#the rest are just fleeting fascinations that i get bored of in time
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The Dog Dad Didn't Want
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Penumbra sighed again. Pit Viper glanced up, a pout on his thin lips. He gave his disapproving husband the cutest snake eyes he could, a face that would probably look eery to anyone else. Penumbra gave him a stern glance.
“Don’t try your puppy dog eyes on me, mister. You’re still in trouble.”
Pit Viper smiled, his fangs popping over his bottom lip. He swayed his hips as he leaned over the cot, across his unconscious patient. “Am I going to be punished?”
Penumbra rolled his eyes. “That’s a hero, hissyfit. Did you know that when you picked him up? He’s wearing a brandmark already. We should return him, his owner’s probably worried sick.”
Pit Viper pouted. He traced the exhausted hero’s bruised features. “If they wanted him, they should have kept an eye on him. Besides, you didn’t see how cute and needy he was!”
Penumbra sighed again. “Babe, I don’t want you to get hurt. He’s not gonna want to stay.”
Pit Viper glanced down at the hero, face softening. “I know,” he said in a low tone. “But…” He looked up, locking eyes with his husband. “I want to at least try. Can we keep him?”
Penumbra held his grave look. He studied his husband’s pleading face. Heaving another sigh, his broad shoulders slumped in acquiescence.
Pit Viper squeaked. He flung himself around the table, gripping his beloved in a bone crushing hug. He nestled his face against Penumbra’s shoulder, beaming. “Thanks babe!”
Penumbra managed to free one beefy arm and wrap it around his husband’s slim form. He rested his stubbled jaw on the fluffy blond spikes of his husband’s hair. He murmured into the embrace.
“I just don’t want you to be hurt, little spit venom.”
Pit Viper nuzzled his shoulder, his smile so intense his eyes squeezed shut. “I know, darling. I promise, I’ll be fine, sweetheart. I promise.”
“I love you, babe.”
Pit Viper melted. He clung to his husband, a warm glow filling him up. His tail wrapped around Penumbra’s legs, bringing them even closer. “I love you too.”
Argon was bedridden. He couldn’t move if he wanted to, and the villains who had him didn’t even need restraints. A few years ago, it would have prickled at his pride; now, he had none left. He was just terror-stricken.
He knew how helpless he was. That utter weakness was temptation, a lure practically screaming “come hurt me!!!” He imagined sometimes that they were salivating over his raw fear and anguish whenever they entered the room, if he hadn’t realized quickly that only one of them really took any notice of him at all.
Pit Viper and Penumbra, two of the strangest villains in the entire city. When he’d been captured, the duo had just barely been rising into the city’s awareness. They made a formidable pair, and now, apparently, they had fallen in love. It was almost amusing, how domestic and sickeningly sweet the two were. It would be, if he wasn’t an enemy in their clutches, a plaything for the ever-voracious Viper. There was hunger in that slit-eyed gaze, whenever it studied his slowly recuperating form. He could recognize the gleaming focus of a predator, that razor sharp attention to his condition. When Pit Viper looked at his husband, those inhuman eyes were soft, glowing with adoration. When he looked at Argon, his eyes were rapt with the fleeting assessment of a hunter looking at his prey.
It did nothing to improve Argon’s perilous mental state.
He’d been dancing on the edge of madness for weeks, now, before the fever even hit. Anyone in Gargoyle’s clutches would: the man wasn’t called that because he turned his own skin to stone. He had a twisted fascination with his statue garden, a prison of bodies frozen in time. When he grew bored with a particular piece, he would unfreeze the hero in question, heal them up, and torture them into a new state of begging for death. Argon knew from experience that the pain didn’t stop once he froze them again. Very few heroes clung to their sanity in that place.
It was one reason he hated the absolute helplessness he was trapped in. His body had once again rendered him prisoner to his own flesh, all sense of autonomy snatched from him the moment he got free. He couldn’t keep his fear from showing through, his normally pained expression turning to frozen terror and anguish whenever one of the duo stepped into his sterile convalescence room. Pit Viper only cooed in a humiliating imitation of fondness and reassurance. Penumbra would roll his eyes, go about his tasks, and resolutely ignore the fact that he was still at death’s door and perfectly helpless.
Argon was quickly coming to prefer Penumbra’s brief visits to his husband’s stifling presence.
It was months before the couple decided they should wean him off of pain medication. He remembered sobbing with relief and gratitude when he’d awoken in a state of drugged bliss. Now he could move tentatively about the room, limping on trembling legs unused to bearing his frighteningly low weight. He had never tried the doorknob, terrified of losing the small mercies he’d been given. When Penumbra gruffly informed him that they’d be scaling back his dose, he managed to swallow back a choked sob. Curling his knees to his chest, he almost managed to keep his voice steady as he extended the question.
“Did I do something wrong, sir?”
Penumbra paused, staring at him. Argon froze. He held his breath, every instinct screaming at him to stay still and quiet, to avoid provoking further wrath. He was so stupid. He’d never spoken directly to the villain before. He was already losing the pain meds, what would be next? Water? Shit, he hoped not. He guarded the water bottles he was given with his life. He’d gone without for far too long to be comfortable without a small backup stash. Did they know he had one? Would they take that from him, too, if they decided to withhold drinking privileges? Fuck, he hated living like this.
When Penumbra blinked, he seemed almost… bewildered. Like Argon had asked a question that came totally out of left field.
“This isn’t a punishment. How could you even do something wrong? It’s not like we’ve laid down any ground rules yet. You can hardly walk. This is just to save on some expenses, as well as to monitor your pain levels so that we can keep a more accurate eye on issues that need further treatment.”
Argon gaped at him. When he was finished saying his piece, Penumbra turned back to his task and fiddled with the pill dosage like nothing of importance had just happened. Argon managed to shut his mouth and watched the man work, studying him. Gratitude bloomed in his chest. Penumbra spoke to him man to man, like he used to be spoken to, like he was an equal deserving of respect. As though he was a human being that needed treatment, not a pet awaiting the next whim of its master.
“Thank you,” he said softly, as the man was on his way out. Penumbra paused. He nodded, once, without looking back. The next instant, he was gone.
Argon loosened his arms around his knees, staring at the floor. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so bad. Penumbra had never been one for games, even if Pit Viper was well known for toying with his prey. He could rely on the quiet man to tell him what was really expected of him. He could do this. Not all villains were cruel to their trophies. Determination to live threaded through him.
No matter what came next, he could survive this, too.
Penumbra was keeping a much closer eye on the hero than he let on. Argon, as the man had once been known, had disappeared shortly after Pit Viper had debuted their partnership to the public. Based on the brand in the hero’s left thigh, it didn’t take a genius to discern he’d been one of Gargoyle’s garden statues. Personally speaking, Penumbra always found that arrangement for conquered heroes to be borderline tacky, but hey, each to their own.
The state the hero was in was horrific. Penumbra had to admit, the man had some kind of ingenuity, to be able to escape and get as far as he had. His powers were clearly inactive, either from physical or mental trauma, but Argon himself was quiet and docile. His fearful groveling had slowly transformed into grateful obedience, until Penumbra had to admit that Pit Viper had a point. When the hero looked at him with those brown eyes swimming in relief, he really was cute.
He was still skittish around Pit Viper, which hurt his husband to no end. It was almost a case of Penumbra being the favorite of the “family” dog that he’d never wanted in the first place. Pit Viper just wanted to coddle and play with him; Penumbra took a more strict, no nonsense approach. He found it ironic that Argon was more terrified of being spoiled than spoken to directly.
“Argon,” he called. The hero came limping from the medical bay, his apprehension clear on his face. It had become clear that he was terrified of venturing anywhere in the house without explicit permission. The man still kept his shoulders hunched and his body tucked in, minimizing himself as a target. Penumbra had started reading up on how to deal with trauma victims, and it had become something of a hobby to see how much was Argon was improving the more time he spent with them.
The man paused, glancing up at him without lifting his head. “Yessir?”
Penumbra considered him. The stretches of silence used to make Argon anxious, thinking that Penumbra had found him lacking and was considering what punishment to deal out, but he had come to recognize that Penumbra was a man of few words and he liked taking his time to choose those words when he had something to say. Usually it was some kind of new privilege he’d decided to afford. Argon waited eagerly, wondering what it would be this time. Maybe an extra blanket? A new pillow? He was still hoarding the daily snack they gave him. He had maybe a week’s worth of comfortable rationing now, three of uncomfortable rations if he really had to push it.
“I want you to spend some time with my husband.” Penumbra watched closely as the hopeful look on the hero’s face dropped. He paled, shrinking further in on himself. He almost looked sick, his brown eyes darting furtively for escape.
“Yes, sir.” His voice was barely a whisper. He shifted his weight from one foot to the the other. Penumbra tilted his head thoughtfully.
“You don’t like him very much, do you?”
It was clearly a poorly worded question. Argon jolted as though his ass had been struck, the look of utter shock on his face almost picture worthy. He began stammering, sounds that were nothing but an articulation of appeasement and fear. Penumbra reached out and gripped his shoulder. It was one of the few touches Argon recognized as safe. His stuttering trailed off as Peunmbra gave him a reassuring squeeze.
“Settle. You’re fine. All I’m asking is that you give him some attention. He is the one who saved you.”
Argon swallowed. “Wh-what should I do, sir?” His voice shook. “Does he want… I mean —“
He stopped himself, fixing his gaze on the floor. Penumbra considered what he knew of Gargoyle’s statue garden.
“You’re afraid of him. That he’ll hurt you.” Argon looked up with a pleading expression, reminiscent of a scolded puppy. Penumbra let his gaze drift. He thought carefully for a long while.
“Pit Viper is energetic. His enthusiasm and dramatic flair can be overbearing.” He shrugged his massive shoulders, unbothered by the fact that he was kind of bad mouthing his husband to their rescue. “He craves attention, and when he doesn’t get it, he can become vindictive and cruel. He thrives off of playful manipulation, games where he makes out to be the loser and thus wins. He will not do you any bodily harm.”
Argon… did not look reassured. Penumbra sighed. He massaged the smaller man’s shoulder gently.
“Look. Play some Monopoly with him. That is a game he fully embraces and enjoys. The only catch is that you have to sit through the entire game with him, and you cannot simply allow him to win. No losing on purpose. That will hurt him. I do not want to see my husband hurt.” He smiled slightly. “I can’t keep up with him, so wear him out a bit for me, would you? It’s that beautiful brain of his that I want you to keep entertained. He likes winning, but he doesn’t enjoy his opponent’s suffering. It’s all about the game.”
That eased some of the tension from Argon’s shoulders. “Wh-what if I win?”
Penumbra blinked. Ah. He was fishing for reassurance. “Then you win. It’s fine for him to lose sometimes. You won’t be punished for it.”
Argon looked relieved. Penumbra smiled to himself. The man was so easy to keep. Positive reinforcement was working wonders for him. Once he knew a punishment wasn’t on the line, Argon would happily put himself to any task. His main fear was retribution in case of failure.
Penumbra made a note to have Pit Viper go over his expectations. That was probably one reason Argon was so afraid of him: Pit Viper’s easy manipulation often read as a trap. Most of the time it was, but Argon needed to know that his husband would rather cut off his own arm than seriously harm the man.
He just wanted to be on the receiving end of Argon’s puppy eyes. Maybe Penumbra should start them on obedience training. If Pit Viper awarded the man with his daily snack and additional treats, it might ease some of the tension.
Penumbra sighed.
He was getting way too invested in this rescue.
taglist: @itsleighlove @whumpzone @thegreatwhodini @unicornscotty
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An excerpt from a short story in progress:
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse, out of the corner of my eye…
I was nine. I was emerging from a bad bout of flu that had kept me in bed, sweaty and alternately bored and delirious, for a week. I would stare at the lamp on my dresser and it would seem simultaneously right in front of me and very far away; an awful feeling of wrongness that I still kept inducing in myself to stave off boredom.
I had a vision, maybe a waking one and maybe not, where the lamp came closer and closer and farther and farther than ever before … and then its shade unfurled revealing the white-hot sun within, and I grabbed hold of the shade with arms that felt a million miles long and started to read the writing that ran along it … the lampshade unrolled endlessly like a scroll, and the writing was something like Elvish but I could read it, and it was full of secrets … the answers to everything I was curious about, everything that confused me, everything that was wrong. And as I read and read I grew with the joy of knowledge; and not just knowledge but power, because now I knew how to do everything and fix everything in the world, just as soon as I could get up…
And I fell out of bed and woke up, and the vision evaporated faster than I could write it down even though I spent the rest of the night scribbling in a notebook as fast as I could, sobbing with the bleak horror that the knowledge was all gone. I knew I’d been given only one chance to learn the secret and I had failed. I remembered the blinding awe of understanding, but not the understanding itself, and my panicked scrawls were useless, pathetic, nothing.
I was a different child after that. I had been fascinated by science and nature, but now the world and its workings just made me feel sad and sick. I spent too much time alone in my room endlessly re-reading that notebook, trying to make sense of it. My grades went to hell, and I went from teacher’s pet to problem child. My parents tried to be kind, sent me to therapists, put me on medication; it helped a little, but not enough. My entire existence felt like a bitter anticlimax, like a badly designed video game where I had found but lost the magic key and was unable to exit the level.
Luckily, before I came to the point of hitting the Reset button, I … just grew out of it. I don’t know how else to describe it. I have heard that the adolescent brain goes through a burst of extensive rewiring, and mine must have patched the damage sufficiently for me to function. I just know that at some point in eighth grade the colors gradually came back and the sound unmuffled, and I tentatively retook the controller from the zombie that had been playing for me.
(Again, not autobiographical, this is part of a story…)
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Hey, just wanted to clarify that I don't always use the term shipping in the usual sense, like I don't always want the characters to actually be or stay together romantically, I just use it in lack of a better term... and in reality I'm indifferent to them staying together or not? And would be more than fine with them being friends (and would probably prefer that alternative to the given storyline)...
#my relationship with shipping in general is... complicated#the ships i genuinely ship in a truest sense are shirbert dair and probably house and lisa?#the rest are just fleeting fascinations that i get bored of in time#it's more like i'm fascinated by both characters involved so i like thinking about their relationship with each other too#and then i call it shipping even tho i'm completely indifferent to them staying together or whatnot#or i just connect with both of them on a deeper level and hyperfixasion is rooted in that#idk there are many specific reasons#i genuinely don't know how to refer to these things i mean... i already have such a hard time explaining that i don't ship jo and laurie#in spite of them being everything i talk about... 'i don't ship them' 'oh so why do you talk about them this much?' ugh.#and sometimes i like both of the characters and their relationship So. Much. i just don't care that much about the romantic aspect#like peter and gwen or beth and benny (but b2's whole bit is that it's irrelevant if they ended up together or not anyways)#and hp ships are like that for me too#anyhow#just needed to get this out of my system
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‘TIS THE SEASON: pt. II
violet x fem!reader
bridgerton au
warnings: manufactured regency era, a blink of suggestive context.
blurb: you just couldn’t get that incredibly fleeting young woman out of your head — and, seemingly, that worked in your favor.
word count: 2.5k
author’s note: I can believe I used to be a bridgerton hater. look at me now. (im even considering making another acct.... gods help me) anyway, second installation. and pls don't cringe but I gave Violetta a surname... I think its cute <3
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It has been a long morning.
Probably one of your longest mornings. Various suitors came knocking on your door, hoping to be the gentle-person to take your hand. They lined up at the door of your family room, baring gifts shamelessly. Some had brought flowers, pets, clothing, and even jewelry – which was the most fascinating thing.
The whole time your brother sat on the loveseat in the corner of the room, suspiciously eyeing anyone who walked in. Using the hereditary intimidating stare that was passed down from your father. Speaking of, your father sat at the tea table, reading his newspaper – more like looking at his newspaper. His eyes and eyebrows peered over the top of the large page, listening intently. Your mother sat at the same table with your littlest sister between her legs, playing in her hair like the youngest Wolverton asked. Yet, her eyes were trained on every potential suitor that graced you with their presence.
The majority of them were absolutely darling, and the rest were downright boring. But, they were unable to notice your suffrage, blinded by your gracious smile. The only problem was, that you couldn’t get that pink-haired young lady out of your head. Maybe it was because she didn’t care to share her name – not even her last name.
Which was unfair, because she knew yours.
Thinking about her was a bit frustrating – and you needed to know her. That’s not too obsessive, right?
Good thing, another ball was being hosted tonight. Except, not by the Queen. It was being hosted by the Kiramman’s – probably in the hopes of getting their only daughter married off. Of course, your family was invited. And, hopefully whoever that mystery woman was, she was invited too.
Hours passed, and there you and your family were. Dressed to the nines, shiny ornaments adorning your neckline and bust of your dress. Just enough to showcase your societal relevance and class.
The Kiramman Manor was rather large, and the exterior was covered in intentional greenery. Vines raking up the side and fronts of their home. You could see the lights from the outside as people exited their carriages and entered through their open doors. Orchestral music bounced off the walls, and people were already on the floor dancing. As soon as you walked in, you already noticed a friend of yours dancing with a shocking blue-haired young lady. Her gown was black, accentuating her pale lightly freckled skin. Her eyes were a deep blue, barely contrasting her braided strands – which you could tell were long. Even if they were circled into a pinned bun. Her heart-shaped lips were lightly stained with a deep muted purple. Pulling out the blush in her cheeks.
It was another face you just couldn’t recognize. Were these women locked in a tower until they were of age?
Your friend, Lux, had one hand on her shoulder and the other in her hand. Blue eyes glistened with adoration as the girl seemed to chat her ear off. Leftovers, my ass. You thought, snickering to yourself. But, then you noticed something. The blue-haired young lady had slightly resembled the other you were hoping to see. It could have been her dark eyebrows, even though they differentiated in color. You weren’t sure, but your curiosity had immediately skyrocketed.
“Mama, I must be off.”
She gave you an incredulous look, her lips parting. “Must be off where? Unchaperoned?”
“I’m a woman of age – I don’t need a chaperone. Plus, there are too many people here for scandal-like behavior.”
Mrs Wolverton hummed, giving you a proper nod. “Very well. Your brother and father will be close by. I’ll be formally greeting Viscountess Kiramman.” She rolled her eyes. Her relationship with the well-esteemed family was wonky – more so with the Viscountess.
You nodded, separating yourself from your mother. On a mission to find that young lady. And by no means did your mother raise you to be like this – a beggar of sorts. Especially with your acclaimed title this season. Your eyes darted around, peering in every crevice of the ballroom. It was too early for her to be off, meddling in places she shouldn’t – or would that be you underestimating her.
Ugh, so much thought for someone so unknown.
