#but I can’t for the life of me imagine that there’s one ounce of truth in the story of the girl who claimed urie touched her

[ierwho]

I knew bandom had changed but I didn’t know we changed so much we started to blindly believe alleged SA-stories that literally are written in the likes of a wattpad-fic

#this will probably make me very unpopular idc #i have no doubts zac the security guy has been a menace #but I can’t for the life of me imagine that there’s one ounce of truth in the story of the girl who claimed urie touched her #why in the world would he invite a 15 yr old backstage just sitting there waiting for her and suddenly started kissing her neck?? #he was married at the time #not that ppl cant cheat but #I don’t even root that much for Brendon Urie One Man Show I just think that story sounded so fucking made up omfg

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3 // Chapter II

Summary: After one last screaming match and a good cry, Feyre is finally ready to move on from her lousy ex and rebuild the life he took her away from. She didn't imagine she'd be right back in the thick of it, reviving buried feelings for her best friend's cousin.

OR;

Feyre dumps Tamlin, moves back to big city life, and gets herself an alpha who will treat her right.

AN: Omegaverse!Feysand, as promised. A gift for @whatishowedyouinthedark. If you hadn't posted Too Sweet, I don't know that this would have left the drafts. This ended up being 4.3k, but there will be a morning after chapter as well.

CW: NSFW, mildly dubious consent/coercion

Chapter I

“You sure you’re alright, Feyre?” Another ounce of weight seemed to lift from her shoulders at the soft worry in Mor’s voice. “I know you don’t really want to talk about this yet, but I’m always here for you.”

“I know. And I’m okay, Mor. I’ll be even better in, oh—” She lifted her wrist enough to glance at the time. “—six hours when you meet me outside SFO.” Her friend stayed quiet a moment longer. “I’ve wasted so much time and energy on that guy. He doesn’t deserve my tears too.”

“Damn right. I can’t wait to see you. It’s been so long, Feyre.”

“I know.”

That’s what it had really come to. The lost time. The isolation. A year ago, Feyre had been at the center of it all, her art sales lucrative enough to keep her head above water, her friend circle close but full of life. When Tamlin’s work had taken him out of the big city and to someplace more remote, Feyre had imagined it would be temporary. Her “nest egg” from her art sales would only need to hold her for a few months before she could dive right back into dealing with her clientele face-to-face.

But whatever silver lining her situation came with was in short supply. Hopeful as she had been once upon a time, nothing could change the fact that this move halfway across the country was made with only the purpose of separating her from the life and people she knew. Feyre was just ashamed it had taken her so long to see it herself. She’d confronted him last night and the truth had all come to light. “So what if your account is running low? Do I not take care of you regardless? I thought this was what you wanted, Feyre. Isn’t this what all omegas want? Someone to depend on?”

It turned out Feyre and Tamlin’s views on designations were worlds apart.

After a devastating break up fight and a good long cry, Feyre had locked herself in the guest room and called Mor with the promise that she was scraping together what she had left and coming home the next afternoon. “Say no more, Feyre. I’ll get Rhysie to make that ticket first class for you.”

“Don’t you dare, Mor.” But for the first time in months there had been laughter beneath her words. For once she didn’t find herself rolling her eyes when Mor reminded her that her older cousin was rich and single, last she heard of it. Not that Feyre’s memory needed jogging on that point. Ever since Rhys had stepped into her first art showing, oozing raw confidence and control, she’d been no better than a school girl doodling hearts and initials in her journal margins. But he’d then flown out to manage his father’s New York business, his return to California only in the past few months, when Feyre was long gone herself.

She shook off the flush running through her body, trying to focus on Mor jabbering in her ear about events around the city. Served her right, lusting after an alpha so far out of her league. Rhys might be nice enough to buy her paintings or bump her flight ticket to first class, but she certainly had no illusions that he would be the male helping her through her next heat. Hell, by now he likely had an omega of his own, hand-selected by his prick of a father. 

Not exactly fond of the flare of… something… that thought sent through her, Feyre stood, pacing the few feet she dared from her carry-on in the crowded terminal. “Hey, girl. We’ll be boarding any minute. Can I let you go for now?”

“Absolutely. Love you lots. I’ll see you tonight. Don’t eat anything huge. We’ve got dinner plans.”

~~~~~

Dinner plans amounted to a delivery of Feyre’s favorite chinese food not even five minutes after she was settled in from the car ride home. “You spoil me, Mor,” she said, setting down her chopsticks long enough to shrug into the oversized hoodie behind her that smelled absolutely delightful for some reason and debate the nearly identical bottles of red nail polish in front of her. Her friend certainly had a signature color.

“Someone has to,” Mor groused, starting an episode of a cop show they’d seen one too many times. “If you won’t spoil yourself, your bestie’s gonna do it for you.” She eyed Feyre’s newly acquired hoodie with a slight smirk. “Among a few others.”

“What? I was cold. And what do you mean, others?”

Mor just waved a hand in dismissal. “Rhys, Cass, and Az are around here all the time. Rhys lives a floor above me, for that matter. You know they’re all thrilled you’re back in town. Emerie is excited to meet you too. I think you guys will really hit it off.” Mor sighed, a wistful look in her eyes.

“You really like this one, don’t you?”

“She’s amazing. And she’s been so patient with me. You know how my family can be about my preferences. She hasn’t said much, but I think her family gives her a lot of the same shit about it. She gets it. Gets me.” Feyre’s heart just about melted at that and she reached across the couch to squeeze Mor’s hand. “I even asked—”

The front door opened then, to both their surprise, Cassian falling through the frame with a shit-eating grin on his face. “She’s back! Feyre Archeron, where have you been?! C’mere.” She squealed as he lifted her by the hips to spin her around

Mor shook her head, mumbling about how this was supposed to be girls’ night before everyone saw her at Rita’s the next evening. “Sorry, Mor,” another voice said from the door, warm, rich, and amused. “We saw you ladies pull in earlier from the window. I kept him there as long as I could. It’s good to see you, Feyre.” 

Grinning ear to ear, Feyre braced a hand on Cassian’s chest until the vertigo faded. “Yeah, good to see you guys. I—What?” she asked, finally looking at Rhys. 

He was just as she remembered. It had been fice years since he’d flown out to manage that east coast business after earning his business degree and he hadn’t changed one bit—still the most beautiful man she’d ever met. The only thing that truly caught her off guard was the odd glint in his eyes, focusing on the hoodie she was wearing—almost pleased, if she was reading him right. Another step into the room and his scent hit her, citrus and the sea, the same soothing fragrance that clung to the sweatshirt she’d thoughtlessly pulled on with the assumption it was one of Mor’s baggier favorites.

Fuck.

Rhys smirked then, every bit the smug alpha she knew he was. She wasn’t ready to analyze the response that inspired in her. The fluttering in her stomach that quickened as he approached, the heat that flushed her check when he stepped into her space, fingering the ratty sleeve that fell well past her fingertips. “I was wondering where that had wandered off to.”

“I—”

“Keep it, darling. It looks better on you anyway.”

She shuffled back a step, uncharacteristically flustered by his proximity. Omega or not, the flirtation of men didn’t usually affect her this way. Even in the early days between her and Tamlin she—She would not be comparing her ex to anyone. She came back to San Francisco to wash her hands of him, after all. 

“I—” She sighed. “Thanks.”

Mor cleared her throat, though her shameless grin was a near mirror to her cousin’s. “If that’s all, boys.” She batted her eyes, looping her arm back through Feyre’s. “This was girls’ night, remember?”

Cassian chuckled, ignoring the dismissal and slumping into the couch. “So, how goes the move in?”

Feyre scoffed. “My plane touched down only an hour ago. Can I finish my dinner and wine before tackling my bags?” The other three exchanged a look, Mor seeming suddenly guilty. “What?”

“With how quickly this all came together, I suppose I never got around to mentioning I… I asked Emerie to move in. It doesn’t change the fact the extra room is yours,” she hurried to say. “You have a place here of course.”

“Or you could have one upstairs,” Rhys mumbled.

Feyre blinked. “Excuse me?”

“They get their privacy, you get a good night's sleep every night.” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s just a room, Feyre. You know I’m a gentleman.”

“I wouldn’t suggest otherwise.” Eyeing his reaction, she sipped from her wine glass. “Out loud.” 

Cassian cackled. “God, I’ve missed you. About time you traded the hills for skyscrapers again, little sister.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

~~~~~

“I told you,” Rhys sang as Feyre stepped out of the elevator and into his apartment. It had only taken two nights to change her mind about his proposal. She adored Mor and Emerie was a delight—a perfect match for her oldest friend. But that didn’t change the fact the walls were paper thin.

“Hush. Emerie is a wonderful woman. I could never begrudge them their happiness, even if it costs me my sleep.”

“Of course not. Anyways, welcome to my humble abode. The first door on the left down the hall is your room for as long as you want it. Just across from mine, if you need anything. I’ll let you get unpacked.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, heading down the short hall and into the room he directed her to, only to stop short in the doorway. “Rhys.”

“Yes?” he called back, presumably from the living space. 

“What is all of this?” 

He approached slowly, looking almost sheepish. “Too much?” She gaped. “I can return it if you don’t like it. I just happened to overhear you tell Mor you had left behind some of your favorite nesting things and… Here, I’ll just pack it up and—”

“No.” His brows rose as she shifted to block the doorway. “I—” She cleared her throat softly. “It was sweet of you to consider it. I’m not far from my next heat, actually. I really appreciate you letting me crash here and letting me nest.” 

He scoffed. “Nesting is natural. It isn’t something I’d try to stop any omega from doing.”

“If only my ex had seen it that way.” She flinched. “I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.”

He growled softly, eyes dark as he dropped his head to hold her gaze, one hand braced against the doorjamb she already leaned against. His scent washed over her once again and Feyre hoped her full body shutter wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “Your ex was an alpha?” She nodded. “Not one with any honor, it seems. You are what you are, Feyre. If that bastard ever made you take shame in it, I hope you’ll soon change your way of thinking.”

“I’m not ashamed of anything,” she murmured. 

The knuckles of his free hand brushed along her cheekbone. “Good. I’ll let you finish up here. As I said, if you need anything for the nest or otherwise, I’m here to help.”

“I’m not a charity case, Rhysand. I always manage to get back on my feet quickly enough.”

“I know that, darling. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy spoiling sweet little things like you rotten.”

A quiet, shocked sound escaped her, but her usually sharp wit had been neutralized, it seemed. And all by a few charming words. Sweet little things like you.

“No,” she muttered to herself, refusing to watch him walk away. Approaching heat or not, she was not getting tangled up with an entitled alpha ever again. And that vow would not be changing

~~~~~

The next few weeks were normal, all things considered. Rhys went to work in the morning and Feyre either arranged calls or set out to reopen contact with previous buyers interested in her art. In the evenings they alternated cooking meals and washing dishes, occasionally enjoying a movie or game together before returning to their separate rooms for the night.

Everything was perfectly platonic if you excused a few mildly flirtatious remarks. The only thing that left her unsteady was the surprise treats and little actions to take care of her, each one either frivolous or thoughtful. It was as frustrating as it was pleasing and she hoped Rhys couldn’t see how she truly felt about each little favor. She didn’t know what she’d do if he came to learn about the pure satisfaction she felt each time she saw that he had snuck into her room to switch out the sweatshirt she’d so carefully placed among the pillows and blankets in her nest the moment his scent faded from the fabric.

She had dared to ask him after the third time he’d replaced the garment why he was so attentive to that specific want.

“You may not be my chosen mate, but you are an omega under my care. Just as you follow your instincts to keep something with an alpha’s scent, I will follow my instinct to provide for you as long as you live with me. A missing sweatshirt is hardly a great sacrifice, Feyre.”

He’d stood from the dinner table with a smile, mumbling something along the lines of, “Such a pretty little blush you have, darling,” before loading his plate in the dishwasher and heading for his room. Any other remarks had been few and far between, but each one stuck with her for days afterwards.

She gave a sharp huff as she stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea, prepared to do nothing more than hole up in her room with a good book and a hot drink as the Saturday storm bathed the city. “Read my book and not think about this a second longer.” 

If only she’d realized what a hopeless endeavor that would turn out to be.

She was only two chapters into her newest read when the first hot flash came. Her heat. And damn if she couldn’t already feel this was going to be a rough one without a partner. Jumping from her chair, she started to head for the bathroom, reaching for the tub’s faucet. Then, a cool bath wouldn’t do her any favors. As quickly as she felt her skin burn, she knew she’d be shivering in a matter of minutes, that first cycle of hot and cold lasting for a few hours before the endless heat became constant, especially without an alpha to soften the effects of her episode.

“Fuck.” She needed to get off the floor and back to her room. To her nest, whatever small comfort it could offer her. “Fuck,” she repeated.

“Eloquently put,” a too-familiar voice said. She didn’t bother peeling her eyes open, letting Rhys drop to a knee and slip his arms beneath her knees and behind her back. “Come on. To bed with you.”

“Put me down. I’m fine.” Never mind that her teeth were already chattering and a cramping had started low in her gut.

“I’m sure you are, darling.” Shifting his arm so her back remained supported, he pressed his palm to the back of her head, pressing lightly until she caved, letting him guide her nose to that special spot on his neck where his scent was strongest. The tension that had claimed her body vanished in an instant. “There, little one. Better, hm?”

She mumbled something equally proud and bitter that she could really only half understand herself with this fog stealing over her mind so quickly, then, “Hurts,” she whimpered.

He hummed, laying her down in the very center of the nest of bedding and clothes she’d so meticulously arranged and rearranged over the past few weeks. She should have realized she was days from her next cycle when the impulse to perfect the space became so prominent. Now she would be glued to it for days on end. The problem? “Why are you so far away?”

Rhys chuckled. “You said you wanted to work through your heat alone, little one. That you don’t need an alpha. Have you changed your mind?” Feyre bit her lip, contemplating her options. Endure this alone and maintain her pride, or welcome his help and pray she was only opening a physical connection, rather than an emotional one. “Feyre.” She blinked up at him. “Temper your pride. Invite me into your nest, little one. This doesn’t have to be so painful.” It only took a moment for her to grip his hand, tugging softly. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, settling in carefully, so as to not disturb her arrangement.

“Don’t need a knot,” Feyre told him petulantly. “Just…” Nose buried in his neck, hand tucked under his shirt, Feyre stopped protesting for the moment, the only sound leaving her a soft whimpering.  

That’s when he began to purr, summoning a gush of slick, to her humiliation. “Rhys—”

“Hush, sweet girl. Let’s see what we can do about your little problem here.” She couldn’t help but squirm a bit as he peeled her leggings away inch by inch, face flushing hot when her slick clung to the fabric of her panties on their way down. “Settle now, pet. You just lay back and let your alpha take care of you.”

“You’re not my—I didn’t ask you to—” Feyre hadn’t realized her pants had been completely cast aside until his tongue was stroking up her slit. “Oh, god.” Another drag of it and her fingers were threaded in his hair, tugging sharply. He hummed. “Rhys.” She tried to lift her hips, only for Rhys to reach up and lay his arm over her waist, keeping her mostly still. She let out a groan of frustration.

“All in good time, little one. All in good time.” He looked all too pleased by the frustrated growl that passed her lips, her protest cut off the moment two thick fingers pushed inside of her, curling in a way that had her hurtling to the edge of her release. “That’s it, darling, he encouraged her, repeating the motion while twisting his hand enough that he could rub her clit with his thumb. “Come for me.” Considering the state she was already in and how it only seemed to worsen with time, it took nothing more than those few words for her to shatter, clenching around his fingers so tight he cursed—even as he stroked her through it. “Good girl.” 

Feyre shuttered beneath him, She didn’t need to peel her heavy eyes open to know she would find him smirking down at her. There wasn’t a chance in hell a man as observant as Rhys would misread what his praise did to her. She felt the tip of his nose skate across her cheek before his soft mouth was pressed to the flesh of her throat, his fingers already beginning to curl inside of her once again. “Rhys, wait.”

“Darling, do you really think that little knotting toy you bought the other day is going to be enough to satisfy you in this? You know what you need and you know who can give it to you.”

That unbearable cramping began anew, and Feyre knew she had no hope of resisting.

~~~~~

Most days, Rhys would consider himself an honorable man. He was capable of detaching emotions from matters of business and handling what needed to be handled without causing a fuss. Taking losses he earned himself with grace. Regarding his personal life, he never stooped to pursue someone who’s capability of consent was so precarious. He’d certainly never attempted to coerce a hesitant partner. 

But he’d walked into the house and her heat scent had hit him in full force. Finding her slumped on the bathroom floor and burning up had his protective instincts rearing their head. Now he was in her nest, had his fingers buried inside of her, the taste of her lingering on his tongue, addling his own mind.

He could reconsider the standing of his honor tomorrow. 

He’d get rid of that last edge of nerves his little omega was facing, then he’d show her where she belonged. Right here in this apartment, in this nest, for him to come home every day and spoil senseless. He had already come to enjoy their evening bonding immensely, and could only imagine he’d be even more delighted to share those talks when Feyre had her studio up and running, resuming the work she cherished so dearly. And whatever her reservations about alphas may be at the moment, she’d come around to the thought as well, he was certain. Every omega needs an alpha to lean on. 

“God,” she hissed, palm pressing low on her stomach. Eyes shut tight once again, Feyre let her nails bite into his wrist, spurring him into action. He stripped the shirt she wore, baring her entirely before bringing that hand back to her center, this time with the intention of preparing her to take his knot. At the rate her heat was progressing, her pride would fall away momentarily and she’d be begging for the relief she knew it would provide her, he was certain. 

