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topazy · 3 years

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The Fierce And Broken

2.07

Masterlist

“She’s going to break your heart.” You shoved Murphy playfully, as he continued to tease you. “I’m telling you, this could be the thing that pushes you over the edge.”

“The only thing that will push me over the edge is you John,” you quipped back.

“Raven hates me.”

You couldn’t argue with him. “Well...she has her reasons, but I’ll work on it.”Murphy let out a snorting sound. “Just give it some time, I at least want you to be civil.”

“You know you’d rather spend your time getting into trouble with me, than being bossed around by Jackson all day.”

You chuckled at his comment. Murphy was right, you had now become Jackson’s go to girl which didn’t bother you so much, but knowing you’d need to spend so much time with Abby was another issue.

“I’m never bored,” you shrugged.

A few hours prior you were surprised to see Major Byrne being brought into medical care because he had been punched in the face, but what surprised you more was finding out it was Raven that had hit him.

“Life down here is never going to be boring.”

He had a point. Lexa wanted Finn, and the grounders could attack at any moment. The mountain men still had the rest of your people, and Lincoln still had to be handcuffed like a criminal in case he turned back into a reaper. The chanting of ‘Jus drein jus daun! Jus drein jus daun!’ Seemed to be getting louder as well.

“One life for all of us...”

You stared at your friend wide-eyed. “John,” you said in a hushed whisper. “We can’t have this conversation.”

So much for getting Raven to like him.

“I know you are thinking the same as me Alba, you're just too afraid to admit it.” You pouted at his comment. “Does she make you happy?”

“She does,” Murphy tutted, causing you to smile. “What’s wrong with that?”

You knew from the mischievous look on his face, Murphy was still teasing you. “Nothing makes you happier than being back home in the ark.”

“Whatever,” you shook your head when you noticed Jackson waving you over. “I need to go, I’ll catch up with you later.”

—

“Hey, what’s going on?” You asked confused.

Raven looked furious as she walked besides Bellamy towards the ark station. She paused briefly to link her hand with yours, taking the hint you walked beside her.

Raven scoffed, “Jaha and Kane are back.”

Oh, this wasn’t going to be good.

“They are having some bullshit meeting that none of us can attend.” Raven continued ranting until you reached the door to the council meeting room. “Can anybody hear anything?”

You and Bellamy both shook your heads. Bellamy gave you a small smile when he noticed you and Raven holding hands. You’d never talked about how open you’d be about your relationship, but right now Raven needed you and that’s all that mattered.

You jumped back slightly when Abby opened the door. She looked just as taken aback to see three faces staring at her. Raven was quick to say what everyone was thinking, “What’s happening?”

“You were in there a long time,” Bellamy added.

Abby looked as if she was thinking up a new lie to tell. “There was a lot to talk about.”

“Well, what’s going on?” Raven asked, the irritation in her voice becoming more obvious.

“There was a lot to talk about.”

You frowned at the doctor repeating herself. She wasn’t prepared to give any of you real information. “We aren’t letting Lexa take him.”

Bellamy nodded in agreement. “Alba’s right, we are not turning him over to the Grounders.”

“If you give Finn over now the commander will know the power she has over us,” Abby glared at you as you continued to talk. “What happens when she wants somebody else to pay? What if it was Clarke’s blood she wanted?”

“Enough. Step aside now,” Abby said in a warning tone. “We’re all trying to find a way out of this.”

You stood in silence until all the council members were a good distance away. Bellamy let out a deep sigh, “they’re gonna give him up.”

Raven shook her head and began mumbling before walking towards the exit. “They can’t, we can’t turn on each other.”

You stayed back sensing Bellamy wanted to talk to you alone, and you were right. He leaned in closer to you, “do you still have your dad's gun?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep it close, I have a feeling we might need it.”

—

Gulping down you pushed the flaps to your tent open to see Raven rummaging around her bag for something.

“Fuck!” She hissed.

You moved fast to her side as she winced in pain. It’s fine she sighed, revealing the small drop of blood coming from her finger. “It’s just a paper cut.”

You held her gaze, “how are you holding up?”

“I’m not.”

At least she was honest. Raven was one of the strongest people you knew, and it was hard to watch her struggle. You sat down on the edge of the makeshift bed, and Raven did the same a few seconds later. “I just wish things were different, you know?”

You smiled softly, “things will work themselves out.”

You felt yourself melting into the touch of Raven’s hand as she brushed strands of hair behind your ear. Without warning her lips were pressed against your own. It was a soft and gentle kiss.

Leaning back you chuckled, “I almost forgot what I came to tell you. There’s plenty of bedrooms in the ark available now, we don’t need to stay out here in a tent anymore.”

“Is this just Jackson’s ploy to have you within shouting distance during the night?” She laughed.

“Most likely, but it will be so much more comfortable.” Standing up you noticed Raven’s finger still bleeding. “You sure you don’t want me to look at that? It’s maybe deeper than it looks.”

“It’s just blood they want.”

You kissed Raven on the crown of her head before adding another layer of clothing to your outfit. A longer top that would cover your waistline and hide your gun.

“Whatever happens Reyes, I’ll always have your back.”

“Likewise.”

—

Standing outside the drop ship you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Somehow you, Raven, and Bellamy had managed to sneak away without getting noticed, but you had a feeling that wouldn’t last long.

You had your gun at the ready hearing somebody entering the drop ship. You stood confused upon seeing who it was. “John?”

“Ooh, hey, hey, hey.” He held his hands up defensively.

“Murphy. What are you doing here?” Bellamy asked.

Murphy looked at you, as he shrugged. “I was invited.”

“I thought we could use an extra gun.” Raven turned to look out the doorway. “Finn should've been right behind you.”

“Don’t worry. The spacewalker is gonna be fine.” Murphy said before coming and standing beside you. “Why do you look so surprised to see me?”

“I didn’t know you were coming, that’s all.”

Murphy frowned. “I assumed I was only asked because you’d told me and Raven to play nice.”

“We’ve had bigger things to worry about, I’ve not said anything.”

Something in the way Raven was looking at Murphy made your stomach tighten into a knot. It wasn’t the normal friendly Raven Reyes smile you would get, she was sending him a death glare.

“I’m going to take a look outside.” As you reached the doorway you noticed Finn carrying Clarke. “Somebody find me a rag, or a cloth!”

You ran beside Finn to inspect the bleeding wound on Clarke’s head. Bellamy quickly moved to be beside her once Finn got her inside. “What happened?”

“A Grounder hit her on the head.” Finn’s voice broke as he spoke, you couldn’t imagine the guilt he must be feeling.

“Clarke, can you hear me? You're gonna be fine.” You pressed the rag to her wound, and felt relieved to see the bleeding was stopping. “You just need to rest for a bit, okay.”

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Raven and Finn talking. It was odd to you that she didn’t seem overly concerned about Clarke. You couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. “Hey. It's just a bump on the head. Clarke’s gonna be ok. Are you? We'll figure this out.”

Finn shook his head. “That’s what she said. Right before I almost got her killed.”

—

After a little while Finn began pacing back and forth. “Still nothing?”

You shook your head. Finn groaned into his hands as Raven tried to reassure him. “Just give her a little time.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

Finn’s confession made you feel awkward, despite everything going on between you and Raven you still didn’t want to get involved in their past relationship in any way. You’d given anything to have Murphy or Bellamy beside you at the moment.

“I know. Truth is, things change. Maybe that's for the best.”

You hoped that was true. Raven’s ability to forgive, and show kindness to those that hurt her never failed to amaze you.

You focused on Clarke and tried your best to block out the ‘We’ll always be family’ exchange. It was a private moment for the two of them to share. You sighed with relief when Clarke opened her eyes, “take it easy when you sit up.”

“How’s the head?” Finn asked, just Murphy and Bellamy came back into view.

“Awesome,” the blonde mumbled.

Finn kneeled down beside her, “When you went down... I thought you were dead. Because of me.”

You stopped listening to the others talking when you noticed the worried look on Bellamy’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“We got company! Get out here. Get down. Grounders.”

You looked past his shoulder and saw multiple grounders. “We’re surrounded.”

—

“They’re not moving any closer, why?”

Bellamy gulped down before answering. “Staying out of range. Probably waiting until it's dark.”

“If we hit them now, at least we'd take them by surprise.” You didn’t like your friend's suggestion, but you knew Murphy had a point.

“We don't even know how many of them are out there,” Clarke said coldly.

Murphy shook his head before scoffing. “I’m not hearing any better ideas, Clarke.”

“We’ll give them something.”

The moment the words came from Raven mouth you instantly stepped closer to Murphy. “The only thing they want is Finn.”

“Finn wasn't the only one at the village.”

You now stood in-between Murphy and everybody else. “Don’t even think about it!” You seethed. How could she even be considering this? “Don’t take another step closer to him.”

Raven looked visibly hurt but still continued, “Enough Grounders saw him at the village. They’d believe he was the shooter.”

Murphy hissed from behind you, “sick bitch.”

Both Bellamy and Clarke tried to talk some sense into her, but she refused to listen. “They want a murderer, we'll give them one.” Raven raised her gun and pointed it in your direction. “Put your weapon down.”

Clarke tried again to talk her down. “Put it down, Raven. Like it or not, he's one of us.”

Brown eyes stared into yours, “Alba move out the way.”

“No, I’m not moving so you’d need to shoot me too.”

“Alba, just move!” Raven pleaded.

Your chest ached with a pain you hadn’t felt before. Raven meant a lot to you, but Murphy was your best friend. Her doing this to him felt like a betrayal. You also found it hard to believe she was still pointing the gun in your direction.

“Raven...this isn’t you. Just lower the gun.”

Finn snatched the gun from her hand. “Stop! Stop! We're not doing this. They’ve got us surrounded. The only thing we can do is stay. And defend this place.” He turned to face the rest of the group. “Murphy, go upstairs. Watch the rear. I'll take the lower level. You four, take the front gate. That’s the plan. All right?”

“I’m going with John.”

Once you reached the top of the drop-ship Murphy squeezed your shoulder. “Hey, are you alright?”

“It’s not me she wanted to hand over to grounders,” you shrugged. “I’m sorry John, I had no idea-”

“It’s not your fault Al, and as much as I hate her right now, I know she wouldn’t have hurt you.”

You said nothing. Deep down you knew Raven was acting out of love for Finn, he was her family. The only friend she had from the ark. What bothered you the most was that you understood why she did it. The impulse to protect the ones you love could cause you to do unthinkable things.

“I probably would have done the same for you,” you mumbled before looking out the window again. “Oh shit!”

“What?”

“Finn’s handing himself over to the grounders.”

—

You watched in disgust as grounders set up a post near the gates of camp. You jumped hearing a voice coming from beside you. “What is that?”

“They want us to watch.”

“We’re gonna get him.” Bellamy announced. “We’ll get in close and we'll hit them hard.”

You shared a knowing look with Clarke, both of you knew that was impossible. The only thing you could do was hope his death was quick.

Kane held onto Bellamy’s shoulder. “Son... there's thousands of them. Even if we could kill hundreds, they'd still wipe out this camp and your friend would still die.”

Clarke stood beside you, “I’m going to talk with the commander.”

“Don’t let him suffer,” you said quietly. “Try and convince her they don’t need to torture him.”

As Clarke explained her plan to the others Raven mumbled an apology to you before returning her attention to the blonde. “Give me your hand.” You watched Raven slide a small knife into her hand. “If she won't let him go, kill her. Things’ll go crazy, and we'll grab you and Finn. Clarke. You have to help him. I owe him my life.”

You silently linked Raven’s fingers with your own, and let her squeeze down tightly. She was afraid. No matter what happened before, and how angry you still were, she was going to need someone.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited for Clarke to emerge from the commander's tent and made her way towards Finn. She can’t save him. You felt Raven tense beside you. You chewed on your bottom lip as you waited for something to happen.

“I’m sorry Al, I’m so sorry.” Raven gasped under her breath as she shook.

You moved your grip to hold onto her tighter, “don’t be.”

Things were about to go from bad to worse real fast. No, no, no. When Clarke leaned in to kiss Finn you realised she was saying goodbye.

When the blonde stepped away from Finn his head fell down into his chest. He was dead. Clarke had killed him. Mercy kill.

You lowered yourself to hold Raven as she collapsed to the ground.

“No! No! No! No! No! No!”

#the 100 #Raven Reyes #raven reyes/you #raven reyes/reader #the 100 fandom #the 100 fanfiction #raven reyes x oc #raven reyes x you #raven reyes x reader #the 100 season two #John Murphy #clarke griffin #lexa the 100 #heda lexa #Bellamy Blake #finn collins #abby griffin #slow romance

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when-a-humble-bard · 4 years

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the driftwood and the rift (p.2)

Read part 1 here!

Read on AO3 here!

Warnings: blood/injury; strong suggestions of past torture; feelings of guilt; everyone feels guilty for different reasons; they are bad at feelings but they are both trying

A/N: part 2 is here! This chapter was like pulling teeth to get them to talk to each other but we kinda got there. Heh. Hope you enjoy!

Tags: @thuriweaver

…

They take the last room at the tavern that’s available. Geralt accepts the key from the innkeeper—who stares at the mess of the two of them, beaten and bloody, with wide eyes—and half-helps, half-carries the bard up the stairs to the last room on the left. Geralt pauses only long enough to ask the barmaid to send up a basin of hot water.

He drops Jaskier onto the singular bed in the corner. He hates the silence. It had been grating in the months since their parting at the mountain top, but now that Jaskier is here… Geralt hates it. Almost as much as he hates the way Jaskier won’t meet his eyes.

Geralt busies himself with getting a low fire going in the hearth and pulling out strips of linen and vials of oil. He can feel Jaskier watching him, his bright blue eyes following his every movement. His initial panic seems to have abated, as much as Geralt can tell from his scent and the beating of the bard’s heart, but there’s something that lingers around him that Geralt can’t quite place. Something that reminds Geralt of burnt grass and smoke.

The Witcher turns to face the bard, opening his mouth to say something when he’s interrupted by a knock at the door. Geralt quietly thanks the young woman that hands the wash basin to him with a hesitant smile. When he turns back, Jaskier is standing. He’s got one hand braced against the headboard.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says softly. The bard’s eyes flicker up. “Sit down.”

Jaskier shakes his head. Some of his hair—it’s longer than Geralt remembers—falls across his eyes in the process. “Your shoulder,” he says. “It needs to be cleaned and we both know your scars heal more evenly if someone else sews them up.”

Geralt sighs. “I don’t care how evenly—”

“For fuck’s sake, Geralt, just… let…” Jaskier blows out a breath. “Let me do this. Please.”

Geralt knows first-hand just how insistent the bard can be. There was a certain fire that always lit up in those blue eyes of his when he got this way, and Geralt can’t help but feel an odd note of relief at seeing it back. The look always managed to exasperate the Witcher—honestly, Jaskier chose the most trivial things to put his foot down over—but it’s an improvement over the distant, haunted look that had shadowed his expression since the forest. Perhaps that’s why he relents.

Geralt’s lips press into a thin line before he sets the basin on the floor and sits on the edge of the bed. Jaskier is quiet again as Geralt shrugs off his armor and sheds the shirt underneath. The silence twists Geralt’s stomach. He is desperate to fill it.

“You were in Blavikin.”

It’s not a question, exactly. The hooded figure had told him as such, after all. The gentle splash of water as Jaskier dips one of the strips of linen into the basin fills the beat of silence that meets the end of the statement.

The bard’s gaze flickers up briefly to meet the Witcher’s golden one. “Yes. After we, ah, last parted, I found myself passing through Blavikin and the people of Blavikin found themselves in need of a bard.”

Geralt watches closely as Jaskier swallows before gingerly pressing the linen to the stab wound, far more gently than necessary, beginning to clean the blood that had dried against Geralt’s skin. The admittance from Jaskier leaves Geralt with more questions than answers. He wants to ask why—of all places Jaskier could have headed—the bard decided to go there. But Geralt doesn’t ask, swallowing the question down.

He thinks he knows the answer, anyway. Despite the bard’s ballads and songs sweeping through the Continent, plenty of contempt directed towards him lingered around. He had no doubt that Blavikin would harbor the worst of it. Butcher of Blavikin wasn’t a name so easily wiped from memories, even if White Wolf had started to worm its way into people’s vocabularies with increasing frequency.

Geralt had not returned to the town since Renfri. He did not plan to ever go back. Geralt looks up as Jaskier continues to clean at the wound in his shoulder. He wonders if perhaps Jaskier knew that. If that’s exactly why the bard decided to go there.

It’s another question that Geralt can’t bring himself to ask.

“I don’t think I’ll go back,” Jaskier says suddenly, studiously avoiding Geralt’s watchful stare. “Can’t say Blavikin really does it for me much anymore.”

“Hmm.” Geralt wants to ask why, but Jaskier presses on.

“Although, I’ll have to go back to retrieve my lute. If it’s even still there. I suppose that’s unlikely, given that it’s been a month, but you never truly know. Perhaps Adelaide rescued it. She’s just as likely to sell it, and that would be quite the travesty. Filavandrel would never forgive me. Although, to be fair, I haven’t performed quite as much as I used to, so perhaps there’s a certain level of irony to be found.”

As he rambles—for which Geralt is oddly grateful to hear, even if Jaskier’s voice is thin and shaky—he finishes cleaning the wound. It’s stopped bleeding, Geralt realizes, and Jaskier turns away from the Witcher and begins preparing what looks like a poultice. Geralt’s gaze still doesn’t waver from the bard. Jaskier’s hands are shaking. He drops one of the vials and it shatters against the dark wood floors.

“Fuck.”

Geralt stands up slowly. “Jaskier.”

“I’ll replace it in the morning, Geralt.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Jaskier is standing frozen by the table next to the bed, dropping his hands beside the poultice and dragging a breath into his lungs as if it takes a certain amount of focus. It’s the first deep breath Geralt has heard the bard take tonight, but he doesn’t miss the hitch nor the slight grimace of pain that passes through Jaskier’s face. Geralt swallows.

“Sit,” he says, and this time, Jaskier doesn’t argue with him.

The bard sinks down onto the side of the bed where Geralt had been sitting a moment ago, his gaze distant as he stares absently across the room. Jaskier blinks, breaking him out of whatever momentary trance he’d been in, and drags his gaze back to Geralt. It settles squarely on the wound in his shoulder. That scent of burnt grass and smoke that lingers around the bard gets stronger.

Geralt sighs, glancing around the room before he finds the spare change of clothes he’d brought in from Roach. He slips the shirt over his head, gritting his teeth as the move tears a bit at the stab wound. He just wants Jaskier to stop staring at it. Especially since the bard looks like he’s about to keel over at any moment.

Geralt busies himself with picking up the shards of glass he can find while he waits for Jaskier to shed his doublet and the shirt underneath. Except by the time Geralt has finished cleaning up the glass as best he can manage, Jaskier hasn’t moved.

Geralt sighs. “Jaskier.” Jaskier blinks up at him expectantly. Geralt arcs an eyebrow, then motions to the bard. “Your shirt.”

“What about it?” From the quick aversion of his gaze, Geralt has the feeling that Jaskier is stalling more than expressing a genuine lack of understanding. Geralt doesn’t respond, crossing his arms over his chest and staring the bard down.

Jaskier lasts all of about ten seconds before he releases a breath and Geralt sees his cheeks flush slightly. “I… may need some help,” he says quietly.

Geralt softens and crosses back to him, sitting beside the bard and helping him ease his blue doublet off his shoulders. The stench of copper grows stronger, and Geralt can see stains of red bleeding onto the off-white shirt he wears beneath. Geralt folds the doublet and sets it aside as he hears Jaskier suck in a deep breath before tugging the hem of his shirt out of his pants and continuing the momentum up and over his head.

Geralt doesn’t miss the tight clench to Jaskier’s jaw at the movement before the bard balls the shirt in his hands. Geralt glances at the bard’s back and freezes.

It’s… a mess. Mottled bruising—some fresh, some old—offers a sickeningly colorful backdrop of greens, yellows, and blues to the slashes that carve through his skin. Some span most of the bard’s back, others are smaller. A few are red, barely scabbed over, while others are most of the way to scarring.

He lasted nearly three weeks before he screamed for you.

Geralt closes his eyes against the roll in his stomach. “Fuck, Jaskier.”

“It’s like I always told you,” Jaskier says, and the attempt at levity probably wouldn’t have worked even if Jaskier’s voice didn’t tremble just a little, “ladies love some scars. Though I’m afraid the stories behind mine are, ah… well. Safe to say I probably won’t be composing songs about them.”

Geralt swallows thickly. He doesn’t know where to start, his golden gaze flickering over the far-too-many injuries that splay across the bard’s back, over his shoulders, wrapping around his ribs. Geralt leans forward slightly to inspect the bard’s chest, and Jaskier turns his head away like he’s ashamed. His chest looks to be in just as bad of shape, and the fact that the bruises continue down around the bard’s hips and disappear beneath the waistline of his pants doesn’t escape the Witcher’s notice either.

“What did they want?” Geralt asks in a careful voice, tearing his gaze away from the colorful and painful display of Jaskier’s chest to the bard’s face.

Jaskier’s light blue gaze flickers to Geralt before looking back to the fire in the hearth. “Nothing.”

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier finally meets his eyes in a brief flair of defiance. Something wavers in Jaskier’s expression before he tears his gaze away. It grows distant as the bard’s voice grows softer. “They didn’t want anything I was willing to give. So what does it matter, really, what they wanted?”

It matters because Geralt didn’t really need Jaskier to tell him what they wanted from him. The hooded figure in the forest had been pretty damn clear. He was resolute in withholding information about you. Loyal to the end, it would seem. Plenty of people wanted the Witcher dead—plenty of people want Witchers in general dead. None, as far as Geralt knew, had gone to such lengths to glean any information about him in particular as to do this. He knew his lifestyle was dangerous, and put those who chose to join him in harm’s way, but… that was because he hunted monsters. Not… not this. Fuck.

Nobody deserved this, but Jaskier least of all. Jaskier, who had done nothing but care for him and be the singular most steadfast person present in Geralt’s life. Loyal to the end, it would seem. Geralt’s stomach gives another uncomfortable roll, his throat growing tight.

Geralt’s own thoughts trail off as he sees the pained hitch in Jaskier’s breath as he sighs just a touch too deeply.

The Witcher busies himself with kneeling in front of the bard, dipping the unused strips of linen in the wash basin that is now slightly tinged with the red of Geralt’s own blood.

“You should have told them,” Geralt says without looking at him. “Whatever they wanted to know, you should have…” He trails off.

Jaskier releases a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, laced tight with pain and something else that Geralt can’t place. “You really think so little of me? After all these years?”

Geralt’s brow furrows as he wrings out one of the strips. Jaskier looks back at the Witcher, seems to recognize the confusion, and shakes his head a little. “For fuck’s sake, Geralt. You think a little pain is all it would take for me to sell out on you?”

“This,” Geralt says between clenched teeth, nodding to Jaskier’s battered form, “is more than just a little, Jaskier.”

And gods fucking damn it, because it’s his fault. They didn’t want Jaskier, they wanted Geralt, and had thought that going after the bard would be the fastest way to get to him. It was well known across the Continent that Jaskier was the bard who sung the praises of the White Wolf, tagged along with him on so many adventures. An easy target. But the bard was nothing if not steadfast and loyal—to a fault, it would seem to Geralt—and his will had never been as easily broken as his body. If Geralt had just… been there, then Jaskier wouldn’t be fighting back a pained wince with each inhale of breath he dragged into his lungs.

Geralt sighs. He lifts the damp cloth towards the gash on Jaskier’s shoulder. One of the fresher ones, by the look of it. That, or the fight in the woods had torn an old wound back open. Geralt’s hand hesitates before making contact, looking to Jaskier for permission.

Jaskier doesn’t look at him, but he offers a subtle nod and swallows. He shuts his eyes, holding his breath as Geralt gingerly dabs at the fresh blood there. Jaskier releases the breath slowly a moment later. Geralt pretends not to notice just how badly it shakes.

There’s a long stretch where neither of them says anything. Geralt pays close attention to Jaskier, giving him a moment to brace each time he begins to tend to a new wound. The Witcher tries not to let his mind wander too far from his job, careful to not touch Jaskier anywhere he doesn’t absolutely have to. The bard’s fallen silent again, and there are brief moments where Geralt can feel his quiet gaze on him. Any time he goes to return it, Jaskier’s blue eyes flicker back to the fire, crackling in the silence around them.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Jaskier says when Geralt hesitates for the fourth time.

“Hmm.”

“Any of it,” Jaskier adds. “I did pick up a few things from our travels together, you know. I… I can do this myself.”

Geralt lets his hand drop from Jaskier’s ribs, his gold gaze searching. Jaskier won’t meet his eyes. “Do you want to?” he asks, because as much as Geralt wants to feel like cleaning Jaskier’s wounds would at least begin the recompense he owes the bard, Jaskier’s comfort and sense of security take priority.

“I can.”

Geralt frowns. “That’s not what I asked.”

Jaskier is silent again. As much as the Witcher knew the bard could read him, he’d learned how to read the bard over the years in kind. Something was pressing on Jaskier’s mind. He could tell from the unusual silence. The distant gaze. The way that his hands wringed in his shirt—usually, he’d be plucking absently on the strings of his lute, but with the instrument’s absence, Geralt figures that the bard’s hands would remain restless when he was turning something over in his mind.

Still, Jaskier doesn’t give voice to whatever thoughts are evidently flickering through his mind. And as much as Geralt wants to ask him, he can’t bring himself to. He doesn’t want to press. He’d been pressed for information enough over the past month.

