#it's tear streams. Engraved into his eyes sharp | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bits-and-babs · 1 year

Text

-ˋˏ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 ˎˊ-

summary: Following the death of your husband, you find solace in a fellow widower.

pairing: Frank Castle x f!Reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: Angst: Grief. Loss of a loved one. Desecration of a grave (not done by main characters). Navigating feelings for someone following the death of your marriage partner. Very vague references to violence. Softest smut I could muster, P in V sex, unprotected sex (the pull out method is NOT safe, ya’ll!)

Send me an ask || Frank Castle Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Day 10

The condensation on the glass of the beer bottle in your hands grounds you to the grass beneath your legs. The green strands feel more like emerald blades against the soft skin of your calves, just as your clothes feel like sandpaper and the lukewarm alcohol that slides down your throat burns like lava against your lips. All the small, beautiful things you used to appreciate with him all feel tainted, curdled without him by your side.

You exhale shakily, tears welling up in your eyes as you reach across to trace the arch of the gravestone, your husband's name etched into the marbled stone with an engraver that had probably written out ten other names that same day- so impersonal. It’s cold to the touch despite the warm sunshine spilling onto your skin, and the edges of the engravings feel as though they leave papercuts, too sharp to replace the soft, gentle touch of your late husband.

A sob rips its way up your throat, and you find yourself having to step away. It’s too much, too overwhelming to sit beside the stone for too long. Loosely gripping the emerald green neck of the beer bottle, you stumble blindly towards the bench on the other side of the gravel footpath just beyond your husband's grave. You had noted it, and the man sat on the end of it when you walked into the cemetery.

The exhale you let out as you set yourself down on the wooden bench is shaky, and your eyes cast skyward at the beautiful azure while you attempt to collect yourself and cease the tears that stream down your cheeks. They accumulate in the hollow of your chin before dripping down your chest and soak into the fabric of your sweater, leaving wet stains that darken the material. Fumbling to wipe the tears from your skin before they can do any more damage, you note the man beside you doesn’t make an effort to bother you, opting to gaze at a stone to the left of him.

You’re thankful for his silence; it gives you a moment to clean up. It’s only when you stop sniffling helplessly that the man raises his head, bistered irises slowly drifting over your face. He’s rough around the edges, with deep-set eyes and high cheekbones. His lips are pretty, the lower smaller than the upper, which has a sharp Cupid’s bow. His nose looks as though it’s been broken too many times, and there are creases in his forehead that appear to be a permanent fixture thanks to several years of frowning.

His face is framed with stubble that reaches his cheekbones, and there are deep shadows under his eyes that emulate that of bruises with their deep purple colour. He looks tired. Grief-stricken.

Again, he graces you with silence and offers you a wordless nod of acknowledgement, of understanding. He doesn’t speak, but the simple act says so many things.

“I understand how you feel.”

“I was there not long ago.”

“I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

No matter how often people tried to soothe your anguish with words, they never managed to achieve in one hundred comments what this stranger had in a single, wordless gesture of compassion. So you nod back. A short, soft tilt of your chin downwards in appreciation. It’s enough for him, it seems, because his head turns back to the stone of his deceased loved one, lips turned downwards as he gazed resignedly at the marbled stone as if willing them back from the dead.

You join him in his grief, eyes cast back to your husband as you quietly plead to all the Gods above that he doesn’t leave you alone. You can’t be alone.

-✩-

Day 25

You see it before you even make it to the foot of your husband's grave. The green and brown shards of glass glistening in the sunlight amongst the brown soil that was yet to flourish new grass since his burial. You leisurely walk upticks to more of a jog as you approach, panic rising in your chest and tears stinging your eyes.

Frequenters of the graveyard had warned you of rowdy teenagers messing around and getting drunk around the site's perimeters. Maybe it was foolish to believe that people would be respectful even in a place as sacred as a graveyard, but the smashed bottles over your lover’s grave make you want to scream in dismay. Your chest heaves as the tears stream down your cheeks, choking on your sobs as you fall to your knees in the soil and begin to pick out the shards with your naked hands.

Clinking together as you gather the pieces in your palms, the fragments are sharp to the touch. There are tiny pieces that you need to pick out of the earth with your fingertips and large shivers that you manage to collect with relative ease. Still, you can barely see through the distortion of your tears as you work hard to make the grave presentable again.

“Ow-!” You cry out weakly, a fracture of glass slitting the skin of your middle finger across the knuckle. The frustration bubbles over, anguish crushing your chest as you drop the fragments again to hold the affected area. You can feel blood seeping down your wrist, smearing your palm.

It’s too much.

Ugly, wretched sobs wrack your body as you practically fold your body in half, clutching your bleeding hand to your chest and rocking back and forth. It’s so overwhelming, the torment of being alone, being without your husband who was always there to lift you up. He would be here with his arm around your shoulders now, telling you that it was going to be okay.

“Hey, hey hey, sh-sh-sh,” you hear a gruff voice sound behind you over the volume of your cries, hushing you in a gentle tone. It takes you a moment to respond, wiping your eyes with the back of your wrists before you look up, still struggling to swallow your tears. The mysterious stranger who had sat on the bench with you only a few days ago crouches on his heels beside you, dark eyes surveying the scene with a furious frown.

“Who did this?” He asks. His voice is coarse, rage laced between each word as he reaches across to pick up the glass you had dropped in your breakdown. He does it with little effort, as though the honed edges of the glass do little to pierce his thick, calloused palms—years of blistering, years of hard work layered between scarred skin.

Struggling to form the words on your quivering lips, you throw a half-hearted shrug his way, only for another heaving sob to break past your throat. You can’t see, but you hear the creak of his leather combat boots as he stands. The stranger is quick to cross the short space to the bin beside the bench you had met him on in order to discard the glass but immediately returns to his spot beside you.

He doesn’t try to rush your grief, to get you to relocate or even stand. The caring, albeit gruff-looking, stranger stays hunched beside you, just letting you know without contact or words that he is here for you. It takes you a good while to settle the heavy breathing, but when it finally stalls, you feel hollow, as though you’d cried out all your energy to water your husband's grave.

“M’gunna kill ‘em.” Despite the violent words, the tone is spoken softly but with conviction. You glance up, feeling your eyelids almost squeak with the effort it takes, finding his eyes searching the cemetery's edges in a crude investigation. It makes you laugh weakly, wiping the tear stains from your cheeks despite them beginning to dry in the open air.

“Don’t hassle yourself with stupid kids, please-“

“No. No, don’t you be worryin’. Alright? M’gunna make sure they don’t do this shit again,” he asserts himself with a stern point of his index finger, eyes set on your face with dogged determination. You swallow down the argument threatening to leave your lips, instead solemnly accepting this vigilante’s justice. He nods at your silence, taking it as the wordless go-ahead.

Standing again, he walks through the marbled headstones. His all-black outfit is stark against the bone colour of the grave markers, almost imposing.

“Please let me at least know your name?” You call to him, “So I can use it when I thank you!”

His footsteps hesitate in the neatly trimmed, glass-free grass, stalling slightly before jump-starting again. He doesn’t look back at you, instead opting to call over his shoulder. “‘S Pete.”

You remember it. Let the name play in your skull over and over in that gravelly voice so you couldn’t possibly forget it. Pete, Pete, Pete. When he approaches you days later as you readied to leave the car park with keys in hand, he informs you ‘they won’t be comin’ round here to bother you no more, got it?’ You manage to ignore the lingering thoughts of how he had managed to scare the teens from the area (given his bloody knuckles and busted lip, it didn’t take much to figure it out), instead choosing to focus on addressing him formally, with sincerity.

“Thank you, Pete.”

-✩-

Day 70

The rain beats violently down on the windscreen of your car as you pull into the cemetery car park, the water slipping down the glass, causing the landscape to ripple as you stop the wipers. The sky is black with thick clouds, and the water they drop pelts the car's roof so loudly that it drowns out the low-level noise of the radio.

When you park up, the ‘tik’ of the radio turning off when you shut down the car is so soft you’re almost certain you haven’t killed it in the din. Satisfied only by the dash light going dark, you sit back in your seat for a moment and just gaze out of the window in dismay. Maybe this was as close as you would get to your husband today. You’re almost sure he wouldn’t mind, not wanting you to catch a cold in this weather just to spend five minutes with him.

As you gaze out at the cemetery, watching the rain batter the cold headstone that marked your husband's final resting place, you almost miss the shadow of the darkly dressed man hunched over on the bench you frequented. He’s tall and broad, and you know almost immediately who it is without having seen him in nearly a month.

Sat out in the cold and wet, Pete hasn’t even bothered to bring a coat. With no hood to protect him from the elements, his hair is drenched through, and you swear you can see how red his nose is even from the car. Despite the discomfort he must be feeling, he sits forward on the bench, forearms braced on his knees and fingers interlocked as he watches the raindrops run down a gravestone.

You’d taken it upon yourself to bring the stone flowers when Frank was away. You had no doubt he was still visiting at some point during the day, but you thought it would be a nice thing to do, given he had helped you—hydrangeas, you chose, a symbol of gratitude. When you approached the stone on a day that was definitely sunnier than this, you had noted the engraving. “Precious are the memories of Maria Elizabeth Castle, devoted wife & mother.”

Perhaps it was presumptuous to feel as though you understood his pain, just as he had understood yours, but knowing he, too, had lost his partner made it feel as though your silent bond meant more than you had initially realised.

So despite your better judgement, you step out of the car and hop straight into a puddle, soaking through your sneakers. You don’t bother to complain, despite how it wets your socks and instantly freezes your toes, approaching Pete with your arms crossed over your chest to retain as much body heat as you can against the wild wind and freezing rain.

Since fighting with the rowdy teenagers, Pete had been lying extremely low. So low that even other frequenters of the cemetery claimed they hadn’t seen him in weeks. You had almost been concerned that something had happened to him, so to see him sitting on his side of the bench came as a relief to you. As you approach, he’s still yet to note your advancing footsteps over the racket of the rain against the gravel.

You can see him closer now. Water drips from his long lashes, mixing with the tears that have settled on his cheeks if his bloodshot eyes are anything to go by.

“Hard day?” You speak softly, snapping him out of his trance. His head twists sharply to look at you, eyes wild with survival before realising it’s you instead of some silly teen trying to pick a fight or something more sinister than that. You just give him a pitying look. He’s totally deserving of it; he looks like a drowned rat. Still, he casts your sympathy aside with a scowl, grumbling wordlessly.

“I get it,” you begin, moving to sit beside him as the rain finally starts to soak through your jacket and chill your body, “Big scary man doesn’t like to talk about how he’s feeling. But that’s not good for you, you know?”

You’re met with silence, his eyes sliding back over to his wife’s headstone. Pete looks devastatingly sad whenever he looks at it, like the weight of the stone crushes him despite the fact his humongous body could probably carry quadruple its size with little effort.

“… It’s okay to be hurting, Pete,” you murmur softly, and in return, you are gifted with the sound of him exhaling slowly, shakily, as if he was releasing some of the tremendous pressure he was carrying. It makes you smile, to see him make an effort for you.

“Something started it?” You ask in a hushed tone, loud enough to be heard over the clatter of gravel pieces tossed about by the heavy downpour. “Someone said something? Had a shitty shift at work?”

“Mmmh. I woke up, and she just… wasn’t there,” he said softly, exhaling again. It sends a devastating pang through your chest. You know that feeling well. Understand that sensation of still reaching across the mattress to feel your husband's warmth only to find cold, empty sheets instead. For the first week after his death, you opted to sleep on the couch in the living room just to avoid that torturous realisation every day. It was only recently you had managed a morning without crying.

You swallow back the tears that pinprick your eyes now, threatening to undo all your hard work. Tapping your toes against the gravel, you purse your lips as you consider a way to answer him that doesn’t sound condescending. He’s a grown man; he doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like a child.

“Have you spoken to anyone? A friend, family?”

“Got no family,” he admits, glancing over to the distant city lights of New York. “Got no friends. It’s just me.”

You didn’t find it hard to believe at all. Pete seemed like an entirely lonesome character, consistently appearing on his own, being the only one to ever visit Maria’s grave.

“You’ve got me,” you whisper to him quietly, and he looks to you now with those deep mahogany eyes, ebony lashes framing his brown irises so beautifully. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, shaking his head slightly before letting out another heavy sigh.

“C’mon. You’re gunna catch a death out here.”

“… Well, at least I’d belong,” you point to the gravestones carelessly.

Pete Laughs. A genuine laugh that makes your insides warm. It’s deep and chesty and makes your own lips pull into a smile of their own. You find that when you get into the car after saying goodbye, the cold isn’t as bothersome. You think about that laugh at night before you visit your husband in your dreams. Think about how the two of you can comfort each other without sharing words. It’s a strange bond you’re building, but you realise it’s making your trips to the cemetery a little less burdensome.

-✩-

Day 140

Twenty days. Pete is gone twenty days, the blackness of the night and the brightness of the day all blending together without him. You continue to visit Maria for him, laying flowers some days, always stroking her stone gently to let her know you were there for her. You would talk quietly to Maria, just as you did your husband, about how nice Pete was. How he always looked after you. You wondered if he looked after her this way too.

The day he returns, you’re utterly relieved. A desperate exhale escapes your lungs when you set eyes on him from inside your car. He’s sitting on his side of the bench still, gazing at Maria’s stone. A hoodie covers his hair and hides his eyes with the aid of a worn, black baseball cap, but it’s hard to confuse his abnormally large frame for anyone else.

Carrying your flowers from the car, you first visit your husband. Pete raises his head slightly as you approach, and you note a slight nod of acknowledgement despite not being able to see his face. He doesn't want to interrupt this special time. You both have this silent agreement, never wanting to bother Pete when he’s with Maria, and he grants you that same courtesy. You’re thankful for this. Thankful for him.

You lay the crystal-white lilies down across the grass. It had finally reached the height of the greenery surrounding his plot, covering the freshly dug grave. It’s less unseemly this way, but it reminds you of how long you’ve been without your husband, the love of your life. Stroking across his carved name and pressing a kiss to the curve of the stone, you hold onto these moments tightly, needing to feel close to him.

Finishing up after giving him an update on your day, you stand slowly, approaching Pete on the bench with a weak smile. You cry less with him here. He looked up at you through his long lashes, deep chocolate eyes taking in your expression. It’s only now you see the blue-purple bruises that cover his eye and cheekbone, the split in his brow.

“What the fuck happened to you?!” You gasp, sitting down quickly and taking in his mashed-up face.

“Ah, got jumped by those kids,” he shrugs off your concern, pointing to Maria’s grave in a quick bid to change the topic. “You’ve been looking after Maria while I’ve been gone-“

“No, seriously, are you okay?” You question him softly, eyes scanning his face. He looks like he’s been hit by a car, but Pete looks at you with a pointed expression.

“‘M fine.” His grumble does little to ease your concerns, but you’re kind enough to let him move the conversation along.

Sitting down beside him on the bench, you exhale a loud sigh of frustration. Pete watches you settle beside him, clearing his throat. “Thank you for looking after Maria.” He repeats himself, clearly wanting to make it known he appreciates your help.

“Mhmm. She needed somebody while you were away,” you smile weakly, taking in his pained expression. It was obvious Pete hated leaving Maria alone for weeks on end. He wanted to be with her frequently, just like you with your husband. “Where were you anyway?”

“Business trip,” he mumbles, brushing over his bruised knuckles with his fingertips. The blood blooms beneath the thin skin, deep crimson and violet framed in the yellow-green hue of a dying contusion. He looks exhausted. Whatever business meeting he had must have taken place in an MMA Octagon.

You sigh softly, plucking his paw from off his lap and taking it into your own hands. He’s massive compared to you, veins protruding from the back of his palms. You’re gentle when you massage the blotted skin, eyes flicking up to his face. Pete watches you closely, those brown eyes impossible to read when they settle on you.

“You need some time away from here,” you insist, standing up from the bench and pulling his large hand with you. “Let’s go get coffee.”

“Mhm- I don’t wanna be botherin’ you-“

“It’s no bother! Come on; it will keep me busy,” you insist, a gentle smile on your face in an attempt to coax him out of the depressive cocoon Pete consistently wraps himself in. Maybe you’re imagining things, but you can see the edge of his lips quirk upwards slightly, shaking his head as he stands too.

“Alright,” he agrees, much to your delight. So caught up in the idea that you could brighten his day a little, you forget to let go of his hand as you lead the way, leaving the cars at the cemetery. You’ve stopped at a road crossing halfway to the coffee shop when you realise you’re still grasping onto him, Pete seemingly not having it in himself to burst your little sunshine bubble and ask you to let go of him.

Over a few black coffees and lattes, the two of you have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around your deceased partners for the first time. It lasts for hours. Pete reveals himself as an ex-marine working in Kandahar in Afghanistan, informing you of his interests, like playing the acoustic guitar and reading. You find yourself taken aback, the two very ‘delicate’ interests a contradiction to his rugged persona.

The baseball cap on top of Pete’s head hides his eyes from the setting sunshine that pierces the window you’re sitting beside, but his smile almost seems to shine brighter. It’s infinitely warmer than that orange orb in the sky, simmering in your chest as you smile along with him. You hope you can keep him that happy, never wanting to see him as gloomy as you did that rainy day.

