#“Is there light out piercing through the night Guiding me on to my life?” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosesloveletters · 5 months

Text

all is fair in love.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Fem. Reader

Word Count: 10,261

Warnings: sexual content / smut.

Summary: The holidays are Wonka's busiest season and his work keeps him away from reader much more than either of them would like. After hours, the two spend a passionate night together as they both make the necessary arrangements to be attentive to each other's needs and empathetic of the complexity of maintaining a healthy romantic relationship that neither reader nor Wonka are accustomed to.

Author's Note: my smut fics are always between 6-10k haha so enjoy. I edited this the best I could, but for some reason I kept switching between first person and second person pov for reader (I don't know why since I always write in second person pov.) I think I fixed most of it, so if there's any parts I missed, I'm sorry. Also, I'd like to mention that Christmas isn't inherently important to the events in this story. It is used as an element only to convey why Wonka is so busy during this time of year, because most people like to buy chocolate and candy as gifts. I know Gene was Jewish, even though I believe he said he wasn't exactly religious. I have no intention of trying to be offensive/belittle/make light of anyone's religion or beliefs and I apologize if it comes across that way because it is without a doubt not my intention.

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

You’ve always believed that if you truly love someone, then you keep it a secret.

You would let that feeling freeze me down to the core – to love the way a person is meant to, but it is that same love that, inevitably and irrevocably, suffocates.

You cannot satisfy that craving the same way one might satisfy a sweet tooth. Once given a taste, it seeps down into your skin, infecting both body and mind, pierces the heart and tears it wide open.

The thundering beat inside your chest cannot be silenced. The fingertips of fate trace the spider-like, lightning-strike veins that split your heart right down the middle.

A broken heart takes love like a beating.

It all comes boiling to the surface, bubbling up and out in the breath of a second.

The truth always comes out, one way or another.

Because if you don’t let the heart have its’ way, then it will tear itself right out of your chest.

***

The days were short, but the hours were long.

You spent much of your time by yourself, as this season kept Willy preoccupied. Time marched onward and the weeks themselves seemed to drag; it was nearing Christmastime and that meant very little to you in the grand scheme of things, except that you’d be seeing less and less of your lover.

Traditionally, the holidays were a time of celebration and joy, gifts and laughter shared between friends and families alike.

However, you lived a nontraditional life now, and Willy had unwittingly shown you that the life of a chocolatier was a solitary one. You knew that the busy holiday season was what pulled him away, but his lack of attentiveness made you wonder…

The only thing that kept these thoughts at bay was the way in which he looked at you when he was around.

Willy was a difficult man to read. Whether that was intentional or not, were you still trying to determine. The only dead giveaway were his eyes – startlingly intense and piercingly blue – that bore no resemblance to subtlety.

The vastness of the heavens, it seemed, were contained within those swirling galaxies. On dark nights when the cloud cover was too thick, you traced the constellations in his eyes to guide you into his morning light.

You could see yourself peeling back the layers of his heart to get to the source of how he truly felt.

Deflect from it all he might – “I’m a trifle deaf in this ear. Speak a little louder next time–” you saw right through him and sometimes that only made him steer clear of you for longer.

It wasn’t that he did not care for you; it was quite the opposite. Perhaps the extent to which he cared was a bit overwhelming for him at times. He immersed himself in his work during these times, else his mind inevitably carried him to places he would rather not visit.

Willy Wonka’s mind was not a place any person, sometimes even himself, should ever go without a guide or a distinct way back.

Though anyone with half a brain could tell that the amazing chocolatier was a troubled man on occasion, his true nature shone through in his creations. Something about this season’s batch of chocolate was a touch sweeter than ones previous. It would go undetected by those who did not have a refined palate, but like the saying goes, a true artist would put their blood, sweat and tears into their work and Willy Wonka was a mastermind.

He knew exactly what he was doing and what he meant to convey, if only between himself and one other: the world’s most famous chocolatier was in love.

***

You sat on the plush sofa in the personal wing of the factory, a book in one hand and a mug of hot chocolate in the other. You were nestled beneath a thick-knit, purple blanket as you read and waited on Willy to return to your den for the night.

You saw less and less of him the closer it got to the holidays, but such was the nature of his business. Christmastime was one of the busiest seasons and the one in which he made most of his money (the second being Valentine’s Day.) People bought exorbitant amounts of candies and chocolate during the holidays and so Willy was forced to expedite production (though never sacrificing quality) and work long, difficult hours preparing new and exciting treats for the public. In fact, it was no well-kept secret that Willy Wonka unveiled his newest creations around this time of year and that very news was plastered in every newspaper, magazine and bulletin across the world as people anticipated the exciting, brand-new sweets there would be to try.

You knew the excitement and rush of the season fed into Willy’s own excitement over his work. He was thrilled to be working on new ideas and expressing himself through his creativity and imagination. It meant the world to him and so you did your best to stay out of the way. You did not want to make the situation about you and, after all, he always made it up to you.

He was aware that his absence bothered you and he tried not to think about the fact that he may or may not be doing irreparable damage to your relationship.

Not every difficult time or situation was an attack against you. It wasn’t personal, nor was it anyone’s explicit fault. Willy had a factory to run, Oompa-Loompas to manage and ideas to manifest into reality. Sometimes, your relationship would take a backseat and if you were serious about being with him, then you would have to be alright with that and you were, although that did not mean that it didn’t hurt from time to time.

It would have been nice to relax and enjoy the season with your lover without his work getting in the way. You would have loved to curl up with him, sitting at opposite ends of the couch and enjoying lots of hot chocolate and hours of warm conversation. If you had your pick, you’d gladly have him here with you now, trading the book in your hands for his warm body, his fingers linked perfectly into the spaces between yours.

You reasoned that this was just how things would have to be for now. No sense in adding more pressure on him by complaining. He was aware of how you felt, but sadly there was nothing to be done about it. You never would have dreamed of asking him to pick between his work and you. That would not have been fair or right. You could handle this, for now, but deep down you missed him terribly.

Even if you chose to spend time with him inside the factory part of the building, he would be working the whole time. There simply was no time for much of anything else. He did like when you would drop by because you were his faithful little taste-tester. Better to try it out on you before selling it to the masses – that would seem cruel, knowing that his candies have had certain negative effects on people in the past, but rest assured, Willy had never given you anything that might harm you.

Any candy which made its way to you had been tested and re-tested to perfection before it ever passed between your lips.

He wanted feedback on his candy before it left the factory and you were more than happy to offer it to him, to which he was enthusiastically grateful. The only problem was, true to inventor fashion, he asked for feedback on everything. He wanted your opinion and was asking for it increasingly often these days. When you didn’t show up to the inventing room on certain days, he’d bring a whole box back to your shared living space and eagerly watch you with anticipation of your positive remarks as you were asked to try every piece.

He was always so grateful to you for that and, honestly, you didn’t mind. You liked candy and chocolate, so there was no reason you couldn’t afford him this act of kindness.

The only thing you really felt like you were missing was him and it plagued your mind most often while you were alone, which was of course very often. You kept yourself busy and occupied your thoughts with other things as much as you were able, but when you settled in for the night, your loneliness crept in and took up the space beside you that would have otherwise been occupied by your beloved chocolatier.

You didn’t mind your alone time, but too much of it was not ideal.

Too much of a good thing came with a price and now it seemed you were paying it with interest.

The sound of a door opening and shutting pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced down at your book to realize you’d just had it propped open against your knees this whole time and hadn’t read a bit. You marked your place and closed it with a huff, setting it down on the end table beside you, your mug of half-drank cocoa with it.

A quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall – thank God he hadn’t cut that one in half – showed that it was ten minutes after midnight.

It did not come as a surprise that Willy was so late. It was only your wildest guess as to what he had been working on, but that point was moot. You did not really care what he was working on.

That thought seemed harsh and you frowned; no, you were adamantly against resenting him for his work. That path was one you would not let yourself go down, a trap of codependence, you told yourself, but why couldn’t he just be a little more present with you? Surely it wasn’t too much to ask.

Perhaps you would ask.

It would make the most sense to be upfront with him about how you were feeling and to be as direct as possible.

You did not move from the couch. You waited on Willy to come and find you, unlike the many days and nights when you might have greeted him at the door.

Several quiet moments passed between yourself and your thoughts before Willy entered the room. He had shed his purple coat at the door, as well as his hat and cane, “there you are, my dear,” his gentle tone made your stomach clench as warmth pooled in your abdomen. Even troubled with doubts, you were still delighted to see him.

You watched as he approached and dropped himself on the opposite end of the couch. He nudged your knee with his, silently asking for a bit more space which you politely gave, “I would have been back sooner, but I’ve been so busy, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yes, it is that time of year,” you replied coolly. You didn’t want to jump into the meat of the discussion too soon, otherwise he might take offense where there was none.

He seemed in a good enough mood that perhaps this would be the perfect time to strike.

“Yes, my dear, it’s the holiday season which does wonders for my business and I couldn’t be happier.”

His pride in the work he was doing warmed your heart. You listened to him for a while as he recounted what he had been working on that day.

He cared so much and spoke so passionately, yet your mind began to wander.

“Is everything alright, my dear?”

His tender voice captured your attention and you blinked slowly, “yes, I’m fine. But, there is something I would like to talk to you about.”

His lips hitched into a faint smile, then flattened into a serious line. It bothered you, not being able to read his face.

“There is? Well, you know that you can always talk to me about anything on your mind.”

You didn’t want to overwhelm him, not when he was already so fully immersed within his work. He needed time and space to focus. He did not need you hindering his creative flow by hanging all over him and demanding more attention. He already gave so much; how could you even dare to think that he owed you more?

“I know you’re busy this time of year, but do you think it would be possible for us to spend a little more time together?” My voice cracked as I added, “I…really miss you, Willy.”

You hadn’t meant to speak with words that were laced with such pain, but in fairness you did miss him terribly. By the time he made his way to you most nights, you were already in bed or heading there and in the mornings before you’d woken up, he would be gone. It bothered you to not see him and you wanted him to hear it. He needed to know the truth if you meant to be honest with him, you only hoped he’d be able to understand that you didn’t blame him.

Conversations like this always made you second guess yourself.

By this point, you realized that he had not responded. He was probably just thinking about what he would say, but usually it didn’t take him this long to reply.

“Willy?” you gently urged him, reaching out to place your hand on his arm.

Whenever he felt the gentle graze of your fingertips against the fabric of his shirt, he glanced down, admiring the tender touch with a wistful smile on his face before he looked up at you and the emotion held inside of those ice-blue eyes was almost enough to send you over the edge and into uncontrollable sobs of relief.

You felt the tension in your shoulders beginning to dissipate. Good, he felt the same way.

He was still staring at you like there was something more on his mind. That was the way things were with Wonka and you’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought on more than one occasion that it’s a good thing you weren’t a mind reader because there were things that went on inside his head that should stay there. It was better that you didn’t try to trace his Machiavellian ways or make sense of the enigmatic man who so frequently surprised you with small glimpses into how he really thought and viewed the world. It was fun getting to know who he was, but the true wonderment was in not knowing him at all.

He tested your mind and all your senses, but never pushed your boundaries. He could knock you off your stride in seconds, then act as if nothing had happened. You were playing his little chess game and he was already three or more moves ahead. It had only been a matter of time before you had fallen into his hands like this.

Things were as they were because Wonka wanted them to be. His quips and wisecracks often went over people’s heads, especially because of how well-versed he was in literature and culture. He could make the whole world fall in love with him at once, then forget him as soon as they were no longer in his presence, but you believed the world adored him much more than he liked to think it did.

“I didn’t say anything sooner because I didn’t want it to seem like I was being insensitive, since I know you’re not intentionally ignoring me.”

This statement made him smile for some reason, “where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; where little fears grow great, great love grows there.” (William Shakespeare, Hamlet.)

At first, you didn’t know what to say. You had a bit of trouble discerning what he meant sometimes, missing the larger picture for deciding why he chose a specific quote at a specific time.

Seeming to read your thoughts, he let out a polite chuckle, “This is to say, even in love do the smallest doubts scare you, but when you are afraid of such little things, you are still in love, too.”

His explanation seemed to help, if only for a second.

It was true that you had your doubts, but those doubts only stemmed from love. That fear which grew inside of you had taken root, but when enough time had passed, it was the love which had bloomed from it.

Both the fear and love would come with a connection as strong as this one.

In the beginning, Willy had never dreamed of having a romantic partner. His solitary lifestyle simply lacked the means necessary to cultivate a long-term relationship. He had never desired romance or human connection of any kind. He had his factory and the Oompa-Loompas to look after; he was stretched thin as it was.

It was with sickening rapture that he sought the reason for why his heart seemed so content within your hands. He had to know the true meaning behind what he felt, even if he had to wade out in to the wild, dark depths up to his neck. He was barely treading water, sinking still, feet kicking desperately and hands reaching, clawing for purchase but there was nothing for him to grab onto. No way to steady himself as his soul careened toward what he had been running from for so long, a runaway train on the track towards trust and away from self-preservation.

At first, you wanted to be the one in control. You had your fair share of demons and setting the pace for the relationship yourself was very important to you, but neither of you wanted to go too far too fast.

You became acclimated to his world quite quickly.

You just seemed to fit right in and, with time, Wonka found himself closer to you than he had ever been with another person.

The two of you had been together for quite some time now and the red string of fate binding your hearts together was pulled taut.

It seemed that you both knew you were in the right hands and the love that grew here was stronger than any fears or doubts which gripped you.

“What scares me the most is that you’re pulling away from me,” you confessed to him, and that revelation made his eyes widen perceptibly, “sometimes I think you don’t even realize that you’re doing it.”

The conversation had shifted and Wonka realized that you were no longer just discussing his absence in light of the holidays. There was deeper emotion and meaning laced within what you were saying to him now.

He was used to being alone, as were you. The only difference was that while you had never lost hope that the right person might come along, he had done everything he could to close himself off. His heart was a precious thing and that was what the world had been after. Yes, he had closed his factory because of theft, but he put his whole heart into his work and, if anyone were to steal his heart, then there would be nothing left for the one whom it belonged to.

He made sure he guarded his heart all these years, even if he didn’t know the reason for it. It was easier to deny the very fact that love was something every person desires, even ones who have become so layered and complex that it would be difficult to imagine what a true love might look like for them.

Wonka was not afraid of anything.

However, if one thing made him apprehensive it was the idea of anyone finding him out.

Not that there was any chance of that; no one was able to think quite like him. But if anyone came close, that meant he’d cling to them forever, holding on for dear love.

His gaze shifted down to your hands that were folded in your lap and reached for one. Long, delicate fingers gently wrapping around your right hand as he brought it to his mouth.

A kiss for each finger, you counted, one two three four five…

Then, his lips made contact with your inner wrist. The sudden and unexpected brush of lips against your sensitive skin made your breath hitch.

“I promise to be more attentive,” he whispered on your skin, his hot breath tickling the inner area of your wrist, “the only one pulling me anywhere is you and I am only moving forward.”

“You’ve got to go forwards to go back.”

He had believed that, in more ways than just one, in relation to his factory and to people, but there was no going back now. Even if that were an opinion, he wouldn’t have wanted to.

Within half a second, he dropped your hand and tilted his head, leaned in close and pressed his warm lips to yours in the most sensual, tender kiss your lips had ever known.

Your heart fluttered in your chest like butterfly wings beating against your ribcage, desperate to free itself and get to his. Your soul sought the kind of connection that your mouths were getting and jealousy was an understatement.

If this was his way of making it up to you, then let it be known that you wanted nothing else for Christmas this year than a clear mind and the taste of your lover left over on your cupid’s bow.

It was all electric, body and soul alight, glistening brighter than fairy lights strung up for the season.

He tasted sweeter than his own candy and you smiled into the kiss at the very thought. He ate a lot of his own sweets, if only to test the taste, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the sugared kisses, your sweet tooth craving satisfied only by his honeyed lips.

Somewhere in the haze you found the opportunity to grip handfuls of his tawny tresses, fingers digging into the soft curls that drove your heart mad with desire. You loved his hair and so infrequently did he let you touch or comb it. It was about as unruly as he was, wild, untamed and free, just like the man it belonged to.

Your gentle tugging on his hair elicited a soft grunt from him and his lips attacked yours more feverishly, taking on a more aggressive quality now that you had accepted and encouraged him.

There was no rhyme or reason for anything that occurred while you were with him, except what was happening now.

Wonka did everything on a whim. Sleeping, eating, working…no schedule, no routine, no nonsense.

“A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.”

Perhaps the most nonsensical thing that had ever happened in Wonka’s factory was your fear that he might leave you.

Strike that. Don’t reverse it.

You didn’t want anything to change. There were more twists and turns in this man’s head than there were in his factory and you had lost yourself trying to find your way out. You never left his mind, not once. Even while he worked or spent time alone, you were in his thoughts, whether it was subconscious or not.

