#I promised more groping but I brought sadness instead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

holylulusworld · 4 years

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Welcome back

Title: Welcome back

Square Filled: A/B/O AU

Ship: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Meg 2.0

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: angst, ABO, ABO dynamics, smut, unprotected sex, scenting, psychic!reader, true mates, language

Summary: Back from Purgatory you and your alpha need to find his brother.

Word Count: 2k+

Written/Created for @spnaubingo

2020 SPN AU BINGO Masterlist

Sequel to Purgatory

“It’s not that far, sweetheart,” Dean stops in his tracks, checking on you once again. “We will rest when we reached the clearing over there,” pointing toward a place far away Dean wraps one arm around your waist.

“No monsters around, only a few animals, harmless.” While Dean looks at the makeshift weapon he brought with him from Purgatory you interlink your fingers with his, smiling when he brings your hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“We can make it, Y/N. Only a bit longer. If we find a car, I know where to go. First, we need to find a phone, though,” you can hear the tremble in Dean’s voice but remain silent.

“Your brother, he’ll be happy to hear you are back.” Dean presses his forehead to yours, inhaling your scent for a moment. “I hope he likes me, alpha.”

“Sammy will love you, Y/N. He is the best. I bet he tried anything to find me and Cas. God, he must be so worried.” You nod, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s scruffy cheek.

“Let’s go, alpha. I want to meet your brother…”

“Dead too,” Dean grumbles, dialing another number. “I don’t get it,” your alpha sighs, ending another unanswered call.

“What’s wrong? Did he change his number?” Worriedly watching your alpha rummage in the gloves department of the car he stole you feel he is getting nervous. “I bet he’s alright, Dean. Maybe he lost his phone, happened to me more than once.”

“Problem is, we’ve got two numbers for emergencies like this, okay. Whenever we got parted or didn’t know if the other is still alive, we call the first number, let it ring thrice, and hang up to call the other number,” impressed you nod, smiling as Dean dials the next number. “Sammy does not answer at all, sweetheart.”

“Do you have a hideout? A place you would use to stay safe?” Dean starts the engine, giving you a sad look. “He’ll be okay, Dean. Nothing happened to your brother, promised. We will find him and you can tell him anything happening over the last year.”

“We hid in a hunting cabin before I ended up in Purgatory. If we find Sammy anywhere it is there. Maybe his battery is low or crap,” Dean’s hands tremble when he speeds off while you pray his brother is safe.

Whitefish, Montana

“I don’t understand,” looking around the cabin you blink in confusion. “Why should your brother leave all his things behind?”

“I got no clue, sweetheart. Dad’s journal, Bobby’s too, we never leave this behind, not even on the run.” Dean feels his throat tightening, as fear takes over and he believes something must have happened to his baby brother. “I can’t believe he left everything.”

Tossing and turning on the mattress you cannot find sleep. Used to sleeping on the ground or in a cave you fail to find rest.

You slowly sit up, rubbing your tired eyes hearing voices coming from the other side of the cabin. Instinct kicking in you use your powers, but all you can sense are your mate and another human.

Dean talks about spending a whole year in purgatory, running for his life, and losing his friend, the angel. You can hear the sadness in his voice and decide to introduce yourself to his brother.

“I can’t believe you are here,” Dean walks toward the refrigerator taking out two beers when you step out of the small bedroom. “Most of your numbers are out of service, Sammy. I had the feeling you tried to ghost me.”

“I didn't get your messages, Dean,” you walk into the room, standing behind Dean’s tall brother as Sam starts explaining he ditched his phones and your breath hitches in your throat feeling Dean’s anger.

Whilst Sam exclaims he is not hunting anymore and that he quit the family business you step further into the room, looking at your alpha who needs all his strength to tame his anger.

“Dean,” whispering your alpha’s name you look at Dean who balls his hands into fists when his brother admits he did not look for him. Instead of trying to get Dean back, he dropped everything and ran to live a normal life.

“I am still the same guy, Dean,” Sam looks at his big brother, hoping he will not be too disappointed. He only kept his promise and now, he feels the pit in his stomach grows.

“Great for you, I am not,” Dean walks away, opening the door to leave the hut, slamming the door shut, making the wood vibrate.

Blindly running after your alpha, you call his name, scared he will do something stupid, like hurting his brother or himself.

Dean is pacing behind the cabin, slowly losing his patience he’s balling his hands into fists, murmuring curses.

“Alpha,” you whisper, slowly walking toward your mate. “You need to calm, Dean. Let me help you.”

Dean is on you in a blink, burying his face into your neck to inhale your scent to calm his raging anger.

“Need you, omega, need you so much,” he purrs, softly pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “I feel calm with you.”

“Have me, alpha, let me help you,” you move your fingers through his hair, gently playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck while your alpha just holds you against him, scenting you.

“Y/N,” Dean murmurs, feeling your hand palm his cock. “I need my omega, need my mate.”

At the same time as you press soft kisses to his neck, nibbling at his skin Dean is impatiently freeing his cock, whining when you press your face into his neck.

“Need you too, Dean,” pressing your lips to your alpha’s you feel his hands on your ass, groping it roughly. Without hesitation you jump into his arms, hold tight onto his shoulders whilst he shoves your panties aside to carefully line up with your entrance.

“Dean,” you whimper, feeling full only seconds later, savoring the burning sensation of the wide stretch.

Dean is purring in response, nuzzling his nose into your hair. You cling to your alpha, loop your arms under Dean’s to let your hands grasp for his shoulders. All you can do is hold tight onto your mate when he starts to move inside of you.

“Alpha,” Dean holds your gaze, smiling when your face contorts in pleasure. “You feel so good, Dean.” He moans at your words, burying his face into your neck, desperately clinging to your body as the pressure builds in your core with every quick thrust he gives you.

“Need you, Y/N,” he whines now, wetting your neck with his tears and you instinctively move one hand to his head, gently stroking his hair to calm the alpha. “My omega, mine.”

“I am here and will not leave you, Dean. Please, I need you,” he is panting now, arms wrapped tightly around your trembling body, desperate to push you both over the edge.

“You’re my ray of hope,” he mumbles when you tighten around him, gripping his cock tightly. “Next time, I’ll knot you good.” Laughing you nod, feeling his cum run down your thighs.

Dean does not pull out for a heartbeat or ten, rather holds you in his arms, pressed against his body. He is panting heavily, hating he showed weakness after being a fierce warrior for all his life.

“You know, you’re damn scary. Those monsters at the Purgatory whispered your name in fear,” you press your lips to his forehead, hoping Dean will calm now. “I have the strongest mate I could wish for.”

Sam still sits on the couch, waiting for his brother to return when you walk back into the cabin, squeezing your mates’ hand tightly. “Hi, I am Y/N, your brother saved me at the Purgatory.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sam’s eyes land on your claiming mark and he knows, his brother did more than saving you. “Can I have a moment with my brother, please?”

“Of course,” you peck Dean’s cheek, letting your touch linger before you break contact to move toward the small bedroom. “I’ll be waiting in our room, alpha. Goodnight, Sam.”

“Did you bring a monster back here, Dean? You changed,” Sam frantically moves his fingers through his hair, glaring at Dean. “You mated with her too!”

“She’s not a monster, Sam. Y/N is human, just like us, but hanks to Crowley she ended up in Purgatory,” Dean talks back, gritting his teeth. “So, yes Sam. I mated with her as Y/N is my true mate. If you do not want to be a hunter any longer or my brother, go back to that woman and leave me alone. I got a mate to take care of.”

Dean walks toward the bedroom, grasping for the door handle. He hesitates, taking a deep breath before he looks over his shoulder at Sam who looks like a kicked puppy. “We see each other in the morning, or not. Your decision, Sam.”

Curled in Dean’s side, one arm draped over his waist you nuzzle your face into his chest.

Dean is wide awake. His instinct, the warrior will not let him sleep. He is used to almost no sleep and being awake for days so he can barely find it in him to close his eyes.

“You need to sleep, Dean,” murmuring the words you snuggle into his chest. “You’re so warm and comfy. I never felt safer, alpha. Nothing will happen to me with you by my side.”

A smile crosses Dean’s face when you pat his back, insisting he needs sleep too. “Sleep, alpha, or you can’t protect me. I cannot sense any monster. There are none out there, not even close.”

“My little monster detector,” Dean pecks your hair, humming when you hook one leg over his thigh. “You’re warm too, soft and caring. If anything good came out of my time at that place, it’s you and our bond. No matter what, we belong together,” whispering the words Dean softly kisses your hair.

“Together, I like it,” sleepily mumbling the words, eyes fluttering close you slowly drift into sleep. “You and I, Dean.”

“I am sorry our first time was rough and pretty public. Next time, I’ll be gentle and take my time, omega. I will show you I can be the mate you deserve,” you are fast asleep, but Dean keeps on whispering promises before he allows himself to fall asleep.

“Morning,” you chirp, offering Sam a cup of coffee, “I am glad you stayed Sam. Dean, he’s not completely back. A part of him is still at that place, mourning the loss of his friend. He’ll need us both to come back.”

“Did he force you?” Sam looks at the healing mark at your neck, waiting for your answer. “I mean, it must’ve been hell being trapped in that world. I would understand if you let him,” Sam gasp when you backhand the tall hunter.

“Dean did not force me to do anything,” you purse your lips. “This place was hell, rough, deadly, and bloody, but your brother is a good man, a good alpha. Don’t you dare to talk about my Dean like that again.”

“Whoa, already at each other’s throat?” Dean snickers watching you point the butter knife at his brother. Dean’s heart swells as he heard every word, but Sam was not completely wrong – Dean thought the same.

“I clarified I defend my mate at all cost, and,” you feel the air shift, “someone’s coming, a strong being.”

“Sammy,” Dean grasps for his gun while Sam grabs the demon knife, ready to attack anyone coming through the door. “Stay behind, sweetheart.” Your alpha shoves you behind his back when the door flings open.

“You are hard to find,” Meg smirks, winking at the brothers who glare at the demon. “What? Aren’t we friends, boys? You know, I had to free myself. Not nice to keep me hanging. Now, are you ready to get the boy back and kick Crowley’s ass or not?”

“She’s strong, but needs a rest,” you whisper, fisting Dean’s plaid. “I can sense more demons coming closer. At least five, maybe more.”

“Well then, let’s hit the road,” Meg exclaims. “We find Kevin, beat Crowley into a pulp and have a nice manicure later.”

“I guess we are back in the game,” Sam nods at his elder brother. “Meg is right, we should leave before they run us over.”

“Ready if you are Sammy,” Dean grasps for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Y/N and me are close behind.”

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zeldanoel · 3 years

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Precious Things - Bagginshield

Started writing this because I was sad after watching the Hobbit movies last week haha, then I accidently 5,500 words. Also on my ao3 here.

Thorin had exhausted himself digging through gold coins that stank of dragon. He was pale, and his blue eyes, which Bilbo had at least once thought beautiful, were bloodshot and full of a gleaming darkness like the hoard itself. Bilbo found him early one morning sitting on one of the enormous staircases. Thorin's back was to him, and he sat very still, looking off slightly to his left. An ocean of gold sat below him. "Thorin," Bilbo said, and Thorin's head turned slightly, but not enough to look at him. "Did you get any sleep?" "It's not yet night," was Thorin's cold reply. "It was hours ago, when I told you. Remember? And now it's already morning and you--" Bilbo gave a worried sigh and sat down next to him. "Aren't you tired? Thorin." Thorin blinked and looked at Bilbo. His eyes lost a little of their crazed edge. "I am," he admitted, almost smiling, and looked back over the hoard below. The momentary light in his face faded. "But I cannot rest until my kingdom is secure." "But you can," Bilbo said, trying not to let too much desperation creep into his voice. He turned himself more towards him. "And your kingdom is secure. Please. If… if my friendship could be worth a few hours rest, do it for my sake if nothing else." Bilbo tried to smile as Thorin looked at him at that with slightly hazy confusion. "For your sake?" His eyes were almost clearing. He turned more towards Bilbo. "This is all you would ask of me, Master Baggins?"

"And a good meal, if you can stomach it," he replied cautiously. Thorin reached out and squeezed Bilbo's shoulder, his eyes shining now only with tears. Then he leaned down and rested his forehead on Bilbo's other shoulder. His voice when he then spoke seemed to rumble directly into Bilbo's core, making his heart clench and his stomach flip. "Of all the treasures now under this mountain," Thorin said softly, "you are one of the most precious, Bilbo." Bilbo's insides froze painfully. He couldn't smell Thorin, there was only smoke and metal and something inherently dragon-like. Bilbo reached up and touched Thorin's shoulder, almost expecting to feel scales. But no, there were thick layers of cloth. And when Thorin turned his head slightly in response to his touch, the skin of his forehead brushed Bilbo's neck, warm to the point of being feverish. "I don't know if I can find rest," Thorin said softly. "I'll do what I can to help," Bilbo replied.

Bilbo led him up the many stairs to the bedchambers. The one that Thorin had chosen wasn't his original one, but his grandfather's. The king's. The bedpost itself was gold, as were many of the other objects therein. But Bilbo didn't lead him into there, but into Thorin's old room. Thorin had only been through it once since the dragon had left--to sweep up any childhood treasures and valuables and dump them in a heap at the foot of the king's bed. As a result this room was somewhat sparse, drawing light from only the fireplace. It had a strange hominess to it, or maybe it was that old sense of familiarity. My room. Bilbo's old coat was already thrown across the armchair. "Were you in here before?" Thorin asked suspiciously. "I've, uh, slept in here the past few nights," Bilbo said apologetically, "I hope you don't mind." "No," he said honestly. The thought instead warmed him with affection. Bilbo turned down the bedcovers as Thorin shed his outer layers of clothing. "Can I get you anything?" Bilbo asked awkwardly, "oh, maybe some water--" he started for the door. "No!" Thorin said quickly, holding out a hand as though to stop him. "Will you stay with me, instead?" Bilbo blinked at him. His eyes flickered to the bed, and back. "I…? With…?" He gestured a little, but quickly accepted that Thorin really did mean for him to stay in the bed. "Sure. Sure, of course." Tired as he was, Thorin had forgotten momentarily that Bilbo had better manners than a dwarf. A dwarf, if he were uncomfortable, would have refused and perhaps sought a compromise, like sitting in the same room. But Bilbo simply set his blue coat and vest carefully on the armchair by his red one, crossed the room, and crawled into bed next to Thorin. It was like the hobbit radiated an aura of protection and peace for Thorin. Bilbo's presence meant something was going right. Bilbo lay on his back, tucked under the furs and stiffly staring at the ceiling. Thorin was on his side, waiting for the waves of anxiety to completely wash away. "Thank you," Thorin said. He rested his hand on the mattress between them. Bilbo looked over, turned onto his side to face him, and took his hand. "Just sleep," Bilbo said. His little hand disappeared in Thorin's. "One day," Thorin whispered, "I'll be the one to protect you."

-- “I am so sorry,” Thorin managed to say, “that I have led you into such peril…” his voice sounded far away, even to himself. He could barely hear when Bilbo spoke. “No, no, I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin. Each and every one of them.” Bilbo leaned down and quickly pressed his lips against Thorin’s. Soft and warm--not sensations Thorin would have thought to feel on this wintery peak, with so much of his body torn and bleeding. Bilbo broke back a hair’s breadth. “Please live, Thorin. You have so much to live for.” Thorin blinked at him, dazed. “More… than I knew,” he rasped. Bilbo’s eyes, dark and kind, stared earnestly into his. They were all Thorin could see. He wished he could see, just one more time, Bilbo’s hair golden with sunlight. The sun would shine on him again, without Thorin. He had to be happy without Thorin. He had to go home. “Farewell, Amralime,” Thorin managed to say. “Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees, watch them grow. If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a… merrier place.” Even Bilbo’s touch was fading. If only Thorin had just a little more time, he could say more. He could sit with Bilbo under a kindly tree, and learn from him how to find peace. That image felt suddenly quite powerful to him. If Bilbo would stay by his side for just a little while longer… if Thorin could learn from him… “Keep hold…” Thorin whispered, “of my hand.” Thorin’s fingers were all but numb, but there was a pressure against them. “I won’t let go,” Bilbo said. “Stay with me, Thorin. Gandalf!” Thorin closed his eyes. A moment ago, death had been sure. But whether unconsciousness now took him for death or sleep, he had no power to fight against it.

His chest ached, burning with a stab wound. Other places he could feel in his body had been slashed. His entire being ached, no strength left in him to even raise his head. But he could hear things. Voices… was that Bilbo’s voice? He clung to the sound, and almost as soon as he did, it stopped so someone else could speak. Bilbo, he thought desperately, trying to get his mouth to form the words. “Thorin? Thorin, can you hear me?” He was drained. His stomach was sick. His eyes, heavier than lead, slowly opened. Bilbo was standing over him. The canvas ceiling of a tent was above them. Bilbo’s face was clean, perhaps some time had passed. Thorin’s hand twitched, searching for Bilbo’s. “You’re okay, Thorin, you’re going to live, just like I told you.” he smiled as though that would disguise his obvious worry. Thorin could only stare. “Stay,” he breathed out. Bilbo’s face broke. He took Thorin’s hand and held it against his lips. “I’ll stay. I promise.” Good. Thorin’s eyes dropped closed.

He woke again with an empty hand, and slowly opened his eyes. If only his throat weren’t so dry, he could-- He coughed, and pain stopped his breath. There was something wrong, of course there was something wrong, he’d been stabbed through the chest, maybe one of his lungs wasn’t working, he couldn’t breathe. “Thorin! Thorin, just breathe!” He turned panicked eyes to the hobbit at his bedside. Bilbo started propping him up, someone on the other side of him was helping. Tears sprang to Thorin’s eyes. The coughing wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t draw breath-- “Thorin, you can do this. Breathe in. Please.” He took a breath. In his ears it sounded like a death rattle. His next cough cleared his lungs and shot pains through his torso. He whimpered. “Come on, do it again.” Slowly, each breath became easier than the last. “Okay. We’re going to have you drink something now.” That was a dwarf’s voice. He couldn’t give it enough attention to determine which of his company it was. Thorin kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, willing himself not to pass out as they brought a meaty broth to his lips and he drank. They laid him back down. Bilbo took his hand again, watching him anxiously. “It’s no good,” Thorin said hoarsely. “Should’ve… left me.” He felt a tear trace out of his eye. “How could I have?” Bilbo asked fervently. He reached down with his free hand and touched Thorin’s cheek, brushing the tear away. “I couldn’t.” He withdrew his hand and squeezed Thorin’s. “Don’t worry about that now. We’re here now. Just stay with me.” Thorin wondered if he could.

He was running through a forest, a dark one where huge gray branches seemed to grope at him, snagging against his white coat. He had to find a way out. That's what he was searching for, right? He reached a stream. The water in it smelled terrible and stagnant, and moved sluggishly. And Bilbo stood on the other side. A shadow loomed over his shoulder, wielding a shortbow. The shadow aimed at him. Then the dream shifted rapidly. He was the stag, then the hunter aiming at the white stag, and then he was aiming at Bilbo, right between the eyes. No, he had Bilbo gripped by the front of the shirt, lifting him off his feet. You shouldn't have done that, it's bad luck. No one was stopping him. He was throwing Bilbo headfirst off the ramparts. Shouldn't have done that. Bilbo was falling. Thorin had to wake up. If Bilbo hit the ground, he'd be dead. Shouldn't have-- Thorin shouted, and was immediately pulled back into his body. His back was arching on the cot, fire spread across his chest. "Thorin, no!" Bilbo's voice. Bilbo! Thorin reached for him, grabbing for any part he could reach. He ended up with a fistful of Bilbo's coat. Bilbo gripped his shoulders, a weak attempt to keep him down. "Bilbo," Thorin gasped. "Bilbo--you--" he was alive. He was fine. "I'm here, Thorin. You're fine." Thorin breathed hard, wounds stinging. He focused in on Bilbo's worried face. Thorin took a few more breaths, trying to calm down and get rid of his sudden dizziness. He could still feel the dream, how it had been his hands that had nearly slain his friend. "It's okay, Thorin," Bilbo whispered. "You're okay." Thorin heaved another breath and released him, turning his face away. "Fili and Kili," he said hoarsely, turning back to him. "Kili is stable, thanks to Tauriel." Bilbo gestured across the room. Who…? Oh, the elf with the red hair. "And Fili?" Thorin whispered desperately. Bilbo opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "He didn't make it." Thorin closed his eyes, breathing through his teeth. "Shouldn't have sent them in." "Thorin, it's not your fault. It's… it was battle, and you did the best you could." Thorin took in a breath and slowly released it. "Did Dain survive?" "Yes. Just a bit bruised." "I need to talk to him." "I--now?" Thorin grunted in affirmation. Bilbo, casting him more unsure glances, left the tent. Thorin finally got a look down at himself. His chest was tightly wrapped, and a few other places as well, like his foot. He could feel his heartbeat pounding against his wounds with a painful ache. Other than that he wore only his breeches and a thick wool blanket that had started to slide off. Achingly, he turned his head to look across the room. There was a cot there, and a table in between that obscured the top half of Kili's face. The lower half, and Kili's skin, was pale, and his chest rose and fell in brief, shallow breaths. He watched him for a long moment, willing his own life force to go into Kili. Stomping boots against stone sounded, and Dain threw open the tent flap. Thorin caught a brief glimpse of the dark walls of Erebor behind him before he strode in, Bilbo close behind. Thorin briefly raised his hand so Dain could grasp it. "Thorin," Dain said fervently, grasping his hand and kneeling by his bedside, "you have no idea how glad I am to see you awake." "How is everyone?" Thorin asked, "and how long was I out?" "Near 10 days. We've accepted the Laketown refugees into the Halls for safety. The treasure's been moved to the lower levels. Thranduil has sent most of his army back, but remains with a small retinue. I've done the same, but the Iron Hills aren't far if we should suffer a second attack, and we're keeping scouts out." Thorin sighed with relief. "You've done well. Thank you." He squeezed his hand weakly. Dain only nodded, smiling beneath his beard. With difficulty, Thorin finally spoke. "I'm going to abdicate." Dain's eyes widened. "Thorin, no!" "It's better this way. Once Kili is ready, I would have him be King Under the Mountain. Until then, Erebor needs you. Will you accept?" Dain shook his head. "No, Thorin, it isn't right--" "Please," Thorin whispered. "You're the one who took back Erebor!" "For myself. I have to give it up. It nearly… I nearly…" his eyes went to Bilbo, who still stood near the tent flap, dark eyes wide. "I have to stay away, Dain. For the good of our people." Dain was still shaking his head, face screwed up as though in pain. "Would you have me beg?" Thorin asked quietly. Dain frowned at their clenched hands. "No, sire. And until you've formally abdicated, you are my king. And I will do as you command. By the time Kili comes of age, Erebor will be as great as it ever was." A weight seemed to lift off of Thorin's chest, and he smiled. "Thank you. I will soon be strong enough to give my abdication before witnesses." He closed his eyes, exhausted from the effort of speaking. Dain pressed a hairy kiss to his hand and gently set the hand down. "Take care of him, Master Bilbo," he heard Dain mutter. "I will, thank you." He hadn't thought he'd fallen asleep, but when he opened his eyes Oin was there and Bilbo gone.

-- It took many weeks before Thorin finally regained enough energy to be restless. He and Kili both slept a great deal, as though every day they had battled hard. Oin, Bilbo, and Tauriel were in the tent the most, but every member of the company had occasion to stop by, and Thorin found himself apologizing to every one of them and refused to budge on his decision to abdicate. Only Balin didn’t push him to reverse his decision. The old dwarf simply watched him for a long moment, then nodded. Thorin’s heart sank a little. He’d almost let himself be persuaded by the others. “You do think it wise, then?” Balin took his hand reassuringly. “Sometimes it is wisdom to take yourself away from temptation. And I… wish I could take my personal feelings out of this, or erase for you what happened those weeks while we searched for the Arkenstone. I can see it has broken you. I wish to see you healed. And Erebor is the wrong place for that.” Thorin’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s the right place?” “Well.” Balin’s eyes twinkled a little, like he had thought of something. “Somewhere peaceful, I suppose, where gold has no hold over the hearts of the people.” He squeezed his hand. “Somewhere where it doesn’t matter if you could have been king. Where you can take pride in not the circumstances of your birth, but the work of your hands.” Thorin chuckled, and his diaphragm seared with pain. He hissed, then looked back to Balin with a subdued smile. “It sounds like you already have a place in mind.” “Hmph. If you want recommendations, you should talk to Bilbo.” Balin patted his hand and sat back. “In any case, there are plenty of wars still to be fought, if you’ll have them.” “Moria,” Thorin said distantly. In his mind’s eye he could see Azog holding aloft a graying dwarvish head. He grimaced. The thought used to fill him mainly with righteous anger--now it made him sick and full of grief.