You haven’t even seen anything in Lady Evangelista’s weekly entries – or it just hasn’t come out yet. Or, maybe our anonymous gossip author doesn’t know it all.
After endless minutes of obvious searching, you make a stop at the refreshments table. Take a short class of lemonade, drinking the whole thing in one go. Cat and mouse isn’t a fun game… At all. You knew absolutely nothing about her, yet you’re so enthralled. It’s not like you’re the type of person to be superficial – only relying on a woman’s beauty as substance.
But, she was incredibly… Fetching.
Her steel-colored eyes easily drew you in. They were entrancing at rest – you could recognize them anywhere based on one mere exchange.
“Looking for someone?”
A familiar voice spoke, igniting the pace of your beating heart. Her accent matched yours, but her tone was much raspier. And, you liked that a lot.
You pivoted, the skirts of your gown twirling. Her hair was styled, exposing all of her face. She’d had a glass of brandy – or some sort of alcohol – in her hand. A helper walked by with an empty tray to collect glasses. You placed the small glass on the tray as he slipped by the two of them.
“No. Why would you assume that?”
She snickered. “Your eyes are quite frantic to be not looking for someone.”
Rolling your eyes, while your hand fiddled with the dance card wrapped around your wrist. “Well, a few lovely people had promised me a dance this evening. I was only scouting them out from afar.” She nods, the corner of her lips curling.
Sipping her drink, she looked over the brim. “Very well.” She paused, looking towards the dance floor. “You seem quite busy – I’ll leave you to it.”
“Wait!” That came out much louder than you expected.
The pink-haired young woman barely had a chance to take a step forward, before you halted her. Your hand landing on her bicep – which you didn’t right off notice its firmness. That tailored coat did her no justice. “Are you not going to ask me for a dance?”
“Am I supposed to? Do you not have a range of suitors lined up for you tonight?” She motioned to the lack thereof line with her free hand. She was definitely pulling your leg.
“You jest! Very funny.”
“Only pointing out the obvious – what’s so funny about that?”
Ignoring her, the corner of your lip curled. “I am a diamond, Miss. I should have had, at the least, one dance already. It wouldn’t be kind of you to leave me lonely…” You leaned closer to her with mischief in your eyes. “Again.”
“I never said I was kind.”
“And you have made that very clear – but, I would hate for Lady Evangelista to find out of your terrible manners.” You paused. “That wouldn’t be a good look for you… Or your family.”
She scoffed, humored by your change in attitude. “Coercing me into a dance.” She sighed, shaking her head and setting her glass down on the table. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Makes proper sense, because you don’t know me. Nor do I know you.”
“In that case, Miss Wolverton… Would you like to accompany me to a dance?”
You grinned, showing off your sparkly teeth. “It would be my honor.”
She pulls you onto the floor, the orchestra just beginning with their third song of the night. You place a hand on her shoulder and the other in her hand beside her head. Her dense fingers delicately rest at your waist, guiding you during the beginning of the waltz. “What a shame...” You say, circling her with a trot.
Her light eyes watched you intensely, as she took your place doing the same trot with her hands behind her back. She raised her thick eyebrows, closing the gap between the two of you. “Hm. What, pray tell, is so shameful?”
“I have yet to know your name — that’s rather impolite.”
“Yet, you’re dancing with me.”
“Yet, I’m dancing with you.” You pause. “Surely, I deserve to know how to address my dance partner…”
This striking woman seemed to be quite the dance partner, as well. Her strides were elegant and swift. As if she had the air beneath her wings to drift her along the ballroom floor. Her eyes had shown a bit of concentration, but nonetheless, she was doing swimmingly.
She sighed, rolling her glimmering eyes. Being this close to her helped you realize just how gorgeous those steel irises were. In their seductive slenderness, they equally harnessed doe-eye energy. They sparkled under the heavy chandeliers hooked to the ceiling — sparkling with an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint.
You were too focused on figuring out what to call her.
“Honeyfield. Violet Honeyfield.” She exposed her mode of identification, her voice soft.
Honeyfield.
That surname wasn’t familiar. Miss Honeyfield telling you her name only created more questions — but at least you knew what to call her. How to mention her. She had a pretty name, at that. It sounded so sweet you could almost smell the potency. “Miss Honeyfield…” You hummed, nodding and gently squeezing the hand you held in the air. “Such a quaint name for an impenetrable lady.”
Her eyebrows rose, stunned. “Impenetrable? What are you suggesting, Miss?”
You tucked your chin, deepening your eyebrows. “I’m not suggest—“ A sigh interrupted you, realizing how that may have sounded untoward. “I did not mean to suggest anything.” The heat in your cheeks increased, and on your neck. However, you are dancing and conversing.
The orchestra paused, insinuating the end of the dance. People clapped and migrated to the perimeters for food and drink. Miss Honeyfield and you did just the same, her eyes looking forward as yours looked to the side of her face. “Y-You’re so secretive and intentionally mysterious — which completely ruins the whole act. And… You’re crude.”
“Violet Honeyfield, doesn’t sound like the type to behave this way.” You added, with a matter-of-fact head nod.
The pink-haired scrunched her eyebrows, unable to determine a proper response. She huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “Well then, how should Violet Honeyfield behave?” She raises one of her eyebrows, a slight curl to one side of her lips.
“Hm.” You briefly thought. “I would assume that she wouldn’t meddle in other peoples’ study’s. She would be the very first to introduce herself… And, she wouldn’t ever avoid asking beautiful women for a dance.”
“Did you just call yourself beautiful?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“I don’t see why it would be. Confident women impress me.”
“And well-mannered women impress me.”
Violet Honeyfield chuckled, looking off with a light blush on her cheeks. Not that you technically complimented her — it was that you tussled with her. “You’re witty, Miss Wolverton. What a pleasant quality to have. It’s starting to make more sense on why you’ve been chosen to be the diamond.” She gleamed, pulling a quill from the inside of her coat. “You are damn-near blinding,” Honeyfield muttered, holding out her hand
Where did all of her stoicism go? She did swear, so the striking beauty you know couldn’t have been too far.
“May I?”
Looking into her bright eyes, you weren’t in any position to comprehend her request. You were confused. Her raspy voice had gotten softer, but still harbored mischief. Knocking yourself out of a daze, you realized she was asking for the card hooked to your wrist. You winced, pulling it off to hand to her. “I fear you are being sarcastic…” You watch as she takes it to a tall circular table to write her name.
“On which part?”
“The overuse of flattery.”
“I thought you wanted me to be nicer. Kinder.” Violet finished, handing you back your card. And, without looking you slid it back onto your wrist. Even her placing her quill back into her coat, made you blink a thousand times in just a few seconds. “I never said anything about wanting that.”
She deepened her eyebrows, for the hundredth time tonight. “So, shall I return to my crude ways?”
“Your crudeness is why I am so intrigued.” Your lips curled. “Not saying I don’t appreciate your flattery — because I well enough do.”
The pink-haired gentlewoman — if she should be called that — hummed once again. Nodding her head, silently admiring how honest you are. Which was refreshing in the short time she’s been living in the Ton.
It’s not like you’re intentionally trying to admit that you’re interested in her — but, you definitely are. People were downright rude in the Ton, however, Violet had taste in her delivery. She takes a much more stylistic approach — or she’s just a flirt. Either way, you weirdly enjoyed it.
That’s what happens when you have a face like hers.
“But, I will say, your manners do need a bit of work. That simply is not acceptable.” You shook your head, fighting against a smile.
“Is that so? Hm. I’d be open to a lesson, Miss Wolverton — that is if you’ll have me.”
“I could make room for you.”
Violet exposed her straight teeth to you. Who knew she had sharp canines that seemed to sparkle against the light. Pfft. And you were called the diamond — when she clearly is one. Quite literally. “Perhaps, at the races. Tomorrow.” She suggested. “A lesson in the field should do me well.”
Do you well, huh?
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t.” You hum, tilting your chin upward.
“Then, it is set. I’m meeting you at the races tomorrow, and in return, you’re reminding me of my manners.”
Placing a few fingers in front of your lips, you giggled. “It is set.” You accidentally say adoringly, looking up at her with an unfamiliar gaze.
After a few silent moments, just examining each other’s faces. You departed, bidding your adieu. The night wasn’t even close to being over for you wanting to retire. Excitement bubbled in your stomach for the following day. And, it wasn’t like there was anyone else you wanted to fill up your dance card. Just her.
Violet Honeyfield.
Oh, how much you wanted to be beside her once more. To dance with her again.
...
Attention gentle readers,
Your lovely author has some news! Our season diamond, y/n Wolverton, has been spotted with a barely known potential suitor at the Kiramman’s ball! But, they are quite attractive, indeed. Do not let these details fool you! (Rumor has it, they may have a bit of an attitude problem).
Even after the ever-going line outside of Miss Wolverton’s front door (bunching down her driveway, might I add), she has her eyes on none of the above — just the poised young lady with abrupt pink tendrils and a sharp gaze that could easily send you into ruins! Perhaps, it is her lack of relevance that makes her so special. This could potentially be a message to the rest of you, aching to win the diamond’s heart — there’s still time!
Our dearest Miss Wolverton prefers her potential spouse to be uninvolved and irrelevant. So, I suggest the lot of you make haste with doing absolutely nothing. Your courtship depends on it.
Until next time, my loyal readers.
Your author, Lady Evangelista.
#vi arcane#vi x reader#vi arcane league of legends#arcane imagines#caitlyn kiramman#caitlyn kiramman arcane#powder arcane#jinx league of legends#bridgerton au
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Blackberry Winters.
Part 1
Check part one for warnings 💔
Part 2.
Namjoon stared at his mother, her words registering but not quite sinking in. He blinked, a couple of times and swallowed dryly, trying to gather his wits that felt like they'd been scattered to the four winds. There was a dull ringing in his ear, a feeling of impending horror and he had to fight to bring himself back to the present.
"She is...?" He couldn't even say it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realised the irony of it. It wasn't supposed to makes him feel that way. The reason he had taken her to bed was for this : a heir to take over the duties of the head alpha after him. And yet, he knew that he couldn't just ignore all the things that would come with having a pregnant mate. All the added responsibility.
At the heart of it , Namjoon was exhausted.
He had been trained for this position but it didn't make it any easier. His wolf yearned for solitude and serenity, peaceful quiet where he could contemplate life and all its mysteries but the duties and responsibilities kept piling up. He had no time to indulge in such whimsical fantasies. From daybreak to sundown, he drowned in problems that demanded solutions, issues that required his intervention and he was always giving so much of himself to so many.
It was as taking a toll.
And now here was the promise of another new soul. A pup. Fully dependant on him for survival. It was hard to be ecstatic.
" Why do you look so surprised? Have you not been sleeping with her?" She frowned, moving closer to the small wooden bench in the corner of the room. She sat down, primly adjusting the large swathes of her skirt. Even at her age, she was a beauty and despite being a widow, she was treated with great respect by all the wolves in the clan.
" I have... Of course...I just didn't expect her to ...so soon. " He muttered hesitantly. He made a quick calculation, Conceived at the end of autumn meant the child would be born at the end of summer. Rains and more rains. He would have to commission the weavers to make a lot of warm blankets and thick bedding for the babe. And make sure that all the birthing huts had their roofs mended. He felt an ache in his chest. He knew he had to have a heir. It was part of what he was responsible for. But he wasn't ready to be a father yet. Especially not with someone like her.
" You haven't been very subtle in your disdain for her, Joon. It makes me wonder of perhaps I have failed in teaching you the ways of a husband." His mother's sharp voice made him wince.
His parents had been deeply in love with each other. His mother had been an equal contributor in running the clan, his father's most trusted confidante. He couldn't imagine having something like that with the woman he had rather recklessly chained himself to for life. But he couldn't be openly defiant in front of his mother.
So he bowed.
" I've tried to talk to her mother. She looks at me like I'm some marauding villain."
Lady Kim scoffed.
" Because, for all she knows, you may as well be one. Think of who she is, how she was raised. Her mother died when she was eight and she has been keeping house for her father since then. It Is a miracle she knows how to read a few words and to write her own name. Old man Gong is unkind and cruel and I've only ever watched him treat her like an unruly dog that needed discipline and never like his own flesh and blood. She knows men to be cruel and powerful and capable of doing her great harm. Add to it your status as the head of the clan, of course she thinks you're dangerous. "
" am I to be blamed for her childhood now?"
" Don't be obtuse. That is not what I'm saying. I just want you to consider her upbringing, before you write her off as dramatic or hysterical. "
Namjoon sighed deeply.
" Alright, mother. I'll try to talk to her again. "
And he knew that he had to. If he wanted some semblance of peace in his life, he would have to make an effort with his wife.
----------------------------
Jiah sat by the haybale near the barn, cross-legged on the dirty floor as she watched Misu and Loshim, two of the stable boys tend to the horses. She stared at the careful way they brushed the large beasts, their tone gentle and soothing as they murmured reassurance to the agitated animals. She found it fascinating, how even an animal that powerful could feel fear and anxiety. It made her feel better about her own shortcomings.
From a very young age, she had known of her flaws. She was jittery, prone to cold sweats and breathing problems, easily frightened and absolutely terrified of confrontation of any kind. Her parents had been, to put it lightly, unkind. They had seen her as a burden, as something broken and useless and cumbersome and that had done nothing for her self esteem.
To make matters worse, they didn't let her attend lessons with the other omega girls, her education limited to scribbled writing on granite with chalk when her father was feeling bored or charitable. She could read a few words with difficulty . Could write her name out if you gave her some time and patience.
At first, her ignorance had been embarassing but over time she realised her education wouldn't serve her much purpose.
She thought of herself as something temporary and fleeting. Not meant to leave any lasting impression on the world. So it was alright if she didn't know what every other girl her age did. She was going to live and die in that hut near the boundary walls..... She would have no use for fancy words or exotic dances.
Or so she hd always believed.
So when the head alpha had asked for her hand in marriage, she had nearly passed out from her heart giving out.
Namjoon was seven years older, almost thirty winters old and she had only ever caught glimpses of him when he came to check on her father's watchpost occasionally. He was a tall man, strapping and intimidating with dragon eyes that glowed red. And one evening he had stopped by her side when she had been tending the beets and potatoes in the small vegetable garden out back.
He had stared at her for a few long minutes while she had sweated in nervousness and then he had promptly asked for her father. When the man had Stepped in and told her father that he was looking to make her his bride, the old man had been jubilant while Jiah had been confounded.
She hadn't wanted to say yes but she had been too much of a coward to say no. Besides, she didn't know if saying no would have any repurcussions....she didn't want to risk offending the literal head of the entire clan. What if they banished her? What would become of her then?
And so she had said yes. And here she was.
Mated to the man for life, her wolf connected to his and his mark on her neck and now....his child in her womb.
She felt the familiar stirring of panic, digging her nails into her palm to ground herself .
Jiah had long come to terms with the fact that her mind was not her friend. It sometimes tried to attack her , tried to make her feel irrational things. It convinced her that she was a bother, that she was useless, that she was a burden. It also tried to tell her that she was in danger, that she had to run and avoid and get away, even when she was perfectly safe.
When she had first come here as the head Alphas new wife, her brain had wrecked havoc on her senses. Had made her feel like a hunted animal, always cowering and hiding and trying to disappear . Namjoon had tried to be friendly, tried to be courteous and all she had done was hide and recoil, skin ice cold and words practically non existent. She hadn't said a word to him those first few days and even the bedding had been a nightmare, her entire body stiff as a board and she knew that he had probably felt like he was making love to a corpse.
She regretted it. Deeply. But there was not much she could do about it now. Besides she wasn't sure she even wanted to. It was obvious her husband's affections lay elsewhere. She had seen the way he looked at that courtesan. Had seen him sneak out for walks with her, had seen them huddled together in the room with all the scrolls and leather bound books.
Jisoo was a beautiful omega, well read and trained in musical arts. She played the gayageum and the flute, knew how to entertain guests with a perfect ceremonial dance and she was always at the helm of every festivity, dressed in vibrant fabrics and full of life.
She was also madly in love with Namjoon.
Jiah sighed, watching the horses paw at the dirty stable floor. She wanted to get to know her husband, yes. But she knew that even if she did, he would only find her wanting and inadequate in all ways.
And that was just not acceptable .
She maybe self aware when it came to her short comings but she also had her pride.
She would rather live like this. Tucked away like an embarassment, hidden like a dirty secret because then there would be no piercing gaze weighing her against her peers and declaring her broken.
Yes.
Pregnant or not, she wanted nothing to do with her husband.
------------------------
" Are you feeling well now?" Namjoon's voice startled her, eyes going wide as she looked around the resting quarters , gaze finally falling on the man standing near the large table on the side. Namjoon was bent over the rough oak surface , papers spread out in front of him, an oil lamp burning bright nearby, casting a sepia shadow on the man himself and she hesitated, debating the pros and cons of excusing herself to go see his mother instead. Maybe claiming a headache?
In the end she did neither, resolving to at least make an effort with this.
" I'm well, alpha. " She swallowed the lump in her throat. " I'm sorry for inconveniencing you. "
He straightened, turning around to look at her finally.
" Do you wish to move into another room?" He said briskly and she startled.
" Another room?"
" Now that you are with pup, there's no reason for us to keep sleeping together. I prefer having my own space. "
Jiah felt the blood rush through her ears. This shouldn't hurt but it did and she could feel the self loathing flood her senses. She stared down at herself, the lack of beauty and the utter lack of any kind of elegant upbringing. Of course he didn't want to stay with her any longer. What had she been thinking , agreeing to this farce of a mating?
" I... Alright. "
Namjoon turned away from her.
" Good. I've already arranged for all your things to be moved to the west wing , next to the gardens."
Far away from his rooms, Jiah thought bitterly. The sudden realization that Namjoon had been looking for some sort of brood mare and not a mate hit her . And it suddenly made sense that he hd picked her.
Someone easy to boss around.
Someone who wouldn't demand anything from him, loyalty or affection or attention .
And it irked her for some reason.
Why did he get to treat her that way? Why must she put up with it?
But she stayed quiet because she wasn't sure what to say.
" You can leave now, Jiah. " He said dismissively and she hesitated before stepping out of the room.
And she wondered if with her departure, someone else would be taking her place in his bed.
-----------------------------
Authors Note : would you guys like first person narrative or should I continue in third person? 👀
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Hello. This is my first time making a request, so I hope this goes through. May I request a yandere Malleus with MCW191?
(give it up for first time requests!)
191. “Am I scaring you? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I can be a little overzealous at times.”