“Pete-“

“Frank.”

You pause, staring at him with an incredulous expression. He takes a sip of his black coffee, exhaling slowly with a ragged breath before looking at you through his long lashes as though he’s shielding himself from the fallout of your reaction.

“My real name is Frank.”

Licking your lips, you take a moment to allow the information to sink in. You’re unsure why he would hide this from you, shield his identity like this- but given his battered state whenever he returned from a ‘business meeting’, you could guess it was due to his line of work. It also informs you it’s better than to go prodding at him, trying to get answers. The less you knew, probably the better.

“Frank…” You correct yourself slowly, to which his eyes duck to the surface of the table as if he finds the grain in the oak wood oddly fascinating. “What d’ya say we head back to my place so I can offer you a drink that’s a little more satisfying?”

It’s your turn to catch him off guard now, his eyes snapping up quickly to process your expression- as if he thinks you’re lying. His mouth falls open to answer you, but no sound comes out, his brain running quicker than his lips can follow.

“There’s no pressure,” you inform him gently despite your heart rapping violently against your ribcage. You glance towards the clock that hangs from the wall opposite your table, “But the shop is closing soon, and I don’t really feel like ending our conversation here.”

Frank’s eyes flick to the wall and then back to you, nodding slightly as if to urge himself onward.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

-✩-

The bronze brandy you hold in a crystal glass blurs your vision as you listen to Frank talk about his time in the military while sitting cross-legged on your living room floor. He won’t tell you much, insisting upon not bringing the mood down with gruesome tales of IEDs and blue-on-blue fire. Instead, he offers you stories of his friends Curtis and Billy.

An ache settles in your tailbone where you're seated on the carpet, just across from your guests' boots. Frank has settled into an armchair, swirling his brandy in the glass that looks minute in his giant paws. You don’t have it in you to move to the sofa, wanting to be close to him and take in his finer details.

In the low light of the living room, you can’t help but get lost in the contours of his face. His misshapen nose, the length of his ebony eyelashes and the curve of his Cupid’s bow. At some point, you lose track of the conversation, caught up in the view of his pecs beneath the grey cotton of his T-shirt. It’s evident that Frank is huge, but in this overhead lighting you can see the shadows of his muscular body beneath the sofa material, and you can’t help how your mouth almost waters.

“You good?” Frank’s voice cuts through your needy haze, your eyes snapping up quickly to focus back on his face. He’s watching you with a raised eyebrow.

“Y-Yes! Yes, I’m fine, honestly!” You insist, embarrassment upheaving your intoxicated stomach as he nods slowly, obviously taking note of how you had been staring at him. He could read you like a book, and had been able to since the day he saw you crying in the cemetery with a beer in your hand. How many days, weeks, months has it been since then? He made the days move quicker, always looked forward to seeing him.

“Have I overstayed my welcome?” He queries carefully, his eyes flitting to the picture frames that contain your happier memories of your deceased husband. It takes your drink-laden brain a moment to catch up to what he’s inferring.

“God, no!”

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m- tryna insert myself. I’m not tryna replace him-“

“Frank,” you plead, voice cracking on the single-syllable name like it’s a desperate lifeline. “I am so fucking lonely. I’m so empty.”

Fuck.

It slips out of you so easily in your distress, anguished by the idea he might walk out of the door and leave you to spend your evening alone. Your heart plummets into your stomach when you see his expression shift, a look of surprise settling into the fine lines on his face.

“Hey now,” he whispers when he sees tears welling in your eyes, his gruff voice husky with the low volume. Frank leans forward in the armchair, reaching down and hooking his hands under you. You’re too overwhelmed to fight off his embrace, and his firm hold pulls you to your feet and settles you on his lap.

It’s intimate. You can feel the warmth of his body through his layers of clothing, and his forehead runs hot when he presses it to yours. The brandy makes your skin prickle where he touches you, his breath tickling your face as he breathes slowly and calmly.

“Deep breaths in, go on. You’re fine, I promise.”

His words of encouragement settle your hiccups. Your sobs tearing at your throat, sink back into your chest, and you exhale shakily with him, following his rhythm.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs, praising you for bringing yourself down from the emotional cliff you had just threatened to throw yourself off. “That’s good.”

You don’t know when it shifts. When the churning agony in the pit of your stomach twists into a warm buzz of something a little more addictive. His nose bumps yours as he holds you, forehead still pushed up against your own. His body dwarfs you, his palms on your hips smothering the flesh there. Your heart leaps.

When his lips brush yours, it’s not a kiss. It’s a whisper. It’s barely there, and it tickles your nerve endings. You whimper softly, your own lips parting as you feel his mouth skirt around yours, just barely teasing at the supple flesh.

Your breathing labours once more, but this time its breathy keens instead of the rattling sobs he’d just pushed aside. His fingers skirt up the hem of your sweater, his warm, calloused pads trailing the ridges of your spine and sparking a heavy need.

“Frank,” you whisper, and it edges on a whine. The rumbling response that rattles in his lungs has your heart lurching out of the cavity of your chest.

You expect a burst, a sudden lurch towards something more primal, but Frank’s hand slowly drags up your throat to hold underneath your jaw. His grip is gentle, feather-light as he slightly tilts your chin to press a fuller kiss to your mouth. It’s so soft, his hulking body so delicate with you as he pulls you into him ever so slightly.

Brandy burns on his lips, and you can taste it, smell it on his tongue. It’s fruity and sweet with notes of oak that match the scent of his cologne. You’re breathing into his mouth, disarmed by the tenderness he offers you and losing any and all hope of a confident persona.

Trembling, your hands lay limp on his chest, fingers balling around the black cotton T-shirt he wears. They’re pulling at the fabric, clinging onto literally anything they can find because you feel like you’re floating, the alcohol in your system burning up and being replaced by the far more intoxicating kisses.

“Y’okay?” He whispers to you, lips barely leaving yours as he does. You’re nodding because God knows you can’t string together a sentence right now.

You could cry. His scabbed knuckles reach up to brush at the skin of your cheek, and you feel an overwhelming surge of emotion. These hands, the same that evidently found violence a more persuasive argument, were so affectionate with you. It was as though Frank disarmed the fighter in him, turning on the safety and locking him in the back of his mind.

A part of you finds inspiration in his demobilisation, urging yourself to let go of the safety blanket you were clinging to. Your hands slip down his front, feeling the ridges and contours of his fit, muscular body through his shirt as it descends. It’s as though your body lights up when you push your fingers underneath the hem of the cotton, buzzing hot between your thighs with a feeling you’d long forgotten.

“Mhmm,” Frank hums softly against your mouth, feeling your palms explore the smooth skin and the rippling muscles beneath. Your hips lift slightly from his lap, moaning as something throbs through you. It’s sickly sweet and drips like honey, and you find yourself chasing the awakening of a side of you that had been neatly stored in a box and left at your husband's bedside.

“You don’t need to,” he mumbles, and he’s right. You don’t. But you’ve never wanted something as much as you want this, every atom, every proton, neutral and electron of your body vibrating with a panging ache

“I want to,” you reply, the words like cotton in your mouth as you watch his eyes flit across your face. He takes you in, drinks in your beauty and commits it all to memory in a way only a widower would- spurred by the underlying fear of waking tomorrow having forgotten the little details. How long your lashes are, how your lip quivers when he runs his palms up either side of your ribs. The look in your eyes when your eyes lock; that sheer drop hanging above a four-letter word that’s too early to say aloud yet settles between the moments of shared silence.

“C’mere.”

-✩-

Frank’s palm settles on your throat as he sinks into your heat, his fingers lightly pressing into the curve of your jaw on one side, his thumb on the other. He applies no pressure there and simply holds you as he whispers praise against the angle of your cheekbone.

You clasp his bare shoulders with trembling hands, moaning out his name as he slides into you ever so slowly. Ragged scars litter the skin of his shoulders- slash wounds and destruction left by bullets. You decorate them with little, red crescent indents, your nails digging into his skin as you bloom around his cock.

“Pretty Girl,” he mumbles softly, and you let out a slightly pained whine as you stretch to fit him, “I know, baby. I know. D’you need me to stop?”

Frank’s words are slurred together as he holds himself back, knuckles white as they grip the bed sheets. You shake your head quickly, horrified by the prospect.

“D-Don’t stop,” you wheeze, your cunt fluttering around him. The stretch is delicious, the mild pain arcing something hot up your spine.

The sinews in his jaw flex as he rolls his hips forward, rocking into you fully. His thighs settle against the curve of your ass, and he presses kiss after kiss to your temple as he peppers you in compliments.

“You’re so good, bein’ so good for me,”

“That’s it, Good Girl. Can feel you relaxin’ for me.”

“There? S’That it? Yeah, that’s it.”

Frank’s forearms settle on either side of your head, his palm resting on your crown to steady your body as he begins to thrust into you. You wail softly, back arching off the pillows as he slides out of you, and back in. He touches something inside you that makes your vision blur, fizzing like static.

Each time he works his way out of you, your cunt tightens around the head of his cock in a desperate attempt to keep him there- a subconscious fear that he’ll disappear beneath the earth too.

“I’m right here,” he breathes, one of his hands moving to the inside of your thigh to push your legs wider. When he slots his hips against yours again, his pubic bone grinds against your clit. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

You sob. Frank’s winding your arousal up and up, pulling it right until you feel it throbbing around the edges of your being. His fat cock-head pushes up against something that obliterates you, punching the air from your lungs and making you choke around his name.

“That’s it Darlin’… That’s it,” he coaxes you, slipping his ring finger over the hood of your clit and rubbing in tight little circles.

Blackness- you think. Or you’re so far gone that your mind can no longer process what you’re seeing. Your orgasm bears down on you with an intensity that has your thighs quaking around Frank’s hips, your toes curling and cramping as you wail his name.

The afterglow embers continue to smoulder hours after you settle into his arms. Frank lays on his side, tracing his fingers over the divot of your spine as you gaze up at him. He’s tired; you can see it in his half-lidded eyes, the edges of sleep creeping up on his mind.

His lips are kiss swollen, his shoulders red and littered with scratches you had no idea that you had inflicted upon him.

Despite your embarrassment, Frank had smiled when he saw them—made a joke that you’d added to his collection of scars.

Though sleep also threatens to pull you under, your eyes are naturally drawn to the golden necklace that hangs from Frank’s neck. A golden wedding band hangs from the chain, glinting warmly under the low lighting of the lamp settled on the bedside table. You reach for it, tracing the circumference with the pad of your thumb.

Frank pauses for a moment, watching your mind work behind your eyes as you fall into the depths of your brain. It’s a sobering moment, knowing Maria and your husband hang over you both- feeling their loss once more. You don’t hide your thoughts from Frank for long, looking up at him through your lashes and holding your breath.

“… Do you think they’d approve?”

The man settled under the covers beside you doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turns his palm over, brushing his knuckles over your cheekbone. You melt for him, leaning into his affections as you wrap your hand around his wrist. His pulse thrums in his veins beneath the thin skin, and it’s beautiful, a perfect tempo.

“I think they’d approve of whatever made us happy.”

Happy. You’d forgotten what happiness was, how it felt and tasted following the death of your husband. It evaded your every attempt to grasp at it. Only now did you rediscover the elusive state of mind. It was different to what you remember, almost foreign.

It felt like body-warmed bed covers. Like wet sneakers and cuts on beer bottle glass. It tastes like brandy and smells like coffee shops. It looked like Frank.

You release the breath you’d trapped in your throat, feeling the weight of grief shift ever so slightly from your shoulders.

“I think so too.”

END

authors note: I began this fic in July of 2022. It’s been sat in my WIPs folder all this time, and I finally managed to find a way to finish it. I don’t feel like it’s perfect, but I do love it very much. I hope you do too.

🏷️ Tags: @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @hold-our-destiny @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina @pedrosprincess @inklore

400 notes · View notes

ramayantika · 8 months

Text

The way humans love ~ seen by a god

They will hold their memories inside their heart. A song heard ten years since the last time they heard it reminds them of lost fragrances, old homes and companions they once spent time with. To see wonder inside their eyes, look at them when they speak of old companions and times. That lost faraway look soon turns into a glaze and a little smile over their lips. They love so fiercely, so tenderly, so passionately that their love story is imprinted into every object that exists in this universe. A mother's lullaby still travels in the winds that blow and that boy who now lives in a different country feels the cool breeze carrying his late mother's lullaby.

They write poems in secret sometimes and engrave ther names on tree barks in hopes that their little love story leaves behind a mark for the years to come. It lasts for an eternity. They whisper secrets under the stars and kiss under the moon while nature looks at them in awe. The ones who lived ages ago buried their loved ones with their favourite things, be it royals or commoners, they all were given their favourite objects in their coffins in hopes that they enjoy these objects in their afterlife. Does that exist? I am a god. I can't tell you that now.

Some knit warm clothes for winter. When the young ones grow out of them, they still nuzzle their faces into the woolen clothes. The warmth that exists in the yarn entwined with each other comes from love radiating from the yarn. They sometimes wrap a shawl or a jacket around the other person while letting their own bodies shiver. As the sharp icy winds blow they bring their hands close to each other. Love suffuses through skin and makes it way inside their bodies, warming the heart as they share shy smiles with each other.

They love art. They aren't alive without it. They create art for everyone even when they haven't mastered it completely. Children scribble stick figures for their family and the adults will frame them on the refrigerator door for the years to come. Some write songs for a beloved that is far from their embrace and another human sitting in a different country listens to the same song and thinks of the lover they once shared sweet times with. They write stories too. Yes, their stories come from their mind's imagination, but they leave behind a part of their heart and soul into it in each of their tales. Those who read them even a hundred years later reach out and touch their hands, and mutter a thanks for the story written.

Sometimes love is found in the kitchen. One teases the other as their eyes fill with tears on cutting onions. Sometimes they dance around the kitchen, humming a tune to themselves and the other gazes at them as the sun streams in through the windows.

And sometimes it's love even when they are sitting alone by themselves. They will gaze at the moon, take pictures of trees and dip their feet in a pond with a sigh escaping from their lips when surrounded by peace and serenity.

They are wonderfully blessed with love. The way they strongly fight for their loved ones, the way their art depicts their love stories hidden away from the world, the way they remember smells from their childhood memories, the way they remember their lover's voice even when they no longer exist in the world around them, the way they smile at babies, the way they care for the person down the lane, the way they all connect to people from bygone eras because they all do the same things, love each other the same way since time immemorial.

Humans. Love. It's a wonder, a delight, a beautiful sight.

#samridhi speaks #samridhi writes #tumblr #posts #writeblr #humans

21 notes · View notes

justaaveragereader · 2 years

Text

The Eight Evil Thoughts // OT8

Part 1: Sadness

You were a firm believer that when you died you were bound to go to heaven…but what happens when you get casted straight down to hell. Before kneeling before the most famous evil thought/leader you run into the other evil thoughts along the way.

”Deep inside where

nothing is fine I have

lost my mind.”

🌹Pair: Reader x ????

🌹Genre: Angst, Psychological Thriller, Possible Yandere

🌹Word Count: 2.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the room there was absolutely nothing. You were positive you had heard crying and sniffling. You were certain. You fully step into the room to look around. With a time like this you were highly doubting if what you had heard even was real.

“Hello..? Hello!?” You yell out. “Is someone in here?”

There it was again the sniffling and light sobbing. Turning your head left and right. The room was no bigger than an average sized bedroom. There was no way you were missing whatever was making the sound. You slow start to make your way back to the door. Suddenly the crying becomes louder and louder. Getting so loud to the point you thought your ear drums were going to burst. You cup your ears with your hands. Sadness just starts to consume your body. You feel like your body is going through all the stages of grief at once. Your heart feels so heavy, like you just received news of a loved ones death. You can physically feel sorrow crawl into you.

You scramble to the door with your hands still cupping your ears, tears now streaming down your face. Your ears are ringing with the loud sobs. The door now has a word on it encrusted in gold.

“Sadness?” You read out loud while hiccuping with sobs. Who or what ever is sobbing slowly starts to quiet down. You let one of your arms fall to your side while your cries slowly die down. Heart still so heavy with grief and sorrow. You make way to grab the door knob you once again realize, there is no doorknob present.

You let out a defeated sigh. Placing your forehead against the door while letting out quiet sniffles. You lift your arm, running your hand across the gold writing on the door.

“Sadness… why is that all I feel right now?” You let out a small sigh followed by a couple of tears dropping.

“That’s what I feel all the time.” Says a deep raspy voice.

You quickly whip around, noticing there is a relatively huge man in the corner. His knees must be tucked into his chest because all you see is his back along with his shoulders slightly shaking as if he’s hiccuping in small sobs.

Bracing yourself against the door. Trying to put as much distance between you and this stranger who you know for a fact was not there when you entered the room because you would’ve easily seen him, he would be hard to miss…unless you truly were going insane.

“W..who are you? And when…When did you get in here?”

“Can’t you read? My name is on the door.” The big man said with a sniffle.

“Sadness? That’s all that is on the door.” Slightly turning your head to reread the gold letters engraved in the door making sure you don’t fully take your eyes off of the mysterious man.