Thorin abdicated as soon as he could sit up to sign the documents in front of witnesses. He had a face of stone the entire time and spoke little. Kili had temporarily taken a turn for the worse and wasn't present. Bilbo did his best not to hover anxiously over Thorin. Thorin barely met anyone's eyes. Once the documents were signed, he nodded at Dain and sat back in his wheelchair, pale and grim. Bilbo started wheeling him back to his sick tent. They had to take a roundabout path away from the council chamber. "Wait," Thorin said at one of the intersections. He pointed to the left corridor. "Take me that way." "Thorin, I specifically memorized this route and if we leave it I'm going to be lost," Bilbo said to the back of his head. Thorin turned his head just a little. "You won't. Not while you're with me." Bilbo sighed and turned the chair to the left. The corridor soon opened up into one of the forge chambers, although this one had some slightly different equipment, long pipes like spears that Bilbo hadn't seen before. Thorin directed him across the room into an archway. Beyond the archway lay a dark room. Bilbo quickly lit the torch by the door with the box of matches he'd learned to always carry around, and once that was lit, the complicated lighting system that the dwarves had established throughout Erebor was ignited, filling the room with dim warm light. The room was full of colored glass: orbs and creatures and ribbons and prisms, many of them small and displayed on rusting shelves. Overhead were complicated light fixtures--many of them, like this was a storage room. "Erebor was the home of many crafts," Thorin said. Bilbo rounded his chair to stand next to him, hand resting lightly on his forearm. "Glass is not as expensive as jewels or gold, and it's more fragile. I'm pleased to see that Smaug didn't touch it." Thorin looked around the room, his face more lost than pleased. Then he nodded. "That's all, Master Baggins. We can return to your route." "I--that's all?" Bilbo said. "You don't want to look at any of them more closely?" "You may return later if you wish, Bilbo," Thorin said. His face had clouded over, preoccupied. "This place isn't for me." "I…" Bilbo wished he could think of something to say. It would make sense if Thorin were simply tired. But it was more than that. A light in him had gone out. He looked around for inspiration and grabbed a figurine off the shelf. He knelt before Thorin and held it up before him. Thorin's cold blue eyes turned to it impassively. "Doesn't it remind you of Beorn?" Bilbo said with a little smile. He turned the little bear so it caught the light. Thorin sighed. "I don't think Beorn was blue." He touched Bilbo's hand and gently pushed it away. "I appreciate it, Bilbo. Perhaps we can come back another day. Today, it's…" he swallowed and looked away. "No, I, I understand," Bilbo got to his feet and tucked the little bear into his pocket. "It could help to talk about it? I'm only here to help you, Thorin." "You are too kind for your own good," Thorin said miserably. "I'm sorry for how I treated you." "No--one moment of weakness doesn't define our relationship, Thorin." "I should have seen the path that would have led me to that moment," Thorin said. He leaned over and grabbed a wheel, pulling on it to turn himself away from Bilbo. "It's not just you. I know I've made the right choice in abdicating--!" His voice broke into a sob. "But how do I go on? How can I live with myself, knowing that the moment I had the power I sought after all my life, I abused it and ruined everything? If I hadn't--maybe Fili--" "Shh--" Bilbo leaned over the back of the chair and hugged Thorin around the shoulders from behind. "There are so many maybes, Thorin. It's a miracle that you're alive, and Kili. We would be worse off if we had lost you. I--on Ravenhill, I knew that if I lost you there, I would be more alone than I ever have been. I would go home and leave you buried in the Lonely Mountain, but you would have haunted me, much worse than if I could have left you safe and alive." He briefly tightened his grip. "Thank you for holding on." Thorin's hand pressed against the side of Bilbo's head. "You're such a fool," he whispered fondly. He stroked his hair once, then dropped his hand back into his lap. Bilbo released him, sniffling. "I wouldn't mind coming back here for a better look on another day," Thorin said, clearing his throat. "But I'm ready now to rest." "Of course." Bilbo started pushing the chair, and on the way out lowered the little metal hood that snuffed out the torch. With a few gentle corrections from Thorin, they made it back to the healing tent.

When Thorin awoke, the tent was empty except for Kili, who was sitting up supported by pillows, flipping a small knife over and over in the air. Thorin sighed. "Glad to see you're feeling better," he rumbled. Kili frowned at him. "You should have woken me. I wanted to be there." "To see your throne secure?" Thorin teased. Kili's face grew dark, and he raised the knife. "I will use this." He lowered it. "I wanted to be there for you. I'm still upset you did it." "Dain will make a fine regent. Also, he can walk fairly well, I hear." "Don't give me that. You'll be on your feet soon enough." Thorin stared at the ceiling. "You've worried Bilbo, you know," Kili said. "He cares for you a great deal. Oin says he barely left your side while you were sick--" "Don't talk about Bilbo," Thorin said. "I don't--I don't know what to think of him. I… keep wishing I could give what little strength I have left to you, so you can grow strong and healthy, but I get the feeling that the only reason I have some strength at all is because of Bilbo." He blinked tears away. "He won't let me go, even though I'm only a shadow of myself. I have been ever since I laid eyes on that accursed gold. I want to go, Kili. Now that your future is secure, what else have I to live for?" Thorin finally looked over at Kili, who looked pale and alarmed. "Don't talk like that," Kili said, "don't think like that. You--told Bilbo you'd go back with him to see more glass figurines, didn't you? For Mahal's sake, Uncle, your life doesn't have to be some enormous quest! You can just be alive to collect moments of peace. You--eurgh--" Kili grimaced and put a hand against his chest, leaning back more heavily against his pillows. "Kili?" Thorin said, struggling to sit up. "Kili! Bilbo!" In a moment Bilbo was rushing into the tent. "Take deep breaths," he said, pressing on Kili's shoulders, "we need to keep your chest open. And you lay back down," he snapped at Thorin. He reached over and grabbed a jar of salve off the bedside table, opened it, and smothered some on the exposed skin on Kili's chest. The sharp smell of peppermint and eucalyptus filled the tent. Kili gasped in breaths and when Bilbo tried to take his hand from his chest, he gripped Bilbo's hand instead. After a minute or so his breathing became easier, and he released Bilbo's hand and relaxed against the pillows. "Sorry," Kili muttered. "Got upset with Thorin." "Thorin's upset enough with himself," Bilbo said gently, shooting him an apologetic smile, "you just worry about getting better and not re-collapsing that lung." Kili nodded stiffly. Color was coming back to his face. He sighed and closed his eyes. Once Kili seemed to be secure, Bilbo disappeared out the tent for a few minutes before returning with Tauriel, who without so much as a glance at Thorin hurried to Kili's bedside and took the stool there. She began gently chiding him, and Bilbo sat on Thorin's bed and patted his hand. "He wasn't too hard on you, was he?" Thorin snorted. "If he was I deserved it." Bilbo sighed and took Thorin's hand to press an affectionate kiss to his knuckles. Thorin's eyes widened in surprise, and his breath caught. Bilbo caught his reaction and quickly put his hand down, blushing. "I, I'll see you later," Bilbo said. "Leaving me alone with them?" Thorin said in a mock hurtful tone, looking pointedly at Kili and Tauriel. "Let that be your punishment for upsetting Kili," Bilbo said with mock sternness. "I'll go get lunch for us." After Bilbo left Thorin looked wonderingly at his own hand. What had Bilbo meant by that? Had he-- A sudden memory came to him, that Thorin had dismissed before as a dream. Ravenhill--Had Bilbo really kissed him? He looked across the tent. Tauriel was leaning in close, whispering something that was making Kili's face light up with a rare grin. "Hey, you two," Thorin said grumpily. Tauriel immediately sat up, looking guilty. "Sorry, I--" "Uncle, we weren't, um…" Thorin waited, suddenly curious about what excuse they thought they had to give. He raised his eyebrows. But they quieted, waiting for him. "I was only going to ask," he said carefully, "whether you knew when Bilbo is planning to return to the Shire." The two exchanged looks. "No," Tauriel said innocently. "No idea," Kili put in, "perhaps you should ask him yourself? But I highly doubt he'd leave before he was sure you were stable." Thorin glared. "And why's that? Why shouldn't he feel free to leave?" "Well, he cares about you," Kili said. "If that much isn't obvious to you, then--" "Oh, of course it's obvious," Thorin snapped. "I just don't know what to do about it. Oh, nevermind." He turned onto his side, facing away from them, and tried not to eavesdrop. Thorin gripped the edge of his blanket, glaring at the material in his hand. In the end, he simply didn't deserve Bilbo's kindness, which made it vexing that Bilbo continued to show it. And that Thorin found himself relying on it like a lifeline. Everything about Bilbo made Thorin feel calmer. His practicality, goodness, straightforwardness, desire to make Thorin happier even on one of the worst days of his life. If Thorin were to continue living, he'd want Bilbo to be in that life. Slowly, paths were opening before him. He had to be better to Bilbo, see if the hobbit would accept him. If he didn't…? Thorin would find another reason to stay alive until the dwarves were ready to take back Moria. Then maybe he could get neatly killed in battle. Or not, and he'd look for another reason to keep going. It was too far to see ahead, too dim to know if he'd be able to find another reason. He hadn't meant to fall asleep again, but when he woke up he found a bowl of cold stew on his bedside table. Kili was asleep, snoring softly. Thorin bit back a groan as he sat up straight and ate his cold dinner. Right as he was finishing, Bilbo stumbled in, looking groggy and his curly hair in disarray. "Oh, good. Thorin. I thought I heard you, um, being awake." "Bilbo." Thorin set his bowl aside. "Sit down, I need to talk to you." Bilbo paused and squinted at him. "Please," Thorin tacked on as an afterthought. Bilbo sat down on the end of the cot, quickly rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Uh--yes. Yes?" "I… don't really remember well what happened on Ravenhill," Thorin said. "And what I think I remember might have been some dream, so I wanted to make sure there were no misunderstandings between us." He looked very seriously at Bilbo, heart hammering with trepidation. Bilbo looked back, poker-faced. "Did you kiss me?" Thorin asked Bilbo blanched and looked like he was going to laugh it off. "I? Ki--pfft. Well, I mean, considering--listen." He looked Thorin in the face. "You were dying, Thorin. And I knew it was my last chance to tell you how I felt. Feel. And I…" he looked at his knees. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it, and ruined our friendship." Thorin's heart was bursting with delight and something like fear. He laughed a little, shaking his head. "And were you going to just keep it as a secret forever, hoping I'd forget?" "What, like how you were going to keep it to yourself that mithril armor is really only something a king would give to someone he intended to marry?" Thorin cringed. Bilbo wagged a finger. "Hmm, yeah, I've been talking to your company. Apparently you could buy an entire kingdom with this." He fished just under his collar to tug at the edge of the mithril. Knowing Bilbo still wore it despite knowing its value and meaning warmed Thorin's heart. Thorin settled back into his pillows, still mostly sitting up. "I'm glad I did one thing sort of right in those terrible weeks," he said with a fond smile. "I hope you keep it, and let it protect you on whatever adventures you have in the future." Bilbo frowned in surprise. "Well, I'm not leaving you," he said. "I don't mind keeping it, but I'm staying in Erebor." It was Thorin's turn to frown. "I'm not staying in Erebor." "Oh. You--? Where will you go?" "I was hoping you might have some suggestions. Balin thought I should go somewhere peaceful..." Bilbo's face cleared. He scooted up the cot so he could place a hand over Thorin's. "Come to the Shire," he said, "With me. You can stay with me for as long as you like, I won't ask you to stay a moment longer." Thorin took in a breath and nodded, hardly trusting himself to speak around the sudden tears that choked his throat. He slid his hand into Bilbo's. "We'll plant the seed from Beorn's garden," he whispered. Bilbo nodded, smiling. "Maybe get a bigger armchair, for you." Thorin took a shaky breath. "I want to apologize--" "Oh Thorin, you already--" "For all the things I'm going to do wrong. I never want to hurt you again, in any way, but I don't trust myself." He chuckled wetly. "You're taking on a handful of a dwarf." "I know!" Bilbo leaned in with a laugh. "I know. And I won't be perfect either. I like to think I have a gift for vexing you." Thorin leaned his head back and laughed at that, then grimaced, clutching his diaphragm. His wound throbbed. He sighed and smiled at Bilbo, who now looked worried. "Don't fret, Master Baggins. I have a feeling I will heal more quickly now." "I don't think that's how this works," Bilbo said, but a smile flickered across his face. "Oh?" Thorin drew Bilbo's hand up and kissed it. "And you're the expert on battle wounds?" Bilbo blushed. "I--yes, in fact, that is, I've spoken to a few experts, and…" Thorin kissed the inside of his wrist, watching his face. His blush deepened. His hand was trembling in Thorin's grasp. "And I… well, perhaps you're right. I don't know. Um." He met Thorin's eyes with a strange sort of yearning. Thorin lowered their hands, now blushing as well. If Bilbo wasn't ready, that was perfectly f-- Bilbo leaned forward and kissed Thorin. And Thorin felt that he would stay in the Shire for a long, long time.

#bagginshield #thilbo #my writing #lotr #fluffy #suicide ideation #I think that's my only warning tag #thorin gets pretty depressed and has passive suicide ideation #shire

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knybits · 4 years

Text

THE HATING GAME — 1

PAIRINGS —

↳ kochou shinobu x reader

SUMMARY —

↳ Geniuses within the same field yet rivals within each other’s eyes, your colleagues wonder when the sexual tension will break so that you two will become the department’s powerhouse couple so that they can enter you two into the couples contest against the other departments. Some things might have to be done by force.

WARNINGS —

↳ cursing, alcohol, smut

AUTHOR NOTE —

↳ look bros,,, i KNOW that it’s supposed to be last name first then first name,,, but the setting here is like idk fucking harvard or oxford lets get crazy. basically youre not in japan and youre a big brain bitch youre welcome. also,,, please drink responsibly and ask for consent. stay safe :,)

[ Navigation ]

—

It’s not like you always hated the genius that is Shinobu Kochou.

Besides yourself, she’s the other shining diamond within the chemistry department. The transfer student from Japan that doesn’t let her language barrier hold her back. In fact, she might even be more fluent in English than you (which is dumb because it’s your mother tongue but hey, she’s the genius here remember?)

Lilac painted nails with no chips and red glossed lips is Shinobu Kochou. Wrinkless lab coat and a face free of goggle imprints after an experiment is Shinobu Kochou. She’s pristine and a league above you (she might even be super rich but you could never find out.)

Sometimes she would slip out Japanese phrases or mumble in Japanese under her breath, so you know that her voice sounds the exact same no matter which language she speaks. It’s sweet like honey- a complete trap- and it intoxicates those around her to do her bidding (she’s a witch and you’d be damned to be proven wrong because this bit of information will go down with you.)

You’ve never spoken to her so you know that your dislike is misplaced. A mature adult would admit that this hate is more so envy, but fuck that.

Shinobu Kochou is perfect, flawless, an angel, and you hate it.

It doesn’t help that she would smile in your direction at times and wave a hand at you with nothing but kindness. You ignore her, of course, and your colleagues can’t fathom why you would walk past the princess without even acknowledging her.

And yet, for some reason, you find half of your department on their knees in front of you.

“Please date Shinobu! You’re our last hope!!” Your friend cries out, shoving a crummy “free beer on me” coupon she literally wrote up on a bright pink sticky note on her way over to you with 16 other people in tow.

“You want me to do what?”

Someone else steps forward to produce a flyer that another random department pasted up around the school. When you snatch the paper from them, the first thing you read is “department couple” and immediately decide to crumple the paper up.

“Wait! You didn’t even read it!”

“I’ve read enough,” you seethe, steam pour from your mouth as everyone cowers in fear of your sleep deprived self.

“C’mon (F/n)!” Your friend whines, draping herself over you and grovelling at your feet. “All the other departments are taking part in it! Each department pitches in $500 per couple and then they compete! Whichever couple wins receives the whole pool of money for their department!”

“Does everyone here even have enough money to pitch in $500??”

Someone else pipes in, “For a chance at over $6,000? We’re willing to take it.” There’s a low murmur of agreement from everyone and you roll your eyes. Everyone begins to throw empty promises at you (about as worthless as the crappy pink sticky note in your hand) before you narrow your eyes into a deathly glare at the crowd.

“There’s no way in hell you idiots will get me to date Shinobu Kochou. I’d rather an experiment blow up in my face than date her,” with those final words you storm away, lab coat fluttering the least bit for stupid dramatic effect and everyone is left speechless.

—

You’re in the middle of heating up your cup ramen when your roommate (the one that “gifted” you a free beer coupon) comes home, shuffling in. She has a guilty look on her face that bleeds “this is just for show.”

Araceli drapes herself across the counter for your attention but you decide not to pay her any mind, instead taking your cup ramen- fork stuck through the lid to keep the hot steam in- to the couch and turning the TV on.

You have three minutes to find a show to watch, but that plan goes to shit when Araceli groans aloud for your attention.

“What,” you snap and Araceli comes crawling over from the counter and into your side on the couch, her arms wrapped around your waist.

“I feel bad-”

“No you don’t.”

She keeps going despite your rude interruption, “But everyone in the department decided to go to the club tonight. I owe you more than just one drink, so pleaaaassseee,” she bats her eyelashes at you (they’re incredibly long and you’re envious them.)

Araceli’s puppy dog face always gets you to cave and you find yourself angrily shoving some half cooked noodles into your mouth. That response is enough for her to cheer, squeezing you even harder than she already is.

“Your wallet better be prepared,” you quip as you resume a show you desperately need to catch up on. You don’t catch the mischievous glint in her eyes, yourself already pinned to the plot of your show as it does its job to empty your head.

—

Clubs aren’t really your scene.

You used to go to them often when you started out as a freshman in college, but it lost its charm by your junior year. Now you prefer drinking in your apartment, every month or so slipping back onto campus to conduct some random experiments to allow Araceli her time with whoever she brought home.

There’s something about a club that lets you (loosely) compare it to a masquerade ball (loosely.) Music plays and alcohol burns so strongly within everyone’s systems that they can’t see the face of the person they’re grinding on. Oh, and within their respective timelines, you have to dress up for both a ball and a club.

In one of your more scandalous outfits, you can’t help but check yourself out in the mirror before dipping because damn do you look HOT and everybody better take some fucking notes. You confidence shoots up when Araceli whistles the second you step out of your room, and the two of you drive to the club a couple blocks from the college.

Before you two step into the booming building, Araceli waves wildly at her boyfriend with a bright smile. They give each other a quick kiss in greeting and a sudden thought crosses your mind.

“Why don’t you two enter the contest?”

Araceli tuts at you, wagging a finger in disappointment before saying, “See? This is why you have to read the whole poster dear roomie. The couple has to be two people from the same department.” Unfortunately, her boyfriend is from the modern literature department (how they met, you have no clue.)

The three of you make your grand entrance and everyone within your department (making up most of the club right now) scream with delight before ushering you over. A shot of tequila is pushed into your hands and you smile before downing your first drink of the night.

With a never ending stream of alcohol being passed into your hands and some good fucking music (the club on the other side of town has some down right god awful music that the math department and social science department likes) you finally let your hair down. Every once in a while, some sad drunk would cry to you, apologizing for asking you to do something you don’t want to do. When they hear your laugh over the loudspeaker they laugh with you, and another drink is passed into your hands.

The bass shakes the room and you jump to the beat, cheering and whooping during every drinking game. Araceli hangs off your shoulders when you both take a shot at the same time, and her boyfriend leads her onto the dance floor.

You’re sober enough- barely- to watch your best friend with fond eyes, her boyfriend and she dancing like idiots to the music and laughing as if they’re little kids. They’re horribly off beat when they jump but watching Araceli have the time of her life is enough to make you happy, and you’re glad you went to the club.

Araceli catches your eye from across the room and she stumbles towards you, taking ahold of your hand before handing you one last shot.

“Down it and let’s dance!!!” She yells and you do as told, throat burning and ears barely picking up her cheers as she drags you onto the dance floor.

By this time you’re actually honest to god shitfaced, but that’s fine. The music shifts and people that recognize the song go apeshit, yelling and jumping all at once at the bass drop. Araceli dances with her boyfriend, but the second you blink she’s gone with the rest of the crowd and you’re left alone to dance on your own.

When a song that you recognize starts to play you begin to sing along, but your voice gets caught when someone backs up into you. What was an innocent bump quickly turns into something more and now you’re one of the blackout drunk idiots that isn’t aware of who is grinding on them.

You can tell it’s a female when your hands move to grip her waist, and her back presses up against your chest. She smells of lavender and sweat, and her jet black hair tickles your nose. You can’t help but smile at this new feeling, and she makes a daring move to take one of your hands and lift it to grope her left breast.

With a hum of delight, you loop your finger around a belt band and twirl her around to face you. All you can see is big amethyst eyes, half lidded and staring pointedly at your lips.

“Can I kiss-!” You try to yell over the music, but that’s enough of an ‘okay’ to this mystery woman before her lips are greedily pressed to your’s.

There’s instant tongue, and you don’t expect anything less from someone so bold. She’s somehow slipped a hand under your shirt, feeling her way up your chest and you move a hand to grip her ass.

That’s the last thing you remember before your mind blanks from the ecstasy that is this mystery woman. There’s the brief flash of stumbling into an Uber, a soft and breathy voice giving directions as you suck on her neck like some teenager.

Then there’s the feeling of silk bed sheets, your fingers dripping wet after fucking her senseless and the look of excitement in her eyes as you lick up all her juices, tongue gliding up your digits.

At some point you have her slammed up against the walls and at another point your tongue explores her pretty little cunt. The constant sound of moaning, pleading, begging and you calling her a “good girl” circles through your head (though the latter is something you find yourself embarrassed about.)

Your eyes open to bright sunlight and a royal bitch of a headache. A low groan rumbles from the back of your throat and you bury your head into the pillows, but the scent throws you off because this is not your pillow.

When you look over the edge of your side of whoever’s bed you’re in, you catch sight of condom wrappers and your clothes scattered across the room. You also see a blindfold, but you decide not to think too hard back on that memory.

Warm arms slide its way around your waist and you freeze in surprise. A sickly sweet giggle fills your ears and when you turn to face the person you spent the night with your face pales considerably.

Shinobu Kochou, the witch herself, smiles at you peacefully. Her lipstick is smeared and there are a plethora of hickies scattered across her neck (you can only assume that there are more under the covers) but the sunlight bounces off her cheekbones so nicely it irritates you.

“Good morning (F/n). Did you sleep well?” Shinobu coos, and your life spirals into hell.

—

[ Next Chapter ]

#shinobu #shinobu kochou #kochou shinobu #kocho shinobu #shinobu x reader #kochou shinobu x reader #kocho shinobu x reader #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #the hating game

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Text

Blue Eyes Part 21

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 21: Lies at Margate lead to Ella’s breaking point.

Alfie came upon the stash quite by accident. It had been two weeks at Margate and things were going better than he could’ve imagined. Ella was slowly returning to the woman he fell in love with. Her bubbly nature coming back to life after shriveling up in a hospital room for so long. She didn’t speak much about her lost children but Alfie figured that one day they would come to terms with the loss in a healthier way. At that moment, he wanted to focus on her health.

Ella was out on her daily morning walk with Cyril, strolling along the frigid ocean. Alfie had stayed behind because the brisk air was doing a number on his hip. Instead, he remained inside with Anthea who was more content to play indoors.

As he flicked through paperwork, he kicked a ball back and forth for Anthea’s amusement. The growing pitbull bouncing to and fro trying to catch the ball, skittering across the wood floors of the cottage.

Eventually, the ball became wedged under the sofa. Anthea whined and scratched at the cushions, much too large to fit under the narrow space.

“Alright, alright, I’ll get it,” Alfie grunted as he stood and went over to the couch. “Where’d it go then?” He knelt down and tried to spot the ball. “All the way back there? Fucking hell…” He grumbled and practically had to lay down so he could reach under the couch. He groped around the dusty space until he came across something. It didn’t feel like the rubber ball that was slobbery and had chew marks. Instead, it felt like a piece of cloth.

