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1kook · 3 years

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skirt chasers — drabble iv

THIS IS A SKIRT CHASERS DRABBLE - FIND THE OTHERS HERE ! SUMMARY Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him. WARNINGS JK POV!!!, attempted solo masturbation, k*ssing, jk’s extensive knowledge of pornos, grinding, cunnilingus, face sitting, spit kink, light choking, praise kink, self nipple play, a love for boobies, unprotected sex, use of the pull out method, i love u kink, its kinda hinted tht oc has a somnophilia kink? not rlly but tagging just in case -_- RATING m (18+) WC 6.3k this can't even classified as a drabble anymore wtf

NOTES i have had this in my drafts since may 3. it is december 21. everyone point n laugh. anyway i very much love stimbo sc jk and i think he’s very cool so here’s a whopping 6k of the inner mechanisms of his big nerdy, college hottie brain <3

He doesn’t notice you’ve drifted off until he’s three solid paragraphs into his semester-long research paper. “Babe, can you toss me my charger it’s over…”

Jungkook swears he’s gonna take every single one of those stupid skirts and burn them to ashes. They had done their duty well, had given him the girlfriend of his dreams, but now they were just pushing their luck. What was once the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend, has now become the bane of Jungkook’s existence. He loathed them, he hated them, he could go twenty million decades without ever seeing them again because the torture they inflicted upon him was borderline inhumane.

Holy fuck, he knew you were gorgeous— hello, he was your boyfriend, thinking you were gorgeous was very high on the list of requirements you searched for in someone of his position —but he’s absolutely positive that you’re probably the sexiest woman he’s ever seen in all his twenty-two years. And Jungkook’s seen a lot of porn. Like, a lot.

He can’t help himself. Before Jungkook knows it, he’s rolling his desk chair over to where you’re sprawled across his bed, skin so soft where it presses against his pillow, lips so plush, and he’s pretty sure there’s a tiny, tiny droplet of drool begging to escape from between your puckered lips. Normally, he’d tease you to hell and back for this, knows how flustered you become when he catches you off guard, but today he lets it slide in favor of focusing on something else about your dozing form.

It’s the soft curve of your hips from where you lay on your side, smooth legs tucked close to you, and that goddamn pleated skirt giving you absolutely no protection from the eyes of the world around you. Luckily, he made sure to lock the door to his room when you came over today. And he’s almost positive Taehyung isn’t home anyway. So there’s no potential roommate to see you here, cuddled against Jungkook’s teddy bear, blue lace panties tucked between your folds.

They were his favorite.

Adorable and soft, and he knows that particular style— the cheeky kind —is your preferred style, because it’s the one he sees almost every time the two of you fuck. Seamless, because you hate when they tug against your skin, and baby blue simply because it was your favorite color. He can’t recall the last time they had been so exposed like this.

God, how many times had this same situation occurred? You dropping by to encourage him to do his homework, before eventually falling asleep and leaving him to his own devices. A lot of times, Jungkook guesses, because each and every time you wake up and nab one of his protein bars from the stash by his bed. Jungkook’s gone through four boxes in the last month.

But how many times had this happened with you in a skirt? Never. This was a rarity.

As the year progressed and yours and Jungkook’s relationship reached new levels of intimacy and adoration, Jungkook is sad to say the skirts had begun appearing less and less. It was winter and, unlike the furnace that was Jungkook’s body, he’s pretty sure you were a cold-blooded reptilian at this point, always leeching off of him for warmth. So since you couldn’t stand the cold, the skirts slowly faded into the background, replaced by Jungkook’s second favorite: the leggings.

He was no complainer, Jungkook respected your decisions! He wasn’t going to pressure you into wearing those cute tiny skirts he loved so much just because it fueled some PornHub-esque fantasy in his brain, especially not as a harsh winter descended upon you and the days became colder. He would not risk a sick girlfriend in the name of a horndog daydream.

But holy mother of pearl, Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him.

Sure he’d seen them every time you guys fucked— duh. But this was not the same. It was different, seeing the tender skin of your inner thigh when he knew you weren’t trying to, your skirt stuck between you and the bed as you shifted about. It was different, knowing he could so easily have you, just flip up the skirt and tug your underwear to the side, not having to worry about fighting your leggings or skinny jeans down your legs. It was different and it was good, so painstakingly good, to have you in the skirt, but the worst part was Jungkook couldn’t even do anything because you were fucking sleeping.

He’d subconsciously pictured you like this for weeks, sprawled out on his sheets in the flimsiest clothing and ready for him to just slide right in, but Jungkook was a good boy—you’d told him as much just last week when he’d paid the bus fare for that ragtag group of teenagers, smiling up at him like he was your entire world. Was he sometimes a little too mean, a little too wild? Yes. But at his core, Jungkook lived for your praise. He couldn’t just stomp on that title you’d so lovingly bestowed upon him, a title he’d worked hard for since!

Furthermore, even if Jungkook wasn’t a good boy, to touch you in your sleep just seemed wrong. You’d mentioned in passing once that you wouldn’t mind as long as it was him (“I’m yours,” you had purred at some party, hand crawling down his abdomen, “your doll, remember?”), but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to when you were so vulnerable and just… not there. It wouldn’t feel right to use your body when you weren’t awake, and no amount of encouragement from you would change his mind.

So he does what all good boys do and prepares himself for a quick, self-administered handfuck.

Sue him, his girlfriend was hot!

It’d been a little over two weeks since the last time the two of you had fucked, and it was mostly his fault; clinicals and research papers had practically consumed what little free time he had in his schedule. And if Jungkook remembers correctly, he wouldn’t be that lucky this upcoming week either. Something tells him your period was approaching.

Jungkook doesn’t know what type of sorcery you’ve done to him, but in the time you’ve been dating, it’s become increasingly more and more difficult to nut without you. Whether that be fucking you, listening to your voice, or just imagining your pretty face in his head, you held a monopoly over Jungkook’s libido, one that he feared you’d never let go.

He had years stacked on years of browsing PornHub and Brazzers, can recall experiencing some of the craziest orgasms of his life while watching some girl get fucked. All things come to an end. Ever since he started dating you, not even his favorite video could make him hard anymore. Oh, how the great have fallen.

But with your blue panties before him, his cock hardens by the minute, nearly doubles in size when you move about and sigh a heavenly sound. Frankly, he doesn’t feel bad jerking one off to the thought of you. You were his girlfriend! He knows that you know that you’re the main character of all his right-handed adventures, and you’re not going to be mad at him for jerking off to you now. In fact, Jungkook imagines you’d be mad if he’d woken you up just for some frenzied quickie. This way, he’s blowing off some steam and you’re getting an extra ten minutes of napping. Everyone wins.

He’s barely tugged himself out of the confines of his sweats when a soft mumble of his name has his soul leaving his body. “Kook?”

“Baby,” he exhales, immediately tucking himself back into his underwear before moving closer towards you. You roll onto your back, skirt useless as fuck, he thinks, as it sprawls around your waist. “What’s up?” he murmurs, voice gentle, a hand carding through the nape of your neck because that’s how you always wake him up. Jungkook would be a liar to say it wasn’t one of the best feelings in the world.

You say something, but it’s a mess of gibberish and too quiet for him to understand, before turning on your side again and shuffling closer to him. Jungkook smiles, runs the tips of his fingers over your cheek, before moving to caress your back, massaging some feeling back into your muscles. Some more mumbled words, but this time he deciphers them as something along the lines of “c’mere.”

He chuckles, ducking down to kiss your cheek. “Don’t wanna interrupt your nap, baby,” he hums. “Go back to sleep.”

You whine in protest, suddenly catching his hand in yours. “Please,” you sigh, eyes fluttering open, but they’re unfocused as you gaze at him. Jungkook clenches his teeth. Technically he should be working on that twelve page research paper, and even just trying to jerk off right now would have been a huge setback. Crawling into bed with you, where you’re so sinfully laid out for him to take, would completely offset his plans until tomorrow. He had to be a responsible student here.

“I really gotta finish my paper…” he says, trying to let you down as gently as possible, flashing you an apologetic gaze. He thinks he has it in the bag, and your extended silence almost has him rolling back to his desk, when you suddenly snap into action.

“But what about your dick,” you murmur, and Jungkook chokes.

“My what—?” he splutters, voice a little too high.

You say nothing, craning your neck to release a series of cracks, soft huffs leaving your lips. Jungkook’s on edge the whole time, eyes following the movement of your neck, the hypnotizing expanse of skin that bares itself to him. “Saw your hand down your pants,” you say, eyes blinking open, and though they’re droopy with sleep, at least you can hold them open this time.

Jungkook laughs nervously, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You saw that?” A soft hum. He wants to die. “Ah, baby, don’t worry about it. Know you’re tired, so just nap,” he sighs, caressing the back of your head once again, and he thinks he’s finally convinced you so he lets his guard down.

You moan softly, and he’s almost entirely sure it’s one of those waking up types of sounds, the ones you make when you’re stretching around the bed in the morning. “Want your cock.”

Jungkook swears he’ll die, right here, right now.

He groans, lowers his head to rest on the mattress. “Jesus, fuck, baby,” he huffs, has to count to ten to will the stirring of his slowly hardening cock away for the second time that day. “Don’t say stuff like that when you’re half asleep, please.”

You ignore him, the hand that had been wrapped around his wrist tugging him closer. You barely succeed, muscles still so weak, but Jungkook humors you and rolls his chair right beside your head, where he ducks down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Noooo,” you whine when he draws away too quickly.

A laugh blossoms in his chest, and Jungkook proceeds to rain down a series of kisses on your pretty face before he can stop himself. You melt under his touch, his affection, and Jungkook adores the way your body is so soft and pliant like this, back arching towards him after he places a hand on your waist.

“Come here,” you urge, voice a quiet plea. So soft, so needy.

Jungkook malfunctions for just a second before he’s clambering over you on the bed, manhandling your body until you're both on your sides, facing each other, with you pressed tightly to his chest. Even with your hands brushing up and down his back in the way that sends every nerve in Jungkook’s body tingling, and your leg thrown over his hip, some stupid part of him convinces himself you’re just cold, trying to warm up after walking around campus in that tiny little skirt all day. He cuddles you as best as he can.

And even with his dick twitching in his pants and his caveman instincts yelling at him to thrust up into your inviting core, Jungkook remains as professional as someone in a relationship can be when in bed with their lover. He’s so stuck on his self-control that he almost doesn’t hear the snort you muffle against his neck.

“What are you doing?” you laugh, reaching up to pinch his cheek. Jungkook blinks, eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights. “Are we gonna fuck or what?”

He chokes. He doesn’t even try to muffle his reaction like other times, because the way you’re looking at him and the heel you press against the back of his thigh preoccupies his thoughts instead. Your hands are still tracing along his back, melting him with your dainty touches. “Baby?” you question after he’s been silent too long, distracted by the way you use that hooked leg to tug your bodies closer.

“You… you’re still asleep,” Jungkook says, though it’s definitely a question.

You scoff, a smile curling around your features. “Mm, definitely not asleep,” you tease, and shift to push him onto his back, wiggling on top of him until those baby blue panties are pressed against his quickly hardening member. “Why? Wanted to touch me when I was asleep?” you continue, and Jungkook’s eyes nearly burst out of their sockets.

“No!” he exclaims, hands clutching your hips in alarm. He can tell he surprises you, because your eyes go wide for a brief second. “Never…” he mumbles afterwards, looking away from your imploring gaze. “Only like you when you’re awake.”

You sigh, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek that makes his heart flood with adoration for you. “You’re a good boy, Jungkook,” you say back, just as quietly. “A blueprint for the perfect man.” Another kiss, this time against the corner of his mouth that makes Jungkook’s hands twitch against your sides.

A soft moan tears itself from his throat, fingers digging into your hips as you slowly roll them against him. The heat emanating from your core seeps past the thin barrier of his sweatpants, makes his cock twitch in his boxers. He knows how it feels inside of you, has your body memorized like the back of his hand. But it’s in moments like these that he finds himself aching for you, desperate to feel the fluttering walls of your pussy, the pitiful whimpers that fall from your kiss swollen lips. And, well. The skirt makes it all too easy.

He places two hands on the backs of your thighs, runs them up until he’s pushing your skirt up over your waist. You pull away from his lips with a sneaky little smile, pointer finger stroking down the side of his face lazily. “Mm?” you tease, leaving a coy little peck against his mouth. “Now you wanna touch?” Jungkook rolls his eyes, snaps his teeth at your wandering finger when you draw it too close to his mouth. The giggle you let out is so damn precious, makes him want to put you in a glass case and never let anyone else touch you. Coincidentally, it also makes him want to rail you into the mattress until you cry.

“I’ll fucking ruin you, doll,” he settles on murmuring, subtly pushing you down against him. A soft giggle. Jungkook knows it’s your favorite nickname, even if you won’t admit it. He's the only one allowed to call you it, something about his intentions being pure or whatever, he’s not really sure. Anyway, you’re still so cute and soft on top of him, blinking slowly and prettily, so he’s dragging it out a bit, hoping you’ll become more alert in a few more minutes.

As sleepy as you may be, you never miss out on a chance to rile him up. “As if, doll,” you retort, his nickname for you rolling off your tongue seamlessly. It sounds heavenly, sparks this weird emotion in him that he never considered before. Him, a doll? No way. But there’s something about the sweet lilt of your voice, the starry-eyed gaze you level him with, that has him throwing all reservations aside. Put him on a shelf and call him Barbie, because he would be anything you wanted him to be.

Anyway, Jungkook’s sappy thoughts last all of two seconds before he’s rolling you over, successfully trapping you beneath his body. “Oh, so scary,” you feign, hands fluttering to clutch at your chest.

He glides his hands down your body, let’s them trail over your hip and down the side of your thigh. “Don’t get sassy with me,” he warns, thumb peeking beneath the hem of your skirt. Jungkook really wants to burn the piece of fabric this time, because after all that time it spent torturing him with its halfhearted attempts at covering you, it chooses now to do it properly.

Hands are thrown around his shoulders, the overwhelming scent of your perfume and body wash tickling his nose when you pull him in for another kiss. “Or what?” you purr, irises swirling with lust. “Gonna use your manly man strength to hold me down?”

He shushes you with a kiss, slow and languid just how you like. Your taste is familiar, feels like coming home, so Jungkook can’t be blamed for getting too carried away. It starts gentle— it always does. But then a tiny mewl gets stuck in your throat, the following moan swallowed by his tongue, and Jungkook nearly loses it. He nips at your bottom lip, waits patiently for you to open up for him, and when you do he wastes no time diving in. Your tongue against his is slick and wet, makes the most lewd sound. Your little sharp intakes of air fill the gaps, shuddery breaths that Jungkook takes as a good sign.

He strikes while the iron is still hot.

It’s amidst your lazy kissing that he secures his hands around your waist, two reassuring squeezes thrown your way before he’s abruptly rolling onto his back again. “Kook!” you squeal, clutching at the front of his shirt. A pouty frown paints your face, sleepy eyes narrowing him with a rather unimpressed look, tainted with the barest hints of confusion.

Jungkook grins, reaching back to yank his pillow out from beneath his head. “On my face,” he commands suddenly, and you snort.

“What?” you ask a little incredulously, leaning back to level him with an even more lost expression. “Since when do we do that?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Since I decided twenty seconds ago,” he answers rather bluntly. You still don’t look too convinced. It’s not a position the two of you have ever tried. You’re a little on the sappy side, always like to look at his face while you fuck, hold his cheeks in your palms, kiss him sweetly. On the one hand, Jungkook totally gets it; he’ll proudly admit that the sight of your orgasming face paired with your fantastic tits have done him many favors these past few months.

However, Jungkook is a lover of head. Giving or receiving, it’s very high on his list of sexual acts and whoever invented oral deserved all the praise in the world. Not only did you look drop dead gorgeous with his cock in your mouth— tears trailing down your cheeks, drool clinging to the corners of your lips —but you also looked absolutely sexy receiving it.

Kinda.

Probably.

Okay, so maybe Jungkook can’t really say, considering he always has a hard time catching a glimpse of your face when he’s down there licking and slurping your clit like a madman. Which is what leads him to this exact moment, an experiment weeks in the making. Jungkook has a theory that needs to be tested. “Please ride the fuck out of my face,” he tries, hoping the polite tone will win you over.

He’s met with an eye roll. Still, you’re kinder than you let on. “Okay,” you give in, and Jungkook will remember your heroism for the rest of his life. “But only because being on top is empowering.” He just barely contains an over-enthusiastic fist pump into the air, settling on a rather modest smile that has you leaning down to kiss him again. You reach for the zipper on the side of your skirt. “Just let me—“

“The skirt stays on,” he says quickly, hand on your wrist to stop you from removing his most favorite article of clothing.

“Baby,” you say, giving him a rather serious look. “It’ll cover your face.”

“It won’t,” he urges, reaching for the buttons on your blouse instead. Jungkook has had one too many encounters with tops like these, and has long since learned not to tear them apart like a crazed psycho. As much as he loves the sound of your buttons scattering across his bedroom floor, he can’t say he’s too fond of the scolding he inevitably gets afterwards. Anyway, the shirt comes off and so does your bra, leaving your tits in his face, tiny skirt on your hips. “Get up here,” he murmurs, ushering you up his body until your knees are pressing into the mattress right above his shoulders.

If it was up to Jungkook, he would have just grabbed your hips and shoved his face against your pussy. Luckily, it’s not, and your common sense shines through just in time. “One sec,” you say, and then finally, finally, the blue panties come off.

And then it’s just Jungkook and your glistening pussy.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around your thighs. You squeak when he pulls you closer, hand instinctively reaching for the front of your skirt to hold away from his face. The view from here is heavenly, just your swollen clit, gorgeous tits, and shy face.

The muscles in your thighs are a little stiff. Or maybe you’re just nervous. Jungkook isn’t sure, all he knows is that it takes one encouraging tug for you to finally sit on his face. He doesn’t even register the surprised gasp that leaves your throat because he’s too busy tasting your pussy from an all new position. And it’s absolutely amazing.

Something about the position, having you carefully poised above him, does something to Jungkook. He likes to think he knows your body inside and out, knows what makes you melt and what makes you scream. He knows just how to lap at your cunt until you’re cumming, and how many fingers it takes for you to really feel it. But it’s like having you in this position changes all of that, rearranges all the tidbits of information Jungkook has spent months collecting.

(Jungkook is a meticulous man; he’s got a near perfect GPA right now that was the direct result of his carefully crafted note-taking techniques. Whether or not he abused the power of his perfectionist learning abilities to master the mechanisms of his girlfriend’s libido was no one's business but his own.)

One kitten lick against your swollen pearl makes you buck forward, clit brushing against his nose. Jungkook can’t remember you ever doing that on the first lick. “O- oh my—,” you cry, all airy and whiny. Your hand is pressed to the wall behind his bed, the other bunching the front of your skirt just above your mound. He’s rather happy to learn that, just as he’d hypothesized, this position does give him a better view of you.

He’s graced with the sight of your face, twisted up in pleasure. It’s the stereotypical eyes squeezed shut, lip caught between your teeth look. But there’s something different about it knowing that he’s gotten this reaction out of you with his mouth alone.

Jungkook quickly repositions you over him, tugging you back until his tongue is lined up with the front of your slit. You’re so warm down here, make him feel like he’s drowning with your heady scent alone. Tentatively, he lets his tongue dip between your folds, the very tip nudging your swollen clit. A moan tears itself from your throat, the hand that had been flush against the wall suddenly jumping forward to bury itself in his hair. “Oh- oh, fuck,” you shiver, hips jolting forward once more.

You taste good on his tongue, the arousal that coats your lips is sticky and sweet. When he laps his tongue along your folds, quivering hole to stiffened bud, you let out a sob that resonates deeply within Jungkook. And also Jungkook’s cock, which stirs beneath his trousers in excitement. What was once the focus of his mission, a quick handfuck to sedate himself before finishing his research paper, has long since been forgotten. It’s for the greater good, he tells himself, blinking up at you from between your thighs.

Eye contact lasts for exactly three seconds before you’re looking away bashfully, the fist clutching at your skirt trembling against your tummy. You’re so fucking pretty, Jungkook’s heart can’t take it.

And so he sets out on a mission to make you cum as soon as possible, abandoning his slow kitten licks in favor of suctioning his lips around your clit. “Kook,” you wail, tugging at his hair. Whether you do it purposely or not, Jungkook is a little shocked by how good the pain feels. It’s not an emotion he can ponder long, because then you’re using that same grip in his hair to tilt his head backwards, jerkily moving over him.

It’s rough and sudden, the buck against his face, but Jungkook loves it. The drag of your pussy against his lips, the wet glide of your juices smearing across his chin and Cupid’s bow. It all feels so good, and the fact Jungkook is getting a front row seat to the absolutely torn look on your face is just the cherry on top.

Jungkook has seen you make a lot of faces. He’s seen you shiver and drool as he nails you into your bed. He’s seen you sniffle and sob as he slowly fucks you in a rose petal filled bubble bath (a six month anniversary special planned by yours truly). He’s even seen your mirrored reflection fall apart as you bounced away on his lap in front of a mirror.

He’s never seen you like this before.

Needy and desperate, moaning his name softly, practically humping his face in your greed. Tiny skirt clutched against your waist, tits bouncing as you hurriedly grind against him. He has half the mind to burn this scene into his eyelids for the rest of his life.

He’s given up on doing anything with his tongue, simply sticking it out for you to do as you wish. Normally, he’s not a huge fan of letting you do things yourself. After all, Jungkook was your boyfriend. Making you cum was his job. But you’re moving so fast, so frantic, in your mission to cum. So Jungkook sits back and lets you go to town on his mouth as a series of moans spill from your lips.

And then something unforgivable happens.

Jungkook will admit it: he’s staring at you almost a little too dreamily, heart eyes and all. He thinks you’re fucking hot, taste like heaven and have these absolutely delicious boobs bouncing up and down. He’s a little distracted by your glorious figure that he doesn’t notice one crucial bit of information.

Your hand.

The desperate need to cum has your muscles weakening, thighs moving at a latent pace, and, much to Jungkook’s horror, hands trembling. It’s your own pleasure that lets the unimaginable happen: your skirt flutters down. Your grip on it loosens and before Jungkook knows it, the sight of your pretty face and nice tits are gone, snatched away before his very eyes. Even your wet cunt is impossible to see, his world suddenly shrouded in darkness.

Leave it to Jungkook to foil his own horny plan with, well, his horniness. If only he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with the image of you in skirts. Maybe then he could bask in the beauty that was you riding his face.

He acts fast, reaching for the material before he can miss out on anything. But the angle is weird, and without Jungkook’s hands holding your hips, you’re left weakly rolling forward instead. And he’s not the only one frustrated with this turn of events, your face quickly returning to its normal composed form as you level him with a frown. “Everything okay?” you pant.

Everything was not okay, but Jungkook isn’t sure how to tell you that without ruining this delicate moment. So he tries to show you with actions instead, releasing the skirt he’s got in his fist and letting it flutter over his face again. You giggle. “I told you so.”

It takes more willpower than he’d like to admit to pull away from your wet folds, pulling off with a lewd sound that has you biting your lip as you gaze down at him. “I told you so,” he mimics, a little mean but you don’t take it to heart. “Hold your skirt up.”

You hum, the grip on his hair loosening as you push away his dark locks instead. “Mmmm,” you hum. “No.”

“No?” he repeats, actually really scandalized. Okay, so he’s a little spoiled when it comes to you— it’s not his fault! You made him like this, conditioned him to think that you would always give into his every whim because you were just so sweet and considerate and wanted him to be happy. And Jungkook also wants you to be happy, and in his opinion, being happy right now means having him fuck your pretty brains out for ever getting sassy with him.

“I don’t listen to men,” you tease, followed by a cute little nod, skin still a little warm from your looming orgasm. Jungkook takes advantage of your tiny moment of weakness, and strikes like a viper.

A girlish squeal leaves your lips, hands stretching outwards as he knocks you backwards onto the mattress. “Jungkook,” you gasp, sprawled out artfully, beautifully, over his sheets now. He doesn’t waste a second longer, crawling over your body until you’re a shivering mess beneath him.

Hand against your throat, the other blindly reaching for the front of his sweatpants. “What is it, doll?” he drawls meanly, reveling in the way your eyes roll back when his newly-freed cock lands against your slit. A choked gasp leaves your throat, lashes fluttering wildly until Jungkook loosens his grip.

You’ve done a nice job riling yourself up, lips squelching wet and loose when he runs the tip of his cock along them. Your knees are pulled up for him, spread perfectly for him to fit between. You’re so good for him, Jungkook feels a little bad for how hard he’s going to fuck you now.

The sympathy doesn’t last long.

Once upon a time, you had been the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend. Had picked him up from class, encouraged him to do his homework, wore these cute little skirts around campus. Deep down inside, Jungkook knew everyone else was jealous of him— you were just so pretty and cute, a girl straight out of everyone’s dreams.

Until he sunk his horny claws into you. Jungkook will be the first to admit he spends a little too much time browsing porn sites— he’s a man, cut him some slack —which had never caused him any problems before. Even when the two of you were just friends (pining ones at that), you had never seemed even remotely affected by his extensive pornographical knowledge. It was a known fact among your friend group that Jungkook’s best friend was his right hand.

But then, of course, you started dating Jungkook and it was like a save file of all his horniest fantasies was downloaded directly into your brain. Which leads him to this.

“Spit in my mouth,” you shiver, got these huge, watery eyes pointed his way. His cock twitches.

There’s a little groan that tears itself from his throat when he leans forward, cock sliding along your folds, to grasp your chin between his fingers. “Open,” he commands, and you do. Your lower lip quivers, tongue pressed against it as you wait for Jungkook to spit down your mouth. He can’t say he regrets letting you peek through his porn stash, not when it leads to this, you whimpering at the hot glob of saliva he shoots down your throat. “Filthy,” he pants, memorizing the movement of your throat when you swallow like the good girl you are.

Before he can write another twelve sonnets about that dazed look on your face, he’s roughly grabbing at your thigh. You whine, limbs so pliant beneath his touch, letting him hike your knee over his forearm as he tugs you closer. “Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to align himself with your quivering hole. You’re still so wet, make the most lewd sound when he sinks into you. Not that Jungkook really hears it, the sound of your strained moans practically drowning everything else out.

“Fuck,” you cry, one hand clutching at his forearm, the other toying with your breast. It’s a magnificent sight, and Jungkook is suddenly feeling a little cocky when he realizes he’s the only one who gets to see this. It’s this presumptuous nature that fuels the first round of thrusts into your cunt, fast and full. He makes sure you feel every inch of him, tip to base, as he pistons his hips forward. “J— Jungkook,” you pant, back arching beneath him.

You take it so well, walls sucking him in every time he draws back out. “I’ve got you, doll,” he moans, hiking your leg further over his shoulder. Every roll of his hips has your tits bouncing back and forth, lower lip as well with the dopey, open-mouthed look you got on for him. And the damned skirt that got him here, fucking you with a punishing pace, sits perfectly around your waist. He has half the mind to take it off for you, briefly wonders if it hurts, but just looking at it reminds him of about thirty-seven pornos he’s seen. So it stays on, works alongside your lovestruck face to actively rewrite all those pornos anew with you starring in them instead.

It sure helps when you start your usual mindless babbling. “I love you,” you gasp, face screwed up in pleasure. “I- I love you so much.”

He’s contemplating doing a study on you and your weird mid-fuck confessions. You do this a lot, and while Jungkook doesn’t mind, it sure does leave him curious. “Love you too, baby,” he says anyway, repositioning his arms so he can hold your waist with both hands.

“Really?” you ask, voice so whiny, eyes brimming with tears. From emotion or your need to cum, Jungkooks not sure. (Hence the need for a study!)

Another brutal thrust that has you moaning loudly. “Really,” he reassures you, glancing down to watch his cock sink into your hole as he picks up the pace. Your arms are practically limbless, and his stomach is beginning to feel tight. The end was soon. “Love your pretty little face.”

Another whine, your fingers pulling at your pebbled nipples. “M- My pretty face?” you whimper, blink these long lashes up at him. They make Jungkook go a little mad, bring on a wave of jackhammer thrusts that cut your moans into choppy little cries instead.

“Prettiest girl I know,” he groans, not once stopping the movement of his hips. You’re quivering like a leaf beneath him, your entire body locking up as Jungkook guides you toward orgasm. “A fucking doll, baby— so beautiful for me,” he praises.

It’s exactly what you want to hear— secretly, Jungkook hypothesizes that you’re a little bit of an attention whore —crying out when he slows to a grind against you. Each roll of his hips has him rubbing over your swollen bud, leaves you trembling until you’re eventually unraveling beneath him. “Oh- Oh, fuck— Jungkook—“ you sob, writhing beneath him as you cream his cock.

Your tits look amazing, nipples stiff from your arousal and all the attention you’d been giving them. Your features soften, gasps framed by your pillowy lips. As Jungkook has said before, your pretty face was the most dangerous weapon.

He manages a few more pistons of his hips, mostly for reputation sake, before he’s eventually pulling out. His right hand, once the sole hero of his solo sessions, makes a valiant return now as he jacks himself off over you. It takes a few harsh pulls of his cock until he’s spurting his jizz over you, painting your tummy and your tits in white ribbons of cum. You flinch, a tiny whimper leaving your throat at the mess he makes. “Fuck,” he groans one last time.

When it’s over, you have the audacity to shyly pull down the front of your skirt. As if your tits aren’t out and about, but Jungkook pretends he doesn’t see it. Instead, he channels his energy into peppering your face in kisses. “Best girl,” he praises, even though he knows you hate the nickname. “My beautiful feminist queen.”

A pinch against his cheek. It hurts like hell, but he endures it for now, still very much in love with your performance today. “Get me a towel,” you huffily ask, uncomfortable with the jizz sticking to your tummy, as if he didn’t spit in your mouth a few minutes ago.

His research paper is waiting for him at his desk, the materials he’d spent weeks collecting waiting to be typed up. But his girlfriend is so soft and sleepy, asking him to stay for another nap.

There was never a choice.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#jjk smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #bts jungkook #mine #skirtfic

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outer-bnks · 3 years

Text

Two Burning Hearts Are Dared to Break (JJ x OC) Ch. 14

JJ catches Elle and Topper in a compromising position, eliciting a fight in which some truths are exposed.

Warning: brief mention of alcohol, smoking. hella angst

Word count: 1.5k

“JJ! Wait!”, she followed him out to the side entrance of the garden that was thankfully empty, watching as he made his way over to a catering truck that stood in the carpark attached to the club.

“For what Elle?! What I just saw doesn’t need explaining!”, he huffed, as he continued walking away from her.

“What are you even doing here?”, she questioned, unaware that he was going to be attending the party. Noticing his navy shirt and slacks, she realised that he was working one of his multiple jobs in order to earn enough to pay off his restitution. He opened the back doors of the truck, beginning to unload them.

“What does it look like? I just thought I’d swing by for shits and giggles”, he sarcastically answered, his arms out wide, looking around at the crates around his feet.