The Witcher has cleaned most of the fresh and re-opened wounds on Jaskier’s ribs when the bard finally breaks the silence.

“Geralt.”

“Hmm?”

“In the forest.” Jaskier looks at Geralt kneeling in front of him. There’s a flood of that burnt grass and smoke scent and only now that Geralt is fully looking at him—his eyes wide and pained—can Geralt pair the scent with the emotion. Guilt. “Did you know it would work?”

“What would work?”

“Throwing the knife.”

Geralt’s hands still for a moment. “Mages are conduits of chaos,” he says quietly, recalling what Yennefer had told him once. “Destroy the conduit, you break their hold on whomever they’ve enchanted. Usually.”

“Usually,” Jaskier repeats. “So you didn’t know.”

“Hmm.”

“You could have killed me. You should have.” The statement makes Geralt’s eyes flash up to the bard’s again. “Why didn’t you?”

Geralt shakes his head, hating the way the smoke scent starts to radiate off Jaskier so fully that it nearly drowns out the smell of honeysuckle entirely. “You were under a spell.”

“I was a threat.”

“No.” Geralt’s eyes flash. “You were a victim. There’s a difference.”

“I wanted to hurt you.” Jaskier looks squarely at Geralt now, his blue eyes bright with pain. “I did. When that spell was winning, I wanted to hurt you, Geralt, and gods on high it terrified me. I mean—fuck.” Jaskier drops the shirt in his hands as his voice breaks and buries his fingertips in his hair.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries, ducking a little in an attempt to get the bard to look at him again. Jaskier’s eyes are screwed shut. Geralt purses his lips. “I’ve sustained injuries far more serious than the meager ones you inflicted in the forest. And regardless, that wasn’t reflective of your desires. It was the bloodlust of the spell.”

“But I felt it, Geralt. I…” Jaskier shakes his head. He scrubs a hand across his watering eyes. He offers a thin, shaky, self-deprecating smile. “Add it to the pile of shit I shovel, huh?”

It’s Geralt’s turn to avert his gaze. Jaskier doesn’t mean it as a jab, but it rips open old well-deserved pain in Geralt’s chest. He’d regretted his words on the mountain less than an hour after he’d spoken them. But he hadn’t known how to take the words back in a way that would mean anything. He’d still said them. And Geralt had long ago gotten in the habit of not saying much of anything when he didn’t know what to say. So instead, he’d taken his time going back down the mountain, turning over the thousand ways to make it up to the bard should they ever cross paths again.

Here they are, months later, and Geralt still doesn’t know where to begin.

“I wasn’t fair,” Geralt says, knowing and hating that all he can think to say is a distant echo of what Jaskier had said himself on that mountaintop months ago. “After the dragon. You were right.”

Jaskier’s eyes open, blinking in evident surprise as he glances up at the Witcher. Geralt can feel the gaze on him, searching and confused, but he can’t quite bring himself to meet it. He busies his hands and his attention, instead, by returning to the gash under Jaskier’s collarbone that still looks red and painful.

“I get myself into shit,” Geralt continues quietly, “and the fact that you happen to be there more often than not does not mean you’re the one who…” The Witcher huffs a frustrated breath, fumbling for some semblance of words that won’t fall short of what he means. He dabs gently with the damp linen cloth against the wound and Jaskier’s breath stutters for just a moment.

He tries again. “You’re a loyal friend, Jaskier.”

And fuck if that doesn’t fall short in a million other ways. The extent of Jaskier’s unyielding, relentless loyalty was painted all over the bard’s body as a painful reminder. Loyal felt like such a massive understatement, and friend didn’t fit well in Geralt’s mouth as a descriptor of Jaskier either. It never had.

But Geralt doesn’t know how to bridge the rift between the words he says and the meaning behind them. The words that leave his lips feel like grasping at driftwood while drowning.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters under his breath.

Jaskier’s hand stills Geralt’s over his wound before pulling his hand away and enveloping it in his own. “Geralt?”

The Witcher stops and swallows. “Forgive me. Please.”

And in truth, Geralt doesn’t know what exactly he’s referring to. If it’s the long overdue plea for what he’d said on the mountain or for the pained wince that Jaskier kept trying to mask or for all the other ways that the Witcher continued to fail Jaskier. There are far too many things, too many ways, that Geralt had fallen short. Too many things he needs Jaskier to forgive him for.

“I’ll do better,” Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier leans forward until their foreheads are touching. Geralt takes a breath, enveloped in the scent of cedar and honeysuckle and rose. The copper scent is mostly gone now, and the Witcher counts it as a small mercy on the aching in his chest.

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier breathes in the space between them, “Of course.”

The ease with which Jaskier says the words is a grace that Geralt does not deserve. He releases a breath as the knot in his chest loosens before swallowing thickly. He feels Jaskier squeeze his hand softly. Geralt pulls back despite the sudden desire to press into the bard’s aura of warmth and wildflowers.

Jaskier is still battered and bruised and in pain. I’ll do better. That begins with easing whatever pain of Jaskier’s he can in the moment.

The Witcher clears his throat slightly as if it will ease the tightness of it. Jaskier seems reluctant to release his hold of Geralt’s hand, but he does after a moment. Geralt goes back to cleaning the gash beneath his collarbone. It’s the last of his wounds that necessitate cleaning before he’ll offer a salve that should help with the inflammation. Hopefully, with some pain eased, Jaskier can get a decent night’s sleep. Gods know how long it had been since the bard had been able to do that.

Geralt stands to do just that, turning towards the bag he’d hauled in.

“Where do you plan to go, come morning light?” Jaskier asks suddenly.

Geralt turns back around to look at the bard. “With you,” he says, his brows furrowed. Hadn’t that been obvious?

The Witcher sees the faintest hint of a smile tug at the corner of the bard’s mouth and the lingering knot in Geralt’s chest loosens just a touch more. “To the coast?”

“Hmm.” That did sound… nice, actually. Getting away for a while. It had been a long time since Geralt had been to the coast. He turns back to the bag and rifles through the contents, searching for that salve.

“I’ll need to get my lute first.”

“We can stop on the way.”

“Been too long since I last played,” Jaskier is saying, his voice getting softer and heavier. “Though if we’re going to the coast, I’ll have ample time to work on some sea shanties. Been ages since I’ve sung a sea shanty. Do you know any, Geralt?”

“No.”

“Hm. Shame. I’ll have to teach some to you.”

Geralt huffs a breath. Jaskier would be hard pressed to get Geralt to sing much of anything, but there also wasn’t much that Geralt would refuse Jaskier right now. He turns back to the bard, his brow arched, and finds the bard slumped over in the bed. Fast asleep. The corner of the Witcher’s mouth tugs up into an almost-smile.

He sets the salve that he’d dug out of the bag on the table with a quiet click, easing an arm under Jaskier’s knees and one under his neck. He lifts the bard easily—he’s far lighter than he ought to be—and repositions him more fully onto the bed. He couldn’t have the bard aggravating his injuries further. Jaskier stirs slightly, and Geralt holds his breath before the bard sighs softly and seems to drift back to sleep.

Geralt sets his bedroll on the floor. In the morning, they’d set off for the coast. For now, Geralt drifts off to sleep to the crackling fire in the hearth, the bard’s steady heartbeat, and the faint scent of wildflowers in the air around him.

#geraskier #witcher #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #witcher fanfic #cursing #torture #blood #injury #geralt is trying

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sweetness47 · 4 years

Text

Pinky Promise

Pairing Bucky x reader

This is a late present for @sherrybaby14 😊 Happy Birthday Sweetie <3 . There are some flashback moments in italics, part of the background story.

Warnings: some underage smut-ish stuff, smut, some fluff, language, child abandonment, child kidnapping, parental rejection dark moments, etc… MATURE 18+ READERS ONLY!!! DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU!!!

Summary: You and Bucky grew up as neighbours, you always watched each other’s backs, always defended the other. Both of you were close with Steve as well. But it was Bucky who was particularly close to you.

Five years old, Kindergarten

A shy YN entered the classroom, clinging to the skirt her mother wore. She didn’t want to stay here, there were too many people. And they all looked super scary.

“Mama, I want to go home!” she pleaded.

“You will be fine sweetie, promise. I’ll come back in a couple of hours to get you, ok? You’ll have lots of fun.”

The teacher, Mrs. Bird, came over. “You must be YN. I’m Mrs. Bird. There’s some dolls over here, I can show them to you if you like.”

The teacher held out her hand, and YN looked at her, then looked more closely at the room. Toys filled all the corners, there were dolls, toy cars, building blocks, coloring books. Slowly, more out of curiosity, she took Mrs. Bird’s hand and together they went over to where other girls were playing with dolls and clothes. YN’s mother took that opportunity to sneak away, thankful for the distraction the teacher had provided.

She knelt down, finding a blonde hair baby to play with. She took some dresses and began trying them on her, then another girl came and snatched the doll away.

“My doll.”

“No! I had it first!” YN yelled back.

“Too bad.” The other girl sneered at YN and pushed her.

“I think that girl had the doll first. Give it back to her.”

Both girls turned to a young boy. “Buzz off kid.” The other girl turned to ignore him.

The boy took the doll, and gave it back to YN. The teacher came over, and pulled the other girl aside to talk about her manners.

YN looked at the boy who had now sat down beside her. “Thank you. I’m YN.”

“My name is James.” The boy said, holding his hand out for her to shake.

She did. “This your first day?” she asked.

James nodded. “You?”

“Yeah.”

He turned to her. “Wanna be best friends?”

“Sure.” She replied.

“Here.” He held out his pinky finger. “Let’s pinky promise. We will always be friends, always help each other, always.”

She connected her pinky with his. “I like that promise.”

Her mind wandered, away from the pain, away from the nightmares. The memory, if that’s what it was, was nice, a good distraction. Where was this? When?

The conditioning resumed. Tears fell from her eyes as her mind took her away again.

16 Years Old, High School

“You gotta be kidding Buck. No way. Uh uh. I am not wearing heels that high. Nope. Not happening.”

“C’mon YN, they will look really good with the gown.” He pleaded.

YN turned to Steve. “Are you gonna let him rag on me like that?”

“Leave it Buck. She doesn’t have to wear the shoes. They are a bit high. You don’t want your prom date to end up on crutches do you?” he said to his friend.

“Fine.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “It was only a suggestion.” He placed a chaste kiss on YN’s forehead. “No one’s going to notice the shoes anyways, they will be too busy staring at the dress.”

Steve laughed and nodded. “True enough.”

“You guys are going to make me blush.” YN chimed in as she did a fancy twirl. The gown she’d picked off the rack was perfect size. The blue satin moved gracefully around her, making her shiver when material brushed against her skin. It was a halter top design, the low V accentuating her breasts. Small beads adorned the waistline, giving the illusion of a belt, and completing the delicate piece of clothing. “This is definitely the one.”

“I have to agree.” Bucky came over to stand beside her. Steve joined as well. “You look stunning.”

She blushed furiously, and went back to the change room. Bucky paid for the dress and made arrangements to get it shipped to her house.

Bucky had been right in suggesting everyone’s eyes would be glued to the dress. YN always dressed plain, not wanting to stand out, yet here she was, the most beautifully dressed tonight. How had she let Bucky talk her into this? Her mind screamed at her to run, seek safety of her home, but her heart was right where she wanted to be, with James “Bucky” Barnes.

Her eyes flitted open, the room was blurry. She watched as people walked around, whispering amongst themselves, all kinds of tubes and needles everywhere. Her body was strapped down, helpless…she didn’t know what or where she was, she wasn’t even sure anymore who she was. The conditioning resumed as one of the fuzzy figures injected something into her IV.

16 years old, Graduation

The party lasted well into the night. James took Steve home, then drove YN back to her place. “I love you Buck.”

The words surprised them both. Yeah, they’d been dating for a while, but neither had actually said the words…till now. Bucky leaned over to kiss her, his lips soft, inviting YN to open hers. He moaned as his tongue found hers, dancing together in the heat. “I love you too, YN.”

The kiss deepened, Bucky reaching to hike up her skirt, while YN worked at undoing his belt and pants. Truthfully, they hadn’t planned to go far, but neither wanted to stop. It felt right. YN lifted her hips as Bucky slid off her underwear, then moved his hands to cup her mound. She was soft, wet with desire for this man. He slipped a finger inside, and she gave a soft cry as her body adjusted to the invasion. Then he moved it, slowly, covering her passionate pleas with bruising kisses.

His hand then left, and he moved her to lay on the seat of the car. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

Always the gentleman, she thought to herself. “Yes.”

Bucky nodded, and in one swift moment, he was in, thrusting past the barrier of her innocence. Tears stung her eyes, but she smiled up at him. His look of concern was heartwarming, so she gave a nod of assurance that indeed she was ok. He moved then, pulling out then pushing back in. YN experienced her first orgasm, the explosion sending unimaginable pleasure through her.

“Bucky! Oh god…”

He moved faster, spurred by her response, and YN found herself wrapping her legs around his waist. He was all muscle and pure sin. And he was hers. He came shortly after, spilling his seed inside her, collapsing on top of her. Both were panting and sweaty, but neither regretted that night.

“Her conditioning is complete. She is ready for testing.”

“Well done Dr. Let’s see what she can do.”

YN looked at the room she now found herself in. She was no longer strapped down, no tubes attached to her arms, and she was fully clothed. The suit was light, breathable, and allowed her to move with ease.

Two soldiers came in, no guns, but stood ready to strike. YN looked almost bored.

Until they moved to attack her.

It was almost too fast to see with the human eye, the way she grabbed the arm of the first soldier, tearing it from his body, then gouging his eyes out. The second soldier wrapped his arms around her, trying to contain and limit her movement, but she took both hands and grabbed his head from behind. She pulled him over her, and punched a hole in his chest, literally, pulling out his heart and smashing it on the ground.

All that took about 20 seconds.

She stayed there, waiting for instructions. The Doctor and the other man came in to the room. The man looked her over. “Hail Hydra!” he saluted her.

“Hail Hydra!” she replied.

Yes. She was ready.

Steve looked at his friend in wide disbelief. “No way. She was too smart to have ever been captured by Hydra.”

Bucky stared right back. “She wasn’t, originally. She was like me. A victim of circumstance. I wouldn’t lie about this Steve. You know me. You know how I felt about her. You honestly think I would make shit like that up?”

“It’s entirely possible that this YN could have fallen victim to the same circumstances as James.” Natasha interjected.

“Maybe, but if that’s the case, who knows what kind of conditioning she’s been through. And would we even be able to get her back?”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders at Steve. “You got me back Rogers. Don’t you think she deserves that chance too?”

Cap sighed. “True enough. But it’s going to be tough getting past the defenses. Hydra’s pretty well fortified.”

Black Scorpion. That’s what they called her now.

Her old name and old life a distant memory, fading farther as the days went by. She no longer heard the name YN. No longer did anyone treat her with anything but respect and indifference. They were probably scared of her. She was the best weapon they’d ever made. Even better than the Winter Soldier had been. She was flawless.

They had used an improved version of the Super Soldier Serum. Superior to any used before. Her skin was impenetrable now, she had no need of bullet proof garments. Knives were useless as well. She was the perfect killing machine.

It was based on nanite technology, tiny microscopic robots that had integrated with her DNA, bonding with her blood, giving her instant healing and armour.

She’d been part of Hydra’s experiments for decades. YN was given the original Super Serum to preserve her life, then they worked on perfecting it, and her.

The Black Scorpion lived true to the name, the perfect Hydra operative. She never missed a target, never botched a mission, never failed…period.

She’d encountered the Avengers a few times, but her mask shrouded them from making any kind of headway as to her identity. When not working, she remained inside the base, she had no need for food or sleep, so she trained, meditated, and trained more.

Those Hydra soldiers who weren’t scared of her tried to get her into their beds, but were unsuccessful. She had no need of such activities, and she certainly wasn’t going to engage in them with those losers.

There were times where, if she did close her eyes, she would have flashes of what seemed to be dreams, images of a child and others like her, playing together. Visions of going to school, eating at diners, plagued her.

But there was one that haunted her most of all.

It was a boy, well the first images were a young boy, but they were friends, then more than friends, then…well that’s where it usually ended. She could never see anything beyond that. And while she no longer had emotion or knew anything other than what was current, the images continued to appear, eventually even happening while she was awake. It never affected her missions, and no one was ever aware this was happening. She never told a soul.

Her outside façade never showed anything but the calm, cool, collected Black Scorpion. Her mind struggled between the conditioning and the flashes of this boy. She had to find out who he was, and why she was dreaming of him. But she didn’t have any security clearance for the computers that occupied the rooms. So she had little to help her in her quest, but was determined none-the-less.

“You’re absolutely sure this is where she’d be?”

“I’m sure.”

Nat stood by Bucky. “I believe you. Let’s get your friend.”

Steve sighed. “Ok. But, stealth? Please?” He looked specifically at Bucky first, who rolled his eyes, then at Natasha.

“Duh.” Nat stuck her tongue out at Cap, who shook his head.

Bucky scoured the area, counting the guards and gathering intel, including the easiest way in. He found it: a service tunnel that lead to a secluded grove of pines. The electrical building was there. It was a perfect place to sneak inside and get to YN.

But their stealth was no match for a certain Hydra operative who happened to be watching the fields, desperately trying to find a way into the computer systems, hoping it had some intel on her past. The flashes and images were becoming more frequent, and it terrified her, she who had no emotion, who’s humanity had been stripped away by decades of brainwashing.

She didn’t alert any of the other soldiers. There was no need for anyone else. She had taken on these people before, and could easily do so again. Donning her mask, she made her way quickly to the service tunnel she saw them heading toward. Her plan…take them out…permanently.

She hid in the shadows of the first corner, listening for the anticipated footsteps.

Bucky was the first down, followed by Nat and then Cap. The tunnel was dimly lit, but manageable. There were no guards down there, it was just the opposite, an eerie quiet filled the long hallways. Bucky’s senses were on high alert, as were the other two. They moved cautiously down the passage, listening for anything.

Almost too late, Bucky caught a very faint intake of breath from around the corner, just before Black Scorpion came charging at them. The three Avengers scattered, avoiding the long sword flying in their direction.

“There will be no escape this time. You will all fall to Hydra!”

“Not in this century, bitch.” This from Widow, who took out her own baton to combat with.

Her laugh sent chills down their spines. “Your imaginary feats of escape and heroism are small, and will ultimately lead to your demise.” She scoffed. “Why would only three of you come here? Do you have a need to die so quick?”

“We’re looking for a friend of ours.”

Scorpion turned to the famed Soldier. “We don’t have any of Shield’s agents in our cells, though you are welcome to become prisoners.”

“She isn’t a Shield agent. She is a friend. From our childhood. Her name is YN. YFN YLN.”

Scorpion stopped, staring at Captain America. Then her eyes floated over to the man beside him. Dark hair, scruffy, but the eyes…blue as the sky on a clear day. It couldn’t be. The boy from her visions was Hydra’s traitor?

Bucky caught the confusion in Scorpion’s eyes. “Please. If you know where she is, tell us. I love her. I always have, always will.”

Scorpion couldn’t speak. She had to retreat, clear her head. She turned to flee, but Bucky’s swift motions caught her attempt, grabbing her arm and swinging her around. The force of the movement caused her mask to fly off, leaving two speechless Avengers.

The object of the mission was standing right in front of them.

Nat snuck around while Scorpion was preoccupied and gave her enough sedative to knock out a tyrannosaurus. Her stinger was made with a metal alloy not of this world, able to penetrate anything, even Cap’s shield. The perfect weapon that was Black Scorpion slid slowly to the ground, her eyes never leaving the Winter Soldier’s.

17 Years Old

Her period never came. It was due two weeks ago. She smiled to herself. Bucky would be thrilled when she told him. They were going to have a baby. She knew she was young, but they would make it work. He already had a good job. They could get a small place somewhere, settle down, get married.

The only other thing she had to do was tell her parents. They were good role models, loving, caring. She couldn’t not say anything. This was going to be their grandchild. They would surely be happy, right?

“Mom? Dad? Can we talk?” she approached them after dinner.

“Sure honey. What’s wrong?” her mother coaxed, motioning for YN to sit on the sofa beside her.

YN bit her lip and looked down at her lap for a moment. “I’m pregnant.”

There, she’d said it. Now all she had to do was wait for the shouts of joy, the hugs.

But they never came.

Instead, her father stood from his chair. “What?”

Her mother looked horrified. “You’re pregnant? Who…?” she stopped. “It’s that boy, James something. Isn’t it? What did he do? Did he force you? Is that what happened?”

YN shook her head. “No. Nothing like that! James and I love each other. He’s going to marry me, and we’re going to be a family.”

The hard slap echoed through the room, tears stinging the reddening cheek on YN’s face. “You slut! How could you shame us like that? Your parents! We loved you, cared for you, and this is how you repay us? You ungrateful little girl. Go to your room, NOW!”

YN ran up the stairs to her room, slamming the door and flinging herself onto her bed. Never, in her 17 years, had her mom and dad ever hit her. That hurt almost as much as the actual slap. Possibly more. Why wouldn’t they be happy? It wasn’t like James was going to abandon her. They had to know that, right?

She cried herself to sleep. When she finally woke, she was greeted with a splitting headache, and the realization that she wasn’t at her home. In fact, she was pretty sure she wasn’t in the same city. Where was she? How did she get here?

She wandered around, the dark alley producing frightening shadows, hints of danger lurked everywhere. She walked to and fro, up and down the streets of the foreign town, hoping this was just some bad nightmare. But no luck. After hours of aimless searching, the pregnant teen sat on a nearby park bench, shivering, crying uncontrollably, praying for a miracle.

Her eyes flew open, immediately tensing as she glanced around the white room. She was in some kind of hospital room, or infirmary. Same thing. But what, why…Her mind reeled over what she could remember, which wasn’t much at first. Scared and confused, she hopped off the bed, only to be met with one kickback of a dizzy spell. She collapsed, shaking, as her weak limbs struggled to get up off the cold cement. The nanites that were inside her had gone dormant, sleeping while she slept. They would get her back up in a few minutes, but that wasn’t the biggest concern.

Numerous flashes of different scenarios crossed her mind: murder, fighting, killing people…then children playing, laughing…

The boy with the blue eyes.

She was unaware that someone had entered the room. Strong arms lifted her off the floor, gently placing her back into the comfort of the bed. Those same blue eyes met hers, concern etched across his beautiful face.

“You ok?” his voice was just as sinful as the rest of him. She nodded. “What do you remember?”

She shook her head. “I…I’m not really sure. There’s so many chopped up images in my head right now, it might as well be an entire theatre of movies times 50.”

He chuckled. “Do you remember your name?”

“Bla…” she paused, “No, it…it’s YN.” Her eyes widened. “Buck?”

Bucky let out a huge sigh of relief. “Yeah doll, it’s me.”

YN began to frown, which was quickly replaced with tears of remorse. “Oh god…Buck, I’m so sorry. I…”

He gathered her into his strong embrace. “Shhh, don’t apologize. It wasn’t you YN. It was Hydra.”

She held up her hand. “No, Bucky, please let me finish.” He stopped, facing her. “I never wanted to leave you. I wasn’t given a choice.”

He leaned back. “What are you talking about? You wrote me a letter saying you were going to college. You wanted to remain just friends. I stopped hearing from you, eventually, and I joined the army.”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t go away to college Buck. My parents sent me away.”

His features darkened. “Why?”

“Because I was pregnant. We were going to have a baby.”

His jaw dropped. His voice barely a whisper, “What?”

“They were so mad, telling me I had shamed them. I went to my room and cried myself to sleep. When I woke, I was in a strange town, no other clothes than what I wore, no money, no note, no goodbye. Nothing. They abandoned me.”

The metal hand curled into a fist. “Those bastards. Why didn’t you contact me?”

“I couldn’t. I had no way to do anything like that. I was almost starved to death when this couple came by and saw me alone on the park bench. I hadn’t eaten or drank anything for 2 days at that point. They offered me a place to stay, and I accepted. That was my first encounter with Hydra.”

“It was too good an offer to pass up at the time. I was scared, pregnant and alone…and I was hungry. I didn’t know much about them beyond what they told me. I told them about the baby, and they appeared even more concerned. So they took me in and gave me a new home. They helped me go shopping for clothes for the child, a cradle, everything I would need. They seemed to live a simple life, no phones or anything. They bought whatever I needed or wanted, so I never had any need for an allowance or a job.”

“When the baby started to come, the couple rushed me to a special ‘hospital’ where I could have ‘the best care’ possible. We had a son Buck. But then everything went downhill. I wasn’t even given a chance to hold him. He was taken from the room and I never saw him again. That’s when they started experimenting on me. They gave me the Super Soldier serum to keep me from aging while they worked to perfect it. They did outside trials too, hence Captain America and you, but it was my body they used as their test subject. While I was under, they had subliminal messages playing, conditioning to make me forget who I was. This went on for decades.”

Bucky listened in horror, his stomach threatening to heave his recent meal. He couldn’t believe those assholes had done this to her. To his YN. “God, YN. I never knew.”

“I know. I don’t blame you. I would have contacted you if I knew how, or had the tools to do so.” She bit her lip. “But our son is out there now. They are probably raising him, training him right from birth that Hydra is his life. We have to find him.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “We will. Promise. But right now, you need to rest.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

She smiled. “Pinky promise?”

“Always.”

#happy birthday sherrybaby14 #bucky x reader

121 notes · View notes

btswishes · 5 years

Text

I will adopt you.