Curious, Alfie fished out the mystery item and brought it into the light. It was a large kerchief that was tied up. As he maneuvered the cloth, a clinking sound came from within. It didn’t look at all familiar to him so he untied it and opened it up. As he did, a vial tumbled out and fell to the ground. Luckily, it didn’t break but simply rolled to a stop.

A sickening feeling gripped Alfie as he saw the entire kerchief was full of the bottles all with a various amount of liquid inside. He searched through a few of them and found that they all bore the same hospital label with dates from when Ella was in recovery.

It didn’t take Alfie long to crack the case. His wife had been hoarding doses of morphine when she was in the hospital, most likely because once she was at Arrow House she had no access to the vials.

Suddenly enraged that he’d been played a fool, Alfie bundled up the kerchief and stormed outside. Gripping the makeshift sack tightly, he traveled down the dunes to the shoreline.

~~~~~~~~

Ella was just returning from down the beach, Cyril already wet from romping about in the cold waves. The bullmastiff galloped toward him, his tail wagging.

His wife smiled when she saw him coming. “Is your hip feeling a bit better?” She asked once they were close enough to hear each other over the crashing waves.

Alfie tossed the vials onto the sand between them. “What the fuck is that?” He demanded.

Ella’s face lost all its color. She swallowed and shook her head. “I-I didn’t…”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Ella!” He jabbed a finger at her. “You tell me that you’ve been hiding this from me the entire time I was trying to take care of you.” He accused.

“I couldn’t do it, Alfie!” She cried. “I was too sick an-and I wasn’t properly taken off of it.” Tears stung her eyes. “I felt like I was dying!”

“Unbelievable.” Alfie ran a hand over his mouth in disbelief and turned away from her to pace a few steps. “Fucking unbelievable. I trusted you and this is how you thank me.”

“Well, fine. You can’t trust me. I’m a fucking Shelby, isn’t that right?” Ella held her arms out wide. “That’s all I’ve ever been to you.”

“No. No.” He turned around. “None of that. I’m sick of that. The names and all that shit. You’re my fucking wife, that’s what you are. I promised I wouldn’t lie to you and you did the same.”

“I wasn’t taking it.” Ella crossed her arms over her chest and refused to look at him.

“Good, then you won’t be bothered if I toss this nonsense in the sea.” Alfie stooped down to gather the vials up in the cloth.

His wife twitched violently and she lurched forward. “Don’t you fucking dare.” She snarled.

“I knew it. I fucking knew it.” He retorted and held the stash away from her. “You look me in the eyes and you tell me that you weren’t fucking touching any of it.”

She was silent and didn’t move an inch. Instead, she looked out over the ocean and did her best to ignore the internal itching. The itch that demanded she do whatever it took to get those little bottles back. But she refused to go through another withdrawal. Not when she felt like she was mere inches away from death. Not when she woke up in a cold sweat seeing the blue eyes of her children. No. If it killed her then so be it.

Alfie hardly had enough time to react to Ella pulling out a gun. She pointed it right to her temple, her finger resting on the trigger.

Her husband’s eyes widened. “Ella…”

“I’ve had it!” She shouted across the beach at him. “This is how it goes! I’m a Shelby and we’re cursed!”

“Ella, put the gun down.”

“No!” She sobbed, her hand shaking violently. “No-no I’ve had it. I wanted them, Alfie. I wanted them because they were mine! They were supposed to be mine. They were supposed to be born here.”

Alfie kept his distance just in case a sudden movement caused her to react. “Listen to me…just listen for a moment. Okay? Listen.” He tried to soothe softly; his eye kept on the gun. From how badly her hand was trembling it was only a matter of time before it went off.

“I-I can’t…”

“You can, you can listen for a moment. Please, love, put the gun down and come over to me.” He coaxed as if she were a spooked horse. “Ella, I’m begging you. I know you’re in pain but I ain’t going anywhere. I’m gonna be standing right here. I can’t live without you, love.”

“It hurts.” She wailed but she slowly began to lower the gun away from her head.

“I know, love, I promise it’ll get better.” He held his arms out to her and began to inch towards her. “C’mon, c’mere.”

Finally, Ella set the gun down in the sand and took a few staggering steps towards her husband. Alfie caught her before she fell and sank to the ground with her. He hadn’t noticed he was shaking too until he had her safe in his arms. His heart was pounding so badly it was hard to hear the waves nearby. But he could hear her crying.

Cyril came over and nosed his way between the two, licking at their tears.

“There you are…I’ve gotcha.” Alfie rocked her back and forth. “I won’t let go.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Ella didn’t watch as Alfie discarded the vials. She was curled up in the sunroom, her entire body trembling. Alfie draped a blanket over her for comfort and shepherded the dogs into the room to keep her company while he called around.

Tommy didn’t answer on the first ring, neither did Ada. Karl answered and said his mum was out running errands. So, Alfie called Polly. In all honesty, he felt stupid for not trying her first. He considered her very wise and level-headed compared to the majority of Ella’s family.

“Have her withdrawals come back?” Ella’s aunt asked after Alfie gave her the gist of what happened that day.

“No, she admitted she took some this morning.” He answered and scratched his beard. “I thought things were looking up…didn’t fucking think I was this clueless.”

“She’s always been good at hiding things. She managed to hide you from her brothers for a good while.” Polly pointed out.

Alfie smiled weakly and shook his head. How simple things were back then. All he had to worry about was Tommy, Arthur, and John trying to kill him. He’d take that any day over Ella suffering. “I’m scared for her. She was so sick withdrawing last time.” “You don’t want to see her like that.” The woman surmised.

It made him feel guilty at the thought. He wasn’t the one suffering through the awful pain of quitting something as addictive as morphine. Shouldn’t he be lucky to be on the other side? But deep down, it made his gut turn thinking about another withdrawal. The last once had put such a strain on their relationship. It tore at him inside and out to see his wife in agony. The uncontrollable shakes, the vomiting, the unyielding sadness. She didn’t deserve any of it. But life wouldn’t give her a break it seemed.

“What do you suggest?” Alfie asked instead of answering Polly.

“Maybe you two need some time apart.” She suggested cautiously. After Alfie and Ella had arrived in Small Heath, Polly got a clear enough of a picture of their relationship. The man was obviously fiercely protective over her and yet absolutely head over heels for her. When she moved, so did he. What happened when a planet was knocked out of its orbit around a star? Was it possible to find its way back?

Alfie gritted his teeth. “I need to be here for her, I promised.”

“Being there for her doesn’t mean you’re glued to her side, Alfie,” Polly replied firmly. “What if giving her some time was your way of supporting her?”

Although the concept sounded terrifying to him, Polly’s sage manner made him consider it. Most likely if Tommy had suggested the same thing, Alfie would either laugh at him or tell him to fuck right off. “Where would she even go?” He asked after mulling over the option.

“I suppose you could ask her.”

“Yeah, I guess I can.” Alfie turned and looked down the hall to the closed door. Could he be making things difficult for her? Would she be able to find clarity on her own for a bit? He knew he would sacrifice the sun and moon for that woman. So, what was a little time apart? Heart-wrenching, that’s what it was. But Alfie knew something had to give.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Traveler therapy. It sounded absolutely ridiculous to Alfie. But the man was hesitant to be away from his wife for the length of time Tommy was talking about.

“The Lees are like family.” The Shelby man explained upon Ella and Alfie’s return from Margate to London. Alfie mentioned Polly’s suggestion of space to his wife. Ella appeared wary and hesitant. The larger part of her wanted to cling desperately to Alfie, afraid she would lose him. But there was something inside of her that grasped onto the words. A solution, perhaps. Her Alfie’s burden lifted for just a brief time. Her focus turned inward. Was that so bad?

“She already knows most of them. One of the girls just lost a baby to pneumonia so she’ll have someone who can understand what she’s going through better than any of us can.”

Alfie pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. “Right, so you talking ‘bout a month or what?”

“It’s up to her. She wants to go.”

“I ain’t…tryna control where she goes or fucking whatever, but how’m I supposed to know she’ll be safe?” He asked. The nerves of being separated from Ella were far greater than he expected. It’d been quite some time since they’d gone more than a few days without seeing one another. He’d gotten accustomed to having her as his constant in life.

“She’ll be perfectly safe,” Tommy assured him. “They know the land better than anyone.”

“Right…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Right, well, I want her to be happy, yeah, so if that’s what she wants.”

“It’ll be good for her. Mark my words.”

~~~~~~~~~~

So a few days later when things were settled and agreed upon, Alfie traveled with Ella to the outskirts of the city where the Lees were camped. Cassandra Lee, one of the matriarchs, came out to greet them.

“Look how much you have grown, chavi. But all skin and bones! I will make you something to eat.” The older woman kissed Ella’s cheeks and embraced her.

The scent of damp pine and roaring fires sparked something that had long been suppressed in Ella. The wild gypsy girl who loved to be outside as much as she could. The girl who begged to sleep out under the stars and go hunting with her brothers. It was a miracle it had been kept under wraps for so long. When for so long she’d insist she’d always be the princess knight of the forest.

“Come, Isabel has been expecting you.” Cassandra took Ella’s bag.

“Right, well, I’ll be getting a move on then.” Alfie cleared his throat. He had no idea what Cassandra said but took it as his time to leave. “Tommy said you maybe could call sometimes…or write. But I uh…don’t want you to think you hafta. This is ‘bout you, yeah?” He forced a weak smile. “Just know I love you and I hope you ain’t gonna find some gypsy boy who’s a bit more spry than your ol’ husband.”

Ella’s blue eyes brimmed with tears. “You silly man.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ve found the love of my life and I intend to return to him.”

Alfie sighed and hugged her back. “Come back to me, El.” He kissed her temple. “You take your time and you come back to me how you like.”

She smiled and pulled him in for a long kiss. “Absence makes the heart fonder.” She whispered softly against his lips.

“Yeah, love. It sure does.” He already missed her.

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intruality-overlord · 4 years

Text

Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Warnings: Excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humour, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.

Taglist: @blogging-time @veraisnotfine @littlestr @jessibbb @ibroken-butterflyi @hi-its-tutty @idkanameatall

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Chapter Three 2/2: Duck

Drowning and Itchy

October 4th, 2017.

Remus’s skin was crawling. It scraped against his muscles like a cheap woollen blanket, disturbing his tired bones beneath.

Itchy. It was a strange, unrecognisable itch that he couldn’t satisfy with his usual means. Hugging himself, he frustratedly tried to stop the grating of his nerves. Yet the itch became worse. Now it felt like worms digging through and munching away at his flesh like rotten brussel sprouts (nobody liked those but starving worms and maggots, or goody-two-shoes nerds).

Puppy, Moonshine, his sweet, sweet Apple. His head screamed, ringing in the hollow his thoughts’ absence left. The ringing echoed in his bored ears that tried to stimulate themselves. Yes, Patton would know how to fix whatever this was. Patton, his rebellious little Teddy Bear, could— will fix him.

He didn’t dawdle— not even to acknowledge how funny the word dawdle sounded— sinking down, and rising up in Patton’s room.

The familiar effects of the room half-heartedly soaked his feet like a lukewarm, lapping tide.

“Hiya, Remus. What are ya doin’ here?”

The ringing dripped out his ears like water that had been trapped since he showered last. Basking in the melody of the words, observing the natural shape of the sentence. High pitched, bouncing and slurred, in a minor key. Remus didn’t realise how much he craved his voice until then. Muscles tightly twisted around his ribs uncoiled and he breathed deeply.

“Thomas is thinking about Guys,” Patton said, not knowing what else to say. Standing rigid, his arms tied to his sides, Remus said, “Oh.” Strangling the glass neck of a bottle half empty, Patton added, “And Dolls.”

“Oh,” Remus repeated dumbly. The simple syllable sat anchored low in his throat. “Oh…”

Shoulders hunched, trying to become small and narrow, Patton hugged the bottle to his chest— Then he shook his head, opening his arms and offered the drink. But Remus impulsively took his open arms as a different form of offering, crumpling onto his lap. He tucked his head under Patton’s chin like he needed him to hold his red blotched body, quivering from overstimulation after the fog of his mind cleared— together.

And Patton bundled him in his arms.

The room’s atmosphere was humid with longing, and thick with rejection like so much perfume it stings. Remus let his heavy lids fall, fisting handfuls of Patton’s polo shirt.

Patton gave Remus a small squeeze, then hesitantly peeled his arms away. Confused, Remus only frowned, and borrowed deeper into the embrace. Circling one arm around Patton’s waist, Remus’s other crossed Patton’s back to cling to his shoulder from behind. Their chests were brought flush together. Then Remus felt Patton’s hiccuping breath shivering through his frame.

“You’re not… lea-eav-i-ing?” Patton sniffled. Sheer denial kept Patton’s glass arms, shivering from his squeaky, muted whimper, hovering above the dip of Remus’s back.

“Do you want me to?”

Shallow shuddering breaths desperately tried to dry his tear-waxed eyes. “No,” he pleaded.

“Then no.” And Patton’s collapsed into cuddling the absolute shit out of Remus. Desperate fingers dug into Remus’s shirt. A pinky innocently wandered underneath the fabric making sure Remus was there, and warm, and real, and staying.

It was bizarre to be so close to someone in such an innocent setting, for Remus. Well, perhaps not bizarre, but he wasn’t familiar with it. He could get used to it.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” Patton whispered, sighing as his tears evaporated on his cheeks and fogged his glasses. The hot puff of breath bussed the shell of Remus’s ear. “I think… I just really needed a hug, too,” Remus admitted, nuzzling him even further. Remus hid his nose in Patton’s shoulder, and Patton hid his in Remus’s hair.

“If you ever feel like this again, you can always come to me?” Patton offered, but it sounded mostly like a request. Cold water of dread splashed Remus’s face.

Did Patton always feel this way?

“Really?” Remus asked instead.

“I’ll always be here to give you as many hugs as you want,” Patton said, and Remus could hear his watery smile, “anytime.”

They stayed together for what could have been hours or days, for all they cared. Inevitably, Patton settled his thumbs into Remus’s back dimples— Yes, he was precious, and pliant, and staying. Remus experimented with the spring of Patton’s curls. Until—

Patton felt a pulse through him, like his stomach being pulled down in an elevator. Resisting it made the contents of his stomach slosh. He shuddered.

“R-Remus.”

Unwilling to bother with proper articulation, the contented bundle in Patton’s arms gave a tiny hum. Patton hugged Remus closer when his voice didn’t work immediately. Nose grazing Patton’s chin, Remus tipped his head up ever so slightly in silent question.

“They’re trying to summon me,” he finally gulped.

“Hmpf?” Remus simultaneously startled and wilted. He steadied himself on Patton’s shoulders. “You’re going?” Remus murmured, searching his eyes. Without realising, Remus shifted so his legs also hugged him close around the hips. A protective cocoon of limbs.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can. I promise.”

Patton locked their eyes, and Remus wished his glasses weren’t in the way. He swept his fringe aside, and their eye contact broke only for Patton’s gaze to flick to Remus’s gentle hand and back. The space between seemed as far as the sun from the dark side of the moon.

And Patton slipped out beneath him as he sunk down.

Gracelessly, Remus belly flopped onto the bed without support. Patton’s shoulders were so sturdy, he noted… rather circled and underlined that already present mental note.

Not knowing what else to do, he curled up in the duvet. Aimlessly, he groped for one of Patton’s many stuffed toys. He desperately tried to retain the swiftly abandoning warmth with the fluffy substitute.

He understood, just… he was another kind of mess today.

(}ï{)

Remus had nearly fallen asleep when he felt the foundation of the room shift. It warped around, and Remus quickly checked his eyes with his phone’s camera in case he had gotten high and didn’t remember. Nope, the room was really changing around him and steadily settling into a reflection of the common room.

“Remus!” Patton popped up so quickly he overbalanced. “Puppy?” He sped across the room to see Patton’s eyes glazed like his favourite donuts— “What’s happening—”

“Shut up! You need to leave—”

“Wh—”

“The others are coming— no jokes no time— go go go quick!” He spluttered pressing on his shoulders so hard, the unstable room’s floor gave way, and he was rising up into his own room before he could wipe away the brimming, panicked tears from Patton’s reddening eyes.

They nearly got caught.

They… Thomas nearly… he hadn’t seen Roman since— What would Virgil— oh god— oh, Patton…

Remus could have ruined everything.

His itchy arms felt empty.

(}ï{)

Remus didn’t like Patton’s new cat hoodie.

(But it’s okay, Remus can learn to accept second place.)

Drunkiversary

December 25th, 2017.

I DON’T WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS THERE IS JUST ONE THING I NEED.

Thump.

I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE PRESENTS UNDERNEATH THE CHRISTMAS TREE.

Thump.

I JUST WANT YOU FOR MY OWN.

Thump.

MORE THAN YOU COULD EVER KNOW.

Thump.

MAKE MY WISH COME TRUE.

Thump.

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU!

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Maybe if Patton tried hard enough, he could burst his assaulted eardrums and end his misery. All he needed was enough kinetic energy. He already had a wall to bang his head against, but maybe he should upgrade to a hammer— or better! A—

I DON’T WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS—

Wine bottles littered at Patton’s feet (damn that weak, cheap, shit Thomas bought) obscured the plush carpet beneath that his toes curled and dug into. Their glossy surfaces glared at him. Patton would scream at Roman to shut the fuck up if he was coherent. (Whether he was incoherent from drinking or a concussion, it was a mystery.) As it was, all he could do was rip out the carpet fibers with his toes and—

SANTA CLAUSE WON’T MAKE ME HAPPY.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Would the thick glass bottles be more effective than the wall? Patton wondered, as he tried scrounging up the motivation to convince his arms to budge.

WHAT MORE CAN I DO.

Thump. Thump.

They were going to have a secret Santa together. Patton thought they were going to have dinner, complete with turkey no one actually liked, build gingerbread houses, open Christmas crackers, play card games and monopoly together. Patton thought they were going to drink eggnog together. Patton thought they were going to spend Christmas together.

They had a secret Santa.

And that was it.

LAUGHTER FILLS THE AIR.

Thump… Thump-p-p.

One last pathetic thump like a bouncing tennis ball losing momentum. Alcohol settling more into his system, Patton gave up. He slid down the wall like a hose with its water supply cut off. Screaming, that translated into a sad gurgle, tripped on his teeth.

“Oh, fu— Pat, buddy.”

THE ONE I REALLY NEED.

Bottles clinked together as Remus waded through them. Blasphemy and profanity squeezed betwixt his tense lips like lemon juice. To Patton’s ears, they tasted like the sweetest lemonade.

“Aw, big guy…” Remus murmured, surveying the damage. Patton made a vague noise of disagreement. Settling a hand on his shoulder, Remus crouched down beside him. “Yes, I know you’re short. Doesn’t mean you’re not big in other respects…” he teased with a weak grin. Patton made a louder slightly less vague noise of disagreement. “I’m not calling you fat, you know that,” Remus squawked like an indignant seagull. What an accusation— for Patton to think— what kind of friend did he take him for? A fraud? “Broad shouldered, sure,” he said. “Though, still, not what I meant. Anyway.”

Remus’s suffering smile slipped. Only the corner of his mouth hung on, leaving a minuscule smirk.

(Blearily, Patton noted how Remus was wearing a very amateur, very familiar scarf. That mental note fluttered from his grasp as soon as he mentally wrote it.)

“I got something for you,” Remus eventually said, presenting a blanket to him. The warmest, fluffiest blanket he could imagine.

In Patton’s floating mind, he forgot what colours were, but there were a lot of them. Lots and lots of colours and Patton called them all yellow, for now, since that’s all he remembered. All the many shades of yellow swirled together in intricate patterns, but his eyes were swimming too much to decipher it.

Suddenly, Patton was being swaddled with the blanket— Oh fuck, he realised, it wasn’t the warmest, fluffiest blanket he could imagine. No, it was incomprehensibly warm and fluffy.

Remus wrapped Patton in an extra layer, his amorous arms, and held him snuggly to his beaten, rickety chest. Excitedly, his heart nudged and poked at Patton’s tenderised head. “I’m here,” Remus’s voice was a wisp of steam from a marshmallow piled hot chocolate, “I’m here. You’re not alone, I’m here.” A sugar coated plume of fluffy steam, “See?”

Remus’s trembling tickled Patton as he gave him a grounding squeeze.

“D-don’t,” Remus stammered. Misty eyed, words drowning, “Don’t… don—” he expelled his shivering with a steadying sigh. “You’re not allowed to give up.”

Oh Remus, of course he was always there for Patton.

“I care. You hear me?”

Tears tottered over Patton’s eyelashes. He didn’t even have a Christmas sweater to give Remus.

I DON’T WANT A LOT—

Remus wasn’t exactly what Patton had expected to get— or, heck— fucking hell, deserved even, for a friend. But he was fucking grateful for him.

BABY ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU.

(}ï{)

The blanket didn’t have any yellow, Patton later discovered the next day. With his pounding heachache, he convinced himself it wasn’t worth it to facepalm. It was truly a water marble design of blues, greens, and grays. Patton loved it, and still couldn’t comprehend how warm and fluffy it was.

Next Chapter:

#WAW(B)F?#sander sides #thomas sanders #ts sander sides #sanders sides #patton sanders #ts patton #remus sanders #ts remus #intruality #moduke #angst #hurt/comfort

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hermionemonica · 4 years

Text

Cause I knew I was in love with you (when we sat in silence): Marichat May 2020 - Day 28

AO3 | For the @marichatmay

Collab with @lalunaoscura

DAY 1 | <-27 | 28 | 29->

Day 28 — Lights out

“I missed you.” She murmured softly, as she tightened her hold around him. How easy it was to say things like that now!

“I missed you too, Buginette.” He replied, as he planted a light kiss on the top of her head.

She lifted her head to look at him with a smile. He knew very well what she was asking for. So he leaned down and kissed the bridge of her nose, making her giggle.

“So,” he began, “I’ve got some bad news.”

A punch landed on his side as he yelped in pain and surprise. “What? I didn't even say anything yet!”

“Never start with that line.” Marinette looked at him with a frown. “It scares me.”

“Hey,” he placed a hand on the side of her face, “I'm sorry. Please don't be mad.”

Of course she could not be mad at him. As the smile reappeared on her face, she put her arms on his shoulders. “What is it?”

“So I think,” he said, “I forgot to wear the mask today.”

Marinette's eyes widened at those words. He hastily added, “I mean I did not actually forget! I couldn't find it! I-uh, I may have given it to the dry-cleaners along with the hoodie.”

“What?”

“I know!” Chat Noir exclaimed. “I am sorry, I am sorry!”

“Hey,” Marinette grabbed his bell and brought him down to place a quick peck on his lips. “It isn't that bad, is it?”

“It means I can't stay the night with you, my Princess.” He looked really sad about it.

“Aww!” Marinette pouted cutely. “But you can stay for a while, right?”

“Yes.” He kissed her cheek right beside her ear. “Till you fall asleep.”

“Like old days, huh?” Marinette smirked.

A mysterious glint shined in his eyes. “Oh, I don't think so.” Saying so, he leaned down to plant a line of kisses along her neck and collarbone.

“You are right,” she said between gasps as she entangled her fingers in his hair. “This isn't like the old days.”

Marinette leaned against his chest, as Chat wrapped his arms around her.

“Comfy?” He asked.

“Mm-hm,” she murmured.

“Now go to sleep quickly, okay baby girl?” Chat placed a kiss to her temple.

“One more song, please?”

As if Chat stood a chance against her puppy eyes. “Alright, but whatever comes up on shuffle?”

“Deal.”

The song was Saturn by Sleeping at Last.

Marinette closed her eyes as she let the beautiful tune flow through her. Chat felt her slowly relax against him.

When the song ended, Marinette slowly opened her eyes a slit. She turned towards Chat and grabbed his face with both hands.

“The universe was made,” she sang, “just to be seen by my eyes.”

Chat's eyes widened as a blush leaked from under his mask. “Okay,” he spoke with a nervous laugh, “that’s the sleep talking. C’mon Princess, you promised you ’d sleep after this.”

Marinette didn't really seem to be too awake, because she fell asleep almost immediately.

Chat Noir looked at her with warmth and love in his eyes. Marinette clung onto him as she slept as if she didn't want to let go. He was really sleepy too, he needed to go home and sleep. After a yawn, he gently caressed the back of her head as he wrapped his arms tighter around her.

When Adrien opened his eyes, he found that the room was dark and he was already under the covers.

He rubbed his face with his hand, but instead of feeling skin, he felt leather. Why am I still transformed?

“Plagg, detransformation.” He murmured sleepily before drifting off to sleep once more.