Her next groan morphed to something softer, her head falling back to the pillows when his mouth closed over her nipple. Once again, her fingers found a home in his hair, tugging just harshly enough he felt justified in nipping her breast. “Be nice, darling.” 

Scowling, Feyre surged upwards, gripping his shirt front as her lips finally found his. “You know it’s really, really unfair that I’m the only one undressed here.” She didn’t give him the courtesy of unbuttoning the garment himself, yanking hard enough to send the buttons flying, lost to the fabrics of the nest. Her teeth sank into his bottom lip hard enough he groaned, his free hand sliding up around her throat. “Rhys.” 

He couldn’t help but smile as her eyes fluttered shut, her body relaxed enough for him to manipulate, guiding her back down into the pillow and removing his hand from its home between her thighs. “Sweet thing,” he cooed when a little pout began to form. “So needy for your alpha.” Moving his hand from her throat to her waist, he pushed those two slick fingers past her swollen lips, swallowing the growl building in his throat at the stroke of her tongue, letting himself watch as she fell deeper into that haze of lust and need.

“Well done, sweet girl,” he praised, withdrawing his fingers. 

“Alpha,” she whispered, one hand sliding down until it rested over the hard line showing through his jeans.

“You need your alpha’s cock, pet?” He began working his thumb over her clit, just letting his fingers graze the rest of her. “You think you’re ready for that? Think you can take my knot, Feyre?”

“Please.” The next down stroke was rougher and he knew she was close to coming again when her body bowed towards him. “Please give it to me. Need your knot.”

There it was. And how sweet it sounded.

Kissing her neck, he let himself enjoy that lilac and pear scent for a moment before peeling out of the last of his clothes. Feyre had a hand around him before he could reach down to stroke himself, painfully hard beneath her touch. The moment she grazed his knot he jolted, one hand closing over hers while the other fisted one of the pillows beneath them. “Fuck, Feyre.”

“I want to taste you.” He clenched his jaw tight. This woman would be the death of him. 

“Soon, darling. But first I need to be inside of you.” She lifted her hips, bending them at the knees in invitation. “Soaked for me,” he purred, lining up to claim her. “You’re going to take me so well, Feyre. Every inch.”

She swallowed, but nodded. Pinning her hips to keep her from rushing to take him, he pushed the tip in, grunting softly as she clenched around him. At this rate he wasn’t going to last long. “More,” Feyre begged, heels digging into his back. “Need more.”

“Patience is a virtue, pet.” Still, he fed her another inch, rocking in and out, working into her until only his knot remained. Smirking at the blissed out look covering her face, Rhys leaned down to whisper in her ear. “So fucking beautiful, filled up like this. Open those eyes for me, Feyre.” She trembled, eyes remaining closed. A sharp flick to her clit and she cried out, eyes flying open and snapping to his. “Watch, Feyre. Watch me give you my knot.” Her eyes darted down. Her nails bit into his back the moment he bottomed out. “Hot little cunt, taking me so well.” 

Rhys didn’t let her catch her breath before he started rolling his hips again, dragging in and out of her, animalistic pride beginning to build when he felt her thighs trembling around him and the hot little puffs of air against the shell of his ear, when each thrust was made easier by another gush of slick soaking his length. “So close,” she whined, writhing beneath him, his name falling from her lips in a constant chant. 

His rhythm faltered, feeling his release within reach as well. “Come for me, Feyre.” She keened, needing that push over the edge. Flicking her clit, he slammed home, spilling into her the moment her teeth latched down on his shoulder, nails cutting into his back. A moment later she shuttered beneath him, her grip going lax. He couldn’t help but push her damp hair back from her sweaty face, kissing her brow. Not wanting to crush her, he turned on his back, repositioning her legs on either side of him.

“That was…” She sighed, eyes drooping. “Thank you.”

“Rest, Feyre. Before the next wave hits. I’ve got you."

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

#acotar #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #omegaverse #omegaverse!feysand #feysand fic #fanfiction #pure self indulgence #i hope you enjoy it too #omega nesting

[dreamingofep]

Strangers in the Crowd pt. 10

(Elvis/Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: No, just another one of my delusional fantasies.

Prompt: You and your best friend are on your annual girls trip and go to see Elvis at the International. Little did you know this would be a show you'll never forget. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Some fluff? Just a little, cussing, SMUTTT, oral sex, daddy kink, teasing/ tension, the usual really dirty stuff.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: Hello everyone! I had to get out this next part out quick for you guys to find out about readers true feelings. 🤭 This fic is coming to its end very soon but I’m so glad you’ve been liking this journey! This has been so much fun to write and hear your reactions! Enjoy! Sorry for any spelling mistakes or overall goofs.

Feel free to message me or comment what you think!💗

You search in his eyes, looking for the slightest waiver of truth. But there is not an ounce of dishonesty within his heart. Your fingers intertwine in his hair and you gently caress him, feeling time and space stand still for you.

“I love you too. I love you so much,” you say sweetly. “I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

He lets out a relieved sigh and goes in to kiss you. You feel his lips turn into a smile each time he kisses you until he finally breaks away with giddy laughter.

“Oh god, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he admits.

You smile sweetly at him, feeling your heart soar because of the look he’s giving you.

He moves up on the bed and beckons you to come and cuddle with him under the blankets. You lay your head down on his chest, your ear right over his heart, hearing the melodious rhythm of it singing for you and only you. You now know this to be true with those beautiful three words that slipped out of his mouth.

You glide your hand over his chest, letting the soft little hairs prickle your fingertips and hearing him hum in contentment. Before you know it, your eyes start to become heavy, and feel the blanket of sleep start to come over you.

*

Your eyes start to flutter open but the warmth of Elvis’ body makes you paralyzed to his side. You drink in the closeness of his body and how good it feels to have his arms wrapped around your torso. You don’t want to leave from this bed and just selfishly keep him in this room forever.

Elvis starts to stir and you feel him stretch his long legs out before bringing them back into your body and fitting into you like a puzzle piece.

His hands rub your stomach softly and nuzzles your ear with his nose.

“What’s my baby doing up,” he slurs sleepily.

You reopen your eyes, surprised he could sense you were up. You intertwine your fingers with his that lay on your stomach and make him squeeze you tighter.

“I’m not up. I’m not leaving this room,” you grumble.

He lets out a snicker and places a kiss on your earlobe.

“That sounds great to me honey,” he assures giving you a tighter squeeze.

You both lay there syncopating your breathing with one another and enjoy the closeness. You can’t help but wonder where you going to go next.

Are you going to stay here and look for new jobs? Visit each other every weekend? Find a job in Memphis?

You know his love for you was unwavering now and things will work out for the best. No matter what, your path was with Elvis and you couldn’t imagine anyone else next to you. Your dream scared the living hell out of you and tried to push it far out of your mind.

Both of you touch each other, feeling every inch of skin and how it responds to your touch. He kisses down your neck to your shoulders, leaving wet marks on you.

“I know you said you wanted to stay in bed all day but did want to take a shower with me? Then we can get back into bed. I want to pamper my baby all day,” He says softly. You can’t help but smile and turn to look at his tussled hair and gorgeous blue eyes staring at you with love.

You nod your head, “that sounds wonderful,” you hum.

“Okay stay here while I get the water going,” he says, kissing you before leaving the bed.

You look over at the clock and it’s already 2 p.m. Time didn’t feel real with Elvis, he controlled the way time moved and for all you knew, it could have been 8 p.m., and wouldn’t have cared. It was just you two floating through time and space.

Elvis comes from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, making him look more irresistible somehow, and smiles at you.

“I’m ready when you are,” he says sweetly.

You get out of bed, and cover your breasts with your hand and forearm. He chuckles at you trying to be modest and lightly spanks your ass when you walk by him. You yelp and flash him a sly smirk.

You step into the shower and feel the hot water tickle your skin. It’s the perfect temperature, just how you like it. You step closer to the shower head to get the water on your face when you feel Elvis behind you and he shuts the glass shower door. You cup your hands together to wash your face and pull back the hair falling on your forehead. You feel his hands in your hair, massaging your scalp, letting the water run down you.

You turn around to face him, his eyes were soft and gentle, as he has his hands in your hair. He grabs a bottle of shampoo on the side of you and squeezes a bit into the palm of his hand. He moves you around to where the water splashes his back and blocks you from it. He turns you around again and starts to rub in the shampoo, using his thumbs to keep a nice pressure on the back of your head. You let out a pleased sigh, loving the feeling of his hands in your hair.

He has you switch sides with him again to rinse your hair and puts the conditioner in next and repeats the process.

His hands roam over your body slowly and sensually. He takes his time and you don’t mind the agonizing touches he gives you. How his fingertips graze your nipples as he washes your body, lathering the soap all over making you smell sweet. How he bends down to wash your legs, spreading them apart, and pressing his soft lips to your velvety folds.

He stands back up and goes behind you, pressing you against him, his cock resting heavy against your ass as he wipes the soap off your body. You’re not in a rush for him to do anything to you, you’re just enjoying the soft intimate moment he has created here in the shower with you.

“My turn to pamper you,” you say cutely, turning to face him and brush his wet hair off of his forehead. He nods his head and watches your every move. He crouches down for you to wash his hair and he has a pleased grin on his face the entire time you have your hands in his thick gorgeous hair.

You reach for the washcloth and rub enough soap on it to lather his body. You take your time, making sure to get every inch of his lean body.

He places his hands on your hips while you wash his chest and his lightly sculpted arms. Your hands reach lower and gently fondle him in the cloth. He doesn’t make a sound and continues to watch you. You sink to your knees and see his cock starting to get hard. You rub his legs and look up at him longingly.

“Turn around,” you say.

He listens and rinses off the soap on the front of his body. You stand up, lathering his back down to his perfect ass, placing soft kisses on his shoulder blades. You place the washcloth back on the bar and turn him around to you once more.

You kneel down and see his cock fully hard in front of you. Just the sight of him has you throbbing. You wrap your hand around the middle of the shaft and pull back his foreskin. Your tongue eagerly licks the sensitive head and he groans. You flatten your tongue against him, licking more of him like he taught you. He places his hand on the tile wall above his head, groaning with pleasure. You open your mouth wider, taking more of his length until it hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck Mama,” he moans, “who taught you to do that?” He says smugly.

You hum softly with him in your mouth and continue to suck and lick as much of him as you can fit into your mouth.

His hips move slightly with each movement you make, trying to be controlled. You look up at him and see him biting his lip watching you suck him off. He reaches behind him and shuts the water off. He gently pulls out of your mouth and picks you up off your knees.

He slides the shower door open and grabs the towel hanging on the rack, wrapping it around your shoulders to keep you warm. He grabs the other towel and wipes his face and torso dry before wrapping it around his waist. You step out of the shower and onto the plush mat on the floor in front of the shower and the sinks.

You watch Elvis come behind you in the mirror and brush his wet hair away from his face. He wraps his arms around your waist, placing kisses on your head.

“I love you,” He whispers, looking at your eyes in the mirror.

You grin, “I love you too.”

He moves his hands to the top of your towel at your chest and slowly tugs it away. He stares at your naked body’s reflection and rubs his hands along the curve of your hips up to your full breasts, caressing them in his hands.

He leans down and nuzzles his nose behind your ear, “I love you. I love all of you,” he murmurs. You lean back into him more, reaching around to pull the towel off of his slender hips. His hard length feels warm, resting on your ass and you feel your wetness begin to pool.

“I love all of you too baby,” you coo softly.

His hands carefully squeeze your breasts, applying the right amount of pressure to cause pleasure to radiate through you. He slides one of his hands down your body to reach your sensitive bundle of nerves. He rubs it in tender circles, watching you through the mirror as pleasure flows through your body.

“You’re so perfect,” he says in awe.

You lock eyes with him and he keeps you there, whatever power of magnetism he possesses makes you unable to look away from his gaze.

“Baby?…” he says unsure.

“Y-yes,” you whimper out.

“Can I teach you something…” he quips, his fingers continuing to rub your clit at a slow pace. You feel the coil in your belly get tighter by the second and you try to control your breathing.

“Yes of course,” you say quietly, “what did you want to teach me?”

“Well, I like to watch myself fuck you in the mirror,” he alludes.

You let out a little chuckle hearing him admit this.

“Oh, I know honey. I’ve known that,” you tease.

He grins at you devilishly.

“Well, I’d like to try something. I want you to call me daddy when I fuck you,” he says low.

The throbbing in your core increases with the sound of his words.

It’s so dirty, so naughty, it shouldn’t be spoken from your lips. But there’s something so delicious about the way it sounds being said to him.

Your breathing starts to pick up as you feel him push his cock on your ass. He nips at the sensitive flesh on your neck, leaving behind a red mark.

“You think you can do that? Can you let your daddy fuck you right?” He says low.

Your breathing starts to hitch and your core involuntarily clenches at the way he says the word. Like that word was made for him. You moan softly in agreement and he pushes your body over the countertop. The cold marble makes you shiver and you rest your forearms there.

He pushes your hips back and you feel his tip rest up on your folds. He runs his hands along your hips, squeezing them. You meet his gaze in the mirror, his eyes soft but still aflame. There’s a different sensuality to him, like he doesn’t feel the need to rush or prove anything. For the first time, it feels like he’s trying to enjoy the moment.

He pushes his cock through your folds, coating him in your wetness. You let out a soft sigh as he does this, helping you get some needed relief from your throbbing.

“I need you honey,” he whispers, lining his tip to your entrance.

You nod your head at him, “take what you want baby.”

Elvis carefully sinks his length inside your tight entrance, bottoming out and holding his hips still, watching your face grow into shock and pleasure. You look at him in the mirror, watching his face become delighted with the sensations running through him as he's inside of you.

He moves in agonizingly slow, and long thrusts, making you want to fall apart already. You’re completely at your mercy with his hands tight on your hips. He starts to moan, moving faster, feeling your slick become increasingly abundant.

“How does this feel baby girl,” he coos in your ear, his hips continuing to roll softly and controlled, hitting all the right spots.

You moan softly, “mmm it’s feeling so good,” Your breathing becomes raspy and shallow the more he moves.

He slides down one of his hands to your clit, working you up to orgasm. Your eyes roll back in your head and you squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a suppressed moan. You start to drive your hips back, wanting to fall apart and have him fuck you harder.

He lets out a soft chuckle, as he sees you become more desperate.

“What does my baby need?” He coos, pulling his length out of you waiting for your response.

You whine with your head down, so close to your release your walls need him back inside you. You try to drive your hips back again, needing the contact with him on you. He stops touching your clit and places his hand back on your hips, stilling you.

“You need to use your words baby. What do you need,” he growls, his voice full of temptation. You don’t answer him, you’re in too much agony to form coherent words. Your eyes pop back open once you feel his hand gather your hair in a tight grip, wrapped around his palm.

You let out a yelp and look at his blazing eyes in the mirror, commanding you to answer him.

“I-I need to cum,” you say breathlessly. A switch flips on in your brain and you know what he wants to hear and will get him to listen.

“I need you to fuck me harder, daddy,” you cry.

He pulls at your hair again and lets out a gutteral groan hearing that word come from your lips.

“Yes honey, daddy is gonna make you cum so much,” he teases.

He pushes his cock back inside you making you cry out with pleasure, bucking his hips harder into you, hitting the spot that sends you to another stratosphere.

The echo of both of your groans fill the bathroom and it doesn’t take too long for you to get to the edge and feel your walls start to flutter around him. You keep your eyes locked on him, watching him become drunk on you. Watching how his cock gets buried inside your tight pussy and pulling it out, coming out wetter than before. The veins in his arm protrude out that’s holding your hair firmly and his mouth open, panting as he fucks you harder with each trust. He looks too good like this, you get why he wants to watch himself.

“Ahh… oh fuck daddy,” you moan out. He groans louder at your words, feeling you’re about to come undone any second now.

“Fuck, baby girl you’re doing so good. Time to cum all over daddy’s cock now,” he says as he snaps his hips into you, making you scream his name and see stars flash before your eyes. Your walls squeeze him and he groans heavily, not being able to keep this pace much longer.

Your orgasm runs through your body, hitting every inch of you that makes it feel incredible. Your watch as his eyebrows furrow and he grunts more, cussing under his breath.

He grunts loudly and you feel him cumming deep inside you, covering your walls in him. He pumps his thick seed into you and the feeling is overwhelming. It feels like there’s so much inside of you, filling you up and making you his.

“Oh god, daddy that feels so good,” you gasp, your eyes pleading for him in the mirror.

He smirks at you and his thrusts become slower, more controlled again. He loosens the grip on your hair and runs his hand along the curve of your back. You feel exhausted and your legs begin to waiver. Elvis senses this and carefully pulls out of you. He turns you around and picks you up onto the countertop and rests you there. His thumb glides through your swollen folds, rubbing your arousals together.

“Fuck that was… I’ll never get tired of hearing you call me daddy,” he admits.

Your cheeks redden and bite the inside of your cheeks.

“Yeah I think you unlocked something new in my brain. I liked it way too much,” you tease and he leans in to kiss your lips.

Love pours out of him with these kisses, something that you know you’ll never get enough of.

He grabs a fresh wash cloth and wets it with warm water, cleaning the slick off of your inner thighs and folds.

“We can take another shower together later,” he teases and looks at you cutely.

You step down off the counter and he quickly pulls you into his arms. He holds you tight to his chest, hearing his heartbeat melodiously.

You hear him hum contently and catch a glimpse of you two embracing in the mirror, pressed into each other. Completing one another.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you too,” he says, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

You both go back into the bedroom and get under the blankets and sink into the cozy bed.

The silence between you two doesn’t make you anxious anymore, you like it. You welcome the quiet and can feel the love running through you both.

Elvis suddenly starts to hum an unknown tune softly and runs his fingers through your hair. He keeps humming it and you finally look up in bewilderment.