Monsta X (Shownu) hybrid au

Part1 / Part2 / Part3 / Part4 / Part5 / Part6 / Part7 / Part8 /…

A/N: I saw this dog that looked like a bear, kind of scary but also superrr cuddly looking and I thought of this macho mochi. Hope you like it there are more parts to come.Sorry for any mistakes made.

Word count: 2,627

Warnings: I mean ,just normal 21 century teen cussing.

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Winter is one of those seasons where you just don’t want to go anywhere. Just staying home with a nice warm cup of tea, coffee or coco and enjoy a good book or movie. But we all have those moments where we have to adult and today it was your turn. The day had almost finished when you opened the fridge and realized.

“Who ate all the damn food?” a slap echoed when your palm hit the skin on your forehead “That is rightttt, Mina was here yesterday.”your hands found your waistline and rested there “I need to stop inviting friends over all the time.”

Taking a deep sigh, you walked over to your bedroom. You were groaning and stepping harshly as you were throwing clothes onto your bed.

“Ughhhh, too cold!”

Swinging over the long and fluffy scarf, you made sure you were nice and warm before even confronting the cold weather. The moment the building’s main entrance opened up ,you were hit with a gust of cold wind. You could hear the howling sound it was making. Crackle after crackle you were getting farther from your home.

As the name says already, the convenient store wasn’t far, but in this weather it felt like a hike on mount Everest. The second the warm air hit your face you felt hope and so did your stomach. When people say don’t go shopping when you are hungry, they were right. Who knows what stuff you had in the bags on your way out, what was sure though was the fact that you grabbed anything and everything ,that looked good enough to eat with the packaging still on it.

As you were about to exit the store, you pulled out a sandwich out of the bag and took a big bite from it.

“ Oh yeah.” you said muffled by the food “ That hits the spot nicely.”

The wind outside had gotten stronger, so powerful that it was picking up snow from the ground and basically throwing it in your face. Taking a few deep breaths, you placed the sandwich in the bag and stepped out.

“ Wow wow” the wind was pushing you back a bit. Still being able to walk some what normally, you felt like you were taking two steps and then one back. Getting home was gonna happen sooner or later, but the night was beginning to fall and temperatures weren’t going to be so nice to you anymore.

Like the champ you were, with all the power left in you, you were about to reach your house ,when the wind knocked some snow in your eyes.

“Fuck!” it was blowing very strongly and you had to kneel down to keep yourself from falling. The sound turned from a howl ,to the voice of a ghost that was hunting you.One minute had passed and then two, you weren’t moving at all and that was a no go. A plan was needed to get out of this situation as fast as possible.

“ Oh God, what is up with this day? A person can’t get themselves anything.” you were thinking about possibly crawling home, but your self-respect was not going to allow you that at all.That didn’t stop you from considering it though.

“ I bet people won’t even notice, plus my face is covered so no one will know.” the wind was turning slowly but surely into a blizzard “ Hu?” you stopped mid way thinking. You could still hear what was happening around you, but the biting cold wasn’t hitting your face anymore.

Slowly you rose your head up and noticed something gigantic in front of you. It had a deep brown color with a slight tint of amber. Hesitantly you reached out.

“ What?!” your hand almost disappeared into the object that was blocking the cold.Moving your head to the side you were met with two big, dark eyes and a puff of warm air. It took some time, but judging by the silhouette it was a dog, probably a bear looking at it’s size. The pup nudged you with its tail and you stood up. Yes, the wind was as strong, if not stronger than before, but you didn’t feel the same resistance. The body of the animal was blocking maybe 50% of the blizzard.

It took you less than 5min to get back to your building. You patted the dog on the head and smiled.

“ Thank you sooo much little guy...oh- I mean you don’t look little at all. A!” reaching in your bag you pulled out the half eaten sandwich and gave it to it ”Sorry I can’t offer you more. “

You were looking at it and noticed how wet its fur had gotten. The poor thing was probably hiding somewhere sheltered from the storm and all. You were about to unlock the door, when you turned around and saw the pup still looking at you. You closed your eyes for a sec and went back to it, putting your scarf around its neck “ Should keep you warm.” you patted its head and the dog seemed to like it “ Go find some good place to dry off.” with one last smile you went inside, in the elevator and got home safely.

Throwing all the bags on the kitchen table ,you dropped on the couch and took a deep breath. The fire place your parents insisted on you getting had finally proven to you its worth. The air was warm and enjoyable. Closing your eyes, you relaxed,but your mind drifted to your savior.

“ Poor thing...” you whispered to yourself

The room was quiet and your head was thinking of all kinds of possible bad outcomes for the pup. You were worried it might freeze to death somewhere, or not be able to find a safe spot.

“ Ughhhhh.” you jumped up and grabbed the nearest coat you could find “ Fuck me, why am I doing this.” cussing with every move you made, you opened the door and ran out. Wearing almost nothing to protect you from the cold, you looked out the glass doors of the building. “ I can’t believe I am doing this right now.” you threw yourself in the blizzard willingly.

The cold was stabbing at your cheeks, eyes watering and nose about to resign its duties as a functioning body part.Your hair was all over the place. Your arm was covering the top of your head as you were fighting your way through the winter.

You were wandering for what seemed an hour, but you couldn’t see the dog anywhere. You were sweaty even if it sounded impossible and very tired. Sadly giving up was the only option at this point. Dragging in the snow, your feed were trembling. It was unbelievable how you survived this long so lightly dressed.

The moment you were about to unlock the door, your vision went blank and you lost grip on the keys. The jingling sound let you follow them to the snow at the bottom of the stairs. But the state of your legs dropped you to the stone ground. You were puffing and wiping your face. Leaning your head onto the cold wall ,you tried to gather your strength and get up. As you were starting to see clearly again ,you felt something brush against you.

Lifting your arm you grabbed the material that fell on your chest and relisted it was your scarf.

“ Wait what?” the sound of metal hitting metal pulled your attention to the same mysterious hero that saved you the first time. “ This feels a bit like fate and it’s low key strange.”

Leaning onto the dog you were able to get up and open the door. The sudden shifting sound made you notice that the pup was leaving. You quickly grabbed it by the tail. “ No you don’t. I almost died trying to find your furry ass. You are coming with me.” the dog seemed confused or maybe you were still in a daze.

The thing you were sure about tho was that it was a male. He followed you into the elevator and kept close, letting you lean onto him when you were losing your footing. The moment you opened your apartment door, he hesitated to walk in.

“ Come on, don’t be shy.” with a few pulls from your side he finally stepped in. Maybe it was because of the change in the scenery, but the pup didn't even make a move. It was standing there like a new plush toy that you just bought and breathing heavily taking in the atmosphere around it.

"Are you getting comfortable in there?" You peeked your head out of the kitchen, but he was still standing in the middle of the room. You sighed and waddled over.

"I let you in so you are allowed to make yourself comfortable." placing a bowl of water next to the fireplace, you sat back down " It's one thing to be shy but you don't have to be at all. Come here."you patted a place next to you and he finally walked over ,curled up into a fluffy donut and calmed down.

"Oh lord!" your nose just scrunched up "Wet dog, not a good perfume idea." One option was to towel dry him, another to let him naturally dry next to the fire place, but since you didn't know how long he was out there, you were firm about what you were planning to do.

"Ok." You said a bit deep while getting up "It's settled then. You are taking a shower." Clapping your hands you pulled the pup to your bathroom "For once I am sooo glad this apartment is big. Who knows what it would have been if I couldn't fit you in here."

You turned on the shower just to adjust the water so it wasn’t too cold or too warm. The bathroom was isolated from the rest of the house and you couldn’t hear the outside anymore. Wetting the pup’s fur, you were about to pull the shampoo from the rack next to the shower door, when your shirt got stuck on it.

“I need to change into something else. If I get this shirt wet it will shrink and I am not planning to go on a diet.” you ran out of the bathroom as fast as you came back in. Your body had on it a short shirt tied up at the chest and a pair of pink panties. “Ok, all ready.Come here pooch.” but the dog had it’s back towards you “What is wrong?” he let out a small whimper when you pulled him close to you suddenly by his back legs.

“Hold still now.” grabbing the bottle of lavender shampoo, you placed a small dollop of it on your palm “Hmmm, you are a big boy, probably the equivalent of 1 bear or 20 wigs.I will add a bit more.” squeezing the bottle a bit longer this time let almost half of it spill out “Oh well.”

Rubbing your hands together you started lathering the dog from head to toe, focusing on his paws and tummy.He was jumping away when you were cleaning his stomach area “I get it I get it.You are shy, I will stop.”

Grabbing the shower head ,you looked at him “Don’t worry we are almost done here.” turning it on firstly splashed your chest. Pulling onto the shirt you noticed it become translucent “Aw man, well I should have expected this.” you started rising off the shampoo as best as you could. “There, all done.It wasn’t too bad now was it?”

You walked out the bathroom, changed into dry clothes fast and ran back to the dog. You threw a gigantic towel on his head and he panicked. Looking at the circles the dog was making made you burst in laughter and help him out. “Sorry sorry.”

Making sure the pup was next to the fire place, you kept rubbing the towel all over him until he was as dry as the desert.

“Ah!”you plopped onto his body, making him jump a bit “You smell sooo good.” rolling over onto your back, you were looking at the ceiling and just enjoying the sounds of the crackling flame and the howling winds.It felt so peaceful and almost like a fantasy story.

“You know.” your voice spoke out calmly “This is feels like one of the stories I used to read about when I was little.”you crooked your head towards the pup, giving him a serious look “You are not a man that was cursed into a dog form are you?” you felt as if he stopped breathing for a second before giggling to yourself and laying back onto him “I am joking. So this is what it feels to talk to your pets. I mean you are not my pet, probably have an owner.”

You let your hand travel to his neck, but no leash was there to identify him as someone’s dog.As he seemed to like it, you continued to run your fingertips through his dark and soft fur.

“You can stay with me.I mean....if you want.”you sighed “Get’s kind of lonely being by myself all the time. I was ok with it at first but now, I am not so sure about it.”

There was a moment of silence were only the ambiance in the room was ruling, until you felt the soft fur envelop you.He came closer and licked your cheek a few times. Pursing yourself up onto your elbows, you looked him with a spark in your eyes.

“I will take that as a yes.But...” you paused “I need to give you a name.” sitting up cross legged, you began looking at him from head to toe “I won’t give you a very manly name since you are scary enough as is. What about.....mmmm. Nunu!” the dog’s tail perked up “Yeah, you look like a Nunu to me.” you cupped his cheeks and started messing up his coat “Nunu, you are such a cute Nunu.”

The dog was getting annoyed but before it was about to growl, his eyes met yours. You had stopped moving and were giving him the brightest smile one could receive. It was warm and kind, your eyes were relaxed and filled with love, such pure energy. “My Nunu.” you scratched behind his ear ,as he closed his eyes and leaned into it without a hesitation.

The petting session continued till 11 when you were already fast asleep. The fire burned out and it started getting colder and colder. Nunu woke up when he felt you nuzzling yourself into his fur. His head came close to yours and sniffed you, before giving you a quick lick.

Moon light was creeping in from the big windows, but suddenly got covered by a big shadow. It wasn’t looming over you, it had more of a safe and protective feeling to it. Your body almost instantly moved up as if on it’s own and met the comforting covers of the bed. A soft blanket moved up your body. The figure turned away from you and was about to leave, when something escaped your lips.

“Mmmm....Nu...Nunu.” you rolled around for a bit, trying to get comfortable

“Worried more about a dog than yourself.” the shadow started loosing it’s tall shape and walked over to your bed. Your hand instinctively escaped the cover and laid calmly, once it reached the furry head of the pup, leaning onto your bed. The whole night he staid there, looking out for you.

Where did this dog come from and why did it not leave?

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fanfic-scribbles · 5 years

Text

Lunch Buddy: Chapter Seventeen

Masterlist

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 17: Ride

Chapter Summary: Spontaneity has its upsides. And downsides.

Chapter Warnings: Mention of Reader/OFC being big around the middle, bonus section at the end that isn’t from viewpoint of Reader/OFC

Chapter Word Count: 3344

A/N: Confession: I have had a version of this written for…a while. A long while. I saw a black and white photo of Chris Evans on a bike and the spirit took me, basically. I had to rework it a little but it’s mostly the same. Mostly. The picture is somewhere in my computer; if I find it I’ll reblog the post with that picture because 👀

Steve got called out to a job (or mission or whatever the fuck they called those things) on Monday but he made it seem like it wasn’t a big thing and even texted me while he was away. I assumed everything was fine and he would tell me when he got back, but the week wasn’t even over when, as I was boogie-ing past my window, I caught a glimpse of what I could have sworn was Steve’s bike parked on the street.

I walked backwards to get a better look at it and marveled at the look-alike– except, as I examined it, I wasn’t that convinced it was just a look-alike. And it wasn’t like Steve never showed up unannounced. However nobody had buzzed and I didn’t see him anywhere on the sidewalk; in fact I could see no rider to speak of. Maybe someone was just visiting and it wasn’t Steve’s. But it sure as hell looked like it was.

The more I stared at it the more it bugged me, and the longer I went without hearing a knock on the door the more perplexed I was. Curiosity finally sent me out into the cold night with slip-on shoes, my keys, and a jacket that was way too thin to be the easiest to grab. But I wasn’t going to be out for long. I just wanted to peek.

I didn’t run into Steve on my way down, but as I approached the gleaming motorcycle I realized it was his bike, confirmed by the little ‘A’ sticker Clint had stuck on it as a joke. Well, Steve would have to come back eventually, so I decided to wait for a few minutes. Under the streetlights his motorcycle looked really nice; freshly washed, shined…

“You want to take a ride?”

I stopped my hand before it made contact with the gleaming paint and I turned around. “No,” I said as Steve walked up to me. “I was just wondering where the loser normally attached to this bike was.”

He smiled at me, and he walked with a cocksure little swagger that belied a mission gone well. It was so rare to see him in an unprompted good mood, I had to smile too. “Also, that was terrible. You’re lucky I didn’t tell you to fuck off.”

“Well the night’s young, right?” he asked and came right up to me. He smelled nice, like new leather and soap. So he had actually stopped to take care of himself. Miracle of miracles. He held up a bag from the donut shop down the street. “I had to make a pit stop, but I wasn’t going to let a parking spot like this go.”

“That’s fair.” It was a really good spot, although it was in just the right place for the streetlights to shine on the bike like it was on a show floor. I didn’t live in a terrible neighborhood though, so it was fine.

“I meant it,” Steve said and I looked up at him. “Do you want to take a ride?”

I snorted, because there was no way to make that not sound dirty, but it was Steve, and Steve didn’t– but I did– and suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. I cleared my throat. “Um…no, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” Steve went around the other side and lifted a helmet that was hooked to the back of the bike itself somehow.

I was about to refuse when I realized. “You have a helmet that you don’t use?”

“I don’t really need one, but I gave Maria a ride home one time and she–”

“Steven!”

He cringed. “Please don’t call me that. You sound like my mother.”

“Your mother was probably a very smart woman!” I said and crossed my arms. The mom-zone. Ugh. At least then I could stop deluding myself.

Steve’s lips quirked up again. “She was.” He crossed his arms and raised his head to look down on me. “And she probably would have been brave enough to get on a motorcycle.”

My eyebrows went way up. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged lightly. “It’s okay if you’re scared, I just wish you’d come out and say it.”

“Scared?” I knew he was riling me up, I knew it, but damn if it wasn’t working. “I’m not scared! I’m lazy and have a donut to eat and don’t want to put on real pants. Also, what about your primo parking spot?”

“You can get back in your pajamas afterwards.” He held up the bag and shook it. “With a well-deserved donut.”

He did have the donut. Damn it. I scowled at him. “Fine, I relent to your terms you monster. Just…let the donut go. It didn’t do anything.”

He shook his head, but he was trying not to laugh. He then handed me the bag. “Go get dressed. And take this up with you; we won’t be gone too long.”

I took the bag and turned around. Then I turned right back around again. “What’s stopping me from taking the bag and locking myself in my apartment and eating both donuts?”

“Well,” he said and took his phone out of his pocket to start messing with it. “You could. However…” He held up the phone and showed me a video. Of a chicken. That started clucking.

I scowled at him so hard my face hurt. “Someday I am going to get Natasha to owe me a life debt,” I said solemnly. “And then I am going to have her assassinate the hell out of you.”

“No you won’t,” he said, smiling brightly. The motorcycle’s shine suddenly had nothing on him. “It’s too much work.”

Thoroughly defeated, I stomped my way back to the building. For a little bit, because it hurt my feet. I turned and pointed at him. “This. This is why I don’t have friends.”

“Right,” he said cheerfully. “Wear your boots. Oh, but that jacket is fine– you can wear mine over it.”

I tripped on the first step.

“How’s the helmet?”

“Fine.” It felt a little big and I adjusted it so I could see better, but it was secure enough and would make sure my brains didn’t turn to tomato soup if something bad happened, and that was all I really needed. “I can’t believe you lug it around and don’t wear it.”

“I’m pretty hardy,” he said.

He sounded distracted so I turned to look at him and almost had a heart attack when I came face-to-bicep with his soft long-sleeve shirt. “Steve!”

“Honestly, I’m not that cold,” he said and held open his leather jacket. “Put this on.”

I stared at it for several seconds and wondered how it felt; how big were the pockets, was it the kind of soft that came from being well-worn, would it smell like, would it feel like, being wrapped up by–

“I’m good.” I patted my chest. My jacket; I was patting my jacket. “I’m covered.”

“This has more protection,” he said and held it closer to me. I leaned back. “Not that we’re going to fall, but it’s always better to be safe.”

“You need to be safe too. Last time I checked you still had skin under that thin-ass shirt.” It was long sleeved but, surprise surprise, skin tight. Was he doing this to me on purpose? That was just terrible (but also admirable).

What was just straight up terrible, though, was that I was almost ready to give in, steal his jacket for my hoard, and reveal myself for the magpie I secretly was. Then I noticed an issue that would, hopefully, drop this conversation entirely. Hopefully, because I found it just a touch depressing. “Also, there’s no way that would fit me.”

He gave me a look like he thought that was the lamest excuse in the world. “That’s the worst lie ever.”

I wished. “Really? Do you want me to try and zip it up?” I gestured from my…well-padded waistline to his ridiculous triangle point.

He examined me and didn’t that just suck, but as he did the math in his head, he seemed to come around to my side. Naturally, that did not make me feel better, and so I tried to put the issue to bed as fast as possible. “I can try and zip it up but I’m warning you, if it doesn’t fit I’m going to go back upstairs to mope and probably eat both donuts in a fit of fatalistic misery. Your choice.”

He pouted. That was cute, at least. “I think you’re just making excuses,” he grumbled but he put his jacket back on.

“More like you don’t want to risk your donut,” I said and stared out at the street while he circled his bike to check it or something. I briefly wondered if this was something I should be doing, or if I should make an excuse and bow out.

Arms suddenly wrapped around my waist from behind and I yelped.

“You feel pretty perfect to me,” Steve said and slid away to stand farther than arm’s length just before I could swat him. He grinned. “Comfortable.”

“Dick.” But I laughed and hated (loved) him a little more. “How am I supposed to be mad when you say shit like that?”

“That’s the idea.” He knocked the visor down over my face. “Let’s go.”

Despite not having the extra protection, I didn’t feel especially unsafe; Steve drove pretty carefully, taking streets that didn’t have too many cars so we could ride through easily, and my puffy jacket and warm gloves helped give me enough extra distance from him so I could keep my head. It was nice. It felt nice, getting out and doing something with Steve that felt like…what I imagined a date might be. Why he was still wasting his time with me when he could be out on a date, meeting people, making a deeper connection he seemed to long for, was beyond me though.

We ended up at Gantry Park and walked through. The few people around were easy to ignore and lights shone bright over the water from the buildings towering across the way. Steve stayed close and I was content to walk with him, but he led us off over to an area with a couple of empty benches, and we leaned against the railing and stared out at the city proper.

“So: how was it?” he asked.

He looked so earnest I didn’t have the heart to lie. “It was nice,” I said and focused on the buildings. “I don’t know what Sam is talking about; you’re a good driver.”

Steve scoffed. “Don’t listen to anything he says; I’m a great driver. Even when I have maniacs trying to shoot me off my bike.”

I gave him literal side-eye. “Didn’t you get two tickets last month alone?”

“Those were parking tickets.”

“Mm hm. Sure thing.”

He nudged me so gently I barely moved, so I overacted and pinwheeled my arms like he had shoved me. “Shit!” he said and was quick to ‘catch’ me– and with both arms around me like I would go crashing right through the railing I couldn’t find much to complain about. He pulled back and looked me over. “I’m so sorry; I–” He frowned and stared at me a little bit harder.

I cracked and started laughing. Until he lifted me up into his arms and brought me closer to the water. Then I wrapped my arms around him and dug my nails into his jacket. “Don’t you dare!”

“I really should throw you in for that,” he said, but he put me down and neither of us let go right away. Until I managed to pull my hands away; then he followed suit and held out his hand. “Truce?”

“Nope. I don’t trust you,” I said and walked over to a bench.

“Me? You’re the one who started it,” he said and sat next to me.

“Nuh uh; this whole thing began with you calling me a chicken,” I said and looked out at the lights again. I had to admit, “It is nice though.”

“So you don’t regret it then,” Steve said and swung an arm behind me. It lined the bench but I was the one who felt it.

“Of course not,” I said. I couldn’t face him. “I like spending time with you. Even if you are, surprisingly, anti-donut-and-pjs.”

His hand actually slid down to rest on my shoulder and I froze. “It just means we get to spend more time together when we get back.”

“That’s…good,” I said and forced myself to smile up at him. But he looked at me so intently. “Steve?”

He wasn’t quite smiling at me, but his expression was…something like it. Amused, or fond; there was something I couldn’t quite decipher but it was good. He looked happy. “I wanted to tell you–”

Something buzzed and we both jumped back. His phone, naturally, and he looked so murderous I thought he might break it in half when he answered it. I felt terrible for him– a nice night that he was supposed to be able to enjoy and he was getting called in again? It made me so mad that he never got a fucking break.

“You just barely got back,” I said when he hung up. “It’s not fair that they do that to you.”

He sighed and slid the phone back in his pocket. “It’s important. Who else are they going to call?”

“They’re gonna have to find someone else when they run you into the fucking ground!”

My snap surprised the both of us and I quickly tried to calm down. “I’m sorry Steve,” I said and breathed. “But that’s not…people care about you for more than saving the world, and you care about more than just that too. SHIELD doesn’t get to own you; they can’t just throw you back in the fight like you live in a character-select screen.”

He quirked a small smile. “Thankfully it’s nothing too strenuous, but it is related to the last mission,” he said and sighed. “Politics.”

“Ew,” I said but I felt a little less stressed. “You’re not making this better.”

“I know,” he said. “But it can wait until morning. I just have to…” He looked at me for a little while and sighed again, then stood with his hand out to me. “We should both get some sleep.”

“And donuts,” I said and took the help.

“You can have mine,” he said. “I’ll see you inside but then I have to go. I’ll…maybe we can do this again sometime?”

I was a little surprised by the earnestness in his voice. “Yeah, of course. This was nice.” It was so nice I was going to kick Agent Coulson the next time I saw him. And get destroyed, probably, but it would be worth it. “If we do it again and I hear your phone, though, I’m chucking it in the water.”

“I’ll help,” he said as we made it back to the bike.

“I guess it could be worse,” I said as he unhooked the helmet for me. “At least you weren’t out on a date or something.”

He stopped and looked at me strangely. “Why…what does that mean?”

I shrugged and took the helmet when he handed it to me. “I’ve been thinking…I’m pretty selfish with you, I guess, and you have your other friends and your job and that already doesn’t leave enough time to find someone. I guess I just wanted to let you know that…that it’s fine if you want to take some time to start dating again. If you want to. You’re doing really well, moving forward and all that good stuff, and I don’t want to be the thing that holds you back.” There. Said. Done. Now I would actually have to put my money where my mouth was if he ever did get set up on a date, but that was an issue I could deal with on my own. Likely by screaming into my pillows in the sanctity of my own home. Like an adult.

“You’re not,” he said quickly. “Holding me back,” he added, softer, and stared at me for a few seconds. “I’m not looking for–…well I can’t say that, I guess. But you’re right; I’ll move forward eventually. Right now, though, I’m doing what I want to be doing, and I’m right where I want to be.” He managed a smile for me. “So don’t worry about me either, okay?”

I jerked my head up and down. “Great.”

“Good.”

“Wonderful.”

“Fantastic.”

I tried to think of a good word. I failed and went with, “Super.”

“Amazing.”

“Awesome.”

“Fine.”

Really? That was boring. “Superb.”

He frowned at me. “Put the goddamn helmet on.”

I flashed him a grin. “You’re such a sore loser.” But I put the goddamn helmet on and got on behind him.

So. He was thinking about getting back in the game. He ‘couldn’t say’ he wasn’t, and that was…heartening and heartbreaking. A little less of the latter than I expected, honestly, though I also didn’t want to think about that inevitable day for too long. Because despite what he seemed to think sometimes, he was okay enough to start forging more new connections, and someday he would find a partner, someone who was wonderful and kind and good in every way, who would hopefully tolerate our friendship, and I would be happy for him. Eventually. For now, I settled into the selfish feeling of my arms wrapped around his stomach, soaked in his radiating warmth, and enjoyed the ride.

~Bonus~

Natasha walked in on Steve going at a punching bag. She raised her eyebrows and came to stand next to him, arms folded. “I thought you were going ho–”

“I will.” The bag, sturdy though it was, bounced with the next punch. “Later.”