“Well you could’ve told me that you were coming!”, she exclaimed.

JJ scoffed, “What difference would it have made, you looked like you were having a pretty good time in the laundry room!”. The fuzzy feeling that she was experiencing with Topper had definitely dissipated, leaving the all too familiar sinking sensation in her stomach.

“It would have made a lot of difference JJ!”. For starters, she might not have agreed to be Topper’s date in front of the boy she actually had feelings for.

Rolling his eyes, he turned away from her again, continuing to work, “I don’t even care, it's just that I didn’t think you’d move on so fast”, he shrugged, trying to make his disinterest believable by adopting an apathetic tone of voice.

Elle’s eyebrows furrowed, confused by his choice of words, “What? Move on?”. As far as she was concerned, they had nothing to move on from, he had made that very clear as of recently.

“John B’s only been gone for 2 weeks, you know I just wouldn’t have thought that you’re the type to just-”.

Elle cut him off, utterly bewildered by what he was implying, “Wait wait wait. John B?”.

“Yes John B, Elle! It’s so obvious that you’re into him”.

It was her turn to scoff, “Are you out of your mind? I do not have a thing for John B! I never have!”. He thought she was into John B? Maybe she’d thought she had a crush on him when she first moved to the OBX, but that quickly changed as soon as met JJ. She was even sure that John B was aware of her feelings for JJ, making sneaky comments that only she could hear, or winking at her whenever the pair were left alone together for more than 5 minutes. But she’d never actually had a conversation with him about that, he was the kind of friend who knew what you were feeling before you even knew it yourself.

“Could’ve fooled me”, he mumbled, locking up the back of the truck as he had now emptied the crates into numerous stacks.

Looking around the garden, puzzled by how he’d come to this conclusion, she sighed, “God JJ you really do talk out of your ass sometimes!”. Had he forgotten about how obsessed John B was with Sarah? Or the fact that Elle was actually excited when Sarah joined the Pogues?

This seemed to get a rise out of him, turning on his feet and walking over to her, “Oh please! All the times I would come over to the Chateau and you were already there, in his bed fast asleep, or answering his door basically naked?”. He knew that the way he spoke definitely portrayed his jealousy, and was uncalled for, but he hoped that masking it with confusion or anger wouldn’t give away his true feelings.

Honestly, it killed him the first time he entered the Chateau and found out Elle had decided to sleep in John B’s bed instead of the empty spare room. It was the morning after they’d been hanging out as a group, smoking, watching movies and binging on the snacks Pope had brought over. Often, on nights like that everyone would stay over, usually having already fallen asleep during the last movie. However, JJ had decided to sleep in his own bed that night, knowing that his Dad was on an overnight fishing trip with his workmates. He hadn’t even thought about whether Elle had stayed over or headed home, until he walked in the next morning, calling out for John B and banging on his bedroom door, not expecting her to answer in nothing but one of John B’s oversized t-shirts. He quickly put two and two together, knowing that she had a drawer in the spare room with some clothes in it for whenever she decided to stay over, and concluded that the scene in front of him, reeked of sex. And of an unspoken betrayal that JJ promised himself never to mention.

That wasn’t the last time he had caught her in that situation, it recurring exactly 5 more times, over the space of the past year. To ensure that he would never feel that betrayal again, JJ had pushed down his feelings for Elle, rebuilt some of the walls that he’d let come down around her, and used sarcasm to hide how he actually felt about the idea of his best friend hooking up with the girl that he thought he was falling in love with.

Shaking her head slightly out of disbelief, she rebutted, her voice rising a few decibels, “Excuse me? I have never slept with John B. So what we shared a bed, does that automatically mean we were hooking up? We couldn’t have just been friends who fell asleep in the same bed after talking for a few hours? JJ I’ve shared a bed with you, Pope and Kie tonnes of times! Was I hooking up with all of you as well?”.

Looking down at the ground briefly, he lowered his voice, becoming aware of how loud they were being. “It’s different with us and you know it”.

Following his lead, she lowered her voice, her anger showing through in her tone instead, “Do I J? I’m surprised you even noticed with all the tourons coming and going from your room”.

His eyes darted up to her face, “What's that supposed to mean?”.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she continued, “You get to have your fun, aren't I allowed to have mine?”. That’s all JJ ever referred to his one night stands or brief flings as, fun.

Pointing back at the door that they’d emerged from, he referred to Topper, “This is what you call fun Elle? Fine, have all the ‘fun’ in the world, but please spare me, I don’t wanna see it”.

She raised her eyebrows out of surprise, two could play at this game. “Oh and you thought I enjoyed watching you mack on anyone with a pulse at our keggers?”. She couldn’t count the times she had watched him sweet talk a touron at a kegger into going for a walk down to the water with him, often not returning for over an hour. Not that Elle was keeping track (although she was definitely keeping track). In that hour, she’d usually devoured way too many shots, or danced, or began chatting up a guy herself, to ease the dull heartache that seemed to consume her.

Defeated by this argument, and his blood still boiling, he resorted to his defences, “You know what, do what you want, just don't come crying to me when he turns out to be exactly who we think he is”.

“From what I can remember, you wanted nothing to do with me, so what do you care who I’m macking on?”.

“The only reason I care is because of John B and Sarah. We’re trying to find ways to clear John B’s name and get justice for Sarah, whilst you're hooking up with her goddamn ex.

When this whole thing between you two blows up like it inevitably will, just know that you have no one to blame but yourself”, he spat, turning and walking back over to crates, beginning to take them around to the kitchen entrance of the Yacht Club.

“Thanks JJ! I’ll be sure to keep that in mind”, she called out after him, watching him make his way inside. She felt as though steam was coming out of her ears and she swore that her face was beet red right now, matching the faded stain on her dress. She was expecting some sort of drama to occur tonight, but not once had she thought that it would’ve been with JJ instead of Topper.

Hearing the door to the garden close behind her, she took a deep breath before turning around to face him, “Hey, are you alright?”, he asked softly. He had definitely heard the fight, probably opting to stay inside so as to not incite any more tension.

“Yeah I’m fine”, she nodded, grabbing his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze, “let’s head back inside, you might need to show me how to act like a proper Kook, I think I’m finished with being a Pogue for the night”, she winked.

Topper recognised her joking tone, hinging from the hips in a faux bow, “Why of course my lady, follow me”. If she was going to be treated like a Kook, what’s the harm in acting like one?

Taglist:

@mybillyhardgrove @cyrrusmreadings @downbytheouterbanks @belledutchess @imagines-and-preferences1216 @teamnick @lauraxwndrlnd @thehomeiknow @obxlife @shawnssongs @rudyypankow @gigi-june @x-lulu @frodofreakingbaggins

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rosyfingereddawnn · 3 years

Text

only the black rose (chapter 5)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: talks of parental abandonment, off-scene injury, drug use (legal!), fluff, and me waxing poetic about one of my favourite books. and more fluff.

words: 3.1k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: this one wrote itself. i expected to take longer with it cause of this. this is the start of the Chaos seen in the 1975 North American tour, so hold onto your hats and enjoy! congrats! you’ve unlocked layla’s tragic backstory! unbeta’d as always, and here’s the link to the playlist :)

masterlist

playlist

chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

----------

Soon enough, the band make their way home, basking in the golden glow of a couple of excellent shows. It’s only a matter of days until the start of the North American tour, and the excitement is palpable. The boys find themselves at the studio, running through some last-minute tour details, accompanied by a certain brunette firecracker, who sits reading comfortably in the lobby.

Layla, sitting on a luxurious couch just outside of the meeting room, is drowning in a hardcover book, consuming every word at a ravenous pace. The sound of pages flipping periodically is accompanied by the light din of voices detailing the upcoming tour. Lost in the story in front of her, she is surprised when she hears a person clearing their throat, seemingly right in front of her. Looking up, she spots the secretary of Swan Song Records, a woman with glasses and long brown hair ran through with gray, pinned up in a low bun. Light freckles dusted her cheeks. Judging by the crow’s feet at the corners of her hazel eyes, the secretary had to have been older than Layla, perhaps around 50, though her bright smile gave the impression of youth.

“Sorry to interrupt, Miss… I just couldn’t help but notice the book you were reading. I don’t see many fans of the classics around here, especially ones so young.”

Recovering from the shock of being ripped out of the hypnotising story she was wrapped up in, Layla gestures to the seat next to her. With a bright smile, the secretary smoothes down her pencil skirt, and sits down.

“My mother was a literature buff, and it seems she’s passed that down to me! My name’s Layla. You’re Evelyn, right?”

“Y-Yes, I am! How do you…”

“Well, I had to put a name to the lovely secretary that gives me a smile whenever I see her. Makes my day, if I’m being honest.”

“You’re too sweet, darling,” Evelyn says, lips turning up warmly, eyes dancing with joy. “If I may, what are your thoughts on the book? It’s a personal favourite of mine, and it’s always nice to hear new opinions.”

“Well,” Layla starts, lighting up as she speaks. “Wilde’s language paints such a beautiful, vivid picture, and the characters are so interesting, even if they aren’t morally likeable, most of the time. They make mistakes… Many mistakes… but we sympathize with them.”

At this, Layla cups her hand around her mouth, whispering to Evelyn mischievously, as if what she was about to say was the world’s most important secret.

“It’s a favourite of mine too.”

The two women laugh, Evelyn’s hand falling across Layla’s arm, a comforting, grounding weight. Evelyn, with a warm smile gracing her face, crow’s feet as prominent as ever, sends a pang of longing into Layla’s heart. Not for love, but for her old life. Her friends worried out of their minds over her disappearance; her mother, left alone not once, but twice. Her father had left when she was a child, and it had been her and her mother ever since. Layla learned to put up walls, so that she’d never be hurt like that again. They all leave in the end. It’s better that way. Better not to get attached. Better not to get hurt.

“That’s a lovely interpretation, Layla. You know,” Evelyn says, interrupting Layla’s train of thought. “For someone so young, you have an old soul. Wise beyond your years, for sure.”

“You have no idea…”

“Well, I must get to work, darling,” Evelyn claps her hands together, and stands up, resting a hand on Layla’s arm once more. “I’d love to chat again, though. Such refreshing opinions from such a young woman. I’ll let you get back to your book.”

“I would love to! We’ll make plans soon, I promise. Have a wonderful day, Evelyn!” With that, Layla opens the novel, and is taken once again by the current of the story. Minutes pass, until Layla is interrupted once more, this time by a soft press of lips against the crown of her head.

“Everything alright, Layla?”

“Of course, Jim,” Layla says, reaching out to grasp Jimmy’s hand in return. “How did the meeting go?”

“Well, you were right outside the door, I’m surprised you didn’t eavesdrop,” He takes a seat beside her, and reaches down to tap at the book still nestled in Layla’s hand, her finger keeping the page. “You were too engrossed in this, I bet. What are you reading anyways?”

Layla lifts the book to show the cover, which is a slightly worn navy blue, with golden accents in the form of small droplets. In metallic lettering, read ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’.

“Oscar Wilde, hey? Wouldn’t have pegged you for a lover of the classics.”

“I spent my teenage years with Austen and Dickens, after all.”

“I didn’t think you were that old.”

Layla rolls her eyes, a fond look upon her features. Smiling at the man in front of her, she puts a hand to his cheek.

“Yeah, I’m a real cradle-robber.”

“Just make sure my mum doesn’t hear about this relationship: she’ll have a fit.”

“I’ll be careful, angel,” Layla laughs, putting a pensive finger to her chin. “Hey, Jimmy? Do you have a good relationship with your parents?” Jimmy smiles wide at the question and nods, dark curls bobbing at the movement. He absentmindedly takes Layla’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb in soft circles across her wrist.

“My parents… They’ve always been very supportive of me in every way, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to find a way to thank them,” Jimmy squeezes her hand briefly, meeting her eyes. “You know, I bet they’d love you.”

“Do you really think so?” Layla’s cheeks grow warm, and her lips tilt upwards in a smile that is uncharacteristically shy.

“Of course I do, petal,” Jimmy says, pushing a fallen lock of hair behind Layla’s ear, his touch featherlight. “How about you? What are your parents like?”

“Well… My dad… He left us when I was young, so it’s been me and my mom ever since,” This is marked with a moment of silence, and Layla’s eyes meet her shoes, pointedly not looking at Jimmy. “My mom’s probably the strongest person I’ve ever met, and I truly can’t thank her enough for everything she’s done for me. She’s my best friend.”

The silence continues, until Layla feels a calloused finger at her jaw, lifting her chin. Finally flicking her eyes up to gaze at the guitarist, she’s shocked by the concern and sadness she sees in those emerald green eyes.

“Petal, I…”

“Jim, it’s fine. It—”

“It’s not fine, Layla. It’s not. I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve that. Either of you.” Jimmy pulls her into a tight hug, long arms wrapping around her, making her feel safe. They stay like this for what feels like hours, breaking apart slowly.

“Jimmy, I… Thank you.”

“Of course. Now, how about you read me some of that book of yours?”

Layla laughs brightly, albeit a little watery, and smiles at Jimmy, eyes shining with gratitude. Shuffling, she positions herself in his lap, legs hanging off the end of the couch as his arm comes to rest across her back, holding her steady against his chest. She opens the book, dog-earing the corner of the page she was reading, before flipping back to the start.

“Petal, as much as I like this, I thought we were gonna take it slow? I don’t think public places are the best idea to… Well…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jimmy,” Layla says, smirk gracing her face as she speaks. “You just make a very comfortable chair.”

Jimmy’s laugh is music to her ears, and she presses a light kiss to his cheek. Focusing on the book in her hand, she begins to read:

“The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.”

----------

‘Was it all true? Had the portrait really changed? Or had it been simply his own imagination that had made him see a look of evil where there had been a look of joy?’

The next day had arrived, and Layla sits at her kitchen table, enraptured once again by the writings of Oscar Wilde. The words on the page enchant her, and she has no desire to put the novel down anytime soon. She’d have to tell Evelyn all about it, the next time she sees her.

‘Surely a painted canvas could not alter? The thing was absurd. It would serve as a tale to tell Basil some day. It would make him smile. And, yet, how vivid was his recollection—’

A shrill ringing pulls her out of the carefully crafted narrative of Dorian Gray. Layla huffs, annoyed at the intrusion, and moves to pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Layla! Hi, good to hear from you, hope you’re having a great day so far! Lovely weather we’re having, hey?” The slightly nasal voice of one Robert Plant, crackles through the phone, and Layla sighs at his exuberance.

“Robert, hey. What is it?”

“Uh… Please don’t freak out. It’s really not that bad, and everyone is… mostly… fine?”

“Rob—”

This is followed by a noise in the background, a sort of crackle, as if Robert had shifted the phone to his other hand. Layla can hear the way his breath picks up, the way panic seeps into his voice. “Just a heads up that we’ll be at your place in about… 10 minutes! See you then!”

“What is going on? I was reading, I’m really not in the mood for—”

Another crackle, and a sigh from Robert’s end of the line. Layla runs a hand through her hair, biting her lip in an attempt to quell the panic rising in her throat.

“Promise me you won’t freak out, little dove.”

Layla exhales sharply through her nose, unimpressed at the plea of the man on the other line. Coiling the telephone cord around her finger to calm her nerves, she responds.

“Fine, I’m not gonna freak out. Now, tell me what happened.”

“Well… Um… Jimmy, well, he kinda… got his… finger slammed in a train door?”

“...”

“Layla? Are you still there?”

“How?!”

“I told you not to freak out…”

“Robert!” Layla exclaims, concern painted clearly on her flushed face.

“Okay, okay, he told us he was holding the door open for someone on the way to Swan Song, and well… You know the rest.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

Another sigh sounds from the other line, and Layla waits in anticipation for his response, growing anxious with each passing moment. Finally, she hears the man’s response, and deflates with relief, sinking into the chair beside her.

“He should be fine. Like I said before, we’re gonna come get you right away. He’ll be okay, Layla.”

“Okay…Robert?”

“Yes, little dove?

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Robert chuckles lightly, bringing a smile to Layla’s face, the undercurrent of anxiety still coursing through her. She thinks it will stay that way, until she sees Jimmy, makes sure he’s okay. “We’ll be there in 10 minutes. Sit tight, Layla.”

Layla sits at the kitchen table, biting her thumbnail, mind elsewhere, until she hears the telltale sound of a car pulling up, engine cutting out. Flying out the door, She spots Jonesy in the driver’s seat, Bonzo next to him, with Robert in the back. Opening the door, she sits next to the blond, and he gazes over at her, putting a hand to her shoulder. Sympathy flashes across his face as he takes in the shocked look Layla’s sporting.

“He’ll be okay, Layla. He will.”

“Robert, I… Jonesy, please, just drive?”

“Right.”

The engine rumbles to life, and they’re off, no doubt speeding to whatever hospital Jimmy’s holed up in. Layla lets her thoughts drift to Jimmy. She wonders how he’s doing, if he’s in any pain, if they’re treating him well. She’s distracted enough that she barely feels Robert’s hand, warm and comforting, on her knee. Layla is snapped out of her thoughts by a particularly sharp turn, and she looks up at Robert, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Rob… What if he’s… not okay? It was his finger. That means that he might not be able to play, if it’s bad enough,” She stammers, eyes frantic in their search of the blond’s face. “His guitar is his life, and—”

“Layla, calm down. It’ll be okay. It won’t do us any good to think like that.” Robert leans over, throwing his arm around her shoulder as best he could in the cramped car. To his surprise, she leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Layla unconsciously brings a hand up to bite her thumbnail, and catching the action, Robert places his hand on hers, pushing it back down to rest in her lap. They stay that way until the car rolls to a stop in the hospital parking lot. Layla lifts her head from Robert’s shoulder with breakneck speed, scrambling out of the car.

“Layla, wait!” Jonesy calls out, running after the woman, who dashes through the door. Robert and Bonzo catch up, just as Layla reaches the front desk, panting from exertion. The nurse on shift looks at her, eyes wide, shocked at the display.

“Excuse me, love,” Bonzo says, tucking Layla under his arm as he speaks to the nurse. “We’re looking for James Page? He was brought in for a fractured finger, I believe?”

“...Yes, right. What is your relationship with the patient?”

“We’re his bandmates, we can call our manager if you need proof. Please, we just need to see if he’s okay.”

The nurse eyes the group dubiously, and grabs the chart sitting next to her, looking through it. Glancing at the group again, she points behind them, to a room packed with seats, posters and pamphlets lining the walls.

“It seems that Mr. Page is still with the doctor getting X-rayed, so I’m going to need you to take a seat in the waiting area. Give that manager of yours a call, and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

“Thank you, love.” Bonzo says, as he herds the group over to the soft, patterned armchairs, plopping down with a sigh. Jonesy excuses himself to make a phone call to Peter, the others left waiting for news that won’t come fast enough.

Jimmy has to be okay. He has to.

----------

“For James Page?” The nurse’s voice rings out across the waiting area, and the group shoot up from their seats, stiff backs groaning in protest. “Follow me.”

The nurse leads them through a labyrinth of hallways, stopping finally at a room with a large 164 pasted on the closed door. Through the window looking into the room, Layla spots Jimmy asleep under the covers, his hands atop the sheets, resting on his stomach. He looks peaceful, she thinks, like he’s devoid of pain. If she couldn’t see the injured hand at all, she’d have thought he was perfectly fine.

The group finally walk into the room, the sharp smell of antiseptic burning their nostrils. Hearing the click of the door opening, Jimmy opens his eyes, pupils blown wide. His irises are almost black, and he sends them a dopey smile, a giggle bursting out.

“Hey, guys. Fancy seeing you all here.” Jimmy slurs, laughing harder now, as though he had told the most hilarious joke in the world. The boys join in, amused by the antics of their guitarist. Layla hangs back, staring at Jimmy, concern clear on her face. She had spotted the injured finger on the way in, which was already bruised a deep purple, the fingernail completely blackened.

“They give you the good stuff, Pagey?”

“You know it, Jonesy.” Jimmy shoots the bassist a sloppy wink, and the group erupts into soft laughter once more. Taking a dazed glance around the room, the raven-haired man pouts, completely endearing in his drugged state. “Hey… where’s Layla?”

Peter, who had been standing next to the bed, moves aside, and glassy green met warm brown. The guitarist smiles softly, relaxing back into the pillows. He sticks out his uninjured hand, and she walks closer to take it. Never lessening her grip, Layla threads the fingers of her free hand through Jimmy’s messy curls, and looks down at him fondly.

“How’re you doing, champ?”

“Good, now that you’re here. I would kiss you right now… if I wasn’t seeing two of you.”

“They must have him on the really good stuff…” Layla throws over her shoulder, looking back at the injured guitarist. He’s looking up at her with unabashed affection, and she can’t help but blush at the adoration in his gaze.

“Sorry to interrupt,” comes from the open doorway, as Jimmy’s doctor steps through. “I’m Dr. Vane, I treated James when he came in. If you’d kindly step out for a moment, I’d like to go over his prognosis.”

The boys file out of the room, and Layla goes to follow, stopped in her tracks by Jimmy tugging her back towards him with a whimper. She gives in, sinking back down in the chair at his bedside.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Jimmy. I was so scared when Robert called. I thought...”

“I’m glad you’re here, petal. Now, come into bed with me. I want to see you better.” Jimmy mutters, scooting over to make room for her to fit in the small hospital bed. Layla laughs, nodding, and crawls in beside him, careful not to hurt him. She turns on her side, her hand landing in his hair again. Jimmy looks up at her, pupils still dilated, and presses a quick peck on her lips, giggling anew.

“You’re so beautiful. Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful? ‘Cause you are.” He insists, slurred speech returning in full force, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Go to sleep, Jimmy. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He hums softy in response and a few seconds later, Jimmy’s breathing evens out. He’s dead to the world. Through the door left ajar, Layla can hear snippets of the conversation with the doctor.

“... Fractured the tip of his finger… At least a month.”

“Will he be able to play anytime soon?” That was Peter, voice soft with worry for the frail man in the hospital bed.

“He should rest… Not good to put too much strain on it… Keeping him here until the anaesthetic wears off.”

Tuning them out, Layla looks down at the man sleeping beside her. His hair is matted on one side of his head, and he snores louder than he’d ever admit, but he looks peaceful. He’s not in any pain, and that’s enough for Layla. She drifts off, as the sound of footsteps against the floor draw near. Her tired eyes open to slits, and she sees a shadow with dark, shoulder-length and a beard. It must be Bonzo, she thinks. The last thing Layla hears before succumbing to the exhaustion that plagues her, is the drummer’s soothing voice, hushed to a whisper.

“Let them sleep.”

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taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 (let me know if you want to be added!)

#only the black rose #led zeppelin #jimmy page #jimmy page fanfiction #jimmy page fanfic #led zeppelin fanfic #classic rock fanfic #jimmy x oc

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thegoodprincess · 3 years

Text

Together We Are Apart, but Apart We Are Together | KTH Ch. 6

Author: thegoodprincess

Pairing: Kim Taehyung | Original Female Character

Genre: romance, fantasy, action, forbidden love, human KTH | angel of death OC, supernatural au

Word Count: 2.6k [series, ongoing]

Rating: N/A

Warnings: None

Summary: After admiring a handsome boy from afar, an Angel of Death reluctantly rescues him from his own demise. As a result of going against her better judgment she inadvertently invites him into her world.

Together We Are Apart, but Apart We Are Together

Chapter 6. Name For a Face

“Tigers die and leave their skins; people die and leave their names.” - Japanese Proverb

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While I was awaiting his return, I finished up the remainder of my tea. It had gone a bit cold since it was first poured. Nevertheless, I still drank it, savoring the sweet flavor as it slid down my throat. I decided to lay down on the sofa to rest my sore body. Sinking down into the cushions and staring blankly up at the ceiling, I wondered if I should have went to retrieve the boy’s wallet instead of Malachi. I didn’t want his willingness to help to be misinterpreted as him enabling my own foolish actions. Otherwise he would have been just as much at fault, if we were to find ourselves in the midst of chaos. He had always been eager to assist with whatever trouble I had found myself in, ready to bare the burden with open arms. It sometimes felt like he was too loyal to me, like he was just blindly complying to my wishes. I didn't want him to help me because he felt he had to, but because he wanted to. In turn it made me feel guilty about how I treated Malachi, as if I was exploiting the nature of our friendship.

Lost in the guilt-ridden thoughts of my conscience, it hadn’t even occurred to me that I had closed my eyes. I had fully intended to stay awake until Malachi returned, so I reluctantly opened them. However, I found it to be a struggle to keep them that way. Fatigue was starting to set in as I tried desperately to blink the sleepiness out of my eyes. The calming effect of the rose tea paired with the soothing sound of the logs crackling in the fire created a comfortable ambiance for me to relax to. Eventually my limbs began to feel heavy and my breathing slowed enough for me to finally lose the battle against the Sandman. Just like that, I readily drifted off into the unconscious.

It felt like Malachi was gone for quite some time before I was awoken by a small crashing noise that emanated from in front of the fireplace. Looking drowsily in the direction of the sound, I squinted to faintly make out Malachi readjusting a drying rack I had set close to the fire to dry the boy’s clothes. Through blurred vision I saw him carefully hang the articles back into their positions on the bars, spreading them out to ensure they dried properly.

“That damn thing needs to be moved. Why would she set that cursed thing right there? Stupid human boy and his stupid human clothes. What if I had fallen into the fire and burned my as—,” he whisper-yelled to himself irritated before he realized he had woken me up. “My apologies, I did not mean to wake you.” He bowed his head embarrassed of his crude outburst. I stretched and yawned, feeling the muscles in my back strain from the movement before sitting up. “It’s fine,” I waved my hand with blithe disregard for his unnecessary apology. “How long were you gone? I fell asleep waiting for you.”

“Not long.”

I rubbed the delicate skin around my eyes to get a better view of him. That’s when I took in his whole figure. Looking towards his legs I noticed that his pants were thoroughly soaked all the way up to his shins, from no doubt trudging around in the snow. “Oh my gosh, are you okay? You’re soaked. Here sit in front of the fire to warm up.” I quickly scrambled off the sofa and offered him my seat.

“I can assure you I am quite alright. I am nowhere in the condition you were in earlier tonight.” He assured with a sincere smile while taking a seat next to me. I awkwardly sat back down again.

Suddenly remembering why he left, I anxiously inquired, “Did you find it?”

“Yes.” He simply answered pulling it from his robe. The leather of the wallet was cold and stiff from getting wet. “And it did not take me long, it was just buried deeper than we originally thought. The snow has picked up quite a bit since we last left.” I held the wallet not ready to open it as he continued. “I also disposed of the gun and the patch of ice he fell through, you will be pleased to know it froze back over.”

“That’s good. No evidence. Do you think the old man will report the boy’s involvement.”

“No. I already took care of it.” I furrowed my brows confused. “I took the liberty of tracking him down and wiping his memory.” Malachi explained.

“Oh. Thank you. I didn’t even need to ask.”

“Yes. Well, you are lucky I am the best,” Malachi facetiously boasted. I rolled my eyes.

“What about the gun man?”

“Did I wipe his memory? No, I want him to live with the guilt until it consumes him.” The expression in Malachi’s eyes turned unnervingly dark. “And I doubt he will anonymously report the boy’s death. Not unless he wants to involve himself with the authorities or worse get caught by them. He will probably try to go about living his life as if nothing ever happened.”

“That’s horrible. But it’s good for us, I guess. Less of a mess to clean up. Not that I haven’t already jeopardized enough for us as it is.” I ashamedly spoke looking down at the floor.

“You are too hard on yourself.” He frowned concerned.

“I have to be. I can’t make mistakes. Especially when they effect those I cherish most.” I said looking purposefully at him.

“Ha, even a divine being such as yourself is allowed to make mistakes. And for as long as you allow me, I will always be there by your side to help you fix what is considered broken. Even if that means going against the rules of our nature.”

“Yes, but you said, if the consequences were dire then I was to take respons—,”.

Malachi promptly held a hand up to stop me, “I am well aware of what I said. However, if your actions do not bode well, I will still remain faithful to you, and only you.” He chided. He then took a second to soften his voice before continuing, “Allow me to clarify. It is my choice, and I choose to help you not because I feel it is my duty to do so, but because I want to help you. Why will you not understand that? We are as thick as thieves, even when that means cheating death,” he quipped. And with that he chastely kissed my forehead to put my guilty thoughts at ease.

I decided to steer the conversation away from my self-scrutiny, and brought our attention back to the wallet in my hands, “Did you look in it?” Immediately after the question left my mouth, adrenaline started to surge through my veins. I was well aware of the spike in my heart rate and the perspiration gathering on the nape of my neck.

“No, I thought I would let you do the honors.”

“Oh. Okay.” Nervous, I turned the wallet over in my quivering hands and reveled in the feeling of physically holding the piece of leather. The movement made it hard to undo the snap closure, and my slightly sweaty palms were doing me no favors as they slid against the leathery texture. Finally after a brief struggle I was able to open it.

There inside his wallet were some clear card holders with one containing a card with a small picture of him. Holding it closer to my face I realized it was his driver’s license. To the right of his picture, in printed text was the one thing on my mind that I had been wondering for months, his name. “His name is… Kim Taehyung,” I read aloud smiling. “Taehyung.” I repeated again letting the two syllables roll around in my mouth. I wanted to keep repeating his name like a mantra, giddy with excitement that I finally knew it.

“Well, now that you know the human’s name, I would advise you check on him. Speaking of which, I am surprised to not find you with him now. Why is that?” He eyed me suspiciously.

“I was waiting for you. He’s safe in my bed. I could hear the steady pace of his heartbeat from out hear.” This was a half truth, I also wanted to avoid the temptation of staring at his sleeping form. “You, however, were out there in the snow looking for something I needed, cold and alone. I was worried.” I may have been preoccupied with the probability of the boy’s, no Taehyung’s, life; but that didn’t mean I was any less concerned about Malachi’s wellbeing.

“Ah, so you do care,” he teasingly joked.

“Of course I care about you. You’re my friend.”

“As are you.”

“Thank you.” I sweetly hummed the sentiment for the fifth time tonight.

He nodded as to convey that it wasn’t a problem. “It was my pleasure little bird.” He patted me on the head. “You should check on the boy and get some rest.” He nodded towards my bedroom door.

“I will. I suggest taking a warm bath before bed. Goodnight Malachi.”

“Thank you for the recommendation. Goodnight my dear.” He said as he got up and walked towards the bathroom.

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After Malachi had left to run a bath for himself, I decided to put out the fire. I could instantly feel the temperature of the room drop several degrees. While blowing out the last candle, I looked towards the window. Through the glass I was able to clearly make out the moon. Its light that penetrated from outside was more than enough for Malachi to see when he came out to go to bed. As I made my way over to my bedroom door I counted my steps until I reached it. I walked with one foot directly in front of the other with my arms out to the sides of me, as if I was walking on a balance beam. I know I must have looked somewhat silly, but it was all in an effort to prolong the inevitable, as well as simultaneously calm my nerves. I ultimately didn’t want to seem too eager to see Taehyung. Finally reaching my door I briefly hesitated before turning the knob. I then walked through the threshold and quietly closed the door. Once the lock softly clicked into place, I leaned my head against the wood and took a few slow breaths in order to prepare myself. I didn’t want to look in his direction just yet because I knew once I saw him it would be difficult to look away.