(Yandere! Malleus Draconia x Fem! S/o)
Malleus was watching her again, even though (Y/n) couldn’t see him she knew his eyes were on her again. Sometimes from the corner of her eye, she could catch glimpses of those glowing green-eyes staring into her as if they could see right into her very soul. Hell, maybe he could see all the way to her soul but there was no way she would ask him for confirmation of her suspicions. No way, she wanted nothing to do with the dragon-fae even if it would stop the constant staring.
He’d been watching her for a couple of weeks and he was still not bored. There was something about (Y/n) that fascinated him. Malleus couldn’t figure out what it was about the girl that made it impossible to take his eyes off of her. He found himself following after her like a lost puppy, keeping to the shadows as to not unnerve him with his presence. He knew his terrifying reputation would always precede him, so to help her be at ease he would keep his pastime of observing her a secret.
At least that had been the plan at first, back when he thought his interest would be a fleeting one like watching a bird singing in a tree before it flies away never to be seen again. Except that didn’t happen, not even a little. His pastime was slowly becoming an obsession and it was only getting worse. Malleus saw no point in hiding his presence to (Y/n), in fact, he wanted her to know he was watching even as his form remained concealed for he was curious what it would take to get her to confront him.
She was starting to grow tired of the dragon-fae’s unnerving behavior. Any other day she could have just forced herself to ignore it and go on with her day but today? Today she was tired so tired and angry. So as the bell rang (Y/n) stood up with a determined look on her face as she stomped towards the back of the classroom where the fae sat staring at her as she approached him. Malleus didn’t look the least bit ashamed, in fact, he was wearing a grin on his face as she came closer.
“Stop staring at me! I’m tired of it!” (Y/n) said with a glare as she jabbed Malleus in the chest with her finger. “Day in and day out I can feel your eyes on me and I’ve had it! Just leave me alone you creepy lizard man!” she said her face starting to turn red with aggravation not helped by the fact that Malleus was still smiling even as she chewed him out. “Do you have any idea how unnerving it is to be stared at all the fucking time! If you don’t stop I’m going to tell a teacher!” she finished spluttering a bit with her rage.
“Am I scaring you?” Malleus said tilting his head and speaking softly once he was sure (Y/n)’s tirade was complete. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to” he added putting a hand over the finger on his chest and gently tugging so the girl’s hand was resting flat against his body. “I can be a little overzealous at times” he finished standing up and gently squeezing the hand resting on his chest. The young woman blinked slowly, her rage extinguished by how chilling calm the dragon-fae’s response had been.
“Do not fear my dear human, I will make sure you never have to feel afraid of me ever again. Let us return to Diasomnia where it will be more comfortable for us to continue this conversation” Malleus said already casting a transportation spell before (Y/n) had a chance to open her mouth to protest. She began to quiver with fear as the gothic interior lit by green-flamed torches started to come into focus signaling that they’d reach their destination and her fate was already sealed...
THE END
#Malleus Draconia#Twisted Wonderland#TWST#Yandere TWST#Yandere Twisted Wonderland#Yandere Malleus Draconia
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Nerves (Request)
This was my first request, and it was fun to write! Anon wanted a reader around Sam’s age whose nerves Dean mistakes for fear until he confronts her about them. Thanks for reading, and of course I would love any advice or critiques!! If you have a request, drop it in my inbox and I’ll definitely write it if I feel like I can do it justice. Just a little bit of weekend fluff.
Title: Nerves
Pairing: Dean X Reader
Word Count: 2715
Summary: When helping Sam’s college friend, the reader, Dean can’t figure out why she’s so scared of him.
gif from forgetthisbull
“Dude, Dean, I’m serious. Don’t be a fucking creep to her,” Sam said, shutting the door to the Impala and following his brother into a greasy spoon called Little Bavaria with white scalloped curtains.
“Dude, Dean, I’m serious,” Dean mimicked in a nasal sing-song. “And when am I ever a creep?”
Sam glared at Dean in exasperation. “Please? Just please? Can I have one friend you don’t hit on?”
“Fine! Drop it!” Dean snapped, yanking open the door and pulling his face immediately into a saccharine smile for the rosy-cheeked grandma-type standing behind a cash register that could not have been made after 1983.
“Thank you,” Sam said, obviously relieved. He scanned the room before seeing her sitting in a back booth.
You waved excitedly to Sam as he walked toward you, looking like a sun-kissed and confident man rather than the floppy haired boy you remembered.
As the brothers made their way over to you, a waitress dropped off plasticized menus and glasses of water. Sam waited for you to stand up before wrapping you in a bear hug. He smelled clean and familiar in a way that made you feel slightly lighter immediately.
“I like the new hair, it looks good on you,” he said, charming as ever.
You reflexively touched your head. “Oh! Right, I forgot that was after college. You look great!”
Sam’s smile was easy and wide as he turned to Dean. “This is my brother Dean.”
Dean raised a few fingers in a weak wave, decidedly not giving you anything Sam could construe as bedroom eyes or a flirtatious smirk. “Nice to meet you. Sorry it isn’t under better circumstances.”
“Yeah, well,” you trailed off.
“Should we sit?” Sam asked, graciously offering you an out.
After the requisite coffees and Dutch babies were ordered, Sam looked across the table angelically. “I’m really sorry this is happening,” he said, his voice smooth and soothing. It was all Dean could do not to roll his eyes, one arm slung across the booth behind Sam as he slouched back. He tried for the appearance of nonplussed neutrality. “If it’s okay with you, I think you should stick around us until we figure this out. I don’t want to leave you alone in that house,” Sam urged.
You kept the relief off your face better than you’d expected you would. You were trying to play it cool in front of Sam and his hopelessly cute older brother, but you were scared enough of going back your new house that you just repeated what they ordered, unable to focus even on the menu. As you had been doing for the last day and a half since you called, you thanked God for the small instinct to call Sam. Sam, who you hadn’t seen in a few years but was the least judgmental person you’d known in school. Somehow you knew even if he thought you were crazy he would come anyway. Now he was here, bigger and looser than you’d remembered, not making fun of or pitying the girl who thought her house was haunted, and you felt like you could take a deep breath for the first time in weeks. In a weaker moment you might’ve cried, and for that reason it was better that Sam had brought his brother. It might not have been so embarrassing to break down with an old friend, but you couldn’t ugly-cry in front of the Rebel Without A Cause at the table, all pillowy lips and long eyelashes. Distractedly you tried to remember if Dean looked this good in the two or three pictures Sam had scotch-taped to his dorm wall but couldn’t call them up. You channeled all the chill-girl energy you could muster and shrugged. “If you think that’s better, I can.”
“I do, yeah. It’s just that we don’t know what’s going on yet,” Sam offered. “If you need to get some stuff from your place, we can come with you. Right, Dean?”
“Sure,” Dean said, his tone clipped and his lips pressed tight. “Whatever Sammy wants.”
You heard a thump under the table and Dean smiled slightly more reassuringly.
Over breakfast Sam had about a hundred questions about everything you’d been up to lately. He seemed genuinely interested as you told him about the new job you’d moved here for, wanting to know more about the goofy drama between your coworkers and odd clients as though it was fascinating. You’d forgotten how much you desperately missed him until you saw the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and heard his laugh twinkle out over the coffee steam and powdered sugar. All the while, Dean seemed to be boring into you with those green eyes, sometimes adding a meaningless trite comment or chuckle but not genuinely engaging. You tried only partly successfully to ignore him, focusing on Sam and your food and how nice it was to feel safe.
3 cups of weak coffee after you’d finished eating, knowing you’d be jittery but not caring from the giddiness of the reunion, Dean took out his wallet and threw about double what you’d guessed the tab might be down in cash. “Should we go get your stuff?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” you answered, taking one last sip before getting up from the table. A look you couldn’t decipher passed between Sam and Dean so quickly that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been staring right at them. You followed the boys out of the restaurant, feeling a very odd and fleeting moment of jealousy when Dean thanked and winked at the older woman behind the cash register, giving her a slow languid smile like warm honey. He was so pretty. As quickly as the thought had come over you, it was replaced with disgust at yourself. At a time like this, when your whole world was in chaos, you were worried about some hot guy—who clearly wasn’t into you from the way he was acting—instead of your own safety. You were still cursing yourself mentally when you slid into the back of the gigantic black car they’d arrived in.
Sam’s friend was cute. Like, really cute. Beautiful, even, and Dean was beyond annoyed that this was the one time he promised Sam he wouldn’t hit on one of his friends. Not that it seemed to matter, because she only had eyes for Sam. It was like she melted when she saw him, staring only straight at his kid brother all through the time they stayed at the breakfast spot. If Dean was being honest with himself, he was more than a little hurt, not used to being looked at with anything less than adoration by the women he wanted. What added even more salt to the wound than the way she seemed so infatuated with Sam was the way that she looked when she saw Dean. Dean peddled in monsters and the looks of attractive women, and he knew fear when he saw it. He’d spent the rest of breakfast with Sam’s comment about him being a creep running through his mind on a loop, careful not to lean too close into her or say anything less than strictly G-rated. Unfortunately, that limited him more severely than he realized it would.
When she got into the back of the Impala, she sat straight up like she was in a cotillion class, not comfortable enough even to sit normally in his car. Was Sam right? Was he a creep? Dean suddenly felt weird and predatory, like maybe the blood and guts of hunting was changing him in some irreparable way that people could sense. He tried to smile agreeably the way Sam did up at her in the rearview mirror and saw a shark reflected back at him. Looking quickly away, Dean put both hands on the wheel the way he thought someone non-threatening would.
It didn’t help that Sam thought something was off, which meant Dean wasn’t pulling off his act and maybe couldn’t even pretend like he wasn’t the kind of person who makes a beautiful girl’s eyes go wide in fear. Each time Sam had side-eyed or kicked him under the table, the point was re-emphasized. Dean was desperate to relax but worried he’d freak this poor girl out somehow, so he kept himself tightly wound as he took directions to her house.
By the time they’d finally figured out the problem—not, as you thought, that your house was haunted but that a coworker was in fact a witch trying to torment you—the three of you had gotten into a semi-comfortable rhythm. You were crashing on the couch in their motel room, carrying your toiletries into and out of the bathroom every morning like you were at sleepaway camp and trying to keep your clothes as wrinkle-free as possible while living out of a suitcase. Some parts of it were so nice; you were still just as grateful for the protection you felt as you had been in that café, and you had forgotten how comforting it was just to know there was someone else around. Other parts, however, were not. You hadn’t slept on a couch, let alone a scratchy-creaky motel one, for so many days since college, and you were remembering why. On top of that, Dean was so compelling that it felt like you expended half of your energy each day just trying to keep yourself from staring at him.
And naturally, the more you got to know him the harder it got. He was not only the pretty boy that was obvious from the first time you met, but also so kind and respectful, seeming to be very aware of the potential discomfort of immediately sleeping in the same room as a strange man and giving you a wide berth for as much privacy as possible. He even picked up coffee in the mornings before you and Sam got up, that first day getting a black coffee, a nonfat latte, and ‘whatever the coffee guy said was most popular’ because he didn’t know what you’d like. If anything, it felt almost as though he was being a bit too gentle, and you wondered if Sam had told Dean you were some kind of fragile and delicate bird that startled easily. When you’d asked Sam about it after a couple days, he just shrugged and said he hadn’t really told Dean much other than some stories from college. You decided to drop it. Maybe Dean was just like this, which made it all the harder not to develop the kind of crippling, blushing, oh-my-god-is-he-going-to-sit-next-to-me crush you hadn’t felt since middle school.
When the coworker had been ‘taken care of’—a careful answer from Dean that you chose not to pursue—you were left feeling unmoored. It wasn’t like you could go back to the now-destroyed house, or even imagine how you’d explain away the chaos of the last couple weeks to the few people you knew here. Sam seemed to pick up on it intuitively, and offered for you to come along with him and his brother until you figured out what you were going to do next. Like it had when he had driven across the country and tossed you the last life raft over the formica table at Little Bavaria, it felt like Sam was saving you. He seemed excited when you said you would, and was out grabbing sandwiches for the road while you and Dean packed up the motel room when Dean asked if he could borrow you for a minute.
You were so embarrassed at the small, cartoonish voice that agreed, sitting on the side of the bed while Dean draped himself effortlessly—God, how could he look so cool even just sitting down—over the arm of the sofa.
“I, uh, if you’re going to come on the road with us I think we should talk,” he started. Your pulse started thumping in your chest and you hoped you weren’t blushing as you raised your eyebrows, signaling for him to continue. Dean cleared his throat and fiddled with his ring before continuing. “Listen, I don’t know how much Sam told you before we met, or whatever, but I swear I’m really not that bad.”
You’d been focusing so hard on not looking desperately infatuated that you weren’t able to keep the surprise off your face. “Bad? Of course not, you’ve been amazing. You and Sam saved my life. I’m so grateful,” you sputtered.
“Right,” Dean said, looking slightly confused. “Then I’m sorry if I did something maybe, because I don’t want you to think I’m some, like, animal—”
You cut him off. “Dean, you’ve been unbelievably sweet, way above and beyond what you needed to do. I’ve felt so safe the entire time I’ve been with you guys, and now you’re letting me stay with you for even longer; I don’t know how I can repay you, seriously.”
Dean looked up at you, his confusion tinged around the edges of his eyes with something wounded. “Then why are you so scared of me? You jump whenever I come in the room, you only look at Sam, you don’t even slouch when I’m around. I know I can’t do Sam’s puppy dog eyes act, but come on, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You act like you’re waiting for me to sock you.”
You opened your mouth and closed it again, realizing you didn’t know what to say. It was hard enough to think with Dean’s eyelashes sweeping over his cheekbones like the most delicious metronome you’d ever seen, let alone process what he was saying. “I—Dean, I’m not scared of you,” you finally squeaked. His face didn’t change with the spark of recognition that would’ve allowed you to stop there with a soggy handful of dignity left, and you took a deep breath to steel yourself to continue. “God, this is so embarrassing,” you murmured under your breath. “Okay,” you started, hoping your voice sounded resolute and firm. “I mean, it’s just that you’re so cute, and cool, and self-assured, and I was worried I was going to do something weird or whatever, and now I guess I have anyway. I’m truly sorry if I made you uncomfortable, or especially feel like I wasn’t anything other than thankful for you and everything you’ve done. I’ll try to act like less of a total freak, I promise.”
You winced, waiting for the inevitable pity from this gorgeous man who must hear these proclamations from every woman he meets. Instead, Dean chuckled, which was maybe even worse. Pity you were ready for, could swallow and heal your ego from in private, but open ridicule was too much.
“Okay, well, that was fun. Sorry,” you said, smacking the tops of your legs and getting up from the bed. Dean grabbed one of your wrists as he pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his eyes.
“No, wait, sit down,” he said, smiling.
You obeyed, feeling a little lump of embarrassed tears forming in your throat but not seeing a way to extricate yourself from the room gracefully. Dean’s callused thumb swiped affectionately across the back of your hand.
“That is way better than what I thought,” he insisted. “Sam made a big deal about how I shouldn’t act like a creep to you, and it got in my head. I thought I was coming off as a total perv or something.”
His eyes locked you in like quicksand before you could answer, not pitying or withering at all as you’d thought, just soft and tender and the impossible green of a perfect matcha. “No, I’m the perv here,” you offered, attempting to make light of your shyness.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweetheart,” Dean purred. Heat swelled up into your cheeks, and Dean brought your hand to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to the back of your hand as he gazed up at you.
As you were desperately scrolling through the Rolodex in your mind for something witty to say, Sam opened the door to the motel room. You were equally and fiercely relieved and stymied as his hulking frame filled the doorway, grabbing the duffel he’d left on the tile. “You guys ready?” he asked, his smile bright and carefree.
Dean dropped your wrist and winked at you as he got up from the couch unhurriedly. “More than ready, Sammy. Let’s hit the road.”
-
Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!
Tags: @sams-sass, @akshi8278, @dream-believe-and-love
#dean x reader#dean winchester x reader#dean fanfiction#dean winchester#dean one shot#spn fic#spn oneshot#spn fanfiction#dean fluff#supernatural fluff#supernatural fanfiction#reader insert#dean x you#dean winchester x you#request#dean winchester oneshot#dean oneshot#supernatural
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More Stuff from Betrayer
[While on the topic, I want to show the various humans out there a very interesting scene out of Betrayer.
Two, technically, but one that's a bit longer than the other. Image IDs will be provided at the end of the post, cause there's going to be a LOT.
Some interesting insights into how Lorgar views Chaos and a bit about the Emperor as well. I always find this scene to be fascinating, especially since he's borrowed the astropathic choir of the Conquerer to listen to worlds dying across Ultramar while he muses on this.
And then there's when Angron walks up.
Some interesting, albeit a bit morbid, banter between brothers. I do like how Angron even greets Lorgar on the way in, and Lorgar is just standing there stunned. The insights into how Angron views the Devourers is also neat, and it is to be expected at this point. Lorgar trying to argue for them and trying to get Angron to stop ignoring them outright is another neat touch.
The two begin talking of Ultramar, and Lorgar reveals that Nuceria is going to be the capstone for his ritual. Angron asks why, and the following is said:
I like this passage for a few reasons. Firstly, how Angron "dreams" has always been something of interest to me. Because I doubt he ever really gets much rest and respite. Here we get some insight into this, although this also was already expressed a bit earlier. This passage also leads into Angron's recollection of the Night of the Wolf, but I wanted to focus on this.
Lorgar and Angron's "bond" is something that's always intrigued me. It definitely feels more one-sided, with Lorgar seeking for brotherhood that isn't really there, but there are a few moments to make it feel a bit more genuine. However, there is still something missing from these interactions. I can't really describe it other than a barrier between two primarchs who will never see eye-to-eye. Lorgar does, to his credit, try to be understanding and patient throughout, but I can also definitely feel his annoyance coming through at certain places.
In a way, I can almost feel a similar sort of vibe to how Magnus interacts with some of his brothers. Namely with Perturabo in one of the opening chapters of his primarch novel. However, the bond between those two is still very different from the one Angron has with Lorgar; those two actually do have a deep connection, while these two don't. There's a misunderstanding and underestimation coming from both sides in certain aspects; Lorgar in almost sounding condescending to Angron, and Angron still thinking Lorgar a weakling.
TL;DR, Betrayer good.
Image IDs below the cut:
Image ID 1 & 2: A scene from Betrayer where Lorgar is standing and listening to worlds burn. It reads:
Serving as conductor for an astrological orchestra was more taxing than he’d dreamed, though his blunter, more militant brothers would struggle to grasp the finer points of his efforts. Exhaustion left him wondering, even if only briefly, whether absolute peace would create a stellar song as divinely inspired as absolute war. Fate had played its hand and Chaos was destined to swallow all creation whether or not Horus and Lorgar raged against the Imperial war machine, but if what if they’d stayed loyal to the Emperor? What then? Would the Great Crusade have shaped a serene funeral dirge, to play behind the veil as humanity died in a defenceless harrowing?