“What are you singing dear?” You ask.

“Just something new the band and I are working on. I go back to Vegas in August and need some new songs.”

“That’s great honey. Can I ask what song you’re working on?” You say inquisitively.

“When they first presented this song to me in the beginning of the year, I wasn’t really a fan. Couldn’t connect with it. And that’s the thing with me. If I don’t connect with the song, it’s not going to sound right, it’ll lack soul. So I pushed it off and didn’t perform it at those shows in February. But now I see it differently,” he says lovingly.

“It’s called ‘I Just Can’t Help Believing’.”

“I’d love to hear it sometime, when you’re ready,” you say sweetly.

“Mhmm, absolutely honey. I think you’ll love it.” He gets quiet for a moment in thought.

“There’s been something else on my mind,” he alludes.

“What is it Elvis?”

“I’m not sure what you’re doing the rest of the summer but, I had a question for you,” he pauses to sit up and look at you.

“Did you want to stay at Graceland for the summer? I’d love to spend this time with you and be with you as you start this new chapter of your life,” he says gently.

You get taken by surprise, you weren't expecting him to ask you to move in with him so soon, but this is Elvis, you never can anticipate anything from this man. Everything in your heart is screaming to say yes. You take a second to think about it rationally and it doesn’t sound like a bad idea to take a few months off before finding a good job for yourself. You had worked yourself to the bone and taking some time off to regroup might be the healthiest thing to do for yourself.

You sit up with him and take his hand in yours,

“Do I get to have my own horse and everything?” You tease gleefully.

“Anything you want. Anything for my bestest girl.”

•

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Tagging 💓: @powerofelvis @plasticfantasticlOver @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @elvispresleyxoxo

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @rosepresley @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog @myradiaz @lookingforrainbows @elvispresleygf @tacozebra051 @thatbanditqueen

@18Ikpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873 @austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis @everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy @elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony

#elvis fans #elvis presley #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x you #elvis x oc #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #austin elvis imagine #austin elvis x reader #austin elvis smut #austin elvis fandom #70s elvis #samfangirls #strangersinthecrowdfic #strangers in the crowd

[some-little-infamy]

Missing Signs

(Read on AO3) “I'm worried about you.” It takes every ounce of willpower Buck has to say the words. He knows that Eddie's been better lately, since his last bout of panic attacks - he's been more open, more honest about admitting when things were weighing on his mind. At least, Buck thought he was.

Maybe Eddie truly didn't see it as a problem. He came to Buck with his Marisol concerns about the whole nun thing, after all. It isn't like Eddie’s shutting him out entirely. It's just this one thing… this one really big thing.

Maybe Buck's getting ahead of himself. Maybe Eddie told Bobby, or Frank, or Hen… anyone else at all about this whole Kim thing. He knows that should be reassuring, but considering it only manages to make Buck feel worse somehow. He's supposed to be the one Eddie goes to for things like this.

“Yeah, I'm worried about me, too,” Eddie admits, so quietly Buck almost thinks he imagined it.

That’s when it hits him - Eddie does know how bad this is. He knows how deep he’s in under his head, and not only has he acknowledged it, he’s thought about it enough to be worried about it.

And Buck missed it.

How many signs were there? Has Eddie been quieter than usual around the firehouse, or during their chatter over the comms to and from jobs? What about outside of work… God, Buck can’t remember the last time he and Eddie spent time outside of work besides the bachelor party. They used to get together multiple times a week, and now…

…now Buck spends all of his free time with Tommy. It’s where he was headed before he intercepted the brownies from Kim. It’s where he was the night before, and the one before that. Hell, he would’ve spent more time with Tommy than Eddie at the Bachelor party if Tommy didn’t have to leave.

Buck’s been so wrapped up in the changes of his own life, too distracted by chasing his own happiness, that he absolutely failed to see the spiral Eddie must’ve been in since he first met Kim. There’s no way this hasn’t been on Eddie’s mind, eating away at him. There’s no way he hasn’t questioned every single second he’s kept this from Christopher, or even Marisol.

And Buck wasn’t there for him.

If Buck only paid a little more attention, or been around more often, maybe he would’ve noticed sooner. Almost immediately Buck feels like he’s living through Maddie’s secret all over again - missing all the signs because he was too busy doing things for himself, too busy being so goddamn happy that he wasn’t around to see the obvious signs. The revelation hits him hard, his breath catching in his throat, every muscle in his body tensing instinctively.

Eddie didn’t want to ruin Buck’s happiness by unloading his own issues. Buck gets that… but If he’d known, maybe he could’ve helped, or at least talked this through before Eddie took things too far.

Maybe there’s still time for that. Eddie and Kim haven’t done anything besides go out a few times, if Eddie’s telling Buck the truth.

“Do you want to talk about-”

“No,” Eddie cuts off Buck’s offer before he can get the offer out. “No. It’s fine. Thanks for, uh… for this. And not saying anything to her.”

It’s obvious that Eddie wants to shut any talk of this down, but Buck isn’t so easily deterred. Buck wants to make up for not being here for Eddie sooner. He wants to know that Eddie still trusts him. Buck needs to know that he hasn’t managed to accidentally edge out the person in his life who knows him best, and who he thought he knew best in return.

“Eddie-” Buck begins. “I’m fine,” Eddie says, more forcefully this time. “I know I have some stuff to work out, I just… need time. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, trying his best not to sound hurt. “Yeah. It’s… I’ll just…” Buck flounders, unsure of what he should say when it’s obvious Eddie doesn’t want him to say or do anything. It all feels too little, too late now. “Enjoy the brownies.” Buck doesn’t look behind him as he leaves, not sure what would hurt more - to see pain in Eddie’s expression as he goes, or to see nothing at all.

#9-1-1 on abc #9-1-1 #9-1-1 spoilers #evan buckley #eddie diaz #introspection #slightly extended scene #angst

[heimdallsram]

━━━━ masterlist. soundtrack. archive of our own. taglist.

title: perennial

pairing: heimdall x female! goddess! reader

"You were a goddess of oaths and vows. It was only fitting that Odin would bind you to his service in only the most ironic way that he knew how: marriage."

this fanfiction contains the following: domestic violence, blood, gore, choking, violent sexual content, bad BDSM etiquette, non-consensual somnophilia, blood drinking, unhealthy relationships, and much more content that may be sensitive to some readers. reader discretion is advised.

*for inquiries about the taglist, please dm me and i will add you to it.

 “This… Lady Var. Are you certain she is not an agent of Odin?” Kratos inquired from his seat across the table. Laid open in front of him was Atreus’ journal, complete with the thoughts and ramblings of his son, depicting the very topic of conversation. Brok and Sindri glanced to one another. “She has been in Asgard for her entire life, has she not?”

 Mimir, peering over at the contents himself, clucked his tongue. “I wouldn’t think so, brother. The Var Goddesses have been endlessly persecuted by Odin over the centuries. I would know; he bragged about it quite fondly during our time together. He was very single minded about killing them all before they reached their full power.”

 “Huh?” Brok crossed his arms. “Whaddaya mean?”

 “The first Var goddess, some thousands of years ago, meddled in Odin’s affairs in Alfheim,” the head explained. His face contorted into one of deep thought, as if recalling the memories required him to delve into parts of his life that he was not to keen on reminiscing upon. “I only know this because I was there when it happened. Her name was Siv, and she was a Valkyrie—powerful, elusive, and angry. She… was not happy with some of the things he was doing, so she stepped in before things could go too far. In theory, anyway.”

 “The first?” Kratos rumbled. 

 “Aye, brother, the first. The Var goddesses go through a cycle of rebirth not unlike that of the phoenix, but it’s been so long that I’ve nearly forgotten how it came to be that way.” Mimir turned his gaze towards the book again. “But as I was saying, Siv intervened during one of Odin’s broken vows. The Var goddesses are not evil beings, you must know, and are more like—“

 “The peace keeper or executioner,” the god of war interrupted. “Atreus explained this to me.”

 “Yes well, that’s not exactly… correct.” Mimir hesitated. “It’s more along the lines of ‘if you break my vows, I will destroy your soul’. See, Odin was threatened by this—Siv could take a soul and dessicate it more thoroughly than any ounce of seidr I have ever seen. There would be no afterlife, no peace for them when she killed them. She was the bastardization of a Valkyrie and her sisters despised her for it.”

 Sindri’s brow furrowed. He sat down at the table, rolling a wire brush between his hands. “I didn’t know this part. Lady Var, she… explained she was bound by the oath and no other.”

 “And she was telling the truth, lad, as much as she could of it. I imagine Odin isn’t working on the full idea of things,” Mimir soothed. Kratos huffed. “Bound by oaths, yes, but only the ones she makes with herself or the ones she chooses to observe. If you could trap a Var goddess you would have a veritable power source in your hands; each of them has a special gift more different than the last. More special as the years go on and they are reborn into something new.” 

 Kratos lifted the book and stared at the charcoal drawing. Nothing discerning stood out to him except for the artistic rendition of the dress she wore. “And she is with Odin now.”

 “Bein’ married, yeah.” Brok lifted his cup of ale and saluted the air mockingly. “The All-Fucker knows he needs to keep ‘er there, so he binds ‘er up with marriage vows to Heimdall so she can’t leave.”

 “Oh dear.” Mimir’s eyes widened. “He’s marrying her to Heimdall?”

 “Yes, when she came here she had been crying, and had bruises around her throat,” Sindri explained softly. His gaze was far away, fixated on the stool across from him where you had sat previously, eating the food and drink they had given you with gusto. “She said he was not happy with the decision and blamed her for it.”

 “Bunch’a hogwash, the whole thing!” The blue dwarf slammed his drink down, sending droplets of alcohol flying into the air. “She ain’t done nothin’ to deserve this!”

 “In Odin’s mind, she very well may have. He despises those he can’t keep under his all-knowing thumb.” Mimir paused. “Though, lads, I don’t truly know how we can help her from here.”

 A silence seeped over the table, impenetrable. 

 “This… goddess,” Kratos began slowly,”she is powerful, yes?”

 “Dunno. Ain’t seen her in centuries until a week ago.” Brok shrugged. “But she was doin’ some mighty strong magic ‘fore Odin snatched ‘er up.”

 “As long as she doesn’t step on any toes, she’ll be alright, my friends. She’s survived in Asgard this long, right?”

 *** 

 Heimdall trudged alongside you in the light of dawn with a scowl on his face. That punch had silenced him for all of five seconds before you were walking off, fury in your step and a fine tremor in your fingers. Odin’s decision to have him supervise you was a foolish one, especially if he was going to open his mouth as he was and mock every little thing you did along the way to the beach—even stop to see the sunrise.

 “Move along, stupid girl, we have places to be. You can see the sunrise literally every day from oh, I don’t know, anywhere else.”

 You ignored him and watched as the sun peaked over the clouds. The cast of pale orange among the darkness was one of your favorite things to witness, present company not included. The little dragons snoozing on the roosts within the walls were beginning to wake, alerting the little folk to the rising of the sun and the dawn of a new day. The sunrise and sunsets in Vanaheim had been gorgeous, when Skoll and Hati would take to the sky and chase the sun and moon to their conclusions. The two wolves, the last you had heard, had been unable to complete the ritual since Odin had interfered with the altars some time ago.

 After a moment of reveling in Heimdall’s silent irritation, you entered the lift and allowed him to pull the lever to send the both of you down. You remained quiet, the knuckles of your fist still aching painfully in protest from hitting your now husband in the stomach. While he did not have the rotund belly of Thor or the sinewy musculature of Baldur, it still hurt quite a bit to hit him like that. Something in the spells on the collar was diluting some of the pain, to a degree, but when you flexed your fingers the sting came back full force.

 “Was it really necessary to hit me?”

 “Was it necessary to strangle me? Or walk out on me on our wedding night as you so expertly did. I was being pitied for days after that.”

 Heimdall deliberately avoided looking at you. “You did bite me. It was only fair, was it not?”

 “No.” The blandness in your tone forced him to look at you, then. He was mildly surprised to see you staring at him, but not completely—it was as if you were looking through him at to the sunset behind him. “I should have killed you and been done with it.”

 Something in those words made him uneasy. “Killing me would kill you, you’re aware? And you can no longer be reborn, little dog.”

 Yet your blank face remained. “Are you certain about that, gullintanni?  Would you like to put it to the test?”

 “I didn’t take you to be suicidal.”

 “That’s because I am not her.”

***

 “Brok, Sindri!” You called desperately. Yggdrasil twisted and turned endlessly, the flickering of your bodily form only momentarily hindered by the falling leaves. Each door that you passed seemed the same as the last, and you were running out of time—quickly. Leaving your body in Siv’s care had been a risk you hadn’t known you could take, but now that you had, you would do your best to warn your friends that you had been trapped more firmly than you could have anticipated. Your eyes flew to a familiar form sneaking among the branches. “Atreus!”

 He whirled around, but there was no one there. “Huh?”

 “Atreus!” 

 “Who’s there?”

 “It is I, the lady Var. I do not blame you for not remembering me, but I am running out of time. Please, listen!”

 His eyes flew to and fro, seeking your figure, but you were nowhere to be found. “How are you doing this?”

 “I have no time to explain. Tell them that Odin has bound me with the Collar of Repentance. Tell them that he has stopped my rebirth cycle. Tell them…” Your voice cracked. “Tell them that I can’t help them like I wanted to.”

 “Wait, what’s the Collar of Repentance? And what do you mean you can’t help us?!”

 “I’m sorry, Atreus.”

***

 “You’re not her,” Heimdall repeated slowly. Your eyes flickered gold, green, back to gold. “Then who are you?”

 A feral smile that was not typical of you crawled onto your face. “In time, son of Angeyja, Atla, Eistla, Eyrgjafa, Gjalp, Greip, Imðr, Jarnsaxa, and Ulfrún. In time. For now, I would enjoy the rest of the life you have left. My descendant may be bound, but I am not, nor will I ever be.”

 Heimdall stiffened at the mention of his mothers. “How do you know those names?”

 “The same way I know that you, above all, desire your father’s honest approval.” A shrug. Casually, the not-you reached behind you and pulled a shrieking green, crystalline bird from out of thin air. In one motion, your hand crushed the bird to dust, green powder lining the furs of your dress. “I’m inside you, now.”

 Before he could demand what she had meant by that—the not you—you blinked and, slowly, a confused expression stole across your face like a thief in the night. You reached up and rubbed your face with one hand, glancing around the lift. “What…?” It was soft.

 So you had been unaware of what happened, then. Heimdall narrowed his eyes as you shook your head, his gaze flying to the space that the green bird had been sitting harmlessly on the railing behind you. So the All-Father had seen it, too; but what could it have been?  What had possessed you in such a way? Whatever it had been, it made something new raise its head in the back of his mind—fear.

 You were violent, yes, but you were weak. Your only defense was having the advantage of his foresight not working on you. You had no magic, no future rebirth, only the ability to see vows and punish those who broke them. But the thing that had been behind your eyes… he had watched, felt, the power crawl out of your pores.

 It had felt like death, like darkness; a dying star.

 It had felt like annihilation.

 But now you were confused, docile, that hostile aura draining out of you to be replaced by something less… cruel. He watched the moment you realized something had happened, and your frown was more pronounced. But you did not say a word. Instead, you shook your head, rubbed your temple, and looked out among the wetlands with resignation in your eyes.

 It was something to keep an eye on. But now he had to keep his guard up, more than before; he could not mindlessly threaten you without risking whatever that had been happening again. You pulled your furs around yourself tightly, and he dismissed the thought. Father trusted him enough to keep watch over you and make sure you didn’t get in his way.

 “This way,” you said and stepped out of the lift, following a destination only you had in mind. He followed, his mind strangely quiet for once, and observed as your posture slumped and your walking grew less rigid. Outside the walls, you seemed to change—you were sullen, sulky. “Keep up.”

 And he did. Over the grasslands and streams, you led him to the shores of Asgard, where two children sat playing in the pale sand. They were young Midgardians, no older than ten or twelve years of age, and they fought each other with driftwood sticks and dirt.

 “Fight me, giant!” One boomed in an imitation of Thor. He waved the stick around as the God of Thunder would his hammer, making a face. “I will use Mjolnir and kill you where you stand!”

 The other child, a little girl, roared in defiance. “No! I, Ymir, will kill you, Aesir god!”

 Their sticks clacked together with childish skill. They moved up and down the beach, laughing and kicking up sand, and you watched with a small smile on your face as they played. The content of the things they were saying may have been dark, but they were happy—could you truly allow Ragnarok to snatch such happiness away from them? They would be Odin’s fodder, his shield against those who knew mercy and pity as a strength.

 You caught a wisp of Heimdall’s thoughts from where he stood some feet from you, leaning against a rock formation.

 … That is not how the story goes, stupid Midgardian children.

 But the story he knew was also inaccurate. You, however, too caught up in watching the children fight and play, did not stop to think too hard about the stories he had no doubt heard from Odin’s side. Instead, you watched the girl plop down into the sand, exhausted. The boy followed her willingly, tossing his stick into the water.

 “We have to do this every day, okay?” She said, sticking her arm out in offer. Her little face was screwed up in determination. “Until we get strong enough to get inside the walls. Together.”

 The boy nodded. “Right!”

 And so a promise was made. You watched the little white string blossom to life between them and observed until they eventually decided they had enough rest and moved further down the beach. Once they were well out of view, you stepped off the grass and into the sand, approaching the ocean cautiously.

 “What are you doing?” Heimdall demanded with a scowl. “You’ve observed whatever it was you came here for. Now we go back.”