Natasha watched him for a few more moments. “What got interrupted? Were you actually going to have a chat about feelings with a certain someone?”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but when he stopped she looked at him more closely. He hung his head and took some time to catch his breath. Sweat made his hair curl and his face was flush with exertion, but he still held plenty of irritation in his eyes. “It was perfect. I took her on my bike to a park. It was quiet, we were sitting together, she was…open. I had the perfect chance.”

“And you chickened out?”

“I opened my mouth and the fucking phone rang,” he huffed and downed half his water bottle. “She was– and then I had to…and I’m not blaming anybody; it just…”

“Ruined your shot?” she said.

“I’ve been waiting for a moment where she seems open to the idea,” he admitted. “And it was absolutely perfect. And then it wasn’t.”

“Steve,” she said, stern, but not unkind. “How many moments are you going to wait for? How many do you think you’re going to get?”

Steve didn’t answer. Natasha walked behind him and squeezed his shoulder. “Steve, you have control of the waiting period now. When you look back on this, how are you going to feel about it?”

Steve frowned deeper. “I’ve just started,” he said. “I have time, and I’m going to do it. But I’m going to do it right.”

Natasha took her hand back. And swatted him upside the head.

“Ow!” he said and rubbed his head. “What was that for?” he asked and craned his neck back to look at her.

“Being stubborn,” she said and pointed at the open floor area. “Let’s go.”

Steve flinched. “What did I do?”

Natasha pointed at the floor and glared at him.

He stumbled over but asked, “So just, out of curiosity…how fast do you want me to go?”

Natasha sauntered into the square lines marking the starting area. After a moment of looking him over, she said, “Too late,” and launched at him.

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers & reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #reader insert #lunch buddy

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golddaggers · 5 years

Text

La Vie En Rose // Dylan O’Brien

(NOT MY GIF)

A/N: Okay. So no one asked for the Sunday thing. It’s fine. But I had started writing this piece a while ago and just finished, soooo... no harm in sharing it, right? Well. I hope you like it! :D

Warnings: well...... it was supposed to be just fluff. but it sorta became a smut. nothing “wooow, what if people catch me reading this?”, but still a smut so. cursing. masturbation. sex. dylan o’brien. the usual.

Word count: 1,8k+

It was a little past four p.m. when I decided I would cook dinner tonight. Normally Dylan and I would just go to a restaurant or order due to our busy schedules. However, since I had a free day, I decided to treat my beloved boyfriend with a homemade meal. He simply adored those little surprises. So did I, in that matter.

Giggling, I focused on slicing the tomatoes. Within my family, there was a secret recipe for the perfect tomato sauce that I had never remembered to cook until today, so it would be the first time Dylan would taste it.

Well, the reason I chose this was entwined with our first date. The hot and humid night was still fresh in my memories, as if it had been yesterday. He took me to a private place, which, may I add, was booked only for us. I was so mesmerized I remember my legs going weak. I had gone to extravagant dates before, but this was a whole other deal. Okay, I definitely went off course here.

The chef was Italian, so I was tempted to go for pizza, but Dylan proposed we tried one of the pastas, his favourite choice. I mean, no one would ever hear me denying pasta. Either way, I was glad I didn't. It was the most delicious thing I had ever put in my mouth. I could only hope I was able to reproduce that dish.

“This house is so quiet…” Dropping the knife, I searched for my phone in hopes to put on some music. I was stuck mumbling the lyrics of “La Vie En Rose” all day long. “Oh you cheesy weirdo.”

There were a few texts coming from Dylan. They were brief, just saying that he couldn’t wait for the shooting to be over so he could finally see me. And also that he was missing me as hell. I mean - I knew I was a pretty decent person, no need to be humble, but… I didn’t know what I had done to deserve such a caring man.

With a shit-eating grin, I replied, noticing the texts had come about an hour ago, indicating that Dyl was probably on his way home. The butterflies on my stomach began bothering me upon thinking about his warm embrace and husky voice. I wondered if one day I would not feel like a thirteen year old around him. Something inside me told that I probably wouldn’t. I didn’t care.

“Hold me close and hold me fast…” I began singing, swiftly becoming oblivious to my surroundings, fixating myself on the sauce instead.

The kitchen smelt amazing, my mouth was watering to eat that. I swivelled a wooden spoon one last time and went to reach another pan to boil the pasta. The studio Dylan was working at was a bit far from the house we lived in, so I was taking my time. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind waiting a bit anyway.

I leant down to pick up the Penne package I had bought. The song had shuffled to another version. Now it was a woman singing instead of Louis Armstrong. It was even more beautiful, I dare to say.

While adding the Penne to the boiling water, I went on mumbling the lyrics, closing my eyes for an instant. That was when I felt a set of arms wrapping around my waist, lips attaching to my neck.

“When you press me to your heart, I'm in a world apart…”

“Hey, darling.” His deep voice muttered against my skin. “I love coming home to you singing.”

“I should do it more often, then.” I grinned, lowering the fire so I could spin to face him. Dylan looked a tad tired, hence my hands urged to cup his face, my features probably showing a concerned gleam. “Is everything okay?”

“Now it is.” He simply said. “Can we just relax?”

“Of course we can…” In a quick movement, Dyl placed me on the counter, getting between my legs and urgently kissing my collarbones. I gasped, landing my hands on his broad shoulders. “Can we talk first? Please?”

“Babe, I just want to make love to you. No talking, please. Work was hell today. I promise I will tell you everything after.”

The tips of his hands got dangerously close to my core, so I threw my head back, gnawing my bottom lip. Oh shoot. There was no arguing when he dealt things like that.

“Dinner is going to burn.”

He chuckled, blindly turning off the oven, returning his full attention to my body. In a matter of seconds, Dyl undid all my dress’ buttons, which left me in nothing but a pair of black panties. I glared at him in expectation.

“A quickie? Right here?”

“Our neighbours might see it, hun’.”

“I don't care.” I felt his hot tongue wrapped around my nipple, hands grasping my waistline with some force. I, without a double, would get some purple bruises later. Not that I minded though. “Jesus, you are so fucking hot.”

“Oh fuck.”

My panties were torn with anger, causing me to squeal in astonishment. Dylan merely smirked, rubbing my clit a bit. That man just knew what he had to do to make me feel all bothered and flushed. However, after a minute or two, he stopped. I grunted, clearly frustrated. I wanted - no, no. I needed more.

“Oh babe, no need for that. I'm gonna’ take care of you just right.”

“Damn it. I love when you talk like that.”

I watched anxiously as he loosened his belt, dropping the pants and underwear down just enough for his dick to bounce free. A smug grin enlightened my face, which made him roll his eyes.

“What? You don't need to do much to make me hard.”

“I can see that.”

Dylan pried open my legs, stroking himself a couple of times before finally entering me in a quick push. I moaned out loud, grasping the cold edges of the counter. Shit, that was good.

Squeezing my butt cheeks, my boyfriend sought my lips, a sensual kiss following it. Our tongues rolled together as his hips slammed against mine. With my eyes still closed, I bit his bottom lip, slowly releasing it, his taste flooding my mouth. In the meanwhile, his long, skinny fingers went down, gently circling the throbbing nub between my legs.

I was not able to hold back the long, loud moan that followed. Dyl smiled against, my neck, his pink mouth sinfully attacking my neck, biting, sucking, whatever it could do to tease me further. Damn. My nails scratched his back, pulling him towards me even further. The sudden movement made him lose balance, bringing a wave of laughter to the steamy session.

“Careful, hun’, I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“Oh. Are you going to pretend this is not your fault?”

Another laugh slipped whilst my gorgeous boyfriend rolled his eyes, gripping at the base of my thighs, picking up where he had left off. I bit my lip, my arms wrapped around his neck. The way his breath felt… Urgh. Every single hair I had in my body was up. Shivers, chills. I had them all. His tongue, then, toyed with one of my nipples, swirling playfully. I grunted, leaning in to have my way with him too. Taste the flavour of his skin, feel him reacting to my caresses.

Everything seemed to be hot and wet. I knew I wouldn’t last much longer and, by the looks of it, neither would Dylan. I knit my legs around his hips, clenching around him. He smirked, squeezing the flesh of my waistline, his irregular breathing stirring me on even further. Until one tired, husky moan fell off his lips as he came. Falling apart inside me.

“Not yet?” He quizzed, still shaking from pleasure.

“Not yet.”

After a quick nod, Dylan moved a little more, the tips of fingers finally getting me to arch back, feeling a numbing, pleasurable sensation hit me. We both stood there for a moment. High on each other. His face was nested between my breasts, my fingers were carelessly untangling his hair, our breathing fighting to get even. And that peaceful moment would’ve lasted longer if it wasn’t for an annoying knock on the door.

“Fuck.”

“Go answer while I fix myself?”

Dyl nodded, finally pulling away from me. I felt unexpectedly cold without him within my arms. I slided down the counter, picking up my dress to carelessly put it back on again, leaving the two first buttons undone. Once I got to the living room, I was surprised with Mr. Frisier at the door, his face glistening red.

Oh. They were fighting. I sped to stand beside Dylan, the two men suddenly quiet due to my arrival. His hand quickly found its way to my hip, pulling us closer. I could tell Frisier bubbled in anger.

“May I know what is happening here?”

“We have children, you know.”

“I know…?” I was puzzled. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“If you're screwing in the kitchen, you should at least close the freaking curtains.”

“Oh.” My cheeks grew warmer. “I'm sorry-”

“No, babe. Listen to me, you are not coming to my home, telling me what I should or shouldn't do inside it.”

“Dylan-”

“Babe. Let me handle it.”

Huffing, I rolled my eyes. Dylan was so stubborn sometimes.

“Mr. Frisier, I am sorry. We'll be careful next time. Now, if you excuse us, good night.”

“Wait-”

The door was slammed shut before he could finish. My boyfriend looked annoyed, his arms crossed against his chest whilst glaring at me. I chuckled. He was so cute when he was angry, that cute pink lip pouting.

Without saying anything, I walked back to the kitchen, finding my meal half done on the oven. I was quick to set everything back on so I could finish it. Dylan came to the room with an intrigued look on his face.

“Sweetheart-”

“I told you they'd see it.”

He laughed, hugging me from behind, his breath fanning the back of my neck. I chewed my bottom lip, trying to focus on the almost done pasta. The sauce boiling.

“Stop… I'm trying to cook.” Dyl smirked against my skin. “Don't you think once is enough?”

“With you? There's no such thing as enough.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh-uh.” The room went silent for a second. “I love you.”

My face gleamed with the happiest smile. It was barely a whisper, nonetheless, it pierced my soul. I could never get tired of hearing him say he loved me. And also a little bit relieved for I loved that man more than he could even imagine.

“I love you too.”

Dylan certainly made my life pink.

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 6 years

Text

The King of Hearts (E.D. AU)

Summary: What happens when a future king falls for a commoner while he’s betrothed to another?

Warnings: mostly fluff, mentions of death and blood

Word count: 4000

Series MASTERLIST

In a country now surrounded by ice, far away, stood an old, black castle, a stark contrast to its surroundings. Inside the castle, the royal family presides, waiting out the harsh winter and the cold it brought.

The Dolan family.

They ruled over their country with a firm, but fair hand, holding their position for centuries. A picture perfect family, no scandals recorded since the start of their reign.

Well, that was about to change.

Holding a feast to celebrate the arrival of their guests, King held a grand dinner in the castle, inviting everyone to attend, even his servants and commoners.

Princes sat around the table, joking around like they always do, bickering about who would win if they truly crossed their swords together, but hoping to never truly find out.

I stood in the shadows, holding on to my new, almost royal looking dress. Saving up for years to buy material for something proper in hopes of attending a ball and seeing the royals just once in my life. I've worked with my mother as a seamstress for years before she died, and the dress I wore was of my own making.

The color purple to signify my support of the royal house, but a waistline as white as snow that kept the winter present since as long as I can remember. The neckline was low, but not as low as many ladies wore...after all, I had my dignity in mind and virtue to keep. My hair let loose with curls cascading down my back, a single braid serving as a mock crown, beads and violets bred in the royal garden decorating it. Light make up to keep up the pretense, but an intense, burgundy red lipstick for effect. Feet in white flats, shimmering as my dress in the light, I looked almost like a highborn, worthy to be in their presence.

Gliding my gaze over the crowd of town folk, my eyes remained on the table before us, a little above the rest to show their stature. After all, they weren't commoners and should not sit among us. Most looked to the King and Queen, wanting to get in their favor. Young men looked at Cameron, all wishing to be her chosen one. However, she was to be married off to a wealthy Lord in Europe, a union good for the realm.

But every girl, young or old, had eyes only for the princes. Twins as luck would have it. Girls swooned over their good looks, fought to be in their line of sight, even went as far as pulling their dresses down so much that their breasts were almost visible. All that just for one look in their direction. They didn't care which one, as they'd say: „They're the same anyways. Just get me one.“

How foolish of them.

When I looked at the twins, I did not see just one person. Sitting on the left side, by their father, both brothers seemed to be far more interested in holding a conversation with one another than to look at desperate girls flinging themselves at their feet.

Prince Grayson held his head high as he was happily betrothed to a Princess of a country a little down south called England. After all, they sang songs of her beauty, but more importantly of the power and wealth her family held. He didn't spare the crowd a single glance, his dark brown eyes set either on the food or his family. His hair was longer, bangs styled backwards so they stood tall as he did. Sharp jaw, a couple of small scars graced his face, but he bore nothing that could disgrace his beauty. He truly was as handsome as I've heard in the tales.

Next to him was Prince Ethan; the next king of our realm, the heir to the throne. His eyes bore tension only a future king could bear, thousands worries etched in each line of his gorgeous face. His smile small, but always present, never quite reaching his eyes when he interacted with other noble men and women. It was a pleasantry, one he didn't care much for from what I could tell. His hair was neatly combed, differing from what I've been told by those who have seen him outside of official events for the kingdom. They said his hair is unruly and wild, just as his spirit. Perhaps that was true once, but the man sat at the table now felt weighed down by the future he was to have. That's enough to make anyone mature in a matter of moments.

Like his brother, Ethan was also to wed a Princess, the heir of the French throne. That meant either peace or war for the Dolan twins, regarding the wretched past between the two countries they were meant to inherit by marriage. It was hard to imagine the brothers ever doing harm to one another, but power is fickle and turns the best of men corrupt and wile.

Aware this night would be a bust as everyone danced and had fun, I couldn't keep my eyes from the heir. Not just because of his good looks, but because in a way, I felt sorry for him. He was forced to live a life he never wanted; they told him what to wear, what to eat, how to behave...who to love...He could never truly make a choice for himself, follow his heart. To live that sort of a life must have been torture...One he learned to accept and live with.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a ruckus. Two armed guards unsheathing their swords as several men decided to play hero and assassinate the royal family. Some screamed, most ran, leaving the sight clear for all those who wondered what was happening.

I didn't move, even as the fight was brought to me. Men fighting, men dying before me, yet I dare not move. No, I was not afraid. I was furious. Once in every ten years, commoners were allowed at court, yet these imbeciles decided to ruin that and get us banned...and for what? A failed attempt to kill those who have ruled over us and brought prosperity even in the winter we were forced to live in. Better yet, I was ready to protect those people as well.

Reaching under my skirts, I grabbed a dagger from a belt suspender made out of purple lace. Shifting in my spot, I had seen a sword fall to the floor with a loud clank. Taking it, I ran it into one of the rebels stomach, blood spluttering from his lips onto my neck. But I didn't mind. Turning swiftly, I took care of yet one more who had planned on sneaking behind a guard and slitting his throat. Two men down, my hands dripping with blood, dress stained beyond help, I stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving as my heart beat to a rhythm I've long forgotten.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins, hands gripped on my choice weapons tightly. I didn't need to look up to see that every eye in the room was on me, watching intently what I'll do next. Some probably hoped I'd carry on the attack myself, others just wanted the whole thing to end.

Sucking in a deep breath, I slowly lift my eyes off the ground and dare to make eye contact with none other than Prince Ethan himself. The surprise mixed with utmost wonder in his eyes had taken the very breath from my lungs.

Tearing my eyes from his, I look to the King, hoping I'd be allowed to keep my head after the little stunt I pulled. But the rebels got too close and I was not one for waiting. It's not how my father taught me.

Holding my head high, I released the sword from my right hand, but the dagger remained in place. Taking a handful of the fabric my dress was comprised of, I wiped it clean. Slowly, moving the dress all the way up to my upper thigh, I sheathed the dagger in its place, letting the dress fall down to the stone floor.

Unexpectedly, the King brought his hands together, clapping loudly as he stood up with a large grin on his face. The entire room followed, but I only cared for what his son did. Shifting my gaze to Ethan once more, I saw his eyes didn't lose the impressed, almost admiring look he showed previously. I had his attention, that much was sure.

„On the behalf of the royal family, I'd like to express my gratitude.“ The King spoke, loud and clear for everyone to hear while I stayed put in my spot, feeling the blood on my neck and chest like drops of fire burning through my skin.

„I was just doing my duty, Your Grace.“ I spoke, my voice void of all emotion; cold and calm as I seemed on the outside.

„Oh, but you did so much more. Where did you learn to fight like that?“ The King asked, very much interested and entertained, like the entire thing was just a show in a theater.

„My father was a knight in your guard. He failed to see the difference between teaching his sons and teaching his daughters. After all, we were all his children.“ I respond, my heart breaking as I remember my father. He was brave and thoughtful, selfless and loyal. A man ahead of his time, that's for sure. Since the first day, he had treated me as an equal to my brothers, teaching me to write, read, fight. He wanted me to be able to protect myself, come what may.

„Oh, which one is that?“ The King furrowed his brows, wondering who I belonged to.

„Ser (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). He died in the war fighting alongside you.“ I felt my cool dissolve, but refused to let it be seen by the gathered crowd. No one seemed to care that there were at least eight dead men bleeding on the stony ground they stood on.

„I remember him! He saved my life!“ The King exclaimed, recognition flashing in his eyes.

„Just as you did now!“ He adds, turning to his wife. Looking back at me, he propped his head up on his hand, head tilted slightly to the right.

„You may ask anything you wish of me. Anything...If it's within my power, I shall grant it.“

The offer certainly allured me, even brought upon me something I never thought I'd want. A wish for stature and a position of power.

„I wish to be a lady of the court. Your ward to be exact.“ A series of loud gasps filled the room as I kept a stoic facial expression, not breaking the eye contact with the king...no matter how much I wanted to look to Prince Ethan for his opinion.

The King didn't show any emotion at all, nor offer any insight in his mind through his facial expression upon hearing my words.

„Only that?“ He questioned, almost disappointed with my answer.

I chuckle dryly, averting my gaze to the right before focusing it on the King once more. Clasping my hands together, resting them on my stomach, I respond.

„What? You expected me to ask for your son's hand in marriage?“ The room was still with words I spoke, but I couldn't hold back a giggle. A giggle that echoed the room as no one dared to move.

„I may be a woman, but I'm not a silly girl with silly notions. You'd never grant something like that. I'd have asked to be a knight in the future king's guard, but even that is beyond what I'd be given. So, yes. I wish to be made a ward of the court, a noble lady.“ I finish, hardening my gaze as the King nodded with pursed lips.

I felt another pair of eyes burning into me as I stood before them all. The ferocity of just one look causing a flutter in my chest. There was no need to search for who the eyes belonged to as I could tell Ethan had kept his gaze strictly on me since the whole ordeal happened. And I liked it.

„Granted.“The King nodded in thought, perhaps debating my so called silly notions.

With those words, I was made a noble. One who would never be allowed to forget she's a commoner, but a noble nonetheless.

„May a servant clean you up...and this floor. You can borrow a dress from Cameron and return to the feast. A seat will be made for you.“ The King spoke, several servants running up to me, ushering me out of the room and to the west wing of the castle where the royal sleeping chambers were.

It took us a couple of minutes of almost running to get to a room lit by candles. It was huge...as big as the house I live in. But inside, everything was made out of wood...carved to perfection.

The girls started to undress me, startling me.

„Whoa, whoa. What are you doing?“ I asked, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.

„Cleaning you up as the King requested.“ One spoke up, not meeting my eyes.

I sighed, not wanting the girls to fear me. After all, I was one of them just moments ago.

„Can you get the blood out of my own dress?“ I turned so they'd have an easier access to the back of my dress, feeling their fingers already undoing the knot I tied to keep it from opening.

„I can certainly try, my lady.“ The same girl spoke, her voice quiet and words carefully chosen.

„You don't have to call me that. Not when we're alone.“ I smile as another one wipes the blood from my chest, the third one dealing with my hands. They were quick and efficient, already showing me dresses to pick from. I went with a red one this time around, not really caring how I look anymore.

They laced it up and stood around, staring in awe. I didn't have to look down to know my cleavage was exposed more than before, the light, cold breeze had told me that in an instant.

„You look stunning.“ They said in unison as I blushed with the compliment.

„But we must go.“ With that, I was rushed back to the crowd, earning yet another clap as I entered. I had hoped it would go unnoticed, but everyone seemed eager to welcome me. Smiling softly, I stood aside and waited for the crowd to disperse. I wasn't interested in taking the seat so kindly set between the Princes and the Princess just yet, wanting to experience tonight to the best of my ability.

The room was spotless, no blood in sight. Music played a happy tune many townies loved, but it suddenly shifted into one only royals could dance to. The King and Queen stood from their seat, taking the dance floor. Others joined them, but dancing was never my best suit. However, this was more about me not having someone to dance with.

„Would you care to dance?“ Someone spoke and I turned swiftly, frightened by the sudden presence. My mind stopped as I looked to the stranger, only to find it was actually a prince.

„Prince Ethan!“ I yelped, curtsying to the best of my ability. I didn't even finish my attempt before his hands held onto my elbows, pulling me up to face him.

„No need for that, Lady Y/N.“ His voice, deep and low, sent shivers down my spine like I have never felt before.

„You're a prince after all. It's common curtsy.“ I defended my actions, blushing furiously under his relentless gaze. There was kindness in his eyes, but the mischievous glint seemed to outshine everything else.

„And you're a lady now. You bow only to the king.“ Ethan reminded me, his hands still on my arms, slowly trailing down to my own hands. Gently taking them in his, he lifts my right one to his lips, pressing them into the skin on the back of it, never once breaking eye contact. I gulped nervously.

Why must he be so intense all the time?

„So, you never answered my previous question. Would you care to dance?“ He repeated, not letting go of either of my hands and I was grateful for not shaking like a leaf in the wind under his touch.

„I'm more of a fighter than a dancer, really.“ I mussed, shyly averting my gaze to the floor.

A touch of his index finger on my chin and the cold sensation in my hand as he released it brought my attention back to the handsome man before me.

„I'll lead.“ He guided me into the dancing crowd, his hand on the small of my back as my heart thumped so loudly I was certain everyone could hear. Once in the center of the room, his palm pressed against my waist, while the other held my hand in the air. He moved impossibly close, the wine on his breath easily felt from our proximity. With one hand, he lifts me up and rests my feet atop of his, a smirk on his lips as I look down with a thousand questions in my mind. Moving his feet and both of us in that moment, his grip on me tight, yet gentle, we danced like one. I'd never been a good dancer, but for the first time in my life I was doing just that...dancing.

One song after another, the Prince refused to let me go, dancing with no other and arousing suspicion in the court. He ensnared me with his gaze, whispered compliments in my ear and I had become sure this was nothing but a dream. How else could this be possible?

His words rang in my ears, each bringing a warmth to my heart and a smile to my face.

„You're one of a kind.“ He'd whisper, getting only a roll of my Y/E/C eyes in return.

„And you're just a charmer.“ I'd retort, raising an eyebrow to his fake shock.

„No, just an honest prince. After all, I'm not the one who lied about his dancing skills.“ He teased, arching an eyebrow as well. God, how sexy he looked when he did that!

„You're the one dancing! I'm just holding on for dear life.“ I chuckle, raking my nails over the exposed skin on the back of his neck to remind him of that.

He rolled his eyes, nodding lightly before letting me go. I had thought it was the end of it, but he captured my hand in his, pulling me out of the room as the King ended the dinner just as we walked out.

„What are you doing?“ I turned around, starting to worry of his rush and firm hold on my hand.

Just as I asked, Ethan pushed me against the wall, each of his hands resting by my head, his forehead leaned on mine as he breaths heavily. I was captured, unable to move.

„Prince?“ My voice was quiet, perhaps the fear inside ever tangible. I could not fend for myself and risk hurting the Crown Prince, but I wasn't about to let him defile me.

„I hate my life.“ He spoke, surprising me with this admission. I wanted to move, caress his face or run my fingers through his hair, but I couldn't. I was paralyzed.

„I must marry another, yet I had fallen for you.“ His voice trembled, no longer a picture of confidence he wore the entire night. I suppressed my need to speak as he was breaking before me.

„What have I done to be punished so?“ He kept talking and my resolution to remain quiet disappeared.

„You aren't in love with me. You barely know me.“ I spoke up, reminding him we had just met and only spoken once. I wasn't a firm believer in love at first sight, even if my own father claimed to have fallen for my mother in such a way.

„You are brave and feisty, capable of handling several weapons. You have a mind as sharp as a diamond, tongue as sharp as the blade you wield. The smile you flash is always sincere, your touch brings warmth to my cold heart. I do love you.“ Ethan moved his forehead, boring his eyes into mine. It was heartbreaking to see the defeat in his eyes, my own reflection clear within as the candle lit up his hazel hues.