Over on my bedside table was a candle that I wished to light. Using the moonlight, I repeated my odd ritual from earlier, deliberately looking straight at the floor as I made my way over. Except this time I made sure to walk with normal footing. I would have been mortified if I had tripped and potentially disturbed his sleep.

Placing Taehyung’s wallet on the table, I opened the drawer and blindly felt around for a box of matches. After a few failed attempts, I finally grabbed ahold of one. I plucked one match from the container and struck it against the side of the box. Not wanting the flame to go out, I quickly touched it to the tip of the candle wick and flicked the used match to put it out. Almost immediately my senses were flooded with the rich earthy musk of amber and sandalwood. Closing my eyes, I took a brief moment to appreciate the comforting aroma. The candle’s flickering light intimately lit up the small area around my bed causing our shadows to bounce on the wall. I then leisurely turned my head and saw him.

Tucked into my silk sheets, he laid flat on his back with his whole body, from the neck down, hidden under the blankets. I watched him sleep peacefully as I sat on the floor and knelt near the side of my bed. From under the silky blankets, I could make out the subtle yet steady rise and fall of his chest. If I listened close enough I could hear the sound of his soft inhales and exhales. Continuing my gaze upwards, it landed on his neck and the pretty curve of his jaw. From there I was met with the sight of his beautiful face, his expression passive. Slumber had made his features look innocent. The moles that were on his cheek, lip, and under his eye reminded me of the stars that sparsely dusted the sky on a cloudy night. They somewhat reminded me of a constellation and it briefly dawned on me that if I were to connect them, would I be any closer to navigating my zealous yet enigmatic feelings for him.

Against my pillows his head rested delicately. His hair was almost fully dry. A few locks in the front of his head curled around his face, while the rest fell elegantly onto the pillow like a halo. Its golden hues were complimented by the iridescent pearly sheen of my pillow case, and the sight created a picturesque scene worth committing to memory. I couldn’t help but be enamored by him. He looked otherworldly, almost like an angel. He could have very well been one of the ones that I had come across when I visited Heaven from time to time.

Finally able to touch his face in a way that wasn’t correlated to life threatening peril, I gently brushed my knuckles against his cheek and tenderly traced his jawline with my fingertips in curious fascination. Mesmerized by the feeling of the suppleness of his warm to the touch skin, I pondered how I got so lucky as to be this close to him, while also being able to reach out and touch him. It was almost intoxicating. And what was even better, is that now I had his name to go along with his face.

“So your name is Tae-hyung.” I whispered each syllable slowly more to myself than him, dramatically emphasizing the pronunciation of both. I smiled at the new found knowledge. “It suits you.”

Not long after admiring his sleeping form, I began to feel like my conscious reality was fraying around its edges. Walking a few feet on my knees to the end of my bed, I took a cotton blanket slewn messily over the end of the bed post and draped it over my shoulders. In my drowsy state I placed a gentle kiss against Taehyung’s forehead. I then turned to blow out the candle after my rash display of affection, but saw something that I thought was peculiar out of the corner of my eye. For what felt like a split second I could have sworn I had seen a brief flash of very faint light emitting from around his head in the dim candle light. However, I attributed it to being a trick of the light, after all I was exhausted and my blurry tired vision wasn’t the most reliable at this exact moment.

Taking one last longing look at his face in the moonlight after blowing out the candle [as if this would be the last time I saw him], I rested my head against my arm and was lulled to sleep by the rhythm of his calm breathing, hopeful for whatever tomorrow brought us.

#taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #taehyung #taehyung x oc #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts supernatural au #bts army #v fanfic #Youtube

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etjwrites · 4 years

Text

OC Backstory - Antagonist Edition - Week 3: Choice

The moment they ended up on said path, that leads them against the protagonist (or maybe society as a whole). A decision of some sort, a point of no return. @yourocsbackstory

A moment in 2 parts:

It is done.

The queen must never know. For however much she loves me, she would certainly banish me if she learned of it.

But people fall through all the time; she has no reason to suspect this incident was not an accident. Under her tutelage, I've learned how to draw on small amounts of her power, practicing even when we are apart; this discreet borrowing will go unnoticed. And it is worth it, to have Tamlin here. It's been been almost five years—but the way he looked at me when we danced at the king's court on that other world—the memory still makes my heart race.

Everything I've ever dreamed of is within my grasp. Queen Liastra is very close to naming a successor, and though I know Khyth is still in the running, I sense that she does not truly want it. I do. More than anything, I must possess the queendom. The Faeyen. But as the queen has told us many times, power alone is not enough to bring happiness.

She is rarely wrong. My true joy lies within Tamlin. These many years I have watched him through Shalott's mirror, and he has only grown more striking. He is kind, gentle, his brown eyes crinkling with a smile for everyone he meets.

And now he is mine.

At least, he will be when I find the place where he has fallen. Something went wrong. Some . . . error in calculations. He was supposed to fall near the castle, but I have searched and searched and seen no sign of him. Each hour that passes is an hour that wild beasts could find him and rend his delicate body asunder. My Tamlin is not a fighter.

He is not meant to debase himself with the arts of warfare. It galls me to remember all the times his king forced him to fight in gaudy tournaments and flashy jousts. A man should not suffer injury just to win flowers from a lady already wedded to another.

Here my beloved will find peace.

And when I am queen of Hyphantria, I shall do away with the law that kept Tamlin from me these many years.

---

I want to scream. I want to fly at Khyth and tear the flesh from her face. I want to burn Bytheinia to the ground.

All this time she has had Tamlin. She never sent a letter, never thought to inform me of the stranger within her gates. I discovered it by chance. From the idle chatter of some servant girls.

Still, I could have forgiven it. Khyth has all but relinquished her claim to the Faeyen, too consumed with preparing to rule her own queendom. I could have overlooked this slight, attributed it to the ever mounting duties that ere now have inexorably drawn us apart.

But she betrothed him.

Khyth, my companion of girlhood, my own bosom friend. I am cleft in two from this betrayal. And yet, the love I once bore for her—she who swore that there would never be secrets between us—whispered to me that surely I had heard wrong. The rumours could not be true. Crown Princess Khythaira, heir to the throne of Bytheinia, would not commit such a betrayal. Not to me.

So I summoned her to the palace. She came alone to the great solar with its high, stained-glass windows and smooth, marble floors. I begged her to tell me the man she is to wed is not my beloved Tamlin.

She would not reply, but I read the truth of it in her face.

Her beautiful, haughty, wicked face.

It is with all my strength that I hold myself back now. There is no hint of remorse in her eyes. She plays at looking sad to placate me, but I can see through it. I could throw away everything that I am, and she would not return Tamlin to me.

“Zora,” she pleads, a calculatingly soft tone padding her words, “Zora, please. You danced with Tamlin once, when we were all fifteen and blushing at every boy who smiled at us. He didn't even remember my name when I found him perishing from thirst on the outskirts of my queendom.”

“Not even a raven.” The words hiss between my lips. “Do strangers so often pass into our realm that you deigned not to inform me? I had to find out from serving girls, of all people.”

Khyth cringes at that. “Forgive me, love,” she says, stepping closer. I want to shrink away, to push her back—anything to keep her treacherous presence from encroaching upon me. I remain rooted in place, limbs trembling from the effort of holding myself back.

A queen never gives way to her enemies, or to her own selfish fears.

“My coronation is soon, and between that and nursing Tamlin back to health, I neglected to make time for you, my dearest friend.” She steps closer, reaching a hand to my shoulder, gently grasping my left hand in her other.

I permit her, though the touch burns where my flesh is bare.

“I promise to do better by you.” She squeezes my shoulder, doubtless a gesture meant to reassure, but all I can think is that those hands have touched Tamlin so, so many times, and my skin crawls. “Zora, the Faeyen, I don't want it anymore. It is yours. I desire only to reign over Bytheinia with Tamlin at my side. Will you not forgive this misunderstanding between us, and if we can no longer remain friends, then at least let our queendoms continue in friendly alliance?”

I say nothing, not moving even to grit my teeth, and Khyth's hands fall away. Tears gather in her dark eyes. Eyes that have drunk their fill of Tamlin of late. I want to claw them out.

“Give him back.” Anger overwhelms the sobs threatening to erupt. “And our queendoms shall know peace.”

Khyth, as if sensing how very close she is to losing her sight, moves away. She shakes her head in feigned sadness. “Zora, he was never yours.”

“What gives you such great claim to him?” If her hand were still within reach, I might have wrenched off the ring sparkling there.

“I suppose”—her voice cracks a little, from guilt, doubtless—“it was because I found him first. If he had fallen within your kingdom, perhaps things would be different.”

“You can still do right by me, and return him before I am forced to declare our two queendoms at odds.”

“And what gives you such great claim to him?” Khyth retorts, eyes flashing as she throws my own words back at me.

“If it weren't for me, your beloved Tamlin wouldn't even be here,” I snarl.

Khyth's eyes go wide, and from the archway there is the sound of glass shattering on the floor. A figure appears, her horrified face matching Khyth's.

“Zora!” Queen Liastra says, aged hands shaking, her studded circlet sparkling in the light of the setting sun. Her voice is accusing.

“What have you done?” Khyth whispers.

I look from one to the other. The queen opens her mouth to speak, but I know what she will say. She is going to banish me, to strip me of the right to the Faeyen, of the queendom for which I've worked my fingers to bone year in and year out. She will give everything to Khyth.

If she hadn't heard, mayhap I could have overpowered my former friend. Her disappearance would have caused a rift between our two queendoms, but I would have released her—in disgrace, with measures set in place to ensure she would never again betray me—once the queendom, the Faeyen, and Tamlin were mine. I was already threatening war in order to regain him.

But now the queen knows. And while she still possesses the Faeyen I cannot make a single move against her.

The tears start to come then, rebelling against my best efforts. Trembling overtakes me. I silently curse the first queen who decreed that the power of the Faeyen was never to be used to bring people to our world. Many of those who find themselves here have no wish to return. What harm does it do to take one person here and there?

But there is no forgiveness to be found in Queen Liastra's eyes. All the years she spent training and tutoring me, they are falling away as if they never meant anything to her. She will banish me and think nothing of it, millennia old prohibitions more important to her than her almost-daughter.

I refuse to acknowledge the wetness on my cheeks, hands going instead to my skirts to gather them up as I prepare to leave before she can have me thrown out. I shall never again enter this room, not as long as Queen Liastra lives.

I pause just as I pass her.

Khyth is still staring at me in shock. My heart has been broken over and over. I have lost everything. And yet she still looks at me as if I have committed an unforgivable sin when all I did was fall in love. All I wanted was Tamlin, by my side, forever.

“Princess,” I call to her, ignoring the queen's censuring gaze, “One day, you will know what it is to have everything you've ever wanted.” My throat constricts, but I force the words out, the last words I shall ever say to Khyth.

“And on that day, when you are happiest, by my hand you will lose it all.”

00 - Preview || 01 – Intro || 02 - Becoming || 04 - Protagonist || 05 - POV

Tag Crew:

@adie-dee @anilahsarchangel @catharticallysarcastic

#yourocsbackstory #antagonist edition #am writing #writeblr #zora #afallon #WIP #etjwrites #heads up the formatting for this and the other parts might look odd on the actual post page #though it looks fine on mobile or from the dashboard 🤷🏽‍♀️

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melyaliz · 4 years

Text

Remember me pt 6

Master List

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x OC

Notes: No idea what to say sooooo.... Enjoy?

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

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During the last of their three-day stint, Kirishima had joined Bakugou to finish up a few things in their office away from home. After spending the morning in briefings both heroes were grabbing some lunch before heading back to the hotel.

The 100-degree weather that had graced the October sky had finally broken and many of the employees of the large building were outside enjoying their lunch in the shade. Just glad to get out of the cramped offices to enjoy some pleasant weather.

One of them was the Starbucks girl.

“Dude, isn’t that band you like?” Kirishima asked elbowing his best friend in the side, making Bakugou grunt with annoyance.

He had noticed her when she had come out. Holding a bag and talking to that same guy she had done the presentation with. Today she was dressed in a cute leopard print skirt and a black band tee. The words Gojira sprawled across the front, below it was a black and white image of a large whale leaping up from an ocean.

“Yeah” was the simple response as he dug into his chicken burger.

“So do you need me to go over and say hi or are you going to actually go over there and talk to her?” Kirishima asked nonchalantly as he took a bite of his food. “Or are you just going to keep checking her out like you have been all week?”

Bakugou coughed slightly, eyes wide as a rush of anger came over him. First off, there was no possible way he could have been checking at her all week seeing most of the week he had been miles away dealing with earthquake relief. And second, he was NOT checking her out!

“I don’t need your help asking a girl out!” he snapped before grabbing his plate standing up. Sometimes Kirishima’s pushy personality was so annoying. Walking over to the table the young woman was sitting at he sat down

“Nice shirt”

“Do you like Gojira?” she lit up as he spoke to her as she put her phone away. That was a good sign.

“Yes.”

“Have you seen them in concert?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, “Me too, it was probably one of the best. It was Knotfest and some guy broke his nose in the mosh pit.” she paused stumbling over her words slightly before looking at him, obviously unsure what the Japanese word would be.

“Moshpit,” he said nodding

“Oh ok, it was a lot of fun.”

“You don’t look like the kind of girl to like Metal,” Bakugou said studying her. While he had only seen her around a few times she always seemed very put together. Dressed in bright colors normally very girly looking with her purple ombre and perfect makeup. She chuckled awkwardly, putting some hair behind her ear.

“I don’t listen to it on the regular but the best concerts I have been to are Metal ones. What bands do you like?”

“The classes are a good go-to, Metallica, Iron Maiden, even Slayer, but I like Meshugah and Lamb of God too,” he said sandwich forgotten. At the time he hadn’t noticed it but he found talking to her so easy. Her questions always open-ended, giving him a reason to tell her about himself. Something later on he learned to really appreciate. She had a way of really listening to people and asking just the right questions to get what information she wanted.

“Oh Lamb of God is insane. They aren’t really as heavy but I have a soft spot for Mastodon.”

“Their drummer is pretty good.”

“Do you play drums?” she asked, cocking her head to one side, catching his comment.

“No, I just like songs with good drummers.”

“I’m here for a good drum solo” she nodded, “I always wanted to play but I’m also super uncoordinated.”

“It’s not that hard,” Bakugou said picking up his sandwich again taking a bite as if he was making some sort of point.

“How are you enjoying San Diego?” she asked following his social que and taking a bite of her salad.

“Well, I spent most of it in a pit.”

“Oh true, well at least you have a few days off, anything planned?”

He shook his head trying not to think about the fact that she had noticed him around too. Well, they did have that conversation two days ago at Starbucks.

“Well I recommend trying a California Burrito or any Mexican because you are here. Beaches are pretty, OH! Actually you and your friend should go to Hodad's, it's kind of a San Diego staple. What do you like to do?” her words coming out in a rush of excitement.

He shrugged, “I mostly work and train at home.”

“There are some nice hikes by the beaches.”

“You like the beach?”

“Yeah why?” she blinked, confused by the sharp question. Trying to think why he would be asking her that.

“You keep bringing it up.”

She giggled shrugging, “The ocean cleanses you. It’s calming. And I’m sure you need to relax after saving the world.”

“I’m not saving the world just your border.”

“Well, it's some people’s worlds you are saving.”

“I guess” he shrugged unsure what to say. She was right of course. That was his job. To save people’s lives and in a way their worlds.

Another lull and she poked at her salad taking a few bites. It was then he realized he didn’t know her name. Assuming it wasn’t Grape. But he had no idea how to ask.

“Ground Zero,” she said slowly, “Do you prefer that, or your name?”

“You can call me Bakugou.”

“Thank you” she paused for a moment, “You can call me Olive.”

“I thought it was Grape,” Bakugou said, deciding now that he knew it wasn’t Grape, he could poke a bit of fun at her name and their last encounter. However Olive seemed unphased.

“Oh yeah!” she burst out laughing shaking her head, “It’s kind of a joke between me and the Starbucks barista. Every time I go in she comes up with a new food name for me.”

“That’s stupid, why not just use your name?”

“ Why else does anyone do anything? Because it makes us laugh.”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Olive had fallen asleep hours ago but Bakugou couldn’t seem to drift off. With her body curled up next to his was just too much. After everything they had been through, knowing how much farther they had to go. All he wanted to do was pull her to him. Kiss her. Feel her around him. Remind her how much he loved her. How he could make her feel. Show her just how much he loved her.

It was like his body on was on fire having her that close.

He couldn’t take it.

Getting up he slowly disappeared from the bedroom going into the personal gym that was on the far right end of the hallway. If he couldn’t sleep at least he could work out. Starting with a low run on the treadmill he placed his headphones in letting the music pound through his ears. Angel of Death by Slayer blasted in his ears as he took to a fast run letting his feet rush forward. Pushing, fighting through whatever burning frustration that was trying to consume him.

Control, he just wanted something he could control.

He was lifting weights when he felt her presence. Turning he saw her standing in the doorway watching him rubbing her eyes. Arms wrapped around herself, her dark hair messy from sleep. It made his heart skip at the sight. Like some stupid highschool girl.

“Why are you up?” she asked blinking owlishly at him.

“Couldn’t sleep, just go back to bed.”

Guilt was written all over her face. She was biting her top lip studying him unsure what to do. He had seen that look before. The one where she was trying to decide to just leave it or force him to open up to her.

Letting out a long sigh he sat up wiping away the sweat from his face. “Just go back to bed, I’ll be right there.”

“I… ok” she said, slowly walking back to the bed.

After a quick shower, Bakugou went back to the bedroom to find Olive sitting up fighting sleep worry still etching on her features. “Oh stop it” he chastised, rubbing his still wet hair with a towel. Throwing it into the basket he crawled up into the bed next to her. She watched him as he settled in before finally speaking.

“How… how do we normally sleep?” she asked, determination in her voice. A force of nature. He knew that voice. She wasn’t a pushy person but she was a fighter. She was stubborn in her convictions and would do whatever she could to fix something. When they would fight he would scream and yell and she would just sit there arms crossed until he was done and then ask what needed to change. What needed to be fixed.

“You are basically on top of me” he admits knowing she will know if he is lying. Not that he ever would. He wasn’t a liar, and even if he was he could never lie to her.

She giggled at that nodding. “Eliott used to say I would chase him around the bed.” she was too tired to try and cover up his name. Dance around it.

“Yeah,” Bakugou nodded, laying down on his side. “I don’t mind.” it was more of an invitation. A prayer. He wanted to feel her in his arms again. Feel her legs tangled up in his. They used to end up in the strangest positions all twisted up so in the morning he wasn’t sure where she would begin and where he would end.

Scooting up Olive curled up into his chest. Her soft smell filled him. Sweet and clean like the color pink and summertime at the beach. Sugar covered fruit and cool water. Gently he ran his callus fingertips over her arm. Enjoying the feeling of her smooth skin and for a moment he forgot she didn’t know him anymore. That it was just another late-night cuddle session that he was being (not so) begrudgingly forced into.

Bakugou woke up to his alarm going off. Letting out a soft moan he stretched, feeling his wife’s body cuddle closer to him. Her arm draped over his chest. Looking down he couldn’t help but smile running his fingers through her hair letting the dark black and rainbow colors play as they fell onto her back.

She stirred at the sound of his alarm mumbling as she reached out feeling his body under her fingers. Letting out a content sigh she pulled herself closer only to then have her hand move slowly up his torso feeling his taut stomach and abs.

Letting out a squeak she jumped away, eyes adjusting as she fully woke up. Blinking at him as if looking at a stranger in her bed.

Which, -he painfully reminded himself- he was.

“Morning,” he grumbled slowly pulling himself out of bed. She watched him for a moment pulling herself together trying to piece together reality from whatever dream she had been waking from. She had never been a morning person. Lilly had jokingly called her Zombie Olive, warning Bakugou that she wouldn’t be fully coherent until at least 2 hours after she woke up.

“Morning Katsuki,” she said hesitantly, “did you sleep ok?”

“Yeah, you?”

“I made a few mistakes,” she smiled at him, jumping out of the bed almost tripping over the sheets that were tangled around her feet. He turned fighting back a smile.

She was still there. Slowly but surely cracking open.

After doing their morning routines the couple reconvened in the kitchen. Bakugou whipping up some eggs with furikake.

“So what are your plans for today?” Olive asked, taking a bite of her food watching him as he plated his own breakfast.

“Just work, I’ll be back late”

she nodded, “I’ll probably call Lilly and then read my books,” she flashed him a toothy grin, “I need to know what ideas I have written and what I need to get back into.”

“Good luck with that,” he said “I think it was a Western.”

“Oh really?”

“You don’t talk too much about your stories but you did tell me that.”

“Do you read them?” she asked her face slightly flushed at the thought. While she was fine with strangers reading her slutty stories she had always found it hard to have people she knew read them. It was just kind of weird. Like her stories were a different person, not really Olive. Which was why she used a pen name, Delilah Flint.”

“Not really,” he wanted to add that he had the real thing. The woman behind the stories was always up for an adventure to try new things. Why would he want to read about some dirty cowboy plowing his soulmate - or whatever - when he could just do it himself?

Not that there was a lot of that going on right now though.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The office was a bit busier than he remembered.

“Morning bro, how’s Olive?” Kirishima asked, holding up some files as Bakugou walked into their agency. Well, it was Bakugou’s agency but Kirishima shared it because they worked well together and figured why not.

“Not crying,” Bakugou said, “she seemed excited last night to read her stories since she couldn’t remember them, something about reading them for the first time.”

Kirishima chuckled, “Maybe we should have her meet Deku again, start that over again.”

Bakugou frowned at the memory. They had met at a UA reunion almost year after Bakugou and Olive had started dating. Olive had been drunk and Deku had found it hilarious to poke fun at Bakugou. Telling the first girl Bakugou had ever been interested in, about Bakugou's very angry childhood. Unfouranity for the previous number one hero he didn’t realize that Olive was a mama bear when it came to the people she loved. And even if they were in the wrong no one spoke poorly about them.

“Oh by the way.” Kirishima said, handing him some files, “We got statements from the police from the robbers. Apparently that third guy… he only spoke English.”

“What?”

“Yeah, the one who hired them only spoke English. I thought it was weird since…”

“Olive was the only one who lost her memory?”

“Her and the guards but theirs was only for a few moments.” Kirishima paused looking at the files that were slowly starting to smoke in his best friend’s hand. “Hey man… uhhh do you want me to take those?”

Bakugou felt a rage wash over him. Was this an attack on Olive? There was no way. How would someone even know she was at the mall? There had been a witness who had told the police she had helped a mother and two kids get out before running back to try to help someone else. But that was it. He had just assumed that she had run into the thieves and since they couldn’t lay their hands on her due to her quirk they used a memory wipe.

His phone dinged breaking through his thoughts. Turning he noticed that Kirishima was holding the files waving them, the edges singed slightly. Glancing down at his phone he noticed it was the very woman he was thinking about.

Olive: "Hey do you know what my computer password is?"

Bakugou: Doley11

Olive: You're the best thank you!!!

He frowned looking down at the phone then shot back another text realizing something. She didn’t know anything,

Bakugou: We have an alarm system in the apartment so don't leave I'll show you how to use it when I get back

"Ok"

Bakugou: And the stove can get tricky so call me if you need help.

Bakugou: Actually my assistant's name is Kygome.

Quickly he texted off his assistant's number

Bakugou: If you can't figure something outcall her if you can't reach me

Bakugou: But text me first

Olive looked down at her phone as the slur of texts came pouring in. From the few days, she had known Katsuki she could tell he was a man of words and less emotions (except for annoyance, he seemed to have that in spades) but… this was kind of cute. He was worried about her.

But also what had she done before to warrant this kind of worry? She was a bit of a dumbass, sure, but also-- he needed to relax.

Olive: Thank you, I'm in the computer now and lucky me I still label my password doc the same so I should be good as for everything else I'm tough I got this!

Settling in she pulled up the document titled “Dragon Dick FINAL” this looked promising. started to read.

Meanwhile, Bakugou was working with his team about maybe taking a few days off. The thought of leaving Olive alone not knowing anything starting to get to him. He needed to make sure she was safe first. He could work remotely for a few days. Besides if this guy really was after his wife he needed to make sure he kept her close.

He had already failed her once. He wasn’t going to do that again.

-GET TAGGED-

Master List

Story Tag: @0hmydeku @inumorph @it-jinxed-us @myraticm

#bakugou katsuki x oc #bakugou x you #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x oc #bakugou katsuki long fic #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki fluff #my hero academy oc #My hero academia fanfic #bnah fanfic #my writing #remember me

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five-miles-over · 4 years

Text

‘Aftermath’ Part 8: Something There (Commodus x OC)

Summary: Emperor Commodus is distraught after unnecessarily taking a life, and even more after he meets his witness.

Warning: Angst, lots of fluff at the end. (I apologize if it feels cheesy at certain points. This is honestly a bit short compared to the previous two chapters, and I promise the next ones will be much better)

Word Count: 2,041 words

Read Part 1: The Impossible Dream here

Read Part 2: Proud of Your Boy here

Read Part 3: Point of No Return here

Read Part 4: Look Down here

Read Part 5: Beneath a Moonless Sky here

Read Part 6: These Palace Walls here

Read Part 7: Wait For It here

Almost an eternity of silence had passed as Caesonia stood at the doorway of her chamber, remaining stern as Commodus turned towards her.

“Never show weakness,” her father’s voice echoed in her mind.“You mustn’t be afraid of Death. It will only get you killed.” It wasn’t the violence that scared her, but rather having been the unfortunate witness of such an act that brought internal terror. It was no secret that the emperors of Rome valued their public image and many of them would stop at nothing to preserve a persona of wisdom, justice, fortitude, and temperance.

Disappearing into her room, Caesonia backed away from him gingerly. And without a second thought, the emperor followed her. Yet Commodus found himself remaining near the threshold of the doorway to debate his next choice of words.

Perhaps it was guilt, or even fear, that could be used to describe the emotion Commodus had been afflicted with. Lucilla’s words followed him like a shadow, even as he advanced towards Caesonia. Those stinging remarks were by his side long after the vision of his sister had disappeared. What if Lucilla were correct - that all he’d ever done was push everyone he’s cared about away? Would Caesonia, his Pink Fairy, become disgusted with his violent outburst and reject him? No, she couldn’t…she was his prisoner…he held the lives of her and his father in the palm of his hand. She belonged to him.

“Ave, Caesar,” Caesonia greeted, breaking the long silence and Commodus’s string of self-doubt. “Good evening, my lady,” he replied amidst blinking with astonishment. Commodus had not expected her to be so formal or calm, after what she’d just seen. And the sight of her obediently kissing his ring brought about a sense of temporary calmness for the emperor too.

Raising her chin so that their eyes met, Commodus took a moment to study her features before asking her a question. “Am I a monster, Lady Caesonia?”

She shook her head in reply. “I want to hear it from your lips,” he quietly growled.

“You are not a monster, Caesar.”

The emperor walked towards the aging, white bed, still standing before her with an intense stare. “Do you loathe me?”

“I do not, Caesar.”

Abridging the space between them, Commodus felt a slight quiver in his tone and swallowed as he inquired his last question.

“Am I not merciful?”

The analytical side of her would’ve weighed her answer based on which would guarantee her being alive to see the next day. An outright criticism of the emperor’s ways would guarantee an execution, while agreement would spare her. Yet, as the weeks passed in her empty, incarcerated existence, Caesonia asked herself endlessly why she was still obeying every command and trying to live. Her father hadn’t fought for her; he abandoned her in a heartbeat when she fought to spare his life. Then again, if her father were dead, she’d have no place to go. For all the righteousness and virtues many emperors claimed to possess, Rome was never kind to a lonely girl.

Still, was she merely trying to stay alive because that is what she was taught - to survive at all costs? Or was she finding herself loyal to her captor? Caesonia knew why her father was in trouble, and tried for treason. He failed his duty towards the Emperor of Rome, and had to be duly punished. The Emperor accepted her offer, and was as benevolent as possible to her. Instead of the dungeons, she was given a room. Granted she was not allowed to leave said room, but it was certainly better to be alone than to be surrounded by violent, insane men who’d certainly prey upon a girl thrust into their premises. And for his seemingly kind gestures, Caesonia took it upon herself to be obedient to him in return.

“You are merciful indeed, Caesar,” she answered, barely louder than a whisper.

“No, I’m NOT!”, he wanted to scream at her. “You watched me take an innocent life before your very eyes! Why would you still address me as merciful, you deceitful girl?!” But this was not the time for screaming. Maybe this wasn’t the time to say anything.

Instead, the chamber was filled with the sounds of weeping as the emperor of Rome suddenly fell to his knees. Tears streaming down his reddening face, Commodus couldn’t control his sobs. Whether it was for the unlucky servant, the scheming senators, his discouraged sister, or even the prospect of loneliness, his cries were beyond explanation. He didn’t know why he wanted to cry, but it was all that Commodus really wanted to do.

Caesonia stood as stiff as a statue for a moment, attempting to process the tragedy unfolding before her. Let alone an emperor, a man crying openly was almost unheard of. Trembling, she slowly knelt before him and caressed his cheek in hopes of wiping his tears. To her surprise, Commodus clasped her hand, their fingers interlacing, and held it close to his face. It was as if he wanted to know if she were truly real, or merely a figment of his imagination.

“Sh-sh-shall I bring you something, Caesar?” She asked, trying to be helpful.

He looked up at her with misty eyes, longing for only one thing. Commodus swallowed again, “I am not an emperor tonight, Caesonia.”

With a deep breath, he clarified, “Let us pretend that I am a weary traveler come from afar and that you are a lovely maiden in whose arms I seek refuge.” Inching closer to her, Commodus softly asked. “Will you grant me that, radiant beauty?”

“Yes, dear traveler,” she nodded sadly. Without another word, Caesonia wrapped her arms around Commodus and held him to her chest. “My rose…,” he whispered, losing himself in her touch while he closed his eyes. The poem, Caesonia remembered, the one about a rose blooming from another rose. The unfolded parchment was on top of her pillow as she’d been re-reading it to herself lately; how kind of him to notice that, she thought.

Whispering into his dark brown hair, Caesonia said, “Sleep well, dear traveler.”

——— ———— ——— ——— ——— —— —— —— —— —— —— ——

Slightly irritated by the glare in his eyes, Commodus groaned as he shifted around in Caesonia’s lap. He had accidentally fallen asleep on the floor and now it was almost past the break of dawn.

Her hushed snores immediately caught his attention. He was surprised that she hadn’t budged all night, instead choosing to lean her head against the bed. Right now, she seemed to be almost fast asleep; not a muscle of hers moved as he rose from her lap.

