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mccall-muffin · 1 year

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Hard decisions // Ron Speirs x Reader

Summary: A breakup is always hard. No matter if you are the one breaking up or if you are the one who someone else is breaking up with. To make the decision to break someone's heart you loved will always break your own. The best comfort you have, either way, is love.

Warnings: Angst, Break-up letter, Watch out for the feelings, insecurities, guilty conscience.

A/N: This is for you, @brassknucklespeirs! I hope it will cheer you up a little!

Tagging: @brassknucklespeirs, @lieutenant-speirs, @softguarnere, @liebgotts-lovergirl, @hxad-ovxr-hxart (Some of you told me that you want to be tagged in these kinds of things, so... here you go! If you want me to stop, just tell me ;) )

February 12, 1945 - Haguenau, France

Thinking, you sit in front of the blank paper on the table in front of you. For what feels like an eternity, you have been sitting there trying to put down on paper the words that have been haunting your mind since Nuenen. Probably even longer, if you're honest.

Since your company has lost so many men, you've become increasingly aware. More aware that it could hit you at any moment.

At home, your fiancé is waiting for you. He didn't have to serve in the war because he helped build warships in New York before the war. You were just in your last year of medical school when the U.S. entered the war.

That was also why they quickly brought you to one of the military camps to help train Combat Medics. Most recently, you were at Camp Toccoa with the paratroopers, where Colonel Sink took notice of you. Seeing the best company to date already in front of him, he immediately wanted to recruit you for Easy.

Your fiancé, of course, at first was far from enthusiastic about the idea of you going to war, but eventually, he took your wish into account. As he always has.

If he didn't read your wishes from your lip, then all you had to do was say the word, and he did what was in his power to make you happy.

And now you're sitting here. In front of the blank paper, somehow trying to come up with a phrase to break the heart of the kindest, sweetest man in the world.

Sighing, you take the pen in your hand and start writing.

My dearest love,

As I write, I already feel that I will regret this letter forever. You brought me joy like no man ever could when I needed it most. You brought out the best in me by simply being you. Your love has lifted me to the most incredible heights imaginable.

Nothing in life is predictable - not even love. What you feel for someone today may not be the same tomorrow. I am saying this as I think my feelings for you have gone through something similar. I don't feel the same for you as I did when we started dating. I don't know why this has happened, but I think I should be frank and honest with you.

I can't stay in a relationship where there is no love. I hope you're able to move on and meet someone who will love you the way you deserve to be loved.

It would be unfair to you if I let it continue this way. You certainly deserve someone who loves you wholeheartedly. Hence, I feel I need to be honest with myself and you and let go of our relationship.

I am deeply hurt, and my heart will undoubtedly be scarred because we can't be together. I am willing to suffer this pain because I know you will be happy in your new life. But I have to let you go and end this relationship even though doing so feels like stabbing my own heart. I have to let you go so we are both free to move on with our lives.

It is a heartbreaking decision I am making. I hope we can remain friends, and I hope you agree that this is the best decision for both of us.

Thank you for coming into my life and filling it with so much love. I hope, someday, in another universe, we meet sooner and in favorable circumstances.

With all the love,

Y/N

As you write the last words, tears run down your cheeks. You quickly wipe them away before leaning back in your chair and rubbing your face. It almost tears your heart, but you can't help it. Your feelings are not the same as they once were.

With a heavy heart, you make your way to Vest to bring him the letter. Your hands holding the envelope are shaking, and your eyes are still burning.

"Corporal!" you hear someone call out before you turn around. "Sir?" you ask back, and Speirs approaches you. Your heart begins to beat faster. However, you can't tell if it's because the captain is getting closer to you or because you're nervous that he'll notice you're not doing well.

Quickly, you wipe your eyes again with your sleeve.

"Is everything all right, Y/L/N?" asks Speirs, and you nod. Maybe a little too quickly because he raises an eyebrow. "I - I just wanted to take this letter to - um Vest." Speirs eyes you. Your eyes glaze over, and your hands shake more violently again.

"For your folks?" he asks before you press your lips together. "In - in a way, yeah."

You stand there for another moment, neither of you saying anything. "Well, come on, then. I'll walk with you." Surprised, you look at him. "Sir?" Speirs says nothing but starts to leave, and you quickly follow him.

When you arrive at Vest, he smiles at you as he always does. "Y/N, good to see you. Do you have something for me?"

You just stand there, letter in hand, staring at it. "Y/N?" Vest picks up again, exchanging a questioning look with Speirs, who is also eyeing you. But you are still nervously kneading the letter in your hands. Suddenly you feel a hand on your shoulder and jerk your head up. "Y/N?" now Speirs asks, looking you in the eyes and then at the letter in your hands.

You meet his gaze as he carefully takes the letter from your hands and hands it to Vest without breaking eye contact with you. Then he grabs your upper arm. "Come," he whispers, pulling you along with him.

You ask no questions as Speirs leads you out of the house, into another, then up two flights of stairs and into an abandoned apartment. At the top, he lets go of you, and you take a quick look around the room.

"What's going on with you?" Speirs then asks, looking at you as you walk over to the window and stare out. At first, you say nothing.

"I just did something that - wasn't easy." You turn to Speirs and look at him. "I - I ended it. With my fiancé," you add. Speirs still says nothing but looks at you.

Tears well up in your eyes. "I - I couldn't go on. Not like that. That - that wouldn't be fair to him, and he's so -" your words break off, and you sob.

"Hey, hey," Speirs says softly, coming over to you and taking you in his arms. "It's okay, you hear?" He gently strokes your back. You rest your head on his shoulder. "It's not," you whisper, "He's too good, and I..." You push away from him. "I've fallen in love with someone else."

You take a few steps away from Ron. "Y/N, we can't always help our feelings. How long has it been since you've seen your fiancé? Two years?" Now you look at him again. "It doesn't matter, Ron. I promised him I would. I promised him I'd come home to him and marry him; instead, here I am, breaking his heart. Jesus!" You ruffle your hair in despair.

"You have a guilty conscience," Ron says, stepping up to you again. You feel his breath on your face. "That's understandable, but you need to know that two years is a long time, and a lot can happen, Y/N. And no matter what you do, it always hurts." You look into his blue eyes.

Then you lean in and kiss Ron. It only takes a few milliseconds for his hands to be on your neck, and he deepens the kiss. As you pull away from each other, Ron rests his forehead against yours.

"It was never my intention to put you in this situation, Y/N. I hope you know that" he whispers, and you close your eyes briefly. Then you nod slightly. "Like I said, we can't control our feelings. You had feelings for me even though you were engaged, and I had feelings for you even though it's forbidden, let alone since I'm your superior. And yet, I believe that love is a beautiful thing, Y/N. And we should embrace it. In these dark times anyway."

Ron takes your hand in his. "You don't know how much I love you, Y/N. And it hurts me to see you like this." He takes your hands in his. "You know," you say softly. "In the beginning - in the beginning, I thought it would go away. That I'd get a handle on my feelings. But I realized more and more that that probably wasn't true."

You look Ron in the eye. "You've shown me what I need and what I'm missing, Ron." Then you put a hand to his cheek. "I need you, and I love you." You lean in again and kiss Ron. "Thank you for being there for me."

"I'll always be here for you. Even if you would have chosen differently, my love. I would have accepted it, but you are too important to me not to have you in my life anymore. I love you more than anything in this world."

Tears come to your eyes again. Ron wipes them away with his thumb. "Don't cry, darling. It all gets easier with time, believe me. He'll get over it, too, Y/N, and find someone who loves him just as much. Don't worry too much, okay?"

He strokes my arms comfortingly. A smile creeps onto your face, even though you're still crying. "Thank you, Ron. That's what I needed to hear." "Sometimes you just need the right person, with the right words."

One more time, you put your lips to his. "I love you." He tenderly caresses your cheek. "And I love you."

#Band of Brothers #Ron Speirs x Reader #Ron Speirs #Ronald Speirs #Band of Brothers Oneshot #bobedit #hbo war #hbo series #bob #Matthew Settle #Matt Settle #Ronald Speirs x Reader #Ron Speirs fanfic

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sourcherrymag · 2 years

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three poems by harriet salmon (she/her)

Men Tality

You’re good to eat like hot bacon mid morning, chin dripping with an oil licked up by the sunlit spot on the couch. you’re good to me, forgiving, sinking the heel of your gumboots in my knee high water, when you drop the leash I can go bouts in the park, kick up shit, see my mates.

One night in a park you let me have it in the gorse bush you tell me I’m gritty, I’m bona fide, I’m east meat, all the while I keep my stockings ladder-less just the one streamlined rip at the crotch, nicked by your pinky fingernail, lined with dirt you muzzle me in a suffocating bear hug patting my head with your hand a little too stiff. thatsa girl. you say. I tell people you are soft on the inside but if that’s the truth then I’ve never bitten down hard enough to get at that soft flesh I tell people you are misunderstood like an out of season coat and I slip into you while you infant scold me and give me Rottweiler praise. Later you will punch the wall and even though it didn’t hit me it will hurt me still.

A cello suite still on the radio while no ones home with you rolling round in my mouth, poking at my cheeks breaking through newly made skin, and my pulpy powertrain gut will go on and on loving you until one late Sunday, in the middle of a run I will suddenly realize I hate you.

You’re hardy, a nose bite, a fist clenched with your white collar up for the WWE we watch it together and you are too enthusiastic

Smoke Rings

Great Grandad Eric smoked straight from the pipe

puffs of a true smoker so white they were blue

I saw him in a photo once.

One night dad caught me with a lighter, heading out the door ‘smoking kills you’ was all he said and I thought of Great Grandad Eric and his pipe, now dead.

Medieval Fate

Leaving you will be like stabbing bloated gut hoping for release but instead just bleeding Will be like the time I slammed my thumb in the uber and it started to drive off with it it’ll keep sucking the bone marrow from my life, smacking the air out of me smelling of dead seaweed dehydrating on the mud just to snap beneath people’s heavy feet Leaving you will be a lot like the underarm sweat patches on white cotton, alone in a cupboard eating ricies without milk far too stoned for my own good My heart will resign and I will watch you walk away like the end of a film and I’ll be so distraught my legs will break and I'll lie limp on the footpath forever. Leaving you will kill me. Each day I will wake up distressed like I’m late to something, but I’ll never figure out what that is. Leaving you will be surgical kind of like dying.

I told you once that I didn’t understand the historical tradition of men standing on the outer side of the footpath, during the middle ages shit and piss was thrown out windows and hit the person walking on the inside first, and wasn’t it more “gentlemanly” to stop a lady from getting showered in a bucket of sewage than the potential threat of an oncoming car meeting an improbable puddle? Therefore, is the tradition of men standing on the outer side of the footpath actually another example of the way masculinity excuses itself from difficult situations with acts of faux gallantry executed with a convincing false confidence that means they’ve never been questioned? And so you walked on the inside from then on.

Leaving you will rain shit and piss on my head wherever I go, from every window and every crack, bad plumbing will haunt me and I’ll never be able to scrape the smell from under my fingernails it’ll put every person off me forever, it’ll smell and stain and drive me up the wall it’ll isolate me on a lighthouse amidst a stormy sea with only the green light of regret to read by i’ll get it all through my hair and I’ll probably deserve it.