Your own mind didn’t register your movement as you crawled closer and sought out more of his sugary sweetness which was more potent than any nectar of the gods. Your lips devoured his, tasting every inch of the same mouth that poured prose and poetry into your ear each night that you laid with him.

He hummed pleasantly against your lips. His gentle sounds teased you; so rare was it that he ever made a sound during these moments of intimacy. Oh, how you tried, and your futile attempts filled him with great satisfaction. He had more discipline than you ever imagined; living alone for so many years without the warmth of another had taught him to go without, but desperation clung to his bones and manifested through each fervent, heated kiss.

Willy wouldn’t have described himself as needy, but he appreciated physical intimacy when it occurred and sometimes it was as necessary as any other proper communication. He wanted more than a quick romp; he craved human connection. It was completely unfounded for someone like him to want to share a connection with anyone, but here he was asking for it with his mouth on yours and your reciprocation of that same need meant everything to him.

You tested the waters, grazing your teeth along his bottom lip to determine how far he might be willing to go. He didn’t stop you. His lips simply parted, allowing entry of your tongue.

The only sound he made was a little gasp, which you swallowed as your tongue delved in to taste the inside of his mouth. Your hands were still holding the sides of his head, fingers buried deep within his unruly curls.

He helped maneuver your body closer to his, unabashedly bringing you to sit on his lap. As you settled on top of him, one of his large hands moved down to the small of your back and held you firmly in place.

You could feel the heat of his hand through your shirt. You had no grasp of how long the two of you continued to kiss like that. The passage of time, though a precious thing, was unimportant in the current moment. The only thing you demanded more of was him and you would greedily take all that he had to offer you.

You were enchanted by him. He surprised you at every turn and, if it had been anyone else, you’d have questioned where you stood with them, but wasn’t that the point? The less anyone knew about Willy Wonka, the more exciting it felt to be in his presence.

It was impossible to know whether the things he revealed about himself were true or not and there was beauty in that alone. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, then he had the upper hand here.

You did not stop to see why his hand had suddenly been removed from your back, but any questions you might’ve wished to voice were answered when you noticed him reaching for one of the top buttons on his vest.

The steady progression of events had led you here and you were too immersed within the moment to stop him, but you wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. You were entranced, enthralled, enraptured by the whole of him and his heart belonged to yours.

The wet graze of your tongue against his cupid’s bow spurred him further, lips tangled tantalizingly with yours as his fingers worked open the buttons on his vest.

The threshold had been breached.

The moment was yours for the taking, if you wanted it and you knew that you did.

Lost somewhere between drunk on lust and in love, you began to help him unbutton, starting at the bottom of his vest and continuing until your hands met in the middle of his chest. You followed this same pattern for both rows of buttons.

Coincidentally, this journey ended right above his heart, but another one was merely beginning.

Your hands were shaking with anticipation as you looked up to notice him already gazing at you lovingly. A tender smile curved his lips like a crescent moon and the sunlight bleeding out through the cracks in your soul made the stars in his eyes sparkle.

You cupped his cheek and pressed a gentle kiss onto the bridge of his nose. His arms encircled you, holding you flush against him and his shirtsleeves rode up on his forearms, exposing just a fraction of skin with a fine dusting of sand-colored hair.

You let him hold you to him as his lips attached to your neck. You imagined when he pulled back that there would be an imprint of lips, a tattoo of his love painted across your collarbone, signifying that you belonged to him alone.

You tilted your head to give him better access and he thanked you by delivering a loving nip to the column of your neck.

You hadn’t forgotten your intention.

With hands still shaking, you reached for his vest and pulled it open. His lips detached from your neck in an instant and long, elegant fingers wrapped around your wrist, effectively stopping you from undressing him.

His eyes were crystalline pools of skylight, airy and substantially quantified by the depths within them. They had a mirror-like quality and you could see yourself reflected in them as you held his gaze for a heartbeat too long.

“Only if…this is something that we both want…”

Willy’s words of brevity filled you with wonder.

“If I’m being honest with you, Willy…I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more than I want you now.”

That single sentence melded with and fused into his soul. In a breath-to-breath admission of consent, your words had tied his tongue with cursive letters.

He breathed a sigh of relief and held within that exhale was his own consent. You had granted him permission, assuring him that you were not offering yourself out of obligation or for complacency’s sake and that thrilled him perhaps as much as the act itself would. He felt the blood rush to his groin and he moved beneath you, shifting your body weight more onto his thigh.

Willy nuzzled your cheek, dragging his nose along your soft skin. His arms had yet to unravel themselves from around you; he wanted to take his time. However, he was increasingly aware of his own sense of desperation. It had been some time since he had last gotten into bed with a lover.

Actually, the last time he had gotten into bed with anyone was with you.

Willy had a low sex drive, but on occasion it would crop up and remind him that he was, in fact, human and had needs, whether it was simple biology or heightened by the desire to connect with the one he loved.

Whenever he thought of a lover and what had previously been just some nameless face at the forefront of his mind, that vision was now you. Yours was the love he sought; your hands were the ones meant to hold his heart.

He let go of you and shrugged off his vest.

Your lips captured his once again and he imagined this was what dreams tasted like.

He went to stand up and you quickly took the hint and moved off his lap. He got up and began unbuttoning his white undershirt while you watched. He could see the fire burning in your irises, your pupils dilated with desire as you watched his delicate fingers pop open each button.

You knew better than to rush him; a treat as sweet as him was meant to be savored.

You took this opportunity to slip your own shirt off your body. With your skin exposed, his eyes traveled across your midsection and his fingers hesitated, fumbling the button he was on. His breath hitched and you swore you heard him whisper the word “beautiful” as he gazed upon you.

Once he had recovered, the swiftness with which he finished removing his undershirt made your head spin. In his haste, he had forgotten to remove his bow tie and unbutton his sleeve cuffs, which made you giggle. He seemed flustered, his cheeks reddening once he realized, and perhaps this was the first time you had ever witnessed him with a blush on his cheeks.

You reached out to help him and a soft chuckle dripped from his lips like maple syrup, “It would appear I’ve gotten a bit ahead of myself, my dear.”

You chuckled as well as his bow tie and undershirt were removed, “well, I’ll take it as a compliment…that you seem so eager to have me.”

Your words were spoken as if in jest, but his response was anything but.

“Doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt that I love,” he quoted, his smooth baritone steeping you in the tea of his desire. (William Shakespeare, Hamlet.)

It was enough to quiet your mind and when he said it, you felt your entire world get a little smaller. Your heightened senses had inflated your soul and carried you to the clouds. You were a runaway balloon stuck in a tree and his words were the hand that enclosed around your string. You had seen vast lands and known love in its many forms, but never until this moment had you felt so much in the presence of one.

His heart knew yours better than it knew itself and the cracks left by heartbreak were filled in by your endless love for each other.

You moved in to kiss him again and his hands cupped your warm cheeks. His breath tasted as sweet as the chocolate he made, which only made sense because of how often you saw him sampling it. He kept a bit in his coat that he’d pull out and nibble upon and often would you go sifting through his pockets for little treasures and treats that he had left over. Sometimes you found such delights that it had to have been no accident that they had been left behind. No, he knew your guilty pleasure was his chocolate and he made sure to satisfy your cravings, both for chocolate and for him, as often as possible.

Your tongue slipped inside his mouth and he finally graced your ears with a very delicate moan.

His hands moved down the length of your arms to finally grab your hips. He pulled you in, your pelvis against his, and you could feel the hard press of his bulge against your thigh.

While you kissed, he began to walk you backwards toward your shared bedroom.

You could not have torn your lips apart to look where you were going even if you wanted to.

You trusted him to get you there safely, perhaps more than you had ever trusted another person or at least you hadn’t trusted anyone this deeply in a very long time. Too many others had taken a hammer to your jawbreaker heart and smashed it to more manageably sized pieces, but once broken, it could never be put back together without its’ once-pristine surface now marred with jagged cracks.

At least the breakage let the light of your soul pour out into his hands…

Willy was stained by your brokenness, his heart bruised the color of your trauma.

He had been burned before, broken in a very real way, and therefore it was never a question of if you would trust him, but how much and when. He knew how long it could take a person to truly open up if they wanted to, but for you, he was willing to wait an eternity and then some.

Time stood still and Willy had the presence of mind to remember how it felt to cradle your body to his when the only things that cemented your souls was an equal share of trust and love for one another and the mutual decision to take just one more chance.

You sighed with relief when the backs of your knees connected with the mattress.

Willy didn’t push you or press for more. His lips left yours in favor of your neck and several chaste yet sweet kisses were left along your collar bone as if his lips were asking for permission without the accompaniment of words.

In between you, you reached for his belt.

He felt your fingers wrap around the waistband of his trousers and a gentle smirk crossed his features, “after something, are we?”

His coy response made the tips of your ears get hot and you huffed, “well, it isn’t my fault that I’ve gone and gotten all excited…”

“I hope you’re not implying that it’s mine,” he replied as his smirk widened.

“I wasn’t implying anything,” your time spent with him had sharpened your wit, “I’m saying it.”

His eyes shared in your mirth, twinkling with laughter at your response. He wrapped an arm around your lower back and pulled you in. With his cheek to yours, lips near your ear, he whispered, “shall we make use of your excitement, then, dear?”

You felt a shudder run down your spine as he spoke to you, the dulcet undertones of his honeyed voice pierced you like a knife through the delicate flesh of an orange. You wanted to sink your fingers into his heart and peel it apart to devour the pieces, sustaining yourself on his love.

You nodded and he deemed it appropriate to continue. He gently pushed your hands from his belt and took on the task himself. He pulled it from the loops and laid it on the chair nearest to him.

When he turned back to you, you were already removing your pants. He smiled to himself, stopping in his tracks to admire you as you undressed. He almost wanted to help you, but held himself back. Mutual trust came at a price and he would not want to overstep any unspoken boundaries. You had not explicitly told him not to help, but you hadn’t told him to do it either and so he decided it was best to let you indicate what you wanted from him and how comfortable you were with the situation.

Neither you nor he were particularly trusting individuals. Your experiences with people who took advantage of others made you wary and skeptical, through no fault of your own. Maturity and wisdom came with age and while you had both grown and learned, you had built walls around yourselves both figuratively and literally, in Wonka’s case, to guard your hearts and protect them.

Now, you were bearing your souls to each other.

It was an unlikely thing, but you were both ready. You had known Wonka for a long time now and you had no doubt that you and he were meant to be in each other’s lives. There was a reason that you were here. Even though you might have needed a bit of reassurance from time to time, it was never because you truly thought he might leave you. Giving word to that unreasonable fear set you free, because in your heart of hearts you realized that you were not afraid at all.

You were lonely.

You had forced it down for years, but acknowledging it now was cathartic, because never again would you find yourself isolated like you had so many years before.

Willy was no stranger to isolation either. Though he had reasons other than your own, he empathized.

It was difficult, at times, for the two of you to find a rhythm. Both of you had been alone for so long that it took time to become acclimated to sharing your lives with each other, but in this moment you both knew that there was no person you would each rather share a life with than each other.

Willy was never at risk of pulling away. He was simply learning how to love you.

As soon as you pushed off your pants and stepped out of them, he was kissing you again. In a flourish of limbs and bare skin, you fell backwards onto the mattress with him. His hot lips descended over yours as his fingers linked into the spaces between your own. In all ways except for one, your two bodies were unified and, if either of you could help it, that would soon be remedied.

The mattress dipped and shifted beneath your shared weight as Willy crawled on top of you. You held his hands for as long as you were capable of doing before you needed to feel him more solidly at your fingertips. You dropped his hand, grabbed his shoulder and dug in your nails to hear him hiss into your ear and nip at your neck.

He couldn’t even finish undressing because you demanded every ounce of his attention.

Your spirits were engaged in this battle of carnality and you had consumed him, corrupted his mind and possessed him body and soul, but all’s fair in love and war, both of which you had waged fervently on his senses.

At risk of ruining the moment, he pulled away and got up to finish removing his trousers. Your chest heaved as you took a moment to catch your breath, propping yourself up on one arm.

“And here I thought…we were just getting to the good part,” I quipped. A teasing smile bloomed on my face as he turned to look down at me.

“And I thought you liked my kisses,” He replied without missing a beat.

His lopsided grin made you giggle, but the sound of his zipper being pulled down tore your attention away from the witty banter. The fire of fierce need had begun to burn bright inside your belly once again after being extinguished to mere embers only seconds ago.

You watched him kick off his trousers and make no move to pick them up.

He moved back down onto the bed and leaned into you. You met him halfway and pecked a chaste kiss onto his lips. Your bodies fit together like two immaculately chiseled sculptures whose delicate features appeared to be made of something much softer than stone.

You knew what he wanted from you now and you felt goosebumps rising on your flesh as you anticipated his caress.

He cupped your head, holding you to him as he lowered you back against the pillows. He liked to take charge of this part himself and you let him, despite the anxiety you felt at relinquishing control over yourself. You didn’t like feeling out of control, especially of your body and Willy knew this. He tried his best to make you feel comfortable and safe, never moving forward without verbal consent.

“Shall I touch you, dear?”

You reflected on his question before you nodded, swallowing thickly before you could make a sound, “yes.”

You knew that he would check in with you frequently to make certain you still wished to continue.

With your consent, his fingertips grazed the length of your arms. His warm touch sent pleasant shivers through you and you fought the urge to arch into him. He had a way of making you feel everything he wanted you to feel with just one touch. It was like magic, the control he had over your body and sometimes you wondered if his creative abilities branched into other realms as well.

His hands slid down your sides, massaging your warm skin and admiring your supple curves, the angles and indentations of your hips. Before he traveled lower, Willy wanted to devote some appreciation to the rest of your body first. His hands moved to your back, working underneath you to swiftly unclip your bra. He had a way of doing things so fast that you barely had time to register what he was doing before it was done. Perhaps it didn’t seem possible, but impossibility did not exist where Willy Wonka came from; if there was a way to do the impossible, he had already figured it out and told no one.

With your unclasped bra no longer pulled taut, he delicately pushed the straps off your shoulders and plucked the hindersome piece of fabric away from your chest. It dropped unceremoniously to the floor and his blue eyes glittered with mischief when he looked upon your exposed breasts.

You wanted to cover them, but he held your arms at your sides. True to the creative genius he was, he had to admire beauty where and when he saw it and you were a masterpiece. His tight smile had relaxed as he gazed down at you beneath him and he practically cooed with appreciation for your form.

“You’re very beautiful,” he whispered heatedly, like it was almost difficult for him to get the words out. He was overwhelmed with all his attention focused on the body before him.

You wanted to thank him for the compliment, but all that came out was a soft squeak.

He chuckled at your little sound and bent his head. He placed a firm kiss on your left breast and you sighed in pleasure at the gentle touch of his plush lips on your pillowy skin. His lips traced the curves of your breasts before encircling one of your nipples, suckling lightly as if it were a piece of candy.

You mewled and arched into his mouth, desiring more from him and as quickly as possible, but Willy liked to take his time with you. He never left you unsatisfied, but you could expect nothing to be fast paced.

His fingers wrapped around your hips to hold you in place as he moved to your other breast and did the same thing. His hot tongue teased your candy pieces to hardness and he hummed his appreciation, sending waves of pleasure down to your core.

You squirmed in his grasp and whimpered pathetically, “please, Willy,” you begged him, “I want you now.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have me, dear,” he reassured you, his thumbs rubbing placatingly against your hips, “when I’m ready for you to.”

His teasing remark made you huff in irritation until his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your cotton panties and paused you in your tracks.

You whined as his fingers barely breached the fabric barrier before he removed them. His hands moved to your inner thighs and spread your legs apart for him to nestle in between them.

All you could do was watch as he leaned closer and pressed a kiss to your navel, just below your belly button. His kisses traveled lower and lower down your pelvis to your pubic bone and finally to your core. You writhed in pleasure when his mouth found its way to where you wanted it, but your panties were still in the way and you groaned with frustration.

Heat emanated from your core due to your arousal and the crotch of your panties were damp with your wetness.

Your head dropped back against the pillow as he used the tip of his nose to brush lightly against your clit through your panties.

You were so pliant to his will and responsive to his touch that he almost felt powerful. If it had been anyone other than him, he would have, but all he felt in this moment was an overwhelming feeling of love. The fact that he could give you a comfortable experience of vulnerability and pleasure perhaps did enflame his ego a bit, but he loved you even more for it. To see you enjoying yourself because of him was almost too much for him to handle and he could feel his cock swell to attention.

He placed a couple of open-mouthed kisses to the crotch of your panties before he dragged them down your legs. He would have liked to tease you more, but he was already beginning to lose patience and he didn’t want to rush through too quickly.

With your panties removed, he could admire your glistening folds and the sweet juices that had dribbled out of you. His mouth watered as he delved in for a taste, his tongue tentatively flickering against your opening.

You let out a cry and bucked your hips, desperate for him to fill you. You needed friction and fullness to achieve release and Willy knew you couldn’t get either of those things without his compliance. He smirked at that and lowered his head between your thighs.