Despite having admired the Sun all his life, the emperor felt a twinge of jealousy for the celestial star being the first one to brush her cheeks. Mine, he thought, she should be mine alone - to hold, to hug, to cherish… Commodus tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, marveling at how peaceful -almost seraphic- she looked. “Good morning, my rose,” he cooed into her ear while affectionately stroking her warm fingers.

“Good morning…” her voice faltered as she saw the emperor looming over her. “F-forgive me for making you sleep on the floor.” Caesonia wiped her mouth, suddenly self-conscious before him. The night was gone, and so were the traveler and the maiden.

Offering her his hand, he carefully helped her up. The two of them stood silently before each other, too hesitant to directly look at the other yet afraid of seeming weak and unnecessarily bashful. “I must go to the baths,” Commodus commented. She shakily nodded in reply. “I see.”

“Would you come with me?” he asked sternly, not wishing to let her out of his sight

“I accept your invitation,” Caesonia placed her hands behind her back and followed him out of her chamber, lowering her head. Most likely, the palace would be filled with maids and servants bustling about. Would they know that the emperor spent the night in her vicinity, or would they assume that he wanted her relocated for…penal purposes? She didn’t know; perhaps it was better to lie low than rouse suspicion.

When they reached the imperial bathing chambers, the emperor ordered for the doors to be closed. He began disrobing before the pools, letting his garments fall from his body. Caesonia averted her eyes only to be fiercely jolted by a hand on her shoulder.

“It is rude to show your back on an emperor, Lady Caesonia,” Commodus snickered, taking strange delight in her fear. He brought her here mainly because of remorse for bringing an unpleasant sight to her eyes; she deserved something to cheer her up.

His peridot eyes fixated on her, Commodus watched Caesonia dip her toes into the water. He waded gently in the pool and decided to gaze at her for a while, letting himself be consumed by her loveliness. Her soft side-glances spoke of a charming coyness, and it appeared that she had reciprocated his warm expression. After all, the baths were no place for suspicion; who would carry out dangerous plots in the baths?

Lost in her own company, Caesonia flicked her toes in the water, making little splashes. One of them wet Commodus, who turned around and raised an eyebrow at her obliviousness. Without a second to lose, he splashed her in retaliation. Her shocked eyes immediately met his mischievous ones from across the pool.

“Go on,” he goaded her with another splash.

Soon, the two of them were throwing water at each other, laughing like children, and grateful that the doors were closed. For now, the world faded away and time stood still for their innocent indulgence. In an effort to keep up with his splashes, Caesonia accidentally fell in. “Are you alright?” He made his way towards her. She nodded in return.

Her hands traced his broad shoulders as she clung to him. Commodus did his best to keep his breath steady, simultaneously bewildered and excited by being touched so tenderly. She studied him closely, running her fingertips over his slightly curved jawline and finally settling on his lips. Her thumb traced over the corner of his mouth, and in a playful manner, he pretended to bite her finger. Caesonia flinched, a fond smile forming as Commodus sheepishly grinned. “What is it, my rose?”

“I wanted to know if this was all a dream,” Caesonia confessed shyly.

“What do you think?” He asked in a hushed tone before capturing her lips in a kiss. Her lips locked with his, as if they had been separated for far too long. Caesonia daringly ran her fingers through his hair, softly yanking the cropped dark brown locks, and it was enough to arouse the emperor beyond compare. Whispering her name under his breath, Commodus kissed her deeper and tugged at any inch of fabric on her body that he could get his hands on. He wanted to have her so badly, to feel her skin against his, to make her melt with desire for him.

Their moment of intimacy was promptly interrupted by the voice of a guard outside. “Highness, your chariot to the Colosseum awaits you.” The emperor looked longingly at her before slowly making his way out of the pool, water dripping from his muscles. Caesonia followed him despite the heaviness of her soaked dress.

“Do you need…would you like help with your armor?” She asked, picking up the metallic breastplates from the floor.

“You may,” he smugly spoke. Even though he would ask for another suit of armor and a fresh set of robes the minute he reached his quarters, Commodus never wanted to reject her touch. Promptly she fastened the clasps holding the dark and shiny ensemble together.

Biting her lip, Caesonia timidly looked up at him when she finished dressing him. “Forgive me for being so bold…but I like you very much.”

“Commodus,” he finished, raising her chin to his eye-level.

“I like you very much, Commodus,” she repeated.

The emperor sharply exhaled at her confession, elated yet frightened, and tentatively stroked her hair. Perhaps Lucilla was wrong this time. For once, he felt like the hero he’d always desired to be.

#commodus #commodus fic #gladiator #gladiator 2000 #gladiator AU #emperor commodus

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mrsunderhill678 · 3 years

Text

Oh, shit... Did I write something? Woops, those demons, eh? Always possessing your fingies and making you write.

“I ain't a sinner, ain't a saint, just the result 'a my brother's choice wrapped up in barbed wire and regretful survival, and I wondah, if 'e saw me 'gain, would 'e call me Lazarus? 'E put me down and spected me ta stay, but I ain't da kinda man dat dies so easy.” - Anthony Burningsky

“Lacin' a lie with sugar is da only way ta convince a man ta consume it, mate.” - Anthony Burningsky

“We're all scars, memories and graves, wonderin' a wasteland 'a sin. And I'v found, dat redemption is a small price ta pay when you're wookin' at eternal damnation.” - Anthony Burningsky

“I can't be the only one with a loaded gun, certainties and doubts in every chamber. All I can do is spin the chamber and pray I find certainty and stable ground, but only bullets of doubt and misery pierce my skull and bleed my mind.” - Pryella Burningham

“I'm looking for the map to hope, cause I heard it's a journey, but here I am, fucking lost. In me, in doubt and everything in between, because I fear that with a family tree this sinful, I'm bound to become the very thing that scares me the most. My father.” - Pryella Burningham

“I fear the forest, yet I hide in it's shade, playing my game of Russian Roulette all on my lonesome. The ground shakes beneath me, as if it wishes to swallow me whole. And perhaps, when the dirt brings me into it's maw, and the grass waves above me, and I stand with no tomorrow, no yesterday and no today, is when I'll be at peace. Because with these memories? With these hauntings of my father's yellow smile? I fear death is my only release, and perhaps Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun is the only form of rest I'll ever receive.” - Pryella Burningham

“I have reason, the world has madness, but perhaps that is only my perception of it, slaying he who is mad only giving myself madness in return. If you have reason to your madness you're still mad, after all.” - Weston Sardisco

“This is a war of a different kind, and all I require is a six shooter followed by my wit.” - Weston Sardisco

“I'll lay my hand on the bible and say a prayer for all who lost themselves in the brutality of this world, because I, intend to find them. For I care not who you were, only who you are, and if you see me on the horizon, please, remember, do not bring up your rights, in the midst of all your wrongs. Because one hundred twenty two rights does not make a life time of wrongs, holy.” - Weston Sardisco

“You will sooner find the dirt than my forgiveness, tired sinner.” - Weston Sardisco

“I am a creature of the night, drunk on the light of the moon, dancing under it's harsh glow with the blood of the fallen spilling crimson at my feet.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“Tell me, do you fear the howl or the wolf? The man or the blade? The gun, or the bullet? Or shall you simply fear all? Because I, am a devil, dressed in robes of false silken intentions, but you don't fear the crimson on these robes, for you simply believe them to be threaded embroidery and design.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“I have romanticized the art of murder, and you should fear the man who's built a masterpiece of scarred corpses and slashed throats.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“Beg and plead, wail and confess, every road ends with me. Every life ends with me. I am a moon drunk creature, howling under the blanket of shade and stars, and you should learn, that to fear me, my friend, is a choice, but to die, is not.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“I was born in the shadows of the pine, with the world’s darkness in my mind, wondering how oh how can a man stray from his family tree, when all he could ever do is crawl? But all I did was fall into my own shadow.” - Faustina Cordoba

“If the light from the sun had a choice, it wouldn't shine upon me.” - Faustina Cordoba

“I realized I had to say goodbye to who I was, because that isn’t who I am. Farewell, young man, dapper child, you fought so bravely, but I’ll take the battles from here on out. It's tiring, being who you're not, because you're always actin', and the mask is heavy, cripplin'. So farewell to every past version of myself, you did the best you could, and I'll bleed out for you, if only ta achieve the dreams we've held so dearly but hidden for so long.” - Kadel Smith

“I've spent my life battlin' myself, and though it wasn't 'a war 'a the trenches, or bullets cuttin' the air, it was a war 'a the skin, 'a the mind. As my old pal Duke would say, "It's a daunting task, wrestlin' with oneself," and I suppose I would know the feelin. Cause that's all I's ever done.” - Kadel Smith

“If life is a war, then I've been hit by a dozen bullets, but I'll continue to walk the path with this blood in my lungs and soul, cause though I've spent so long in this world's ugliness, I can still find the beauty all around me. Like the twilight fallin' of snow whilst you're sat with an old friend on two rusted pairs 'a swings. I can find beauty in that, in life, and most importantly, in me.” - Kadel Smith

“To the world, I am cannon fodder, I suppose my purpose is to continue to drop in sprays of red and sorrow, if only for the powerful to charge in leaps and bounds, clapping for all they’ve won, and all we’ve lost. To the powerful, the rich, the world is their home and I'm just an uninvited guest, suppose in a world that doesn't care for the weak, I'll always be God damn trespassing.” - Gabriella Vaxwington

“When I come for you, with my glock, my rage and my mother's eyes, you will see all the fury she hid, you will watch the sky fall and heaven's gates shake like thunder. Cause brother, my mother's up there, with her wings and her pain, and when your blood spills on the dirt, the angels will fuckin' sing, cause my ma weren't meant ta join their ranks by your hand. But you? You're meant to join the devil, by MY, hands, and that, is fate. Or 'ow did you put it? Karma always pays her dues, and I suppose that makes me, karma.” - Gabriella Vaxwington

“Execution, the act of killing a man for a damning transgression, sometimes it takes a guillotine, or a bullet point blank range, but usually, all it takes is a single word.” - Beautler De Niro

“You can get any barking dog to bite if you threaten it's existence or the life of another, and any man in anonymity will commit the egregious deeds they'd never dream of while under the spotlight. All you have to do to put a man under your control is to put him in the dark, take a dog's feeding bowl and he'll bite anyone for a morsel, all but the hand that feeds him.” - Beautler De Niro

“You give a man half truth and he'll dive through hell to find the other half, even if it means he must burn.” - Beautler De Niro

“I am an untrustworthy man, but anyone will trust a man with a firm handshake and the same opinion as they. Trust is so easy to gain in a world of fools and cheats.” - Beautler De Niro

“All who stand up to me, fall, because they trust too easy and crumble upon the truth revealing who the villain was all along. But I propose to them a single question, if it was you who trusted the man who undid you, then who's hands was it dropping the guillotine's rope? Him, or your falsely placed trust?” - Beautler De Niro

“I do not enjoy the fight nor the battle, and though I end up victorious, it brings grief to he who loses. I would rather not fight, I would much rather offer a helping hand, but life tells me not to. It shoves a rifle in my hand and says, "By God, Bertil, by God, pull the trigger and spare yourself a moment of grief!" But I never can, not when my bullets indirectly harm those I never aimed for.” - Bertil O’Day

“To a paranoid man, every word spoken is a crime against God, and every dead end is a cliff-side. Some men pray, other's drink, me? I sit here, in my little corner 'a nowhere, and I leave well enough alone.” - Theodore Holymann

“How terrible, to ruin someone's life with your memory.” - Theodore Holymann

“I'm guilty, with cuffs round my wrists and a rope 'round my throat, so oh gravedigger, pull the lever and watch me swing, cause I'm sure as all the air leaves my lungs the last thing I'll hear is a melody 'a cheers for the damned preacher.” - Theodore Holymann

“I'm paranoid, terrified that my past'll catch up to me God damn swingin. And maybe these days, I'd take the hit and drop.” - Theodore Holymann

“Oh heavenly father above, give me salvation or death, either way I rest.” - Theodore Holymann

“Someone took a dagger to this silk heart of mine, and I guess I'm nothing but a torn curtain, these days, only small rays of light passing through me.” Alice Sharenburg

“Who would've imagined, with our Halloween masks and toy guns, that we'd be marching into war? How could it have been, that in all our childhood wonder, we found darkness?” - Alice Sharenburg

“Draw the curtains, kill the fucking lights and let us bow to the crowd. Throw your roses and cheer for the lost boys and girls, but in the end, as the story wraps up in tragedy, just remember.... When the curtains draw, and the lights dim... That's all, folks.” - Alice Sharenburg

“I stand sturdy, smelling of ash and smoke, but zis is no after affect of var. I vas destroyed by no fire of war, but a fire of ze heart, a fire wrought with passion and love. I allowed it to consume me, to burn my whole state of being and make me anew.” - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Vhen it scares jou to jour very core, and jou feel it in jour heart, zat's vhen you know it's real. Because as long as you haz love, and as long as you haz family, blood, or no blood, var can nezah vin.” - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Oh fazah, I know I followed ze path jou would never want for me, but I followed in jour blood-stained footprints, and I learned ze same lesson jou did. Ve are all human, even if we stand on ze opposing side.: - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Someone once told me, that when your demons are silent, listen for your angels. But what do ya do when all ya hear is radio static and your sins echoed in the buzz?” - Octavio Claytor

“I held onto my faith, but I guess I got butterfingers, cause my faith, my sense of self and my love tumbled from my fingers like ash and cinders.” - Octavio Claytor

“God ain't dead, he just damn well ain't here.” - Octavio Claytor

“Only the dead know a glory greater than the gods.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“A king will always find himself crushed under the weight of his decisions unless he has blood black enough to make them.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“Stand up to me, try to steal this crown reigning over my head, but all you'll ever find is that the crown was never intended for good men. The crown is for those who can handle it, the crown is for those who will enjoy the lives ended to earn it. I am death, and for all those who rise up, I am here to deliver.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“Perhaps every church is Eden, there's bound to be shade somewhere between the flowers.” - Alders Holymann

“My heart's been capsized, and it ain't rowing to shore these days. I pray, and I pray for a rowboat, but all God ever gives me is a single broken paddle. What am I to do when all the signs lead to death?” - Alders Holymann

“God, please forgive me for doubting you, I pray and I pray, but the only answer I get are my own thoughts. Is that all a prophet ever hears? I say amen, I say grace, but all I hear is the emptiness in my heart. I fear I never heard God, it was only ever me.” - Alders Holymann

“I wear this cross around my neck and it's become a rope, stealing all my air.” - Alders Holymann

“My lord, my loving father above, I ask one question. Is it better to be crushed under the weight of your trembling faith, or to go forth with no faith at all?” - Alders Holymann

“Rev this motorcycle, and send me spiralin' down the damn highway, cause if I'm meant ta crash, so fuckin' be it. Give me a grave by the road, give me a wreath and a name etched onta wood, so long as I'm underneath the dirt, hearin' the engines roar and the traffic stand still. Cause brother, my whole life's been on the road, 'spose ta me, the revvin' 'a the engine and the screech 'a the wheels is a symphony. My own broke symphony 'a burnin' track and dead ends.” - Alessandro Bones

“I live life on repeat these days, the same mile, day in, day out. And once I close my eyes, I put my engine in reverse, and wake up at the beginnin' 'a the damn highway, preparin' to rev my engines for a single mile, yet again. I don't trust myself ta go a mile further, I'd have ta face myself, and with all that anger and regret, I'd fear he'd gun me right the fuck down. I deserve it, anyway. But I ain't never had the courage to go careenin' off the side 'a this road. Don't got the courage to die burnin', prayin' ta every God. All I want, is ta die quiet in the night, empty bottle in my hand, nuthin' but a mess 'a blankets and sheets on the damn bed.” - Allesandro Bones

“I am lost, travelin' the same mile, again, and a God damn gain, cuz it's the only path I can take without resistance. And I fear resistance, cause that means a fight, and that's all I's ever done. Give me no more riots 'a the self, give me no more wars 'a the road, give me peace, or give me death.” - Allesandro Bones

“I've always told myself I was Rumpelstiltskin, spinning hay into gold, but alas, alas, the old crone has fooled himself, and he only spins hay into more hay while Rumpelstiltskin dances and laughs, holding in his arms the old crone once had.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“We've only ever fooled ourselves, it's funny how other's can catch our lies but we can never catch the ones we tell ourselves.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“If I had a dollar for every time I prayed and got an honest to God answer, I'd be begging on the fucking streets.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“I ask to be forgiven, but why? What would being forgiven do for those I have hurt? Would they look at me and say, "Oh, look at that changed man, his hay has turned to gold and his sin to faith!" Or would they simply pull the trigger?” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“I sit here with my wheel, spinning all this hay, praying one day, I'll have a pile of gold. But all I ever do is drown in more God damn hay.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“We're stars shining in the night sky, lighting up the dark knowing we too, one day will end, we'll implode upon ourselves as stars do. But perhaps, it isn't the end of the journey that matters, but the miles we walk.” - Melinda Myers

“Life can be pain, it can be cruel, but there's strength to be found in that grief.” - Melinda Myers

“I've spent my life surrounded by love, my two sons are the light of my life, they're my stars in the night sky, and I know it's my job to watch over them. To implode before them. But perhaps I'll create a galaxy in my wake, and whenever they look to the sky, and see the stars and the beautiful silence of the night, they'll smile.” - Melinda Myers

“If he's a sinner for loving that man, then let me have a talk with God. Because if someone can look at a love that beautiful, and say, "God condemns you," then they need to realize, they condemn them, God, does not.” - Melinda Myers

“If ever I returned to those I love they would call me changeling, fearing that the fairies had stolen me away in the night and swapped me with an eldritch beast that knew only the vileness of nature. But oh, can't you see? I'm crawling, ever crawling, with broken fingers and battered knees, scraping against the bloodied flowers and roses of all I'll ever be.” - Richard Notorangelo

“Legends are realities we forgot, often twisted by those in power so the common folk fear what was never real. Does that make me a myth? Or another victim of it?” - Richard Notorangelo

“I met evil when I was only a child, and oh, how I wish it hadn't been me.” - Richard Notorangelo

“My daughter, oh my beautiful little girl, if ever I crawl my way out of this garden, this maze of my own lies, throw me back in. For it's what I deserve. Shout at me, throw me to the fairies from whence I came, for I fear I am a changeling, a twisted shadow of myself, vile and cruel, sick and diseased.” - Richard Notorangelo

“I do not deserve death, for that is peace. With all this blood on my hands and these wicked deeds in my memory, I imagine, the single thing I deserve, is life.” - Richard Notorangelo

“In the end we're all by ourselves, no one follows us into the dark, not even our shadow dares.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I can't remember the intricacies of her smile, the melody of her laugh, or the beat of her heart when I laid my head on her chest. I was hers' and she was mine. Not only do I miss her, I miss the parts of myself that left with her. My heart is a wisp without her, she was supposed to be my eternity, but now life is a curse, without her.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I could have a roof over my head and the rain would still find a way in.” - Tricia Jenefine

“The only pieces of me that remain are the parts that remember her, and the parts that remember pain.” - Tricia Jenefine

“When the sun forgets to shine on you, and your shadow slinks back to it's kin, all you have is yourself and the memories that once brought smiles, but will only ever bring tears.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I'm the damsel, the dragon and the knight, and some day, I'll burn myself to cinders.” - Priscilla Sage

“I am a witch on the stake and the farmer with a torch, perhaps I too, am the flame. Of hatred, of grief, of pain, no matter what I am made of I still end only in ashes.” - Priscilla Sage

“Perhaps one day, I'll be free of myself, perhaps one day I shall be the raven, soaring through the air, singing my own happy song. And though no one but the sun shall hear me, perhaps she'll smile down at me. If only I could feel the wind rush past me as I leave everything behind. Oh how I would love to be free. But I am a cage, and what can I do when I don't have the key?” - Priscilla Sage

“I am rottin' bark and fallin' leaves, I flutter ta the soil as if it weren't my demise, and oh how I wonder why it is, always am I crushed 'neath the damn boot.” - Levina Rainbolt

“We're all guilty in some way, that's life. We lie, we cheat and we steal, but we love a helluva lot better than we hate.” - Levina Rainbolt

“Perhaps I am rottin' bark and fallin' leaves, perhaps I've been crushed under the boot more times than I can count. But I've found, that whenever I fall ta the soil, someone I love picks me up, and puts me in their favorite story book. Perhaps it ain't bout how many times ya fall, maybe it's bout who picks ya back up everytime.” - Levina Rainbolt

“I will stand at the edge of my doom and leap. From these heights I shall fall until it is my demise I receive, because it's all I deserve.” - Albus Kirk

“I am wrapped and bound in silken secrets and forbidden treasures, speaking from the tongue of a mad man, for only a mad man hides secrets from himself.” - Albus Kirk

“I could compare myself to a beast, I could give you metaphors, I could give you lies. But at the end of the day, I'm human and mad, it's what makes me so ugly and twisted, I suppose.” - Albus Kirk

“My father always told me I was meant for great things, I would build fortunes but all I built was my own misfortune.” - Albus Kirk

“We're trapped in Pandora's box, and perhaps, we're the horror they wish to keep at bay. We're a plague, an illness, but we poison ourselves. This world we live in is quite simply put, Pandora's box, harboring the horror and shade others wish not to deal with. We are the price of tranquility for others, our suffering is the price they paid to forever live in peace. We are the soldiers, we are the sheep walking to the butcher, we are the testing subjects and the victim. We are a price, meant only to be paid. So what can we ever do, but stand at the edge of our doom and leap?” - Albus Kirk

“I am the one who pulls the trigger, the one who knocks on your door and gives you only the gift of death. Peace is a double edged blade, my friend, for with true peace, comes death. And I am simply here to give you, true peace.” - Palazzo Bullet

“Most men live and die in a single day, they stay stagnant, they're a grave before they've ever stopped walking.” - Palazzo Bullet

“You should fear the man dressed in black, who has your grave freshly dug, gun in one hand, bible in the other.” - Palazzo Bullet

“Look up to the sky one last time as the dirt covers you. Pray to the fucking stars. All they'll do is continue to shine, because the world never needed you. Watch from heaven as the sun rises, without you, and watch as it sinks. Because you, aren't important, and the world simply goes on, without you.” - Palazzo Bullet

“So dance, my marionette, twist and spin, avoiding the bullets coming your way. Stay focused on the threat at hand, only to realize you weren't saving your life. You were saving it for me.” - Palazzo Bullet

“You can never stain the river crimson, the stream always runs itself clear. Life goes on, it always does, the sun sinks, the moon rises, but we still have light.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“War does not bring peace, it brings pain. A battle does not make heroes, it makes survivors. The only true thing that can bring peace, is love.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“I intend to live life as if I was meant to, because perhaps, our destiny was never grand, maybe our destiny was never war, or some higher purpose. Perhaps, our destiny was always to simply live, love, and be loved. Because that, no matter what way you put it, is a destiny worth fighting for, a destiny worth laughing for, and a destiny worth living for.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“You can think yourself high and mighty, king 'a the hill and master 'a the crop, but there's always a man willin' ta take you down. Cause there ain't nuthin' mightier than the man who watches the crown tumble from the head of the king but doesn't take the throne. The strongest message 'a all is ta kill a man, and give no reason.” - Justice Hansell

“You, my friend, are the cigarette, I'll crush you under my boot once you've lost my interest. The echoes of wolves echo in my heart, their howls ricochet in my ribcage, I am a beast by heart, and you should fear the man standin' at his own grave. Cause he don't fear death. Which means he don't fuckin' fear you.” - Justice Hansell

“My threats are promises I keep, and I fear if you try ta snag this crown from my head, all you'll find is one 'a my promises ripped inta fruition.” - Justice Hansell

“You can't swim 'gainst my tide, you will drown far before you ever reach the source 'a your damn misery.” - Justice Hansell

“I just want the rights of my corpse, to be free, to be still, to be me, to be me, to be me. But all I've learned, is that a millions scars makes me the man I'm not.” - Rin Otishiro

“My father always said hard work always pays off, good friends never grow old, and good always prosper, and oh how I wish that was true. Because my hard work has led to pain, every good friend I had is a corpse, and the good never prospered.” - Rin Otishiro

“The good ol' days vanish when the bad times come, how can I smile, when every good memory I had, is tainted with the tragic outcome that followed?” - Rin Otishiro

“Why the hell do we fear the dark when all the monsters stand in the light? They don't fucking hide anymore, man. They've come from the shadows and claimed the light.” - Rin Otishiro “I guess I've always lived just between the valley of death and the shadows of my past.” - Rin Otishiro

“You wanna know me? Walk a mile in my shoes, but don't you dare walk two, because you don't want to see what I've been through.” - Rin Otishiro

“The past exists to remind us that we’re not there anymore, we’re here, and that’s what matters.” - Renna Forbes

“My aunt has always said, she doesn't pick favorites, and maybe that's because in love, there is no favorites. Love doesn't choose who it touches, it doesn't envy those who hold more of it. It just is. It always forgives and it doesn't remember wrongs. It just exists despite the overbearing weight.” - Renna Forbes

“Cut out my heart and serve it on a silver platter for all who wish to choke on its' darkness.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“One day you'll learn there are more miles of darkness than there are stars, just because there is light, does not mean the darkness has not won.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“I am a clown, the lion leaping through the ring of fire, fearing the burns he may receive on his pelt. I, am a man of the circus, a sinner at heart, and though we are all sinners, not many take it to a higher degree.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“I fear myself, no thoughts nor prayers could save me, for if they can't save those I've killed, why should they save me?” - Mortley Dekruiful

“If I were to serve my heart on a silver platter to myself, would I choke and sputter on the shade? Would I finally be able to swallow this darkness within?” - Mortley Dekruiful

“All I can ever do is crawl away from the spotlight whilst it burns my back, and pray that the shade will bring me what little refuge it can. At least it is less blinding, but alas, just as cruel.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“We are our own beasts, and we bow to no man.” - Bortley Dekruiful

"Maybe life is a series of consequences good and bad, or maybe I'm just blind to all the dark. I don't know. All I know, is that we're only human, and placing blame only gets fingers pointed in the wrong damn direction." - Jake Bonefire

"My silence has been a chamber for too long." - Jake Bonefire

"Gods above, witness my blood spill, hear my prayers, for if the afterlife, is a cell, I, am the key." - Starburden Vaganbrok

"All it takes is one bad day, and I intend to give you a year of them in a matter of hours." - Hugo Valritten

"They say life is whatever we make it, they pump their fists in the air and cry, "We are in control of our own destinies! We are our own fate!" But then they look men like me in the eye, they laugh in my face and they say, "Get off the tracks, boy. This is a revolution, and you're in our damn way." - Corvo Crinklewick "Da hares wage war against da dogs and ask why dey are losing." Brickylda Hildengarde

"Peace and death are not the same thing." - Gunhild Brokldottir "Ow am I ta be 'eard if my screams sink to da bottom 'a my silence?" - Archie Upperton

"I'm just the same, brother, just because I was a dream, damn well don't mean I can't be a nightmare." - Zafavri Holts

"This is my end, Madusius? I believe you mistook my beginning for my reckoning, my rebellion for my downfall. You're a tyrant, and I suppose I'm the snake that crumbles the Garden of Eden." - Dayvella Ma'Vayar

“Get away with it? My boy, no one in history has ever gotten away with it! Jack the ripper's name is tarnished, Julius Caesar lies dead with a thousand knife wounds in his back! We're all doomed, creatures vying for a throne no one can ever have. I'm not here, to get away with it. I'm here, to go down in history.” - Madusius Crudelis

"I shoot and stride for the throne, I am the king above kings, the man above God. I, in of myself, am a dynasty, both a relic and the future, an idea, that cannot be killed." - Madusius Crudelis

"You, can crush, my dynasty, but you can never, destroy the idea of it." - Madusius Crudelis

"You can run from your debts, my friend, but you cannot run from me." - Lorcan O'Venefrives

"Nothing good was ever done by force." - Mortley Dekruiful

"They say you are dead to me Rolf, you are dead. But I say, I am alive, I am alive! And isn't that what frightens you?" - Rolf Lambs

"I look inside me, and see a devil's dog, howlin' at the darkest side of his own moon." - Zafavri Holts "The sun ain't gonna rise for you buddy, you just watched it sink one last time only for you to fade along with it." - Eddy Lambs

"We're in the circus, dancing, jerking and twisting away from the spotlight because the shade was always more comforting than the blinding light." - Mortley Dekruiful

"You will face a thousand tragedies before the sun fucking rises, and you ain't lucky enough for your death ta be one of em." - Zafavri Holts

"I, am where myth starts, and legend begins, but you, my friend, are where history starts." - Defforest Van Patten

"Life will hang ya from a tree and call ya three heads taller simply cause your feet are three feet off the damn ground." - Sampson O'Connel "Soldiers? Soldiers?! We're the civilians of a foreign country hiding from the fucking gunfire! But they don't care, brother, they don't FUCKING care! They'll drag us out anyway. To a firing squad, everyone is cattle." - Burasbley Highersman

#writing #author #characters #dialouge

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theangriestpea · 4 years

Text

The Killing Type | Three

Summary: Just when Lavender thought things were going great with Sweet Pea, a new girl comes back to turn to turn their entire relationship upside down. Now they have to navigate a world of drug dealers, rival gangs, and co-parenting. Sequel to Mercy Killing. <ao3> <masterlist>

Rating: Mature // Explicit

Pairings: Sweet Pea x OC // eventual Jughead Jones x OC

Warnings: Underage Drinking

Word Count: 4.9k+

A/N: This chapter went to a weird place??? Oh well. I half planned on there to be more smut but it just didn't happen lol. That's probably for the best, I've been off my game lately.

Chapter Three : The L Word

When Sweet Pea finally joined Lavender at the cake, everyone began to sing Happy Birthday while she lit the candles surrounding the double-headed snake. He watched numbly, not even hearing the song end or the cheers that came after. She had to nudge him to get him to snap back to reality and blow out of the candles after making a quick wish (even though he thought wishing on birthday candles was utterly stupid, he still had some modicum of hope).

Cheryl cut the cake, divvying out a good sized piece to everyone. Sweet Pea got the first cut and the biggest slice, though he didn’t feel much in the mood for cake. He forced himself to take a bite, watching the way his ex’s eyes lit up with anticipation. She couldn’t wait to see what he thought.

Sweet Pea forced a small smile, “this is the best cake I’ve ever had.” He said honestly, it was very good. It just felt so...wrong. And he couldn’t place why. As if he shouldn’t be eating this because she got it for him. That by consuming it he was somehow trapped in this non-relationship. Maybe he was looking too far into it.

After grabbing a cold beer, Lav sat down at an empty table with her piece of cake. She watched as various serpents danced and talked, some were playing pool while others were chowing down on cake and other snacks that had been provided. She felt an incredible amount of pride for being able to put this all together for him, the afterglow of sex leaving a kind of invincible aura around her. A protective bubble if you will.

Someone sat down across the table from her and she gave a sideways glance to see that it was Lily. Lavender sipped her beer, pretending to not feel any sort of intimidation. Lily watched her eat silently for a few tense minutes.