Harriet Salmon (she/her) only recently got her restricted, but she reads a book with formula one speed. Student, poet, collector of strange objects and secrets.

@lilhatontheprairie

#poem #poetry

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gopeachllama · 3 years

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Cuban Cigars and Cardinal Kisses

a.n/: ... ok in my defense, its still nessian month somewhere....

This fic was inspired by the mv of suit & tie by justin timberlake (the source of this AMAZING gif). its honestly one of my favourite mvs of all time. i watched again recently and it just screamed nessian to me so i wrote this. if you wanna get into the vibesTM of the fic then i highly recommend watching the mv before you read it!

reblogs and comment are highly appreciated!

Fandom: A Court Thorns and Rose by Sarah J Maas

Relationship: Nesta Archeron & Cassain

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Word Count: 5500

Ao3

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Like most other nights at Velaris Lounge, there was already a drink waiting for the man at his arrival. Picked from their finest, and most expensive collection; a finger of Lagavulin’s sixteen years-old single malt scotch whiskey in a crystal tumbler, as so directed by the gentleman. Cassian Khan, six feet and two inches of fine grooming and tailored suit, strode inside through the exclusive entrance way. Liquor in hand, he stood for a moment, lazily scanning the scene before him with deep inhale. He welcomed the soft ambience lighting, the sharp scent of spiced tobacco smoke and the quiet chatter of wealthy men and women overlayed by the sensual drawl of jazz instruments. Cassian’s blood thrummed in time with the low rhythmic thump of the bass. Day light did not reach this place. The place where night – its sole ruler – became something wholly living, pulsating, breathing. This was Cassian’s home. His fucking castle. Sending a roguish smile and a wink to the waitress still standing-by, he headed for his preferred seat by the foot of the stage.

He spotted Rhysand before he sat down. His childhood friend was draped elegantly over his throne of cushioned velvet, one leg crossed over the other, and taking long drags from the joint between his lips. Wicked delight glinted in Rhys’ dark eyes as he watched his friend unbutton his jacket and drop into his own lounge chair across from him. There were no strobe lights directly over the area where they sat; the darkness surrounding Rhys wore him just as finely as his thousand-dollar suit.

Rhys picked up his own, amber-coloured drink and tipped it in Cassian’s direction, “brother,” He greeted. Opaque slivers of smoke curled out and around his teeth and dissolved into the air as he spoke. “Just in time.”

So, it seemed. Their other friend, Azriel, was nowhere to be seen. Cassian’s gestures mirrored Rhys’ as he toasted his friend and took sip from his drink. The liquor ran down his throat, smooth as honey, and he sprawled against the back of his seat. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and fished out two slim packages, handing one to Rhys and working on the other. Once the plastic wrapping was removed, he brought it to his faced and dragged the length of it under his nose as he inhaled. The aroma of spice and rich wood flooded his senses and he let out a low, satisfied hum. With an eager smirk, Cassian prepared the crisp Cuban Montecristo No.2 with sturdy, brown fingers. When he was done, he raised the lit cigar to his mouth and took a deep breath. Coating his tongue, expanding his lungs, and coursing through his veins, he allowed the heady fumes to fill him. And he came alive.

Cassian scrutinised his companion through the tendrils of smoke as he exhaled, “looking a little eager tonight, Rhys. A special night?”

“Isn’t it always?” Rhys drawled as he watched the sinuous bodies on stage from the corner of his eye.

Cassian couldn’t argue with that. Nights at Velaris Lounge seemed to exist in an entirely different space and time.

Cassian and Rhys’ continued talking, and there was no shortage of subject matters, with Cassian being the head of security for Rhys’ company. They usually avoided mixing work and pleasure, though Rhys’ often proclaimed that both could be the same thing under the right circumstances. Cassian was inclined to agree.

Soon, the conversation was swallowed up by a lull in the music and a dim of the lights. Cassian readied himself by settling further into his chair. The music quickened in tempo, and anticipation charged through air as trumpets beckoned the start of the performance. His arrival was announced through the speakers, in a sweeping, grandiose declaration.

His best friend since childhood, and the remaining member of their trio; Azriel glided onto centre-stage with hard forged confidence. A lit joint in one hand, and a crystal tumbler in the other, Azriel sang. Smoothing, melodic sounds as he moved around the mic stand with loose limbs and an easy smile on his face. It always warmed Cassian, seeing his friend like that. Seeing how he changed when he was on his stage. So different to the man he was outside of this place. To how he used to be. It was a gentle, endearing reminder to Cassian, of their struggles, their triumphs. Of how far they’ve come – how far he’scome and never looked back.

The bass thrummed, trumpets shrilled, and drums pounded. The timbre of Azriel’s voice streamed effortlessly alongside the various overlaying pitches of the backup singers. The song was all jazzy and funky at the same time, that had Cassian idly tapping his foot in time with the beat. This performance was unfamiliar to his ears. Usually, Azriel made the effort to rehearse his potential performances with his brothers present. And though this wasn’t the first time, it still occurred rarely enough that it had him slightly arching his eyebrows up in surprise.

Before he could think anything more of it, the tempo of the music changed, lowering in pitch and slowing to a steady beat, the rhythmic thump of the bass vibrated the ground at his very feet. The lights flashed before going out completely, blanketing everything under darkness. There was a charge of bated breath in the air, but Cassian was never afraid of the dark. Blood thrummed through his veins in anticipation.

A single spotlight turned on and landed on centre stage. Revealing Azriel’s silent retreat, as if he had melted into the very shadows. But she stood there, in his place. Cassian’s breath hitched at the unfamiliar figure. Burnished gold hair spilling down her back, long legs clad in thigh-high stockings and stiletto heels. And black laced lingerie, covering across her generous breasts, her perky ass, and a garter belt strung around her at the dips of her waist. Piercing steel-grey eyes.

She stood for a breath. One, two, three. And then shemoved.

Cassian catalogued it all. Every flick of her fingers, every sway of her hips, every arch of her back. The gleam of her pearly-white teeth anytime she smiled just wide enough. And Cassian knew, that even when this was all over, she would continue to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

The pale strobe light casted over her in black and white. Highlighting the curves of her body, with shadows mingling in every dip. The valley of her breast, the ridge down the middle of her toned, flat stomach, the notches of her spine. Cassian felt the phantom press of marble on the tips of his fingers, and they flexed uselessly on the arm of his chair. He wondered if it would feel just as cold if he caressed her unblemished skin. Every now and then, her skin would shimmer; it was beads of moisture that got caught under the spotlight. Perhaps it was droplets of her perfume, that he could smell the barest hints of this close to the stage. Or maybe it was her sweat. Cassian couldn’t tell the difference with the scent. Not that he cared one single bit.

He blinked, and in the next moment, she was on the ground, hands and knees on either side of the turned over mic stand. She dipped low, her cleavage only a breath away from the cool surface of the stage. Then, she reached down her body, and thrusted the mic stand through her splayed open legs. Cassian bit down on an audible groan. She was steel forged in fire and melded under the steady beat of a synth bass drum. It was a brutal, devastating kind of beauty. Cassian may have been a little bit in love. And undeniably rock-fucking-hard in his pants.

In on final turn, she was on her back and propped up on an elbow. Then, so slowly, in time with the bass, much like his own thundering heartbeat, she raised one leg. It stopped for a beat when it was perpendicular to the ground. And she waited, like she knew there was not a single breath being drawn in the room. Like she knew all eyes were latched onto her. The movement was slower, again, when it continued. She stretched herself, and Cassian lost the battle to look away from the thin strip of black lace nestled between her thighs. Her leg eventually rested on her shoulder, held there with a single finger twirled around the heel of her stiletto. The music dropped out completely, and silence consumed the Lounge. The air went heavy, a tangible taste in Cassian’s mouth. And then she tipped her head back, hair flowing to the floor in golden waves, and basking the length of her neck to the single spotlight above. The corners of her mouth curled, oh so slowly. Her cardinal red lips standing out on her pale skin, like blood spilt on pristine marble. She smiled, shamelessly, secretly. The sight of her wide open to the patrons of the Lounge and filthy promise stained on her lips; so debauched, Cassian could hear Rhys shifting in his seat breaking through the silence. He felt the burn in his lungs from the lack of air, but he didn’t dare to move in the slightest. Afraid he would shatter the moment completely. But before Cassian could think to greedily take in every inch of her, the stages plunged into darkness once again. And when light returned, she was gone, and Azriel was there. The mic stand up righted, and a casting knowing smirk. At him.

The music went back to its previous tempo, as strobe lights flashed and soft chatter resumed within the audience. But it was all a dull noise in his ears.

“Who is she?” Cassian sounded a little breathless.

Rhys continued to watch the space she had just vacated. “She showed up a week ago, asking for a job. We told her that we weren’t looking for any new dancers… And she just stripped right there, down to her under-things and started moving. She didn’t even wait for the band,” He turned back to Cassian, and that wicked smile was back in full force, “Az hired her before she even finished her piece.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” There was a slight edge in his voice, but Cassian never got his answer. The music ebbed, cueing the end of Azriel’s performance. As usual, He didn’t linger for the moderate applause. Grabbing a glass of liquor off a tray waiting for him at the base of the stage, he stepped off, and headed straight for his two friends.

“Spectacular as always, Az,” Rhys remarked as Azriel loosened his tie and dropped into the remaining empty seat. Cassian saluted the arrival his friend with a tip of his drink in his direction before upending in one swig and signalling for another one. He pulled out a fresh, new Cuban from his pocket and passed it to Azriel. The latter knowingly took his time. Getting it ready with deft, scarred fingers before finally bringing it up to his lips before, again, taking a slow drag from it. Cassian’s whole body thrummed with question; the words mingled on his tongue along with the sharp aftertaste of expensive whiskey. But Azriel beat him to it.

“So, Cass. How do you like your birthday present?” flicking an eyebrow upwards, he smirked around the cigar propped in the corner of his mouth.

Cassian tensed and waited a moment, carefully choosing his words. “My birthday is in July, jackass.” But Cassian was never the careful type.

Rhys gave a short laughed before replying, “we’ll take that as a thank you.”

“Hello, boys,” A sweet voice came from behind Cassian’s ear. It was once of their long-time waitstaff-turned-dancers. A gorgeous, lithe, little thing. Dressed in sleek, black slacks and a sheer-laced bralette. And even though they smiled politely at both Cassian and Azriel, and placed a new drink in front of the former, Cassian knew the real reason for their appearance.

“Doll,” strobe lights glittered in Rhys’ eyes as he reached for their hand and pressed a kiss onto delicate fingers, “you were absolutely exquisite tonight.”

The dancer melted as they dropped into the space under the man’s arm. And even Cassian marvelled at the way the ambient light made their black skin glow like obsidian.

Azriel sent a soft smile in their direction, “Tarquin,” he greeted with a slight nod. They went to answer, but words were all for naught when Rhys began ghosting his lips along the crook of their neck and shoulder.