He slightly turns his body so you can see his side profile. God…is he gorgeous. His sharp nose, plump lips, and his sharp eyes. Sharp eyes that are purely a concrete like color, slightly beige with hints of gray along with blue in them. Yet you can see so much sorrow in them for being a solid eye with no pupil. Bringing up a hand he wipes the stray tears on his face.

“Your name…you..you are sadness?”

“Yes, that's me. I also go by Mingi if you prefer to address me as that.” Fully turning his body around so now you can see him in all his sad glory. His eyes are swimming with nothing but endless grief, sorrow, and gloominess. He wipes his face once again. Now full on looking at you, eyes so solid in color just like the figure at the gate but these eyes hold so much emotion. Just him looking at you sends a shiver down your spine. You are sure he’s looking at you…but yet you can’t be so certain as seeing this being with no pupil, solid coloration in its eyes is quite alarming. Yet these eyes tell a story, even though your brain is yelling at you, you can’t help but feel for this being. You feel your heart start to weigh down. Like it is filled with rocks and it’s now sinking into your feet. You feel like you are falling. Your own eyes are filled with tears now. Clearing your throat you choke down your sudden wave of emotions.

“Mingi…well Mingi my name is Y/n. I was walking through the maze and your door randomly popped up. I had been walking for hours, your door popped up out of what felt like thin air! Can you he-.”

“Wait wait…you are only here because my door appeared? You didn’t walk in here because you wanted to, you walked in here cause you had no other path?” He speaks with a hint of devastation.

There it was. That sad pull you feel in your chest. It feels like you are going through the third stage of grief. Your eyes begin to water.

“Here I was thinking maybe just maybe…but no. I was your last resort.” He speaks now breaking out into a full on sob. Clutching his chest. “I can’t believe you. Get out of my room.”

You are now in tears, also full on sobbing. His cries start to fill the room. The ringing of the crying starts in your ears again. Along with the weight of what feels like your heart sinking to your feet. You throw your hands over your ears. Slowly sinking to the floor, crying so hard your chest is heaving for air.

“No no! That’s not true!” You yell threw a broken sob, hands tightening on your ears to block out the loud ringing and crying noise. Realizing his crying is what the ringing noise is. The harder he cries the louder the ringing gets. You are positive if he cries any harder you have the possibility of your ears bleeding along with your ear drums bursting.

“You are my path Mingi! You are my hope! I was wandering lost and I found you! I found your door!” You yell threw a broken loud sob. Trying to say anything to calm him down. Suddenly your chest starts to ease the sorrow feeling slowly starts to lower. All that’s being heard is sniffles

“You are just saying that..” he wipes his nose with the sleeve of his shirt while looking at you with watery eyes.

“That’s not true…” you say quietly. Looking at him. You crawl over to him slowly, trying not to startle or scare him in the process. Ending up kneeling before his sniffling figure.

“I was so lost…I didn’t know where to go..” your voice started to crack.

“I..I’m so lost…I don’t know what I’m doing. I wondered for hours. I swear I passed this way numerous times. Just when I was about to give up I found your door. It just popped up.” Slowly lifting your hands to cradle his face. Wiping the stray tears on his face.

“You are my path Mingi. You were never my last resort.” Slightly smiling at him while you finish wiping his tears.

He suddenly moves his hand, quickly wrapping it around your wrist. His sudden movement startles you, slightly jerking back. His solid eyes peering deep into yours. You suddenly start to feel that deep sorrow again. Your body bubbling with anxiety. Eyes filling with tears. Your hands slowly start to droop off of Mingis face. This feeling…you can only describe as if something or someone is emotionally draining you. Your left arm falls to the side while your right arm stays within his hold. His other hand quickly comes up, attaching it to the top of your head in a palming formation. Your body is feeling so helpless you don’t even react, you just let him proceed with whatever he has planned. Your head starts to feel so much pressure. White like noise fills your ears. Everything sounds like you are underwater, so muffled.

“I’m going to rummage around in here.”

You barely can make out what the man before you is saying. Squinting at him trying hard to focus on his lip movements, then you feel it. A piercing like pain on the top of your skull. Letting out a blood curdling scream you try to yank your hand out of his grip but he easily overpowers you, so strong you barely are moving at all. Sobs rack your body.

“Let go of me! What are you doing to me!”

His face is as still as stone while he remains locking eye contact with you. It feels like the dullest of knives are slowly carving at your brain. You’ve never experienced pain like this before. Your body feels like a million bees are stinging you, you can feel buzzing all over your body. Sharp pains all over, static in your head. You try to hold eye contact with him but the pain is becoming way more than you can handle, it hurts to even blink your eyes. Your body starts to sag, no power in fighting him back. Sadness along with pain is crawling over your skin, trying to penetrate your bones.

Wetness, you feel it glide down your neck, assuming that the beings hand on your head just had pierced your skin causing you to bleed. Forcing your eyes open you look down to see transparent black water marks. Forcing your head up, you are shocked to see the look on Mingis face. No longer looking sad, he looks terrified? You go to lock eyes with him again. He quickly removes his hand from your wrist and head. Jerking his body back.. his eyes fill up with tears. You feel sudden relief, head no longer in pain, body no longer feels like it’s buzzing. Just the feeling of devastation starts to fill you.

He is just staring at you so shocked…like he’s in disbelief. Shakily letting out a breath. He slowly lifts his hand, pointing a shaking finger your way.

“Yo…you…you..” his lip quivering.

You slowly start to crawl backwards to the door you came in from wanting to put as much space between you and him as possible.

You opened your mouth but couldn’t speak a single word. Lump in your throat you were trying to mutter out anything. Misery was on the surface of your body blocking any sound from leaving your throat.

Back now full pressed against the door. Your eyes shooting to the side, you notice the door now has a knob. Your eyes fall back over to Mingi. A hush suddenly fell over the room. It's like everything stilled even though it was only you two in the room. Like he was reading your mind. His once tear stained face starts pouring with emotion. Tears quickly falling, racked sobs leaving his mouth. The gnawing grief is now once again trying to penetrate your bones. Your heart is weighing down the more you are in this room with him. Your eyes quickly shoot to the door knob along with your hand. Grabbing the knob, trying to quickly open the door before you no longer have a chance.

“Where are you going!?” He suddenly yells through a heartbroken sob. He makes a quick move but by the time you are opening the door he’s halfway across the room.

“You said I was your path! Now you are leaving me? You are nothing but a liar!”

The door now opens for you to leave, that sorrow feeling still deep within you. Barely being able to stand up. You use the knob to help yourself fully stand, one foot out the door, Mingi launches himself at your other foot causing you to fall face first into the dead leaves and grass outside of the door. Looking back you see his concrete like colored eyes staring at you, looking so heartbroken. You feel it again that bee like stinging feeling all over your body. Grief consuming you again. You suddenly start to kick your feet.

“Let me go!” Eyes welling up with tears. Kicking hard trying to have him let you go.

He grips your ankle tighter. Causing you to slightly wince. One of your hands gripping the dead grass, while the other is gripping the doorway, trying to inch yourself as far as you could out of the room.

“I said let go!” Sobs are now starting to rack your body. You gather all the strength you have left, bringing up your foot that was free, slamming it down on his hand. Letting out a cry of pain he suddenly jolts back gripping his hand. Using this as your free card you quickly crawl out the room. Once fully outside in the grass. The sadness feeling is completely gone, the stinging feeling gone, and you feel like you can fully breath now. You quickly scramble to shut the door, slamming it in the process. Hearing a click sound, like it is locking.

You quickly back away from the door. Watching the knob rattle you know that Mingi is trying to open it. You hear his yelling through the door, the sobs, the heartbrokenness in tone. Calling, screaming, crying for you. He keeps yelling that you are a monster, and a liar over and over again. Your back is pressed up against a hedge. You slowly sink to the ground. Hands running down your face. You are in disbelief at what all transpired. You slowly start to let your emotions come to the surface, feeling sad, lost, hopeless. A couple stray tears make it down your face. While wiping them you hear the sniffles still coming from inside the room. Door directly across from you.

“Mingi…?” You barely whisper out. Voice small yet raw with emotion.

“….yeah..?..” you almost miss his reply, he was so quiet. Brushing off your pants, standing up. You slowly walk over to the door, plopping down right in front of it. Against your better judgment you hear your brain yelling at you but your heart overrides it all, feeling pity for the man. Back leaning against the door. You let out a sigh, lifting your head up to look at the dark gray sky.

“You failed…” he says through a whisper.

Eyes growing big with worry, snapping your head towards the door.

“I failed…I failed? Wha-…what do you mean I failed?!“ You stutter out in disbelief.

Radio silence on his side, yet you know he is still there because you can still hear him sniffling.

“Answer me Mingi! How did I fail?! Why did I fail?!” You start to get upset. “Sadness, answer me now!

Sniffling getting louder. You are so confused, upset, and rawfully sad. You look towards the sky again letting out a deep sigh. Beginning to rub your temples to soothe the headache that is now taking over.

“I know why you are down here too...” barely above a whisper he says.

Tears start to fill your eyes…you are so lost and confused. This is not how the afterlife was supposed to be playing out for you.

“Why am I here?….Mingi please…” You choke out.

Head still tilted towards the sky, with your eyes now shut, stray tears streaming down the sides of your face. You are so exhausted, mentally, and emotionally drained.

You are not sure how much time goes by before you slowly crack your eyes open. Neck stiff from the position you were in. You slowly tilt your head beginning to stretch your neck out.

“Hey Mingi…how long was I out?” With a little rasp in your voice. No answer.

“Mingi? You there?…. Sadness…? You say while standing up to brush your pants off.

“I’m sorry about bef-.” Your sentence is cut while you turn around, realizing there is no more door. Just dead leaves, sticks too that build up the hedge to the maze-like wall.

Letting out a sigh…you realize you are sad. You are sad to have known that the one thing and or person you encountered in this place is now gone. Even though your brain is still screaming at you, that whoever or whatever that man or being was, was nothing but a red flag. You still feel sympathy and sadness for him.

Letting out a small sigh you begin walking again.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are positive by now your feet are covered in blisters. Every step you take you let out a small wince. The dark of night starts to take over the maze-like area. Before you fully give up you notice a small light in the distance. Deciding against your better judgment you start to make your way towards the light like object. At this point you are grasping at straws, willing to take any clue as to how to get the hell out of here.

🌹 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Chapter 2 is now posted!👉👉👉👉 Part 2

Authors Note: Well…what are our thoughts? It was quite a ride writing this part. I’m so excited to write for the other members. I have already started writing chapter 2! Let me know what you all think! I hope you enjoy! Look forward to the future chapters!💙

DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY.

139 notes · View notes

maethinks · 9 months

Text

“Moon dust in your lungs, stars in your eyes, you are the child of the cosmos, a ruler of the skies.”

When he first heard these words, he was crying in the cradle in his room in the middle of the night as his mother tried to silence him, rocking him back and forth, pressing soft kisses on his head as she calmed him down. She whispered these words to him as he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

The second time he heard these words, his mom made his favourite food- falafel burritos with lemonade. It was his sixth birthday, and his mom wished him and ruffled his hair. He asked her to tell him her favourite poem. He was young and curious and had recently found out his mother’s one true love was words, in any form, in any shape, just words. She smiled as she said the words, now engraved in his mind.

The third time he heard these words, he was in literature class, he was 16, going through his reading for the day when his teacher started talking about anonymous poets and poetry. He heard his teacher say the first word and involuntarily continued the poem. Silence filled the room once he was done, he looked around in embarrassment, his cheeks flushed. He didn’t speak the entire day.

The fourth and last time he heard these words was when he was on his deathbed. He had lived a life full of pleasure and pain and was now 83, He was sitting in his bed and drinking water when he felt a sharp pain in his chest, he dropped the glass, and it shattered on the floor as he was swept into a fit of coughs. He fell to the ground, and his daughter came into the room and cried out. She frantically tried to make him sit up and drink water, but he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t do anything but cough as the breath went out from him. His eyes fixed on the white lights on his ceiling as his daughter said the words, tears streaming down her face as she closed his eyes.

The next time he heard the words, he was between life and death. Darkness. Total blackness, like a night with no stars, and the moon hidden behind the clouds. He saw the light. He reached towards it, but something pulled him back. He tried to fight it, but his body was getting farther and farther away from the light. And then, darkness, again.

And the next to next time he heard these words, he was crying in his cradle, his mother rolling her eyes at her son, drinking from her wine glass and screaming at him to shut up.

#writing prompts #i guess #maewrites #quotes

7 notes · View notes

zipegs · 8 months

Text

will & beverly // 774 words, g, western au // ao3 written for day 1 of fad's au challenge: cowboy

The midday sun was so strong that Will could hear it. Sweat dripped insistently down his back and chest, and his and Beverly's horses kicked up a dry cloud of grit with every step. The dust misted his face like sea spray, sticking to his perspiration and coating him in a layer of dirt.

Normally, Will would relish every aspect of the ride—the gentle rocking of his hips, Winston's strength beneath him, the heat pressed in on him from all sides.

Riding out across the flat fields, far out of reach of the civilized world... It was really the only time he felt safe.

Now, though, it was hard to concentrate on his surroundings. He kept losing himself in his mind, slipping back into the roaring river of his thoughts. Hannibal staring at him through the cell bars. Alana stained red and cradling Abigail's broken-puppet body. The sharp heat of Hannibal's knife in his belly.

A fat droplet of sweat slid into Will's stinging eye. He came back to himself and blinked past the sudden flare of pain. When he glanced to his side, he found that Beverly was already watching him, her face lined hard with somber concern. Will forced an unsteady smile, and she looked away. "There's a stream up ahead," she said, gesturing with her chin. "Think we should stop for a while."

Will knew her better than to argue. Beverly had always been the stubborn sort, whip-smart and headstrong, and she wasn't one for compromise.

They rode on in silence as the terrain blossomed with dry grasses & clusters of brittle shrubs—life, but a hardened, serrated form of it.

Will could relate.

The stream, when they reached it, was low for this time of year, not much more than a trickle over slick, jagged rocks. He led Winston to drink and Beverly did the same, standing at the water's edge with her hands planted on her hips. Will lowered himself to kneel and dipped his grimy hands beneath the surface, collecting cold water in his palms. It stung pleasantly when he splashed it over his face, and he scooped a handful onto the back of his neck before running his hands through his sweat-damp hair.

"How's your stomach?" Beverly asked. Her gaze darted to Will as she rinsed her bandana in the stream.

He frowned, bringing a protective hand to his lower belly. Beverly raised her brows as she wiped herself down with the cool cloth, and Will cleared his throat. "It's fine."

"Bullshit." Beverly rinsed the bandana again and hung it around her neck, leaning back on the sun-warmed grass. "We should've waited another week."

Will exhaled a frustrated sigh. "I'm tired of waiting, Bev."

"I know."

He stared out over the stream, feeling her gaze on him. It was at least another day until they reached the village where Hannibal had been sighted. Between the time it took for the news to reach Will in the first place and the time it took for him and Beverly to travel there, there was no way of knowing if they'd find him. If they didn't—if Hannibal had moved on... Will didn't know what he'd do.

He reached into his pocket and ran his thumb over the engraved surface of Hannibal's pocket watch, the metal body-warm. A pang of longing seized him, followed by the brutal ache of betrayal. Will closed his fist around the watch and squeezed until the metal bit into his palm.

"Will."

Will closed his eyes. He released the pocket watch and set his palms on the ground, focusing on the sharp, stubbly blades of grass beneath his skin. He could hear Beverly shifting beside him. "When we get there," Beverly said slowly, picking her words with care, "when we find him—"

"If we find him," Will jumped in.

"If we find him." She paused.

Will didn't open his eyes. In his mind, he could see Hannibal leaning over him, his eyes shining with tears as he carved apart Will's life.

Beverly spoke again, just as slow and quiet as before. "What are you going to do?"

Will's pistol was heavy in his holster. His throat ached, and he could feel the soft press of Hannibal's lips against his.

The truth of it was this: Will didn't know what he was going to do. He didn't think he would know, not until Hannibal was standing there in front of him, real and solid.

The possibilities spun out before him, as open and endless as the lands that separated them.

"Will?"

Will opened his eyes and said nothing—just stared out across the sunlit stream.

#hannibal #will graham #beverly katz #will graham & beverly katz #besties in every universe #anyway yeah i just think it's so sexy to picture them #out on horseback together #seeking a little vengeance lolllll #anyway #fadserver #mine #mine: writing #hannibal fanfiction

6 notes · View notes

windblume-wishes · 2 years

Text

Game of Thorns - A Twisted Wonderland Story

Every rose has its thorns, and with every stab one will bleed bright crimson from that thorns very touch. Riddle is no different, he is a rose with many thorns, but who's not to say even the rose himself will be stabbed brutally with his own protective thorns.

Chapter 1: Tell Me, Mother...

The Overblot had taken a toll on the crimson haired boy's small frame, his energy was all but spent, his body craving the warm embrace of sleep. He could nearly feel it, his eyelids felt heavy as if he were trying to see through thick honey. Crying wiped his energy out more, he had more tears to shed but now was not the time. He already disgraced the Rosehearts name by crying.