Your hot core pulsed as more of your honey leaked onto his tongue. He moaned in satisfaction, savoring the taste of your sweetness and the delicious sounds you were making for him. He had never tasted anything this sweet except for his chocolate and if he could have only one of those two things right now he would have picked you without a second thought.

It was almost too much for him to pull his mouth away, but he knew that he must if he were to indulge in the ultimate act of pleasure with you. You both wanted that more than you wanted air to breathe. A greater craving than candy, your existing love and soul connection a stronger aphrodisiac than chocolate.

With a final flick of his tongue against your clit, he dragged his mouth off you. You whimpered at the loss, but in the back of your lust-flavored cotton candy mind you knew that your shared night of pleasure was just beginning.

He got off the bed again and opened the nightstand drawer. He withdrew a small tinfoil packet and a small clear bottle of lubricant.

You were still sprawled out on the mattress, your hair a halo around your head. The darkened room made it difficult to see what he was doing, but your eyes had adjusted enough for you to see movement.

You felt eyes on you and before you glanced up from the object he was holding, his voice broke the silence, “are you comfortable continuing?”

Driven by lust and lover’s greed, you nodded your consent. Willy did not respond at first, waiting on your actual acknowledgement and proper agreement. Your voice was shaky as you replied to him, but you knew what you wanted and were certain in your response, “yes. I want this. I want you, Willy.”

The sincerity in your voice convinced him and he tore open the condom wrapper.

Excitement thrilled you and coursed through your veins, carried into your heart by blood. Your body was singing with sensation as you wanted nothing more than his solid body atop you, his hard length buried in your tight heat.

You watched him with barely-concealed enthusiasm – well, perhaps the only concealment was from the darkness in the bedroom – as he took off his underwear and rolled the condom on. He then squirted a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and coated his cock.

You could hear him jerking himself off and the obscenely slick sounds from the generous amount of lube. He had yet to give himself any physical stimulation up until this point and you were eager to repay the favor.

In the dark, your reached for him and he came to you, ready to meld together and fill you full of himself.

He positioned himself on top and guided your legs around his hips. He propped himself up with one forearm flat against the mattress so that he wouldn’t rest his entire body weight on you and the other guided his condom-covered tip to your entrance.

He gave your forehead a tender kiss as he pressed in. Your lips parted at your sharp intake of breath and your muscles tightened and seized around him. Willy kissed your face, calming you and keeping you still and relaxed until he bottomed out.

He nuzzled against your cheek and moved his free arm behind you to cradle your head.

You tilted your head back and captured his lips. The two of you kissed lazily for several moments as your bodies adjusted to one another. Your walls twitched around his cock, sending jolts of electricity down to his toes, into the pit of his stomach and behind his eyes. Everything felt fuzzy and seemed out of focus except for you.

The one thing that was clear to him was his love for you and the appreciation he had for you being a part of his life. If he could not trust a single soul with his legacy, he knew that he could trust you with himself and that was more than enough.

For once, nothing made you question Willy Wonka; his intentions were clear.

Your fears were just that: fear. It was irrational and based on nothing of consequence. However, the very fact that you were afraid let you and he both know how much you cared.

You would never take Willy, and he would never take you, for granted.

He would reassure you that though he was not used to sharing his world with another, that you were his world now and you would share in every aspect with him and reap the rewards of a unique and whimsical life with perhaps the greatest chocolatier who ever lived.

Take out all the fantasy and spectacle and you were left with only love and imagination.

All these people thought the most fantastical thing about Willy Wonka were his creations, but what took your breath away, and had since the beginning, was the man behind those creations.

You had fallen in love with him as much as you had with his brain and his intellect, his body, his soul. You wanted to dip your fingers into him like if he were made of melted chocolate. You would lick the essence of his existence off your fingertips to taste his candy-coated soul and sugared thoughts. There were not many candies or chocolates of the Wonka brand that you hadn’t tried, but none were sweeter than the man himself.

If he existed only in your mind, then your mind was alive with the thought of him.

All too soon, your thoughts abandoned you as you felt him begin to move.

He slowly pulled out, angled his hips and pushed back in.

The sudden movement jarred your body and you clung to him tighter.

As he began to set a pace, you rolled your hips down onto him each time that he pushed in. This seemed to please him, witnessing you thrusting with him, your bodies moving in unison toward a shared release and reciprocation of pleasure.

He grunted softly in your ear with the effort of thrusting into you. His soft curls tickled your cheek and you bit back a giggle. A particularly rough thrust ripped the sound from your throat and you laughed aloud.

His brows furrowed in amusement at your laughter, but he grinned with you nonetheless.

His thrusts became harsher, deepening as you adjusted and conformed to the rhythm and pace he set that was creating a delicious friction between your legs. You moaned shamelessly into his ear and he thrusted harder, encouraged by the sinful sounds you were making.

Willy kissed you, his lips feverishly moved against yours as he held you in his embrace and your skin blazed with red hot fervor. A thin sheen of sweat clung to your bodies and you could feel the heat rolled off him in waves. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, but it didn’t bother you as you kissed him harder, demanding more intensity out of your shared intimacy. Your core pulsed, muscles gripping and clenching tightly around his cock.

Your moans began to take on a higher pitch the closer you got to your release. Willy could tell that you were close now and he was eager to send you over the edge. Sex was, at least for him, about mutual enjoyment and gratification, not domination, exploitation or manipulation. It was about individuals who loved each other enough to put aside their individuality and become one, just for a moment of bliss.

His forehead pressed against yours as he thrusted into you harder than before, his pace becoming erratic the closer he came to his own release.

As he panted, you felt his breath fan across your face and he smelled of chocolate.

You balanced on the edge of oblivion as your feverish coupling would soon send you into orgasm.

After a few more hard thrusts, Willy slipped a hand between your legs and gently rubbed your clit. Your release seized you, your body shaking violently with hurricane force winds of equal parts pleasure and zest. It was as if the air had been knocked out of you and you were falling down into his waiting arms. Ecstasy radiated from your core, carried in waves throughout your body.

You were alone with your pleasure, waiting on your lover to join you in the afterglow.

You cried out his name as he thrusted into you through your orgasm. He lasted several moments after you came before he released, filling the condom with several hot bursts of his seed.

He had just enough strength left in his body to pull out and collapse beside you. His harsh panting soon turned to gentle sighs as his heartrate decreased and his body cooled. His strawberry blonde curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat and were sticking out at wild angles except for the top which was always a bit flattened from the way he wore his hat.

You reached out and petted his frizzy hair, your fingers delicately massaging his scalp. He let out a quiet little moan and you smiled at him.

With a deep inhale, he sat up and peeled the sticky condom off his softening prick. He tied it up and tossed it in the wastebin, then snatched his underwear off the ground. He picked yours up as well and handed them to you for you to slip on.

You got off the bed and put your panties back on, then crossed the room to the bathroom. A few moments later, when you returned after you had cleaned yourself up, you found him lying in bed waiting for you.

He smiled at you as you approached and extended an arm out to let you curl into his side as you got back on the bed with him. He already had a blanket laid out to pull across your nude bodies so that you could cuddle in modesty and without getting a chill.

He looked down to watch you settle in and you met his gaze for a moment, appreciating his features. His gorgeous blue eyes were like pools of galaxy speckled with stars. His aquiline nose, which most people thought was too big for his face, looked proportionate in your opinion and beautiful just the same. He had the softest features of any man you had ever seen, slightly chubby cheeks, a round face and curved jawline. He was exquisite in every sense of the word and just looking at him made you fall more deeply in love.

As attractive as he was to you, his personality spoke to yours in a language only the two of you spoke fluently.

His appreciation for literature and culture was unique and inspiring and, because it tied in with your own, you learned a lot from each other. His quick wit and casual snide remarks that often passed over other people’s heads made you laugh as though you were enjoying your own little joke with each other.

During your private appreciation for this man, you concluded that you had no reason to ever think he might be pulling away from you.

In surreal Willy Wonka fashion, he seemed to read your thoughts as he finally spoke, “I’d like to see you in the Inventing Room with me tomorrow. I want you to be as involved with the holiday busy season as I am.”

He addressed your insecurities by offering a solution to the problem and your heart felt a bit lighter. He wanted you to be involved in his work so that you didn’t feel so isolated or lonely. He had promised to be more attentive and he intended to do just that, but you could offer him aid and visit him while he worked. True love was buoyed by compromise; you’d see to it that you did your part to keep your relationship strong.

“Forgive me for not being as attentive as I should be,” he continued, “I’ve been so busy, not to excuse myself.”

“I understand,” you replied.

He seemed surprised for a moment, as if he half-expected you to still be upset, “and it isn’t entirely your fault. I should come around more if I’m missing you. We’ll find a solution. We have time.” Willy put his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close so he could kiss your head, “time is a precious thing, my dear. Never waste it.”

Between his words, you heard what he was not saying.

And while he had a point, what you did have was now.

You could agree just to exist for a moment, sharing in the silence of the universe and listening to nothing but your dreams and the sounds of your hearts.

You would fall into each other the same way that you fell in love: accidentally and achingly slow.

One day you would both look up and see how far you had come, but for now, you still had a way to go.

You knew his heart belonged to yours and that was enough to keep trying. Once the busy season calmed down and you had more time to focus on the two of you, you would ease into it like lovers were meant to, but right now you had an obligation to yourselves not to let the fear of failure drive you apart.

It might seem fatalistic to ruin a relationship before it had run its course, but you’d seen it happen and the last thing you wanted was for that to be yours.

You knew deep down that it wouldn’t happen.

Your love was as strong as your imaginations were wild and no mind would ever dare dream the two of you apart.

#willy Wonka #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #willy wonka 1971 #wilder!wonka #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka imagine #willy wonka and the chocolate factory imagine #gene wilder #biblio :: 📖

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dragonqueenofice · 2 months

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A Cloth Flower

Word Count: 630

Summary: Flowers discarded as soon as they bloom, yet love blossoms brighter still (Or, you try and fail to make a bouquet for a budding crush)

notes: i love men who are just a little fucked up

A red spider lily, born of crimson cloth and wire sits upon your desk. Your hands work to add more petals, forming the flower into the form oh so recognizable. “How many am I gonna need?” You ponder, glancing up and rewinding back the tutorial that’s been playing for around three hours now, and stuck on the same spot for half that time. You weave the next petal into its spot, doubt seeding into your mind as the flower forms alongside. “Does he even like spider lilies?” You ponder, cutting the cloth for another petal as the guide speaks that this is the last step. “He's always haunted by death, why would he want more reminders?”

So you scrap it, tossing the flower aside like the past three hours meant nothing. The vibrant red lily resting atop the scraps of cloth and projects abandoned as soon as started like a king atop his throne. You feel no remorse, not sparing a glance for the poor flower’s descent as your eyes are on the monitor ahead, fingers typing flowers that mean life and looking through results.

—

A peach blossom, born of pastel cloth and wire sits upon your desk. Your hands work to add the last petal to the small flower, forming it into the third of the to-be bouquet. You glance up to the monitor and groan, despising the song that started but not having the energy to change it. Your hands insert in the next petal, your mind not noticing the size of the blossom growing one petal too large as doubt seeds in yet again, “wouldn't he hate a flower about life more?” your mind whispers, hands lowering the flower onto the table with little revere. Knuckles clack against the wood as your thumbs press down on the petals, bending them out of shape, “Haunted by death, yes, but infected with life… What if he hates it? What if he hates me?”

So you toss them, blossoms fluttering down and resting beside the lily atop scraps of their own, yet another projected abandoned and yet another wasted night. One hand threads fingers through your hair as the other types, painfully slow, flowers that mean love.

—

“Could you go fetch our dear creative?” Kafka’s honey-sweet voice rings through Blade’s head as his shoes clack against the floor, coming to a stop at your door. He clicks the master key Kafka lent him to your door, pondering for only a second why the Hunters have such high tech doors as it opens. He steps in and the lights come on, illuminating your sleeping form slumped over the desk and the scraps of cloth sprawled around the wood. The cloth, an iris purple in hue is formed into an approximation of a petal, it seems you passed out mid-work. Blade steps towards the desk, stopping beside the chair as his eye is caught by the vibrant flowers left discarded in the trash. He reaches out, curious to feel the silken cloth of the creations you labored over, but his arm disturbs the chair and startles you awake.

You make eye contact, Blade’s piercing gaze stuck on your eyes as you freeze up like a startled fawn. “...Why are you in my room?” You finally break the deafening silence with whispered words.

“Kafka wanted you.” He holds out a gloved hand to help you stand, Kafka’s warning to “play nice” echoing in his head as you stand, reluctantly pressing your palm to his for support. Blade doesn’t question that strange feeling that clenches around his heart, seeing your hand clasped over his, and he doesn’t question the arm he offers you for support against your back when you walk. He’s playing nice, a blade doesn’t feel after all.

#dragon queen writes #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr blade #blade hsr #blade x reader #hsr blade x reader #blade hsr x reader #wow Dragon writing for not genshin #it's a moment in history

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carmillascrusade · 3 months

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Shrouded affection finale | Emily Prentiss x f!reader

Summary: Good things don’t always last forever and Emily has a habit of self destructing.

Word count: 4,801

A/N: This is super late because my teachers hate me and keep assigning tests… and dialogue heavy maybe. Has anybody seen the new mean girls yet? I watched it on Sunday. @jellysaidshit @emilxprentiss @poorwritingandstalecoffee

The case was located in San Francisco. When Garcia had presented the case four women had been brutally murdered; each of their limbs broken and twisted in an inhumane way. Just looking at those poor women made you feel sick to your stomach.

How could someone do something like this? So evil. So deranged.

The case itself was long and gruelling. Restless nights made better due to you not having Emily to share your burdens with. You were currently getting ready for drinks at the bar with the team and the police department, a small but well needed celebration for cracking such a tough case.

You and Emily had both decided to just go in your work clothes. After all, you hadn’t packed for celebratory drinks.

Strobing lights obscured your vision as you pushed your way into the bar. Obnoxiously loud music blasted from speakers as you pushed your way through a sea of sweaty, half drunk bodies in hopes of finding your team. Emily’s hand was in yours as you guided her through the crowd, slightly shoving people out of the way in order to make enough room for you to squeeze past.

Emily had given you the rest of her gifts before you had left for the bar. The cool caress of the metal curled around your wrist a welcome reminder of Emily’s love for you. She had bought a gorgeous charm bracelet for you; each charm painstakingly hand crafted by a jeweller to represent significant moments shared between the two of you. You didn’t know how to react when you had opened it, instead you bursted into tears and hung onto Emily for dear life.

She was so thoughtful. So eager to show her love for you.

So perfect.

You couldn’t help but imagine a future with her and what that would entail. The familiar laughing of your teammates notified you of their whereabouts. Penelope’s incoherent spiels drowned out any other conversation in the immediate area, like a fog horn would any other siren. Her bubbly nature despite what you faced regularly would never fail to amaze you. You admired her, truly, for she continued to shine in a world full of darkness; undimmed by the many people wielding instruments meant to snuff her very light.

Emily chuckled beside you, ever amused at Penelope’s antics. The small collection of empty glasses reminded you or Emily’s numerous half full water bottles strewn around the side of her bed. She had told you that they were there for when she got thirsty throughout the night but they never seemed to decrease in number.

It had made you giggle when you had first saw them, Emily’s antics never failing to surprise you. Her quirks made her the person she is and you wouldn’t have it any other way; even if it meant that you were subject to her playing with your hair as she tried to stay awake.

Penelope’s ramblings came to a halt as she seen you approach with Emily trailing behind. A loud squeal pierced the air, causing multiple heads to turn to the direction it came from, searching for the source in mere curiosity. The source being Penelope.

“Hi! I’m so glad you’re here.” She slurred out at you, the consonants in her words drawled out ever so slightly.

“Hi, Penelope.” You greeted cheerily, dropping Emily’s hand in favour of supporting your conversation partner as she began to sway.

Just as you managed to get her back into her seat, the sheriff approached you, sheepishly asking you for a dance. Looking over her shoulder for Emily in the hopes of getting away from an unwanted dance, you were surprised to see her already dancing with someone else.

A beautiful woman at that. The blond woman was whispering in Emily’s ear, something salacious you assumed based on Emily’s vibrant blush and embarrassed chuckle. Your world seemed to slow down as you only seemed to be able to focus on them, heart stuttering in your chest, stomach dropping.

You felt sick. Clearly your little tryst had been just that and nothing more. Once cool metal, a gentle reminder of Emily’s affection for you, burned your skin. You wanted it off. You wanted to leave and never show your face again.

A gentle hand on your arm was the final straw. The tears you had so desperately been holding back finally broke free, pouring out of your tear ducts as water would a burst dam. Your heart was aching, throbbing in anguish, relentlessly beating against your ribcage in an effort to escape the damage associated with heart break.

“Are you okay?” A distant voice called out. Muffled and far away, as a voice would sound if speaking to you through a barrier of water.