 “Shut the Hel up.” You closed your eyes to the faint breeze wafting over the water. It brought you scents of salt, of rain and humidity and cold. “I have no intention of going back into those walls just for the rest of the Aesir to judge me for your wrongdoings.”

 His scowl deepened. “You are no extension of me.”

 “I agree.” You opened your eyes. The words came out unbidden. “You are a pathetic pantomime of your father. A fascimile of a god. You sit and stay, like a good boy, but I know it is only because he has no use for you other than to sit you up on that hideous wall and let you play protector. I wonder if you die, if he will ever mourn you as he did his little closer—Baldur. I think he would not.”

 “Shut your whore mouth.” Heimdall was quick to snatch you by the back of your neck, shifting his hand forward to grip your jaw. It popped threateningly under the pressure. You met his gaze without fear, feeling too bold in your words to ever allow him a victory. “You know nothing of my relationship with my father.”

 “I know enough.” You shrugged loosely. “Everyone knows how Odin sent his child up to the wall the moment he finished learning how to use his powers. The youngest child; the weakest, weaker than even the blind. Born from a fling of a union between Odin and your mothers because he could never honor them, never get over Freya. He’s a monster, and you… you are becoming just like him.”

 You stared at him, considering.

 “Odin doesn’t need another son… just another tool.”

 When you pulled away from him, he didn’t try to stop you. His hand dropped to his side as you walked away, the tiniest knot in your marriage vow unlinking. Doubt. It was small, but it was there, and even the smallest chips in the strongest wall would bring it crumbling down eventually. You would destroy his as he had destroyed yours.

 ‘Good,’ Siv spoke in your mind as you approached the lift some time later. Heimdall had not followed you, so you leaned against the railing to wait. ‘And now we begin.’

| next

taglist: @versiesleeps

#heimdall x reader #gow heimdall x reader #gow heimdall x female reader #heimdall x female reader #god of war ragnarok #god of war #gow #.perennial

[archxngxl]

My Muse Is Dead… Se7en Edition

Every day he goes back to those wonder years. A cliche way to describe his childhood but it’s truer to life than anything else. A & L’s Detective Agency took him back to a time of innocence. Best of friends. Greatest of imaginations. A tree house that was all their own. Just a perfectly constructed save haven he was able to use every chance he had. Away from his grandparents’ troubles at a time he wouldn’t even understand them. Away from the truth of his father leaving him, mother missing in action; Landon had Abel. His best friend in the entire world. Except good things aren’t meant to last. They grew a part but if he could back to the start? In a heartbeat he’d say sorry. Apologize to Abel for not working harder to remain friends. Cause in a way he’ll always blame himself. Even if it was not solely on his shoulders, Landon had a habit of falling into self deprecation. Only Abel Prince made him feel worth being in something.

It came back again. In a grim reality. Friends on opposing sides but all this blood brought them together again. BLOOD. The foundation of this horror story. If they were simple blood brothers it would have ended better. Instead Landon witnessed the blood of innocents spilled. Agonizing over those particular details began to reconnect those lost pieces for a friendship. He so desperately wanted it to go right. Somehow it only went wrong…

Landon knew the risks. Abel kept telling him. Even when they’re supposed to be partners! A team! Out of the pair a journalist being lost is hardly something to sneeze at. Nobody cares. But a detective? How? What sick fuck could slip through undercover of darkness and destroy whatever mending of friendship they began to stitch together?

“I don’t understand,” a regretful ignorance breezed past his lips. Initially it appeared to be a joke. A very disgusting one! “What do you mean the case is done? You can’t kick me off. Where’s Abel?” Oh but there it is. Assumed bad blood coming back to boot him from this investigation faded in a blink. One pitiful expression the chief of this operation; Landon felt his insides twist. How pale can a man drain in complexion? A ghost of a color crept upon him. Does it need to be said? Can death even have a soft meaning? It’s hard, resolute, final. “No way. He’s - gone off somewhere on his own. That’s all. It’s not.. he’s not dead! He’s the greatest cop I’ve even known in my fucking life! Nothing can hurt him!” Echoing a boy’s opinion, he used to think Abel could scare away every monster in existence. That’s what his best friend did for him. When he was a frightened child unable to sleep due to his grandmother’s nightmare collection of dolls. The fear that Abel never laughed about. He never laughed him. He only promised to help keep those monsters away. Now he’s gone? Right when they were just getting on common ground. Nobody can get away with this.

But a sick sonuva bitch can. A master manipulator. A serial killer can snuff life without an ounce of remorse. It can take away his best friend for good and leave him lost with al the 'what ifs'.

#excuse me #excuse you #how dare you #we go deeper than the ink beneath the skin of our tattoos: abel & landon

[reginamullet739]

Which Character Said, You Are Gonna Need A Bigger Boat?

Spoiler alert! Take our quiz to see how a lot you remember about some of the perfect twist endings in movie history! Did we mention there can be spoilers? What is the identify of the enormous rabbit that visits the title character in "Donnie Darko"? After an airplane crash lands into Donnie Darko's bedroom, an enormous rabbit named Frank visits him. Despite testifying for the prosecution within the 1957 film, Christine really needs her husband to be discovered innocent. Her testimony is definitely just an elaborate plot to win her husband his freedom. Lewis die at the end of "The Box"? Someone she does not know pushes the button. She pushes the button. It is an accident. Faced with the choice that somebody will die if she pushes a mysterious button, Mrs. Lewis chooses to push the button for 1,000,000 dollars. When "somebody she doesn't know" later makes the identical choice, Mrs. Lewis has to die. While it could appear that "The Village" is ready within the nineteenth century, it really takes place in the fashionable world. Her husband killed her. She was locked in an asylum. Andrew Laeddis, confined to an institution for murdering his spouse, Rachel. The astronauts learn that they are actually on Earth after spotting the Statue of Liberty buried in the sand. In the 1997 movie, Nicholas jumps off a roof after taking pictures his brother Conrad. He survives and later learns that the gun he used was loaded with blanks, and no one actually died.

There’s no particular badge you earn for being acutely aware of racism. You’re not accountable to some recommendation columnist, or racist distant kinfolk, or the meddling passerby on the road. You’re accountable, only, to your youngster. Being a dad or mum-whether by adoption or by biology-means there are numerous, some ways to mess the whole thing up. We undoubtedly want more good and nicely-adjusted citizens of the world. Whether you can increase one is a question solely you can reply. When you discovered a neighbor (with whom you’ve had successful play dates prior to now) had a radically completely different political philosophy from you, would you permit the play dates to continue? I imagine our political philosophy, on some stage, reveals who we really are deep down. The individual we are when no one is trying-and that's what gives me pause. I know that this mother would never damage my baby deliberately, and she is a sweet individual, but I simply can’t seem to reconcile who I believed she was and what she stood for with this current discovery.

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The controlled demolition explosions are straightforward to determine in high-speed video replay. It's true that Denver International Airport is a sprawling monstrosity. And there are murals of battle and loss of life on the premises. However, these bits of evidence don't actually seem to prove that the tarmac conceals the headquarters of the brand new World Order, as some conspiracists believe. In 2012, an nameless web submit dropped a bomb on hip hop - revealing that an early '90s meeting between company bigwigs where rap album entrepreneurs would comply with push hardcore "gangsta" rap, proliferating a life-style that was certain to maintain private prison enterprise booming. In fact, U.S. prisons have not wanted gangsta rap albums to be worthwhile. The top NASA administrator in control of the Apollo 11 mission admitted the entire thing was faked on a Hollywood film set. The president made a verbal slip on dwell tv indicating the landings have been sta

Supervise pellet and BB gunplay and reserve these for older teenagers. Don't enable kids to play with toy guns that look lifelike. Always retain the orange cap on the barrel of BB and air guns. Wear eye protection when using toy guns with projectiles akin to airsoft guns and paintball guns. Wear hearing safety when playing with loud guns and only use them outdoors. Keep caps from toy guns out of kids' pockets because they could cause burn injuries. In addition, it is essential that children wouldn't have entry to actual guns in the home. When you have firearms in your house, keep them unloaded and locked away, retailer ammunition in a separate location, and be certain your youngsters do not know the place you keep the keys. Experts additionally advise that dad and mom ask about guns and gun storage in houses the place their children spend time. One rule that ought to be hammered house with kids: For those who ever see a real gun, and even one you think might be actual, do not contact it, and all the time go find a grown-up.

[journal-entry-1]

you know those movies that you could watch over and over again just for the plot? those movies you find yourself going back to so you can escape reality for just a second. the ones that make you go back and replay scenes because they’re so powerful and inspiring? i’ve come to realize that those movies, are bs. yeah i know, movies are made up and almost entirely fictional, partially based off facts. occasionally you’ll get the “based on a true story” pop up that makes you think this could potentially happen but in reality, how much of the story is really based on what happened. people lie and make up shit all the time. do you know how easy it is to manipulate a story? i don’t want to crush your dreams or ruin your perfect world but, it’s the hard truth. all the love and friendship and excitement you feel from these movies, those feelings, they’re not real. just like the story. what’s the point of a story if it’s halfway finished? what’s the point of a story if it’s based on small details that don’t even matter. i used to find comfort in these movies. they allowed me to escape and imagine myself in their shoes. made life easier. but then the credits roll and it’s back to reality. back to the realization that movies are movies and our lives are never gonna be like them. we can lie to ourselves and hope that these moving love stories and romantic connections are real, but when reality sets in, we know they aren’t. i wish. i wish with every ounce of my being that a real connection, feeling, overtaking sensation could occur when you meet the one but do we really think that’s plausible. a feeling so powerful that you feel as if nothing could stop it. a sensation that makes you hot in your head and your heart skips 20 beats. one that feels like a magnetic field pulling two opposite forces. god i want this feeling. i want my movie. i want the good i want the bad. i want the i can’t get a fucking nough of you feeling you know? fuck. but reality. that stupid fucking bitch. she eats at my everliving nerve every single day i breathe. i want my person. i want that someone i just can’t live without. i can’t be without. i can’t think without. yeah sure. that feeling sounds almost miserable. and what if you ever lost that special someone? yeah all of those things could be true. but they also could not. i would rather take a chance with someone who could be the love of my life but also destroy me then no one at all. you’ll never find love if you don’t take risks. playing it safe never led someone to the love of their life. i’m sorry but regardless of the movies, this is a fact. love is all about risks. that’s basically how it all begins. yeah i can preach this and preach this but once again, the reality. i play it safe. i never take risks. and if i’m choosing a lane, it’s most likely the one with guard rails on it. i protect my heart but also destroy it. i pick the lane that’s gonna keep me happy but just enough to stay a float. just enough to keep me happy to make it through the day so then, i can be alone and suffer in peace. i know. pathetic. i choose the easy road that will last me short term. i never think about long term happiness. honestly. i don’t think i deserve to even be happy at all. i feel like this all the time. like i’m worthless. i know if i disappeared i would be forgotten. and if i wasn’t forgotten, it’d be because my parents made a spectacle of it. don’t give me the “your a horrible kid” speech because i promise, i’ve heard it before. but anyways. what i’m trying to say is, i’m not even sure if i believe in love anymore. everything about love that i know of is lies, manipulation, and scrutiny. i just can’t believe that someone could feel this way so strongly about someone. and maybe it’s because i’ve never felt this for someone. or maybe i did but it was for the wrong person. or maybe this feeling is just like the movies, not real. regardless of it all, i’m still gonna live my day to day. my annual wake up, fake happy, fake eat, sleep, repeat. my reality. harsh, but true. i really hope this feeling is real. i hope.

[clara-gilmore01]

I feel heartbroken. I’ve been putting off this feeling for a few days, and I did a fairly good job. But there’s this awful awful sensation that’s always sort of there. I feel the weight of losing them. The weight of no longer having the person who I once considered to be my best friend, for many years. We didn’t even say goodbye. I decided to stop reaching out first. I wanted to see if they would ever try to contact me, ask how my track meet was, see if I had fun at the formal. A small part of me hoped she would just text me. But, here we are. Since the day I decided not to text first, we haven’t spoken in about 5 days. How embarrassing is that for me? I fought SO hard for something that has been over for a while. Something she didn’t even want in the first place. It was a one sided battle.

To keep it going for so long when all she tried to do was end it. I don’t understand. I can’t comprehend the idea that even though I make them happy and improve their days. They’d want to leave. I didn’t ask for a lot. I don’t know why they couldn’t do it. It feels horrible. I feel small and worthless.

At the same time, even though i didn’t want to accept it, we were really never going to work. Our lives are on completely different tracks with 0 intersection. Without effort on one of our parts, I’ll never see her again. The way they operate doesn’t fit with how I do. Her friends and lifestyle isn’t anything I want to be a part of. We are so different, I used to think that made us fit better. I know better now, we are too different to ever be happy. Our values don’t line up. We don’t see the world the same way. I don’t think I could ever do what she needed. Nor will she ever have the ability to make me feel truly loved. Being with them took every last ounce of my self worth and shredded it. That’s not how love is supposed to feel. I shouldn’t have to feel so scared of no longer being wanted.

It’s a bummer because I always expect the worst. It’s a coping mechanism so that I can avoid disappointment. But the unfortunate thing is, every time I expect the worst from her, it ends up being true. She always measures up to the worst thing I could imagine.

I wish I didn’t love her so much. I love her so much that it consumes every last ounce of my being. That night, I asked them to talk to me until I fell asleep. I faked it. I stayed up the whole time to hear what they said. And I cried, I cried because it’s all I wanted to hear. She talked about how grateful she was, how much they were in love with me, how they couldn’t ever imagine not having me in their life. I felt reassured, we both wanted this to work. They change so fast. One good night will never be enough. I don’t know if she was telling the truth, I wish she was. It seems like her words are always so beautiful, I let them back in because of those beautiful words. That mind that could produce poetry about me. But her actions mean more, and they’ve never matched her words. Her actions speak a completely different truth.

[jadedstar2]

Some powerful quotes from the book, “The Body Keeps The Score”:

“…our capacity to destroy one another is matched by our capacity to heal one another.”

“As we now know, war is not the only calamity that leaves human lives in ruins…Each year about three million children in the United States are reported as victims of child abuse and neglect. One million of these cases are serious and credible enough to force local child protective services or the courts to take action. In other words, for every soldier who serves in a war zone abroad, there are ten children who are endangered in their own homes…It is very difficult for growing children to recover when the source of terror pain is not enemy combatants but their own caretakers.”

And, in referencing the Rorschach tests which were performed on several groups of traumatized peoples, it was discovered that trauma affects one’s ability to use imagination.

“ Imagination is absolutely critical to the quality of our lives. Our imagination enables us to leave our routine every day existence by fantasizing about travel, sex, falling in love, or having the last word - all the things that make life interesting.  Imagination gives us the opportunity to envision new possibilities - It is an essential launchpad for making our hopes come true. It fires our creativity, relieves our boredom, alleviates our pain, enhances our pleasure, and enriches our most intimate relationships…Without imagination there is no hope, no chance to envision a better future, no place to go, no goal to reach.”

In layman’s words, one cannot begin to think of what they WANT, (vs. NEED), because they are either still stuck in their past traumas, or they are CURRENTLY, STILL living in an unsafe environment that deprives them of the safety that is needed PRIOR to BEGINNING to heal their trauma.

When you are stuck in trauma/traumatizing situations, your brain literally is UNABLE to utilize imagination, to hope, to dream. How can anyone accomplish such a feat when they are hyper-focused on just getting their basic human needs met, or even trying to merely stay alive. It’s actually quite a simple and utterly non-complex notion.

PTSD is a physical wound. The brain is literally broken. It’s not just “poor mental health.” Only ignorant people are so blasé about the seriousness of the condition. And, from my experience anyways, the twisted fact is that it is CHOSEN ignorance. Usually because it is beneficial to them to dismiss it. But that’s another topic entirely.

The very sad truth is, oftentimes, one person is unable to hope or want simply because another person has forced their own WANTS to superimpose the other’s NEEDS. Hardly seems fair, right?

One way I have personally tried to describe the quoted paragraph above, (granted, this was prior to reading this book, so now it makes all the more sense to me), is this:

I am treading water. I’ve been treading water. For years. During storms, in the face of tidal waves, even in the short-lived periods of calm in between, I am always treading water. Trying to keep my head above the water. Trying to survive. I rarely found the time, let alone energy, to consider, “Which direction would I swim in if i was gifted with a long-enough duration of calm? Where would I even go? And what if I go in the wrong direction?” And even then, as I type this out for the first time, I recognize that my brain was still locked in survival mode, when I would try to see past the idea of endless treading. “What if I don’t go in the right direction” really meant “What if I use my last ounces of remaining stamina to head SOMEWHERE, and then I never find a shoreline? Then I’m dead anyways.”

There were never thoughts of, “when I get to shore…”

There were never thoughts like, “I can’t wait to finally reach my island destination and lay out in the sun.”

When people tell me I should start thinking about what I want to do next, now that I’ve “escaped”, my brain feels like it’s hitting a cement wall. What do you mean, what I want? I still don’t have enough money for food, I’m still waiting on disability, and even once I get it, it’s less than minimum wage, and I still have all these medical bills.”

Escaping life or death is often just a “leveling” up of sorts, and then it’s on to the next “level”, progressively getting harder, just like any video game, but also with a steady progression of growing fatigue and waning hope. And there are no magical Stamina potions here.

[jackie5656]

Liar III

With; Frank Castle (Punisher)

A/N: I’m so sorry i know you guys must hate me for making you wait this long. Truth is, I’m low key out of my Matt and Frank phase but I owed it to you guys and to this series to finish it. As for those conspiring if Matt has feelings for y/n, I wanted that to be up to you. So do what you must with that. Thank you for the patience and support, enjoy my loves.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, injuries, ect. 