Marinette woke up in the middle of the night due to a flash of light. Blinking twice, she slowly opened her eyes. The lights were all out. She probably forgot to turn on the night light before bed. She reached over to her side to flick the switch on the wall beside her bed.

She leaned over the edge of the bed, and in her sleepy daze, lost her balance and plopped over the figure beside her, who groaned.

Chat Noir? He didn't go home yet?

She waited to see if she had woken him up. But when a few minutes passed without any movement from him, she realised that he was still fast asleep. With a smile, Marinette rested her head on top of his chest. She raised her right hand to place it on the side of his face.

Her hand came in contact with bare skin. No mask.

Chat Noir was detransformed. And he was not wearing his disguise.

Marinette sat back up with a shriek. This time, it was enough to wake him up.

“Princess?” He asked in a concerned voice. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“No!” She whisper-screamed. “You are detransformed!”

“What?” Only then did he seem to realize. “Wait, I'm still in your room?”

“Yes, you dumbass! Why didn't you go home and why did you detransform?”

A few seconds of silence passed before she heard him chuckle. It was a delightful sound; she almost felt the tension starting to wear away.

“Promise me you won't murder me?” He spoke.

“Of course I won't. Now tell me.”

“I woke up,” he started, “And the room was dark and I thought I was back home and then I saw I was transformed, which felt ridiculous, so I detransformed. I am so sorry!”

Now it was Marinette ’s turn to laugh. “You are such an idiot,” she giggled.

She hoped Chat was smiling too. She did not like it when he frowned.

“It’s alright, mon amour.” She whispered. “The lights are out and it’s still dark. I think we still have time.”

Marinette extended her hands in the darkness, trying to touch her partner. Her hands finally found his face. She ran her hands over his closed eyes, over the areas which his mask usually didn’t let her reach.

This was the boy behind the mask. The one she had loved all this time. And he sat on her bed right now, a foot away from her.

Her fingers wandered down his face, tracing every curve, every inch of his skin. It’s strange how, when one sense is impaired, the others seem to become more heightened to make up for it. Right now, she felt like she could hear every breath of his, every heartbeat. And when she touched him, it was like never before. There was something very intimate about feeling someone against your skin when you cannot see them. Marinette felt a strange excitement, as if something was about to happen.

Her fingers found his lips. His soft, kissable lips. She ran a thumb over them. It was almost as if she could see them in her mind’s eye. His perfectly shaped pink lips.

Chat grabbed her hand, and pressed a kiss on her palm. Her cheeks burned with a raging blush.

“Chat?” She whispered.

“Yes, m’ lady?” The reply came from the darkness.

“I want to kiss you.” She heard him gulp. “Right here, right now. Without any masks between us.”

She felt his lips stretch into a smile. He grabbed her other hand and guided her into his lap.

She sat on top of his lap and wrapped both legs around him. Her hands blindly groped about his body, till she found his neck, and she interlocked her fingers at the nape. She felt his arms snake around her waist, pulling her so close that there was no space between them. Drops of sweat ran down her body, probably from the nervousness and excitement.

Marinette closed her eyes and leaned down slowly. She had no idea where his lips were, but she knew she’d figure it out. He was breathing heavily, and she followed the sound.

When their lips were so close that their breaths mingled, she stopped. A second passed, and then he pressed his lips to hers.

They had kissed so many times before, but this time was different. They held onto each other as if their lives depended on it. They drank in the taste of the other, breathed the air from the other’s lungs, and felt nothing but the other upon their lips.

They broke off from the kiss, once, twice, but immediately plunged back in as though they hadn’t had enough, like they would never have enough. A swimming giddiness overpowered them, and they felt that the only elixir was the kiss.

A good few minutes passed as they danced with their mouths. Finally, they broke apart from each other. But they did not move away. Instead, their faces lingered near each other, their hands still holding their beloved.

They stayed like that for who knows how long. No words were spoken, yet so much was said in the silence.

The first rays of sunlight began to peep through the skylight, illuminating the room in a dim light. Not enough to see clearly, but enough to beat the pitch black.

“Marinette,” Chat whispered, still out of breath, “I should go before you see me.”

The boy she loved was right in front of her, and she was so close to knowing who he is.

And she knew whoever it was, she would love him all the same.

“Stay,” she whispered right back, “I want to know who you are.”

#miraculous ladybug #marichatmay2020 #day 28: lights out #cause i knew i was in love with you (when we sat in silence)#ml fanfic #collaboration #lalunaoscura #marichat #my fic

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ofravensandgenesis · 4 years

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The Investment of an Antagonist - Part Three

Entry 04 continued. [Trigger warning content: post contains discussion of Far Cry 5 details for the main villains including violence, brainwashing, torture, child abuse, neglect, emotional manipulation, dark backstories, drug use, cult content, etc. Spoilers for Far Cry 5 inherent. Part 03 of 03.] [Link to part one here.] [Link to part two here.]

— Faith —

Lastly we have Faith, née Rachel Jessop, the youngest of the Seed family. The easiest themes to assign to her are unsurprisingly drug-use and escapism. She is an intriguing and complex character with some very beautifully done layers, in particular playing with gender expectations of behavior both in-world and on the meta in what may have been either intended brilliance of foresight or fridge brilliance by the dev team.

Thematically speaking though, as with the other Seeds, she is projecting her past experiences onto others and turning into the abuser in the recreation of her trauma. In this case, it could be taking up the role of a manipulator using soft-coded presentation and masking shaming techniques with positive wording and oblique expectation-pressures to get people to go along with what she’s saying...as well as making them more pliable via the Bliss. It could be that part of her escapism theme manifests as disassociation, separating one’s self and in this case Rachel from Faith, her followers from their worries and problems, and at the most extreme end the Angels from essentially their entire personality and past. In contrast to John, Faith seems to be much more so about forgetting/burying/separating one self from one’s past problems, sins, unhappiness, etc rather than facing it head on. In a way, it could potentially be interpreted as a denial of those aspects of a person, and herself, through the Bliss. This could be a better parallel to how Jacob also breaks the unwilling down in his Trials, albeit for more specifically war-like purposes than Faith. We don’t get to hear if John has opinions on how the “new recruits” up in Jacob’s neck of the woods are treated well or not, but he doesn’t include Jacob in his jab. The absence could be used to infer that John has either separate issues, less issues, or no issues with how Jacob runs things, but that’s the problem with this kind of absence: it lacks definite, concrete matter to build with. We hear only a very vague telling of the details of Faith’s life from Faith directly, which in this instance is going to be presumed to be true, albeit perhaps glossing over the details and told from a carefully crafted perspective for a desired end result. Others also have their own opinions to fill in on the details of Faith as she is and was, and her life before, including but potentially not limited to Tracey and Sheriff Whitehorse, as far as I’m aware at this time. What’s really interesting is the almost split presentation we get at times with Faith: in some moments she is the epitome of her title the siren, bright, friendly, seemingly warm and enticing. Other times she has some lines that cast very long, dark shadows. Three of the phone calls one can find in the Henbane are particularly dark, if one assumes the call with the sounds of a crying woman on the other end to be Faith. Even disregarding that third one, the other two show more of Faith’s darker aspects, as noted below: “Rachel’s so sad and alone. Once was lost, never found. She lead a faithless life and it brought her low. Faith rose up in her, but Rachel stayed low, down. Faith flies divine, and Rachel...Rachel gropes around in the darkness. I left her there, a long time ago.”

The second phone call text:

“A baby is a sack of screaming, shitting, crying impulses with no personality, no thoughts, no understanding of the world beyond feelings. It has no soul. You have to give it one. The only soul we ever have, we receive from others. And it is only others, who can take it away.” One possible interpretation from these two comments from Faith would be that she was very strongly shaped by her family and friends before she ran away with Tracey to join a commune out west. Not into total obedience without personality, but perhaps instead placation and appeasement behaviors, attempting to make the other people in her life “happy” as a form of self-protection coping mechanism to deal with living in an abusive home environment, and later on refined into intentional choices as these lines from her might strongly suggest: "All my life I dealt with people like you. People who underestimate sweet, innocent Faith. You see what you wanna see... a playful butterfly, a delicate flower... a child with childish thoughts. It's easier to disregard a child. Tracey made the same mistake as you. While you all ignored me, I walked right through every one of you." From Faith’s wiki page, it also states that Sheriff Whitehorse talked about “Tracey and Rachel, who were friends, 'joined a free spirit movement in the west, smoking doobies, banging on drums’. But Rachel and Tracey fell on harder drugs and fell out of favor with their community. Tracey searched for a new home and found the Project at Eden's Gate, and Faith decided to return with her to Hope County to join the cult.” From there, with Rachel going through the painful and dangerous process of withdrawal symptoms while attempting to end her addiction, it might be that she also felt that her new self, Faith, or Faith-to-be, was shaped by Joseph and the Project. That this new self was a new soul, and that her old soul, her old identity, Rachel, had been cast away. Perhaps that was another motivation for her to possibly split with Tracey, staying with the cult over staying with her best friend whom she had left her home behind with once before—the friend she’d run away with into the unknown at what was likely a rather young age. Perhaps staying with Tracey, Faith felt too much of Rachel remained. Rachel, the addict. Rachel, the powerless. Rachel, the abused. Perhaps those reminders were too painful for Faith, and she wanted to separate from them as much as possible. If she wanted Tracey to stay though...perhaps she had also hoped Tracey would have a fresh start. That Tracey would be “happier” at the Project. That the two of them would be born anew and cleansed of their sins, as the Project promises. All of the Seeds are in this interpretation trying to cope with their traumas. Faith in this aspect is perhaps the one closest chronologically in time to her trauma, being the youngest, and thus perhaps still emotionally rawer at times underneath it all. Rawer in a more youthful sense, not related to the innocence she tries to project as a front, so much as how she cries out in panic and fear during her boss fight’s finale, when the Deputy strikes the final blow, and how her tone changes when she’s threatened during the fight, talking about how Joseph threatened her and plied her with drugs. In this regard, it is very easy to read Faith as still placating, still coping, still appeasing the powers that be in her life, in this case the Project, Joseph, and the other Seeds to a degree. With being Faith, and not even the first and only Faith but at the very least the third in a series of adopted “sisters,” the danger of being killed, cast aside, or deemed unsatisfactory for whatever reason is very real, and could echo possible fears she’d harbored of her parents, other friends, and community members in her past. How much danger she was in from her parents is unstated as far as I’m aware, but that she was abused and likely was afraid is enough. Fear itself is real enough and a weighty factor in any situation where it exists, as it was meant to be by biological design. So in recreation of that potential trauma-build, Faith placates all of her followers with the Bliss and gentle words, making some members of the Resistance note in commentary that they feel special, loved, cared for. Drawn in to become a part of Faith’s idealized dream of everyone being predictably calm, and open to suggestion. While it is still technically appeasing behavior, with Faith being in control of the Bliss’s drug production and seemingly also the hallucinatory effect it has on people, she is also master of the realm and thus the one with the keys to the kingdom, and I daresay enjoys her power with how she mocks the Deputy upon their return to the Jail after the cutscene of her reasserting control over Burke and the ensuing happenings. Her methods on the surface are soft and appealing seemingly, but she is ultimately now able to control those in her region and under her power with a far more beautifully beguiling and insidious form of puppeteering. She makes a splendid contrast in that regard with how Jacob brainwashes people, with making Angels versus the brainwashed fighters of Jacob’s. Another piece of interesting dialogue regarding the Angels as mentioned by Faith in I believe the Whistling Beaver Brewery is as follows: "Have you seen their faces? On the Pilgrimage? Oh, you should see it. To see the sin fly from their heads and their faces slacken to peace. The vanity shaved from their heads, evil taken from their lips. Never to speak a sinful word, any word, again. It gives me life. Every time a bell rings..." Combining that with the above comment about how Faith believes people don’t have souls until given them and shaped by the others around them, Faith certainly seems to have grabbed the reins on shaping who people are, with the intent to “smooth out” any disagreeable parts. To the point of perhaps erasing a person’s individuality entirely, thus producing an Angel. She like her brothers is also driven by purpose, as she mentions in her first cutscene of being given purpose, and from the random encounter line below: “I’m going to tell you a secret... Eden’s Gate is not here to fix your life. That’s your own selfish dream... No! Eden’s Gate exists to save something greater than you and me. It is here for the Father to bring salvation to the world’s very existence, and you’re trying to destroy that. I put so much hope in you. I thought you’d be special. Was I wrong?” That first bit about not fixing one’s life feels like a potentially open admittance that the Project is not trying to fix people at least in her region, so much as to re-purpose them to the Project’s own ends, and Faith fulfills that with a gentle kind of at-times-gaslit brutality that she selectively applies more forcefully when someone isn’t playing according to Faith’s own preferences. While the doubting may also be real in her case in the later lines, it also serves as shame-based social pressure to not disappoint her, directed at the Deputy as an attempt to erode any resistance they have to conforming to doing the “right” or “sympathetic” thing—as defined by Faith anyway. Its a good bit of manipulation, leaving it blurry whether its outright just intended to influence the Deputy or if she indeed has any doubts. I lean towards the latter for added nuance of emotion, though I do think she’s more than capable and willing of violence and brutality when desired. One minor example among others that comes to mind would be the signs of violence and likely death in the Chan residence, with the implication that Faith sent some of her people to deal with Jasmine and likely kill her, per the blood on the floor and the unsent note contents: “To whom it may concern, Thank you for addressing my complaints about all that noise coming from that Eden’s Gate construction site. One of your representatives (I think her name was Faith, not sure) passed by and said she’d have a word with the people building the statue. She even said she’d make them come by to apologize in person. Although we may disagree on some philosophical matters, it’s nice to see some neighborly etiquette. I look forward to resolving this amicably. -Jasmine Chan” Aside from that, there are also other mentions such as Ethan Minkler overdosing on the Bliss (while that may be a possible accident, the point likely remains that he either died or became an Angel, much to the mayor Virgil Minkler’s grief,) comments by Resistance NPCs about how forced-pilgrims on the Path are sometimes made to crawl on their hands and knees until they bleed, the ones made to jump from the Statue of Joseph and land among the littered bodies of those who did not survive, etc. Ultimately what all of that might be mirroring is her own treatment at the hands of her family and other people in her past, as well as perhaps what Joseph, the Seeds, and the Project asked of her: not to be fixed, but re-purposed. It was never about her, but what she could do for someone, be it her family, friends, or the Project. In that, the Angels are an elegantly simple solution: they are obedient to the wishes of the Project, and are loyal to a fault without any chance of wanting anything to the contrary than what is asked of them, provided they are provided with a steady supply of Bliss (presuming they require it as a continued addiction, though that is purely speculation.) The Angel’s Grave in the Horned Serpent Cave seems to be a lake of boiling muck that is implied to be a mass grave for Angels, per the Grieving Note found therein: “Lana. Christ in heaven what they did to you. The fact that they could make you believe all that nonsense, make you forget yourself so hard. Forget your own name? How, Lana? What did he say to you? What kind of fucking dirtbag blood ritual could make you think your name was “Faith”? Doesn’t matter how, I guess. He told you you were special, but in the end he threw your body in here to disintegrate in the boiling muck, like a common Angel.” This certainly shows the Project has little to no respect for the dead, or at the very least those turned into mindlessly loyal Angel minions. It echoes back to the lack of individuality Faith may struggle with internally as a theme—it may also be that her parents abused her through the unrealistic-expectations archetype of wanting and pressuring her to be what they wanted, without any regard of who she was as an individual or what she wanted out of her life. Perhaps during her life she was treated as nothing more than a commodity, trying to forever appease and live up to her parents’ expectations. I sadly have very little on the Jessop family as a whole, so this is all once again pure fabricated speculation. This lack of personal worth through individuality does thread through the recurring instance of there being multiple Faiths before Rachel, and it is shown in the notes to the two known previous Faiths, Lana and Selena (both referenced from Faith’s article the wiki.) “You’re not the first one, Selena. You’re not the first woman he’s used up and thrown away. For years I’d been hearing this Faith Seed was tall as her brother, with black hair. Couldn’t miss her. And then I saw you in one of their trucks last week, yellow hair in the breeze, and heard them calling you Faith. He thinks he can just SWAP YOU OUT. Like you don’t got a brain of your own. God knows who you are, and so do you. Selena. I love you. Don’t lose yourself to this.” Both of the above notes have mentions to identity issues with taking on the new name of Faith, of losing oneself or forgetting oneself. With the note to Lana and the last note from one of the Faiths there is also the double mention of “being special.” “I just wanted to be special. When Joseph came into my life, I felt like you’d given me a true gift, Lord. That a man who talks to you would bring me in on your holy conversation..? And so I too the name that you gave me, Lord, through Joseph: “Faith.” And I am a woman made anew. But now, I’m ashamed to say, even though I carry this name, my devotion to the Project is..plagued. By Doubt. What do I do? I know you will forgive me, dear Lord. I don’t know if Joseph will.“ The above note titled “A Confession” on Faith’s wiki page is possibly from Rachel, though the wording has me contemplating that it’s likely from someone a bit older, and the style I’m uncertain if I’d attribute to Rachel though I acknowledge that writing and speaking can present very differently. I would expect her to write with a more direct style of wording since presumably she had internet access and was familiar with texting, speculating off of Tracey’s note in the convent that mentioned Tracey being “tired of this 19th-century-ass writing shit.” The pauses via commas and more formal-yet-casual feel of the written cadence, along with more talk of God feels like someone else’s voice rather than Rachel’s, but I could be wrong. But that’s also fitting with the theme of uncertainty of who’s who beneath the name of Faith. Therein lies the loss of individuality and lack of clear denoting of which Faith this was, or is.

— Conclusion —

What I find absolutely fascinating about all of these villains is how they tell the story of the trauma and past experiences through their actions, dialogue, beliefs, and all while moving the main story forward. We do have some direct story telling in the sense of them telling us about those key moments that lead to their revelation and some backstory details, but the fact that even afterwards in a lot of what they do if not all of what they do we can potentially draw more inferences of how they came to be who they are? That is some very beautiful story and character construction in my opinion. In how the past influences their present and relatively speaking future events, so too does their present and future come circling back to tie to their past. This possible feedback loop of influence is just so neat in my opinion and is particularly pronounced here with the Seed family and how they are presented in-game. I feel it works exceptionally well for antagonists but could in theory also work for any main character. The sheer weight of how their past influences them so profoundly is really interesting, and while we all are shaped by our past, it’s particularly highlighted here with the Seeds. Often the trope of a character having a dark backstory is presented as the reason they’re doing X, or are prone to behaving in a certain way (one such popular demeanor being say brooding,) and is particularly common for villains. What I think makes the Seeds for me more interesting in that regard is how individualized their processing of their traumas is. It’s not just out to do evil because they are simply evil and have a backstory to facilitate handwaving as to why they are evil, they’re going about it in a particular way, and have all developed a nuanced system of belief relating to that and likely significantly influenced by those around them as well, with the Seeds all I would say influence each other to varying degrees. Them being a group of villains is part of that complexity with the layers of them having a family dynamic, the cult hierarchy, significantly different styles of managing their affairs while still sharing some core elements, and being such diverse personalities. The Seeds in their entirety as a group are what make or break the story in my opinion, since to have really good conflict I would say you need excellent villains or antagonists, and the Seed family fits that bill in my personal opinion very well. It feels like there was a lot of time and care put into each of the Seeds in different ways and in crafting their stories as well as fitting those stories to the main story of Far Cry 5. The speculation I personally take away from this in terms of developing interesting characters is that sometimes having a very detailed background and having it influence a character heavily and actively both in-scene and on the meta of writing the scene can be really interesting. Obviously sometimes not knowing a character’s past and leaving it a mystery works very well too. But if there’s been care put into how the character is developed and there are in-world, albeit unknown backstory reasons for their actions, words, and beliefs? Then even if we the audience don’t know the reasons, that can make for a very compelling character for audience members to speculate and fill in the blanks about. Obviously there are other builds and exceptions and such for making compelling characters and in particular villains and antagonists, but I do think this style of character construction in relation to the overarching plot is honestly quite gorgeous as a story infrastructure element in its own right and worth taking a look at should it appeal to one to examine it. It’s a really lovely echo of how much investment the dev team’s put into the characters themselves that those characters in-world also care and are heavily invested in what they’re doing and saying too, as an added accent to it all. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, hope you all have a good day/night! [Link to part one here.] [Link to part two here.]

#writing about writing #Far Cry 5 #FC5 #trigger warning content #Faith Seed #Rachel Jessop #long post is long #character study #tw content is listed at the top of the post #antagonists #villains

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goingsllightlymad · 4 years

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Blinded By Your Light - Part 10. On Adoring.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Y/N is the definition of ordinary. Studying at a medical school as far as she can get from her rainy hometown of Birmingham, she never expected to be shipped off the Flanders when the war was at it’s peak. Much less to meet a handsome young patient with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had seen in her life who as fate would have it would fall into her lap.

Wordcount: 5090.

Warnings: I mean, smut? Kind of?

The first part is just catching you up to date, so it IS kind of shit, but I actually kinda like the rest of the fic. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Also, — updates twice in under a fortnight! In this economy? It’s more likely than you think.

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When life went on the way it never had before, it took some time to adjust.

When, the morning after your date with Michael, you woke and saw your dress from last night hanging on the door, you called Ada once, twice, to make quite sure it was not hers. That last night had happened. It took you longer to know that it was not Tommy Shelby who had kissed you on the corner. Longer still to stop crying when you remembered what he had done.

When Michael came around at seven o'clock and took you to the Garrison and sat outside with you as you drank where it was quiet and cool, and you did not drink what he had brought you, because you were so scared that you would ask him why he'd left you back in Flanders when he knew you loved him so. Because you were not dating Tommy. Because Tommy did not love you half so much as this strange boy you barely knew.

When a week later you were kissing in the rooms behind the church that still tasted like Isaiah Jesus, and you could feel the name that was welling up on your tongue and it was not his, not Isaiah's nor Michael's. You knew full well what name it was you were trying not to say. You told Michael to leave. He did exactly what you said.

When summer ended, and in September you and he were sitting by the Cut, and he told you how his day had been, and he said that dreadful name that you had not said for so very long. The name that still lurked in the darkest corners of your mind, painting your thoughts a bitter, bluish shade of melancholy as you pushed him always from your mind. It was easier to ignore the thoughts now that you never saw him anymore, but it did not mean they were not there, filling your mind with a thunderstorm of colours every time you closed your eyes.

More often than not you still dreamed of him too, late at night when the last crimes had drained from the bloodied streets and lives enough had been taken from the town to last your conscience a lifetime on their own, when you had nothing better to do than to think that it was such a shame that you had found everything you thought was real and good and true and you had let it break you down to blood and bones and the remnants of a tired mind. You thought of him and all the beauty he might bring but never did because even his face was not so beautiful as it used to be.

And those late nights were filled with pain and memories, and the rain rolling down your window was enough to make your tears feel so small and your life even smaller. In all the grandeur of the universe you would leave no mark at all with him here beside you, and you would leave still less without. You could take the stars and tear them down, Romeo and Juliet and sins beyond your wildest dreams, and a whole lot more people dead behind you. And who could see the glory of a lifetime, the world they might have had if they were not who they were, and if they had not fallen for the angel they thought they knew, and settle with sad, sweet Rosaline?

Of course the town knew about you and Tommy. Michael knew. And of course he took it well. He was Michael fucking Gray; there was nothing you could tell him that would make him look at you different. You'd cried when you had told him. Expected him to scream at you, to shout and swear and leave you be. Instead he only told you that none of that mattered anymore. You were here and you loved him. And that was true: you loved him. Of course you loved him. But sometimes you did wonder if he could care about your past a little more.

But in September, by the Cut, you only closed your eyes and nodded. Told Michael you were proud of him. How intelligent he was. Your boy, but that had never been the truth at all.

By October, you could say his name like you were saying aloud the names of the breads you were selling in store now. Your aunt had moved back into the kitchen and you into the shopfront, managing the shop-counter and balancing the books. No more deliveries. No more going to the Garrison in the daytime, when there were no crowds of people to hide you from sight. You drank tea with Ada and Polly and, from time to time, John at the tea-room off the high-street. The tea was cheap, practically water, but you had not seen Tommy Shelby in months. You had brought Michael once, early in October, but even you could see how bored he had got. It had not happened again.