Glossy eyes flicked up and met the piercing blue gaze of the sheriff, flooded with concern at your current state. Your response, if you could call it that, came out in a jumble of words. Your eyes flicked back to Emily and the blond to see the woman leading your lover away. No. Emily wasn’t yours.

Seemingly following your pitiful gaze, Sheriff Lister pieced the information together.

“How about we go outside. Get some air, hmm?” She was speaking to you as you would an injured child, gentle and nurturing.

You gripped onto her arm as she led you outside. The tears clouding your vision made leaving the bar far more difficult than it would have been under normal circumstances. Sweet whispers from Lister were occasionally granted to you, grounding you to the present, keeping you out of your head and focussed on the task at hand. Leaving the building.

The night air was cold, borrowing body heat as a neighbour would a cup of sugar. Frost covered the window panes of nearby shops, frigid and distance in the think cover of night. You focussed on your breaths rising as white puffed clouds, willing yourself to calm down.

You knew that Emily had commitment issues You knew that she was unlikely to return your affections. Yet you still pined after her anyways.

A fool.

The telltale click of a lighter sparking to life alerted you once more of the sheriff stood beside you. Her eyes were on you, hawklike in nature as she studied you from underneath her lashes.

“So,” she drawled out the word. “You and your dark haired coworker?”

You nodded feebly, the cold catching up to you now that you had calmed down, subconsciously causing you to draw your body closer to Lister’s. Ever perceptive, she noticed your state and offered you her coat.

“Won’t you be cold?” You asked, not wanting her to freeze because of you.

“I’ll be alright, darling.”

She cheekily grinned at you; the type of grin that would be charming if you weren’t recently subject to such heartache, the type of grin that sent girls like you reeling. You muttered a small thank you. For her jacket or for the kindness she was showing you, you weren’t sure.

“How about we go get some food, hmm? I’m sure some takeout place will still be open.”

Your stomach growling was answer enough.

Emily watched the interaction between you and that sheriff from across the street. Her stomach twisted uncomfortable as she watched her dry your tears, as she watched you wear her jacket and link arms with her. You should have been linking arms with Emily, not some random woman.

But, she couldn’t really blame you for seeking comfort elsewhere. After all, she had been the one to fall back into old habits. She had been the one flirting with another woman, with the full intention of destroying the very new, the very fragile relationship the two of you shared.

Emily Prentiss did not deserve nice things. She didn’t deserve you and your lovely smiles. She didn’t deserve your affection; especially after the stunt she pulled today.

Everything had happened so fast. One moment she was holding your hand, marvelling in your beauty and the next she was leaving the bar with a woman. A woman that wasn’t you.

She had seen you spot her with the blond, had seen your face fall and the tears you had not been able to hold back. And still, she followed the woman all the way until her hotel room.

It wasn’t until she got there that she had realised her mistake. The lips pressing against her were rough and sloppy. Inconsiderate of her feelings. All they sought was pleasure and a fast release.

She had pulled away then, leaving the hotel room with a flimsy excuse thrown over her soldier. What had she done? She yearned for your lips to be the ones on her, for your hands to be the ones touching her. She wanted your soft smiles and saccharine sweet kisses.

She needed them.

But, her self destructive tendencies had won again and she had lost the one thing in her life she wanted the most. You.

You who had to seek comfort in the arms of another woman because she had been the one to deal you pain. You who had been nothing but patient and caring towards her, never pushing her away when you had every right to do so. You who shone brighter then the sun and stars combined, brightening her once dark world until she could no longer feel the deathly grip of her past.

Emily didn’t deserve you. You were too good. Too pure to be corrupted by the likes of her. Yet you had always stayed.

Emily Prentiss had pushed away the only thing she held dear and she was the only person to blame. Her heart seemed to fracture with every step you took away from her, shattering completely as she heard your laugh- the one reserved for her alone- directed at somebody else.

But, she reasoned with herself, she deserved this.

Lister, or Kate as you had quickly learned, had taken you to get pizza, buying a large for the two of you to share. The two of you were currently sat on a park bench, with you giggling at Kate dropping pizza on her shirt and Kate furiously trying to get the stain off.

“You know, rubbing it super hard isn’t going to make the grease stain go away.” You teased before taking another bite of your pizza slice.

Kate narrowed her eyes at you in faux anger. Her rubbing soon stopped as she decided, finally, that it wasn’t doing any help.

“So, you gonna tell me what’s going on between you and what’s she called?”

“Emily?” You supplied.

“Yeah, her.”

“It’s a long story.” You sighed wearily.

“Ehh, I’ve got the time to spare.” She shrugged as she said it before resting her hand on your knee. “But don’t feel pressured into sharing if you don’t want to.”

You smiled at her, sneakily taking the last slice of pizza out of the box while she was distracted.

“ I’m in love with her.”

She laughed at that. “Yeah, anyone with a pair of eyes can see that, sweetheart.”

She received a soft slap to the side in response but you carried on with the story. It seemed that once you started, you couldn’t stop. Everything you had been holding in, keeping secret from your friends, tumbled out of your mouth.

You were crying again. The events of the day being so emotionally overwhelming that you couldn’t help yourself. Kate tutted in sympathy as she drew you into a hug.

“You didn’t deserve any of that.” She assured.

“I know. I know that, I truly do but I can’t help but feel like part of me deserves it.”

“How come?”

“Well, look at her. Emily is amazing. So amazing that she outshines everybody in the room despite just standing there.”

“Hey, you’re not too bad yourself, y’know.” She joked, trying to lighten the sullen and serious atmosphere that had built up.

“I guess.”

Your somber mood was only heightened by the cold chill beginning to set in your bones. Kate walked you back to your hotel room and you thanked her for the night. However, you knew it was getting late and you didn’t want her walking home alone, especially after the gruelling case you had just finished, so you asked if she wanted to stay.

It was the least you could do.

Surprise briefly coloured the faces of your team members before they schooled their features into a more neutral expression. What were you doing with the sheriff?

Emily was seething from where she stood beside JJ. Not only had to went on a late night rendezvous, but you had invited that woman back to your room and she was still here. Laughing and touching your knee without a care in the world.

That was Emily’s job. She was supposed to touch you and make you laugh. You were supposed to look at her like that, not the sheriff.

“What’s going on with those two?” JJ asked, nudging Emily with her elbow.

“I don’t know.” She spat back.

“You know,” she started carefully, not wanting to irritate her friend any further. “I saw you and that blond last night.”

She had said it as a statement rather than an accusation, but the way her eyes narrowed slightly and her gaze pierced through Emily’s suggested otherwise.

“Yeah, what about it?” Emily was getting defensive.

“Well, I don’t think you have the right to be jealous when you were all over that woman last night. We all saw you together.”

Emily huffed in aggravation because she truly had no right to be jealous, but she was. She had shot herself in the foot with her rash decisions last night and it stung. It stung so much that she couldn’t even look in your direction; fearful of your disappointed eyes or, even worse, you looking at another woman the way you once did her.

“They’re all staring you know?” Kate observed with a slight gesture towards your team.

You turned your head to look over at your team, their faces unreadable as they looked at you. Emily, however, was the only one refusing to look in your direction, instead biting her nails. You had always hated that habit of hers, how it brought her so much pain but seemed to be the only thing that soothed her.

The only thing but you.

She wouldn’t even look at you? Your sadness soon turned into anger, however, as you realised that you did not deserve to be strung along like you had been. If she didn’t want to look at you, fine, you wouldn’t bother with her either.

JJ started walking toward you, her curiosity getting the best of her as she drew closer to you and Kate. Did you not have feelings for Emily?

“Hey,”

“Hi Jayje,” you greeted her with a smile.

“Who’s your friend?”

“You know… Kate?” You shot her a questioning look. “We’ve worked with her and her officers the entire case.”

“Well yeah, I know that she’s Sheriff Lister but..”

“What’s she doing here?” You supplied.

JJ nodded, albeit a bit shamefully. Her cheeks and neck tinting red made you smile slightly. You wondered briefly if she had came on behalf of Emily, they were best friends after all, but Emily didn’t care about you.

“Kate took me to get pizza last night and by the time we came back it was too late for her to walk home alone.”

“Oh…” she trailed off before looking back at Emily who was staring off into space. “like a date?”

You and Kate both burst out in to laughter, stomachs tensing almost uncomfortably as you leaned on one another for support. JJ stared at you perplexed. Why were you laughing at her?

“If you’re just going to laugh at me,” she muttered, brows furrowed and lips downturned. “I’ll just go.”

You quickly composed yourself at her upset tone and reached out for her. “JJ, no don’t go. I’m sorry for laughing. It’s just, Kate and I are friends that’s all, I was pretty upset last night and she helped me. That’s all.”

“Upset? What? Why didn’t you tell any of us you were upset?” She questioned. Weren’t you friends?

“Perhaps you should ask your best friend why I was upset.”

Kate and you had shared numbers before parting with each other as neither of you wished to lose the friendship you had quickly formed. The flight back to Quantico was silent, a tense silence at that. None of that mattered now though as you finally back in the comforts of your own home. Your bed a necessary comfort after the tough week you had, it welcomed you as a lover would, warm and comforting.

Sleep evaded your grasp for the majority of the night causing optic to toss and turn in discomfort. What you were not expecting, especially at 4 a.m, was the abrupt knock at your door. You weren’t expecting visitors. Another three knocks rapped against your door. Your heart rate picked up and you reached for the gun in your bedside table before slipping out of the duvet.

It was better to be safe than sorry.

You barely registered the rain beating against the panes of your windows or the wind whistling a familiar tune. Instead you were focussed on the doorframe that loomed in the dimness of your foyer, daring you to get closer to it. Challenging you to a battle of wills.

You weren’t sure who you expected to be behind the door. Perhaps a rage filled criminal looking for vengeance or a renowned serial killer looking to make a reappearance. What, or should you say who, you weren’t expecting to be stood on the other side of the door was Emily.

…

Emily?

You went to slam the door shut, on,y to be stopped by the toe of a doc marten wedged between your dorm and its frame. How dare she knock on your door at this god awful hour. How dare she stop you from closing it. You did not owe her anything and you certainly would not entertain whatever pitiful display this was.

Furiously flinging the door back open, unconcerned with the bang it made against the wall, you jabbed your finger into her chest, effectively shoving her out of the doorway and back into the hallway. “What on earth are you doing here?” You hissed.

“Please,” she begged, eyes downcast shamefully. “please hear me out.”

“No. I don’t think I will.”

A sudden move almost toppled you over. Emily was on her knees, clinging you like her life depended on it, head nestled against your legs.

“Please!” She cried. “Please, please, please…”

Her sobs were muffled by your pyjama bottoms. You were in a state of shock. First of all, what was she doing here? Second of all, what had made her so upset that she was here, in front of you, down on her knees. Her shoulders were shaking alongside her sobs and you couldn’t help but feel slightly sorry for her.

After all, feelings don’t just disintegrate over night and, as ashamed as you were to admit it, you are still in love with her.

You unintentionally let out a frustrated sigh, which seemed to make Emily even more upset. You weren’t really sure how to deal with the situation you had so carelessly been thrown into, so against your better judgement you pulled Emily inside. She wasn’t making it easy though. It is very difficult to move with an adult holding onto your legs.

“Emily!” You admonished. “I cannot move with you clinging on to me as you are!”

Her form shrunk at your tone and you realised that you needed to go about this a different way.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you.” You whispered gently, free hand reaching out the toy with her hair. “Please, can you let go of me so we can go inside? I’m not going anywhere.”

That seemed to get her attention as her head raised to look at you. Your heart shattered at the broken ‘promise?’ she whispered. How could someone make you feel everything and nothing all at once? Emily Prentiss was an enigma. Five minutes ago you were so certain that you hated her. But now? Now, you weren’t sure of how you felt. You weren’t really sure of anything.

It was difficult but you had managed to get her settled on the couch before placing your gun down. She was lied down with your blanket draped over her slumped form. Her tears had subsided for the time being, not that you could see much of her face with your small salt lamp being the only source of illumination.

You were in the kitchen making hot chocolate for the both of you. You had a feeling that it would be a long night. A long, emotional night. Emily’s cup was almost overflowing with the generous amount of marshmallows and whipped cream you had applied to the top of her drink. Yours was less severe.

Plopping down next to her on the couch, careful not to spill the drinks, you handed hers over. You were grateful for the lack of light as it allowed you to study her face without consequence. She was staring at your fireplace, eyes lingering on the framed photo of you and her on the mantle piece, seemingly lost in thought.

Your apartment groaned in discomfort due to the oncoming assault from the storm outside. Emily’s coat had been hung to dry as you ushered her in, thankfully your legs hadn’t gotten wet. The air was chilly from the wind seeping through the cracks of your windows. Emily was currently covered with the only blanket in the living room. If only you weren’t so considerate.

Your subtle shivers seemed to rouse Emily from whatever daydream she had found herself in.

“We can share the blanket if you want.” Her voice was so quiet that you barely heard it over the storm. She lifted her arm, allowing you to get under the blanket but you declined.

You couldn’t stand being that close to her. Not now. Not after that night.

“I’m alright.” You hadn’t mean to sound so cold.

Emily deflated at your disinterest in being close to her and you were starting to get antsy. Your fingers drummed against your leg in short, consecutive movements- a self soothing gesture you find yourself doing during times of high stress.

“Why are you here?” Blurted out of your mouth before you could stop it. It may have been blunt but you want, no need, answers.

“I wanted to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” You scoffed.

“Please,” she begged, reaching out for your hands. Silently grateful that you didn’t pull away when she put her hands in yours.

“Make it quick.”

“What is she to you?” She asked, sliding onto her knees so she could sit in front of you.

You laughed. Full belly laughed in her face at the audacity she had to ask you that question. “Excuse me? You do not get to ask me that. Not after you had your tongue down another woman’s throat.”

You were beyond angry. How dare she ruin what you have and then come to your apartment in the middle of the night begging to talk. Snatching your hands out of hers, you pushed her away from you and moved through the dark halls of your apartment, wanting nothing more than the comfort of your bed and Emily gone.

“You can leave now, Emily.”

She scrambled up from the ground and ran after you. You wanted to cry as you heard the her crash into your furniture. Not only did she have to break your heart but she had to break your furniture too. One minute you were in your bed alone and the next Emily was on top of you. Clutching onto your shirt, head hurried in your neck as she started crying again.

“Please don’t leave me.”

“We were never together.” You couldn’t help but want to be mean back but there was also a question on the tip of your tongue, itching to be released. “Why’d you do it, Emily? Why’d you go home with her.”

“I didn’t!” Her voice rose exponentially before she controlled her outburst and lowered her tone. “Well, I did but we didn’t do anything. I promise! You have to believe me. She wasn’t you.”

“Why did you do it?” You repeated.

“I was scared. Everything I had ever wanted had finally fallen into my hands and I didn’t know what to do with it. You’re so perfect and I knew that I didn’t, no I don’t, deserve you. I’m sorry.” Her words were kind of officiating to hear through her stutters but you could make them out.

“Sorry isn’t good enough.” You were being petty and you knew it but you wanted her to feel the same gut wrenching feeling that you had. Attempting to sit up, you pushed her off slightly, only for her to clutch onto you even harder. “Perhaps you should go find another woman to entertain yourself with. I’m not sure if a relationship with you is worth pursuing.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

“I can’t trust you, Emily. How do I know you’re not going to run off into another woman’s arms as soon as things get tough?”

“Please, I’ve realised my mistake. You know I’ll never do anything if the sort ever again.”

“I don’t.” You whispered, heart feeling like it was been torn from your chest with every word you spoke.

Your eyes refused to meet hers and she couldn’t stand it. She reached up and cupped your face with both of your hands, gently turning your head so that you would be looking into her eyes. You were shutting her out but she needed you to listen. She needed you to know how much you meant to her.

“You don’t know how much you mean to me. I would defy the laws of the universe if it meant, however selfish that may be, that I got to spend eternity with you. One lifetime is not enough. I will always crave, no need; I will always need that moment more, that second longer, because I am utterly and hopelessly devoted to you.”

“Oh, please.” You scoff. “You were all over her!”

“And you weren’t all over that sheriff?!”

“Kate,” you fumed, jabbing her in the chest with your pouter finger. “Was there for me because you made me cry. You do not get to bring her into this argument when she’s been nothing but kind to me.”

The reminder of the misfortune she had caused you made her look like a wounded puppy, ashamed and guilt ridden. “I love you.” Her confession was accompanied with tear filled eyes and a wobbly voice.

“I’m not sure you do.” You felt as if the world had stopped as you muttered the words. Was this the end for you and Emily? Had your relationship stopped before it truly started?

“Don’t you love me?” She cried, desperate to hear you say it, just once.

“I do.”

“Then why are you pushing me away?!”

“ I don’t want you to hurt me again.” You confessed.

“I won’t.” Was repeated over and over. Soft promised whispered into your ear and lips as you finally accepted her embrace.