Therein lay the fatal flaw. The Emperor’s way was compliance, not peace. The two were as repellent to one another as opposing lodestones. It didn’t matter what enlightenment the Imperium stamped out in its conquering crusade when obedience was all its lords desired. It didn’t matter what wars were fought from now into eternity. The Legiones Astartes would always march, for they were born to do so. There would always be war; even if the Great Crusade had been allowed to reach the galaxy’s every edge, there would never be peace. Discontent would seethe. Populations would rebel. Worlds would rise up. Human nature eventually sent men and women questing for the truth, and tyrants always fell to the truth.
No peace. Only war.
Lorgar felt his blood run cold. Only war. Those were words to echo into eternity.
He didn’t trust the Ten Thousand Futures the way Erebus claimed to. Too many possibilities forked from every decision made by every living thing. What use was prophecy when all it offered was what might happen? Lorgar was not so devoid of imagination that he needed the warp’s twisting guesswork to show him that. Anyone with an iota of vision could imagine what might happen. Genius lay in engineering events according to one’s own goals, not in blindly heeding the laughter of mad gods.
More than that, Lorgar sought to keep one thing in mind above all else. The gods were powerful, without doubt, but they were fickle beings. Each worked against its own kin more often than not, spilling conflicting prophecies into their prophets’ minds. Perhaps they weren’t even sentient in the way a mortal mind could encompass. They seemed as much the manifestations of primal emotion as they did individual essences.
But no, there was a wide gulf between hearing them and heeding them. Gods lied, just like men. Gods deceived and clashed and sought to advance their own dominions over their rivals’. Lorgar trusted none of their prophecies.
Image ID 3-5: A series of screenshots from Betrayer. Angron comes into the scene. It reads:
Angron entered the basilica, armoured in his usual stylised bronze and ceramite and with two oversized chainswords strapped to his back. He even wasted time with a greeting, raising his hand in the first time Lorgar could ever remember such a gesture from his broken brother. The Word Bearer tried not to let his amazement show at his brother’s new consideration.
‘Lotara says you stole her astropathic choir.’ Angron’s lipless smile was a ghastly thing indeed. ‘I see that she may have been correct.’
‘Stole is a strong word. “Appropriated” seems much less ignoble.’ Lorgar spared a glance for the skies above the cathedral, as the Lex ripped onwards towards Nuceria.
‘What do you need them for?’ Angron asked. His wounds from being buried alive had already faded to scrunched scar tissue pebbling his flesh, just another host of scarring to overlay the last.
The Devourers lurked behind him, stomping into the cathedral without the primarch sparing them a glance. To be one of Angron’s bodyguards was no honour, despite how fiercely the World Eaters’ champions had fought for it in the first, optimistic years. Angron ignored them no matter where they went, never once fighting alongside them in battle. In their Terminator plate, they’d never managed to keep up with their liege lord, and they were as prone to losing control as any other World Eater, meaning any hope of them fighting as an organised pack was a forlorn one at best.
Lorgar watched the Devourers – those warriors who’d spent a century learning to swallow their pride and pretend they weren’t ignored – speaking amongst themselves at the basilica’s entrance.
‘Hail,’ he greeted them. They seemed uneasy at being addressed, offering hesitant and wordless bows.
Angron snorted at his brother acknowledging them. ‘Bodyguards,’ he said. ‘Even their name annoys me. “Devourers”, as if I’d named them myself – as if they were the Legion’s finest.’
‘Their intentions are pure,’ Lorgar pointed out. ‘They seek to honour you. It’s not their fault you leave them behind in every battle.’
‘They’re not even the Legion’s fiercest fighters, any more. That rogue Delvarus refuses to challenge for a place in their ranks. Khârn laughed when I asked him if he’d ever considered it. And do you know Bloodspitter?’
‘I know Bloodspitter,’ Lorgar replied. Everyone knew Bloodspitter.
‘He beat one of them in the pits, and carved his name into the poor bastard’s armour with a combat knife.’
Lorgar forced a smile. ‘Yes. Delightful.’
Angron’s face wrenched again, at the mercy of misfiring muscles. ‘What primarch ever needed guarding by lesser men?’
‘Ferrus,’ Lorgar said softly. ‘Vulkan.’
Angron laughed, the sound rich and true, yet harsh as a bitter wind. ‘It’s good to hear you joke about those weaklings. I was getting bored of you mourning them.’
It was no joke, but Lorgar had no desire to shatter his brother’s fragile good humour. ‘I only mourn the dead,’ Lorgar conceded. ‘I don’t mourn Vulkan.’
‘He’s as good as dead.’ The World Eater smiled again. ‘I’m sure he wishes he were. Now, what are you doing with Lotara’s choir?’
‘Listening to them sing of other worlds and other wars.’
Angron stared, unimpressed. ‘Specifics,’ he said, ‘while I have the patience to hear such details.’
‘Just listen,’ Lorgar replied.
Angron did as he was bid. After a minute or more had passed, he nodded once. ‘You’re listening to the Five Hundred Worlds burning.’
‘Something like that. These are the voices of the freshly dead, and those soon to join them. The mortis-moments of random souls, elsewhere in Ultramar, as our fleets ravage their worlds.’
‘Morbid, priest. Even for you.’
‘We’re inflicting this destruction on them. We mustn’t consider ourselves distant from it. It may not be our hands holding the bolters and blades, but we are still the architects of this annihilation. It’s our place to listen to it, to remember the martyred dead, and to meditate on all we’ve wrought.’
‘I wish you well with it,’ said Angron. ‘But why steal Lotara’s choir? What happened to yours?’
‘They died.’
It was Angron’s turn to be surprised. ‘How did they die?’
‘Screaming.’ Lorgar showed no emotion at all. ‘What brings you here, brother?’
Image ID 6 & 7: Two screenshots from later in the previous scene, when Angron asks 'Why Nuceria?'. It reads:
‘The metaphysics are complicated,’ said Lorgar.
That had Angron growling. ‘I may not have wasted days in debate with you and Magnus inside our father’s Palace, but the Nails haven’t left me an absolute fool. I asked the question, Lorgar. You answer it. And do so without lying, if you can manage such a feat.’
The Word Bearer met his brother’s eyes, and the rarely-seen palette of emotions within their depths. Pain was there in abundance, but so was the frustration of living with a misfiring mind, and the savagery that transcended anger itself. Angron was a creature that had come to make his hatred a blade to be used in battle. He’d weaponised his own emotions, where most living beings were slaves to theirs. Lorgar couldn’t help but admire the strength in that.
‘We’re going to Nuceria,’ he said, ‘because of you. Because of the Nails.’
Angron stared, and his silence beckoned for his brother to continue.
‘They’re killing you,’ Lorgar admitted. ‘Faster than I thought. Faster than anyone realised. The rate of degeneration has accelerated even in the last few months. Your implants were never designed for a primarch’s brain matter. Your physiology is trying to heal the damage as the Nails bite deeper, but it’s a game of pushing and pulling, with both sides evenly matched.’
Angron took this with an impassive shrug. ‘Guesswork.’
‘I can see souls and hear the music of creation,’ Lorgar smiled. ‘In comparison, this is nothing. The Twelfth Legion’s archives are comprehensive enough, you know. Your behaviour tells the rest of the tale, along with the pain I sense radiating from you each and every time we meet. Your entire brain is remapped and rewired, slaved to the implants’ impulses. Tell me, when was the last time you dreamed?’
‘I don’t dream.’ The answer was immediate, almost fiercely fast. ‘I’ve never dreamed.’
Lorgar’s gentle eyes caught the warp’s kaleidoscopic light as he tilted his head. ‘Now you’re lying, brother.’
‘It’s no lie.’ Angron’s thick fingers twitched and curled, closing around the ghosts of weapons. ‘The Nails scarcely let me sleep. How would I dream?’
Lorgar didn’t miss the rising tension in his brother’s body language – the veins in his temples rising from scarred skin, the feral hunch of the shoulders, no different from a hunting cat drawing into a crouch before it struck.
‘You once told me the Nails stole your slumber,’ Lorgar conceded, ‘but you also said they let you dream.’
Angron took a step closer. He started to say ‘I meant…’ but Lorgar’s earthy glare stopped him cold.
‘They give you a serenity and peace you can find nowhere else. Humans, legionaries, primarchs… everything alive must sleep, must rest, must allow its brain a period of respite. The remapping of your mind denies you this. You don’t dream with your eyes closed. You dream with your eyes open, chasing the rush of whatever peace the Nails can give you.’ Lorgar met Angron’s eyes again. ‘Don’t insult us both by denying it. You slaver and murmur when you kill, mumbling about chasing serenity and how close it feels. I’ve heard you. I’ve looked into your heart and soul when you’re lost to the Nails. Your sons, with their crude copies of your implants, have their minds rewritten to feel joy only in adrenaline’s kiss. Those lesser implants cause pain because they scrape the nerves raw, thus your World Eaters kill because it gladdens their reforged hearts, and ceases the pain knifing into their muscles. Your Butcher’s Nails are a more sinister and predatory design, ruining all cognition, stealing any peace. They are killing you, gladiator. And you ask why I’m taking you back to Nuceria? Is it not obvious?’
End Image ID.]
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A Long Time Coming
Summary: Miya Atsumu was a missed chance. But, it doesn’t have to be that way...
Word Count: 1762
Warnings: Slight Language
“Get your feet off the desk,” you say, kicking the back Miya Atsumu’s chair. His brother—the twin that everyone says is the better of the two, but curses and fights just as much—snorts with laughter.
“Oy, don’t touch me, ya scrub.”
“Sit properly then. You might be okay with eating dirt, but I ain’t.”
“Miss Goody-two-shoes,” he mocks. Heat rises to your neck, but you don’t bother responding. For as long as you’ve known the twins, any chance to disrupt class is readily taken. You’re already tired, having stayed up late studying for an exam later on in the day and the idea of fighting with Atsumu is exhausting. He glances over his shoulder, eyes hot on your face before he turns with a sigh.
“You know,” he mutters, head falling into the palm of his hand. His gaze is heavy, lids blinking with a deliberate slowness that has you holding back a shudder, “You’d be a lot more interesting if you actually put up a fight, Y/N-chan.”
“I don’t care about your opinion, Miya-san.”
He grins, leaning close enough that you can smell the mix of laundry detergent and crisp, cologne coming from him. Osamu scoffs quietly, but doesn’t look away from his bento.
“That’s why I like ya,” he says. You don’t like how he says it. It’s too sincere and earnest for a boy who frequently lies to you. Frustrated you roll up your notes and smack him on the head with it. Eager to escape the too-small classroom, you stand up, digging for some coins. He shouts the name of his favorite tea brand as you leave, but you pretend not to hear it.
You don’t want to be pulled in the Miya’s circle—Atsumu’s circle because you know that years in the future, it’s him who’s going to be on T.V. doing that ridiculous pre-serve ritual. It’s better to avoid him now, than to have to forget him then.
Crying is the last thing you expect to do on graduation day, but the tears are heavy and keep flowing despite you’re attempts at quelling them. Mitsu and Hana are lost in the crowd, calming down their nervous juniors who declare that they’ll keep the cheer team running seamlessly in honor of them.
“Why the hell are you crying?” Atsumu asks. He leans back, looking at you with a mixture of confusion and disgust. A watery laugh leaves your mouth and for once, you can admit to being glad to see him.
“I’m going abroad,” you explain, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. A streak of black follows that has you snorting at the idea of waterproof mascara.
“Shit, really?”
“Yeah. Got into university in the US. You’ll have to find someone else to bother while I’m gone,” you say with a smile that falls flat in an instant.
Atsumu rubs the back of his head, eyes boring into your face. You don’t have the courage to meet his gaze head on.
He pulls you close and traps you between his arms. You stand shell-shocked, arms hanging awkwardly by your side at the hug. Atsumu’s chin falls onto of your head. Skin itchy, tears pricking behind your eyelids, you swallow hard. You don’t have a name to this feeling that you’ve spent the past two years denying, but you know what it is. The warmth crawling through your chest blossoms. You want to be brave and rash like he is, but Atsumu is chasing his dreams without a care of the people he leaves behind. He makes you feel small for wanting to latch on and never let go.
“Don’t complain. I’m just gonna miss you, you stupid idiot,” he says, pulling away. He rests his hands on your shoulder and for a moment you’re worried he’s going to try and kiss you. His eyes rack your face, committing it to memory. If it’s the last time he sees you, he wants to remember how ugly you look with mascara streaming down your face and cheeks blotchy from crying.
“You really need to work on your vocabulary, that’s redundant.” You pull his hands from your shoulders and walk away. He watches you go, wondering for the first time exactly what it was that you wanted to do. He’d never asked before. Volleyball was as much a passion as it was an obsession. He knew he was an asshole and selfish to the bone. It’d always been a far-fetched hope that you’d look his way.
Osamu finds him a while later lingering by the school entrance, quieter than he’d ever been.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Samu, I think I got rejected.”
“Y/N? She’s too smart for you anyway.”
“Shut up, you lazy scrub.”
“Don’t yell at me for telling you the truth, jerk,” Osamu shouts. The back of his hand connects with Atsumu’s head, the familiar sting is a welcome relief from the odd tightening in his chest.
The court is already packed by the time you make it in. Ticket held tightly in your hand; you wonder if you have enough time to grab some food before the game starts. It’s been years since you’d watch a volleyball match live. The time difference often meant waking up at odd hours and using a VPN to get a stream straight from Japan. Nerves flutter in your stomach, but you know the chance of actually seeing Atsumu is low. Even if you did, your lives have been diverging for so long, there wouldn’t be anything to say.
Deciding to take a chance at getting food---you haven’t had proper onigiri in so long that even half-assed attempts make your mouth water—you wait in line. Brows furrowing, you tilt your head at the sign in front of the stand. Miya Onigiri? Surely, Atsumu wasn’t bullish enough to go plastering his name on everything?
“Y/N?” a voice greets as you near the front of the line. You can’t help but stare at Atsumu’s face—but it’s not him, too soft, too polite to be him.
“Osamu?” you ask hesitantly.
“What the hell? I have seen you in forever.” He jerks forward, almost as if he was going to hug you but the counter stops him from getting to far.
“I just got back to Japan. I…This isn’t actually that surprising. You always did have the best bentos in class,” you say, smiling warmly. Osamu matches it. He looks down the line, eyes tightening in frustration at the number of people. He wants to catch up, wants to take a picture and send it Atsumu just to screw with him, but he has work to do.
“What do you want? It’s on the house,” he asks.
“That’s a bad way to run a business,” you scold, lightly.
“If it was going to fail, it would have by now,” he counters, shoving a box of onigiri into your hand. You walk away, slightly stunned as his voice chases you demanding that you meet up after the match.
If he was a goddamn scrub like Osamu or that loser Kageyama, he’d admit that the sight of you left him breathless. But, he’s not so what comes out of his mouth instead is:
“Couldn’t stay away?”
You nose crinkles and the sight sends a jolt through him. He feels like he’s back in high school, doing stupid shit just to grab your attention. He’s not lucky enough to know what you’ve done the past seven years, but you’ve probably seen all the dumb articles about him.
“To be honest, I wanted to how an Olympic setter played in person,” you say, nodding towards Kageyama. Both of you know the words aren’t true, but he scowls anyway.
“Stick around for a bit and I’ll show ya, sweetheart.”
“Ugh, you haven’t changed a bit.”
“I’d say the same, but you look like you’re at least a c-cup now.”
He expects you to yell or pull your sweater tighter, but you throw your head back and laugh. The sound warms his blood, burrows into his hollow chest, and lingers there. It hadn’t been love, not even close to the thing, back in high school. There was always that slight chance, the idea that maybe he could love you that fascinated him.
But now, he can’t look away, can’t shake the hope that tightens its grip on his heart. It’s worth all the waiting, all the frustrating time spent pretending that he didn’t care that he was alone just to have this chance. Before where there’d been a cold, unmovable wall, there’s a slight crack just wide enough for him to squeeze through. Maybe you didn’t even realize it, maybe it wouldn’t work but, you’d come here for a reason.
“Are you staying?”
“The game is over.”
“In Japan, you idiot. I know the game’s over, I played in it.”
“I know that,” you scowl, flushing fiercely, “and yes. I…I’m living in Tokyo.”
“Good. Come out with me on Saturday,” he stops, looking you over once more and adds, “On a date.”
“We haven’t seen each other in years,” you protest.
“Come on, Y/N,” he whines, hands swinging in the air, “Can’t we just skip the whole friend’s part and get to the good stuff?”
“I could have a boyfriend. You shouldn’t just assume, I’m available for you.”
“Well, dump him.”
“You’re insane. Honestly, get help. And don’t beg, it makes you look like more of a loser than usual.”
“So yes? Or yes?”
“I’ll think about it,” you tease. Atsumu’s done playing though and before you realize what’s happening, he’s pulled you close to him. Rough hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head up as he presses his lips against yours. It’s rough and too long to for a first kiss, but Atsumu’s reason flew out of his mind the moment he saw you. He’s drinking all of your movements, the small hand burrowing in his hair, the flingers clutching at this shirt, the way you tongue slips between his lips eager and all too fleeting as you pull away.
“What?” asks Atsumu, wide-eyed. You point at Osamu behind him, whose busy wheezing with laughter as a child stood watching the two of you in disgust.
“Awww man, why’d you have to go and ruin the moment?”
“Pay attention to your fans, you disgusting pig.” Osamu says. The little boy is still there, pen hanging in his hands as he shyly offers the jersey.
#atsumu x reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#miya atsumu#atsumu imagines#atsumu miysa#atsumu miya x reader
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Only Monsters Come Out at Night
Chapter 5: I’ll Tell You My Sins So You Can Sharpen Your Knife
Summary: Desdemona is slowly losing herself but survival is still critical, especially when she must spend time with Daniela alone.
A/N: Thank you all for the support, I’ve been busy with work but this story in my head needs to be written so I can get it out of my system. lol I’ll polish and edit this when I can. :)
To say the previous night was eventful would be an understatement but to Cassandra’s credit, she did not push for more than what Desdemona was willing to give. Now, Desdemona wasn’t saying that Cassandra was gentle or pleasant when she declined engaging in more intimate activities, but Cassandra understood the meaning of “no” and backed off in exchange for learning more about Desdemona. The smaller girl thought she was being clever by saying she would only get physical with her if they took the time to get to know each other better first and she was surprised when Cassandra reluctantly agreed.