And by December, Tommy Shelby was gone. You had not seen him in months, and even in your dreams you knew that that was all they were. Dreams. Tommy Shelby had no more power over you. Still you couldn't deny that the rumours sent thrills of sadness through you, when you heard of him and of his pretty blonde girlfriend, Grace. The girl you had seen that fateful day. Little feelings. Not enough to hurt you bad, but enough to make a cloud pass over the sun, the sky to become a little more grey. Even now, you could not forget the way that it had hurt you the first time you had heard it all. You had thought that there could never be a day when it did not break your heart. That day had not come yet, and you sometimes wondered if it ever would, but you liked to kid yourself that you were close.

When January came, you still had not left Small Heath. With Christmas come and gone, and the promise of snow looming over every grey day as you sat behind the bakery counter and watched the world pass by, the days were coming and going faster and faster, and with every one the memory of Tommy Shelby was becoming less garish in your mind. Some nights you slept and did not see his face at all. Some days you walked into the Garrison and did not hear a whisper of his name as you passed by. Tommy Shelby would always be all around you, god of this small Eden as he was, but he grew a little further every day.

And in his place came Michael, the boy who by now slept more often in the church-rooms than in his own home and was hardly ever at his office in the evenings now. The others claimed they missed him every night, and you were beginning to think that, in their shoes, you might just feel the same. There was something inexplicable about him, something that was not just that he was not like Tommy, that made you heartbeat jump a little. By January, you had adjusted. By January, you could swear that Tommy Shelby was only that to you - Tommy Shelby, OBE. Peaky Blinder. Owner of the Garrison downtown.

It was as though you had never loved the man at all.

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The first thing you noticed when you woke was the smell of smoke flooding in through the window. Your eyes stung when you tried again and again to open them, groping wildly around you for the door. You could not breathe - your lungs were heavy, syrupy, as though they had filled with tar instead of the air you were gasping for. Grabbing at the door handle when at last you found it, you burst through into the landing, a wave of heat knocking you backwards. Forcing your eyes open for just a second, you caught the bright flicker of what could only be the flames at the bottom of the stairs, leaping and rearing as you looked on helplessly, frozen in place. You tried to cry out for your father; from the dry harshness of your throat, no sound came.

Head swimming, staggering backwards into your bedroom and pressing against the door. There was no way out but down the stairs, and no way to survive the flames there too. And suddenly through the muffled roar of fire raging in the church, the sound of the window swinging, crashing against the side of the wall, the sound of God, a saviour. The window was open.

You threw them out into the street, all the blankets and the pillows from your bed, the cushions from the chair and all the clothes in the wardrobe. One big pile underneath your window, large enough perhaps to break your fall. Who knew. You only knew that it was the only way you might still make it out of here alive. And then, in the last minute as you stood upon the narrow windowsill, casting a final glance into the room you left behind, you turning and snatched up from the bedside table the small silver locket, already blackened by the smoke. The rest could stay; this alone you could not live without.

With that, you jumped. The window sill falling away beneath your feet, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the pain to kick in when you hit the ground. And you did. Hard. You bit your lip to hold back the wail that tore at your lungs as you splayed out over the pile of soft fabric, grateful at least that they had provided a little protection from the harsh pavement beneath. Here the air was slightly clearer, and after a long moment you opened your eyes.

At first it seemed the flames were everywhere, licking up the side of the church and casting strange shadows onto the street like the ghosts that roamed this town at night. You had never been the superstitious sort, and now you knew you should have been, for there was something otherworldly about lying in the street and watching the church spires burn. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, and then onto your knees, and then back up to your feet, you found your place in this dark reality.

When you first tried to walk again you stumbled, nearly fell. The street was swimming dizzingly in every direction and your ears rang, half-deaf. Each time you blinked you saw the bright white light burned into your eyelids, and you were blinded by its light. Step by step, minute by minute that passed like hours in this timeless, hellish haze, you pushed yourself to the other side of the street where the fire had not reached, on your hands and knees. Every couple of seconds the flames would roar up, the deafening crash of bricks hitting the ground as the buildings burned all around you sending you ducking to the ground with your hands over your ears. The pavement burned under your skin, hot as the fire that glowed golden down the alleyways.

It was an eternity before you learned to breathe. Another before you were scrambling to your feet, pressing yourself against the wall as the footsteps came thundering down the street, ringing in your skull like gunshots. Even half-dead, drifting in and out of consciousness as the smoke filled your aching lungs, you knew that whatever was coming your way was not coming to save you. When the city burned the demons came out to play, and Small Heath would be alive with sinners tonight. There were worse fates than death, and tonight you would see them all.

Trying to steady your breathing and hold yourself upright at the same time, you waited for the danger to pass. It didn't. In front of the church the footsteps slowed, and into your line of sight there came the shadows of men, in their hands the awkward shapes of what could only be guns. Your head was pounding, your legs shaking from the effort of standing up, your lungs bursting as you took shallow, quiet breaths, and there was a terrible moment when at last you knew that you would never make it off this street. It was only a matter of time until you could not hide anymore.

Nearing you now, you closed your eyes and begged for peace. Thought of all the pretty things you knew that you would miss someday, and then those things you would mourn forever. You never got to tell your aunt that you were so proud. You never got to see the world, with Michael, on your own. You never told Tommy all these things you had to say. Tommy. Who would have thought that your last thought would be of those blue eyes, like every thought before. You loved him more than life, and soon life would be gone like your love would never be. You clasped your hands together and dreamed of him.

And then the unimaginable: gunshots around the corner, close to you, and the shadows by the church hurrying away. Away from you; you were, for now, alive. Collapsing to the ground, you gasped for breath, pressing your hands to your eyes to keep yourself from crying in relief. And then the realisation that what you had said could never be unsaid. You would love him forever, more than all your mortal sins. This alone you could never forgive yourself for.

And so you did the only thing you knew how to do - find Thomas Shelby. Inching down the streets down to the high street, jumping back into doorways as the shadows of people passed you on your way, you tried to find the Garrison among the broken lumps of buildings veiled in smoke. When you reached the high street you had to stop and stare, take a minute to take in the chaos that was unfolding in the street where only yesterday you had been buying flowers and delivering bread.

The fires were higher here, every building ablaze in a crimson glow that washed over you like a baptism of hellish light. Curtains billowing through the smashed remnants of windows, doors shattered in the street as people fought to escape. Women with children huddled in the gutters and men with guns, and in the centre of the street a bonfire climbing high, embers shooting up into the night sky and falling like rain. Children screamed; their parents wept; you could not hear the thoughts inside your head. The fires raged all the while. You took a deep breath and held it, stepped out into the crowds. Through the smoke and fire and fights, the faces flashed past you like the scenes of some twisted nightmare, the street whirling until you were sure you would search forever and never find your way. Never find your boy.

By the bonfire you stood dizzily, scanning the crowds wildly as you tried to find some semblance of a boy you had to see again. And then, through the haze, that face you knew so well. Those eyes.

"(Y/N)!" he was screaming, pushing through the throng of shadows by the fireside, an ungodly light flickering on his face and my god he was so beautiful that you wondered how you had ever breathed without him. Shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a mess and no cap in his hand, bloodstains on his shirt. He was a mess; your mess. You were yelling, screaming, and still he had not seen you. His eyes were wide and roaming wildly as he sorted through the faces, called your name again and again.

"Tommy!" the roar of the fire swallowing up the word, still you saw his head turn. Eyes catching yours, holding them with some emotion that you had never known before in his blue and panicked eyes, he ran to you. The way he did when you were dreaming, but this was not a dream.

"(Y/N)! What the fuck're you-"

You slapped him, the rage inside you bubbling up and you wanted to cry, because there had been a terrible moment at the centre of the crowd when you had heard his name and wondered if he would be alive at all, if you were just too late, and the feeling nearly killed you.

"That," you whispered, and somehow, through the roar of the bonfire by your side, you knew that he had heard you, "is for making me think you were dead."

"(Y/N) I don't-"

But you had cut him off. Your hands cupping his perfect face, you kissed him hard and fast. Let him taste the anger of this past year and a half, all the hate and all the tears and the way you had never stopped loving him, not really. How could you not love him when he was there in front of you, the most beautiful boy in the world? It took a moment - you nearly pulled away, a gut-wrenching fear that maybe you were wrong - but you realised that he was kissing you back, pulling you closer with his arm around your waist, skin as hot as fire and the summer that had broken you both. Tore you two apart but here you were, and you could not say where you ended and he began.

You broke apart, lungs burning as you breathed in and out, in and out, trying desperately to find the air to breathe as the world around you burned.

"And that is because you're not."

For a moment there was no reaction. No words in reply to let you know you had not been wrong. No sign at all that he was not the same cruel man that had turned you away so many months ago, that day the trouble really began. No way to know if you had finally screwed it up - that last last chance that someday he might love you too, the way you had never stopped loving him. Loving him more than life, for what was living if you were living without him? And then he had you once more in the palm of his hands, his hands around your face as he kissed you again and again; how many times you could never say, time was slowing down and speeding up and stopping and starting like the whole universe was about to explode with light. The fire brighter and brighter, hotter like you two were burning on the pyre, Guy Fawkes' catching light. You had never been kissed, never kissed, like this before. You had never loved a man quite like this.

You could not have said how you made it out alive: out of the church, out of the fire, out of the square and into the alley where the rest of the world was not. Up against the wall, kissing down your neck and wondering if you would be the same sweet girl the next time that he saw you. The way you were when he dreamed of you at night, for there was not a night when he had not called upon your memory to remind him he was sane. Thomas Shelby, OBE, was wise enough to know that you had never done the same.

The taste of weak January sun and the sadness of many years gone by upon his skin; you ran your fingers through his hair as he left his marks upon you. Souvenirs of tonight, but something told you that you would not be forgetting this anytime in forever.

All too soon he was breaking apart, pulling you down the street. Down to the Garrison, where the fires had not caught. Down through the main room, where in the moonlight you could have sworn the ghostly shadows of a darker past still played. If you looked hard enough you still might find the silhouettes of you and him, the whispers of a fight that was so long ago. You had lived this scene before.

Then up the stairs, into the bedroom where the lamps were lit, flames that flickered, danced, in their glass cases as though outside the window all of Small Heath was not burning. Life imitates art. He slid the nightgown from your shoulders.

Hands rushing in to touch you where the fabric fell away, naked but for all the clothes that held you back from him. You unbuttoned his shirt quickly, drawing in a sharp breath as though you had not seen him, touched him, done this all before. As though you did not know his body better than your own. As though you half-expected him to run away while you were half way through his skin to the darkness in his soul. An angel's soul, and the body of a soldier. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

Half undressed, your fingers slipping along the line of his hips; up his sides to his chest, his collarbone, his neck. The sharp angle of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips. Touching him. Learning him. This might be the only chance you got. Now to count the bullet marks interrupting smooth white skin: one by one by one. Smooth them over with your fingertips, feel him tense beneath you, kiss you deep and desperate, try to stop you leaving when you had already left. You had had one foot out of the door since the moment you had met him.

He bridged the universe between you, hands beneath your nightgown, running over you like he was holding you together. Oh, but he was. Shaping you like water from the Cut, running over his fingertips. He brought the nightgown over your head, and now there was nothing between you and the flames, the night outside the room, more darkness still within. He laid you down onto the bed, kissed you, every inch of you. Cleansed your soul with his touch, took your hips and neck and chest into his hands and learned all of the secrets from the way you moved beneath you, the breaths that came out short and loud as you cried out his name again and again into the emptiness that wrapped around your lungs. Until he took your hand in his, upon the sheets, you were not sure that he could hear a word you said.

He pushed apart your thighs and left himself in the gap that he had made. Kneeling between your legs and looking at you like a man may look at the god that he had lost, the god that he had found once more, you closed your eyes and sighed his name. The name that had hurt you; now you screamed it like a prayer. There was no god to hear you now; there was only Tommy. When his lips met you, you left the town entirely.

An eternity was never enough, and when he was over you again you knew that you could touch him forever and never have enough. Enough of him, enough words to say to describe him to your god when you told him that heaven had never been a place to you. Heaven lay over you, and heaven brought your lips to his. You tried to remember how to breathe and, more importantly, how you could ever breathe without him here.

He held you as he entered you; traced the tangle of veins down your wrist, the other wrapped around your neck. When you looked into his eyes, all was blue. You wrapped your arm around his waist and rocked your body into his. And all the while the fire outside the window grew and grew, and the fire in the pit of your stomach grew too, setting fire to your blood, coursing through every inch of you as it made you his entirely. But you had been his all your life. Your soul was written that way.

You closed your eyes when you let go. You knew what you were thinking. You knew then that he could never know it too.

And when he came chasing after you, biting at the side of your neck where the skin was soft and would be purplish tomorrow, you wondered if this was what they meant when they said "unity". You would never be whole again. And when he moved, pulled himself out from you, you whispered something to him that sounded a lot like asking him to stay. And he murmured something back that sounded a lot like a yes.

________________________________________________________________________________

When you opened your eyes, the lamp was. Through the open window, where the curtains billowed out like sails into the winter wind, there came no longer the garish glow of fire, the embers that floated up from the street below. Now there was only moonlight, and you knew it was time for you to go.

He was lying half-upon you, his arms around you like he knew that you were leaving. The way you always did. The way you always had to. Somehow it was always the hardest things that you had to do, when Tommy Shelby was concerned. You had not realised you were crying until a tear rolled down your cheek, falling onto soft white skin that was not yours, where the moonlight glowed as though he were angelic. You knew a lot better than that. He was godlike.

You drew yourself out from his embrace. Wrapped his arms around himself. Foolish girl, there will be another there tomorrow. Small Heath was full of girls like you, and more girls still that were not like you at all. After all, it was not you that he was seen with in the evenings. You could almost hear her breathing as she slept in peace, downstairs. What had you done?

Standing by the window as you let the breaths wash over you, one by one, with the cold and silver moonlight, you heard him stir behind you. Turn in his sleep, his arms around himself when he woke, for now around a memory. You knew better than to wonder if the memory was of you. You wiped away a stray tear and dressed quickly in the darkness. Back into the nightgown from the night before, and in the pocket the familiar weight of the locket that he bought you, back when you had no idea who Tommy Shelby was at all. You almost wished you had never known this boy at all. For some reason you could not name - perhaps the cold, or perhaps something sadder still that you had promised not to say - you took from the end of the bed the shirt that eh had worn. Slipped it around your shoulders. It still smelled like him, like cigarettes and fire. You thought the end of the world must taste like that, like him, because in that moment you would do anything not to leave that room. You smoothed down the collar, the way he always did. You wondered if you looked as ridiculous as you felt, standing in his room and wearing his clothes and pretending you meant a thing to him. It didn't matter - no one would see you now. The fires were gone, the dead were gone, the crowds would be gone too. You ran a fingertip along the brim of the peaky cap that lay upon the dressing-table. That bright and glittering line, the line that caught your eye when those handsome boys walked in. You had always wondered... When you brought your hand away, there was a trail of glossy red blood. It was a knife. You looked between it, to the man in the bed behind you. Of course.

Time to go; you had put it off for long enough. Standing by the door, trying to keep yourself from looking back at him in his bed. When he woke up, he would wake up without you in his arms. You knew he'd understand. You knew he'd know that it was all your fault. It was not right - it was not fair - to lie, to Michael, to Grace, to everyone around you who deserved more than you and all the heartbreak you would bring. You loved Michael. Of course you did. He was... Michael. Tommy was just a dream. Pretty, and impossible. Soon you would have to wake up. At least with Michael you knew if he loved you. You'd like to think he did. You'd like to think you loved him too. You could never break a heart the way that Tommy had broken yours. Tommy... You made to leave, and stopped yourself. You turned around and saw him sleeping. And in that moment, you had never loved him more. Never missed him quite so much. Your life was going to be very difficult.

Going over to his bedside, you kissed him gently on the forehead, tried to tell him in one moment that you had no fucking idea how you were meant to live without the love of your life. He sighed against you; you watched his lips as they moved, murmured something in his sleep. His chest rose and fell and, somewhere deep inside it, you knew that there must be a heart somewhere. You would not give yourself the privilege of believing that you had broken his heart. Tommy Shelby would never have been foolish enough to give his heart to a fucking mess like you.

"Tommy, I'm sorry." you murmured, and it was the most honest thing that you had said in all this time you had been in Small Heath. It was the only truth that you would ever say. Tommy Shelby had the best of you, and he would never know it either.

You stood from the bed; you turned and left the room.

It was only as you were leaving through the main room, closing up the front door of the Garrison behind you as you left all your love behind, to him, that you realised that never once had you wondered where Michael had been the night before. Never once had you thought to look for him. All the fire. All the fear. All the searching, searching for Tommy. When you were dying on the church corner and when you knew that now was the time to pray for all you loved, you had not thought of him at all.

Taglist:

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @actorinfluence @stressedandbandobessed7771

#peaky blinders #peakyblindersxreader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommyshelbyxreader #thomas shelby x reader #michael shelby #michael gray #michaelshelbyxreader #michaelgrayxreader #fuck you steven knight #fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #cillian murphy x reader #finn cole x reader

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lotornomiko · 4 years

Text

Light Grasping Darkness (2 of 6 NOT safe for work fanfic)

Captain Swan Smut Ahoy! NSFW....

Emma didn't think there would ever be a time where she'd grow used to teleportation. Not the rocky, downright violent travel of portals that led to other worlds, and certainly not the far gentler but no less stomach rolling jolt of reality stripping away. The dark greens and browns of the forest smeared together, and when that blurring of realities had finally stopped, Emma had found herself in a room that wasn't in any way familiar.

She also wasn't alone, the Dark One---Hook, right up against her. His arm was around her waist, but she didn't mind that or the fact that the pirate kept on pressing them together. Not when Emma had her hand on his cock, her grip entirely one of a sexual purpose, meant to soothe and arouse and most important of all, distract, keeping Hook from acting on the murderous command that he had been implicitly given.

It was a command that would see Emma dead, see the ruin and destruction of everything she had ever truly cared for. She couldn't afford to forget that, though neither could Emma allow that knowledge to hinder her now. Emma couldn't allow for a single second of hesitation, needing to keep Hook lusting, and in her control for as long as possible.

It was a delicate balance she would have to strike. A balance between letting herself go to desire, but not becoming so far gone as to forget herself in the process. This thing with Hook wasn't about scratching an itch, wasn't about love or lust, so much as survival. Hers and her family's, Emma was still so unsure if she could guarantee a happy ending for them all.

That fact had despair wanting to well up inside her, but Emma stuffed down all that unwanted and useless an emotion. She couldn't let sadness or anger fill her, couldn't let her thoughts prove so distracting that she hesitated long enough for Hook to recede, and the Dark One to take over. Emma would be deader than dead if that then happened, for she doubted she'd be able to coax Hook out a second time.

In a way it was like holding a tiger by it's tail, Emma safe so long as she didn't let go. Of course it wasn't his manhood that she needed to keep firm grip on, so much as the lust that Emma so obviously caused within Hook. A lust that had been there from the moment they had first met, Emma seeing through his lies, but being the hard ass unwilling to trust the pirate as far as she could throw him.

Sometimes the woman wondered if she had let herself be blinded, her defense mechanisms kicking up in response to the attraction between them. Hook had reminded her of Neal, a con artist with enough charm and personality to worm his way into an unprepared heart. It was Hook's flirtatious ways that had set alarm bells ringing in Emma's head, the woman knowing she couldn't afford to be dazzled or charmed by the pirate, couldn't allow herself to be hurt by yet another man.

In her haste to protect herself, she had done Hook damage. She had hurt and betrayed him, had let herself be deaf to the truth he had spoken. A truth that had him siding with whoever could get him to Storybrooke, all so that the pirate could go after Rumplestiltskin.

So many things had gone wrong because Emma hadn't been able to trust. Hadn't WANTED to. And now it was too late, or so it seemed to Emma, the woman fighting to keep the frustration, the sadness out of her eyes. Trying to stop thinking about the if only, and focus on the present, on Hook and on what she was doing.

With her hand lightly stroking the pirate's cock, Emma gave Hook her most inviting smile. "You're not about to let me do all the work, are you pirate?" She had meant to tease, to seduce, but the words came out as a challenge. A challenge Hook was only too eager to take up, his mouth suddenly there, hot and pressing on her lips.

It was too sudden, too soon, Emma not yet recovered from the earlier choking and the recent teleportation. She swayed in place, practically swooning in Hook's embrace, vaguely registering the soft, throaty chuckle the pirate let out.

"Always knew you'd fall for me...."

Once Emma would have snapped out an angry protest, but now wasn't the time for displays of hostility. She merely leaned against his front, peering at him with lashes that were lowered to hide the dazed look in her eyes.

"Still trying to catch my breath." She readily admitted. Hook seemed to flinch at that, his gaze being drawn to her throat, which was colored with the bruised imprints of his hand. He looked ready to say something, to offer up some sort of apology that Emma didn't want. She raised her free hand, cupping a cheek that was lightly covered in dark colored stubble. She didn't tell him it was okay, didn't try to make excuses for him. Instead Emma tried to ground him in the present, to keep him focused on a moment that might be their only chance.

To her surprise, Hook turned to press a kiss into the palm of her hand. It was a surprisingly tender gesture, one Emma might find endearing under any other normal circumstance. Now it only made her want to cry, here where there was no room for softer emotions.

"Emma..."

"Shut up and kiss me, Hook." She ordered, and even in her breathless state, she sounded fierce.

"Bossy little blonde." But his eyes weren't dancing with the playful light Emma had come to associate with Hook's flirtations. He was far too serious, too focused, and she knew then that Hook understood that this was distraction at it's best. He understood and was letting it happen, letting Emma use his desires to keep the Dark One at bay.

Neither one of them wondered how such a thing could even be possible. Neither thought to question how attraction and sexual want could be that strong. How something like lust, even one that had gone denied for months now, could hold enough power to stop what was thought to be inevitable.

In short, neither one thought to consider the impossible, both too damaged by love to dare give it a chance. To dare let its seeds take root, to let it blossom and bloom, and ultimately heal. It wasn't just that both fought against the possibility of loving again, as they simply refused to even consider the chance of it as ever happening.

But love was a powerful magic of its own, and never was it easily deterred. It would fight for its chance, steal away into the most hidden recesses of a heart. Taking what moments it could, it would nurture and grow, and if given half a chance, might someday be powerful enough to break curses. Even a curse as powerful as that of the Dark One.

But it wasn't there yet. Love waited hidden, just out of sight and mind, but retaining enough presence for the darkness to notice. The possibilities it offered was too seductive for the darkness to ignore, even as it courted ruin by embracing the love.

Emma would have laughed, scoffing the very notion of love having a mind and hopes of its own. She might have been born in the Enchanted Realm, but for all intents and purposes she wasn't truly from there. She had simply lived too long in a land without magic, had been hurt too badly to want to believe in the power of love and kisses.

If she had believed, the power that would have surged between them would have knocked Emma flat on her back. As it was, Hook's hungry kiss still left her swaying in place, the fingers of her free hand digging into the torn leather of his coat.

"Wow..." She managed to say out loud, when the room seemed to stop it's spinning. The corners of Hook's mouth turned to that familiar smirk, the pirate nodding as he huskily agreed.

"Wow." He was looking her in the eyes, his sea dark gaze full of sexual heat and promise. She almost blushed in response, something Emma hadn't done for a man in years. "Always knew it would be this good with you, Emma...."

And then she was kissing him, Emma not wanting to hear any more. Hook made a sound, a surprised grunt that turned into an eager moan. His good hand clutched at her waist, the cold metal of his hook at the small of her back. He was surprisingly well behaved for a pirate, Emma having expected a man like him to grope her the first chance he got.

"You can touch me, pirate." Emma told him, then bit and pulled at his lower lip. "I won't break."

"I want to do more than just touch you." Hook told Emma, to her own private thrill. "I want to eat you up."

"All in good time." Emma said in a light tone that belied how affected she was by his words. How her heart had quickened it's beat, excitement quivering through her at the picture that his simple words had brought to vivid life in her mind. But Emma wanted more than just to imagine it, she wanted to shove Hook to his knees, and force him to make good on his desires.

But she couldn't rush this. Every moment was precious, every moment yet another second that meant she was alive. As much as she wanted to tear off his clothes, to throw him down on the floor, and ride him to a bucking orgasm in all haste, Emma forced herself to go slow. To savor the moment as much as she could.

Was Hook thinking similar thoughts? Was it why he so clearly held himself back? When he was rock hard and throbbing, actually thrusting lightly into her hand's grip in an effort to get some sort of relief. It had to be bordering on pain, and yet the pirate hadn't made a move to divest her of a single piece of clothing.