Karen Page loves to read, on the days she’s able. With all the action in her life, the nights where she can curl up on the couch with a drink and a good book are some of the best. It’s quiet, calming, the varying sounds of the busy city are only background noise as she remains immersed in the in the pages. 

And because she can’t have one damn night to not fear for her life, her head swivels at the sounds of tires screeching just in front of her apartment building. Which, would be normal for New York, had it not been so late at night. Her heart hammers in her chest, mind racing with the worst possibilities as she snatches the gun from her purse.  Creeping to look out her window and peer out at the enemy. Something primal, buried deep within her, eases at the feel off the safety clicking off. As though it were only an extension of her body, and not a cold, heavy, weapon. Her icy eyes narrow at the sight of a familiar truck, one that should be at some cabin in the middle of nowhere right now. 

“Guess I should have called then.” She gasps, spinning and pointing her weapon without a second thought. Finger caressing the trigger and at the ready.  Franks arms are raised in surrender, and despite the weapon a mere ten feet away he remains sullen. Cold, distant, Karen can read in the split second glance of his brooding figure. Something’s wrong.

“ Jesus Christ Frank, what the hell?” Under circumstances, Frank would find amusement in her shock. 

“Your computer read disks?” Is all he manages, the foreign panic behind his eyes makes her stomach drop. 

“What’s wrong?” He tenses, frustrated with how well she reads him. “Where’s y/n?” The sound of her name shoots straight through his heart. And the possibility of a bullet ricocheting through his chest sound’s almost appealing. 

“Th-they took her.” Is what comes out of his mouth next, as he does his best to swallow down the crack in his voice.

“Who? Who took her?”

“Those fucking Irish bastards. I swear Karen when I find them I’ll ruin them. Rip every last one of ‘em apart-”

“Whoa, slow down. You mean, the Kitchen Irish are back?” His steady eyes confirm her words. “And...And they took y/n.” She clutches her stomach, mind racing with all gruesome things they might do with the woman she considers a best friend. “God.” There’s a sickening silence that fills the room, broken when a choked sob beckons to rip from the blonde’s throat. Her legs give out, but she manages to collapse into the worn couch cushion. Frank averts his eyes from her trembling form, her reaction making this nightmare reality. 

“You can’t do that Karen, you can’t fall apart.” His attempt at sternness is shit, enveloped in so much pain he sounds like a wounded animal. Cornered and baring teeth to hide the debilitating fear. “Y-you fall apart, so will I. We can’t, we have to find her. Can you do that? Can you help me?” He crouches in front of her, patting her knee in a weak shot at consoling her. 

Karen takes a deep breath, imagining each ounce of oxygen fills her with strength. She closes her eyes, collecting what’s just been shattered and taping it together in mere seconds. Because it’s you, and there’s no use in crying when every minute counts. 

“Okay.” She nods, more to convince herself than him. “What can I do?”

“Your computer, can it read CD’s?” Her attention shifts to the clear plastic case in his hand. A silver disk reflecting the lamp light from the table beside her. 

“Um.” She wipes her nose with her sleeve, eyes narrowed in thought. “My old one might. It’s in my room, hold on.” She’s up immediately, racing to her room and tearing up the clutter beneath her bed to dust off the dinosaur of a laptop. It’s much heavier than she remembers, trying not to let her shoulders sag as she re-enters her living room. Pushing away the heart wrenching sight of Frank pacing the steps in an unknowing patter. She’s sure she’s never seen him more broken. Because he’s beating himself up more than any gang in New York city could. Telling himself he’s failed yet again, over and over in a torturous echo. 

“Here.” Karen announces, placing the laptop on her quaint kitchen table. Sighing in relief when the screen lights up as the charger is inserted to an outlet. 

“Found this  back at our apartment.” Frank waves the plastic in hand glumly. “Figured I’d go back there on the off chance that-” His voice fades out, dread filling this bones as the end of the sentence fizzles out on his tongue. “I got back in the city this morning. I’ve been trying to get information all around but those assholes are still ghosts. Somehow regrouped without making any noise on the streets. 

“And you know the tape is from them?”

“It was leaning against our front door. Came here right when I found it.” He places the CD on the tray that’s ejected from the keyboard. 

“You may not want to be here when I press play.” He mutters, brown eyes pleading with hers in a silent beg to walk away. Go into the other room to shield her eyes and ears from whatever’s recorded.

“It’s okay.” She assures, though not fully convinced herself. “I can handle it. She needs us, I’ll be fine.”

Because he respects her word, and partly because he knows there’s no sense in trying to argue. Frank presses play. 

          The world is dark when you wake. Senses coming to life in a surge of panic. The smell of ammonia is pulled from your nose. You know it was set under your nose so you’d wake. Whatever they drugged you with, chloroform probably, is counter-acted by the overbearing chemical. 

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.” 

Your stomach turns at the man that sneers in front of you. You do your best to observe the surroundings. It’s cold, damp, with only a few dim ceiling lights to illuminate what looks like some sort of cellar. 

“Care to make a little movie for the boyfriend? I’m sure he’d like to see that your’re alive, at least for now.” The men scattered around the room share a laugh, and your heart pangs at the mention of Frank. 

You remember walking the dirt road in the early morning to one that was finally made of tar. The run-down bus stop sign you’d noticed on the drive up was thankfully not abandoned as you thought. Seeing as at 9 sharp the small shuttle stopped short at the sight of you, surely surprised to see someone. There were a few passengers with suitcases, either arriving or leaving a cabin of their own for a weekend stay. You smiled at a little girl climbing over her travel-fatigued parents, patient with their child despite it all. 

You remember the quaint  half farmers market, half deli shop that was a bit run down but homey all the same. The workers that greeted you with kind smiles that would make any new customer a regular for years to come. The man behind the deli reminded you of Foggy’s father, who you'd come to know the past years of friendship. It made you miss home. The quiet, personally decorated apartment, and the law office that became a second home up until your fall out with Matt. The thought tugging at your heart strings as you surveyed the produce. 

You remember waiting at the bus stop with the groceries, excited to have a fresh breakfast waiting for Frank when he woke up. Acts of service was your shared love language, because sometimes words were entangled in emotion and hesitation. It was easier for Frank to remember your favorite candy and bring it home from  a quick trip to the gas station or grab a bouquet on the way home rather than in drawn out, verbal confessions.

You remember the strange man in the beanie, the one that was seemingly waiting for someone in the grocery store parking lot. Who coincidentally needed the bus too. 

You remember fighting when he grabbed you. Screaming for ears that wouldn’t hear and fighting. Fighting like hell to make sure you’d survive. And then the cloth covered your nose, and things got blurry and your legs collapsed in on themselves. 

A swift punch to your cheek takes you out of your daze. Your head dizzies at the pain. Truthfully, you feel pretty fucking stupid for going to the grocery store. But how were you to know Frank was dealing with the god damn Kitchen Irish. At least, you assume it’s them. Though they were supposed to be dead, you wouldn’t put it past any gang from Hell’s Kitchen to come back and bite an enemy in the ass. 

“It’d be wise to listen to me when I’m speaking, yeah? Now smile for the camera.” You cringe as the last bit is muttered into your ear, whiskey emanating from the mans breath as he straightens your head by yanking a fistful of your hair. Your arms are tied above your head, just high enough off the floor to be on your tip toes. Which sucks, because it’s straining just about every muscle in your body, and hurts like hell. You stare into the lens, wondering what those that will see this from the other side will feel. 

“Jesus Christ.” Karen lets out a gasp as your form comes onto screen. Using what seems like all your strength to hold your head up. Instantly, tears prick at the blondes eyes as she fights back a scream. Frank grips the back of her chair with white knuckles. Still unaccustomed to the sick feeling in his stomach that’s now worsened. 

“You know, he told me how to deal with you bastards.” You force a laugh, spitting blood from your mouth with a grimace at its taste.

One of them approaches, about to enable you from speaking with a rag. You use whatever strength left to haul your body up, taking both feet and kicking directly into his chest. He shoots to the floor with a groan. You smirk, not expecting that to have worked so well. 

On the other side, Frank fills with a sort of pride. Attagirl, fight back.

“That was the 12th move he taught me.” You look to camera, hoping he’ll get the message. When you take two blows to the stomach you wheeze a cough, doing your best not to pass out from the pain and exhaustion emanating throughout your body. “Learning how to hit was the first. Your form is shit.” It earns you another round of assaults, hopefully it’s worth it.

“What’s she doing? Egging them on like that?” Karen’s stomach churns, hand over her mouth in shock.

“She’s not talking to them.” Frank pushes away the overwhelming emotions, knowing he can’t risk it clouding his mind til later. Furiously scribbling something down on a stray notepad from the counter. “She’s talking to us.” 

A man takes the camera and Frank recognizes his voice as the one from the phone immediately. “You want to fuck with us, Punisher? Not so big and bad now, are ya? You kill ours, we’ll kill one of yours. Happy hunting, mate.” With that, the screen goes black. Karen jumps as Frank slams the laptop screen shut. Beginning to pace the room as he had before. The emotion he’s been pushing aside suddenly overcomes him. 

“This…this is a street name. She was giving you a clue.” Karen stares at the numbers scribbled on the page, somehow you’ve managed to leave bread crumbs. 

“Probably her best guess of her location. Karen. She’s not like me, she’s…She’s good. I mean, down to her core. Give to people when she has absolutely nothing type of shit. And as much as I didn’t want to…Become involved with anyone after my family, she somehow worked her way in. I can’t lose her Karen. Besides you she’s all I got. God forbid I lose her, I won’t know what to-please, I just can’t.” He looks so small then, so vulnerable. His worst fear coming to life as it all begins to hit him. He stumbles into the counter top, pushing his arm out to cease the blonde’s embrace. Knowing it’ll only make him fall apart further. He gathers himself in an instant, shifting to the usual indifferent attitude in one deep breath. 

“I can’t take any chances, Karen. I need to be sure she’ll get out of there safe.” The woman nods, rubbing her palms together in hopes her hands will stop trembling. “That buddy of yours, the lawyer. He’d do anything to make sure she’s safe, yeah?”

“Of course, Matt-”

“He’s red. That douchey guy with the horns.”

Karen is silent, shocked at his words and unable to come up with a lie he’d believe.

“I knew the second I heard him in that courtroom. And y/n is a shit liar, so don’t bother trying to convince me otherwise.” She scoffs, remembering a time the girl had tried to set up a surprise birthday party for Foggy who’d caught on right away. And could barely manage a rebuttal when he had confronted her about it. The memory makes her throat tighten.

“I’m going to…I need his help.” The words leaving Franks mouth singe his tongue, and he hates to admit them.

“He’s going to kill you when he finds out, Frank.”

“Yeah, he can have my head after we save my girl.” Karen forces a laugh, beginning to dial the number before Frank’s hand on her forearm stops her.

“There’s just…One more favor I need.” Frank mutters, rolling his jaw in consideration.

“Of course, anything. You know that.”

To her surprise, Frank let’s put a low whistle. Immediately, nails patter from the hall and into the apartment. A grey pitbull enters the room, ears pulled back in distress as it comes to a stop beside his owner.

*********

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You can’t even protect her and you’re asking me for help?” Frank allows Matt to pin him against the wall, knowing fighting will only waste time. He’s stubborn, as always, and it takes everything in his power to not hit back. A piece of him wants to be pummeled, because he deserves it. And, as if it’s some miracle, Matt Murdock is finally right about something.

“Matt, it’s not his fault-“

“Bullshit, Karen! We do this shit knowing we have people depending on us. It was his job to keep her safe! I pushed her away thinking she’d be protected.” Matt’s words fade as he goes on, the blame suddenly shifting to himself. The second he entrusts someone with her safety it all goes to shit. He should have continued to keep tabs on her, but instead she’s tied up in a warehouse somewhere in his city. He releases Frank, running a hand over his face with strangled breath.

“You can be pissed all you want, Red. This shit isn’t gonna help when she’s relying on us to-”

“You! Relying on you, damn it! Because you promised to keep her safe. And l let you, and look where that got us.” Matt seethes, unable to contain his anger. Frank bows his head, he considered pushing her away too. But she fought back, like she always did.

“If we do this, we do it my way.” Matt announces head cocking in challenge when Frank has the audacity to scoff.

“Did you bump your head on the way here? This is y/n we’re talking about-”

“Who wouldn’t want death for her sake.”

“Bullshit, Murdock. Don’t try to stand here and act like you know her better than me. Not when you hurt her the way you did.” 

“I may have pushed her away, but at least I knew better than to have her ever get hurt from my doing-” The esteemed lawyer is up against the wall in seconds. The cutlery and plates clinking at the force of it. 

“You watch your mouth, Red. I did everything I could to make sure she was safe-”

“And now she’s tied up in some fucking cellar.” Matt seethes, their chests both heaving at how hard they’re breathing. 

“This isn’t helping.” Karen pushes between the two, filling with rage at their behavior. “Save the testosterone match for later, y/n needs our help. And you’re both wasting time shifting blame. And for what it’s worth, y/n probably wouldn’t want to be taken out of there stepping over dead bodies” Frank’s eyes narrow with fury when the corner of Matt’s lip twitches in just the slightest smirk. 

“Save the satisfaction for someone who gives a shit, Matt. I say you do whatever it takes to save her, and she’s probably thinking the same considering the bastards plan to kill her. Just don’t do anything too rash, Frank. Just get her out of there, and make sure they never pull this shit again. Okay?”

*******

There’s shouting in the distance, followed by a round of gunshots that ring throughout the cellar. You struggle in your restraints, attempting to brush the blindfold off of your head to get a better understanding of what’s going on.

“Looks like the boyfriend finally arrived.” The supposed leader snickers, the pistol digging into your head eliciting a wince you do your best to hide. You can’t show them fear, allow them to have power. If it’s one thing they can’t take away from you, it’s your strength. The assaults get closer, commotion ensues in the outside corridor which you can only make out to be hand-to hand combat.

“Sir, he’s here. But he’s not alone.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Murphy?”

“The devil, sir. He brought the devil with him.” It’s then you come to your senses, willing yourself to stay conscious despite the injuries throughout your body. To the two mens’ bewilderment, you being to laugh.

“You guys are so fucking screwed.”

It earns you another rib-cracking punch, but it’s worth it.

“You get your goodbyes in order, sweetheart. I want him to watch your brains splatter against these walls. Won’t be so big and bad after that.” Your stomach turns as your entire body tenses, awaiting the final bang of the bullet leaving the chamber and into your skull. It’s sickening, the millisecond of silence as you await inevitable death. If there is a god, you beg him to spare Frank of the image of you lying on the floor in a pool of your own blood.

It’s then a new pair of footsteps approaches. Some sort of metal whirs through the air and there’s a dull clank beside you. You flinch, feeling warm blood splatter against the side of your face as metal clanks to the ground. Along with a body. Someone approaches closer, pulls at the rope above your head until it gives and your entire weight collapses. You scream, struggling with the last strength you have left to be freed from the arms that encircle you. Only ceasing when a familiar voice shushes you.

“Hey, hey it’s me. Relax, I’ve got you.” Hesitantly, shaky fingers run over the leather of his mask, as a wave of unimaginable relief washes over you.

“Matt.”

“We fall out a couple months and this is what happens, huh? Trying to give me a heart attack?” You huff a laugh, grimacing with a small whine as he takes off the cloth covering your eyes.

“Don’t make me laugh, Murdock.”

“Sorry.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, hun.”

As your eyes adjust to the light, a loud thump of a body falling to the floor comes down beside you.

“Oh, Jesus Christ. What did these fucks do to you? They’re done. Each and every one of ‘em-”

“Frank.” You reach for him with the arm that’s not dislocated. Grunting when Matt shifts you into the new pair of arms.

“Hey baby, how you holding up?”

“Pretty good I’d say,” you give him a bloody smile, attempting to shift in his arms to no avail.

“Hey, hey don’t move. Just stay still, yeah?” You nod, a tear rolling down your cheek at his presence. It’s allowed you to finally succumb to the pain, having attempted a brave face for so long had exempt you from any energy.

“Girl’s gotta be lucky to have the devil of Hell’s Kitchen and the punisher working together for her.”

“Yeah, I’m not doing it for him.”

“You’ve mentioned that, Red.” You wheeze another laugh, clutching your side again.

“What you got going on there?” Frank runs his fingers over your skin, head snapping to Matt whose hands hover over your sides.

“Go ahead, Matt.” You already know what he’s silently asking, attempting deep breaths when his palms being to feel around your ribs and spine.

“Aye, what are you doing Red?” Frank looks to you when you clutch his forearm with a weak, but nonetheless reassuring smile.

“S’okay, hun. He’s just checking for-“

“Two fractured ribs, left shoulder’s dislocated, a few deep lacerations, some loose blood in there too…They got you pretty good.” Matt takes a deep breathe to calm down, hands leaving you to clench into fists.

“Christ, I’m so sorry sweetheart. We’re gonna get you outta here just-hey, hey! Keep those pretty eyes open.”

“M’kay…tired.” You rasp out, blinking hard a few times to wake up. “They didn’t let me sleep.”

“Dirty sons of bitches.”

“Her blood pressures dropping, we gotta go. More men approaching from the right entrance.”

“Can you carry her Red? Let me have at ‘em.” Frank cocks his gun, the sound of the shell dropping to the floor makes you wince.

“Frank, you promised-”

“Look at her, Red! How am I supposed to let them walk-”

“Frank, don’t leave. Matt’s got ‘em.” You ease the tension between the two, knowing Matt couldn’t leave here with a good conscious if Frank had his way.

“A-alright,” he strokes your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Red, you better not pull a single fucking punch.”

“Trust me,” Matt cracks his knuckles, making sure your left arm is pressed tightly to your chest. “I’m not going to.” He’s up in seconds, the sound of gunfire echoes throughout the room beside you as you flinch.