“You don’t see what you’re doing, do you?” She finally asked, wondering how Lavender could supposedly know Sweet Pea so well, but not know that she was hurting him. It was extremely obvious to Lily who had grown up with him. Spending nearly every day with him for over a decade made it so she knew his every tell. Sweet Pea couldn’t hide shit from her and vise versa.

Lavender sighed, annoyed with this discourse already. “What are you talking about?”

Lily straightened up in her chair, “you’re hurting him but you don’t even realize it. I don’t think you can read him as well as you think you can.”

“I know he’s upset about the breakup but we talked about it. We’ll get back together when the time is right.” Lav replied, her voice growing cold. “I don’t see why it’s any of your business. You’re the reason we broke up in the first place.”

“I understand why you did it. Because you wanted us to have a chance, but I told you I don’t want his cheating ass back. It’s my business because he’s my best friend and you’re putting him through unnecessary heartbreak because of something stupid that I said, which he gladly chewed me out for later.” Lily said, trying to get through to her. “Toni and Jug said something to me too and I apologize for what I said. Maybe you’re not using him to get better. I just jumped to conclusions because I was hurt….”

Lavender waited patiently for her to continue. However, the conversation seemed to die off there. Lav had no idea what she wanted to do now. Did she take him back now that Lily had admitted to being wrong? This somehow felt like a trap. “I want him to focus on being a father.” Lav said. “I loved mine very much and I think it’s important for little girls to have a good dad in their life...and he missed out on so much already. I don’t want to take time away from her.”

Lily couldn’t help but feel a new appreciation for the girl she had deemed “the other woman”. Here she was just trying to help them keep their family together...and all Lily had done was attack her. She let out a soft sigh, regretting how unnecessarily harsh she had been.

An uncomfortable silence fell on them as Lav watched her nemesis, Kitty Rollins, approach Sweet Pea. Her grip on her beer bottle tightened as Lily watched the scene unfold. They were standing extremely close to one another, Sweet Pea was smiling and even laughed . Lavender felt anger and heartbreak all at once. They weren’t together, she told him he could see other people, but him actually doing it….that was not something she had been prepared for.

Lily watched both Lavender and Sweet Pea, instantly figuring out what her baby daddy was doing. He wasn’t actually interested in Kitty, that was evident, but he was putting on a show as if he were. It was all to goad Lavender into some kind of reaction. He naively thought that maybe if he showed her how much she still wanted him, that she’d come back. Maybe they could stop being platonic and go back to what they had.

Kitty grabbed a hold of Sweet Pea’s jacket, and Lavender nearly saw red. She had to chug down her beer to keep from losing it. “Lav, listen.” Lily said, reaching out to put a hand on top of the other girl’s. It was a very...strange gesture to Lavender. “He’s not into her, I promise. He only has eyes for you right now. He’s trying to rile you up.”

Lavender’s eyes softened as she looked back at Sweet Pea, who had chanced a glance at her before leaning in to whisper something to Kitty. The jealousy and rage returned in an instant. Even if Lily was telling the truth, it was working . “He’ll still have sex with her.” Lav said, “He had sex with me and he didn’t even know me.”

Lily pulled her hand away. “He will pretend to, sure. But he won’t actually do it. He’s too chicken shit. I promise, if they leave he’ll just drop her off at her trailer and leave her there. Trust me, he did the same thing to girls when we were taking a break just to annoy me. He doesn’t have side chicks when he’s actively in love with someone. I think...I think we had fallen apart before July even started.” She swallowed down the lump of pain in her throat. Even though she had moved on, it still hurt quite a bit when she thought about it.

Lav was staring at Lily now, eyes as wide as saucers. Her and Sweet Pea had never used the L word with one another. They weren’t ready. It was too big of a step. And while Lav had deep rooted suspicions that she did love Sweet Pea, she was almost sure that he didn’t love her back... at least, not romantically.

“He...loves me?” She asked, still not believing what Lily had just said. The brunette was unperturbed. Sweet Pea was terrible at saying those three words so it wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t told her how he felt. She also wondered if Lavender also had similar issues admitting to her feelings.

“Shanna,” Lav flinched at the use of her real name. “Trust me. No one knows Nathaniel better than I do. If he didn’t love you, then he would have gone out and banged the first chick he came across the night you broke up with him.”

Lav bit her lip, nearly giggling at finally knowing Sweet Pea’s real name. He would never tell her it, even after many nights of begging and trying to seduce it out of him. “Do you think...he could be a dad to her and a boyfriend to me?” She asked, her voice obviously unsure.

Lily smiled softly, “you’ll never know until you let him try.”

The purple haired girl stood, leaving her trash at the table for the time being as she sauntered over to Sweet Pea. He was giving her a curious look as he allowed Kitty to press her body against him. “ Nathaniel ,” Lav said sweetly. Kitty’s head snapped to look at the shorter girl, eyes narrowing into a glare. Her nose was now permanently crooked thanks to Lav’s little stunt when she first became a Serpent.

Sweet Pea grit his teeth, anger flaring at the sound of his name. Lily, he thought icily, looking to his ex as she waved with a huge smile on her face. His eyes shifted back to Lav who was completely ignoring Kitty. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“You’re not together anymore, Northside slut, back off.” Kitty hissed. Sweet Pea’s gaze hardened as he pushed her away from him. He knew how the Northsiders at Riverdale constantly called Lav demeaning names such as slut or whore after her attack. They didn’t know what really happened, and the rumors made it seem like she was gang-banged consensually by a bunch of Ghoulies.

He never stood for anyone calling her either word, because he knew how much it had destroyed her esteem. “Back off, Rollins.” He hissed at her, no longer wanting anything to do with the black haired girl. He put an arm around Lav, his large hand finding the small of her back so he could lead her away.

Though Lav was stricken by the insult, she pretended to brush it off as if it were nothing. She understood why Sweet Pea took the defensive stance and appreciated it greatly. He had even forgotten that she had called him by his real name. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I’ve been an idiot about this whole thing.” Lavender said admittedly, her cheeks dusting with a shade of pink. “Lily...Lily talked to me and she’s right. I shouldn’t be hurting you like this.” He made a face, not liking that she had called him out on his feelings. “I was just worried that I’d take you away from Daisy, but I should have at least let you try to figure out how to balance us.”

He let out a pent up breath, nodding his head slowly. “So what does this mean? You want to get back together?” His heart seemed to be thudding painfully in his chest, as if it were burst free at any moment.

She turned to face him, looking up with those big hazel eyes that drew him in every time. “I know this has been really weird for both of us, Lily and Daisy coming back into your life. But I think...I really think we can work through it. So, if you want me to be your girlfriend again then I would lo-” She cut herself off, “then I would be extremely happy.”

Sweet Pea stared at her, his feelings all jumbled together like a poorly wrapped skein of yarn. “So we’re dating again?” He asked, a bit confused by her rambling.

Lav let out a frustrated groan, “yes! We’re dating again!”

He couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face, his heart pumping full of joy as he leaned down to kiss her with her small face in his hands. She sighed into the kiss, moving her lips against his until Fangs came up and slapped Sweet Pea on the ass.

“Dude!” Sweet Pea snapped at him, not liking the interruption.

“Are you two fucking again or what?” Fangs asked, a stupid smile on his lips. “Because I’m kinda over this whole broken up thing. Not that I don’t love sleeping with you in my arms, Lavie.”

Sweet Pea made a face at him and Fangs quickly changed his tune, “platonically, Sweets. It was a joke.” Sweet Pea rolled his eyes and pulled Lav close to him in a possessive way.

“Anyway,” Fangs said after rolling his eyes. “Let’s celebrate! Drinks on me everybody!” He yelled out, making the crowd cheer.

“Fogarty, I pre-bought all the alcohol you idiot.” Lavender said, a cute pout on her face. “Stop taking credit for my generosity!”

Fangs smirked before walking off, waving his hand at him in a goofy goodbye. “Jerk.” Lav muttered playfully before looking back up at Sweet Pea who had been staring down at her.

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.” He mumbled at her, a blush creeping up his neck. “Thanks Rhodes.”

“You’re welcome, Pea.”

The party went on fairly late into the night. As things were starting to wrap up, Lavender noticed that Lily had disappeared even though the rest of their core group was there helping to clean up. “Where’s Lily?” Lav asked Sweet Pea who just sighed.

He ran a hand through his hair, “she keeps disappearing at weird hours. She left about forty-five minutes ago, told me to pick up Daisy and apologized for making me watch her on my birthday. She said she had something to do. Who has something that important to do at two in the morning?”

Lav frowned, seeing a foreign look on his face. If she didn’t know any better, then she would have thought that it was distraught strewn across his features. “You don’t know where she goes?”

“No.” He replied, his tone erring on the side of anger. “She just tells me to watch Daisy and leaves. Sometimes she’s gone for hours.”

Lav threw the trash she had in her hands away, “maybe we should follow her one day.” She looked up to see his thoughtful expression.

“You’re right, Shanna.” She grimaced at her name, “next time we’ll follow her and see where she goes.”

She pulled him down for a quick kiss. “Can I spend the night with you? I don’t want you to be by yourself on your birthday.”

He smirked at her, “technically my birthday ended at midnight. But if you think you can handle a crying baby waking you up in the night, then sure.”

Lav couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “I should have known you’d adjust to that quickly seeing as I used to be that crying baby waking you up all the time.”

Sweet Pea’s gentle smile turned into a disapproving look. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.” He said, not liking her speaking negatively about the aftereffects of her trauma. “You’re not a baby.”

She looked up at him through her thick eyelashes. “I’m your baby.” She said cutely, trying to lighten the mood.

He rolled his eyes at her before letting out a sigh of defeat, “yeah, yeah. I guess you are. Hurry up, Princess, so we can go home.”

With the help of the others, they finished cleaning up the Wyrm and packing up the leftover food. Lavender told Sweet Pea she’d meet him at his trailer since they drove separately and she still had his key. Luckily she knew she still had some clothes stashed over there from when they were dating previously. It just seemed stupid to take it all home when they’d get back together eventually.

When she arrived, she put the food away before retreating to his bedroom, ignoring all of the baby toys strewn across the living room and hallway. She changed into one of his t-shirts and stretched out on his bed as she waited for him to join her.

About ten minutes later, Sweet Pea arrived with a sleeping Daisy. Since it was so late, she was in too deep of a sleep to wake up when he picked her up and brought her home. He put her in her crib and turned on a night light before going into his room.

He couldn’t help but grin at the familiar sight of Lavender on his bed wearing his clothes. The shirt swallowed her whole and looked more like a dress than anything. She glanced up from her phone and smiled back at him. “Hey, birthday boy.” She said, “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s not your birthday any more.” She added sarcastically.

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes at her as he got undressed, stripping down to his boxers before turning off the light and laying down beside her. Lavender planted her face into his hard chest as he arms wrapped tightly around here.

They laid in silence for a few moments before she broke it. “Where do you think she’s going?” Lav murmured. He could barely hear her as her voice was muffled by his skin. She always seemed to smother herself against him whenever she got the chance. He had no idea how she could possibly comfortably breathe.

“I don’t know.” Sweet Pea said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “She’s been different since she got back. She’s always in a shitty mood. Yells at me any chance she gets. I know that I hurt her and that I deserve it but...I don’t know, something just doesn’t feel right.”

Lavender let out a small hum in response, unsure of what to say. “You should thank her.” She said finally and she felt him tense up against her.

“For what?” He asked, confused by why his girlfriend would suggest such a thing. “She broke us up.”

“Maybe,” Lavender replied, moving her head slightly so he could hear her better, “but she also got us back together. I probably would have still been trying to prove something to her if she hadn't apologized to me. I guess you and the others laid into her pretty badly for what she said.”

His grip on her tightened. “I told her she was a jealous idiot.” He hissed. “And that you were going to therapy. And...that you still need protection.”

“What are you talking about? We took care of the Ghoulies.” Lavender replied, not understanding. She had been in the clear since the dust settled after taking out the last three.

“The Ghoulies want revenge, Shanna.” Sweet Pea said. “They’ve been making threats again. Jughead may have gotten a lot of them locked away for the time being with that stupid race, but they’ll be out sooner rather than later. It won’t be good.”

She attempted to pull away from him but he wouldn’t let her, keeping his arms firmly in place. “Are you saying they’re after me again? Sweet Pea, why didn’t you tell me?!”

He could feel her heart rate spike through their chests, hear the impending terror in her voice. “They’ve got a score to settle with you, but we won’t let it happen. Okay? Fangs and I have been watching you day and night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked in a pathetic tone, no longer fighting against him.

“Because if I had then you would have been too scared to sleep and when you don’t sleep you’re an impossible bitch to be around.” Sweet Pea said, “Nothing is going to happen. We’ll watch out for you.”

Lavender huffed, her heart still racing. She attempted to shove her fear outside of her mind, tried to will herself to calm down. At least she felt safe there, in his bed with him holding her so tightly that she could barely move. It was better than being home alone. Hell, it was even better than sharing a bed with Fangs like she often did during her and Sweet Pea’s time apart. The thought of them being together again was the only thing that allowed her to slowly drift to sleep.

The next day, the young Serpents decided to go to the quarry to relieve some stress that had been building due to rising tensions with the Ghoulies. Lavender had opted to wear a sundress that was long enough to cover the tops of her thighs where her scars were. She was lounging in the sun, sipping a daiquiri that Fangs had made for everyone before they left. He filled as many thermoses as he could find to keep them from melting too fast.

Sweet Pea had bought her a new bikini so that she couldn’t use the excuse that hers no longer fit. He wasn’t totally clueless and the biggest sign that she was having body issues were the photos she had given him. Her scars had been barely visible when he knew they were thick bands of stark white against her skin. Either Toni had edited the photos or she had covered her scars with makeup. He assumed the latter.

Lavender made the excuse that she didn’t feel like swimming so she was just going to sit on the shore. She wasn’t about to go in front of everyone wearing nothing but a skimpy bikini. Though she quite loved the one he had bought for her, she simply wasn’t ready.

He walked up, dripping wet as he sat down next to her. She smiled at him softly and offered him her drink, which he took and gulped down. “The water feels great. You should go in.” He said, pretending to be oblivious to her concerns. “It’s not too cold like you thought it might be.”

She frowned, not wanting to argue with him but not wanting to go in either. “Maybe later.” She murmured. “Daisy really likes the water, huh?” She asked in an attempt to change the subject.

They watched the little nine month old, held by her mother, splash around in the water. She was giggling and babbling, making all kinds of happy noises. The others all had smiles on their faces as well. They didn’t seem to notice either teen on the bank.

Sweet Pea did not allow for her to deflect the conversation. He stood back up and quickly scooped his girlfriend into his arms. Lav grappled with him, attempting to get away as she knew what he was about to do. “Sweet Pea! Stop! Put me down!”

“No, you’re going to have fun with us.” He said angrily. “You’re not going to sit over here by yourself like a loser anymore. Christ, even Jones is out there instead of being a wet blanket.”

They came closer to the water and Lav continued to struggle, doing anything she could to get away. Anything besides physically hurting him, which she really did not want to do. “I mean it, Nathaniel, put me down!”

“Okay, Shanna.” Sweet Pea said, dropping her suddenly. She realized her mistake when her body hit the water. She screamed again at him as she righted herself as quickly as she could.

“You are such an asshole!” She screeched, attempting to storm back to shore, however he stopped her by standing in front of her. Any time she tried to get around, he’d move to block her still.

“You’re going to swim with us.” He said firmly. “Or else.”

She rolled her eyes, “Or else what? I’m not a child!”

He leaned down to whisper to her, “Or else I’ll hold out on you, baby girl. Don’t forget, I know just how much you need me to get you off.”

Lavender stopped, her face heating up even though she knew the others couldn’t hear him. “Prick.” She hissed before sinking down into the water. “I hate you.”

Sweet Pea merely shrugged nonchalantly, “sure you do. Why don’t you take your dress off so it doesn’t get ruined.”

She glared at him, “It wouldn’t be ruined if someone didn’t drop me into the water!”

Fangs swam over to them, grabbing Lav by the waist. “I can unzip you!” He said, a giant grin on his handsome face. “I’ll take it to shore. I gotta take a leak.”

“I’m not taking my dress off!” She snapped at the two of them as she tried to get out of Fangs’ grasp. It wasn’t much use, he was too strong for her and the water resistance made it ever harder to struggle.

“Take it off, Fogarty.” Sweet Pea said darkly.

Lavender began to panic, her eyes flooding with tears that made both boys stop their harassment. What Sweet Pea hadn’t intended was triggering her with his order. Her mind jolted into the darkness of a flashback from that night.

“God damn it.” Sweet Pea huffed as he pulled her into his arms to try and calm her down. She only struggled against him, hitting his chest as hard as she could until he let her go. She swam around him and took to the shore, grabbing a towel before running into the forest.

“Good job, asshole.” Lily said and Sweet Pea noticed that everyone was glaring at him. He groaned and turned, about to go after her when Lily stopped him. “Don’t. You’ll make things worse. I’ll go while you play with Daisy.”

Sweet Pea reluctantly took his daughter into his arms as Lily, Toni, and Cheryl all went to go after Lav. Fangs and Jughead were quiet, watching them go. A heavy silence fell on them as Sweet Pea bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to scream until his lungs gave out or punch something until it reduced to tiny little pieces. He had been so good at not triggering her. He hadn’t stepped on a landmine in months . All that work vanished in a split second when he pushed her too far. Christ, why did he always take things too far?

In the woods, Lavender had found a large rock to curl up on as she cried. She didn’t soften her sobs, not realizing that she had been followed. She let herself break down into a soggy mess, unable to form a coherent thought. She could feel their knives gliding across her skin. Her clothes rip off her body. The sheer pain and terror all came back as strong as the night it happened.

“Lavie,” A soft voice broke the sounds of her crying. Lav shrunk against the stone, turning so her back was to the person who called her name. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. It was embarrassing.

She felt Toni’s arm wrap around her shoulders in a soothing gesture. Lav’s body tensed, unwilling to relax against anyone in the moment even if it was her best girlfriend. “It’s okay, you’re not alone. We’re here.”

Lav did her best to stifle her sobs. She hiccuped back tears as she finally leaned into Toni’s side for comfort. She felt guilty for ruining their fun. “I-I’m sorry.” She managed to stutter out. “I-I didn’t mean.”

“Do not apologize, Purpura Serpenta.” Cheryl said in a calming tone. Lav felt her arm wrap around her waist. “You did nothing wrong.” She added. “That buffoon of a boyfriend of yours is at fault.”

“He didn’t mean to.” Lavender said in a weak attempt to defend him. She didn’t sound like she believed herself.

Lily sat down behind her, resting her back against hers. “He was being an idiot.” She said in a frustrated tone that was totally directed at him and not the crying girl behind her. “Obviously you didn’t want to swim, he should have just left you alone.”

“It’s not that…” Lav mumbled, “I did want to.”

Toni squeezed her shoulder. “You can tell us, Lavie, it’s okay.”

“They’re so ugly.” Lav murmured, nearly breaking down again. “I don’t want anyone to see them.”

The other three were silent, unsure of what to say. Toni and Cheryl continued to hold her as Lily kept their backs touching for her own show of support. “I know it’s not the same but...I feel like my body is a disaster after pregnancy.” Lily said, hiding her face so they couldn’t see how embarrassed she felt to admit it. “My stomach isn't back to where it used to be...I’ve got these gross stretch marks that won’t ever go away. I just wish it could have gone back to what it was before Sweet Pea knocked me up.”

“I wish I was taller.” Toni confessed. “Also not the same, but I hate being so small. No one takes me seriously until I punch them or pull out my knife. It’s such a headache.”

“I love your height.” Cheryl said with a small pout. “It’s perfect to me.”

Lavender began to breathe normally again as she slowly crawled back up from the depths of her inner hell. “I shouldn’t have run away with the Ghoulies giving threats...I’m such an idiot.”

“We wouldn’t let you come out here alone.” Toni replied, pulling her closer. “So don’t worry about that. Even when Sweet Pea and Fangs are being complete jerks, we’ll always have your back.” The other two girls murmured an affirmative.

After a few beats of silence, Lavender uncurled herself from the rock. “We should go back. Before the boys hurt themselves somehow.”

Lily snorted, “dumbasses.” She stood up and offered her hand to Lavender who reluctantly took it. She smiled at her warmly. “You know the best way to get back at him?” She asked, a devious glint in her eye that did not match her smile.

Lav blinked, “what?”

“Just ignore him. He can’t take it. It drives him absolutely crazy.” Lily said, trying her best not to giggle. “I used to do it any time he annoyed me or pissed me off. He’ll be begging for attention in minutes.”

A small smile broke across Lav’s lips. “Okay. Why don’t we both do it?” She asked. “It’ll be twice as much punishment.”

Lily couldn’t help but laugh at the idea, “brilliant, let’s do it.” The two linked arms before returning to the quarry, completely ignoring Sweet Pea, Fangs and Jughead the rest of the afternoon.

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clansayeed · 4 years

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Bound by Choice ― II.ii. Behold, the Dawn

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The armies of the faithful purge the catacombs with fire. Serafine uses that light to discover the darkness hidden at the heart of their community.

[READ IT ON AO3]

This the chaotic dance with which he is all too familiar. This the slaughter of his kind — his kind, but not his people. They will never be his people. This the bloodshed that has consumed him, fueled him, ignited the flames of war at his heels ever since the Crusades.

All around him motions of life, motions of death; that he cannot even stand the briefest moment to appreciate the beauty of it is beautiful in itself.

Behind him; rusted metal coiling tight, creaking wood struggling to hold together, the sheen of sharpened blades scraping against one another as the bolt is drawn—loaded—fired.

Cynbel waits until the last possible second to catch the bolt before it sinks home in his heart. He would kiss it for luck had he the inkling — but he doesn’t need luck.

Metal-tipped crossbow bolts; fashioned tough and as tempestuous as to whom they belong. Designed to puncture even the finest of armors — meant for the enemy.

Because he wants to savor in the first of his victories for the night Cynbel makes sure to rip off the breastplate first. Casts it aside no better than maiden’s veils in what good it does the knight; in how effective it is in stopping his adversary from spearing him through with his own weapon.

The helmet goes next. Young eyes wide in panic and young lips stained with blood and spittle yet he feels nothing for this child on the cusp of manhood. Why would he? The butcher does not feel for his supper.

Cynbel smears his tongue flat and wet across the young man’s chin. Tastes the salt and fear in his blood brimming near to a boil and it makes him hard.

Though most of it is wasted — spills on flagstones beside the slick shine of oil. The color, though, is a welcome accent on his damned finery.

Victory runs red along his teeth and he pulls his hand free from the bled meat. Lets him collapse to the floor to join his blood. Unlikely that he’ll live unless the Knights have discovered a miraculous way to shove ones organs back inside their bellies.

But they are only as fun as they are alive. So he moves on to the next. The crossbow yields, splinters apart underfoot.

A high-pitched cry sounds to his right — Cynbel turns just in time to see the youngling from earlier, Marcel, launch himself with bared fangs and eyes that match the blood staining his coat at another Knight.

The Knight braces for a light impact, perhaps even to catch him mid-flight. But what collides is much heavier than they anticipated and the pair go flying across the ballroom.

The chaos is stifling. The smoke clinging to the Gothic ceilings is, too. A sign of fires raging somewhere in the distance and, knowing the Holy Knights, growing closer. Meant not to choke them but to burn them alive; to trap them in with the rest of the dead here.

Beautiful, rapturous carnage.

And it means nothing without them at his side.

Cynbel doesn’t have to call for them — his heart leads him bound and chained to where it belongs. To his lovers; to the reason all this has come to pass.

To Isseya — who rips a head clean from its neck helmet and all. Who stands in perfection among a growing pile of bodies of the dead and dying without a stain on her.

To Valdas — the thrill of the hunt ignited like the burning catacombs despite all of his past protests. Whose nails and frilled sleeves drip ichor where two hearts beat their last in his unyielding clutches.

The distance between them all ceases to exist when the Trinity look up — when they find one another in the fray. Fascinating; how the look of a lover can bend the very laws of reality like that.

As glorious as they look naked, he’s starting to prefer them drenched in the blood of their enemies. As if he didn’t already.

But any hope of union is quickly dashed at the echo of battle cries on hollow bones. As many Knights as have already been dealt with there are more on the way. More than he accounted for — but hindsight meant nothing to the dead.

Masques scatter the floor, the ashes of their owners kicked up in the frenzy. Cling to boot heels and skirt hems and catch on their tongues. The last wish of the fallen to be carried with the victors into battle.

No rest for the wicked — a new wave of clanging iron erupts and Knights pour in from all sides. Faceless foot soldiers frantic for fame. For the glory that comes with their oh-so-noble purpose of ridding the world of vampire kind one by one.

The Holy Sacred Knights of the Rising Dawn have come ready for war.

And war they shall receive.

Isseya dances aside, the breeze of a blade missing her just so. And hellion that she is the vampiress grabs the sword by the opposite end and wrenches it from its owner’s grasp — returns it to them generously and all the way to the hilt.

She kicks the fleshy sheath astray, shouts “Cynbel!” with barely restrained delight, and tosses him the weapon. Caught with the ease of a master of both the blade and her love given with it.

He decapitates the nearest Knight with his back turned.

It is a dance the guests know as well as—if not better than—the Prestige Waltz. One that consumed many of their mortal lives — and their mortality with it. And one that follows them now in death. With the collective experience and knowledge of the battlefield in this room alone how could the Knights even imagine victory?

“Seal the West! Let none flee!”

There was fleeing? Who would be foolish enough to flee from such decadent bloodshed?

Only when the words finally ring in his ears as more than another wail of death does Cynbel turn and see a huddle of vampires being led to safety by none other than Serafine herself.

Though blood has saturated the oil spilled it still ignites when a Knight tosses their torch to the ground. A towering blaze alighted that races in winding tendrils from one end of the hall to the other and claims two of the doorways.

He can feel the heat licking at his skin even from a distance. Watches the cries of shock, anguish; agony when those unfortunate souls trapped in the midst of escape are consumed in the threshold. The rest forced back.

Well that’s a new development.

By the time they realize the Knights plan to corral them inside the ballroom like a tomb it’s too late. It’s already happening.

Serafine directs those left to staunch the flames as best they can. Capes and cloaks and skirts torn carelessly to smother what they can. But that leaves them open — vulnerable. Three felled by one Knight alone in a cloud of ash.

And with no time to savor the victory; not when the Godmaker tears the human in two with his bare hands.

“Monsters! All of you!”

The sight is stunning enough to still Cynbel, momentarily taken aback, before a crack and the clatter of armor sends him staggering backwards to avoid being toppled by the dead Knight.

Valdas, glare now too close for comfort; something that makes him feel like a scolded child, joins him in standing over the fresh corpse.

“You seem to have underestimated your adversary, darling.” Says his god through gritted teeth.

“What,” so cocky, so certain, “not having any fun?”

He knows the anger is not for those who have been lost but for the overwhelming number surrounding them. For two of their exits blocked by fire and their chances of escaping before the fight is done now all but dashed.

With a grunt Valdas pulls them together; the kiss as nourishing as it is reassuring. Tongues tangled, tasting the blood of their enemies in each other’s mouths until only pleasure is left.

“I forbid you from dying tonight. Forbid you from denying me the satisfaction of punishing you for your arrogance.”

Oh the things that voice does to him. “Yes, divine one.”

“You choose now to fuck, of all times?!”

Both heads turn as Isseya spits a chunk of the enemy’s throat to her feet. Cynbel erupts in laughter, staggers when Valdas pushes him back and has to quickly gain balance before he trips over another body.

“Jealousy does not match your dress, beloved!”

“Nor desperation, yours!”

Even in the fray she is as sharp of tongue as she is of wit. In times like this it feels like the old days; where bloodshed and war are as common as regalia and waltzes.

Easier, then, to forget that they are not alone.

“We must retreat!”

“One step back, Westbrook, and I will take your head myself.”

“My love…”

“I will not abandon our people!”

A trio of their own; the Godmaker, his Bloodqueen, and the soldier. That they could even consider retreating in the middle of all this sours the blood on Cynbel’s tongue. But even he would be fool to deny this… this is more than he expected from the Knights.

Perhaps he may have miscalculated a bit.

“Gaius, mon cher! Everyone! Allez, viens!”

The sacrifices of the lessers have not been in vain. Flames staunched by cloak and foot, Serafine calls from the blackened doorway with soot in dark stains across her face and blood dripping from her red lips — the body fresh at her feet still twitching in vain.

A hand closes tight around his upper arm, makes Cynbel look back to see the stern face of his Maker resolute.

“If we run now, they win! This could all have been for nothing!”

“If we stay, it surely will be.”

But the decision is already made for him as Isseya speeds to their side and takes each of them in bloody hands. The look she gives him nothing less than frustrated desperation.

The memories it brings back haunt him still; nightmares like reliving the terrible past over and over again.

Ash grinds like glass against their foreheads come together; tastes harsh on her lips in the bruising intensity of her kiss. “You cannot control everything,” she echoes, far more important now than in the innocence of mere hours ago, “but you can control this.”

This. Their escape.

“Rragh!” He whips the sword in hand with blind fury. Watches it lodge itself in the stone and sink deep.

They comfort him because they know his choice. They know him; his mind for strategy, his acute sense for war. And they know he would never risk their lives for the sake of his war.

They already have him spirited away from the center of the carnage by the time he realizes his feet are moving.

A look back—only the bodies of the enemy remain before they, too, are consumed too bright in fire. Flames leaping from table to table, catching on long tapestries woven in recognition of a victory they assumed with naivete.

The ashes of their fallen mingle with burned wood. He watches until he can no longer; sees the dark shapes of those still left to pursue them begin to amass at the other end of the hall.

His victory — gone up in flames.

“We can lose them in the labyrinth!” cries Serafine from up ahead, where the voices of the desperate meet her; their shepherd.

They will have to. The rattling sound of armor-clad footsteps grows louder with every wasted moment. The acrid smell of burning oil curls his lips back.

Even in the flames Cynbel had nothing to fear. Not with his beloveds in his eye and at his side. But when the chaos becomes too much, when he feels their hands slip from his grasp, fear takes her opportunity and slips into the dual voids left behind.

No. No no nonono—

“Valdas! Valdas! Isseya!”

“Cynbel?!”

“Cynbel!”

The threat of breaking his neck — head whipping back and forth to see them hoarded down different passages — means nothing. Let it snap. Let him pass through this terrible loss unconscious; unaware.

Bring them back to him. Bring them back!

His height; a blessing and a curse — keeps them in his sights but he can do nothing through the throng of panicking survivors as they are each pushed in different directions. As they become just another movement in the mass of darkness.

Smoke burns at his eyes but he keeps them open for as long as he can. Knows the tears are not for his own pain but for the pain that comes when the cord that keeps them as one strains, frays, and threatens to snap.

“—sieur! Monsieur!”