Des introduced Cassandra to the laptop she had brought with her on their trip and the woman was in absolute awe of the power of modern-day technology. She had begun explaining about what movies were and what she currently had downloaded onto her pc when Cassandra astonished Desdemona with a personal question.
“What brought you all the way out here in the first place anyway, Little One? Don’t get me wrong, you’re the most fascinating group of visitors we’ve had in such a long time, but for a pretty face like you to be stranded out here on your own with me? Seems foolish.” Cassandra asked as she lay on the bed next to Desdemona who suddenly snapped her laptop shut.
“Desmond and I graduated from college and we had money saved up to go embark on what was supposed to be a memorable adventure. I’ve always been into horror and science fiction movies as well as novels and comic books so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tour the castle that inspired Bram Stoker’s Dracula, one of my favorite classics. Look how well that turned out.” Desdemona says bitterly, nervously fiddling with her fingers.
Cassandra attempted to reach out and wrap her fingers around Desdemona’s hand, but she became hesitant and pulled back instead as if she were unsure if the gesture would be welcome.
“Your brother is dead. That is something we cannot undo but I understand your anger. Bela and Daniela are trying at times, but I do love them more than anything really. I have the power to kill at will and I will not falter should anything happen to my dear sisters. You, on the other hand, are persevering in a way that’s admirable, Desdemona. You are innocent and you want to survive. You are stronger for that more than you’ll ever know.” Cassandra tells her quietly, her teeth wedged between her lips as though she may have said too much to her human plaything.
Desdemona was taken aback by what Cassandra had said and it must have shown on her face because Cassandra suddenly looked irritated with how deep the conversation was going.
“If you are not going to allow me the pleasures of your flesh, then allow me to drink from you as I’m quite parched!” She snarled before she pounced on top of Desdemona, her razor-sharp teeth flashing dangerously.
One minute, she’s howling in pain the moment Cassandra pierces through her skin and begins drinking her blood and the very next, she passes out from the blood loss while still laying underneath the ill-tempered vampire.
She sleeps for a few hours, only stirring awake when she feels a comfortable presence beside her. She groggily opens her eyes only to find Veronica staring at her, concern clearly etched on her face.
“Shh, shh hey, you’re okay now, Dezzy. C’mere, let me take a look at you. You were tossing and turning the whole time after they brought you back down here. I don’t know what they did to you, but we can switch places if you’d like. I think Lady Dimitrescu might take a liking to you.” Veronica says jokingly as she runs shaky fingers through Desdemona’s tangled locks.
Desdemona sighs at the contact and smiles at her best friend’s attempt to soothe her.
“That’s funny, V. Not sure I fancy calling my dentist and canceling all future appointments ‘cause I found a titan of woman with big tits to pull all my teeth for me. Nah, I think I’ll stick to reluctantly donating my blood to three horny vampire women, thank you very much.” Desdemona scoffs out a laugh when Veronica playfully swats at her arm.
“Fuck off, it was only a few teeth and yeah, that crazy bitch has got fists the size of hams so of course she can knock them straight out of me!” Veronica exclaimed.
“Ugh. I’ll be honest though Des, I’m scared. Not for me ‘cause I know what’s coming if I keep putting up a fight, but I’m scared for you.” She continues, her voice now a whisper as she lays down on the cold hard stone floor and placing her hand on top of Desdemona’s.
“I’m scared for both of us. Why aren’t you more worried about you?” Desdemona squeezes her best friend’s hand and rests her head against Veronica’s shoulder.
“You’re being forced to entertain three vampires who could bleed you dry the way Elizabeth Bathory did her victims. The way they manhandle you and take occasional sips from you is fucking horrific! I don’t understand how you’re not freaking out over it.” Veronica licks her chapped lips and glances back at Desdemona. “These could be our very last moments alive together. I need you to promise me that you will look for weaknesses that we can use against them. Fight for your right to live, babes, fight for Desmond the way he would have wanted us to. We can’t keep taking what they’re giving us, it will kill us.”
Deep down, Desdemona knew her best friend was right but how could she expect her to put up a fight against three undead creatures that can transform into a massive ball of insects at any given time? She felt so helpless and utterly alone in the way that made her feel insignificant next to her best friend. Veronica was fearless in the face of death and Desdemona felt like a coward. She wanted to survive this ordeal so badly, she practically groveled in submission to be spared from any form of punishment and observing the bruises and cuts along on V’s skin, she felt so incredibly guilty for not putting up a hard enough fight.
“V, I don’t know how to explain it. I want to get out of here as much as you do, but as soon as my mind tells me to do something logical, I do the exact opposite. It’s like I do not want any of Alcina’s daughters to hate me, so I go out of my way to please them. It’s driving me crazy, and I don’t know if I’m just weak willed when it comes to them but fuck it…I just don’t want to die.” Desdemona admits, turning her head to face Veronica who meets her gaze at the same time.
“Nothing wrong with wanting to live a little longer but don’t throw away your dignity for these monsters who don’t give a flying fuck about you. From what the countess herself has said about her daughters is that they entertain whatever pretty little maiden comes their way for a minute before they get bored and eat their corpse when they’re done. Don’t let them belittle you, use you, and kill you when you’re worth more than you’ll ever know.” Veronica tells her before placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Feeling renewed, Desdemona continues to enjoy the few moments of peace with her best friend before they hear the dreaded sound of heels clicking in the dungeon.
“Well, cur, you know what it’s time for and you’ll be delighted to know I have so many wonderful things to show you. Get up, and brace yourself because after this, I guarantee you that you will not be the same after today.” Alcina declares as she unlocks the chamber door to their room.
Veronica grudgingly sits up and sighs, squeezing Desdemona’s hands one last time before standing.
“Alcina, what a lovely surprise. I was just beginning to miss you, my lady. Oh, how I’ve been withering away down here knowing that I’ve gone a day without a beating. Thank you oh so much for finally blessing us with your presence.” Veronica says with a smirk only for it to be smacked off her face a second later.
“Silence, heathen! You will speak only when spoken to. For now, you will only be required to observe and shadow a maiden I no longer have use for. As for you, Desdemona, Daniela will be waiting in the library. Do not keep her waiting, dear.” Alcina says ominously, a chill running down Desdemona’s spine at the mere mention of her youngest daughter’s name.
Veronica casts her a fleeting sympathetic look before they both follow Lady Dimitrescu out of the cellar.
Once they had gone their separate ways, Desdemona’s anxiety climbed to seemingly immeasurable heights. She came out of her previous encounters with lady Dimitrescu’s other daughters alive so that was good, but what of Daniela? She already gave off the impression that she was delusional and violent when provoked so Desdemona’s chance of survival at this rate was questionable at best.
When Desdemona arrived in front of the entrance to the library, she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. After a few more minutes of contemplating whether she should enter Daniela’s realm, she makes up her mind and crosses the threshold. Her jaw drops at the magnificent sight behold her. She’s in a vast circular room that is surrounded by sumptuous bookshelves and brilliant décor that has her almost envying the fact that this space belonged to someone like Daniela.
“Are you looking for me, darling? Come play with me, I’ll let you live in the meantime.” A shrill voice from behind one of the bookcases catches Desdemona off guard and she nearly trips over herself when she turns to find Daniela quickly approaching her.
“H-hi Daniela, I came to s-see you. How are you doing?” Desdemona asks as she continues to back away from the dangerous woman staring at her with the unmistakable look of hunger in her eyes.
Daniela laughs uncontrollably and covers her mouth when she’s done. The red headed woman gives Desdemona an agonizingly slow once-over and licks her lips as though she were feeling ravenous at the sight.
“You’re so sweet to ask. You must have fallen hard for me, but you shouldn’t be surprised; everyone falls for me in time.” Daniela says in an almost sickeningly sweet voice.
‘Ok, so this fucking lunatic thinks you’re in love with her. Good, maybe she’d be less inclined to kill you.’ Desdemona thinks to herself, her back now pressed against a polished marble column.
“Y-yeah, I wanted to see you but only if you weren’t busy. I just thought you could use some company.” Des replies.
This pleases Daniela immensely, so she takes a step closer to inhale the other girl’s scent. She was terrified and her blood smelled so delicious because of it. She needed to taste her, absorb everything that was Desdemona and revel in the symphony of her screams when she was done with her.
“I could always use company, especially yours, my love. A few moments ago, I would have been just fine snuggling by the fireplace and having you read with me. Now that you’re here smelling quite tasty, there’s something else I want.” She says with a giggle before instantly making moves so that she was now only a few inches apart from Desdemona’s face.
Desdemona gasps when Daniela reveals her hidden sickle and suddenly tears a long cut through her shirt and pants. Moaning in ecstasy, Daniela begins to pick apart her torn clothing and caresses the smooth expanse of skin that was exposed to her. Desdemona shuts her eyes and turns her head to the side when the other woman lunges at her with an open mouth.
“Ugh, why are you rejecting me? Don’t you love me? Apologize at once and I’ll forgive you. Everybody makes mistakes.” Daniela whispers in a low, threatening tone.
Desdemona feels tears begin to form when Daniela lowers her head and begins to suck and gently nibble on her neck. Veronica’s words come to mind about not putting up with whatever form of abuse they were going to give and she tries to summon every ounce of bravery she could muster. She pushes hard against Daniela and frees herself from her grasp. She twists and begins running in the other direction, not looking back at the crazed woman shrieking at her.
“Why are you doing this to me? I thought you loved me!”
Desdemona was about to reach the doorway that led out of the library when a massive ball of insects appeared before her. She wasn’t able to react quickly enough so when she tried to turn again, she felt Daniela pounce on her from behind, tackling her to the floor.
There was no use struggling against the immortal creature that perched herself on top of her so when Daniela forcefully flipped her onto her back, Desdemona saw her life flash before her eyes the moment Daniela raised her sickle, as if she were ready to swing at her.
The logical part of her brain wanted this to end quickly, to spare herself from further embarrassment every time she pleaded for her life. But then there were dark whispers from an unknown entity, her broken survival instincts or those pesky intrusive thoughts perhaps, that were telling her to kiss Daniela in order to calm her down. She doesn’t know why or how it makes perfect sense but it does; Desdemona could either choose to die on her own terms or she could appease this goddess before her and worship her.
‘Where the hell are those thoughts coming from and why do I have a sudden urge to kiss Daniela? Gods help me.’ The frantic thoughts are the last to cross her mind as Desdemona leans up and yanks Daniela close to her level by her pendant.
Daniela’s eyes widen in surprise when she feels Desdemona’s lips press themselves against hers. After a few tense moments of not receiving the response she was hoping for, Desdemona begins pulling away but then she’s pulled back into a more frenzied, intense kiss. Daniela sighs against her mouth, her sickle dropping and causing the sound of metal clanging against the floor to echo in the room. When the need for air becomes too great for the smaller girl, she gently breaks the kiss and Daniela is suddenly looking at her with hooded eyes, desire visible in those beautiful golden hued orbs of hers.
“Why did you run away from me? I hate it when my pretty playthings run away from me.” Daniela asks softly, the delicate tone in her voice surprising the both of them.
Desdemona’s voice wavers when she speaks, but she steadies herself by cautiously wrapping an arm around Daniela’s neck. She doesn’t know why she’s actively reaching out to touch the dangerous red-headed woman, she can’t explain why she’s craving for more contact, but she does and it’s scary as hell.
“B-because I don’t want my f-first time with anyone to be meaningless. I’ve n-never gotten this close with anyone before and…I want it to be special. Call me old fashioned, but I’d rather you slit my throat right now before I give myself to you. I need to know you on a deeper level.” Desdemona’s cheeks are flushed a deep crimson color as she admits this, not knowing why she’s opening herself up like this to Daniela but those darker thoughts that linger somewhere in her mind are praising her.
Daniela takes a sharp breath in response to Desdemona’s words and quirks an eyebrow at the smaller girl. She was completely stunned by the revelation.
“Wait, you’re running away from me because you haven’t…not with anyone else before?” Daniela asked carefully.
Desdemona nods, wondering why this would matter to her at all. Daniela was going to slit her throat for wasting her time and-
“Oh Desdemona, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I didn’t mean to make you so nervous! Don’t get me wrong, I’m disappointed that I don’t get to make you mine tonight but I’m willing to wait for you. You’re my soulmate and if you want to get to know me before we get close, then we’ll do just that.” Daniela says, her voice huskier now than it was a moment ago. She reaches in between their pressed bodies and lowers her hand so now that her fingers were skimming along smooth skin until Daniela reaches Desdemona’s underwear.
Underneath Daniela’s fierce, lust filled gaze, Desdemona moans into the other woman’s ear when she feels Daniela cup her womanhood possessively. This prompted Daniela to capture Desdemona’s lips in a ravenous kiss that left her feeling both thirsty and wanting more. The smaller girl, on the other hand, was quickly losing herself in the kiss, not understanding why the dark voices in her head were pressing her to do more. She couldn’t hear Veronica’s words of warning but instead sinister whispers that poisoned her thoughts. Desdemona was almost fully convinced to give herself to Daniela in that moment but then she remembers the conversation she had with her best friend earlier. This was all about survival, that’s all this should be about. She should not be indulging herself like this with these…creatures.
‘Your masters. Address them appropriately.’
The wicked voice in her head is not her own. Alarmed, Desdemona breaks the kiss with Daniela, who dives in again to lick Desdemona’s lips.
“Mmm, judging by the way you kissed me, you want me to be your first, don’t you? I can wait for you darling, but only if you promise that when you’re ready, you’ll come find me. Not Bela, not Cassandra nor my beautiful mother. I want to be the one to break you in. My sisters always get what they want but this, I want this more than anything. Pledge yourself to me.” Daniela murmurs darkly, her teeth gently nibbling on Desdemona’s earlobe.
Desdemona wants to shove her off and run away again while she has the chance. She wants to take Veronica’s hand and escape Castle Dimitrescu together. She just wants to go home, mourn her twin brother with her family and be somewhere safe and quiet and away from all of this.
Instead, Desdemona smiles at Daniela and tucks a few stray strands of red hair behind her ear. It was adorable how Daniela quickly leaned into the touch, a smile of her own gracing blood smeared lips.
“I’m yours, completely. I’ll take good care of you if you promise to do the same to me.” Desdemona says, her voice not following what her brain was trying to command her to say.
‘Kick, scream, run! Don’t let them control you, don’t let them compel you to do anything you don’t want to do –‘
‘Obey. Listen to your masters, they own you and your body. You are theirs to do as they wish. You belong to them and nobody else. Do not disobey or you will be punished.’
There it was again, the sinister voice that did not belong to her and it was overwhelming.
Whatever rational thoughts Desdemona had as she continued to embrace Daniela in her arms had left. The last thing Desdemona remembers thinking about before she got up to join Daniela in her favorite corner to read was how much darker and menacing the bruises and hickeys all three sisters left on her skin were starting to look. They were deep red and purple, black spider veins were also beginning to sprout and spread throughout her body.
Were Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters subtly infecting her with some kind of disease or were they creating a bond with her every time they bit and clawed at her? Desdemona’s thoughts lingered on the last part before she uncharacteristically ignored what had just transpired between Daniela and herself. Ties had been indeed created but what Desdemona can’t help but wonder what the cost to sharing a dangerous bond with all three women was?
She doesn’t think on it much longer as she’s seated on Daniela’s favorite couch and Daniela rests her head on Desdemona’s lap, a chosen book for her to read aloud in hand. Her mind is placated and the desire to please her Mistress takes over. Nothing else mattered anymore.
#only monsters come out at night#resident evil 8#resident evil village#RE8 Village#Lady Dimitrescu's daughters#Alcina Dimitrescu#Lady Dimitrescu#Lady Dimitrescu's daughters x ofc#Bela Dimitrescu#Bela Dimitrescu x OFC#Cassandra Dimitrescu#Cassandra Dimitrescu x OFC#daniela dimitrescu#daniela dimitrescu x ofc#mine#chapter update
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Beach Bums
Summary: Used a few prompt lines including: “I like this outfit. Easy access.” and “I can’t wait until we’re alone. There are so many things I want to do to you right now.” “We’re in public, you know?”
Pairing: EZ Reyes x Black!OC
Warnings: Public sex, sandy beach sex, unsanitary sex (cause of the sand), exhibitionism, a little angst.
Word Count: 3.2K (I hate that I’m so long-winded)
Lena listened to waves lap at the shore of the beach with a relaxed smile on her face. The smell of saltwater tickled her nose while sand tickled her toes with each step. The chilly California night made it so she wore a flannel over her loose-fitting, flowy dress.
To her right stood her Knight in a Kutte, AKA EZ Reyes. A rare, genuine smile graced his own face. She couldn’t remember the last time they were together and he wasn’t on guard. There at the beach, none of the club bullshit mattered.
For that reason alone, she was happy she accepted his invitation for a one-day getaway. She had work she should be doing, and she was sure he had club business to attend to, but they were together in spite of it all.
EZ and Lena were on and off again high school sweethearts. The two of them didn’t see each other often anymore— Lena moved a few cities over to begin the next chapter in her life while he rebuilt his life in Santo Padre.
“What you thinking ‘bout, mamita?”
She found herself admiring his dimples. “You.”
“Yeah?” They deepened even further, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “What about me?”
She rolled her eyes and decided to mess with him. “I was thinking your head is kind of funny shaped.”
“What?” He asked, eyebrows shooting up. He jumped at her causing her to shriek and take off.
He chased her a few yards before reaching to grab her up by the waist. She side-stepped him and pushed, giggling even though her heart was racing as if she was really running from danger.
Lena’s mouth fell open as she watched EZ tip over in slow motion like a cow. Her hands reached out to steady him but it was too late, his big ass landed with an ungraceful plop in the sand. He looked just as shocked as she felt. She was stuck somewhere between being speechless and wanting to apologize. When their eyes met, the only thing they could do was laugh.
She clumsily sat down beside him, grabbing a hold of one of his big arms. She couldn’t get an apology out because she was laughing so hard.
“You’re cold blooded! You just tried to kill me!”
“I didn't expect for you to fall like that!” She managed to wheeze out in between laughter. “It’s not even all my fault. It’s all that damn wine you had at dinner. I tried to tell you, it sneaks up on you!”
A few fellow beach goers eyed them with amusement. EZ straightened when he saw the attention they garnered, face flushing at the attention. She tried to quiet down for his benefit but when he began dusting his sand-covered side, she fell into another fit of giggles.Soon enough, everyone went back to what they were doing.
To their left, a group of teenagers burned what she was certain was an illegal bonfire. To their right, people were scattered loosely, sitting on beach towels while watching the stars or walking the shore. Almost no one was left in the water. It was too late and too dark for a swim.