Hm...I always thought his eyes were brown.

„You are betrothed to the next Queen of France. You are to marry a country, not a woman. Someone with power and wealth and armies.“ I spoke, sneaking my arms around his neck for a small embrace. I needed to console him in some way.

„I'm a no one. No family, no power, no armies or wealth. Just a commoner.“ I spoke sadly, feeling my own heart ache even if I wasn't in love with the Prince. I could see how easy that would be... to fall for a man such as him. But I knew better. That's how people died.

„You're not a no one to me. You're a Lady...the King's ward.“ He trailed off.

„Queen of my heart.“ His words had left me breathless, yet my heart was beating wildly, moving my chest with every beat.

„I must ask you to take that back.“ I whisper, looking into his eyes but getting no answer.

„A future king should never go back on his word.“ He spoke with a broken smile, his left hand moving down to my waist, his lips nearing mine.

„And a maiden should never sell her honor for a couple of moments of passion.“ I move, using the now empty space as leverage.

„I'd never do that to you.“ Ethan spoke as I turned my back on him, confused about this turn of event. Mere hours ago, I was just a faceless girl in the crowd and now I had a Prince chasing after me.

„Perhaps...but your words speak of a much worse desire...Love is not something I take lightly.“ I respond, turning slightly to see his candlelit face.

It was almost cruel how handsome he was...unnaturally handsome.

„Neither do I.“ He stepped closer and I feel my entire body tense up with this gesture.

„Yet you speak its name in vain in a badly lit hallway to a woman you met only hours ago...while you're set to marry another when the time is right.“ I cock my eyebrow, folding my arms across my chest and straighten my back.

„Betrothed to another....that is true...But those arrangement fall through all the time. For all I know I could be betrothed to someone entirely different by tomorrow.“ Ethan let out a mirthless laugh, taking one step closer to me.

„Your father would have my head.“ I press my lips together as he nods.

„My father won't always be the king. Once I'm on the throne, nothing stops me from marrying who I want.“ Ethan points out, closing the distance between us quickly.

„Nothing but your word...“ I look away, feeling a weight on my chest...one I could not explain.

„True.“ Ethan whispers, leaning close, his lips brushing against my ear.

„But it was the word of my father, not mine, that closed the deal.“ Ethan moved back, his nose touching mine as his breath mingled with mine.

Close enough to touch, but miles away. That's how I felt. My own beating heart breaking over a love I denied myself, but deny it I must.

Reluctantly, I step back and out of his reach. The disappointment evident on his face, but understanding in his eyes.

Flashing a smile my way, he motions for me to look behind and I do, seeing a large door.

„It was an honor to accompany you to your room, Lady Y/N. Goodnight.“ He turned on his heel, walking away, but not before throwing a glance over his shoulder my way.

„Goodnight, Prince Ethan.“ I whisper softly, watching his retreating figure disappear around the corner, his footsteps still audible in the distance.

Tags: @perry--aesthetic @heeydolan @accalialionheart @peacedolantwins

A/N: So, what do you think? Should I make a series? Let me know, you know I love feedback :)

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan x reader #ethan dolan au #dolan twins #grayson dolan #ethan dolan fanfic #ethan dolan fluff #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan fic

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mtraki · 5 years

Link

(TW: Allusions to child prostitution/forced prostitution)

“... So this is a real thing?”

Miss Schofield gave him an amused look and answered dryly, “Mister Morgan, I would like to believe it’s clear I’m rather fond of you, but I am not so fond as to spend an evening arguing with Dutch van der Linde over a false lead, thereby lying to his face, just to ride out several days in the wilderness with you to eventually return to him empty handed. Even I am not so brazen…”

Catherine adjusted her blouse and attempted to brush dust from her sleeves, “It’s not his house. It’s his autumn and winter retreat. His house is in Boston.” Suffering Arthur’s disapproving look, and interrupting before he could give her a scathing reply on what he thought about that, the lady continued, “I only make mention of it because he has likely only recently arrived and will therefore not be anticipating company.”

“Is that important?” The outlaw wanted to know.

“It might be. It will likely affect how many people are on the property and how easily he can send word to town if he decides it’s prudent-- which reminds me, we should scatter the horses or lock them all in the barn or something…”

Nodding, he motioned for them to turn off the road, into the trees, “An’ yer sure he’ll speak to us?”

Grinning, Catherine indicated herself, “... I’m Catherine-Louise Schofield, remember? If nothing else, I’m his social peer. It’s his obligation to treat me graciously and provide me whatever hospitality he has at his disposal. He’ll see us.”

He shrugged and shook his head, “If you says so…”

“There _are _rules, Arthur,” She told him with a sigh, “Real rules. Having a lot of money doesn’t mean there aren’t rules to follow, it just means there are different rules.”

It left a bad taste in his mouth, and sour memories crept forward from the dark, threatening to tug at his heart, “... I know…”

She gave him a long look before saying in a soft voice, “... That sounds like a story, Arthur…”

“Maybe. Later.” The outlaw wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to tell Miss Schofield about Mary, “Speakin’ of stories… I suppose yer gonna want t’sell one t’this feller?”

“Well, as briefly amusing as it might be to introduce you to Mister Walker as ‘Mister Arthur Morgan of the notorious Van der Linde gang’, I don’t think that will assist us in getting any useful information…”

“Probably not… ‘Mister Walker’ you said?”

“Abraham Fitzgerald Thomas Walker, the Third,” Catherine explained with an off-hand gesture, “His family has packed ammunition since the start of the industry and has bought out most other labels. I think it’s his older brother, however, who’s in charge of all the business…? You’ll probably hear all about it tonight…”

“I can hardly wait…” The outlaw rolled his eyes, “So…?”

The lady gave him an appraising look, “... It depends on what sort of story you’re willing to go along with, Mister Morgan. As much as I’d like to portray you as a man my father has hired for my protection, I don’t have the materials and you have made clear your disinclination to wear a disguise.”

“I don’ play dress-up.” He replied firmly.

“Indeed,” It was Catherine’s turn to roll eyes, and she grinned, “So perhaps it would be easiest to explain you as an ill-advised paramour?”

“... What do you mean? You want to tell him I’m your lover?”

“Essentially. You’ll be Dutch.”

Arthur snorted a laugh, “... I cannot tell you how poor a Dutch I make…”

“No, you’re filling his role, not play-acting as him! I ran away from home and my father to join you on your adventures!”

“What ‘adventures’ would those be?”

Catherine looked him over, then shrugged and said simply, “Bounty hunting.”

“You ran away from home to be a bounty hunter?”

“No, silly man, I ran away from home because I was seduced by your rugged charms and untamed lifestyle!”

Arthur gave her a very dubious look, “You think he’s gonna buy that?”

“I’m going to sell that.” She smiled confidently back, “Will you help me?”

“... I don’ have any better ideas… So I guesso…” He shrugged, looking aside uncomfortably, feeling heat climb his throat at the idea of acting as if he fancied Miss Schofield when he was so used to spending all his effort acting like he didn’t, “... Though usually when I need to get information out of a man--”

“--I know. But it’s not as if he’s alone, he’s going to have _some _security around the premises. Even if you could shoot our way out of there again, we don’t need a massacre drawing all kinds of attention. Believe me, I know you think beating him half-senseless and putting a gun to his head is easier, but this time, it’s really easier to just sit down and have a nice dinner and talk.”

“He’s gonna feed us?”

“Of course. He’ll ply us with expensive liquor too if you like. That’s all you have to do, my dear Mister Kilgore,” She smiled winningly at him, “Accept what he offers you, answer questions or decline to answer them politely-- ‘I’d rather not say’ will do-- watch, and listen, and ultimately make sure we leave again. Under no circumstances do we stay the night, though he will probably offer to put us up.”

“Kilgore, huh? Tacitus Kilgore?” “It’s one of your better stage names.”

They finished locking half the horses in the stables and scaring the other half out the open back gate of the pasture. They saw noone and went unchallenged for the entire endeavor, and even all the way to the front door of the sizeable lodge.

Arthur’s loud knocking brought a barrel-chested man to greet them, his impressive size blocking them from seeing, much less trespassing, indoors.

“... Who’re you?”

Placing her hand lightly on Arthur’s forearm, Catherine smiled winningly and answered, “Miss Schofield, calling on my dear family friend, Mister Walker.”

The man’s distrusting scowl deepened, “Mister Walker isn’t expecting friends to come calling, Miss…”

“Oh, I understand entirely, but will you please let him know we’re here anyway?” Was her reply, her radiant smile never flinching.

The man closed the door again-- making no attempt to hide his disdain in the gesture-- and Arthur and the lady shared a look.

“Don’t worry.” She assured him confidently, despite the quirking eyebrow he’d noticed.

It was only minutes later that the same man opened the door again, this time looking much more chastened and respectful, which Arthur supposed was good enough that he wouldn’t have to arrange for it himself. As he’d fully intended to.

“My apologies, Miss Schofield. Mister Walker will see you in the sitting room. This way…”

The cabin was large, and to Arthur, who had seen any number of rustic homesteads, it looked strange. The rooms too spacious, their arrangement too manufactured and furnishings too polished. An artifice. A rich man’s approximation of what living on the brink of civilization looked like without giving up too much of the luxury and elegance with which he might be accustomed. Before even laying eyes on the man, Arthur decided he very much did not like him. He was everything wrong with this country.

His opinions didn’t change when he saw the man in the sitting room. Upon seeing Miss Schofield, the gentleman rose and approached, a broad smile on his face.

“My dear Catherine-Louise! My God, just look at you! One would hardly think it possible, but I am quite certain you are more beautiful every time I see you!”

He was a spry middle-aged man of average height, and save for some thickness around the waistline, slender in a waistcoat and collared shirt, cravat loose around his neck. His narrow face featured prominently a long, beak-like nose and was crowned with thick, curly hair of a warm brown, trimmed neatly along the sides, but longer and more wild at the top of his head. With long booted strides, he crossed the wooden floor to the young woman, and for a moment, Arthur thought he would pull her into an embrace.

The big outlaw cleared his throat and held back every other urge to interfere more directly.

Catherine demured and smiled, “Mister Walker, it’s so nice to see you again! I’m glad you seem to be keeping well.”

Another woman was stepping gracefully to meet them. She appeared perhaps not too much older than Catherine-- maybe closer to Arthur’s own age-- and somewhat fuller figured. Her blonde hair was pinned up elaborately and dressed with a comb and sprig of lavender to match her patterned dress. Her wide blue eyes lowered to the floor and she blushed visibly under Arthur’s brief examination, which made him immediately uncomfortable and turn his attention back to the more out-going Mister Walker.

“Me? But it’s you who-- I’m forgetting my manners. I do not think you’ve ever the pleasure of meeting my charming and manifestly superior half! Miss Schofield, this is Missus Delilah Walker. My dearest, this is Miss Catherine-Louise Schofield, Robert Schofield’s daughter.”

The women shook hands, smiling fondly at each other, and then Catherine reached for Arthur’s elbow, “Meanwhile, I have the singular pleasure of introducing you to my dear, intimate friend, Mister Tacitus Kilgore.”

“Abraham Walker, a pleasure.”

Arthur accepted the handshakes offered him, “Sir. Ma’am.”

“Wonderful, delightful, please, won’t you sit?”

They moved to the seating area, and Catherine took the outlaw’s hand, causing him to freeze at the side of the couch and look at her in surprise. Still holding his hand, she smiled and sat herself elegantly, using his arm for support. It occurred to Arthur that she’d just created the illusion that he had the first idea of what to do or how to behave in this room with these wealthy socialites. Dipping his head to her in acknowledgement, he noted the movement of her eyes toward the seat beside her, so he went and sat somewhat stiffly and awkwardly next to her. Meanwhile, Mister and Missus Walker had settled into a pair of overstuffed chairs across from them.

Quite suddenly, it began.

“It’s quite a ways from Boston, my dear. What brings you to West Elizabeth?” Asked Abraham, smiling pleasantly.

Catherine’s smile and tone were mildly teasing, by contrast, “You would be well acquainted with the distance, wouldn’t you? Seeing as you travel it every autumn and spring…”

“I’ve said it before haven’t I? I cannot abide the frigid winters, and here the punishing summers. I’d much rather escape both.”

“It’s only just now started to cool a bit, isn’t that right, Mister Kilgore?” When Arthur nodded, attempting to make a thoughtful sound in his throat, Catherine continued, “Which is a welcome relief. Still, I must say you are depriving your lovely wife by taking her out of New England during the prettiest of its seasons.”

“It is sad to leave behind the fall colors,” Missus Walker confessed quietly, but then she smiled at her husband indulgently, “But I suffer deplorably in the chill. My husband is so good to look after my health.”

“I’m more surprised to see you leaving behind the vibrant northeastern autumn,” The husband interjected, turning the topic back toward the one he’d intended. “I know how much you used to enjoy them.”

“A sacrifice, I assure you, but one gladly made,” Catherine replied casually, giving Arthur a long glance he couldn’t immediately interpret outside of it being part of the act and not an actual communication-- or so he hoped, “but I had more than the harsh winter to escape, Mister Walker. I’d appreciate your discretion on the matter…”

For all his apparent foolishness, Abraham Walker was quick, “... My dear Catherine, don’t tell me you’ve run away?”

“I’m a woman grown, Mister Walker,” was the contradiction, “I’ll thank you not to infantilize my desire for freedom like I’m some wayward girl.”

“No, no, that wasn’t my intention, forgive me. But do you mean to say you are here against your father’s wishes?”

Shrugging, Catherine answered, “As of late, I know very little of my father’s wishes, and have even less concern for them. I tired of being his prisoner, so I left.”

Mister Walker did not immediately reply, instead his gaze fell upon Arthur, noting the number of weapons as if just now realizing they might signify a danger, “... Is that where you come in, sir?”

Considering carefully, the outlaw picked his words with trepidation, meeting the other man’s eyes, “... A lady tells you she wants to go west, are you gonna say ‘no’? ‘specially a lady like Miss Schofield?”

“Ha, you make a fine point, Mister Kilgore!”

“I find it strange,” Catherine observed, smoothing her skirts, “that this is the first you are hearing of this. I was certain my father would have enlisted your aid in the matter months ago.”

“He might have,” the gentleman replied, “were we still on speaking terms.”

The silence was abrupt and stifling, chasing tension through Arthur’s shoulders and into his hands. He looked at Miss Schofield. What now?

Catherine blinked her surprise, “...This is astonishing news! I was not aware you and my father had had a falling out…”

“I’m embarrassed to confess that we had a… very severe disagreement.”

“It must have been, so,” She replied, “The two of you have been friends longer than I’ve been alive!”

Mister Walker shrugged, smiling sadly, “It is my understanding that there are two sorts of men in this world: the sort who, after confession, feel gratitude, and the sort, who, after confession, feel nothing but resentment.”

“You will not surprise me by revealing my father numbers among the latter.”

“Most men do, my dear Catherine. Still, I think it a shame to lose his companionship. I have long admired the ingenuity and energy of Mister Robert Schofield.” Then the gentleman’s head tilted a little to the right, and his expression changed, as if the new vantage provided a whole new perception of the woman sat across him, “You much re--”

“--I am aware of our familial similarities, Mister Walker, and would prefer not to be reminded,” Catherine’s voice was cold, but then she softened again, “...I cannot say that I share your opinions of your situation, for your own sake, but I do confess it complicates my own endeavor…”

Abraham straightened in his seat, “You come to me in need. How may I be of assistance, dear lady?”

“... If you are no longer in contact, then I suppose you do not know anything about my father’s plans for Manzanita Post--”

“Miss Schofield.” Arthur rumbled, checking her tongue. It was part of their approach: the moment she mentioned the location, he was to interject.

It worked amazingly well. Immediately, Mister Walker’s interest only sharpened, they could see it in his face and in his dark eyes, but then he deflated again.

“No, I can tell you nothing. I’m sorry.”

“It’s just as well,” The young woman relented with a sigh, seeming to sink into the couch, “Nevermind, Mister Walker. I’m sorry to trouble you over it.”

The man started to protest that it wasn’t any trouble at all, but Missus Walker smoothly rose to her feet.

“Our guests would probably like to refresh themselves before supper, my dear. Miss Schofield, will you accompany me upstairs?”

Catherine stood with equal grace, prompting both men to their feet as well.

“Yes, yes, of course!” The gentleman, addressed Arthur directly, “You will be staying for supper, of course, won’t you?”

“Well…” He wanted to say no. If Mister Walker didn’t have the information Catherine was after, then they needed to make themselves scarce and find something else to take back to camp. Absolutely, under no circumstances, did he want to return to Dutch with nothing to show… not with what little he could remember of leaving him. Besides that, he didn’t like this man, or care for his company

But then he felt Catherine’s fingers slide against his calloused palm as she took his hand, and he turned his face to meet her look.

“... We could use a good meal,” Were her soft words, “and I could do with a proper bath…”

She’s trying to communicate something more, he knew it, but he just couldn’t tell what it was. Chafed with frustration, the outlaw held her hand fast and pulled her after him, away from the couch and to the corner of the room without even an ‘excuse me’. He knew it was incredibly churlish, even for a coarse man, but at present, he didn’t give a damn. Thankfully, Miss Catherine went without protest, and didn’t resist when he tugged her into the corner and blocked out their hosts with his broad back. Ignoring the gasps and alarmed mutterings, he kept his voice low and minded his words carefully-- they could probably still hear him. They were most certainly listening…

“If you want a bath, I’ll take you into town--”

Her smile was all sweetness, her pale eyes wide while she adopted his hushed tone, “My dear, I didn’t mean to offend! You take such good care of me, I’ll be sure to make that very clear--”

“--That’s not… I don’t… What’re we doin’ here?” Stamping down his frustration of the situation was hard enough, but now she’d assaulted him with the embarrassment of the implications of the act they were putting on, and already Arthur could feel heat climbing up from his collar.

“We’re going to have supper,” She told him quietly, squeezing his hand that still held hers, “I’m going to wash up beforehand, as is only proper, and I’m certain you’ll have the opportunity as well, should you want it. In the meantime, I’m sure you and Mister Walker can find something to talk about…? I’ve gone and monopolized the conversation, as usual…”

“... Catherine…” He ground out the syllables between his teeth, making clear along with every facet of his expression how much he did not want to talk with the gentleman.

“It’ll only be a little while,” She promised, “just for a bit of tidying up-- Oh, but Missus Walker will probably want to show me the rooms upstairs…”

“... You know I ain’t got patience for long conversation, Miss Schofield…”

“Your best manners, you promised me…”

“Did I?”

Mister Walker called from the middle of the room, “Is everything alright?”

Holding Arthur’s look for a moment-- and he was impressed as well as irritated with the sharpened steel he saw there in her pale eyes-- Catherine smiled all graciousness at the gentleman, “Yes, of course, everything is quite well. My dearest Tacitus is just unused to the usual motions of social calls. Now, Missus Walker, we were going upstairs, weren’t we?”

The outlaw did not hold on to her hand to keep her from going, despite his every desire to do so. Part of him wanted to haul her over his shoulder and stride out the front door no matter how she might holler at him for the indignity…

Together, he and the gentleman watched the ladies ascend the stairs. The mousy Delilah was whispering something in what Arthur thought looked like a _nervous _fashion, and that Catherine smiled over her shoulder at him made clear she was commenting on him and his behavior. She was probably mentioning how poor a match they were…

He’d warned her, dammit. He couldn’t play these complicated smooth-talking roles!

“... She’s quite something.” Abraham said after the women had vanished through a doorway, “Always has been, that Catherine-Louise…”

“...Mhm.”

The gentleman turned his gaze to Arthur’s face, and the lightness in his tone vanished, turning it very grave, “... Do you plan on keeping her, Mister Kilgore? Or just until the fancy passes?”

Scoffing a light laugh, Arthur fixed Abraham a hard look, “I ain’t in the practice of havin’ nothin’ taken from me, Mister Walker, if that’s what you’re suggesting…”

Watching the rich man squirm almost made the evening worth the trouble.

“... I don’t want to give you the wrong idea… Just a friendly warning: if you care for her, and intend to keep her, then stay far out of the reach of her father.”

“I’ve heard some of dear ol’ Daddy Schofield.” Arthur shrugged.

“I don’t think you understand…” The gentleman tugged at his collar, “... You see, she’s what? Nearly thirty now? It’s an important time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… she’s nearly too old to be of her… previous uses to him… So now his only recourse is to marry her off to the highest bidder!”

“... Excuse me?”

“Do you think it is an accident she is so charming? Do you imagine you are the first man she has beguiled? My dear Mister Kilgore, the poor girl is only doing as she was trained to do!”

“I’m the ill-bred man,” Arthur snarled, “and here you’re talkin’ about a lady like she’s no more than a trained hound!”

“We are all products of our training, Mister Kilgore.” Abraham said quietly.

“Unless you want to see what my training has turned out, Mister Walker, you’ll shut your goddamn mouth about Miss Schofield!”

He was quaking with anger. Still, he knew silencing the other man was a mistake-- whatever information he had, even the distasteful sort-- was information he shouldn’t turn aside out of hand.

But he couldn’t help himself. He kept picturing Catherine in the moonlight, on the ridge, telling him she intimately understood already that she was an object, a plaything, for men, despite all her fierce independence and cunning. Catherine, bent over the little side table, her face distant, as if she’d turned dead and cold inside-- like it was a familiar habit-- while Dutch rutted into her.

Catherine wanted vengeance on her father. That much had been clear since the very beginning.

Abraham had said ‘nearly thirty’ was ‘too old’ for her ‘previous uses’. Arthur wanted to tear him apart.

Their eyes met, and Abraham was solemn, not afraid.

“If you care for her--”

“--Shut up--”

“-- take her far away. This is not nearly far enough.” The man shook his head, “Heed my advice. She’ll think it silly. Overcautious. But she has always famously underestimated him.”

“If I was you,” Was the low reply, “I’d worry more about my own damn self, the way you keep on…”

With a heavy sigh, Mister Walker made a gesture as if sweeping the matter aside. Then he brightened.

“... Can I offer you a cigar, Mister Kilgore?”

Supper was a brief, bright event. Arthur’s appetite had abandoned him, though, and Abraham did not seem to be faring much better, no matter his attempts to maintain a cheerful demeanor. Catherine must have sensed the change, for she did not protest when Arthur suggest they bid their farewells and move on for the night.

The Walkers did not invite them to stay.

Once out of sight of the cabin once more, they mounted up where they’d left the horses in the near-dark just after sunset. The lady’s pale gaze looked far beyond the road when she spoke to him, her chin held proud, but not haughty.

“... I’m sure you’ve heard a little about my history. I knew it was a risk. So I would appreciate it if you kept whatever it was to yourself, Arthur.”

“... I didn’t hear anythin’ worth repeatin’, Miss Catherine.” The outlaw shrugged, scowling as he adjusted his hat, “... I’m just hopin’ you did.”

“No, but I did find this…”

He saw her pull the folded memo from her skirt and took it when she passed it over.

“Missus Delilah Walker is a lovely, trusting soul, bless her.” The young lady sighed, “She didn’t even notice while we were in his upstairs study. It was on the desk, under a few less interesting papers.”

Smirking, Arthur shook his head and offered the paper back-- but she held up her hands for him to keep it, “... If I had known you meant to steal somethin’ like this when you went for yer bath, I wouldn’t have made a fuss!”

“You were brilliant, Mister Morgan. I couldn’t have scripted you a better part.”

“Hush.”

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #Arthur Morgan #ao3fic #revolver fic #my mic

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deztinywarriors · 6 years

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ES Spectre 2.0 Chapter 38

#Playchoices #Endless Summer #Adventure #fanfic #pixelberry

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selcouthraindrop · 6 years

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Story of the day, 2

orph. i need to cut it short, as time is running out.

the things that i really wanna write to you are the things that matters more to me. like the things she said.

like, ok, wait. we met other teachers. we took pictures. & ma’m left. & we walked together. a lot. i missed this so much.

now, those little things, why they matter to me don’t know. we went to taltola to have fuchka & we sat beside. & first ommi said she & four would share a plate. me & didi another. & four changed that match & said she & i would share a plate.. (even though we both were bad at eating that thing & probably couldn’t have finished it on our own. why though?.... i wanna think she wanted to share food with me. share. with me. ---) anyway, i actually don’t like having large fuchka & also, i didn’t feel well eating. so i ended up having a drink.

dear god. i have no idea, what i’m writing here & why? what’s the purpose of all this? do i want her to read all these one day? or do i wanna look back & see these days? don’t know. don’t know nothing.

what matters to me, do u know? everything. everything about her. she, grabbing the bottle of 7 up from my hand. drinking. giving it back to me. & everything. she smiles a lot now. that’s so beautiful. don’t know though, if any pain is hiding behind that beauty,,

she was taking selfies with ommi & didi. then she grabbed my hand & pulled me closer to them & took another. that’s in the picture. her hand, wrapping my wrist. not all of it. but you could figure.