High-pitched panic breaks through the thundering of his three hearts. Draws Cynbel down with a small pale hand to the face of a cherubim’s devil.

“Monsieur!” The child Marcel cries again, this time it works to bring him from his own pit of despair.

They are not dead yet.

“I cannot find him!” he wails, “I cannot find Banner!”

“Wh-Who?”

Tear-tracks break through the soot on his round cheeks and really, really he does not have the time for this. Yet as he looks around they are nearly alone — left behind in his panic to rip himself in two and carry each part of him to where his lovers now wander.

They will endure. They have always endured.

And should his pride, his hubris be the reason they are taken from him in this life then he would not hesitate to seek them swiftly in the next.

“Marcel, petit!” A familiar voice calls from the other end of the skull-lined corridor; turns both heads to where Serafine beckons them from around the curved path.

At the sight of her the young vampire’s eyes alight, a cry of “Serafine!” leaving wet on his lips as he rushes to her. Tugs Cynbel along with.

There is no ignoring the suspicion that clouds the woman’s face when they meet. Darkness in her eyes, on the downturn of her lips where blood dries and flakes around her mouth.

He doesn’t have to ask what makes her so. Their brief moments leading up to the climax of the night still hanging, unfinished, between them over the child’s head.

A thousand questions, accusations unspoken. Pushed aside by the urgency of the hour.

“They mean to seal us off in the crypts. We must find a place to surface.”

“Banner—Kamilah—Serafine I cannot find them!”

She gently pries his grip from her skirts and cradles the boy’s cheeks. “No doubt Gaius protects them both, petit. Come, we must go now.”

Were the boy not between them Cynbel isn’t certain Serafine would not have left him behind. Yet with both of their hands in his he now leads the charge with fervor.

The farther they run from the grand hall the less they should smell the blood and smoke. Or so reason would dictate.

But this is not a reasonable time for anyone trapped beneath Paris; alive or undead.

With every turn the smoke chokes them harder; grows blacker and more like a disease than the omens before it. The gaping eyes of the skulls that witness their escape seem to bear down on them larger and larger with every step. We see you, they say, we welcome you — whether you want it or not.

But this—this flight of theirs—goes against his very nature. He can only succumb to it for so long. And when they catch sight of gleaming silver armor at the end of the corridor, when Serafine pushes Marcel behind her with a cry for him to double back, to change their direction, it is no longer a nature he can deny.

“Go,” he snarls, and does not rush to meet them, “get him to safety. Yourself, as well.”

“As much as I am growing to desire your true death…”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Martyrdom does not suit you, Monsieur D’or.”

“I find too much pleasure in survival to be a suitable martyr.” He throws a look back her way; sees the resisted smile on her lips. Offers up one of his own…

“Go.”

They both know he hears the falter in her footsteps at the end of the passage. The rustle of her skirts as she turns to watch the collision between them. But there is no savoring this victory without them at his side — he can’t imagine even the thought of it.

The way he tears into them is animal. Cracks and crumbles the skeletal walls and leaves their bodies to rot, decay, and soon bloom new skulls to join them. Save the one he takes in hand and crushes with a wet noise between his palms.

What did she expect to see?

“You tackle them as one with experience.”

He blows a strand of hair from his eyes. “Mademoiselle, may you learn this lesson soon; experience is the only thing that separates the likes of us from those already dead.”

But even as he shoves her back the way they had come, he can feel the burn of her gaze. “The Knights and I have tangled before, yes. Their order changes names, locations, ranks; but they are always the same. Always with the same holy doctrine.”

He follows her turn — the scent of their companion caught but waning fast.

“The eradication of our kind.”

“Most ardently. Their resources are vast, those who line their coffers may not even know to what end their gold meets. I assume you know of the oh-so-charming King Coppernose.”

Serafine’s eyes widen. “Truly?”

“There was a reason he chose such a… publicly gruesome execution for dear Queen Boleyn.”

His left hand closes tight on instinct. Craven for the beloved that is not there. But just because he cannot see Isseya does not mean she is back beneath the sword. And only because it is here — only because she has seen his weakness firsthand, Cynbel allows himself a shuddering exhale. “The influence of the Knights at the height of their control of England. Though his death led to a division of funds and they turned their sights to Spain shortly after.”

Weak are they who gossip like follies in the midst of the chase. The silence that follows stretches out — but only their rustling footsteps fill their ears.

“You speak as if they have come close to —”

“Once —” —the acrid air burns through his nostrils; pain a startlingly useful motivator— “— and never again.”

With as much as humanity has changed in the past centuries it’s not unlikely someone of the Lady Dupont’s age has come across their persistent enemies. Maybe not in name, maybe not en masse, but somewhere along the line surely.

Cynbel, however, refuses to lie in wait for their inevitable collision. He seeks them out; has done to the protests of his beloveds for decades now. In England — now here in Paris.

“I would hardly be surprised if there was not an alliance among them—those feeble rulers. They’re so easily frightened of anything that might protest their power. Power they claim is theirs by divine right — the arrogance…

“And our very nature calls that divinity into question, does it not?” He waits for an answer but none comes. Fine with him. Valdas and Isseya — they’ve grown bored with his constant complaints of the Knights and their machinations. Fresh ears to help pass the time.

“And in that fear… came the numbers to bolster their forces. Masses desperate for something to believe in. For answers to reach out to them; a light in their dark, pitiful years.”

“A congregation for your sermon then…” she mutters under her breath, but luckily such things are easily ignored.

“What we lack in numbers our kind makes up for in strength. You saw the ballroom — you partook in it! Glorious battle, victory against the multitudes of dispensable faithful.”

“What victory is there in the losses we suffered?”

“No doubt their losses were far greater in number.”

“So callous, your regard for life.”

“Why would I care about a few meager vampires?” Cynbel’s grin is wry. “Especially those who were so easily struck down.”

The shape and breath of their masques meant nothing. They were always insignificant. Would always be so. Extinguished wicks in comparison to the holy flames of his god and beloved.

Serafine; only under his protection for the consequences possible. Proving herself less and less the more she fixates on the means rather than the end.

“I just don’t understand how they could have known…” says she eventually, and he sees the way the wheel turns in her mind even through the darkness of the smoke. “Do you think the Knights have one of our own held imprisoned?”

“Does it matter?”

“How else can we ensure this never happens again?”

“We leave as many bodies as we can. That tends to send a message.”

“Even to those as vengeful as the Knights?”

Cynbel doesn’t answer right away. A grave mistake on his part — one that skids Serafine to a halt. He continues—stops only because she is obviously familiar with Kamilah, because the Godmaker might find some way to punish his lovers should she perish.

“Unless your intention is to turn back and clear the rest of the righteous horde I suggest we keep moving.” Regarding the now soot-stained skulls near the ceiling with disdain; “Who knows how many of these passages have been sealed off — they’re learning.”

But she and he are of a similar ilk; Turned in those years when doing so was a rare honor, not the desperate means of procreation it had become. Such power did not underestimate easily, surely. One look at the blazing wit behind her eyes and he, too, would have been taken with the mere potential of her.

In another life perhaps.

“I am well-versed in the depths of the depravity of Les Trois Amants… but this…”

Which makes him have to choke back gagging on the guilt she tries to push at him in torrents. How could he do anything else? How could he have thought she would understand?

“Is now really the moment for this?”

“No — and the fault lies with you for it.”

“Your point?”

Her eyes widen. “Those dead — and those yet to die — they were unnecessary.”

“War is not war without casualty.”

“This so-called war is none but your o—!”

Her words end in breathless lungs and chipped bone fragments falling and catching in the finer embellishments of her dress. Such things tend to happen when one is shoved against a wall.

Fury brims forth — Cynbel’s strength holds her firm but there is no denying the tension coiling in the muscles of a huntress.

The crossbow bolt hisses through the smoggy air and sinks home in a different kind of dead; straight through the eye socket. Were he not facing her he isn’t sure he would have seen it coming, seen the glint of light reflecting on dirtied armor.

Utterly silent — but how?

Wordlessly the vampires agree for a stalemate in favor of their mutual enemies. They charge like a wall, crossbows cast aside for close-range swords and daggers. Yet they are fools — children playing with toys. Their feeble minds unable to comprehend the sheer number of years between their foes combined… how small they are in the grand design.

Their fall is nothing like their arrival. Noisy and impossible to ignore how they pile upon one another in the corridor’s confines. The dirt beneath their feet has seen too much blood already and refuses to take more; splatters their heels as the vampires continue their flight.

It is not enough to discuss war lest one forget the war never ends.

At the end of the passage they come upon a metal rod dug and rooted into the ground. A lantern hangs from a rusted hook; the candle inside dim and near close to consuming itself — no wick left to sustain it.

He watches as Serafine unlatches the lantern with interest. Sees the silent words on her lips as she runs her fingertips over the waxy bottom until they find whatever she was looking for. A set of grooves dug into the metal.

“Rue de la Mortellerie,” she says finally, as though it’s supposed to mean something to him, but her relief is explanation enough; “up ahead — no more than a hundred paces. Enfin, la liberté…”

Yet even with the tears brimming in her eyes—relief given form—there’s no mistaking the way she looks Cynbel up and down. Saving her life has, apparently, meant nothing. Thoughts once thought cannot be removed from the mind.

And were he in her position, were the tables turned and it was he mere strides from freedom with a dead weight behind…

No; there’s no question. He would strike her down without a second thought.

But perhaps he is lucky the lady is not as selfish as himself. That she waves him to follow with a rasped “Allez!” and gathers her skirts with dried blood flaking from underneath her nails and leads the way to freedom.

The least he can do is take the first steps from the lowly chapel basement into the freedom of the night to ensure the Knights aren’t there to meet them.

But the streets of Paris still slumber, still dream. When a noise sounds distant he stills, blends himself into the shadows and watches the lumbering journey of a mule and her master none the wiser that the world is burning beneath their very feet.

Cynbel ducks his head back inside. “All is clear.” And watches her as Serafine takes great care in sealing the entrance to their secret court with an entire coffin as guise.

As far as he is concerned their alliance ends there. Is already well into the fresh night, getting his bearings on the unfamiliar part of town she has led him to when she notices he no longer stands at her back.

“Arrêtez!”

Her cry stills him though likely not as she intends. His eyes flicking this way and that to reassure himself they are still alone.

“Louder, perhaps,” he snarls low, “I fear the remaining Knights may not have heard you, since you mean to lead them to us!”

“Such is not an unreasonable course of action, as I am quickly beginning to learn.”

If her intention is to get his full attention—it works. “What did you just say to me?”

“I am no fool.”

“A fool’s proclamation.”

“Remorseless even now…” He would be lying if he said this was the first time he has been looked upon with such disgust as Serafine does now. It drips from her every word, from the blood that stains her chin. “But you said so yourself. You take this as a victory — even in the wake of all that has been lost.”

The river must be close, he can hear the lapping of the current against the banks. Foul and putrid as ever but with it, faint but very much there, the smell of burning flesh.

Likely it will cling to Paris; her streets, her people, her dead, for years to come.

With a single step Cynbel crosses the distance he had tried to put between them. Cups her face in broad hands and tilts her up to the light of the nearest lantern. Beautiful now even more than below; the blood-red dress splattered on her cheeks and throat… lingering in her eyes…

“Let us dispense with these games Mademoiselle Dupont,” he croons close, breathes against her lips with a lover’s intimacy, “I abhor them so. I see it there—you think it hidden in your eyes but not as well as you would hope.

“You have a question as I have an answer. But… you cannot have one without the other.”

The same performance on a different stage. Still surrounded by the dead as they were in the crypts like no time had passed. Fulfilling, almost.

And with the knowledge that should she even attempt to wrench herself away the woman would only succeed in snapping her own neck.

But her hesitation is an insult. Cynbel tightens his hold; feels the scraping grind of her jawbones together like music to his ears.

“Paris is my home, my love; my life. Were the ranks of the faithful closing in on our people… I—I would have known.” Though it sounds awfully like she’s trying to remind herself rather than tell him. “I would have known if the Knights knew of the catacombs. I would have known.”

“Apparently not.”

“You brought them down upon us.”

“I did.”

“Upon your own kind.”

“A debate of philosophy for another time.”

And when she finally—finally—asks it is broken, strangled. The strength of her swept out in a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“Why?”

“Because he loves us as much as we love him.”

Serafine takes advantage of his immediate relief; pulls herself free. Maybe even means to flee, to find other survivors and maybe even the Godmaker himself to announce his deeds with violent condemnation.

But however fast she is Isseya is faster. Strikes down their hostess with the back of her hand and rides the high of conquest (that he gave her, though he doesn’t expect to hear thanks any time soon) with a well-placed foot.

Crack. Her lower leg shatters within. Her screams fill the air loud enough to wake — well, the dead.

Cynbel’s eyes flutter shut when he feels the familiar permanence at his back. Turns his head unbidden and offers his neck into the vice of Valdas’ grasp. Feels the familiar shape of Isseya’s body molding against his side and feels complete with it.

Serafine looks up at them through grit fangs and bloody spittle. Her eyes a torch ablaze on a stormy night; the passion—rage—fierce but flickering near-dead.

“You risked…” blood dribbling down her chin, “all our lives… Lives you do not know—the very existence of our kind here…”

“True enough.”

Everything — every death a debt paid, every fight a test — was worth it. For this.

For them.

“But your lives are a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

#bloodbound #bloodbound fic #kamilah sayeed #gaius augustine #serafine dupont #oc: cynbel #oc: isseya #oc: valdas #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter

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spencer-is-amazing · 5 years

Text

Salvation (Michael Langdon x OC)

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Original Female Character

Word Length: 2k

Warnings: Very slight violent imagery

Chapter 1: The End

Chapter 2: The Beginning (x)

Summary: On one hand, she knew him as Michael- the kid with eyes that rivaled the sea and a heart that yearned to be loved.

On the other hand, he was Langdon- the man who would take all or none to the Sanctuary, and looked at her as if she was a fly on his wall that needed to be crushed.

And yet, she couldn't deny the feelings that bubbled in her soul when he looked at her with those deep sea eyes, and how she had become the one who craved his love. She only hoped it wasn't too late to save them both.

“-And remember students, your papers on the human effect in marine life is due this Sunday at 11:59 sharp. No, I will not accept papers at midnight or anytime you deem fit; I’ve given you all an ample amount of time to complete this paper, so I’m expecting all A’s! Have a good weekend students and email me with any questions or concerns!”

The class of 39 environmental biology students all praised every deity for allowing Mr. Abernathy to shut his mouth and let them leave early, though he usually let them off with ten minutes to spare every Friday, so there was no true harm done.

“You got anything planned? Dylan’s parents are out of town and I’m gonna hit that up.” Julie March smiled at her friend Chloe’s lustrous look at Dylan Parker’s back; it was no shock that Chloe wanted to climb that boy like a tree and probably would this weekend.

“I mean, just look at him, you know I’m a sucker for a good back.” Julie chuckled as her friends eyes followed Dylan out of sight, sighing when he turned out of the class. “But yeah, free house, me and him, bone town.”

“Really, bone town? What’re you, Jack Skellington?” Chloe fake laughed at Julie’s stupid joke and both girls left the room, walking through the mostly empty hall.

“I don’t really think you have the authority to make any joke whatsoever at me, seeing as you’ve probably never seen a cock in the first place and I’ve seen like four.”

Of the two girls, Chloe was the one who had spent high school with skirts shorter than her buttcheeks and bubblegum popping between her teeth, while Julie had spent it in baggy hand me downs with her nose in a book. It was strange that they were even friends to begin with.

“How come every conversation with you ends with you calling me a dickless virgin? I have seen one before.”

Chloe simultaneously scoffed and rolled her big brown eyes caked in eyeliner, “I hope you don’t mean the mystery guy from high school that no one ever actually met and also disappeared after like a year because I’d hate to call you a liar this late in the day.”

Julie shot daggers as Chloe smirked, “He was real. And maybe Dylan would go down on you if you weren’t such a dick.”

“Oh, he’ll go down on me alright. I’ll make sure of it.” They were nearing the exit of the large community campus building. “But really, any plans this weekend? And no, going to that creepy Hotel does not count.”

Julie adjusted her backpack strap and bit her lip, “My mom already asked me and I mean, It’s not that creepy.”

Chloe’s arm shot out and stopped Julie in her tracks, “I’m sorry, are we talking about the same Hotel? The one where bunches of people always die and the last time I went with you I almost did? That one right?”

Julie pushed open the front door, ready to not exactly deny her friend that that was in fact true but merely defend her pride, but the chaos that both girls were met with put an end to that.

“What the fuck-?” Chloe was thrown to the ground with a grunt, Mr. Abernathy having thrown open the doors and running for his life. Julie helped her up and both girls flinched when a loud horn blared throughout the campus.

Was there a shooter? Had someone brought a bomb on campus? What the hell had happened?

A group of students came into view and were running past them when Chloe yelled at them, asking what was happening.

One of the guys in a Mario beanie turned to them with scared eyes and pointed his finger to the sky, “They’re coming! It’s the end of the fucking world man- there’s no where to go!”

He fled off after his group, leaving them there with confusion on their faces. The end of the world?

They had so many questions; How? Why? Now?

It took a second for the absolute horrifying dread to set in, for the fear of death to fill her veins and leave her frozen. She didn’t even know what was coming and if she’d make it home in time to kiss her mom goodbye and say all the things she’d never said.

“Julie, Julie- look at me please. We need to go. Now.” She’d barely realized that tears had started streaming down her face, her friend digging those pretty pink manicured nails in the flesh of her arm and dragging her across the campus to the pretty purple convertible that picked up Julie for school every morning, but there would be no tomorrow morning would there.

Julie’s trembling hand was reaching for the glossy silver handle of the pretty purple convertible when the door opened, slamming into her gut with a strength that shocked her.

Chloe was already inside and giving her a look that could kill a man twice, “Get in the car. Now.”

The streets were like if Crazy Taxi had jumped out of her Dreamcast and had plagued the streets; it was utter chaos.

Abandoned cars littered the road and Chloe maneuvered them with excellent skill, and managed to not hit a single person, though there had been many running through the streets screaming for help from god, but no god was coming.

Julie’s shaky hand reached for her phone and read the alert;

Urgent Alert

Ballistic Missile Threat Inbound To Los Angeles

Seek Immediate Shelter. This Is Not A Drill.

A hand ripped the phone from hers and threw it in the backseat, “Don’t look at your phone. No doubt its people you fucking hate saying sorry for being douche filled assholes to you now that they’re gonna fucking be blown to pieces.”

Chloe spoke with such rage spittle flew from her teeth. “We’re gonna get you home and…. and…”

Sobs wracked the pretty 20’s year olds chest and tears streamed down her make up caked face, teeth biting the red matte lipstick and tears smearing the pitch black mascara. Julie had never seen her cry, not even when James from 10th grade broke up with her and said her nose was too big.

“Chloe.” Her hand found the shaking shoulder and squeezed lightly, “It’s okay. Even if we don’t make it, I’m glad I was with you.”

“No, No, No.” Chloe took her hands off the wheel and turned to her best friend Julie. “We’re going to get you home, and you’re gonna say bye to your mom.”

“Chloe- the car!” But she didn’t listen and instead hugged her friend close and the car seemed to steer itself closer and closer to her home.

“Chloe what’s happening? Please Chloe, tell what you’re doing?!” The hysterics were starting to set in as they skidded across her front lawn, car seemingly shutting down on its own.

Both girls had tears streaming down their faces and both of their chests felt like their hearts were going to implode. Chloe turned and held her friends chubby cheeks in her shaking hands, leaning forward and pressing a solemn kiss to each blob.

“Never forget me Julie.” Chloe released the chubby cheeks and watched as shadows circled the car.

“And never forget him.”

And questions Julie had were ripped to shreds as black covered hands ripped open the car doors and dragged both girls out of their cars, Chloe seemingly giving in to the inevitable and Julie refusing to give up. She wasn’t going to die without a fight.

She was placed in front of two people, both something out of a distant future sci-fi movie.

“Are you Julie March?” Her attention wasn’t on the man who asked the question but instead on Chloe, who had been placed on her knees, a large gun pointed at her temple.

The pale man spoke up once more, “You, Julie March, have been selected by the Cooperative as one of the lucky few who will be taken to a safe location away from the blast.”

That caught her attention enough to stop her struggles, “Not without my mom and Chloe.”

He gave her a hard look. “Your genetic makeup makes you a prime candidate, and theirs do not.”

“I don’t understand, candidate for what? What the hell do you people think I’m gonna do?”

“Survive.”

This was all some hellish nightmare; she must have fallen asleep in class and no one had woken her up yet. This couldn’t be real, it just couldn’t.

Julie sobbed out the same response, “Not without them. Please.” But they didn’t listen, dragging her away to a grey heavy-duty van and locking her inside, away from the rest of the world, away from her mother, away from Chloe.

She screamed with every chord in her throat as a gunshot rang through the air and the van started moving. There was no doubt that they were leaving behind her friend’s corpse on her mother’s lawn, a mother she would never see again and a friend who died too soon.

This still felt like a horrible nightmare that she couldn’t escape from, a demonic presence that had latched onto her soul and brought death and destruction in its wake, dragging her through pain and agony that seemed to have no end.

She wanted to die in that moment, wanted the blast to consume her whole and leave her with the people she loved. What was the point of survival if you had to do it alone?

2 Weeks Later

And as it turned out, this Survival wasn’t something she’d be doing alone. She’d met Emily and Timothy at the initial bomb shelter, the three of them crying as the tremors had ran through the concrete slabs they’d laid upon.

They’d mourned for their families and loved ones, and even the ones they hated. It was a dark time for them, and there was no light at the end of the tunnel for 13 days.

But on the 14th day, they were thrown clothes and masks, told that anything out of place would lead to their death. Any resistance would lead to death, and that it was in their best interest to cooperate.

And so they did, piling on the large suits and making sure every tube for the gas mask was in place and stepped outside of the bomb shelter, following the men in black.

The world had turned grey and cold, had become a wasteland of death and grim tidings for the ones lucky to survive. All of the green had turned to black, and the sun had turned grey and dim. This was not a world that Julie wanted to be apart of, but she had no choice.

A carriage was waiting for them- horse drawn to be exact- and Julie, Emily, Timothy and a masked stranger sat in the carriage, rocking back and forth for hours on end, their destination unknown.

It was a miracle that the carriage came to a stop after so long, that the doors opened up to reveal more grey fog as a hand helped them out, and lead them forward.

It was a building like no other, if you could even call it a building. A spiraling black beacon of death was a better way to describe it. The four of them walked forward, past two people dressed in grey on their knees- no masks on either of them- with guns pointed to their heads.

The ring of the gunshot made her trip and fall to her knees- Chloe’s tear stained face ran through her head like a hurricane- “C’mon, get up.”

Timothy held out a hand to her and she shakily took it, balancing on two legs and moving forward, not looking back at the bodies, even though she wanted to, to make sure they weren’t Chloe.

The decontamination process was threatening to say the least; the short stout woman who commanded their attention was someone who she would make sure to avoid. A few people dressed in outfits like the ones outside entered and were helping them get their suits off when a sound as steady as dropping water but heavy as iron entered the air.

The metal door opened to reveal a tall woman holding a candle.

“My name is Wilhemina Venable, and I’d like to welcome you to Outpost 3.”

Next Chapter Up Soon! Leave a Comment and Visit my Ao3 Account SpenceBox!

#michael langdon #american horror story fanfiction #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon smut #michael langdon fluff #cody fern fanfic #ahs fanfiction #ahs apocalypse #ahs season 8 #ahs multi chapter #michael langdon imagines #ahs #fanfiction

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garyofrivia · 4 years

Text

For They Shall Be Satisfied

Arthur Morgan x OC

Chapter 5

(masterlist in bio)

A/N: a short one, but chapter 6 is on the horizon :) thanks for reading!

Warnings/Categories: Violence, Angst

(WC: 1,172)

“If another bull runs off, we’ll be fucked come winter!”

The woman’s voice was distant and muffled. Annie stood near a small house, perched quietly beside an even smaller barn- the only structures for miles around. A small herd of cattle grazed in the distance, and a few horses frolicked in the corral as a little girl watched on.

“Damn it Bridget, I can’t do everything around here!”

“You’re doin’ everything, huh? I raise your children all day! One of ‘em has a cough! I’m sick and tired of the excuses, Nick.”

The front door of the house burst open and a man, presumably Nick, stormed out, muttering in a strange language. A woman - Bridget - followed, her skirts and brilliant red hair rippling in the wind. Her accent was from Dublin, like Molly’s. Nick’s was unrecognizable and yet so familiar, with his tongue hardening the R’s and cutting the consonants short. They didn’t seem to notice her as she watched them. It was like she was behind a window, watching as the outside world unfolded in front of her.

He gestured to the property and raised his arms in defeat. “I can’t run all this my damn self. I’m going to town today to post something at the general store for a ranch hand. I know you said you didn’t want to hire help because of the money, but-.”

“I jus’,” Bridget paused and looked down. She softened her tone and clasped her hands together, hesitantly. “I jus’ want this to work for us. For our family.”

The man sighed and took her hands. “We’ll make it work, darling. I promise you that. We’ve been beating the odds so far.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that Michael bein’ sick’s got me worried.”

“He’s got your stubbornness, love,” Nick smirked. “He’ll make it through.”

Bridget giggled and pulled him in for a hug. “Be safe on the road, alright?”

“Anastasia!” Nick called. Annie’s own ears perked up as she watched the little girl stand and rush to Nick’s side. He bent down and kissed the top of her head, ruffling her thick, brown hair, messing her ponytail. “Be a good girl and help your mother while I’m gone. I’ll be back for supper.”

“I will, daddy.”

Annie saw the riders before anyone else did. They had come across the field, unnoticed by the couple until they were in front of the house. They were only about five strong, but something about them seemed… evil. The chills up Annie’s spine were enough to convince her to follow her instincts, but when she tried to step forward, she couldn’t move.

“Hello,” Nick said, slowly striding toward his family to stand between them and the strangers. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

The man in front said something, but his voice was distorted and incoherent. Annie tried to make out their faces, but they were dark, as if they were shrouded by shadows somehow.

“Of course, it’s about 10 miles in that direction,” Nick said, pointing to the west.

The man said something else and Bridget shifted uncomfortably. She turned to the little girl, and shuffled her inside the house. “Sweetheart, go check on your brother, will you?” She shut the door before the girl could protest

“The well’s just out back,” Nick answered. “Help yourself.”

The men hitched their horses near the corral and stalked around to the back of the property. The couple exchanged a few words Annie couldn’t make out and both went inside. She heard a board slide into place behind the door, locking it as best they could. Panic flooded into her chest, but she still couldn't move.

A few moments passed and the men went to leave. But one of them, the first one, seemed to stop them. They paused and slowly turned back towards the house, drawing their guns as they approached.

Annie tried to scream, to warn the family, but no noise came. She tried to draw her own gun, but the familiar hilt of her revolver turned to dust at her touch. She was trembling, her feet cemented in the ground and vocal chords seemingly ripped out of her own throat.

The men stepped onto the small porch and knocked on the door.

“You all best be getting out of here,” Nick said from inside.

The men’s laughs were clearer than anything she’d ever heard before. Like an operatic chorus, it resonated in her ears and made her skin crawl over her own flesh. She tried to scream again. Nothing. The first man stepped back and slammed the sole of his boot into the center of the door. THUD. The laughter grew louder as he did it again. THUD. And again. THUD And again.

Like a gunshot, the sound of splintering wood was deafening. The air shattered. Darkness consumed the sky.

***

Annie bolted awake in a cold-sweat. The pain in her side seemed to shoot knives through her whole body with the sudden movement, and for a moment it felt as if the men had turned their guns on her instead, her ears still ringing from the final moments of the dream. A dream… it was just a dream.

Morphine induced nightmares were always brutal. The last time she’d taken some after she’d been shot the first time, she had the same dream about falling off a cliff, over and over again. But this one she hadn’t seen before. Though, the lingering feeling it left her with gave her the sense that she had.

She tried to catch her breath as she glanced around to orient herself. She was laying in Arthur’s cot in camp, and she noticed the crescent moon peeking out from behind a few clouds. How long have I been asleep?

A soft snore to her beside her caught her attention. Arthur was tucked into his bedroll and an extra wool blanket, curled into a ball to keep warm. His arm was outstretched towards the bed, palm down, and she briefly wondered if he’d fallen asleep holding her hand. The thought brought a soft smile to her face and a calm washed over her, her heartbeat slowing from the panic of the dream. The pain from the wound throbbed since the medication wore off, but it suddenly didn’t even matter.

Letting herself fall back onto the pillow, she turned towards him as much as her body would allow her. She watched him breathe steadily, with the occasional twitch in his sleep. His face was soft and peaceful, the wrinkles near his eyes not as pronounced as they usually are. He looked younger, almost. Innocent and kind like the man she only saw glimpses of from under the facade of anger and ruthlessness.

She let her arm fall off the side of the bed, her fingers finding his. He met her touch with a slight squeeze as he slept, and she could have sworn she saw a smile tugging at his lips as she fell into unconsciousness once again.

#rdr2 fic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #rdr oc #my oc #my fics #for they shall be satisfied #ftsbs #annie bolton

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luvleekaotix-imagines · 4 years

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OC post repliessssssssssss i love all of THEMMMMM. Keep sending stuff in if you guys like! I’m always down to hear about your OCs :D

@tsunamikaii

Sweats... so kimetsu no yaiba is a thing so ive been flip flopping from fe3h oc and kny ocs. The kny ocs are siblings with noncanon breaths (breath of spirits and breath of stars) the older one, Makishi is a pillar who uses breath of spirit- having a memento of a fallen person allows him to use a move based on them. (Alotta angst potential since their family was hunted for being part of the sun breathers). Kagami, the younger sister is also a pillar (for less time) uses breath of star and can make like comet-y moves? Havent fleshed her out much yet, but shes kinda like a shrine maiden type?? N e way, Makishi has a heart of gold and is highkey in love with shinobu, even if hes deathly afraid of insects (a man who suffers because he drink respect women juice and respects a girls interests!!1!). He does put a lot of pressure on himself to be a good role model esp for the younger generation, and works tirelessly to make people happy. He does quarrel with his sister but healthily, they dont have crazy big fights, unless one of them was being reckless. Theyre all that eachother have, and they work hard to keep eachother safe. Makishi is kinda one of those soft kind boys, but will throw hands if necessary, while kagami is kinda the tired mom friend esp for tanjirou and nezuko. She really looks up to rengoku and appreciates alot of the pillars, and wishes she could be useful to them!

Okay I just finished watching KnY and OMGGG I love it so much!! The art and animation are sooo good. I should probably read the manga so I know what happens... I have a feeling a bunch of my faves will die (because that’s always what happens when I get rapidly attached, but LETS SEE).