"Riddle, it is weakness for you to cry. Boys do not cry, if so much as a tear is shed from your eyes, son, you are no lower than a pathetic dung beetle." We're his mothers harsh words he had engraved into his mind since he was small. Once infancy was through, tears were forbidden.

Riddle shifted his head closer to Trey, sniffling a little and wrapping his long cape around him more to shield himself from possible prying eyes. Trey only smiled softly, gently stroking his small friend's head as he sobbed silently. Crowley peeked down at Riddle who was trying his hardest not to fall asleep from his exhaustion and the soothing rhythm of Trey's heartbeat. It broke the ancient headmaster's heart to see one so small suffer such a terrible fate.

"Mr. Rosehearts, do try and stay awake, child, we are almost to the infirmary." Crowley announced softly, reaching out a gentle, clawed finger to wipe away some of the tears.

Riddle's eyes opened a little and he nodded before curling back up, hiding his face from the headmaster, face warm with embarrassment. He had always been scolded for wanting to be coddled as a small child, being told it was pathetic and weak. His mother refused to hold him if he was frightened, however on the rare occasion where he had fallen ill, resting in her arms felt oddly comfortable, as if her sharp thorns had been trimmed. Only for that moment.

Riddle was jolted from his thoughts as he was placed onto a comfortable bed, a small, old, pudgy nurse waddled in smiling softly at him as he stared at her with big, tearful, sleepy eyes. She handed him a pair of comfortable pyjamas meant for a boy his size, gently helping him up and to the nearby bathroom where he could change in private as both headmaster and vice housewarden waited outside for him.

Riddle closed the door, staring at himself in the mirror, although the scars of her thorns were invisible to others, he saw them. Hot tears streamed down his face as he looked at his body as he undressed. His ribs were almost visible, his collarbone too, he stood before the mirror only wearing his boxers, there was the damage, her damage. Riddle stared at his figure, noticing all the invisible wounds she engraved into his smooth skin, he knew what every thorn of hers had done, what every invisible mark was from.

Drip, drip, drip, went the crimson blood of the thorn induced wounds, the blood only he could see as it pooled beneath his bare feet. Drip, drip, drip...

"Tell me, mummy, why did you do this to me...? I thought a mother was supposed to love and care for her child... you almost lost me when I was born but- but you may be losing me now..." Said his inner voice, his big slate grey eyes still overflowing with tears. Riddle shook his head, trying his hardest to clear his thoughts. He needed to focus, he needed to rest.

Ten minutes had passed and Riddle emerged from the bathroom slowly and sleepily, rubbing his eye gently with a small fist. Crowley walked up to Riddle and offered him a hand, seeing as the boy was having difficulties in standing straight and keeping awake. Riddle took his hand without hesitation, allowing himself to be lead to the bed while Trey took care of folding his dorm uniform that was in desperate need of mending.

Riddle began to slip in and out of consciousness as he allowed himself to be tucked into bed and examined by the nurse. The cool metal of the stethoscope made him whimper, bringing back unwanted memories of when his mother would constantly conduct checkups on him before bed every night. Tears fell from his closed eyes and his breathing quickened in pace.

"Riddle, it's alright, you are safe now, just rest now." He could hear a voice call softly. "Hush now, whatever is in your dream is not real, only a mere illusion, no monster will harm any of my students while I'm here."

Crowley was still there? Riddle drifted back into his dreams as the nurses and doctors checked him over, he could make out faint voices in the room, many were worried, others sounded as if they wished to soothe him. Was he still crying? Was he unaware of any of his actions? He had not a clue.

"You are crying? Just how pathetic are you, young man? A Rosehearts boy does not wail like a weak infant, I did not raise a weakling! Strengthen yourself, son!"

His mother's scolding rang clear in his ears, his body shifting uncomfortably in the bed as the doctors and nurses gently shushed him. He could feel someone's hand caressing his porcelain face, it felt nice, warm and loving, definitely the opposite of his mother's.

"Riddle, you do not have to listen to your mother, you are free from her while you are at this school now. So do not worry, I will be by your side, just like old times, eh?"

That is right, Trey said those very words the day he became Housewarden of Heartslabyul, he was free. He became the small, crimson king of Heartslabyul, feared yet respected. He was strong, he was powerful, yet he was also vulnerable and weak beneath the facade.

He was but a broken child who's dreams had been shattered like glass on cement. Broken into millions and millions of tiny pieces. His hopes had been crushed like sandstone in a fist. He lay trapped within the rubble she put him under during her earthquake of rage. Helpless and weak, struggling to be heard, to be seen.

"Riddle Liddell Rosehearts, within these walls my rules are absolute! You will not dare disobey me again, sneaking out will be forbidden and a punishable offense! Have you no idea what dangers lurk in the world?! Your carelessness will get you killed!"

No, no more, please no more...

Suddenly he felt his body relax, the inner voices cease, all was quiet, all was alright. Only the faint sounds of chatter could be heard in the background, he could only see darkness, not even a speck of light. Worried voices could be heard, Trey's voice could heard filled with worry, he sounded as if he were about to cry, a rare sound from the baker's son indeed.

"I'm afraid I will have to inform his mother of her son's condition... Mrs. Rosehearts would have my head if I kept this unfortunate news from her..."

"Headmaster, please! Cora Rosehearts- I mean, Mrs. Rosehearts is the reason for Riddle's overblot! Her finding out will only add more fuel to the fire!" Trey begged, genuinely fearing the woman.

Crowley raised an eyebrow beneath his mask, was this true? Was Cora Rosehearts the reason?

"Believe me, sir, I know her better than you... I know Riddle's story..."

"Mr. Clover, these words you speak hold much to be believed, I realize the woman is frightening, yes but she is a mother who needs to know of her precious child's condition. It's required I tell her..."

There was no room for argument, the school's laws state that he must inform the parent or guardian of a child's condition if something were to happen. Cora was bound to find out.

"I- I understand, sir..."

Riddle felt his blood run cold, his heart sink, his mother would know...

"M- Mummy... N-no..."

Greetings, Travelers! I hope this chapter was to your liking!

I'm curious as to how many of you caught the name I gave Mrs. Rosehearts, if you have watched Once Upon A Time then you may know that the name of the Queen of Hearts was indeed Cora! So I had to give a little nod to that masterpiece of a series!

Please let me know what you thought, dear travelers!

- Windblume

24 notes · View notes

blackclothed · 10 months

Text

your soul ripped from your stomach

Part of the reason this house caught Siggy’s eye was the bathtub. It is enormous, at least he thought it was before he had been around so many rich people that his definition of luxury became less childlike. The tub is built into the wall rather than freestanding. It has counter space aplenty for his basket of soaps and candles that have never been lit, and the tub itself has jets that he rarely uses but likes that they are there. There is a frosted window poised above for natural light, but Siggy always preferred artificial. Besides, it is 2 o’clock in the morning and far too dark for the sun to kiss his bathroom.

He watches the water climb higher, crystal clear and rippling with the pounding of the faucet. The dull roaring fills his ears, and he watches. He should get undressed. He is wearing a velvet black dress with sleeves to the wrist and a cutoff at his upper thigh. A jeweled necklace is balanced on his collar with matching earrings and a ring. He is even still wearing his heels.

Finally, he tears his gaze from the water just as it reaches the brim and shuts it off. The silence falls over him, thick and tangible, so uncomfortable he wishes to throw it off. He tosses an instinctual, nervous glance over his shoulder and greets his reflection, done up in dark eye makeup to match the shadows cast beneath his eyes. He hasn’t slept in two days. He will not sleep tonight.

Give me another chance, please! I swear I wasn’t stealing from you— I-I was going to make it up on my end, I just need a little more time—

There is a muffled tap as he submerges his heel in the water. He sinks, fully clothed, beneath the surface, water rushing over the side and splattering onto the floor. The soothing heat engulfs him. He groans, lanky fingers scrubbing half of his face and comb back black hair. His hand comes away smudged with makeup and trembling slightly. It’s too quiet. The silence is so sharp it could draw blood.

He remedies this quickly, tapping his phone smeared with bathwater until it starts to fill the room with music and saw away at that uncomfortable sharpness. He cracks his neck, then fishes around in the basket perched beside the tub until he withdraws a half-full pack of cigarettes and a cheap plastic lighter. He hates that lighter, vastly inferior to his favorite zippo engraved with a pinup girl, but it does the job.

He leans his head back, hooking an arm behind him and blows a thin stream of smoke into the air.

He doesn’t regret what he did tonight, but he feels like he is dying. His ruthlessness is about survival really. Survival of their business, yes, but more importantly, himself. What use would he be if he started acting soft? Second chances are not productive for this sort of infraction, so he will not give them. Ever. That’s why he’s been trusted with so much responsibility— he will demand agony of others to save himself. And until he forgets how to do that, then he will live. Well… he won’t be killed by his own people. That’s the best he can hope for.

The hand holding the cigarette between index and middle is trembling worse now. He swallows, throat tight and fumbles pushing the thing back between his lips.

That doesn’t mean the screams don’t rattle between his ears and scrape like nails over his skin. These walls are supposed to muffle them. If he is in the belly of this empty home, concealed from eyes and words, all the noises are supposed to become distant. They aren’t.

He screws the tips of his fingers into his eyes, smearing his makeup.

The man’s eyes are engraved on the inside of his own, wide and scared and an exact reflection of himself two years ago. Siggy didn’t even flinch in the moment. He didn’t feel sympathy lashing within him like he used to before this was his job, when he only was one who watched. He cannot comprehend why it feels like there are bullet wounds festering in his soul.

There is nothing to distract him. He turns the music up. He has nothing to fill this awful void that screams and reeks and rots him from the inside out. He is so tired. His cigarette is burning, the heat of embers whispering against his fingers, but he doesn’t smoke it. He throws it into the tub and clutches his head in his hands as if the halves of his skull might slide apart if he doesn’t.

That is when he hears the noise.

He freezes, head snapping toward the direction of the sound before remembering his music. He quickly seizes his phone and fumbles with the volume button until he is again drenched in iron-heavy silence.

He heard it. He knows he did. And as he waits, he hears it again. It is a distant thump downstairs, and the chill that rushes down his spine crawls into the marrow of his bones, and he freezes in place, unable to breathe, or move. He listens for it again, wide eyed, and he knows he hears it, but his thoughts are doused in an icy panic.

Someone is coming. Someone got past the front door. They have a gun, or a knife, and they’re going to make him pay for what he did tonight. They’ll fill him with holes or gut him like a prey animal and let the ocean swallow his ugly corpse. He’ll be found behind a dumpster, stiff and glassy eyed. All of this is if he is lucky. They might let him live, but bring with them a rope and drugs, and that would be so much worse.

He should have known the man that died tonight might have friends and that they would find out, track Siggy down, get past his security. It feels obvious now that it was a poor decision to remain alone here— he never even considered that he might need extra security for the next few days, or even weeks. But it’s far too late now. Someone is in his house!

This is recompense for his blatant, countless sins. They coat his body like a disease, and someone is coming to burn him to ash, to cleanse this wretched home.

It takes him longer than it should to crack open his stupor and snatch up his phone once more. His hand is shaking badly as he calls Gummy, and as he connects his voice is a childlike whisper, tight with fear.

“Someone’s here! Someone’s here, please come quickly— they’re downstairs!”

“Someone’s in your house? I’m coming. Stay on the phone.”

Burning tears prick at his dark hues and begin to slide down his face. Air is locked in his lungs, and he cannot breathe except in wheezes. Gummy will never get here before his killer climbs the stairs, and what is Siggy to do? Wait for them to find him?

“There’s a gun in your bedside drawer, Siggy.” The stern voice on the other end reminds him, as if reading his thoughts. “Take it and wait for me.”

He nods, forgetting in his blind, white-hot fear that Gummy cannot see this confirmation. He rises from the tub, wincing at the dripping noises, but climbs out as quickly as he can. He rushes from the tile to the carpeted floor of his bedroom and throws himself at the bedside table. He yanks the drawer open and seizes the gun, clutching it to his chest.

His gaze falls to the doorknob. He isn’t convinced locking it would do him much good, but leaving it unlocked is worse, so he hurries toward it and twists the lock into place.

Tears are rushing in droves now, tracing black lines down his cheeks and dripping down his chin. He backs into his closet, shutting the door so he is engulfed in blackness. A whimper escapes to rupture the silence.

“Stay calm, I’m on my way.”

“Hurry!Hurry, please!”

The minutes crawl by, disguising themselves as hours. His whole body is shivering, dripping, terror so intense lancing through his veins that he is incapable of moving at all. The noises grow closer, right outside the closet door. He did not hear them picking the lock and entering the bedroom, but they must have done so! He cries, chest stuttering with panic, noiseless sobs behind his lips pressed tight together. His index is hooked over the trigger of the gun. The handle is hot and coated in a layer of sweat beneath his palm.

Gummy remains on the line with him as he enters the house. He remains on the line as he listens to Siggy’s insistence that the intruders are now in his bedroom and breaks open the door to search. He lets Siggy stay hidden in the closet while he goes back downstairs and scours every inch of the house. Then he does it a second time.

“There’s no one here, Siggy.” His voice is unaccusatory. “I’m coming back upstairs.”

Siggy says nothing. A profound numbness rather than relief leaks through his veins. He is not ashamed of the false alarm, not when it’s just Gummy who has witnessed this evident lapse in composure. He presses the end call button without another word.

He clicks the safety back into place and sets the gun down. He realizes now that it wasn’t even loaded. He wonders if Gummy intentionally didn’t remind him to load it— he did last time. He must think Siggy is losing it. He leans his head against the back wall of the closet, closing his eyes as the last remaining tears slide down cheeks streaked with makeup.

The closet door swings open and Gummy, immense and foreboding is silhouetted in the doorway.

Siggy looks up at him, saying nothing. He does not need the order.

Gummy approaches, crouching down in front of him. He first checks the gun, looking to unload the bullets only to find there are none in the chamber. Then he wraps his arms around Siggy, one beneath his legs and the other behind his back and lifts him.

“You think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t.”

He crosses the bedroom to return to the bathroom. Siggy hears his boots splash in the layer of water painted all over the tile.

“You should. I keep calling you here over nothing.”

Gummy sets him down and begins to undo his necklace.

“You’re scared. That’s reasonable.”

The necklace is placed on the sink, followed by each of his earrings.

“Why do you take me so seriously every time I call? I know you think it’s not real.”

“I don’t know that it’s not real. Lift your arms.”

Siggy obeys, allowing the sopping dress to be raised over his head. He seems for a moment, unsure what to do with it before deciding to place it in the sink. He looks to Siggy for confirmation that this is fine.

Siggy waves a shivering hand. “You haven’t even asked why I’m soaked.”

“Why are you soaked?” He asks, crouching down to gently remove each of Siggy’s heels.

“I drew a bath but didn’t get undressed. But that’s not the point. You saw I was wet and sitting in my closet and didn’t even blink. You think I’m crazy.”

Gummy ducks for a moment into the cabinet beneath the sink and withdraws a towel. He proceeds to envelope Siggy in the fluffy halves, using the corner to wipe the makeup from his cheeks.

“Hm, your eyeliner isn’t really coming off.”

“I don’t care. Do I look like I care?”

Gummy ignores this and scoops him back up, carrying his now dry and unclothed employer back to the bedroom.

He sets Siggy on the edge of the bed and then opens the dresser to fish out an old, oversized band t-shirt and boxers. He murmurs again for Siggy to raise his arms and tucks the shirt down over his bare waist, then pulls on his boxers.

“Are you comfortable?” Gummy asks, hands finding purchase upon either of Siggy’s shoulders.

Siggy blinks, casting weary eyes up at him. Defensiveness lashes within him, too frustrated and frightened by his own confusion to admit it, but what Gummy thinks of him is something he can latch on to. He can sink his nails into it and be cruel, feel justified in his anger toward someone other than himself. So, he does so.

“You think I’m crazy.” He echoes his words from before, this time a growl.

It angers him that Gummy’s expression does not change.

“Say something.” Siggy says, nails curling around Gummy’s collar and bunching the fabric into his fist.

“I don’t know what to say.” Finally, a ripple floats across that flat mask of his, but what Siggy reads this ripple to mean startles him. It is pity, clear as a brilliant blue sky. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

Siggy’s eyes are wide, bloodshot with tears and sleeplessness. He releases Gummy’s collar and instead finds himself reaching out, barely aware of himself, as if he attempts to grasp this drop of emotion and observe it between his hands. His fingers hover just above Gummy’s cheek.

“You pity me?”

Gummy says nothing.

Siggy’s expression shatters into something frightened and childlike. The crying returns, and he does not know why. His nose runs, and suddenly emotion bleeds from the cleaved halves of his soul. It is black and ugly and gushing between his shaking fingers that cannot hope to stifle it. It reeks of the terror woven through his bones and mixed with his blood.

A hand smooths back his hair and he finds himself pressed against a broad chest, shushing noises whispered against his crown. He is eased against the mattress, a thick comforter tucked over his form, curled upon itself. And Gummy holds him close.

“Am I going to die?” His murmur is muffled between sobs that coalesce against Gummy’s heart.

“Not while I’m around.”

A shuddering breath. “Are you lying?”

“No.”