Chapped lips met yours, moving against you so softly and slowly as if they were afraid you would bolt away at any sudden movement. Two tear stained faces met each other in the middle, seeking out the comfort only achievable from being close to the other person. Tentative smiles played on your lips as you briefly pulled away, reflecting a mixture of relief and apprehension.

Emily’s hand found the back of your head ands yours the small of her back, the gestures being both reassuring and vulnerable at the same time. Your eyes locked with hers as you both silently acknowledged the mistake she made and, Jody importantly, the lesson she had learned from it.

Your heart felt like it was about to leap into the unknown. The air between you was charged with the whispers of forgiveness and the feeling of heartache beginning to lift. Your touch became Emily’s lifeline, grounding her to the present. You were here and you weren’t leaving.

As your lips met once more, you knew that you and Emily would share a future; one tinged with the promise of redemption and no more heartbreak. The kiss mended broken threads and bridged the gaps that had seemed to have been too vast to fill.

Yes. The two of you were going to be okay.

Chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

#criminal minds #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you

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glitterp0prhaps0dy · 1 month

Text

HeartBreak part 3

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Her hair, a cascade of red-pink, was usually styled upwards, meticulously arranged to maintain her sophisticated image. Yet, in my eyes, its true beauty was revealed when it fell freely, untamed, and wild from resting in our bed or became tousled as I wove my fingers through it, losing myself in its texture.

Her skin sparkled like a constellation of stars, glittering so that whenever sunlight kissed her, she radiated like the brightest beacon in my world. She was my guiding light, the star that led me through the darkest nights. But now, with her absence, shadows have crept into my life, turning my once-illuminated world into an endless night.

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BEEP... BEEP... BEEP…

John Dory's eyes snapped open, an unwelcome greeting from the relentless alarm bug. In a futile attempt to ward off the remnants of sleep, he held his eyelids open with his fingers. But the alarm bug's piercing cry was impossible to ignore. With a quick poke, he silenced its din, bringing a momentary peace to the early morning.

That's when a familiar scent caught his attention, pulling him further from the grasp of sleep. Food was being prepared in his own home. Curious, he slid the curtain aside on his loft to discover the source. Below stood a troll with skin that transitioned from blue to a crystalline texture on his arms and legs. His hair, a unique blend of pink with white roots, was unmistakable. Leaning on a cane, it was Floyd, busy in the kitchen.

John's confusion quickly bubbled to the surface. Why was Floyd still here? And more puzzling, why was he cooking, especially the breakfast dish that held so many memories of their grandmother? It was a recipe steeped in tradition, one that always brought back a flood of nostalgic warmth.

John made his way down the ladder, his movements heavy with sleep. He stumbled toward his brother, his voice tinged with surprise and grogginess, "Floyd?... What are you still... doing here?" he asked, his curiosity evident.

The mentioned troll turned to face John, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Hey JD, how are you feeling?" he inquired, his voice soft yet laden with concern. It was clear from the look on Floyd's face that his worry for John was genuine.

Floyd gently ushered John Dory to the couch, taking a moment to bring over the freshly prepared food. Once he settled down next to John, Floyd turned towards him, navigating the delicate subject with care. "I guess, the conversation back at the bunker... it made you remember her?" His voice was cautious, treading lightly around the edges of a potentially painful memory.

"...yeah." John's response was soft, his gaze fixed on the warm meal before him, avoiding Floyd's eyes. The simplicity of his answer belied the turmoil beneath, hinting at the deep currents of reminiscence and sorrow stirred by the mention of her name.

Floyd's gaze was steady and full of compassion as he continued, "I know it's kind of your thing to keep everything bottled up, to act like everything's okay, to pretend you're alright. But last night... last night I saw you in a way I never have before. You were breaking down, sobbing so hard you eventually passed out. John, I might not know everything that went down between you and the woman in the photo, but I do know holding all that pain inside isn't good for you." Floyd's voice was sincere, each word imbued with concern as he stared intently at John Dory.

John, in turn, couldn't help but feel the weight of Floyd's words. He sulked, a deep, heavy sadness settling over him as he finally met Floyd's gaze. His eyes, usually so good at hiding his feelings, now laid bare the depth of his pain. It was as if Floyd's understanding and concern had breached the walls John had meticulously built around his heart. He looked at Floyd, his expression a mix of gratitude and sorrow, acknowledging the rare moment of vulnerability between them. The lump in his throat made it hard to speak, to express how much it meant to have someone who cared enough to confront him, to offer a shoulder in his darkest times.

Amidst the swell of emotions stirred by Floyd's heartfelt words, John found himself teetering on the edge of opening up further, tempted by the idea of sharing his burden. Yet, the familiar instinct to retreat inward, to shield his deepest wounds from even those who cared for him most, prevailed. He mustered a small, unconvincing smile, the kind he had perfected over the years, and met Floyd's concerned gaze with a semblance of reassurance.

"I'm fine, really, I am," John said, his voice a carefully modulated blend of gratitude and dismissal. Despite the genuine concern reflected in Floyd's eyes, John couldn't shake off the deeply ingrained habit of concealing his pain. The gratitude he felt for Floyd's attempt to reach out, to understand and support him, was real, yet it danced on the surface of his resolve to keep his true feelings locked away. In that moment, John Dory reaffirmed his silent vow to himself, choosing once more to shoulder his pain in solitude, even in the face of Floyd's unwavering brotherly love.

Floyd let out a sigh, a tangible sign of his resignation to the situation, as he continued to eat the breakfast he'd prepared. His glances toward John carried a mixture of sadness and concern, a silent dialogue of worry and love that went unspoken. After they finished their meal, a heavy silence fell between them, only broken by the sound of Floyd's cane as he prepared to leave. "I'm... going to go back to the bunker. See you later, John..."

As he walked towards the door, each step seemed to weigh heavily, marked by a reluctance to leave his brother in such a state. Opening the door, Floyd paused and turned back to John, his expression earnest. "Please, think about what I've said," he implored, leaving those final words hanging in the air as he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

John was left enveloped in the silence of the room, Floyd's plea echoing in his mind. Alone with his thoughts, the weight of their conversation lingered, a reminder of the concern that Floyd had voiced so openly. It was a rare moment of connection, now fading into the quiet of the morning, leaving John to ponder the path forward, alone with his memories and the unspoken promise of support from his brother, should he ever choose to accept it.

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Her laughter, a melody that once filled the air, is now a memory that haunts the silence of my home. She was so small, yet her presence was immense, filling every corner with light and warmth. Her hair, a vibrant shade of dark teal reminiscent of my own, carried the promise of youth and a future untold. It would dance in the breeze as she toddled around, exploring her world with wide-eyed wonder.

Her skin, a mirror of her mother's, sparkled with the same golden shimmer, making her seem like a little sprite, born from the stars. In the sunlight, she was mesmerizing, a tiny beacon of joy and innocence. She was the continuation of a love so profound, a bridge between the past and a future we dreamed of.

But now, in her absence, my world has dimmed, the sparkle has faded, and the melody of her laughter is just an echo in a silent room. She was the light of my life, a brief, beautiful star that burned too brightly to last. With her gone, I'm navigating an endless night, yearning for the dawn that I know will never break

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nettleclanstale · 15 days

Text

MOON 31

This is a written moon!

MOON 31

"Well...They seem healthy enough. Other than this one."

Badgerfern watched Aloesight, his expression grim as the medicine cat checked over the four kits lying by his belly.

He knew. He knew it was bad timing. Peakpaw had died only the day before, and here he is bringing four new kits into camp.

As if he were replacing her.

But he couldn't turn his back on them. They were his kits. How was he supposed to know Peakpaw was going to die?

A feeling of guilt crept up Badgerfern's spine at the thoughts that infested his mind. How could he think that way?

It was only when Aloesight cleared his throat in annoyance that Badgerfern realized he was trying to speak with him.

"What? What's the matter?" He questioned, his ear flicking.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" Aloesight grumbled. He sighed heavily. "By the stars...I was saying that this one," he gestured to one of the kits, a white she-kit with the smallest splash of black and ginger over her eye. "...She's paralyzed. It shouldn't affect her ability to become a warrior if she desires, but...I figured you would want to know."

Badgerfern opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when Aloesight shook his head, his expression hardening.

"I also asked you where these kits came from. Have you been sneaking off AGAIN? Especially after the death of your DAUGHTER!?" Aloesight's voice, usually blunt and stoic, had now formed into a snarl, the fur on his back bristling. "What kind of a father are you!? Why do you-"

"SHE'S WHAT?"

The agonizing wail pierced through the camp, making both toms freeze.

"...Valleywave knows now." Aloesight murmured. He stood, tail lashing as he padded out of the nursery. "You better do everything in your power to fix this, Badgerfern. I can't help you this time."

Badgerfern's heart sank. Looking down at the kits at his belly, he gave them each a gentle nudge with his nose before standing and making his way into the clearing.

Valleywave was collapsed onto the ground, wailing as if her own life was the one ending. Sunpaw sat beside her mother silently, her tail wrapped around her flank.

"...I'm sorry, darlin'." Silverbreak, who was sitting in front of Valleywave, meowed softly. She must've been the one to break the news. "We did ev'rything we could, but it just-"

"Where?" Valleywave asked between sobs, glaring up at Silverbreak. "Where did you put her?"

"She's somewhere safe, we-"

"Do not give my any excuse." Valleywave slowly rose to her paws, the usual light in her eyes gone as she stalked towards the silver she-cat. "Silverbreak, where is my DAUGHTER?"

Silverbreak crouched low to the ground, her ears flattened in submission. "We buried her." She murmured, barely even whispering as she wrapped her tail protectively around her body. "She's gone, darlin'. I'm so sorry."

Valleywave stood there for a moment, stunned and silent. She soon let out a horrible shriek, a sound that made Badgerfern freeze in his place and a chill go down his spine.

"NOOO!!" She screamed, beginning to pace around the clearing. "My baby, my baby, why!? WHY!?" She looked up at the sky. The normally full night sky was now dark and gloomy, as if StarClan itself had disappeared. "CURSE YOU!!" She shouted, her fur bristled. She began to uproot dirt and grass with her claws. "CURSES TO THE STARS!! YOU TOOK HER AWAY FROM ME!!!"

"Mama, please..." Sunpaw bumped her head against Valleywave's shoulder, attempting to guide the wailing she-cat towards the medicine den. "Aloesight can give you poppy seeds, and you can get some rest..."

Valleywave whirled around, glaring at Silverbreak with a fury in her eyes that would forever burn itself into Badgerfern's memory. "YOU DIDN'T LET ME SAY GOODBYE TO HER!!" She exclaimed, not even attempting to hide the snarl in her voice. She attempted to charge at Silverbreak, claws unsheathed, but was quickly stopped by Sunpaw. "YOU'RE HORRIBLE!! I'LL KILL YOU-!!"

Silverbreak remained low, looking up at Valleywave with genuine fear in her eyes. "P-please, I didn't...Valleywave, please-"

Ambershard stepped between Valleywave and Silverbreak. He glared at the tortie she-cat, lashing his tail.

"Go to the medicine den now." He demanded, and Valleywave, still shaking in grief, obliged. She was flanked by Sunpaw, and the two disappeared into tbe medicine den.

Badgerfern slowly took a step back. He turned and went back into the nursery, where Mistlebrook was lying with his sleeping daughters.

"Don't tell her," The large brown tom grumbled. "She's not in the right state. She'll see the kits when the time is right."

Badgerfern nodded, sinking into the comfortable nest of moss. He looked down at the kits, who seemed to have sensed their father's warmth and were now crawling towards his belly once more. He gently nudged the paralyzed she-kit closer to him.

"Do they have names?" Mistlebrook questioned, wrapping his tail around his own litter defensively. "Maybe that will take your mind off of things."

"Well, I have a few names in mind..." Badgerfern murmured. He looked down at the kits. "The black and white she-cat will be Pouncekit, and the white she-cat will be Larkkit."

"Any reason you chose those names?"

"I just liked how they sounded." Badgerfern replied. He turned his head to a small gray and white tom. "...He will be Ivykit."

"And the last one?" Mistlebrook gestured towards the final kit, a small black and white tom. "He looks exactly like you. You couldn't deny him if you wanted to."

Badgerfern hesitated, staring down at the last kit. He was an active little one, his head already lifted as he tried to look around the darkened nursery.

"...I will call him Fallenkit." Badgerfern soon said, giving his tail a quick lash.

"Fallenkit? Why?"

"Because if he is blessed with the title of leader one day, he will be named Fallenstar." Badgerfern's voice was a low growl. "He will serve as a reminder of what we lost today. The day the stars have turned their backs on us...The day the stars have fallen."

Pouncekit, Larkkit, Fallenkit, and Ivykit have joined NettleClan. Larkkit is paralyzed.

Valleywave is grieving. She cannot work under these conditions.

#clangen #warrior cats #wc oc #badgerfern #aloesight #valleywave #ambershard #sunpaw #mistlebrook #Pouncekit #Larkkit #Ivykit #Fallenkit #Silverbreak #Written Moon

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thereceptioniststyles · 2 months

Text

No Control

Present Day

Tears welled in my eyes as I gazed at my therapist, Jo. The weight of my past bore down on me, each memory reopening wounds that seemed deeper than ever. But I couldn't carry this burden any longer; I owed it to myself, to Harry, to let it out.

Jo, my stalwart confidante, had been there through it all. From the shattered remnants of my parents' divorce when I was just 18 to the tumultuous storms of failed relationships and workplace conflicts, she had been my guiding light.

I remembered the first time I met Jo, seven years ago. Now, at 25, she still stood by my side, offering solace and understanding when I felt lost in the darkness of my own mind.

But as I sat there, the weight of my secrets pressing down on me, I found myself unable to speak. My throat tightened, and I was paralyzed, staring blankly at the wall, wishing fervently for time to whisk me away from this moment, to let me forget once more.

"Ayla," Jo's voice pierced through the silence like a lifeline. "It's okay if you're struggling. It's okay if the words won't come. But I can only help you as much as you allow me to."

The word "help" echoed in my mind, leaving me feeling small and vulnerable.

"I... I don't remember," I stammered, my voice trembling with the weight of my own deceit. But Jo's gaze was unwavering, her eyes seeing through my facade, silently urging me to confront the truth I had been avoiding.

"Ayla, what happened next?" Jo's voice pierced through the heavy silence, her gaze steady, urging me to continue.

Taking a deep breath, I mentally anchored myself, summoning the courage to delve into the painful memories that threatened to consume me.

I began to recount the heartbreak, the tears, and the relentless ache that had followed in the wake of Harry's betrayal.

"Harry ruined my life," I declared, the bitterness seeping into my words like poison. I could sense the urge to chuckle in Jo's eyes, but she restrained herself, knowing the gravity of my words. "I thought we had a chance. I believed he would be willing to invest the same effort as I was. After our kiss, I thought he would embrace me with the same fervor I held for him. It felt foolish, Jo, to leave Beck for someone who showed such blatant disregard for my feelings."

My mind wandered back to Harry, his carefree demeanor and his knack for brushing off serious situations with a joke. The thought of how effortlessly he would dismiss the impact of his actions on me gnawed at my soul.

As I sat there, pouring out my heart to Jo, I couldn't help but feel the weight of Harry's absence still haunting me years later, a ghostly presence that lingered in the corners of my mind, mocking the pain he had inflicted.

Past

Restless, I spun in my chair at the front desk, my heart pounding with anticipation for Harry's arrival. We'd been closing shifts together more frequently, and with each passing day, our connection deepened. Despite not knowing him on a profound level, I loved him fiercely. His presence alone was intoxicating—the scent of his cologne lingering in the air, the intensity in his eyes, the way his hands effortlessly ran through his hair. Every detail, every gesture, fueled my adoration. Harry was a complex blend of humor, seriousness, and undeniable charm.

But my affection for him was tested by his effortless flirtations with other women. He had a way of charming them effortlessly, leaving me simmering with jealousy. It seemed harmless until Grace entered the picture. Grace, with her effortless beauty and soft demeanor, had Harry's full attention whenever she entered the room. It was agonizing to watch as she twirled her hair and batted her eyelashes, capturing Harry's affections right before my eyes.

The night everything changed, they arrived together. My mind initially brushed it off as a coincidence until they exchanged a tender kiss at the doorway, sending shockwaves of betrayal through me. My Harry, the man I loved, kissing another woman. Anger bubbled inside me as I watched them, feeling the sting of his recent flirtatious texts still fresh in my mind.

"So," I managed to choke out as he entered, my voice thick with emotion.

"We're not dating, if that's what you think. Just hooking up” he said casually, as if his flippant explanation could erase the hurt.

"Oh," was all I could muster, feeling the weight of his words crushing me. I struggled to find my footing, knowing that one wrong move could shatter whatever fragile connection we had.

"Cool beans," I whispered, my voice barely audible, masking the turmoil raging within me.

"Come on, Ayla, don't play the innocent act," Harry's words cut through the air like a knife, his tone dripping with condescension. "It's just harmless flirting. Haven't you ever flirted with someone you didn't like?"