She crawled over to sit directly in front of him, her back against his chest, his arms holding her tightly to him. They sat in silence watching neon city lights dance across the dark water, enjoying the warmth the other provided in spite of the cool night.
EZ let his hands roam, lighting her body up with each stroke of his fingers. The two of them had many risky sexcapades back in high school. He could never wait until a party was over before he was trying to sneak them off somewhere. Then there was the time they missed half of senior prom.
“Can I ask you something?” Lena asked, gazing at the night sky.
He let out a fake sigh. “If you must.”
“Do you miss me?” Her eyes focused on him, ready to hyper analyze his response as she often did.
“How can I miss you when you’re right here?” He joked, trying to keep the mood light.
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
He seemed to consider it, avoiding her eyes. Finally, he decided on a response.
“Of course I miss you.”
“Like a lot?” She hated how needy she sounded.
He smiled. She wasn’t always forthcoming with her real thoughts and emotions, especially since she had been disappointed by him before. His eight-year stint in jail wasn’t just hard on him. He liked when he saw flashes of the old her, the her he knew when they first met, before he hurt her.
“A whole lot, chula. You know that.”
She wanted to ask him how she was supposed to know that. He had been different since they reconnected. He could be distant, avoidant at times. She understood he lived a complicated life, but she wanted him to want her enough to fight for a future.
Her chest tightened every time she thought about the fact their love was fleeting. She snuggled further back into him, choosing to let it go. There was no sense in ruining a good night, one she could remember long after they were done.
EZ worried about them too. He knew it wouldn’t be long before she had no room for him in the new life she was building. He thought about her more than she would ever know. All around Santo Padre there were reminders, memories of her. Every day he passed the high school he remembered the day they met.
They both felt the tension of the unspoken words between them. When he could no longer stand it, EZ defaulted to sex. It was the one thing that was never wrong between them.
“I like this outfit, easy access.” He joked, pulling at his flannel until he could see the thin straps of her dress. He tugged at one of them until it fell, nibbling on her bare shoulder.
“I can tell.” She grinned naughtily, grinding her ass against him. Like him, she just wanted to forget all the bad stuff.
“I can’t wait til’ we’re alone.” He noticed there were only a few stragglers left on the beach. It had thinned out for the most part, the bonfire now an abandoned pit of soot. “There are so many things I want to do to you right now.”
She eyed their fellow beach goers, calculating the risk. “You know, you don’t have to wait until we’re alone.” She wanted him bad. Her heart lurched. She knew she was being driven by insecurity but she couldn’t help herself. Even if they didn’t last, she wanted to hold a place in his heart forever. She wanted him to remember she was his best and dirtiest fuck.
She turned to look him directly in the eyes. “I wanna fuck you right here.”
“I don’t think---”
“Are you kidding? You’ve been teasing me all night.” She pouted. His hand had been under her dress all night, pinching her thighs, tickling her legs, but never touching her where she needed.
“You’re trying to kill me.”
He’s one to talk.
“No I’m not.” She said in faux innocence. “I'm just trying to make you feel good, baby.”
“We’re in public, chula.”
“When has that ever stopped us before?”
He snorted. Points were made, so he wasted no more time, his resolve gone.
“You gotta relax though.” He hissed when she grabbed a hold of his dick. “Turn back around.” He instructed, pulling the big flannel from her shoulders so that he could use it as a makeshift blanket to hide their activities. She held it close to her chest while he went to work at unbuckling his pants. She kept turning around to peek at him.
“But I wanna see.” She hummed impatiently, stretching her legs out. “Have I ever told you how pretty your dick is?”
“You tell me that every time.” He tried to sound unimpressed, but it came out more strangled than anything. She knew all his tells. He was as desperate as she was.
She watched with open fascination as he stroked his dick. She sucked on her bottom lip as she watched it fatten up under her gaze. Fuck, he’s going to stretch me out. He leaned forward to kiss her, thinking about how he wanted to use her lips for other things.
After a long kiss, he pulled back with a groan, looking to see if they had gained any admirers. Once he deemed it safe he leaned in to kiss her again. He sucked on her lip this time, hands tugging her loose-fitting dress up until it rested underneath her breasts. Their legs were the only bare skin touching and he wanted more. He wanted her naked and underneath him where they could be as loud as they wanted for as long as they wanted, but a quickie would have to do.
When he pulled away from the kiss again, her eyes bore into his. He froze.
Her eyes were so expressive-- he knew when she was disappointed, angry, turned on. In that moment, she looked at him like he hung the stars and the moon just for her. He felt the same about her, taking her beautiful features under the moonlight.
Her thick hair blew over her shoulders in the breeze, the smell of mango invading his nose. He loved her smell. He leaned in to rub his nose against hers, giving her an eskimo kiss because he knew it would make her smile. Her lips parted slightly, her pink tongue wagging at him in a teasing manner. He shook his head, smirking. As much as he found ways to make her smile, she did the same.
“Come here.” He lifted her so she hovered just above his crotch. The flannel slipped down slightly.
She reached for his dick anyway, gasping at how hot and heavy it felt in her hands. She probed at her wet slit with his tip. Lena wanted to ride him the right way, chest to chest where they could kiss and hold each other. She held in a whine, doing her best to look normal as if nothing was happening. Underneath her, his hips surged forward, desperate to get inside her.
“Stop moving.” She bossed him the way he sometimes liked. The club looked to him to fix and handle everything as their prospect. He looked to her for grounding. She reminded him he wasn’t invincible, humbled him.
Her stalling wasn’t just for his benefit. It had been months since they were together. If she didn’t mentally prepare herself first, she’d be shouting his name for everyone at the beach to hear.
“Hurry up.” She could hear the frustration in his voice. The awkward position they were in, the contrast between the cool night air and her warm center on his dick, the strain of holding her hips up, and his flannel slipping down had him nervous and impatient.
“Be still, baby.” She whispered sweetly. She used the mushroom tip to tap her clit and though she had been expecting it, she jumped up moaning.
His fingers dug into her hips as a warning, head on a swivel for any peeping Tom’s.
“Fuck. Me.” She listened to him, lining his cock up with her entrance. His hips lifted as best they could in his position, pushing past tight resistance until he was inside her.
They did their best to be quiet. She bit down on her lip and pinched one of his thighs. He closed his eyes, holding her as he tried to adjust. It had been too long since they were together.
Lena was as wet and warm as he remembered. Even tighter than he remembered due to not being stretched out first by his fingers or his tongue. He loved playing with her pussy, watching the way she would tremble and try to hold her moans in.
“You feel so good.” He buried his face in her hair momentarily.
“Mhmmm…” She was having a hard time forming words. She used her hands on his thighs for leverage to ride. “...you too.” She couldn’t ride him the way she wanted, but she did her best, squirming in his lap at the slight discomfort. “You’re too deep.” She pouted.
“Relax.” He moaned into her hair, burying himself to the hilt. She let him work, lifting her up and down on his dick as best he could without causing a scene. Each time he hammered her hard and deep. The slow, but bruising pace made the filthy act that much more intense.
“Fuck, nena.” He grunted as his forearms burned. “Take that dick.” And she did. Sans a few escaped mewls, she took all of him with no complaints, letting him use her in the best way possible.
As much as he hated himself for it and wished he could focus, all EZ could think about was her being with other people when they were apart. It was hypocritical of him he knew--he had gone on a sex binge with Vicki’s girls as soon as he got out, but it didn’t change the way he felt.
“I love this dick, baby.” She purred, looking over her shoulder into his eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Yes, daddy. It’s my favorite.”
He pounded her harder, angry at the admission.
“You fuck other guys like this?”
Lena moaned to avoid the answer. She had definitely tried to get over him while under other men. Eight years was a long time. One of his hands left her hips to tug her hair. She was forced to take over the majority of the grunt work, bouncing in his lap despite the awkward angle.
“Do you?” She winced as he got aggressive, knowing her scalp would be tender the next day.
“No.” She finally moaned, sounding defeated.
“They don’t fuck you like I do, mami?”
“No!” It came out louder than intended, catching the attention of another couple on the beach. Neither Lena or EZ let it bother them.
“Be quiet.” He gritted out, continuing to pound her out. Her walls constructed around him, sucking him in deeper. He could feel her wetness dripping down his shaft onto his balls.
“Wait—“ Movement to their right caught her attention. The couple had risen from their spot. One of the girls gathered their things into a tote bag while the other rolled their towels up.
“Baby—“ she tried to warn him, pushing at his thighs. She felt like she was going crazy. Overwhelmed was an understatement. At that point, holding her breath was the only way to keep from yelling his name out.
His hand left her hair to press against her tummy. “You feel that shit?” He was being mean, holding her in place so she couldn’t do anything but take it.
“Babyyyy.” she whined.
“What mami?” His face was buried in her neck and she could feel him leaving what would be hickeys on her brown skin. He couldn’t keep her with him forever, but he could scare his competition away for a few weeks if he marked her good enough.
“I think they’re watching us.”
His head lifted from her neck, dark eyes searching for bodies in the night. He saw them. The two girls were still several yards away from them, but headed their way. They spoke quietly to each other, giggling every few seconds.
He made a decision. They were too far gone to stop, potential audience be damned.
“Then you better hurry up and come.” Her stomach tightened at his words. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.” She sobbed, concentrating on her hardest on being quiet.
“You better not. Fuck that dick until we both come.” His fingers dug into her hips painfully as their skin loudly slapped together. “I don’t give a fuck about some gringos watching.”
The combination of the time they spent apart, the fact they could be caught, and his dirty words were too much for her. She came so hard tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, needy moans spilling from her lips. If EZ could see her face, she’d be embarrassed at the way she went cross-eyed.
The flannel slipped down to their legs where it barely covered anything. Lena silently thanked gravity that her dress had also slipped down so she wasn’t completely exposed. That didn’t mean she didn’t look the part of a desperate slut.
Tears fell freely from her eyes, leaving a trail of mascara in their wake. Judging by the looks on the girls’ faces, they were concerned. She flushed at the attention, but was too overstimulated to disguise her dick-drunk state.
EZ showed her no mercy, drilling her like she hadn’t already come. He didn’t give a fuck about the two curious set of eyes on them.
Picturing her with other men had his mind racing and it made it hard for him to concentrate on his release. “Tell me it’s mine.”
“It’s yours.” She panted immediately, eyes wide and pupils blown. She couldn’t believe what they were doing. He didn’t show any signs of stopping so she talked him through it.
“It’s always been yours, daddy.” He hammered into her.
“I love that dick.” In.
“I miss it so much.” Out.
“It’s too good.” Her voice got progressively lower as the girls got closer. They seemed to have figured it out, their footsteps purposely slow. She was embarrassed, but couldn’t stop until he joined her in bliss.
“I want your cum! I want it so bad. I don’t care who knows.”
Her eyes met one of the stranger’s. One the girl’s mouth split into a sly grin. They definitely knew what was going on.
“I don’t care about anything when your dick is in me.” She mewled loudly, locking eyes with one of them.
“I’ll fuck you anywhere you want, whenever you--” He bit down hard on her shoulder, an animalistic growl rumbling out of his chest. She winced at the sting, knowing he’d left yet another mark. The other girl tugged her along, clearly scandalized.
His dick pulsed inside her, massaging her insides. If she hadn’t already come, that sensation would have done it. She collapsed against him, lazy, and too fucked out to care anymore.
He seemed to share that sentiment, assaulting her neck without a care in the world, sloppily tonguing it down as if it were her pussy. Each lash of his tongue was a promise for later. He would eat her alive when they were in the comfort of their hotel room.
They both huffed and puffed, trying to catch their breath. Sweat and sand covered their skin, the smell of sex mingling with the night air. Neither of them knew how they would muster the energy to make it back to the car, let alone the hotel room.
“I love you.” He murmured softly, placing one final kiss against her neck.
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Instructions For Living - Part II
Part I
Not quite daring to look just yet he takes a slow step forward and reaches out to lift the book. It is heavier than he remembers but the leather is still supple between his fingers, well worked and smooth in a beautiful shade of chestnut brown.
Why did he ever stop with the bookmaking? Jean still treasures every single notebook Eren made for him to this day. But as with all things that call to him and would not let him rest before he had not mastered them, bookbinding stopped being interesting far too soon and he moved on to other projects. Maybe that was the time he repaired his broken down bike or maybe he had gotten into welding next. He cannot even remember. There are too many things that caught his fancy over the years and it proves hard getting, them into any kind of order now.
His passions always came and went. Everything he had fallen in love with over the years and obsessively practised and honed for a while made space, sooner or later, for a newer, shinier, more interesting thing to take its place. Everything from hobbies and crafts, sports and food and art and places. In some cases, maybe more than he likes to admit, even people.
But nobody, except maybe his family, he ever loved as fiercely and as constantly as Jean. No matter what or who fascinated him at a given time, who he was crushing on or what he sunk most of his free time into, at the end of the day it was always been Jean who waited for him at home. And no matter how fleeting and fickle Eren's desires, Jean always, always refused to bore him. At this point Eren honestly doubts he ever could, even if they lived a hundred lifetimes together.
For a moment he wonders if that revelation came too late. But he quickly shoves the thought aside just like he is used to and instead lets himself fall into the couch with the heavy notebook still between his fingers. At least it is something to fiddle with. To take his mind of the gnawing worry at the back of his head that might just drive him insane if he cannot drown it out one way or another.
But before he opens the notebook and begins flipping through the colourful pages he hesitates. His gaze wanders over to the pale green post it still sticking to the table. Before he can think too hard about whether he wants to read the note Jean left him or not he leans over and plucks it off. If Jean wanted him to read this before looking at the book he should. After all these years he owes him way more than this.
To help the itch.
At first Eren does not know what to do with that. But then a memory stirs.
"You'll end up killing yourself if you keep that up, you know?"
Eren looks up from the work bench, disoriented, eyes glossy. Jean does not look as much pissed as merely tired. But that is not too disconcerting at ... Eren checks.
Oh.
Four at night.
Looking back at the finally stable end table he still has to sand down and paint he knows what kind of night this will be. Because tearing himself away from the thing at the moment seems impossible. He'd never be able to sleep leaving it unfinished like this.
He shrugs, feeling uncomfortable at having been caught.
"Just scratching an itch."
"You've been scratching itches all your life."
He does not ask Eren to stop. Both of them know the answer to that plea already so he generously spares them both the pain. He simply sets down the glass of water he brought on the work bench and turns again to leave. To go back to sleep. Something he might never understand Eren can not do. Not as long as he is still itching.
As if it were that easy. Eren tried so many times to stop. But he has no idea how.
Now though he also has no other choice but to figure it out. At least if he wants to fend off the tragedy they are so obviously heading for. Maybe the one he has been heading for since he started scratching so long ago.
But well, if he has no idea where to start he might as well start with the notebook. At least he suspects Jean had something in mind when he left it here. He knows Eren too well for both their good, after all. He had known what Eren would need when returning alone to their home. He had probably also known what he would need now, sitting on their couch with his damn coke and this old notebook that was as much proof of something he had once passionately burned for and discarded as well as proof of something he would likely never stop burning for and never, in a hundred years, let go of by choice. No matter how this ... experiment of theirs turns out in the end.
The leather is still smooth under his hands, just like it had been when he finished working on the book, like it has only recently been oiled and cared for and not lain forgotten for years on their shelves. Eren wonders if Jean took care of the upkeep just like he took care of the upkeep of so many things Eren had made or brought and then lost interest in.
The thought makes something heavy settle in his stomach. The need to shift and push it away is strong and for a moment Eren gives in to the temptation, taking a hasty sip of his sugary drink and flipping open the notebook. Then the feeling comes slamming back into his chest when he looks at the very first picture.
~
Part III
~
Commissions | Kofi | AO3 | twitter | pillowfort
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The Depths (Pt. 1)
Drunk Drabble prompt submitted to @the-ss-horniest-book-club
Request by: @marvelgirl7
Summary: Because even a super soldier needs saving sometimes.
Who: Bucky Barnes x mermaid reader
Word count: 2,341
Warnings: Swearing
Authors Note: So, this little drabble prompt has grown into a three part monster. Parts 2 & 3 will coming in the next week or so. I hope you like it Lacy- love your face! -xo- Allie Don’t forget to leave me feedback!
The Depths part 1: The Cold Brine
“Be a
mermaid
who doesn’t settle
for making a
small splash.”
-Amanda Lovelace
I was born with fins.
No one was truly surprised. My mother liked to say I was half sea and half storm, created when the siren fell in love with a Russian fisherman she found in a hurricane. I didn’t even learn to walk on the land until I was three after which I spent half my life on land, the other in the depths.
After my father died, something in me shattered, that all too human heart that beat in my chest. Being a halfling child, I was something rare, belonging to neither world but after I lost my ties to land I refused to live only in the brine depths with my mother’s people. I made a promise to the ocean lords that I would save as many others as I could so that his spirit would find rest and not be trapped within the seas for eternity. I refused to drag men down, to sing them to eternal sleep in the dark cold silence.
I was not quite sea, not quite a storm. So I made my choice, I chose to save lives.
During the winter months, I would circle deep beneath the vessels, dodging their cages of rope and metal, the ones they used to catch the ocean’s harvest of crabs, gently urging the crustaceans into them. I did this to help the fishermen fill the steel bellies of their ships before the winter storms could grow into full strength behemoths capable of dragging men to their watery graves in the arms of the sirens.
Sirens are often called the monsters of the deep, but they are wrong. The storms are far more dangerous than I could ever be. The storms provide men like a buffet of lost souls to the creatures of the tides.
And then one day, the Americans came.
Their ships were smaller, faster than my country’s ships. Their crews laughed and sang as they worked, sounds unfamiliar on these waters.
They would work on the invisible lines that divided the ocean as if the currents obeyed any man. I was fascinated by them, I would watch them from beneath the surface, my enhanced hearing not hindered by the waves.
For six seasons I watched them. Every spring I would venture to their ports, where I would see them offload their bounty. The selkies, hostile at first until they realized I was not there to steal their lands, then welcomed me. They taught me the language of these men, how to blend into the locals. I would borrow their human guises, the sun touched skin, the onyx of their hair and eyes. How to blunt my teeth and nails. A siren among selkies, I found a new home. They knew what it was like to live in two worlds.
In the seventh season, the winds changed and the hurricane came.
The storm slammed into the fleet, leaving nothing behind, dragging men and ship to the dark before anyone could even get to their little orange life rafts. The water was simply too cold for them to survive longer than a few precious moments even if they escaped the sinking ships. Two ships in two days and no survivors.
On the third day of the storm’s fury, I pushed myself to go farther than I normally did, swimming deep to escape the riotous waves and howling wind.