“Hey, I got you. You’re safe now. I’m gonna lift you, alright? So brace.” You only hum, managing a few shallow breaths to prepare yourself before Frank hoists you into the air. You clench your teeth so not to scream, your entire body in agony.

***************

Your eyes adjust to the light, one now swollen from the last punch you’d taken. You attempt to swallow, throat dry from having rested so long. A hand holds a cup of water in your face, your eyes as don’t have to trace the arm to know who it is.

“You know, I can’t see. But I’m pretty sure you look like shit right now.” You let out a huff of amusement, looking to your right to see your boyfriend. Fast asleep on a chair just beside the couch you’re laying on. You adjust yourself, attempting to sit up.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” You throw your head into the cushion, groaning.

“Are we-”

“In my apartment, yeah.” It hasn’t changed since the last time you’d been there. A game night with the four of you and a few too many beers. You smirk at the memory.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sounded mad at me, Murdock.”

“Hmm.” The brunette shrugs, smelling a bottle of pills on the kitchen counter and pouring them into his hand. Approaching you once more to offer them.

“You’ll be in a hell of a lot more pain once the meds ware off. Claire will be here after her shift to change your gauze-“

“I love him, Matt.” There’s a silence between you, words you haven’t spoken to each other linger in the air.

“And look where that got you.” You roll your eyes, frustrated with his hypocrisy.

“He’s not the first man to try to push the ones he loves away because of the shit he’s involved in. Trust me, he’s tried to get rid of me.

“Yeah not hard enough.” You hold your tongue, too weak to begin an argument.

“He’s not this heavy of a sleeper.” You accuse, stroking raven-haired man’s hair beside you.

“Crushed up a couple of your meds in his drink, hasn’t eaten or slept since we got you back here.” You scoff, smiling at Franks hand that’s gripped yours tightly. He’s pulled it into his lap, palm clutching yours as if he’s afraid it’ll disappear.

“How long have I been out? And why am I here?”

“In and out consciousnesses two days, give or take. My place was closer, secure.”

“Always liked the simple decor-“

“Don’t you bullshit me. You almost died. Did, actually, twice. Once in my arms. You know what that was like? To hear your heart stop? Force it to start beating again.” His voice cracks, your blood boils.

“Know what that’s like? Asshole, are you forgetting I was the first to know about your night time get-up? Know what that’s like,” you let out an amused scoff. I stitched you back together, got you back in one piece more times than you can fucking count. Don’t you dare try and lecture me, Matthew.”

“Yeah, well difference is I made sure you got away from that part of my life.”

“How? By pushing me away like you always do? Who did that help, Matt? I think you forget the people in your life…The people that know both of your lives, they choose to love you despite it. And they’re willing to risk everything to keep you. So yeah, I almost died. But you’d know better than anyone else it comes with the fucking gig.” There’s silence again, the sound of Franks breath and the city outside being the only sense of life in the apartment.

“Always thought you’d make one hell of a lawyer.”

“Yeah, well, learned from the best.”

“Shouldn’t give me so much credit.”

“I was talking about Foggy.”

 He laughs, shaking his head fondly at your wit. “I can hear your heart slowing, go back to bed.” 

“So bossy, Matthew.” You allow your eyelids to heavy, holding Frank’s arm closer to your chest with a heavy sigh. 

“So they say.” You hum before letting the exhaustion overcome you. 

Frank jolts awake, heart racing as he takes in his unfamiliar surroundings. You’re beside him, asleep with freshly changed gauze. Nobody resides in the apartment at the moment, and it gives Frank a chance to relax. Not fully though, not until you’re entirely awake and speaking. It’s then he realizes how much he misses your voice. How much he would have missed it had you- He erases the mournful thoughts, because you’re here now. Against all odds, he’s managed to not completely fuck everything up. He watches your chest rise and fall, the feel of your pulse under his thumb as he holds your hand in his. The only things that have kept him sane these past couple days. 

“Stop staring.” You mutter hoarsley, swallowing to soothe your throat. The man beside jumps, tears instantly pricking his eyes at the sound of your voice. He reminds himself to take it all in. The color of your eyes, the beating of your heart, the warmth of your skin, anything to make sure this isn’t some cruel dream.

“Hi.” Is all you say, a tear slipping past your cheek as his hands come to hold the sides of your face. 

“Hey, sweetheart. How ya feeling?”

“Like I got my ass beat, you’re not that good of a teacher-” He interrupts your sarcasm with a bone-crushing hug. Reminded of your injuries as he adjusts his hold to be a little looser. You take the feeling of his chest against yours, his presence filling your senses for what feels like the first time in forever. Reluctantly, he pulls away. Eyes mulling over your face with tear stained cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry baby, so sorry I didn’t protect you. I wish I had-”

“Hey. Let’s not do that. Let me just look at you.” The tension in his shoulders loosens with your words. 

“I thought I lost you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I could have though, and I can’t let that happen again. Ever.” Your eyes narrow, about to urge him to elaborate before the door opens. 

“I didn’t know which balloon was appropriate, so I got all of them.” Foggy barrels down the hall with three different teddy bears, a gift basket, and an entire handful of balloons. You laugh fondly at the sight, clutching your side with a small wince. Frank grimaces at your pained reaction, glaring at the blonde man that’s just interrupted you. Who suddenly tenses at Franks no doubt intimidating gaze. 

“I was going to leave all this in the hall, but Matt said he could hear you were awake.”

“He should have lied.” Your boyfriend mutters to himself, frowning when you hit his arm with what little strength you have. 

“She needs to rest, Matt. No muscle contest for the next couple hours, okay?” Karen and Matt enter the apartment behind Foggy, whose gone around the couch to give you a little-too-tight of a hug. 

“Go easy on her, will ya? Doesn’t need another cracked rib.” Frank warns, protective nature a clear warning in his tone as Foggy backs away. 

“Right, sorry. Always a pleasure Mr. Castle.”

“Last time we met was at my trial.”

“A pleasure, truly. I mean, you’re out now. So, all is well that ends well.” Foggy forces a laugh, regretting punching the man’s broad shoulder the instant he does. You chuckle at Franks grimace, easily softening his expression when you bring a gentle hand to his cheek. 

“Be nice, baby. He’s only here to help.” Frank huffs, glum expression turning to one of shock when Karen pushes beside him in his seated position to get to you. Enveloping you in a softer, much more careful hug than the previous two. 

“Please don’t scare me like that again.” She whispers to you, holding back tears when she pulls away. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear to gather herself as she rises. Shooting a look to Matt who observes from the doorway. He’s stubborn, keeping his distance from you. Reluctantly, he pushes off the wall at the feel of Karen’s glare. Closing the distance between you and leaning over the back of the couch to stroke your hair. 

“Glad you finally stopped bleeding all over my couch.” 

“Sure, I forgot that’s your job.” He scoffs, unable to gather a comeback. You’re a match of wit even for him, one of the reasons he’s come to love you so much. 

“So, everything is handled then?” Foggy inquires, brows raising when Karen, Matt, and Frank all shoot him a look.

“Not yet, we can get to that later.” Frank assures, chest panging when you block the had that goes to rest on your hip. 

“What’s he talking about?” 

“Just something I have to handle.” 

“You’re not leaving again, right? Because we’re supposed to go home. I’m gonna get better and you’re gonna take me home, right Frank?” The use of his name on your lips is an undeniable warning. 

“Of course, hun. There’s just a couple things I have to handle to make sure they don’t try this again-

“You’re gonna leave?” Your voice breaks at the notion, Karen and Foggy sharing a look before they begin to gather their things. You’re in too much of a daze to notice his quick kiss to your head or her squeezing your hand in goodbye. Matt stays, arms crossed over his chest as he listens. 

“Just a couple days, sweetheart. I have to make sure it’s handled so they can’t hurt you again.”

You turn your head towards Matt, to speak. Tears, no longer ones of joy, cloud your vision. 

“We made a deal. He finishes what he started as long as I keep an eye on you.”

“And when the fuck was this decided?” You shuffle to get into a sitting position, pushing away Frank’s attempted aid to do so. 

“Sweetheart-”

“No. You don’t get to do that. Don’t get to act like I’m irrational and make these decisions for me. You don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, Castle.”

“It’s the best option to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“Don’t give me your self-righteous bullshit, Matthew. I’ve had enough of that for a life time.” 

“I’ll just be a day, okay? I’ll make it as quick as possible.” His eyes search the room, connecting with his bag in seems that he’ll attempt an escape. 

“Why can’t you stay a little longer? Take me home at least, let me see Max.” The drugs seem to be enhancing your emotions, the exhaustion no help as you cling at the fabric of his shirt to pull yourself up more. Frank’s heart breaks at your words, it’s killing him to see you like this. To know he’s causing it. But above all else, even if you hate him, he needs to know you’ll be safe. 

“I’m not leaving right now. Just getting a bag together. You rest while I pack, yeah?” 

“Last time you left I didn’t know if you’d come back. Please.” You’re desperate, every bone in your body begging him to stay because it’s so riddled with fear. The trauma of the past week has come to a hilt as it fills your body with dread. 

“I have to know you’re safe, sweetheart. I can’t sleep knowing they’re out there. You have to understand-”

“I don’t. I don’t have to do anything.” You rip the IV of fluids from your arm, not even noticing the pain when you throw the covers off yourself. Attempting to stand before practically falling into Frank’s hold.

You’re angry. Pissed that it doesn’t even take your near death experience for them to see the error in their ways. That if they continue, there’s always gonna be another enemy. And of course, the Irish needed to be dealt with. But you were inexplicably overwhelmed with emotion. Perhaps because you’d held all the anxiety in whilst they beat you. Pretended the punches didn’t hurt as bad as they did, and the cold, hard pressure of the barrel of a gun pressing into your temple wasn’t permanently ingrained in your mind.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You’re gonna tear your stitches.” Frank’s quick to sit you back down. Hands grasping the sides of your head so you’ll hear him in your daze.

“I want to go home.” Had you been completely coherent, you’d be angry with how weak you sound. Matt stays close, afraid you’ll get up again. Your words hurt, as he recalls a time you’d never wanted to leave his apartment. On rainy days where it seemed best to stay in with your friends with takeout and good conversation. He missed you, still did even when you were right in front of him.

“You’re gonna kill yourself.” The brunette warns through feigned sternness. He can feel your glare redirect to him, pretends he can’t.

Your eyelids get heavy again, now that the blood has rushed yk your head so fast you’ve nearly fainted. The various bruises and lacerations on your body ache tenfold with the sudden motion, which you regret as soon as you lie back down.

“Everything hurts.” You mutter to what you think is yourself, only realizing Frank’s heard when you take in his bleary, guilt-ridden eyes.

“I know, hun. I’m so sorry.” His thumb goes to stroke your brow, you hate that you let him. How your body relaxes at the simplest touch, your labored breathing slowing to long, steady breaths. That he knows the action will make you give in to sleep.

“Rest. I’ll be back by the time you wake up.” He leans in close, not ceasing his movements as he kissed the top of your head. One long enough to signal a goodbye. You want to fight, keep him from leaving because you’re so sure it’s the last time he will. That somehow, despite his skill, he won’t come back to you. The meds take over, and it all goes black.

You wake to a soft whining, eyes fluttering open at the feel pawing at your forearm. Max leans his head on the mattress. You realize after a few moments you’re in Matt’s bed. Which meant you must have been healed enough to be moved.

Not caring how much Matt will hate it, you pat the bed to permit Max to lay beside you. Chuckling when he rubs his face into yours in greeting.

“I missed you too, love.” You hold him tight, he reminds you of home and the man you share it with. Who was not, in fact, there when you woke up.

“Thought I could bring a piece of home to you.” Matt leans against the doorway, reading your body to monitor your health and mood. He’s done it without thinking, these last few days. Sick at the thought that he’ll ever have to hear your heart stop beating again.

“My hero.” You deadpan, watching as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed.

“You can hate me all you want, you staying here was for your own good. Couldn’t have moved you if I wanted to.”

“He didn’t have to go.”

“You know he did, and it’s not fair to resent him for it.”

“Don’t try and lecture me, Matthew.” He cringes at his full name leaving your lips, a habit you’ve seemed yo develop these last few days. One that really only arises when you’re upset with him.

“I’m right though, aren’t I? You understand he couldn’t just let them disperse only to come back stronger.”

“So you’ll allow him to do it his way? You didn’t even try and stop him.”

“Did, actually. Try being the key word.” He rubs at a bruise on his jaw, no doubt from Frank’s hand. “But then came the matter of who would keep an eye on you. And despite the blindness, I think I’ve done a pretty good job.” You scoff to suppress the laugh you want to let out, still upset with him despite the humor. He studies you once more, attempts to gain access at what you’re trying to tell him through the passive-aggressive comments.

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Reading me. It’s invasive, Matthew. You should know I’m upset with you because your a dick, not because my body tells you.” He hums, bowing his head to hide the smile on his face. He’s missed the way you keep him in check. Honest to a fault, he used to tell you.

“I don’t want to fight with you anymore.” Your voice falters as you speak, scanning his face for a reaction. Some sort of tell that he feels the same. That he’s missed you just as much as you’ve missed him. He grabs your hand, squeezes it in unspoken agreement.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Is it the meds, or did Matt Murdock just apologize?”

“Don’t get used to it. I’m right much more often than I’m wrong.”

“Modest, too. What an upstanding guy, truly. It’s a wonder we ever stopped being friends.” He nudges your shoulder, yelps when Max growls in a playful warning. You fall into a fit of laughter when the pitbull begins to assault the man with unwarranted kisses, the brunette gagging at the unfamiliar feeling and the overwhelming dog breath. He doesn’t mind too much, though. Seeing as it’s the first time you’ve been genuinely happy in the last couple days.

Matt cocks his head, standing at attention as if he’s heard something. Max does the same just moments later, hearing less keen than the lawyer’s.

“He’s back. I have to get to the office to catch up on some things. You and the mutt better be out of here by the time I’m back.”

“You can’t see it, but I’m flipping you off right now.” He chuckles at your comeback, patting your leg in goodbye before heading out of the room. There’s a short exchanging of words that you can’t make out well from the bedroom. But a clasp of palms notifies you the two men have shook hands for likely the first time. Some sort of temporal anomaly, you’re sure.

You turn to face the other way when the barn door slides back open. Frank clears his throat, reciprocating Max’s ecstatic greeting before crouching beside the bed.

“Still pissed, I assume?” You release a huff of air through your nose, eyes narrowing at the feel of your heart tighten at the sound of his voice. “You know, seems like you have one of those guys a run for his money. Had a bandage on his nose where you must have head-butted him. Explains your concussion.” He tries to amuse you, running a finger up and down your spine as he speaks. His hand moves to rest on your hip, leaving you as soon as you move away from his touch. He grimaces, let’s the action send a pang right through his chest.

“Im mad at you. Really, really fucking mad.” You grit your teeth, willing the tears way that seem to arise so quick these last couple days.

“I know.” You barely hear the words leave his lips, feel him inch just a little closer to you. Subconsciously shifting towards your warmth.

“Please look at me, sweetheart. Let me at least see those pretty eyes.” He’s persuasive, knows it too in the way he gently tugs at the comforter. You oblige, fed up with all the arguing.

“There they are, missed ‘em.” He grins, pretends he doesn’t notice the heat rise to your cheeks.

“Pain any better?” His eyes avert to your waist, hands bunching up the fabric of your shirt to observe the bandages on your skin.

“The stitches itch, but Matt said that’s normal.”

“It’ll get better.” He assures, gently running his fingertips over the cloth to ease the uncomfortable feeling. Your body involuntarily leans into his touch, contrasting to your behavior just moments ago. Damn Frank Castle and his charm.

“You gonna let me take you home now?”

“That depends, is there any more near-death experiences I should prepare for?” You attempt to jest, stiffening at his unamused expression.

“Too soon?”

Part One

Part Two

Taglist: @sketch-and-write-lover @badasseddy @moonofheroin @trinkets01 @annalayton19

#imagines #fanfic #marvel mcu #matt murdock #frank castle #frank castle imagine #frank castle x reader #marvel the punisher #frank castle fluff #francis castiglione #mcu punisher #punisher x you #punisher x reader #punisher imagine #the punisher #john bernthal #karen page #foggy nelson #hells kitchen #defender #matt murdock x y/n #matt Murdock #matt murdock x reader

[samstree]

Just a Little Pretense

Jaskier and Geralt stage a fake breakup. Someone’s feelings get hurt for real.

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

AO3

“… It would be to take you off my hands!”

Geralt’s voice echoes in the ballroom, between the tall walls and the high ceiling. Everyone on the dance floor has fallen into silence. Even the band has stopped playing, their lead singer gaping with round eyes.

Jaskier blinks, impressed.

All the eyes are on the two of them. Jaskier’s back prickles with the gazes. As the fight escalated, more and more guests have stopped dancing just to eavesdrop on the witcher and the bard, the most peculiar couple in the room.

Which is just perfect. The more people witnessing their breakup, the more awkward it will be afterward, and the easier it will be to get out of this tedious party. And here Jaskier is, regretting ever having doubted his dear witcher’s ability to perform.

Who would have thought Geralt is a method actor? Drawing inspiration from a past argument is ingenious.

His old acting professor back in Oxenfurt would approve of this. The show is going swimmingly and he is pumped with adrenaline—maybe he should go back on stage one day, do a play or two.

But alas, he can muse the idea later. The show must go on.

“Really? Just like that?” Jaskier croaks, seemingly on the verge of crying. He’s not so bad himself, classically trained and everything. “Thirty years, Geralt. I followed you for thirty years, and just like that, you will kick me out of your life? Did I ever—” he breaks off with a whimper. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Or were you ready to cast me aside this whole time?”

