin. she probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

to his concerns, they’re probably not back together… right?

so instead, he decides to keep himself busy. looking around at posters on the walls, to his guitar and books that are left unread.

maybe he should crack one open? he did fail algebra

“well? aren’t you gonna join me?”

he hears her ask, whipping his head towards the direction and his throat runs dry when his eyes fall at the sight of her bare breasts. a mischievous smile planted on her lips with a head tilt.

eddie seems to be loss at words for a moment. not wanting to come off as too excited because he knows he’s still at fault. yet a smile soon painted on his lips. “y-yeah… would love that”

she smiles watching him take off his shirt eagerly. giggling when he nearly trips over the carpet, cursing at it for almost making him fall.

he slowly reaches out to place his hand on hers before interlocking it. y/n eyes observe each and every single one of his tattoos on his chest, tracing it lightly with her other hand.

those beautiful brown eyes of his look into hers and she swears he puts her under a spell. feeling her knees about to drive down to the floor. how could a boy look this pretty and belongs to her?

the longing stare is enough said. both found a home when they gaze at eachother’s eyes. and peace soon, rebuilds itself inside him when eddie pulls her into a sweet kiss. soft lips molding into his lightly chapped ones, followed by a sigh of content escape from his mouth. he’s thinks he might be scaring her off but instead, she melts into the kiss.

his tongue slips into her mouth while he draws her body closer to his bare chest as she gasps softly.

this is the intimacy that they have been craving for so long after the fight. one that he wishes to never have to go through again because being away from her just feels like hell. and she wishes for the same.

they’re not lost anymore. the love is found once again when they’re back in each other’s arms.

he keeps one hand steady around her waist while her arms sling over his shoulders. the couple soon disappear into the bathroom to finally makeup for the lost time.

this is where he swears to keep his promise one more time,

to protect her heart with everything in him.

hopefully this is good enough. love u all mwah:)

as always feedbacks are welcome <3

tagging:

@munsonmolls @chaarrlliie @plaindonutsworld @protecteddiemunson4vr @ilovecupcakesandtea @renssonly @feltonswifesworld87 @eris-rose-86 @e0509 @depressedacidtest @downtoearthworm98 @bistardew @godsfavoritegirlll @livslifeonline @thicksexxualtension @janenerdstuff @wisestarlightwolf @littlemiss-yeehaw @lacrymosa-24 @bratckerman

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x mean!cheerleader #eddie things

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gaysindistress · 1 year

Text

Sad Girl

summary: James has an interesting new business’ proposal and one hell of a condition to deal with.

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: cursing... for now

word count: 1.8k

authors note: This is my first time posting so please let me know if you want to rest of this series!

series masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

Angry foot steps stomp through the large hallways and up the marble stairway. Raised voices try to alert the others that she is coming and is fuming. She waves a manicured hand above her head, telling them to shut the fuck up before she takes her anger out on them. Her heels nearly crack the marble as Scott trails after her, trying to get her to slow down.

“Ma’am please stop,” he gasps, lot of breath from chasing her through the foyer.

She stops, taking a deep breath, and turns to look down at him. The diamond “S” of her necklace swings as the pearls and chain barely leave her skin. Her hair nearly whips Scott from the force of her turn.

“Oh Scott it’s too late to reason with me. I’m already seeing red so why don’t you be a good boy and open that door before I tear it down,” she says eerily clam, pointing to the door in question at the top of the staircase.

“I… I can’t do that,” he stutters.

Her black french tips rub the headache coming on as she closes her eyes, “Yes, yes you can. Now go.”

The movement from her arm causes her black outercoat to open slightly and the holster with its accompanying gun flashes every so slightly. Scott’s eyes go straight to it, knowing that she would never pull it on him but the men she’s after are an entirely different question. Scott just nods, climbing the stairs around her as he curses himself for taking this job and dealing with such horrible people.

Once he reaches the door, he gives it a heavy push causing the room to go silent at the intrusion. There is a large oak desk towards the back of the room, crowded by men who all look the same. The head of the family is sitting behind the desk in an even larger throne-like chair, two giants at his sides. The men doing business with him are lounging in the oversized chairs in front of the desk. They too have men flanking their sides as if to say “fuck around and find out”. A woman typing feverishly at a computer is the corner and doesn’t even look at Scott because her job is not stop typing no matter what happens. The room also houses two couches and a coffee table for the “easier” business dealings, at least that’s what the family head says.

Scott makes eye contact with the head, “she’s here and pissed.”

The head just nods and gestures to one of his side men. He starts to say something to him when the woman in question slides behind Scott, one hand on his shoulder and the other on her hip.

“Hello, Dad.”

He smiles, “Hello, Darling. We were just finishing up.”

She lets out a sinister laugh, “Like hell you were. Did you really thing you could get away with doing all of this shit without me present?”

She gently pushes Scott out of the room, shutting the door in his face before walking towards the bar her father had installed to fuel his drinking habit. Grabbing 4 glasses and an amber bottle, she makes her way to the desk, not saying a word as if to dare any of the men to utter something. She pours a drink for each glass and hands her dad a glass.

“You know you’re not supposed to be involved in all of this,” her dad states as he takes the glass and leans back in his throne.

Ignoring her dad, she turns to the men and gestures towards the glass, silently saying “go one and take one”.

“You know you aren’t supposed to offer your daughter up as collateral when you fuck up a business deal,” she offers over her shoulder as she takes a sip from her glass, leaning against the desk, “now which one of you fools actually agreed to this deal?”

The brunette is watching her and taking in every detail she has to offer, willing and accidentally. The blonde sits up a bit straighter and readjusts his suit jacket under his overcoat.

“No one has agreed to anything yet, Miss. Stark,” the blonde says, crossing his hands in his lap. His watch peaks out from under his sleeve, shining under the natural light from the window. A slight glint bounces of his finger and she makes note of the pinky signet ring he wears.

“Darling we were just about to sign the papers, so if you could leave that would be great,” Mr. Stark’s voice is growing slightly impatient at his daughter’s invading presence.

“Don’t you want your business partner to see what prize he won for saving your ass, dad?” the last word is meant to land like a dagger in his heart but his unbothered face proves it does little to change his mind.

“Don’t you think they might want an inspection? You know to make sure their new property isn’t damaged,” she sneers as she sets her glass and down and begins to take off her overcoat.

“I’m sure they would love to make sure there are any structural flaws that would render their property useless,” she continues to shed her blazer, leaving her with her holster and v neck blouse. Her necklaces are now shining in all of their glory from the sun and the gun strapped to her ribcage makes everyone stand on high alert.

“Stop,” is the single word that leaves Mr. Stark’s lips and now the impatience is growing to the surface.

The men to his side step forward when they spot her gun and the men behind her step closer to their bosses. The blonde and brunette share a look as they both chuckle under their breath at the display of defiance and anger.

“You are not property so stop referring to yourself as a real estate transaction.”

The gun is pulled from the holster as she slips the holster off and tosses it on the desk beside her jackets. She points the revolver at her dad’s forehead as she shakes her head.

“Then don’t treat me like I am one. I am your daughter so start showing me some respect and call of this deal.”

“Doll put the gun down,” the brunette says from behind her.

“Doll?” she questions as she drops the revolver and turns to look at him, “Don’t call me by some pet name, Barnes. Use my name if you really want to talk to me or did you forget what it was considering you’re too dim witted to see what that contract actually entails.”

A shift in the air around her causes her to look to her right as the blonde takes the revolver from her hand and sets it on the desk. He towers over her, looking down as he scans her face.

“We already made the necessary changes, Miss. Stark. I can assure you James and I are well aware of what we are getting ourselves into. Is there something you might want to add?” he says to her and her only.

She scoffs at his pretend nice attitude and goes to push him away but his hand pins hers to his chest.

“Do you want to make any changes?” he whispers again, blue eyes boring holes into her eyes.

“Yeah take me out of it,” she whispers back and rips her hand from his.

“Wanda!” the woman typing looks up at the sound of her name, “I have one thing that I want to add. If he harms me in any way, I reserve the right to cut his dick off, leave and nothing happens to my family.”

The blonde continues to watch the enigma of a woman in front of him as she tries her hardest to not shot her father, him, and everyone else in this room.

“Define harm,” Wanda asks, still typing.

“If he lays a hand on me, breaths wrong, looks at me wrong, says something I don’t like, anything that I don’t like,” she replies and pushes past the blonde to steal his chair.

The blonde chuckles again when it’s his turn to lean against the desk and glance between his friend and her.

“She’s gonna be a real handful,” James states as he stands, “can we sign the papers and get out of here?”

Confusion flashes across the woman’s face for a second but it returns to her resting bitch face.

Mr. Stark nods his head, handing James a pen as the blonde slides out of his way for him to sign the contract.

“Um excuse me? Why the fuck are you signing?” she questions, pointing a finger at Barnes, “Isn’t Rogers the one my dad made the deal with?”

James takes a look at her before going back to finish signing the papers in front of him. Rogers, the blonde, hands back her hostler, blazer, and overcoat before speaking, “James and I both made a deal with your dad. In exchange for our protection and resources, we will receive a portion of his earnings from Stark Industries. For extra reassurance that he wouldn’t cross us, he gave me his vibranium supplier and he gave you to James.”

Silence fills the room. She stares daggers at Rogers, slicing her way to Barnes before settling her knives on her father.

“You gave me up instead of some other supplier?” she nearly screamed at her father as the two men at his side quickly grab her by the arms. All sense of self preservation and elegance has left her body as she thrashes in their hands and desperately tries to keep her sobs in.

“You chose a fucking supplier relationship over me?”

Mr. Stark ignores her as he signs his name and passes the papers off to Rogers. He shakes James’ and Rogers’ hands before stalking his way towards his daughter.

“You are my daughter so start fucking acting like it. You knew this was going to be your life when I found you begging on my door step. If you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at your mother for leaving you for drugs,” he whispers through clenched teeth into her ear.

Her eyes had welled up with tears but her father’s words freeze her, only one escaping down her cheek. Mr. Stark makes a motion with her hand and the men release her on unsteady feet. She stumbles forward into her father’s arms.

He wipes the tear away, pulls her into a death grip hug and soothes her hair down as he whispers in her ear again, “James is the lesser of two evils. He won’t hurt you if you play the part. You know I wouldn’t let any undeserving harm come to you. Now go pack a bag and get ready to leave with him.”

He pulls away, keeping her at arm’s length and pretends to check over her as a good father would if his babygirl was upset. All she does, all she can do is nod, pick up her dropped jackets, and walk out of the room. All eyes are on her as the head strong façade crumbles in front of them, leaving behind the frightened little girl she really is.

#mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #sad girl - bucky barnes #bucky barns x you #bucky barnes #mob au

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loserlvrss · 4 months

Text

꒰ 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓? ꒱ 古賀祐大

summary : you and your boyfriend broke up on bad terms, however, you can't seem to get over him when it would be so easy to be under him instead

genre : angst, non-idol!k x afab!reader, 1st person pov (yeah idk why either) tws : angst, suggestive content, kissing, alcohol consumption, language, toxic!k, lovesick!reader, jealousy, verbal fight author notes : fuma’s innocent don’t do girl don’t do itttt word count : 2.2k

my phone pinged! and i debated ignoring it — for the nth time in the last hour. the music was blasting, the bass shaking the house in a dub-step rhythm. i took another swig from the metal can that had somehow made it into my hands as another text rang out and caught the attention of the girl attached to my arm. the smooth liquid was the best the bottom-shelf had to offer, and beggars can't be choosers when trying to get drunk fast.

her eyebrows knit, eyes locking on the piece of machinery closest to her sights, then raising to mine.

honestly, right now, i wanted to throw the overly-expensive communication piece at the wall and watch it shatter. i looked to her, the phone, and then the can, taking the rest of it back and crushing it like a frat-boy would.

she huffed out a laugh, "you didn't block him?" but, it wasn't so hard to believe and she knew it just as well as i did.

i still loved him, even after the couple of months we've been broken up; it's not because it was on good terms. actually, it was the complete opposite: we were shit to each other and it was best we went our separate ways. we should, in reality, hate each other. it would only be the natural thing for two people in our situation to do — however, i can't help fighting the urge to reply.

her disappointment was apparent, “y/n, are you kidding me. he’s not even here right now but you can’t stop thinking about him! pick any other guy, i beg.”

my senses were colliding like a car-wreck — leaving my better judgment in the leftover to never be found again. i could see the red and blue and hear the sirens howling out to the moon. still, even under my dying breath, his name would roll off it.

“i-i’m tryi —“

“don’t be ridiculous, i know you well.” she said, fishing the phone that wouldn’t stop buzzing out of my hand. she read out the top text, “y/n, come over. i need to apologize. I need y — he’s drunk. he only ever says shit like this when he’s drunk! you forget he was my friend before he ever dated you. and, god, do i regret introducing you to him.”

my heart sank, a nausea creeping up my throat. he was bleeding me dry, i knew it, but he could have it all; my skin, bones, blood and teeth.

“block his number before you do something we’ll both regret!” she handed it back, “you know i only want what’s best for you — you’re you for fuck sake! you could have anyone, and i mean anyone, yet the only person in your head only texts you at two fucking a.m. you deserve better than him, don’t kid yourself.”

tears pricked my eyes because i knew it was true, but the shooting pain only went away when his hands were on my skin. it was better to stay away, to not take the risk. he should’ve been — should be — the one to get away, and sometimes i also wished she’d never introduced me to the devil under a different name.

“okay,” i sniffled, her palm resting against my cheek comfortingly, “i’ll block him.”

“good.” she unlocked her arm from mine, pushing me forward, “now go find someone better! god knows the bar is low!”

i felt the brush of a body against mine as i found myself smack in the middle of the crowd. my head whipped to the sights of a boy, probably around the same age as me, half-lidded eyes and flushed features. he apologized but, honestly, it was my — her — fault, though he didn’t seem to register that it was anything but an accident, probably too drunk to.

it was an envious state, i thought.

i smiled lightly, her words echoing my mind, “its okay. i’m sorry. my name’s y/n.” his face was soft with godly-defined structure: sharp nose, eyes and plush lips that upturned with a smile resembling mine.

