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sunshineandaisies · 3 years

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Coffee Connection

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: sexual suggestions, i think a few language words maybe?

You were a creature of habit, there was no denying that, and you had no shortage of habits that made you such.

Example A; every Thursday afternoon, after you’d rushed from the lecture hall at the end of your final class of the day, you’d spend two hours sitting on the plush couch in the coffee shop just down the street from your apartment, sipping coffee after coffee as you fingers clacked across the keyboard of your laptop and you made the latest edits to your graduate thesis.

Usually, there would always be a random stranger sitting at the opposite end of the couch, and it was never the same person two weeks in a row. Sometimes it was a sharply dressed business type that sipped their coffee while scrolling through emails on their phone, and other times it was sleep-deprived student, sipping on what you assumed was likely their sixth cup of coffee that day and trying their best to not pull their hair out as they worked on whatever assignment had them so obviously stressed. Occasionally, you even recognized a professor that you had taken classes with during your undergrad, laughing as they graded poorly written and ill-conceived papers.

But six weeks ago, you recognized the man that sat in the seat at the other end of the couch as the same man that had sat beside you the week before.

When you first realized that he was the same man from the week before, you did your best to look him over from the corner of your eye. He was certainly the tall, handsome brooding type - that much was clear with just a single glance - but you had to do a bit of a double take when you saw the book that he was so intently focused on.

Twilight? Really?

You had been so shocked by his book choice that you didn’t see him look up at you with an annoyed expression etched across his features, but as soon as you felt his intense gaze on you your cheeks flooded with warmth and you quickly averted your gaze.

You didn’t dare look at him again that day.

The following week, however, you put your surreptitious observation skills to the test as soon as you took your usual seat on the plush couch, and you were pleasantly impressed with what you saw. Mesmerizing blue eyes, deliciously muscled thighs, fingers that made your mind wander to less than appropriate places, and...and a metal arm?

You put an end to your staring sooner than you really wanted to, but you’d rather not have your silent coffee shop companion see you salivating over him. Instead, you focused on your thesis and cast the tiniest of glances at the man when you found your mind conjuring up images of what his fingers could do and what it would feel like to have his metal hand wrapped around your-

What the hell? First he was reading Twilight, and now he’s reading The Hunger Games? Who the hell was this guy?

As the weeks went on, the two of you sat alone together and your confusion over his reading interests only grew. So far, you’d seen him read not only Twilight and The Hunger Games, but also various books from the Game of Thrones series and The Fault in Our Stars.

Additionally, as the weeks went on, your impending thesis deadline was swiftly approaching, and your Thursday routine was rudely interrupted by an impromptu meeting with your graduate advisor after your final class of the day. It was a quick meeting, no more than twenty minutes long, but that small interruption of your usual schedule had you sprinting across campus, frazzled and frantic and worried that your seat on the plush couch of the coffee shop would be taken by the time you finally arrived.

You hurried away from the counter as soon as your usual cup of coffee had been pushed into your hand by the exhausted barista, hoping that your seat hadn’t been taken when you failed to show up ten minutes ago. A sigh escaped from between your lips when you saw that it remained vacant. Depositing your bag on the ground in front of the couch, you quickly pulled your laptop out and tried to calm your frazzled nerves enough to focus on your thesis.

“You’re late.”

You were so surprised that he had actually spoken to you that you froze, wondering if you’d simply imagined it. A quick glance to your side told you that you absolutely had not imagined it. He stared at you with a frown on his face and his brows pinched together in irritation, his book all but abandoned in his lap.

You raised a brow at him. “What?”

His eyes widened and a barely noticeable dusting of pink coated his cheeks. Cute. “I, uh-” Watching him stumble over his words as he tried to come up with a believable explanation for his surprising concern had you biting your lip to suppress an amused smile. “Nevermind,” he grumbled, turning his attention back to his book - this time the Maze Runner - as his lips tightened into an unimpressed line.

“No, you’re right.” He cautiously dragged his gaze back to you, curiosity sparkling in his blue eyes. “I was late. I’m never late.” After a moment of observing you, he nodded. Before he could go back to reading his book and ignoring you again, you commented, “Your taste in books has improved since the first week you sat with me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly before he was expressionless once again. “Yeah, I really wish I could get those hours of my life back.” You giggled, and he wasn’t able to fight back the smile that spread across his face.

“The Maze Runner’s pretty good,” you assured him. “Movies are good, too.”

And somehow, you ended up spending the next hour talking with your once silent coffee shop companion - “Bucky,” he had introduced himself with a smile - and completely ignoring your thesis in favor of talking about his recent book choices and opinions on their respective movie or television adaptations. Did he think Twilight was terrible? Absolutely. Did he think that the Hunger Games was an interesting commentary on social class differences? Definitely. Did he think the last season of Game of Thrones was awful? Don’t get him started. Did he cry while watching The Fault in Our Stars? No comment.

When you finally asked why he was reading so much - especially some of his questioning book choices - he sighed, answering, “My therapist thinks it’ll help me get acclimated to the twenty-first century better if I work on understanding pop culture better. These books were all on her list of recommendations.”

Suddenly, it clicked. Bucky, metal arm, getting acclimated to the twenty-first century. “You’re Bucky Barnes.” It wasn’t a question. It was more of a statement, an undeniable fact, and it clearly caught him off guard that you came to that conclusion so easily.

“Uh, yeah.” He nervously scratched the back of his neck, his lips turning down into a frown. “That’s me.”

Despite his reaction, you chuckled. “Well this is awkward.” He quirked a brow at you, his frown deepening. Before he could misunderstand, you continued, “I’m writing my thesis on societal perceptions of superheroes. I’ve literally spent hours researching you and Captain America and Iron Man and Thor and-”

He interrupted you, his brows pinched so tightly together you worried they’d end up stuck like that. “You think I’m a superhero?”

You shrugged and took a quick sip of your now cold coffee. “I mean, yeah. You helped Captain America fight Hydra back in the forties, and you helped beat Thanos last year, didn’t you?”

“There’s a lot of things I’ve done in the time between then that would firmly put me in the other category.”

You let out a breath, nodding solemnly. “I read about that, too,” you admitted. “But I also know that it wasn’t really something that you did of your own free-will. That makes you a victim, not a villain. When you actually had a choice, it seems like you always chose to do the right thing.”

He remained silent for an extended moment, and you worried that you ruined the easy companionship that had developed between you and the supersoldier. You tried to force down the rising sense of disappointment as you pursed your lips and turned away from him, slowly packing up your belongings to leave.

“Wait, Y/N.” You paused in the middle of shoving your laptop into your bag and glanced up at him curiously. “Can I-” He cleared his throat. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

You raised a brow, gaze flickering to your half-full cup of coffee on the table.

He chuckled, and dear god a sound has never made your stomach flip and flop as much as the sound of his deep chuckles spilling from his parted lips. “I mean a fresh, hot coffee. If, uh, you’re open to it, I’d like to hear more about your thesis.”

You nodded eagerly and pulled your laptop from your bag as a wide smile curled your lips. “I’d like that.”

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some-kindofgnome · 4 years

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Kinktober #7: Anytime: Mirio Togata

In which you give Mirio something that he really, really deserves.

Characters: Mirio Togata x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) oral sex (m-receiving, mentions of f-receiving), fluff (FLUFF), aged up characters, public showers, strong language, mirio being absolutely adorable, offensively early visits to the gym

Notes: We’ve made it to the end of the first week of Kinktober! Thank you to everyone who’s been following, liking, and reading my work! I’ve had a lot of fun creating and sharing these stories for you so far.

I’ve got a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it college au coming atcha! Today’s prompt was ‘Blowjob,’ and I’m not gonna lie- I’m excited to put this one into the world. 😂 It’s cuuuuuute, okay?

Kinktober Masterlist

“The coast is clear.”

“Good. Close the door.”

You’re in stealth mode as you creep into the showers, sticking close enough to Mirio that your nose is practically buried between his shoulder blades. Even if the locker room doors are only twenty feet from where you’d been standing, you’ve got your fingers laced through his.

You’re not quite ready to break contact with him, considering what you’ve got planned.

It was his idea to start working out in the mornings again. You used to come in the evenings, after both of you were finished with class and schoolwork. But the only problem was that everybody else on the entire goddamned college campus- students, profs, anyone with a heartbeat- had the same idea.

Sick of crowded treadmills and waiting in line for weight benches, you came when the doors opened at six-thirty every morning. Some other gyms might be crowded at that time. But this was a college gym. And no college student in their right mind got out of bed before nine.

Needless to say, you almost always have the place to yourselves. You love working out with Mirio. Not only is he the best coach- encouraging, challenging, but never judgemental- but you get to watch him, too.

Something tells you that he’s clued into the fact that you like a little eye candy with your early morning workout, since he’s started showing up with less clothing every time. He’s got a habit of wearing those loose-fitting athletic shorts these days that don’t hide a damned thing.

And you’re pretty fucking sure he’s not wearing anything underneath them, either.

Your friends like to tease you about the sunny disposition your boyfriend always carries. They seem to think that the ability to seem happy all the time and a tendency toward dirty thoughts are mutually exclusive traits.

You don’t like to kiss and tell. But as soon as both of you had been dating long enough to get over yourselves, you’d discovered that Mirio Togata was a shameless- no, ruthless- flirt.

He closes the door softly behind him. His reflexes are still on high alert from sneaking past the desk attendant, even though she’d looked about as close to sleeping with her eyes open as one can possibly get. Apparently, she doesn’t get paid enough to stop you.

That doesn’t stop either of you from wanting the door locked, though. With deft fingers, Mirio slips the latch into place.

Then you’re on him.

“W-wait, babe, I-I thought we were gonna shower first-“

He stutters between peals of laughter as you grab him by the arms and hustle him toward the tile wall, pushing his shoulders up against it and kissing your way down his neck.

“Can’t wait,” you mumble, sliding unabashedly onto your knees in front of him. “Wanna taste you.”

You’ve been thinking about doing this all morning. It all started over at the bench press when, instead of spotting him, you were spotting the half-mast he’d been sporting through his basketball shorts. Apparently, exertion did that to a guy.

Exertion. Arousal. You don’t care, as long as it’s in your mouth.

Mirio’s definitely caught off guard by your forwardness, but he’s not stopping you as you shove his shorts down. You’re right, by the way- he’s not wearing anything underneath. Goddamn tease. He knows what he’s getting himself into.

He’s only half-hard but you can’t wait to get your mouth on him, flushed and salty. You wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and his hips stutter.

“P-princess,” he grunts as hard lines of muscle stand out along the ridges of his tensing thighs. You can’t wait any longer, leaning in and licking a stripe up the underside of his cock before you swallow him down.

You’ve never felt a reaction like his before.

The urgency of this entire situation was born out of a conversation that came last night. The two of you had been curled in his bed, spent and breathless. He’d gone down on you, eating you out until you were numb and boneless, and you’d mentioned something after the fact about returning the favour.

“I’d never make you,” he’d chuckled bashfully, “but if you ever wanted to, I’d love to know what it feels like.”

You sprang out of bed so fast that you bashed your shin against the frame. The bruise is getting nasty now, almost ten hours later.

Nobody in the history of Mirio Togata had ever thought that he had a cock worth sucking. When you’d tried to ask him why, he’d just blushed and insisted that none of the girls he’d ever dated seemed interested. And he wasn’t interested in making them do something they didn’t enjoy, so… here he was. Twenty years old and he’s never had his cock sucked.

You’d promised to rectify the issue. At a later date, when the two of you had regained feeling in your limbs again.

Cue early morning workout. Scandalously underdressed boyfriend. Conveniently abandoned locker room. Delightfully cool tile wall.

Now it’s Mirio’s turn to go boneless with his back to it. One of his hands crawls into the base of your ponytail as his hips jerk hesitantly into your mouth.

“Ah! Nngh, I’m sorry,” he pants, but you’re prepared for this. You purse your lips and groan around him, letting him shiver through the vibrations before you pull your mouth off him with a wet little pop.

“I can take you, baby,” you promise breathlessly, casting your eyes up just long enough to see what a brilliant shade of scarlet his ears and cheeks are turning. For a man with so much confidence in bed, it’s nice to see him fall apart every so often. He’s not afraid to give up his composure to you.

Just another thing you love so much about him.

You take him again- only this time, you draw it out, suckling playfully at the head until he’s whimpering and flexing his hand in your hair. And when you’re almost certain he can’t handle any more you start into a rhythm, bobbing back and forth while your tongue works him and your hand picks up the slack.

He’s too big to swallow completely, but… it’s not like he’ll have anything to compare this feeling to.

“Oh god, Princess, I- your mouth…”

You suck and lick and slurp away, letting it get sloppy. Loving the way he seems overstimulated already, giving tender little cries as his body shakes and shudders with every purse of your lips.

“Look at you,” he gasps, and you realize that he’s looking down at you for the first time. That seems to double the tension in his body, and you slide your free hand up the front of one bare thigh, finding the weight of his balls and giving them a gentle tug.

He shouts, throwing his head into the tiles with a dull little thud. You feel his knees give a little.

“Oh god,” comes his voice again, pinched and desperate. “Aw, hell, oh, man, oh, fu-huck, I-I’m…”

He doesn’t give you too much warning, but you’re ready for him anyway as his body seizes. He jerks involuntarily at your hair and his hips buck forward, fucking your face as his cock twitches.

He cries out and tries to pull back, but you grab his ass, pulling his hips forcefully forward and holding him there. He takes the hint and leans into it, giving a cry of your name as he empties himself down your throat.

When he’s finished and going limp in your mouth you pull away and he collapses against the wall, sliding down it until his bare ass is on the floor with his shorts still around his knees.

“So?” You hum, sliding up next to him. You help him tug his shorts up and get himself situated again, and he runs a hand over the back of his neck, which has also gone crimson.

“You’re…” he starts, then trails off. When he looks up at you it’s with the most bashful, loving grin you’ve ever seen. If he could have hearts in his eyes, he would.

“You’re incredible.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. You lean in and kiss his cheek, then nuzzle your nose against the corner of his jaw.

“Nah,” you reply. “You just really, really deserved that.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. A thoughtful expression crosses his face for a moment. Then he speaks up.

“So you’ll do it again sometime?”

You’re still giggling, but it’s only because you’re falling in love with him all over again. You put your arms around him and squeeze.

“Any time.”

He leans over and kisses the top of your head, smiling into your hair.

“Good.”

In a single, sweeping motion, he grabs you by the thighs and hauls you into his arms, hoisting himself into his feet. He’s making for one of the benches, and you can tell by the look in his eye- not hearts anymore, something else- that you’re in for it now.

He lays you out on the narrow bench and gets down on his knees beside you. Bashful, overstimulated Mirio is nowhere to be found as he smirks, bringing his mouth to your ear and giving you a tender growl.

“My turn.”

#mirio togata x reader #my hero academia #mirio x reader #lemillion #mha lemillion #kinktober #jbbkinktober2020 #mirio togata #mirio #mha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #bnha fanfiction

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stepintomyvoid · 3 years

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A Deeper Understanding [Newt Scamander x reader]

A/N: Yes this is me, trying fanfiction again. I haven’t written a single word in like 3 years or sth? But whateveeeer I’ve been really inspired by the Harry Potter Universe again, so here we go. Also please excuse any grammatical errors! English is only my second language, so please be gentle haha! But if you like this stuff, please please tell me! I’m super anxious about my writing, but I will of course take constructive criticism.

Warnings: not really anything, it’s fluffy and a bit angsty, mention of death

Word Count: 2721

“I wonder, Mr Scamander, is that really the fitting pair of shoes for those trousers?”, you smirked, carrying a large bucket of feed for the mooncalves. The golden haired man looked up, following your body as you walked past him. He was crouched down, tying his oak-brown leather shoes. The right corner of his mouth twitched a bit, almost indicating a smile. But he stayed silent, keeping his amusement to himself.

His silence jabbed your mood a bit but you shrugged it off. You had helped him for a few months now, assisting in caring for his beautiful creatures. To you, it felt like years. But your relationship went back even farther. Your first time meeting the shy Newt Scamander was your first year in Hogwarts. You, a muggle-born witch, were still adjusting to the new wizard world upon you. You had just been sorted into your Hogwarts House the day before and walked around the castle, aimlessly, just taking it all in. When you bumped into a Hufflepuff sitting cross-legged on the floor with some small creature in his hands. That’s when you met and forgot again. He was a little too awkward, you were a little too lost. It was just a random encounter and nothing came out of it. You didn’t even know his name back then.

Years later, you saw a certain Erumpent, an indeed breathtaking rhinceros which looked like it had actual lava in his horn, roaming around in Central Park in New York, the location of your Christmas vacation. This was your second encounter. Upon seeing this giant creature galopp through the winterly landscape, you left immediately; only years later you learned that the one and only Newt Scamander was there too. Not only that, he was responsible for it. All of your friends called you insane and laughed your encounter off like it never happened.

You actually met the young Mr Scamander in one of his readings about Magical Creatures in London, he was talking about Thestrals. He described these skinny black horses with skeletal bodies as elegant and gentle, he said they were calm but at the same time so very powerful. How he talked about every creature in the same loving way fascinated you from the beginning.

“But their beauty can only be seen by very view”, he said. He just sat on a small chair in front of a small crowd in a library. Not a lot of people were interested in his liberal views. But you adored him. The way the golden sunlight, broken by the dirty window glass, shined on his left side, the few times he actually looked up from the floor and a passionate smile grew on his face, you couldn’t stop listening. “You see, only those who saw death can see a Thestral. But many mistake this description for its literal definition. To see a Thestral, one needs to-“

You raised your hand. The brown-haired curls looked up. Almost startled by your action, he exclaimed a “yes?”. “One needs to have a deeper understanding of death, rather than just being a witness.” You blushed immediately as the small crowd turned around to look at you. “Right?”, you added shyly. He nodded.

After the reading, Newt stood up immediately, almost fleeing the building. You ran after him. “Uhm, Mr Scamander! Mr Scamander! I, uh...”, you called. He stopped to turn around. “Yes, can I help you?”, he asked politely, his gaze on the ground. He shortly looked up to study your expression. “I know, this must seem...strange. But I just wanted to apologize for interrupting your reading. I’m sorry if that seemed impolite”, you said with a hopeful smile.

“Oh”, he paused. “No, don’t worry. I’m just not... uh, used to people knowing or even caring about Thestrals. Most of them find them rather grim, I believe”, he smiled, looking into your eyes again for a few seconds. His blue eyes shimmered hazel in the afternoon sun. “I must excuse myself. I have to feed the mooncalves, I wish you a nice day”, he nodded and was on the verge on turning around again, you reached out, almost gripping his coat to stop him. “Mr Scamander, if I may, would I be able to help you with that? You don’t have to say yes, I just...I would love to learn more. One can only read so much in books”, you chuckled. He turned to you again, looking shocked again.

“Don’t feel obligated”, you added. “You are most welcome to. I can always use some help. Excuse my hesitation, this has never happened to me before”, he laughed, “if you follow me?”

And that’s how you found yourself visiting Newt Scamanders suitcase every day since then. You were a good team. And once he opened up to you more, joked around every now and then, you felt more comfortable around him as well. But still, there was always this thick wall between you emotionally. Neither one of you shared too many personal memories with each other. You enjoyed each other’s company dearly, you did. But something always kept you from being closer. Even though, from time to time, there were moments where the freckled man could make your heart jump like you’ve never felt before.

“Need help with that?” you asked one day as Newt was brewing a potion to treat the stomach ache of one of the Diricawls. You stood behind him, your hands on his shoulders, so you could look over him on your tip-toes. He turned his head a bit so he could see your face in the corner of his eyes, he blushed. “I’m good”, he said like a whisper. “Ugh, shut up and let me help you”, you scoffed and pulled out your wand. A few circular swings with your wand and the brown-ish fluid in the dark kettle started bubbling softly. “There you go, sweetie”, you said and patted his shoulder blades roughly. “No one is better at potions than you, Y/N”, he grinned slightly as he turned around to face you, his hands on the table behind him. “I know”, you winked at him. He broke the eye contact, his red-brown locks fell into his face, failing to hide his blushing cheeks. There it was again, that feeling. His shyness when you called him sweetie or honey drove you crazy. Officially you might have been completely platonic but his hidden smirks and chuckles made your insides burst.

And then, one fateful Decembre evening, everything changed.

“Y/N? You mind doing me a favour? You can say no of course... but... I’d... I’d love to have you there”, he smiled, his eyes darker than usual. You were just finishing up and about to leave but him asking you with this kind expression was a turn of events. “Uh, sure. What do you need me to do?”

Only about twenty minutes later you found yourself standing on the edge of a small lake surrounded by a pine forest at almost midnight. It was a bit chilly even for you, you lifted your shoulders, covering your face in your scarf. “Are you cold?”, Newt asked kneeling on the edge of the water, his wand in his hand, a worrying look on his face. He looked so pale in the blue light. “It’s alright”, you smiled at him. “Mr Scamander, if I may ask, what exactly are we doing here?”, you crossed your arms looking around. The forest was dark and cold, it looked utterly uninviting. Before you, the light blue lake reflected the moonlight and made for a calm atmosphere. It was almost completely silent. Your breath was visible in front of you and in that moment you wished, you had worn a thicker jumper.

“Looking for Kelpies, of course, Ms Y/L/N.”

“Of course”, you scoffed to yourself. Your gaze wandered across the water, it was quite peaceful.

“Couldn’t this wait `til the morning?”, you asked stepping closer to the lake.

“Sadly, no”, he then went on a rant on how this time was very important to get a good look at a Kelpie because they’re the friendliest when the sea is the coldest. You tried to distract yourself from the freezing cold by listening closely. But as you looked over to the other side of the lake, you made out a black creature drinking in the lake. Your eyes widened. A slender four-legged creature with a slim neck. It seemed, as if the creature could sense your staring and its head shot up, looking directly at you. Like a startled deer, you couldn’t look away. It was a Thestral.