He does not know if he believes him, but his fraying mind has little choice but to trust that this is true

#reposting #drabble;;

0 notes

glazelilyy · 3 years

Text

dry your tears

pairings (separately!)- diluc ragnvindr, kaeya alberich, childe/tartaglia, scaramouche x gender neutral reader

word count - 3954

genre - angst, hurt/comfort

format- drabbles

warnings - crying, arguments, yelling, cursing in scara's, hints at abandonment issues, petnames (my love, dove, angel, sweetheart)

summary - after a heated argument, you storm off to get some air only to return hours later and find him with tears streaming down his face

a/n - i've seen a lot of those "genshin guys make you cry" hcs (and MMM are they deliciously angsty) but then i thought: what if the roles were reversed? and here we are :')

disclaimer - fights are gonna happen in any sort of relationship, but what matters is how you communicate about the problem :)

you hadn't expected things to go this way, the heat in the air was unthinkably hot and menacing as was the thick tension that wrapped around your throat so coarse and wiry, you felt your breathing halt.

faces warm and throats sore, how long had it been since you first brought up the topic? time itself seemed to still when the man you loved with all your heart stared back at you with boiling rage engraved in his usually loving eyes and an unsettling sneer on his soft lips.

words poured out of his mouth yet your ears remained numb as your battered heart filled the void and rammed against your eardrums. it was as if for miles all you could hear were his shouts and disgruntled comments, even the sharp jab or two where you were most vulnerable. what stabbed the most, however, was your reciprocation.

you were sure at least one of your comments had hit a nerve, but you saw red, red, red. and all courtesies began to fly out the window.

was it so selfish to wish that he'd set aside your differences and hold you so lovingly as he usually did? perhaps, yet your mind wandered to the realm of forgiveness and the dried tear paths on your cheeks ached for your mouth to split open and spew apologies.

but as angry as you were, you loved him. you loved him so much, the mere thought of his anger overshadowing his love for you had your knees buckling and breaths escaping the confines of your lungs.

"look, i'm going to cool off and then we can talk about it later." there was a defeated hum to your voice, one you'd find in a cornered animal who'd been slashed through their bellies and had nothing but adrenaline running through the thin crevices of their veins.

he expected you to storm off with stomped steps and an angry pout, but when you stepped forwards with shaking arms that wrapped around his torso so tightly, and pressed your lips to his clothed, thundering heart, his anger seemed to dissolve entirely.

the final icing on the cake was the whimpered "i love you," whispered against his heart from your lips.

and suddenly, your warmth disappeared from his chest and the click of your shoes began to fade away until all he was left with were echoes of your touch, and a throbbing heart that yearned for your presence.

content + scenarios utc!

windrise had such lovely breezes, and soon you found that your anger had seemingly fluttered away with the calming winds. your walk had allowed you time to think, of both the words diluc spoke and your own behavior. neither of you were very polite or mature about your handling of the matter, much to your chagrin.

after some thought collecting at the large tree near windrise, you legs found themselves dragging towards dawn winery where you had only been hours earlier engaged in the fight of your life, with the love of your life. what was it about? you hardly remembered anymore, but what you craved most was not vengeance or the ability to be right, but diluc's arms wrapped firm around your waist and his intoxicating scent of fresh grapes and aged wine. you longed to run your hands through his thick locks instead of pulling out your own, or feel his palm, gloved or bare, in your own instead of anxiously digging crescent shaped holes into the flesh of your palms.

the doors to the winery felt as heavy as led when you placed your hands and pushed with all your might.

the usual dim candles that illuminated the winery were nowhere to be seen; the entirety of the property seemed void of light and deprived of the usual staff scurrying about. the pit in your throat began to jostle your insides but you swallowed it down with firm resolution and set off in search of diluc.

his usual spot, tableside by the fireplace, was devoid of warmth or any semblance of his being save for the reading glasses he often wore while tending to the winery's paperwork. you clutched the pair of spectacles in your hand and prodded around each room with bated breath, hoping to see the familiar mop of red hair.

just as you ascended the stairs and began to approach his office, your heart stilled as did your breath: the faintest of whimpers met your ears in a sorrowful kiss and the creeping hesitance that had been brewing in the deepest confines of your stomach had begun to resurface.

as gently as you could, you approached his office and peered inside.

the mighty diluc, so strong and so brave, looked much more akin to a lost child as he sat slumped in his chair, elbows placed limply on his desk while his hands took it upon themselves to hold his head over countless stray pieces of paperwork. his red locks had fallen out of its usual composed ponytail and poured out in waterfalls over his skin and desk. even from this strained angle, you could see the small splatters of teardrops that fell onto the documents below his face. and sweet barbatos, with every one of his muffled cries and sobs, you felt your heart break and scatter into pieces, a sharp bite coming to tingle at the ends of your eyes when your name passed his lips in a hoarse and whispered voice.

diluc seemed not to notice you as you approached with cautious steps and gently set his reading glasses down in front of him on his lacquered, wooden desk. the gentle stroke of your hand on his head was what tore him from the wallowing fields of his hands.

his eyes scanned over your body, his own hand hesitantly reaching up to overlap the hand you placed on his head. upon feeling the smoothness of your skin and the bumps of your knuckles, diluc bolted from his chair and wrapped his arms so, so tight around your body. the usual solid cadence of his voice felt wobbly and unstable as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck and shook with sobs. you squeezed back with equal force and ran a soothing hand through his mangled locks.

"i thought...i thought you left me," he managed to sputter out in between lulls of choked cries and sharp inhales.

a single tear slipped down your cheek, "shh i'm here now, i wouldn't leave you just like that." and how true it was that you never would.

you pulled his face from your neck and swiped away at the moisture that coated his face. the rims of his scarlet eyes pooled with a never-ending stream of tears. his skin felt hot to the touch as your nimble fingers worked to rub away his sorrow. diluc's hand found its way up to cup your cheek and brushed away at the stray tears that trickled down from the reservoir hidden behind your eyes.

"i'm so sorry, my love. i meant none of what i said, i truly do love you with all my heart. if i had been more mature about it-"

"no, diluc," you gently placed the soft of your palm against his lips to silence him, "don't blame yourself like that. i'm at fault as well, and i'm sorry." the tip of your nose brushed against his before aiming to slot your lips against his for a tender, chaste kiss.

"we can talk about it after you've calmed down, okay?" you asked once pulling away. he nodded in reply and returned his face to your shoulder, allowing his tears to be absorbed by the heat of your skin all while you cradled him in your arms and whispered words of love and reassurance into his hair.

the muffled "i love you" from your shoulder had you weak in the knees, and it was then that you knew that the both of you would be okay, especially when you replied with an "i love you too" in return.

cider lake was breathtaking at night: from the dancing glimmers of moonlight atop its rippling surface, to the gentle, cooling breeze that came in from the lake water. shoes clutched in one hand, your bare feet made soft footfalls and left behind imprints of your existence in the grainy, mushy sand.

surrounded by tranquility, you finally had a moment to breath and think back to your argument with kaeya. you no doubt felt terrible, both for losing your cool and the sharp imprints of his words that still left impact wounds on your heart. it was almost as though kaeya could target your worst insecurities and zero in on them like heat seeking missiles, and he never failed to miss.

but you knew deep within that it was both of your yelling, both of your disagreements that led to where you are now. and with the calming brush of cider lake's waters against your ankles, you knew you were calm enough to talk things out with kaeya. after all, you loved him, flaws and all.

the favonius headquarters were ominous to some at night, but you glided through the lacquered halls with ease, taking great care to empty your shoes of sand and water first. it wasn't the menacing darkness of the halls that worried you, rather the gentle trickle of candlelight from kaeya's office that urged you to turn around and discuss things in the morning. but you knew that you wanted to fix this, that you'd rather fall asleep tonight knowing you could wake up to his charming smile rather than cold sheets.

despite the glow that poured in from his office into the dark halls, only a single candle had been lit by his deskside instead of the usual four or five that he'd placed around the office. instead of facing his desk, kaeya's chair had been turned to gaze outside the large, paneled window that sat behind his desk. from his office, cider lake stretched on and glimmered under the moonlight for as far as the eye could see. with his cheek propped up by his elbow that rested on the arm of the chair, you almost thought he had been sleeping if not for the slightly ragged breaths emitted from his lips.

you cautiously knocked on the wood of his door, "kaeya? it's me."

the man in front of you hardly moved, transfixed on the gentle sloshes of crystal clear water in front of him.

"kaeya, please don't ignore me," your feet felt like on his wooden floors as you approached his chair, "i came here to tell you how sorry i am, not to fight anymore-"

the rest of your sentence fell flat in your throat as you finally came face to face with kaeya.

kaeya whose eyepatch had long since fallen to the floor and laid by his boots. whose hidden, milky eye seemed lost and confused. kaeya whose eyes gently trickled with silent tears. he hadn't noticed your presence until your thumb came to gently swipe away a tear from under his normally hidden eye. he seemed to flip a switch on as his usual seductive (though strained) grin formed on his face.

"finally come crawling back, sweetheart?" and if not for the warble of his voice or the tears cascading down this face, you'd think he was alright.

"oh kaeya," your hand gently pushed kaeya's head into the soft expanse of your body and wrapped around his broad shoulders, "i'm so sorry."

he sat motionless for a while before his arms pulled your body closer to his, and you felt the small vibrations of his hiccups through the cloth of your attire.

"m' so sorry, dove. i didn't mean what i said to you, i promise."

you gently shushed him and stroked the top of his head, "i know, i know, kaeya. i'm sorry too, we both handled it wrong."

your lips pressed themselves against his soft locks, then moved downwards to his forehead, then nose, and finally his quivering lips, sucking away the last of his breaths from deep within his lungs.

"i thought you left me, for good this time." his voice dripped with hesitance as he raised the heel of his palm to his forehead and humorlessly laughed, a strained smile on his face.

"somehow it's always the people i love the most that i hurt, it really is quite funny." despite his words, kaeya sounded so, so sad, as if he'd break under your fingertips.

the words you wanted to speak didn't seem to fit quite right, so instead you opted to squeeze tighter around his body to let him know how real you were, and let him know that you haven't left him.

"i hurt you too, kaeya. and i'm sorry, very sorry. but we can talk about it later, okay?" he didn't respond, but from the gentle, forwards tug of your arm that had you sitting with your legs slung over his lap and the tight grip of his arms around your torso, you had all the answers you needed.

"i love you, i'll always be here for you." you murmured just under a breath as your lips found solace pressing against the eyelid that held his hidden eye.

the gnawing pain in his heart began to slowly ease with every lingering touch you left upon his skin.

zhongli had once told you that the best way to relax in the famed port of liyue was to sit by the docks and count the ships as they entered in and out of the city.

you hadn't expected a use for this fact, nor for him to be right.

your legs dangled over one of the wooden piers, eyes trained on the elegant and grandiose ship that seemed to sparkle with gold in the setting rays of the sun. counting the ships and pointing our their details in accompaniment of a lovely, gentle sea breeze and the smell of salt in the air had given you time to reflect on your fight with childe.

his hair trigger temper and impulsiveness were things you never usually found yourself the victim of, not until today at least. you'd felt fear but never like this, not fear where the man you loved was at the center of it all. fear that he'd leave you, fear that he'd hate you, fear that you were the main source of his anger at that moment.

the momentum of your feet stilled as you recalled the way in which his voice would take on a tender tone in the early hours of the morning, or when his arms would sneak around your sides to startle you out of whatever task you were preoccupied with. you could never lie to yourself: you missed him dearly despite your argument.

which is how you found yourself alone in northland bank, shoes making gentle clicking sounds on the marble floors in search of childe's office. the fear that had been building up in you had manifested into sweat that trickled down your forehead and the nervous clench of your palms. his office was barren of his presence save for the closet door that looked like it had been flung wide open and the scattered mess of papers on his desk that you had helped him organized.

"are you looking for lord tartaglia?"

you turned your head around to face ekaterina, who send you a polite smile hidden beneath the fabric of her mask. you nod in response, unsure of what was to come.

"i'm afraid he just set out, his location was undisclosed." you frowned in response but thanked her nonetheless from preventing your fruitless search.

night had fallen when you emerged from the bank, eyes wide and wandering in search of the familiar head of ginger that you loved so much. your lead-heavy legs dragged you to the outskirts of the city where the hills began to climb and grass rolled heavy at your feet and tickled your ankles. you almost hadn't registered the slight thump of the footsteps behind you.

"(y/n)?"

you turned around at the sound of your name only to be met in a crushing hug by none other than childe himself. "childe?!" startled, your mind instinctively moved to wrap your arms around his waist and run up and down his back. it was only under your touch that you noticed the heave of his shoulder and the slight rasp of his voice.

his shaking hands gently pulled your body away from his to peer into the galaxies contained within your irises and it was then that you noticed the slight reddening of his eyes, the flush of his face, and the tears that cascaded down his cheeks in silent waterfalls. "i-i've been looking all over for you, angel, i-" he tried to speak but it was as if you could see the words getting caught in between coughed sobs and whimpers that pierced your heart and had you beckoning him back into your arms.

your own eyes began to water and soon slipped into a silent river of tears when his arms clutched your body with his life and his sobs heaved themselves into you.

"i'm so sorry, for losing my temper with you. i-i didn't mean it i swear! i just- i'm-"

"hey, hey, childe it's okay," like a lullaby, your soothing voice brought him back from the deep wrangling tentacles of his mind and cradled him in your warmth, "i'm sorry too, i wasn't very nice to you either. but let's talk about it when we're both not a mess, sound good?" the little laugh to the tail end of your sentence still somehow managed to send butterflies through his stomach. even with tears streaming down your face, he still found you so beautiful.

he nodded and kissed your wet lips with all that he was in a silent promise to both himself, and you.

scaramouche's sharp tongue never hurt, never pierced past the protective layer you donned when you took on the title of the balladeer's lover. but it seemed your shield had worn thin, and his venomous tongue had managed to stab holes through your heart and lathered your soul in poison.

you were thankful just this once for the shogun's principle of eternity. in the land that never changed, you found solace in letting the sea breezes of narukami's beaches lull you into a dream where scaramouche's words didn't sink their fangs into your soul, and where you didn't retaliate with arguments that made no sense and were fueled by anger.

but dreams were dreams, and you opened your eyes to the stinging reality that laid before you. bare feet clinging to remnants of sand, your shoes had been discarded on a rock in favor of strolling through the waves at ankle length, letting the water cleanse you of your anger and the breeze to soothe your battered heart.

it wasn't like scaramouche at all to lash out at you, sure his tongue was sharper than any knife he wielded, but you knew just how much he treasured you even if his words betrayed his heart. and it was that single thought that had you picking up your shoes and hurrying back to the little cottage scaramouche had managed to haggle into his hands.

your feet ached and burned from scratching against the dirt path, but you wanted nothing more than to hold him in your arms and tell him just how sorry you were, and hoped that he'd hear the prayers deep within your heart.

the doorknob felt all too heavy in your sweaty palm as you struggled to turn it. perhaps this was fate screaming at you to run far, far away, but fate has never enticed you into its grips, so you turned the doorknob.

the house hummed with silence and basked itself in the glow of the moonlight, devoid of any candles or electro spheres that scaramouche often used to illuminate the home.

"scara?" you called out tentatively in a small voice. with no reply, you heaved a sigh and set your sights on finding whichever corner of the house he'd gone off to.

you didn't need to look far, as a single glance into his home office revealed to you that he hadn't moved an inch since you left the house in a flurry of emotions earlier that day. hunched over his desk, elbows on the wood and head resting on his folded knuckles white from gripping onto thin air.

"scara?" at the gentle call of his name and upon seeing your worried look, he flinched.

"what do you want?" sharp as ever, he refused to look you in the eye and settled for huffing away and favoring a corner of the room. his sleeve came to brush across his eyes and you thought nothing of it.

"i want to talk, if you're willing." as if to test the waters, you took a cautious step forward. with the click of your shoe on the hardwood, scaramouche rose from his desk and slammed his palms face down onto the lacquered wood.

"i don't. leave." you would have respected his wishes, if not for the single glimmer of a tear that streaked down his flushed face illuminated by the moonlight.

"are you sure-"

"LEAVE! I SAID LEAVE! GO AWAY!" the sudden outburst hadn't phased you the way his rolling tears and choked sobs did. he tried to scream more profanities and "go away!"s at you, but his words were nestled between the crook of muffled cries and whimpers. instead of leaving, you found yourself coming closer and closer until your arms had found their way around his shoulders and your hand began to stroke his soft locks.

scaramouche thrashed and screamed threats and murderous words that would've had anyone else's blood boiling, but you knew from the salty tears that cascaded down his cheeks that he was just as hurt as you were.

"i'm not leaving you like this, scara." you cooed as the hand that had been stroking his hair moved to wipe away the tears from his eyes.

those words alone seemed to break the dam that had been holding back all of his tears, even if they came out in angry glares and single drops of tears rather than sobs. his hesitant arms found their way around your waist and squeezed tightly.

"why...why do you stay with me?" he asked in an out of character, soft, tentative voice that strained with emotion. "i can't watch my mouth...and you put up with all my bullshit. i don't get it."

"that's an easy question, it's because i love you, dummy." with a watery laugh and tears of your own in your eyes, you pressed a chaste kiss first to his cheek, then to his parted lips which tasted of salty tears and indulgence.