I LOVE YOUR SOFT BOY MAKISHI and sis Kagami too. Does Kagami bully Makishi because I could totally see it. Just like a gentle, very shady teasing. I totally wanna know how Kagami acts around Rengoku if he’s all like... EXTREMELY YELLY adn shes like ‘okay but please not so loud’

I LOVE IT! Thanks for sharing Makishi and Kagami with me! <3

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

@soturoayami

Darksiders, a Survivor/traveler. name is Talia (19), couldn't for the life of them stay in the Maker's realm and do nothing, so they wander around collecting useful things to bring back to the Makers while avoiding demons and angels. They have a little brother, Markus (12) who stays behind and follows the Makers around trying to learn just about everything they do. And! He carries a tiny knife with him.

YAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!! Darksiders OC! I love it. I’m love. What’s Talia and Markus like? Also, it’s gotta be so stressful looking after a younger sibling in apocalyptic conditions!!!!!!!!!! I wish them the very best!! What’s their fave things to collect? Or whats their favourite thing about the Makers they’ve learned?

I should really just mass consume Darksiders content. I love the world the devs have built for it. AAAAAAAAAAAAA

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

@lombax-lombardi

An OC? Um okay. Time to go into Dragon Ball heck. Let's see she is a Majin named Ruby. She is bright yellow and has bright green eyes, she has an adoptive Saiyan Mother named Sapphire and she is just a pure soul. She is also in love with Future Trunks and goes back with him after the Cell games but not before making a baby clone of herself to stay in the present (I know weird but according to Xenoverse, Majin clone themselves so) She is just a very sweet person vagshd

YESSSSSSSSSSSSS GIVE ME THAT GOOD DB CONTENT!! Man I was so so so obsessed with DB back in the day (god i am old). I should probably give it another gander. I’m not up to date with whats happening or what... million forms people have anymore.

BUT I DO LOVE ME SOME FUTURE TRUNKS HAHAHAHAH. I was fucking OBSESSED with him. When I was a teen he was like my ideal boyfriend (he was just cool with coloured hair, my standards were low).

I LOVE RUBY!!! And the thing with the baby clone is so DB style, I fucking love it. I also love that she’s bright fucking yellow. Like YEEEEEEEEEEEEESS bich, style on these not-yellow mofos <3

Thank you for sharing Ruby with me!! I hope she gets many smooches from Trunks <3

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

@doublerainebow

Lol, I should be finishing my final project, but I got time to indulge. I have a FE3H oc named Lacey Alford and her s/o is the butt tsun Felix. I've drawn her in her pre and post timeskip outfits and have written a fanfic about their relationship. She's prolly the most patient person ever considering she has to deal with Felix, but she loves him dearly and wants to help him. Some other stuff is that she's primarily a blacksmith, but acts as a mercenary if need be

OMG KICK FELIX’S ASS LACEY. KICK HIS GODDAMN ASS. I’ll look the fuck away so you can beat his stupid good looking tsun ass into the ground.

I fucking love that she’s a blacksmith! She must make such stylin stuff and I could totally see Felix blue screening if Lacey gives him this beautiful hand-crafted weapon. Link me the fic, I wanna read it!!!! YASSSSSSSSSS

LOVE U SO MUCH. Thank you for sharing Lacey with me!

but seriously, smack Felix omggg

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angelaiswriting · 5 years

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Larisa | Clint Barton x fem!OC

[original picture found on: pinterest]

✏️ Pairings: Clint Barton x (non described) fem!OC

✏️ Requested by no one haha you probably hate the length of the instalments of this series, but I love Larisa HAHA

✏️ Summary: Todorovky’s second Italian soirée means facing a tormenting past for Larisa. Still battered and broken after what happened fourteen years ago, she’s now forced to meet her only nightmare as the memories come back full force.

✏️ A/N: please, let me know what you think of this fic (or series in general). I live off of your comments and they truly help me get better at what I do.

✏️ Warnings: 18+ only: manipulation, emotional manipulation, dark past, mentions of killing, female sterilization + sexual NSFW content: slow burn, masturbation, sort of voyeurism kink (I don’t know what to call it haha), fingering, pussy sliding, cum, sex with age difference (in a flashback) + sex with the enemy (in the same flashback), sort of authority play/kink, general sexual themes. MINORS, DON’T INTERACT!

✏️ Word-count: 10,639 (getting longer i see... i apologize, hope you don’t mind long stories)

📚 This is the third part to The Mantis and Hawkeye (you can find the link to my Masterlist in my bio. Unfortunately Tumblr hides my posts if they have links)

📚 Translation (so weird to translate my own language haha): buon divertimento = have fun

LARISA

Lara wasn’t looking at Steve, who was standing in front of her hotel bed with his arms crossed over his chest. She hadn’t seemed surprised to find him there, or, at least, that was the impression Clint had had when he had stepped inside their shared bedroom behind her.

“Communication must be maintained at all times throughout the whole mission.” Steve was fighting to keep the tone of his voice under check, but it looked like an impossible task when she kept on avoiding his gaze as she removed her earrings and carefully laid them down on the dresser. “Certain rules exist for a reason,” he went on.

Torn between the will to speak up and the need to see how Larisa would handle that conversation, Clint kept his mouth shut, eyes fixed on Natasha. She was leaning against the wall right next to the French window that gave on the balcony and there was the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips as she stared at both her friends.

“Certain rules exist for the only reason to get you killed,” Lara rebutted, walking into the bathroom to remove her makeup. Steve followed her, stopped right in the frame of the door, and Clint could see the tension in the muscles of his back even through the light cotton of his shirt. “And I don’t think getting killed would be beneficial to this mission, do you?”

“You’re here to help,” Steve bit back, moving out of the way when she walked out of the bathroom with a now clean face. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking that we would ever allow you to lead a mission.”

Lara sighed. She had stopped right in front of Clint and, for a moment, he feared she was going to kiss him. Instead, she shoved a hand in the left pocket of the pants of his tuxedo and retrieved the invitation they had been given for the second night of the event. She threw him a grin before turning around to show Rogers the elegant piece of paper.

“You really think we would have gone this far with stupid earpieces in our ears?” She smirked triumphantly and Steve had to grit his teeth. “Or do you really deem agents such as myself to be so stupid to not put up security measures to stop unwanted guests with even more unwanted gear?” She walked up to him and only stopped when the tips of her sandals were touching those of his shoes. “Todorovsky is no newbie. I am no newbie. Nobody in the real heart of that party is a newbie. You’d have to dig real deep to find someone who’s not a murderer among your man’s friends. We’re all spies, hitmen, and murderers, and we’ve dealt with our fair share of good guys to foreshadow how you’re going to act.”

Steve seemed to ponder her words and after endless minutes of tense silence, he moved his gaze from Larisa to Natasha. “It’s done, she’s out. You and me, same plan, we’re acting tomorrow.”

“Steve, I-”

“No need to step in for me, Nasha.” Lara raised a hand in mid-air to cut her friend’s words. “I’m not going to allow this stuck-up soldier to change plans. You came to me, you boarded me on your quinjet, you sent me to that fucking party with your archer. You should have known I don’t bow down before anybody’s orders–or did Fury make you believe I’m one of his agents?”

“You are a loose cannon and I’m not going to risk a mission that has taken us five months to plan just because you-”

“I mean, you’re free to do whatever you want, I’ve already had my share of fun at the party and with Clint.” Lara shrugged, back relaxed and shoulder blades drawn back to open up her chest. Even from behind, her body language was mesmerizing and Clint couldn’t force himself to tear his eyes away from her. “But who do you think Todorovsky is going to trust? Captain America, everybody’s pain in the ass? Black Widow, the traitorous bitch that moved to stand behind enemy lines? Or the Mantis, his one and only weak point?”

“Steve, she’s right.” Nat had stepped away from the wall and she moved to stand next to the former KGB agent. “We’re too well-known, it’s no secret that we stand against them. She’s-”

But Steve interrupted her. “She’s been in America for far too long to fool them and make them believe she’s still one of them.”

“Who says I’m one of you?” Larisa chuckled. “As far as my agency is concerned, I’m on a voluntary leave to keep my eyes on the infamous Avengers. They all want dear Natasha back and since we’ve always been pretty close…”

“You’re saying you’re against us?”

“I’m saying,” she sighed, hands sliding up Steve’s chest before they firmly cupped his neck, “that I’m your best shot, no matter how much you hate it when someone doesn’t follow your orders. I’m saying that I know Todorovsky, that I know his men. Clint and I also got to know some of his guests. What do you think would happen if you stepped in our place?”

“We get this mission done with.”

“No,” she answered, sighing to stop herself from slapping the arrogance out of Steve. “You’re only going to make suspicions arise. If you think nobody recognized me tonight, then you’re either too hopeful or too dumb. The Mantis shows up to a party with her pretty husband and then skips the second and most important night? People are going to question my absence and if his guests become unsettled, Todorovsky won’t show up.”

It was then that Clint stepped in. He grabbed Larisa’s wrist and pulled her back as he stepped forward. “Let’s do this her way,” he said to his captain. “You might not trust her, but I do.”

“You barely know her. She could sell us off, for all we know. Natasha was wrong to want her here.”

“I’m still in the room, Rogers.”

Neither of the men paid Natasha any attention, for Clint had already started to talk. “We’ve had time to… deepen our knowledge of each other, one could say.” He felt Larisa smirk from slightly behind him, the exhale from her nose an amused sound in the tense atmosphere of the room. “And she knows them all better than we do. And anyway, I’m going to be by her side for the whole duration of the night: a wrong move and we’re out of there.”

Steve’s concerns could have been his own, had Clint not already fallen under Larisa’s spell.

“Who is this Todorovsky guy to her?” he asked Nat. They had gone out for a run in Central Park early that morning and were now sitting on a bench, shielded from the morning sun by the branches of an old tree.

Natasha kept quiet for a while, legs stretched out and head thrown back to look up at the clear sky. He stared as she inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly, as her eyes fell shut for a moment before she lulled her head to the side to look at him. “If I tell you, this remains between the two of us.”

“You really think I’d go around spilling secrets?” He mocked outrage. “Fuck, Romanoff, I thought there was mutual trust here.”

She chuckled and he grinned at her. “This is… This is more important than anything else. This is her story and I’ve sworn to never tell her secrets. She’s like a sister to me–always has been and probably always will be. If I tell you, you must pretend you know nothing about this with her.”

He stared at her long and hard. They shared everything–or almost everything. They were partners, they had each other’s back and in order to have each other’s back, they needed to know as much as they could about the other. This, however, went beyond their friendship. It overflowed into whatever it was that he had with Larisa–attraction, lust, love, the wish to be friends, he truly did not know.

What he did know, though, was the need to find out more about the woman that plagued his every day. What was she like? And what had she been like before coming to America? How was the girl that grew up in the Red Room, that became a KGB agent first and a renowned assassin later? She was there, working behind his scenes, and yet, she felt worlds apart. The certainty of not standing a chance to be allowed in the closed and guarded box of her memories only pushed his desire to get to know her more to the next level.

“I won’t tell her,” he heard himself assure. “Not to her and not to anyone else, I promise.”

Nat didn’t look away and for a moment she seemed to contemplate whether she truly wanted to risk being beheaded by her oldest friend. Eventually, she chose to speak. “You remember when I told you that I…” She closed her eyes, mouth suddenly dry and lungs heavy as the scar on her belly seemed to catch fire. “That I cannot have kids,” she forced herself to say. It felt more consuming than the run she was recovering from, harder than it had been to leave Lara behind when she finally graduated from the Red Room Academy.

Clint cleared his throat and as he stared at her, he saw her snap out of the shadows of her past. “It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it if it still hurts.”

“You clearly like her and she clearly likes you back.” Natasha shook her head and moved to sit up straight. “It’s about time she finds someone worthy of her.”

He didn’t know what she meant with that. Or he did know–or at least imagined–, but it was easier to feign ignorance when the thought of actually having the chance to try a move with the same woman that had kicked his ass in Budapest scared him to the bone.

“The short version is, Todorovsky was the surgeon they used to sterilize us.” Each and every word she spoke had the same weight of lead balls. They hung heavy in the clear, early-summer air for a few seconds before they fell to the ground like the cases of used bullets. They tasted like blood even in Clint’s mouth and he suddenly regretted asking that much of his friend.

He kept silent, not knowing what to say and doubting that an idiotic ‘I’m sorry’ could make her feel better.

“The long version is, Larisa has always been the sweetest girl the Academy ever had and he betrayed her. They all did.” She swallowed, averting her gaze from Clint’s and staring off into the distance in front of her. “No matter what she wants to believe, it took them longer to break her than it took them to break the rest of us. She had this… grace; she was like a living doll and it was probably one of the reasons why they wanted her so badly. Had we been in a completely different environment, anything she asked for, I’m sure they would have given it to her. She hasn’t changed much on that aspect, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” She let out a shallow chuckle and Clint couldn’t stop himself from smirking.

“Had she asked me to shoot myself, back in Hungary, I probably would have complied,” he agreed, confessing what still felt like a stupid thought. “Foolish, I know.”

She laughed. “Nah. When it comes to her, thoughts like that aren’t as foolish as you might think. It was the same back there, growing up. She never used such influence; she only turned to it on rare occasions and even then, it was just because I pushed her to. It was also the leverage Todorovsky used to gain her trust.”

“He broke her, didn’t he?”

Nat nodded, the movement slow and heavy. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“There was a side program,” she started again after a brief pause. “Not in the Red Room. The KGB was carrying it out. The underlying purpose was breeding, a sort of agent-making farm, you know. It was fucked up, but she loved kids and he used that on her. Everybody knew she wanted children of her own, one day–we all did, of course, but with her… Somehow, it was different. She had a talent for it all–both kids and anything we did at the Academy: killing, spying, fighting. It was as though she was born for it.”

“He promised her he’d put her on that program?”

She nodded again and this time she met his eye. “It was all a lie, though. The program didn’t exist, but at the time we didn’t know. I found out the truth only after my graduation and even then, it took me months. Apparently, it was a rumor someone had spread and it somehow became a crystal castle we all wanted to believe in. Not because we had a chance, I don’t even know why we misplaced our hope so blindly.” She laughed, then, and it was short and almost robotic. It sent a shiver down Clint’s spine in the rising temperature of the day. “He told her she was special, though, and that he wasn’t going to touch her for the last part of the graduating ceremony.”

“How could she believe him, though?”

“Just like Lara, he had his ways. And back then, he was only ten years older than us, fifteen at most. We all swooned over him: he was beautiful and strong and he was one of the few men we had the chance to interact with at the Academy. Even I had a small crush on him,” she chuckled. “They shared something deeper than a crush and he somehow convinced her he would never touch her, that he would never put her on a stainless-steel table, and she fell for it. You ask how she could believe him. The real question is, how could she not?” She shrugged her shoulders and once again, she avoided his burning gaze. “We all fought it, fought the idea of having that piece of us taken away from us. Some fought more fiercely than others, but in the end, we all bent to it. But when it came to her, she… She refused to see reason to the point where she started to slack off and consequentially, to get punished regularly. That stupid program was the dream they used to manipulate her.”

It was fucked up. He never consciously entertained the idea of bringing kids of his own into this world, but sometimes, when he was lonely and bored in his room, the thought came up. And while he would never confess it, in those moments he found himself wondering what it would be like to be a father.

He couldn’t even start to imagine how Larisa must have felt.

“She wouldn’t stop gushing over the idea of getting out of the Academy in one piece,” Nat went on, absentmindedly fiddling with her hands. “I was jealous, of course, but I was also ecstatic for her. She had a way with kids… When the youngest of us made a fuss about anything, the heads of the Academy sent her to calm them down. It was easier for them to find peace with one of us rather than with one of them, and so they kept on feeding her that illusion to keep her sweet. But then, when the time for her graduation came, they broke her, they… They turned her into who–into what–she is today.”

It didn’t take long for Clint to put two and two together and the frown that had settled on his face evened out into a more relaxed expression. “You insisted on making her go on this mission because of this, didn’t you?”

She hunched her shoulders. “It’s also why I begged them to have you assigned, too.”

She was avoiding the real question and he knew it. “What is she going to do to him?”

“Whatever it is that he deserves.” Nat clenched her jaw. She kept her gaze set before her, fixed on one of the dogs playing in the park. “I’m not strong enough to do it. She probably isn’t, either, but she’s angrier. He also likes her–he’s always liked her, no surprise she was his favorite. She will tear him to pieces and then we will both be free.”

Alone once again, Larisa went back to being her teasing self. She turned towards him and all Clint could do was swallow the now forgotten question he had been on the verge of asking.

“Your friend almost ruined my mood,” she purred into his ear when he closed the door of the room. Her hands trailed up his chest from the waist of his pants before they moved to his back to pull him against her. “I loved how you told him you trust me because you see…” She peppered light kisses along the line of his jaw, gently nipped his ear lobe and inhaled deeply, her nose skimming along the side of his neck. “You should not.”

He gulped, but now that he had tasted her and that she had tasted him–heck, she had swallowed him in a fucking public place–, he couldn’t find it in himself to stop his hands from moving over her ass and squeeze it harshly. “Still, no need for him to know it, isn’t it?”

Lara moved her head back and she stared right at him, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. “I love it when they play my game,” she grinned to herself. But had she meant to keep it a secret, she would have at least made the vain effort to mutter those words in Russian–which she didn’t. “It makes it all the more enjoyable,” she added, moving better between his legs and pressing herself against him. “Almost makes me want to let you take me on this very bed.”

“‘Almost’?” Clint asked, slightly tilting his head to the side and lowering his gaze to swipe it across her cleavage.

She took a step back and her hands traveled up her sides to reach the straps of her dress. Eyes fixed on his, she never broke eye contact as she slowly let the straps fall down her shoulders, allowing the dress to slide down to the floor. “Almost,” she confirmed.

Clint found himself incapable of moving as he stared at her. Dressed in only nude lace panties and golden sandals, she looked like a fucking goddess, one that kicked Steve and the whole Todorovsky mission out of the metaphorical window of his mind.

A whimper tore out of his throat when she pushed her panties down her legs before she took a step back, closer to the bed, to step out of them.

“I will let you touch me once, though,” she said, voice suave and gaze burning, smirk turning into a small smile.

“Just once?”

She nodded. “For now,” she clarified. “I’m still hungry. You must be one special kind of man if I still make myself come at the thought of you after ten long years.”

He took a step forward and for a moment he wished for it to already be dawn–and for it to be legal to fuck her on the balcony of their room and in the light of day. She made him bolder and she made him reckless, and he wasn’t exactly sure he didn’t like it. All he needed was a word from her and he was sure he’d do anything she wanted–much like Nat had said that day in Central Park.

“Come here,” she moaned, beckoning him to her with a finger. “And kneel.”

The thought of her allowing him to give her head again, after the way he had made her come at Tony’s party a month ago, made him shudder as he stared at her before he let himself fall to his knees in front of her. It made him hard–harder than he already was. He almost felt tipsy at the idea of swiping his tongue between her folds and as he glanced at her, he saw that she was wet.

God.

God, he wanted so many things at once so badly: to touch her, to touch himself, and for her to touch him.

God, he was going to beg her–what for, he didn’t know, but he’d be happy with anything she chose to deliver.

“Take my heels off.”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers and he felt his chest constrict a little at the sight of her hardened nipples. “What?”

Her smile turned into a smirk once again and he gasped when she trailed her right foot up along his thigh. It was just a matter of inches, but it made his vision spin and his breathing turn labored. “Take them off.” She pushed his hands away when they glided up her thighs, though, and the amused spark in her eyes told him not to take the tone of her voice too seriously. “I didn’t say you could touch me, only that you have to take my heels off.”

“You said I could touch you once,” he frowned, fingers trailing down her shin and wrapping around her ankle as he lifted her foot an inch off the ground.

She laughed, skin breaking out into goosebumps when he unfastened the strap of the high-heeled sandal. “Don’t worry, Clint,” she drawled, hands coming up to cup her breasts. “I always keep my word.”

A few minutes later, Larisa was sprawled out naked on the bed, a hand between her legs, and Clint was sitting on the cushioned chair he had taken out from the old- but rich-fashioned writing desk present in the room. Butt-naked, he was doing his best not to touch himself. He wasn’t one to obey orders in the bedroom, but fuck, the things he let her make him do…

“Do you have any idea of how often I’ve found myself in this position?” she whimpered, tugging at a nipple with a hand and absentmindedly sliding a finger up and down between her slick folds. “With the image of you sitting naked in front of me, staring at me coming with your name on my lips?”

Clint’s breath hitched in his throat and he had to stop his hips from slightly bucking off the chair. “Tell me.”

She chuckled at his breathy voice, so meek and almost broken, and she slipped a finger inside her vagina. “So many times.” Each word hung heavy in the hot air of the bedroom, forcing him to open his legs a little wider.

“Why not let me touch you, then?” he wondered. He could feel himself twitch as he followed her every move. She had started to slowly finger herself–with two fingers now–as her free hand kept on teasing her breasts. “Why not let me make you come?”

She whimpered, and a choked ‘Clint’ left her lips as her head tilted back slightly. “Oh, I will.” She was panting softly, giving her left nipple a tug before the hand that had been fondling her tits caressed down her abdomen and stopped between her legs. He moaned when her fingers moved over her clit, tentatively circling it once. “But I want to do this first,” she went on. “And I want it so badly.”

“Fuck.” His was a whispered curse, muttered under his breath, but when her lips broke out into a grin, he knew she had heard him. “Fuck, the things you do to me,” he groaned. His left hand moved from his thigh to give his erection a firm tug and he whimpered when he swiped his thumb across the reddened head of his dick.

“Don’t touch yourself,” he heard her beg. “Please, don’t touch yourself yet.”

The way she said those words, with that weak and dreamy voice of hers, halted his movements and his eyes drifted back to her bare form.

“Look at me.”

And he did just that. He stared at her heaving chest, heavy breasts covered in a thin layer of sweat as the blood boiled under her skin. He stared at her nipples, wishing he could only tug on them the way she had done herself, wishing he could lightly graze their sensitive skin with his teeth. His gaze drifted lower then, back between her legs, and all he could do was whimper loudly as she pleasured herself.

She was impossibly wet and Clint could both see and hear it–see it on the now glistening skin of her hand and inner thighs, and hear it in the slick sounds of her fingers slowly but steadily thrusting in and out of her.

“God, I could come just at the sight of you,” he found himself blurting out as he shifted in his seat. His dick had already started to ooze pre-cum.

“You better not,” she groaned, raising her head to stare at him. “Don’t you dare come in that chair, Clint.”

More than an order, her words came out as a plea and it made him smirk. “I can’t make promises, doll,” he said, hand moving back to his dick and firmly grabbing its base. She stared at his movements–the way he dragged his hand up, moving the foreskin of his uncut erection with the movement, and then the way he swiped his hand back down and arched his neck in pleasure. “Not when you look so ravishing as you make yourself come for me.”

Her movements halted and she looked at him with burning eyes as she fought her way through her labored breathing to think a little more clearly. “Come here,” she eventually ordered, “lay down next to me.”

Clint complied more than happily: he stood from the chair and hissed when the leaking head of his dick bumped against his stomach and he strode towards the bed, doing his best to look dominating when she clearly had him by his balls. Against his wishes, that almost pushed him to lay between her legs, he followed his better judgment and laid down on his side next to her.

She moaned at the sight of him, so close and for the first time in ten years, as naked as he could be. She could feel him against the skin of her thigh and he could feel her too–he ground himself against her leg once before she pushed him onto his back.

“I don’t like being manipulated,” she grunted, straddling his hips.

Clint’s chuckle was cut short because God, he could feel her a breath away from the base of his dick and he was shot to the fucking Moon and back. His hands came up her thighs and for a moment or two, she let him do. “I am the one manipulating you?”

She scoffed. “I stopped manipulating you the day Fury released me from my cell. So, unless you see another man in this room,” she whispered, bending down above him to brush her lips against his neck, “then yes.”

He didn’t have the time to ask his most burning question–after all, he thought she was the one manipulating him into wanting her this badly–for she swatted his hands away from her body and she slid against him.

His breath got caught in his throat.

God, she was so fucking hot and wet against him, as his erection slipped between her dripping folds and as she dragged herself along its length… It left him breathless, his mind empty as his back arched off the mattress. She repeated the movement and he whimpered–and she whimpered at the sounds he made, too.

Fuck, if this wasn’t the hottest thing a woman had ever done to him… He was so close to being sheathed inside her and yet, at the same time, so far from such a dream. Almost better than sex.

Almost.

“God, you’re harder than a rock,” she whined in his ear, pressing her chest down against his. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me.” She sucked a point right under his ear and his hips bucked up a little. For some sick twist of fate, though, all he bumped into was her clit, forcing a loud moan out of her as her forehead fell down onto his shoulder.

“Can’t wait to feel your cunt stretching around me,” he muttered, grabbing a hold of her hips and not moving his hands from there even when hers came up to swat his away again.

“Not now,” she panted, sitting up and moving her hands on his pecs to keep her balance. “Keep your hands there, but not now, please.”

He moaned at the sight of her glossy eyes, at how she could keep them open as she kept on sliding her dripping folds back and forth along his length, and she whimpered in response.

Breasts heavy, lips parted as breathy moans escaped through them, she was such a sight that Clint didn’t exactly know how he managed to keep his cool.

“Fuck, you’re something else entirely,” he groaned, fingers kneading the flesh of her hips.

She smirked down at him, speeding up her sliding movements along the length of his dick.

Less than two minutes later, he was coming hard on the taut skin of his stomach and she was falling apart just above him.

What would have later turned into a plan for revenge against Todorovsky had initially started as a silly game in the Red Room. Lara had unconsciously started to plant roots in the surgeon’s head and many years from that first day, it would be their shared past the only loophole the man hadn’t considered would lead him to his own demise.

It seriously started on one Friday night as she exited the auditory-overload room. Corridors and halls empty in that wing of the building, Aleksandr Todorovsky stood right opposite the door, leaning against the wall.

“Sashenka,” she greeted him in a teasing tone, closing the metal door of the room behind her back. It was something she loved to do–call him with that girly nickname–, for she loved to tease him. Hadn’t he been her superior, she would have probably found a way to sneak into his private quarters without him purposefully coming to look for her.

“Larisa Efimovna,” he teased back. “One might start to think there’s a reason behind your constant in-and-out of corrective rooms.”

“Oh, yes?” She smirked as she passed him in the dimly-lit corridor. “One might start to think there’s a reason behind your constant presence outside such corrective rooms, as well.”

Aleksandr chuckled. It went against any rules the Academy had ever come up with–any kind of personal relationship between the students and the professional body was forbidden–, but when it came to Larisa, anything could turn into a tease without the risk of repercussions. At least, not now that she had started to rebel even more against the rules after the discovery of the compulsory sterilization. “Fancy to join me for dinner?” he asked, falling into step right beside her.

The back of his hand brushed not-so-innocently against hers and she had to swallow a smirk. It was no secret that most girls–if not every single one of them–harbored some sort of crush for the young doctor. The age gap didn’t seem to matter, not when he looked like a fallen god–caramel-blonde hair, piercing grey eyes, the body of a fighter, and the precise hands of a clockmaker that worked wonders in more fields than one.

Larisa loved to play hard to catch, though, so it was no surprise to hear her hum. “I was indeed going to sneak into the kitchen to steal some food. But a tête-à-tête dinner? I don’t know, sir,” and she drawled out that last word, for she knew how much he enjoyed to be addressed as such. “I’m already punished often enough as it is. I wouldn’t want to risk another trip to the zone…”

A ‘trip to the zone’ was how Nasha had started to call the not-so-welcome stays inside the auditory-overload or sensory-deprivation rooms. It was just four walls and the poor, punished student that had had the bad luck of ending up in there. And in such a constrictive space, one couldn’t help but think of being in a prison cell.

Todorovsky’s hand moved behind her to rest on her lower back, fingers a breath away from a borderline dirtier touch. “No need to worry, Larisa Efimovna,” he answered, lips skimming against the warm skin of her left temple. “After all, I should make sure everything’s alright with you after two hours in that room. Control your hearing, check how well you respond to my stimuli…”

A shiver ran down Lara’s spine and the smirk she had previously successfully managed to suppress found a way to plaster itself on her lips. “Well, when you so kindly propose, sir…” she said, pressing herself better against his side, a hand trailing down his abdomen to fleetingly palm his crotch. She was covered in cold sweat, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Isn’t it a little late, though? After all, it’s well past dinner time… If my coordinator finds me out of my dorm at this hour of the night, I’d be in deep trouble.”

“Health first,” he simply said, leading her down the staircase that hopefully led to his quarters.

It was a game they often played. He enjoyed to have the upper hand, use his authority on the Academy’s most-wanted student, and she enjoyed making him believe he was actually the one in charge, fooling him into believing he had any power over her as she let him settle between her legs.

So, she faked a gasp when he opened the door of his room and moved to the side to let her enter first. Even though he had never really brought her there, she had still seen such a gesture coming after all the intimate and teasing moments they had shared. “Sir, this is not your study.”

“There’s no need to go and open it again at this hour,” he shrugged. He closed the door and locked it without breaking eye contact. “Besides, I thought you’d rather eat something before I start my… examination.”

There was no threat in his voice and Larisa knew that if she only said a word, he’d let her go back to her room. Todorovsky could come off as an imposing man, and even more so with those broad shoulders and tall and built body of his, but he wasn’t one to take advantage of women. And it didn’t matter that she could take him down in less than a minute, even being half his size, for he still respected her and her decisions–even despite the misleading plan he was carrying out against her.

“I’m afraid it’s not food I’m hungry for right now, sir.” She had a way of her own to come off as both innocent and ravishing at once. Hands clasped behind her back in a seemingly deferential stance, she was drawing her shoulders back to open up her chest, and in the warm lights of the room, she knew he could see her half-hardened nipples underneath the sweated cotton of her shirt. “Even if I’d gladly have a shot of something to drink. Detention left me quite thirsty.”

Giving alcohols to students could be severely punished if such a violation were to be disclosed. But Todorovsky was a well-respected doctor inside the walls of the Red Room and anything he said medical-wise was never met with obstacles. So, he poured himself and her a shot of vodka and handed her the glass. “For medical purposes,” he admonished, fingers grazing hers when their hands touched.

“Of course, sir,” she smiled.

She kept her gaze fixed on his as she downed the burning contents of her shot and watched raptured at the way Aleksandr’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he mirrored her movements.

Then, just like that, he was on her. Hands insistent on her hips and lips bruising against the skin of her neck, she found herself opening up to him as her hands came up to cradle his head.

A harsh movement and she would snap his neck. It was a recurring thought–not because she secretly dreamed of murdering him, she wasn’t that stupid after all, not when she had such a man willing to pleasure her for his own pleasure, but because she wanted to know what it felt like, to kill a man, to hold such a power in her seemingly-innocent hands.

It always started like that between them. He pretended to tend to her neck, careful not to leave any suspicious hickey in his wake before he got her naked in a matter of minutes.

“I should make sure your punishment didn’t leave you fuzzy-headed,” he contemplated as he took her naked body in.

God, was she perfect. Perfect skin, taut muscles and soft limbs at once, nice and round tits–she surely was a sight to behold. She kept him awake at night and the occasions where he got himself off at the memory of her sprawled out on his bed weren’t exactly rare.