Nor she him for that matter! A fact she could take care of easily enough, Emma changing her grip on his coat, so that she could begin tugging it downwards. Hook neither tried to help nor hinder her, kissing her again, their mouths both open so that the pirate's tongue easily swept inside.

His taste, the salt of the sea, was on her tongue. Emma made a pleased sound, playing her tongue against his, neither taking control nor giving it up completely. Waiting for him to master her, stifling a sigh when he continued to hold back.

"Hook...." Her tone came out warning, Emma turning her face to the side. His kisses were nibbles, tiny little exclamations of ardor against the side of her face, his tongue darting out to do a single, long lick of her skin.

"God, you taste good." Hook muttered feverishly into her skin. "Makes me hungry for more..."

"You..." The teasing words she had been about to speak, were lost to her gasp, Emma finding Hook had tired of holding back. With a great wrenching sound, her favorite red leather jacket was split seamlessly in two. Emma could only gape in astonishment, Hook pulling the two halves off her, and the shirt underneath it as well.

His eyes dark with appreciation, stared at the flimsy lace of her black bra. Always one to dress nicely even down to her undergarments, Emma's bra was more decoration than functional. Barely able to keep her breasts contained, and not at all hiding the fact that her nipples were stiffening.

"Love the way you dress." Hook moaned, his mouth already going to her breasts. Emma gave an involuntary jerk of her body, back arching as Hook's mouth closed eagerly over a lace covered nipple.

It was almost too much, the combination of his mouth and the scratchy lace rubbing over her sensitive nipple. Emma cried out, the sound that of pure satisfaction as Hook licked and laved at her nipple, his cheeks hollowing out whenever he began that sweet sucking motion.

All thought almost left Emma, the woman barely able to concentrate on anything but the feel of what Hook was doing to her. It frightened her how badly she wanted to forget, how easy it would have been to give herself over so completely to the moment. Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, Emma trying to back away, to get free of Hook's arms, and that devilishly wicked mouth.

It was easier said the done, the pirate undeterred. Holding her with arms that could very well be made of steel, Hook moved when Emma did, lifting his mouth up off her breast to kiss her senseless against a wood paneled wall. Emma almost whimpered then, rapidly being swept away by Hook's passion, by the excitement that filled her, the fierce longing want that sucker punched her into weakening before him. Her legs buckled, and suddenly they were around Hook's body, Emma having let go of his cock to wrap herself around him.

His hand was gripping her bottom, that hook of his rubbing it's cold metal along the length of her spine. It was the shock of cold against her warmed skin that almost brought Emma back to her senses, but Hook's kisses stole away whatever reason she tried to grab for.

It was so fiercely that they kissed, Emma's fingers finding the holes in his clothing. Digging in, then tearing them wider, ruining the remains of his shirt with her passion. Her legs were locked tight around him, Emma's dampened sex seated directly over Hook's cock. Pure instinct had her moving her hips. Emma rubbing herself on him. Causing a sweet, maddening friction that left them both growling, Hook's hips moving, thrusting against her as though he was already inside her.

She actually whined in need, kissing Hook just as hard, as desperately as he had her. Both their lips were swollen, their breaths rasping out of them in deep pants. Her chest heaved in an attempt to catch her breath, drawing Hook's attention back to her breasts. His hook was suddenly there, ripping the lace open, the bra's remains hanging down as a limp frame on either side of her chest.

"Such magnificence..." She heard Hook whisper in awe. And then his mouth was back on her, and it was a dozen times better without the bra in the way. Emma took to moaning, arching her back and pressing her breasts against Hook's lips. He didn't just go for her nipples, he kissed all over th round skin that they were a part of, leaving love bite imprints on her flesh.

"Enough, enough..." Emma was saying, but she didn't want him to stop. She caught at the back of his hair, attempting to haul him away from her breasts. Hook growled in protest, but only until she made her demands known.

"Need you inside me NOW." She told him, locking their gazes together. He didn't hesitate, didn't ask if she was sure. Hook merely stripped her of her jeans, and the panties on underneath, and within half of second of that, was thrusting inside her.

"Oh yes..." Emma hissed out in welcome relief. Desire pooled, everything about Emma tightening around Hook, her nails digging into his back, her legs locking in place. Hook actually hissed back, flashing pearl white teeth in a feral grimace.

"Too tight, too soon..." He actually seemed to be struggling, standing frozen as his cock throbbed with near violent need inside her. Emma couldn't bring herself to relax, didn't want to let go for a single instant. She clutched at his back with her hands, bit down hard on his right shoulder a second before she issued a demand.

"Move."

With the bitter, metallic taste of his blood on her tongue, Emma felt the powerful surge of Hook's hips all the way from her head on down to her toes. Before she could even decide if this was pain or pleasure that he was giving her, Hook had found a rhythm, steady but deep, and just on the side of frantic.

Her back bumped against the wall with every thrust of Hook's hips, Emma biting, and clawing at whatever she could reach. Going wild as she decided that yes this was bliss, all pleasure and satisfaction, the friction their bodies were generating together making them both crazed and desperate.

Sweat beaded on both their bodies, Hook taking the time to lick several droplets off of the top of Emma's breasts. When he began teasing her nipples with his deft tongue, Emma's hands found their way into his hair, fingers clutching at his scalp while the woman made breathless sounds of appreciation.

Her nipples were a steady ache, soothed only when Hook's lips was around them. The wet warmth of his mouth a curing salve that needed constant applying, every sucking pull of his lips making Emma wiggle and whine and go even wilder against him. Squirming, moving her hips to match his thrusts, tossing her head back in open abandonment.

Emma lost herself completely, living only for the moment, for the sensations their joining was creating. Purpose forgotten, Emma looked at Hook, and was taken in by that seductive dark beauty, entirely entranced by the sin glittering in his eyes.

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To Be Continued...

#once upon a time #OUAT #cs ff #Captain Swan #Emma Swan #Killian Jones #Captain Hook #fanfiction #fanfic #season 2 cannon divergence #Light Grasping Darkness

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treatian · 4 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 170: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

He didn't know what to feel. He didn't know what to think. When he'd gotten Jekyll to take the serum again before going out, he'd been interested and hopeful. He'd informed Hyde that Jekyll had brought him back because he was pleased, he'd gotten him something that he couldn't for himself. Now he was rewarding him by giving him time to do as he pleased.

"Now, if only he could figure out what to do about Mary…" he remarked sullenly.

"Mary…the one he loves."

"Oh, yes…funny thing about love. It can all too easily become a weakness, a danger to your other half, and you, of course."

"How could she ever be a danger to me-to him?" he corrected quickly.

"Well, love is weakness. The good doctor is intelligent. He has the ability to make that serum that makes you live, to heal countless men who are suffering in that clinic he works in with his experiments! But you think he'll want to pursue his work if he has Mary around? Surely not!" he scoffed. "They'll spend their free time in one another's arms, enjoying the finer things in life before children come about and of course once children come into the world, he'll have even less time to let you come into the world. In fact, he'll probably forget about his work altogether."

Hyde thought about that one. He could see it in the way his eyes roamed from him to the floor in front of him and the way he lifted his hands and looked at them like he'd never seen them before. Trap set and baited…now it was time to play.

"Oh, but how foolish of me, your time is limited until the serum wears off! And listen to me blathering about!" He waved his hand and dressed him in another fine outfit as he had last night. "Go, have fun, explore the night! After all, with that girl around, we can't tell just how many of them you'll have left, can we? No…"

A moment later, Hyde left his quarters, but he wasn't alone, not like he thought he was. He'd followed the boy to watch what might happen as he sought out Mary. He expected it would be like last night, that he would be able to intimidate her, push her away, scare her so much that she might run into the arms of some handsome young doctor daddy would approve of. Instead, his stomach had turned as he watched Hyde confront her.

They talked. She smiled and stepped around him while he circled, the pair of them doing a careful dance until she took a step closer and soon enough he was smiling as well. He couldn't believe what he'd seen. They were courting. He knew what it looked like, but it was only by seeing it from afar that realized the motions were all too familiar.

Courting…was that what they'd been doing all these months, he and Belle? Had they been courting like that? Well, maybe not exactly like that, but the smiles, the small touches, the companionship…it was uncomfortably familiar and yet…uncomfortably unfamiliar at the same time.

When he saw them kiss, he was ready to hit something out of rage and envy. Did Hyde know how long he'd wanted to do just that? How long he'd wanted so badly to pull his Belle into his own arms and kiss her just like he was doing with Mary, how long he'd fought that part of himself?!

When she snuck him into her apartments, and he heard their pulses increase exponentially, he was so jealous he was nearly ready to give up and go home. It wasn't just because Hyde, in two encounters, was suddenly living a fantasy he'd been too afraid to claim for himself for months. It was also because it signaled a failed experiment. Jekyll loved Mary, in taking the serum, he'd hoped that Hyde would not, and yet it appeared the attraction had not faded. It had remained. That was no good for him. Nothing could ever come from that, not for him. He could take the serum and try and purge Belle from his thoughts…it wouldn't work.

He'd left them alone. He knew well enough what a man and a woman, kissing and groping alone in a room with elevated heartrates meant. He didn't need to see it for himself, and unless Mary inherited a terrible habit from her father, he imagined they didn't want to be watched. He spent the night walking the streets of this realm, wandering about, trying not to think about how he'd promised Belle a book, and then, morning came, and with it, news that had him shaking.

He felt numb. He felt…he didn't know what he felt. Joy? Fear? He couldn't choose between the two.

Mary was dead.

He'd turned his attention away for two seconds, let them have their fun, and by this afternoon, word of Mary's death had spread all around town. No…Mary's murder. He nearly had a panic attack. Hyde…he'd killed her? The last he'd seen of them, he was certain they were about to fall into bed. Had he been wrong about what happened last night? Had he been courting Mary only to take advantage of her and murder her? Was that how he had planned to get her out of his life? That was very bad news for him. If he had murdered her, it suggested that the serum had worked, but it still meant he couldn't use it. He wouldn't. He'd hoped that this serum of Jekyll's might be able to help him with Belle. He'd hoped it might be able to help him live with Belle and without the distraction she was. He'd hoped that the serum might help him stop thinking of her, stop craving her, stop wanting her attention and to make her happy. Or else he'd hoped it might give him the ability to finally dismiss her. But he didn't want her dead. He didn't want to kill her and the thought that he might have a hand in stopping her life…he couldn't do it. He wouldn't.

He had to know what had happened, what, exactly, had gone wrong and for that, he had to find Jekyll or Hyde… Fortunately for someone new to the idea of murder, especially one that was gossiped about as this one was, he knew where to look first. To his surprise, the being he saw in Jekyll's lab wasn't the doctor, but his counterpart. It was Hyde. He was packing a few things away in a small chest as all scared first-time killers did, he was preparing to run.

"Going somewhere?" Hyde looked up at him with sad, scared eyes that made it difficult to believe he was the monster inside of Jekyll; seemed more like the man than the monster. "Just when things have gotten interesting. News of what you've done to that poor girl has spread like wildfire throughout the city. We really let the animal out of the cage with you, didn't we?"

"I didn't kill Mary!" he screamed at him, sounding more like a damsel in distress than a giant beast. But distress was a key component to a first murder. It could be scary for the perpetrator. And since Mary was dead and he'd seen Hyde with her last night and now he was here this morning…

"You're gonna have to do better than that," he laughed, putting two and two together.

"You have to believe me," he cried, advancing on him. "It was Jekyll!"

"Such passionate defense!"

"I could never," he spat, his back and chest spasming like a child who couldn't catch their breath when they cried. Like a child who was genuinely upset. "Not to Mary."

He felt what little hope he'd had fall. Hyde hadn't killed her, but Jekyll had? Because Hyde couldn't. Because…

"You loved her."

"Very much."

Fuck.

One stupid little emotion he couldn't seem to outrun had now caught up with Hyde too! And now…now he had no choice in what happened with Belle! One failed experiment had sealed her fate! And he, surely, would not be given the benefit of spending a night with her as Hyde had spent with his paramour. Did he not know just how much he'd been depending on him?!

"How can you be so weak?!" he growled angrily. He flung his arm out and used his magic to grasp the man about the neck so hard he fell to his knees in an instant. He'd failed him. His brilliant plan, his hopes, his dreams, all depended upon him going to Mary and telling her never to come near him or the doctor again! He hadn't planned on the doctor's love for her invading the darker half, he hadn't planned on that darker half sleeping with her and then falling in love with her himself, and he certainly hadn't planned on the doctor being so angry he killed the woman! Love was foolishness!

"Now all of this is failure...complete and utter failure. My experiment has been a waste. I should end your miserable life right now! But..."

He released him. Finally able to breathe again, Hyde fell back onto the floor, paler than usual, which was an accomplishment with his tone. He could kill him, he was an experienced killer thanks to his darker half and did it all the time without blathering about like an idiot. But there were punishments worse than death. If he had to go home and figure out a way to send the person he loved far away from him and learn to live with that…then he should learn to live with it too. In a few hours, Hyde would dissolve into Jekyll, the single potion he'd crafted would come to an end, and Hyde would disappear inside him never to return. And Jekyll…he'd live forever with the knowledge that he'd killed the love of his life. It seemed like a fair trade all around!

"Your fate is worse than death. You shall have to share a life with the weakness inside you." But only so long as Jekyll lived. Only so long as no one hunted him down and persecuted him for this murder. He had an idea, one that would assure Jekyll got away and had to live with this for as long as he would have to, in a land where time stopped. It too was a Land he had access to thanks to Jefferson. But it, unlike the others, wasn't a one-time thing. It was almost too easy.

"What is this all about? Why did you do this?" Hyde cried out, writhing on the floor his face still red.

"My reasons are just that…mine."

A bang on the door, authorities, forced him to act. In a flash, he grabbed Hyde off the floor and took the small chest into which he'd placed Mary's necklace. He used the remaining bit of Jefferson's blue formula to take Hyde back with him through the portal and back into his Tower. Just as the man began to sputter and scream at the sudden change of realm he let him go. He didn't help him. He didn't explain to him what had just happened, especially when it was about to happen again. He reached into the bag Jefferson gave him, pulled out the Key to the Land of Untold Stories, summoned the door in a flash, and opened it. Hyde continued to scream, to cry out "no!" as he opened the door and used his strength to deposit him in front of it.

"Please!" he begged on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him as if he were praying. Tears…Hyde had tears. And Jekyll had killed Mary. Which one was the beast and which one was the man? It was impossible to tell. And either way, it didn't matter. It couldn't help him. "Please don't do this. Kill me instead!"

He shoved the small chest he'd taken with the necklace inside of it into Hyde's hands. "Good day to you, sir."

With one booted foot, he gave a half-hearted kick, but it was all he needed to send Jekyll and Hyde tumbling into the portal to live long lives with the knowledge of what had happened. And he-

"Rumpelstiltskin…"

He waved his hand in front of the door and banished it from his sight, but most importantly her sight. By the time she reached the top of the steps, he'd pocketed the Key. "Oh! Your back. You weren't gone as long as you said you'd be, is everything alright?" she inquired delicately. "I thought I heard screams."

"Everything is fine, Belle," he answered darkly. "I'll be along to dinner in a few moments."

After a pause, she left. He stifled a cry of anguish. The serum was a failure.

He knew what there was left to do about her.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Belle #dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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marinaaniseed · 5 years

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Dark ‘n’ Stormy Pt. 5

Summary: Starts fluffy, gets sexy. There’s some impact play. Ends embarrassingly.

A/N: I got a little carried away with the last chapter, sorry. To confirm, Thor is a great lover (I mean, he’s had a LOT of time to practice) but maybe there were too many orgasms, heh. You’d be a bit sore after that. Apologies.

Also, I’ve written this chapter in all it’s 3,656 word glory/awfulness today. There’s been no proofreading or editing, so expect errors galore.

Thor hadn’t slept so well in years. It was still fitful, yes, but it was a pleasant surprise to wake up feeling some level of refreshed. You were curled up in the fetal position next to him and he wanted for you to wake up to something special. He crept out of bed and you rolled over but otherwise didn’t stir. He slipped into his tracksuit bottoms and crept out of the bedroom. You were so kind and caring towards him, he wanted to do something for you in return. He knew words weren’t his forte, that was Loki’s department, but he could try to make you breakfast in bed.

It’d been a long time since he’d tried to create anything in the kitchen. He’d mostly been stuck in a migratory pattern between fridge and settee, grabbing stuff to put in his mouth but not really thinking about it. Tackling yesterday’s washing up seemed like a good place to start.

With that out of the way, he began to investigate what there was in the cupboards and the fridge. You made it all look so easy, but he suspected you had some kind of training in a kitchen. At the very least, you definitely knew more than he did about cooking. Pop-Tarts would be easy enough but that wouldn’t really impress you. He wanted to make an effort.

After the battle against Ultron, he’d learned how to make an omelette and finally understood what Stark had been on about. That could work, he thought, staring at the eggs in the fridge. It took a while to get going, especially remembering how the hobs worked, but he was pleased. It felt good to use his hands to create something, instead of destroying things. It was oddly therapeutic just pottering around in the kitchen as the cockerels began to shout around New Asgard. The cheese and mushroom omelettes weren’t the prettiest but they looked edible once they were plated. Thor hoped you liked the food but he wanted to give you something a bit more. As the kettle boiled, he had a brilliant idea and went out to the garden.

You’d cleared the garden for him, so it was no longer an overgrown mess, but it didn’t exactly look pretty, either. Spring hadn’t quite begun yet, so the ground was quite barren. It’d been a long time since he’d used his powers to cause fertility, but he crouched down to the earth, trying to concentrate his powers. A couple of primroses grew and flowered for him, the golden petals matching his hair.

“Thank you,” he whispered, as he plucked the flowers from the ground. “I promise to take much better care of you from now on.”

Returning to the kitchen, Thor sifted through the recycling bin until he found a glass bottle. It was one of the Ægir beers he liked so much. The name, Ragnarrӧk, was a little insensitive. At 15% he could see how it got it though. A few of those and a Midgardian would be on their arse, with a hangover raging like Ragnarӧk the next day. He filled the bottle with water and placed the primroses inside. Looking around, Thor realised he didn’t have any serving trays. But he did have an oak chopping board. It was a little hefty, but it’d do. He put the plate of omelettes and the beer bottle of flowers onto it, before pouring you a coffee and adding it to the makeshift tray. He had to go back for cutlery but was feeling pretty pleased with himself as he returned to the bedroom.

You were still fast asleep. Thor placed his creation on the bedside table and climbed back into bed with you. You seemed to sense his presence because your hand shot out and began to grope around him.

“Mmmm,” you hummed in your sleep as your fingers found his soft middle, kneading and pinching. Thor really didn’t want to wake you up but the omelettes were getting cold.

“Y/N?” he cooed, stroking your hair. “Y/N, wake up.” You grumbled a bit, burrito-ing into the duvet and nuzzling into Thor’s side. “Come on,” he laughed, “I’ve got something for you.”

“Is it your cock?” you mumbled sleepily.

“No, no...it’s something I’ve made for you.” Intrigued, you sat up, sliding up Thor’s torso. At first, all you could register was Thor’s softness and warmth before you caught the distinctive aroma of coffee.

“Oooh, you brought caffeine. Thank you.”

“Not just that,” he grinned, leaning over to pass you his tray of breakfast.

“Nobody’s ever done this for me before,” you said, looking down in shock as he presented it to you. “Thor, this is lovely. Thank you so much.”

“Well, don’t thank me just yet, you haven’t tasted it,” he said, wringing his hands, eyes darting around the room nervously. You eagerly grabbed the cutlery and began digging into the omelettes.

“How did you know cheesy omelettes are my favourite?” you asked between mouthfuls.

“Lucky guess?” Thor shrugged. “Does this mean that you like it?”

“Yes, thank you. I love it. You didn’t have to do this, it was very thoughtful of you.”

“You’re always taking care of my needs, I wanted to do the same for you.”

Thor was content to sit in silence as you devoured the omelettes, his heart swelling with pride that he’d made something you liked. It was a small thing, but it had been so long since he’d last felt useful. That was why he’d slunk back to New Asgard with his tail between his legs. He’d wanted to help the Guardians but he’d ended up just feeling so useless. They’d tried to help and be accommodating but they just couldn’t look after him and do their jobs at the same time.

Letting the coffee cool a little in your hands after you finished the omelettes, you sat staring at the flowers.

“Where on earth did you find the flowers?” you asked. “Isn’t it a bit early for them to be in bloom?”

“I, er, might have used my powers to persuade them,” Thor said, embarrassed.

“Hang on, hang on,” you said, turning your face to look at him. “Are you saying that you used your powers to grow some flowers so you could pick them and give them to me?”

“Y-yeah…”

“That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Silence settled between the two of you. You were trying to enjoy your coffee while the implications of Thor’s gesture and what you’d said fully registered. Thor for his part was trying to think of other ways he could show you his feelings if some sad flowers in a beer bottle were the height of romanticism. He needed to court you. He was a bit out of practice and while he didn’t want to disrespect the memory of your lost love, it seemed like you hadn’t been treated like the queen you clearly were. At least he didn’t have to worry about finding a queen anymore. He knew his father had wanted him to marry Lady Sif. As much as he loved her, and truly he did, she would not have made a good wife or queen for him. She was an outstanding warrior, but so was he, and he knew that he’d need someone by his side who could temper him, not encourage some of his less... well-conceived plans.

The silence was broken by Thor’s stomach growling.

“Did you not make yourself any?” you frowned at him.

“No, I...I was so focused on you, I totally forgot,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Let me go remedy that situation,” you said, passing Thor the wooden board so you could get out of bed.

“No, no,” he tried to protest as you moved to throw his hoodie back on.

“I’m supposed to cook and clean for you Thor, it’s my job. Although I will definitely need to go home today, I can’t keep bumming around in your clothes.

Admitting defeat, he followed you into the kitchen, putting the beer bottle of primroses down on the table. Deciding it was safest to stay out of your way, he sat down and watched you flying around to create his breakfast. He felt a little ashamed of what he’d made for you when you delivered him a plate stacked with fried eggs, streaky bacon, sausage, roasted plum tomatoes, mushrooms, potato rösti, baked beans, black pudding and toast.

“This is quite a feast,” he said as you sat down opposite him.

“Well, I wanted to replace the energy you’d lost after yesterday’s exertions,” you said with a smirk. “Would it be ok if I showered while you eat?”

“Of course. You’re welcome to do as you please here.”

You nodded gratefully and padded off to the bathroom.

Once you were gone, Thor sat and pondered the plate of food. He didn’t want to upset you by not eating it, and it was delicious, but he knew that this wasn’t what you’d call a balanced breakfast. All of this was going to add to the softness of his belly. He knew you enjoyed it now but what is he became even larger? He didn’t want you to be repulsed by him. He would have to talk to you, try to suggest some different meals. But it wasn’t your fault, was it? You cooked the food that he liked and the portion sizes were because he kept rummaging around for food when you were trying to work. It was a lot to think about so early in the day. Enough to put you off your breakfast if weren’t so tasty.

*** Without Thor distracting you, it was much easier to shower. You’d decided to wash your hair as well, leaving your jewellery on the side, before stepping into the marble-tiled cubicle. The powerful spray beat down against your skin, soothing your aching muscles. Pouring the Asgardian shampoo into your hand, you were surprised at how gentle it was. Many shampoos were harsh and made your skin feel like it was burning. You massaged it into your scalp, spending longer than you usually would, trying to stimulate all of the acupressure points on your head. Rinsing it out, you were excited to try the conditioner, having seen the impact it's had on Thor’s tresses. The autumn-scented liquid was so moisturising, you could feel your hair being pampered. The smell of the oak and apple reminded you of when you used to go scrumping after school.

You let the conditioner sit on your hair a while as you turned your attention to your body. Yesterday had been a lot of fun and while the soreness had been worth it, you winced and hissed every time your soapy fingers traced over a particularly tender part. If anybody saw you right now, with your collection of bruises and bites, they’d be forgiven thinking you’d been in a fight. You rinsed out the conditioner and turned off the shower.

The bathroom temperature was a bit of a shock after the heat of the water and you quickly wrapped yourself up in Thor’s towels, large, soft and snuggly like the man himself. You grabbed your jewellery and began to reinsert your earrings as you wandered back through the cabin.

“Ah, bollocks,” you muttered as you dropped the butterfly of the second stud on the floor. While you scrabbled around on the rug, Thor crept up behind you. You only realised when you stood back up and a pair of large hands planted themselves on your hips.

“Can I help you?” you asked as you affixed the earring, grinding yourself back against Thor.