“fuma!” he said, trying to shout over the music. however, something about his tone told me he wasn’t loud, exactly the opposite in fact: gentle, and warm. something my boyfriend — ex — had lacked when we were still together once upon a time. “you’re very, uh, beautiful.”

i laughed at his awkwardness, though i had to read his lips to understand. “thank you,” i replied, pulling him down to my height to hear each other better. my lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “you’re very pretty too.”

he visibly shuddered as i pulled away, furthering my slight sense of pride, mostly because i never had an effect over the only person i wanted to.

he choked out, “d-do you want a drink?” and i nodded, grabbing at his empty hand. the friend i had come with gave me an approving smile and shrugged as if to say the cliché, 'he's cute and you only live once.' he froze, obviously a little shocked by our sudden intimacy, however he brushed it away and led us both to a quieter area; weaving through lip-locked and timely-jumping college students.

i found myself pushing up onto the counter top, watching as he grabbed two beers from an already opened case. they were warm, but again, beggars can’t be choosers when trying to get drunk. he cracked it open and handed it in my direction.

his eyes wouldn’t land on mine, but only stared at the lips that were taking the smooth liquid so easily, watching my throat bob with every gulp. he shifted, leaning against the painted-wood-plastic at my side.

after a moment of deafening silence he asked. “do you go to this school?”

“no.” i replied, letting the can rest against my crossed legs, “i’m here with a friend.”

“a boyfriend?”

the words stung, because no matter the truth, i still wanted to say yes. i still wanted to be able to call the person i loved so deeply my boyfriend — to have him pick me up from this stupid frat-party and not have anyone say anything about it. i still wanted him, and i knew exactly why, though i’d never admit it.

i bit my lip and fuma must’ve, even through his clouded state, read the room. “a sensitive subject, i’m sorry.”

“don’t be sorry, i, uh, don’t have a boyfriend.”

“anymore.” he corrected. maybe it was because he was drunk that his words, even slurred, were so truth-filled it stung. “but i can tell you still want him to be.”

“no,” you paused, both knowing it was a lie, “i want to forget about him. he’s not here.”

“he’s not?”

“i don’t give half-a-fuck where he is in actuality.” you swallowed a bit of your pride, as well as some beer, “if he wanted to, he would. right?”

“right.” he replied, taking another swig.

i looked at him, all of him in disbelief. he knew i was a liar, but at the end of the day he didn’t even know me the way my ex could claim. maybe, i thought, that it was the best possible situation for me to be in. actually, it was the best i could make of this fucked up reality.

my voice lowered ever-so-slightly, “do you want to?”

“be your boyfriend?”

“woah, slow down there cowboy. let’s not go that far right now — we both know i’m not over my ex.”

i couldn’t tell if his face flushed from embarrassment or just the copious amount of alcohol running through his blood. “then, do i want to what?” he breathily-laughed out.

“make me forget?”

my reply almost sounded desperate, and i wondered if that resulted in an inclination to say yes. i wondered if that’s why i was pressed against the countertop i once sat criss-crossed on, lips locked with a stranger.

i felt guilty — a little lost — the sense of feeling so good but so wrong leaking through the thought of him; the man whose hands desperately groped whatever he could find, pressing our bodies so close i was convinced we could merge into one.

a moment ago it was true i wanted him to make me forget about my ex, i wanted him just as bad as he did me. but right now, the flashes of someone else strobed behind my eyelids, projected so nicely that i even wanted to forgive him — for the nth time in the years we spent on and off. i wanted to feel the intimacy of love, even if it was fake, but i couldn't when the only person i felt stockholm syndrome for was across the city.

but, a bus ride at this hour would be easy. it would take barely half and hour before i was underneath the man i wanted so pathetically.

my body shivered, but it wasn’t from the way fuma gripped my skin so gently. i felt a coursing guilt rush over me like a bad high. in reality, i knew i shouldn’t have offered, especially when both him and i were under copious amounts of influence; him worse-off than me. i was taking advantage of a good situation, a seemingly good guy, just to get over a bad for 40 minutes.

maybe i was just crazy — not crazily in love — but just plain fucking crazy. crazy for a man who wasn't mine anymore. crazy because i knew i shouldn't want him. crazy because i knew i was just losing a part of me that should've been lost a long time ago. crazy at the thought of being crazy.

"y/n" god, now i could ever swear i was hearing voices — his voice. well, that was until a hand grabbed my bicep, pulling me away from the tall man. "y/n, what the fuck are you doing?"

i didn't even get a chance to swing around fully before i was being pulled from the kitchen and out of the house entirely. the air was frosty, but honestly i couldn't be bothered to even feel cold; too annoyed to think of anything but the man who was still latched to my arm. eventually, i got fed up, after feeling copious amounts of despair fill my chest, pulling my limb from him.

he turned around calmly, despite the red i could see seeping behind his pupils. he tried to grab my hand this time, but i back away before he had the chance.

"don't — don't touch me, k." i crossed my chilled arms over my chest, one foot back and prepared to step again, "what are you doing here?"

"you weren't answering."

i scoffed, "i never answer, k. that's nothing new."

he didn't hesitate, and it was a little shocking, "your location is still on."

"that doesn't give you th-the right to just show up out of the blue!"

and despite being mad at him, he looked so damn cute with a pout on his face. i could tell he was somewhat drunk, a pink tinting his features i used to adore oh-so-much.

"but, you weren't answe —"

you yelled, "why would i answer you, k!" i couldn't understand his infatuation with the fact that i didn't answer his late-night texts, but maybe he was just as lovesick as i felt. "wh-why would i do that after all this time?"

was he just as damaged as i was? did he really still front like he cared, and was i still falling for it over and over again? it's said that to forgive takes strength, but right now i think that holding back is taking more out of me. he had my heart in his hands still, and despite dropping it countless times, he always knew when and where to pick it back up.

i wasn't sure if i loved him, but i'm just as unsure about not being in love with him. he's driving me to brink of insanity. he's gotten everything out of me, and it's taking everything in me to not muster up more.

if i had known that love would've had such a high price tag, would i still have felt the same way towards him? maybe the good could out-weigh this bad, but i was never one to wishful think before meeting his stupid-pretty eyes. i was never one to feel so unsure before having his stupid-hot skin on mine. i was never one to wear my heart on sleeve before he oh-so-gently pulled it out of me.

and maybe he was unsure too. maybe he didn't know why i wouldn't — couldn't — answer his messages. maybe he was one to think so highly of himself that s breaking up was just a suggestion.

did i love him enough to give him a fourth, fifth and sixth chance? yes. i loved him enough to forgive and forget after every little mistake, and that's what's eating at my brain. the hardest thing I've ever had to do was walk away while still loving him. so, why doesn't it feel like it's for the better? why doesn't his memory fade like its supposed to.

"admit that you only came to see if i was with someone else." i sighed, tears blurring over his frame, "admit that it was because you were blinded by jealousy. admit that you still want me, that you can't get over us as easily as i thought. admit that you still lo —"

"i love you, y/n."

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

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draco-dormiens · 1 year

Text

THE STRANGEST OF PLACES - Chapter Thirteen

draco x fem!ravenclaw reader / postwar au series

warnings: strong language

wc: 3323

masterlist

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Chapter Thirteen: Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff

That Saturday was Draco's first Quidditch game since his fifth year. Somehow you had convinced Hermione to go with you, but she only agreed because of how upset you had been. She didn't want to cause you anymore heartache, so there she was, on her way to a Slytherin Quidditch game.

"Thanks for coming along, 'Mione," you tell her, crowds of chanting, cheering students surrounding you on the walk there, "I really appreciate the company."

"It's my pleasure," she smiles across at you, "I wouldn't want you sitting alone."

"Well, I'm thankful anyway. I can't imagine it was an easy yes."

Hermione laughs.

"It means something to you," she says, "and if it's important to you, then it's important to me. That's just how friendship works."

Hermione asked if you were sure about going today. She advised you to have some time away from Draco, considering things are still fresh, and it wasn't that you didn't agree with her. You couldn't not show up to his first match, especially since it was you who suggested he go for it. The stands were almost full when you arrived, students sitting on the stairs due to the lack of seats. Luckily, Hermione had little patience for people that take up seats with their belongings, so you bagged two spots in no time. A student passed by selling popcorn, and you dug into your pocket to fetch out some change.

"Two please," you smile, and the boy takes your money. Hermione argues that you didn't need to pay for her, but soon shuts up when the sweet treat touches her tongue.

Inside the players tent sat Draco, a bag of nerves. He was sitting in his dressing area, bouncing his leg furiously. Right now he could really use seeing you, just to calm him down a little. He'd been practicing on the nights he didn't see you, whizzing around the empty pitch in the dark, just to get some extra hours in before today. It also doubled as a release, since your relationship had taken a blow due to Monday's events. The air whipping past his ears and the adrenaline from flying as fast as he wanted helped to ease the anger from his body. From the tent he could hear the roar of the crowd as Madam Hooch's voice echoes throughout the arena.

"Malfoy," a voice says from behind the curtain, "it's time to line up."

Marcel. He'd been so supportive of Draco rejoining the team, and so had the other members. Not one of them rejected him being there, in fact, they couldn't ask him enough questions. They wanted to know how he got so good, why he quit, what made him come back. He felt like a celebrity amongst them, and not in a bad way this time. Draco stands and takes his broom thats perched against the side of the tent. With two deep breaths, he exits, to see the rest of the team dressed and ready.

"Hufflepuff have just lined up at their entrance," Marcel briefs everyone, "just remember what we practiced, and we should have this in the bag. Plus, we have our secret weapon, Malfoy."

The team turn to smile at him, Marcel absolutely beaming. It was nice to feel genuinely wanted by other people. People who meant what they said. They line up, and the captain leads them to the entrance. Across the pitch stood Hufflepuff, ready to enter on the opposite side. Hooch's speech ends, and her voice is replaced by the commentator. That's their cue.

"Our teams are entering the pitch," the voice echos, "on the right we have Hufflepuff," a mighty cheer for Hufflepuff fills the air, "and from the left, their competition, Slytherin."

A huge roar erupts for the Slytherin team. Draco forgot what it felt like to walk out onto this pitch, to see the crowds almost bursting out of the stands, flags and banners waving. Specks of green littered the audience, overshadowing the yellow. Nothing's changed there, Draco thinks. They get into formation, facing the Hufflepuff team, and Madam Hooch comes to stand in the centre.

"I want a nice, fair game," she yells to the players, and when she spots Draco, she looks pleased to see him there, "on the whistle, one, two, three."

The whistle bellows, and the Quaffle flies into the air. It's messy, blurred images of players zooming around the open space and Draco feels a little sick. He doesn't dare check if you're in the stands, because if you weren't, he'd feel ten times worse. His eyes frantically scan the pitch for any sight of a gold flicker, the Hufflepuff Seeker never taking their eyes off of him. Not that Draco knew, but his return had been feared by the other teams. With Draco as Seeker, the only team that bested Slytherin was Gryffindor, but now Potter wasn't around to distract him. Draco had the potential to out do all the other houses and take the cup for Slytherin. In the stands you shovel popcorn into your mouth absentmindedly, Hermione taking the bag from you before you vomit. You couldn't help it, you felt so nervous you could have eaten the paper bag without realising.

"Slow down," Hermione tells you seriously, "you'll be sick."

"I feel sick anyway," you tell her, "I just want him to do well."

"Y/N," Hermione mumbles through a mouthful of your popcorn, "you do realise that Malfoy is one of the best Seekers to ever attend Hogwarts? He's going to be fine."

"Did you just compliment him?" you grin, and she rolls her eyes.

"No, it's a fact," she protests lightly, "I was simply stating the truth."

"Malfoy spots the snitch," the commentator blares, and both of you turn your attention to the game, and you take the popcorn back off Hermione, "and he's on its tail, Hufflepuff right behind. It's a close call, and, oh- Hufflepuff almost take over but Slytherin blocks."

Draco could feel the Hufflepuff seeker on his trail, so close behind they could take over at any moment. Not that he would let them. He remembers how to play just dirty enough that it wasn't seen by spectators, falling back slightly to use his foot to unhook his opponents from it's holster. The crowd gasp as the Hufflepuff seeker momentarily loses their balance, swinging around to the side of their broomstick. Draco chuckles to himself. On oldie but a goldie. The snitch is right up ahead, he can almost see it through the blur of its wings. Slytherin are toe to toe with Hufflepuff on the leaderboard, so it's up to Draco to bring the victory. The opposing Seeker recovers and is soon racing towards Draco, but he speeds up to come face to face with the golden ball. He reaches out, fingers almost grazing it.

Both Hermione and you stand up, popcorn bag now empty. You grip her forearm. She places her hand on yours for support. The entire arena are up on their feet, shouts and cheers from the stands ripping through the air as the Hufflepuff Seeker catches up to Draco. He spots them in his vision, and soon enough their body and broom collides with his, throwing him off course. The Snitch darts across the pitch, and the opposing Seeker races off after it, Draco hot on their tail. He narrowly misses a Bludger, an attempt to get him off his broom, but he soldiers on.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," the commentator shouts, "now ahead by twenty points."

Shit, Draco thinks. He has to get a hold of that Snitch. He has to prove himself to his team and the rest of the school. Just as he passes your stand, he spots you, coming to a complete holt. Granger is beside you, and now you're waving at him. You're here. That's really you. You start pointing behind him, shouting, and Granger begins to do the same. He spins around to see the Hufflepuff Seeker an inch from the Snitch. He bolts forwards, barely dodging the other players, and at full force grabs the end of the Hufflepuff's broom and spins them in the opposite direction. It's not a foul, because the player is still on their broom and alive, so the game continues, and the Snitch is closer than before.

"Malfoy is closing in on the Snitch," the crowd gets louder, and louder, and you're screaming, Hermione is screaming, and then Draco closes his hand around the fluttering, golden ball.

"AND SLYTHERIN HAVE THE GOLDEN SNITCH!"

The next few moments don't feel real. The team are bombarding him once he's on the ground, hugging him, thanking him. He's in a daze, the Snitch still in his grip when Madam Hooch comes to congratulate him. She tells him it's nice to have him back, to see him up there again, and all he can seem to do is smile. Now he just needs to see you, and everything will be perfect. He looks for you amongst the faces, pushes through the students and scans the remaining few in the stands. You're not there, and neither is Granger, and his heart begins to sink. His first victory in a long time and the only person he wants to see has gone. He stands alone at the side of the pitch, wondering if he imagined you in the stand back there, when he hears your voice calling.

"Draco!" you shout, running up behind him, "that was freaking amazing!"

When his eyes land on you his mouth curls into a cheek aching grin. You're beaming, eyes sparkling and smiling so much that you're showing teeth.