I shrugged, trying to mask the pain and betrayal coursing through me. Sure, I had flirted before, but it had never felt as public or as intimate as watching Harry cozy up to Grace just days after our own passionate encounter.

I spent the rest of the night in silence, unable to bear the thought of delving deeper into Harry's relationship with Grace. The mere idea of her, knowing she was everything I wasn't, fueled a rage unlike any I had felt before. I had left my boyfriend for Harry, sacrificing a stable relationship for a man who clearly didn't value my loyalty.

As Harry left early, leaving me to close up alone, I sat in solitude, drowning in memories of his touch and the taste of his lips against mine. But amidst the reverie, a bitter realization began to take root: it wasn't me who had ruined what we had, it was Harry. And I would soon learn that he was a master at leaving destruction in his wake, breaking hearts without a second thought.

Yet, despite the hurt and anger, I found myself unable to resist the pull of his charm. As long as he kept coming back to me, I told myself, I could overlook his indiscretions with other women.

Making a silent vow to myself, I resolved to enhance my appearance, invest in alluring lingerie, and strategize ways to capture Harry's heart. Despite the turmoil, my yearning for him only grew stronger, blinding me to the inevitable pain that lay ahead.

All Parts

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rookthorne · 1 year

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐋𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

Bucky was nothing if he wasn't dramatic or pulling off one hell of a stunt, but this one by far shattered any limit you thought he wouldn't break — you just had to hold the fuck on.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ❯❯❯ Street Racer!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ❯❯❯ 2.2k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ❯❯❯ Fluff, highly illegal fun

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ❯❯❯ WELL IT'S TAKEN ALMOST A YEAR, but here is a sequel to Second Nature that has had me in a chokehold.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ❯❯❯ Mirrors by DJSM, Milan Gavris, and Robbe ❯❯❯ P.I.M.P. HEDGEGAARD REMIX by HEDGEGAARD ❯❯❯ Go Down Deh by Spice, Shaggy, Sean Paul

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ❯❯❯ @the-slumberparty Week 4 Challenge — Masterlist

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The alley was dark, and it was deserted–save for the sleek Skyline and Challenger set to pounce, the engines needed only to be started before they’d tear the streets apart. You had no idea how, or why you were doing this. Since that drive with Bucky after his win last time, you were itching to feel that rush of adrenaline again, it was a high like no other.

You had become an adrenaline junkie - so what?

A warmth billowed from your side and you looked over, broken from your reverie. “You ready for this, baby?” Bucky’s voice was a low whisper, and goosebumps broke out over your skin.

“Yeah, I am,” you replied, snaking your arms around his middle so he would hold you.

“I can stop when and if you need to, alright?” You nodded and Bucky squeezed you once, then let go. He looked over his shoulder to Steve. “You ready, punk?”

“Shut the fuck up, jerk,” Steve grinned. “I’ll beat you this time, and you know it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and guided you to his Skyline, opening the door. The bucket seat was hard but it enveloped you, wrapped you tight in its hold; with the racing harness that only the best used, you knew it was safe. “Here we go,” Bucky hummed, adjusting the straps so they’d fit tighter than before. “Not too tight?” You shook your head and he kissed you full on the mouth. The kiss left you breathless and dizzy, adrenaline had started pumping and the car hadn’t even roared to life yet.

You were screwed–totally, unequivocally, desperately screwed.

“Remember, I can stop when and if you need me to. What’s your word, baby?”

The lack of dash lights left Bucky’s face in a dark shadow, but you could feel his piercing gaze, honed in on your lips and flicking up to your eyes. “It’s uh- it’s Dodge.”

A huff of laughter left Bucky and he nodded. “Only punks drive those,” he mused, looking over the belts one last time. “Alright, sit tight.” The passenger door closed and you could see Bucky walk around the Skyline to Steve, who was waiting in his car.

It was likely the last time you would be able to breathe calmly until the end of the night, so you closed your eyes, breathing deeply in through your nose, and out of your mouth. Your heart calmed the beat it hit against your ribs and you felt a semblance of calm wash over you.

Bucky would keep you safe. Bucky wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Bucky was the best racer there was, he wasn’t reckless or foolish, especially when you were in his prized Skyline.

You were gonna be okay.

“You with me, baby?” You jumped and looked next to you. Bucky had just opened the door and he was slipping inside the driver’s seat, a slight frown on his lips as he watched you zoned out–off in your own world where you were not about to be an accomplice nor witness to some highly illegal fun.

“Sorry, yeah, I’m okay,” you rushed to reassure him. “I was just calming down, I know I’m gonna be flying by the seat of my pants in a minute.”

Bucky laughed and turned the ignition, the car roared to life beneath you and quieted into a purr. “Literally.”

The two of you laughed and Bucky strapped himself in. Lights from the dash brightened as the computer loaded, the NOS and specs popping up on the screen by the shifter. “You can put some music on if you want,” Bucky said, switching the steering controls on the screen to drift-

“Wait, what?” You gasped, watching him as plugged in the adjustments. “You- oh god, Bucky-”

“Relax, baby.” Bucky’s warm and callused hand rested on your thigh and he squeezed, the computer abandoned. “It’s only so I can show that punk,” he pointed over his shoulder with his free hand, “what for, he has no idea, but he will figure it out. Pity it’ll be too late.” He snickered and went back to the computer with his other hand, while the other continued to squeeze your thigh reassuringly. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

“Okay,” you whispered, hands starting to tremble. “I trust you.”

Bucky smiled happily and finally brought up the connections when your phone chimed with the notification you were connected. “Give me a badass song that’ll make kicking his ass all the more glorious, baby. I’m counting on you.”

The playlists on your phone lacked anything he could drift to, but you finally settled on one you’d heard on the radio in your not-souped-up car when you were heading to your absolutely normal job. God, please let me not pass out, you willed, feeling your heart speed up when Bucky shifted in his seat and jostled the shifter.

“Now, I need you to keep calm, and I need you to keep breathing, baby,” Bucky said softly, cupping your cheek. “You’re safe, and I’ve got you.” You nodded fervently and wiggled in your seat, pushing your back against the arch. “Alright, let’s go have some fun.”

The Skyline revved and you whimpered, exhilarated when the shifter pushed into first gear. A roar came from the Challenger and sat as still as a stone while Bucky drove slowly out the alley and onto the street, the flashing and bright lights bouncing off the gunmetal like a painted neon.

“Pull up at the lights, Stevie,” Bucky said suddenly, and you looked over to see him holding his phone before putting it in the cradle, Steve’s face lighting the screen up on a voice call.

You stared wide-eyed as Bucky’s aura changed from soft, loving boyfriend, to competitive and cut-throat racer, his brow set and a slight frown settled on his lips, concentration and pride rolling off him in waves–it was fucking hot, you couldn’t lie.

“This is some fast and the furious shit, Bucky,” you blurted, and Bucky howled a laugh, his nose scrunching up at the wide smile on his once frowning lips.

“Did she just say what I think she just said?” Steve asked.

“She did!” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head.

You grinned and gripped the door rail tighter. “But it’s true!”

“Okay, okay, you’re not wrong, baby,” Bucky said, smiling. “But now I need you to hang on.”

“Oh, god,” you breathed, and Bucky giggled–the shithead giggled. “Don’t make fun of me, you dick!”

“Alright, are we racing or what?” Steve called over the phone, interrupting Bucky’s sudden mischievous smirk.

The line clicked and you realised Bucky hung up on his best friend. He turned to you and gave you a look as a last warning, and you nodded, taking a deep breath. “Play the song,” Bucky said quickly and you grabbed your phone and cursed when you fumbled and dropped it. It fell between the console and the seat. Bucky made a small soothing noise and said, “You’re alright, baby, calm down.”

The words settled over you like a blanket and the vice around your chest loosened. Phone in hand finally, you scrolled and scrolled ‘till you reached the song you had chosen. “Okay, here you go.”

Music blasted over the speakers and Bucky grinned, revving the Skyline to the beat. Steve was next to you and you looked over to find him staring and once you caught his gaze, he rolled his eyes dramatically.

A loud beep sounded from the dash and you looked towards it, and then at Bucky. “Hold on, baby girl,” he murmured, hand moving over the shifter and the other gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white.

Oh, fuck.

The light turned green and everything blurred. Tires squealed under you and next to you and the Challenger took off like a bullet, the Skyline not far behind. Cars were honking while Bucky weaved between them, a determined snarl on his expression as the lights from Times Square lit up his face.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe as Bucky shifted gears and the Skyline redlined, the whistle of the turbo screaming over all the noise; it was a mechanical symphony you would never get tired of.

“Son of a bitch,” Bucky growled and you watched as Steve swerved around a group of stopped cars wide enough that his back end kicked out, smoke billowed from his tires and you could feel the smugness in his control. “The punk knew, fucking-” The Skyline kicked back and you squealed, the back end following the Challenger’s lead and Bucky held the wheel steady, eyes flicking between the gauges and road.

Blood pumped furiously in your ears and you couldn’t grasp anything, thoughts flew through your mind faster than you could wrangle them but one stayed, playing over and over; is this what it felt like to be alive?

“Come on!” Bucky yelled, forcing the Skyline to redline and roar with power around another group of stationary cars. “You bastard, Steve!” The lights of the Square had gone and it was dark, no neon lights to guide your way around the circuit.

You laughed breathlessly, watching as the Challenger slowed just enough for the Skyline to kiss the bumper before speeding up again; an arrogant taunt and scream of ‘Kiss my ass, jerk!’ if you’d ever seen one. “Go get him, Buck!”

“Oh, I fuckin’ will,” Bucky growled. The car turned to the side abruptly and you gasped, scrabbling to hold on. It was a side alley, dark and empty but full of twists and turns. “Can’t outsmart me, punk.”

“Oh, god!”

The Skyline bottomed out in the dip of the alley and sparks flew, but Bucky kept going, that same snarl on his lips as he worked the shifter. “Hang on!”

You were flying, you were fucking flying- The Skyline jerked to the side and the engine stuttered with the force of the drift. Colours were filling your vision and you realised that somehow Bucky had circled back to Times Square. “There’s Steve!” You yelled, pointing back to the lone Challenger tearing down the road.

Bucky’s grin was wolfish, manic and bloodthirsty for victory. The steering wheel spun with unbelievable speed and you faced forward, straight as an arrow, and in the lead. “Go, Bucky, go!��

Your push seemed to be what Bucky needed. The dash computer lit up and Bucky slammed a finger against it before you could read what it said, then a strange sound came from behind you, a hissing sound-

The Skyline shot forward and the hissing noise got louder, while the shifter rattled with the force. Bucky had used the NOS–in Times fucking Square.

“Bucky!” You yelled, breathing fast and clutching the door rail and console for dear life. Bucky only chuckled before pressing his boot hard to the floor, the accelerator carving a new home with the force.

A hairpin turn was fast approaching and you chanced a glance at the side mirror, Steve was still on Bucky’s tail but there was no hope for him to take the lead now. “Baby, hang on,” Bucky said just as the NOS expired, and his hand flew from the wheel to the shifter, his other hand having a titanium grip on the wheel.

You forced your body to relax, only using your strength to hold the rail and console, and you were flying again. The Skyline had kicked to the side, the back end making an arch of burnt rubber while Steve fought like hell to take first place. It was surreal, you were flying and you couldn’t help but laugh, adrenaline fuelled and absolutely on a high.

That same set of lights that only a few minutes ago you had sat stationary at came into view, and you could feel the excitement pouring in waves of Bucky–he was going to win.

“Go, Bucky!” You yelled over the music, the beat still thumping through the speakers. “We’re gonna win!”

The engine roared and the turbo whistled as soon as Bucky pushed his boot to the floor again, the pedal slamming against the metal floor. “Damn fuckin’ right we are, baby girl,” Bucky growled, weaving around traffic.

It was both a surprise–though not really, when flashing red and blue lights appeared behind you. Bucky stiffened and narrowed his eyes. “Fucks sake,” he groaned.

You were panting from the adrenaline and your heart seized–cops?

Bucky’s ringtone sounded and you scrambled to answer it, as soon as you did, Steve’s voice boomed through the phone. “What are we doing, Buck?”

“I am fuckin’ winning this race, and then we’re gonna have some fun with these pigs. Follow my lead.” The line clicked and the Skyline’s tail dipped as Bucky downshifted.

It was a blur as you passed under the stop lights you had started at, and you couldn’t grasp that Bucky had in fact, won. Adrenaline burned through every fibre of your body and you were suddenly gasping for air- it was too much, it was too mu-

“Baby, calm,” Bucky said firmly, and he chanced a glance at you. “We’re alright, do you need me to stop? I can lose these pigs. You know the word-”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you rushed, moving a hand to his shoulder so you could feel him, and it worked. The breaths leaving you turned measured but fast, and you grinned, an identical wolfish grin to his own. The change of your demeanour made Bucky pause and he was about to speak, though you stopped him. “Show them what for.”

Bucky’s grin was as bright at the lights above you, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “You said it, baby.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭|𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #navy and roo's sleepover #rookthorne's works #Luminescent

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roserobineva · 22 days

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SOUTHERN COMFORT | TLOU OC x Abby Anderson Fluff

Alina and Abby get drunk and end up in the same bed together...

A thick, rich tang hung onto our cold evening breath, losing its way as I’m sure my head was deprived of air. I felt light, weightless, yet simultaneously heavy and tired, but it was as comforting as a woollen blanket. There was a chill in the air, but we didn’t feel it. Stumbling our way back from the aquarium, Abby, Manny and I had snuck out of the stadium and spent the evening drinking ourselves into oblivion, as teenagers do. But it had been one of the best nights of my life. Was it monumentally stupid of us to be stumbling through ruined cities riddled with infected and seraphites at dead of night? Of course it was. However, I think the last thing we wished to think about was death. There had been no lack of that in our short lives, and any moment spent avoiding reality was a moment well spent.

We made it to the back of the stadium, Abby and I having trawled Manny half the way there with the last of our sober strength. I was glad for her help; without her brawn I probably would’ve resigned him to a ditch. We made it halfway to Abby and Manny’s room before he began drunkenly, and very loudly, blabbering in what sounded like a concoction of broken Spanish and English.

“Abby, sabes que me amas, tuck me in when we get home?” Manny slurred with a twang of humour. In a desperate attempt to shut him up, Abby slapped her hand over his mouth and tugged him into a headlock.

“Shut up, you fucking idiot!” She stage-whispered, an impish giggle worming its way into her tone, making her sound less authoritative and more like a misbehaving child. Simultaneously, I was forced to take the precaution of crossing my legs, the situation making me laugh harder than I were allowed. However our hijinks were curtly interrupted by a crisp crescendo of footsteps echoing through the stairwell. Obviously our feeble attempts at sneaking had woken someone. Who? We didn't dare find out.

Abby’s warm hand guided the small of my back, frantically pushing us into her dorm, which I was unaware we had reached. I just about stayed on my feet from the force. In one swift movement, we were in and the door was artfully shut. We all remained still, like stunned varmint. The methodic drum of hardware boots vacillating between each end of the hallway kept us still. We actively avoided looking at each other, sharing the knowledge that if we did, we’d wouldn't keep composure. Eventually, the footsteps receded and descended back down the stairwell. Muscles I didn’t know were tensed relax themselves.

“Santa mierda, that was a close one.” Manny uttered, with the most clarity I had heard him speak with all night.

“I thought we were fucked,” I chuckled, glancing over at Abby. She was smiling, flushed with adrenaline and alcohol. Our eyes connect, for a second. And it’s just us. But only for a second. The violating screech of Manny’s squeaky mattress pierced our intimate moment. We both looked over to see him already passed out on his bed. The adrenaline from our close encounter had sobered me slightly, but I was grateful for it. A double take confirms that Manny is knocked out cold, and my eyes travelled back over to Abby. She was now sat on her bed, sluggishly taking off her coat and boots. My eyes traced her hands as she unpicked her laces. They travelled up and up until they reach her eyes which were now looking into mine. I expected some awkwardness, but it never arrived. We could’ve stayed there forever, absorbing each other features, absorbing the bittersweetness of that moment. We both understood what was happen, but neither were ready to admit it were so.

Overwhelmed, I broke the connection, scared of what may happen if I let it linger. As I walked over to her, I stay mindful of the heaviness of my footsteps. I awkwardly place myself on the bed next to her, our skin barely touching, but it felt electric. She doesn’t yet acknowledge me, too focused on escaping those uncomfortable combat boots. She concealed it, but seemed just as anxious. My gaze was fixed on her, magnetic. I couldn’t look away. She had no idea how perfect she looked. She didn’t even have to do anything.

Finally, our eyes reconnect. It’s just as overwhelming. Her lips part, she wants to say something. She doesn’t. I try to break the uncomfortable silence.

“I don’t know if I’ll make it back to my room tonight.” The threat of being caught hovering over me. I gestured to the door, but her eyes don’t break from mine.