“I, er, um,” Thor mumbled, feeling himself getting aroused. “You’re making it quite difficult to focus on anything.”

“Some might say that I’m making things hard for you.” Thor was glad that you didn’t turn around to see that his cheeks were burning the same tomato red as the towels you were wrapped in, like a present he couldn’t wait to open. You didn’t stop grinding against him, so he manoeuvred you forward, bending you over the arm of the settee.

“It’s not nice to tease me like that,” he said, slapping your arse lightly.

“No, you’re right, it’s not. You’ll have to punish me.”

“Like this?” he asked, giving you another slap.

“Mmm, yes. Harder.”

Thor gave you a few more slaps, trying to be careful. He knew he would do some serious damage if he gave you the full force of his hand. Lifting the back of the towel, he could see how rosy your cheeks were. Judging by the noises you’d made, he suspected your other cheeks were just as pink.

“I was very naughty, Thor, I need to be punished more. Use the hairbrush,” you whined at him.

“Th-the hairbrush?”

“Yes, it’s on the side from where I did your hair the other day. Use the back of it like a paddle.” Thor was confused but spotted the golden handle and grabbed it. He thought he was supposed to be in charge of this situation but you were giving an awful lot of commands. He’d need to address that. He yanked the towel down to the floor, standing back and admiring the view.

Smack, smack, smack. His blows landed all over your backside and the tops of your thighs, but you didn’t say ‘Mjӧlnir’. It was impressive. But not as impressive as watching the jiggle of your behind each time a smack rained down.

Thor dropped to his knees and kissed you all over, trying to soothe where your skin must surely be stinging. But all he’d heard from you were noises of pleasure, never pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked, somewhat concerned yet deeply aroused by the colour your skin had turned.

“Mmm, yes. Never better,” you practically purred.

“Do you need further...punishment?”

“Yes.” You’d toyed with the idea of adding a title after the yes. Daddy, sir, master...your majesty or my king, even. But you weren’t sure how Thor would react and you weren’t about to ruin a good spanking by a poor choice of words.

Thor couldn’t resist the way you were on display for him, so he nudged your legs a little further apart, giving you a few teasing licks that had you rasping, before standing back up.

“As you wish, my queen,” he smirked, bringing the brush down with much more force than before. Your mind had barely comprehended what he’d called you before you felt the searing sting of the blow against the top of your already tender thigh.

“Ohhhh,” you whimpered.

“Here, let me help you,” Thor entreated, moving his left hand between your legs. He flattened the tips of his index and middle fingers against your clit and began rubbing in slow circles, while his other hand delivered the next blow. Your gasp turned into a sigh as the pleasure from his fingers lessened the pain he’d just delivered.

“You’re putting on quite a show for me,” Thor observed, as he slipped his other two fingers back to play with your wetness. You were finding it harder to keep still as the intensity increased and Thor was worried he would hurt ypu.

“I want you to know how much I’m enjoying this,” you panted between blows.

“Oh trust me, I know,” he said, removing his hand from between your legs and licking his fingers clean. “Perhaps you’d like to be punished with my rod now?”

“Your rod?” you questioned. You didn’t remember ever seeing a rod during all your tidying.

“Yeah, my rod,” he growled, pulling down his tracksuit bottoms and rubbing his length against your ruby red cheek.

You kicked yourself mentally for missing that particular innuendo, although you were pleased that Thor had a smutty mouth on him. Apart from swearing during online games, he generally spoke politely and courteously. This was much more fun.

“Ohhh, that rod,” you replied, wiggling back against him. “I’m not sure that’s a punishment, more of a reward.”

Thor grabbed your left leg and moved it so that you were straddling the arm of the settee. Keeping his grip on your thigh, his other hand pressed down between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the arm.

“I guess that depends on how much I torture you, doesn’t it?” he said as he pushed inside you achingly slowly. Once he was buried to the hilt, he withdrew again with the same lack of speed. Your gasps and groans encouraged him to repeat the act several times, despite how desperately he wanted to slam into you. The thunder was already beginning to rumble outside but he didn’t care.

“Hnnng-nya,” was roughly the noise you made as he entered you frustratingly slowly for what felt like the dozenth time. The hand that was on your back crept up to your head and removed the towel as Thor dragged his way out of you again. Without warning, Thor picked up the pace, slamming into you. His fingers gripped into your wet hair, pressing the side of your face into the fabric of the chair, his tummy taut from breakfast bouncing and rubbing along your back as his rammed into you at a blistering pace. From behind was always your favourite position because of how your G-spot could be stimulated but you’d never felt anything like it. You couldn’t even pretend to be quiet, the air was being punched out of your lungs with every relentless thrust, a series of incoherent screams falling from your lips. Thor was roaring and panting behind you and the storm outside was beginning to rage. One of your arms was trapped beneath you and you managed to wiggle your hand back so that Thor’s balls rubbed again your palm and fingers each time he drove into you, causing him to howl with pleasure.

Somehow over all the noise, you heard the front door open with a slam, followed by the sound of a woman shouting.

“How many times have I told you Thor? You can’t cause a storm every time you fight with Noobmastaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.” The last bit came out as a strangled cry as the woman realised what she’d walked in on.

“Thor! Thor! Thor!” you shouted, trying to catch his attention, reaching back with your free arm to slap against his stomach. The thunder god was completely oblivious and your shouts and slaps only encouraged him further.

“Oh yes, fuck yes y/n,” he cried in response.

There was only one thing you could do to make him stop.

“M-m-m-mjӧlniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiir,” you screeched, the last syllable a particularly high-pitched yelp as Thor rubbed you in just the right way to send you over the edge. You were already tight around Thor and the way you gripped his cock, sent him over the edge, with a series of deafening grunts. He collapsed forward on top of you, still unaware that you had company.

You craned around to see who was there. The situation would’ve been hilarious if it hadn’t involved you. There stood Brunnhilde, dripping all over the floor.

“Thor,” you tried again weakly, his body squishing you even further into the settee.

“Shhh, let’s wait here a moment. That was amazing. The best fuck of my life! If I had it in me right now, I’d demand another!”

“Well, that’s a bit rude,” you heard the Valkyrie laugh. “I thought I was the best fuck of your life?”

Thor jumped away from you like he’d been shocked, staring in horror at the sodden Valkyrie before diving to hide behind the arm of the settee.

“B-b-b-b-Brunnhilde,” he eventually managed to stutter.

“Bit harsh leaving y/n all exposed like that, don’t you think?” she asked, looking at your body still slumped along the arm of the settee, too exhausted and embarrassed to move. Thor scrabbled around on the floor, throwing a towel over you.

“I appreciate the sentiment but it’s probably a bit late for that. I think Brunnhilde has already seen everything,” you said, wishing that you could fall through some kind of portal to anywhere but here.

“Well, now that was a pleasant surprise, although I’m disappointed that thunder fuck over there was your first Asgardian shag,” she smirked, before turning her attention to Thor. “I’m glad that you’re getting your end away, and I’m glad that the storms aren’t because you’re ready to go murder Noobmaster, but we’ve been through this Thor. We are guests here. You can’t just cause storms willy nilly. It’s upsetting the Norwegians and our people can’t fish when it’s like this. Do you have any idea of the damage you’ve caused over the last day? I know you can control your powers, so please try to.” She spun around and stalked back out as the torrential downpour outside stopped as suddenly as it began.

“So, you and the Valkyrie, eh?” you smirked down at the mortified god once the door was closed. Poor Thor, his mouth opened and shut several times but no words came out. “It’s ok, I don’t blame you. I’d let her top me,” you continued.

It was fun watching Thor’s face as he processed what you’d said. The colour drained away in shock before returning to an even deeper scarlet than it had been before.

“Thor,” you gasped. “You just imagined that, didn’t you!” All he could do was bury his face in his hands. He really had the worst poker face in the world. “Filthy boy,” you grinned, as you pushed yourself up gingerly. It took a lot of restraint not to tease Thor any further but he looked absolutely mortified by all that had transpired over the previous five minutes. Wincing, you sat down on the settee, retrieving the hairbrush to do your hair. It wasn’t even noon yet but it had certainly been one hell of a day.

@morganhoran1671 @innerpaperexpertcloud

#thor #thicc thor #Thor Odinson #chubby thor #fat thor #squishy Thor #Soft Thor #endgame thor #reader insert #reader x thor #female reader #female reader x thor #dark 'n' stormy

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katzuyas · 5 years

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hp au twitter thread

in which when yuuri is still in school he gets involved with the bad crowd and ends up a follower of a dark lord, whose main agenda is ruling over the world and bringing dark magic to its former glory.

yuuri doesn't hate dark magic, he's fairly proficient, but he's far from being able to harm another person with malice. he's a great duelist tho, so he quickly becomes one of the leaders of the dark lord's inner circle. japan falls, then china, korea, all of asia. they triumph. and so the dark lord sets his eyes on russia -- their nearest neighbour.

while they campaign at the border, during a skirmish with the light community there, yuuri meets HIM. they're on the opposite sides of this battle, but yuuri thinks they might be one at heart, because while they duel none of their spells are lethal. yuuri takes a hex to the leg, he sends a curse to his shoulder, but it's clear that they are more than evenly matched.

yuuri can't help but admire the other wizard. his long silver hair blows in the wind and colours with the light of every spell that silently leaves his pale wand with the force of shooting stars that yuuri sees in his eyes. other spells fly around them, but in those moments yuuri can't help but stop and clutch his wand harder, because this is not what he wanted to do with his life. fighting, duelling, this was never his dream. he wanted to create spells, to give himself to knowledge, and yet...

he gets a curse right into his chest.

he falls back into the muddy ground, gasping for breath. there's a bleeding gash there, but it isn't deep. yet another reminder that the other doesn't want to hurt him.

yuuri hears him come closer, sees him crouch next to him, feels the tip of his wand press against his neck.

"I will let you live if you stop," the man says.

yuuri thinks of the dark lord, his family that would die should he betray him, and he laughs.

"do you think it's that easy?"

the smile he gets in return surprises him. it's sad, pitying, and something unfurls in yuuri's heart.

"I know it isn't," the man says before yuuri can decide what he's feeling. "but would you want to, if you could?"

yuuri looks into his eyes. the man who's more than his equal is, in fact, the most beautiful human yuuri has ever seen. even despite the dried blood on his face.

"but I can't," yuuri says.

and then he grabs his wrist, pulls hard, and rolls them over so that he can thrust his wand into the man's face.

"obliviate."

the man goes slack as yuuri withdraws the memory of their meeting from his mind, only to leave him there. alone, in the mud.

he thinks that's it. he hopes. but he sees him again. and again. and again. at every raid, the man with silver hair comes to find yuuri, duels with him, wins, and yuuri uses all the tricks he has to erase his memory.

but that only helps as much. his own memories are intact.

it becomes a habit to seek the head of silver among the light wizards, to make his way through the battlefield towards him, to fight him with all he has only to end up losing. oddly enough, yuuri finds some enjoyment in it. even more in the snippets of conversation they share.

but then, one day, the enjoyment is replaced by something else. something more. because that day, yuuri sees him fall.

and his heart falls with him.

he doesn't think twice before he races down the hill to where he saw the silver hair blow back as the man falls, blood spilling onto his fur-lined robes. yuuri drops to his knees next to him, murmurs all the healing spells he knows, and it helps. the cut is nasty, but it heals.

there will be consequences, yuuri knows this even when the clouded blue gaze traces the lines of his profile. there will be consequences, yuuri knows as he touches his wand to a silver temple and casts a sleeping spell. there will be consequences, yuuri knows as he lets him live.

and there are.

yuuri screams under the wand of his master, promises to fix his mistake, cries and sobs later while his body aches. but the feeling in his heart, well. it's light. it's lighter than anything he's felt before. so he protects the small flames of hope, of life, of love, with all his might. and then... then he meets him again. it's like a part of yuuri's heart has transferred to him during the brief minutes of his healing, but it's undeniable.

and he isn't the only one who feels it.

"why did you save me?" the man asks, wand pointing to the ground.

yuuri hasn't dropped his, but no spells were cast between them.

"I don't know," yuuri replies, honestly. "it just felt like the right thing to do."

"why, then? why hurt others? am I so different than them?"

the man waves a hand in a broad gesture and yuuri lowers his guard when he takes a look around him. wizards are dying everywhere he stops his eyes. light and dark, all for one madman's gain.

"we can't stop him," yuuri says. he meets blue eyes. "I can't. no one can."

"we can try."

yuuri's heart aches, longs, but his reason is stronger still. "what use is trying when I know we will fail?"

the man doesn't answer for long. he walks closer, so close that yuuri can smell him.

"if we stand together, we have a chance. please, stay with us."

yuuri opens his mouth to argue, but the man takes his hand. yuuri's fingers are gnarled with tension, but the other hand is warm. slowly, yuuri's fingers uncurl, slide into the warm, open hand that holds him.

"stay with me," the man asks.

"i can't," yuuri says, closing his eyes as they fill with tears. "my family... they will die for this. I have to-- I have--"

he rips away, barely able to breathe. he turns his back on his worst enemy, and freezes when he catches him directly in his arms.

"don't go," the man begs. "we will find a way. we'll rescue your parents, your friends, and then--"

"can you rescue the whole nation?" yuuri asks, looking into the night sky.

a star winks and falls. yuuri closes his eyes and makes a wish that he knows will never come true.

"I can't, but--"

"what's your name?" yuuri interrupts him.

"what? why would you ask that now?"

"I want to know. please."

the arms around yuuri tighten. "it's victor."

"victor... thank you."

"for what?"

"for trying." yuuri pulls away from victor's arms. "I will do my best."

"your best? at what? I don't understand--"

"my name is yuuri," yuuri tells him instead. "I will see you again, victor. in this life or the next."

the wide blues eyes are the last thing yuuri allows himself to see of victor before he stuns him and apparates away.

yuuri has never been good at planning. he was the passionate type, always. he did things first, then thought and regretted them later. not this time.

months of careful planning, of plotting and seducing and making connections and allies and friends, have brought fruit. the inner circle of four generals of death stood surrounded by the dark lord's followers. the portkeys that meant to transport them have been rigged, destinations changed in secret. the three generals apart from yuuri have been caught and imprisoned, replaced by polyjuiced fakes. armies of european light wizards’ coalition waited for them, ready to contain the dark lord's forces as soon as they would apparate in.

and the dark lord knew nothing.

but, oh, how naive it was of yuuri to think that.

the moment they apparated in, he realized the mistake. this wasn't the place they needed to be in. this... this was hell. this was his punishment.

he watched his friends fall as the dark lord triumphed again. and there, surrounded by his former comrades, now turned enemies, yuuri turned around and faced the dark lord.

he didn't stand a chance. of course not. but the dark lord was arrogant. he didn't kill him with his first spell, not his second or third, no. he liked to play. so he played, and tore yuuri apart at his leisure. a cut here, a curciatus curse there, a blood boiling hex later.

just as yuuri's screams turned into howling and his thoughts into mindless prayers for death, the pain stopped. through hazy with agony eyes, yuuri could see white, white and brown and...

and silver.

silver of the hair of the man who now stood between him and the dark lord.

yuuri wanted to stop him, to shout and scream at victor to run away, but his throat was too sore. he couldn't speak, couldn't move -- not with how badly wounded he was. all he could do was watch victor duel the dark lord, while his heart hurt more than it had during torture.

yuuri watched how victor kept up with the dark lord, how he stood between them fiercely and protectively, and then he watched how he began loosing ground, how bit by bit the dark lord's smirk returned to his face. and so, finally, yuuri watched how victor limped and fell and--

groping half-blindly for his wand, yuuri pushed himself up with the last effort of his body. the dark lord's wand was already raised, the killing curse at the tip of his tongue, yuuri is sure. victor's eyes met yuuri's over the distance and victor smiled as if it was his last.

yuuri has never used it purposefully in his entire life, not once, despite having cast it several times. but this time... this time he did so with his entire heart in it. he lifted his wand, lifted his eyes to the dark lord's back, and said:

"avada kedavra."

two bodies fell to the ground at the same time.

yuuri's breathing was harsh and desperate, and his grip on his wand loosened when blood begun pouring out of him faster, as if to make sure he doesn't see more of this madness.

but the dark lord was dead. and so, yuuri was free.

he didn't think he'd wake up, but he has. to a white ceiling, white sheets, a bed in a hospital. and to a head of silver hair resting against the sheets. victor, silly, wonderful victor, who fell asleep in the chair right next to yuuri's bed.

tears fill yuuri's eyes. he fights against his body to lift his arm and gently touch victor's head. he could've whispered 'rennervate' as well, because victor bolts awake at once. blue eyes meet yuuri's and victor's mouth drops open.

they don’t speak for a moment, just look at each other. and it's enough.

"you killed him," victor says at last. "it's over. we won."

"his followers?" yuuri asks in a voice scratchy with disuse. victor helps him get a drink of water, before he answers: "caught, imprisoned. gone. we're safe now. we've won. and it's all thanks to you."

yuuri smiles.

"no. it's all because of you. if we never met..."

"will you please do something for me then?" victor quickly asks. "to repay me, if you will."

"anything," yuuri promises before he even hears it, and it makes victor smile.

victor's hand takes yuuri's. their fingers slide together.

"stay," victor says.

yuuri closes his eyes and nods.

and he stays. in the light, where he belongs, and where his heart belongs: with the man it has chosen, and who chose him as well. against all odds.

patreon | ko-fi

#yuri on ice #victuuri #viktuuri #victor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #my fic #wow this was a wild angsty road #I don't even know where this came from #quite literally I just said this morning that I wasn't ready to invest in sarazanmai bc of the angst #and now this #tydcfvugihj #WHAT HAPPENED

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thedyingmoon · 5 years

Text

💚 See Me Now 💚

***

XI. Frustration

***

Levi and (F/N) went on working with the documents later that evening, him on his desk and the girl on her usual place on the floor. It was blessedly quiet. He ordered (F/N) to bring him his dinner for the evening ( chicken, a bowl of mushroom soup, five loaves of bread, and a glass of cold water ). She didn't mess it up, thank God. Her writing skills were also improving, but she's not quite on Petra's level on paper works, just as yet. No one could top his favorite girl at it. And the girl didn't make an irritating noise.

Thank God I ordered her to shut her mouth!

Now, two more pages and I'm done,...

(F/N) brought her writing material down and stretched, making a small noise in the process. The hairs on her nape suddenly stood in fright as she realized that she might have angered the grumpy Captain with her sudden movement. She looked up at his table and saw him,... sleeping.

The girl stood up and went closer to his desk, confirming if he really is asleep.

Levi Ackerman had no idea that (F/N) had been observing him for the past week. He didn't teach her the things she needed to know to meet his standards, so she had to, even if sometimes, the girl felt that her observation of the man delve on near obsession. She also took notes of his changes, from his body to his new habits. She also observed how he worked on those documents. The girl realized that what Shadis taught her was very far from what Levi does, and much more accurate. So, she taught herself how to do the same thing and two days later, she was writing in the style he preferred. Levi wouldn't admit it, but he actually approved of it. She even took longer hours in the bathrooms, cleaning herself thoroughly. Not once did the girl fail him from that point onward. After that, his insults on her lessened.

The day had actually gone without him throwing a single insult on her. Maybe he was slowly accepting her? (F/N) shook her head. She knew that Petra would remain his favorite.

And only love,...

The girl carefully removed the documents from Levi's hand, placed them back together with the finished stack on his left, and closed the window. The moon was really high up in the sky, and it was nearly eight in the evening, so the Scouts must all be inside now. She couldn't wake the Captain to tell him to go to bed, so instead, she went to his room, took his white sheet, and covered him with it. As she was doing this, she noticed how the Captain slightly snored in his sleep. It was,... really adorable. (F/N) smiled, thinking it must be really nice to have met him before on better terms, instead of what actually happened. Would he like her, then?

His dark bangs fell on his forehead. The girl gently reached a hand and brushed the wayward locks away from his forehead. He didn't wake up.

(F/N)'s face was very close to Levi's, she could smell his attractive scent. He may be weak, but he still manages to take very good care of himself. Then, she saw his lips. They were slightly opened and they looked really pink and soft. She slowly leaned in,...

"P-petra,..."

She stopped just inches away from his lips upon hearing him say her friend's name. He,... was dreaming about her,...

The girl changed her mind, forgetting about her sudden madness, and took the liberty to examine the Captain's work. She looked at one of the papers and,...

"Oh, my God,..." (F/N) couldn't help but mutter upon seeing Levi's sloppy work. It wasn't supposed to be like this! she thought. The Captain was very precise on his work within the past few days, how could he produce something so sloppy and unethical? Like it was made by a drunken, old guy who just gulped down his tenth bottle of whiskey! No! These papers must not reach Erwin Smith. She would go mad if she sees the Captain in such humiliation! She looked at the clock and saw the hour. 8:01. If she go to Erwin's office now, she could ask for fresh copies of the documents. Levi sleeps for twelve hours. She could finish it in half. That she was sure. She looked at the stack of documents to know how many copies she would ask Erwin for and almost fainted.

Nearly all of them were shamefully sloppy!

"Oh, lord,..." (F/N) face - palmed. Just three days ago, he was not like this.

Was he getting worse?

(F/N) took all the documents, save for the ones she finished. She promised to repay Levi for what he did for her a long time ago. And she's determined to see to it until the very end. She went out, thinking of an excuse to say to Erwin to have him give her new copies.

I will never abandon you, Levi. Even in the most difficult situations. I will never abandon you.

******

Levi was running from those hooded men again. They're shooting at him again.

"Petra!" he called. "Help me!"

After running for what seemed like eternity, he saw her there on an alley. His beloved Petra,...

...was making love,...

...with another man.

He watched in disgust as their bodies crashed like wild animals. They moaned in ecstasy as they reached their climax. She was scratching his back and he was groping both of her breasts. They kissed with so much passion. Levi,... couldn't do anything but watch in sadness, feeling as if his heart was being torn apart.

"Petra, why?"

All of a sudden, Petra looked at him with eyes filled with lust. And so did the man.

He saw himself. Only an even more muscular and more seductive version of himself. And also with lust - filled eyes. Just like hers.

What the - ?

Petra pointed at him her strangely wrinkled and twisted finger. "Ugly." she said in a very seductive voice that sounded like chimes. "Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. UGLY!"

His perverted image suddenly transformed into one of those hooded figures. Only with a much more frightening and sinister face. Like a demon. Their bodies were still connected down there, the creature's long and creepy hands still groping Petra's private parts. After that, they started ramming at each other again, while staring and laughing at him. It was a very sick image.

All of a sudden, the creature pointed his finger at him. "Ackerman must die." he said while grinding onto Petra, making her moan in sinful pleasure. "Ackerman must die. Ackerman must die. Ackerman must die,..."

ACKERMAN MUST DIE!

The two horrific bodies suddenly merged into one, creating an even sinister blob of darkness. It swirled in mid - air like a ghost and assaulted him! He closed his eyes and covered his face with his arms. Instead of suffocating smoke, he felt numerous shattered glasses colliding with his vulnerable body. It made a lot of wounds, making him bleed from different parts of his body.

Levi felt he was falling, and fall he did. He landed on a huge mass of liquid, finally suffocating him. He opened his eyes, and found a little light on the distance. He went for it, and saw a very beautiful figure with flowing hair of an unidentified color. The figure was radiating a very soft and soothing light within it, making the wounds on his body and heart heal. The figure, which he was now sure was a girl, was looking in the distance, her back on him, waiting for something.

Suddenly, all the warmth of the place evaporated as the same hooded figures went back, this time to attack the girl. Still, the radiance of the girl remained.

She looked at him. He couldn't see her face.

"I will never abandon you, Levi. I will never abandon you."

The girl looked back at the enemies and met them.

"No, Don't go!" Levi reached for her, but it was no use. He can't breathe, he was drowning,...

******

Levi finally woke up, his white shirt drenched in his own sweat, and his body aching all over. He realized he fell asleep on his chair again. He sat up straight, shrugging the white sheet off him and looked at the time. Ten in the morning.

Fucking ten in the morning?!

How in the world - ?

Someone knocked at the door. It must be the girl. All of a sudden, he remembered his awful dream.

Petra,... would never do something like that to me,...

"Come in!" he growled.

(F/N), who was just on the other side of the door, flinched at his sudden use of tone. Not that she was not yet used to his voice. It just felt,... different.

She opened the door and was greeted by a very angry Captain Levi.

Wait, it's already ten in the morning! Looking like that, did he just wake up?

"Where are the documents?" Levi's hand was resting on his empty table. (F/N) bit her lip and her eyebrows furrowed a little. Levi noticed this and got even more annoyed. "Where are the fucking documents?!"