"I didn't think you would come," he says, a little breathless.

"Why wouldn't I?" you ask him, "I'm here to support you, remember?"

He can't help himself. He needs to feel you, so engulfs your body in a tight embrace. Draco had been trying to not have as much physical contact with you as it makes things harder, but right now all he wanted was to have you against to him. You freeze for a moment, thinking the same, but wrap your arms around him anyway.

"Thank you," he mutters into your ear, "for making me do this."

"No need for that," you say quietly, "I was only doing what any other friend would."

You're wrong. No one else would have supported him the way you do. He cuddles you tighter before pulling back, smiling down at you with windswept hair. He looked a little too good in that uniform, especially a bit roughed up, and the urge to kiss him becomes unbearable again. You can tell from the way his eyes are flicking down to your lips that he's thinking the same, so you back away slightly for some room.

"I'm really proud of you," you then tell him, and it makes him feel better than any win ever could, "you've come a long way, Draco."

"Only because of you," he says, giving your hand one quick squeeze, "I couldn't do any of this without you."

He looks into your eyes with such adoration. He looks at you like nothing else is worth looking at, and to him, it's not. In a pitch filled with hundreds of people, you're the only one he wants to look at. Once again the cruel reality of your future together starts to sting. He opens his mouth to ask you something, but gets interrupted by the presence of someone else.

"You were really amazing out there, Draco," you turn your head to see Astoria standing there, beautiful brown hair cascading over her shoulders, scarf neatly wrapped around her neck and glossed lips smiling, "we've missed you on the team."

"Thanks, 'Storia," he smiles thinly back at her, but she doesn't read the room at all.

"A few of us were thinking about going for a drink," she then says, still not noticing you were stood there, "wanna tag along?"

He looks to you for help, Astoria finally noticing your presence. She offers you a warm smile, which you return reluctantly. She's utterly perfect. Beautiful, pure blooded and a Slytherin, and yet Draco says he doesn't want her. He wants you, but right now as she's standing there in all her glory, you feel like a battered Bludger compared to her. Then you remember what Hermione said, about creating some distance to give yourself time to come to terms with everything.

"You go," you quickly say, feeling a lump in your throat as your thoughts wander into a dark corner, "it'll be good for you."

"Are you sure?" Draco said, leaning in to whisper, "I was going to ask if you wanted to do something together."

You shake your head, and put on the best smile you could muster. Draco seems concerned. He understands your time together has been a little awkward lately, but he'd much rather celebrate this day with you, not Astoria and her friends. He almost reaches out when you begin to take your leave.

"No, honestly, go," you tell him, walking backwards, a disappointed and confused look on his face as you do so, "have fun. Nice to see you, Astoria."

And then you were gone, walking away as quickly as possible, leaving him there with his mother's favourite example. He watches you leave the pitch, and Astoria can see the longing in his eyes as she begins to head towards her waiting friends.

"So, are you coming or not?"

Hermione was waiting for you at the front entrance. Once she saw the expression on your face she knew your chat didn't go too well. "I told him to go," you filled her in, "I think it may do him good to be around other people."

She could tell that you didn't truly believe that, even though you were putting on the most convincing voice. From the pitch to the castle, you justified, more to yourself than Hermione, that what you did back there was for the best. Hermione knew better than to interject at this time. She had made her opinion clear, and you sure didn't need to hear it again, so for the entire walk she just let you talk at her, hoping your rambling was helping in some way.

Draco cleaned himself up and followed Astoria and her friends absentmindedly to the pub, all the while thinking that your friendship was over. Sure, things hadn't been so smooth as of late, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to work itself out, right? You would be back on track in no time. Just a little bump in the road. A rather large little bump, a right in your face kind of bump, a bump that created tension and unwanted awkwardness between the two of you… but it was going to work out, right?

Draco was completely aware that he was lying to himself, of course, but he wasn't sure how else to deal with it. He didn't want to lose you, but didn't want you to remain a friend or enrage his parents. It was like he was stuck at a crossroads, a sign pointing down each route he could take, but at the end of each road was a painful and unpleasant solution. So, he thought beer might help, at least take his mind off your retreating figure. Astoria linked her arm with his, although he was rather numb to the feeling. He could shake her off, but he didn't. He let her linger there, even though he paid no mind to her for the duration of the journey.

Her friends bought him drinks. Draco barely touched his wallet. He didn't talk, unless he was spoken to, managing a thin smile every time Astoria boasted about his game that day. If she was hiding her feelings for him before, she certainly wasn’t with a few drinks in her. Wandering a little further behind the others, he watches as they drunkenly cling to one another, giggling and stumbling all over the pathway. His intoxicated mind drifts to you, and the way you left him standing there. Draco didn't want to be by himself. He wanted to be with you. In so many ways, did he want to be with you. Harshly, he rubs his eyes, hoping the image of you disappears from his memory. It doesn't. If anything, it just makes you appear clearer, and once he falls into the softness of his bed, he feels wide awake with the thought of you.

On Monday morning, professor McGonagall made it clear not to be late for dinner that evening as a special announcement was to be made. Whispers of excitement soon filled the corridors and classrooms, but with how your weekend went nothing felt very exciting at all. All day long you had been hearing people speculating, and had even heard a Ravenclaw boy say to a Hufflepuff girl that first years were being fed to the centaurs. An incredibly unlikely event, but she gasped nonetheless. That evening students piled into the Great Hall with great anticipation, some looking rather pale in the face from the sort of rumours that had been spreading. Sometimes you wondered if the headmistress enjoyed the preposterous things students came out with. As you found an empty seat, your eyes caught Draco's. You must have only looked at him for a second, but it felt much longer when you looked away. Since Saturday, you hadn't spoken to him despite sharing classes. You weren't entirely sure whether to show up at the tower or not.

"Settle down, settle down," McGonagall bellowed over the raging chatter, "take your seats."

The noise soon came to a holt, students scrambling to the benches. McGonagall's elegant yet intimidating aura was enough to quieten anyone. Her eyes scan the room for any culprits, before she clears her throat.

"Now," she begins, "I believe you are all suffering in dire anticipation to hear my announcement, so I won't make you wait much longer," all eyes were glued to the front as she pauses, "in two weeks time, Hogwarts shall be hosting a ball."

The room erupts again, but with one swift hand, it dies as soon as it starts.

"As I was saying," McGonagall continues, "we are hosting a ball, but it is not just for students. Friends and acquaintances of Hogwarts will also be in attendance, which means I require you all to be on your best behaviour." She looks directly at the Slytherin table, "as to not embarrass our beloved school."

Hermione spins around to search for you, a huge smile plastering her face as she spots you. You return it with equal excitement.

"You may find more information on the posters Mr Filch will be placing around the school," she says, "but for now, we have a glorious feast awaiting us."

McGonagall claps her hands, and the tables are lined with delicious dishes. The only conversation during dinner was the ball, the girl beside you going on and on about how much she loves dances, and big, bold dresses that sounded very much like tea cosies.

Across the hall, Draco sits poking at his food. If the ball was supposed to make him feel happy, it had very much done the opposite. In his mind, this was just another excuse for his mother to partner him up with some air headed girl. He looks across the room to see you, smiling and laughing with your fellow housemates, and his heart sinks a little. He wonders what you think about it, if you even like that sort of thing. Would you ask someone? Would you say yes if someone asked you? The only thing he can seem to picture is the inevitable, you, dancing with someone else, dressed up for someone else. He stabs his fork into the food on his plate and takes a big gulp of water. Draco doesn't want to think about it, any of it. Not the ball, your date or the girl he'll end up taking. He'd rather not know. He'd rather the ball not happen.

He promptly leaves, the noise alone giving him a headache. The food on his plate goes cold, and he's long gone before you notice his absence.

disclaimer: i do not own hp or any of the characters in this story

dividers from: @firefly-graphics & @happy-ash-edits

#draco malfoy #draco x female reader #draco x ravenclaw!reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco x reader #draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy

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threadsun · 9 months

Text

Anonymous Asks: "What if on another escape attempt of MC's Jean gets fustrated enough to just sexually punish MC to make it clear that MC is his and only his."

ngl this went much more violent sadism than just sex, but that's also how Jean gets off the best so...

Content: noncon, mindbreaking, kidnapping, sadism, masochism, impact play, whipping, blood, broken bones, beating, object insertion, hole gaping/ruining, throatfucking, generally a lot of fucked up violence that Jean gets off to

You’re used to seeing people snap. Someone waits too long in a queue and shouts at the poor cashier just trying to do their job. Someone has a stressful day, makes a single misstep, and breaks down in tears. Someone gets tired of their partner’s lies and shouts at them in a crowded mall. You’re used to seeing people snap.

You’re not used to seeing Jean snap.

Calm, levelheaded, smugly-in-control Jean. He’s never snapped at you before. He’s hurt you. He’s kidnapped you and abused you. He’s even killed for you. But he’s never lost his cool. You’ve never seen this clenching of his fist, this twitching in his jaw, this wild anger in his eyes. You’ve never seen him lose his cool like this before.

“I give you food.” Jean’s voice is low, venomous as he stalks towards the corner of the basement he’s thrown you into. “I give you shelter. I give you love. I give you everything you could ever want. I buy you everything you ask for. I have done everything for you.”

You shrink back into the corner, the concrete cold against your back. There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to go. You had your chance to escape five minutes ago, but you’d blown it. Jean had caught you and now… now he’s angrier than you’ve ever seen him. Now you’re regretting not playing along and being his lovely little plaything.

“So tell me, sweetheart.” He crouches in front of you, squishing your cheeks in a vice-like grip with one hand. “Why the fuck do you keep running?”

“I’m sor—”

You don’t see his hand. You only feel the harsh impact on your cheek, sending your head banging into the wall. Your vision spins for a moment, ears ringing as he grabs your face and looks you in the eyes once more. His lips move, but it’s a moment before you can hear him again.

“—hear another fucking word out of that stupid fucking mouth of yours, got it?”

You nod frantically.

“Good.” He grabs your arm, dragging you onto your hands and knees. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay exactly where I put you.”

You watch him stalk across the basement, tasting blood in your mouth. You think you can feel some dripping from your temple too, but it’s indistinguishable from your tears as they roll down your cheeks. He’s fucked you before, after escape attempts. But never down here. Never this angry.

He returns with a metal baseball bat slung over one shoulder and a thin switch hanging from his other hand. He seems almost… disappointed that you’d obeyed his command and stayed still. He drops the bat with a sigh, ignoring the way it clangs on the hard concrete floor. You want to look over your shoulder, to see what he’s going to do next. But you know it’s a bad idea.

His foot shifts, standing on your hand heavily as he lines himself up to hit your bare ass with the switch. You can hear your bones crunching under his heel, sharp pain shooting up your arm as you cry out in pain. He digs his heel in for a moment before taking the switch down, leaving a stinging stripe across your ass.

He’s brutal, merciless as he beats your ass and thighs until it stings. You can feel something running down your legs, and you can’t quite tell if it’s blood or if he’s fucked up your brain enough that this is turning you on. Either way, you can already imagine what a mess you must look, beaten raw by his harsh blows. His heel digs into your hand with every swing. The bones are beyond broken, and the small part of your brain that has detached itself from your punishment wonders if you’ll ever be able to use that hand again.

By the time he stops, Jean’s winded. You can hear the growl underlying every breath, and you know your punishment is far from over. His hands wrap around your biceps, hauling you up and dragging you to the middle of the basement. His nails dig into your skin and you can see the blood welling up around them as you cradle your broken hand to your chest.

“Ungrateful little bitch.” It’s the first words he’s spoken to you since he started. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing.

He falls silent once more, yanking your arms above your head and grabbing some chains hanging from the ceiling. You don’t have much time to wonder what else is down here. He roughly strings you up, arms wrenched painfully above your head and toes just barely scraping the ground. He disappears for a moment and you feel cold dread drip down your spine.

“I need to hear two words.” Jean walks back into view, a whip coiled tightly in his hands.

It takes you a moment to realise he’s waiting for you to speak. Two words. “I’m sorry.”

You try to make it sound as genuine as possible. Your voice croaks, hoarse from screaming. Your body aches and defeat weighs heavy on your shoulders. All you can do is stare him in the eyes and hope to god that he believes you. That he’ll take pity on you.

“Wrong choice.”

You don’t have time to process what that could possibly mean. He’s behind you again, and the whip is cracking through the air. There’s a moment—just a brief flicker of time—where you don’t feel anything at all. And then you’re in agony. Thrashing against the chains, screaming, sobbing. It feels like fire, rushing across your back where the whip fell.

“Useless. Fucking. Brat.” He spits out each word, punctuating them with more lashes from his whip. “I’ve given you everything. You could’ve wanted for nothing. And still you have to push push push. Maybe I should break your fucking legs. Maybe that’ll be enough to stop you from running.”

You’re definitely bleeding this time. There’s no other explanation for the warmth dripping down your back. Your vision is blurry with tears, your whole back feeling like it’s burning. You’d rather he just killed you and got it over with. You hope he’ll just kill you and get it over with.

You only realise he’s done with the whip when you hear him toss it aside. It skitters across the floor, and you hope desperately that this means it’s over. That he’ll feel he’s punished you enough. That he’ll look at the lashes marring your skin, the blood dripping down, and will take pity on you.

There’s a metallic ring. It’s hard to blink away enough tears to see, but finally Jean comes into view. He’s dragging the metal bat across the ground towards you. He looks… calmer than before, at least. But a stony calm. The kind that lets you know he won’t hesitate to hurt you.

“Two words.”

“I’m sorry! I said I’m sorry!”

The bat swings through the air, colliding with your stomach. You want to double over, to clutch your abdomen. But the chains hold you in the air and all you can do is bend your head. You’re winded, coughing as you try desperately to take in a gasp of air. If the lashes were like fire, this is like getting crushed by a fucking train.

“Wrong. Try again.”

Your brain scrambles for words, trying desperately to figure out what he wants you to say to him. “Yes sir.”

“Wrong.”

Another swing. You hear the crack as one of your ribs breaks. Evidently he hears it to, a cruel smile spreading across his face in satisfaction. The sadistic bastard. Your breaths come in a wheeze, and you find yourself coughing again. You don’t know how many swings you can take.

“Try again.”

“Please stop!” It comes out in a choked sob.

“Wrong. Try again.”

Another swing to your stomach that leaves you coughing up blood.

“No more!”

“Wrong. Are you even trying?” Another swing.