“Newt!”, you whispered, keeping your eyes locked on the horse-like creature. “Newt!”, you said again with a bit more intensity. You couldn’t see but he turned around to look at you, saw your mesmerized face and looked into the same direction. “What is it? Did you see something?”, he asked, not moving a muscle. “It’s a... a Thestral, Newt. I can’t believe it. It’s so... beautiful”, you said slowly, still not blinking. The black skeleton moved around a bit, its coat shimmering blue in the night.

“What?”, Newt asked. He slowly stood up. He looked back and forth a few times. “Y/N?”, he said with a soft voice.

“Newt, don’t move! Look at it, it’s majestic”, you said with a wide smile. “Y/N-“, he tried again. “What is it? It’s right over there. Can’t you see it?”, you said with a hushed voice as to not spook the creature.

“No, actually, I can’t... see it”, Newt admitted. As you looked at him for the first time in minutes, you realized, he was a lot closer than you thought. Slowly you realized what this meant. Your smile faded. Newt had a painful expression on his face, covering it up with a weak smile to make you feel better. Of course, only you could see the Thestral. Because only you had witnessed death. Flashes of memories flooded your brain. You looked down brushing your hand through your hair.

“I’m sorry, Y/N”, he said as if he thought this would make it better. For the first time, his eyes never left you. “It was my Mum”, you said huskily, “she uh... passed, twelve years ago.”

Tears started clouding your vision as more and more memories came back again. You witnessed your Mum’s death. But how it happened was so horrible that you could not dare to speak it out loud.

Newt came another step closer and lightly squeezed your arm in comfort. He wanted to make it all ok again. Both of you didn’t say another word. You didn’t need to. For a moment you looked up into his eyes before he hesitantly pulled you into a hug. His arms were wrapped around your waist. Even through several layers of clothes you could feel his warmth against your chest. He smelled like apple pie and cider. Your arms around his neck, he was pulling you close to him, breathing into your shoulder. At that moment, you felt so vulnerable, like you would break any second and his strong grip was the only thing holding you together. He was stronger than you expected. His hands on your back, he pushed you closer to him. And there was nothing you wanted more than to kiss him right in this moment. He had never touched you like that, so intimate and strong.

Slowly his grip loosened, leaving you immediately cold again. Your hands slowly slid down his neck but stayed at his cheeks. You cupped his face looking at his dark blue eyes sparkling. His freckles were almost invisible, varnished with a red colour. His hands stayed at your hips, his thumb lightly brushing over you. You pulled his head down softly and he followed willingly. The amber curls tickled your forehead and you felt a soft hand cupping your cheek. You were only milimetres away from each other, so close, you breathed the same air. The heat was almost unbearable.

“Y/N...”

“Don’t...”, you mumbled. Your foreheads touched lightly. “Y/N, I...”, he began again. You gripped the hair at the back of his head to keep him close. His fingers ran through your hair as his other hand slid up your back. Your lips wanted his. You were breaking under his every touch.

A sudden water splash from the lake ripped you from your moment. Both of you turned to the lake, a dark shimmering creature had risen from the depths of the water. As fast as it appeared, it was gone again. The few water drops you felt, cooled your heated cheeks rather quickly. Newt rushed to the edge of the water, “did you see that?!”, he exclaimed. “Yea”, you gulped, still shook by what just happened. After looking at the water surface for what felt like hours, Newt turned around again looking at you, standing there like a beaten dog. You didn’t dare to say anything. What would you even say? Why didn’t he say anything?

The rest of the night both of you kept pretty much silent. You had never felt this unsure in your life. Normally, Newt was the shy and awkward one but he just turned your world around. The next few days you barely talked, still processing your moment the other night.

Until, you just couldn’t keep it in anymore. Without a warning you blurted out: “Tell me, how you feel about me.”

Newt, who was sorting plants as of right now, turned around with wide eyes. “What...”, he said slowly. “Tell me”, you repeated. “Who am I to you.”

He just stared at you without making a noise for a few moments before looking back at the ground, avoiding your gaze. “What... what do you mean by... by that?”, he stuttered, still looking down.

“Newt, come on. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t... I just can’t keep working here acting like everything’s normal, when it’s not... it’s really not”, you said walking around rubbing your forehead. “What’s wrong?”, he asked innocently. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. Is it about your mother? I’m terribly sorry. If there’s anything I can do, just-“

“Stop”, you cut him off sharply. “Please don’t... don’t do that.”

“Do what?”, he asked, obviously confused now.

“Being all cute and innocent and nice and... and just... you”, you replied and looked up at him.

“What’s wrong? I don’t...”, he stammered trying to read you.

“Who am I to you”, you asked again standing right in front of him.

He didn’t reply. He just stared holes in the floor again. Your hands softly found his cheeks and you pushed his gaze up to look at you. His eyes struggled to look at you. But when his found yours, there was it again, the magic, the flicker, the nervous tingling feeling in your stomach. “Tell me”, you whispered. “Say something”, you said, followed by an endless feeling pause.

“You’re funny”, he whispered. You held your breath for a moment.

“And you’re smart... so clever.” You started grinning.

“You make me smile, you’re so good and full of light.” You rubbed your thumb over his cheek.

“You brew the best potions, better than anyone I’ve ever seen. And you’re just...”, he paused.

“You’re just so very beautiful.”

You let out a happy giggle, your hands sliding to his neck and gently twirling his locks with your finger. He couldn’t look into your eyes but you could see that he liked it.

“Your nose is very symmetric and you have a nice chin”, he added, raising his gaze and looking at you with those hazel puppy eyes. You started laughing.

“What?”, he shyed away. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I shouldn’t have said that... I understand if you want to leave”, he said.

“Don’t you dare think that for one second, Mr Scamander”, you said with a wide grin. That’s when you pulled him closer and finally kissed him. Your lips met and Newt closed the gap between your bodies. He pushed himself against you. “That’s all I wanted to hear”, you pulled away for a brief moment, only to deepen the kiss quickly after saying that. You never wanted to let him go again.

Thank you so much for reading! <3

#newt scamander #newt scamander fanfiction #newt scamander x reader #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts fanfiction

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Male orc (Vilugh) x male reader (sfw) - Part Two

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This should have gone up on here yesterday, and has been available on my $5 Patreon tier for a week as the fourth ‘early release’ story on Patreon in July (every Wednesday).

You may recall the first chapter that I posted as an unedited WIP (Tumblr link) a while ago and had lots of encouraging comments about and some interest in seeing more from Vilugh and the prince. So, here it is! Sorry it's a bit late - things have just been nuts here lately. I wanted this to be the final chapter, but... plot happened. So... there'll be more in the future!

Content: continuing on from last time where our scholarly prince with the unfathomably dickish king for a father was told he was going to spend six months with the orcs, we see Vilugh again, meet his sister, and finally, get to the encampment. (tw: brief mention of past death of reader’s older brother, and constantly being compared to him by the aforementioned dickish king...)

Wordcount: exactly 4000. *nice*

Part One

To say that I was furious with my father for only deigning to inform me of my new situation for the next six months would have been an understatement. I knew I wasn’t the ruler-son that he’d envisaged taking over from him, but I had thought that my rather impressive record for strategy and tactics spoke for itself, not to mention that I was responsible for almost single-handedly planning and instigating massive economic reforms that not only refilled the monarchy’s gradually-dwindling coffers but promoted trade and gave our floundering, stagnating economy a huge boot up the backside. And yet, still, I was not enough. I was not my brother.

Fuming, I strode along the corridors from the great hall up to my chambers and nearly flattened a poor serving girl as she left one of the rooms along the way. “I’m sorry,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Highness,” she chirped, dipping into a curtsy and scurrying away before I could explain myself.

My reputation had gone from ‘scholar prince’ to ‘Royal Monk’ by the time I was twenty five, but I was also known for being moody and sullen, with a perpetual scowl on my lean - I thought gaunt - face. No wonder I’d frightened her. As I stared in the speckled mirror in my bedroom, I saw a face and body that would hardly impress the orcs to whom I was about to be packed off like a spare bit of cargo for six months. Why? What what did my father have to gain from sending me to a group of people who, until my teenage years, had been our enemies? They weren’t exactly our best friends now either.

The orcs right across the continent had begun to think about trade with us since Khraxh and her warband had first agreed to peace talks, and while the mountain orcs were still ferociously opposed to any kind of truce or trade talks with the soft, plains- and forest-dwelling humans, Khraxh had clearly seen the advantages that at least a ‘polite understanding’ would have with us. We had the monopoly on iron ore with our goblin-run mines to the east, and due to our superior charcoal burning techniques, we were able to forge steel like almost no one else, save perhaps the goblins themselves.

Goblins, like humans, had a long and turbulent history with orcs. Historically, encounters between the two peoples mostly ended in absolute annihilation of entire goblin communities by the larger and stronger orcs - hence their very slight preference for dealing with humans. It really was only a slight preference, however. Goblins were wary and untrusting of most folks, but it was understandable. They were a skittish, intolerant folk, quick to be offended and even quicker to give it.

Staring into that age-freckled mirror, I saw my lacklustre, pale skin, with no distinguishing features, save perhaps for my mother’s dark eyes and a slightly hooked nose. Where Dannan had been the golden boy of our family - qujite literally with his curly blond hair - I was the proverbial and, of late, the literal, dark horse. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark expression…

Needless to say, I got little sleep that night, which added to the dark shadows beneath those dark eyes. I turned it over and over as I lay amid the fine silk sheets. In the end, I came to the rather unsettling conclusion that my father hoped I wouldn’t survive my time with the orcs so that he could install someone like my cousin Balgrun on the throne after his demise. Not that anyone imagined that a king as tenacious and bitter as my father would ever give up his hold on life; he was simply too stubborn to die, I was sure of it. True, I was useful, but I was not a leader. I honestly crumbled to a trembling, stammering, sweating mess if I had to address the public myself, and I considered more than three people to be an abhorrent crowd. He’d raised me to be the shadow to my brother’s light, and I fulfilled that role too well to be trained to shine in public now.

Gritting my teeth the next morning, I stood on the sweeping steps of the royal castle, awaiting the arrival of the orcs.

The squeal of a war boar from the far side of the castle’s curtain wall announced their presence before the trumpets and shouts did. I drew a deep breath and kept my skinny hands folded behind my back. No need to let them see me shaking. The king emerged from the doors behind me and fixed me with his usual, emotionless glower. “Don’t embarrass me, son,” he muttered under his breath. “They do us great honour by taking you to the heart of their lands for so long a time.”

I raised my eyebrow. My mother had been able to do that, according to Rigmore. The castle steward and she had apparently been good friends, and when I had learned to do it, he had laughed and said I was the picture of my mother. Naturally, I did it around my father whenever I could just to rile him up. “Tell me, father,” I said with carefully controlled coolness in my voice. “What exactly do you hope to achieve out of my royal stay with — what was it you called them yesterday? — oh yes… ‘those beasts’.”

His lip curled and his eye twitched. “You will do well not to repeat that, boy,” he snarled.

I laughed and shook my head. “Out of the two of us, I seem to be the only one who values my hide, father. Fear not though, I have no intention of pissing off my captors.”

“Captors? Guardians, more like. The honour of hosting the son of the most powerful king on this continent will not be lost on them,” he said fervently, grey eyes drifting to the portcullis and main entrance to the bailey behind me.

“Surely you had some mission in mind for me then?”

“Win them over with that naive charm of yours,” he said dismissively, still not looking at me. “You could have charmed your way into the beds of half the nobility of this kingdom, despite your… physique… Fuck them if you have to,” he said in a hiss in my ear, “But I want them in an advantageous trade deal by the end of next spring. Butter them up, win their trust, and we’ll have the brutes in our pockets.”

“And if I don’t manage that?” I asked.

His eyes flashed. “Then you really aren’t of any use to me at all, are you?”

It wasn’t a wholly unexpected answer. The man was always the king before he was my father, but still, I barked out a loud and undignified laugh just as the orcs entered amid a clatter of cloven trotters and squealing war beasts, feeling empty and hollow. “Goddess be merciful,” I cursed. “You just want me out of the way while you wine and dine Balgrun in my absence. Oh yes,” I chuckled back at him over my shoulder, practically skipping down the stairs and strangely looking forward to my six month ‘holiday’ from the backstabbing and conniving of the castle. “I asked around; I know you’re asking my dear little cousin to stay. Perhaps you can show him the ropes in six months, and perhaps the orcs will decide I’m more useful as a toothpick than a diplomat, and you’ll have a reason to go to war with them again, wipe them off the plains, and then nothing will stand in your way between the coast and the mountains.”

And with that, I left him sputtering on the steps, his face a rather nasty puce colour. I’d figured out his alternative plan, and if he thought for a moment I was going to let him have it, he was a dotard.

“Greetings,” I said, addressing Vilugh in the common Trade Tongue. “Regrettably I have not had the chance to learn your language yet, otherwise I would have greeted you in your own tongue.”

The orc swung down from his boar and dropped the reins to the flagstone floor, ground-tying the beast the same way I might have ground-tied my mare. Starling was, to my relief, already saddled and ready for me, standing with her bridle in the hands of a groom and stamping her hoof in anticipation of an outing.

Vilugh was every bit as colossal and imposing as I remembered him from the last time I’d seen him, if not more so. I knew he had to be ten years or so older than me, and if he was thirty five, he was still in his absolute prime. His green-skinned chest was largely bare, save for the leather strap that reached diagonally from one hip to the opposite shoulder, holding up the leather hunting skirt that hugged his hips and hid very little from the imagination. He didn’t have the defined abs of the veiner fighters I’d seen who liked to show off their lean, oiled bodies for the attention of the crowd, but his middle was packed with solid fat and muscle that spoke of the strength of two or three oxen. His thighs could have crushed one of our warhorses to a bloody slurry if he’d fancied trying, and his hands were as big as the buckler shields favoured by fancy duellers in the city. Small for a shield, but very big for a hand.

His eyes were still that unnerving black that I recalled from my youth, and they were every bit as perceptive as I remembered too. He raked his gaze up my slim form, no doubt also cataloguing my physical features and sartorial preferences. That day I had chosen simple buckskin leggings, suitable for long distance riding, and a loose, linen shirt. My hair was tied back in a practical style at the nape of my neck, and across the front of my saddle, I had instructed my servant to tie a leather hunter’s jerkin for when evening drew in and it inevitably got much colder. In my saddlebags I had had simple, comfortable clothing packed, with none of the fripperies and fineries with which a prince might be expected to travel. Orcs were a pragmatic and practical people, and having a whiny prince demanding to stop for wine and grapes halfway there would win me no favours with them.

“We can teach you to speak orcish if you want,” Vilugh said in a voice like a rock slide.

I couldn't help but grin at the chance to learn something else, and nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that. I can’t promise to be any good, but I’ll try.”

To my surprise, Vilugh laughed. “From what I hear, you’re a quick learner, prince. You’ll catch on quick enough I reckon.”

Relief washed through me. The warrior was polite and had a sense of humour. As much as my father’s court frustrated me, I knew where to tread there, and how far I could push and poke before I risked too much. With the orcs, I had no idea yet what might provoke them or amuse them. I also had no idea how they felt about this arrangement, or how my presence among them would be received.

“If you’d like to rest or feed your mounts, and seek the same for yourself, then please make yourselves comfortable, otherwise I’m ready to leave whenever you are.” I left it up to him to decide, and after a quick look at my father, still standing on the castle steps like a lone lion on a rock while hyenas prowled below, Vilugh shot me a look of a different calibre.

“These boar can ride all day without stopping for food or water; three days without rest,” he said in a measured voice, walking at my side and casting my entire body into shadow with his immense height and breadth.

He was testing me, and I didn’t fall for it. “And yet the ride from your mother’s bastion is four days from here,” I replied with the same even tone.

Vilugh’s eyes glittered with amusement. “The piss you people drink for ale should be enough for now.”

It was easy enough for me to take a chance on his sense of humour with my father’s bowmen lining the walls and the honour guard ranged up the stairs nearby. “For you or for the boars?” I quipped, turning away and inviting him to follow me.

Again, the massive - and honestly quite intimidating - orc let out a long, loud belly-laugh of amusement. “Hay will do for the boars just now, though they prefer meat when they can get it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I muttered.

The boars were seen to, and I led Vilugh and the two other orcs who had accompanied him up to meet my father. Neither Vilugh nor his fellow warriors bowed or bent the knee to my father I was pleased to note, and it got my father’s hackles up like a like a bristling tomcat. I almost could have kissed the enormous warrior just for putting my father on the back foot already, but honestly, what did he expect? Did he think the orcs would prostrate themselves before him? They’d hardly done that last time, so I couldn’t imagine he’d be so conceited as to think they’d do it this time.

“Your majesty,” Vilugh said.

“Welcome,” my father said, his tone more tightly-clipped than the box hedge in the castle’s knot garden. “Will you be staying for some refreshments before you return to your people with my son?”

“Just long enough to give the boars a breather,” Vilugh said with easy diplomacy.

The other warriors he’d brought with him were the older, one-armed orc I’d skittered away from as a child, and a female I didn’t recognise but who had the most incredible, blue eyes I’d ever seen. Vilugh must have caught me admiring her in the great hall because he leaned in close and growled without real sting, “Stare too long at my sister and she’ll most likely cut out your eyes, princeling.”

“I was just admiring hers,” I yipped quickly, regretting the rather boyish note to my usually hoarse tenor. “Blue eyes are not so common in these parts, that’s all. I meant no offence by it.”

Seated beside him at the table, she leaned close to her brother and barked something in orcish at him. He looked briefly back at me, and then responded in the same. They conversed for a moment and I sat there with my spine dead-straight and my jaw clenched. When Vilugh turned back to me, he grinned. “Rhana says that if the pretty human princeling wants to stare at her, he can, but he’ll have to answer to her wife when we get back.”

“Far be it from me to come between an orc and her wife,” I chuckled anxiously.

When Vilugh translated, they both laughed and Rhana reached behind her brother and cuffed me on the shoulder hard enough that I was almost sent reeling off my seat and onto the floor, which got another laugh out of them and drew a glare of daggers from my unnerved father. Good. Let him be baffled that I was already getting along with these warriors like soldiers in the barracks. He’d clearly not expected me to have any idea how to behave around them, but while I didn’t spend my spare time in our own guards’ barracks, I observed the way everyone in the castle interacted with each other. It was what I’d been trained to do, after all: notice things and remember them.

All in all, the orcs didn't linger long, and we were on our way within an hour.

The pace of the first few hours of the ride alternated between a brisk walk and trotting, though my mare jogged excitedly for the first hour of that until I finally convinced her that we were in it for the long haul. The grooms kept her fit and well-schooled since I couldn’t step away from the castle regularly enough to do it myself, but by the end of the day, even my indomitable Starling was beginning to flag. I patted her neck and murmured that we’d probably break camp soon, and, sure enough, we did.

Once a small fire was lit, with the dry twigs of plains brush-scrub, and carefully warded in a low pit to stop it spreading across the arid plain, I drew out my rations from my saddlebag and Vilugh shot me a look of mild surprise.

“What?” I asked, nervous that I’d committed some inadvertent transgression by digging in before they’d started eating.

After a moment, the orc heaved himself down onto the ground beside me, long, black plait thwacking against his back at the motion. Then he said almost conspiratorially, “You’re not what I was expecting.”

Unwrapping the bread and hard cheese from their waxed linen wrappings, I frowned. “Just what were you expecting, might I ask?”

He shrugged a massive shoulder and drew out a similarly wrapped parcel - much larger - with dried meat and a hard looking biscuit that I thought would probably crack my own teeth before it broke. “Honestly… going off the last time I saw you, and from what your father said of you in talks with my mother… I thought you’d be a fragile little bird. You’re not.” He looked at me, dark eyes glittering in the fire like polished onyx and added, “You are skinny as a bird, but you’re not weak.”

“How would you know?” I scoffed. “I could be too weak to draw my sword. It could just be strapped to my waist for show…” In fact, it was now unbuckled and lying behind me with my saddle and bags, while Starling was hobbled nearby and looking rather disdainfully at the slim grazing afforded by the scrubland where we’d paused. Finest high-summer hay, it was not.

“You move like a dancer,” he said, and I immediately choked on a breadcrumb.

He had to slap me on the back and offered me a skin of water. I washed the offending clog down and gawped at him. “What would you know about human dancers?” I asked without thinking.

“I’ve travelled to the cities on the coast,” he said. “They dance in the marketplaces on festival days.”

“Oh,” I said. And then my cheeks flushed. “I’m not… You know… those dancers are… uh… paid to do more than dance… shall we say.”

It took Vilugh a moment to catch on, but he seemed embarrassed at his mistake. “I meant no insult by it,” he said. “They’re very beautiful.”

“That they are,” I admitted. My father had tried to entice three of them into bed with me after one evening spent in the company of one of his duchesses, but when I’d shown more interest in her library than her twittering prostitutes, he’d given up. Apparently the finest courtesans in the land weren’t going to make me proper man in his eyes, so it wasn’t worth trying.

Vilugh must have seen my memories swirling across my face, because he didn’t bring it up again, and we ate in a rather awkward silence after that. The orcs drew lots for the watch, and Vilugh drew the first and insisted that as their guest, I should not be expected to deprive myself of sleep. Plus, apparently, the next day’s riding would be harder and he didn’t want me falling out of my saddle when I dozed off. Also orcs’ eyes were more like cats’ eyes in the dark, I discovered, when I looked up and saw Rhana’s glinting at me from across the fire and nearly had a heart attack. She laughed and wished me pleasant dreams.

Taking their well-meaning jibes in my stride, I nodded and bedded down in my humble bedroll. It was the type that hunters used, made of breathable buckskin and lined with fleece to keep off the chill of the plains, and although I’d only spent one or two nights in it in my life, I slept better that night than I had in years, not waking until Vilugh's surprisingly gentle touch at my shoulder stirred me not long after dawn.