I couldn’t hear anything but the pressure above me increased, actually forcing me down. Something very large had hit the water. I shot through the currents, pushing hard as the ship rolled over once, twice, and finally settled on its side. When I broke above the waves, the small lifeboat was already in the water and men were scrambling into it. I dove again, checking the water for anyone who had slipped but found no one but I saw the little blinking box fall from the rubber boat. I knew it would call for help, the selkies had taught me about it. I grabbed it and turned it on, watching as the little balloon inflated and rose where I tied it to one of the ropes dangling from their raft. As I returned to the surface I saw the last two escaping but before I could feel any sense of relief another wave hit hard and unexpected and the final man shoved his partner in before he fell and was swallowed by the sea. The men began to shout but their safe haven was pushed away from their friend.
So I dove for him.
Most men panic and thrash. He seemed almost peaceful as he descended. His hair was long for a man, some of it has escaped his holder and was drifting about his handsome face.
I wondered what color his eyes were.
I grabbed his jacket, my claws cut through the waterproof material, and the clothes underneath to flesh, drawing blood. It was enough for his eyes to fly open and his mouth opened in a scream only audible to me.
His eyes were blue, the same color as the skies in Russia when the spring finally arrives. I know what he sees but I don’t know if he believes.
A spectre of the sea, solid white from my hair to my tail. My eyes reflect any light in the murky water, giving me better vision but also giving me an unnerving glow to my eyes. My nails are sharp, my fingers webbed to the second knuckle. My tail alone is over six feet long, heavily muscled, and ends in delicate wisp fins that look like a human bride’s veil. He can’t see but each of my teeth ends in a point.
Sirens are carnivores after all.
His hand grabbed my wrist, fingers encircling it. Not made of flesh, but of metal. With my free hand, I point to him and then point up. He stares at me and I start to wonder if his heart has given out in the cold but then he nods slowly. Leaving my wrist in his hand but releasing his clothing I shot towards the surface, dragging him behind me.
We broke through at a point away from the sinking vessel, far enough away to see it but not close enough to be pulled under with it.
He gasped and his teeth immediately began chattering. I snaked the end of my tail around him and pulled him closer. He swears but released my wrist as I sat him just below my hips as a mother would her child.
“Hold on to my waist.” I felt him tentatively wrap his metal arm around me so I grabbed both and pulled him closer, locking his fingers together. My body runs hot, sometimes too much so, but at that moment I was grateful for it. My body heat should keep him alive long enough to get him to safety.
His eyes bored into me. “You’re Russian.”
“Once, yes. Hold tight. This will not be easy.” I cut through the waves, slicing through the middle of them where the water was easiest to penetrate. I held him against me with one arm while using the other to create a tunnel for us to pass through. When the little raft bobbed into sight I gave a small sigh of relief. I could hear the thumping drone of the rescue helicopters so I knew they were near.
With a final push, I grabbed the outer rope and hauled us closer.
“Call them. I won’t leave until you’re inside but they cannot see me.”
His arms still tight around my waist, he called out for them to help him inside. I gently pried his fingers apart and slid him down to the middle of my tail so he could sit on it as his companions cried out in surprised joy as they began to haul him in. I slid myself back into the water, preparing to sink out of sight when his face reappeared and he grabbed my hand.
“Thank you. How..can…I see you again?”
Baffled, I stared at him. No man who has faced a siren in her natural state would ever want to see her again. But this was no ordinary man, he had survived in some of the hardest conditions known. I don’t speak, instead, I pull my knife from around my neck and I sliced through my hair, right where a perfect silvery pearl was threaded. He watched me, not even shivering anymore. I pressed the knotted strand and the pearl into his hand before I vanished beneath the churning water.
Bucky sat in the Coast Guard helicopter, an emergency blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The other crew members were almost giddy with the relief that they had all been rescued. He ran his thumb over the hank of ivory hair and the perfect pearl braided into it as his thoughts swirled.
He’d come to Alaska after seeing a show about fishermen on tv once he’d broken free from Hydra and left Captain America…Steve…on the banks of the river. Alaska seemed like the perfect place to hide.
And it had been. No one here really asked about anyone’s past. He used an old forgotten Hydra identity and claimed to be a war vet. At least the second part of true. No one cared about what you did, only what you could do. And he was more than capable than holding his own.
Everything had been fine until that night. The captain and crew, while friendly, also gave him much needed privacy and respectful distance. But that storm, it had been raging for days but had made an abrupt turn almost as if it was hunting their boat. Two others had already sunk, so his captain had made changes to ensure their safety. When the boat had flipped, they’d all been in their bunks. By the time it had settled on its side, the crew was scrambling into the life raft. But one rogue wave had struck the raft so he’d chosen to shove the younger man, the one with a baby at home, inside and let himself fall.
He had already decided to accept his fate when the pain cut through the numbing cold. When his eyes had opened, he thought he was hallucinating. Or that he was back in cyro, dreaming as the cold took him away.
But he’d never dreamed of a mermaid before. His memory may be completely fucked but he would have remembered that. She was like someone had turned moonlight into a deadly sea maiden.
Her face was sharp angles and big eyes that gleamed like opals but it gave her an otherworldly beauty. There was a certain exotic appeal to her features. Her tail was gleaming white and nothing like any artwork had portrayed, it alone was longer than he was tall. Her body was powerful, muscles tensing as she kept herself upright.
When her hand had grabbed him, claws had sliced straight through to his chest. He grabbed her wrist, convinced she was going for his heart but instead she pointed up. Her hands were actually quite delicate with sheer webbing between her fingers but tipped with deadly looking claws. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face but he nodded. She released his clothing, choosing instead to use his grip on her wrist to drag him to the surface. She was built for speed, several powerful strokes of her tail and they were above.
When his face broke through he gasped and the frigid air rushing into his lungs was a shock to his system. He began shaking, his enhanced body trying to keep him alive. Her tail had wrapped around his core, pulled him to her side. Bucky swore at both the cold and the sensation of her settling him below her hips on that powerful tail. He couldn’t help but notice that the air around them seemed still, that no waves broke over their faces and that her tail didn’t feel like fish scales but like more like a snakeskin.
“Hold onto my waist.” Bucky stared at her. Perfect English but her accent was pure Russian. He didn’t want to hurt her with his weapon of an arm so he gingerly slid it around her. She took his arms and locked the fingers together firmly. The heat was pouring off her body, soaking into him despite his wet clothing.
“You’re Russian.” Bucky noticed the delicate slits on her neck below her pointed ear. Gills, he thought. They were flat, almost sealed against the air.
She glanced at him with her pale jewel-colored eyes, the sclera almost black. “Once, yes. Hold tight. This will not be easy.” She wrapped a muscular arm around him as if she was carrying a baby. With one push, they were off. Water should have been dragging him away but instead, it was as if she was created a tunnel through the waves. When the life raft came into his view she slowed until she was able to grab one of the outer ropes.
“Call them. I won’t leave until you’re inside but they cannot see me.”
Bucky hesitated but called out, yelling for help.
She gently pried his fingers apart and shifted until he was resting near the end of her tail. Enough that he would be able to be pulled inside but still not seen. After he’d been hauled inside he turned back around and shoved his head through the unzipped flap.
“Wait!”
She turned back to him, her eyes curious.
He grabbed her hand, this time with his flesh hand. “Thank you. How..can…I see you again?”
Confusion softened her features and she hesitated before taking a knife made of what looked like an oyster shell from her neck and slicing the pearl and the hair holding it. She’d pressed it into his hand and then vanished from sight.
Bucky sighed and shifted again, making sure his glove was concealing his prosthetic. He shoved the prize deep in a pocket and leaned his head against the vibrating wall of the helicopter.
He needed a new plan.
@nano--raptor @cchellacat @eurynome827 @jobean12-blog @book-dragon-13 @aesthetical-bucky @marvelgirl7 @sallycanwait68 @buckys-broody-muffin @softpeachbarnes @godofplumsandthunder @azurika-writes @ikaris-whore @this-kitten-is-smitten @randomfandompenguin @bucky-plums-barnes @bugsbucky @littleredstarfish @emilylyoness @hailmary-yramliah @daughterofsteven @jewels2876
#HBC drunk drabbles#HBC extended drbbles#Allie writes#Bucky Barnes#Mermaid AU#Not a Disney Princess#Bucky x reader#Bucky Barnes imagine#Mermaid reader
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Keevan - You Can Trust Me
♫ - Fall For You - Secondhand Serenade
For a lovely Anon, and you lot too, I hope you enjoy! Hugs! ♡
Keevan considered himself many things, but a trustful man, not quite. He was most certainly as far from that as one could get. Circumstances prior had dictated it, continuing through his life and work, and Keevan was comfortable keeping everyone at a distance. Which is why when you had wandered into his life, the Vorta was suspicious.
He sat alone at a darkened table in the corner of Quark's Bar, simply observing and nursing his drink. His eyes scanned over the people present; many different beings from species strewn across the quadrants, though he did notice more Starfleet uniforms dotted around than not. Keevan scoffed to himself, never having had a good thought for the Federation and its ideals. Lost in thought, his eyes fell on you and in the moment of feeling someone staring at you, your own landed on him. A small tilt of your head and a small smile were sent his way, though nothing was returned. Keevan had not realised he was staring directly at you, and pulling himself out of his little daydream he quickly looked away.
He lost himself in though for a few more minutes, and hadn't noticed you walk up to his table.
"Hello there," your greeting was filled with an upbeat tone, what Keevan would consider a 'Starfleet issue greeting'. "Mind if I join you?"
"Yes." His voice was point blank and face bored, giving every signal he could for you to leave. Still, you stood.
"Then I guess I'll sit here, then."
The sass in your voice threw him off, and for a brief moment, his eyes widened. Rare it was for someone to defy him in such a manner, that much was not uncommon when directed at Dominion members. But, here you were, a simple Starfleet officer, a cheeky grin plastered on your face and your arse on the chair beside him.
"Didn't you hear me?" he asked, voice now lower and overtly more annoyed.
"I did."
"Well, I assume you didn't understand?"
"I did."
You smirked at him and took a sip of your drink, Keevan failing to successfully take his eyes off you. The confidence you had was shocking, not in a bad way, but almost an endearing way. Keevan now was curious, the Vorta deciding he may as well question you given your decision to stay.
"So," he began, leaning back in his chair. "You must be here for something, what is it?"
"Nothing," you replied, shrugging your shoulders. "You looked lonely, I just wanted to say hi."
"I don't get lonely, I like being alone."
"Nobody likes being alone." You placed your hand over his that rested on the table, and he pulled it away with a laugh.
"Ah, the useless Federation optimism, how much more pitiful it is up close."
You furrowed your brows at his statement, countering once again to keep the conversation alive. With a graceful smile, you spoke quietly.
"You'll realise that you can't be alone forever. I know you're part of the Dominion and you work with the Jem'Hadar, I know. But one day, you'll come to see that being on your own will get you nowhere. 'Tough guys' need people, too."
With that, you left him, and he let you go. Keevan sat a while longer. Your words ran through his mind on repeat, over and over until he felt almost maddened. 'As if I need anybody, I never have and I never will.' His thought process and the small shred of wonder of you ceased into nothing more than annoyance, and he swiftly made his exit from Quarks.
Through the week, you saw him here and there, fleeting glances at each other as you passed on the Promenade or looks through narrowed eyes across rooms. Keevan was fascinated with you, more so with your want to be around him so much. It put fear in him that you were up to something, that you weren't being truthful with him. Silly it may seem to others, but that was how he was conditioned; trust simply was not in his nature. Your words in Quark's played on his mind, and soon enough he realised how much truth there actually was in them.
It was late, just how late the Vorta knew not. Keevan had found himself alone, sitting on a window ledge well out of the view of anyone aboard the station. As he looked out onto the stars before him, he sighed to himself.
"Can't sleep?" came a quiet voice, spoken with enough gentleness so as not to startle him. Keevan's head turned to see you leaning against the framework, smiling down at him. He tutted.
"I was merely enjoying the view."
You laughed at his blunt words, strolling over to him and seating yourself in front of him. He sat upright, you opted for crossed legs as you leaned against the wall to mirror him.
"Please, I can tell you're upset from a quadrant away. What's wrong?" Your sincerity threw him, and it took him a while to answer, as though some part of him was considering it.
"Nothing, I assure you, and if there were, I would never consider telling a total stranger what was lurking in my head."
Keevan turned once more to gaze at the galaxy, you took the time to study him more. He was handsome, that much you knew. Perhaps your want to help came from an attraction to him, of that you were not sure. What you were sure of, however, was that it was more to do with how much sadness you saw in him. Your natural instinct was to help, despite the counter of his nature, which was to refuse. It only made you more determined. Somewhere in him, you saw a man who wanted help, but who couldn't ask for it.
Bringing yourself back to the current moment, you leant forward and placed a hand on his knee. That got his attention, and Keevan glanced down at your hand in minor shock.
"Then don't let me be a stranger. Come on, take my hand. You can trust me, Keevan."
He sat staring at your hand, the foreign feeling of a caring touch refusing to sink in to his brain. Could he let someone in like this? Talk to someone about his feelings, his thoughts. Share his experiences with someone. All this he wondered, before making his decision. The Vorta sat up, straighter than before, and took your hand carefully. He held it in his, relishing the warmth that came from you. Your face cracked into a wholesome smile.
"Thank you." His voice was barely a whisper, and you were sure that had there been any more noise you would not have heard him.
"No, thank you."
From that moment on, you had shown Keevan that not everyone was untrustworthy, that not everyone was out to get him or use him. You taught him that often times, people care for others in ways they can't explain, and that they genuinely do wish to help. You made him realise that he was worth something, more than he could have known. Most of all, you had instilled in him a new emotion, one of true compassion and understanding, and that was something Keevan would never forget.
#star trek#star trek imagine#star trek x reader#star trek deep space nine#star trek ds9#deep space nine#ds9#keevan#keevan x reader#keevan imagine#x reader#imagine
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aftermath (part I)
Set after a reason to stay.
***
Shortly after, when Yavin base had to be evacuated, Han somehow ended up with the task of bringing the princess to Kowak, the Alliance´s new rendezvous point. Why High Command trusted him with her, he had no idea. It wasn´t as if he would do anything to her – for once, he wasn´t that kind of man and second, even if he was, she probably would be able to defend herself just fine even in her injured state. He would have thought though that they´d allocate some nicer quarters to a princess.
That should have been the first clue that maybe his perception of princesses wasn´t close to reality. No, actually, it should have been the third clue after the way she had rescued herself and hid her injuries all through the battle of Yavin. As it was, he just shrugged it all off, telling himself that not even a princess could be picky in the face of the Alliance´s lifestyle and scarce resources.
Therefore, he was completely surprised when he finally realized that during their trip, Her Worship had taken it upon herself to quietly ‘fix’ things on the Falcon that hadn´t even been all that broken and ‘optimize’ things that in his opinion, thank you, had worked just fine before.
It took three days and Chewie pointing it out for him to realize that somehow a full inventory of the Falcon´s supplies had appeared out of thin air, the dishes were cleaner than they´d ever been, and there was absolutely nothing lying around untidily on any surface. When he finally caught on what must have been happening during his shifts in the cockpit for the last three days, he felt anger rise in his chest. Who did she think she was to mess with his ship?
Chewie roared something to stop him, but he was already out of the door of the cockpit to give Leia a piece of his mind. He found her in the lounge, bend over the Darjik table doing force-knows-what. “What do you think you´re doing?” he demanded.
She didn´t even look up while replying, “There´s a stain.”
“Oh, I´m sorry my humble ship is not enough for your privileged tastes.”
“That´s not what I meant, and you know it.” Why was her voice so calm? And why was she still not looking at him?
‘Stop messing with my ship,’ was what he meant to say. What came out was, “Stop that right now. You´re still injured.” And where had that last part come from?
At that reply, she finally looked up. With her jaw set and brows furled, she looked the definition of stubborn. “I´m fine,” she gritted, and it was the first time she sounded like a petulant princess.
“You´re not. I know what the Empire does to its prisoners.”
Her stance softened. “Which end of the cell door were you?”
“Outside,” he admitted. “I was at the Academy … ´til I figured out that torture and genocide weren´t exactly my kind of fun.”
She nodded. “You´re a lot better than you try making people believe.”
“Sweetheart, hate to break it to you, but I´m not good. I´m not here for your pesky, little Rebellion.” He wasn´t, he really wasn´t. In fact, he didn´t know why he was still here … okay, that wasn´t true either. He was still here because of her and the kid, and it was ridiculous. He barely knew them! But somehow Leia´s fire and Luke´s fundamental goodness had drawn him in. He needed to free himself, as soon as possible. He´d have to wait until they reached the rendezvous point though. There, he´d make sure they were safe and then he´d leave.
“You´re doing it again,” she interrupted his thoughts.
“If that´s what you want to believe, suit yourself.”
“I requested the Falcon as my transport, you know.”
That took him by surprise. Again. She really needed to stop doing that. “Why?” he asked.
She just shrugged non-committedly and resumed scrubbing the table.
“Stop that,” he repeated. “It´s already clean.”
The princess, Leia, froze for a moment. “The bench isn´t,” she finally said and turned her attention there. Han watched as she put soap on the cloth in her hand and started scrubbing at a stain that might or might have been there.
Watching her work was fascinating. Her hands were soft. Just one look at them was enough to know that she hadn´t done much manual labour ever in her life. In stark contrast to that, her movements were steady and brimmed with efficiency. They betrayed the accuracy of someone who had learned how to move not gracefully but appropriately. They were the movements of a diplomat. Han wouldn’t be surprised if she had actually calculated the exact speed that she needed to move at to give the illusion of the golden mean between urgency and idleness.
She blended in with what seemed to be perfect ease, and still, everything about her screamed absolute control to Han. Leia Organa was a paradox. Strong but vulnerable. Seemingly invincible but oh so hurt inside. The embodiment of compassion and goodness, but at the same time her fury over Alderaan´s fate burned hotter than a supernova just underneath her skin. She was prickly, difficult and overall insufferable, but nonetheless, people gravitated to her.
After some minutes, it became clear to Han, that she wasn´t going to stop her needless task, until he had left. A part of him wanted to just do so, to leave her and the sadness that clung to her like a second skin behind, to vanish to the cockpit and plan his and Chewie´s next destination after dropping her off with the Alliance. The rest of him though – a far bigger part – couldn´t bring himself to do it. If he didn´t check on her, who would? She didn´t understand Shyriiwook, Luke wasn´t here and as far as he knew, everyone she had been close to had been killed together with Alderaan. Han was many things. Heartless wasn´t one of them. He couldn´t just leave her here alone. She was Leia.