Your brain scrambles for what he might want to hear, grasping for anything you could possibly say to stop him from hitting you again. “Harder, daddy!”

“Wrong.” Another swing, harder this time.

“Fuck you!”

“Wrong. Stupid cunt.”

He doesn’t give you another chance. Swing after swing, until you can feel the bruises on your stomach. Until you’re coughing up blood and choking for air. Until the chains rattle with your desperate attempts to escape. You’re willing to break your wrists to slip out if it means ending this torture.

“One last try.” Jean takes a few deep breaths, leaning on the bat and staring at you with wild eyes. “Two words.”

You take a moment to steady yourself, desperate to block out the pain and focus. Maybe if you look into his eyes long enough… maybe you’ll see what he wants you to say. Or maybe you’re delirious from pain. It’s hard to tell at this point, with his hard eyes boring into you.

Oh.

“I’m yours.”

The words come out with surprising ease. It feels like a weight has lifted from your chest. You’re not sure why you ever tried to fight it. Why you pushed him so far when this was all he wanted from you. You can see it in his eyes, all he wants is you. Why had you denied him that for so long?

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it sweetheart?”

Jean’s anger melts away, eyes softening as he watches you hang before him. He picks up the bat and approaches you. It takes all your effort not to flinch away when his hands reach between your legs to cup you. The whimper you let out is equal parts pain and arousal. He’s really fucked you up, hasn’t he?

“Oh sweetheart,” he sighs, pressing a soft kiss to your bruised stomach. “I promised myself I would only do this if you got it wrong again, but… you’re so needy~”

He steps away, leaving you hanging there, wondering what new torture he’s going to force on you. There’s the sound of a bottle. A wet sound. It sounds like he’s slicking his cock up to fuck you. The thought makes you shudder, legs spreading ever so slightly at the thought of him fucking you from behind while you hang here.

It’s not his cock that presses against your hole, cold and hard. You only really have the energy to whimper, a few tears slipping down your cheeks as you feel the baseball bat pressing against you. You don’t doubt for a moment what he’s going to do with it. And you don’t doubt for a moment that he’ll enjoy every second of it.

His arm hooks around your hips, holding you still as he works the cold metal bat into you. Your hands grip the chains above you, screams torn from your throat as he violates you with the bat. Your hole stretches beyond its limits with no preparation. Your body aches. You feel like you’re being split in half, torn down the middle. It pushes at your insides in a way that makes your stomach twist.

Jean’s hands are calm, constant, placing pressure on you and the end of the bat to urge more and more of it into you. Once he finally, mercifully decides you’ve reached your limit, he begins to fuck you with it. Cruel, bruising thrusts. You can hear him moan as he watches your hole stretch around the thick bat. You feel dizzy, nauseous, like you might pass out at any moment.

With a final, rough pull, your hole is left empty. Gaping and twitching. He reaches up and releases the chains around your wrists, letting you fall into the puddle of blood you’ve dripped onto the floor beneath you. It’s over. It’s finally over. You’ve paid the price for trying to run.

“If this falls out of you before I cum, we’ll start this all over again.” Jean’s voice is thick with lust as he pushes the handle of the bat inside of you.

It’s not over. You clench around the handle as best as you can, hoping your hole is tight enough to keep the wide base from slipping out of you. He pulls you up by your hair, thumb brushing some blood from the corner of your mouth. His cock is hard as it presses against your cheek. You open your mouth.

“Look at all this blood, sweetheart…” Jean sighs adoringly, pushing his cock into your mouth. “Should make it easier for you to take me all the way~”

You’re finally back in familiar territory, Jean’s cock thrusting in and out of your throat at a brutal pace. You can feel the blood bubbling up in your throat around his cock, spilling out from the corners of your lips every time he pulls out. You have no time to breathe. No time to adjust to the brutal facefucking. But you’re used to this. You’re used to the way he grips your hair and pounds into the back of your throat like you’re nothing more than a fleshlight.

“Fuck, sweetheart… I should make you bleed like this more often…”

It’s a mess of blood and drool and tears as he fucks your throat. You desperately keep your muscles tensed, trying to remember not to let the bat slip out of you. There’s so much to focus on, the pain seeping through your body is the last thing on your mind. All you care about is making Jean cum as quickly as you can.

Thankfully, he’s a sadist. The sight of you gagging on his cock, bruised and bloody and on your knees for him, is more than enough to get him off. He holds your head down and cums with a roughly growled command not to swallow. You obey, vision going fuzzy as you hold your breath. Finally he pulls away, fingers pulling your mouth open to look at the mix of blood and cum inside.

“Go on, swallow.”

You swallow it down, shuddering at the salty, bitter, iron taste. It’s so much, all at once. But it’s over. You can feel your body pushing out the bat. You can hear the lewd, wet sound as it leaves your ruined hole. It clangs to the ground behind you, and your body gives out, collapsing alongside it. The last thing you hear before you black out from the pain is Jean’s voice.

“Never try to leave me again.”

#swwsdj #something's wrong with sunny day jack #sdj jean #jean laurent x reader #gn!reader #18+ only #sunshine #dark side of the sun

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strwberri-milk · 2 years

Text

A Kiss of Wine

Uni!AU || Kaeya x Reader || Fluff, First Meetings || 3 048 words

A game of spin the bottle with this stranger you've just met surely can't go that bad can it?

a/n: why is this in times new roman???? idk i kinda lke it though also i love the idea of this so i whipped it up a while ago to fulfill that self indulgence lol -- nvm it didnt post as times new roman

Loud music thuds against your head, words barely made out over some heavy bass that rivals the beating of your heart as you follow your friend Yoimiya leading you through the large house. You had said yes only after being worn down over the course of several days and are about to remind your companion of the fact when you realise she’s slipped into the crowd just to leave you all alone.

A sigh passes your lips and you head outside through one of the large back doors, glad that the weather was nice enough that refreshments are being kept away from the suffocating heat of all the people inside. You don’t really mind the atmosphere. There was a chance it could be fun to talk to all of these people but you’d like to be able to get a drink or snack without worrying about being knocked over. Luckily, you did think that you saw some familiar faces as you made your way out, making a mental note to go back and confirm who those people were.

With a drink now in your hand you give yourself a minute to recollect yourself, glad that you found something non-alcoholic on the table. It’d be better to keep a clear head, especially since you had no idea if Yoimiya would be far too distracted to come back and get you without you texting her first.

You pull out your phone, about to text her about the fact that she’s abandoned you when someone walks into your field of view. Well, more like blocks it. A shadow is cast over you and without looking up you simply move aside, assuming that they just wanted to grab something from behind you. When they don’t seem to be leaving you alone you decide instead to look up, shooting an apologetic smile just in case you’ve slighted them.

“Sorry for getting in your way. I’m just trying to text someone,” you laugh nervously, not sure what else you could do.

The stranger chuckles and you find yourself drawn into his heterochromic eyes, one slightly hidden by his bangs. His voice is smooth and he leans against the table of refreshments, not seeming to care at all if the drinks fall over. It’s casual and you find yourself significantly less nervous at the prospect of talking to him, seeing as he hasn’t done anything that makes you feel sketched out. That, and the fact that he was incredibly attractive definitely helped his case.

“I wasn’t trying to grab anything,” he responds, more focused on you.

“I just had a thought that I’m not too sure who you are, so you must be new. Who do you know here? Don’t worry – you’re not going to get kicked out or anything if you give a “wrong” answer.”

He looks at you expectantly as you try to explain yourself, wishing Yoimiya was here to talk you out of the situation.

“Well, you see I was just invited here by a friend. She was bugging me for days to come and I decided it’d be much easier for me to tag along rather than deal with her pouting about how I made her come here by herself.”

“Oh? Who’s the friend?” He raises a brow, almost as though he doesn’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“I don’t know if you know her. Her name is Yoimiya. She’s friends with Ayaka who’s brother is apparently friends with someone who’s throwing the party so I guess she decided that was close enough for us to come since it’s not exactly invite only.”

You notice you’re beginning to ramble, closing your mouth to avoid making a fool of yourself. He doesn’t seem bothered at the very least which is good. It doesn’t seem as though you’ve made the social blunder you’ve worried about just quite yet and you’re waiting to see him respond, watching him as though you could see his thoughts.

“Oh? That sounds like it’d be Ayato’s little sister. Yeah, I know him. Doesn’t seem nice of your friend to leave you here all alone. How about you come with me and hang out with some of the others?”

A part of you knows that saying yes to the charming stranger is an absolutely horrible idea, vaguely aware that this is how horror movies start. But, you know for a fact that hanging out with someone who seems as interesting as he does entices you so.

You must seem incredibly hesitant because the man looks to have immediately picked up on something, putting his hands up.

“I promise I won’t take you anywhere sketchy! Just upstairs. My friends and I wanted to play a game with some people and get away from the crowd,” he says suddenly, making you laugh.

“It’s not that. I just don’t know who you are. Wouldn’t it be awkward to just interrupt your game?” you ask, wanting to give him an out just in case he didn’t actually mean it.

“No, it’s fine! Don’t worry about it. Follow me, alright?”

He offers his hand with a sweet smile, clearly hoping you’ll take it from him. Deciding that it’d probably help you more than hurt you, you allow him to take you away, putting your palm in his.

It takes him no time to lead you to your destination, easily slipping through the massive corridors of the property. Once you get to what looks like a spare room he throws the door open with a grin, inviting you to sit down as he joins the floor with a group of other people. They all look at you curiously and thankfully without any malice.

“Who’s this?” a blond woman asks, looking to your companion. “Is this another friend of yours Kaeya?”

The man, now presumably Kaeya, looks over at his friend, slowly realising he never asked for your name. He looks at you sheepishly, gesturing to the group.

“Well, they looked lonely by themselves at the drinks table when I saw them so I decided to bring them here. I’m sure none of you mind, right?”

The woman sighs slightly, leaning over a little to offer a handshake.

“I’m Jean. Sorry for getting wrapped up in Kaeya’s antics. Don’t worry though – he means no harm.”

A man sitting next to her scoffs, rolling his eyes. You’re taken aback by just how vibrant his red locks are, curling in just the perfect way to frame his handsome features. A quick look around makes you feel almost as though you’re sitting in a room of models, feeling severely outclassed in your more casual clothes.

“You might think that but I know better. Kaeya’s an absolute menace.” Despite the harsh words you can hear an underlying tone of warmth, the corner of his lips trying not to quirk up in a slight smile.

“Don’t be so rude Diluc! I’m just making new friends. Ajax, you don’t think that about me do you?” Kaeya implores, looking to his other side at another ginger. This one looks a lot kinder than the former, a wide grin on his face.

“I think it’s a great idea! Besides, if they were standing alone then I’m sure that it’s because they don’t know anyone. Let’s just quickly go around the circle and introduce ourselves first.” Something about the way he speaks makes you feel like he knows something you don’t, the smile on his face a little too excited at the prospect of meeting you.

Everybody nods and they do as Ajax says. The feeling only deepens as they all look at you attentively, the only person unwilling to look at you at the moment being Kaeya. When the introductions are all done one of the women, Lisa, grabs a bottle from behind her, gesturing for you to move and sit next to her.

“Why don’t we play an innocent little game? Spin the bottle? It’s much more fun than whatever you were all doing earlier.”

Noises of agreement sound out after her suggestion and despite your initial reservations you nod in agreement as well. As soon as she gets everyone’s permission, Lias puts the bottle down in the center of the circle, immediately looking over to Kaeya.

“Well now, since you’re the one who’s throwing this party why don’t we let you do the honors? First spin?”

“What are the rules? Just a peck on the cheek or something else?’ he asks as he leans forward, placing his hand on the bottle.

“Why don’t we mix it with 7 minutes? Just go to the room next door, have your way with each other, then come back!” she suggests.

You decide that sounds a little too much for you, about to back out when you’re interrupted by Kaeya’s voice.

“Oh? Fascinating. That sounds like it’d be fun. Sure, why not?”

The bottle spins with a flick of his wrist and he sits back on his palms, looking almost bored as he watches where the head of the bottle will land. You watch it nervously, unsure of what you’ll do if it lands on you. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to, instead landing on the space between you and Lisa. You expect him to spin the bottle again when he reaches for it, eyes widening as you watch him adjust the bottle to point at you.

Your eyes flick up to his face, not sure what expression you thought you’d meet. The smirk feels like it’s commonplace from the little you know of him, the way he sits back on his hands so casually making your heart skip a beat. You’re struck with the thought that he’s hot and he knows it, easily keeping your attention on him.

“Well, I guess fate’s determined you’ll be coming with me,” he says cheekily, standing up in a manner you can only describe as elegant.

“Wait that’s cheating isn’t it?” you say once you’ve gotten out of your stupor, looking around to see if anyone will back you up. Instead, they all seem to be going to their own conversations, just glancing over at you.

“If you don’t want to go, that's okay,” Kaeya says from the door, crossing his arms as he leans against it.

“I won’t make you come with me if you don’t want to.”

“Seriously,” one of the other blonds, Tohma, says. “If you don’t want to play with us just say so and you can just watch if you want to stay.”

There doesn’t seem to be any malice in the air and with a bit of internal deliberation you decide it won’t hurt. After all, you’re sure if you screamed everyone in this room would be able to hear you. Besides, there’s something about the way the man looks at you that makes you want to know what he wants, nodding dumbly as you follow him down the hall to the room next door.

As soon as the two of you get into the room he closes the door after you. Nervously, you sit on the bed, waiting to see if he’ll approach you himself. It doesn’t take him long to close the gap between you two, stepping between your knees and resting his arms on your shoulders. You’re forced to look up at him, the intense look in his eye making you swallow harshly.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks softly,

“What do you mean? You’re the one who put me here,” you huff, leaning back a little from his imposing aura.

“Well, I did but now that we’re here I can’t help but feel a little concerned for you. You didn’t exactly seem like you wanted to come here with me…”

His words trail off as he looks to the side, clearly finding this conversation more than just a little awkward. You wonder where his previously suave persona’s gone and it’s only now that you begin to recognise just how warm his body is this close to yours. You look up at him, tilting your head curiously when you realise he’s refusing to look at you.

“Well, it can be intimidating to be kept in a room by yourself with someone like you,” you respond, hoping that the words come out smoother than they feel. He’s definitely heard it before so you don’t have too many hopes that it’ll catch him off guard.

“Really?” he replies quickly, finally meeting your gaze with a hint of shyness.