Over the course of the next few days, Starling developed a comical rivalry with Rhana’s boar, the two taking every opportunity to bite or scuffle with each other, though it never seemed to get truly vicious enough for either of us to worry about, so we let it play out to our amusement. Perhaps because of that and perhaps because I just simply liked them for their gruff honesty, by the time the wooden palisade walls of the orcish war-band’s permanent stronghold drew into view on a wind-blown hilltop, I felt relatively comfortable with the three orcs who had been sent to fetch me.

The older one with one arm was called Rhakak, and was apparently Vilugh’s cousin. He was taciturn and unflinching, watchful and grim, but not aggressive towards me. I still gave him a wide berth though.

But if I’d thought Rhakak was intimidating, it was nothing to Vilugh's mother.

I remembered her from her visit to the castle, but nothing could quite have prepared me for the sheer presence the matriarch had amongst her own people. She was standing waiting for us as we rode up to the walls of the stronghold, and even though Vilugh had told me that Khraxh wouldn’t hold me to the same etiquette as she would a visiting orc, I still nearly shat my pants in fear when I got off Starling’s back and found her surveying me with a distinctly unimpressed look on her weathered, beautiful face.

She really was beautiful. Her body was honed and muscular, but her movements were sleek and efficient, and in much the way a war galley cuts through the water and bristles with power, so she moved with the dormant power of a life-long warrior. Her long, thick hair had turned grey in the intervening decade since I’d seen her, and she’d lost half a tusk too, but the way the gathered orcs arranged themselves around her reminded me of a wolf and her pack. She commanded absolute obedience in them, and unyielding loyalty. In that moment, I did feel afraid, and suddenly very much not up to the seemingly impossible task I had been set.

With a rather endearing patience, Vilugh had taught me the phrase to speak in orcish upon meeting her, and once I could finally get my tongue around the complex vocal gymnastics of the orcish language, he said I would not be flayed alive for completely embarrassing my tutor.

Thus, upon our first meeting, I nearly sprained my jaw, but I gained perhaps a modicum of respect from the veteran war chief. As the three orcs sent to the castle to fetch me had now bowed, neither did I, but I did incline my head as I spoke. There was no need to act like a prideful brat after all.

If my father was expecting me to make enemies of these people and inadvertently lure them into killing me and sparking a war, then I was bloody well going to do the opposite. I wasn’t a warrior, but I had my mind, and I was damned if I was going to fuck things up and go down in history as the skinny little prince who kicked off the orc-human conflict all over again.

Humble but not meek, studious but not annoyingly curious, polite but not obsequious, opinionated but not obnoxious… I began to feel my way through the stronghold’s hierarchy, and miraculously survived my first week there without insulting anyone.

One week down, twenty three more to go…

___

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#exophilia #male orc #orc x reader #male orc x male reader #male monster x male reader #mlm #mlm exophilia #1st person narrative #male monster #male reader

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obnoxiouslylongandboring · 3 years

Text

My Tunnels Are Long and Dark These Days

Featuring snapshots of the three most important road trips in Zemo and John's journey of working together.

To love is to pretend, don't try to love yourself again That is the worst kind of pain We're not those kinds of freaks, amen We're a different sort of breed of men

KARAKORAM HIGHWAY, CHINA-PAKISTAN

Zemo sat slouching in his seat, one hand hanging out the window of the truck, another draped on the steering wheel. The road stretched out in front of them, disappearing into the shadows of the mountains and forests. The sun was not up yet, it was early morning. 5AM, where no one rose out of bed but the office workers, the labourers, the soldiers coming out of their blanket shells. And where no one entered into slumber but the gravediggers, the night-shifters, the soldiers retreating into their blanket shells. The truck had been trotting along the road for hours, a small brown beetle with its headlights shining pale yellow, framing the one-meter radius ahead of it. Twenty-four hours ago had been when they first kicked the ignition into its churn in the region of Kashgar (a former trading town along the Silk Road), and when the prospects of a proper ceramic toilet had bit the dust. Twenty-four hours come and gone, with Zemo quietly helming the operation.

From Kashgar, they had traveled to Karakul under the cover of night, a journey that had taken them six hours. There had been no scenery of note but white moonlight glinting off the peaks of the two tall snowy mountains, Muztagh Ata and Mount Kongur. The shimmering scales of the Karakul lake had enraptured Zemo for hours, greeting him whenever a sharp jolt in the road woke him from his slumber.

And now, after resting a few hours at a local abode, they continued on to Tashkurgan, where from there they would go right into the borders of Pakistan.

A small muffled sound came from the lump beside him. “What’s the situation?” John mumbled blearily, poking his head through the covers. Zemo cast him a sideline glance, frowning at his sleep-mussed hair and squinted eyes. “It’s not your turn yet.”

With a snort, John closed his eyes again and rolled over, facing away from Zemo. He settled into another deep sleep.

A big, military-looking truck drove by them, momentarily blinding Zemo with its headlights. Heartbeat quickened in his chest, Zemo sat up straighter and observed the truck through the rearview mirror, hoping for its retreat. He glanced quickly towards his small driving compartment, doing a mental catalog of the materials there: a driver’s license, a forged visa to pass the border customs, fake passports with cover identities for himself and Walker… good, very good. All according to plan. Zemo rolled down the windows of his truck slightly, listening intently. The roar of the military truck did not fade into a distant hum. Instead, there was the screech of tires and the sudden whirring which indicated only one thing- Walker had better practiced the cover story that Zemo told him to, or the ensuing events would be catastrophic.

The urgent, piercing honking behind them startled John into wakefulness. He bolted up, then as if realizing that there was nowhere to go, settled back gingerly into his seat. “Zemo…”

Zemo tightened his grip on the wheels. Flexed his knuckles once, twice. Gently, as if petting a startled cat, rolled the ball of his foot over the brakes. “Anderson, don’t panic,” he says with practiced calm. “Remember what we rehearsed?”

“Yeah, Niki,” John replies. Though his face was carefully composed, the telltale twitching of his leg told Zemo otherwise.

All John had to do as Anderson was play the part of a slightly confused USA diplomat, heading from China to Pakistan over some matters of a proposed trade deal. Niki was to be his driver and translator, a man who had been an exchange student in China briefly where he picked up some basic Mandarin. Zemo had learned barely enough to get the both of them through a ten, fifteen-minute exchange. For the rest of his persuasion, he’d have to rely on the forged documents and the facade of confidence. If all went well, they would be sent on their merry way very quickly, and deliver all eight billion dollars worth of SHIELD information straight into the hands of Contessa. Of course, Zemo had taken an innocent, ‘accidental’ look at the confidential information, and deemed it useless enough to give to the woman. If it were anything that he found potentially dangerous, he would dispose of it immediately. Dry kindling could turn into a wildfire in Contessa’s hands, and that was the kind of risk he would never take.

“Stay calm. I will settle it quickly. The officers don’t want to make a big deal out of this either- we will be on our way soon,” he hissed to John as soon as he heard the crunch of boots on the tarmac.

Zemo rolled his window down to the silhouette of a heavily-clad soldier, who was covered head to toe in military gear. His eyes seemed to be narrowed, whether it was from suspicion or simply fatigue.

“有签证吗？” (Do you have a visa?)

“有。” (Yes.) Zemo reached into the compartment and retrieved the documents. The soldier took a quick look at them via the torchlight and passed it back to him. Then, tipping his chin at John- “他是你的朋友？” (Is he your friend?)

“他是我的老板。” (He's my boss.) Zemo struggled to recall the words for a moment. “我帮他翻译。” (I help him to translate.)

“对于游客来说，这时间挺早的。你们从卡拉库尔来的？” (This time of day is quite early for a tourist to be travelling. Are you coming from Karakul?)

Zemo blinked, processing the words. “可以…重复吗？” (Can you... repeat that?)

The guard sighed, then said slowly- “你们从，卡拉库尔，来? ” (You came, from, Karakul?)

The pieces slot into place in his head. 卡拉库尔 - Karakul. You… from… you came from Karakul.

“对，对。抱歉，我的华文不好。” (Yes, yes. Apologies, my mandarin isn't good.)

The guard laughed, but there was no condescension or meanness in it. “对于老外来说，发音挺好。” (For a foreigner, your pronunciation is pretty good.)

He continues, “好，好，谢谢。打扰你了。不多说了，你们走吧。” (Yes, yes, thank you. Sorry for the disturbance, you can go.)

Zemo, displaying the kindest smile he could, nodded and bade the man farewell. He turned off the lights in the car and smirked, knowing John could see it- This is how a professional works.

Another voice rang out, different from the one earlier. “先别走。” (Don't go yet.)

Zemo’s foot froze at the pedal. John’s expression was one of pure confusion and panic, his calmness now barely held together. Through the conversation earlier, Zemo had already sensed him vibrating with stagnant energy, and now it was manifesting in dangerous, careless ways. Zemo quickly reached out to touch John shoulder and calm him down- he's learnt that the other man responded best to physical contact, something he himself detested.

John’s wild gaze lifted to a point above his shoulder and lingered there.

The sharp rapping at the glass behind him are like bullets to his ears.

Zemo turns around, “为何…” (Why...)

His voice died in his throat. Standing there outside the car, equally shocked- Karlen Constantine.

Zemo could recognize that face anywhere. The rounded jaw, the brittle mouth, and that hateful, hateful look in his eyes.

The same look he gave when Zemo framed him for murder and left a two-million-dollar bounty on his head in Madripoor. Eight years ago.

Zemo takes quick stock of the situation. Judging by Constantine’s badges- high ranking. Heavily armed. A long, long road ahead of them. Walker has no shield, not yet. That was still in the process of being manufactured in Romania. Car chases weren’t an option. Evasion wasn’t an option. Anything other than negotiation would lead to their death. Zemo swallowed the saliva that rested heavily on his tongue.

“Karlen, please,” he says. John inhaled loudly behind him, he ignored it.

“You son of a bitch,” Karlen laughed gleefully. “Oh, this has made my day. I’m going to enjoy this.”

“What the fuck is going on, Zemo?” John snarled, ditching the pseudonym. He knew the game was up, the only question was how they were going to get out of this situation.

“Karlen, I’m invaluable to you,” Zemo continues carefully. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest, and it’s taking every iota of energy in him to keep his voice steady, to prevent the wave of panic from engulfing his mind. Any wrong word, any wrong move, and he would be dead within minutes. The car was bulletproof, but at such close range… with a shotgun, no less… Zemo knew the specs of the glass well, but he loathed taking risks. “I can-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Karlen screamed, spittle hitting the glass. “Both of you, get the fuck out. Hands where I can see them. Slowly. Fucking do it slowly, or I’ll blow a hole in your leg.”

With steady breaths, Zemo complied. He could feel the adrenaline rushing up to his brain, reducing everything to a frantic pulsing in his muscles, the instinctual urge to run or fight. He got out of the car, hands raised to his shoulders, holding John’s gaze steady- don’t do anything rash. Follow my lead. And surprisingly, John did. He followed without a single word of protest, even though Zemo knew he was aching to throw a punch, to smash his fist into someone’s temple, or feel the satisfying recoil of a gun vibrating against his bones.

Zemo felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed between his eyes, at the same time that John jolted forward and cried, “No!”

“Don’t FUCKING move!” Karlen roared again, clicking off the safety. “Stay where you are or I’ll fucking kill him. Zemo, he answers to you, right? Tell him.”

Zemo glanced away to catch John’s horrified stare before his head was painfully yanked back by the roots of his hair. “Hey. Eyes on me. What did I say?”

“John, don’t move,” Zemo said slowly, grimacing as Karlen’s grip tightened.

“Now kneel.”

Zemo complied, breathing heavily. He could feel the fur of his jacket sticking to the back of his neck, and how hot his entire body felt, alight with energy. The aching of his scalp and knees had faded into a dull buzzing, overtaken by the hyperawareness of Karlen, his every movement, and Walker’s unyielding presence at his back.

As if sensing the same, Walker leaned forward carefully to place himself in Zemo's peripheral vision, discreet enough that Karlen wouldn't notice.

"Three years. Three years, I had to run and run and run. All because you stabbed me in the back, like the fucking coward you are. We were friends, but that didn't mean shit to you, did it? I'm glad your fucking wife and kids died. I hope they suffered. Oh yeah, I hope they screamed. I'm going to make this very painful for you too, Zemo."

Zemo's hands were trembling with the force of keeping them from Karlan's throat. It was taking everything he had to restrain himself. He tipped his chin up, looked straight into the matching pair of hateful eyes, and spat at Karlen's feet. "Fuck you."

It barely sounded like his own voice. The hate was thick sewer sludge, bubbling past the broken glass in his throat. A blinding burst of red splattered across his vision- Zemo flinched from the force at which the rage slammed into his mind. I will kill you. I will peel your skin from your bones, bit by bit. You're going to be screaming like a pig by the time I'm done. Constantine, you'll wish you were dead-

Karlen punched him so hard his entire body collapses to the side. Zemo tasted blood on his tongue, and god, it was pouring out of his nose. It wasn't broken, however- he turned his head just in time to prevent that. The lights look blurry- his eyes were watering.

Another kick connected with his stomach and Zemo cried out in pain, curling up into a ball.

Stop, stop, fucking stop, someone was shouting. When his head finally stopped ringing, he realised that it was John.

"You're friends with this guy?" Karlen laughed. "Oh, come on. He's just going to stab you in the back too. In fact, I'm sure he's already plotted multiple ways to kill you or fuck you up."

"He's tried," John laughed mirthlessly. His voice dropped into a low growl, a voice meant for spilling dirty little secrets- "Many, many times."

"And guess what, I'm still here. You aren't. A word of advice? Don't take yourself so seriously. You don't mean shit to him if you can't keep yourself around," John continued.

Zemo struggled to push himself back up, panting hard. He can't gather enough air to shout, stop talking. Those words laid like a brand against his skin, spelling out the name John Walker, a possessive claim.

I'm special, John Walker practically crowed.

And Zemo hated that he was right.

"If you like him so much, you can join him." Karlen laughed, raised his gun to John Walker, and fired.

He was fast.

John was faster.

The bullet buried itself harmlessly into the ground. The soldiers startle, reaching for their guns. One shot, Karlen's body dropped. The muffled thump launched Zemo's body into action. His fingers found a gun, and without blinking he whirled and pulled the trigger three times.

A few more shots rang out, and two more men are down.

Zemo swayed on his feet, but before he could collapse, there were strong arms around him, leading him to the car. He's shoved into it in a daze. John Walker entered through the other side, at the wheel.

"Shh. Shh. Hey. Hey, princess, look at me." A damp cloth was pressed into his hands, and he instinctively brought it up to his nose to staunch the bleeding. They're both breathing harshly from the fight. Gunpowder blue eyes stared back at him, brows furrowed. Light glanced off the mirror, staining John's hair a warm golden. Zemo was reminded of his vintage brass rulers, the beautiful old smell they had...

Wait. Light? He lifted his head to see the sunrise, then the time on the electronic clock. 6.05 AM. The tourist buses would be moving out soon, which meant-

"Drive," he whispered, and John kicked the car into high gear without a word.

"I'll text Contessa to put a roadblock on both sides and clear up the scene as quickly as possible. Once at Tashkurgan we'll leave the car, take the tourist bus, and blend in with the rest. I will arrange for Contessa to meet us earlier than was planned. When we arrive in Pakistan, we need to get past the border security. Even though we're compromised, this will not be risky. It's broad daylight and there are too many people at the border to cause a scene. The congestion will be in our favour. Clear?"

"Crystal."

"And the next time, I'll tell Contessa that travelling at night is a bad idea."

John frowned. "Hey, don't blame yourself. No one knew this was going to happen."

"We were nearly killed, John."

"Yeah, what's the big deal? Do you know how many times I've nearly been killed, Zemo? More than I could count. And trust me, this does not even come close." John laughs brightly. "We got outta there fine, yeah? Trust me. Not even close. It was a team effort."

Zemo looked down, and saw the slight quivering of his leg that John tried to hide. He dragged his eyes up to John's face, and recognised the tiny, near-imperceptible strain in his eyes... something you would not catch unless you were specifically looking for it.

You can be a really good liar if you tried, John.

"You're special to me, you know." the words came out in a rush, stumbling over one another. It sounded like a confession, and Zemo hated how it made his heart stutter, how his hands tingled, how the pain and the anger faded away into a schoolboy-nervousness.

The entire world, bottled down to a single response.

And he waited for an answer with bated breath, though he was uncertain of the question he had asked, if any at all.

My ending thoughts:

John Walker tells Zemo about love, like how a parent tells their child about the unobservable universe, about the untouched depths of the ocean, as if whispering: don't fear the unknown, for we'll explore it together.

Inspiration and images were taken from:

Zion National Park, United States (Utah)

Black Canyon of the Gunnison, United States (Colorado)

Trollstigen, Norway

Transfăgărășan road, Romania

Karakoram Highway, China-Pakistan

Images were taken from Google, not owned by me.

#walkerbaron #zemo #john walker #fatws #Spotify

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kopikokun · 4 years

Text

Star-Crossed Lovers༄ mark l.

↳ You’re not supposed to be so hopelessly in love with a man as dangerous as Mark, especially given the fact that you’re engaged, but you just can’t help it.

pairing: hitman!mark x reader

genre: fluff, angst

wordcount: 1889 words

Request 28: Mark + “I’m so in love with you.” (36) + “I wish we could stay like this forever.” (39) + “I want to take care of you.” (51)

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬.

What was that saying? It’s wrong yet it feels so right?

Regardless of what it is, you can’t deny the exhilarating rush from doing this. You feel a shiver creep up your spine, and it’s not from the cold night breeze. No, it’s from the sight of the lone figure before you, the ends of their robe dancing with the wind, their lithe fingers adorned with the faint gleam of silver rings, and their large, near worn-out hood, draped over their head, obscuring their face.

The figure on the shingled rooftop with you holds a small knife in their hand, its sharp and pristine blade reflecting the moonlight as they twirl the small weapon expertly around their fingers.

You should be scared, and you would be bluffing if you weren’t at least just a little. But you know the man would never let his knife even graze your skin. The only sharp thing which makes your heart pound is his smile.

“Miss me?”

Mark’s hood falls to his shoulders, revealing that mischievous face that you fall in love with every night. His grin is deadly, arguably even more so than he is as he continues to weave that knife easily between his ring-clad fingers. From the way he so casually does it, it’s as if he was born with a knife clasped in his fist, which wouldn’t be surprising for Mark. You turn away from the sight, a feeling of mild disdain building in your chest.

You hum vaguely in response, and Mark smiles softly, almost a little sadly, as if he knows what you’re thinking. He tucks his knife away.

“I hope that’s a yes.”

You don’t even realise that Mark has taken a seat beside you until he sighs. He’s truly a talented hitman, but you’re unsure if that’s exactly a compliment.

“I missed you,” confesses Mark, his voice so quiet it could almost be mistaken as the light gust of air which fans your face.

“Really?” you challenge, raising a brow and turning to face him. “I guess you didn’t miss me enough to come yesterday.”

Mark holds your gaze. “I-I had something to do.”

“Something to do...” Your chest tightens, and you debate on whether you should even ask. “Who was it?”

Mark blows out an unsteady breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

You would push him further, but doing so would take you nowhere. You know that from experience. “Okay.”

You decide to rest your head in Mark’s lap. It’s what you usually do when you meet him up here every night. At first, you would sit crossed-legged beside him, relishing in the one-of-a-kind view. Buildings and humble homes stretched out for miles, a few of them emitting a yellow glow from their windows, but most dark and dormant, its inhabitants fast asleep as the moon casts its light onto their roofs. The stars blinking, scattered across the vast and endless canvas of the night sky, whispering to you about the tales of the past, about wars, treachery and greed, yet also of two lovers, just like you and Mark, who had lay under these very stars professing their love and clinging onto one another until the Sun began to rise.

You’ve got a clearer view of the sky with your head in Mark’s lap anyway. And a clearer view of him too. It’s unrealistic how attractive he still looks at this angle. Unfair, actually.

“What’re you looking at?” Mark’s hands support his weight as he leans back, staring down at you. His eyes are playful and a familiar brown—intoxicating almost—as they reel you in and drag you under.

You smile up at him. “You.”

Though one of Mark’s most impressive qualities is how easily he can slither his way into any woman or man’s heart without any emotional attachment, his breath still catches in his throat despite having heard that line over a hundred times. You don’t miss this fact, smiling coyly, knowing that you have this untouchable hitman wrapped around your little finger. “You’re really pretty,” you elaborate.

Mark laughs heartily, and though he’s a feared man, painted out to be a ruthless beast with a cold stare and a rugged edge to his voice, his laughter contradicts that belief. It’s joyful, airy and boyish, reminiscent to that of a young teenage boy in love, and in this moment, you’re reminded that he’s hardly an adult. He’s only barely been chaffed by the harsh reality of adulthood, yet his eyes possess a wisdom far beyond his years, one he’s earned from the twenty years of sneaking through the shadows and scaling walls silently, grappling to stay alive. But as you stare deeply into his eyes, roaming their never-ending depth, you can make out that dim glimmer of childlike euphoria, something Mark never had the chance to experience. He’s a crumbling monument, only barely standing thanks to a few make-shift pillars and beams, but there’s something beautiful about him, something that had drawn you in that first night you met him.

Mark tilts his head, smiling softly. “You think I’m pretty? Look at yourself, darling,” he says, putting those long years of charming others to use. But unlike with them, his words are genuine with you. He giggles again, smiling fondly. “I’m so in love with you.”

Your hand reaches forward to caress his surprisingly smooth skin. He flinches as the chilled metal of the band which hugs your left ring finger comes into contact with his cheek. “I love you too.”

Mark grips your wrist, even his own fingers are cold compared to yours and the contrast in temperatures sends a prickling jolt through your arm. He tugs your hand from his face, inspecting your ring. “Oh, really now? You do?”

You pull your hand out of his grip, sitting up from his lap. He gives you a pointed look, leaning back in his position.