“Stay then. There’s room.” That sentence sucked the air from her, like it was the last thing to exit her mouth. Her dying wish. I nodded. Nothing else needed to be said. Despite the telling quiet, I feared getting caught more than I feared sharing a bed with Abby. Although the thought set a boulder-like weight in the pit of my stomach.

I didn’t have sleep clothes on me, (obviously) so nicked one of Manny’s many shorts and T-shirts. Not the first time I’d been subjected to his musty laundry, but it’s more appropriate than going nude. By the time I had changed, Abby was already snug under the duvet. Apprehension took over. This felt wrong, more so than sneaking out drinking. An intruding sensation of disgust took me over, churning and bubbling in my stomach, and my dads voice rang in my ears.

'The acts of the flesh are obvious,' Do you remember the rest?

Abby's voice disperses his heinous words, "Are you getting in or...?”

I refused to let him ruin such a good day. A forced smile to crossed my face, and I slid in beside her. The duvet was warm from the heat of her body, which began pleasantly coaxing me to sleep. I felt a shift as she turned over to face me, our bodies so close it stung. A youthful, exciting static built between us, or maybe it was just the remaining buzz of alcohol.

“So, did you have fun this evening?” She whispers, an anxious yet hopeful glint in her voice.

“I did you know. I really did.” I pause. “For the first time in a while I actually enjoyed myself.”

She smiles, “See, I told you it would be nice. You need to believe me more.” We shared a gentle laugh, a genuine laugh. Something only she could evoke from me.

“I do. I’m just scared to.” The sentence escapes me, I didn’t intend to say it, bet it rolled off my tongue like a snowflake. That snowflake would soon become a snowball. "Why? What's so scary?" She queries. Cautiousness holds me close, but for once I refuse. I break it's grasp, maybe it's the alcohol talking but I want to be brave. I want her to break me down. "Because no one has given me a reason to feel safe with them."

"Not even me?" She snickers, masking her hurt.

"No... you're different." I hope that reassures her.

We spoke deep into the night, but time ran from us and we didn’t care to compete with it. I was sharing things that had never left my mouth let alone the depths of my mind. Abby already knew so much of me, but that was my gift to her. She earned my trust just as my cousin did. She was as good as family. Better than.

“I have a question.” I wait for her with exhausted ease. I’d tell her just about anything at that moment.

“Why do you trust me so much? Out of everyone. Why me?”

I could tell this was a self indulgent question, but I was happy to answer.

“You tried the hardest. You actually cared.” A flicker of confusion crosses her face, “People care about you, the others care so much?”

“Of course they do, that’s indisputable. But you cared the most. Everyone else would’ve easily forgotten me. But you didn’t. Even when I’d hide myself away, put my walls up, you did everything in your power to break them down. For the first time, you made me feel wanted... in a good way.”

She was silent for a second, stone faced, drinking in what I had said. Her expression shifted, it was solemn and tender and loving. Almost motherly. It took me aback. Her hand shifted from beneath the duvet and up to my face, the tips of her fingers brushing my cheek. She cupped it and used her thumb to carefully stroke my cheek. Her touch made time stop, the world around me disappeared into swirling colours.

“You’re always wanted Alina. I’ve always wanted you.” The words just about escape her lips they’re so quiet. But they resonate with me louder than anything else I had heard. Before I could respond she pulled me closer to her and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. Like second nature, I rested my face on her collar. Soon we’re both asleep, blissfully unaware of the world we survive in. It was just me and her. She had a knack for making me feel this way.

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walkswithmyfather · 3 months

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‭‭Psalm‬ ‭34:1‭-‬8‬ ‭(WEB)‬‬. “I will bless the LORD at all times. His praise will always be in my mouth. My soul shall boast in the LORD. The humble shall hear of it and be glad. Oh magnify the LORD with me. Let’s exalt his name together. I sought the LORD, and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears. They looked to him, and were radiant. Their faces shall never be covered with shame. This poor man cried, and the LORD heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles. The Lord’s angel encamps around those who fear him, and delivers them. Oh taste and see that the LORD is good. Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.”

“The Guiding Light of God’s Deliverance” by In Touch Ministries:

“When you are afraid, give God your fears and trust Him to provide the strength and peace you need.”

“During times of trial and uncertainty, worry can engulf our heart. But today’s passage serves as an unwavering beacon of hope: “I sought the Lord and He answered me, and rescued me from all my fears” (v. 4). When we feel vulnerable and assailed by doubt, God stands ready to be our guiding light, leading us through the darkness of fear into the comforting embrace of His love.

Like a lighthouse whose beam pierces the night, God’s presence offers reassurance in our life. When we earnestly seek Him, pouring out our fears and worries, He answers with a love that transcends our understanding. In the warmth of His compassion, we find strength to face our fears head-on, knowing we are not alone on a dark sea. God’s deliverance doesn’t mean our circumstances will change. Instead, it offers a transformative inner peace that steadies our mind and heart. It empowers us to walk through life’s challenges with the realization that our faith in Him is stronger than the grip of fear.

Let us take solace in knowing that even when we feel afraid, God is ever-present, guiding us with His divine light. In the darkest moments, His love shines through, illuminating the path ahead. As we seek Him, He becomes our rock, our refuge, and our source of courage.”

(Photo by Jonny Gios at Unsplash)

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leiawritesstories · 10 months

Text

dial drunk

inspired by "dial drunk" by noah kahan. if you know the song, you know how much angst is about to happen. @backtobl4ck thank you for encouraging me ;)

Word count: ~1k

A/N: PAINNNNNNN. Frederick is very very proud of himself.

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

The shifting flashes of red and blue police lights in his rearview mirror yanked Rowan from his half-unconscious stupor back into reality. The siren caught up with him seconds later, piercing through the fog of intoxication clouding his senses. Fuck, how much had he drunk? How many empty bottles littered the floor of his kitchen?

Hadn’t he sworn, months ago, to lock the alcohol away? Hadn’t he promised someone he loved more than life itself that he would stop drinking to forget?

Even though he had, that someone had broken him so badly he’d gone for the liquor cabinet, grabbed bottles at random, and poured the alcohol down his throat until the burn faded into numbness and the agony of the evening faded into the liquor-induced fog. Then he’d climbed into his pickup and left–he had to get the fuck away, clear his head. Part of him wouldn’t care if he drunk-drove himself off the side of the road, if he crashed and burned and died a nameless drunk.

Guided by the police cruiser behind him, Rowan pulled off to the side of the road and stopped, keeping his hands on the wheel. A police officer got out of the cruiser and walked up to his door.

“Open the door, son.” The officer’s deep, calm voice was familiar, even through the haze of alcohol and anguish blurring his mind.

Blearily, Rowan threw his pickup into park, set the parking brake, unlocked his door, and opened it. “Have my li-licensh’ here, sir,” he slurred.

“Rowa, I don’t need your license.” Ah fuck, just what he needed–Rhoe Galathynius finding his daughter’s boyfriend–ex-boyfriend now–drunk driving down Main to get the hell out of town after a breakup that shattered both of them into a thousand tiny shards.

“Sh-sir?” Rowan was confused.

“You’re drunk, Rowan.” Rhoe’s voice remained infinitely patient. “I have to take you in for the night, son.”

Son. The endearment stabbed a barbed spear straight through the raw ruins of Rowan’s heart. Groggily, he shut off his engine, stepped out of the truck, and would have fallen on his face if Rhoe hadn’t caught him.

“Here.” Rhoe steadied him. “Come on, son. It’s just for the night; you’ll be able to go home once you’ve sobered up.” Holding open the back door of the cruiser, he nudged Rowan inside. “You get one emergency call.”

“Aelin!” Rowan blurted.

“What?”

“Aelin,” he repeated, hoarsely. “My call.”

Unidentifiable emotions flashed across Rhoe’s fatherly face. “Okay.” He handed Rowan his phone. “Go ahead.”

Rowan tapped Aelin’s icon, heard her ringtone start to sound, and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

“Th-this is Aelin.” Her voice–raw, rough, and creaky the way it was after she’d been sobbing–crackled through the phone.

“Fireheart?” Rowan choked out.

Click. Beep.

She hung up.

Blindly, Rowan grabbed for his phone, but Rhoe held it out of his drunken reach. “I’m sorry, son.”

“Please,” Rowan begged, tears spilling out of his eyes. “Le’mme try again, sir, fuck, I swear I’ll cooperate.” His voice broke. “She–I–I need–she’ll call back, I swear.”

Grief and empathy shone in Rhoe’s kind eyes. “I can’t. I’m sorry, son.”

“Fuck!” Rowan buried his head in his hands. “Please!”

Rhoe’s strong hand rested on the younger man’s shoulder. “Why do you want to do this to yourself?” he asked, gently. Rowan could hear the muted pain in the older man’s words, the deep love Rhoe had for his daughter and for the man she loved, and he knew how much it must tear the man up to arrest his daughter’s boyfriend for drunk driving and then end up going home to a broken, emotionally bleeding version of his daughter.

“S’done,” Rowan slurred, his vision blurring so badly he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep until the pounding in his head went away.

Rhoe let out a soft sigh. “Stay here, son.” He left the back door open, stepped aside, and spoke to his patrol partner in a low voice for a few minutes. When he returned, he helped Rowan out of the cruiser instead of closing the door and heading off to the jail like Rowan thought he’d do. “I’m going to need your keys, son.”

Rowan blinked. “Huh?”

“Your keys.” Rhoe held out his hand, huffing out a short breath at Rowan’s complete confusion. “I’m going to drive you home in your truck, son, but I’ll need your keys to drive.”

“Oh.” Fumbling a little, Rowan handed over his keys. Rhoe unlocked the pickup, helped Rowan up into the passenger side, buckled his seatbelt, closed the door, and went around to the driver’s side. A moment later, they were back on the road, headed towards Rowan’s house. “Sir?”

“Hmm?” Rhoe glanced towards him, his face illuminated in the amber wash of the traffic lights.

“I-I’m sorry.” Rowan closed his eyes and sank back into the passenger seat. “I’m so sorry.”

Rhoe was quiet for a long few moments. “Lock the cabinet back up, son,” he finally said. “It won’t do anything good for you.” He reached Rowan’s house, pulled into his driveway, parked, helped Rowan out of his truck, and walked him into his house. “Son.”

“Yeah?”

Rhoe pressed Rowan into a brief, tight hug. “Don’t beat yourself up too badly.” He closed the front door, leaving Rowan alone in his house once again.

Rowan made it into the kitchen, shuffling slowly with his hand on the wall to guide him and keep himself upright, and swore at the sight of the bottles on the counter and the floor. So many. Maybe that was partially because of his hazy vision, but still–so many.

He left the kitchen. He’d deal with that mess…later. Right now, he needed sleep.

He only made it as far as the living room couch before his legs buckled and he half-collapsed onto the couch, barely remembering to kick off his shoes before he flopped down on his side, closed his eyes, and tumbled into the sweet black oblivion of drunken sleep.

The last thing he saw before deep sleep claimed him was Aelin’s heartbreakingly beautiful face, her stunning eyes lined with tears, her soft, broken plea for him to “just leave” spilling from her lips.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #or maybe not mwahaha #the angst monster tag #ANGST #AAAAAAANGST #pain pain pain #this isn't even a little bit fluffy #i'm so sorry NO I'M NOT #FREDERICK YOU STOP THAT #DAMMIT FREDERICK #tw: alcohol use #based on a noah kahan song

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consultjohnwatson · 6 months

Text

The Adventure of the Speckled Sound

The incessant patter of London rain against the windows formed a backdrop to an unusual evening of solitude in the otherwise busy apartment. With Sherlock being out and about, Rosie asleep, and Mrs Hudson gone to see Mrs Turner, I figured I could better indulge myself by opening that expensive bottle of red wine and finishing reading a long-neglected book.

After I settled in, I brought the sturdy glass to my lips, and I realised that I found it difficult to suppress a satisfying sigh. This was good. This is how rainy weeknights should be spent. The muscles in my lower back gave an appreciated sigh after I sunk further into the cushions. Ever since I helped my sister move, my back has been sore and complaining. Maybe after a quiet night in, tucked away underneath a warm, cosy blank-

The unexpected buzz of an incoming message disrupted my meditative thoughts. I tried to ignore it at first, determined to not even spare my phone on the side table a glance. I was set on finishing this chapter that I had been reading over and over. No one was going to keep me from-

The thing buzzed, and buzzed again. The taunting pattern of sounds told me I was being summoned.

Urgent. S

Matter of life and death.

Meet me at 12 Kensington Crescent.

With an annoyed groan, I raised myself up. I think I may have applied a bit more force than the text buttons needed to inform my summoner that my daughter was fast asleep and that I was in no state to lea-

The unexpected ring of the doorbell interrupted what would have been a perfect outlet for my bottled-up frustration, only to increase my annoyance by tenfold.

Molly.

Hurry up!

“For Heaven’s Sake!” Didn’t I have any say on how I was spending my nights? ‘Apparently not, Watson’, I thought, because I found myself grabbing my coat and hurrying down the stairs in an automatic movement of limbs.

I opened the door to reveal a rather dishevelled and sheepish-looking Molly. “Hi?” Her unkempt hair and the state of her clothes told me she’d dressed hastily. Poor woman.

“You don’t have to do this,“ I tried, but she’d already brushed past me and was through the door before I could even think of sending her on her way again.

She turned to give me one of her smiles I had always found difficult to interpret. “I really don’t mind, John. It was just me and Toby anyway. Sherlock wants you to hurry, though. We don’t want to leave the boss waiting,” she tried in an uplifting tone of voice. I nodded in defeat as I watched her ascend the stairs, my fists de-clenching.

Eleven minutes and 20 seconds later, I found the person who disrupted my quiet night. He was pacing the damp street restlessly, his piercing blue eyes ablaze with anticipation. It had stopped raining in this part of town and as I walked closer, I was surprised to see that a rather fragile-looking woman was standing on the pavement behind him. Walking towards the pair, I saw how the woman’s eyes followed the detective’s every movement. She held herself in a rather tense hug. My eyes were drawn to her left hand on which a gemstone appeared to catch the light of the street lamp every time she moved to keep herself warm. The anxious expression on her face didn’t bother me as much as the fact that she was clothed in nothing else but what appeared to be her nightgown.

“John!” Sherlock exclaimed, barely containing his excitement as he strode over to where I had left the cab. “You should cycle more.”

“Sorry. What?” I found it difficult to tear my eyes off the freezing woman.

I felt an impatient tug on my arm. “It took you 3,5 minutes longer than I expected. You’re getting slow,” the sound of his deep baritone told me he had the audacity to smirk. Not giving Sherlock the satisfaction of defending my physique, I pointed towards his female company, “Who’s this? She’s freezing! She’ll catch pneumonia standing here without a coat in this weather!”

“Who?” Sherlock turned around abruptly, “Ah. Yes. I forgot,” and guided me back to the pavement. “Come and meet Helen Stoner. Miss Stoner, this is my- John.”

“Aren’t you freezing?” On a closer look, the woman named Helen was as pale as snow, and the dark circles underneath her haunted eyes told me she had lost several nights of sleep. Sherlock, however, seemed to be unfazed by the woman’s appearance and was determined to talk me up to speed about this “matter of life and death”.

“Miss Stoner emailed me this morning and is under the impression she will meet her end tonight. If we don’t intervene, that is,” he added in an afterthought.

“What?”

An irritated sigh followed and I believed Sherlock muttered something under his breath that he didn’t dare to repeat at a higher volume. “We are standing outside her estate, John.” Sherlock then pointed towards an imposing building that towered above us. Night had now fully settled in, so I found it difficult to really make out its size. Considering the neighbourhood, I gathered it must be a grand building, a family estate. The building was barricaded and almost overgrown by trees and bushes, making it look almost daunting in the dark. Since there was a dim light glowing behind one of the small dormer windows, I could see that there was an attic that spanned the width of the entire house.

I locked eyes with my friend, “Then why don’t we go inside?”

“No!” That was the first time Helen spoke, making both our heads turn. “I won’t go in. Please. Not alone,” she begged us.

Sherlock walked over towards her and stopped a few inches away from her frightening form. “Helen has seen death, John,” he whispered as his hands covered hers where they were still cupping her upper arms in a tight embrace. “She saw her twin sister die in her very own bedroom one month ago. A fortnight before her sister’s marriage, in fact.”

The poor woman was crying now and I found myself walking over towards her as well, covering her thin, heaving shoulders with my own coat. I watched her eyes fill with renewed fear as she spoke of the chilling events that had unfolded in the house we were standing in front of. In a shaky voice, Helen revealed an unnerving tale of nightly disturbances her sister Julia had endured before her death. Each night around midnight, she told us, her sister had heard a strange, high-pitched sound, like a haunting melody, coming from somewhere in her sister’s bedroom. After several sleepless nights, Helen decided to stay with her desperate sister. But those nights had come and gone without any disturbance, so Helen had quickly brushed her sister’s story off as something that had been brought on by cold feet.