He battered his brain for something meaningful to say, but came up blank, so he fell back on what he knew. “If you keep on doing that, you´ll scrub a hole into my bench.”
She stopped. “I suppose it is clean now.”
“Definitely cleaner than ever before.”
“That´s not hard, is it?” The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, as she finally turned to face him.
“This is a smuggler´s ship and not the royal fleet, Your Worship.”
A frown crossed her face. “Don´t call me that.”
“Don´t worry,” he retorted. “I´ve got many more. How about ‘Your Highnessness’, princess?”
“Don´t.” Her voice turned icy. “I´m not. Not anymore.”
She looked away and he wanted to kick himself. So much for not being heartless. “I´m sorry,” he said sincerely. “Leia.”
It was the first time her actual name had crossed his lips. She seemed to realize it, too, because she faced him again and the anger was replaced by something else that he couldn´t place. They looked at each other for one sheer endless moment, studying each other. When the silence started to become awkward, Han desperately searched for something to busy himself with. In the end, it was her who ended it by putting away the cloth and the soap where she had taken it from.
“Where are we at the moment?”, she asked.
“Near Kashyyk. It will probably be around six more days, before we make it to Kowak.”
“Kashyyk.” She seemed to be lost in thought for some moments before a dangerous glint entered her eyes. “That´s the Mid Rim, isn´t it?”
“Yes,” Han answered warily.
“So, we´re not too far from the Core … “
“Yes, we are damn far away from the Core and it´s gonna stay that way.”
“I need to go there.”
“Where?” he asked, even though he thought he knew the answer. Knew and dreaded it.
“Alderaan.”
Just like he had feared. “It´s gone,” he exclaimed forcefully. “There´s nothing left.”
“Maybe.”
“Not maybe. I´ve seen it. You´re not going to find what you´re looking for.”
She closed her eyes. “I know.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “But I need to see it for myself.”
“No.” Han shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
Leia raised her chin and shot him a determined look. “The Royal House of Alderaan had funds stored on Coruscant. It will take some time, but I can pay you.”
“You think this is about money?”
“You made it very clear that that´s everything you care about.”
Stung, Han took a step back. She wasn´t entirely wrong: He had declared very loudly that money was the only reason why he had helped them … but surely his actions spoke louder than those words. He had returned for the kid – without hoping for any reward. He had comforted her. And now she was throwing it back in his face. “You´re right,” he finally said angrily, “but the money won´t do me any good if I´m dead.”
“You escaped the Death Star, but you´re scared of a simple trip?”
“Simple trip? After our escape from the Death Star, the Imperials will be looking for the Falcon. Flying to the Core would be suicide.”
Her anger seemed to deflate as quickly as it had flared up and a defeated look crossed her face. “I need to go there,” she whispered. “Please.”
Han was still hurt, but Leia´s sad eyes bored holes into his resolve. After Yavin, the Imperials probably had bigger concerns than catching one single freighter … and after all, he wasn´t exactly keen on getting back to the Rebellion. Kriff, he was going to regret it. Still. He sighed. “We can´t stay long and at the first sign of Imperial presence, we´ll leave.”
“Thank you,” she said gravely.
Han acknowledged her thanks with a curt nod. “You better get a hold on those funds of yours soon,” he said bitterly.
“I will.” Was that disappointment in her voice? And why did that hurt even more than her earlier words?
Han decidedly did not think about that as he made his way back to the cockpit to change their course to Alderaan. Chewie noticed his gloomy mood and tried to get him to talk about it, but Han rebuked all of his efforts.
The next day was spent in stony silence. Leia seemed to sense his mood and kept away from him. Without Han to talk to, she and Chewie turned to each other instead. What ensued was a series of conversations that consisted of Leia completely misinterpreting Shyriiwook and a lot of pantomime. Unfortunately, conventions for the meaning of certain gestures were different on each planet, so that they didn´t particularly make their endeavour easier. The result would have been hilarious if Han hadn´t been so angry and hurt. In his current mood, it was only annoying. Why did Chewie get along with the princess?
***
You can now find part II here.
#leia organa#leia#organa#princess leia#leia organa fanfiction#leia organa fanfic#sw#star wars#sw fanfic#sw fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#star wars fanfic#han solo#han#solo#hanleia#han solo and leia organa#han solo x leia organa#scoundress#chewbacca#leia and chewie#leia deserves better#friendship#hurt/comfort#pre esb
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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐒 ━ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 *:·。.
{ ⚠️} WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers. I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!
{ 💐} REQUEST - ❝ how do the boys act with their s/o during the pandemic? ❞
{ ☕️} NOTE - i am not in any way trying to romanticize or glorify this pandemic. this is strictly for entertainment purposes. right below, i provided a link that lists ways you can help with covid-19::
https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2020/03/21/how-you-can-help-during-coronavirus/?arc404=true
please stay home and stay safe!
━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍
through the fog of yearning for summer, jin has found you, the child of aphrodite in autumn’s oath
oh, the tender sound of flesh… it’s like thunder under earth’s surface
to love y/n is to love the nymphs that dream amongst the fragrance of weeping willows
to love y/n is to long for their sole attention, and much to jin’s benefit, this global pandemic may have given him the opportunity to hog all the stardust held within the deity of his lover
with classes canceled, you both can spend eternity gathering tulips and wildflowers in the safety of your home
jin can taste laughter against his lips and the august rain of your divine infatuation
he can inhale the sun in your hair and the midsummer fruits on your skin
finally, for what seems like infinity in quarantine, he can breathe
now, to keep this daydream within the forest at constant, he’ll rob any potential excuse of yours that involves not having your attention on him
of course, he would forbid you from seeing anyone outside the solace of your own residence
the faint idea of those heathens laying their ruthless hands upon your heavenly form and possibly imperiling you with this virus infuriates him to no end
even during the hours spent on online classes, jin will smother with resentment over the revelation that he’d be required to spend several hours without your love
boredom and envy, two poisons racing like serpents through the maze of his veins
and he can’t seem to sedate this burning jealousy, that is until the session ends and the grandfather clock sings it’s euphoric harmony
oh, and when your attention is finally on him
petals splatter, lambs sing, the sun kisses the moon and the fruit of the earth flourishes
heaven is on earth, and besides, you never needed those classes, anyways
with perfect grades, perfect class, perfect reputation, jin could give you whatever your heart could desire
and he’ll love you until the sun vanishes and the earth is reborn; until all stars fragment and our galaxy dissolves into dust
jin loves you and the blossom of july that follows
he loves you to death.
━━━ 𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈
oh, how yoongi loves you...
to digest his own organs, to tend to the wounds of his garden
he’d trade in his life for the fleeting chance of bathing in your moonlight
like the crumpled-up paper left on your table with the number of a pretty waitress scribbled on, the scrape of peach fuzz against naked skin under ocherous streetlights
you, y/n l/n, a stranger in the alps holds the dawn-tinted fragments of this young boy’s soul
the resonance of your honeymoon-flavored voice, the liberation of the ocean’s pearls as they sleep in your touch, your superlunary reassurance as you soothe him of his concerns for the world’s condition
yoongi cannot comprehend how sour solitude blossomed into a sultry summer by the acceleration of a global pandemic
he owns the privilege to spend infinite days in quarantine, butterflies and white lace upon his heart as he wakes up to the sight of your face, yet again
he watches as stars and planets melt together as your galaxies collide, relishing in the feverish sensation of eternal divinity
and during this pandemic, yoongi’s tendencies flourish as his dependence, neediness and loyal compliance intensify
he’ll go out of his way and purchase all of the necessities you could ever crave, the revelation of his health at stake left unbothered
it is challenging to find entertainment throughout quarantine, but fortunately for you, your hero (missing his cape) uses his rent money to find you whatever it is you've deemed vital
you’ll go and welcome your lover after he returned to your residence from getting groceries and discover a variety of board games to play, a nintendo switch (with animal crossing, obviously), and an espresso machine that he bought with intentions on teaching you how to make drinks like he does (even though there will never be a day where he won't brew one for you)
despite fear painting every street in the world, yoongi touches aphrodite’s reminiscence as he skates beyond a rainbow’s arch
he has found sunlit honey in the mornings where he can cling onto your form like a lifeline and smother you with his coffee-stained kisses and overwhelming fascination
finally, days are heavenly with you by his side every. waking. second
the bullets have faded, the storms have abolished, the tears have shattered and all that’s left is your french perfume and cherry lips
oh, you should expect suffocating love during this quarantine season because you’ll never escape from yoongi
not now, not ever.
━━━ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊
due to covid outbreak, hoseok feels his body tremble with fear beneath his covers as if the virus was a monster underneath his bed
behind the exquisite light of his sanity is winter, where terror sits like snow against naked trees
only then, you waltz into his tunnel of vision, your silver armor glistening under the amber light of his bedroom
finally, with you by his side, he can savor the taste of the sun as it peaks through the leaves of summer
y/n, the sweetest apparition, the aurora of jasmine, stardust in a mason jar
you are the bones of ecstasy and hoseok feels the horror racing through his veins melt into a daze of tulips and passion
and it took him days to recover from the lemon-flavored euphoria that dreams of you in a hallucinatory lucidity
but, even then, the heart of his infatuation still holds cunning ways of creeping up behind him
despite being locked inside, hoseok still relies on you to protect him
you’re his knight in shining armor, his life preserver in an empty sea
he needs you to wrap your wings around his form and shield him from the demons that lurk in the shadows of your home
god, does he need you
but, when the sun is high and both of you are trapped in the walls of your home, his soul ascends as if he had listened to his favorite part of a song for the very first time
your lover then insists on creating a fort, the light of purity heavy in his opalescent irises
that childlike innocence within him, you always adored it
you’ll both make a mess of your living room with couch cushions and chairs, certainly to receive a scolding from your parents
there are fairy lights strung upon quilts with its heavenly glow and tender pillows that are painted with last years midsummer night-dew
and with scarlet ribbons and a huff of contentment, your masterpiece is complete
now, you will lie in the fort that is shielded with a password, lover in your lap as he runs upon his little rants
a disney movie you can’t recall the name of is left abandoned to play on its own as hoseok works you through the timeline of the pixar theory, hope, and exuberance within his expression
he always admired conspiracy theories, but not the ones that are too frightening
you, aphrodite’s rose and summer’s sweet fruits, are there for hoseok to love and to embrace
and he’d swim all the oceans and waltz through the depths hellfire to prove to you just how enamored he truly is
that is until he longs for his childhood stuffed animal that he makes you go into the attic to get because he’s too afraid of the dark.
━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍
namjoon will love you until the end of eternity
he’ll love you until the moon swims the seven seas, he’ll love you until fate eradicates into liberty, he’ll love you until white jasmines accelerate into poppies
he’ll love you until our solar system melts into prismatic ash
and this epiphany flourishes as the night sings with you nestled against his chest, your lover refusing to let you go even when the sun is high in the sky
with locks of hair rested upon the crevice of his neck and latin poetry he’s too tired to translate parting his lips, he has found ecstasy in the purple rain that enveloped him
he has found the hidden nymphs of his life nestled under leaves; he has found his light in a sea of dead stars
and namjoon can’t imagine a day where he wouldn’t bleed himself dry to protect the one thing that matters most to him
due to the spread of this virus, let’s just say that his paranoia has gotten the best of him
you’ve never seen so much fear within his eyes from just a simple cough
you’ll be forced to stay within the lavish bedroom of his as all possible necessities are delivered to your door
and any excuse for you to leave, he has another to dismiss it
you’re hungry? great, a full-course gourmet meal made by our personal chefs is on its way!
you’re thirsty? would you like water? tea? wine? we’ll have the housekeeper deliver it in a jiffy!
you’re bored? we have board games, puzzles, movies, video games, whatever your little heart desires!
you feel trapped? ok, fine… well, i guess we can go take a walk in the garden
and you felt such a rush of elation to take sight upon the lustrous tulips possessing a variety of colors and to inhale the fragrance of summer as it stains your consciousness
oh, to feel sunbeams heavy against your longing skin and to trace your fingers down the juts and crevices of your favorite flowers
this is euphoria tied with a silk bow
that is until you were aggressively yanked behind namjoon as he saw the gardener wasn’t 6 feet away from you
he spat out threats to the poor man just trying to water the poppies you infatuated yourself with
but hey, at least you got a taste of the sun though, right?
oh, well, the tiffany and louis in your expensive bedroom will suffice, anyways.
━━━ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍
so… this is love
to caress the sugar-scented tulips on the riverside, to taste summer as worries melt like honey against your tongue
to lose yourself in the lustrous daze as camellia flowers fall like pink rain
so… this is love
and god, jimin has never felt so alive
like a dove at dawn, iridescent feathers, and misty eyes
you descended into his field of vision and robbed him of his heart right then and there
and now, as the sun glistens and the moon shimmers, day-by-day, he holds the privilege of calling himself yours
especially being locked within the walls of your home, infatuation seethes like dust in the attic above
it’s far too dangerous for you to leave, anyway
with disease, sorrow, and pain staining the air of the world, it’s only best is you stay indoors… only by his side, for every waking second
and you swear, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve awoken to the sight of your lover with his chin rested against his palm, hearts swimming in his eyes as he chirps, “good morning, bumblebee!”
but, you have to realize, he just can’t help it
there’s moondust in your lungs, sunbeams bathing within your veins, the rings of saturn enveloping your locks of hair, stars nestled beneath the crevice of your heart
there’s a universe inside of you, and luckily for jimin, it is all his
only his
as the morning is set into motion, your boyfriend has a variety of activities for you to indulge yourself with
days are spent reading you through all several journals he reserved just for you, pages filled with cheesy poems, songs, or your name written obsessively over and over and over and over again
he’ll giggle like a young schoolgirl at your reactions, drown you in butterfly kisses or gaze at you for hours as you read, oblivious to his creepy admiring stare
and god forbid you drink water and it goes down the wrong tube
you’ll cough once and he’ll begin to pamper you as if you were a sick orphan child
that’s who he is, though
dedicating his entire life to the sun itself; dedicating his existence to the child of aphrodite in full bloom
god… he has found love
and nothing is more euphoric than this
and you had absolutely no idea a worldwide pandemic could make this man the happiest boy on planet earth.
━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆
you can’t recall how long it’s been since you were abducted
days have melted into candy, hours turn to honey, seconds are everlasting grace
you’ve been treated like royalty ever since pages of your face with a loud ‘MISSING’ on top had been scattered across town
your kidnapper lover will bake you cherry pies, boxy smile threaded on his face. he’ll draw a bath adorned with rose petals raw from the garden, eyes flickering with hopes and exuberance
taehyung will give you just about every pleasure a human could ask for, all in the name of seeing that candied smile that sedates his mind and turns his knees to jelly
he wouldn’t be shocked if he looked down and saw a puddle of his drool, to be honest
and because of the uproar of the virus, taehyung finds in his best power to simply not tell you
to protect you from your worries, to shield you from this world
he would rather die than risk losing his glimmering evening to the arms of the earth
this revelation strikes coldly as you sit beneath a willow tree, sugary pastries and treats varied around you as your lover sits with his canvas
to blend the opalescent tones of your face, then the loud devotion of your skin and the feverishly irradiated hues of your iris
oh, to sit here and paint his dear… it’s pure bliss!
days spent deprived of the burden of technology, heaven has reached the recesses of this horrid planet
after lunch beneath the sun, you and taehyung will take canoe rides throughout the lake just outside your little cottage on the hillside
and watching as you graze your fingertips upon the lake’s surface like you’re made of something magic and blessing the water with your enigmatic essence was practically holy to see
he’s been puzzled stupid in times like these
where the sun is high and heavy, golden embers kiss upon the land, his lover sat with a goddesses caress
it’s euphoric how you breathe and strip taehyung of every logical thought within his mind
yes, you are captive, but there is simply no denying this man's devotion to you
you shall not worry about the worldwide pandemic and should rather fall into a deep slumber within the faded-red canoe
when it’s only the two of you, a virus is but a speck of dust left upon the highest shelf
no matter what this world comes to, you are safe with taehyung
and nothing will take you away from him.
━━━ 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊
jungkook thinks of you more often than he should
those fleeting moments where your dulcet laugher reflects and his eyes are practically glued to you; those moments where your “i love you”’s are unadulterated and his entire chest collapses
he’d do anything and everything to keep his light forever home
fortunately for him, this global pandemic may have gifted him that opportunity laced with a velvet bow
but this boy is paranoid, you see. so paranoid that the intensity of his concern comes out in an opalescent pandemonium
it’s as if saltwater swells in his lungs and kisses him with it’s strangling embrace; as if his worst sins have been placed on a silver platter, left for the world to laugh and gape at
but, through the haze of his purgatory, there’s you, joyous and alive
and it’s like a potion mixed with rosewater, vanilla and a dove’s feathers heavy on his tongue whenever he drinks in the sight of you
it’s like the essence of his infatuation dancing like a ballerina beyond the recesses of his mind; his sanity it’s ballroom
to spend days in quarantine bathing within his bewitchment is euphoric, but there are the days of terror that creep upon him
and you don’t think you’ll ever forget the time where you had complained to your lover about your headache and observed as the planets swimming in his irises abruptly fade to utter horror
he always over-exaggerated his worry, which you were used to, but this
you’ve never seen true fear like this
you were given a cold towel to place upon your forehead and kisses to soothe you of your distress
the worry he possessed only snowballed into something much more cynical and evil, though, as the prophecy of the virus taking you away from him shook him to his very core
you eventually fell into a deep slumber by dusk, most likely by the fault of the medicine
though, as the moon was high and the bedside clock read 2:38 AM in it’s fluorescent, neon green hues, you were awoken by the hushed sounds of weeping
blinking your mind back into reality, you found jungkook on the bedside, shoulders shaking violently from the sobs that shook his entire body
you watched as he incoherently wailed into the phone, only to finally decipher the person on the other line was a 911 operator
you then handled the situation safely and maturely, reassuring the poor operator that you were perfectly healthy and safe and thus proceeding to care for your puppy-dog of a boyfriend who worried over every breathe you took for the following several weeks
oh, what a time this quarantine will be
but, hey! you weren’t sick! so…yay!
#bts#yandere bts#yandere kpop#jin#yandere seokjin#yoongi#yandere yoongi#hoseok#yandere hoseok#namjoon#yandere namjoon#jimin#yandere jimin#taehyung#yandere taehyung#jungkook#yandere jungkook#bts reactions#bts headcanons#bts imagines#bts au#bts fanfic#bts angst#bts smut#bts fluff#bts x reader#bts x you#yandere imagines#yandere#yandere drabble
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