“Mark…” Your own fingers subconsciously fiddle with the ring, twisting it around. “You know I didn’t have a choice. I don’t get a say in who I marry…”

“I know that.” He frowns, his usually light-hearted and carefree expression overcome with a bitter one. “He must be great, huh? Kim Doyoung; rich, handsome, intelligent, son of a prominent figure—he’s perfect for you. Little old though, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s only three years older than you are, Mark. And how did you—”

“I’m a hitman. Finding out who your fiance is isn’t exactly the hardest thing I’ve had to do. And it’s not like he’s particularly low-profile or living humbly either.” Mark crosses his arms. “And I figured I should know who’ll be sleeping in the same bed as you every night.”

Mark’s tone grows sinister, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. You place a cautious, delicate hand on his shoulder and sigh, “Mark…”

“I know. I shouldn’t be getting jealous or possessive. I don’t have the right to, but I want to.” Mark looks at you, his gaze sincere and his smile, sad—longing. “I want to be the one who marries you, who kisses you before you go to bed, who makes breakfast for you when you wake up in the morning, but I can’t do that, huh?” He laughs humourlessly.

You grow silent. You can’t even bring yourself to look into Mark’s eyes. You know they only hold sorrow as he grieves for something he’s lost; you. Though, he’s never really had you to begin with, and how could he possibly lose something he’s never had anyway?

You’re selfish. You knew being involved with Mark would only end in tragedy for the both of you, but you went against your own logic regardless. Something about following your heart, you suppose. How naive of you. Fate isn’t kind.

“I guess, I,” Mark clears his throat, “I want to take care of you.”

You laugh dryly, though tears threaten to spill, blurring your vision and those stars that seemed so bright and hopeful look fuzzy now, like they’d vanish with one measly swipe of your thumb. “You want to take care of me? You murder people for a living, Mark.”

Mark laughs too, but it’s laced with despair. “Killing pays, babe.”

You curl up beside Mark, resting your head on his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his. He lets his head fall to yours too, stroking your hair gently. “I can’t say you’re wrong.”

“I wish we could stay like this forever.”

Your frail heart shatters at Mark’s words. His voice is thick with tears, with heartbreak and with acceptance. You don’t realise that all your pent up tears have finally escaped until you feel a single drop land on your left hand. The ring on your finger glints with malice, and that’s what finally breaks you.

Mark smoothes down your hair, shushing you gently and whispering reassuring words into your ear. You pay no heed to them, because you know they don’t possess an ounce of truth. Because they’re just words—wishful thinking and momentary delusions to get you through the sobs. And Mark knows that too, because eventually he grows silent, crying soundlessly, his warm tears and muffled hiccups mingling with yours.

When the Sun begins to peek through the mountains in the distance, Mark stands to leave, kissing you softly as farewell. His lips mould perfectly with yours and you grip his sleeve, willing for him to stay. He pulls away, his hot breath interlaced with yours. He runs the pad of his thumb across your hand, before he’s turning away from you, your arm falling limp and cold to your side.

As Mark is about to leave and flips his hood up, he glances back at you, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He pauses, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mark.” You brave a smile for him, desperately hoping it looks genuine.

Mark has spent his entire life observing people’s emotions, perfecting his craft so he can secure the best time to strike. He knows it’s not genuine, but he returns it anyway and it looks just as forced as yours is.

As you watch Mark’s nimble figure retreat into the jet black landscape of the night, his body skilfully navigating and leaping from roof to roof as he’s done all his life, you can’t stop the tears from falling. Despite that, you’re still smiling from ear-to-ear, rubbing your swollen eyes with the back of your hands.

When Mark is finally out of sight, the only trace of him he left behind being the inviting smell of his fabric softener, you hug your knees to your chest and lift your gaze to the sky. You begin to wonder, if you and Mark’s circumstances had been different, would you have fallen in love and got to experience the life you yearned for with him?

With a resentful laugh you realise you probably wouldn’t have. Fate is cruel, and star-crossed lovers will always remain star-crossed lovers. Suddenly, a burning abhorrence towards the illuminated sky grows in your gut, the flames lapping at you and tearing down everything in its path.

You cover a single, miserable star with your thumb, childishly hoping that you’ve snuffed it out. You screw your eyes shut. The view doesn’t look that great anymore.

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rymndsmth · 4 years

Text

**** alphabet (ft. raymond smith)

this was a request from an anon so uhh. here it is! (also i censored it because i dont want tumblr to come for me, and it’s the first one of these i ever did so be nice)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Ray is comforting. He kisses you softly, especially over those spots he tends to grip you hard during sex-your hips, thighs. A quick shower with you afterwards is always preferred, but if you’re too knackered, he just helps you with the essentials. A good snuggle, however, is non-negotiable. Ray likes to be the big spoon, enveloping your body with his as he nuzzles your neck.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Nothing drives him crazier than feeling your hands touch his back. Your soft fingers caressing from the base of his spine to his neck never fails to make every inch of him stand to attention. As for you, god, it was nearly impossible for him to single out which part of your body was his favorite. Nearly.

He loved your legs. The curves of your supple thighs, your calves. His favorite feeling in the world was how they felt wrapped around his waist as he drove into you endlessly, feeling your muscles flex and coil. Their silkiness against him as you lied lazily in bed came a close second.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The sound you made when you were just about to cum was one he ached to record. Breaths going in and coming out, each quicker than the last until they seemed to cease entirely. And then that little ah. With your brows furrowed, and your mouth agape, you’d finish it off with some combination of Ray, fuck yes! or right fucking there, please don’t stop Ray. It took everything in him not to lose it each time you did.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ray can be submissive. There are times where he pins you to the bed and fucks you mercilessly, but he desires to be led. He likes it when you pull on his hair harshly, when you tell him to stop messing around and take you harder, deeper, faster. A little bit of degradation is fine too; he gets particularly turned on when you call his efforts pathetic.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

In terms of the amount of people he’s slept with, there actually haven’t been many. Ray isn’t one for casual sex, he usually keeps the same partner for a few months if not years at a time. But he’s always been open and experimental, so he knows how to do quite a wide range of things in the bedroom.

One time he surprised you by expertly hogtying you after you gave him shit about being neurotic. You were left absolutely defenseless, no amount of writhing helped as he teased you from your hardened nipples to your throbbing core.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl. He loves it when you get on top, taking control. Ray got to see your beautiful body on display, your breasts bouncing. He could run his hands up your thighs, grab your hips, give your clit some attention. It was the best of all the world’s possible.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s definitely serious about everything he does in the bedroom. What could start out as a fun, banter fueled makeout would always end in a heated round (or two) of sex. In fact, oddly enough the ones that started off light-heartedly ended up being the most passionate. Lots of shoulder and collarbone bites, hickeys on inner thighs, bruised hips.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Ray likes to keep himself trimmed, but not completely bald. Sometimes he would leave a landing strip because you told him you think it’s sexy.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

You’ve never had a lover as romantic as Raymond Smith. He would run warm baths filled with your favorite washes and oils, sometimes adding in flower petals. His hands and lips learned and re-familiarized themselves with every square inch of your skin. He was always attentive, listening to cues spoken and unspoken about your desires, and fulfilling them well beyond your expectations.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Since you two have been together, he rarely needs to take care of himself anymore. But on the rare occasions that he does, he’s definitely thinking about that time he’d taken you in the backseat of his car. It was at the beginning of your relationship, and you’d just been on a date together. He lightly suggested continuing the fun at his place, and the tension was just too much to bear.

He would tug at his swollen cock, remembering how you couldn’t even make it inside. Right there in his driveway, you ripped his clothes off and rode him until your eyes brimmed with tears. It always brought him to his release faster than any round of sex he’d ever had.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Spanking! Ray loved the way your ass bounced and reddened under his palm. He especially enjoyed the high pitched cries and sharp inhales you gave in response, not to mention how your juices coated your folds the more his hand met your flesh.

He was also very into gagging. Seeing your mouth stretched around the ball, full lips slick and swollen, his cock twitched at the thought alone.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He wasn’t awfully picky about where you had sex, but preferred it to be in his home. The room or surface it occurred in depended on his mood. Often, if he was frustrated, he’d take you standing, pressed against a wall in the corridor. When he’d come home and you’d just look too fuckable to resist, he’d give it to you on the dining table.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Ray didn’t have difficulty getting aroused. He could think about the way you chewed on your lip while scanning the book you were currently reading, or the way you ran the top of your right foot over the back of your left calf as you made tea and his pants would tighten.

If he was crossed with you, though, he was a hard shell to crack. Luckily, you knew all his soft spots, so you’d chip away at his walls one by one. Caressing behind his knees, tracing your hands up his back, biting the skin behind his ear. He fell apart every time.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Like most men, he’s not fond of having sex while you’re experiencing your time of the month. He also isn’t a fan of being called daddy (i just can’t see it lmfao!!).

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

It was 50/50, but only because you were so damn good at giving blowjobs. Other than that, he would lean more towards giving than receiving. Ray was as good as they got, he knew exactly how to lick and suck, when to pull and how hard. He reveled in feeling you twitch against his face, rubbing your core up and down, back arching as you tried to get as much out of him as possible.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the circumstances. If he didn’t have a lot of time, Ray liked to pin you to, or bend you over whatever surface was nearby and fuck the breath out of you. Otherwise, he liked to take his time with you. Ray preferred to worship your body, to feel your soft to his hard. He loved taking it slow because it gave him the opportunity to really soak in how lucky he was to be the one making you hiss and moan.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

As a busy man, Ray was a fan of quickies. The pace, intensity, and rawness. It was the only sloppy, disorganized thing he liked in his life. They happened more than he liked, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad about that when he was driving in and out of you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s definitely open to experimenting. Ray likes to ask you if there’s anything you’d like to try, and suggests a few things as well from time to time. He tried new positions often, bending you ways you wouldn't have known was possible unless he put you there.

There were times where he pushed the limits to see if you two would get caught. You nearly were that time you did it in Rosalind’s auto shop. Mickey was running late for a meeting and you made the mistake of bending over in that little black skirt. A few seconds more and his boss would’ve seen more of you than he cared for.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

There was never a time that he’d tapped out first. To you, his stamina knew no end. Ray’s record was four consecutive rounds, each somehow lasting longer than the last. If you had to guess, you’d say he averaged about twenty minutes for duration. If he really paced himself, he could make himself last up to an hour.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own any toys, but you own a vibrator that he doesn’t mind incorporating from time to time. His favorite thing to do with it was pressing it onto your clit while he ate you out. He also enjoyed watching while you used it solo, how you’d get into it, swirling your hips and massaging your breasts as you neared your climax.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ray is a firm believer in foreplay, but doesn’t stall too much. Not unless you’ve done something to make him upset with you. Then he turns into the most sadistic asshole you’ve ever met. Your throat would be hoarse from crying out and begging, stomach cramped from him bringing you to the edge only to recede at the last moment. He’d look down at you, a hint of a smile on his lips at his handiwork of completely unraveling you before filling you up.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Ray tends to be pretty quiet. He’s the most vocal when your lips are wrapped around him. Groans and grunts leave him as he hits the back of your throat and beyond. He also makes the most delightful noise, something between a moan and a sigh when your walls close in on his cock as you cum.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He onced asked if you wanted to try roleplaying. It did not go as expected. You couldn’t keep a straight face for more than a minute at a time, he was such a horrible actor. And the cowboy hat, as much as you thought it would turn you on in theory, only made you want to break out into fits of laughter.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It stunned you the first time you saw him naked. Ray was carved to perfection like a statue, his skin pulled taut over hills and valleys of muscle. Not to mention the length and width of his cock, it was literally the perfect size. Nine inches if you had to put a number to it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Ray has a slightly above average sex drive. He’s not bouncing off the walls horny, but he’s pretty much ready to go whenever and wherever.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It depends on how long you take. Ray likes to comfort you until he feels your breathing even out. Only then is he ready to succumb to sleep himself.

#charlie hunnam #raymond smith x reader #ray smith x reader #raymond smith #the gentlemen #fics.n

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theoconway · 3 years

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𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑 ; 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓇𝓎 ›› 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄 .

the sun had barely made it above the horizon when the runner had appeared with cheeks flushed & chest heaving . as if he’d run the whole way from kavanagh manor that sat bearing down over killadavan on the OPPOSITE side of the town to the stables . theo certainly wouldn’t put it past any ONE of them to force the kid , who didn’t look any older than 10 , to run the whole way . it wasn’t as if they hadn’t all rolled into town in cars that looked as if they’d just come straight off the assembly line . he’d told himself them coming back was for the better , it made their plans easier — & maybe most importantly , it meant the reapers had begun to threaten henry kavanagh’s reign — but seeing them , seeing HIM roll into town as if the past TWENTY years had never happened , & being able to see the distant lights filtered by the trees that stood guard around their manor from the front porch of his mother’s cottage it was enough for a small part of him to wish they’d all simply leave killadavan & NEVER return . then , maybe , both side’s hands would remained stained instead of DRENCHED in red . but the kavanagh’s weren’t going anywhere & from the scribbled , brief note etched upon the letter , he’d only taken once the kid had accepted a couple of pounds offered , it seemed HE was going to be helping root out the issues that had brought them all back . or at least that’s what he ASSUMED , why else would he have been invited up to the manor ? it had never happened before . the nearest he’d gotten to seeing inside was a peek through the windows when charlie had dared him to break in when they’d only been young boys . but the pitch black windows he’d peered through all those years ago were now basked in the late morning sun as he hopped off from the back of the lorry with a gaze that didn’t quite know where to land . the muscle at the corner of his jaw twitched — MORE MONEY THAN SENSE . but gone were the days were he could get away with hardening at the thought of the kavanagh’s . he was about to step right into the mouth of the beast & if he was going to make it out alive he couldn’t let his personal feelings get the better of him . he had a JOB to do . it just wasn’t the one the kavanagh’s thought they were about to give him .

‘ mr. kavanagh should be down in a minute , mr —- . ’ the butler’s words trailed off as his eyes glanced over theo . a gesture that may have caused another to bulk , but only spread a smile across his lips , “ conway . but you can just call me , theo . ” the WINK may have been far too much but watching the butler’s features shift as a hmpf had been expressed before he’d turned on his heel leaving him be , it had been ENTIRELY worth it . though it was surprising that he was allowed to linger there in the entrance hall alone & UNATTENDED . for a family that had a group breathing down their neck , they hardly had any protection set up . apart from the quiet groan of the floorboard beneath his feet silence was the only thing that met him . how easy would it be to go & find henry & end it all here & now ? but the thought was gone as quick as it came , replaced with a far better idea . one that wouldn’t get him KILLED — at least not just yet . he lingered out in the entrance , waiting for some kind of signal that james — the kavanagh that had invited . no , ORDERED him here — was on his way to collect him like some school boy waiting for his parents but nothing . eyes darted about the foyer , checking the landing of the second floor once more , before he took a step sidewards towards one of the many hallways that led away from the centre of the house . they were ALL back — bar the eldest daughter & the second son’s family — so she had to be somewhere here . where EXACTLY though was a whole different story . the house was like a bloody maze with walls of ornate wood carvings instead of bushes & almost every door lay closed to him . not even HE was impulsive enough to dare to open one in fears of what he found behind it . but as he was beginning to give up on his useless mission , a slither of late morning sun brightened the dimly lit dark timber flooring by the window at the end of the hall & drew him back in like a moth to a flame .

the toe of a scuffed boot stepped into the light as he angled his head to give easier access to a single eye to peer through the crack in the door . BOOKS . a whole wall of them . a flare of anger filled his chest . here sat a whole library & just down below them sat a school that could hardly afford the supplies needed for each student . but just as he began to draw away , unable to stomach even a second longer , movement shifted just at the edges of what his limited line of sight allowed . halting any further movement . it seemed LUCK was on his side today . he’d only ever seen her from a distance & in the photographs that had been provided so he knew just who EXACTLY he was meant to be targeting . but there was no denying that the figure that moved across his line of sight was lucille kavanagh . the youngest daughter of henry kavanagh . & the key to everything . a check was taken down each sides of the hallway , making sure that there were no footsteps approaching or voices filtering all the way from the foyer he’d been left stranded in , before he stepped forwards . fingers lifted to press against the smooth surface of the door , pushing it back to widen the crack & revealing the girl that was the sole occupant of the room . his hand dropped to his side as his gaze settled upon the two braids that met to cascade down her back , melting in the rest of loose blonde . it was one thing to SEEK HER OUT , but it was whole DIFFERENT thing to linger soundlessly & unnoticed . so he broke the quiet that hung in the room with a gentle clearing of his throat & a voice that had no business being in a house as GRAND as this one , “ sorry ‘bout the intrusion — reckon i’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere back there . ”

#𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 / theo + lucille

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markedmage · 4 years

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And Maybe We’re Like Fire and Ice

Title: And Maybe We’re Like Fire and Ice

Pairing: Zutara, very slight Sukka

Rating: M (there is smut, you have been warned)

Summary: It's an easy kind of love, the way Zuko loves her, and the way she loves him. It's simple in the way a turtleduck needs a pond to swim, the way a dragon needs fire to breathe. How the airbenders rely on the wind to carry them to the highest turrets on the temples, how the blood in the human body needs the heart to live. It's simple in the way fire ignites the world, and water soothes the burn. Like yin and yang, push and pull, hot and cold, ice and fire.

Notes: Hi guys, I posted a link to this fic the other day but I realized that you all probably prefer reading this on tumblr (that’s why you’re here). I’m reposting the fic here so you guys can read it in it’s entirety without having to leave the site.

Update: I just realized that this fic kinda technically fits zutara month, day 29: home, so I’m gonna tag it now. Haha, that’s me, always late to the game

Here’s the link to AO3 though, if you’d like to read it there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365008

Katara is twenty three years old when she decides rice wine is her favorite. It's been a long three days at the annual trade summit in the Fire Nation, and Katara is spent. She hates musty politicians and stuck up noblemen, and if it weren't for the fact that she had Toph, Aang and Sokka by her side, equally suffering, she'd probably drench the throne room in a tsunami of her own sweat.

(Zuko would probably murder her, but then feel bad about it and probably cry himself to death and then go searching through the spirit world to redeem himself to her. The thought of spirit Zuko chasing her after death is enough to amuse her and get her through the remaining days, although she wants to tell ambassador Shen of Omashu to suck it.)

She, Zuko, Aang and Toph are currently in Zuko's study, splitting a case of rice wine. Katara and Zuko are on their second shared bottle, Aang has had two cups and declares he's seeing stars, and Toph's probably had at least four bottles herself, nursing what looks like a fifth. Sokka has long since departed, no doubt chasing Suki's tail, and Zuko sputters and spits out his wine when Toph eloquently states he should wash the bed sheets, of every room in the palace.

"Toph!" Zuko splutters, looking thoroughly scandalized. Toph doesn't even look abashed, and downs another mouthful of wine straight from the bottle. She cackles and elbows Aang, who goes flying into the nearest ornamental case with an audible crack.

"Oops," she says, and raises the bottle.

Zuko's eye twitches, and that's when Katara steps in, to save Toph's ass and probably Zuko's sanity. "Alright, enough. I think it's time we called it a night. I should probably get Aang to his room."

Aang is snoring.

Zuko turns his gaze on her, and she can't tell if the plea in his eyes is begging her to take Toph and Aang away, or for her to stay.

Toph makes the decision for her, clambering to her feet and dropping her bottle, now empty. "Nah, Sugar Queen," she says making her way over to Aang. "I got Twinkletoes over here. You hang out with Sparky before he dies from lack of attention."

Zuko whines, but Toph ignores him and reaches down to pick up a very unconscious avatar, slinging him over her shoulder with ease. The image before Katara, of a slight noblewoman hardly taller than her shoulder, with dirt caked under her fingernails and her hair in a messy bun, holding up a tall, lanky bald boy with nothing but her single hand, would make anyone break out into a fit of laughter. But Katara knows all too well the strength in Toph's pinky finger, and doesn't say a word.

She and Zuko bid Toph goodnight, and with a grumble about Aang's tolerance (or lack thereof), the greatest earthbender in the world takes her leave. Zuko is quiet for a moment, but then looks at her and picks up the half empty bottle of wine before him. "Wanna go somewhere more private?" He asks.

Katara snorts, but takes the hand he offers her. "You just want to go back to your room to make sure Sokka hasn't gotten to it."

Zuko has the decency to look affronted, before pulling her out of his study and down the hall to the royal apartments. "I'm trying hard to not think about that, thank you very much." They stop before the door to his room, disregarding the royal guards standing before it. He turns and looks at her. "He wouldn't, would he?"

Katara snorts, and pushes the door open, shoving her way past Zuko into his room. "The last thing I want to think about is my brother's love life, thank you very much, but no. Suki would never let him."

He laughs and follows her into his room, closing the door behind them. With a single snap, he lights the fire in the fireplace, illuminating the room in a soft glow.

Katara goes and sits by the fire, closing her eyes and savoring the warmth it gives off. She hears Zuko rummaging around. She opens one eye and finds him disrobing his outer layers, leaving him in a simple red tunic, much like the one he wore when they were still Team Avatar, young and foolish, just a bunch of kids trying to save the world.

He comes to sit next to her. “I can’t remember the last time I was here,” she muses, taking the bottle and sipping. “What was it, like three years ago?”

“Five,” Zuko says, taking the bottle from her. “It was five. We were sitting right here when you came up with the idea to travel throughout the kingdoms, creating hospitals for the impoverished and the wounded from the battlefronts.”

Oh.

Katara is quiet for a moment, and she takes this small second of silence to study Zuko. He’s always been a contrast of emotions, and right now he seems sad and happy mixed together all at once.

Five years, she thinks. She remembers now, sitting here with Zuko, brainstorming ideas to help out those who needed her. Traveling with Aang had been great until it hadn’t been- until she’d been reduced to nothing but the Avatar’s girlfriend. She’d needed something for herself, something that would be hers and hers alone, where she could be just Katara again, master waterbender.