Precisely two weeks before Julia’s wedding, Helen learned just how wrong she had been to form that conclusion. After midnight, a loud scream had woken Helen from her slumber, who recalled how she’d stumbled out of bed and had run towards her sister’s room, only to find that the door was locked on the inside. Helen remembered how she’d screamed for her stepfather to come and help her. But after they’d kicked in the door, it had already been too late.

They’d found Julia sprawled on the blue, thick carpet, her eyes open in a motionless fear and her mouth formed in a soundless scream. “As if she died from fear,” Sherlock finished. I looked away from Helen to see how the detective had steepled his hands in front of his lips, his gaze fixated on the top floor of the building. “Ever heard of people mentioning hearing a speckled sound before, John?”

“A speckled sound? I’ve never heard people describe sounds as being speckled.” I looked back at Helen, who then withdrew a small notebook from one of her dressing gown’s pockets. “It’s the last thing my sister wrote in her diary.” She showed me the last page on which ‘it’s the speckled sound’ had been hastily scribbled. “What does it mean?”

“No idea as to yet,” Sherlock appeared to watch the attic closely. “Tell John what happened next, Helen.”

I felt Miss Stoner wobble and my hands tried to steady her. “The sound. It’s back.” Her voice broke and she inhaled sharply before she continued almost underneath her breath, “I hear it too.”

A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed a few times in an attempt to make my voice sound steadier than I actually felt at that moment. “When did you start hearing it?” Helen locked eyes with me and I felt her despair fall on my shoulders as a heavy cloak. “Last night. I immediately ran out of my room and stayed in the living room after that.” My hands tightened around her, and when I felt her warm breath ghost my cheek, I realised I had pulled her a bit closer towards me.

“Let’s find this speckled sound!” Sherlock’s sudden demand startled us and my hands fell abruptly to my sides. I glanced towards the detective who was already striding towards the estate in a hurry.

Miss Stoner and I hurried to catch up with him and as we approached the front gate, Sherlock changed direction. “We’re going around the back. No need to alarm the landlord.”

Confused, I steered Helen in front of me before we followed Sherlock around the building. “You’ve been here before?” I whispered, suddenly even more aware of how unkempt the grounds were. It would take weeks, maybe months for any gardener to tame the wild grass, bushes and overhanging branches of the old trees bracketing the building and garden. Whoever was in charge of the estate was doing a very poor job managing it.

“No. But there’s always a back door.”

“You said there’s a landlord?” I hated not knowing all the details at the start of a case. Sherlock knew I hated not knowing, yet he chose to throw me into the deep anyway.

“You and I have met the doctor digitally. He seems very amiable.”

I stopped in my tracks. “You’re kidding me. That Roylott fellow we talked about? Are you his stepdaughter?”

“Sssh!” Sherlock stopped abruptly, causing Helen to bump into him. “Key?” Without looking behind him, the detective held out his gloved hand for Helen. The poor woman complied hastily, allowing Sherlock to open the back gate with more care than I had ever seen. He held the small door open for our client, but as I made an attempt to follow, he let it fall into my face, suddenly less concerned about making a sound.

Teeth clenching, I caught the decaying wooden door and opened it as quietly as I could to let me through as well. I set out to follow the pair, who had already gone inside through one of the open terrace doors. As I crept through what appeared to be the dining room, I heard the low tones of Sherlock’s instructions in front of me. “You will stay downstairs, Helen. I believe you have medical services on speed-dial? John and I will go to your room. If there’s anything amiss, you’ll call whatever you need immediately.”

“Wait. What? And leave her here alone?” I tried to get Sherlock to look at me, but he didn’t turn around to face me. I looked at Helen, a powerless feeling coming over me as my eyes fell on her lithe, helpless form. Something or someone wanted this poor girl to die. Should we really leave her alone at this hour?

“John!” Sherlock’s hiss disrupted my depressive brooding and, with a brief, Duchenne smile, I left Helen and followed my friend.

I believe Sherlock and I have never been more quiet before as we inspected the rooms upstairs. We finally found Helen’s room. The unmade bed unmistakably pointed out to us this was the room she’d tried to sleep in.

Sherlock turned on the light before he ventured inside, expecting me to follow. Still avoiding my gaze, Sherlock removed his gloves, scarf and coat, and set out to inspect the door, floor, walls and window meticulously. Normally, he’d throw his observations and deductions at me, but now he remained unnervingly silent.

“Go sit on the bed and turn on the bedside lamp. In a few minutes’ time, I will make a noise that indicates Helen is back in her room and shortly after that, I will turn off the main light. Whatever you do, John, it’s of the utmost importance that you’ll be vigilant. Can you, John, be vigilant?”

“Will you look at me?” I answered, crossing my arms and ankles as I leaned back against the bedpost.

Sherlock turned and watched me with raised eyebrows. I decided to press through, “You’re cross at me. Why?”

A scoff and an averted gaze confirmed my suspicion, “Now is not the time for this. A woman’s life, our lives are at stake.”

“Then tell me what’s going on. I’d rather die knowing what I did to upset you than-”

“-I’m not upset!” Sherlock whirled around. If he’d still been wearing his coat, I’m sure it would have billowed behind him.

Shaking my head, I snorted, “Right. You’re not looking at me, throwing doors in my face-”

“-You’re not taking this case seriously!” The detective’s hiss sounded so venomous, it was my turn to lift my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

Sherlock came to stand next to me, his hands on his hips as he stared down at me. “You were flirting with our client, John.”

Baffled, I opened my mouth but closed it again. I didn’t want to look like a fish gasping for air.

Though, to be fair, I often felt that way around the detective nowadays.

For someone who was so set on informing the world about his romantic cluelessness, it struck me as hilarious that he thought he’d presumably caught on to something between me and Helen. I bit my bottom lip in an effort to suppress the smile that was so desperately tugging at the corners of my mouth. It was no use, of course, Sherlock noticed it anyway.

“It’s good to know you find dying funny.”

I covered my mouth with both hands in an attempt to smother my laugh. “God, you’re jealous. You’re jealous of a dying woman,” I said as quietly and as seriously as I could.

“Well, it’s good she’s dying then- Shh!” Sherlock sat down next to me abruptly, one of his hands now covering my mouth as well. “We have to be very quiet from now on, John,” he whispered in clipped tones. While I tried to be vigilant, as he’d instructed me to be, I found myself to be very vigilant of all the seconds his fingers were pressing against my lips.

After he lifted his left wrist to check the time, the detective’s fingers left my mouth and he raised himself off the bed. His eyes drifted across the room before he walked over to Helen’s desk and took her chair to the left corner of the room. As if he were a spider creeping up to his prey, Sherlock stood on the chair and raised both his hands to feel across what appeared to be a ventilation system. “Bring me what’s in my coat.”

Knowing it was futile to try and continue our previous conversation, I resigned my fate and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. From Sherlock’s left coat pocket, I retrieved a roll of gaffer tape and a roll of garbage bags. “What-”

“-Quickly.” In muted tones, Sherlock beckoned me impatiently with his right hand. “Give me two and some tape.” I couldn’t see what he was doing, but he had now opened up the ventilation grille and he was busy doing something inside the system. I handed him the contents of his pocket and watched how he covered the entire grille with the firm plastic.

“That should do it. Get back on the bed, John. I’ll turn off the light.” Considering the circumstances, I think I should find it concerning that his whispered demand warmed something tricky inside me.

When the light was turned off, I realised I had forgotten to check what time it was myself. I felt rather than saw Sherlock sit down next to me on the bed. “It’s midnight, we have about twelve minutes,” he answered my unasked question, his voice still nothing more but a whisper. “Upon my signal, follow me as quickly as you can, alright?”

“Y-yes. Alright.” I hated how my voice faltered. “D’you think Roylott is behind this?” After receiving Dr Roylott’s threat on my blog, I researched the man, finding news articles that warned about the doctor’s unpredictable, ill-tempered and violent nature. “I read he has served a jail sentence in India for being involved in a deathly accident that took the life of one of the servants working for his family. That,” I continued, “and the fact that he is forbidden by local authorities to re-establish his practice here in London.”

Sherlock turned his face towards me, and it startled me to find out just how close his face was to mine. “I don’t think you should want Grimesby Roylott as your doctor or colleague, John. That man is a danger to society and we have a chance to get rid of him forever.”

“Right.” My eyes drifted towards his mouth which was so ridiculously close to my own. It was dazzling. I looked up to lock eyes with a gaze that was pensive, concerned, calculating. Then it dawned on me. “Hang on. What d’you mean, ‘getting rid of him’?”.

A soft smile tugged on the left corner of the detective’s lips. I watched him open his mouth to say something, but saw how he closed it again after his attention was caught by a sudden, high-pitched sound. Sherlock stood abruptly, his arms outstretched. “Careful,” I whispered, while I also slowly came to a stand.

Straining my ears, I came to realise why Julia had called the sound ‘speckled’. There was an intricate, daunting element to the sound, much like specks in a pattern. It sounded muffled, though, probably because a thick layer of plastic was preventing its full passage through the ventilation grille. With careful steps, Sherlock walked towards the grille. He lifted his nose in the air and sniffed. “Any moment now.”

I don’t know how long we stood there in the dimly lit room, looking at a taped ventilation grille. My limbs started to feel heavy and I thought this entire situation just proved I was a bad candidate for practising meditation or yoga. For one, I wouldn’t be able to stand still, and second, I’d be constantly aware of the people meditating next to me. For example, I was currently very much aware of Sherlock’s presence. Every breath he took and every movement he made sent soft vibrations through the thick carpet. Maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me, but I was sure that I could even feel the pounding of his heart-

“Aaargh!”

An unearthly, manly scream made me run towards the light switch to turn it on again. “What the hell was that?” Even though I’d just taken a few hasty steps, I sounded out of breath.

Sherlock didn’t answer. Instead, I watched him tie his scarf around his face in haste, after which he resumed his position on the chair he’d placed underneath the ventilation grille. When he started tearing at the tape, I felt panic rise in the pit of my stomach, “Wait, wait! What are you doing?”

Each time the detective tore a piece of the plastic away, I could hear the daunting, speckled sound getting louder and louder.

“Cover your mouth and nose, John. Try not to breathe as much. Better yet,” Sherlock’s voice sounded strained behind the thickness of his own scarf, “Leave this room and wait for me outside.”

“Like hell I-”

“-John!”

“I can’t believe this!” I hissed through clenched teeth as I walked towards the door and stopped. Placing both my hands on each side of the doorframe, I glared daggers at my friend’s unruly mob of hair. Like hell was I going to leave him! Clenching my fingers, I expected to encounter wood. Instead, my fingers pressed against rubber. Perplexed, I turned my attention to the frame, and noticed, for the first time, that it was coated in rubber.

“Done!” Sherlock exclaimed before he jumped off the chair, removing the scarf from his face. “Good work, John.”

“I didn’t do anything. Why does this door have rubber?”

“You didn’t do anything yet,” Sherlock smirked, his eyes taunting me, making me move away from the door to let him go past me.

“What the hell just happened?” I followed the detective through the hallway and watched how he withdrew a step ladder from the ceiling. I assumed it would lead us towards the attic. “After you.”

Scoffing at his so-called chivalry, I ascended the stairs, feeling how the ladder wobbled as Sherlock followed me instantly.

The sight that greeted me was quite unexpected. To say the least.

The attic was big and, surprisingly, well-furnished. Bookcases draped the walls and a large, antique desk stood in the middle of the room. It was bracketed by two, green sofas, each housing a numerous amount of colourful cushions. The room was illuminated in a soft orange hue that seemed to originate from table lamps placed in each corner of the attic. Stuffed exotic animals, most of them reptiles, kept the spaces occupied that otherwise would have been empty.

When I turned, I stumbled backwards in fright. I’d have fallen if not for two strong hands holding me upright. A Bengal Tiger stared right back at me, her teeth flashing close to my face.

A dead Bengal Tiger. Luckily.

Still, seeing her enormous fangs sent shivers down my spine.

“Scared?” Sherlock was still holding me underneath my armpits and his childish taunt made me break myself free in an unwanted haste. Chuckling, the detective brushed past me. I gave the tiger one last look before I ventured towards the far end of the room. There I found Sherlock already crouched down over a body that was lying sprawled over the wooden floor. Next to the body lay a horrendous gas mask I recognized from my days in the army. “What the-“

Skilful fingers turned the head to the side, only to reveal a lifeless, pale face that was contorted in pain. “Yep,” the plosive consonant was followed by a dark shadow crossing the detective’s brow. “He’s dead. Had a taste of his own medicine. Or should I say ‘poison’? Now it’s your time to act and show off your medical skills, doctor,” Sherlock had the audacity to wink at me, which was highly inappropriate, given the circumstances.

Dr Roylott’s brown moustache painted a real contrast to his pale, frightened complexion. Even though there was no life to be found in his cold, grey eyes, they still emitted a sense of authority and resentment as they’d done in the various pictures I’d found of the notorious man online. I inspected his lifeless form, coming to the inclusion he’d suffocated. “How?”

Sherlock lifted the doctor’s left arm and tapped the floor underneath, “Concealed air shaft.” I noticed that the dead doctor was lying on a silver lever. “It’s big enough for a man his size,” Sherlock continued. “I was right to assume he’d be in there to administer the crystals and to start the device.” Mischievous eyes looked up at me from underneath his dark fringe, “Now tell me, John. Where does gas go when it’s blocked from seeping into a room below?”

“U-up?“

Sherlock gave me a grin like a Cheshire Cat, "Indeed. He did get out but not soon enough not to inhale a lethal dosage himself."

“My God. He used… gas to kill his daughter?”

“Stepdaughter, John.” Sherlock stood and pointed towards the cabinets. “He tested the doses on Julia until he found one that was lethal. He planned to repeat the procedure on Helen last night and, because she fled her room yesterday, to try again tonight.”

Shaking my head, I felt a sudden urge to kick the dead man but refrained from doing so. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Strong hands led me over to one of the attic’s windows. The estate’s garden loomed large in the dark of the night. “Dr. Roylott is bankrupt and in desperate need to inherit the Stoners’ money. Especially now he’s forbidden to re-establish his practice here.”

“Money,” I concluded. “The root of all evil.”

The detective smirked and patted my back gently, “That. And power. Or love.” I watched him turn his head to regard Dr. Roylott for a split second, after which he fixated his eyes on me again. “I think I killed a man tonight.”

I pursed my lips and regarded my friend. “Yes. But he wasn’t a very nice man.”

The smile he gave me was enough to lift my spirits again. “Indeed.”

#john watson #blog post #reblog #the adventure of the speckled sound #speckled sound #reblogging is appreciated #john watson rp #sherlock rp #sherlock roleplay #bbc sherlock #sherlock #sherlock holmes #221b #acd holmes #acd sherlock #acd inspired

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pursuitseternal · 7 months

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“The Mutt of Oromë” update to “Tamed by Light:” ready for reading!

Summary: the army of Thingol marches, and Sauron must endure the ride locked away with this favorite stinking dog, Huan. But he cannot help but wonder, where his mistress is on her ride… and if she will find him in dreams again…

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Saurondriel | First Age | Explicit

Cw: Good boy behavior, aggravated snapping at your love’s brother, wet dog smell, forced proximity with the canine enemy, Beren’s thick, Scottish accent, NSFW DREAM EDITION II

A small canvas tent, plain, unremarkable. Except for the She-elf who laid on her bedroll, stripped of her armor, her garments. Waiting and naked. Sauron hesitated, glancing down as he took in his own humnalike, equally naked state.

“Galadriel,” he growled her name, a question, and taunt, a plea all in one single, sweet word.

“I’ve had enough words today, too many for an immortal life, so do not speak, my friend,” she whispered, reaching her arm towards him. “Do anything else with that mouth than talk.”

He obeyed, lowering his body to glide alongside hers, the soft heat of her skin warming him, that instant rush of need piercing his gut to touch her. One hand cradled her cheek, sweeping her fingers through those almost-iridescent locks. “Do you know… how could you know how to call me to you?”

“As if I would let you slip into my dreams last night and not want more, Sauron…” she pecked at his lips, sucking them into her own mouth with a ferocity. A hunger. A lingering rage from her day. “Now, use that mouth, my love, and let’s try to break this curse once and for all.”

“Yes, mistress,” he breathed, inhaling her own air as he spoke, tasting her on his tongue. Her hands caressed over his skin, stroking his already hardened length. A press of her thigh and his body shifted over hers at her command. His cock firm in her grip, she teased that thick, blunted head over her entrances, sliding over her slick seam. Already wet and aching and empty. Already to be filled.

“I wanted nothing more than to sleep all day again,” she breathed into his mouth, guiding him deep into her sweet and secret spot. “Nothing more than to find your soul and try to free you, my beast, my friend.”

He chuckled, his voice mingling with her unbridled groan as he thrust, the sweet friction of her walls dragging over every bit of his cock. “Once I’m freed, will you take me as such in your real bed?”

“Once you’re freed, you think I’d let you out of it?” She bit his lips, nipping them, her hands clawed around the perfect swell of his ass as he continued to move inside her.