“Honestly, I don’t know if I should say this but I do actually know who you are. I was hoping you’d come today since I heard you’d said you would. I just played dumb because I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“How do you know me?”

His confession makes it easier for you to talk to him, no longer nearly as nervous as you were before. Nothing in him makes you feel like you’re being deceived and his comforting weight on your body lulls you even further into his security, smiling to yourself as he tries to piece together his words.

“We have a class together. I don’t think you know because I sit in the middle of the hall. I guess you can say I’ve developed a bit of a crush on you and all my friends keep teasing me about it.”

Suddenly, everything seems to click in place as you realise that must be why everyone was looking at you so expectantly. He must have told them you’d be coming and somehow they managed to convince him to go and talk to you. They were expecting for this all to happen, perhaps even rooting for it if he was as into you as he’s claiming to be. Not only that, but the way he’s started to avoid eye contact with you again seems to prove your point.

“You like me?” you ask anyway, wanting an answer for yourself.

“A lot. Even though we don’t really know each other, just observing you in class has made me want to get to know you more,” he admits, bringing his hands back to cup your face.

“You are so brilliant, I can tell from the way you talk when we do group work, or the presentations we had to do earlier. But it’s a little difficult to focus on your words when all I want to do is kiss you.”

Your eyes widen as his eyes fall onto your lips. He gently brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, looking back up at you.

“This entire time all I’ve wanted to do is kiss you but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I want to know what kind of face you’ll make.”

Kaeya pulls you off the bed with a soft grasp, gently leading you to stand against a wall. It’s clear what he wants from you, even if he didn’t just say it to you but you still can’t help but shake slightly under his intense gaze, eyes hooded as a hand goes down to rest on your waist. Your breath hitches as he leans down closer to you, using his free hand to tilt your chin up.

“May I?” he asks against you, breath tickling your lips.

“Yes,” you breathe, gasping when he presses his lips to yours.

His kiss starts off gently as though he was just testing the waters. Despite that, there was an air of urgency you could feel within him holding back. The fingers at your waist press into your skin, the sensation not yet painful, as is the fingers on your chin. His lips caress yours with a practiced motion, but it doesn’t seem to be enough for him.

He presses into you a little harder, making your mouth open in another gasp that allows his tongue to slip in. You hear the dull thud of his arm moving to rest against the wall, now moving his other hand to wrap around your waist and pull you taut against his body. You can feel all rational thought leaving your mind as he presses the contours of his body against yours, losing yourself in him. He kisses you with a passion you don’t know how to return but it doesn’t seem like he cares, slight pants mixed in with his light groans of approval churning your stomach with desire. It stokes a fire inside of you, desperately pulling against the back of his shirt and shuddering when you accidentally tug on his hair instead of fabric.

“Why you-” he growls huskily, pulling apart just to push you back down onto the bed and crawl back over your body to kiss you just as hard as he was before.

“I want you so bad,” Kaeya groans, letting his hands gently prod against the waist of your pants.

“But not here, not like this.”

You feel yourself only slightly come out of the daze when he sits up, running his fingers run though his hair as he catches his breath. You have no idea how much time has passed, caught between the weight of his body and the cloud of desire and reach out to grab him, wanting to return to that dizzying high when a harsh knock sounds against the door.

“It’s been way over seven minutes! Are you two alive?” someone calls from the other side, making the man above you roll his eyes.

“It’s my house so I get to do whatever I want. Just stay here darling and I’ll take care of our distractions, okay?”

The only response you can offer is a dumb nod, watching as he opens the door to tell them off. You lay back down, trying to regain your balance when you feel a weight dip down on the mattress next to you, yelping when he grabs you and pulls you over his body. Instinctively your knees clasp around his hips, straddling Kaeya as he repositions you on top of him. Your eyes meet and his face goes back to that shit eating grin you’re growing to love as his gaze roams over your body. Kaeya lets out a low whistle once he’s done giving you a once over, only serving to further fluster you.

“I knew you’d look good on top of me. Now, let’s keep going, shall we?”

#kaeya x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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zetsubobu · 7 months

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I wanted to do some little opinion based lines from Nici regarding the others around her so here they are!

Jesse, sunni, olivia and meghan belong to @weekend-whip !

The core 4: they somehow always manage to draw all the attention towards them but not in a good way. Some of them seem genuinely sweet like jay or zane so I feel a bit bad for them. Kai makes me nervous but that's because of his blunt and outgoing personality and he's quite unpredictable to me. I don't know anything about cole besides the rumors so I can't say much about him

Nya: I see her always in the hallways of our school, carrying books or drinking boba with olivia. She seems quite friendly and has treated me nicely too. Especially her relationship with jay is quite adorable, I think they fit well together. I also like her fashion style a lot. I wish I could ask her where she buys her clothes but I'm a bit too shy for that

Lloyd: I can't help but be nervous around him. Likely because of who he is and I do feel bad about that since I do not wish to judge people I don't know. His eyes intrigue me though because I've never seen a color like this. He is definitely an elemental master because of his pupils, though I don't know which element. I should ask my mother about this

Jesse: I sometimes end up talking to him and he's quite enjoyable to be around. He handed me a flower once the first or second time we talked which was very kind of him. Truthfully that was the first time someone ever gifted me a flower so I remember it quite well. But that also created a question in my mind. Does he secretly carry around flowers all the time or does he magically make one? He's a magician if I remember correctly so it could be either

Sunni: I can tell by our eyes that we must be related somehow but I suspect she might not know that given how she greets and refers to me as a friend and not a relative. I don't know if I'm allowed to tell her that but regardless I think she's very sweet. I always feel comfortable around her and she's always kind enough to order for me whenever we are getting ice cream together

Meghan: she seems nice but she gives me the impression that she is someone that goes with the crowd by how she never ends up going against chen if he does something that displeases her. I think that's not because of him though but because of her friend. I can't exactly blame her for that, I likely would do the same if I were in her position

Olivia: for some reason everytime I see her it triggers my fight or flight response and I can't pinpoint why. Is it the way she behaves, is it the way she talks or just intuition? I usually end up avoiding her but I think she knows because she always makes eye contact with me

Chen: I end up avoiding him more than olivia in the end. But he's a bully so why wouldn't I? I am the exact type of person he would likely bully and I think it's a miracle that this hasn't happened yet. I think it's because he doesn't even know I exist

Viz: Sometimes I am a bit disappointed that I didn't inherit the full element but I also think that viz paleman was a great choice from my mother to pass her element onto. I sometimes end up visiting him in his casino and he once suggested teaching me how to play poker. Every now and then we play for a little bit but most of the time I end up losing. Can you blame me though? It's hard to play poker against someone whose face you can't read or even see at all

#ninjago #ninjago oc #will I do more like these? who knows #guest oc: nicole villin #after I pull for furina I will try to draw some artworks again #sunni and nici would make a good duo though #I can definitely see them get along well #now I am just wondering in what way she would be related to her #also nici only knows the eye color thing from her mom but also not exactly in detail since she hasn't seen an elemental compass yet #she would likely guess lloyd had something like nature #also jesse would be her “help I don't know how to handle crushing on someone” buddy #oc:_nicole_villin

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tobiasdrake · 7 months

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So, Yuma, do we finally have a deal?

So, Shachi wants to hire a Master Detective to string up cameras. Bit of a gofer job for someone so--

Ohhh, I gotcha. You're not hiring me for my skills, you're hiring me for my organizational badge. You want the Peacekeepers to get pissed off at the WDO instead of the Resistance.

Do they need one? This is a fascist police state. "A Resistance exists" is sufficient excuse to stamp out the Resistance.

Asking the real questions here. I liked the Resistance at first but I'm growing more and more sour on them, the more I learn about their plans.

I said it before but I'll say it again: The last thing a police state needs is more surveillance.

Okay? And then what? My guy, what are you going to do with the recordings? What is the plan here? You've got video evidence of the cops being corrupt and then you....

And what, exactly, is the non-violent "right way" to resist fascism?

How do you use a video of a cop beating up a store owner to end militarized dictatorship, without violent revolution? If you can't answer that, Shachi, then I can't think of a good reason to help you expand your privacy-violation network.

Why does everybody in this city think walking up to the fascists and trying to engage with them in good faith is a viable option? Yomi is for all intents and purposes God-King of Kanai Ward, and your plan (and Yuma's plan previously) is to catch him in a Gotcha?

See, he's using poetic talk like this, while also dismissing violence against the Peacekeepers out-of-hand. Yeah, my guy, I know what a grassroots movement is. That doesn't change the fact that you need to have a plan for what you intend to do with the large crowd of people you've whipped up.

This is not a democracy. You are not campaigning for the election of the new head of Amaterasu. The Peacekeepers do not have electoral optics to concern themselves with when weighing the pros and cons of stamping you out, nor are they in any way influenced by international pressure. They have complete authority here.

PR can be a valuable recruitment tactic. But you need to figure out what you're recruiting people to do.

Is it, Yuma? Is it really? A well-meaning objective is not the same as a clear one. From where I'm sitting, Shachi is a good man with a kind heart, but also a pacifist preaching civility in an isolated military dictatorship. His best-case scenario is martyrdom once tensions escalate.

Well, Yuma's come around at the same time I've soured on these guys, but they're still better than nothing. Even if Shachi has delusions of being able to take down Yomi with a stern talking-to, once a movement begins to snowball it may grow out of his control. Whether he likes it or not, other people within the Resistance will eventually see that under these circumstances, there's only one path to liberation.

#master detective archives: rain code #drake plays rain code

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pollylynn · 1 year

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Lookout—A Caskett One-Shot Insert for Love Me Dead (2 x 09)

This is in response to an anonymous prompt, which I've included at the end so as not to spoil. Thank you for the prompt, Anon! This is in place of a chapter of Fabrications tonight; I had a pile of other people's failures dropped on my head tonight and I just didn't make it to the dreadmill.

Title: Lookout WC: 1400

He follows her from the perfect distance. He draws close, then falls back, skirting the edge of danger, because he can. He’s confident. He uses the comparatively thin, post–rush hour crowds to his advantage. Even when she darts suddenly ahead to eat up the last few blinking milliseconds of the little, white Walk man—to beat the red Don’t Walk palm to the punch—the distance he maintains is absolutely perfect at all times.

He has skills. No, seriously. He is impressing even himself with how good he turns out to be at maintaining a tail. He supposes that she, ironically, deserves some credit for those skills. He’s picked up a thing or two in the last eight months, despite her total unwillingness to provide him hands-on instruction with the more vitally necessary—and coincidentally exciting—aspects of police work, like wheel work during high-speed pursuits, a place in the line-up for those cool, coordinated, weapons-drawn roll-outs when they’re clearing a room a suspect might be lurking in, or anything to do with the car radio.

The joke’s on her, though, because he’s learned a thing or two anyway. Clearly. He never loses sight of her black leather trench. He has line of sight to its skirts as they whip behind her trying to keep up with her bad-ass stride. Or he has eyes on the tangerine streetlights sweeping over its shoulders. He can tell from the sharp clack of her heels against the pavement whether she’s going to slow suddenly to avoid a collision with some clueless pedestrian or pick up the pace to perfectly time her fluid movement between the slow-moving cars that are trying and failing to escape gridlock.

He is crushing this tail so hard that he has some headspace to contemplate how, exactly, he’s going to continue surveillance once she actually hits Sutton’s. He’s not worried about her seeing him. No, he’s practically a ninja. There’s not a doubt in his mind that he can slip through the door undetected, fade into the woodwork, get close but not too close.

But it’s the not-too-close that could—only could, mind you—present a problem. Close enough to eavesdrop is the goal. As entertaining as it is to tail her with the greatest of ease, it’s not actually an end in itself. He needs to know why his daughter is seeking her counsel instead of his. It’s an outrage, given that he is not just an expert in clandestine pursuit, but also the coolest of cool dads. It can and will not stand, so he needs to be within eavesdropping distance. Or not necessarily.

He’s picturing payoffs. Or maybe a drinking glass to the high back of an adjacent booth. Or if there’s a spy shop along the way, he’s pretty sure he could nip in for bug-and-receiver set up, nip back out, and still not have lost her. Or he could lip read, right? Like, how hard can that even be, given all that he has discovered just tonight about the innate skills he has for intelligence gathering?

He’s hemming and hawing. He’s on his phone surfing for spy gear, though he’s grumpily aware that realistically speaking, toys worthy of a certain British secret agent will probably have to wait for some future op. He’s weighing the pros and cons of paying off a waitress or a bus boy versus flexing his lip-reading muscles when he nearly experiences internal decapitation courtesy of someone grabbing him quite literally by the collar.

Courtesy of her grabbing him quite literally by the collar.

“How long are you planning to keep this up,” she hisses. She seems to think his collar belongs to her now. She makes a compelling case, having him yanked down to eye level as she does. Despite the fact that this is no great distance, given the height of those informatively clacking heels, it’s painful. It’s almost as painful as that very first memorable ear grab on the campus of Redding Prep.

“Beckett! What are you . . . I mean. Wow! Running into each other like . . .crazy, right?” His ability to feign surprise is definitely not in the same league as his mad surveil and tail skills. Or maybe it’s in exactly that league, given that she has him by the collar. Still, he soldiers on. “I mean . . . crazy!”

She ignores his stammering amateur theater. He’s not sure if that’s mercy or contempt. “What is wrong with you?”

“I have a right to know!” he blurts. The declaration loses something, given the involuntary yodel that creeps into his voice. “She’s a child, and if she’s in deep to the mob for thirty large, I need to know.”

“Just how big an idiot are you trying to be, Castle? Is there like . . a contest?” She releases his collar—finally—thrusting him away from her in a gesture of disgust. “You think your kid—the child of a millionaire—is going to come to me to solve her mob payoffs?”

“Maybe she wants to turn state’s evidence!” He makes a show of setting his shirt and overcoat to rights. “Maybe she’s worried about her loved ones’ kneecaps!”

She’s working on an artisanally crafted look that will convey precisely how unlikely she finds this concept. He’s bracing for it when he spies a glint of red-gold hair in the not-nearly-distant-enough distance. He catches a glimpse of pale cheek. He sees her lifting on her toes and ducking around people’s shoulders trying to get a look at the interior of the cafe to see if her confidant—her practically-a-stranger confidant—is already at the meet.

He panics. That is the explanation he will carry to his grave. And given that he’s kissing her—he is suddenly kissing Beckett—he might be carrying it to that grave in hurry. He has her by the lapels of her trench coat. As he turns their two bodies to present his back to the general area containing his daughter, a desperate part of his brain wonders if the fact that he doesn’t have his hands on her actual person will, in any way, save him.