Cassian went back to the important matter at hand, “her name?”

Toying with the lace at the edge of Tarquin’s bralette, Rhys didn’t bother to look Cassian’s way as his smile turned feline, “Narcissus.”

He waited for more but when his friend didn’t go to elaborate – more interested with tracing his tongue in the hollow of Tarquin’s collarbone – Azriel did it for him. “It’s an alias, of course. But she had that look in her eyes, you know? Like she was one of us. It didn’t matter to me what her name was.”

Narcissus. The word struck a chord deep within Cassian. And even though he didn’t know her real name, he had to have her. He may go mad if he didn’t. Perhaps he already had. One of the staff girls melted from the shadows and spoked into Azriel’s ear. His gaze shifted to behind Rhys’ head and Cassian followed it with his own to a couple sitting a few tables down from them. She was halfway on her partner’s lap, rubbing idle circles into his splayed thigh and giggling at whatever he was whispering into her hair, while he met Azriel’s stare from the corner of his eye with wicked promise. Azriel’s lips tipped up lazily from one corner when he returned his heavy gaze back to his friends.

“The couple over there would like to express their praises,” He just said.

Cassian scoffed and Rhys waved an idle hand, “I’ll see you in the morning then, brother.”

Azriel stood and drained the rest of his drink before meeting Cassian eye with a slight tug of his mouth and flicking his chin in the general direction of the bar behind him. Cassian jerked his head over his shoulder and scanned the length of the bar. His attention snagged on a familiar small back, and stockings and stiletto clad legs hooked around the leg of a bar stool. He almost lurched from his seat as he looked back to the two men with him. But Azriel was gone. Already at the other table, one hand placed on the man’s shoulder and pressing a kiss onto the woman’s cheek. Tarquin was straddling Rhys. His friend lightly caressed a single finger up and down their spine while his other hand remained draped across the back of the lounge as the pair traded deep kisses that would have been inappropriate in any other public setting. Cassian and his two closest and longest friends; well, they never made the habit of saying goodbye to each other. He left the sitting area and headed for the bar.

Cassian stepped up to the bar just in time to hear a low voice ask the bartender, “scotch. Neat.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “From the finest bottle for the lady. And make it a double.”

The lady did not move to face the newcomer. Only with a slight tip of her chin, she watched him with piercing, unreadable eyes as he watched her. All of her: loose golden hair, long neck, straight back, legs crossed, one hand on her knee. She sat on that bar stool like it was her throne. She wore a slim black dress now, hiding nothing Cassian hadn’t already seen for himself when she was on that stage. He flexed his hand at his side and sent her a cool, suave smile.

“On the house,” he said as he settled into the stool next to the dancer. “For your captivating opening performance at the Lounge.”

When both drinks were handed to them, Cassian tipped his toward the woman and took a generous swig. “I’m-”

“I know who you are. Mister Khan,” she cut him off, luscious lips in a straight line and manicured nails rapping on the bar surface.

Cassian was thankful that he had already sat down, for he would have been rendered to his knees at the mere sound of her voice had he not. It was the slight curl of her tongue, and a curve of her lips, that gave it a breathy, raspy sound. She had a faint accent. French. If Cassian hadn’t already decided to take her to his bed, he most certainly did now. He wanted to know how his name would sound from those sinful lips. He wanted to know what her moans sounded like. Her cries of extasy. Her laugh.

“You are my boss, no?” She asked, peering over the rim of the crystal glass at her mouth.

I am if you want me to be. “Technically.” Along with Rhysand and Azriel, they all own equal shares of Velaris Lounge. “But I prefer the term benefactor.”

There it finally was. A small tug at the corner of her mouth. And Cassian relaxed, satisfied at the sight of it. She eyed the Cuban cigar that was still between Cassian’s fingers. Without any further prompt, he offered the unlit end to her. She took hold of it between two lithe fingers and brought it to her mouth. And Cassian watched in utter reverence. As if the scene unfolded before him in slow motion. Her lips wrapped around the thick end of the cigar. And Cassian’s hand curled hard around the edge of the table. shadows swarmed into the hollow of her cheeks, as she inhaled. And Cassian stopped breathing entirely. Her eyes flashed as she watched him the whole time. As if she could see. Somehow, in the dim, ambient lighting. The cinch in his jaw. The sudden, unbearable tightness in his pants. As if she could hear. Somehow, over the entrancing melody of jazz instruments. The depraved thoughts going through his mind. Of the way he ached to know what her lipstick would look like smudge all over his cock. And then, as if she knew. She curled her lips slightly around the cigar, before removing it from her mouth. Leaving behind a perfect imprint of her cardinal stained lips. Teeth grinding together, Cassian had to physically force down a groan.

Doing anything at all to wade through the thick haze of arousal clouding his mind, he rasped, “so how has the lounge been treating you so far.”

“This place is called the city of dreams, no?” she said, “I never believed that, until I came here. That it could be this simple.”

Cassian couldn’t help the pride that bloomed in his chest. One of us. Azriel had said. “What do you dream of?”

Her eyes wandered behind them to the stage, remained there for a heartbeat, then returned to him. Resolve glinted in them. “To have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

A dangerous smile overtook his features, “well, Velaris is the kind of place where getting everything you want is just the beginning.”

She turned in her seat to fully face him. The slit of her dress shifted in the process, exposing the entire length of her thigh and the laced hem of her thigh-high stockings around it. Cassian’s eyes dropped to it instantly. And like some compulsion, his idle hand went to ghost a single finger over it. She didn’t move away.

“And what is it that you want, mister Khan?” those words ran smooth from her lips, like the expensive scotch she held in her hand.

Cassian wanted to be set ablaze by the heat in her ember eyes.

“I want to know your real name, sweetheart.”

The woman blinked slowly. “Why should I tell you?” she breathed. Her voice now barely over a whisper. The casual glances to his lips occurred far more frequently.

“Because,” Cassian’s words turned heavy as the atmosphere became sharp, like a kindle before a flame, “I need to be able to remind you what it is when I’m fucking you so hard that you won’t remember it.”

If she was flustered at his crude language, she hadn’t shown it. Cassian had no doubt that a woman such as herself was used to receiving such propositions from all kinds of people. She only regarded him; one second, two seconds. Then, her eyelids fluttered, and her lips curved slowly. She smiled; that same secret smile she had given earlier. To no one in particular, on that stage where no one could take their eyes off her. She brought the cigar back to her mouth and took a long drag. The glowing end that illuminated the space between them was nothing compared to the inferno of desire raging within Cassian. Pinning him with an unwavering glaze, she leaned forward, as delicate tendrils of smoke curled around her blood-red lips like silver flames. The last of it danced along Cassian’s cheek when she drew close enough to whisper his damnation.

“Nesta.”

***

The first time he fucked her that night, they barely made it to the couch just beyond the foyer of his penthouse apartment. Cassian took Nesta as she was when he first laid eyes on her. Midnight laced lingerie, garter belt, thigh-high stockings, stilettos, and all. Her dress and coat, and his tie and suit jacket were promptly discarded somewhere by the front door, as he pushed her down on knees and elbows, and pressed her face firmly into the soft, cool surface. Cassian was enthralled, possessed, savaged. And he barely had half the mind to rip open a condom and roll it onto his cock, as he moved aside the damp slit of her panties to reveal a swollen, throbbing cunt. Nesta was ready for him. He had made sure of that when he spent the better part of the drive home with his hand up her dress, as cunning fingers rubbed at her clit over the rough material of her panties. He was pretty sure there would soon be a speeding ticket with his name on it. But he couldn’t bring his self to give a fuck. He only hoped that the image taken by the speeding camera; of Nesta moaning and writhing in the passenger seat of his European sports car, would dissuade the cops from sending it. Cassian wound his hand around the back of Nesta’s garter belt and fisted the other into her hair, as he fucked her in ruthless, powerful thrusts. He came, harder than he ever had in his life. Spilling into the condom inside of her with bruising fingertips and clenched teeth. And Nesta followed not seconds later, with Cassian groaning and uttering filthy fucking promises into her skin.

He fulfilled those promises, just moments later. When Nesta was barely over the throws of her earth-shattering orgasm. Her ruined panties and stilettoes were gone, and her lace bra was push down beneath the curve of her breasts. Her sensitive nipples puckered from the earlier onslaught of Cassian’s tongue and teeth. She mewled at the feeling of the heated skin of her ass pressing onto the cool granite surface when Cassian lifted her onto his dining table. Anticipation pooled in her eyes like molten silver when two rough hands spread her knees wide apart. Cassian never considered himself a religious man. But there was something so unequivocally holy in that moment; Nesta’s gasping and moaning her pleas in abandon, while Cassian knelt and worshipped her flesh. Fingers and tongue worked in expert harmony, as he tasted every inch of her sopping cunt.

When they finally made it to the bed, Nesta was bare down to only her stockings – at Cassian’s adamant insistence. Her soaked panties were left with his thousand-dollar suit; crumpled on the dining area floor. Her bra and garter belt were practically torn off and dumped along the way of their frantic journey to his bedroom. Her long, burnished gold hair was spread generously over his charcoal bed sheets, like golden silk on molten rock. Briefly, Cassian wondered if those lavish strands were long enough to brush against the plush carpet on the floor, while her head was tipped over the edge of his bed, and his hard length plunged deep into her awaiting mouth. Cassian banished the thought instantly, lest their latest coupling end far too soon for his liking. One stocking clad leg was thrown over his shoulder. While the other, was pressed into the memory foam mattress, held down hard by a large, muscled hand. Cassian was drunk on the sight of Nesta like this. She was wholly stretched out by him; beyond anything he has ever attempted before with anyone else. And he silently thanked whatever depraved God watching over them, for her lithe, dancer’s body that could take it, and then some.

The blush that began at her cheeks, slowly made its way down her neck and to her chest. Mascara was smudged around her glazed eyes; faint tracks of it running down her face and into her hairline. The sleek lines of her dark red lipstick were nothing but whispers of what it once was on those beautiful, luscious lips. Perfect, cock-sucking lips. No doubt Cassian would find the rest of it imprinted on his plush, Italian leather couch. At that point in the night, Nesta’s mouth was open in a constant ‘O’ shape. Her pink, wet tongue periodically coming out to tangle with his. She was a sight of pure debauchery. And it was nothing short of a masterpiece. With each powerful thrust, Nesta body jerked with the force of it, her supple breasts bouncing in tandem. And Cassian was hypnotised by the rhythmic movement of her hardened nipples.

Cassian had taken many women to his Californian king-size bed. Beautiful women. Exquisite women. Some of them shy, some of them playful. And most were downright sinful. But Nesta. Nesta, Nesta. Cassian Khan felt like one of the greats. Like fucking Michelangelo, like Sandro Botticelli. Seeing how he was making her writhe beneath him like that; manicured fingers twisted in the bed sheets, arched back, neck bared, skin painted in the soft glow of the spectrum of city lights glittering through the floor to ceiling windows. Seeing how she was open completely, and unyieldingly to him. Taunt flesh rippling under the pearly skin of her flat stomach. Her soddened, swollen cunt, stretched deliciously around his considerable girth. She was priceless renaissance painting that belonged in a museum for the world to see. The Dance of Narcissus, he would call it.