Zuko had been the one to ignite the idea. Stories of impoverished villages scattered throughout the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom. I don’t know how to help them, Katara, he had said to her. So many villages suffer from hunger and sickness, so many people with too many scars and not enough doctors to help them.

Hospitals. That’s what the world needed. And Katara could procure them.

And so she had. She had traveled from kingdom to kingdom, raising hospitals everywhere she went. She never spent too much time in one place, often spending just enough time to train doctors and healers what she knew, aiding the most severe cases with her waterbending, before moving on to the next town that needed her help.

It felt good, helping people. Like she was always meant for it. The girl with blood on her hands and a healer’s touch. A warrior and a healer.

I will never, ever turn my back on people who need me.

But maybe, she thinks, in the process of finding myself, I may have lost a few people along the way.

Five years is a long time to miss someone.

“How long do you think you’ll stay this time?” Zuko asks, breaking the silence. He’s turned towards her now, leaning in, and she can see the little flecks of amber in his eyes, glinting in the fire light.

“I’m not sure,” she says, suddenly aware of the temperature in the room, the temperature settling in the core of her body, making her breath come quick and fast. “I’d like to stay longer, this time. My hospitals are all running smoothly, and now that trade with the Earth Kingdom has been renewed, we won’t be seeing a shortage of supplies any time soon.”

Zuko’s eyes darken, and he leans in further, their faces separated by only their breath and the whisper of smoke from the fire. “Then stay,” he whispers. His eyes burn, and Katara recognizes that look all too well.

Five years is a long time to love someone.

Their lips crash together, and Katara drops the bottle of wine, opting instead to wrap her arms around his neck. Zuko’s arms cage her in and pull her flush against her body, where she can feel the wild rhythm of his heart pounding in his chest, matching her own. She gasps into his mouth, their breath mingling, and Zuko growls her name.

Zuko’s warmth has Katara overwhelmed with heat and weak in the knees. As if sensing her, Zuko stands, pulling her up and stumbling backwards. Her knees hit the mattress and he pushes, sending back onto the mattress. She whines at the separation, but he’s back on her in an instant, a fiery passion as he pins her to the bed. She tastes the desperation and need on his tongue, and arches against him, feeling the hard length of him pressed against her belly.

Zuko pulls away, panting. There’s a fire burning in his eyes, and Katara runs her hands through his thick black locks, feeling him leaning into her touch. He leans in and Katara arches her neck, letting his tongue trace rivers down the length of her throat. She’s overcome by her need for this boy, and she scrabbles for his tunic, yanking it open and off his broad shoulders.

He grunts and throws it off, baring his torso to her. Reverently, like a painter tracing their way over a canvas, she runs her fingers down his chest, stopping at the starburst carved into his sternum. The boy from her past is gone, replaced with a young man- evident in his marbled muscles, the sharp angle of his hips, the trail of hair stopping at his waistband-

He groans as she palms him through his trousers. “Katara,” he grunts, taking her hand. “I don’t want to rush you-”

She kisses him again, and he relents. She touches him through the fabric, listening to the hisses and groans he gives off when she does something he likes. It’s thrilling- to hold a man in the palm of your hands and reduce him to a quivering mess. She continues to touch him, until he finally grabs her hand and pulls her away from him. She frowns, but he smiles and kisses her, before pulling away with a smirk on his face.

“My turn,” he says, and Katara shudders from the burning desire in his eyes. He makes short work of her tunic and leggings, leaving her in just her wrappings. His eyes run over her figure, hands dancing over her breasts, her waist, her thighs. “I don’t want to forget this.”

You look so good in my bed sheets.

Katara moans when he dips his head, placing light kisses on her breasts over her wraps. His hands come up, molding and massaging until she’s a panting mess, breasts peaked under her wrapping. He smiles and makes quick work of the fabric, deft fingers unwinding and baring her to his mercy. He stares for a moment and Katara holds her breath, heart pounding, before he dips his head and takes her nipple into her mouth.

“Oh,” she gasps, arching into his mouth. His other hand comes up and cups her other breast, thumbing her peak while his tongue works, and she’s a writhing, moaning mess. Katara feels her toes curl, and he abandons her breasts, kissing down her stomach. She raises her head, panting, as he makes quick work of her lower wrapping. She squirms under him, but he raises an arm and pins her down. He gingerly maneuvers his body in between her thighs, and Katara feels warmth pool in her core as he studies her.

A long moan is drawn from her as he runs a finger along her slit, gathering the wetness that has pooled there. He parts her folds with his hand, and Katara holds her breath-

He puts his mouth on her, and Katara’s world bursts into color. She’s submerged in a world of pleasure as he works his mouth on her, sending tingles of pleasure radiating out through her body. She moans, and he slides a finger into her wet heat, sending another wave of pleasure through her. The feel of him inside her and his tongue on her has her seeing stars, and it only takes a few moments before she cries out, arching against him as she comes. His name falls from her lips once, twice, thrice, before she falls back against the mattress, chest heaving and seeing stars.

Zuko crawls back up her body, kissing a lazy path across her skin. Katara twitches as his hands come up to cup her breasts again, and he finds her lips, kissing her with the same passion as before. She can taste herself on his lips and she gasps against him.

It only takes a few minutes before she’s arching against him again, using her feet and hands to loosen his trousers. He grumbles and bats the offending item away before falling back between her splayed legs, taking her hand in his.

“Are you sure?” he asks, eyes burning into hers as he takes her hand to his mouth, placing light open mouthed kisses to her fingers. She’s overwhelmed by her want for this boy- this young man who always asks, who always puts her first.

“Yes,” she gasps, reaching down and taking him in her hand. He groans, eyes squeezing shut while she strokes him. She leans up, kissing him and pulling him down to her as she lines him up. “Please.”

He mouths along her jaw and throat and pushes, and Katara’s breath hitches. It doesn’t hurt- just a tight, slick slide and a whimper, and he’s home. His head falls to her shoulder, and he whispers a mantra of Katara, Katara, Katara into her shoulder.

They fall into a steady rhythm. The stretch of him inside her is delicious, the press of his chest against her breasts, the way he laces his fingers through hers as he thrusts. She finds herself arching against his every thrust, pulling him deeper into her until she’s gasping his name and seeing stars. Sweat drips off of him, making him gleam in the firelight, and he moans into her shoulder. She pulls him back to her, his lips rough against hers as he desperately rolls his hips against her. Their breaths mingle, and Katara feels like this is an eclipse- like she is the moon and he is the sun, and in the moment they meet, it’s electric.

Zuko speeds up, and Katara moans into his mouth. Although she knows she won’t get there a second time, he’s still sending sparks of pleasure flying through her and igniting her bones. But she wants him to get there too, and so she wraps her legs around his hips and clenches, arching her body so that she is flush against him and her breasts rub against his skin. That seems to be it for Zuko, and his thrusts become erratic, pulling her hard against him two more times before he tenses, groaning into her ear. She feels the warm rush of him through her and pulls him tight.

They lay there panting, and Zuko peppers her shoulder with kisses while they come down from the high. Katara gingerly unwraps her legs from him and he slowly pulls out, hissing from the oversensitivity. Katara kisses him, then quickly removes the evidence from their bodies with a flick of her hand. Zuko chuckles, and cradles her to his chest.

They don’t speak for the longest time. She dozes off after a few minutes, to the press of Zuko’s lips on her temple and a rasp of I love you whispered in her hair. ________________________________________________________________

“And maybe we’re like fire and ice,” Zuko murmurs into her shoulder, lips pressing into her warm skin. Katara lolls her head back against him, letting him trace a map from her throat to collarbone, pressing featherlight kisses across her skin. She is rejuvenated from her impromptu nap and coils against him like a firelily panther.

“What do you mean?” she asks, stretching her body out next to his. It’s warm, tangled up in him under the sheets, but Katara has no intention to move from her spot. She refuses to relinquish the heat of him, the way her legs slot between his, how his angular hips press into hers, the feel of his rough, scarred skin sliding against her body. She can imagine how they look- light and dark molding together like a painting. Like the way the sun bleeds into the ocean as it sets.

Zuko pauses. “Well,” he begins, raising his arm and beginning to trace his finger over her back, tracing imaginary patterns into her skin. “Uncle always stressed about balance and harmony in the world. Light and dark, good and evil- he’s been to the Spirit World before, you know.”

“I did not.”

“It’s not the point. Anyway,” he continues. “Maybe that’s what we are- two people in perfect harmony with each other. If air and earth are complete opposites, that means fire and water are too. You and I, we make up two halves of the coin.”

“Balance,” Katara whispers, and Zuko lowers a kiss to the back of her neck.

“Yeah,” he says. His fingers continue to draw on her back, and Katara frowns when she realizes that he’s drawing the symbol of the Fire Nation across her skin. “Uncle told me that fire is the element of power. The people of the Fire Nation have desire and will, and the energy and drive to achieve what they want. We are proud and passionate.” He’s now drawing the Water Tribe symbol on her skin. “But water is the element of change. The people of the Water Tribes are capable of adapting to many things. They have a sense of community and love that holds them together through anything. Your people are compassionate and loyal.”

She rolls over to face him, and his arm drops heavily around her waist. She savors the weight of him against her, and places her hand over his scar. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, pressing against her palm. He is warm under her hand, and she runs her fingers slowly over the ridges of tough skin. His eyes open again, and he turns his head to press a kiss against her palm.

“What are you saying, Zuko?” she breathes.

He stares at her for a moment, and she memorizes the twin suns of his eyes, the wrinkles around them from when he smiles. There’s affection in his molten gaze, and he comes closer, rolling them over so that he’s propped above her. With one hand, he cups her cheek, and she leans into him, letting his rough, calloused fingers weave poems into her skin.

“I’m saying, I want you here, in the Fire Nation, with me,” Zuko says, and her heart sings with joy. “I know you love your work around the nations, and I know how much your hospitals need you. But I need you too, Katara. Together, you and I could make a difference here. I need you to help me change the world, to tell me when I'm wrong and soothe me when I'm angry. I want to be your drive to do good and change this country, to fuel your passion to heal. I want you, and you need a place to call home. I want yours to be here, with me.”

She stares at him. For so long, she’s been wandering the world untethered to any one person or place. Zuko’s right, she no longer has a home to call her own. The Southern Water Tribe is like a distant dream to her, and while she does visit occasionally, she can’t imagine calling the vast desert of snow and ice her home. Not anymore.

When she thinks about it, she’s not sure if she can call any physical place home at all. In fact, the only thing that stands out in her mind is Sokka, and Toph, and Aang. And Zuko. Her home is with the people she loves, the people she calls family. And when she thinks about it even more, the image of home behind her closed eyelids is the exact same image before her in this moment: Zuko, with sleep tousled hair and lips kissed by the moon, of warm silk sheets against her thighs and his fingers laced with hers.

“You really want me here?” she whispers. His eyes soften, and something within Katara’s soul lifts.

He leans down and kisses her, and Katara winds her arms around his neck, her legs pulling his hips down so that they are pressed together. He’s murmuring against her lips as he presses further into her, winding himself around her until she’s not sure where she begins and where he ends. The heat between them builds, and suddenly she wants nothing more but to have him again. The very thought of it makes the warmth bloom between her legs once more.

She spreads her legs and arches against him. He pulls away and looks at her, his mouth swollen and his eyes dark with desire. “Are you sure?” he asks, and she nods, arching against him again. He hisses and grinds himself against her, hard and thick against her thigh.

He pushes into her slowly and growls into her throat. The weight of him feels good against her, and she rolls her hips to the rhythm of his, pressing a constellation of kisses against his collarbone, her fingers coiling in the small of his back. He groans and holds onto her hips as they move, and moves to recapture her lips. Katara loves this- she loves him, and all that he symbolizes.

Maybe he's right- maybe he is her other half. Maybe he does ground her when her feet get too high off the ground, maybe he does ignite within her a passion to engulf the world in fire and water. Maybe she does allow him to soar, to make him feel loved when those around him would only see him burned.

Yin and Yang.

She meets his gaze and pulls him down to meet her. “Zuko,” she breaths, arching into him. “I love you.”

His eyes darken, and he leans down to capture her lips once more. Not much is spoken after that, and Zuko dims the firelight with a flick of his hand, so that only the moon is witness to what comes after.

________________________________________________________________

It’s still dark out, although Katara can tell that dawn is approaching, and Agni will once again rise to chase Tui out of the sky once more. Despite the lack of sleep, Katara feels strangely rested, but finding love after years of searching for it does seem to rejuvenate the spirit. Katara rolls over and looks at Zuko, meeting his gentle gaze, and leans in for a chaste kiss. He runs a hand through her hair, cupping her cheek, and whispers I love you against her lips. She smiles, and he pulls away, looking at her so fondly it makes her chest ache.

He gets up, and Katara pushes herself up to her elbows to watch him. He's beautiful, marble skin laid over a hard body. Sweat lies in a silver sheen over his skin, and the moonlight bathes him in a silver glow. With a flick of his fingers the candles in the room a light, and his skin turns golden. He shrugs a scarlet robe haphazardly over his shoulders, tying the knot lazily around his waist. He walks over to the large golden armour in the corner of the room, rummaging around and muttering to himself, before he straightens and comes back to her.

She sits up, holding the blankets around her chest as he settles next to her. With a smile, he takes her hand in one of his and covers it with the other. She feels something sharp and heavy in her hand, and looks down. His hand still covers hers, scarred and calloused.

"I don't expect your answer any time soon," he begins slowly, and she can hear the tremor in his voice. "Think of this more as a promise for the future." Then he pulls his hand away, and Katara's breath catches in her throat.

The headpiece is small enough to fit in her palm, and glows golden in the candlelight. The crescent moon of her people, the royal headpiece of the Fire Nation, rests in her palm. She raises her eyes, speechless, and meets Zuko's sheepish gaze. "A moon?" Is what finally falls from her lips.

Zuko chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. " Yes, I had it made for you. The blacksmith was a bit shocked at first, but I wanted it to be something special." His eyes soften, and he takes her free hand in his, fingers tracing the veins racing across her skin. "You're not Fire Nation, Katara, and you never will be. You're a woman of the Water Tribe, a master waterbender, a lady of the moon and ocean. If you do become Fire Lady, which, dear Agni I hope you do, I want to make sure the world remembers your heritage and where you come from. The waterbender of the Fire Nation."

Katara can feel the tears pooling in her eyes, but she furiously blinks them away. She will not cry because of the love this man has for her, who is willing to change the traditions passed down from his people for her. She smiles, wiping her eyes. "You know, Zuko," she begins lightly. "This is a bit big to fit around my neck."

He's quiet for a moment, and she watches his eyes slowly widen at her implication. "No! I, uh- see the thing is, I didn't want- I mean, I just-"

She laughs when his arms begin to flail, and pulls him down for a kiss. He starts against her lips, but after a moment he leans in, and they fall back down together onto the mattress. Katara laughs again once they separate, and Zuko nips her nose in response.

"I didn't want to replace your mother's necklace," he whispers, and Katara's hand goes to her throat. " I figured this was one Water Tribe tradition you wouldn't mind me skipping."

She smiles, and Zuko rolls to lay next to her. Katara lifts her hand and stares at the moon headpiece in her hand, admiring the smooth curve of it in her palm. "Thank you," she whispers, and rolls over to face him. He's watching her like she is the sun. "You're right, this is too soon, but I love it. And I want to be here, I really do. I want to be here with you."

He smiles and leans in close, resting his forehead against hers. " Thank you, Katara," he whispers.

It's an easy kind of love, the way Zuko loves her, and the way she loves him. It's simple in the way a turtleduck needs a pond to swim, the way a dragon needs fire to breathe. How the airbenders rely on the wind to carry them to the highest turrets on the temples, how the blood in the human body needs the heart to live. It's simple in the way fire ignites the world, and water soothes the burn. Like yin and yang, push and pull, hot and cold, ice and fire.

Zuko and Katara.

Notes: The lady of the moon idea was inspired from @zutarawasrobbed, as well as @kakarinlin who made the most beautiful artwork for the idea. Credits to these two lovely people for inspiring me.

I hope you guys liked it. Please let me know what you think (remember, I haven't written smut in a while so idk how good it is). I also have a tendency to write things in one sitting and publish it before it turns into a multichap monster, so don't hate me too much if it's got a weird flow to it

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #zuko #katara #my loves #zukoxkatara #wolfspirit44 on ff.net #zutara month 2020 #always late #that's me

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undeadsnorlax · 3 years

Text

Cumbersome and Heavy

Archive of our Own link

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Big Brother Instinct

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV Series)

Warnings: hurt/comfort, nightmare sequence (involving temporary character death and blood+gore), referenced self-harm and child abuse

Wordcount: 2514

Big Brother Instinct - where a character has an instinctive desire to act as protector for a younger or smaller siblings. Luther feels he's failed this aspect of his personality too many times over. He's scared of it happening again. And the subconscious sure loves playing with those fears.

Luther was aware, the moment his eyes opened, that he was dreaming. Of course he was – he was back in the Umbrella Academy, the one he remembers, stood in the hallway near their childhood bedrooms, in the same dumb uniform he wore every day until he was eighteen and grew too tall to logically wear it. Except he’s…

He flexed a hand in front of his face. Not the mottled grey skin he’d grown to know, but tan and calloused palms instead. He strokes his face, feeling a scar over one brow and across a cheek, soft long hair…

“What the fuck?” Diego’s voice came out as he spoke.

Yeah. Definitely a dream. Right?

Luther looked around the corridor, a shiver running down his spine. It was…practically demolished. The doors of the rooms either shattered into splinters or hanging off the hinges. Peering in, he saw only wreckage. Toppled bookshelves and desks shattered in half…large sticky red smears on the walls and floor.

His nostrils flared. Blood.

“Shit.”

Luther kept moving, every step feeling as heavy as it did in his normal body, despite now possessing Diego’s. The whole house was dark, not even the faintest of light coming through the windows. It reminded him too much of the days he spent alone here. Every so often he’d recognise something belonging to his siblings, tossed about with disregard on the ground. Dog tags, a ripped up uniform, a snapped bowstring, shreds of a leather jacket.

Now he was in the entrance hall, how it was last time in their timeline – the chandelier that had fell on him smashed in the middle of the room, torn fabric stuck to it.

“Such a disappointment, isn’t he?”

A lump caught in Luther’s throat.

Just a dream he reminded himself, turning his head slowly to see Reginald stood at the top of the stairs.

“Perhaps you would have been the better Number One.”

No more numbers, Luther thought, clenching his fists shakily. But right now, he felt like a child again, like he had back at the supper in the 60s, unable to speak up. How many times had he let the threat of being demoted motivate him growing up? Had Diego heard similar? How he’d never be leader, never be held in the same regard Luther was, but maybe, just maybe if he pushed himself more, he could be?

His attention was drawn towards the living room. Grunts and growls and horrible snaps that made something deep in his stomach churn. Looking up towards the staircase again, Reginald had vanished.

He didn’t want to, but slowly Luther opened the living room door. There was some light in here, a flickering bulb swinging back and forth.

The smell of blood was strong.

And in the corner was…him. His actual body. He wasn’t wearing his shirt, his fur was thick and creating the most unsettling silhouette as he hunched over…something.

Luther felt that churning in his gut again, as if on some reflex as a knife flicked out into his palm.

Allison’s head was limp, staring up at him from the ground with glassy eyes. Vanya was a crushed pile, Klaus and Five’s mangled bodies tossed on top of each other.

His actual self turned his head, tilting it slightly. His eyes were black, his face smeared with blood…he stood, towering.

Luther gulped, taking a step back. Was this what his siblings saw every time he was near them? This hulking form that could block the light, muscles twitching and tensed with even the slightest movement.

His body smirked, showing blood in his teeth. Twitched stained fingers.

And suddenly he was that body, looking down at Diego in the stupid fucking uniform, pointing a single dagger in his direction.

“Luther. This isn’t you,” his brother said, voice shaking.

Luther licked his lips, letting out a soft growl. Inside he was screaming, stop, stop it, he’s right, it isn’t.

Stop being the monster you think you are.

He looked back at the shattered forms of his other four siblings. No, five siblings, because now leaned up against the smashed remains of the bar was Ben, head slumped to his chest and a gaping wound in his stomach.

Oh, all his life he’d been worried about this, wondering just how far his strength could go.

No, he didn’t need to wonder. Because he already knew, with the scars along his skin where he’d tried to carve himself back to normal after his accident, how it started as simple scratches but turned into chunks of gore that stuck under his nails. As long as he kept that damage to himself…

Watching Diego stand his ground, he knew he could tear him apart if he wanted. Snap his neck and rip his arms from his body. Crush his skull with the pressure of one hand, easily. Bite into his shoulder and come back with a mouthful of raw flesh. All manner of horrific acts with barely any effort.

As much as he tried to force himself to stay back, it was like Luther was in the passenger seat and this…beast was driving. He lunged forward, fingers wrapping around Diego’s throat and pinning him several feet above the ground as his knife fell to the floor with a clatter.

Diego struggled, gripping at Luther’s arm and kicking his legs out but he barely felt it.

Stop it, stop it, you’re not-

They were eleven years old and holding this same position. Luther wasn’t as big and Diego didn’t have his scars, and he could hear Ben’s voice yelling near him to calm down, Diego hadn’t meant whatever comment he’d said.

It’s how they found out Diego could hold his breath for so long. He ended up having a hand shaped bruise on his neck for two weeks straight.

Because that’s all Luther could do. He just hurt those he loved. And when he didn’t hurt them, he couldn’t protect them, so they still got hurt, like Ben and Elliot.

“Useless, Number One.”

Back to their adult bodies. Reginald stood in the doorway, shaking his head as Luther strangled his brother.

“You know you’re able to. Why hold back?”

“Because…I…” Luther took a laboured breath, every word being said through gritted teeth as he watched Diego’s eyes dim slightly. His grip loosened. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Yet here we are.” Reginald scoffed, shaking his head in the way that had made Luther’s heart sink for twenty-nine years. “If you truly don’t, you’d let go.”