A tear rolls down. His lips wobble. The crowd erupts in hushed murmurs and sympathetic sighs. The set-up, the build, everything has been perfect. Now the only thing left is for Geralt to break things off, and the two of them can ride into the metaphorical sunset and never see this court again.

Jaskier waits in anticipation, but his witcher opens his mouth.

And closes it.

Geralt looks as upset as he should, angry and torn and equally shocked, his golden eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. It’s a nice picture to paint for the audience. They are supposedly having the biggest fight in their lives and his body language is very convincing.

More than convincing.

Except, it just might be … too convincing.

Wait—

Jaskier focuses on Geralt, who looks as if he wants to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped and arms drawn in. He looks as if he’s waiting to be struck. Wait, something’s not right.

“I can’t do this.” A whisper leaves Geralt’s lips, small and achingly sad.

It’s not the line he’s supposed to say.

Geralt’s eyebrows droop ever so slightly, and there’s a flash of distress behind the molten gold. It’s gone in a second, hidden behind a façade of indifference.

The tells are subtle, near imperceivable to the untrained eye, but to Jaskier, they are clear as day—Geralt is hurt. For real.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tries, instantly snapped out of his character.

And yet, there’s no reply. Geralt lowers his head, turns around, and flees the scene within one heartbeat and the next. The crowd is too eager to make way for him.

“Shit,” Jaskier curses, ready to chase after Geralt, but the Countess de Stael appears out of nowhere with a flock of maids and positively blocks him in all directions. She’s eager to lament the loss of love and companionship, and to offer Jaskier a place at her court once again. Oh, shit.

Jaskier brushes her off, all the while painfully remembering he and Geralt’s goal from the beginning—to use the breakup as an excuse to get out of this place.

Well, the plan is shit. Is it too late to notice?

Weaving through dozens of nobles is a lot more difficult when they all want to extend sympathy, and Jaskier is only placating them absent-mindedly, faking regret and heartbreak. His mind is full of his witcher, who is either brooding or spiraling over the venom he spewed earlier.

The truth is, Jaskier has long forgotten about the mountain—not because it didn’t hurt. To be shunned by Geralt, blamed for everything, and denied friendship, was the worst thing to have happened to him at the time. It’s just that Jaskier has forgiven it, so long ago and so completely.

Jaskier cannot get to their room fast enough, and when he pushes open the door, the sight of Geralt’s dejected face is a stab through the chest. The witcher is perched on the bed, somehow looking a lot smaller than he is.

Jaskier never should have come up with the stupid fake breakup thing, never should have inadvertently reopened the old wound. They healed, together. They shouldn’t be hurting anymore.

“I explained. We can leave now,” Jaskier tires, but in fairness, he doesn’t remember what he said to the Countess. “Geralt?”

The witcher himself crosses his arms, hugging his midriff and avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Good,” he answers curtly, shoulders still tense.

He looks angry, and when Geralt is angry, it’s most likely with himself. Oh, whatever heartbreak Jaskier acted out earlier, it’s not a match to a fraction of what he’s feeling now. It must be the one millionth time Geralt’s self-loathing has broken Jaskier’s heart, and it never gets easier, not when Jaskier caused it himself.

“Hey.” Jaskier desperately wants to wrap his arms around Geralt. So he does. He sits down on the bed and pulls his witcher into the biggest bear hug, which is returned immediately and so very tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Geralt. I’m—”

“Don’t be.” Geralt buries his nose into Jaskier’s neck and shakes his head. “I never should have said those things, Jask. I should be the one apologizing. It was wrong and untrue and I would never abandon you. You are my best friend. How can I ever? Please, believe me…”

Geralt trails off, his hands rubbing circles into Jaskier’s back. Although it’s unclear who he’s trying to soothe.

“I know. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier murmurs, over and over again, sealing each reassurance with a kiss pressed into silver hair.

“I never meant it, Jask.”

“I know. It was fake. We were pretending.”

Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dead serious, pausing between every word. “I never meant it.”

Jaskier meets his gaze unwaveringly, with not an ounce of doubt. “I know.”

They stay there for a while, just holding each other. Geralt keeps sniffing Jaskier’s scent the same way he always does to check for injury or distress. He thinks he’s subtle, the sweet man, so Jaskier never mentions it.

Despite what an outsider might assume, Geralt is the sensitive one between the two. He’s so careful when it comes to their relationship, especially after the mountain and sometimes to his own detriment.

He’s so scared of hurting Jaskier again.

“I was an idiot for suggesting it,” Jaskier breaks the silence, nudging Geralt in the knee.

Geralt hums, lips pursed.

“Fake breakup is a terrible idea. Next time we’ll just grit our teeth and sit through the month-long party.”

Still, no smile.

“Alright, you win. Next time I won’t take you to a month-long party to start with.” Jaskier gently pats Geralt on the cheek. “For your delicate sensibilities, darling.”

Finally, finally, Geralt’s lips turn upwards, just a smidge.

“You are an idiot,” Geralt says, the crease between his brows fading. “Just…don’t make me make you cry again.”

Melting into the warmth welling up between his ribcage, Jaskier leans forward and presses a tiny kiss at his witcher’s forehead, so softly as if he’d break with any more force.

“Yes, dear.”

Being careless with Geralt’s heart is a mistake that Jaskier never wants to repeat. As he put a hand over his witcher’s languid heartbeat, Jaskier feels the soft thrumming against his palm, and realizes just how terribly he needs to guard it with the same care too. Against his frivolous self, and against the past that never seems to stop haunting them.

Because Jaskier needs this thing between them to work. If a faked breakup already seems unbearable, he shudders to imagine a real one.

A witcher’s life is already riddled with pain and sadness and could-have-beens. A poet would hate it if he added himself to the list.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #reverse trope #fake breakup #geralt x jaskier #post mountain #hurt/comfort #geralt of rivia is a sap #soft jaskier #jaskier is an idiot #don't mind him #established relationship

[juletheghoul]

Oblivius Chapter 9

It hurt to write this but it needed to be said. I love these dummies and I'm glad you all love them too. Love hearing from all of you - dms/asks are always open!

Likes & reblogs are appreciated

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: angst, language (let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Prev Part Playlist

------

Can your brain be at war with itself? When he considered his feelings he found that it could. Her declaration was a balm, the missing piece of the puzzle. A cavern within his soul that had been empty for far too long and desperately needed filling. The other side was pure rage. A hurt so deep and intertwined with the anger that it burned him.

It swam through him with an ardour that was palpable, sweating out of his pores and puffing out with every exhale.

Maybe that same cruel, hurt part of him wanted to make her wait, see if there was truth in her honeyed words.

I’ve waited for you half my life, Spills; let’s see how long you can wait for me.

The thought would always shame him in its cruelty. A spiteful little dig at her that he imagined would sooth the hurt he felt but it never did. Just made him feel worse. It was strange to him that the one thing he’d wanted for as long as he’d known her would be to hear those words. I love you too Francis, and the first time they’d almost knocked him over. Even seeing them written out in her message had taken the breath from his lungs for a second, but it wasn’t enough. There were so many things he needed to get off his chest.

One week turned into three, and after a month he’d had enough.

---

His nerves were shot as he made his way over to her place, his guts twisting up with anticipation and when she opened the door his heart was racing. He had so much to say, so much to get off his chest and when he saw her his first instinct was to kiss her. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and take her to bed, bury all his frustrations into her body but he couldn’t go down that road. It took every ounce of self control to deny her embrace.

“Please Spills, don’t - please don’t, if I hug you now I won’t stop there and I’ll lose my resolve. Please - we need to talk first.” He held his hands up to forestall her advances and the hurt look on her face almost broke him. There was too much to say.

——

Seeing him at your door, deep frown on his face and unwilling to even come close was like a punch to the gut. He was here, finally, after everything that had happened and his absence he was finally within reach. Or at least that’s what you thought at first, seeing him now it was clear that although he was here physically, he was somewhere far away emotionally.

The euphoria you’d felt at finally hearing from him, the text he’d sent asking if he could come over was now replaced with a nervous fear. Was he here to tell you he didn’t want you?

No, this is Francis, my Francis and things will work out. Please let things work out.

He made his way through awkwardly, a far cry from the confident Francis who brought you food for your hangover. It made you uncomfortable, made you nauseous - a swarm of flies buzzing in your stomach.

“Did you want something to drink?” It felt so foreign coming out of your mouth, you’d never had to ask him before. If he wanted something he’d usually just help himself.

“No thanks.” He sat on your couch and you came to sit beside him, careful to keep your distance and when you were both facing each other he sighed loudly. His eyes were focused on you but they were sadder than you’d ever seen.

“I was supposed to be married.” He came right out with it.

“I know.” It was all you could say. It was hard not to wring your hands, the anxiety was running rampant.

“Right now, I’m guessing Claudia and I would be arguing over where to live - on our way home from our honeymoon.” He sighed loudly. “She ended up going anyway.”

He was staring at you and you couldn’t really describe the expression. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t fear or distrust. “Spills, what am I supposed to think? I know that you’ve always known how I felt about you.” He was trying not to get too agitated, trying so hard to reign in his feelings and you couldn’t argue, all you could do was sit and let him get it off his chest.

“It’s so hard for me not to think that this is all a ploy you concocted to keep me for yourself. Never actually wanting me, but not letting anyone else have me. Please - tell me I’m wrong.”

You chewed over his words, as much as they hurt - you couldn’t blame him for thinking these things. Your timing had been abysmal.

“I know Francis. I know why you’d think that and if the roles had been reversed I’d probably be thinking the same thing but you have to know it’s not like that. You have to know how I feel about you, how I’ve always felt about you.” You wanted to reach over and touch him, maybe if you could just hold his hand, run your fingers through his hair - he’d be able to feel what you felt. Transfer it onto his skin somehow but you couldn’t yet. He was still too raw and it would make him angry. Would see it as another ploy to entrap him.

“How? How would I know that? How could I possibly see this as anything other than manipulation? Your timing is bullshit.” You saw it then, the look on his face was anguish.

“Do you have any idea how much I worked to convince myself that this would never happen?” He was gesturing to the two of you. “How hard it was to be so far away from you, and hear that you were just happy to be with someone else? How fucking hurtful it was for you to suggest that I be your last resort in case you were single at thirty? What am I supposed to think?”

His emotions were getting the best of him now and you saw his eyes shining. He was so angry, and you deserved this. “Claudia was there when you didn’t want me Spills. We may have fought, and disagreed on things but she wanted me from the get-go. It didn’t take her fifteen years to admit that she might feel the same way about me that I felt about her.”

“Francis I-”

“No. Let me finish- please. Let me say everything I need to say because it’s eating me up inside and I won’t be able to look at you if I keep it in another second. I need you to understand that although I love you - with everything that I am, I was ready to let you go for someone else. I had a life planned with that someone and that just a whisper of you possibly feeling even a fraction of what I’ve felt for you all this time, fucked me up. I threw it all away, I ruined my wedding. I did something I never thought I’d ever do - I betrayed her.” The tears were rolling down his face, he couldn’t stop them and your body burned to console him. Your hands itched to wipe them away and you had to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I am so angry, Spills.” His voice was cracking and he couldn’t look at you, he was hunched over, elbows braced on his knees as he held his face in his hands. “I’m so angry and I want to forgive you and just ignore all these feelings and love you, take you to bed and show you how much I’ve wanted you but I can’t right now.” Your eyes were burning, a painful lump burning in the back of your throat.

Am I too late? Please Francis, please look at me.

“Francis, please - I know you’re angry, and I know I hurt you, but you know in your heart that I love you. Please look at me, please - we can fix this.” You tentatively scooted closer and he looked up at you. Big brown eyes sparkling with tears over the hurt you’d caused.

For a moment you saw him much younger. You saw the sweet, beautiful boy you rejected staring back at you and you couldn’t help but touch him. Softly putting your hand on his shoulder, feeling it tremble beneath your palm and he slowly shifted towards you. That was all you needed. You pulled him to you, letting him crush you in his embrace.

“I’m sorry Francis, I love you and I’ll wait as long as you need me to wait. Please don’t push me away.” His face was pressed into the crook of your neck and you could feel his anger and his sadness as he held you close. You were rubbing his back and scratching at his scalp, trying to soothe him as best you could while whispering your feelings. Everything - anything that would convince him that you were on his level.

“Let’s start slow, and figure this out together. I shouldn’t have waited so long and I shouldn’t have denied my feelings for you. You’ve always been the one for me and I should never have made that stupid pact with you. I should have kissed you back. I’m sorry, I love you, believe me - please.” You were holding onto him tightly, pulling him to lay on you on your couch; he was wrapped up in the space you made for him.

“I want to, god I really want to Spills, you’re the love of my fucking life and I need you.” He was squeezing you tightly and you couldn’t help but pepper his face with kisses, little kisses between I love yous, your lips stained with the salt from his tears and you saw the deep breaths he took with every declaration.

“Keep telling me, please just keep telling me.” His eyes were closed, his words were whisper soft.

“I love you Francis, I love you.” You must have told him half a hundred times and you’d keep going until he believed you.

---

You both lay there for a long time, quietly soaking in each other's warmth, he’d kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable with you underneath him. His weight was reassuring and you pulled his shirt up slightly to rub the warm skin of his back.

All of the time wasted apart was devastating, you could almost see it then. The alternate timeline of your lives together. Maybe you’d have gotten married before he left. Maybe you’d have a couple of kids by now. A house. A dog.

“I don’t want to be, but I’m still hurt and upset." He sighed.

"I believe you, and I love you, but I think we should take things slow.” He pulled you out of your reverie, lifting up off you as he spoke. You missed his warmth instantly but he pulled you up with him and sat back on your sofa, tucking you into his side.

“I’m okay with that. Slow is good.” You kissed his cheek as he rubbed your back.

“I should go.” He was reluctantly getting up and for half a heart-beat you held onto him, he gave you a little smile. “If I stay, I’ll never leave. Slow, right?” He was putting his shoes back on and walking towards your door and everything in you wanted to beg him to stay but you knew he was right. If you’d jumped into something right now without giving him a chance to heal and come to terms with his choices he would hate you.

“Francis?” He turned towards you. “Will you take me out on a date?” You wiggled your eyebrows in the way you knew had always made him laugh, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“I’d like that.” He kissed your cheek, just barely grazing the side of your mouth and he was gone. Leaving you with your heart, and skin burning for him.

We can go as slow as you like.

--------------------------

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#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #oblivius #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #frankie morales/reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales/you

[wheredafandomat]

2012: Part 2

Previous Chapter

Green = Flashback

“I- it was like I was in a trance- Y/N! Y/N STAY AWAKE. THOR GET HELP”

Y/N laid in Loki’s arms as her clothes dampened with the crimson ribbons spilling from her abdomen. Feeling faint, Y/N struggled to keep her eyes open as she felt herself welcoming the void. The only things keeping her present were the distant panicked shouts of the brothers around her.

“Y/N don’t. Please don’t” Loki’s broken pleas were accompanied by his cold hand caressing y/n’s cheek. She could see the worry, the shock, the guilt, the desperation all present in his features as she gazed up at him. The main thing that stood out was the love.

“You’re back” she said slowly reaching out to touch his face

“Yes I’m back. Before I left I’d promised I’d be back. Don’t I always come back?” Loki said cheerfully holding his arms open welcoming y/n’s embrace

“And you’re looking well”

“Yes despite a couple of scratches and bruises, nothing to worry about”

“The price to pay for victory” y/n replied sarcastically pumping a fist into the air

“Haha very funny. How about to help me with these cuts, I’ll even let you wear the horns when we—”

“No need to say anymore” she replied smirking taking Loki’s hand in hers and leading him to the bedroom

A faint smile made its way onto y/n’s face as she looked into Loki’s eyes.

“I’m back I’m back, don’t say anything y/n just stay still”

“Loki- there’s some—” y/n was cut off by the blood starting to spill from her mouth. Coughing, she felt herself falling victim to the light.

“Y/N! Stay awake, help is on the way” Thor shouted although y/n couldn’t hear him, all she could hear was a distant shout echoing around her.

“Thor, THOR, what should I do? I can feel her slipping. She’s going brother and it’s all my fault”

Hearing Loki crying and cursing himself above her, y/n tried her hardest to speak again.

“L-Loki, listen, th- there’s so—something”

“Y/N don’t speak just stay still and focus on staying awake” Loki begged trying to keep y/n eyes open.

Watching Loki softly stroking y/n’s face whilst she laid barley conscious in his lap, Thor knew that the dark angel was fast approaching. Thor didn’t want to betray y/n’s trust. He wanted her to come out of this alive so she could tell Loki herself, but seeing her barley clinging to life, Thor had a decision to make.

“Y/n my love, I am sorry I am so sorry. Please don’t leave me. Don’t go. I can’t do this alone.” Loki begged beginning to feel y/n’s life draining rapidly out of her.

“Loki, if I were to die, what would you do? Who’d cook for you? Who’d clean up after you?” Y/N asked whilst securing Loki’s daggers to their hilts at his hips.

“I’d simply ask one of the maids”

“Hmm”

“Hmm?”

“Would one of these said maids be able to do that thing with their tongue you love so much?”

“Y/N, I don’t know why you’d discuss such bleak imagines but if it’s a truthful answer you’re after, I’d simply perish. I couldn’t live in a world without you in it. I’d fall at your feet and join you in Valhalla. We’d walk the valley of death hand in hand knowing we’d lived a wonderful, full life.”