With a guttered groan, Cassian broke through the moans, the pants, and the slick sounds of rock-hard flesh rubbing against soft, wet flesh. “Sweetheart, your pussy is perfect. Like it was made for me.” He couldn’t look away. At Nesta stretched out before him. A precious oasis to a dying, dehydrated man. He would do anything. Give anything – his cock, his time, his money – to keep her coming back to his bed.

“One day, I’m going to fuck you raw. Would you like that, sweetheart?” Nesta could only whimper in response. Which spurred Cassian to go faster, deeper. Harder. “I’ll fuck you so hard. Stuff you so full of my cum, you won’t walk properly for a week.”

Cassian snaked his free hand up her body, fingers caressing over her sensitive skin along the way. He drove it into her hair and gripped harshly onto the strands at the back of her head. “You’ll get up on that stage, and dance for all those filthy-minded men. But it’ll be me dripping out of your tight, little pussy and down your gorgeous legs.”

“Cass!” Nesta cried out. Desperate to touch him, she reached out, digging her sharp nails into his tensed bicep. Cassian welcomed the pain.

“Fuck Nesta. So, fucking perfect for me.” He knew he was close to his release, but he wanted her clenching around him before that. With hard tug of her hair, he made Nesta look him in the eye. Cassian felt the muscles of her thigh trembling at her impending climax beneath the hand that held down her leg to the mattress. “One more time, sweetheart. Come for me, I know you can.”

Nesta shattered around him, just like that. Never taking her eyes from him the entire time, as she gasped and thrashed beneath him. Incoherent words spilt in between each heaved breath. Cassian could only comprehend a word here and there; it was mostly in French. And he didn’t stop. Even as she cried out, begging for reprieve. Begging for more. Cassian pushed her legs even further apart, driving deeper into her limp, pliant body, brushing against places that had never been touched. A bead of sweat rolled down the length of his forehead and nose, before landing in the valley of Nesta’s breasts. Cassian breath stuttered as his cock tightened. And there were barely seconds for him to pull out completely from her over-sensitive flesh. Nesta choked at the sudden loss, but Cassian ignored her muffled protests. In one swift motion, he ripped the condom from his throbbing cock, and pumped the exposed length, once, twice, thrice. And Cassian came undone. He shouted Nesta’s name as ribbons of cum painted her breasts and stomach. Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. He chanted her name over and, and over again. Until he was nothing. Until her name was but an imprint forever in his memory. A promise.

***

They had fucked one more time. Hours later, in the watery, grey light of dawn. Cassian awoke to soft mounds pressed against his back. To tongue and teeth dragging along the stubble on his jawline, and a delicate hand wrapped firmly around his erection. There was nothing separating their skin from head to toe. Nesta’s stocking were nowhere in sight. Not that Cassian cared to look anywhere beyond what was right in front of him at that moment. They shifted in unison, and she straddled him. Somehow, in all their lazy moments, Nesta had already rolled a condom it onto his shaft, while his eyelids were still heavy with sleep. And before he had the chance to touch her, she wordlessly sank onto him, teeth embedded into her bottom lip. Nesta waited, impaled on Cassian’s cock. Adjusting to his sheer size despite already having him twice before. Her flush was gone, but her skin was littered with the evidence of their carnal frenzy from merely hours ago. The first light of day, lit hair up like a golden vail spilling over her shoulders. She was breathtaking, so he told her. But she had not paid attention to his adorations. No, for the first time since they met the previous night. Nesta drank the entirely bare, magnificent sight of him. Her eyes ran over his rich brown skin. Every mountain and valley of muscle in his arms and abdomen. The notch of his throat. The sharp, brutal planes of his face. His molten, hazel eyes. The intricate black lines of ink that spanned his pectorals and biceps.

“Homme exquis.” Nesta murmured softly, as she lifted her hips.

Bodies, supple and hard, moved together. Deeply, and slowly with the rising sun. Chasing any lingering tastes of Cuban cigars and single-malt scotch. Once more. Cassian would want to have her once more, to match the frantic, carnal passion from the previous night. But he restrained himself. Being too content with that moment in the silence of an early morning. With Nesta tracing his tattoo with fingertips and tongue, and Cassian’s nosed buried into her damp hair. She must have showered while he slept. And he was consumed with the scent of him on her. He thought of her using his shampoo, his soap, his towel, and something small and warm burrowed deep within his chest.

They found their releases with each other, Nesta right after Cassian. And when Cassian emerged from his bathroom fifteen minutes later. A towel wrapped low around his sore hips, and tendrils of steam following his steps. Nesta was gone with the final shades of night. But promises of her remained, littered all over his apartment. Stockings draped over the bathroom rack next to a damp towel. A lace bra, hanging off his bedroom doorknob. Black panties laid out on his granite dining table. A garter belt slung over the back of the leather couch stained with cardinal lipstick kisses. Cassian kept them all with a secret smile on his face. Later, when the night would return in all its magnificent beauty. He would put on a fresh, expensive suit. And He would return to his castle. To his friends. To Nesta. And he would do it all over again.

#acotar #acotar fic #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nessian smut #nessian modern au #nessian month

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mindofharry · 3 years

Text

here’s a part 2 to ghost!harry and medium!Y/N. enjoy, loves!!! part 1.

“Is there a reason you’re following me around harry?” Y/N asked smiling to herself. Harry had been a little clingy, to say the least. Y/N absolutely loves the company ands it’s new territory for her too, she’s loves to learn. But she’s worried for harry. She thought the thing for him to pass on properly, would to get answers from his mom. Talk to her for a bit. But that doesn’t seem to be the answer because he’s still following Y/N around like a lost puppy. So harry definitely has some unfinished business, but he likes Y/N way too much to answer any of her questions.

“I like being near you” He shrugged, Y/N sighed and turned around lighting the candles near the shop window. Halloween is coming up very soon, which is the shops busiest time of year. Y/N does free readings and even dresses up. It’s her favourite time of year. Her mother used to bring her trick or treating all the time, even when she was much older.

“Don’t you have a house to haunt?” Y/N teased turning around to see harry leaning against a shelf. She didn’t mind him being around here, it’s just getting a little frustrating not knowing what his unfinished business is. It’s got to be something to do with how he died right?

Harry tilted his head to the side and crossed his arms over his chest. Harry knew what he had to do to cross over — he just didn’t feel like doing it. He found so much comfort in Y/N, so much peace. Why not stick around for a bit. No matter how many times shes asks harry to leave, she’s secretly hoping he’ll fight and stay. Harry knows that.

“Listen, harry” Y/N started walking towards harry. She sighed itching the back of her hair, then wiping her sweaty hands against her satin skirt. Her mother’s actually.

“I love having you around. You’re really great company, but sooner or later you need to find your unfinished business and move on. Bad things happen if you don’t” Y/N said, she then nodded to herself.

“We’ll find out what your unfinished business is together, how about that?”

Harry bit his lip and instead of speaking up, telling her that he already knew what he had to do in order to pass on — he kept quiet and nodded smiling brightly at her. It’s definitely going to come and bite him in the ass later on, but he liked Y/N. she’s kind. Kinder than any girl he’s ever met.

When he was alive ladies (and men) adored him. Harry was popular in school and in college. Although he wasn’t in college for long, all he can remember is having a great time. Partying, sex, drugs. But he was getting good grades and making genuine friends - even had a girlfriend for a bit. Harry was liked everyone and everyone liked him.

Even though he had girlfriends in his time on earth and recently before his death, they had never been like Y/N. She’s bubbly, weird but cute and the most beautiful person harrys ever seen. If he had known about her gift when he first became a spirit he thinks he would’ve crossed over a lot sooner.

When the day is done and Y/N decides to close up the store, harry heads to her car. He likes cars a lot, he used to race a bit with his college friends and surprisingly that wasn’t his cause of death. Harry was a good driver, the feeling was exhilarating and the adrenaline rush he got afterwards was something he chased for weeks after. He had never felt something like that before — harry felt the same way about Y/N. His feelings were exhilarated and the rush he got in his bones from just seeing her smile was electric.

Once Y/N was in the car and they were on the way home, Y/N felt like it was a right of passage to talk a little about harrys family, seen as he’s not visited them a lot since the last meeting. She’s not too sure way because he was so eager when they met.

“You know emily is asking for you?” Y/N asked softly, turning off the music. Harry rolled his eyes and looked out the window.

Y/N knew it was hard for harry seeing his mom move on - sometimes she thinks harry forgets he’s dead and people are supposed to move on. And if that means her adopting a new child and giving her a better life, then so be it.

“Harry she has a gift too, she can sense what you’re feeling. She’s just a little girl trying to help her mom” Y/N said trying to reason with him, but she could feel the jealousy coming on again.

“Just tell them i’ve passed on or whatever shit terminology you use. I don’t want to see or talk to them again. I’ve got you now” Harry said, making Y/N slightly worried.

Harry is so dependent on her, it scares her sometimes. She just wants to be kind and help him. But he’s not making it easy.

“Harry…”

“I don’t want to talk about them anymore” Harry said clearly agitated. Y/N sighed and nodded keeping quiet.

The car ride home was silent from then on, Y/N felt bad for questioning harry - but she did not feel bad for trying to help another family get some relief and heal. Harry is being extremely selfish, and she just hopes he’ll come to terms with that soon enough. She just needs to settle down and try and help this kind soul.

While Y/N was getting ready for dinner, harry had popped back into the house. She could sense him behind her, but she didn’t make a move to speak or connect with him like she usually did.

Not this time.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so overwhelmed trying to find my ‘unfinished business’ and i didn’t mean to take out on you, mom or emily. i really appreciate your help” Harry said leaning against the wall, Y/N smiled softly and put a plate down on the dining table.

“I’m always here, wiling to help, harry. You know that. Now let me eat and then we’ll get started”

After a rather quiet dinner, the ghost and medium resided in the living room. Paper upon papers scattered around them, a comedy on in the background and a cold tea on the coffee table in front of them. Y/N was determined, it almost made harry feel guilty. But she would understand in the end why he kept it from her right? He wanted to stay longer, learn more.

Be with Y/N for as long as he could.

Harry didn’t care about the repercussions it could have on his spirit or Y/N for that matter. It would all work out in the end, right? It always does.

“I have a ton of people i need to talk to. Maybe i’ll get your mom to come with me so it won’t look suspicious” Y/N giggled and harry couldn’t help but laugh with her, almost forgetting his previous thoughts immediately.

“What’s wrong?” She asked feeling his anxiety.

Harry couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I know my unfinished business”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and almost let out a gasp.

“It’s you, Y/N. You’re my unfinished business”

#kind of short!#but i hope you like it :)#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #ghost!harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut

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marvellovegalore · 3 years

Text

Breaking You

Chris Evans

Parte Deux - Hurting You

Synopsis: You begin to feel the true consequences of you hurting Chris and it's beginning to overwhelm you - and him.