& when she’d been talking to ommi, walking behind me & didi,, i was hearing. & i wanted them to come in front of us & i wanted to follow her from behind. cause i wanted to see her. cause this is how we used to walk. in our college days. them, talking, me, following them. most times. & i love seeing her taking each step. i love the way she walks. i love the way she walks.

her slender waistline that her dress couldn’t hide in.

she’s a bit tanned. probably cause she goes out a lot more now. she took selfie. she’s changed. only still as beautiful as she was. or maybe even more.

when we’re walking home together.. she bought another bottle of 7 up & she said probably she’ll die from drinking 7 up. cause she can’t eat anything, she keeps drinking that thing. you know, once she says she eats a lot. & then she says she can’t eat. i feel so sad when she does that. i know she doesn’t eat, she can’t eat anymore. then why would she hide the truth & tell me the opposite? does she think i’ll make fun of her if she tells me the truth? or think she’s weak? i know she’s so strong. so strong.

i never wrote things like these before, did i? i never want anybody else to see this but her.

i wanted her to pay some more attention to me, but did she? i don’t know. but when our principal was talking about urdu, she looked at me. she looked at me many times & i didn’t look back. silly me. i should’ve looked back. how long has it been since i looked her in the eye last time? silly so silly me. if its at her home, like she told me to there in next holidays, i can’t stare at her. that won’t be nice. but there. when everyone was there.. i could’ve looked at her while she was looking at me.

she.

i gave her 3 badges. the one’s i told you about. except that, i gave the “life is better with friends” to didi & i offered her the beatles with the other three & first she took that but later picked doctor who better. maybe she thought i bought that doctor thing onek shokh kore. so she couldn’t refuse that one.

& luckily i had a pirates of the caribbean badge with me, so i gave that to ommi, as i knew she liked that movie. i was thinking what she could’ve thought about me giving four, 3 & her, 1. but she already knows i like four better. i still want her not to mind or get hurt.

u know, she later texted she saw the L & Light Yagami badge on my sister’s backpack that i took with me.

& she said, 2/3 years back, i had প্রাঞ্জলতা in my face. i no longer have প্রাণ in the way i look. i don’t know if that makes her like me less. don’t know anything. but she really doesn’t know how i’m dying everyday. does she?

i don’t know why she’s nicer to me these days. why she’s talking to me more. is she feeling sympathy for me? have i turned into a sympathy seeker? or is it just cause she doesn’t have wifi at her home in dhaka? or she’s keeping her fb deactivated. so she needs me to talk with her. i just don’t wanna overdo it. i just don’t wanna get crazy like i did before.

right now, its 4:24. & i’m hungry.

other things. her laughter, that she couldn’t control. SHE COULDN’T CONTROL HER LAUGHTER, can you believe that? when we were at a book shop & she was moving her books from her bag to ommi’s. & after a moment, it occurred to her that people might think she was shoplifting, so she hurriedly left that place & started laughing there, in front of a gate. that priceless laughter, i couldn’t believe what i saw. though i didn’t dare to stare. but took snaps of her face. her squeezed eyes, eyebrows. her slightly open mouth, that she fought to close..

she had tea at a stall before, with ommi. i wonder if it’s before or after i had tea with her. she told me though, back then, that she never had tea in a tea stall.. so maybe after. & she showed that stall. did she do that for me to see it. or just cause she could remember that place.. i don’t know. maybe both. or maybe i’m only being too hopeful..

when we were walking, she & only, & we’re near to where our paths divide, she asked me which way i’d go. & that, it was my choice, i could pick either. i looked away, didn’t know what to say to that. but then i simply walked with her to her way.

& then, she said, looking around,, everything is same. except two people.

omg, i almost forgot about the ring. the ring. i once asked her to buy me a ring & the excuse was that i lost all my rings, which i did really,, & she bought one for me from lalon mela. she remembered! & she gave it to me. i’m wearing it on my ring finger.. not feeling anything though. about it. i don’t know what to feel.

& she wanted to bring the phone’s back cover that she bought but forgot. & you know, she texted me that she thought i’d see her phone. o’r at least her wallpaper. & everytime she took out her phone,, she did something & i felt like she didn’t want me to take that from her.. & thought now she has more that doesn’t want me to see. so i didn’t think of taking it from her.

i wanted to talk to her even more. a lot. lot. you know i was watching videos the night earlier, to see how to talk, chat, & make it interesting & not run out of topics & how to make someone open up.. etc. now that i’m writing this, it’s making me embarrassed. but i really can’t talk. & i wanted to hear from her all about her life there.

& she saw her phone & missed calls from home, so she was in a hurry. & didn’t want her to get into any trouble for me. so i said, i’ll go. you take a rikshaw and go home. & she was like, you going? ok. like that.. & turned arround & as i started walking, my heart was breaking & i thought how could i do that. i’m not gonna see her in months,, if it ends here, it ends for how long who knows? nothing’s gonna happen. so let me stay with her a little longer. & i turned back after walking a few steps & saw her looking at me. & i ran to her back. & gave her a feather & a sticker of aladdin & the genie. haha. i ran. how silly of me. what’s hurry?

i wanted to keep walking & not go back home. i always feel like that when i have to leave her, don’t know why.

she told me to go at her place when next time she comes. but i wanna walk with her. like i was that day. i wanna see her from behind.. and wanna see her walk beside me. i hit her back with my head, i don’t know if she noticed that. but that kinda made me afraid of what i’ll do next. so i hurriedly said goodbye. how i wanted to touch her everytime she got closed to me.

she’s a different person at home & outside. she’s nice at home but not.. i don’t know, she doesn’t open up enough there. & i feel so nervous with her when at her home. and her family there.

i’m so tired.

i think of her all day. this needs to end. really. i just wish it ends in a nicer way.

i’m not as good as i think i am. when i can have her close, & i want her closer, then more.... & when i can’t have her with me.. can’t see her. can’t talk to her,, i feel like, whatever. let me just see her. once.

now i feel like, just let her be a friend to me. a good friend. let me have some time with her, that will be enough. she’s so nice,, seeing her once in a while will be enough. & i know later i’ll think,, i can’t stand this friendship. i want her other way. i want her. like i love her. i want her more than this. i want my heart beating so fast, i want her to hold me. tight.

i wanna touch her feet with mine. i did that a million times in my mind.

#she #four #that day #april 7

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noisymiagy · 4 years

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14 Amazing Life Lessons You Can Learn From Your Dog

Dogs know an aspect or two approximately dwelling lifestyles to the fullest. Right here are a number of their finest lifestyle classes.

Does any being in this earth love lifestyles as plenty of a dog? Whether they're romping in sparkling snow or rolling over for belly rubs, our dog partners have a tendency to savor every second lifestyle offers them. So if we paid more interest, we might comprehend puppies are non-secular authorities who can manual us on the route to enlightenment.

1-Focus on the positive.

You recognize while your head is within the clouds and also you locate your self feeling unhappy approximately something you cannot quite place your finger on? After which abruptly, your canine rolls over and gives you a look that announces, "how are you going to be so disappointed when there is a stomach rub for the taking right in front of you?"

Dogs are constantly there to remind us to awareness on the positive—er, effective—even supposing it's simply something small that brings us joy. In the end, how may want to matters be awful while this second feels so top?

2-Have faith.

There once changed into a dog named Devo who went viral for a totally adorable reason. His owner tweeted that he determined some lasagna in a cemetery as soon as, and each time he's long gone missing, he is always run off to that cemetery, seeking out more Italian food—even three years later. "I suppose his optimism is a beautiful component," Devo's owner told the dodo.

It absolutely is! Puppies apprehend the authentic which means preserving the faith. They do not get discouraged when the things that they want does not appear. While there won't be lasagna within the cemetery ever once more, one in every of in recent times, some pasta will fall off of devo's owner's fork. And, whilst it does, he could be waiting.

3-Love unconditionally.

As soon as you get a dog, you possibly have newfound expertise in what "unconditional love" means. Dogs love without awaiting anything in return, and shouldn't all of us do greater of that? It's not about who loves who greater or who does what for whom, it's simply loved for romance's sake. And it's so releasing!

4-Leave the past in the past.

One of the most heartwarming matters about puppies is that, no matter how much suffering or abuse they have got long past through, they may be rehabilitated with just a little little bit of love and care. Dogs aren't bitter or irritated about what's come before. To doggies, this day is a good day, and that's all that counts.

As one owner wrote about her pit bull who changed into rendered blind after successful-and-run, "puppies can be placed via horrible matters, however, they still can bounce back and live a glad life. It's that capacity to go away the past within the beyond that make puppies so terrific."

5-Express gratitude.

Being happy comes down to focusing on what you have got, instead of what you don't. But for human beings, it truly is easier stated than performed. That is due to the fact we are programmed to take the best without any consideration and brood over the terrible alternatively.

However no longer dogs. On every occasion you feed your canine, they react as though it is the first time they have got ever seen meals. Each time you seize the leash to take them out for a stroll, they zoom backward and forward in a flurry of excitement. And each time you walk within the door, even in case you simply went to take the trash out, they're bursting with pleasure. Puppies remind us that even though something may be routine, we should always take time to understand that it's a part of our lives.

6-Be mindful.

We people generally tend to have many complicated mind rattling round in our minds at all times. "what are we going to have for dinner?" "what did my partner suggest when they said that?" "why hasn't my boss replied to that electronic mail?" pretty soon, we've labored ourselves up right into a frenzy, and we don't even note the world round us.

Puppies, in the meantime, live inside the moment. "i'm walking with my wonderful human," they appear to be questioning. "i've picked up an super stick. Look, grass! Grass is so beautiful. Squirrel!" puppies are genuine masters in the art of mindfulness, and they are able to encourage us to completely absorb each moment as nicely.

7-Keep calm and carry on.

No matter what role dogs locate themselves in, they do not pressure. Let's assume they get caught in a cat door—and this is just hypothetical. Dogs do not war against the cat door they're caught in. They're one with the cat door. They understand they may get out of it while the time is proper.

8-Be open to adventure.

Humans hesitate each time they're forced to do some thing with uncertain variables or unknown results. Puppies on the other hand? Genuinely open your car canine, and fido will bolt into the back seat. Positive, from time to time those automobile rides bring about journeys to the vet. However there is usually the threat that they may cause playtime within the park, and that makes the journey worthwhile.

9-Walk more.

Your canine is probably onto something with all the ones "walks" they are begging to take. Consistent with the mayo health facility, including on foot into your regular habitual permit you to prevent coronary heart ailment, improve your temper, and maintain a trim waistline. And that's infrequently the only manner puppies assist you to get healthy.

10-Family doesn't have to be blood.

Puppies recognize better than any human that every now and then circle of relatives isn't always our blood household; it's the humans in our lives who we've got selected to have there. Our puppies may not be associated with us by blood, however, you'll in no way are aware of it based on the way they love us and vice versa.

11-Don't judge.

Dogs don't judge people based on the color of their skin, their sexual orientation, or their gender. (Heck, our colorblind canines can't even see the shade of our skin all that well!) What dogs rely on—and what we should rely on, too—in order to separate the good humans from the bad ones are simply people's personality traits and actions. It's smiles and pets that let dogs know that humans are trustworthy, not their race or whom they love.

12-Bodies come in all shapes and sizes.

Big dogs, small dogs, thick dogs, skinny dogs—we love them all! Quite frankly, it doesn't make any sense how we embrace dogs not in spite of, but because of their body types and then judge each other for being too tall, too short, too fat, or too skinny.Every body is different, and we should love them just how they are. After all, if we can do it with dogs, then we can do it with each other, too.

13-Be forgiving.

Have you ever accidentally slammed your canine's tail in a door or stepped on his paw? If your answer is sure, you then know inflicting pain on your doggy is one of the worst emotions inside the globe. And yet, our canine comrades seem to overlook that whatever ever occurred after only some seconds.Sure, puppies clearly are one of the most forgiving species obtainable—it truly is simply part of what makes them so carefree and happy-cross-fortunate. We human beings could analyze a thing or from puppies approximately forgiveness and letting pass of grudges.

14-See the light.

Have you noticed that dogs always manage to find the one sliver of light in an otherwise dark room in which to take a nap? They do the same thing figuratively as well, and it should inspire us to do the same.

#DOGSAREAMAZING #FUNNYDOGS #DOGSAREHAPPINESS #LIFEGURUS #ARTICLEOFTHEDAY #mensbestfriend

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jasperrollswrites · 7 years

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Monster: Whole Hog!!

A commission done for @mfmonstah, the first of quite a few. He wanted a TF into Roadhog, from Overwatch, and I was very happy to provide, given the guy is one of my absolute favourite characters ever. It was a lot of fun.

———————

The lights in the 7/11 felt harsh, almost blinding. Wolf felt exhausted, but he was almost subconsciously grateful for it. It had been a long, rough day at work, and he needed something to keep his eyes open for the half an hour left it would take to get home - otherwise he'd just fall over right there.

He didn't like this state he'd gotten into. Work feeling like it was taking almost all of his life, collapsing the moment he got home, then waking up about 2 hours before his alarm before it started all over again. It felt like there was no time any more to do anything he enjoyed. Working retail was a nightmare in itself, but the aftermath hurt just as bad.

Wolf stared blankly at the fridge containing a bevy of cold drinks. Something sharp enough to just keep him going. Coca Cola, Pepsi, Dr Pepper, Red Bull, Monster. He tried to consider the options, but his brain wasn't working properly. He rubbed his eyes, not caring if he smudged his glasses. Just pick something. Monster. He opened the door to take his choice, when he stopped.

Monster: Whole Hog!!

It was a new flavour. A bright yellow can, with the Monster logo alongside a familiar drawing of a pig. And that masked face on the cover...

Looked like Monster had done a branding deal with Blizzard, and it had resulted in...this. An Overwatch themed energy drink, and they'd chosen Roadhog to be the mascot to carry it. Seemed like a weird choice. Sure, Roadhog was just as popular as any of the other heroes in the game, but Reaper or McCree would've been a more recognisable one, even to people who don't play the game...oh, but who gave a shit. Wolf was tired and he didn't have the processing power to question Blizzard's marketing decisions. He grabbed it for the novelty, paid at the counter, and left.

There was a cold wind blowing - the kind of cold that went right through you, no matter how many layers you put on. Now that he was out here, Wolf wasn't sure of the wisdom of buying a refrigerated energy drink in a can. The cool metal made his ungloved hand feel frozen to it, and the liquid inside made it worse. But this was the only way he was going to stay awake at this point. He popped the tab and heard the slight carbonated hiss, then took a quick swig, rolling it around in his mouth slightly before swallowing. Nothing much to say about the flavour. It seemed like Monster as usual, not that he was about to complain. Just a bit disappointing for a branded can to really not be all that different. He felt gas bubbling up through his throat, before he let out a small burp.

He shook his shoulders to get his fleecy coat wrapped tighter around him. It was dark and foggy out, foggy to the point that he could only see as far as the next street lamp. This was the worst thing about winter, it got dark so quick. Wolf felt his vison blur slightly as he closed his eyes for a moment. He was so tired. He couldn't wait to flop into his bed and just sleep for...4 years would probably do it. Then he'd be ready to face the world again.

He took another drink from the can, a longer one this time. After a few seconds, he felt the gas bubbling up again before he let out a louder belch. He covered his mouth in surprise. This drink was definitely fizzy. Damn. He kept on walking, feeling the wind blow straight through him...especially on his lower stomach.

Wolf looked down to see that his belly had distended slightly. He had a pretty thin frame as body types went, but his stomach seemed to have spontaneously grown a bit - not hugely, but enough to expose his skin to the air. He grabbed his shirt and coat at the bottom and pulled it down to keep himself covered. Maybe he should lay off candy or something.

He took another swig of the drink, tipping his head back quite a way to drink a significantly larger amount. Wiping his lips, he began a yawn...which slowly evolved into yet another, loud belch, big enough to leave him in a coughing fit at the end of it. Damn, this drink was REALLY gassy.

The wind picked up again, and Wolf felt the chill go through him again...including on his stomach. He looked down in surprise to see his shirt had ridden up again - and his stomach was much bigger than before.

"I was...definitely not...this big...when I left the store" he murmured to himself, grabbing the sudden paunch he had gained and kneading it between his fingers. He wasn't entirely sure he minded - fat was as just as good as muscle - but the sudden gain was a little bit concerning. He poked his belly button. It was an outie, but he was fairly sure he'd been an innie a couple of minutes earlier.

The energy drink? It was the only thing that was really different than any other night he'd spent walking home, half asleep. He looked at the can. The image of Roadhog on it stared blankly back at him. "You're not much help..." Wolf said under his breath. He turned the can a bit, twisting his wrist, when he finally noticed that his fingernails had turned completely black.

Wolf nearly dropped the can in surprise. He was very confident he had not painted his nails today, or any other day before that. And now that he looked closely at his hand, he could see it was...bigger. Meatier. His fingers were thicker, more square, they had a bit of a rough look around them, like he hadn't bothered to wash them for a day or two.

He turned the can back to look at the render of Roadhog on the cover, and grinned. Of course. What else would it be? The whole thing was a cliché, but Wolf didn't really care. It felt good so far, he might as well roll with it. He felt wide awake now. Placing a thick thumb over the opening in the can so it didn't spill, he began running home.

***

The wallet and keys were roughly tossed on the counter as Wolf quickly shrugged off his coat and threw it over the back of the nearest chair. He briefly considered whether he should take his clothes off for this. He was wearing one of his favourite shirts but...hell, he had others, and it would feel so much better, bursting out of those. Besides, based on what he guessed was about to happen, he wouldn't give a damn by the end of it.

Picking up the can he'd placed rather gingerly on the counter in comparison to the other things he'd been carrying around, Wolf brushed his black hair back, to keep it out of his eyes. Raising the can slightly in a quiet toast to himself, he took a deep breath, then raised the can to his lips and tipped his head back as far as it could go.

There was about 7 seconds of silence as the drink slid down Wolf's throat. He closed his eyes, letting all of it drain away, until only little drops were left. With the drink finished, he lifted the can away and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, letting it drop to his side.

He looked down at himself to find that...nothing had changed.

Granted, he was still a bit pudgier than before, but that how he had looked before coming into the house. He didn't exactly expect it to have been over all at once, but...surely something was meant to happen? That was what he was lead to believe.

That was when he felt the rumbling in his stomach.

It wasn't the kind of rumbling you could audibly hear - it was pure feeling, the sensation of his gut twisting up as it tried to process what he'd just sent to it. It was coming now, he knew it. Wolf clenched a meaty fist, crushing the can easily, and threw it to the floor. Now that feeling was shooting upwards, rising up from the stomach, through the chest, up, up, bubbling through the esophagus. His entire body tensed in anticipation, as the feeling rose up through his throat.

This was gonna be a big one.

He felt the momentary resistance first, like it didn't quite want to come through, his mouth didn't want to open up. But it was too much - when was it ever not? - and it needed release. Almost forcefully, he opened up wide, and let out a loud, cacophonous belch, so powerful it actually knocked him off his feet.

It was a long one too. Stumbling back against the wall, surprised by the power, he watched as an inverse relationship happened to his belly. As the gas expelled itself from his mouth, his stomach expanded, fat piling on and on, bloating up on its own. He could feel the weight increasing, the belly beginning to hang over his waistline. His shirt rode up, now good for only covering his chest.

As the belch trailed off, he placed a hand on his ever-expanding belly, noticing that it too was changing, becoming even thicker and rougher. He felt little nicks of pain as tiny scars appeared all over his hand. He'd just gotten them, but they looked as if they had marked his skin for years. Wolf felt a grin spreading across his face, watching his previously small hands become big, heavy mitts that could crush a smaller man's head - and everyone was small to him now.

A sensation on his belly took his attention away, as a he saw a pair of black dots appear near his belly button. While the rest of his skin was taking on a sunburnt tinge, the area around his belly button turned pink. Black lines, drawn by invisible hand, outlined a pig's head. Following that, a motor, fully formed, slid out from behind the pigs ears, as an inky fire began to appear behind that, moving as if it was a real flame.

A loud tear pulled Wolf's attention to his chest, which was doing its own expanding. His modest flat breast had followed his belly's lead and bloated out into a pair of sizable moobs, tearing that shirt to shreds. Wolf reached up to pull the rags away, and took the chance to grope one. It was thick, but felt solid. He let out a sinister laugh, his voice coming out much lower and more guttural.

Suddenly, he felt a dull ache in his mouth. Raising a paw to his jaw, he opened his mouth as if he was yawning. He rolled the jaw around, and felt the click of bone. Beneath his large fingers, he could feel his jaw becoming broader, squarer, the face becoming overall larger. The little nicks of pain started up again, this time over his face - crossing an eyebrow, down his thick lips, scratching across his cheeks. Scars, newly formed, but looking like they had been there forever. As he closed his mouth, Wolf felt a slight tickle on his upper lip, and investigated with a fat index finger. His lower canines seemed to have grown enough to become tiny little tusks, breaking through his lips.

Wolf brushed through his hair again, and noticing something, grasped hold of a couple of strands. His previously dark black hair had turned grey, and it was now much longer. It fell flat on his head, cascading down across his shoulders - the hair of a much older man. And now, he was that much older man.

He could feel the memories pouring into his brain - long days in the endless wasteland of a country on the other side of the world, an old motorbike humming beneath him. Scenes of chaos and destruction, a hook and chain in his left hand, his scrap gun in his right. He closed his eyes, flexed his hands, remembering the feeling.

After a minute or so of low, heavy, tortured breathing, Mako Rutledge shifted his head, and clicked his neck.

He patted his belly, and did a quick check to make sure everything was in place. Tattoo fully formed, arms filled out and muscular, broad shoulders and back. The underwear the kid from before was wearing was still attached, covering him up, but it was stretched to its absolute limit. A single move and the waistband would probably snap. He looked at the torn up clothes on the floor. Whatever. Not like anyone would be seeing him like this.

He rolled his shoulders back, and began to walk. As predicted, the waistband pinged apart. Taking a few more heavy, thumping steps, Mako nonchalantly grabbed what was left of the pants and tore them away. Wouldn't be needing that. He'd be getting more fitting clothes somewhere else. Then after that, he'd need to head back to that 7/11. The kid had forgotten a couple of things.

***

It had been an hour or so since the last customer had come and gone - some guy who looked blazed out of his mind who had grabbed a drink. The clerk wiped his tired eyes and looked at the clock. 10:22pm. He looked at the mostly empty store. The only other person there was a guy with long messy hair, wearing a blue hoodie, who had been mithering around the soft drink/energy drink section. The clerk wished this guy would stop fucking around and pick something so he could start closing up shop.

He watched as the customer reached forward and took a yellow can of Monster, his eyes widening at what was on the can. Must be that video game character thing they got earlier this month - the guy looked like someone who never went out.

Both the clerk and customer were, however, broken out of their individual reveries when a large hook smashed violently through the window and planted itself in the counter, immediately destroying the silent alarm.

A long chain extended from the hook, and at the other end was an absolute mountain of a man. He was the fattest, largest man either of them had ever seen in real life. A tattoo of a pig face covered his enormous belly, and a gas mask shaped like a pig snout covered his face.

The customer dropped the can he'd been holding, with a combined look of fear and awe. The clerk, his back against the wall, was just scared.

The pig-man walked forward slowly, his heavy footsteps making loud thumps on the floor of the tiny store. He stopped next to the customer who was frozen still, and reached over his head to grab about 6 cans of the same kind of energy drink in one hand

"Y...you're...Roadhog..." the customer stammered out.

"Glad you noticed." Roadhog replied.

There were a few seconds of awkward silence, as the two innocents tried to process what was happening to them.

Roadhog grinned underneath the mask, and looked at the cans in his hand.

"Looks like you boys could use a drink."

#writing #transformation #overwatch #roadhog

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rulesoftraveling · 4 years

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Rules #1-4

When you’ve been on the road long enough, certain things become second nature to you. You’ve done it all before. Each day may be different, but some experiences and necessities become background noise of your daily life. Because of that, I sometimes try to sit back and remember the little tidbits of travel knowledge I would otherwise take for granted. When all this is over (if it’s ever over), I want to be able to look back on it and remember it not just as it happened, but as a lesson. So, I’m taking time to record some of my thoughts on my journey, presented in the order they occurred to me during the most remarkable days I spent on the road.

And if it so happens I never get the chance to revisit my writings, I hope whoever finds this journal will learn something from it, or at least be entertained hearing my tales of learning some of these lessons the hard way.

Rule #1 of traveling: Free things are your best friend

That may sound like a silly one, but it’s true. The first thing I did when I arrived at the motel in Seaglass Bay was take the lotion, shampoo, facial cleansing wipes, and toothbrush left for me in the bathroom. Because of this, I hadn’t had to buy lotion in weeks, and had no large tube taking up space in my already bulky pack. The other things weren’t quite as necessary, since my waist length dreadlocks required more shampoo than I had amassed by raiding motel bathrooms so far, and a toothbrush was something I already had. Still, I knew I might need them later, so I took it all.

My money wasn’t going to last forever. By taking whatever free goods I could--ranging from toiletries to food samples in malls--had saved me enough money for an extra night or two in a motel and hours of shopping. Then again, I’d already been on the road a long time, so of course it added up.

The next thing I did was dump out my pack and figure out what I could leave in the room while I went out and about. Most of it could stay, really. I only needed my wallet, recently acquired lotion, my phone, a pocket knife, and the length of chain (roughly eight feet of it) that I always carried on hand. Just the essentials. The rest I left on the bed.

With everything where I needed it to be, I headed into town. The weather was beautiful; it was warm out and sunny above with a gentle, salty breeze rolling in off the ocean. No matter how you look at it, it was the perfect day to be on the beach. I couldn’t resist the urge to take off my shoes and feel the sand beneath my feet. Well, what little sand was on the boardwalk, at least. Walking on the actual beach was a tempting thought, but I knew I would get distracted if I did. Something about standing by the ocean always made me lose track of time. Getting lost in the moment was effortless out there, and my stomach couldn’t afford me standing around in some oceanic appreciation trance. I was starving.