“And what if I was extinguished?” Y/N asked curiosity yet amused by Loki’s previous answer

“If someone harmed you, I’d hunt them down with no ounce of clemency in my revenge. No realm would be escapable. I’d tear the stars from the sky one by one until I’d found your victor”

“Poetic” y/n replied laughing

“Now, let’s talk about something more uplifting”

Gathering up all of her strength for one last time, y/n tried to speak again. She had to tell him. He had to know. Realising what she was trying to do, Thor quickly interfered.

“Y/N don’t talk, let him see. Brother, look into her mind”

Placing his fingers on y/n’s pale temples, Loki began letting out loud sobs.

“Mother?”

“My darling, yes”

“Tell me that story again please”

“Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom, there lived two princes. One had blonde hair—”

“Uncle Thor!”

“Yes, and the other had hair just like yours.”

“Dad”

Loki cried at the sight of this interaction. He saw y/n, but he also saw her interacting with a very young girl. Like himself, this girl had the longest, most striking raven locks.

Trying to see more, Loki applied a tiny bit more pressure to y/n’s temples.

He couldn’t see anything.

Opening his eyes, he immediately looked at Thor not wanting to let his gaze wonder down to her.

“Brother?” Loki said just above a whisper

A/N: What dooo weee thinkkkk? Another part? Prompts and ideas are always welcomed 🖤🖤

#hiddlestoners #hiddleston daily #mcu loki #loki fanfiction #loki odinson #loki angst #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki x reader #angst #thor x reader

[justpevensies]

Please Come Back to Me

request:  “ hi can i request a edmund angst like a really good heartbreaking one where he says really hurtful things he doesn’t mean but with a happy ending” - anonymous

blurb: Edmund says some things he didn’t mean..

A/N: my first request! this one was difficult to write but I hope you all enjoy it x

warnings: lots of angst but eventual fluff

Curled in a ball against the door, hot tears were free falling down your face spilling all over your hands and clothing. You had no idea how long you had been sat there weeping bitterly as the pain continued to sting every ounce of your being - your heart ached - and at the same time you felt numb with the sadness and shock. Muffled you could hear a voice crying from the other side of the door.

~

Very rarely did you and Edmund get in arguments but in this moment, that was exactly what you were doing. You couldn’t even remember what had triggered it but you both were here now and it was going back and forth. At the peak of this anger, Edmund said: “You know, I don’t even know why-”

“Say it!” You spat at him. 

“I don’t even know why I care. Why I bother. I can’t believe we’ve come to this”. As far as you were concerned, that was what he thought of this relationship, unworthy of attention or care. 

He stared blankly at you, there was almost no traces of remorse in his body. Tears began to glisten on your horizon and when you responded to him pleading your case, Edmund didn’t say anything and in that moment you wanted to slap him across the face for being a coward. 

This wasn’t the Edmund you knew, this wasn’t the Edmund you loved. The Edmund you knew and adored didn’t argue with you, he didn’t raise his voice at you, he wouldn’t dream of speaking to anyone like this. In fact, it scared you.

“So that’s it?” You asked sternly. “That’s us?! After everything we’ve shared, experienced and dreamt, all it will come crumbling down over some stupid argument?” You asked, arms folded. Edmund looked at you and it was a look that could kill. “Well” he scoffed, “I guess it will”.

That was not what you were expecting. Your voice went quiet, almost as if you were restrained and you asked in a whisper: “What?”

Edmund turned around and sighed, about to resume work at his desk and he responded: “I don’t know if I can talk to you like this”. At that you stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. “No!” you yelled. “I want to hear what you have to say”. 

Edmund looked at you and shrugged, “Okay”. After that, he laid it on you. He told you everything he had been feeling in the last few minutes - anger, disappointment, frustration. You knew that recently he had been overworked and tired so you assumed that contributed greatly to everything he was doing right now - probably to this very argument - but the things he was saying at this moment felt different. Every word felt like a stab at your worst insecurities, it felt like an attack and you knew you wouldn’t dream of speaking to him like this, regardless of how he made you feel. In this moment, you looked at Edmund - tears in your eyes - and for the first time you didn’t feel any love for him.

Frozen in that moment, you whispered back to him when he finished: “Is that really how you feel? I’m not enough, I’m not good enough?”

Edmund didn’t say anything, he just clenched his jaw. However, he knew that as soon as he finished that he didn’t mean a word. The pent up frustration, anxiety and exhaustion of duties he had been experiencing lately had almost possessed him and he had found no other way to let out that anger than onto you. Everything he had just said to you was how he felt about himself, yet here he was - an unworthy, stupid fool who had wasted the most joyful and good thing. He knew instantly he had made the biggest mistake.

However, his lack of response convinced you that everything he said was true. You didn’t need him to say anything, so you took that as your cue to leave.

“(Y/N)! Stop! I-”

The door to his study opened and immediately slammed shut.

~ 

You raced to your dressing room in your bedchamber, slamming the door and locking it shut. Sliding down in defeat, you just the agonising pain consume you. His words raided your head, your heart was detonated, you wanted to scream but no words came. 

Suddenly you heard another noise that wasn’t your heavy breathing or sobs: approaching footsteps. Rather quick paced footsteps. 

You had forgotten to lock your bedroom door so whoever had come to check on you (bearing in mind several people saw you in the corridors) was obviously going to waltz right in after your emotional exit. 

However, you recognized the sound of those footsteps, that walking speed. You wanted to believe it was him but everything right now was telling you he wasn’t interested and didn’t care. 

“(Y/N)?!” A pleading voice cried out. It was Edmund. 

He must have heard your cries from the other side of the door as you heard the footsteps approaching and then a loud banging on the door. The handle rattled as he attempted to burst in and - due to getting a fright - you suddenly held your breath. You were certain that your heart was pounding, as if something cruel was trying to break through. For a brief moment, everything was quiet.

~ 

That was what happened... you had no idea how long ago it was but you couldn’t see yourself moving anytime soon.

The voice crying from the other side of the door became more muffled as time ticked on. Cries, pleads and shouts from Edmund of your name gradually became more audible to you as you tried to inhale more and calm your breathing. 

“(Y/N)?!”

“(Y/N)?!”

The cries became more desperate, the thumps on the door became more repetitive but less strong, evidently it was hurting his hand. However that pain - as far as you were concerned - was nowhere near what you were enduring on the other side. 

“Oh (Y/N), open the door!” Edmund yelled through with a cracked voice. 

You didn’t want to imagine how he was looking right now because it would only tear you in two. 

You managed to piece some of your emotions together to wimper out: “Edmund-”. You heard him let out a sigh of relief before his thumping stopped. “Oh goodness (Y/N)! Please open the door!” You had somehow managed to stop crying, as if all of reality had snapped back into place. However, it felt like some alternate universe, a nightmare, and one you wanted out of quickly.

“Edmund-” you repeated, holding back more tears, “No”.

“What?” 

“Please go away”.

There was a silence before Edmund again knocked - this time in a more gentle manner - “(Y/N)” he said before you snapped: “Go away! Leave me alone!”

These words broke Edmund more than he could say, as if he wasn’t feeling guilt already. This came down on him like a tonne of bricks: you didn’t want him. He cracked involuntarily and he fell into the wood. With his face pressed against the door, some stray tears began to glide down his cheeks. You could hear him but you didn’t say a thing - right now there was no sympathy.

“Oh (Y/N)...” Edmund began to whisper. “Please... open the door. I need to talk to you”. 

You scoffed, more tears beginning to glisten: “No you don’t! You’ve made your perspective very clear” you replied sharply before burying your face in your knees. 

There was a silence but it was piercing. You could hear Edmund sniffling through the door and while you did feel compelled to open it - largely out of heartbreak -but out of stubborness you didn’t. He finally broke the tension by saying: “Listen (Y/N) you’ve got to open the door”. Just wanting him to leave you alone you shouted back: “Why should I?”

Immediately, Edmund responded: “Because I love you!”

Before you could even say anything back, he continued: “Yes. I love you! You may not believe that right now and the feeling is probably not mutual right now but I love you”. 

You were silenced and you waited to hear if he said anymore. He did.

“Oh (Y/N) I love you so much. Every aspect of your being - your radiant smile, your character, the fact that you are truly genuine, caring and loving regardless of who or circumstance. I would compare you to the beautiful things of this world but none could do justice for you are so perfectly different from everyone and everything else. I cannot tell you how blessed I am to have you in my life - you’re a saving grace to me. However, I understand if that loving nature isn’t extended to me currently-”

You slowly began to stand up at the other side of the door, at the same time your head had fallen silent and no words were capable of coming from your mouth.

“I’ve been a fool. I was stupid and immature, and instead of talking about how I was actually feeling because of all this outside pressure, I took all of my own doubts about myself and put them onto you. You will never be like that - you are worthy of every ounce of love and praise, you are a saint. If I have to spend every day proving that to you then I will do that but I know I am unworthy to have you for making you feel how I did.

There was a pause.

“If you can find it in your heart to forgive me-” you heard Edmund whisper before breaking into tears. At that you leaned against the door, pressing your hand to the wood. Your heart ached, torn in two. He sniffled, wiping away any emotion before continuing: “If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I’ll never make you feel the way I have ever again. You’ll never doubt my love for you. I didn’t mean what I said, I don’t even know why I said it. But I know it was wrong”. 

Those final words were the ones you needed and they began to patch your brokenness. He finally said: “If you will forgive me, I will dedicate all of my soul to yours. ” It was a bold statement but Edmund knew it was genuine and you could feel the truth from within it. “Please come back to me?” he asked in a whisper but you remained in your position, listening against the wood, unable to move from the response you had just heard. 

The silence marked the answer. Edmund began to cry yet again outside and, defeated, he turned and walked away. His legs almost gave way and more tears began to fall - he had never known a feeling of loss and pain like this one. It was the pain that you could only feel when something special was taken away from you too soon, too unexpected, and he knew it was his fault.

Suddenly, from behind, he heard a noise and as he turned to see, he saw the door was unlocked, the handle moving at an angle and you stepped out from the hiding. You looked at his face, drowned in grief and his body beginning to sink, and the vision in front of you was a broken man. As Edmund looked at you, his heart pounded - unaware of what was coming and whether to be hopeful or not - and you simply responded: “I will forgive you”.

Without anything else being said, the two of you sprinted to one another and embraced closer than you had ever been. The most deepest of kisses was shared and almost instantly all of the pain had been washed away. Through muffled voices you both cried “I love yous” and Edmund restated his promise of faithfulness and love - you believed every word. 

After kissing several more times, Edmund held your face in his hands delicately and he smiled brightly at the look on your face. Your crying had been replaced with tears of joy. You just wanted to hear him tell you how much he loved you again and again and as you gazed into his eyes, you knew those words were true. This was the Edmund you knew, this was the Edmund you loved...and would continue to love for all time.

#edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie x reader #edmund pevensie x y/n #edmund pevensie imagine #edmund pevensie imagines #edmund pevensie angst #edmund pevensie fanfiction #edmund pevensie headcanons #edmund pevensie fanfic #edmund pevensie fluff #fluff #angst #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #narnia imagines #narnia imagine #narnia headcanon #narnia headcanons #narnia fan #narnia fandom #narnia fan writing #narnia fanfiction #narnia fanfics #skandar keynes #imagine #imagines #prince caspian #The Lion The Witch And The Wardrobe #the pevensies #pevensies

[backandimbamon]

Plzz write Bamon + their baby :)

i’ve never written about this!!! ty for the prompt this was so fun to think about (: <33 ask + u shall receive!!

….

Sometimes, Damon can’t believe it.

Life is a very funny thing, both haha funny and strange funny, and it’s moments like these where he sits and reflects on the doors that he’s opened, the doors he’s closed, the ones where he’s stayed a while, kicked off his shoes, grabbed some wine, and never ever left.

Bonnie is meeting him for movies and popcorn, their typical Sunday routine, only this is no ordinary Sunday because Friday, he broke up with Elena. Bonnie is supposedly emotional support though he keeps it to himself that he doesn’t need it. He will milk every ounce of affection he can out of his bestie if it means she’ll stay a while longer.

Just like that, everything that he fought hard for he decides to let go because despite the incredible sex and history Elena and Damon have… things still aren’t…right. With every obstacle out of the way, the house quieter, just the two in each other’s presence, it is loud that they will probably never mesh well.

Plus, even a few years after Stefan’s death, Damon notices the room in her heart for him shrinks in size and maybe it’s the fact that the only common ground they have now is Bonnie Bennett- everyone else is either dead or annoying enough that Damon refuses to discuss them, (Caroline, Matt, Jeremy,) they can’t talk about Stefan since his absence still hurts too much. And while Elena is a tad exhausted by only chatting about “his little witch,” Damon can go on and on for days.

Like word vomit, he’s all Bonnie this and Bonnie that in discussions to the point where he’s inwardly cringing at himself but he just can’t stop.

“You know she was my best friend first,” Elena says to him one day after he fusses about Bonnie not answering her phone within the first three rings. There’s a strange look in her expression that perturbs Damon- of course he knows that. Of course.

“Yeah, yeah, but I could’ve been dying over here. I could’ve already been dead. You know she doesn’t have anything to live for if I’m not around,” he jokes snidely.

Elena is folding clothes in the laundry room, she doesn’t laugh or look at him, just continues bending dried garments into a convenient, placeable stack.

Tough crowd.

….

“You ever thought about… I don’t know…? Dating?” Alaric says this, a glass of golden whiskey to his mouth before he knocks it back down his throat and the only thing that’s left is the large, sparkling ice cube. When he slaps the glass down, the ice klinks characteristically. It’s been perhaps a month or two since Damon and Elena’s split.

“Me and Judgey? Are you insane? That’s my-“

“Best friend. Yeah. Everyone’s aware.”

Damon’s brows knot up in confusion, and his eyes hold an expression of disbelief.

“It’s Bonnie,” He says, blue eyes twinkling with an almost believable mirth like he thinks it’s a joke that Alaric would even ask.

“It is.” He confirms.

A minute passes of Damon rubbing the back of his neck, Ric staring aimlessly at his empty glass before he speaks up again.

“So you haven’t… you know…”

“What?” Damon makes a hand gesture of the obviously forbidden word before shaking his head vehemently. “Of course not.”

“Oh, I know that. I was going to ask if you’ve ever…thought about it?”

Bonnie? With her legs wrapped around his waist as he makes every inch of his dick disappear into her hot and gushy anatomy? So deep inside her that their hips touch?

He clears his throat.

“Of course not.” Damon repeats.

….

It’s a momentary lapse of judgement-the kiss- and when she doesn’t reciprocate or move at all, really, the awkwardness is a brick that sinks in the bottom of his stomach.

Leaf green eyes and a beating heart too panicky to be calm but she just brushes it all away like eraser marks on a timed essay.

Damon never imagines rejection to be so simple that he can just pretend that it never happened. He takes the exit and sits back in friend zone where he’s always belonged.

Things are kinda sorta normal for a week.

….

“Truth or dare?” Bonnie suggests that they play it and on queue, Damon throws out sexual innuendo in an insert-line-here-fashion. She cringes, rolls her eyes, tries not to laugh.

Normal.

But then she dares him to kiss her again and things are so far from normal that somehow they end up in bed together, completely naked, and completely wild.

And God, Bonnie begs, pleads, when she’s under Damon but when she gets on top, it’s him that’s asking for permission.

“Fuck, Bon,” he mumbles before leaving a long stream of cursive inside of her.

Their eyes are crystallized, perhaps it’s the moonlight.

….

He shouldn’t feel this betrayed when he hears it, the second heartbeat, but something inside of him snaps.

“Found another best friend?” Damon asks, they haven’t had sex since that wonderful, miraculous night a little over one month ago but the sexual tension between them is as taut as a rubber-band.

She laughs, not noticing the pain in his tone. “With what time?”

It’s a solid question. He’s had Bonnie to himself practically every evening, her stuff is vicariously thrown around the house; she’s in all the rooms at once.

But there’s undeniably an extra heartbeat, he hears it with each pause, each breath she takes, the incessant thump.

“Um,” Damon’s tumbler slips out of his grasp and crashes to the floor.

Bonnie backs away from the mess.

“Um?”

….

Pregnant Bonnie is his favorite Bonnie, from her cravings, to her glow, to her new abundance of cleavage. The two of them can’t stop thinking how this could be, how their lives keep getting stranger and stranger, how nature keeps being redefined, and the rules keep bending and breaking.

Her new favorite things are chocolate chip cookies with salty chips baked in, chocolate-and honey-covered strawberries, spicy sausages, pickle juice.

His hands find their new home in rubbing Bon’s baby bump until she drifts off into a nap.

When her breathing gets heavier indicating she’s in a deep sleep he says into her hair, “You should marry me.”

And he means it.

….

Luna Bennett-Salvatore arrives with soft brown skin and Heterochromia iridum: one ice blue eye and one leaf green one.

Damon nicknames her Bam since Bonnie decides to scrap his name suggestion altogether.

“Bamon! It’s our names combined,”

“No.”

“But what if-“

“No.”

And Luna aka Bam grows very fast. She smiles a lot. Babbles a lot. To Bonnie’s dismay, she says “dada” first.

“Look at Daddy’s Girl,” he says, holding his princess high in the air. “You know what, Bam, I better not say that too loud. Mommy was Daddy’s Girl before you.”

“Oh my God,” Bonnie mumbles, hiding her smile.

She likes to fall asleep with her little arms hugging Bonnie’s neck, the side of her face pressed against hers.

“Don’t be jealous,” Bonnie says when Damon crosses his arms.

“Jealous?” He tsks. “I can do that too,” He bundles Bonnie and Luna up in his arms. “you should marry me,” he says into her hair.

And he means it.

#bamon #bamon fanfic #bamon fanfiction #Bamon prompt #prompt #mine #my writing #tvd ff #bamonff