Word Count: 2,483

Author's Note: I listened to quite a few songs to truly get into the vibe of this but The Cinematic Orchestra - To build a home (slowed) really got me into the energy I want to be delivered from this write-up. Happy Reading! Feel free to let me know how you feel!

Warning: Explicit Language, Mention of Mental Illness, Sexual Content

You’ve rarely had to consider yourself as someone who runs from her problems. You’d probably proudly tell anyone that asked that you quite confidently tackle your problems head-on.

However, you’ve created quite a serious problem for yourself. A broken heart.

What you have periled numerous men with, is now afflicting you. The odd thing is, is that you are exulting in it. It’s an oddly familiar sensation; it drowns your body in an intangible sickness that paralyses and asphyxiates you.

You sit at your piano, watching the silent and unmoving countryside. The fields of Portofino showered with golden sunlight, the brio reflecting into your room.

You haven’t pushed aside the sheer curtains since you arrived four days ago. You’ve taken your first shower this morning, the water sinking you into its comforting, warm embrace. You don’t really want to tell yourself aloud why you chose to come back to your grandparents’ old house, when stuff is going wrong. You’ve decided that playing the piano and smoking your days away is better than confronting yourself in the mirror - good thing all the furniture is covered with sheets. The sorry state of your face would make you plunder even deeper into your melancholy.

You will yourself to forget him and try to forget his existence.

But it’s virtually impossible, with him promoting a new film three towns over.

Good thing is you feel physically incapable of stepping outside of the confines of the house. The ladies that tend to the house scurry around the town buying food for the house and maintain its upkeep, they attempt to feed you three meals a day or four. You refuse most of the time, and they regard you with concerned gazes.

How could you begin to explain that with breaking a man’s heart, you subsequently had broken your own? His words blistered with bitterness bit you and dragged you down to the same pits of sadness that you plunged him into. You can probably say that you loved him, but you’ll probably truly never grasp why you can’t stay in something that requires such cemented commitment.

“Signora?” Your house governess interrupts your train of thought, you pull your cigarette away from your lips. “Sí?” She presents you with a letter addressed to you. The handwriting vaguely familiar to you. You thank her and dismiss her, the cigarette back in between your lips.

The letter doesn’t inform you of who it is from, but you hope, in the depths of your ribs that it’s from him, but you couldn’t possibly understand why he would ask to meet with you. He left you wordlessly two months ago and hasn’t been in contact since, not even through subliminal messages on social media. You can wager that you’re probably dead to him. It was made clear to you when you stood at the beach outside of your friend’s Malibu compound. He would rather die than get back with you; you don’t blame him.

You turn back to your piano, the keys feeling like lead beneath your shaky fingers. You play out a melancholic tune, your fingers feeling like they’re losing blood, you play clumsily, your eyes welling with tears.

You do have to admit, you feel extremely guilty for leaving him.

Life was beautiful with him.

He would have served you the sun on a platter if it meant making you smile - but you’re meant to destroy beautiful things.

It was what your father told you. You ruined his marriage to your mother; your sheer existence drove her to the brink of insanity. Since you were conceived you were a parasite that took the love your mother had for your father and you guzzled it out of her, taking all of her focus and affection. When you were born your parents refused the diagnosis of postpartum psychosis. Your mother believed you were an angel sent from heaven and doctors were trying to take you from her; so, she slowly succumbed to the madness and your father eventually was forced to send her away. The resentment he felt towards you all but scented the house, you were a poisonous leech, and you were treated as such.

You take the last drag of your cigarette and drag yourself to your walk-in closet, you decide on taking another shower - scrubbing away the odour of tar and smoke. You ready yourself for your strange and mysterious encounter. You dress yourself and half an hour later rush out to your car. The sun is low in the sky by the time you start driving away from the house, the countryside hugging you from all sides.

The drive is long into the town centre. The sky is blushed with pink and tinges of orange. You park your car and take a slow walk to the Splendido Mare; you enter the hotel’s restaurant and are led to a table. Your order a glass of wine and wait. After ten minutes you take out the letter, you read it from start to finish and confirm that the invitation was not a figment of your imagination; you were indeed summoned here by a mystery writer. Whom you hope is him.

You sit for half an hour at your table, you sip your anxiety away through two glasses of wine, you step outside and smoke two cigarettes and yet you’re still waiting. You flit through your phone notifications; you decide against your better judgement to type his name into the Goggle search bar. You fleetingly glance around the sparsely attended restaurant. You lock your phone without looking at the updates about him.

The thought of him makes your chest ache, harshly. The pain is tangible, you place your hands over your chest and wince. Something is not right.

You’re not aware of his slow approach, his hands wringing around each other, his cheeks red with nervous energy. He wishes he had had a shot of something - anything before getting here. He doesn’t recall what filled him the mad inspiration to send you a stamped letter to meet him at his hotel restaurant. He doesn’t know whether he wishes he had just called the brunette and spoken to her tonight; but he misses you. Madly.

He pulls out the chair in front of you. You can both tell that you’re holding in your breath.

Every time you see him it feels like the first time, all over again.

And he feels the same, but for either of you to admit it would be succumbing to defeat. You’re engaged in a silent and unspoken battle of wills.

“You sent me a letter?” You show him the letter. He nods, you sigh. “What is it you want to talk about?” You’re afraid to look into his eyes, they’re huge lakes filled with your dreams and deepest desires.

He hesitates, a ghostly sentence is formed on his tongue – he decides against materialising it. “I heard you were nearby; thought we could catch up.” He motions for the waiter. You narrow your eyes in - almost offence. What does he think, that you’re old pals?

He wants to catch up, but you want to do everything. Mostly profess your adoration for him and make love to him.

You despise the feeling; you’ve never felt like this for anyone. The alien feeling makes you heat up, your chest rises and falls quickly; agony filling your body as if you were a vessel to claim. “Right,” is all you can utter.

“What have you been up to?” He’s ordered two martinis, his eyes connecting to yours. You wince as the pain in your chest returns. How can he be so close yet so far?

“I was filming a fragrance campaign recently.” You speak quickly, an itch to smoke tickling your fingers. He nods, his eyebrows raised high.

“Nice.” He sighs and extends his clasped hands further onto the table. You look even more beautiful than in his thoughts, which he can’t expel you from. It seems your haunting presence is with him to stay, and his imagination can’t do any justice to your face and your intoxicating smell.

The conversation you have over your first drinks is dry, emotionless and full of hidden desires.

After each of you have three cocktails you let out the first laugh. He’s released himself a bit from the shackles of wanting to one-up you, his joke about his dog’s stubbornness reminding you of the good days of domesticity with Christopher and his dog. You move out to the terrace, candles flickering in the wind; you share more laughs. Memories being shared between you about life together.

There’s a clear shared emotion - longing. You crave the late summer nights sharing the dance floor with his friends or yours; him undressing you slowly in your pool; the nights watching the fire pit in your Santa Barbara home; the dinners enclosed in brick walled Italian restaurants with candles illuminating your elated faces.

“Come up with me.” His suggestion is quiet, his lips edging closer to yours. You nod, overcome with emotion. He grips on to your hand, the grip of a man thanking his lucky stars. He leads you to his room, on the top floor. A paradisiacal view of the sea and hills greeting you. The sun has set completely, and the moon casts a pale light over the buildings across the water.

Chris closes the door, and no sooner is he clutching at your lips with his. His hands smother you onto him and you meet him with the same desperation. Your hands slip under his shirt and moan into his mouth, your lipstick smearing over his lips. You feel him inhale your smell; he sighs desperately as he pulls you closer to him. You fall onto the chaise lounge in front of the open doors leading onto his balcony. The wind whispers sweet nothings onto your skins as you meld together, your bodies wanting desperately to be combined. He removes your clothes with familiar precision and your fingers touch him where you know he likes it.

The grooves of his skin are familiar, his dick entering you slowly as your fingers caress his tanned skin. He looks spectacular underneath you, his skin illuminated by the moonlight. You ride him slowly, you lips adventuring each other, like your bodies are each other’s long lost home territory. Your lips touch again, but it feels like the first time all over again. You feel yourself melting, your brain feels high, your limbs terribly relaxed. You guess this is what true love feels like. There’s nowhere else you’d want to be.

You love him. Only him.

He turns you over, on all fours, one hand gripping your throat and the other around your hair. He thrusts into you - with passion, his lips ghost over your shoulder. You feel your eyes close, the strength to fight the sedation unable to be found. It goes on for a while, and he flattens you onto your stomach. He lays on top of you, his hips gyrating against your skin, his arms encircling your torso. You feel safe, his head laying to rest in between you shoulder and jawline. He inhales your scent and kisses your shoulder, his lips printing their mark on your skin.

He turns you over and takes a deep breath, his eyes hold your entire world. They’ve trapped you into his universe and you have no desire to leave. He’s your whole world and you gave him away on a silver platter - but he’s here. He accommodates himself in between your legs and gives you a hug, his lips find yours in the darkness. The moonlight bathes you generously and he nestles himself inside you again. His lips refuse to leave yours; his thrusts grow in fervour; he wants to bury himself inside you and never leave.

He’s so deeply, and madly in love with you.

He can’t believe you hurt him. He hates you for it.

He pulls away from your kiss, his breathing heavy and slightly laboured.

His hides his face in the nook under your head. You feel like crumpling when you feel tears run over your shoulder, you hug him tighter. You want to stitch his wounds closed, tightly with your bare fingers and your lips. You want to mould your bodies together and live forever in this moment. His fingers reach for your clitoris and he makes love to you in two different ways. Your head lolls back and you feel ecstatic, currents washing over you slowly and you orgasm.

Chris kisses you desperately, swallowing your moans. He thrusts into you, complementing your orgasm. He releases himself into you, slowly moaning into your mouth.

After a few moments he stands up from the lounge chair and heads to the shower, as he walks through the door, he turns to you. He smiles in a way that you understand is an invitation to join him in the shower. You stand slowly, your legs feeling like jelly. You join him for a warm shower, peppered with tender kisses and saccharine touches.

Your bodies unconsciously refuse to part until you’re lying in his bed. He turns off the lamp and lays facing you.

A sweet look embalms his irises. His hand lifts itself to nestle under your cheekbone. He regards you softly.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice shaky.

You smile sleepily, “I love you too.”

You’re hypnotised to sleep by his soft breaths.

—

The sunlight reflected on the lake wakes you out of you slumber, the first dreamless one you’ve had in months. You turn to the side where Chris is and find nothing but empty air. You sit up quickly; the room is deadly silent. Nothing but your movements on the bed make noise. You scramble out of the bed and look for him.

There’s no trace of him in the room. You let out small wail of desperation. What if it was all a dream?

You pace the room, an uneasy feeling setting itself in your chest. You feel the space between your ribs tighten and your head feel faint. Your legs feel weak and unsteady, you crumple into a heap near the chaise lounge. Your breath feels constricted, massively so. The world begins to spin, and you fall onto your back.

It feels like a heart attack.

You can barely feel your heart.

You drag yourself to the counsel table, desperate to reach the phone. Your hand misses it massively, instead a hotel branded paper flickers down next to you. You pick it up, the tightness in your chest limiting your movement.