"and, i'm sorry for our fight earlier. we can talk things out later though, for now i wanna give you some cuddles." cheekily, you made grabby motions with your hands and smiled despite the evident tears on your face.

his pride would never allow him to mumble those sugary apologies you yearned to hear, but scaramouche had a way of speaking to you in which no words were needed. the slight tug of his arms around your waist and his muffed breaths accompanied by the burning touch of his skin and tears in his eyes were all you needed to know how sorry he was.

all your worries washed away as did the tears on his face fade when you reciprocated his love as best you could despite his flaws.

date published: august 25th, 2021

11K notes · View notes

peakyblinders1919 · 2 years

Text

Best Christmas Gift Ever

The frigid air coming in from the east in conjunction with the stillness brought on by white snow clouds in the sky suggested winter. The smell of firewood, pine, cinnamon-flavored mull whiskey further suggested it was nearly Christmas. It is all strengthened by the songs traveling through the hills from the makeshift band, bored gypsies trying to keep fingers warm and pass time.

“Bonnie boy,” you slurred in a sing-song voice. “I really do wish you would spend Christmas with me.” Body flung over his, struggling in the impending dark to find some warmth, the closeness not only providing you the heat you craved but the flutter of your heart as well.

“Don’t,” he warned. "It breaks my heart,” the chilly wind carried his vulnerable whisper to your ear.

“You know it’s not safe for us, I don’t even know where we’ll be tomorrow morning.” He takes your hand after seeing the tears begin to sparkle in your bright eyes.

“What’s that like?” Her curious question is asked in order to take her mind off of things, resting her tired eyes as her head comfortably finds his shoulder. Eyelids heavy and lips loose from the alcohol, she considers this her gift, her moment of calm for Christmas. “What’s it like having Christmas in a different place every year? Never knowing where you’ll wake up?”

“It’s… normal honestly. Safe. Comfortable. Exciting,” he voice as soft as his lips on your temple. “We wake up in the same caravan every time, you know, the same house every year. The traditions are always the same, the only thing that changes is the sunrise. You know…” he began after a long, chilling yet comfortable moment of silence. Lightly forcing you to meet his eye, a finger perched on your chin, he smiled when he saw the contagious upturn of your lips. “We don’t have to be apart for Christmas… you can stay here with me.”

Not sure how to react, butterflies take flight in your stomach, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest before it beats uncontrollably fast.

“I.. uh… Bon Bon, you know I would love to but… but my dad… I don’t- I can’t leave him alone of Christmas.” Not for the first year without Mum, you shuddered at the thought.

“You know I can’t…”

“I know,” his voice full of disappointment, his lips on yours made up for it. You shared the night enjoying drinks and sweet pastry cakes you’d never heard of, listening to new Christmas tales that were every bit enchanting as you remembered them being as a kid, dancing and caroling to the songs with the love of your life, and finally exchanging presents.

“Wait to open them tomorrow. 9 o’clock sharp. Wherever we both are, at the same time some miles apart, we’ll be opening our gifts together, hm?”

Nodding, tears pricking your eyes again, you succumb to your emotions, crying into his shoulder.

“Baby girl, please… this is not the parting gift I want to give you…”

“I know… I know… I’m sorry. I… I love you, ok? 9 o’clock. Merry Christmas Bon.”

“We’ll be back for the New Year, we’ll celebrate properly then, hm?”

Not able to argue with his safety, a final kiss sends the young lovers separate ways.

Remarkably waking up to a blanket of white, it’s enough to take your mind off of the lonely feeling in your heart. Heading downstairs where your father is already pouring tea, your mind is coming up with endless scenarios of where Bonnie and the Gold’s could be spending this Christmas this year; a stream in the countryside of Gloucestershire, the edge of a garden in Windsor, the shadowy outskirts of a city much like Birmingham.

“Everything ok sweetpea? It’s “happy Christmas,” not… not “moppy Christmas.” You can’t help but smile at your father’s attempt, but you can’t shake your mind or your thoughts and feelings. After breakfast with Dad, your exchanged gifts with him; for you, a scarf and hairbrush, for him his favorite stopwatch with your mother’s initials engraved in it.

And just as it was coming to be 9 A.M., you fish out the neatly wrapped green little present Bonnie had given you last night, ready to pull the bow apart knowing in your heart somewhere he was doing the same thing.

That’s when there was a knock on the door, you and your father sharing a quizzical look before you get up to answer it.

“Bonnie! What.. what are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t stand being away from you this Christmas.”

“But you… your safety... Your traditions.”

“Don’t worry, I’m safe wherever I’m with you. Anyway, I think Dad just says that to keep us all together.”

“I…I…” Left speechless you throw your arms around him and pull him in for a passionate kiss, never wanting to let him go. “You are the best Christmas present ever.”

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #bonnie gold x reader #bonnie gold #bonnie gold imagine #bonnie gold headcanon #bonnie gold x y/n

240 notes · View notes

littlefreya · 4 years

Text

Penny Dreadful

Summary: Sherlock is cold, troubled and upset, his mind is fixed on cracking an unsolved murder. It’s the worst time to disturb him. But his hot-blooded little succubus wants to drag him into sin.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (First-person POV)

Word count: 2.5K

Warning: 18+, smut, teasing, bratty behaviour, ass-smacking with a cane, slight cane play, primal play, unprotected rough sex, biting, slight size kink, MaleDom, drug use. Lots of curly hair descriptions.

A/N: Not canon to books Sherlock, obviously, but seeing the photos and teaser Henry as Sherlock just sets up the vibe. So I had to. Many thanks to my beta @agniavateira !! Sorry for the ugly cover art :D.

Title: Penny Dreadful

Sherlock’s study was a bleak, musky chamber deprived of heat, notwithstanding the many candles that burnt at every corner. Perhaps it was the pristine heaps of snow that piled on the ledge of the window, or maybe it was his sullen mood that gave the room a sense of icy wilderness.

Fumes rose from his mouth, vaping into the air. The tawny light kissed his thick mane of luscious, chocolate curls while he stood at the fore of his desk and leered at some parchments that troubled his brilliant mind for whatever reason.

Fist seizing the golden tip of his cane, his thumb stroked the engravings that embellished the metal. Cases that he couldn’t crack often left him frustrated to the point of madness. Those wicked, sly obsessions made him even more irresistible.

My nails bit into the wooden doorframe. Consumed by yearning, a blaze licked up my soul with its monstrous tongue. I often wondered how something so pure as love could be dangerous, to which Sherlock would reply,

“Love is the greatest villain of them all.”

Unlike him, I didn’t care for evil.

The detective unclipped the small chain he kept fastened to his vest and opened the silver locket, gathering a wisp of white powder on the tip of his pinky finger and pressed it to his nostrils. A small grunt escaped him, his eyes turning glassy. The “fairy dust” tended to sharpen his perception and elevate his stamina.

I dropped to my knees at his sight, crawling on the floor. The black silks of my dress made a brushing noise as it dragged on the Persian carpet; my breasts peeked as my corset shifted with every move. Sherlock often said we must imagine ourselves as animals once we let desire play our strings.

Accepting my inner wildness, tonight I was a cougar stalking her prey.

By nature, his senses were sharp as blades, though the substance that streamed through his veins made a more heightened grip of the reality that surrounded him. He noticed and yet ignored me, letting his hot-blooded harlot crave for his attention.

If I was to be the feline predator, Sherlock was the hunter who pursued me for sport. An unfair game, yet nevertheless my favourite.

Bathing in my own little fountain of mischief, I allowed my fingers to sneak toward his cane, brushing up and down the mahogany in slow, languid motion. My slender digits licked along the shaft and my bosom followed, pressing against the hardwood. I dragged myself up slightly to glimpse at my master from below: my Sherlock, always a sight for a famished girl; a colossus, intimidating, and breathtaking. Like a moth to a flame, I inched closer dazed by the light, wanting to bask in its radiance.

The muscle in his cheek tensed, thick brows furrowing. A little squared wrinkle appeared above the bridge of his nose as he brushed through his dark locks with agitation.

“What ills that glorious mind of yours?” I hummed, playful fingertips climbing further up at the length of his cane.

“Something I can’t grasp,” he spat, not giving me the time of day. But I knew he noticed every detail of my wanton behaviour, it was evident by the way his breath swiftly became heavier. Sherlock might have solved crimes by profession, but all women were natural detectives; evolution granted us with a definite survival instinct, learning to read men between the shadows.

“You can possess me,” I offered, fingers scraping over his thumb as it pressed onto the cane’s golden tip. My voice dropped to a whisper while my hand left the cane in favour of his thigh. The muscle flexed and twitched under my sinful touch, the fabric of his breeches stretched as his cock grew with its natural need to fulfil the wet, convulsing void in me.

“You’re distracting me,” he warned, voice low and stern. His lashes hardly even fluttered to my direction.

Every delicate little hair stood up at the sound of alarm yet instead, I inhaled the soot of peril, allowing my hand to travel further and meet his hungry girth. It rose to my touch with gratitude, flinching even harder at the clutch of my claws. The flavour of desire was honey and salt on the tip of my tongue.

The low animalistic vibration of his voice wavered through his solid form. I felt it shudder all the way down to his swelling cock. A cautious man, Sherlock was measured and forbearing to a point that made me wonder if he even liked women at all before we fell into the vicious pit of decadence and violent delights.

It was the contrary that was true: Sherlock loved women very much, his desires were simply… of a certain quality.

His groin was warm and firm against my cheek. The crystalline-blue glare finally graced me with a sight so brooding my bones clattered.

“Later, I need to work.” By the drop of his voice, I knew there won’t be a third warning.

“Later, Later…” I taunted, rolling my chin over his aching need. “All work and no play…”

The gasp that pushed out of my lungs nearly whisked the candles off as Sherlock hauled me up by his hand and bent me over the desk.

“Should I teach you how to respect my time?” He snarled, throwing the skirts of my dress over my head like a cape of the midnight sky. Stars collapsed under my skin at the sensation of his touch exploring the curve of my bare ass. Talons ruptured the tiny blood vessels, squeezing with the affirmation of his ownership.

“No undergarments?” Sherlock growled dangerously while his thumb brushed over my silken entrance, toying with the rich elixir and smearing it further down my anticipating petals. I answered with a deep moan, stretching on this desk with a succumbing plea.

“You came here aimed at disturbing me while I work.”

Settling onto the surface of the desk, I reached forth one arm lazily and chuckled. “You are a great detective, I… oh!”

Something cold and solid caressed my dripping lips, driving between them in slow, calculated strokes. Throwing my head over my shoulder, I noticed Sherlock holding his cane against my sacred cove, staring at it as if I was yet another piece of evidence to be explored. The golden arched-tip pushed-slightly between my petals and entered just enough to make me hiss. For a mere second I wondered if he was going to fuck me using nothing but his cane.

“Look away; this is going to hurt.”

I hardly had time to protest when the first smack hit the pillow of my cheek. A wheeze of disgrace shot from my throat, husky and embarrassing, but not as degrading as the sting the metal left at my burning backside.

“Bad girl,” Sherlock ticked his tongue and lifted the cane midway in the air, a flare of noxious desire bursting in his pale-blue orbs. This time I turned away and shut my eyes, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned dead-white. If only it did anything to dull the pain, the sting was even more prominent, shooting all the way up to my spine where it coiled and forced a strident yip from my clamped lips.

Yet the throb in my cunt was unmissable.

Sherlock knew very well that the hurt allied with pleasure, enhancing it even, like his powdery magic dust.

Another smack and my nails scratched at the wood. Like a sinner nun indulging her own beating, I rode the waves of pain as they broke onto shores abundant with pleasure. There were hidden cracks in our public figure, the place where I burnt and Sherlock ascended as we pried our claws into mortal deadly sins. My senses rose to conflict with every smack and Sherlock took joy in every involuntary squirm of my body.

Tongue pressed between his lips, he hummed as he admired his handiwork, painting my ass in obscene hues of violence. “Had enough? Or want to see which will break first, the rod or your arrogance?” Sherlock chided and pinched my sore cheek to further increase the pain.

Embers whispered beneath my flesh, my legs jolted from the intense beating and by god, the trickle of my juices rolling down the back of my thighs made even a sultry woman such as myself drown in white shame.

Sherlock’s breath was a heavy guttural waft. His cane dropped to the floor and I heard the sound of metal clicking as he fumbled with his belt. I would be damned if I let him fuck me from behind. To have those eyes look away as he entered me was a vice I wouldn’t stand.

“No!” I yelled, bracing on my wobbly elbows as much as I could and turned to face him.

Sherlock’s glare widened, a chill of ice blew through his eyes and his pupils dilated like a crazed feline. “You’re saying no to me?”

“Yes!” I heaved and reached my hands to cradle his skull, pushing myself against the hardness of his body and forcing my lips on his. My kiss was feral, bruising the plush skin on and around his mouth, nibbling and biting until we tasted iron on our tongues. It was not long before I was shoved against the wall, our mouths still united, sharing one breath.

Or rather stealing it from one another.

We were pleasingly unequal. Sherlock was all iron and stone; a bulky, tall man who could tear me apart with his bare hands. I was a little lush thing, so tender, so easily bruised. Despite his power, the desire to claim the tiny wet hole between my legs was unquenchable, reducing him to a savage thing that spoke in raw inarticulate sounds.

He tore his mouth from mine and swept me up from the ground, hiking the skirts of my dress urgently to expose what he coveted the most. I felt the supple velvety texture of his hardness grind against my thigh, smearing the pearly drops of his arousal onto my skin. We both moaned at the sensation and moved to the rhythm dictated by our most primal instincts.

“You want my cock?” He growled and gnawed his teeth at my neck, biting deep enough to break through the skin. I whined in pain, my voice rising a pitch as I writhed against him to ignite the smallest of frictions and serve the demon of desire in me.

“Fuck me!” I begged, sliding my fingers through the mass of soft curls and tugging them with need.

Answering my plea, Sherlock speared into my unruly cunt, brutally spreading me open like he would tear the petals from a flower. I yipped into his luscious hair, my nails tearing into his nape as his intrusion claimed everything my body had to offer. I always found it odd how my flesh would resist and beg for him at the same time, my succulent canal fighting to push him by instinct yet he only further rutted into me. He reached his hands to my sore ass to squeeze my cheeks apart.

“Such a tight little harlot,” he groaned, engulfed by my garden of mysteries. Moaning so loudly, our duet reverberated through the corridors of the house. His lashes fluttered with ecstasy as he pulled back only to force me down on his imposing cock, attempting to rip through my denial. Or it was to tame me as I clenched around his girth, accepting and resisting him at the same time. I was nothing but a vessel for him to fill, and he did so with a fiery passion, glaring straight to my eyes while thrusting deep and hard into me.

Books fell from the shelves nearby as we battled against the wall, my legs sliding up and down his waist, spreading helplessly in the air until my boots pressed into his arse. One of his hands reached for my corset, tugging on the ludicrous outfit to expose my breast. Ravenous, he licked his bloodstained lips, giving me a stare that made my cunt clutch him harder before he sank his fangs to pierce cavities in my tit.

“No!!!” I cried out and gasped as he thrust deeper to punish me for my protest. His heavy cock hit a spot so deep inside me that tears instantly emerged and fell down my cheeks, the pang bringing through a spasm of odd relief.

Blood and saliva smeared along my cleavage as he dragged his lips further, licking and then kissing every patch he bruised. I moaned breathlessly, throwing my head back against the wall as his nimble fingers surveyed my neck, laying small threats to show me how easy he could simply suspend my very basic need.

But my survival instincts already flew out the window the moment he penetrated me.

His lips hovered above mine as he fucked deep into my body, our cries creating an obscure symphony as he continuously slammed into my hilt, harder and more urgent with every plunge. The tears that fell down my cheeks were tainted with the conflicting aphrodisiac that pain brought through. In that instant I was whole, gratified by the friction created of the collision of our wet organs.

“Do it!” I gasped and nodded through glossy stares, swallowing hard to gesture what he already knew. With a swift snap of his hands, his fingers were bruising on my neck and he slammed into me at a furious pace, giving no care for my broken screams.

Euphoria tore through my soul, crashing like hot waves of eternal fire. I came apart around his thick rod crying for God and Satan at once. Sherlock never slowed down, not even as he felt the tightening of my ring around him. It only made him fuck me harder, burying his face at my collarbone, chasing his own rapture at a punishing speed, grunting like a beast. Finally, he shuddered and pumped me full of his thick, silky milk. The muscles of his behind flexed and he ground his hot load into my warm cavern, making sure I received every drop. My hands reached to squeeze his taut ass as my legs clutched him still, wanting to keep him inside me.

As if he had any intentions of leaving as he moaned and spasmed inside me.

Smoke filled the room as few of the candles died; the scent of ash and the musk of our sex seeped through our noses while we remained entwined, shaking in each other’s grasp. Breathless and damp with sweat, Sherlock lifted his face from my neck and glanced at me looking so vulnerable, almost appearing lost. I moved my trembling hands back to his face, my thumbs caressing his sharp cheeks.

“I know I am harsh…” he murmured, his eyes digging into my heart with nothing but a gaze of despair, “but please don’t ever leave me.”