But the desperate part of his brain falls quiet. All parts of his brain fall quiet, because he is kissing her, and she is . . . kind of kissing him back. No. Strike that. She is completely kissing him back for the span of many Mississippis. He knows this instinctively. It's not like his quiet brain can count. But he knows it's been a lot of Mississippis before they jolt apart, shocked in equal measure.

“She’s here.” It’s a high-quality stage whisper, facilitated, no doubt, by the fact that every part of his body is stock still, frozen with terror. “Alexis . . . she is . . . is she behind me?”

“What?” The word is breathy. It’s ragged and she’s blinking a mile a minute. “Where?”

“She was going to . . . see.” It’s the worst justification in the world. He wishes he hadn’t said it before the sibilant vibrates his already-vibrating lips. It invites the question of what his daughter was going to see before his super-spy move and what she very well could have seen just now.

She has accepted the question’s invitation. Or vice versa. Whatever. She is thinking about what his daughter very well may have seen, and her eyes are wide. She claws her way past him.

“She’s sitting down,” she says. Relief rolls right off her. “She’s on her phone.”

“Does she look—“

The rest of the question is lost as she shoves at his shoulder to keep him from turning around. He wants to protest, but against all odds, he’s survived the last forty-five seconds. It’d be a shame to die now.

“Go,” she says through her teeth. He’d like to oblige. Kind of. But she has his collar again. “Get out of here.” She’s hissing again, right in his ear this time, her front pressed into his back, and it’s difficult. “Go, Castle.”

“I . . .” He tries not to squirm, but it’s fairly impossible. “I’m going, if you’ll . . . You’ve kind of got my . . .”

She makes a sound. It’s a small, surprised thing, and he imagines her mouth in the shape of an O. He imagines a sudden multitude of things about her mouth as her fingers violently untangle themselves from his collar, and she is gone.

He is rooted to the spot. He is picturing monuments right here. He kissed her.

A/N: I know it's not quite the prompt you gave, Anon, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Prompt: prompt: they’re arguing and character a shuts up character b with a kiss

#Castle #Caskett #CastleABC #Castle: Season 2 #Castle: Love Me Dead #Castle: 2 x 09 #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Alexis Castle #Fic #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Writing #writing prompt #Anonymous prompt

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americanwh0resstuff · 5 months

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God knows I tried

Chapter II

Word count: 2,244

002

Elizabeth's hands trembled as she watched the tall priest walk back and forth before the altar.

"Now Liz, you know lying is a sin, yet still you continue? Why are you lying to me, young lady?"

His voice was cold and stung like a blade against her.

She grimaced as he retrieved the old wooden yardstick from the altar.

"Hands, up on the table, now."

With one swift whip, he created crimson red lines across her skin, blood pooling into the crevices.

"Miss, can I help you?"

Elizabeth snapped back to the present, looking down at her hands to see that they were in fact not bleeding and it was purely a memory, she'd never forgotten the old father McPherson, or the sisters who once "cared" for her either for that matter.

"Miss?"

"Oh I'm sorry, I guess I'm a bit out of it today."

A chuckle was admitted from the tall and handsome man before her, her eyes lingered to his friendly ones, and then the small scar in his eyebrow.

"Don't worry, we've all been there, it's just, you look troubled, if you don't mind me saying." He was leaning up against the barrier of the breeze, the small ferry from the mainland to Crockett island; a large denim jacket sat on his shoulders and he was wearing a pair of black gloves. Liz smiled softly at him "yeah, I'm fine, just a bit... lost in thought I guess." He nodded.

"What brings you to Crockett? I'm afraid we don't get many visitors around here?" He looked deeply into her eyes, trying to hold the conversation.

"I'm actually going back home, I've had some... news, a family crisis, I didn't have much choice" Liz remained vague, not wanting to dump the dead mum card on a perfect stranger.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I hope everything's okay, if you ever need anything, feel free to ask, I'm the new Sheriff here in Crockett!" He placed his hands on his hips, shoulders back, and looked at her with pride.

She smiled softly at him. "my names Elizabeth, Elizabeth Bates, nice to meet you, Sheriff." She stuck out her hand for him to shake, but he hesitated, looking at her sadly. "Ah, Miss Bates, I'm sorry, I heard about your mother, I only met her a few times, but, she was always friendly." Liz looked down at her feet, a sad smile plastered on her face. "Thank you." she held back her tears as she tried not to think about her poor mother.

Shortly thereafter the ferry docked onshore, the bridge was lowered and people started to shuffle off. "The offer still stands, if you ever need anything..." He trailed off before disappearing into the small crowd.

With her bag flung over her shoulder and a suitcase in hand, Elizabeth dragged her way down the docks and through the island, past the general store, the school, and eventually the church, she stopped and thought about going in to see Monsignor Pruitt, but she decided it would be best to go home and get settled first.

When she reached the quaint one-story house, she could barely hold back her tears as she unlocked the door, a flood of memories coming back to her in an instant, some good, some bad. Memories of the hard times her father would drink too much and take out his anger on her and her mother, or when he'd lock her in her room for "disobeying" him, but also good memories, her mother making her a stack of pancakes every year for her birthday, playing piano in the living room while her parents laughed and danced and everything seemed normal.

Liz collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion taking over as she closed her eyes, jet lag was already kicking in. She didn't rest for long, as only a few moments later, a knock was heard at her door

A woman with big eyes and dark curly hair stood at her door.

"Erin!" Liz beamed, her childhood friend and admittedly, her teenage crush, never failed to make her smile.

"I've missed you so much" she whispered into her hair. "I'm really, really, sorry about your mom" the dark-haired woman gave her a sad smile and stroked her hair as a form of comfort, she knew how to do that, how to calm you down in an instant, either by a touch of your hand or stroke of your hair, she could cure your anxieties in a blink of an eye.

Liz made them some peppermint tea before the two women sat down on the couch, chatting for ages about nothing and everything, Erin told her about Riley's return to the island and how she planned to go to mass later that morning, as it didn't start till 10 am.

"Since when are you so devout?" The blonde joked, reminiscing of times when Erin and herself were the town outcasts, causing trouble every chance they got, often ending up at the sheriff's office or in the church where the old Monsignor would give them a stern but caring speech, she smiled at the memory. "I don't know, littlefoot and I have to repentance to do." she joked

They sat for a while, drinking their tea and reminiscing a little longer before Erin left to get ready for mass. "You sure you don't wanna come? monsignor Pruitt should be back from his trip, you can give him one final heart attack before he finally kicks the can?" They laughed at Erins crude joke. "Don't be rude, he's old, leave him be." Liz said as her friend left for home. She looked up, seeing the church steeple in the distance, she contemplated going, she really did, but she decided to wait till after mass to visit the monsignor, she needed to plan her mothers funeral with him anyways.

Liz decided to shower and change her clothes, she had just been on a 7 hour flight after all, and she didn't want to run into anyone looking like this.

After her shower she dug through her suitcase and picked out a dark red turtleneck, body-con dress and a long black cardigan, she put on her knee high leather boots to keep her legs warm, she also applied minimal makeup, some concealer to cover her dark eye bags, some mascara and a slightly tinted lip balm, just to bring some life back into her face.

She picked up her scarf and the box of PG tips tea that she bought for the Monsignor as she remembered how much he liked his cups of tea and especially English breakfast. Stepping out of the small bungalow she pulled her leather jacket round her thin frame to keep the wind out, the cold, icy air nipped at her face and blew the black scarf over her shoulder and behind her back, there was a storm coming, she could feel it.

The young woman made her way over to the white chapel, tea in hand along with a folder of letters and pictures of her mother, things to use for her funeral.

Her hands shook slightly, a wave of emotions hitting her like a brick and she tried to keep them bottled up, she didn't want to cry, not yet, crying was for at home, with a tub of ice cream or a fresh pot of mac and cheese, not for cold afternoon walks.

Pulling herself together before walking up the church steps, Liz took her scarf off before entering the holy building. "Make sure to take your jacket off so you'll feel the benefit when you leave!" Her mother's voice rang through her head, the advice she'd hear every Sunday morning.

The church was empty, not even Beverly stood there giving her the usual condescending looks, just the silence of an abandoned house of god. She sat down in the first row of pews, taking a moment of reflection and waiting for the old Monsignor to greet her, after all, mass had finished earlier that day and she knew he liked to stick around in the back rooms, organising the church's belongings.

After maybe 5 minutes of waiting and looking at her feet, Elizabeth heard the door open and soft footsteps making their way over. "Hello my dear, can I help you?" She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion before bringing her eyes up to the figure in front of her. The man before her eyes was not the reliable Monsignor Pruitt, instead she saw much younger and slightly taller man, his clerical collar giving his position away. "Um, hi, I'm sorry but I was kinda hoping to see Monsignor Pruitt?" She asked in the nicest way possible, she didn't want to chase the Raven haired man away, but she did of course want to see the man who was so kind to her in her youth. "Oh, well, I'm sorry but I'm afraid the Monsignor isn't here." Her heart sank and her stomach churned. "Oh please no, don't tell me-" He interrupted her "no, no, don't you worry, he's just fine, I'm afraid her fell ill while on his trip to the holy land, he's recovering in a hospital on the mainland but I assure you, there is nothing to worry about!" He smiled softly before gesturing to the empty space next to her, she nodded and he sat.

"Now where are my manners, my names father Paul Hill, I've been sent to take over the congregation for a while. And you must be Elizabeth!" Liz looked up at him once again, a confused look plastered on her face. "The Monsignor spoke very highly of you, said you're not hard to miss." His eyes scanned her clothing, she wore the same dark shades that she wore many years ago as a rebellious teenager. "Really, I don't think 'highly' is the right word." She let out a small laugh, reminiscing of the amount of times they sat just like this, Pruitt giving her stern but caring talks on her 'behavioural issues'. She could always tell that he never wanted to give her these long lectures, but she knew how her parents pleaded with him, and how he was too much of a pushover to ignore their requests.

Father Paul chuckled and shifted in his seat, turning to face her slightly. "Trust me, the Monsignor always cared for you, at least that's what I can tell from the way he speaks of you." He set a soft hand on her shoulder.

"Now, I may not be the person you were searching for, but I'm sure I can still help you all the same." His hand left her shoulder and moved down to his own leg, he watched intently and she fiddled with her fingers. "Yeah, well," she struggled to get her words out, "my mum, she recently... passed, I've come to talk over her funeral plans." The young woman's eyes immediately started watering, but she pushed the strong emotions back. "I'm so sorry for your loss." His hand hesitated for a moment before he softly placed it over hers, only taking it away after she flinched. "Hm, thank you." She said sadly.

The folder full of documents soon opened as they both flicked through the many pictures of her beloved mother, deciding which to use for the wake, reading letters and trying to write her speech. Liz finally spoke up. "I'm sorry, I know priests don't often help with funeral planning, it's just, I was expecting Monsignor Pruitt, I just figured-"

"Its okay, really." He smiled softly before engulfing her hands in his own. He studied her face, watching the tears slowly fall from her eyes. "I'm so sorry, I-" her whimpers were interrupted by him pulling her firmly into his arms, wrapping himself around her. He felt his heart break for the poor girl, losing someone so close to her.

That sat like that for a while, Elizabeth eventually calming down, her breathing coming back to its natural rhythm. Although it was strange to admit, she enjoyed being in this perfect strangers arms, the comforting warmth that radiated from his chest filling her entire body with an indescribable warmth, he felt familiar, like an old friend, someone she could trust, that was something she rarely felt these days

She was the one to pull away first, not wanting to make the poor man even more uncomfortable, he seemed almost hesitant to let her go, but alas he did.

He lifted his hand up to her earrings, touching the small crosses dangling to her jaw. "Are you devout?" He asked carefully. Liz let out something close to a laugh. "No, I um, I wore these a lot as a teenager, you know, the typical goth who wears religious attire, it annoyed Beverly to no end, so I guess it just felt right to wear them again."

He nodded and let his hand fall to his knee once again. "Ah yes, Beverly." They both giggled slightly, looking at each other.

They sat for a while longer, making plans for the funeral that would take place in a few days time. "Please, if you need anything l, feel free to drop by, my door is always open." He smiled at her as they stood up from the pew. She thanked him and started heading towards the door, she stopped for a second.

"Do you like tea?" She held out the box towards him.

#midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction #paul hill fanfiction #father paul x original female characters #father paul fanfiction #father paul #father john pruitt #monsignor pruitt #monsignor john pruitt

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gerogerigaogaigar · 11 months

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Blondie - Parallel Lines

The bubblegum pop of the 60 meets the punk rock edge of the 70s. Debbie Harry bridges the gap effortlessly with her energetic delivery. And the music somehow never doesn't sound punk even when they are deep into bubbly pop numbers or disco. There's a bit of polish compared to their debut, but Blondie really manage to stand out from the crowd by leveraging that against the rawer punk sound of the late 70s to create an essential piece of new wave music.

Eminem - The Marshall Mathers LP

Eminem is one of the weirdest rappers out there. Well he was before they killed him and replaced him with an army recruitment robot. There are nested levels of kayfabe happening here that I wanna break down. Slim Shady is a character played by Eminem who is a character played by Marshall Mathers. The three personae all have very different opinions on their newfound success and the way the song's attitudes towards nearly everything veers wildly back and forth can be explained by this. Marshall Mathers is conflicted but ultimately unashamed of his work, Eminem is feeling a little ashamed of the character of slim shady and how that character has affected people, and Slim Shady is fucking insane. The interplay between these three makes Eminem's second album a lot more thoughtful and engaging than his first. Now you're gonna need an extremely high tolerance for homophobia and mysogyny because that is the bread and butter of his shock value, and he whips slurs around at an even higher rate that his first. But to me it is so incredibly extreme that there is no reality that is reflected by this music. Mathers' absolute mastery of the craft is also on display and ramped up. The Real Slim Shady has an insane flow that delivers rhymes with a pace that will give you whiplash. And of course how can we forget Stan? The song that somehow became the internet's phrase du jour for diehard fandom. It's impeccable how well Eminem delivers the lines in a way that evokes a letter without ever breaking the flow or rhyme scheme. His mastery of storytelling on Stan is on par, if not better than, Slick Rick himself. I don't know if I'll get any shit for saying this is a fantastic album slurs and all but like there's a little Slim Shady in all of us isn't there? Come indulge him a bit.