I guess this is goodbye, I can’t get over the fact that I’ll never be able to trust you. No matter how much I want to.

I hate you for ruining us

I’ll miss you, forever.

With all my love,

Parte Quatre -

Tags -

@chvntelle-99, @krispy-toes, @hampass, @calimoi, @saltyflowermakertaco

#chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans x female reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans angst #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff #andy barber #andy barber series #andy barber one shot #chris evans blurb #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfiction

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Text

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Seven / Decaf

W/C: 4k

Warnings: language, dirty thoughts, all of the dirty thoughts because Javi is a horndog, male masturbation... general spice. pining that could make a pine cone tremble.

A/N: welcome to pining central, enjoy your stay :) (ps when Steve says “Javier Peña” I need you to read that in the voice of Anthony Mackie going “SEBASTIAN STAN”)

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

ordinary coffee that has had most of its caffeine removed from it before the beans are roasted.

You are a goddamn test on Javier’s self control. He feels like those biblical stories of men fighting back against temptation to prove themselves to God, except the only thing he has to prove is to himself. To you.

He’s always been enraptured by you, captivated by your smile and laugh but since you went ice skating, he hasn’t been able to get your body out of his mind. The way you fell asleep on him last night, nuzzled in like it was the safest place on earth. He could feel your breasts press into his skin, the warmth of your thigh hiked across his abdomen. If the past week has been some caffeine-induced fever dream, it’s becoming real now. You, a figment of his imagination before, maybe, are all flesh and blood and God, is he desperate for it.

Javier hangs around your apartment when you’re gone at work. He doesn’t have much else to do, considering you’re gone and he knows hardly anything about the city. He watches the daytime television on your couch, usually meanders to the coffee shop for a drink, spends some time there, and returns to the apartment.

He feels like he’s couch-surfing, like he did for a summer in his college years. He feels guilty occupying the space in your home, especially without payment. As he walks to the bathroom, he takes a long glance into your bedroom. The queen-sized bed is mussed, unmade before you left for work. The fitted sheet is pooled in the middle beneath where you sleep, the various blankets tossed about. It looks like the coziest damn thing he’s ever seen, especially after a couple of nights on a couch.

Javier almost thinks about giving in, waiting for you to ask him to sleep in your bed tonight then jumping at the chance. Maybe he will, if he’s tired enough. Maybe he won’t, but maybe he will. He can think of nothing better than the endless whir of the radiator as your perpetually-cold body nuzzles against him, brushes your nose against his bare chest.

It’s been a long time since Javi has fucked anyone, and he’s starting to feel it. He’s a little antsy, and the image of your body, your ass as you ice skate past him, haunts him like a bad dream- or rather some illicit fantasy he knows he shouldn’t be having.

Would you want him yet? You’ve told him you love him, but that was an accident. When he kisses you, you kiss back harder. Hell, you initiated the first kiss. You seem like you’ve been all-in on this relationship, taking things at a rushed pace that Javier certainly doesn’t mind. He spends a lot of the day contemplating that, standing on the tiny balcony of your apartment and smoking a couple of cigarettes.

At this point, he needs a distraction or he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands, quite literally. What better to kill the horny buzz making his head spin than to call Murphy?

The phone is in your bedroom, on the nightstand. Javier dares to sit on the edge of your bed, and actually moans aloud at the plush comfort, the way his ass sinks into it. Goddamn, he’ll have to get one of these. He wants nothing more than to lay back and fall into the bed, wait for you to get home and pound you into the comfortable mattress. But he doesn’t. He stays strong and picks up the phone, dialing the new Murphy residence in Miami.

After a couple of rings, a familiar voice answers. “Murphy’s.”

“Hey, bastard,” Javier chuckles, and he can hear the blonde man’s laughter from across the receiver.

“Javier Peña,” Steve drawls, dragging out the name. “Good to hear your voice, man. You finally come out of a ten-day celebratory drunkenness?”

“Don’t talk to me about binges,” Javier teases, but he smiles a little. He’s missed the man. He’s glad neither of them got in any trouble over the entire Los Pepes situation- God, that feels like ages ago now. It’s hard to believe he’s only been in D.C. what, eleven days? If Steve’s math is right, yeah. “No. I’m in D.C. still, if you can believe it. Just… bored.”

“Oh really?” the man scoffs, leaning against his kitchen counter in Miami with Olivia on his hip. “And why’s that? What are you still doin’ up there anyway? Thought you were goin’ to visit the old man.”

Javier shakes his head. “Plans changed. There’s, uh… there’s a girl.”

Steve lets out a wolf whistle, laughing. “And how much does she charge a night?”

“Not one of those. She works at a coffee shop around here,” he informs him. “She’s… she’s really something. Nothing I ever thought I’d be into. She’s gorgeous, man, and so energetic all the damn time. Seems like she has an IV of coffee from her shop,” he chuckles, looking off into space. He takes a pause. Steve doesn’t speak. “I wanna be with her Steve. I don’t… I don’t know if I can go back.”

He’s silent a little longer. “This is some kind of practical joke, right?” Steve says after a beat, barely holding back a laugh. Never has Javier been so sincere, so real and honest and open. And more specifically, he’s never been like this over a girl. Almost… mushy. Soft. “Tell me more,” he says, hoping the joke will give up.

Javier talks about you, describing every little detail with a grin on his face. He tells Steve about Tie Guy and ice skating and your piece of shit car, how you can spin in circles on the ice and how you remind him of a busy little bee, fluttering about the coffee shop.

Steve is genuinely rendered speechless; a hard thing to do. He blinks down at Olivia then straight ahead at the refrigerator, covered in photos and magnets and drawings. He can’t imagine Javier ever wanting something like this, like what he and Connie have, but he sure sounds like it. “That’s… something. Good for you, Javi,” Steve chuckles, resigning to sincerity. “I’m happy for you.”

Javier grumbles back. “Don’t get too happy. I have to go back to Calí in three weeks. She doesn’t want me to leave… I don’t know what to do, Murph. I can’t bring her with, you know that, but I can’t just leave her here. And I sure as hell can’t quit.”

“You could quit.”

“I’m not going to, how’s that?” Javier huffs and crosses his arms, annoyed by Steve and his goddamn wording loopholes. “I just… fuck. I’m gonna go think about it before she gets back.”

“She comin’ to your hotel? You sure you aren’t paying per night?” He smirks.

Javier’s quiet and Steve isn’t sure what it means until he talks. “I’m, uh, staying at her place. She insisted.”

Steve whistles again. “Damn. You’re whipped, Peña. Well, I’ll let you go. Call again soon. I miss ya, bud,” he tells Javier in a moment of earnesty then hangs the phone back on the receiver, bringing Olivia to her nursery to change her diaper.

Javi sighs and falls backwards on the bed, admiring the way the mattress holds his body compared to the couch. Yeah, he’ll definitely need to sleep in here tonight or he’s going to crack his spine.

The issue will be you. He could handle it on the couch; it was like a soft, adolescent form of love, innocent and warm. Of course, it could still be the same in your bed. But would it? Is there not a different set of implications that come with the two of you sharing a bed?

Snuggling with you on the couch was nice. Wonderful, perfect even. Javier loves falling asleep with you in his arms. But in your bed, arms curled around him, maybe even being his little spoon… that perfect body pressed flush to his own, your soft ass against his groin, your breathing pushing back into his chest… that would be an entirely different thing. And he wants it, he really does, but he isn’t sure he’ll be able to control himself.

He slept like shit the last night, to be honest. You on top of him prevented him from moving, and Javier is an active sleeper. His neck was at an odd angle and his back twisted. His body feels like it did after that fight with Tie Guy. He can’t- wouldn’t- invade your privacy of your bed without you home to give him the go ahead, but he’s so damn tired. Not even the coffee helps.

So Javier indulges in one of life’s little pleasures he rarely gets to experience: a nap. Curled up on his side on the couch, blankets pulled snug around his fetal-positioned body, Javier drifts off to the sound of the noon news on the television.

That’s how you find him when you come home. He’s peacefully asleep, his lips parted and mustache moving with his exhales. Well, he’s clearly alive. That’s good.

You’re not sure how long he’s been asleep, so you leave him, making yourself something to eat in the kitchen. You avoid the living room as you get settled in, changing out of your espresso-stained clothing and into something more comfortable.

When you’re all comfy, makeup removed and a warm sweater on, you sit at the other end of the couch. Javier’s curled into a ball, his feet just inches away from your legs. You hope when he moves, he’ll feel you there and wake. If not, oh well. He deserves the rest.

It’s gray and cloudy outside, and you snuggle into the corner of the couch while reading your worn copy of The Great Gatsby. It’s the one you’ve been re-reading recently, what you were reading that first day Javi wandered into your coffee shop and subsequently your life.

Javi wakes not long later, maybe half an hour, to the sound of your book crinkling. The paperback’s spine crunches with wear, and his eyes flutter open to see you tucked against a pillow. God, you look like an angel, the light from the cloudy day filtering in and illuminating you from the back. Your face is calm and peaceful, focused as your eyes trace the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald. “Hi,” Javier mumbles groggily.

Your expression turns to a smile and you set down the book. “Hey.” You take his legs and drape them across your lap, tracing your fingers across them. “How’d you sleep?”

He groans. “Okay. Neck hurts.”

“That wouldn’t be an issue if you’d just sleep with me,” you sing-song to him, stroking his legs through the comfortable pants he wears. “My bed is super cozy.”

God, does Javier know it. It felt like your love itself when he laid down and the warmth of it swallowed him, practically whole. “Maybe I’ll give in,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “How was work? Sorry I didn’t visit.”

“Boring as always,” you chuckle. “What did you do today?”

Javi frowns as he thinks about it, his brain fogged with sleep. “Not much. Called Murphy, talked a while. He’s doing good.”

“Good,” you nod and smile. “When will I get to meet this elusive Steve?” You ask, softly kneading at his legs through the blanket and frowning as you realize he’s wearing… jeans. “Wait, pause. Are you seriously wearing jeans?” you ask him and laugh, lifting the blanket to confirm what you already suspected.

He frowns defensively, crossing his arms. “Maybe.”

“Why the fuck would you take a nap in jeans, Javi?” You laugh.

Javier looks away, frowning. The stubbornness shows. “I don’t own many comfortable clothes besides what I wear to work, if you haven’t noticed,” he retorts, but you can’t help but giggle. “Plus I thought I’d only be here to get fired.”

You smile at him lovingly and cup his face. “You sweet, stupid workaholic. Let’s go shopping later, get you some cozy stuff.”

Javier warms against your touch but maintains a pout. “I like jeans.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a laugh. “Would a pair of sweatpants be detrimental to your wardrobe, Javier?”

“Stop using big words,” he groans. “I’m barely awake.”

The large mall is annoying to Javier, full to the brim with last-minute (or maybe prepared, he never holiday-purchases) shoppers. He holds your hand, shooting feisty glares at anyone that dares to bump against his or, god forbid, your side. “Relax,” you tease and squeeze his free hand. The other carries a bag containing two hoodies, three t-shirts, and two pairs of sweatpants. “You’re not on a mission, and you certainly don’t have the knuckles to pitch another fight.”