He wanted to let go, he wanted this scene to shift and his siblings not be dead in a pile at his own hand and for this taunting form of his father to go away, he wanted to wake up-

Luther?

His grip tensed again.

Luther, what’s wrong? Wake up!

Diego looked at him, and it seemed like understanding on his face.

Is he okay?

I don’t know. Hey, hey, Luther, please, wake up. It’s fine.

Sn-a-p.

Christ, hang on.

What are you-

Diego fell limp.

The scene went dark.

…

Luther woke with a gasp as he felt water splash over his face, spluttering as he flailed about.

“Diego!” Vanya’s voice hissed, and in the gloom there was a gentle slap.

“Hey!” Diego whispered back, “Sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do!”

Luther’s eyes adjusted a little, feeling the dull ache in his chest from whatever kind of attack he’d been having whilst he slept.

Back in the motel room, where the springs of the bed dug into his spine. Back in the world the six of them didn’t quite belong in with no Umbrella Academy, a world where their father had formed the Sparrow Academy instead, with brand new children.

Safe. Everyone was alive. Even Ben, even if he wasn’t their Ben.

“Hey. Luther.”

Vanya gently took Luther’s hand, just about visible as she gestured her head towards the bathroom. Luther gulped and let her guide him to his feet, taking him there. The gentle padding of feet just behind told him Diego was following, but he wasn’t sure quite yet if he could look him in the eye.

He shut the door as they crammed into the small bathroom, Vanya sitting on the side of the bathtub as Diego jumped up on the counter. Luther, unsure of where else to put himself, just sat himself down on the floor with his head between his legs. He wanted to feel small.

“You were whimpering in your sleep bro,” Diego said, letting his voice carry a little louder now they were out of the main room, “Thrashing about like crazy.”

“Nearly kicked me out of bed,” Vanya said with a light-hearted smile, getting a towel to rub dry the parts of Luther’s face and hair that had been hit in the water throwing, “Thought I was through with that after Five forced me off the pull-out.”

“Would not have had him down for such a blanket hog,” Diego chuckled, tilting his head to see if that got any response, “…Luther?”

Luther gulped, allowing himself to flop back against the wall, looking up at them. He could feel his hands shaking, his chest starting to tighten once more. “Just a dream,” he said, his voice strained. He paused, swallowed, and corrected himself. “A nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Vanya asked, now sitting down next to him, reaching out a hand that he flinched away from.

Luther tightened his own hand into a fist, feeling his nails dig into his palm. “I…I hurt you. All of you. Badly.”

“…how badly?” Diego joined them, keeping in a crouched position as his usually scowling face softened.

Luther felt like he could still smell blood when he flared his nostrils. “I’d…I’d killed you all. Torn you to shreds, crushed you up.” He gulped heavily. “I might’ve…I think I ate some of you? There was just…a lot going on. Like a horror movie. And Dad was there, taunting me into finishing you off.”

A moment of silence as Diego and Vanya gave each other a look. It was surprise, Luther was sure of that, but he didn’t know if it was a good way or a bad way.

“But you wouldn’t do that,” Diego said firmly, “You wouldn’t hurt us like that, you know you wouldn’t.”

“But I could.” Luther winced, unfurling his fingers and looking at his palm, though hiding it from view. He hadn’t broken the skin enough to draw blood, thankfully, but enough to leave several red crescent moon shapes. “I-I always manage to hurt you guys. What I did to you, Vanya. What I did to Klaus, and I still don’t remember it happening properly. Ben-“

“You can’t keep blaming yourself for that,” Diego growled, shifting to sit on his knees, “We all messed up there, but even then, there’s nothing we could have done to prevent it. It just happened.”

“But Ben’s alive here. A world without me as leader, and Ben lived.”

“Yeah, and guess what? He’s also a colossal dickhead.”

Vanya reached out and took Luther’s hand again, forcing the palm upwards and showing the marks there. Her expression made him cringe, look in the other direction. Most of his siblings had pieced together his self-destructive tendencies by now, but Vanya had been the one to bare witness to some of them, like that fight he threw back in ’63. “Diego’s right, you know,” she said, turning his hand back over to rub his knuckles, “It wasn’t your fault. It was nobody’s fault.”

“It was Dad’s fault for pushing Ben against his will,” Diego added, getting a smug little glow from being told he was right for once.

“Easy to blame him for everything,” Luther mumbled, staring at the strands of fur poking out from the cuff of his long-sleeved t-shirt, “What did he not fuck us over with?”

“I know we’re having a serious heart-to-heart right now, but I love this bitter Luther who hates Dad.”

He glanced up at Diego then scoffed, shrugging a shoulder. “I love it too. I’m jealous of you guys for realising it sooner.”

His brother and sister both gave him a smile, glad he was calming down. Still, Luther rested his head back against the wall, staring at the flickering light until he saw shapes.

“I wasn’t me at the start of the dream. I was…I was in your body, Diego. And I saw me from your point of view.” He swallowed heavily, turning his fingers so he could give Vanya’s hand the softest squeeze. “I’m…terrifying.”

“Remember when we were kids?” Vanya asked, squeezing his hand back with all her might, “Whenever I found a spider in my bedroom. I’d come to you for help. You know why?”

Luther’s face contorted as he gave it genuine thought but gave up with a huff. “No.”

“Because you were always the gentlest. Klaus and Diego always managed to kill it and Allison and Ben hated them, and Five never managed to catch it properly, but you would get a cup and a piece of paper and release it out your window without hurting it.”

Luther just huffed again, wrinkling his nose. “It’s not like it’s hard…”

“You always made those model kits with all those little bits that snap super easy,” Diego added, sliding up to lean against the wall next to him, “And I’ve never seen a record collection in such perfect condition. Face it, for a guy with super strength, you’re very delicate.”

“…I hate you guys.” It came out dry and sarcastic, through a shy grin. “Okay, I know. I wouldn’t hurt anyone to that extent on purpose, but I still could.”

“And hopefully when you do, it’ll be on the old bastard himself,” Diego said, punching his arm, which got another scoff of laughter.

“I wasn’t the only one whose powers he was holding back,” Vanya said. She reached over to get some toilet paper, not letting go of Luther’s hand as she did, before handing the wad to him. “If he’d just…bothered a little more, you wouldn’t have to be so worried about hurting people.”

“To be fair, that’s all we were taught to do.” Luther blew his nose into the tissue, sighing slowly. “…thanks you guys. For hearing me out.”

Diego threw an arm over his shoulder, pulling his head in close to bump their foreheads together. “Hey. Don’t mention it Lu, okay? We got your back, like we know you got ours.”

“Let’s get back to bed now, huh?” Vanya added softly, awkwardly wiggling closer to give Luther a hug, arms barely reaching around his chest, “Then in the morning, we could…go to that diner on the next block! The one with all those different juice machines?”

Luther closed his eyes, wanting to savour this moment for a little longer as he placed one hand on Vanya’s side and the other at the back of Diego’s head. He was far away from that nightmare now, and that’s all it had been, and all it would ever be. A bad dream.

#the umbrella academy #tua fic #trope: big brother instinct #luther hargreeves #badthingshappenbingo #undeadbthb

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ricinbach · 3 years

Text

mercy. | chapter 8 - water

droplets can drown you in waves if you are not careful enough.

FALL

If you could count the nights when you had a good rest without worrying about someone killing you, you would only find less than a handful.

Sleep - probably the most basic and underrated necessity of mankind, at least before the world crumbled down with infected who did not need an ounce of rest to survive - they only cared about feasting on your blood and flesh. Over twenty years of running and hiding and killing in this sad shell of a world you were thrown into, you considered yourself extremely lucky to get a couple hours of shut-eye that eased your overworked muscles along with your mind.

And on the rare occasions when you could finally lay against whatever surface to sleep on - it never came easy. The remnants of demons engulfed in bad memories and blood haunted you, both in your slumber and awake. Closing your eyes and letting your mind succumb to the darkness brought horrors almost every single time, imaginary but almost physical visions that distracted you temporarily from the actual nightmare that had become your constant reality.

As you would toss, images of what life used to be like flooded in your being - your parents, family, loved ones. The comfort of your own home, the warm domain that belonged to you. How peaceful you had been, when you received love and support from both patients and friends alike, even amidst the stress that your choice of life bestowed upon you.

Nowadays the one thing you received from others were bullets, and if you were lucky enough, fists fueled by pure hatred and sheer will to survive. As if the wretched universe had been punishing you for all the lives you had taken, all the fingers you broke and the throats you slit all this time.

As you would turn, only things occupying your troubled mind would be the last sparks in irises before you took their lives, the croaking, sickening sounds of the infected as you beat them to death - photographs of memories passing through your mind were all you could see in your dreams. Remnants of memories from the restless days when the Fireflies would work you on triple shifts, bringing in newly infected, innocent human beings to operate on in the means of finding a cure, with you cutting through their freshly-dead brains.

Maybe, you should not be so lucky to doze off ever-so-peacefully, your body tapping out to exertion as the fading rumble of the engine lulled you.

Maybe you deserved all the pain and agony you had been enduring for so damn long, and then some.

"Wake up."

With a breathy gasp, your eyes shot open, hand instinctively reaching out to the empty holster on your thigh, but your tense body eased down the leather of the passenger seat when your orbs met the bright green ones looking straight into your soul. It was a rare occasion for her to ever wake you up - usually during your patrols of watching over the pair of them, the everlasting nightmares would not keep you in your restful slumber for too much, waking you up with loud gasps just like the one that lingered on your lips then. Thus, a small wave of surprise coated your worn-out orbs as you pinched the bridge of your nose, in an attempt to get yourself together with a low sigh. Sitting up more upright, you could swear you had seen the little girl's mouth twitch in a slight grin.

She liked you - you had not given her reason not to as you trailed along for the small portion of her quest, yet. Despite her reluctance and her childish swings of curses towards you in the beginnings of your acquaintance, it was a hopeful thought of yours that she had grown to be more tolerant towards your presence around the duo. After all, she had been old and mature enough to understand that you were there only for the means of her protection - not much else.

"He said this is as far as the car's gonna take us. Come on, let's get a move on," she would simply respond to you, her shoulder moving to adjust the backpack she carried, her voice echoing the inherent young innocence with a certain hardened vibration to it. Her little hands held the door open slightly, impatiently waiting for you to get up from your seat to which you had grown overly comfortable in. With a short-lived huff, you would step out of the stable car, whose juice had presumably ran out, and only then could you take a better look at your surroundings.

The remaining days of warm summer had been long gone as you cruised along the interstate 80 for what seemed like a couple weeks now - only stopping to salvage some leftover gas in the abandoned vehicles and to rest during the night. The car being the most valuable possession to your group besides your precious lives, you took turns keeping watch without even exiting the pick-up, opting to pull over in some corner to spend the night. It had not been an easy task, those long hours of night with the revolver in your hands as it got progressively cooler into the early days of autumn, scared to death some stray infected horde was going to hear the residual cracks of the engine.

It did not help that a giant of a man had been sleeping mere feet further, and a little girl had been snoring in the back, while you would be wide awake tugging on your long sleeves - the cold breeze called for one of your old jackets in your backpack to resurface.

Thus, as you breathed in the fresh air of pine trees mixed in with the lingering crisp smells of previous rainfall, it was more than a welcome change of scenery. Overgrown trees adorned with the greenest of leaves surrounded the sturdy geography, faint sounds of water hitting stone below, along with an old, sturdy steel-construction bridge above that has managed not to fall apart yet.

"Where is he?" you would ask, the slightest hint of concern in your voice, as your gaze wandered around the hilltop to spot your lost driver - to which Ellie extended her hand in the general direction of the bridge, the simple answer giving you some sort of unknown comfort. "Down near the river, though he'll probably leave you here if you don't move your ass soon."

Him leaving you alone with her had been a surprise on its own, and you would not even think twice about it if he left you there to rot if you kept her away from his sight for too long. A man that careful and powerful would never trust a mere stranger with his daughter, that much you knew and understood - and it made you wonder what made him change his mind. A hint of a chuckle on your lips, you would shut the rusty car door with a nod and adjust your backpack on your clothed shoulders. "Alright then. Lead the way."

The leftover humid air after rain came in a nice harmony with the gray skies that covered you, the soggy grass under your feet with each step taken. With a huff, you hop down the slight hill to reach lower ground, where Joel supposedly waited for you two. Operating purely out of instinct at that point of the journey, which told you to take care of Ellie as tasked by the man, you would wait patiently and extend your arms up to help the little girl take the jump. "C'mon," you would say as one hand reached up for her to take, upon seeing the slight apprehension that hooded the green eyes of hers. With a sharp nod thrown your way, she took you up on the generosity, grasping onto your hand as she dropped down near you, thanking you with a little crooked smile.

Walking side by side with your pistol in your hands should you come across any danger, the sounds of flowing water gently licking the stone soothed you. Over in the near distance, your eyes would spot the flannel-clad figure of your other companion over at the end of the current where the river turned into a thin waterfall - the rust-colored concrete remnants of a dam, who had no doubt seen better days. He seemed to have a pensive stare, with one hand positioned on his hip - you reckoned he had been looking for a way past it, scouting for different routes to safely venture through.

Just like how he was always looking for a way out, a way to keep going. A way to survive.

"Y'know," came the gentle voice of your smaller companion, snapping you out of your stare to focus on her yet her gaze was fixed on the man in front of you as you advanced towards him in unison. "You aren't that bad to be around, after all."

One of your eyebrows rose up ever-so-slightly in surprise of the subtle compliment, a faint smile on your lips. You thought you would never see the day when she would display any sort of friendliness towards you, given her demeanor the first time you woke up alongside the pair. Though you did not have a clear enough idea as to why she grew somewhat accustomed to having you around without taunting you every second, you would relish and appreciate the kind vocal gesture. It was not often someone feigned to appreciate your efforts - it introduced a long-forgotten warmth in your body to belong and be welcome somewhere.

It was a comforting thought to let her words sink in, knowing that the duo knew nothing about you - and it was better that way. Your daunting past did not need to play a role in how these people liked you, all they had cared about was if you had been good to them and their cause. That was all that mattered, it seemed, at least to the girl whose innocence had been scarred but not beyond recognition.

"Thanks, Ellie. Means a lot to me."

And with that, Joel would turn over to face you both, hearing the footsteps coming closer to him along with the echoes of conversation. His hardened face seemed to light up a bit upon seeing the girl by your side, walking in her pink-hued raincoat, and it only added to your surprise to see his expression only fade a little bit when his eyes were set on you - his simple gaze making you holster your weapon as it diverted to the revolver.

His usual alarmed stance that he had whenever he saw you too close for comfort towards the girl seemed to have winded down, his head nodding towards the general direction of the structure. "Seems like goin' past this is the only way. C'mon, Ellie," he would address to her, yet you understood it was directed to you as well, judging by the familiar lack of his words.

"Whoa, what's that?" Ellie asked him, as you followed their steps up the rusty stairs, the steel in the deepest brown color under your military boots. With a little grunt, Joel took on the role of explaining the best he could. "That there is a hydroelectric power plant. It - uh, uses the river's movement and turns it into electricity."

In a curious voice, came her follow-up. "How's it do that?"

"Look, I know what it is, I don't know how it does it."

It put a smile on your face to watch the interaction between them, giving you a sense of normality that belonged back to the time when parents would get tired of their kids' overflowing curiosity, which made you chuckle internally. You could only hope Joel did not see the soft look on your face - it did not make any sort of sense to let your guard down for him to see the concealed side of you, even after the relatively long journey you had accompanied them for.

"Alright, alright. How do we get across?"

Working as a team of three had some perks. With your injured thigh being close to recovery, it had been your task to get Ellie across the pool of water to reach the crank wheel that operated the small bridge - although you could not put a finger on why Joel wanted her to be carried on a pallet when she could have easily swam across the ledge. Maybe it had been his fatherly instincts coming in to protect the little girl, maybe he wanted to test you again - it could have been anything at this point.

Without questioning it further, your thin yet muscular arms would hold the pallet still and drag her to safety. With Joel taking care of the other wheel, you all walked by your own towards the higher ground at the end of the bridge - though you would feel Joel's watchful gaze over at you with every step you took, stumbling only a little.

It did put a smile on your face to see Ellie raise her hand up your way, expecting a high-five after the teamwork you all pulled through. The survivor inside of you got silenced by the loving heart of yours - droplets of water leaking from all over your body, you would give her one, causing her to mimic the smile on your lips.

Unbeknownst to you, due to him lingering just a couple steps behind as he leaned against the railing, Joel would watch the interaction with a certain warmth to his amber green eyes.

It would only take a couple minutes of Ellie complaining just how hungry she had been and Joel promising her some well-deserved food after you all holed up somewhere safe to come across the huge, threatening gates further accessorized with barbed wire all over, all tied to tall metal towers that had the old FEDRA signs plastered over them. The sight alone made you curse under your breath silently - the military base had never been a good sign to come across in the middle of a forest, and by the looks of the gates it had been nearly impenetrable, halting your last-known efforts to advance.

"Goddamn it," Joel would voice your thoughts as he approached the vast steel doors, two hands gripping onto the handles with such force it made him grunt and the metal to rattle - as you and Ellie exchanged worried glances, scouting out for another way through... maybe deeper through the endless rows of trees, you would be able to make it out -

That was when you heard the cocking of guns, safeties pulled down in threatening clicks as figures rose up above on the tower, with their reticules trained on you lot.

"Don't even think about reaching for your weapons, tell the girl to drop hers. Now."

The revolver you had swiftly pulled into your grasp was then shakily placed onto the dirt, motioning Ellie to follow your movements as you shot her a little nod, your jaw clenched and your heartbeat quickening in just an instant. You should have known making your way through was not going to be that easy - it all seemed to be too good to be true from the moment you were woken up in the car. Too quiet, too comfortable for your liking - you knew something would always go south whenever things started working just a little too much in your favor, and you thought that the inevitable came in the form of strangers shooting you for attempting to trespass their walls.

Oh, you would have been lucky if that was the case.

"We're just tryin' to make our way through," Joel would explain in a raised voice, his hands over his head as you and Ellie followed suit. Meanwhile, your gaze would roam over the faces staring daggers into you, trying to recognize any potential familiar ones in the process. Squinting your eyes as you looked over to the left side of the tower, your sights would find the blond hair hidden behind the sniper rifle, looking too shockingly familiar, yet he seemed to look at you with the same analyzing stare.

"They're alright."

"What, you know these people?"

"I know him. He's my goddamn brother."

To say you had been dumbfounded would be an understatement, but the better years of surviving had taught you enough not to show that on your features. Your eyes diverted from the tough-looking woman behind yet another loaded sniper rifle to the man who stood behind creaking, now parted gates, weapon swung across his back, his gray blues lighting up at the sight of Joel.

Everything seemed to fall into place, making a knot in your stomach. So, he had been the one thing they were looking for all along, trailing you along with them to serve the cause, driving and killing across the country to reach a long lost brother. It was evident that Ellie had been just as surprised as you, her face a mix of emotions, no doubt marveling at their sudden luck, leaving you to marvel at your lack thereof.

Out of all people in the damned world to search for, it had to be him.

The twisting knot inside of you gave such discomfort and anxiety through your whole body that you could not even watch as the two brothers reunited in what seemed to be a peaceful hug - then those eyes turned to your form, widening as they recognized you now, sending Joel a stare as if he was asking why the hell you had been accompanying them to begin with. Joel, however, noticed the lingering meaning in his brother's look and turned over to you - eyebrows furrowed in that dangerous stance of his, just like he had approached anything that smelled of trouble. Yet, you knew better than to reach your revolver laying on the ground with this many guns, big and small, still pointed at you.

Though you were fairly certain that the bullets could not possibly give you more fright than the stares the two brothers bore into you. It made your blood go cold as the atmosphere shifted from the warmth the cordial union of brothers provided, to something akin to ice.

With a defeated sigh, you had realized there was no other way out.

"How you doin', Tommy?"

#oh damn #here we go #the plot thickens #lmk what you think!#tlou #val writes #mercy #tlou joel #the last of us #the last of us joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you

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starkaer · 4 years

Text

it’ll last longer.

my @starkerkink prompter was @demons-sing-me-to-sleep, and i choose the third prompt. this was both all of the place and so much fun to write! hope you like it, though i didn’t manage to fit as many of your kinks as i’d like to. i might post it on ao3 later, but here we go!

tags: underage (peter is sixteen), incest, unnegotiated kink, mildly dubious consent, exploration of kink(s), unbetaed bc i’m a mess tm.

Nice! Peter will have the whole Stark Tower for himself, for more than a couple of days, for the very first time in his sixteen years. He had plans of inviting over Ned for the whole weekend, maybe bringing over Liz or Harry to try and impress them - maybe even invite that cute pizza boy in and let the things he saw online become reality. But, on the first day, he is going to do what he had been wanting to do for oh-so-longnow.

The tv in his room is indeed huge and he would never complain about it, but nothing could ever compare to the one in the living room. 4k porn. God, he is going to be living the teenage dream. Computer on the coffee table, a towel on his side, clothes not even on after the shower a couple of hours ago.

God, he is actually feeling nervous! He sighs to get the anxiety out, and gets to work. Connects the two screens, opens the secret folder he had put a password on, finds that nearly 3gb sized file (one of the ones he downloaded when he learned his dad had a meeting out of the state), and waits a few seconds for the show to start.

And then it started. A redhead twink, laying on a bed, flipping over a random comic book, only wearing the skimpiest of red speedos. He’s already so damn hard, and the muscled step-dad wasn’t even on the screen yet- oh, there he was. Bulging muscles, skin a dark-ish shade of golden, eyes clearly hungry.

That went on for nearly two hours, Peter stroking himself to the cliff but making sure to never fall in, since he wanted to enjoy as much of this as possible. He had watched all the highest quality porn he managed to download, but maybe he was in the mood for something new.

Maybe some amateur videos? Those typically had great positions. Or perhaps one of the spanking ones? He liked the whimpers from those, they did great things for him.