“Is that alright with you?” he smirked, thumbs caressing her hardened nipples in a slow and teasing touch, almost making her toes curl.

She wanted to tell him to cut the game short, to fucking give her whatever the fuck he wanted, but she thought better of it. Instead, she nodded, hands holding his wrists in place for a couple of seconds before they moved up his forearms and biceps. She also wanted to point out how, as a doctor, he should be wearing his white coat, but fuck, the sight of him in that light grey shirt of his made her wetter than she’d like.

He knelt before her, lips skimming along her belly and hands holding her thighs tightly to keep her in place. “Make sure you’re still in one piece,” he muttered a second before he lapped at her labia with his tongue, making her gasp.

Lara shooked herself out of her memory and smiled at Clint. Whether there was something deeper between the two of them or it was simple and unadulterated lust, she tried not to care too much, for it was always better than the ways she had allowed Todorovsky–once simply ‘Shura’ or ‘Sasha’–to touch her.

“I’m most likely going to do and say some things in Todorovky’s presence, even coming to call him by his name,” she said as she followed him inside the elevator to reach the ground floor and exit in the warm, summer night. “I need to know you truly trust me, that you know I’m only playing my part in the grand scheme of things.”

She saw Clint glance at her, caught their reflection in one of the mirrored walls of the elevator. Dressed in total black, Clint looked as good as ever. She smiled at him, a small, sad smile that could have given all her fears away if only Clint Barton had truly known how to read her.

“I do,” he confirmed when the doors of the elevator opened.

They both crossed the lobby, gaining many a look from the other residents of the hotel for their more than elegant attire. Lara curtly nodded to the woman behind the desk and smiled at the ‘buon divertimento’ she cheerfully wished them. The night was probably going to go in the opposite direction of ‘fun’, but it was time she faced her demons–time she defeated such demons.

“I will need you to follow my lead,” she sighed, inhaling deeply before entering the white cab they had asked the hotel to call. She quickly gave the address of Todorovky’s villa to the driver before she turned to stare at Clint.

He had taken her hand in his and was toying with the diamond on the fake wedding ring she was wearing for the mission. “I’ll play your game,” he nodded after a while.

They spent the rest of the drive in silence, both too busy following their thoughts to spark up any kind of conversation. And as Clint was visibly thrilled to get to the party and finish the mission, he couldn’t read Lara. Seated with her back relaxed against the seatback, she was staring out of the window at a Bellagio buzzing with tourist life.

He had been on the verge of telling her how good she looked in red many a time ever since he saw her in that dress. Plunging neckline, vertiginous split that cut the front of her right leg to a little higher than mid-thigh, sleeves that hugged her arms, she looked like a goddess. For some reason he couldn’t explain, though, he couldn’t bring himself to speak his mind, not after the half-disgusted look he had seen her give herself in the elevator.

And when he hopefully found the guts to say something, she had already exited the car and was still waiting for him in her spot when he reached her after he paid the driver.

She smiled up at him when she fixed his tie and for the first time, it wasn’t a real smile. Clint noticed–he always did, he was probably starting to learn her better–, but didn’t directly point it out.

“Tense?” he asked as he hugged her waist with an arm.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m inexplicably exhausted all of a sudden,” she confessed after a while, as they walked up the graveled path that led to the entrance of the villa. “Todorovsky and I…” She let out a sigh, fixing a loose strand of hair that had already escaped her hairdo. “We share a past. I would tell you about it, but I…”

“No need to,” Clint reassured her, gently squeezing her side once before she showed their invitation to the same gorillas that had welcomed them the night before. He only continued to talk when they stepped inside the mansion and headed to the doors that led to the real party, past a crowd of guests even bigger than that of the first night. “I said I’d follow your lead, and that’s what I plan on doing. You’re in charge tonight.”

That last sentence made her chuckle and it took her a second longer to show her БГМЛ tattoo to the new set of bodyguards.

“I sure like the sound of it,” she grinned.

He didn’t tell her she could share her secret when she felt like it and he truly didn’t know why. He looked at her and he just knew he couldn’t. It was something that went beyond him, and it was probably silly, considered who she was and what she had always done for a living, but he truly hoped he’d one day gain her full trust.

She flashed him a grin, then, and suddenly, it was as though everything was back to normal–her eyes were twinkling, her hand was teasing his inner thigh as they entered the heart of the party, and her lips came up to press against his cheek.

“Ready to be my trophy husband again?” she giggled and her words made him chuckle as he stared down at her.

“Count me ready and thrilled,” he teased, smacking her ass and making her laugh.

“Very well, then.” She accompanied him to the bar and ordered him a drink. They had switched back to Russian not to make suspicions arise and not to catch anyone’s attention. “I will go and try to earn us a private meeting with our dear host before his actual appearance. You can enjoy the naked dancers in the meantime,” she smirked.

Clint stared at her with a grin on his face as he lifted the glass of whiskey on the rocks to his lips and only when she disappeared behind a door, he shook his head and turned his gaze to the party.

The same women that had been naked the night before were just as bare today, even though the golden glitters making their bodies glimmer had been replaced with sparkling red dust that made it look like they had tongues of fire on their skin. But as tantalizing as the view was, he couldn’t enjoy their slow and sensual dance, not even when the dancers exchanged kisses and touches. He didn’t even notice how the main color of the room was red today: red decorations, red-tinted ice statues, elegant red dresses on the stunning women that had been invited.

He probably shouldn’t have let Larisa walk away alone. After all, he had assured Steve he’d be with her at all times. It didn’t matter that he had a prepaid phone in the front pocket of his pants and that he could either call Rogers or Goncharova, for he found himself paralyzed on the bar stool he was sitting on.

What an idiot! To trust so blindly someone deemed so untrustworthy was a true child’s mistake. And yet, he wanted to believe she was redeemable, just like Nat. He wanted to believe it, for if it was true and if the impossible became possible, he could let himself fall for her as completely as he wanted.

Just as he was on the verge of walking off in the direction Lara had disappeared into, though, he felt someone wrap around his side and was startled to see his pretended wife frowning at him.

“You okay?”

He hurried to finish his forgotten drink–whiskey on melted rocks, now–and nodded his head, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. Head nuzzled in the crook of her neck, he breathed her in, involuntarily pushing her to tense.

“You sure?” she whispered, pressing her lips against his cheek. “I can do it on my own if you fear we’re risking something.”

“No, I’m fine, just…”

“You just thought I was going to betray you,” she finished his sentence for him and he averted his gaze in embarrassment. “It’s okay, you don’t have to justify yourself. I know who I am and what I’ve done, I hold no grudge. Sleeping with someone and trusting that person are two completely different things, trust me: I know.”

“I trust you,” he tried to say, “I just…”

“Clint,” she called, cradling his face in her hands and planting a kiss on his lips when she felt Todorovsky’s eyes on them. “I am with you, I promise. But we should go now, we’ve almost reached our target. Rasputin’s nail,” she added when she noticed the puzzled glance of a woman that had just reached the bar. She glared at her until the other scurried away and then took Clint’s hand in hers.

The walk to Todorovsky’s office was silent. Larisa had half-expected for the treacherous man to lead the way after seeing his reflection staring at her in one of the mirrors in the ballroom, but when she and Clint reached the door that led to the farthest side of the house, she found the way empty.

The unguarded door of the office was open, though, and as Lara’s customs, she entered without knocking.

“Some habits are hard to die,” the man behind the huge cherry-wood desk welcomed them, standing up and walking around the piece of furniture.

“Just like you, Aleksandr Sergeyevich,” Lara laughed, kissing both his cheeks when he came close enough. “I saw you staring. Hard at the sight of me dressed in your favorite color? Or maybe jealous you lost me to some other man?”

“As if a trophy husband could stand a chance against me,” Todorovsky chuckled, shaking his head and extending a hand to Clint to shake. “James, right? I would have never expected for someone like Larochka to settle down.”

Lara kissed Clint’s cheek and side-hugged him. Clint could feel her breasts press up against his arm and for a moment, that was the only thing he could think about, grounding him enough to allow him to remember the fake name they had chosen for the mission.

“Had I known you haven’t aged one bit, I would have waited to marry someone else,” she winked. “Or,” she added, extending a hand to trail an imaginary line from the crotch of Todorovky’s pants to his Adam’s apple with the perfectly manicured red nail of her index finger, “I could be shared. I’m sure James wouldn’t mind.”

They talked as if Clint wasn’t in the room and even when they all sat on the armchair and couch present in the office, Lara and their target seemed to only have eyes for each other.

Clint’s trust in her started to dwindle.

“I wanted to get back to business,” Lara was saying, her foot teasing Todorovsky’s shin up and down. “Get back under one roof and all that. I miss that life. America is…” She seemed to struggle for words.

“Boring?” the man suggested, casually resting a hand on her exposed knee.

She smiled. “In lack of better words, yes.”

“I thought you had been assigned on a recce mission.”

“You can speak freely, Shura,” Lara smiled, moving her hand over his and seemingly forgetting about Clint’s presence. “My husband knows not to talk about my business.”

“You have him by the balls, don’t you?”

“Tell me what man I didn’t have by the balls,” she laughed disdainfully. She hated how that man had been Aleksandr Todorovsky himself, but she did her best not to show it. “And besides, he’s quite good at brainstorming. Gave me many an idea on many an occasion.” She glanced at Clint, throwing him a smile, but before he could react, she had turned back to Todorovsky.

“Very well, then,” the man nodded, unbuttoning the first button of his shirt. It was quite hot in the room and the closed windows couldn’t help and ease the mugginess of the air. “Any luck with the American patriots?”

“I’m considering getting someone else assigned on the mission. The idiots aren’t as brainless as we thought them to be–after all, I’ve been at it for ten years now. It’s getting boring and they’re starting to ask questions. Fresher faces and even fresher minds could unblock the situation.”

“So you thought of getting back to me? Why?”

“Call it sentimental nostalgia,” she drawled, leaning closer to him over the armrest of the sofa. “I miss the old days, miss your touch. Don’t get me wrong, James’ game is stronger than that of any man I’ve been with for one mission or another, but you were still my first…”

Clint swallowed, eyes zeroing in on Lara. He found himself praying with every fiber of his being that the double face she was pulling wasn’t against SHIELD–against him.

Todorovsky’s hand shamelessly trailed up the slit in Lara’s dress and dipped between her legs, where she trapped it between her thighs to prevent him from touching her. “Still playing hard to get, though, I see,” he remarked with a smirk. “Holding no grudge because of that little game I had to pull on you, aren’t you?”

She swatted a hand in mid-air, giving him a sly smile. “Nah, it made everything easier. No kids, no worries, right?” But Clint had felt her hand tense against his thigh and he only hoped Todorovsky hadn’t picked up that slight change in her demeanor.

The man nodded, retrieving his hand to rest it on his own crotch as the other arm was slung over the seatback of the armchair. “I’m glad to take you back into my team,” he eventually admitted. “Mind you, you’d be treated differently than in the Red Room. After all, you’re no student anymore. Your husband is welcome, too, but I’d like to discuss these matters in private.”

A glance at Clint and he was listlessly leaving the room.

“He’s trustworthy, I told you,” Lara tried to reason once Clint had closed the door behind his back. Suddenly, she was on edge, alone with the man that had so easily manipulated her back at the Academy.

“I don’t trust easily, Lara,” Aleksandr groaned, shifting to sit next to her on the couch. His lips were on her neck before she could stop him and now that they were free of any worry, for now there was no Academy who could punish them for the hickeys on her neck, his touch was insistent, his sucking - bruising. The shivers of anticipation that ran down her spine scared her to the bone. “Not when other men are involved.” His hands came up to grab her hips and he pulled her over him until she was straddling his lap. “You were supposed to be mine and I,” he continued, lifting his gaze from the plunging neckline of her dress to meet her eye, “do not share.”

She did her best to contain the shiver that ran down her spine but the truth was, Aleksandr Sergeyevich Todorovsky made her blood run cold, her mind turn empty. “You also do not marry,” she tried to distract him, caressing the sides of his neck with her thumbs.

He laughed. “I was just kidding, kid, relax.” The circular movements of his thumbs on her hips should have been soothing, but all they did was made her even more cautious. And frightened. “Still, I would like one more time with you before discussing the details of this alliance. For old times’ sake,” he specified.

Lara forced a smirk before she nodded. “Why don’t we start with a massage, then? If I remember correctly, you used to tense up your shoulders when you were stressed.” The thought of having sex with him again made her nauseous.

The man cursed, a low moan of appreciation leaving his lips. “Go ahead,” he said, letting her stand up and shaking off the jacket of his suit. “Want me to move to a chair?”

He stayed put when she told him the couch was more than fine and as she moved to stand behind him, she sneakily grabbed a heavy, marble paperweight from his desk while he was relaxing against the seatback with his eyes closed. She hit him before he had a chance to understand what was going on.

It took her endless minutes to reach the door of the office and the awaiting Clint, Nasha and Rogers in the corridor, for she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the unconscious body of the man who had successfully managed to kill Larisa Efimovna Goncharova.

The first time Larisa showered after her graduation, she let tears run free for the first time in forever–no crying and no showing weakness at the Academy, it was simply not allowed, not if you wanted to go far. Being in that shower went against what the nurses in the Red Room had told her before releasing her into the world, but now all she wanted to do was see the stitched wound on the lower part of her abdomen rot. She wanted to see it bleed her out to death, wanted to pick at the stitches until they snapped.

How could have she been so stupid to fall into their trap?

And how could have she been so foolish to let Aleksandr manipulate her? To believe he wasn’t just doing it–doing her–for some sick wish for pleasure of his? She had always believed she was the one with the upper hand in the carnal relationship they shared and yet, here she was, betrayed and torn and broken. Covered in bruises and with a slowly healing wound that shouldn’t have been there. One piece less to call her own–to make her whole.

She punched the tiled wall of the curtainless shower, unconcerned by the pain that exploded in her knuckles.

It didn’t matter that the running water was scalding on her skin and setting those damned stitches on fire, punching the bruises on her body one by one, for a wave of slowly-mounting anger had started to creep up her back. It went straight to her mind and turned her sight blurry. It didn’t matter that the real cause was the water of the shower running down her face, mixing with her tears of shame, for all she could feel now was the blood burning in her veins, her nails cutting into the flesh of her palms, her short and ragged and heavy breathing raising the already boiling temperature of the room.

There was a minute, in that motel shower, where she promised herself she wouldn’t let herself be so foolishly blind anymore. The good old days of the Red Room were behind her back now–and so was the short-lived innocence of her childhood and adolescence. It was a fleeting thought, one that was gone as soon as it popped up, but she swore herself she’d make good on her promise until the day she died.

One by one, she was going to take down all those who had twisted her mind around the utopia of her being safe in her perfect cocoon of innocence. Sasha was going to be the last, she promised herself. She’d watch him react to all the other deaths, gauging for any sign of recognition about who, exactly, could be behind the murders, before she took her time with him, the same way he used to take his sweet time with her.

“Lara? You’re in there?”

Nasha’s voice was muffled both by the bathroom door and the running water of the shower, but Lara still managed to make out her words. Still, she didn’t answer and when Natasha entered the bathroom, she didn’t startle in surprise.

She didn’t know how her friend had managed to find her, but it was no wonder. Now that Natasha stood with the KGB, Lara was sure she had her ways to find out things. And people.

“You okay?”

She shrugged, still not facing her.

“How did the graduation go?”

There was a tense curiosity in her friend’s voice. It made her chuckle–cold and mechanical and devoid of any emotion.

“As it was always supposed to go,” Larisa stated, voice flat and emotionless before she turned around to show her the freshly stitched wound on her belly.

Natasha didn’t speak. She eyed her friend’s cut for endless minutes and her gaze burned hotter than the water pouring down Larisa’s battered body like rain. Then, she took a step forward, leaving the almost otherworldly safety of the doorframe. “I’m sorry.”

It was something stupid to say, something meaningless. Had her friend apologized to her upon finding out about her sterilization, Natasha would have burst out laughing in her face. But Lara didn’t react and in the dying light of the afternoon, she saw rage sparkle in her friend’s eyes. Had she been foolish, she would have found herself retreating before the beast that was now standing less than two meters from her.

“I was stupid,” Lara started after a while, turning around to turn off the water. “A stupid girl who thought she could beat the wolves in their own den. Stupid enough to believe a man could ever fall for someone like us.” She turned then, walked towards her until her hands grasped the towel she had left in the sink. “Lethal weapons of destruction.”

Natasha tried to think smartly, but the four walls of the bathroom felt like they were closing in on her as she stared at her ragingly calm friend. “The world is not the Red Room. And the Red Room is not the world.” She laid a hand on her shoulder, but the contact was short-lived as Larisa took a step back as she absentmindedly toweled her sore arms dry.

“Maybe you’re right,” she smirked, eyes as hard as steel as the neon-like light above the sink shed nightmarish shadows on the unblemished skin of her face. “Or maybe you’re not. But it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?”

She shrugged, carefully dabbing the stitched cut on her abdomen dry, never once grimacing at the pain. To Natasha, it was almost as though she couldn’t feel it–couldn’t feel the raging tongues of pain lapping at her whole body, couldn’t feel the fire burning the wounded skin, the toe-curling waves of unsettling agony that made her spine shiver.

The truth was, though, it was consuming her, eating her alive.

“We were taught to kill manipulation,” she spoke, “because we are the ones who manipulate, who don’t subdue to such games. It doesn’t matter what the world looks like, nor that we can fool men enough to fall for us.”

Natasha took a step back, unable to stop such movement as she watched the now unrecognizable young woman standing before her, slowly dressing.

“They made themselves an enemy. And what do we do to enemies?”

“We sneak up behind them and we kill them.”

Pure, animalistic fury burned in Lara’s smile and for the first time, the true face of the Mantis showed up. “We sneak up behind them and we kill them,” she confirmed, letting the used towel fall to the ground.

“What do you think you’ll do with the agency? You’re a KGB agent now.”

“Oh, I’ll work for them alright. I’ll spy for them, I’ll kill for them, but slowly, one brick at a time, I’ll tear the Red Room down.”

“Lara, you-”

“Lara is dead, Nasha. She never left the operation room.”

And for as dead as Larisa felt, the Mantis had never been more alive. Blood buzzing in her fingertips, she sat in the cockpit of the quinjet with the same majesty of an ancient being ready to strike.

Clint had been staring at her the whole time, even before boarding the aircraft. She hadn’t said a word after she had opened the door of Todorovsky’s office and yet, he had seen the look in her eyes go from terrified to murderous.

It was clear, in the suffocatingly quiet space of the cockpit, that there were now two parties competing for Todorovsky’s body and he was sure, then and there, that she was going to win.

But as determined as Steve was to see the end of such a tiring mission, he couldn’t seem to be able to catch a whiff of what was going on. Piloting the quinjet with the help of a weary Natasha, listening with one ear to the plan Tony was going over of again, he was as oblivious to the imminent threat as Clint himself was aware of what was coming.

Right then, Lara turned her head to look at him. It was almost like being in a horror movie: her body as still as that of a statue, only her head turned to the side and ever so slowly, the left corner of her mouth stretched into a lopsided smirk. The steely void he could read in her eyes unsettled him, so different from the burning gaze that had looked down on him just the night before. The night of almost-sex they shared seemed to belong to a previous life.

“Lara?” he called, unsure, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning the seat to face her.

“Lara is dead, Clint.” There was a spooky eeriness to her voice, one that seemed to lock every single vertebra of his spine into place as his muscles tensed up. “I am not the only murderer on this jet.”

Yep, you got it right. There’s going to be a long-ass part four, too HAHA Probably in a bit, though, for I wouldn’t want to accidentally spoiler something about the new movie to anybody. Btw, thank you for reading to this point 💛

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask. Same goes for ‘Bratva’)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892 @mblaqgi

Bratva (people not on the lists but that might still be interested): @sweetvengeancee @kind-wolf + a couple of lovely people that showed interest in the first part when I asked: @flowers-in-your-hayr@pagan-geek-girl-4-life

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sworntolight-a · 4 years

Text

Title: Five Times Kissed

Ships: Entrust (KikuxTakeru), Solarflare (Mako(oc)xTakeru), Fireflower (MakoxTakeruxKiku)

Summary: Five kisses. Five moments. Five of thousands, likely more - All shared across a lifetime spent bound together by the phoenix’s flames.

A drabble set for @soulburnings of our trio of fluffy, loving dorks - Happy birthday, Kasa! <3333

This way. Kiku wasn't sure why she hadn't expected a shortcut down an alley, honey glancing about their surroundings. Wasn't he always telling her not to go near them, always reminding her how dangerous they were with the Mizunuma brothers and their gang lurking around any and every corner? “Takeru, are you sure?”

“You said you didn't want to be seen.”

That was true, and she was thankful for his slowing to a stop and look back to her, first to meet her gaze, then down to the mess staining her blouse. She hadn't wanted to wander through the shopping district where everyone could see her, not when she'd slipped and fallen in a pile of fish guts just an hour earlier; who would with tendrils of fish skin, scales, and various parts making their clothes and hair stick to them? The smell was bad enough, but to be seen would be twice as bard – Especially with the next day being sunday and most of their classmates out for the evening!

All the same, she hadn't expected him to take her concerns to heart, either. Takeru rarely cared what anyone thought of him, and he'd made his thoughts on her needing to look pretty and presentable known more than once. She looked fine, he'd always remind her. Her scarf might have been askew, or her hair frizzy, but he'd always say she looked fine... Except for now, she noted. Now there were no promises of looking 'fine', no comments on her skirt or braid being a bit off, no teases – Just a concerned light in his eyes and free hand reaching out, thumb gently brushing a scale off her cheek.

He rarely cared what others thought, and yet he was all too willing to lead her through back alleys by the hand just so she could rest assured nobody had seen her looking like a whale had exploded.

He didn't have to, didn't have to care, and he was.

For her.

Slowly, Kiku stepped closer, rocking onto her toes and laying her hand against his chest. Despite the fish stuck to her and the awkwardness of it all, she couldn't stop herself from tilting her head towards him... Or her lips from brushing against his, instant coloring her cheeks a vibrant pink, and, she'd find as she pulled back, his bright red, sky-colored eyes wide in surprise and hand tightened around hers. But why... Was her heart pounding so hard against her ribs, now? Why had that felt so... Good? “Thank you, Takeru.”

“Uh...”

“Did you forget how to breathe?”

Gods knew she had.

“You haven't seen my shirt, have you?”

“...What's a shirt?”

Mako didn't have to look to know Takeru's stare had turned blunt, let alone pinned on her. Not when she'd gone and parked herself on top of the shirt in question, casually continuing to scroll through settings in her 3DS game without so much as cracking a smile – No matter how much she wanted to. What was the worst he could do, anyway? Flip her off it? “Never heard of this 'shirt', Takeru. Sorry.”

“I can see it under you,” came his reply, closer than before – Yet she still wouldn't look up. In her opinion, there was no point; they'd been living together for two months, sharing her bedroom for at least one, and aside from some heated playfighting, there was little reason to think her boyfriend would do anything aside from order her off his shirt. And why would she want to do that when keeping it for herself meant he'd have to join her without one?

Yet before she could get out another sound, she'd find her game plucked from her hands, replaced with her phoenix's smirking expression. A smirk that made her own lips curl into a smile; he was looking for a playfight, wasn't he? “It's my shirt.”

“You're mine,” Takeru countered, though Mako could read between the lines: You're my girlfriend, so that makes you AND the shirt mine, doesn't it? “Give it to me.”

“Depends on what this it is.”

“Mako. I want to go to bed.”

“No you don't.”

“I want to sleep.”

No he didn't, not with that look on his face, but she'd not point that out a second time. Instead, she'd simply lift a hand to cup his cheek, guiding Takeru closer for their lips to meet in a soft, loving kiss – A gesture laced in fire and desire. It'd only been a month of sharing a room, and yet, she still caught herself melting far too easily underneath his advance, melting into her pillows like pure putty under his shift to lean over her. “Mmm... God, I love you-”

“You too-”

She'd still never give him back that shirt though.

Gentle touches had always been her favorite, Kiku decided. Even a year, two years earlier, when he'd been little more than a thug and she clueless to the ways of the world, his touch across her hand and cheek had always been enough to lay her every trouble to rest. The rest of the universe seemed to melt away with each soft pass of skin on skin – All that was left was them, in a world all their own.

“I missed you.” She didn't trust her voice above the whisper it'd come out as, fingers curling into his sweatshirt. I missed you. Three words she shouldn't have been so wary to say, but he'd been gone for a reason, too, and she didn't want him to think she hadn't been supporting him the entire time. But now... He was real, right?

She didn't have to ask that question, Takeru's nose nudging hers a second later with a whisper of 'you too'. She'd never thought his return would make a moment like this... Nor had she ever expected she'd spend the day after her birthday hidden away in his bedroom, wrapped up in his arms as the sun slowly sank bellow the horizon outside. He was real, and she was finding that out in the best way possible, snuggling herself against her best friend – Her boyfriend. The boy she'd loved for so long, and nearly lost.

The boy who'd protected her for as long as she could remember.

The boy who made her heart skip a beat with every touch and every smile.

The boy who owned her heart, always.

And for the first time, her lean in was met halfway by a nervous yet eager Takeru, lips barely brushing before bravery took over and met for a far more solid, loving kiss. Their first as a couple... It was enough to send a shiver down her spine, pulled closer the second he noticed. If he thought she was cold, she wasn't sure, but she wasn't about to complain – Let alone pull away from the fire.

Let it consume me – There's no better birthday gift than to be surrounded by him, always.

Takeru's heavy sigh and flop onto their shared bed was more than enough to make Mako laugh, slow fingers undoing the floppy bow tying her hair back into a loose bun. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him nervous; tests when they lived in the city had done this to him, too, as had every mention of ever talking to her parents, but actually meeting them in person as he had seemed to have been her fiance's breaking point. Not that she could tell by the unamused stare he pinned on her a second later, of course! “You survived, didn't you? And I told you they'd like you.”

“Your father talked about the ancient rights of cows,” Takeru reminded, peeling his mouth from the pillow he'd shoved it into. “That's not liking me, Mako, that's- ...What is he?”

“Mom and I have been asking that for a long time.” Hair flopping down against her back and ribbon set aside, she wasted no time in crawling onto the bed and over him, welcoming his quick roll onto his back and arms snaking around her middle. Being on their best behavior, on top of his nervousness all through dinner, had meant touches were kept to a bare minimum – And being pulled down to lay against his far more solid form, warmth almost seeming to wrap around her like the heat from a fireplace, easily drew a content sigh from her lips. No matter how awkward the day, or how bad, laying with him always made it seem like it'd never happened... “They loved you, you know.”

“Mmm...”

“I know that hum.”

Slowly, his head lifted off his pillow, a light kiss connecting them for but a moment. “It's a tired hum.”

“I'm sure.” That was an I hope so, Mako decided, biting the words off the tip of her tongue in favor of another soft kiss, shuddering under the hands slipping under the back of her blouse for a skim of careful fingertips against her skin. Even if she'd wanted to point it out, his touch alone kept her voice from moving past her throat – And made it all to easy for her to 'steal' a third kiss, gently nipping at his lower lip along with it.

It didn't matter if they liked him or not, she reminded herself. It didn't matter if the world did, or what anyone thought of their relationship – Not when- “I love you, Takeru.”

“Love you too, Mako-chan-”

Not when he owned her with such a simple, soft smile.

“Always.”

“It's not like him to sleep this late,” Kiku sighed out, looking away from the living room's wall clock at the sound of a cup clicking against the nearby coffee table. “He's usually up by now, even on bad days. Did he say anything to you?”

Mako shrugged, plopping herself down beside her partner as carefully – and yet as ungracefully – as possible. The infant in her arms had only just stopped fussing no more than a few minutes earlier, and the last thing she wanted to do was set off another crying fit so soon. “It's how things like this go, you know. Sometimes it takes longer to come back from.”

“It's ten, Mako.”

“Mental illness sucks, Kiku.”

Though her lips parted to reply, Kiku quickly pressed them back together. Mako wasn't wrong, and they both knew it – But it wasn't like their household to be so quiet so late into the evening on a bad day, either. Sure, Takeru had spent days on end avoiding most everything on a bad day before, but he'd also made himself known to them all by 8, 9 the latest, too. Knowing it was nearly their eldest child's bedtime and he still wasn't out of bed yet worried her, something Mako quickly picked up on and countered with a soft smile.

“He'll be fine,” she offered, reaching up to brush a strand of raven hair behind Kiku's ear as Hiko crawled up to settle between them, Sumi instantly turning her attention to her brother from her mother's arms. “I promise. We'll just find him in the kitchen before us in the morning, that's all. Hope you didn’t want to keep those muffins for a rainy day.”

“I don't eat that much.”

Unlike the pure relief on Kiku's face at the sound, Takeru's voice only made Mako laugh, reaching out to catch their husband's hands the moment he was close enough to the couch. To the untrained eye, he looked content enough; dressed in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, he looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, breaking into a smile the moment Mako gave his hands a light squeeze and Hiko scooted to the side for him to sit with them. Of course, Hiko wouldn't stay there long, either, scooped onto his father's lap half a second later, hugged tight against the elder's middle with giggles galore.

But to his wives, the wear was more than obvious. Bright blue eyes had gone dim, equally as vibrant smile still warm, yet nowhere near as wide. Even his posture was more slouched than normal, and despite his chuckle over Hiko's laughter and Sumi's gurgling in his direction, a finger offered for the baby to grab at, he'd clearly not recovered enough from his 'bad day' to stay up for long. “...Sorry.”

Sorry I worried you. Sorry I was in bed all day. Sorry I haven't been out here. Sorry you had to take care of the kids all day alone- The meanings behind his apology were endless, Kiku leaning in to silence him with a sweet kiss before another could slip free. He had nothing to apologize for, after all, relishing in the faint smile he let work its way into the gesture. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm-mm.” Once more, he didn't need to elaborate, leaning back into the couch, welcoming both women's snuggle into his sides. Sleep rarely came easy when his PTSD decided to make a reappearance, but after ten years of marriage and twice as long of friendship, even he knew he didn't need to explain himself. “...Mind if I stay here?”

Mako let out a light laugh, fingertips tracing over his jawline, guiding his head to tilt to the side for her own kiss to find his lips, soft and loving. “You make it sound like we'd let you go,” she reminded right after, expression softening as his smile grew a little more. “You're stuck with us, for the rest of your life. Hope you like scratches and cuddles.”

“Love them.”

“Good...”

“'Cause we've never letting you go. Ever.”

Five kisses, five moments... Just five of thousands across a lifetime shared together. No matter what the world tries to throw their way, there's nothing they can't beat-

Not when they can face it as a family, forever bound by the flames.

#Mun's Drabbles #Blossoms Of Fire [Entrust]#Setting The World On Fire [Makeru]#Love Is Friendship Set On Fire [Fireflower]#Caught By The Flames [Soulburnings]#Love these dorks I swear- <3 #And m' sister in Kasa <3333

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