He looks at his hands and scowls. You’re right. They’re no longer black and blue but faded yellows and greens, a spare bit of purple over the bones. The fight wasn’t that long ago, really, even though it feels like an eternity.

You drag Javier into a favorite shop of yours. He follows you around like a lost puppy while you search through clothes. He even hands you one or two tops he thinks you’d look nice in. You kiss him on the cheek and he dares to smile for a moment before returning to his stone-faced annoyance at such a packed area.

The dressing rooms are nicer, much more spaced out and offering places to rest. Javier sits in a chair across from your little cubby as you try things on. Every time you find something, you come out and model it for him. He comments, always positively, gives a little applause and smiles at the twirl you give in the big trifold mirror.

There’s one pair of leggings that hug your ass tight. Javier nearly salivates at them. “I like those,” he comments. “They look comfortable.” The same follows with a pair of jeans, even more flattering. He crosses his legs and nods, giving you similar comments.

Then come the dresses and tops. They’re all low-cut, not the wintery clothing Javier’s always seen you in. They show off your cleavage, and one scarlet colored blouse with a low neckline and fluffy sleeves makes Javier’s eyes simultaneously light up and darken. “How’s this one?” You ask, tugging at the sleeves.

“How much is it?” He asks, leaning back and looking at you through lidded eyes.

“Uh…” you tell him the cost and look back up at him, expecting a comment. “Why?”

“I’m buying that for you myself,” he smirks up at you, eyeing you up and down in a way that makes your skin feel intensely hot. The sight is stunning to him, and your flustered smile makes the smirk a little more devilish.

Javier does end up buying you the shirt, and you purchase a few other things you liked. But that scarlet shirt is stuck on Javier’s mind in replay: the subtle valley between your tits, how they filled out the shirt just perfectly and tugged at the cloth covering them, the way they look painfully soft to the touch, especially through that soft fabric. He wonders if you were wearing a bra under it. Then he has to stop himself.

You eat dinner late, chatting mindlessly over everything and nothing. Javier has no work to speak of now, so he tells you tall tales of the hunt for Escobar, some exaggerated and some underplayed. He mainly listens to you, asks about your past and your future, your family and your job. He could never tire of your voice, the soothing lull that warms him from the inside out, just like your skin flushed in that goddamn red top.

He drives the both of you home, humming softly to the songs on the radio. He’s beginning to recognize more and more of the top-40 hits on a certain preset station, songs he’d never listen to on his own. He glances over at you, gazing out of the window, and feels his body warm again- not just in his heart, but his stomach and lower too. He dares to steal a glance down, at the soft swell of your tits in that sweater. God, he wants to get you naked.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what you want and he’s too afraid to ask, too afraid to shatter this blissful phase of adoration without the sexual attraction. He wonders if you feel it too, if your clothes suddenly feel too restricting and too warm when you run a hand down his bare back.

The nightly routine ensues: you shower. Javier changes, this time into a new hoodie but leaves his legs bare, wearing only boxers on the bottom. He waits on the couch, and when you exit the bathroom, he takes his turn. He returns and sits next to you on the couch.

Tonight, when you ask him to share your bed with you, he doesn’t say no. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything, just yawns softly and stands, taking your hand.

It’s a sacred space, your bed. Javier knows it. He rarely fucks women in his; whether it’s for his own privacy or fear they’ll fall asleep there, he can’t say. But your bed is such an intimate expression of you, and he can see it. He can see the divot in the mattress where you sleep, the way you arrange the pillows just right for your own head. It is a queen size, but it’s single-occupancy: until now, that is, and Javier feels honored you’re willing to share this holiness with him.

He gets into the bed on the other side of you, the warm blankets enveloping him, and he nearly lets out a moan at the comfort. Compared to the hotel bed and the couch, this is sleeping on a literal cloud from the heavens. He lies still, waiting to see what you do first. Not wanting to overstep anything.

His prayers are answered when you snuggle into his side. You rest your head on his chest, kissing his sternum through the soft material of the hoodie. A hand rests on the other side of your face, and your legs both encircle one of his. Javier smiles, wrapping an arm around you. He presses a kiss into your hair and murmurs a goodnight, letting his head fall back. He has no time to worry about this situation before he falls asleep.

He falls asleep almost immediately, which makes you chuckle through your half-conscious state. He seems to always radiate heat, Javier. Your layers of blankets upon blankets suddenly feel unnecessary when a heat source the strength of the summer sun fills your bed. His chest is strong and firm beneath you. The rise and fall of his chest is like a boat rocking on the ocean, putting you at ease and allowing you to rest.

Fuck. He knew this was a bad idea. Why did he do this?

The clock reads 1:48 and Javier is wide awake, staring at your popcorn-stucco-whatever the fuck it is ceiling. He wasn’t able to process this before sleep overtook him, before his consciousness was wiped and with it, his inhibitions.

Your body is pressed to his so perfectly. You sleep without a bra, and Javier can feel his arm being slightly sandwiched between your breasts, the way they press further into it every time you inhale. Your thighs are warm with sleep, and he can feel your core pressed against his hip, even while you sleep and even through the layers of clothing.

Javier feels like the embodiment of slime. You’re asleep and all he can think about is how fucking hot your body is, how much he wants to press you into this mattress and wake you with an orgasm. He wants to palm your tits and make your nipples harden through that flimsy shirt, to slide his fingers beneath your pajama bottoms and-

He can’t take it. He feels so wrong, the smell of you surrounding him and choking him like a thick perfume, even in its subtlety. He does not deserve to sleep next to you, innocently, like someone you love, when all he can think about is his own carnal desires.

Pushing back the covers, Javier gets out of bed before any more blood can flow to his slowly hardening dick. This is all wrong. He should not be doing this, thinking these things without knowing you feel the same.

But the guilt is as strong as his arousal. He watches you for a moment, torn between his options, before meandering through the darkened bedroom and finding his way into the bathroom. He turns on the bright lights and forces himself to stare at the bulbs, to make his pupils shrink from their blown state of sleep mixed with desperation. He’s fully awake now.

He needs to get the hardened length down. He can’t do this, can’t allow himself this suffering while you sleep in the next room.

The sink. Cold water. He gasps silently at the splash of the ice-cold water against his face, dampening the edges of his hoodie. It doesn’t work enough. Again. Nothing. He feels like a teenager, unable to control himself. The cold water is a good idea, though.

Javier strips down, trying to avoid the urge to take himself in hand and fix this here and now. Turning the water as cold as it can go, Javier turns on the shower and steps in.

Agony is the best term he has. It makes him want to squeal like a fucking pig as he shudders from the cold. It doesn’t work to force his erection down, but what use is it when it’s not something physical but mental stimulating him? The cold shock didn’t do shit. Javier’s still achingly hard. He turns the water warmer and sighs as it gradually turns to a tolerable temperature, one that he can relax under and allow himself to let out a deep sigh.

He has no other options, unless he wants to wait it out. Leaning against the wall, Javier strokes himself, biting his lip and hoping the water pressure will cancel any soft moans he can’t avoid. It doesn’t take long when he’s this aroused, when he knows exactly what the fantasy in his head would feel like.

Javier is panting and sweating, from the effort and the growing heat of the water. He feels disgusting but it feels so good, and he can’t help imagining you doing this to him, you spreading your legs and feeding the fire between his own.

It only takes a few minutes. He gasps as he cums, with a force he’s never brought forth with his own hand. He bites his lip so hard he’s sure he might cut it off, not allowing the desperate sounds to reach a level you could hear. When he’s done, he groans and cracks his neck. “Oh, little bee,” he whispers, agonized as he lets the water wash the evidence of his sins down the drain.

When he’s done, Javier walks into your bedroom, silently, in the dark. His previous boxers were stained with a patch of his precum; he can’t put those back on. He drops the towel and puts on different boxers.

After he’s changed, he looks at your bed longingly for a moment. The soft sheets, soft mattress, the soft body between them. But in Javier’s head, he’s forsaken his right to the warmth, the comfort.

When you wake in the morning, hours after you thought you heard the shower running, you find Javier is not in your bed. There isn’t even a warm spot where he lay, just your body shifted further from your normal sleeping position. When you wander out to make your morning coffee, you find him. He spent the night on the couch again.

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sup-hoes-its-me · 3 years

Text

Skinny Love II (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: second part to skinny love. This is all angst. Very sad. I just watched the pain arc again and had to write something about Kakashi and what happens. Im guessing this could be tagged for spoilers but Naruto is old soooo.

Word count: 5000

“I’m just saying, maybe the second novel is better than the first. You’re free to have your own opinion, that’s just what I think.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“Whatever you say,” Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes at the masked man sitting in front of her. She was sipping on a hot bowl of broth after coming home from her most recent mission. It was a nice day out, and she thought it would be a good idea to go out and get something to eat with her favorite shinobi. He was dangerously possessive over his romance novels, and felt immense embarrassment when Y/N decided to pick them up as well.

For a week after finishing the series, she mocked him for liking the gushy, mushy romance that lied on the pages, not to mention the more inappropriate chapters that left nothing to the imagination. Master Jiraiya wasn’t kidding when he said he was doing “research” at the bath house.

“We should go out more often,” he commented, “It’s nice to relax with all this Akatsuki business going on.”

“Definitely. We used to go out like this all the time before you started training those kids,” she hummed. It was true. They had normal outings at that point in time, as the only thing they did was go on missions and then chill at home until the next outing. After Naruto and Sasuke revealed their unique personalities, and got themselves into some sticky situations, the times changed and they spent much more time apart than before. “Not to mention going out with you gives me an excuse to eat whatever I want.”

He nodded in reply, his eyes trailing down to his novel once again which he was skimming over. She didn’t mind him reading at the table. What was he supposed to do? Eat? There was no way he would take off the mask. He was content just giving her company.

His reading gave Y/N an excuse to admire him. Her eyes would lift from the table every time he looked down at the pages, and she would take in all his features. She swore, he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever met, even with the mask. Without a mask, he probably resembled a god. It was nice to just watch as he relaxed into his novel, enjoying himself without any cares in the world.

She liked to talk to him even more. He always knew the right thing to say to make her feel important and wanted, even on her worst of days, he was there to make it better. He was brave and strong, but kind and gentle when need be. His soft words in the late nights they hung out, or his concern when she injured herself, or the happiness the times she made him laugh. Each moment meant so much more to her than he realized.

It was evident to everyone that she had an attachment to him. What kind exactly was the complicated part. While they had been friends for quite a long time, she felt like he was more than just a normal friend or even a best friend. He felt more like a partner than anything, whether it be partner-in-crime or partner-in-love. She loved him with every bone in her body, more than she loved her comrades or her friends, she cared for him like she would a lover.

Maybe it was because she was so shy that she couldn’t tell him how she felt after all this time. Maybe it was fear of rejection. Maybe it was fear of death. She wasn’t sure what held her back from confessing her love to him, spilling all those words she kept under lock and key. She wanted there to be something more, but he’d never let on that he cared for her that way, and surely he would have said something if he did feel that way. It just seemed impossible.

But not to the ordinary person.