It took some self control, but I kept myself on task and continued down the boardwalk towards the part of town where I’d seen the most restaurants on the way in. My pace only faltered at the sight of a woman’s wings folded against her back. It wasn’t the sort of thing you see every day, but that brings me to my second point…

Rule #2: Magic is more common than you think

You get used to it to some extent after awhile. Still, while the existence of magic itself is hardly a secret, most people still don’t know about it, and those who use it tend to prefer doing so in more private settings where they won’t make a scene. So, walking to lunch and seeing a woman with wings managed to surprise me despite having been around magic all my life.

Her wings were more like that of a butterfly than a bird, though longer and skinnier than a butterfly’s would typically be. They were golden, luminous and dainty, like someone had fashioned them out of wire that just so happened to catch the sun right. It was anyone’s best guess as to weather they were functional or just decorative, but the lack of reactions from the crowd made me think that not everyone could see them. If they were just for show, it seemed they were a show meant only for people like me; ones gifted with an eye for the supernatural or raised around magic and conditioned to notice it easier through exposure.

The woman with wings turned to glance back at me, and I wondered in passing if she knew that I knew, or if it was just one of those fleeting, empty moments between strangers where they happen to lock eyes in an exchange that would most likely be forgotten minutes later.

Either way, I kept moving. A pair of fairy wings wasn’t worth stopping over. I continued onward until I hit a bakery. It wasn’t really the sort of place someone stopped for lunch, but the sight of cupcakes through the window made my steps slow to a crawl before stopping entirely as I decided that, being a grown man, I had the right to ruin my appetite with sweets if I so pleased. The colorful frosting and sprinkles called to me, as did the less flashy desserts. I wasn’t about to deny myself a small pleasure. Satisfied with my decision, I waltzed through the door with my heart set on something delicious.

The only person inside other than myself was a young woman about my age behind the counter. Her brown apron had a couple spots of flour on it that looked like they’d been brushed mostly off for the sake of appearances, but faint white marks remained despite her best efforts. It was one case where a little bit of messiness was appropriate, in my opinion. Bakers were supposed to be covered in flour. It really added to the idyllic hole-in-the-wall bakery aesthetic.

The whole bakery had that charm, with everything inside painted brown, pink, and white. Floral patterns were stenciled onto white trim, and even the display cases had pink flowers in white vases on top. It was adorable and welcoming, offering a homey feel that hit customers from the moment they walked in til the moment they left, and as I walked to the counter to make my order, I was enjoying being surrounded by that comforting air.

“I’ll have, uh…” I hadn’t made a decision prior to speaking. Oops. After a moment of awkward contemplation, I pointed at a row of mini cannolis inside the glass case by the register. “I’ll have one of those. No wait, make it two.”

The baker smiled at me, but raised one eyebrow almost judgmentally. “Would you prefer a regular sized cannoli, then?”

“Nope. That would be the smart thing to do, but I happen to be a huge fan of adorably small things.”

Her mile faltered for a moment before returning brighter than ever. She didn’t look happy as much she did amused. This reaction understandably confused the hell out of me for a split second, until I realized that she was, in fact, a very small woman.

She probably thought I was flirting. Not to be dramatic or anything, but this was quite possibly the worst way the interaction could have gone, and if I’d been any more inclined towards melodrama, I might have wished for death.

Even with a slight tan on my already brown skin, my complexion wasn’t quite dark enough to hide the blood rushing to my cheeks. I was mortified. Flirting with people at work was a serious no-no, but being perceived as flirting felt almost as bad, and it didn’t help that she was grinning the whole time. Make no mistake, she did not enjoy my comment because she was into me. Instead, she was clearly reveling in my awkwardness and shame. That was the smile of a woman who got a kick out of watching dumbasses like me make fools of themselves.

“Um. Yeah. Two mini cannolis.” I kept my tone even. Too bad I undoubtedly looked flustered. “That’ll be all.”

She boxed up the tiny confections without teasing or jeering, but the amusement never left her eyes. All I wanted to do was escape, so I paid as fast as humanly possible and took off down another street in search of a proper lunch. Of course, I kept my head screwed on straight enough to remember to eat my cannolis before they got warm. And god damn were they good.

Rule #3: Remember to sample the local cuisine

Restaurant franchises are so overrated. Part of the appeal of traveling is to find some little understated mom and pop joint that only the locals frequent. Maybe the bakery technically counted as one of these places too, but the real spirit of this rule hit me as I found a tiny diner to take lunch in. Every beach town needs a diner. That was almost as much a part of the “beach town” energy as the ocean itself.

I ordered a turkey melt and a cola. The only thing that could have been more perfect would have been a vanilla milkshake with a cherry on top, but having ordered the cannolis, I’d both had enough sugar and splurged on treats enough for one day. I had both my wallet and my waistline to save. Hence the cola; still classic and very much on brand, but more reasonable in multiple senses of the word than a milkshake.

It was plenty good enough. I was content with my sandwich and cola. The fries that came on the side, though not quite crispy enough for my taste, had the right amount of salt, and the sandwich itself didn’t skimp out on the meat or cheese. Honestly, it was the most satisfying lunch I’d had in awhile.

I wish I could have finished it.

A couple bites into the second half of the turkey melt, I glanced up to find two men standing at the entrance and staring at me. For being a big, blocky dude, the larger of the two was surprisingly nondescript. His hair and facial features were the furthest thing from memorable, and if it weren’t for his charcoal grey suit and the square shape of his body making him look like a caricature of a bodyguard, I may not have noticed him at all.

In sharp contrast, the other man looked downright ridiculous. He was a few inches shorter than Mr. Bodyguard, but his legs were too long for the rest of his body, making him look taller than he was. This wouldn’t have seemed quite so strange if it weren’t for the fact that his clothes exaggerated it. His perfectly pressed white slacks and dress shirt fit in such a way as to seemingly elongate his body. And as if he weren’t overdressed enough already, he wore a pale gold vest that picked up the yellow ruffles on the white parasol he held in one hand. Even his skin was uncomfortably colorless, and the curls of hair peeking out beneath his white bowler were platinum blond. The only thing about him that wasn’t white and yellow was his pair of sky blue eyes.

There was a fine line between judging a book by its cover and trusting your gut, but I’d like to think the unease I felt at the sight of them was more the latter. You see, when you catch someone staring at you, they typically either look away to try and pretend they weren’t staring, or they smile sheepishly knowing they’ve been caught. When I locked eyes with the men by the door, they did neither. The big one stared me down without a hint of shame, and the banana split looking motherfucker did smile, but instead of it being shy, the slow parting of his lips into a perfect, brilliantly white grin was nothing short of predatory.

Rule #4: Always be ready to run at a moment’s notice

They weren’t the first hunters to come for me. Even if there was no uniform or badge associated with their kind, I’d learned to recognize them quickly. The sight of them frightened me all the same. I might have noticed my palms sweating if I hadn’t had a sandwich in one hand and a glass of soda in the other, but the shiver that ran down my spine was plenty obvious. It was one thing being on the run, and another entirely to know you’re cornered.

The white and yellow guy jerked his head towards the door while still maintaining eye contact. Okay. It was a subtle invitation to take this outside, and I was pretty grateful for that. Fighting outside meant less people around us getting caught in the crossfire, or better yet, an opportunity to run. I wasn’t about to take that opening for granted.

Slowly, I placed enough money on my table to cover lunch plus a nice tip, then rose from my seat. Rationally speaking, I knew the diner was small and it took no time to cross from my table to the door, but it didn’t feel that way. Each step was agonizingly slow and the tension in the air between us unbearable. The voices of everyone around us faded further into the background, their small talk and quiet laughter almost inaudible as I found myself focused only on my enemy and the decreasing space between us. We were so close, yet so far, and every moment was somehow both a split second and a lifetime.

“Gentlemen,” I greeted them. This sounded stupid for some reason. I didn’t really know what the etiquette for addressing one’s potential captors was supposed to be. “What do you say we take this where no one will get hurt?”

“My thoughts exactly,” the white and yellow one replied amiably. The pitch of his voice wasn’t particularly high or low, but the quality of it was unusually smooth, making it distinct in its own right. It matched the unsettling perfection of his straight, white teeth and tailored clothes, and paired with the grace of his every movement as he opened the door for me, I was almost distracted by the neatness that defined his being. If he’d just had a hair out of place or a speck of dirt on his clothing, he might have seemed real. But as it was, the flaws he had were his too-long legs and ghastly pale but flawless skin, and the way these featured paired with the rest of his “perfection” was just downright creepy.

But then that ocean breeze hit me again. The smell of salt and the warmth of the sun was so real even when the presence of these hunters felt anything but. It reminded me of what needed to be done, and why I’d so willingly stepped up to the door in the first place.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I ran.

I didn’t know whether or not I could take those two in a fight, but the odds were definitely against me. Of course I wasn’t about to step outside just to go toe to toe with them. What sense would that make? I was prepared for a fight if necessary. I always had to be. That being said, the smart choice was to run, and I’d played along with their civil invitation long enough to make it to freedom. If I could just stay enough steps ahead of them, I’d live to see another beautiful day on the beach somewhere else.

Behind me, I could hear both of them cursing, followed by pounding footsteps as they took off after me. I wasn’t too worried about the big one catching up, but the other one’s long legs were no doubt formidable in a race. I needed to sprint as long as I could. It didn’t matter that I was starting to tire or that my body had begun to ache. To move forward was to live.

The great thing about beach towns is that whenever the weather is nice, there are always crowds of people out and about. This was one of those days. I made a point of running through groups of tourists where I could, ducking and dodging in hopes I could stay low and move erratically enough that my pursuers would have a hard time following me. For awhile, it worked. I managed to get some distance between us before dashing into a little clothing boutique. It wasn’t wholly clear if they saw where I’d gone, but I wasn’t hiding. Not yet, at least.

What I was aiming to do was buy time to take off my pack and retrieve my pocket knife and length of chain. As much as I disliked chains in general--mostly due to the connotations of unwilling restraint and imprisonment--I couldn’t deny their use as weapons. I set aside my chain for a moment, however, as I dragged the blade of my knife across the same small section of my palm that I always used.

Despite what movies might have you think, if blood is all you need, cutting your palm is generally a stupid move. You won’t bleed all that much unless it’s deep, and the wound is bound to reopen as you go about your daily life using your hands. I needed more than just blood, though. To bleed on something and hold it at the same time was ideal with my abilities, so cutting my palm made the most sense.

I took hold of the chain in my bloody hand, and there was a familiar jolt of discomfort up my arm as my blood bound the chain to my will. Each dull, gray link began to twitch and writhe independently of the others as I tested my level of control. It served as an extension of my body; a limb in its own right, with its metal segments acting as both the bone and muscle of this temporary limb. It was strong and durable, and more importantly, it was eight fucking feet long.

Satisfied with the addition to my body, I hurried back outside the store. After all, I didn’t want to bring the people working there face to face with whatever violence was about to unfold. I quickly learned I’d made the right decision. I’d barely stepped outside when a jagged, blinding bar of light appeared just a few feet away. It cut the air with hiss, followed by a deafening BOOM. Definitely not the kind of thing I wanted to deal with inside a tiny clothing store. At least outside I might be able to dodge.

With a yelp of fear and confusion, I staggered backwards away from the… blast? Beam? Glowing projectile? I didn’t actually know what the hell had nearly hit me, but both logic and instinct screamed at me that it was something I couldn’t afford to come in contact with, though not worded so eloquently. What went through my head at the time was more along the lines of “OH GOD. OH FUCK.”

Screams filled the air. Most people had never seen magic before, and even those who had still tended to panic while nearly being vaporized by it. Beach goers scattered in every direction. Both young and old made their terror known as they tried to escape the unknown threat, and there I was, caught in the middle of it and bounced this way and that by the crowd.

In my flailing and scrambling, I caught sight of the hunters standing at the street corner. The smaller one had his parasol pointing out towards me, though still folded down. I only had a moment or two to puzzle over this before another beam of light flashed into existence just above my head. It hadn’t missed me because his aim was off, I suddenly realized, but rather because I was falling. For once, being knocked over by a panicked stranger fleeing for his life was actually a good thing. Maybe I would get trampled immediately after or something like that, but that was still preferable to getting hit by that spell.

Everything was happening fast, but the human brain has a remarkable ability to process information on the spot. As I fell backwards, I saw the beam of light split and branch out above me in a dazzling but familiar way. It was lightning. Of course it was. It looked and sounded so different up close and on a perfectly clear day, but I knew exactly what I was seeing. The only question was how this man had managed to control it so well…

It took me a second after I hit the ground to regain my footing, and another second to change my mind and drop back down to avoid the next bolt. However, I’d been on my feet long enough to see the hunter adjust his parasol to aim at me before casting his spell. The parasol had to be a wand. That was the simplest explanation. I’d never seen a wand user before, though; they were exceedingly rare, given that wands and staves were generally useless when slinging around all but the most violent and dangerous of spells.

Naturally, the thought of dealing with someone who needed one scared the crap out of me.

I expected to have to dodge more lightning, but this time, he raised his parasol to the heavens, sending out dozens of bolts that somehow lit up the already bright sky. The thunder that followed threatened to make my ears bleed, and as I watched the remainder of the crowd dash to the nearest cover, it occurred to me that was probably the point. No more crowd, no more worrying about frying innocent bystanders as he tried to take me out. Fantastic.

But I was too awestruck to move despite my obvious vulnerability. In 25 years of life, I’d never seen someone pull off magic of that magnitude without wearing themselves out, yet there was banana split boy, not sweating, or panting, or showing even the tiniest hint of fatigue. He was so eerily still and calm, so composed, and fresh, and unbothered by the massive amounts of energy he’d just released.

I’d heard stories about people like him. Fact and fiction were sometimes hard to tell apart in the history of magic, seeing as how very few people were permitted to learn the whole truth. It didn’t occur to me that this was one of the stories that would turn out to be mostly or entirely true, but I remembered it well. Supposedly, during one of humankind’s many attempts to conquer nature with magic, we nearly destroyed the Great Elementals, beings of immeasurable power that embodied many facets of natural magic. They were regarded as minor deities by many, and in bending nature to our will, we never intended to harm them. But the damage was done, and it was only through the sacrifice of some of this half of the world’s greatest magical talent that the Elementals were taken into the bodies of the spell casters most in tune with each element, destroying their minds, but continuing to live on in the corporeal shells that were left behind. Some stories say that those individuals were virtually immortal, and that some may live to this day, but the more common version of the tale describes the Elementals giving into the urges of their human forms and procreating, spreading their power through the mortal population and creating especially potent magical bloodlines.

I was pretty convinced that version had to be true.

“You’re… you’re the descendant of a lightning elemental, aren’t you?” In danger or not, my curiosity demanded I at least ask. “That’s why you can do that so easily.”

“Close!” he called back with a bright smile. “Close, but not quite.”

This time he didn’t bother with the wand. He waved his free hand in a sweeping arc ending with his fingertips pointed at me. I expected lightning, but none came. Instead, seawater rose from the surface of the ocean, forming a narrow tube and lashing through the air like serpent on hot coals until the tip of it slammed into me and sent me soaring. Having a face full of saltwater prevented me from seeing my surroundings, but a street in the middle of a town was never empty. I knew something would be out there for me to grab hold of.

That’s where the chain came in handy. It whipped around wildly for a moment or two, searching until it finally wound around some unseen anchor, allowing me to swing low beneath the stream, and… unfortunately back up again. Even though an enchanted chain could let me move in ways a regular chain would not, conservation of momentum was still very much a thing, and I didn’t have time to take that into account before swinging all the way around the street light I’d latched onto and flinging myself through the air.

I landed on a trashcan next to a bus stop. By some amazing stroke of luck, this town had yet to spring for those hefty cans that were bolted into the sidewalk, so instead of breaking every bone in my body, the flimsy metal crumpled beneath my weight on impact. Better yet, the trash gods were clearly smiling on me that day, as the can had been recently emptied, sparing me the insult added to injury if I’d ended up covered in garbage on top of everything else. Thank you, oh merciful trash gods.

I was hurt, as one might expect, but not badly. More stunned than anything, though my nose was bleeding, which I only realized thanks to the droplets hitting the portion of the can that was beneath my face. Part of my brain worried about the possibility that I’d broken my nose in the fall, but the rest of my brain had adopted a “no think, only ow” policy that left me unable to stress about that passing concern for long. I just laid there, propped up on my elbows in a haze of pain from the countless new bruises I’d acquired until the hunter spoke.

“I’m classified as a storm elemental, actually,” he gloated. “I’m not bound to a single element.”

I’d kind of forgotten we were having a conversation, so I almost didn’t dignify his too-pleased attitude with a response. Still, we were having a conversation, and every bit of information I could squeeze out of them would help.

The most intelligent question I could manage was, “Okay, cool. What’s uh… what’s the other guy do?”

“If you’re lucky, you’ll never find out.”

Awesome! Not ominous at all.

After briefly contemplating what sort of wild doomsday powers the other one must have to make a freaking elemental phrase it that way, I remembered my own powers. I was, after all, bleeding onto a metal trashcan, and the two things my powers required were just that; blood and metal. In addition to breaking my fall, the can could also serve as a weapon. Not to mention I’d still managed to hold onto my chain.

With my left hand, I wiped some of the watered down blood from my face and began smearing it over as much of the trashcan as possible. More blood and more contact meant better control, but in a pinch, a thin coating of blood would do fine. In no time at all, I had enough area covered that, with a bit of effort, my will brought the metal to life. It tore itself into thin, ragged strips, the sound of low-grade steel rending asunder drowning out the rest of the world, if only briefly. Nine strips in total formed, each one a sharp and deadly (if uneven) blade bound to my will by nothing but blood and sheer concentration.

I couldn’t outrun lightning. I couldn’t outmaneuver columns of water. Clearly, retaliation was my next best option.

《NEXT ENTRY》 (coming soon!)

#original fiction #let's hope tumblr doesn't choke on 4k+ words

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golddaggers · 6 years

Text

waking up the hotel

(not my gif but doesn’t my boo look cute?)

pairings: stiles stilinski x reader; scott mccall x malia tate; stiles stilinski x malia tate (mentioned only).

warnings: hmm, a darn cute fluff. but i must warn this is also a smut, it contains descriptions of oral sex (male/female), lots of french kissing, inside jokes and, obviously, sex. unprotected. (fictional means only, plus they’re married//wrap your stuff before tapping it).

A/N: i ran a poll a while back and this very one-shot was the winner, so i hope you guys enjoy it! :) if possible, of course, i would love receiving some feedback from y’all. i know i am the worst blog administrator in the world, but i have been busy. nonetheless, there’s fresh stuff coming! keep your eyes peeled.

(before you go on, i would like to give a massive shout out to my honey bee who always supports my work @slow-bee-at-play! thank you so much, hun <3)

word count: 4,8k

While Y/N was cheerfully engaged in a nice conversation with the Williams couple, Stiles could not help but think this picture was way too odd for him to feel comfortable in. The extremely well-decorated lounge, Bulgarian roses everywhere, large tables crowded with their acquaintances and a soft ballad playing in the background. He had definitely never imagined himself to be the leading role in a wedding, however, nothing felt more right than that moment, when they both said yes.

The brown haired man had his arm carefully wrapped around her waistline, watching the dimples show as she laughed to something the tall man had said. Stiles couldn’t find the will within him to focus on anything that wasn’t his beautiful wife. Eventually he shook his head, hoping he could still catch a glint of the conversation.

“Well, it’s a great pleasure to have you here!” Y/N smiled softly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we still have a few people to greet! Also a phone call to my maid of honour who should already be here for my toast!”

Both Molly and Gordon began laughing out loud, which caused the newlyweds to smile as well, waving one last time at them before going over to where their families were situated. They greeted a few more guests in the way, quizzing them to know if everything was okay. Hosting a reception party was definitely a hard task. By the time they got to the last table, all Stiles wanted was to pour himself a dose of whiskey and sit back.

“Did something happen, honey?” The Y/H/C haired woman queried, her palms grasping his cheeks, melting instantaneously to those gorgeous honey brown eyes her husband had. “You look so down…”

“Nah, I’m just tired, babe.”

“Well, I have a little surprise in stock for you.” A wide, mischievous grin enlightening her traits.

“You do?”

“Yes, my love.” She winked at him, earning a light head shake. “Just wait here.”

Stilinski watched as his girl went over to the stage where the band was playing, not hesitating to request the microphone. A low giggle slipped past his lips, for he knew that she would always find a new way to surprise him. They had been together for six years, however, there was not a single day that his love wouldn’t give him a new thrill.

“Good night, my friends!” Her melodic voice echoed, the chit-chat ceasing to pay attention the woman. “As you know, there is a certain tradition in weddings and Stiles was very emphatic we did this one. It’s time to take the bride’s garter off, people!”

Glancing over to where he was standing, Y/N was able to see a small smirk pulling Stiles’, who she was yet to adjust calling husband, perfectly shaped lips up. After a some excited screams and claps, the woman went to the middle of the dance floor, crossing her arms while waiting for the brown haired man to take part on her dare.

“So, Stilinski, ready to do this?”

“Hell yeah, babe.” Once he was close enough, his lips brushed her cheek, sending chills down Y/N’s back. “Spread those legs for me, will you?”

She smiled, a thin layer of blush covering her cheeks. It was simply a teasing whisper, but the newlywed had heard that line before and it never failed to make her all flustered. Actually, everything that Stiles did was a turn on. His careless movements, the way he would constantly lick his lips… Urgh, only to be thinking about it, the girl saw herself having to rub her thighs together.

Without further words, Y/N took a seat on the chair one of the waiters had brought especially for the moment. People rushed to circle the couple, their eyes hungry for action. Stiles loosened his tie, slowly moving towards his favourite girl, earning to himself some encouraging yells.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you excuse me, I will take a peek at my bride’s private bits.”

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski!” She interjected, lips pursed to suppress a loud laugh. “Instead of talking, I suggest you get your job done.”

While he got down on his knees, the band began playing an instrumental cover of Prince’s Kiss. Stiles grinned at Y/N, gently lifting up the dress’ skirt, fingers burning each patch of skin he touched. The girl was forced to bite her bottom lip; his nose finally came in contact with her inner thighs, head already lost under her gown. Teasingly, Stilinski grazed his teeth on the tender flesh, noticing as the woman’s muscles tensed up.

Finally taking a peek, the brown haired man immediately understood why his wife had said he would like the surprise. It wasn’t about taking off a stupid garter, more like the fact she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Deciding to not make a scene about it now, he merely clutched the white cloth with his mouth, slowly pulling down her leg, being welcomed back with enthusiastic claps and laughs.

To complete the tradition, he pulled one tip back so the tissue would fly high once he lets it go. The nice piece of garment fell straight into Richard’s hands, a cocky smirk plastered on his face once he grasped it, action that brought up a grunt from Stiles, who still couldn’t believe Y/N had invited him to their wedding. For Christ’s sake, she knew damn well how her second degree cousin wanted nothing but to steal his place. However, the brunette couldn’t deny he was glad to boast about winning that fight.

“Mal! Scotty! Hey!” Y/N howled, smiling at the gorgeous woman who was standing by her brother near the table. “You guys are awfully late! What happened? Did you have a quickie on the way here?”

“No. Shut up!” The exchanged confidant giggles, Malia’s rushed response swiftly letting the other girl know her assumption was indeed true.

“Naughty!”

“Nothing happened, Y/N/N!”

“Yeah, good, otherwise I wouldn’t ever accept a ride from you guys again.”

“Well… I said nothing happened today.”

“Ew!” Stiles crunched his nose, hugging his wife from behind. “Stop telling my baby those things, Malia.”

“Right, should I recall the time I walked into you two doing-?”

“No, you shouldn’t.” The girl quickly cut her friend, grasping Malia’s wrist. “Why don’t you come with me to greet my mum, huh?”

“Okay.” Her doe eyes narrowed, lips forming a straight line, probably in hopes to stifle a laugh. “By the way, I have the hottest gossip to tell you!”

Considering the boys weren’t interested in their conversation, they chose to head over to a table, pouring themselves some whiskey and enjoying some quiet time. But, a few minutes later, Stiles grew puzzled to why his best friend was so quiet.

“Did something happen, Scott?”

“No, dude. Everything’s fine.” The much tanned man sipped on his drink, energetically shaking his head.

“Man, I know you’re still pissed about the wedding. Would you please get over it? May I bring the ‘you got married to my ex’ card?”

“My sister, dude? Really?” He rolled his eyes. “I mean, there’s probably more than three billion women out there, couldn’t you have chosen someone who wasn’t related to me?”

“Honestly? No, I couldn’t choose anyone else but her.” Stilinski’s answer was short and straight to the point. “I love her, Scotty! She’s my frickin’ soulmate!”

“Well, you better love her, because if you hurt my baby sister, I swear to God I will kick your ass.”

“Quit playing around, honey. We both know you love me way too much to hurt me…” The brown haired man winked, joking to take the edge of the situation off.

“Stiles, I’m serious!”

“I refuse to argue about this with you any longer. I’ve been in a relationship with your sister for six fucking years, I actually got married to her, do you think I’m kidding? Because I’m damn sure there’s enough evidence that I am serious about her.”

“Fine… You’re right. I’m just overreacting. She’s my baby sister, I want her to be happy.”

“And I will make her happy, trust me.” Scott folded his arms, nodding and caving in with a smile. “Now, let’s have a proper conversation, shall we? How has the married life treating you?”

“It’s fantastic!” A goofy grin enlightened his puppy face. “I can’t find nothing better than to wake up with her hair scattered all over the pillow, her legs tangled with mine, her small hands clutching my shoulders… Even the flower scent on our bed has got me hooked. I can’t describe how happy I am to have made this decision.”