The girl snapped in attention, frightened by the Captain's mood swing. "I,... ah,... already handed them to Commander Smith this morning." The awful truth was, she stayed up all night doing the paperwork. She finished, but barely made it in time.

She remembered the Commander examining each and every paper she filled out. He smiled at her.

"You did a perfect job, (L/N)." Erwin said to her. "Now, where are the original papers?"

(F/N) couldn't answer. She can't let the Commander see Levi's work.

"I know you're just hiding it from me." the Commander said, being careful with his words so as not to frighten the girl. "Please, show it to me. I won't get mad."

The girl sighed, went back to her room to fetch Levi's work and showed it to the Commander.

What Erwin saw in it made him flinch. It's as if Levi has forgotten how to properly write a sentence. He looked back at the girl, who seemed to be heartbroken with his callous reaction.

"Don't worry, (F/N). Everything will go back to normal once Hange finishes the antidote."

The girl was surprised at the Commander's use of her given name, but she was glad, nonetheless, that he was not angry at what Levi did.

"Get me something to eat."

"S-sir?"

"Didn't you hear me, bitch? I said,... GET ME SOMETHING TO EAT!"

The frightened girl ran out of the Captain's office and went immediately to the kitchen to get him something to eat. All the hard work she put in the entire night was taking a toll on her small body.

I must remain strong!

When she got back to his office, she saw him furiously rubbing at his 3D gear.

"Put it there." he commanded.

(F/N) placed it on a table near the sofa and awaited his next order. They ( no, she ) were done with the paperwork. Now, what will the Captain have her do?

"What are you waiting for, bitch? Grab the broom and start cleaning!"

The girl did as she was told. After two hours of intense cleaning ( floors scrubbed until they shone, window glass wiped until you could see yourself in it, drawers and top shelves dusted that you could actually eat in it ), she noticed that the Captain was not done scrubbing his gear.

And he was getting more and more frustrated. And irritated.

"Shit! Shit! SHIT!" Levi threw away his rug and slammed the gear on his desk. He went to a corner where his weights sat and started lifting one of them.

"Fuck!"

(F/N) was alarmed when Levi dropped the weight, narrowly missing his feet.

"Captain, are you okay - ?"

"STUPID FUCK!" Levi kicked the weight and it didn't even budge, hurting him terribly instead, making him scream out in several different curses.

He then went to the wall and punched it,...

...only to have his knuckles break,...

"FUCK! SHIT!"

"Captain Levi, please! Stop hurting yourself! It's going to be just fine. Ms. Hange will get the antidote done!"

Levi's head was bowed down low, his back turned away from her. "Stop lying to me, bitch. You actually like me in this situation, am I right?"

"No! Of course not. I hate to see you suffering like this. So please, stop hurting yourself,..."

"You know what, I'll stop hurting myself." Levi whispered, then suddenly whirled around to face her, his bloody fist ready. "I'LL HURT YOU INSTEAD!"

The Captain's fist flew,...

...and (F/N) successfully blocked it effortlessly with her right palm.

(F/N) held the tears back. His fist,... felt like that of a toddler's.

She felt Levi trying to wriggle his fist off her hand, unbelievably shaking.

(F/N) couldn't take it anymore.

"DO YOU NOT SEE WHAT YOU ARE DOING TO YOURSELF?!" she finally burst out.

"WHO ORDERED YOU TO SPEAK TO ME?! FUCK! OUCH!"

(F/N) slightly squeezed Levi's fist. And it already hurt him like hell. It hurts seeing you like this, Levi! It breaks my heart,... "I WILL SPEAK WHEN I WANT TO! YOU LISTEN HERE, YOU ARROGANT BASTARD, YOU ARE NOT HELPING YOURSELF GET BETTER! YOU ARE SO WHINY, YOU DO NOTHING BUT COMPLAIN!"

"Let,... go of me,... bitch! YOU ARE HURTING ME!" Levi tried kicking her, which was no use. His kicks were so pathetic, it didn't even hurt her in the least.

"NO!" (F/N) screamed, tears already flowing out of her eyes.

Levi suddenly stopped fighting back as he witnessed the girl crying in front of him.

"You have no idea how much it hurts whenever you push me away or when you verbally harass me!" (F/N)'s hand was shaking so hard, it was actually hurting Levi even more. "I did everything I can to meet your standards, but no,... YOU KEEP THINKING ABOUT YOURSELF AND HOW YOU'LL GET RID OF ME! YOU, STUPID, IGNORANT, ARROGANT,... MOTHERFUCKER!"

Levi was stunned at what (F/N) just called him. His mouth was gaping open, unable to hit her back with an equally insulting remark. Usually, it's what he's best at.

But, now,... he just couldn't find the strength.

And she still did not let go of his aching fist.

"I like Petra, too, but,..." she finally let go of his fist, bent down, picked his weights effortlessly, and went to his desk. She saw his abandoned gear there, and immediately realized what he was being so frustrated about.

He couldn't remove a stain from it. A regular metal stain,... which could be easily and effortlessly removed with the right kind of cleaning material.

Levi,... could no longer clean properly,...

Her tears flowed out, pitying him. "Captain, I'm so so sorry,..."

But, the Captain,... was no longer in the room.

***

A/N:

I checked the date when I wrote this, and, tada! April 30, 2017! Hoo! That explains the angst. 2017 was a really hard year for me.

~ @levi4mikasa , @yepps , @clovemcpandas , @shewolfofficial , @unhappysap , and @shortbty14 . 💚

***

💚💚💚

***

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #captain levi #see me now #levi x reader #levi x you #snk petra #chapter 11 #frustration

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twodaysintojune · 5 years

Text

Boobie Trap

Supernatural, Wincest, Warnings-Crack Fic

One Shots Masterlist, Long Stories Masterlist

Find me at AO3

"I dreamt that Sam had boobs." Is what my friend told me the other day. This is what came out of her weird ass dream.

For Sam and Dean some days life is weird, some others life is weirder and sometimes the weird-o-meter shoots up so high that it reaches the John Mulaney ‘You know those days where you’re like, this might as well happen?’ level.

The moment Sam woke up he knew there was something wrong. His chest felt heavy, like, there’s a cat or dog sleeping over me kind of heavy and as far as he was concerned and much to his disappointment, there were no pets in the bunker. When he moved aside, the weight moved with him and he felt some of it falling heavily over his arm and the rest of it hanging, pulling his skin and the tissue on the side of his torso with it. That was the moment Sam realized there was something really wrong. He opened his eyes and looked downwards and there they were, squished one on top of the other.

Boobs. And not just any kind of boobs. These were massive, bouncing, Dean’s anime porn like bazongas. The type that could never be contained with a sad simple sports bra.

Sam groaned noisily and rubbed his eyes. This was fucking perfect. It probably had been a cursed object and Sam thought this way because that’s what he had been dealing with the day before. He had been sorting up some old boxes they had brought from another chapterhouse and there had been a lot of paperwork and dusting to do. He had been careful but obviously he had not been careful enough.

He was going to have to move his way through all the rubble from yesterday and search for whatever had been the cause of these… pair of monstrosities to fix it.

He found a loose t-shirt whose fabric stretched dangerously around the rather loose blobs in front of his torso and moved towards the kitchen for an early breakfast. It was way too early but he was desperate to avoid everyone for as long as he could.

He prepared the coffee and did some eggs and toast, ate everything quickly and, pouring himself another cup, he ran away from the kitchen and into the old storage room where they dumped everything the day before. He sighed and went towards the boxes. Only instead of grabbing the ones with the objects, he went towards the ones that held the files. It was going to be easier and safer to deal with whatever the hell this thing had started it this way.

Like this, Sam spent some relatively peaceful three hours, picking up files and papers and reading them without finding anything. Maybe he could have gone faster had he just skimmed over the stuff that currently didn’t matter but most of the objects were pretty interesting so he got lost reading from time to time. There were also moments where his chest hurt with the extra weight it was carrying and he had to literally rest his unwelcomed boobs over the table for a moment. It was then when Dean decided to appear unannounced.

"Hey Sam did you se—HOLY SHIT ARE THOSE BOOBS?"

Sam groaned and covered his face, give it to Dean to call out the obvious.

"Yep. That's my life now."

“How in the—”

“Cursed object. Probably. Most likely. Woke up with them.” Annoyed sigh, throwing hands on his side. “What were you looking for?”

Sam’s upset face was not registered by Dean. He was walking towards his brother completely hypnotized, looking at how Sam’s boobs filled up and pulled the fabric of his shirt, looking at his bosom in the same way a man that barely survived the desert looks at a glass of water. Sam unconsciously began to cover his breast and shy away from Dean’s approaching body.

“Sammy...”

“Yeah?”

“C… Can I touch them?”

“What? No!”

“Just a little bit, I… I’d like to feel ‘em…”

Dean’s pupils dilated noticeably, his hand slowly reaching forward. Sam had already been on guard but now that his brother was acting so weird he was also getting a bit scared. He slapped Dean’s hand away and somehow that managed to snap him out of the trance he had fallen into. He blinked a couple of times.

“Sorry man I just, what the fuck?”

Sam sighed in relief, operation ‘Snap out of it jerk!’ had been a success.

“My thoughts as well.”

“You have no idea what did this?”

Sam was surprised Dean did not made a joke about his massive rack but he was probably feeling some sort of guilt after trying to grope his own brother.

“Not a clue, the objects I sorted yesterday were a bunch of boxes and what not, I’m going through the files to find it.”

“Ok so uh… How can I help?”

“Eh, just bring me something to eat later, I honestly don’t want to go around the bunker like this if possible.”

“Okay, okay uh...” Dean’s eyes fell at Sam’s boobs again but he managed to snap himself out of it. “Food! Yeah, I can do that.”

He beamed at Sam like he was really proud of himself for staying in control and strutted out of the door but not before glancing at Sam’s breast bidding them a sad and silent farewell one last time. Sam sighed and moved his head in reprobation. His brother was so stupid, he didn’t know how he could cope with him sometimes.

A couple of hours later Sam threw another pile of files into the ‘Reviewed’ box. He was going a bit faster after his brother’s intermission but still hadn’t found anything yet and he was adamant on filing everything properly while he worked his way through the papers unless he wanted to go back to all of this after finding his own cure. He heard a shuffle of feet and a soft rasp on the door. Sam looked upwards to greet his friend.

“Cas, hey, what’s up?”

Castiel came in with a tray of food. A focaccia sandwich along with a glass of juice. Sam inwardly praised himself for giving his brother a book about baking bread the past Christmas.

“Dean asked me to bring you this.”

The angel placed the tray in front of Sam once the man made some room for it and looked at him and then at his breast and chuckled. Sam turned at him questioningly.

“Nothing I… Your brother, when I asked him why he wanted me to bring you this myself he said that ‘he was busy’ and to ‘just do him the goddamned favour’ but now I clearly understand why he was acting so unsettled.”

Sam huffed annoyed “Well, it definitely wasn’t because of my nice personality.”

“I have to admit Sam that currently your bosom is… extremely alluring. Even for me.”

Sam turned towards his friend, appalled eyes and blushing. Mouth wide open but completely mute since he didn’t even know what to say. Castiel finally realized that he had been staring at Sam’s breast and looked away awkwardly.

“Of course that may be part of the curse that has landed upon you.”

“...Of course.”

Castiel coughed. “Is there anything I can help you with in the meantime?”

“Uh… yeah, I need to sort out and label the objects from these files I already documented so if you could help me separate them on that shelf over there?”

Working together in silence, Castiel and Sam managed to carefully storage about twenty of the most dangerous objects objects but there was still quite some to go through. It was later, almost at dinnertime when Dean came into Sam’s hideout to ask him if he already wanted to eat, leaving him again with a lingering look at his chest. Sam huffed annoyed.

“Stupid jerk. He’s an idiot if he thinks I’m gonna let him touch them.”

Castiel snickered. “Normally I would side with you Sam but you have to admit it is quite intriguing.”

“No I don’t, I don’t feel like touching my own boobs.”

Castiel raised his eyes surprised, truth be told, even he had wondered how they felt. Sam must have sensed Castiel’s curiosity and sighed a bit annoyed. He looked downwards and tentatively grabbed his chest. He moved his boobs one way to the other but even though it should have freaked him out to even be able to do that, it was almost like touching his normal chest in the manner that he didn’t feel like it was something that didn’t belong to his body. This was still his body and he knew he should be out of his mind but right now the boobs were there and it was like they had been there forever.

“That’s weird… Uhm Cas?”

“Yes Sam?”

“Uhm this will sound weird as hell but could you uh...” Sam blushed wildly “Could you… uh… t—touch them?”

Castiel frowned.

“Just for a moment! I want to see something.”

Before Castiel answered Dean appeared once more with dinner.

“Alright Samantha! Here you go, a delicious three course meal just for you.”

And it really was a three course meal, there was a bowl with egg soup and a plate of salad and some nice pasta that looked like carbonara. Sam looked at his brother in surprise.

“Why did you make all this?”

“Oh you know, I just want to keep you well fed, I mean, there’s a lot of growing you still need to do.”

Dean gave Sam his best shit eating grin turning to look down to his chest.

“Oh my god Dean are you serious!? Stop with the boobs already!”

“Oh come on Sam, I can’t help it, it’s hilarious! I promise you I’ll leave it alone after you clear the curse!”

“It’s not hilarious and it still freaks me out that you wanna touch them so bad!”

“Can I?”

“No!”

Dean pouted at Sam like a kicked dog and Sam hated himself for letting his brother get to him like that. He was the one with the puppy dog eyes, Dean had no right to use them against him. Sam groaned.

“Ugh, alright! But just for a moment!”

Dean motioned his hands in victory and moved to grab Sam’s boobs with confidence. Sam thought it was going to be kind of like with his own hands, considering this was his brother they were talking about but the moment Dean’s hands delicately surrounded both sides of his breast and lifted them up slightly pressing them upwards together Sam felt a strong shiver running through his spine. Taken aback he stood up in a rush, slapping his hands away and covering his breast with his arms.

“Alright you touched them already now get lost!”

“What!? That was barely a touch!” Dean paused for a second and looked at his brother blushing furiously and looking at him like he had personally attacked him “Wait… Did that turn you on?”

“Of course not! Now get lost you idiot!” Sam spat back before noticing just how giving his actions had been. Once he realized his face turned another shade of red and he turned away from Dean feeling like an idiot.

Dean looked at his brother dazed until some thought came in his mind because he moved towards Sam and, surrounding him with his arms, he groped him from behind. To everyone’s surprise, Sam let out a high pitched exclamation and pushed his brother away from him.

“Dean, what the hell!?”

“I’m sorry I just...” Dean trailed off glancing at the box that contained the rest of the cursed objects. He kneeled next to it and not before long he signaled a tube made out of wood like those made to hold rolled papers. “Have you checked that one yet?”

“That red tube?”

“No no, below the tube.”

Sam looked below the tube and effectively, a vintage busty asian beauties magazine was lying at the bottom of the box below everything else. Sam recalled perfectly well the magazine, having made a mental note not to allow Dean to take it until he had filed everything else. He also remembered grabbing it with his hand, believing it was just a badly hidden personal treasure from a previous men of letters. Sam turned towards his friend.

“Cas?”

Castiel nodded and passed him the box with the rest of the files. Soon enough Sam found the file that contained the information on the cursed magazine. The story, once they found it, was that the magazine had been one of many experiments an old member of the order known for his tendency to pranking had created. The good news was that Sam’s boobs were going to disappear after forty eight hours, the bad news was that in the meanwhile he was going to be extremely sensitive if his boobs got in touch with another person’s hand, which they were naturally cursed to attract. The item had eventually been confiscated because the curse was too strong and they had deemed it too 'morally inconvenient for what a prank should convey’, whatever the hell that meant.

“Well, there you go, just lay low for tomorrow and you should be good to go!”

Dean gave Sam a reassuring pat while standing up. Sam huffed at his brother but he had to admit that Dean had a point. He moved back to the table to eat his meal, his appetite back now that he knew his condition was temporary. Dean and Castiel made to clear up the floor and finish storing what had been filed already, making the silent agreement that Sam was on temporary leave from any kind of work considering his current condition and the fact that it was still embarrassing for Sam to move with his massive bouncing rack all along the place in front of them.

Later on, Sam went to his room and turned the Netflix on browsing mindlessly, wondering what show he could binge watch. Dean appeared hours later, almost at midnight, with a couple of beers in a cooler bucket, he threw himself over the other side of the bed and passed Sam his drink. It was all cool until he felt something poking his boob. Sam turned to look at Dean but it wasn’t fast enough, Dean had moved his hand away. Sam looked at him suspiciously but soon after was focusing his eyes back on the screen with a sigh. Minutes later, he felt Dean’s finger poking him again.

Sam was already fed up with all the boob thing so he did his best to ignore it but Dean took that as a concession and began to press it with three fingers and then covered as much as he could with his entire hand. This time it was too much, Sam let out a soft squeak that made him blush and he slapped Dean’s hand away.

“Stop it Dean!”

“I’m sorry I just...”

Having been concentrated on the screen, Sam did not notice Dean’s pupils blown with lust and looking at him like he was a wet dream come true before and he realized that it had been a grave mistake to let his brother into his room like any other day with the curse laying over him. Quickly, Dean hovered over Sam and straddled him.

“Can I see them?”

“What? No! Dean come on!”

“Okay so just let me touch ‘em.”

Dean moved to grope him and Sam naturally tried to fight back his brother’s advances. They struggled until Dean managed to submit Sam’s hands over his head with one hand and lifted his shirt in a swift motion. Sam squealed when he felt the cool air around him and blushed wildly when he realized what his vocal chords had done. He glared at Dean but realized his brother was way down the rabbit’s hole, his entire being was captured by the immensity of Sam’s magical titties.

Dean used his free hand to hold and squeeze it tentatively and Sam hitched a breath. In a way, he understood that the spell was doing this but he still hated the fact that he could be this sensitive with a simple touch. Soon enough, Dean dropped his hold on Sam’s wrists and grabbed the second pair. He squeezed and rubbed and pushed them together and Sam tried to fight back but the moment his brother started to properly grope him Sam felt all his strength leaving him and he was getting caught more and more into the intense sensations his breast was sending to his nervous system until Sam couldn’t help it and began to breathe shallowly. Hands resting over Dean’s things, pressing them in need.

“You like that?”

Sam frowned at Dean but his flustered face was doing nothing to help him look truly angry. Dean smirked at him with that look that said ‘wait and see’ and bent down over one of Sam’s nipples. Sam felt disconnected for a second from the image of his brother opening his lips to surround his currently enlarged areola but was brought back to reality when his brother’s solid sucking pulled his nipple into a vacuum of wet and warm pleasure, prodded by Dean’s talented tongue. Sam moaned hard. He tried to push Dean’s head away with what little strength he could muster.

“Dean, stop! You… you can’t…”

Resisting was becoming harder and harder. There was something definitely wrong with the way Sam's body was reacting. The sensations Dean was giving him with his mouth were amazing and he was slowly changing his grip on Dean's head from harsh pushing to hair tangling. Eventually, Dean sucked out with a pop that made Sam moan and before his brother could react, Dean bent on the other nipple, treating it just as nicely as the first one, fingers pinching softly the one that had been left behind. Dean worked Sam up until he moaned once more and straightened up.

“Take off your shirt Sam”

Dean stood up and away from Sam and unbuckled his belt. Sam, panting, moved upwards to do as his brother had ordered and, leaning once more over the pillows, he looked at Dean take off his boots and drop his pants and underwear. Even when his rational part screamed ‘This is wrong!’ his dick twitched in anticipation. It was like there was a clear barrier separating the side of him desperate to stop his brother’s advances from his cursed body’s current needs. The rational part of Sam slammed against it but the struggle inside his mind was numbed when Dean jumped on top of him and placed his dick between Sam’s massive boobs.

“Man, I’ve always wanted to do this.”

Sam was unable to even begin a word against it, he only managed to choke a sigh when Dean began to slowly rock his dick between the soft tissue of his chest. He clearly saw Dean close his eyes and frown in concentration, plump lips slightly parted in pleasure, eyes half lidded with heavy eyelashes, cheeks flustered in a way that made his freckles more evident. And that was the moment Sam realized with a pang of guilt that despite the frustratingly unwanted situation, he would remember this moment forever, having his brother looking so beautiful on top of him just like that.

“Fuck Sammy, you’re so soft and warm right now, I could do this forever.”

Dean turned to look at him and gave him a smile full of care and love. Sam felt his ears burn.

“Shut up jerk”

“Love you too, baby”

Sam bitchfaced him, he was trying to think of a comeback to that when Dean began to thrust between his boobs faster. Sam moaned, the change of pace was hitting his nervous system in exactly the right way and he was now feeling how tight his jeans felt around his dick. He looked at his brother and the moment their eyes locked he felt like he could never look away from those beautiful green eyes. Not long after that, he was unconsciously buckling up with each of his brother’s thrusts, matching his pace. Dean’s jagged breath was drawn for a second.

“Look down Sam, I want you to see how I come all over you.”

Dean’s voice was low and rough and just the right level for it to cause Sam shivers but he did his best to hide that and manage a glare at his brother.

“You’re an idiot”

“Come on Sammy”

Sam knew his brother, he could tell the tone Dean was using was the tone he only used with him when he allowed himself some sort of vulnerability. Sam sighed, more angry at himself than at Dean and turned to look as instructed. Soon enough, Dean’s movement stammered while he squished Sam’s boobs a little harder, sending a wave of pleasure through Sam while he saw the head of his brother’s dick pop in between his breast just at the time his thick cum came out hard. Dean grunted while Sam gasped in surprise, he clearly felt the ribbons of hot cum splattering his neck and face drawing a line of its trajectory all over him.

It went cold way too fast for Sam’s liking. Almost unconsciously, Sam licked the few speckles of cum that had touched his lips. It had been thick and astringent, very different from his own. He was barely noticing how ragged his brother’s breath sounded and how wrecked he looked, lingering his sight on him, on the way he had tasted Dean’s cum right in front of him.

Without saying a word, Dean moved away from him and looked at Sam's crotch and feeling a little bit of guilt, he began to open his jeans.

"D—Dean!?"

"Shhh, It's okay Sammy, I've got you."

Swiftly, Dean took Sam’s clothes and pulled them down enough to get his dick out to be able to stroke him nicely. After a few testing strokes where Dean took in Sam’s considerable size and mentally compared it to his own reaching to the conclusion that he could live without feeling overpowered by his little brother, he spit on his hand and began to jack Sam off. Sam whined. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it,quite the contrary; he was really, really liking it and he was a little worried, knowing that it was his brother the one giving him all those sensations. It didn’t take Dean long before he had Sam bucking against his strokes hard panting and frowning, mouth slightly open trying to bring more air into his lungs. Dean skillfully rubbed his thumbs against the ridge that separates the head of Sam’s dick with the rest of his cock and saw Sam falling over the edge with a loud moan.

Sam felt his muscles clench while he shot his cum all over himself and Dean’s hand. Dean pulled and pressed his dick just enough to help him go through the climax, looking lovingly at him and when Sam let out a final sigh of satisfaction Dean moved away his hand and looked at it for a second before licking a droplet lingering on his thumb. Sam felt his dick twitch. There was something about looking at Dean tasting his cum that he didn’t know if he was ready to take in.

Dean didn’t say a thing about the taste, he turned around and looked for tissues. Once he found them he went through Sam’s body, cleaning it as best as he could.

“I think I better take a bath.”

“You think? You even got cum on your hair.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Dean gave Sam’s bitchface a perfectly proud smile. Sam was close to bicker like always but noticed something odd.

“You don’t want to keep touching my boobs?”

Dean looked at him a bit surprised.

“No, actually, I don’t.”

“Good. Now go away jerk, I need my towels.”

“As you wish, Princess.”

The following day Sam stayed in his bedroom, he wasn’t sick per se but Dean was adamant on keeping him comfortable. Sam believed that he was also feeling guilty for what they had done but didn’t say a thing either. It was better to pretend nothing had happened and just take his brother’s sudden burst of kindness.

Some weeks later in the middle of cleaning the bunker Dean saw what looked like an old magazine on the library floor. He picked it up and turned it around only to see that it was the cursed Busty Asian Beauties one. Slowly, he closed his eyes and breathed in trying to count to ten. When he finally thought he could keep himself from killing his brother he turned around and paced towards the laundry room.

“SAM!!!”

#wincest #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #sam and dean #fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic

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