Led Zeppelin - Physical Graffiti

Yeah ok Physical Graffiti is an enjoyable album that sees Led Zeppelin playing around with long ass songs and some prog rock type stuff. The long ones like Kashmir and In The Light are really good, and I love the little folk dirty that is Bron-Yr-Aur. It runs too long though and honestly why are we fucking around with a bunch of Led Zeppelin albums on this list? Houses Of The Holy? Physical Graffiti? Just put Zeppelin IV on the list and call it a day.

Velvet Underground - s/t

I don't fucking understand this list. Are they really gonna put on every single Velvet Underground record? Why is this apparently the second best one? It's a good album don't get me wrong, but c'mon. The official Audrey ranking goes &Nico>White Light/White Heat>Loaded>Velvet Underground. And I don't even think the last two ought to make the top 500 list. This album is too soft and delicate with the only real standout track being the penultimate song an eight minute jam called The Murder Mystery. The rest is pleasant but samey. Easily Velvet Underground's weakest offering.

Bruce Springsteen - Born In The U.S.A.

What a weird but predictable turn of events that led this album to lead a double life. Upbeat pop melodies, a down home aesthetic, and an American flag on the album's cover drew in a crowd who would be fundamentally opposed to Springsteen's compassionate left wing beliefs if they had listened any farther than the chorus of the title track. The sessions that led to Born In The U.S.A. were the same ones that produced Nebraska and you can see it in some of the lyricism. A lot of sad stories about broken people just a little more well produced and with the E Street Band back in full force. Although a couple of tracks, I'm On Fire and My Hometown especially, sound like they could have just been off Nebraska.

#500 album gauntlet #blondie #eminem #led zeppelin #velvet underground #bruce springsteen

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ruinous-robes · 2 years

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Chapter 6: A Vision Laid to Rest

I can hardly believe it myself, but I'm alive, folks, and this story isn't dead! I'll be posting (hopefully) 6 chapters of this story for Lortober, with some supplemental stuff in between.

Speaking of which, this chapter is for the alternative Lortober prompt "prevent!" Some warnings here for impermanent character death, blood, and violence. None are too overly graphic, but be well aware. This represents a little bit of an uptick in the story, and these are likely to be warnings you see over and over again.

Also, for everyone who's been askin', I'm going to work on moving this story over to ao3 as well in the coming few days, though it will still also be posted here :> All of that out of the way, enjoy!

Honestly, being Achilles’ bodyguard was quite easy.

No one dared to approach the prince, who strode about with his snout raised and his chest puffed; this was his kingdom, his people, the stance attested. He dared anyone to take it from him.

Achilles expected nothing from Honor, not really. The prince simply fetched him when he wanted to go somewhere — despite all of his bluster before, Achilles really seemed to be determined to follow his parents’ order — and he would scowl and make some loud proclamation about how he would rather eat dirt than have Honor limping along after him. But then, the prince would take any opportunity to sidle closer to him in crowded streets or busy shops.

He did that strangely often, Honor thought. It wasn’t good for his heart— or his head.

But truly, the job seemed to boil down to following Achilles around with his eyes low, looking intimidating, and answering the bored prince’s seemingly endless, increasingly bizarre volley of hypothetical questions.

“In a fight between you and thirty chicken-sized Enderlings, who’s winning?”

Despite himself, Honor grinned, caught off guard. “I don’t know. How combat skilled are the Enderlings, and am I armed?”

Achilles tapped his chin, thinking hard. “You get your weapon of choice, but the Enderlings also get their weapons of choice.”

“Oh, then the Enderlings, no contest. My weapon of choice is a bow staff. Not very effective against tiny, militarized lizards. We all know they have an affinity for war crimes.”

Really, the worst part was Achilles never thought to give him an itinerary of any kind. So today, when Achilles had barged into his room — right on time, and unsubtle as always — he’d looked Honor up and down with as much disdain as he would’ve had someone placed a rotting slug on his dinner plate.

“Are you seriously planning to wear that?”

Honor looked at himself. He wore a robe of deep emerald green, much nicer than his own from home, with a set of bracelets and a few small rings. Sure, it was simpler than Achilles’ still, but, well—

He was simpler than Achilles, wasn’t he?

“I dress like this every day, prince,” Honor replied, cocking his head.

“You cannot wear regalia to go sparring,” Achilles said with a haughty sniff.

Taking him in, Honor realized that Achilles was indeed dressed down, in a tight black chest piece, and tied to his hip appeared to be a training sword.

Honor just blinked, momentarily stunned. “… sparring? Why do I need to wear gear to watch you spar?”

Achilles looked at him like he was out of his mind. “Because you’ll be sparring with me, and if you want to wear robes, that’s fine, I guess, but don’t come crying to me when you’ve got bruises.”

This made Honor scramble to attention. “I didn’t agree to spar with you.”

Achilles stuck out his tongue, and whipped a spare tunic at Honor, slinging it over the Volmyr’s wing. “You agreed when you decided you needed to play the hero and say I was gonna die in seven days, or whatever. So c’mon, we’re meeting in the west courtyard. It’s only practice swords, so don’t be a baby about it.”

And with that, he turned on his heels, trotting away and leaving Honor sputtering.

The nerve! Well, Honor would show him. Perhaps he wasn’t the fastest, but he was bigger than Achilles was, and he was certain that the prince had never fought someone with wings.

As he went to put on the tunic, he realized it was very much not built for a Volmyr. He ended up cutting long rips down the side to allow his wings room to move. It was less protection, but like Achilles had said, they were just practice swords. It was much more valuable to him to be able to move freely.

As he trekked towards the courtyard, claws tapping lightly against the marble, he took in the sweet light of early morning. He could smell the salt scent of the sea, intermingling with the tall, warm grasses of Goldsea, whose gentle rustling was inescapable even here, by the ocean. The wind was picking up, blowing a pleasant breeze through the open halls, ruffling his ears and tail.

As he stepped out into the courtyard, tentative, he spotted Achilles immediately. The prince hadn’t noticed Honor yet, as he made practiced, careful swings with the weapon, seemingly counting out some rhythm in his head.

One— on the ground, sword gripped in his paw.

Two— up, quick as a rattlesnake bite, lunging forward, bringing the sword up in an arc.

Three— following it through, spinning on his back paws like a dancer.

Four— landing another hit on the back swing, before crouching down, waiting for a retaliation.

It was like he was dancing with himself.

Honor watched, entranced, until Achilles turned and finally spotted him. He jumped, hard, stumbling away from the Weaver and placing a paw over his chest.

“Elius, you scared me! Do you creep around everywhere like that?” he gasped.

Honor ignored him. “You fight like a dancer,” he told him. Truly, it had been incredible to watch. Honor thought, perhaps, that he could’ve watched forever.

Achilles perked up at that, his ears flicking upward, and his tail wagged ever so slightly. He puffed his chest. “I’m not called the best for nothing. And you’re about to find out why.”

With that, he tossed the sword he’d been practicing with towards Honor. The wooden weapon skittered to a stop at his wings. He didn’t pick it up, even as Achilles retrieved a new one for himself.

When he noticed, Achilles cocked his head. “Have you never fought before?”

“No, no,” Honor said, frowning down at the sword. He was suddenly embarrassed. “I just… I…” He held up a wing in lieu of saying anything, flexing the singular claw at the end.

Suddenly, what he was saying clicked with Achilles, and he faltered. “Oh, oh that’s okay! We can find you something different, maybe. Uh… what do you normally use?”

Honor shook his head. “It’s alright. I’ll fight with nothing.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, he lifted his head and grinned. “I already have the advantage anyhow; it just would not be fair to you, my prince.”

Oh, now that lit something up under Achilles’ skin. Honor saw a spark of competition light in his eyes. “Cocky now, are we? Alright, then this is how it’s gonna go. Each round is decided by the first to knock the other off his feet, and when I win, I get to ask you a question.”

“And if I win?” Honor asked.

“Then I don’t get to ask you any questions.”

Honor smiled, showing his teeth. He began circling Achilles, showboating. Maybe he had a little bit of a competitive streak, too. “I don’t think that’s very fair, Achilles.”

Achilles turned circles with him, eyes never straying from Honor’s stalking movements, the twist of his body, the lash of his tail. He hefted his sword. “It’s not very fair that you already know so much about me, Weaver Honor.”

And with that, he sprung, taking Honor completely off guard. Nothing about his attack had been telegraphed. It was as if Achilles had been completely still one moment and a blur of motion the next. Honor barely dodged the swing of his sword, immediately getting put on the defensive, but Achilles never let up.

He arced his sword, cracking it against the circle of Honor’s wings.

“Good reaction time,” Achilles quipped through gritted teeth, going in for another swing.

“Or maybe you’re just slow—“

Honor didn’t see Achilles move when he kicked Honor’s right leg out from beneath him, shoving hard into his side and slamming the flat of the sword into his nose with a stinging snap.

He hit the ground hard, and Achilles pointed the sword at him as he gasped for breath.

“Guess you couldn’t predict that one, huh?”

Honor was tempted to be snarky, answer and insist that was Achilles’ question, but frankly, he was winded. He made a choked wheeze in response, and hoped it sounded sarcastic.

After Honor caught his breath, he choked out, “Your question, then.”

Achilles tapped his chin and thumped his tail, thinking obnoxiously loudly.

“What’s your favorite color, and why?”

Honor laughed. “You had to beat me up to ask that, of all things?”

Achilles, sniffed, offended. “Well you already know mine! Because of your freaky mind thing!“

He did. It was blue. But that was irrelevant.

Honor shook his head. “You could’ve just asked me. I would’ve answered.”

“Then answer now.”

“Green,” Honor said instantly. It was the ‘why’ that made him hesitate.

Because when I was a very lonely, very sad little pup outcast by his peers and ignored by his mother, I could always look into my visions and see green eyes who loved me.

But he couldn’t say that. Not exactly.

“Because one of my very first friends had very green eyes, and it was the first time I felt that someone cared about me,” he finished instead.

“Oh,” Achilles said, for once at a loss for words. He looked at Honor then with something in his eyes, something akin to pity.

Honor didn’t like the warm shock it sent pulsing under his skin.

“We go again, yes? Or did you only want to go through these intricate rituals to ask me inane questions once?”

Achilles snapped out of his lull immediately, raising the sword.

He swept Honor three more times.

“What’s your favorite animal?”

“Spiders— misunderstood little creatures. They’re very afraid of us, you know. They can’t help being scary.”

“What’s your favorite story?”

“Ones with happy endings, where princes slay dragons and ride off into the sunset. We have too much sadness here, in the real world, for me to spend time escaping to more tragedy.”

“Favorite season?”

“Summer, when you can smell the heat radiating off the ground, and cool water is at its sweetest.”

In their next match, Achilles smiled at him with the utmost confidence of someone who had won enough times to feel their victory was certain. But you see, what Honor lacked in speed and prowess, he made up for his bulk and observation.

Achilles would always strike first, forcing Honor immediately on the defensive, and focus his attacks onto Honor’s face and wings, hoping to disorient Honor enough into breaking guard and knocking him off kilter. This had the added bonus of making it nearly impossible for Honor to take off.

This time, though, when Achilles rushed him, Honor was ready.

Immediately, he leapt from the ground, using his wings to swing his back paws forward, connecting hard with Achilles’ face before the prince could bring his sword up in an arc. Achilles spluttered, caught off guard, but Honor didn’t waste the chance. He launched into the air, bearing down on Achilles with massive gusts of hot, dusty air, kicking it into his eyes and making the prince cough. Still, he lunged for Honor, attempting to cut at his wings, but instead, Honor used his momentum against him, grabbing him by the collar of his tunic with his claws and slinging them both, end over end on the hard stone, rolling with Achilles until he stuck out a foot to stop them in place.

He had Achilles pinned firmly under him, wrapped in his wings with a claw over his throat, belly to belly, and thoroughly knocked off his feet. Honor felt Achilles swallow.

“Yield,” was all Honor said, licking his lips. Only then did he notice that he was snarling.

Achilles looked up at him, huffing from the fall. Something bright — like sunrise, like the first spark of a forest fire — burned in his eyes. “What was your first vision?” Achilles asked, uncharacteristically soft.

Deadly soft.

“You didn’t win that round,” Honor retorted, just as quietly.

“Mm, but you cheated. I can’t fly.”

“That’s the way it goes, darling. Life isn’t very fair.”

“Then tell me anyways. Tell me because I want to know,” Achilles said.

So Honor leaned in closer, running his snout along the fluff of Achilles’ cheek, until he could whisper in his ear.

“I saw a green lion who dreamed of eating the sun,” Honor told Achilles. “He chased the sun, getting ever closer, no matter that the earth begged him to stop. And one day, the lion finally sunk his teeth into what he had been chasing, and burst into flames, burning up his beautiful mane and brilliant green eyes, and he fell back to the earth, who wept and buried his body in silt and young mountains, and swore to never again love anything else.”

Someone snickered from the shadows.

They both jumped nearly out of their skins, and Honor’s head snapped towards the entryway.

Thetis, Achilles’ sister, with her halfmask face, leered at them from the hall.

“Mother is asking after you, brother. She asked me to bring you to her,” she said lightly, but with a glint in her eye that belied her absolute joy at catching her brother in such a scene.

Honor and Achilles scrambled apart like each other’s touch burned.

“It’s not—“ Honor began, as Achilles cut him off.

“Weaver, you’re dismissed for the day. And— and the night!!!” he said with a pointed, panicked look towards Thetis, who looked like she was just barely choking down full-bellied laughter. “I shall see you in the morning, at a reasonable hour, for the festival tomorrow. Good day.”

And Achilles scurried out of the door, tail literally between his legs, and Honor heard Thetis’ howling, jeering laughter all the way down the halls, and Achilles pitifully begging her to stop.

Honor retreated to his room, gently closed the door behind him, and promptly screamed into the softest pillow he had.

They hadn’t spoken since the incident, and now Honor was standing in front of his weaving loom, the first strand of thread in his claws. Today, the Festival of Light would begin at high noon, and it was his last chance to change Achilles’ mind on going. It was the safest path, surely, the most likely to end in everyone still being alive.

Still, he was nervous.

Achilles’ behavior yesterday had been… certainly something, but Honor knew he still wouldn’t take well to being told to stay home. He knew that that future was unlikely, so instead, he’d have to account for his own presence at the festival.

Honor took a deep breath, and gently let the first thread spin.