But then his eyes set down on something else, and his finger doesn’t take long to follow. A few seconds, and there were two men on his screen, the lighting not good enough for him to make every single detail out, but he didn’t mind. He knows very well what happens.

“Do you like that, Stark? Like a big man destroying your ass?”

That first line almost did push him down the cliff, his hand flying away from his pulsing red cock in order to avoid it; now it was becoming almost a game. That man was Steve Rogers, one of his father’s most long-lasting boyfriends, he later learned.

“Yeah, please, ruin me, sir! Fuck me until I can’t walk, please!”

That second line almost pushes him down the cliff, and his hand was still away from his pulsing red cock. That begging whore was his dad, he thought with a smirk, and his dick twitched in response.

Two videos later, his dad has two men deep in both of his holes, one with the best dirty talk of all the sextapes and the other with the longest dick he had ever seen. The moans his dad was making was unholy at best, and he knew this was going to be it - it was the last one, and he barely lasted through the one before with the long-haired one, the most brutal one who got Tony nearly in tears with his pounding.

Oh, it was coming! Oh, he was coming! This is-

“Peter, what the fuck is that?!”

Peter loves horror games, even liked the ones with the cheesy jumpscares - they got the adrenaline flowing, it was fun. But none of those ever made him jump quite as much as he did when his father’s voice came from behind him instead of from the screen.

He shoves his finger on the computer’s button so fast one would think he has superpowers, but it was clearly long past that point. “Hey, dad, you’re, um- You’re not supposed to be home.” His heart keeps drumming on his ears and brain, as he tries to cover his junk.

“What the fuck are you watching Peter? Why?! Why would you watch that, that’s-”

“I know! I know, dad, I know, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-”

If whoever was that cold man had his father nearly in tears of pleasure, his father had him apologetically bawling on the floor. All it took was the slight tone of disgust on Tony’s voice to get him sobbing, begging for forgiveness. He was disgusting, and he knew it. All he could do is hope his dad would see how truly sorry he was, and maybe put him in a mental hospital, so those gross thoughts could go away and he could be a normal person, a normal teenager.

“Pete, don’t- don’t cry, it’s- It’s okay, it’s okay... You were just curious, that’s all, it’s okay, come here...” Oh, he was very much not just curious. That was nothing on those videos for him to be curious about anymore, he knew every detail very fucking well - but it felt so great to be hugged and apparently forgiven by his dad, he wouldn’t mind if that’s what Tony would have to believe in order to forgive him. “I just hate those videos, but you did nothing wrong, okay? I shouldn’t ever have filmed them, but that’s not on you.”

It took more ten or fifteen minutes of calming and soothing and tranquilizing for him to say anything. And, if he had his mind in place, those probably wouldn’t be his first words.

“Why do you hate them, though?” Head on his father’s lap, feet hanging off the couch in misery, it takes some seconds for him to get a response from above.

“They just don’t represent me well, I guess. Or at all, really.” There’s a good-humored tone to it, but then it gets a bit more serious. “I just... Now I just relate more to the other man, y’know?”

“You’re a top now, that’s what you’re saying?” The question is genuine, but not even Peter himself can’t help but laugh along with his dad when he realizes how simplified it was.

“I guess there’s also that, but...” The man takes a long breath, his face clearly showing he is trying to pick just the right words. “The thing is that... The things those men said to me... Now I prefer to say than to hear them. You know what I mean?”

“So... You’re a dominant, is that it?” There could have been some laughing again, since it was also apparently simplifying Tony’s answer, but the man just stared at him for a few seconds, almost admiring his words.

“Well, yeah... I didn’t know you knew what a dominant is, but yeah, that is what I mean, I guess. But also I’m just a very different person overall.”

“How do I know what I am?”

“Well...” There are butterflies in his stomach, and he tries not to think about how good his father’s thighs are as pillows. “When you watched those videos, did you like to hear what those men said? Do you, well, wish they were being said to you?”

Cheeks turn bright red immediately. “Yeah.” It’s almost nothing, and his dad has to make a questioning sound to get a clear and louder version. “I think I did, yeah.”

“Well, that means you’re probably a submissive. But, like I said, those things can change with time. I used to enjoy those things being said to me, but now I prefer to say them. You’re too young to know for sure what you prefer, anyway, Pete.” He hopes ‘those things can change with time’ would include his taste for his own father’s sex-tapes.

“I’m really sorry, dad. I should never have watched them.”

“It’s okay, Pete, it’s okay. You’re a kid, you’re supposed to be curious about that kind of stuff. Do you... Do you have any other questions about them?”

“When was the one with uncle Bruce filmed? And who was the long-haired dude?”

“Oh, you do. Was hoping we could wrap things up. Okay, um...” He motions to Peter to get up, which he does, sitting on the couch like his father, heart beating fast.

“The one with uncle Bruce… Do you like that one?” He shyly nods, feeling even more gross, but...

But, ugh, that one was definitely his favorite one. He loved when those men called his dad the filthiest names - but that one was completely different, and so much better. Tony sets up the camera, eyes dark in lust and smirk on his lips, then turns on his back and drops to his knees and sucks Bruce dry. Once, twice, thrice, in twenty minutes. The simple image of the man adjusting his glasses while looking down to his father, shaking and trembling and whimpering for some reason, had powered many of his late-night jack offs.

His father lets out a long breath, but Peter can’t tell if it’s good or bad. The thought of ‘is he disgusted again?’ nearly brings tears to his eyes.

“Yeah, that is indeed a good one...” Like they’re talking about pizza toppings, not the man’s own sex-tapes. His dick is spasming and growing and redning, and he wonders if his father’s eyes are actually going from his face to his cock or if that’s his horny, gross imagination. “Do you know why uncle Bruce was crying like that?”

After some moments of nervous silence, he shakes his head, swallowing hard and waiting to see what his father is up to. “Do you want to find out?”

There’s another nod, but never a sound — Peter's mind is turning on itself, really. It hits him: his father, at that moment, was hitting on him. Without a doubt. And, with that question, his cock can’t get any harder. The image of him trembling and moaning while Tony works on his cock like the hungriest, meanest slut hits him like a truck, turning his cheeks bright red.

“Say it, then. Say that you want daddy to suck you off.”

Despite the request of a confirmation still in the air, his father is sliding down to his knees, and he can’t breathe for a second. He doesn’t say it, but he spreads his legs. He doesn’t say it, but he bites his lips. And then he says it, voice shaking more than uncle Bruce. “I want daddy to suck me off, please.” The ‘please’ was out of habit, and he would have laughed for it, if his father wasn’t about to give him the very first blowjob of his life.

His dick was standing nearly straight by now, hardened by his father’s words, and yet Tony’s big hand wrapped around it like it was a pencil. It was so agonizingly slow, but oh so fucking good. Up and down, up and down, always with a twist of his wrist — he wasn’t sure if he was wanting to scream in pleasure because it was someone else, or because it was his father, or really just because that technique was better than his basic quick-up-&-down-strokes-until-he-cums one. Probably all three.

Some more seconds of only masturbating, and his father’s lips were approaching his crotch. Tender kisses to his thighs, which felt both burning erotic and way too intimal (like when a whore has sex, but doesn’t kiss a client), and his father’s eyes are staring into his soul, but he doesn’t pay it much attention. He can deal with his soul later.

“Should I talk like them?” It clearly takes a few seconds for Tony to understand, and he’s scared he’s ruined the moment. “The men, on the videos?” And his father looks up to him, grinning like the devil.

“No...” A long, wet, epically slow lick to his cockhead has him squiming his hips forward for more, but his father doesn’t allow it. “But tell me, Pete, do you want daddy to make this little dick of yours warm?” Oh. That’s right. He was Tony in the videos, and Tony were those men. So he was the little whore, the cockhungry slut, and the fucking faggot — even if he was the one being sucked off. And that thought almost made him cum on the spot.

He didn’t know if Tony would wait for his confirmation this time, but he gave it immediately, nodding quickly, eyes closed in desperation and need. And so, he can’t see when his dad places his mouth around his throbbing dick, but he lets out a moan nearing a scream, and the edge is so close.

The mouth worked up and down his shaft, making lewdy, wet sounds all the way, and Peter looks to the edge he’s being pushed to. This feels so good, he doesn’t want to fall in yet. “Yeah, oh, dad…” He wasn’t required to make those noises, they come from somewhere between his very soul and his genitals.

But it doesn’t last one minute, and he’s being pushed off the edge, falling into the delicious, bright abyss, and screaming all the way down. When he opens his eyes, Tony's face is painted with his seeds, and seeing that is a thousand times hotter than watching any of those videos could ever be. In fact, one second of that blowjob was hotter than any of his thousand hours of jerking off to those videos.

“Oh, that was a lot, Pete.” He could get hard just from watching his father cleaning his hand, sucking the cum out of his fingers like it’s vanilla ice cream. Like giving his kid a blowjob is just his thursday.

“Yeah, I was, uh- I was jerking off for, like, two hours before, so, yeah, that’s why.” He wants to ask if that, the blowjob, will ever happen again (and also why dad isn’t cleaning his face), but knows he shouldn’t. This shouldn’t have happened, but he is so glad it did. “DAD, AH!”

Tony is back to sucking; and, instead of the blessing that was falling from that cliff, he’s falling from grace. It’s burning and cramping and hurting, and he is shaking and trembling and whimpering. Exactly like uncle Bruce.

“Please, dad, ah! It hurts, please!” It seems the more he tries to squirm away, the harder Tony sucks — for one second it hits that, perhaps, he is indeed sucking harder the more he struggles, perhaps he likes him to struggle, but that thought won’t make the cramps stop, so it’s of no real use for him. “Please, daaad!”

But, both as sudden as a lightning and as smooth as a cloud, the anguish leaves, and he is welcomed with another hard-on, and his hurt twitching and whimpering turns into jerking and asking for more. He now opens his eyes, but the sight of his father in his knees, looking deep into his eyes with a pulsating cock in his mouth takes all of his air away, so he closes them again.

He feels proud of passing the one minute mark, but it’s just some more minutes until the gagging sounds and the slick warmness take him down the marvelous cliff once again. There’s more of his semen on his dad’s face, but it seems like just when he's done squirting cum out, he’s falling from Mount Olympus for the second time, and it might be worse.

The cramps return with all force, drowning him in ache, all throughout his legs and his wrists and his elbows — and he can’t wait for the sweet release of sudden pleasure, but it doesn’t seem to be coming. He gives in to begging, “Dad, dad, please stop, please, ah!” And it still doesn’t come for what feels like days on end.

There’s tears falling down his cheeks, and he is grabbing the couch so hard it might break his fingers. His cock is getting hard again — but none of the sweet pleasure that came the first two times hits him, the cramps never go away. He continues to beg and cry and ask, until he comes again, and this time he realizes no more jizz really comes out. He doesn’t even open his eyes, waiting for the ache again, until his father speaks.

“Already dry, kid?” That’s when he allows himself to wake up, and is faced with the man’s face covered in his own cum. There’s quite a nice amount on his forehead and his right cheek. His nose, left cheek and goatee also have some of his liquid, and he thinks one of the eyes is red-ish, so he guesses some landed on there too. “Wanna clean me up or should I?”

He gives no response, breathing deeply from both relief and tiredness. His eyes are starting to weigh, and Tony must have taken it as a no. If he wasn’t so done with the cliffs and the edges for tonight, the sight of his father brushing his cum to his mouth and licking his lips and fingers clean of it like it’s vanilla — that would definitely get him hard. “You know why uncle Bruce was like that?”

Just a tired nod, and he’s dozing away. “You were even prettier than him...”

Just a warm smile, and he’s nearly gone. “Hope you don’t mind me recording it...”

Just a pair of closing eyes, and he’s done, but- “Maybe later I’ll explain the Bucky one to you…”

#starkerkink2020 #starker #starkercest #ironspider #my writings.#my stuff.

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re-loomed · 3 years

Text

Okay so this is not in fact part one, but a part of part one. Figured I’d post here to just to see if there’s any interest!

THE NEW NINTH DOCTOR ADVENTURES

EPISODE 1

WORKING TITLE: The Doctor and the Sentriton

The dark had overtaken everything, there at the End; everything, from the stars to the planets to the great nebulae, was gone. Snuffed out by the unstoppable creeping of entropy. However, one thing still remained. A brilliantly blue box, spinning serenely through the Lack Thereof. It was an old police box, and the sight was odd to see in the year one hundred nonillion for a whole host of reasons. The rightmost door was open, offering a peek into the impossible interior of the box. At the door stood a silhouette, only barely lit by a dim bluish light emanating deep from within the box. The shadow stood for a very long time, examining the forever nothingness. The box drifted along. The man suddenly shook his head, ever so slightly, turning on his heel; a dark skinned hand slammed the door shut. Ancient engines activated, filling the nothing with sound for a moment, before The Lack was back to its original state as the box faded from view.

Within the TARDIS, the Doctor slammed a lever down, and remained in place, leaning over the

Victorian style console. He let out a sigh, and looked up at the time rotor. Still silent, was the Doctor. He found himself in moods like this a lot lately; stormy silences and introspective glares. Even the console room seemed suited to his mood; darkly lit, the time rotor going up, up, up, up, up into the air, up into the darkness, who knows how long until it hit the ceiling. The room itself was circular, with a spiral staircase winding up along the walls, keeping pace with the rotor. The Doctor supposed he could go for a jog up those stairs, but he’d just end up distracted by one of the many rooms anyway.

“Gloomy!” He shouted suddenly, startling himself- that had been the word he was looking for. That’s what the issue was! A gloomy old Doctor in a gloomy old TARDIS. While he did appreciate the scale of the console room, it was just a little bit... somber. He set to distracting himself, coaxing other panels out from the console, whispering commands, ignoring the why of his gloomy state, as was his speciality. On the outside, the chaotic vortex lashed out at the foreign presence of the box, attempting to eradicate the germ from the stream; but the TARDISes shields and plasmic shell held steady. The Doctor hadn’t set a specific destination, he just trusted the old timeship to take him where he was most needed, as was his wont.

Minutes or hours later (when he was distracting himself, it was hard to tell the passage of time), the Doctor felt satisfied with his work- a bright light shone down from that impossibly high ceiling, not brightening the console room massively, but adding a bit more life. The floor, as opposed to a solid metal, was now grated with round holes; underneath, a light lazily faded in and out. Satisfied with his work, the Doctor looked at the screen attached to the console, biting his lip in thought. He flipped a few switches, and-

The TARDIS landed.

A few diagnostic checks, examining what he could of his surroundings, before he grabbed his blue velvet frock coat and walked out the doors. As soon as his foot found ground, the alarm system activated.

The Delirium Archive was renowned for most of the lifespan of the universe for its thoroughness in collecting relics from across the universe. Some notable inclusions were a pair of spectacles that witnessed the anchoring of the thread, the image of a bright light and humanoid shadows imprinted onto its ancient lenses; a fossil of a great vampire, held under complete chronal stasis for safety reasons; a modified Mondasian cybermat, which some said was an etheric beam locator; and, most distressingly for the Doctor, there was a section dedicated entirely to the War of Many Names. Some species called it the War In Heaven; others, the Time War; the Galosenby of Prolten 5 called it the Deepfall. The crown jewel of the collection... well, that didn’t even bear thinking about. Due to its housing of these and many million more incredible artifacts, the Delirium Archive contained one of the most advanced security systems ever seen, and certainly the most advanced there in the year ten nonillion. The universe was small now- a museum was popular those days. The security system was a deeply guarded secret, which is precisely what the Doctor found out, as he had no real clue what was going on.

He was completely anchored to the ground, unable to move, his muscles in complete lock. His biological processes were still working, thankfully, both hearts beating, though they were beating more rapidly in the moment. He attempted to move his arm upwards, but the muscle barely even twitched. He was as good as a statue. Belatedly, his eye caught sight of a glinting Metebelis cystal in a display case nearby. Wholly traumatizing memories came back to him, and he developed the most intense desire to make a rude gesture at the impassive crystal. A small grunt escaped, as he attempted mightily to move. Nothing happened.

Footsteps echoed down the hall; clacking on the polished metal, a gold and white ironmarble, drawing ever closer. The Doctor’s every effort was set towards movement, but his paralysis was total. Unlikely to find escape, he ceased his struggle, and silently hoped that he hadn’t landed in the Archive during an ultra-dangerous heist. A flashlight activated, blasting bright light into his face from a distance, and he really wished he could squint his eyes just a bit.

“You! You are trespassing with level nine hundred ninety nine contraband. As in, it should not exist. You have been frozen in place, and I will be confiscating said contraband.”

The light dimmed slightly as the voice grew closer, revealing a young humanoid woman of about one hundred years old. She wore the green and purple uniform of a Delirium Security Sentriton, which insulted the Doctor’s sense of style completely and utterly. If he could shudder, he surely would. The Sentriton passed by his frozen body, examine the supposed contraband.

“Of course, if this is what I think it is...” she muttered to herself, “I’m not one hundred percent sure how to move it. Oi!” She rounded back in front of the Doctor, holding the lightemitter in a far more threatening manner than before. “This is a TARDIS, isn’t it?” Despite the fact she held the lightemitter in such a intimidating way, her voice had taken on a tone of wonder. She sighed. “It can’t be, though- they’re all gone. So this is some sort of bootleg, yeah? Clever.” She lowered the flashlight, rubbing her chin in thought. “Clever way to do a heist, certainly. TARDISes would certainly be an excellent way into a museum filled with priceless artifacts.”

The Doctor, still quite immobile, was able to see her nametag. Nel. Delirium Security Sentriton Nel, in the year ten nonillion. Unbelieving in the presence of the final TARDIS in history, as if any race could possibly build something like a Gallifreyan Timeship.

Okay, it’s entirely possible.

But the details! The harmonic hum of the console room, a melody the Doctor had, once upon a time, been able to fall asleep to. The precise construction of the rotor, its glass sugarspun from supernova obsidius. The internals of the rotor, pushing up against the future and down against the past, a fine filigree of microcircuitry crawling all along both the rotor and the console. That’s the sort of detailwork the Time Lords had perfected. The Doctor took note of his use of the word had, and suddenly his immobility became infinitely more maddening. The Doctor brought his mind back to Nel, who was now pacing frantically and spinning an imaginary web of deceit, all surrounding this intrusion.

“...naturally, that kind of engineering is just unheard of... only just now did they stop vortex manipulators from giving Empirus Agents time hangovers... so if this a TARDIS clone, which it IS, it means it’s from the future... which means YOU,” she pointed an accusing finger at the Doctor, before resuming her back-and-forth pace, “were smart enough to chose a day there was only one Sentriton, and a new one at that! Twenty years I’ve had here, and you choose THIS NIGHT? I am most assuredly going to lose my employment!” She had paused, hand tangling in her umber hair. “Wait, no. I’m being irrational in the face of excitement. You have not and will not steal anything, due to the security system. Right!” She rounded on the Doctor, her lightemitter now held up, somehow more threateningly than before. “It’s time to fess up, thief! I am going to unfreeze your speaking faculties. Oh, er, your face, too, it would be weird if you couldn’t emote...”

As if he was lowering face first into an icebath, the Doctor felt the muscles in his face, mouth, and neck come to life.

“Blimey!”

It wasn’t exactly dignified, those first words to Nel, but it was just really very strange to have a mobile face with an immobile rest-of-body. Nel raised an eyebrow, lightemitter still raised.

“Right, that is a TARDIS, firstly!” The Doctor exclaimed, and Nel scoffed. “Really! I’m not even sure how you’d know those existed!” Nel pulled a face, and the non-weapon-arm flailed wildly about, indicating the museum setting.

“Point.” The Doctor grumbled. “But still! Dammit.” The Doctor frowned mightily, so mightily in fact that it caused Nel’s eyebrows to rise in surprise. “I am a Time Lord, a high born Gallifreyan! I am the last of my people, the lone survivor of the War in Heaven, and I have traveled from the beginning of the universe to the End! I have seen sights your eyes would not believe! I watched Skaro burn to dust, and I saw that dust burn further and brighter! I witnessed the Great Unburdening, watched as enormous beasts sucked the life force out of entire galaxies! I have seen the Moment come to pass, every single second ticking and unticking until there was nothing but ME! And I! DEMAND! TO! BE! UNFROZEN!”

Nel’s eyebrows, much like the rest of the Doctor’s body, remained frozen.

“Fine speech!” She shouted. “In the interest of your comfort as my prisoner, I WILL unfreeze you-“ the Doctor sighed, yet snapped to attention when- “BUT! I will warn you. This lightemitter is, in fact, a stunbodilizer.” Here, the Doctor’s own eyebrows raised. Odd vocabulary, here in ten nonillion. “If you make any sudden movement, I promise you will wake up the next second in a jail cell!”

The Doctor’s whole body felt chilly for a second, and then he resumed the ability to move. He gave a great big sigh, bowing over slightly.

“Thank you. That was utterly unpleasant.”

“As it should be, for thieves of your ilk! What kind of a code name is DOCTOR!?” Nel shouted, and the Doctor flinched. The Sentriton was certainly... excitable.

“It’s a very long story- maybe one day I’ll get round to telling it... wait! I will NOT be conversational with you!”

“And why NOT?” Nel shouted, matching his energy. Well, his energy that he had matched to hers.

“My TARDIS brought me HERE- yes, TARDIS- for a reason. It is my job to find out why!”

“Any why, PRAY-TELL, is it your job?”

“Because I am the Doctor!”

Time slowed, in the Doctor’s mind. His penchant for theatrics got the better of him, and he made an odd sort of mysterious gesture with his hands as he reminded her of his name. In almost lockstep with his mysterious Doctor-y gesticulation, Nel brought the stunbodilizer down on the side of his head. The Doctor’s last thought was, wow, she has excellent reflexes for a human.

To be fair to Nel, his movement was quite sudden.