“Has all the fighting dimmed down a little?”

“Hell no. Malia is one stubborn girl, she always wants to have her way and it drives me crazy.” McCall laughed, getting Stiles to join him. “But let me tell you something… The make-up sex? Incredible.”

“Yeah, that is totally right. Shit, whenever we fight, Y/N comes up to me a few minutes later, jumps into my lap and things just get rough. Scratching, biting… She is wild.”

“Alright, too much information! She is still my sister.”

The friends chuckled together, both taking a good gulp from their bitter drinks. They hadn’t gotten the chance to keep chatting however, for their wives returned, Y/N going straight to sit on Stiles’ lap, who fondly stroked her back. She smiled, kissing his cheek, her nose inhaling the strong manly scent emanating from him.

"Babe, it’s super late… What do you think about us sneaking out? It was a hell of a long day and I could use some rest before we travel tomorrow.”

“Hmm, yes. I definitely need to take those shoes off anyway…” She giggled, getting back on her feet. “I need to talk to my mother first, though, to see if she can keep hosting the people.”

Nodding, Stilinski watched her walk up to Melissa, the two women cheerfully talking. He was incredibly glad they had made up; not long ago they had gotten into a fight saying that marrying a FBI agent was too risky. Of course everyone knew that her fit was due to the fact her ex-husband, Y/N’s father, was an agent as well. She just didn’t want her daughter to undergo the same stuff she did and end up with a failed marriage. Nonetheless, the two eventually talked it out and things went back to normal.

In a few moments, the Y/H/C haired girl went back with a wide grin on her face.

"Yeah, all set, hun.”

“Should we go, then?”

“Well, I’m going to change my clothes real quick. Why don’t you do the same and wait for me in the car?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan!”

The smile stretched further on the girl’s lips; she briefly kissed Stiles and then went over to her bedroom, cursing lowly to the dull ache spreading on feet. As soon as she got inside her old room, she quickly kicked off the heels, moaning with the release.

For a swift moment, Y/N observed the place, mesmerised by the fact her mother hadn’t changed a thing about it. The purple covers, the band posters… It was like a mini Y/N McCall sanctuary.

Shaking her head, the girl went straight to the closet, picking out the beige dress she had brought and placing it on the bed, proceeding to remove her wedding dress; once it was off, her body quivered to the sudden change of temperature.

Y/N first slipped on some white tights, then the dress and lastly her old navy-blue all stars. Her clothing was very simple; after all, if everything happened as she was hoping, she wouldn’t be dressed for long. Especially knowing how wild her husband was in bed.

A naughty smirk appeared while McCall checked her makeup one last time. After she decided she looked good enough, Y/N took a shortcut to the back of her mother’s home, opting to avoid all the fuss.

The couple’s flight to France would only take place later today, around midday, which left the wedding night to an expensive hotel in Beacon Hills. However, before they were able to leave, they had to bid farewell to the whole family, exchanging hugs and kisses. The minute that was over, Y/N and Stiles hopped inside the man’s new Mercedes.

Not long afterwards, he had rose up to a fairly high speed, choosing a high road to arrive sooner at the hotel.They didn’t talk during the drive, but Stilinski made sure to maintain skin contact, his large hand stroking her thigh.

About half an hour later, the couple reached their destination. It was little past four in the morning when they checked-in; Y/N was actually surprised her husband spent so much money to bring her to this fancy hotel.

“You’re so quiet, babe…” The brown haired man mumbled, frowning, as they got inside the lift. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened. I’m just tired and, well, a little bit scared.”

He brought his plump bottom lip to be chewed by his teeth, grasping his wife’s hand and softly squeezing it, to provide her with comfort.

“What exactly are you scared of, huh? It’s just you and me, baby, like it has been all these years.”

“I love you, Mischief.” She sighed, admitting.

“Hmm, I am confident that I love you way more, stupid!” A silky giggle slipped his mouth. “Now, what do you say we go enjoy our room, huh?”

She couldn’t stifle a loud laugh as the tall, dark haired man lifted her on his arms and walked them both inside the huge hotel room. It had a rather light decoration, the walls painted white, honey coloured furniture… Y/N thought to herself that this was the perfect place to seal their first night as a married couple. Stiles, on the other hand, could only imagine the nasty things he’d to do her on that majestic bed.

As soon as the girl was comfortably lying on the smooth mattress, Stilinski didn’t hesitate to climb above her, claiming her lips hungrily. His tongue traced a wet line on her bottom lip, pushing inside her mouth and exploring the light champagne taste it had. God, he missed her so much! The couple had decided to, hm, remain chaste until the wedding day, thus the man was almost crawling walls.

His fingers fumbled carelessly along her back, looking for buttons or a zipper, whatever it was, to open up the piece of clothing that insisted on wrapping his gorgeous wife’s body. He sucked a hickey on her neck, eliciting a mellow moan from the girl, her digits tangling with his hair. Finally, giving up on opening it, Stiles’ hands simply snuck under the dress, finding her tender spot and giving it a gentle rub. This time her response wasn’t low, actually, it was slightly louder than they were both used to, which caused Y/N to purse her lips, restraining the sounds.

“Don’t hold in, baby.” Stilinski whispered, his thumb flickering the swollen nub. “I love when you moan to me. Especially my name. It sounds so pretty coming from your pretty mouth…”

“Stiles… Don’t do this to me.” Her voice was desperate, losing the timing once his long middle finger slipped inside her dampen core. “Fuck.”

“Such a dirty mouth.” The index joined the other one within her pussy, the pace growing slightly, bringing out dense, girl-ish moans.

“Stilinski, when I-” She was cut off by the man’s lips finding hers in a rough kiss, his digits still vigorously pumping. “God fucking damn.”

Y/N threw her head back, moaning out loud as she watched her husband slowly move down. His hair was dishevelled, eyes hardened with lust; if there was anything in this world that she thought it was sexy, it was this image.

The man’s mouth was eager to slurp on her clit, his tongue flickering with care. Stiles hummed once he felt her entrance becoming slicker, the stretchy liquid pruning his fingers. The noises she was making were also a turn-on, he enjoyed how responsive she was, encouraging him to move further, his digits stretching her walls up.

Her hands snuck to his shoulders, scraping the skin of his of the brown haired man’s neck whilst her hips went up against his face to deepen the contact of his tongue against it. She felt so close to burst, it was amazing how he grew familiar with all her tender spots, rubbing just the enough amount to get her all worked up.

“Stiles…” The name fell out of her mouth in a mellow moan, he grunted. “I’m so close… Don’t stop, yeah? Just keep going like that…”

Stilinski hummed, the vibration causing the girl to clench, screaming in pleasure. Withdrawing his fingers, he licked a stripe down her core, exploring her entrance with his tongue, her taste flooding his mouth. They had been together for six years and not once he felt as if he could get enough of this. Of her.

He grasped the base of her thighs, diving deeper into her, savouring every bit of sensitive skin he could. Y/N bottom lip quivered, her back arching as the coil on her lower stomach tightened more and more, until, in one sharp movement, Stiles pushed over the edge, her orgasm shaking her entire body. The girl couldn’t help but scream, the pleasure filling her up entirely.

The mole speckled boy kept on kitten licking her pussy, riding her out of her high. She heaved in awe, her hands squeezing his shoulders while still heaving in awe, very much numb. Eventually, his kisses left the moist centre and came up to meet up with her lips, the girl groaning upon feeling her own taste on his tongue, his fingers grazing the soft flesh of her thigh.

“This was interesting.” She bluntly said, gently pushing him to get off her. “You have never disappointed me with that mouth of yours. Well… Except for that night, after Scott and Malia’s wedding.”

“I was drunk!!”

“Yeah, that’s your excuse.” Y/N giggled, slipping off of her cute dress and kicking off the sneakers. “But I can remember plenty nights in which you were drunk and closed the deal.”

“Do you get your kicks when you tease me like that?”

“Yeah, you look adorable when you’re pissed.”

Stiles’ eyes glowed with hunger for that gorgeous body standing in front of him, with nothing on but a pair of thighs and a white lacy bra. Y/N grinned naughtily at him, walking back to the back and straddling her husband, the feeling of his hard-on throbbing against her warm slit. However, before they could continue the festivities, there was a shy knock on the door, snapping them out of their own little world.

“Fuck.” He cursed, rolling his eyes. “It’s four in the morning, who in the world would it be?”

The person knocked again, eliciting a huff from Stiles, who, as soon as the girl rolled off of him, went to the door. Y/N, curious to know what was going on, put on a robe and went to join the brown haired man whose voice was considerably louder than usual.

“Hi, what is going on?” The woman queried, quickly analysing the angry expressions on Stilinski’s face and the scared ones on the hotel room maid. “Babe?”

“Hello, ma’am.” Poor thing looked so embarrassed. “As I was trying to explain to your husband… There has been a few complaints from the guests about some loud noises coming from this room. I was wondering if you could moan a little lower?”

“Oh!” A slight blush rose to Y/N’s cheeks. “I am so sorry! We will keep-”

“Excuse me, Miss Millis, but we are on our honeymoon and I recall paying three thousand fucking dollars for this room. The least I could get was to be left alone with my wife, but don’t fucking worry it because we will keep it down.”

Stiles proceeded to slam the door shut before being even able to hear what the maid had to say about his harsh answer, who looked as comfortable as a fish out of water. Y/N stared at the man livid, not believing be had acted out like that, like he was some sort of King. Even if he was, it was no excuse to treat anyone like that.

“Are you insane?”

“No, I’m not.” His shoulders dropped. “I just wanted to enjoy our wedding night, babe, fuck you real good and hear your sweet moans calling out to me. I can’t believe I can’t even do that.”

She couldn’t avoid the smirk that pulled her lips up, moving to where he was, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Lose the angry face that you know makes me crazy about you.” The whispered was leaking lust. “And don’t babble about fucking me good if you aren’t going to do it. Either you do it or don’t bring it up.”

While Y/N talked, her digits worked on the not of her robe, allowing it to pool around her feet. Stiles took a deep breath, cocking his head to the right side whilst savouring the new found sight; he wanted nothing but to touch her, nevertheless, the moment his hand reached forward, she slapped him away, swiftly kneeling in front of him.

“What do you say I help you calm down, huh?” It was barely a whisper, but it served as a great stimulant to the man, who just nodded, agreeing. “Good, let me take care of you.”

“Be my guest, honey.”

She knelt down in front of him, not hesitating to remove his belt and pop his trousers’ button open, pushing it alongside his black underwear down. Stiles’ dick was only semi-hard; the previous events had certainly dimmed down all the pent up tension from before, nothing a good blowjob wouldn’t fix. The thought elicited a giggle as she grasped his length, giving it a few pumps.

The brown haired man grunted, closing his eyes to entirely enjoy the handjob he was receiving. In a careless motion, he cupped her cheek, his thumb gently tracing her cheekbone, which brought a smile to her lips before, finally, leaning in to suck his tip into her hot mouth. Another wave of moaning filled the room, his hand leaving her face and going to grab her hair, tugging at it.

Y/N used her tongue to circle his swollen head, collecting the salty pre-cum already leaking. Stiles was a 27 year old with the sex drive of a teenager, so getting hard was definitely not a problem to him; actually, it often happened even though he wasn’t in a sexual content, granting the man some of the funniest moments.

Opting to tease him even more, she scattered kisses across his dick, wetting every inch of it. She then followed a vein back up to his tip, sucking at it hungrily. Forward, the woman curled her lips inwardly, swallowing just enough of him to feel herself gag. Her husband moaned out her name, tightening the grip on her hair, his hips thrusting forward. The girl instantaneously pulled away, frowning at him.

“Why did you stop?”

“Could you please not rush me like that?” She complained, shaking her head in disapproval. “Let me do this my way or you’ll have to deal with it by yourself.”

“When you ask so nicely!”

Not minding his witty response, she went back to what she was doing; his digits snuck into her hair, massaging her scalp. She groaned, taking her left hand, which was massaging his balls, to caress her own pussy. Stiles could swear he saw little stars every time she moaned, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure across his whole body.

It had something to do with the way she sucked and the way her tongue swirled that was driving him crazy. God, she was not allowed to be so good, he thought, loosening the grip on her hair, letting her Y/H/T fall, framing her gorgeous face.

“Look at me, babe.” Her voice mumbled, breathlessly. “Watch me going down on you, sucking you so good you can’t even make sentences.”

“Shit. You’re so hot, Y/N.”

The woman spat on his cock, her hand working non stop whilst her lips wrapped themselves around his tip, craving nothing but to cause him to fall apart.

“God, fucking damn, honey. I’m gonna…”

“Just cum to me, yeah?”

“Not in your mouth… Please!” Stiles pleaded. “I wanna’ fuck you. I wanna’ feel that warm cunt strangling me.”

There was no way she could deny him when he talked like that, it was like he hacked her firewall and tore everything down. She was putty in his hands.

Stiles have her a hand, helping her up and swiftly pulling her into a breathtaking kiss. Their tastes mingled while their tongues rolled together, the noses brushing lightly. Meanwhile, never breaking the contact, he gently pushed her to the bed, taking place between her legs, descending his kisses to the woman’s collarbones. He sucked a few love bites there, not even thinking twice before tearing the delicate bra up.

“I liked this one.” Y/N pouted.

“We can shopping in fucking France and you’ll buy a new one.”

“Okay.” She giggled, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing somewhere in the room. “Now would you do the favour of fucking me?”

“As you wish, your highness.”

In a slow movement, Stiles pushed inside her wet pussy, both of them grunting due to the intimacy now shared. He remained still for a minute, waiting until she adjusted to him, being the loving bean he had always been when it came to the love of his life. Removing a few hairs off of her forehead, Stilinski leant in, pecking her lips fondly.

Not want rushing anything, the chestnut brown haired man then began moving smoothly. It wasn’t rare that the two of them would chose to make love rather than having wild sex, but tonight it was so special that they simply couldn’t help it. Her hands cupped his cheeks, their gazes linking like there was nothing else in the world but the two of them.

A low moan slipped her lips when he hit a sweet spot, which brought a cocky smile to his lips. Stiles always felt the most amazing fucker in the world when he got you to moan. You joined him, giggling a little.

“What are you thinking about it?”

“That you are adorable.” She whispered, the stinging feeling of his scruff burning her neck as he kissed the region. “That I’m so lucky I married you.”

“You cheesy muffin.” His hoarse laugh had her shivering. It could also be related to the fact his pace grew significantly. “Did you ever, uh, think we’d be here?”

“Hmm.” The way he angled himself within her forced a moan out, she dug her nails down his pale back. “Sometimes. But I never figured you made the get married type.”

“And you were okay with that?”

“I was.” Inhaling his scent made her smile. “All I wanted was to be with you, I never cared much about titles.”

“All I ever wanted was to be with you too.”

They shared a fond kiss, melting into each other as their hands intertwined. Y/N could feel the known tightness on her lower stomach, letting her know her second orgasm was edging her and, by the way he was getting sloppy, she knew that Stiles was close as well. The tips of his fingers drew figures on her thigh, small goosebumps spreading on the woman’s frame.

Stilinski’s hands hugged each side of her body, his lips wrapping themselves around Y/N’s right peak, toying with it until it was turgid under his touch. She clenched around him, lifting her hips to increase the friction.

“Oh fuck… I… Urgh!” The words floated from the woman’s mouth while she finally surrendered to the pleasure, her toes curling and her chest rising against his face. “Dammit’, Stiles!”

“Just a little bit more, baby.”

“Uh-uh.” Her voice was frail when she agreed. “Fuck.”

His movements grew careless, their hips meeting in an irregular pattern. Their mouths linked again, she brought his bottom lip between his; he moaned, his hands gripping the base of her thighs, thrusting harder than before, only fall apart, his warm seed spilling inside her when he cummed.

The couple spent a few minutes just there, experiencing the abundance of sensations. At last, he rolled off of her, taking the place beside; she crawled to lie her hand on his chest, noticing that his breathing was still uneven. Stiles stroked her back, kissing the top of her head.

“Well, hubby.” Y/N said, a smile ghosting on her lips. “That was fucking awesome.”

“It was indeed.”

“I mean, I love when you fuck me like that.”

“Could you stop talking like that, you naughty girl?” Stiles brought her leg to mix with his, his hand running down it. “I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you too.”

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dietpillswatchdog · 7 years

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10 Ways To Speed Up Your Weight Loss

Let’s start with some simple maths: if you want to lose just one pound, that’s 3,500 calories you’ve got to cut out from your diet.

And in this era of seriously surplus calories in pretty much everything we eat, you could drop a pound a month just by losing 100 calories a day, and you wouldn’t notice a thing.

Most people want to lose weight faster than that though, and if you’re one of those people you’re in luck: here are ten weight-loss accelerators to help you safely reach your ideal weight as fast as possible.

They don’t include anything bad for you like skipping meals, living on nothing but juice, cutting fats completely and gimmick diets, and they certainly don’t include anything really harmful, like overdosing on laxatives, or anything downright dangerous, like surgery.

And there’s nothing here about dropping too many calories a day, because that would just put your body into starvation mode. That’s where your physical and mental energy start going downhill fast, and rather than burning off fat cells your body would start nourishing itself with your muscle tissue.

So with all that in mind, let’s begin.

Weight-loss accelerator #1: Exercise

You may have believed certain TV “authorities” before, when they claimed you could lose weight by taking a certain supplement and still stay sprawled practically motionless on your couch.

But if you’d kept your eye on the news you might just have seen stories about those “authorities” receiving a slap on the wrist (or a nine-million-dollar lawsuit) for promoting a miracle supplement that wasn’t as miraculous as they’d made it out to be.

So you need to keep those muscle cells and grow some more, because they’re the ones that burn up more calories than fat cells.

Cardio burns the most calories, while weight training develops the most muscle mass.

One study says successful weight loss needs a sensible diet and about an hour of moderate exercise each day.

That might not be possible, time-wise, or it may just be too much of a shock to a previously sedentary system. So to start with, parking further away from the office and taking the stairs instead of the elevator is a nice gentle way of getting used to physical activity, before joining your local gym.

Before we get on to the food and drink side of things, let’s take a look at something too many people don’t realize has an important role to play in speedy but safe weight loss.

Weight-loss accelerator #2: Sleep

Some people don’t manage to get six to eight hours of sleep each and every night. But they might go to bed a little earlier when they realize that lack of sleep has been linked to diabetes and obesity.

And it’s not just because of those late-night refrigerator raids: there’s a chemical in the body called leptin, and when leptin levels are high, appetite levels are low. And when leptin levels are low, that’s when those hunger pangs can kick in.

So leptin affects food choices in general, and also snack sizes, as in the bigger the better.

And guess what lowers leptin levels? You got it: lack of sleep.

Lots of sleep can keep that appetite curbed. Now let’s look at what happens right after eight hours in dreamland.

Weight-loss accelerator #3: Breakfast

Skipping breakfast isn’t a great idea. Yes, there’s all sorts of other stuff that needs to get done in the morning, but surely you can find a way to take ten minutes to set yourself up for the day.

It’s not like you’ve got to prepare a weekend-style brunch for yourself on a Monday morning, but if nothing more, a bowl of cereal or oatmeal will give your body enough fuel to see you through to lunchtime.

If you’re more into protein than carbs, you might agree with the school of thought which tells us we should have “ten before ten”. That’s ten grams of protein before ten every morning. Ten grams of protein are conveniently packed into just two eggs, any style you like, and no matter how you cook them it’ll take a lot less than ten minutes.

Now let’s move on to something that might take a lot longer than ten minutes to prepare, but well worth the wait.

Weight-loss accelerator #4: Real unprocessed food

Obviously you’ll need to cut down on processed food because of all its empty calories, but another reason is that it takes your body a certain number of calories just to digest whatever you’ve eaten. That should be 10% of what you’ve consumed.

When it comes to processed food, things are a little different. When you’ve eaten processed food, your body uses up 5% of the calories you’ve just consumed.

So that means not only are you getting empty calories (for example, added sugar), you’re leaving existing calories unused and leaving them to pile up around the waistline.

And so many processed foods contain much more sugar than your body really needs at any time. The manufacturers disguise the fact on labels by using fancy terminology like corn sugar, dextrose, fructose, glucose, high-fructose, glucose syrup, honey, invert sugar, isoglucose, levulose, maltose, molasses, sucrose, and probably more we haven’t come across yet.

The American Heart Association recommends men consume less than 36 grams (that’s just over a single ounce) of sugar a day, while women should have 24 grams, which is just under an ounce.

That’s 9 teaspoons of sugar each day for men, and 6 for women.

Weight-loss accelerator #5: Speeding up your metabolism

Even when you think you’re doing nothing, your body’s still using up calories. And the faster your metabolism, the more calories you’re going to use up while you think you’re doing nothing.

And how to speed up your metabolism?

Foods containing Omega-3 fatty acids: they balance blood sugar, reduce inflammation and help to regulate the body’s metabolism.

Strength training: it’s said that the average woman in her thirties who does 30-40 minutes strength training twice a week for four months will speed up her metabolism enough to burn off an extra 100 calories a day – whether she’s training on that day or not.

Small meals – and often: instead of sending your blood sugar levels skyrocketing with three big meals a day, six smaller meals a day prevent the kind of spikes in insulin levels that have a lot to do with promoting weight gain.

Safe produce: pesticide-laden fruits, vegetables and grains interfere with your thyroid, and can slow down your metabolism. If you can’t go organic, at least give non-organic foods a good wash before cooking or eating them.

OK so we’ve been looking briefly at what to eat, it’s now time to move on to…

Weight-loss accelerator #6: How to eat

Smaller portions! Need we say more?

Once you’ve got that smaller portion in front of you, eat it slowly for a couple of reasons: first, it takes about 20 minutes for your stomach to register that it’s full. So if you eat fast throughout those twenty minutes, you’ve overfilled your stomach, which can lead to all sorts of problems more than just some extra weight.

The second reason is that the slower you eat, the more you tend to chew, and that’s a good thing: chewing releases enzymes into your saliva. That’s a sort of pre-digestion process before your stomach gets to work. A glass of water just before mealtimes stretches the stomach, fooling your system into thinking you won’t need so much food when it’s time to sit down to eat.

We all need protein, but if we get too much of it at once it’s going to raise our insulin levels, which eventually ends up as excess fat around our waist. So it’s best to spread protein intake throughout the day, as in half of it during your main three daily meals, and the other half in three small seriously-protein snacks in between.

Speaking of snacks…

Weight-loss accelerator #7: Snacks

We’re not saying snacking is wrong, but you do need to make a change or two when you start off on your weight-loss journey. If you’ve got a whole heap of temptation in the form of sugary, processed and fatty snacks in your kitchen, best to find them a new home. Someone will love them, that’s for sure. Just make sure that someone isn’t you.

Now it’s time to replace those pre-packaged snacks with well-washed fruits and vegetables in a bowl on the counter, ready to be picked up and nibbled on whenever the urge strikes. Instant foods like raw vegetables and fruits contain plenty of fiber and water which keep hunger pangs at bay while keeping your body hydrated.

Weight-loss accelerator #8: Hydration

If you’re following a diet that cuts down on salt and starches, you’re going to reduce fluids and fluid retention, meaning a dramatic loss of weight right at the beginning of your diet. But that would only be losing water, not fat cells.

And because your body’s made up of so much water, if you lose too much of it you run the risk of dehydration, which can affect you physically, mentally and emotionally. It can even, if severe enough, cause your internal organs to start shutting down and even be fatal.

So keep drinking – but leave those sports and energy drinks alone: they can be crammed full of more sugar than soft drinks, and contain more caffeine than your average cup of coffee. That might work for athletes who’ll take a single workout to burn off all that sugar and caffeine and anything else written into the small print on the can, but not for everybody else.

If you’re bored with plain water, there’s always a bit of flavoring in green tea (no milk and sugar, though), plus antioxidants, nutrients and metabolism boosters.

Weight-loss accelerator #9: Accountability

SMART is an acronym describing business goals. You can apply it to losing weight, since in this case it would stand for: Specific, Measurable, Agreed Upon, Realistic and Time-Based.

And thanks to fitness trackers and regular checking of the bathroom scales, your weightloss journey is definitely “Measurable”.

But let’s look at “Agreed Upon”. Who’s doing the agreeing here? You and friends? Family? Social network? Fellow dieters? Anybody? If you can hold yourself accountable to someone for specific, measurable, realistic and time-based weight-loss results, then you’ve got a much better chance of dieting success than if you keep them a deep, dark secret from everybody.

Weight-loss accelerator #10: Cheat meals

It may feel wrong to enjoy a calorie-laden meal once every now and then but there are a couple of good reasons, especially if that meal involves revisiting your favourite fast-food joint.

Good reason number one is that any cravings you may have for that particular kind of meal get dealt with without a bad case of dieter’s guilt.

And good reason number two is that after not having eaten like that for a while, you’ll definitely notice the difference in the way you feel after your scheduled cheat meal.

And finally

It’s said that the key to weight-loss is never to feel like you’re dieting. If you feel like you’re going out of your way to deprive yourself of the foods you’ve enjoyed up to now, then if not slowing your weight-loss process right down you’re definitely reducing your chances of success.

But if you do find yourself slipping back into bad eating habits, don’t give in to the temptation to beat yourself up: remember, you’re not the only one who’s strayed from the straight and narrow path.

It may feel like the end of the world, but it’s only a hiccup and it’s your choice when to get back onto that path again. And the sooner you do, the faster you’ll reach your ideal weight.

Good luck!

The post 10 Ways To Speed Up Your Weight Loss appeared first on Diet Pills Watchdog.

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