My face fell at the sound of his words, my lips parting with awe. My detective could solve the most outrageous crimes, and yet he couldn’t realise I was shackled to him for all eternity.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x ofc #henry holmes #sherlock holmes

3K notes · View notes

shysneeze · 4 years

Text

missed smiles (draco malfoy x reader)

missed smiles (draco malfoy x fem!reader)

request: could you do a Draco imagine where the reader gets injured somehow (like falls down the stairs) after a fight (angst) and then he gets all protective (fluff)? tysm!

Warnings: kind hints towards depression but it’s minor. half blood prince level draco angst because I'm in one of those moods mentions of war, family pressures etc, fighting and injury.

Authors note: I skimped so hard on the fluff this is basically just angst pls forgive me.

The late November snow crunches aggressively underfoot as (Y/N) storms back towards the castle, Draco's footsteps echoing her own not far behind her as he calls after her. She lets out a harsh breath, not daring to look back in case her anger slips into something else and the tightness in her throat gives way to the sob she's been holding back.

"(Y/N), please." He pleads. "Let me explain."

She comes to a stop, breath shaking as it leaves her lips and forming wispy streams of condensation as it meets the cool air. She knows she needs to turn around, but she can't look at him right now, she can't look at him without seeing it again on his arm, the inky mark of the wizarding world's dark past and looming future.

It was revealed after what was a perfect date. She was so happy to see him smiling, that grin that was becoming so rare these days, she was sure it was the start of better things for this school year. Then she saw it, seeping through a wet patch on his shirt when he peeled off his coat to layer on top of her own due to the aftermath of an impromptu snowball fight. Ominous and taunting, the dark mark stared back at her.

Now, she finds herself turning slowly to face him, glad momentarily to find he's covered the incriminating tattoo, that she can't see it directly, with all its cruel implications. However, the knowledge of it has engraved itself in the centre of her thoughts, torturous and vile.

"How do you even begin to explain that, Draco?" She demands through gritted teeth. "How?"

He gulps under her harsh look despite knowing it's a quickly crumbling façade, watching her bottom lip tremble and her eyes well with reluctant tears. Words tumble out so quickly he's not even sure they make sense, a panicked onslaught of barely coherent apologies as he steps closer.

"No, Draco." She whimpers, stepping back. "No."

Her eyes clench shut and forces the escape of reluctant tears that she lifts her shaking hand to hide. The logical bit of her, the bit that tells her he doesn't want this, that knows him well enough to know his hand must have been forced in the matter, is hidden behind the bitterly betrayed part of her conscience.

"I can't do this right now." She exhales shakily.

His jaw slackens in defeat, explanations left hanging on the tip of his tongue while he watches her leave, ascending the steps to the castle. The weight of it all settles once again on his chest as it has all year, heavy on his lungs until he's forced to breathe manually under the pressure. He watches her go, convinced that's it, that his one perfect thing is gone for good.

His eyes cast downwards with shame and he's about to turn to walk away himself, to find somewhere to think everything through when he hears her yelp. He's too late in turning to help, instead staring wide-eyed and her crumbled figure at the bottom of the icy steps.

"(Y/N)!"

(Y/N) groans softly as she struggles to open her eyes, frown fixing itself on her face at the her unfamiliar surroundings. She doesn't register herself as being in the hospital wing until she hears the gentle tut of Madam Pomfrey from the foot of her bed.

"Miss (Y/L/N)." She greets. "Finally awake I see."

"Finally?"

Her voice is hoarse and quiet, forcing her to wonder just how long she's been out for. Madam Pomfrey gives her an understanding look and gives her a sympathetic smile. The older woman steps around her bed to (Y/N)'s side and gently pushes her into an upright position in order to manoeuvre the pillows in her aid.

"You had quite a tumble down the stairs, my dear." She informs. "Quite the concussion I'm afraid, so don't worry if it takes a moment to remember- I'm sure Mr Malfoy will be able to help once he wakes up too."

The nurse gesture with a slight smirk towards the head of blonde hair resting face down on the edge of the mattress, just by (Y/N)'s legs. The sight of him is enough to have the memories flooding back, heart aching at the memory.

"I'll be back to check on you in a few." Madam Pomfrey informs.

"Thanks." (Y/N) gulps.

Once the older woman is gone, footsteps placing her well in the distance, (Y/N) turns back to the sleeping boy by her side. He looks small here, curled by her side, so sweet it's hard to believe what he's hiding underneath his cool façade and long sleeves. She finds herself reaching a hand out tiredly for his hair, curling her fingers in it gently and watching him stir.

He wakes as groggily as she did, with the same confused frown. Then, eyes meeting hers, they widen and a sigh of sheer relief escapes his lips. He looks exhausted, with ashy grey circles hanging under his eyes, although she's sure they've been like that for months now.

"Thank goodness you're awake, (Y/N)." He exhales. "God, I was so worried."

"How long?"

"About a day." He informs. "You hit you're head really hard-"

"Not that." She corrects in a whisper. "How long have you had t-the mark?"

The light brought to his face from her recovery dies at the question, eyes dropping instantly. She almost feels bad, but she needs to know, she needs to understand this all before she can allow herself to look at him the same.

"The summer." He admits. "Just before the start of term."

She inhales loudly, sharply as she take it in. She pulls her hand back from where he'd clutched it in relief when he first woke. The betrayal bites bitterly at her heart and tugs her brows into a disbelieving frown.

"I know." He whispers.

She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs aloud, causing him to shift guiltily. The logical part of her is back, reminding her that she knows him, knows this is not something he would do if given the option not to.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Her words throw him off and he stares at her in disbelief. Where he expects the furrowed brows of an angry glare, he finds her expression full of concern. His confusion over her reaction manifest itself as a frown.

"I'm a- a deatheater, (Y/N)."

His voice is hushed, cautious of the fact only the thin layer of the curtain around her bed shields them from the rest of the hospital wing, from listening ears. She lets out a sigh, clenching her eyes shut and shaking her head in response.

"No you're not." She sighs, an almost desperate edge to her voice, as if she's trying to convince herself. "You're not, Draco."

"I took the mark, (Y/N)." He corrects. "I'm sorry."

"There's no way you wanted this." She argues. "This has your father written all over it. I know this isn't you-"

"How do you always do that?"

She can see him trying to keep himself together, fists clenched so tightly they shake and his eyes brimming with tears he's begging to stay put. He lets out a sharp sigh, turning away from her to hide how his mask is crumbling, how he's so quickly beginning to come undone.

"What?"

"What do you see that no one else does?"

His voice cracks. Red rimmed eyes meet (Y/N)'s, so full of raw emotion that she finds herself letting out the smallest of sniffles as her fingers reach out for his closed fists, loosening them enough to grasp his hand in hers.

"I see my boyfriend frowning more than he smiles." She begins, voice trembling. "I see him losing all motivation for his hobbies, I see him sneaking off when he thinks I'm not looking and telling me he's fine when he's not."

She squeezes his hand, begging him to understand, to understand that she's worried, she so worried for him that it hurts. She worried when his smile didn't meet his eyes on the train, and when he asked to stay curled together in his dorm room the day of the first Hogsmeade trip when they would usually go to Honeydukes together. She’s worried all year.

"I was so relieved yesterday to see you smile." She continues. "I miss your smiles so much, Draco."

He lets out an inaudible apology, fixing his tear filled eyes on their joined hands, gasping under the pressure to keep himself together. It's like she's pulled out the last thread, the one that was keeping him in one piece and as if any sudden movement will rip him apart now.

"I know you're a good person." She concludes. "I know you don't want this."

"I don't." He admits through a raspy, quiet sob. "I don't want this but I had to- I had to for my family."

"Your dad?" She asks sadly.

"Father made a mistake, but it's H-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who chose me, to amend my family's names in his eyes." He shakes his head. "It was the only decision that could be made."

"Draco..."

"You know what he did to Cedric Diggory." He explains. "I have to do this to keep us safe."

"You're just a kid, Draco." (Y/N) whimpers. "We're just kid and this isn't supposed to be our battle... I'm so sorry that it's ended up yours"

"Don't apologise to me." He pleads. "Don't., (Y/N)"

"Someone needs to, Draco." She argue. "This isn't fair on you."

Her voice finally cracks and tears rolls down her cheeks. She sighs in frustration when he looks up in concern. She's supposed to the pillar of support right now, hospital bed or not. The tears plough downward regardless though.

"Don't upset yourself." He begs.

"I'm angry, Draco!" She exclaims. "No at you- at this whole thing."

"(Y/N) please, you shouldn't stress yourself after the fall." He gulps. "You'll still have a concussion."

She's almost forgotten where they are, and why they're here in the first place. She lifts her free hand to the newly thumping pain in her head and grimaces. He shuffles closer, lifting a hand to tilt her head for inspection when she swats it away.

"No, I'm the patient so you have to listen to me."

She gives him a stubborn frown that has him sinking back like a scolded child to listen to her. She extends her bandaged arm out and pokes a finger against his chest sternly, his eyes widening at the serious look in her watery eyes.

"We're going to fix this." She states firmly. "We're going to fix this together and you and your family are going to be safe again."

"H-how?"

"I don't know but we will."

She drops her hand to find his once again, squeezing his fingers with a sigh. He stares at her in silence for so long she's worried he's angry, but then his lips twitch into the slightest of smiles and a breathless chuckles falls from his lips.

"Thought I was supposed to be looking after you." He explains softly.

"I only fell, Draco." She assures. "I'm fine."

"(Y/N), you have no idea how terrifying it was so see you on the ground like that." He shakes his head. "Not moving, not waking up, and all I could think was I drove you away and you hurt yourself."

"Draco..." She sighs. "I was surprised, I didn't know what to do when I saw that thing on your arm and ran when I shouldn't have."

"This isn't your fault."

"It isn't yours either."

He lets out another laugh behind a poorly disguised sob, shaking his head again in surprise, perplexed again by her reactions. Always seeing the good in him, even when everyone is convinced it's not, when he himself has lost hold of it.

"I love you." He exhales.

"I love you too." She smiles sadly. "We're going to work this out, I promise."

He lift's the linked hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles gently. He believes her, something in his heart clinging to the assurance in her voice and the hope in her eyes. She's pulled that last thread, allowed him to fall apart at the seams in order to sew him back together again, gently and patiently, starting with the first stitch.

"I'm going to see that smile again."

Authors notes: like to think madam pomfrey is just sat outside the curtains like 👁👄👁

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy imagine #malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #reader insert #x reader #fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco #malfoy #draco malfoy angst #draco imagine #draco imagines #harry potter

706 notes · View notes

lrissa · 3 years

Text

SPOILERS FOR NON MANGA READERS

trouble

summary: you never feared of levi getting hurt, until he did

warning: descriptions of violence, gore, angst

Cold, wet rain soaked through your jacket. The never ending crying from the sky leaving it’s wrath on the grassy ground below. Riding alongside Hange but with Floch’s crew you were out looking for Levi and that monkey bastard. Clinks from the horse’s hooves against the stone engraved bridge filled the silence.

Raising a hand you wiped the fresh drops of rain off your cheek and scanned the surroundings. It was odd of Levi to not return, assuming the worst you swallowed the pit in your stomach and pursued forwards.

From a distance, an echo from a bomb crossed your ears. Your head whipped to the explosion with widened eyes, although, you couldn’t see any damage from your position.

“What was that...?” Floch asks

“Maybe lighting?” Responds a cadet

Taking the reigns of your horse you turned to the sound, “That was a thunder spear.” You corrected and gazed at Hange, you could tell she was thinking of a possible explanation.

“If we head to the sound we can find something.” A cadet proposed, its horse walking beside yours and Hange’s. Hange tore their gaze from the explosion and looked between the two of you before nodding their head in agreement.

You were quick to respond and smacked the reigns, the horse beginning it’s gallop to the sound.

Before long Hange rode up beside your horse in sync, pulling their hood down a bit before sparing you a look. “Y/N, there is a possibility it could be Levi—“

Shaking your head you cut them off, “I know, I know... That’s why we need to get there.” You replied in a hushed tone, lowering your head away from them. Your care and concern for Levi never went unnoticed by Hange.

“Of course, we’ll get there.” They nodded and gave you a small grin, you returned the gesture with a tiny smile.

Not before long, the group of cadets came across a cart and two mutilated horses. The horses appeared to have suffered a sad fate. Wood planks and sharp stakes were sunk into their skin with blood and dirt coating their fur. Surrounding the site were other pieces of the broken cart and parts of legs and arms littered with pools of blood.

“Wh— What... happened here!?” Floch asked aloud

Ahead there was a titan laying on its stomach, steam oozing from its body into the air. You gripped the reigns and pulled back, halting the horse from advancing.

“Be careful! Titan ahead!”

“There’s body parts everywhere!”

That made your blood run cold, where was Levi? Was he okay? Was that his leg?

“Commander Hange! L/N! You need to stay still!” Ordered a cadet

Eyes surveying the land by the river you came across a green coat with the survey corps emblem, orders went to the wind and you smacked the reigns. Galloping over before jumping off, nearly slipping from the wet grass. “Man Down!”

You slid to your knees beside the body, bringing it to your lap for support. Gently, you placed a hand behind its head and tilted it forwards. The haircut was strikingly familiar to Levi’s, fear clutched your chest as you shakily revealed the identity.

“...Levi..?”

He had small pieces of wood stuck in his cheeks and temple. Blood and soot stained his face and streamed down his pale face. There was an obvious cut reaching from his forehead to his chin, dirt was deep into the wound, likely to be infected soon. He was in such horrible condition, your fingers shook as they rubbed across his rain-soaked cheek to collect filth.

Your other hand went to find a pulse, biting down onto your lip to stop the cry trembling on your lips. Thankfully, there was a faint pulse.

Tenderly you brought him to your chest, clutching onto him with shaky arms. Grief and relief flourished inside your chest, strangling your heart causing a constant sinking feeling.

“Levi... don’t leave me yet.” You muttered into his hair, placing a soft kiss on top of his head. Tears stung behind your eyes, desperately wanting to fall.

Soon the rest came from behind, Hange crouched down beside you and set a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it to calm you down.

“I don’t know what happened here, but... we got lucky. Our biggest threat covered in his own blood.”

Your eyes tightly shut and tightened your hold on the faint man clutched to your chest.

“I’ll send a shot through his head.” A cadet spoke, hoisting a shotgun up and cocking it.

Hange clenched their jaw and shook their head, “He’s Dead.”

“I saw something similar in a training accident. His organs are in even worse shape than how he looks. He died immediately.”

Floch stared down at the three, shifting the gun in his grip as if it was a warning.

“I know how to take a pulse. Let me see him.” He commanded

You held onto Levi tighter, no movement from your end. Floch sighed and began to walk forwards to rip him away from you.

“Floch! Somethings strange about that titan!” A cadet yelled

You looked up and at the titan, steam was being sucked into it at an alarming speed. The sky above seemed to clear as it continued to steal the steam from the air.

“Is it disappearing?! Did it die?” Floch wondered aloud

“No...” Whispered Hange “They don’t normally suck steam into themselves when they disappear.”

A laying figure began to stand, its skin was pale and almost perfect. There were no scars, cuts, or blemishes anywhere to be seen.

You saw the hint of blonde hair and let out a soft gasp, of course Zeke is alive, and completely naked.

Your eyes widened in fear and Hange looked back at you, tilting her head to the river. You nodded subtly and tightened your grip on Levi.

Hange jumped in and you shortly after with Levi. Cold water met your skin like a hard painful slap to the face. You heard loud shouts from afar but they were distant now. Floating to the surface you let out a deep breath, gasping for air and instantly looking to Levi.

A hand grabbed your arm and you gasped, head snapping to the owner.

“Hange..” You choked out, water still lingering in your lungs. They gave you a weak grin and helped you heave Levi out before grabbing your hand and lifting you from the water.

“Come on, they’re close. Find something to cover his face.” You nodded and looped your arms under Levi’s arms. Using your strength to hoist him up and into the forest, for being short he was considerably heavy.

Setting him on the ground gently your eyes glazed over his face. You felt tears re-emerge, ignoring them you took out the wood pieces stuck in his face. Planting a hand to his cheek you rubbed your thumb softly, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“I know you’re there, Levi.” Leaning down you planted a tender kiss to his forehead, slowly pulling away and undoing the coat around his neck. Instead wrapping it around his head and tying a knot to secure it.

You heard a gunshot and shot up, stumbling to the edge of the forest were Hange was. They held a rifle, lining it up at the advancing person and shooting. Hange lowered the gun and wiped something from their cheek.

“Hange,” You walked to them and planted a hand on their shoulder, giving it a squeeze of reassurance to lighten their mood. “Levi will be fine, he’s not one to die so easily.” You spoke softly, attempting to calm them and yourself.

Hange nodded, “And surely not by the monkey.”

Walking back to Levi you stood on either side of him. “Levi.. There’s no one pursuing us now.” Hange sighed.

The two of you trudge, carrying Levi between the two of you until you found an abandoned camp. Levi was laying on a white sheet as Hange worked on disinfecting and stitching the deep wound across his face. You sat on the other end of the bed, your knees brought close to your chest for comfort.

Hange was speaking but you reached out and looked under the thin sheet to find Levi’s hand, grabbing it with gentleness and holding it.