#doctor who #doctor who fanfic #fanfiction #doctor who fanfiction #time war #fanfic #gallifrey #time lords #tnnda #writing in the loom

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titaniumblender · 3 years

Text

Happy HK secret Santa @emmmmiru !!! I hope you don’t hate this lmao, I’ve discovered I really need prompts when writing christmas fics so I combined like several and I think it sort of worked??? Also plz excuse my ER/hospital knowledge it’s very outdated because my reference hasn’t worked in an ER for like years so I did my best lol. So, without further ado plz have Doctor Toshiro/Nurse Karin and mistletoe, for some reason I really just like RAN with the mistletoe thing!!

Karin was twitchy. She’d been waiting in the Starbuck’s line for a solid fifteen minutes before her order was finally taken. Now here she was, stuck waiting another ten minutes for the actual drink to be made. There were four people in front of her too.

Today was her first day at her new hospital. She was finally escaping the shadow of her brilliant family at Karakura General Hospital, KGH. Both her father and brother were well known and highly sought-after doctors. Ichigo, a renown neurosurgeon and Ishhin, probably one of the best ER doctors around, training a number of great pupils in emergency medicine. Even her own twin sister was well known, Yuzu was one of few dietitians in Karakura and a good one at that.

Karin herself was a damn good nurse and she knew it, but she got rather fed up with being known exclusively as Kurosaki Junior. Yuzu didn’t seem to mind the nickname as much, but of course Karin wasn’t as nice as Yuzu.

So, here she was, a town away at a brand-new hospital starting her first shift on Christmas Eve, just her luck.

And now her need for Starbucks and caffeine was going to make her late.

“Venti gingerbread latte for Karin.” The barista finally called out and Karin practically sprinted to the counter.

Quickly grabbing a lid and pushing it onto the cup Karin briskly turned around ready to get to the hospital ASAP. Only to run smack dab into someone, immediately spilling her precious gingerbread latte all over this nice someone’s crisp white dress shirt.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She asked before looking up at the very attractive man she had spilled her hot drink all over.

He was probably one of the most attractive men she had ever seen with white hair, piercing blue eyes and a very attractive face. An attractive face that was decidedly unimpressed with situation as his white shirt dripped latte. He brought a hand up to his face, pinched his nose and muttered, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Wait, Toshiro?” Karin asked, his unimpressed scowl triggering a memory of that very same face but much younger lecturing her about proper hospital etiquette.

“Karin?”

“Yes! How are you? It’s been so long; dad really misses you.” It was really her who missed him, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I’m doing just fine Karin, but I think I’d be much better if we could have this discussion when I don’t have coffee all over me.”

“Ahh right! Let me get you a paper towel, I’ll be right back.”

And then she disappeared quickly, trying her best to calm her heart rate.

Toshiro Hitsugaya had been one of her father’s most promising medical interns and Isshin had loved him so much he became part of the family. Did a young nursing intern, happen to find him very attractive? Yes. Did that same intern also happen to develop a huge crush and sulk for weeks when he finally left to pursue his career at a different hospital? Also, yes. But she still had her dignity dammit!

The current twenty-five-year-old Karin was not the same as twenty-one-year-old lovesick Karin, she would not be caught pining over Toshiro Hitsugaya. She was better than that.

Grabbing a wad of napkins, Karin returned to Toshiro and resisted the urge to dab at his well-muscled chest with them. Instead, she handed them to him before seeing the time. “Toshiro, this was great, but I really have to go, I’m late to my first shift!”

Toshiro had no chance to respond before the dark-haired beauty was gone and he was left still sopping wet with latte. Classic Kurosaki.

Karin barely managed to make pre-shift, sliding into the nurse’s station just as the charge nurse started giving everyone the basic rundown of how the shift would work.

Karin knew the brief layout of the hospital and how it worked from her few training shifts, but she wasn’t sure she was entirely ready to be thrown into a Christmas Eve shift just yet. Unfortunately, another nurse had come down with a nasty flu and Karin was forced to cover for her. Since Karin had never worked a Christmas or Christmas Eve shift before she had absolutely no idea what to expect.

She really hoped Christmas Eve wouldn’t be as insane as it was on Gray’s Anatomy.

After pre-shift ended Karin approached the charge nurse to let her know of her newbie status. She was a kind older woman named Yuki and Karin knew immediately she’d like her.

“Oh, don’t worry too much dear. Christmas Eve usually isn’t that busy, this is probably a good first shift for you to learn how we work here. But just to be safe I’m going to assign you to beds 6-12, they’re usually not as hectic as the trauma room. The doctor on tonight is also one of our best. I’m sure you’ll have no problems but if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask him. He’s very thorough in his work so I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help you learn the layout here.”

As Yuki finished speaking Karin spotted a messy head of silvery-white hair walking towards them and she quickly realized exactly who her ER doctor would be tonight. Just her luck.

“And speaking of, there he is. Karin, this is Dr. Hitsugaya and he’ll be the doctor in charge of the emergency room tonight.”

She could have kicked herself; she really should have put the pieces together. What was the likelihood she’d run into Toshiro at the coffee shop next to the hospital before her night shift randomly? Very slim.

“Hello again Karin.” He said with a small smirk, and she couldn’t help but notice the new green dress shirt he was wearing underneath his white coat brought out those piercing eyes of his. He was really so unfair.

“Toshiro.”

His eyebrow twitched; an annoyed reaction Karin was thrilled to evoke.

“Karin how many times do I have to tell you it’s Dr. Hitsugaya.”

“Oh, you two have already met then?” Yuki interrupted innocently.

Yes, yes, they had. She had an embarrassing schoolgirl crush on him, thought their weird sexual tension might lead somewhere only for him to leave after his residency never to be seen again. She was only a little bitter. But it was FINE.

“Yes, we used to work together at another hospital.” He smoothly replied and Karin was thankful he didn’t bring up her family and exactly which hospital they’d worked at. She didn’t want to be known as Kurosaki Junior again and he seemed to understand.

“Well, I hope we have a good shift Toshiro.”

His eyebrow twitched again, and she couldn’t help but feel pride at how she could drive him so crazy in such a short amount of time.

As it turned out Karin did have a pretty good shift with only a few hiccups. Thankfully, nothing too insane happened and as Yuki promised beds 6 to 12 were pretty relaxed. The most notable patient was a man who had smashed his hand through a fish tank.

Karin was forced to carefully tweeze out the glass while one half of his family yelled at him across the bed about his recklessness. From what she could gather the two sides of the family were arguing about some family recipe and it had led to an all-out brawl.

She was a little chagrined when the other half of the family arrived twenty minutes later with his cousin who had third degree burns from cooking said family recipe.

Overall Christmas Eve wasn’t that bad. Karin had learned about the hospital staff more than anything. Mostly that they were a bit crazy. At first Karin hadn’t immediately noticed the mistletoe pretty much EVERYWHERE in the hospital but the more she paid attention the worse it got. Every doorway, archway, hallway, and windowsill were covered in the plant. There was even some hanging off the light fixtures. She privately thought it was a terrible fire hazard but whatever.

After hours of encountering, it at every corner of the hospital during her shift she caved and asked what it was about on her lunch break. Matsumoto, an impressive veteran ER nurse whose only goal in life seemed to be to drive Toshiro insane, was more than happy to let her in on the hospital gossip.

Only for Karin to find out it was all over some ridiculous wager. Apparently, there was a longstanding bet in the hospital about who could catch a certain white-haired doctor under the mistletoe first.

In four years running, not one had ever been able to kiss him. Doctors, nurses, and X-ray techs alike had all tried their hand but to no avail. Not a single soul had ever gotten near him.

Karin couldn’t help feeling a little pleased about this. So, what if she still harboured a little crush on the man and was smug no one had snagged him yet? Who could blame her, he was hot.

It was widely believed Toshiro was some sort of ninja in his spare time because he’d never been spotted near the mistletoe which was an impressive feat seeing as how it covered every possible surface.

“So why does everyone want to kiss him so bad? Other than the bet of course?”

“Karin have you seen that man, who wouldn’t want to kiss a face like that?”

“Fair point.” She was willing to admit he was indeed a very fine specimen.

“So, who are you betting on this year Matsumoto?”

“You.” And with that ominous answer, Matsumoto winked, grabbed her empty tray and left the cafeteria.

Karin could only gape at her back.

The rest of her shift was just as relaxed as the beginning and for that Karin was thankful. Her mind was now completely filled with Matsumoto’s last words. What was she supposed to do with that? Why would she have a chance of winning that bet with Toshiro. Did Matsumoto know something she didn’t? Sure, they’d shared some heated looks at her old hospital and yeah, people usually told them to get a room whenever they argued but that didn’t mean he was interested in her right? She definitely would have known if Toshiro Hitsugaya, star ER doctor had a crush on her. Or would she?

It was these thoughts that occupied her mind as she put on her street clothes and exited the hospital for the night on complete autopilot. There was no way she could have missed her first love liking her back. No way. Or at least she really hoped not.

And it was these very same thoughts that caused her to make her way down the main stairs in a daze. As she turned onto the empty sidewalk right outside the hospital, she was so engrossed in her thoughts that she failed to notice the black ice covering the previously snowy sidewalk. She promptly slipped and fell onto the concrete and after that she really didn’t think of much at all.

Woozily looking up, Karin heard him muttering to himself, before her blurry vision became clear.

“Injured slipping on the sidewalk, trauma to the head, likely has a concussion.”

And then he looked up from her chart and finally noticed just who his patient was. “Karin, for fuck’s sake.”

“Hey Toshiro.” She awkwardly waved and after a moment added, “You know you have a terrible bedside manner.”

His eyebrow twitched, “It’s Dr. Hitsugaya.”

“Ya, Dr. Hitsugaya whatever, what’s my prognosis, can I go home? I want to go to bed.”

“Too bad. You’re not sleeping until I know your brain is fine or someone’s there to wake you up every two hours.”

Unfortunately, Karin’s list of people to monitor her for concussion symptoms was very short and consisted solely of Yuzu. Yuzu, who was also conveniently at her boyfriend’s for Christmas eve. Her brother and father were both working tonight and she was unsure when they’d be off. Toshiro seemed to sense this because he started to open his mouth, probably to suggest she stay at the hospital and she immediately cut him off.

“I am not staying at the hospital tonight so you can forget that.”

He gave her a withering look before responding.

“Karin, I can’t just release you and you know it. Stop being stubborn and just stay here.”

“No.”

There was a long-suffering sigh in response and then, “I guess it’s up to me to keep you entertained then.”

“Aren’t you the only ER doctor on right now? Don’t you have like other patients to deal with?” She asked defiantly, she would be going home to sleep even if it was the last thing she did. Which, it very well could be if her brain was seriously injured but she didn’t really want to worry about that.

His eyebrow began to twitch again at this. “Yes, Karin but they’re all in stable condition for now and contrary to popular belief we’re not usually that busy on Christmas. Besides my shift is almost over anyways. I was just going to go chart for the last half hour.”

“So, I can go to sleep then?”

“No, you can nap on the couch in my office and I’ll wake you up and take you to Ichigo’s. Rukia should be home if he isn’t.”

She almost argued back but then she saw the infamous unimpressed look on his handsome face and knew not to bother. This was not an argument she would win.

“Whatever.”

Karin was momentarily confused when instead of responding Toshiro left the room, practically sprinting through the archway to avoid the mistletoe. She eased herself off the bed to follow and quickly became aware which parts of her body had taken the brunt of her fall: mainly her butt and her head. What a great Christmas eve this was shaping up to be.

She managed to settle herself just as Toshiro appeared around the corner rolling a wheelchair. “Toshiro, no.”

“Karin, yes.”

This conversation repeated several times before Toshiro simply took it upon himself to forcefully shove her into the wheelchair and Karin found herself being awkwardly wheeled down the hallway. Today was definitely not her day. She supposed having one of the most attractive doctors in the hospital dote on you wasn’t the worst thing to happen.

Toshiro’s office was exactly what she expected it to be like, overly organized and painted in different shades of grey and blue. He brought the wheelchair to a stop next to his predictably grey but very comfortable looking couch. He moved to help her to the couch, but she waved him off.

“I’ll be back I just have to go collect some paperwork. Take a nap and I’ll wake you when it’s time to leave.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, she had already maneuvered herself onto the plush couch and was ready to conk off. The last thing she saw before her eyes closed was his scowling face as he ripped a sprig of mistletoe out of the doorjamb.

She woke next to blaring hospital lights as she was once again wheeled down the hallway, this time towards the parking garage. “Do I want to know how you got me back into this wheelchair without waking me up?”

“With great difficulty Kurosaki and that’s all you need to know.”

“Yeah, I definitely don’t want to know. So, there’s no way I can convince you to just drop me off at my apartment, right?”

“Not unless I stay the night Karin and to be honest me sleeping on the couch in that situation is not how I had imagined that would play out.”

Was that flirting? That was definitely flirting but she wasn’t going to call him out on it. She didn’t have the presence of mind to verbally spar with him right now. But clearly her sleep deprived brain had other ideas.

“So, tell me Toshiro who do you think is going to win the hospital mistletoe bet this year?”

Why did she bring that up????

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He replied easily as they arrived at his black BMW.

“Yes, you do, and quite frankly I’m impressed I’ve never seen someone literally somersault away from a group of nurses.”

He groaned as he courteously opened her door before helping her inside his of course perfectly clean car.

“Karin it’s not funny, it’s gotten to the point where I dread the Christmas season. I considered an extended leave of absence for the whole month of December.” His face as he started the car told he was 100% serious.

“Why don’t you just kiss someone then?” She asked as he started the car, making his way towards her brother’s apartment. His unenthusiastic grunt was her only response.

“You could even rig the betting pool; I’d bet Matsumoto would help you and you would make bank.”

“Of course, you’d suggest something like that Kurosaki.”

“Yeah, just so long as I’m in on it, I want a piece of the cut.”

This time she got an amused look in response instead of annoyance.

“No but for real just pick a cute nurse, give her a smooch and it’s all over. Four Decembers is a long time to deal with this.” Somehow, she managed to refrain from suggesting she herself be this cute nurse, but she was sure if he really wanted, he could figure it out.

“They usually start in November.”

“Even worse.”

The rest of the ride was spent in their usual amicable silence. A few times Karin almost nodded off but was pleasantly awoken by a swift smack in the arm each time. Stupid doctor Toshiro.

They arrived at her brother’s apartment soon enough and she nearly had to fight Toshiro so he wouldn’t go inside and apprise Rukia of the whole situation. “I may be tired but I’m not tired enough not to let Rukia know I probably have a concussion.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyways thanks for taking care of me, I owe you a favour.” She said as she dragged herself out of the warm car and around towards the building entrance. She was about to give one more wave when the driver’s side window rolled down and Toshiro beckoned her over.

“Can I collect on my favour now?”

She gave him what she was sure was a very confused look, what could he possibly want from concussion Karin at 4 am on Christmas morning?

She bent down closer to the window to ask him what the hell he could possibly want from her when suddenly her sleepy brain was made aware of the fact that Toshiro Hitsugaya was suddenly holding something above her head, and it was mistletoe. Her eyes went back and forth between him and the plant for several seconds before she finally spoke.

“Really this is your big move. I’ve been waiting for this since I was 21 stupid.”

“Whatever Kurosaki are you going to put me out of my misery or do I have to spend the next 4 Decembers avoiding this stupid plant again.”

He looked entirely too pleased with himself but really Karin could deal with it if she got to kiss one of the hottest ER doctors. Who could complain?

The next morning Matsumoto won the betting pool and was seen discreetly sharing her earnings with a certain white-haired doctor and his new girlfriend in the break room a few days later.

#hitsukarin secret santa #:)#HitsuKarin

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ddagent · 4 years

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"I’m a contestant on The Bachelor, and I’m probably the only one who really fell in love with you as soon as you walked in, but dammit, you don’t seem to like me at all, no matter what I do."

I have become rather obsessed with reality TV AUs of late, so be prepared for a whole bunch of them. I hope you enjoy this one, and my first prompt of April ‘20 (aka the best month, aka my birthday month). Happy reading!

“Are you gentlemen ready to find true love?”

Podrick, who looked barely old enough to drink, let alone be a producer, addressed the three men waiting inside the historically inaccurate Dragon Age carriage. The one closest to the door, with a bland face and brown hair, grinned. Another, with a broad frame and a red beard, practically crowed. That left Jaime Lannister, sitting as far back as he could manage, to give a brief nod of the head.

“Sure.”

And with that, Game of Hearts began. It was Westeros’ most popular dating show: one young lady in search of a husband; twenty-one knights of the realm looking to be the lord of her castle. Jaime usually changed the channel whenever it came on, even if his brother was a producer. But Father had been pushing for Jaime to settle down; throwing daughters of business partners at Jaime day and night. After a night of drinking and complaining, Tyrion had come up with this ingenious idea to get Tywin off his back. All Jaime had to do was act as if he really wanted to get married on reality television and reach the finals.

Not hard. With a face like his, a final spot was practically guaranteed.

As he leant back, letting the evening’s festivities wash over him, Jaime caught the bland man in the corner eyeing him. He raised a single brow. “Can I help you with something?”

“You’re good looking.” A statement. Not a question. That was coming. “You could get any girl you want. Why bother coming on the show?”

He shrugged. “I like a challenge.”

“Yeah, well, I like money. I heard one of the producers talking; apparently, this girl is rich. Heir to some Stormlands fortune.”

The bland man seemed to come alive at the prospect of his potential wife’s dowry. Jaime just picked lint off his shoulder. She might be rich, but she wasn’t Lannister rich. Another shrug. “Guess we’ll see who the better man is.”

A muscle twitched in the other man’s jaw. “Yeah. I guess we will.”

Before something could irreparably tear in the other man’s face, Podrick re-appeared at the door to their carriage. “Gentlemen, we’re nearly ready for you. Before that, I’d like to unofficially introduce you to our suitress. Her name is Brienne Tarth, she’s the curator of the Evenfall Museum, and she’s 32. She is also heir to the Tarth Shipping fortune.” Podrick grinned. “Jaime, Hyle, Tormund: are you ready to meet your future wife?”

The bland man, Hyle, grinned; gold dragons replacing the dull brown of his eyes. The hulk in the corner, Tormund, practically salivated at the thought of meeting this woman. Any woman, probably. Jaime was...intrigued. After watching a few episodes to know what he was getting himself into, he had expected the suitress to be a dental hygenist or a student...some kind of consultant, perhaps. As an archaeologist, a museum curator was someone he would actually want to talk to.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to murder his brother after all.

Jaime actually found himself excited as the minutes ticked closer to meeting Brienne Tarth. As Hyle and Tormund tried to imagine the physical attributes of their suitress, Jaime tried to recall what he knew about Evenfall. The Blue Knight was buried in Tarth. There was a pirate exhibit he’d wanted to visit two months before but had been talked into this instead. Ah, Oathkeeper. One of the great Valyrian steel swords was on permanent display at the museum. Interesting.

“Jaime, are you ready to meet your future wife?”

This was Podrick’s sixth time of asking. But, as the camera pressed into his face, Jaime actually smiled and said, “Yes, I think I am.”

Jaime was the last to leave the carriage. In the restored ruins of Harrenhal, now the locale for Game of Heart’s quest for love, twenty other men stood having already met Brienne. Best for last. Adjusting the line of his three-piece suit, Jaime strode as directed by the producers to meet his potential wife. A line formed across his brow as he walked, unable to pick her out from the crowd. There was a tall, broad-shouldered man standing beside the host, Oberyn Martell, but no suitress.

And then: “Brienne, this is our last suitor for the evening. Archaeologist Jaime Lannister.”

The tall, broad-shouldered woman standing beside host Oberyn Martell turned on the heel of her blue flats. Anything more, and she would have loomed over him. As it was, Brienne Tarth had an inch, maybe two, on Jaime’s six-foot frame. The blue suit she wore betrayed the muscles in her arms and back but did little for her waist or breasts. Her face was far too plain, but her eyes were all the decoration it needed.

Fuck. It made sense that she would be the guardian of Oathkeeper. She looked like the Blue Knight. Jaime beamed. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“I’m Jaime,” he said, wearing that charming smile that had left more than a few women in a puddle on the floor. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Brienne. I think we have a lot in common.”

A muscle beside those gorgeous eyes twitched. “I’m sure.”

And that was it. No gushing, no flirting. A curt three words were all that Jaime had been offered. From behind the line of cameras, he spotted his brother conversing rapidly with Podrick. Jaime Lannister – gorgeous, wealthy, accomplished – was supposed to be their showstopper. And Brienne Tarth stared at him as if he was an eight-year-old boy who had been caught touching the exhibits. Less than that, even. Cool indifference.

Well, fuck that. Jaime hadn’t even wanted to do this show in the first place, but here he was, and he was going to be in that damn final.

Taking two steps forward, Jaime reached for Brienne’s hand and rubbed his thumb across her wrist. As she gasped from the contact, he leant forward and brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth. Tyrion’s hissing stopped, and Jaime could feel every camera trained on them. Good. Everyone else thought him charming. It was time Brienne Tarth thought so, too.

“I’m sure I’m not the first man tonight to tell you that your eyes look like sapphires,” he said; his voice soft. “If I am, then every other man here is a fool.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and Jaime thought he had her. “Does that line often work?”

“Only about 10% of the time. Too many people in Westeros have brown eyes.”

“You think you’re charming.”

“But you don’t.”

Brienne shook her head. “I know men like you.”

“There are no men like me, Brienne.” Jaime took a step back but still held her hand. He lifted it to his mouth and pressed a kiss across the bridge of her knuckles. “Let me show you.”

Brienne nodded but did not seem convinced. Good. Jaime liked a challenge. He’d make her fall just enough in love with him to get him to the final, get Father off his back, and then some other knight could propose. Just because she had pretty eyes and a big sword did not mean Jaime wanted to win. But those were big eyes. And a really pretty sword.

#Anonymous #braime #jaime x brienne #mine: paragraph prompts #ship: braime #I'm 90% sure this is trash #and I really need to stop writing beginnings of stories and instead jump into the middle #but I'm tired and this is the first thing I've written in 9 days so here we are

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