He felt the hook immediately, as the white thread began to be pulled into the loom, pulled up and around, twisted in on itself. He watched the loom, feeling that creeping darkness, feeling the way the thread felt like it was pulling out his own organs and soul — jarring, but no longer painful, no longer panic inducing — and let that shimmering darkness pull him in.

The creaking clicking of the old loom ticked like a timer in his head, counting down how long he had in his Web. In the darkness, he saw the silver threads, interconnecting with each other, an infinite, incomprehensible plane of anything that would or could ever be.

This vision would, at least, be easy. Close events — sure events, like the assassination attempt today — put little strain on Honor’s psyche, and he had long since learned how to push them. In times like these, he could gather the strings in his wings, pull together every Honor a few hours from now, and find out what they knew.

It wasn’t always like this. Often, far futures were shrouded in that ephemeral darkness that hid the inner workings of Fate to Honor: all things — futures, events, wolves — that he was not yet meant to know, protected fiercely by the Spinner themself. Other times, he only got vague feelings and images, like something out of a dream, leaving only the tapestry he’d woven in his physical body as clues.

Today was as simple as a head tilt.

He let his instincts guide him, gliding the edge of his wing over his gathered futures until one pulled sharp against the edges of his mind. There.

He is sitting beside Achilles, to his right, high up in a seat of royalty, reserved for the alpha family and their closest. They’re all watching the parade, as dancers and performers come by. There is loud music, but that isn’t what’s holding Honor’s attention.

Achilles is saying something in his ear, but he’s distracted by the sun. It reflects off a nearby structure, glinting directly into his sensitive eyes, bouncing off of Achilles’ crown. The prince’s tail thumps excitedly on the ground — he’s happy here, telling Honor about the importance of the tune they’re playing, what each costume means. Achilles sidles closer as a loud horn is blown; the biggest, most important event of the parade — an ancient Vespen, one of the heralds of the Spiritwolf Elius, is being guided down the street, and it scatters its molted feathers from last season; it is an honor to receive one, blessing one with wisdom—

Thunk.

Achilles abruptly stops, too stunned to even make a sound as he lands against Honor’s side, heavy with dead weight. The arrow has hit home. He will be gone in seconds, and this Honor — the one whose future must not happen — gathers Achilles in his wings, trying to wipe the blood from his nose —

Pay attention, that formless voice that he knew better than his own whispers. They are Honor’s guide. They are his god.

Honor forces his eyes away from Achilles, misses the moment his lovely eyes lose their light, in favor of looking directly up. The crowd is in a panic; their prince is dead. But someone catches Honor’s eye in the stands opposite theirs: a Jocol, with reddish purple fur, wine dark and full. They are looking around in a panic, just like everyone else, but…

There, says the voice.

It’s all Honor needs to know.

Honor came to with a gasp, falling backwards away from the loom. Only many, many years of this exact feeling kept him from falling flat on his butt on the ground.

On his loom was an image, as always. A giant bat held a moth pinned under its wings. An arrow was lodged in the bat’s side, but the moth’s wings were tattered beyond repair. The background was navy blue, and hanging above the two creatures was the sun, turning russet orange with sunset.

Honor shivered, pulling it free of the loom.

Instantly, the loom shrunk with a loud groan and a comical puff of smoke. Recluse, instead, sat where it had been, skittering up Honor’s leg to perch on his shoulder.

Honor held out the small tapestry where the spider could see. “What do you think?”

Recluse tapped its wooden chin, seemingly deep in thought. Then, with a chitter, hopped excitedly and ran down Honor’s wing. It reached out to tap the bat with a leg before pointing at Honor excitedly.

“Yeah, I figured it was me, too. But what about the arrow? That’s the worrying part, bud.”

At this, Recluse seemed to lose its steam, creaking uncomfortably. It moved down Honor’s wing, hopping across the floor to his closet. It laboriously pulled out a first aid kit, sitting atop it, pleased.

Honor rolled his eyes, fond. “Thanks, Recluse. That certainly will stop me from bleeding out—“

A knock at the door made Honor jump, making him knock over a stack of loose books.

“Come in!” He called, trying to gather himself.

Achilles poked his head through the doorframe. He was dressed rather simply, with only his crown and a few tight hoop earrings to adorn his head. His eyes were lined with a fine golden powder, and he was bedecked with a matching necklace and bangle set of tiny, golden teardrop tourmaline jewels. He took in the mess and the fabric in Honor’s claws.

“… who were you talking to?” he started.

“Oh!” Honor exclaimed, flustered. “I was talking to Recluse.” He gestured to the closet—

Where Recluse had flipped over onto its back, like a broken toy.

Achilles just stared at him, unimpressed and frankly, baffled.

“Uh. Well, now it’s just trying to make me look crazy,” Honor said with an awkward laugh. “It’s shy.”

“…Sure,” Achilles said, absolutely not convinced. His attention was quickly taken elsewhere, though. He stepped forward, trying to peer at the weaving in Honor’s claws.

He jerked it away, which was, in hindsight, the worst possible move, as Achilles only took it as a challenge. He danced around Honor’s attempts to wheel away from him, making his jewels jingle, handily plucking the fabric from Honor’s claws.

He studied it, look very serious as he ran his paws across the surface. Honor fidgeted, shifting uncomfortably as Achilles stared, and stared, and stared—

“Do Volmyr eat moths? Seems like more trouble than they’re worth,” he said finally, jerking his chin at the moth.

“I— what?” Honor asked, dumbfounded.

“Well, I mean, I don’t know how all of this doom and gloom prophecy nonsense works, but that’s you, right? Like, I don’t really know anyone else who would be a bat. That arrow sucks, though,” he continued, shrugging. He handed the tapestry back to Honor, and began restacking the fallen tomes.

Honor closed his eyes. “Yeah, that worries me, too.” This was as good a time as any. “Is there truly nothing I can say to make you miss the festival?”

Achilles wheeled around with a huff. “This again! Really, I like you a whole lot better when you aren’t sniffing up some Creator’s ass—“

“— you got shot! In my vision! There is an assassin coming for you, Achilles. I’m not lying. I— I can prove it. I’ll weave you another—“

“Then I should go!” He snapped back. “If I’m not there, what’s stopping the assassin from trying to shoot my parents, or spirits forbid, my sisters? At least if I’m there, then they won’t shoot someone you haven’t planned for, if you’re even telling the truth about this whole fortune-telling shtick — which I’m still not sold that you are.”

Honor snapped his jaws shut. Unfortunately, he had a point. Honor hadn’t planned for if Achilles didn’t show, and he genuinely thought Achilles might rip out his throat if his family died because of him.

“Okay,” Honor acquiesced. “But I want to ask one thing of you. Let me stand to your left, not behind you, or your right. I know it isn’t proper, but I can watch better.” He didn’t tell Achilles that he knew the assassin would fire from the left, and he’d rather the arrow strike him dead than the prince.

Achilles considered it, but didn’t look convinced.

“Please,” Honor pressed. “In repayment, if nothing else. I answered a question freely yesterday. I didn’t have to.”

Achilles looked supremely embarrassed at the mention of the incident, his ears drooping as he shifted uncomfortably.

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “But come on, we’re going to miss the carriages, and if we have to walk to the square because of your paranoia, I’m gonna make a prophecy out of you.”

Achilles turned to walk out, and Honor turned back to the closet. “Recluse,” he hissed. The little spider popped right side up, and jauntily skittered up his shoulder to hide in the high collar of his royal robes. He followed behind Achilles, eyes downcast.

Remember what you saw, he told himself. You’ve planned for this. He won’t die today.

He and Achilles ended up sharing a carriage, and the ride was spent in uncomfortable silence. Every time Honor tried to strike a conversation, he would look up to see Achilles frowning out the window, emerald eyes stormy, and the words would dry up in his throat.

When they arrived, it was to blinding fanfare.

The spectacle was almost comical.

Trumpets sounded, someone announced the arrival of the royal family and their esteemed guest. The whispers began immediately as they noticed how Honor trailed behind Achilles. He refused to bow his head in shame, even as the whispers reached his ears.

A Volmyr! I’ve never seen one so out in the open before.

He’s following the prince! A new advisor, maybe?

No, he’s too handsome for that. I bet it’s a betrothal.

At the last one, Honor felt his face heat in embarrassment, and he walked a little quicker than strictly necessary. He glimpsed Achilles’ face, and he wore a matching grimace. He must’ve heard the not-so-quiet whispers, as well.

As they reached the stands where the nobles of the Anthills perch to watch the festivities, Honor was immediately dazzled. From where they sat, he could see out across the entirety of the main city as the early morning light glanced off the magnificent windows of the high towers of the libraries and temples. The streets below were awash in warm oranges and ambers, and every house, shop, and street corner was bedecked in ribbons and baubles depicting Vespens — the sacred creatures of Elius — the Spiritwolves, various Goldsea heroes and legends, and heavenly bodies. Around them, in the crowd, wolves were dressed in bright yellows and burnished bronzes, wearing bells around their ankles or streamers wrapped around their legs and tails. Pups wore paper crowns scribbled with pink and blue jewels (Honor couldn’t help but notice they shared a resemblance to the crown Achilles wore now) and batted at each other with toy swords, screeching as their parents grabbed at them to make them sit and watch the proceedings. Those not in the stands lined the streets, craning their heads to get a look at the various performers who stood at the entrance of the massive stadium-like square, waiting for their queue to begin the procession.

Honor had never seen anything like it.

As King Phoenix gave the opening speech, offering praise to Elius and his chosen, Achilles leaned in. “Don’t have this in Murkwood, huh?”

Honor had expected malice in his voice, or at least snark, but he detected none. When he looked over, the prince was wearing a soft, amused smile on his face.

“Murkwood does not celebrate with parades, and besides, I… I was never allowed to attend Murkian celebrations. Weavers are meant to be apart,” he replied.

To Honor, that was simply a fact. He had never been to a party or festival, though he had overheard his groupmates at the den proudly boast how they had snuck out and stolen sweet honey treats to share, but they’d never much cared for Honor, so he never asked for any.

Achilles, though, looked like Honor had told him that he had been beaten and forced to sleep in freezing cold rain every day of his life. “You’ve never been to a festival? Of any kind?! You haven’t had any festival food? Never worn a stupid paper crown??? Played rigged games?! Oh, as soon as the parade is over, we’re fixing that.”

As they talked, the parade had started, and with it, the music had risen. Achilles was leaning close, explaining to him why the procession order was what it was, why this or that song was being played, or why that float was pink instead of orange. As he spoke, his tail would wag faster and faster, and he began tripping over his words in excitement. It was…

It was cute. Yeah, that’s what it was. Achilles was cute like this, delighted at getting to regale Honor with stories of Goldsea, happy to get to indulge someone.

Suddenly, though, the sun had risen high enough to begin shining into Honor’s eyes, and he squinted against the harshness that blurred the festivities down below.

“Honor, look! This is the most important part,” Achilles chattered excitedly.

Honor could make out an imposing, massive figure flocked by a group of armored guards, but the figure was not a wolf, no.

It was a Vespen.

A horn sounded.

Honor’s blood ran cold.

In slow motion, Honor turned his head, and from high, high in the stands to their left, he made out the glint of an arrowhead, bathed in light like it had been blessed.

He acted before he could think.

Honor snapped his jaws around Achilles’ scruff, slinging him hard to the ground, which the prince hit with an indignant gasp. Honor stepped sideways into where Achilles had stood, blocking him as the arrow flew.

Searing pain erupted in his side as he roared, suddenly blindingly furious. The crowd jolted at the disruption, and seeing the arrow jutting out from the pouring wound in Honor’s leg — darkening his already dark fur and clumping it together with blood — panic began to set in.

But Honor could see them, high up, on the walkway behind the seats.

This was his only chance. Otherwise, they would use the pandemonium and escape, and they may never find them again. He was going to kill them for what they had tried to do.

Ignoring Achilles’ startled yell, he shoved himself into the air, and with a speed he didn’t know he possessed, hurtled himself towards the assassin.

—————————

Damn it, Hawkmoth thought. That was it. She had blown their only chance to take the prince out of the equation. How had that blasted Volmyr known? Was there a mole in their ranks, someone who had leaked the information to the royal guard, and set the other wolf as Achilles’ guard?

Angry as she was, she needed to move quickly, act the scared citizen, and get the hell out before anyone started asking questions. She slung the crossbow to the ground. No way she would make it out with the thing. It was fine, let them find it. It wouldn’t answer any questions.

As she turned away to run, a crushing weight slammed into her ribs, and she hit the stone hard, choking with the impact.

She flailed onto her back in a desperate attempt to right herself. Her ribs screamed with every movement — she was certain some were broken — but Hawkmoth was immediately pinned further by a crushing weight.

Above her, the Volmyr leered down, his eyes blazing with… with hate, an all consuming loathing that made Hawkmoth’s blood run sluggish with icy fear. His jagged back claws dug painfully into her soft, unguarded underbelly.

She was going to die. He was going to kill her.

The Volymr lunged for her throat, and she braced for the pain. Instead, she felt as the chain of her necklace, hidden beneath her robes, snapped.

The other wolf slung her pendant, marked with her true loyalties, and a… a spider caught it, holding the pendant up victoriously in two of its wooden legs.

The Volmyr looked around, and by now the guards had swarmed in, surrounding them. Hawkmoth watched as the prince — faster than lightning, charged through them.

Her attacker jerked his chin at the necklace. “That symbol mean anything to anyone?” he snarled, failing to keep the pain out of his voice. It had been a good shot, on her part, even if it had missed its true target. He’d probably be lame his entire life, with the way it appeared to have shredded through the tissues.

“Honor!” the prince called. “You need medical attention, now! C’mon, leave this—“ Achilles sneered haughtily at Hawkmoth — still pinned — as if she hadn’t been one meddling wolf away from shooting him dead. “— to the guards. I’ll have them handled.”

She didn’t like the implications behind “handled.”

The guards grabbed for Hawkmoth, pinning her to the ground by her neck, as the Volmyr — Honor — begrudgingly let her go, leaning heavily on the prince. The other guards not holding her rushed to help support him.

She could hear that damned Volmyr being swamped with questions as they half-carried him away.

When the guards returned and clamped her in a muzzle and chains, Hawkmoth couldn’t help but wish that the Volmyr would’ve just killed her after all.

It would’ve been far kinder than what the royal family would do.

#arc of the suneater #ave: achilles #ave: honor #lorwolf #lore wolf #lortober

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