Hours passed and you were still sat beside Levi, clutching his hand while Hange was ahead assembling a broken cart.

Then suddenly, you were sitting in sand. Your eyes shot open and around you was nothing but small sand hills and behind you a bright blue almost resembling a lighting strike that stretched to the sky and broke apart like veins.

And you were back to normal just as fast, blinking you hadn’t noticed the weight lifted from your hand and Hange yelling something.

“The beast.... that piece of shit.. where is he?”

“Levi!” You spoke loudly, he lightly cringed at your vocalness, whispering a soft apology before grabbing his shoulder and easing him back down onto the sheets. “Don’t get up.”

“Zeke left to the Shiganshina district with the Yeagerists, half a day has passed.... What happened?” Hange questions

“I screwed up. I wasn’t able to... figure out that he was ready to die.. I let him, get away again.” Levi explained before shutting his eyes and resting his head on the pillow, bringing his injured hand up that was missing his pointer and middle fingers.

“I know you want revenge, but for now...” You started

“If we keep running and hiding what will that get us?” Levi retorts

Hange and you remain silent as he sighs.

“Hange, I know you’re not able to stay out of the action” Levi comments as he peels his eyes open again.

“Yeah, that’s right. I cant.”

She gets up at that and returns to the cart, grabbing the hammer and nailing in a new screw.

It was silent between you and Levi, his eyes shifted to the sky then to you. Mindlessly noting the drowsiness glazing your eyes and circles under your eyes.

“Y/N, you worry about me too much.” Levi comments. Your head turns to him in surprise, “What do you mean?” Levi sighs “It doesn’t take an idiot to notice you haven’t slept.” “Oh.”

You look away from him, shaking your head. “I wanted to be there when you woke.”

Levi tore his gaze from you and let his eyelids close. You let out a breath of air and leaned over Levi, giving him a delicate kiss on his bandaged forehead before standing.

“Get some rest Levi.”

“Come back.”

You halted in your exit and began to retrace your steps back to him, towering above him as he looked up at you expectantly.

“Lay down.” He ordered and you stared back at him, hesitantly you lowered yourself to the ground and crouched there for a moment. You were testing his boundaries, unsure if he’d yell at you to scoot away from him.

He was beginning to become impatient, grabbing your wrist and tugging you closer to him. You were shoulder to shoulder with him, releasing your wrist he let his eyes shut once again. An intense feeling bloomed in your chest, blush creeping up to your features.

“It’s cold out here and four eyes didn’t give me very comfortable sheets.”

“I see, goodnight Levi.”

lol i haven’t wrote in forever i’m sorry this was bad

also new theme sort of

#aot fanfiction #levi ackerman #aot imagines #aot x reader #levi aot #levi heichou #levi x reader #levi x y/n #snk anime #snk #levi ackerman x reader #i’m sorry #this was king of shit #i’ll make more

186 notes · View notes

paracosm-writing · 3 years

Text

00 | "𝕤𝕒𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞"

𝖎𝖓 𝖛𝖆𝖎𝖓 | Reiner Braun

Link to multi-fic masterpost.

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Reader

Word Count - 1.5K

Song – Saw You In A Dream// The Japanese House

Synopsis: Reiner Braun sees a series of memories as a young boy and falls in love with the girl who stars in them. Upon discovering that this girl is you, an Eldian on an island of devils, Reiner vows to save you from the impending doom his memories foretell. But will his efforts be in vain?

TW: slight Yandere! Reiner, angst, Y/N death, toxic/abusive relationships, canon-divergent

A/N: This is so weird to put online after literally daydreaming/brainstorming this plot since last year. Feedback is welcomed and if you want to be added to a taglist just message me.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I just wanna know that in the end it was all worth it.

The pain, the agony, the death.

That at the end of it all we can say;

‘It was for the best.’

Do you know…

What I mean?”

You sat in the overgrown grass, sprouting up from green to yellow at the tips. Watching the sun dip low to kiss the earth. From orange to a deep pink that illuminated the faint stars in the afternoon sky. Patiently, eyes welling with tears, waiting for an answer.

Reiner started to speak, compelled to assure you, compelled to tell you;

It was worth every bit.

But he was swept away.

Your eyes shifted, the sun rose in the sky, the breeze rustled past the both of you, and several lifetimes seemed to pass too quickly for Reiner to decipher – stopping in the midst of labor to watch seagulls drifting in the morning sky, you squinting beneath the sun’s gaze.

“I wonder what it’s like,” you murmured. “To have wings like that. They have no idea how lucky they are.”

Reiner reached for you. To tell you something so heavy his heart weighed down his chest but thought against it.

Because in this very moment, you were blissfully unaware and freer than the birds you admired so wistfully.

He envied you. Like the poor envied the rich, with malice and adoration. Love and hate, but love won over and he swept you up in his arms, placed you on his shoulders and told you to fly. Your rambunctious laughter echoed for miles.

Never had he wanted to live in someone’s laugh, falling and falling into a bed full of wildflowers.

He flipped the pages of an old, ancient book, the brittle parchment hissing with every turn. Your index finger rested on a drawing of a flower that filled a whole page, dirt and bits of flower petals embedded under your fingernails. And you protested about there not being enough flowers, and pronounced ‘red dahlia’ all wrong, and he started to tell you something.

Something that weighed on his heart but he could not remember.

Only one thought he could recall; that if he said anything, he would surrender such a precious moment.

Instead, he basked in your smile as warm as the noonday sun as you rode horses out on an open field.

He was a yard ahead of you and your warm, frustrated smile twisted his insides like the sharp end of a bayonet. The pain made him yearn for something, excitement like he had never known searing through his entire body like a hot iron.

“It’s not fair, you’re so good at everything,” you whined but you were still smiling so fondly.

No one had ever smiled at him in such a way and he wanted to – owed it to you – to say something.

Yet before he could speak you lied underneath a night sky and wondered aloud, “If I need you, will you know? Will you always come and find me?” Voice so small, as if even the slightest reprimand would make you shrivel up and disappear.

He had the urge to tell you you could scream for him in your thoughts and he would still hear you.

He would fight like hell to get to you.

And he needed to tell you something.

But your eyes were on his for the last time. Glassy and afraid. Staring up at him as you breathed your last breath, cradled in his arms, the last pleas for your life on your lips. Blood soaked his clothes. Marred your face.

He had not come to get you, and it hadn’t been worth It in the end.

“Protect her,” someone screamed a strangled cry in the distance. “You just had to protect her-“

“I will protect her!” He shouted back, rage and grief pulsing through him. Lifting him up from his surroundings until all he could see was red. The color of your blood. Your tears. In the blood that seeped from his hand as he bit down hard--

And he awoke with a sob, sitting upright so quickly his head spun and black splotches filled his vision. His heart raced in his chest, and his breath ran from him. As if to find where you might lay, hollow and unmoving, and fill you up again.

He desperately tried to untangle himself from his covers, trying to get to you. To protect you so your eyes would always be alive with wonder and your smile would always be warm.

Reiner managed to get free and stumble on to the cold, wooden floor, heart galloping so loudly with fear that he heard it in his ears.

His mother, Karina, found him. Crawling in vain, tears streaming down his face, muttering to himself about a girl he’d saw in a dream.

“There, there, Reiner,” she had cooed, taking her son in her arms. “It was just a bad dream.”

“But-but,” Reiner managed, your dead, lifeless eyes engraved in his mind. “It was, like, I saw her. In a memory.”

Still, Karina ruffled his hair, holding him close. “When you become a warrior, you’ll never have to worry about someone getting hurt ever again. Your father will come back to us, and we’ll finally be a family. And no one will want to hurt us because they will finally understand we are good Eldian people,

You must protect us, Reiner.

From those island devils.

It’ll all be worth it in the end, you’ll see.”

When Reiner enrolled in the Warrior program, he thought of that dream. The one he’d had the night before enrollment and he imagined he was coming to you, the strange girl in the dream, to tell you he was a warrior.

Would that keep you smiling that warm smile that reached your eyes as if your whole body was alight? A smile not even his mother could muster from bearing the weight of his ancestors’ sins?

Would it keep you alive?

Then he felt embarrassed, ashamed even, that he was considering a silly dream.

And ran into the depths of his future.

➳

Meanwhile, across the sea, in a meadow field in Shigashina, you watched your mother close the storybook in her hands as she finished her last sentence.

“Thus, the knight defeated the dragon, rescued the princess, and they lived happily ever after. What a nice fairytale, isn’t it, y/n?”

Usually, you liked hearing your mother read her fairytales but that morning you couldn’t ignore the dark circles under your mother’s eyes and the bruise she hid with the sweep of her hair. With every passing day since your mother had remarried – no, even further than that, since your father had gone on a scouting expedition and never came back, you were reminded more and more that fairytales were not real.

You considered the titans outside the walls, waiting to devour humanity, and your mother waiting for your stepfather to change and wished aloud, “I wish I was a knight and then I could rescue us and we’d live happily ever after.”

Your mother had gasped, stricken-faced and speechless.

Before snatching your hands into hers and holding you steady. “Y/N L/N, you take that back right now. There is nothing wrong with the way we live. We could be in an even worse position without your father, you hear me?”

You started to protest, but she didn’t give you a moment to speak.

“Would you rather us live in the Underground? With no one to protect us? Because that’s what would have happened if he hadn’t shown us kindness. Are you really that ungrateful?”

She clutched your hands so harshly that you were brought to tears, before guiltily loosening her grip and pulling you into her arms. Her sobs reverberated against the small of your back as she buried her face into your eight-year-old frame.

“It’ll all work out in the end, baby,” she whispered as if she were convincing herself. “I promise.”

Laying in bed that night, you selfishly dreamed that there was a knight coming to save you. To tear down the infrastructure of your small little house in Shigashina. He’d run a sword through your enemies. He’d shield you from the titans. He’d reach for your hand, pull you out of the cold rubble of your home and he would take you away.

Somewhere far where no titans roamed the land and you ran free beneath the pretty birds that soared the blue skies.

But then the dream turned into a nightmare, the knight into a monster, who scooped you up in his large hand and swallowed you whole.

You woke up with a start as you were falling into the abyss but did not cry.

Instead, you looked out your window, waiting for the sun to rise high and kiss the sky. And you decided even if your knight was a titan, it would still be worth it all if you could get free.

187 notes · View notes

yelenasdog · 4 years

Text

the pillowtalk of a pessimist (spencer reid x fem reader)

genre: fluff with a millisecond of angst

summary: pillowtalk takes an interesting turn for spencer at the mention of the harsh realities of his work.

words: 1.3k, she’s a shorty.

warnings: nsfw themes (nothing smutty, it’s just implied and also directly stated that they slept together), typical criminal minds violence + death, and maybe cursing? idk.

a/n: btw this isn’t the fic i was ranting on about that i’m writing, she’s still in the works. also! this could be an x oc or anybody bc i didn’t use y/n if you would prefer to read it as such.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

A pale stream of moonlight shone through the open window of apartment 23, the home of Doctor Spencer Reid. It illuminated a small section of his bedroom, specifically on one of his many floor to ceiling bookshelves, a beacon of knowledge that was there 24/7 for the taking.

The gold engravings on the spines of his many reads shimmered, a beautiful contrast to the dark mahogany the shelf was made out of.

The room smelled like a mixture of his cologne, her perfume (Chanel no. 5, specifically), and the results of their previous affairs that lingered in the crisp air of the night.

She took a deep breath, settling down further into the white duvet, pulling it over her bosom in response to the chilly temperature. The dark green walls of the room welcomed and calmed her, overwhelming the girl with a wave of serenity that could only be brought to her by him.

He quickly took note of her unsteady breathing and shift in position, immediately jumping to action. He pulled her closer by her shoulders with his strong arms, eliciting a squeal from her and a chuckle from him, more so at her reaction than the move itself.

Her head laid on his bare chest, her hair splayed out with half of it residing on his pillow, the other half on his bicep. She could have appeared to be an angel, although in his eyes, she truly was.

She rested her hand on the left side of his chest over his heart, her fingernail ghosting shapes on his tanned skin. Circles, squiggly lines, even abstract faces.

“How do you do it?”

Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. If his hearing wasn’t so acute, he was sure he would have missed it. This would have saddened the genius greatly, as he valued everything she had to say with a burning ferocity, and even one word lost would be a shame.

“What?”

He was confused by the nature of the question, attempting to search every corner of his brilliant brain for what she might have been referencing. Was it an equation? No, she hated math. Perhaps the way he so effortlessly could play any instrument because yet again, math. He decided that couldn’t be the subject at question either, she played better than he did, glorious melodies flowed from her fingertips. So the doctor was truly stumped.

The answer was simpler than he had imagined.

“Your job.”

With those doe eyes he was so fond of, she looked up, meeting his own glance.

If the term “heart eyes” was able to be personified, Spencer would be the guy to personify it whenever his eyes landed on the one in front of him.

“What do you mean? I get up in the morning, drink some coffee, and get to it.”

She giggled, but the sound he loved so much ceased with her pout.

“That’s not what I mean, Spence. How do you go on everyday, seeing body after body,” she trailed off, obviously distraught. Spencer wrapped his large hand tighter around her, placing his chin on her hairline.

“How do you consistently manage to look at these victims, these people, with lives that they never got to finish living-“ A tear slipped down her cheek, she bit her bottom lip, tasting her own salty droplets on her tongue. She sniffled, burying her head further in his neck with what he presumed was shame.

“And not break down when you do.” Her voice was muffled, but the emotions she felt were evident nonetheless.

He took a moment to carefully articulate an appropriate response. The gears in his mind turned ever so diligently, finding a solution to dry her tears.

“It’s not much different than what I initially said. I get up in the morning, drink some coffee.”

He pushed a hair away from her face, admiring her distinct features as he often did. She looked up, moving her left hand to trace his sharp jaw as he sat in thought.

“And I realize that these people that are now dead, are a part of the hundreds, of throusands, of millions of people that die every year. It’s a part of life, what gives it meaning.”

She gave a dry, humourless laugh.

“What, you don’t have a specific statistic for that?”

“Oh, I do, but I don’t think you want to hear it.” He tilted his head, weighing the option of disclosing the information but deciding against it.

“But the bottom line is, they have families. Families that are grieving, and hurting, and needing answers and justice. I cannot do my job and give them the closure they deserve if I’m staying focused on my own emotions and delving deep into who the victims were, rather than how to catch those responsible for hurting them.”

She moved on to her back, stilling managing to keep her eye contact with Spencer.

“But you’re a profiler! That’s what you do! You’re supposed to, what did you call it, ‘delve deep’ into who they are.”

“Pretty girl, are you trying to tell the one with 3 doctorates how to do his job?”

She rolled her eyes, lazily throwing a hand on his neck, right behind his ear. She ran it back and forth, savoring the intimate moment.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up, Agent.” She taunted, poorly trying (and failing) to agitate Spencer. She had a hunch (that was more true than either of them would let on) that it wasn’t possible for her to do so, and he found himself proving it to be correct.

“I just had to learn to let the family do what they had to do so that I could do the same.”

The girl’s tone softened as she spoke, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

“I guess so. I’m just too empathetic, my heart is too pure.” She joked, a feathery laugh falling past both of their lips.

“Of course. I would expect nothing less.” He teased back, enjoying the dynamic they both held in the tender moment.

“You amaze me.” She muttered, leaning in, analyzing him and his ruffled post-sex hair, his gorgeously long lashes, and his light 5 o’clock shadow that donned his chin.

He huffed quietly, doing the exact same thing, minus the scruff of course.

“I could say the same to you, pretty girl.”

Their lips connected once again, in a different manner than the feverish and needy kiss from before.

This time, it was a union of two individuals, allowing themselves to mould together in a way only the two of them could. It was slower and sweeter, with more feeling poured into their lips while they moved in sync.

“M’ tired.”

“Yeah? You wanna go to sleep, bubs?”

She grinned as she snuggled into his arms, her exhausted eyes fluttering to a close.

“Bubs, huh? That’s new.”

A worried frown made its way onto his face as he rushed to cover up his previous words.

“D-do you not like it? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable-“

“Spence.”

He stopped, looking over her for any microexpressions, only seeing positive signs. That wasn’t technically profiling, right? He hoped he would be in the clear if she ever was to find out.

“I love it, baby. Say it again.”

“Bubs?”

“Mhm. Say it again.” She sounded with content. He smirked, a proud feeling infiltrating his body, causing him to puff up his chest in the slightest way.

“Goodnight, bubs.”

He reached up, his paranoia forcing him to close the window above him, despite being a more than qualified FBI agent with a revolver safely tucked away in the top drawer of his night stand that never quite was shut all the way.

It was just the pessimist in him.

She wrapped around his figure, intertwining his form with her own.

“Sleep well, Spence.”

He felt happy with her, happier than he had been in a long time. He relished in that, allowing it to lull him to a well needed rest.

But what could he say, she just brought out the optimist in him.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

hj posting at a time that isn’t 3 am?????? unheard of. also i may or may not have pulled an all nighter to write whatever tf this is bc my ex posted something with his new gf and i felt pathetic LMAO. anyway, i hope your day is fabulous, go drink some water and remember things are what you make of them and it’s all about intent! love you, xx hj.

908 notes · View notes