People had mentioned in passing to Kakashi that he acted like a lovesick teenager when he was around the woman. She was just so perfect, how could he do anything but adore her. To him, she was one of the only people that truly mattered as more than a fellow shinobi or comrade.

There was no reason to rush it though. If she truly wanted a relationship with him, she would tell him eventually. He wasn’t one to go around throwing out love confessions first. He would wait until she was comfortable and ready. Until then, he would admire her from a distance, through friendly touches and smiles, and dreamy looks when the other wasn’t watching. To him, that was enough.

This lunch outing was the perfect time to waste some hours with her just talking and reading in the others company. The day almost felt too good to be true.

And it was.

First there was the explosion, followed by the screams. Oh, those screams would haunt Y/N’s dreams. Villagers who she’d known growing up screaming in pain. Quickly, she jumped to her feet as did the copy nin. Their eyes frantically looked through the doorway of the restaurant, but there wasn’t anything on their particular street, just dust from the explosion floating down in thick clouds.

“Someone’s attacked the village. Shit,” he cursed under her breath.

They would have to go out there and fight, they both knew that very well. Fight who, they didn’t know, but Y/N could sense that the same foreign chakra signature was coming at her from multiple directions in the village. That couldn’t be good. It was probably that Akatsuki member that everyone was talking about. Pain. Pain with the rinnegan. How could the leaf compete against something as strong as that dojutsu?

“Everybody out! You know the evacuation route,” Y/N called out to the civilians in the restaurant, as she swallowed her panic. She made a move to usher the people from the store so they could run in the direction of refuge.

This wasn’t a normal battle. These intruders were a completely different breed than the ones they were used to fighting. She could feel the impending doom start to blanket around her body, and she took a deep breath. How could this happen? Was Pain here to take Naruto? Naruto wasn’t even in the village, how could that be? Was it the Akatsuki making a big statement attacking one of the five great villages?

There was just something off. She could feel it. Today was going to be one of the worst days, worse than anything else they’d experienced.

“Y/N, let’s go.”

“Kakashi…” she trailed off, not taking a step forward just yet. Was there something she needed to get off her chest before they rushed into a battle with an outcome unknown? As she met his frantic, panicked eyes with her own, she wondered if she should just confess her feelings right then and there, just so he could know before they put their lives on the line.

Never in her life did she think that her or Kakashi might die. It was never a thought that crossed her mind. She assumed she had all the time in the world to gather the courage to tell him. Now it felt like she had run out of time, and they might never get the chance to see each other again. The chakra signatures around them were just too strong to guarantee they would live against their blows. It felt like this was her final chance.

She started again, “Kakashi, I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” he asked, wanting to hurry this along. She could see plainly that this wasn’t the right time. He wasn’t in the right mind to hear her words, or comprehend the meaning behind them. Instead, she lowered her head and sighed.

And so she kept that secret tightly bound deep in her heart.

“Nevermind, it’s not important. Just be safe out there. Make it back to me in one piece, okay?”

“You know I can’t promise that,” he replied, and her heart sank in her chest. He was right. If he died, he died. If she died, she died. Nothing could stop fate from doing its dirty work.

“Just promise me. Give me some confidence before we jump into this mess. I-I can’t do this without you promising me you’ll live!” She cried, passion and fear dripping off her words. She had her eyes shut tightly at this point, just trying to keep herself from letting the potential tears gather in her eyes. Her fists clenched by her side as well. “Just say something!”

He nodded, thinking of the right words to say. “I promise I’ll make it back to you, Y/N. Now promise you’ll live. For me,” he demanded, lifting her head to face him. His fingers were strong against her cheek, firm when faced with danger. He wanted her to live, but knowing that Pain killed Jiraiya was enough to make him worry and plan for the worst.

Why was he even asking? He knew that words meant nothing. That most promises were just bound to be empty.

Just this one time, he prayed that she’d keep it.

“I promise.”

“Now let’s go. I’ll take this side, and you go that way. Sounds like explosions came from both directions.”

“Got it.”

There was no room for goodbyes.

After that, they went their separate ways. Y/N had to keep herself from losing control. Everything was going to be okay. She was worrying far too much. Kakashi was strong. Stronger than anyone else she knew really. He couldn’t be taken down by some terrorists. It wasn’t an option.

As long as she could sense his chakra lingering in the distance, she would know.

__________

It was painful, the wound that tore through her thigh. Blood dripped thickly from the cut, but she continued to fight. In this situation, there was nothing else to do, nothing more to fight for than the safety of the village and the people within it. Y/N has never seen a villain this bad, someone so dead set on killing and tormenting that it brought the shinobi of the village to their knees. Yet, here he was, this orange haired creature who popped up at multiple points of their city, each with a different signature move yet a similar chakra pattern.

Y/N knew she couldn’t break down just yet, not after seeing comrade after comrade fall to the ground and lose their lives to the cause. She had to keep going for them. For her friends and her family who died. She was never the most talented at fighting, she was more of a sensory type, stay on the inside and study type of kunoichi. But not today. No one had that luxury today.

Constantly, she could feel the loss of the ninja alongside her, their chakra signatures melting into nothing as blasts continued to ravage their village. The fire within their bodies burned for the last time, disappearing into the ashes.

It wasn’t until she was on her knees, face buried in the dirt and rubble did she really feel the pain this man was so desperate to bestow upon the villagers. Kakashi’s chakra had burned out. It was as if her body gave up after that. She couldn’t move, her bones were broken and she couldn’t afford to stand and fall back down once again, believe it that she tried over and over again. Nothing mattered at this point. How could it? She couldn’t feel her best friend’s chakra signature any longer. He was dead.

Her crying into the dirt was the only thing that signalled another shinobi to come and help her to the infirmary. Someone she barely knew had picked her up by the arm and hoisted it over his shoulder, dragging her by his side to the hospital where the medical nin were no doubt working harder than ever. Her whole body felt like it was caked in bloody crimson mud, dust up her nose and muk between her teeth.

Everything just made her cry harder and harder until she felt she was gasping to breathe.

The harsh lights in the building did nothing but sting her eyes, and the dozens of medical nin rushing around those lying on the floor overwhelmed her.

Sakura stood at the front of all the mess, and her eyes immediately caught onto Y/N and her rescuer. “Y/N-sensei, what happened to you?” she cried, rushing over with her frantic hands hovering over the state of the broken woman as she scanned for the wounds. This only caused more sobbing.

“One second she was fine, the next she was lying in the dirt screaming. I don’t know,” the man said, handing her off to the pink haired girl. “She’s got broken legs, I know that.”

“Thank you for bringing her,” she mumbled as she brought her sensei over to an empty cot, sitting her down on the cloth and beginning the healing process on the worst part of her leg where the bone was exposed. She was shaking so badly it was almost hard to concentrate on her work. She’d never seen Y/N so hopeless and lost. She was strong, she never faltered in the face of danger. It worried Sakura, no doubt.

“Sensei, what happened?”

“It’s Kakashi,” the woman croaked between her harsh breaths. “I-I can’t feel his chakra anymore.” Tears ran down her cheeks furiously, dripping from her chin into her lap. She felt the hopelessness overtake her entire person, the only thing left being complete and utter fear. Her chest heaved, desperate for the next gulp of air into her lungs.

Sakura nearly faltered at the words. Kakashi sensei, dead? How could that be? He was one of the strongest shinobi they knew. He would never fall victim to a villain, would he? From the sounds of Y/N’s heartbroken cries, the medical nin knew that it was over. That another life had been stolen from them.

Kakashi was Y/N’s heart and soul. She loved him for years and planned to love him for many more. Everyone knew that. Kakashi and her may have never acknowledged their feelings before his death, but the skinny love lingered in the air every time they were around each other.

The longing looks when they passed each other in the street. The pain they felt when the other was hurt. The smiles they shared when something good happened in their no-good shinobi lives. They were more than willing to lay their lives on the line for the other, more than just a comrade, more than a friend.

Her passion for Kakashi was the only good thing she had to come home to after missions. His face was the one thing she wanted to see after a bad day. His stupid face as he read his perverted novels, that grin that she positively adored.

All of that was gone, and her heart couldn’t take it. The pain from her injuries sat in the back of her mind, the only thing she could focus on was the loss. Knowing she would never see him again, never hear his voice. If only she could hear him laugh one more time. It was impossible, but she wished to the heavens above for mercy.

Sadly, no one was there to listen.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Sakura whispered, not knowing what else to say. What could she say?

“I need him. I can’t do this without him,” she sobbed, her hands shaking by her side, having to clench her fists just to stop the tremors. “Sakura, it’s been 15 years. I...I don’t know a life without him.”

Her heart broke at the words. It was true. She didn’t know life anymore without Kakashi. They’d been friends and comrades for so long that it seemed like that was all she knew. How can you come back from that? Sakura didn’t know. She might be able to heal the woman’s legs, but there was no way she could begin to heal such a broken heart.

“It’s okay. You have plenty of others. You have Gai and Kurenai and-”

“Fuck everyone else. You know they can’t replace him,” she snapped. “No one can replace him.”

Sakura could only nod solemnly. They could lie all day and pretend that Gai would somehow swoop in and make up for that gaping hole in her heart. They could lie and say that Kurenai and her child would fill Y/N with a happiness she felt with Kakashi. Yes, they could certainly lie about it all.

At the end of the day though, her pain would be unrivalled. Losing the one man you’ve loved from the moon and back. It would take an entire army and then some to combat such a struggle.

When Sakura was done healing the woman, she handed her a roll of bandages from her pocket. “I’ve got to tend to others. Wrap this around your calf and then stay here to rest. Please, just rest yourself, sensei. You’ll heal faster that way.” Y/N took the bandages and nodded her head weakly, shaky hands going to wrap her bare and burned calf with the medical bandages.

Her mind still centered around Kakashi. She found herself curling up into a ball on the little bench she was sat at, hugging her knees close to her chest. She just cried. Right now, she couldn’t do anything else.

Just cry.

________

The village was in complete and utter ruin. Y/N lay painfully utop a mountain of rubble, blood oozing from the back of her head and from her already injured leg. Pain’s final attack, one that completely demolished the village...it spared her life.

How could things get any fucking worse?

She felt like the Gods were being especially cruel to her on this day. Especially cruel to every single person in the village, but they kept Y/N alive for their own personal amusement, laughing at her loss and her pain and her frustration.

Despite Lady Tsunade sending out Katsuyu to protect the villagers, Y/N only seemed to be in worse shape than before. She could feel the slug on her shoulder slowly healing her, but it wasn’t much compared to the pain and the numerous injuries.

Y/N rolled onto her side and groaned, pain shooting up her spine and giving her a brain-shattering headache. When she went to cough on something thick and slimy in her throat, what splattered on the ground was red. Maybe she was just meant to die slow and painfully.

It was better this way, she decided. Nothing could make this day worth it. Nothing. The pain was unbearable.

“Y/N? Is that you?” a feminine voice called from a little while away, and the woman cursed, spitting up more blood as she did so. Sakura climbed through some of the rubble to approach her. Her hands hovered over the woman’s broken body, scanning over all her wounds.

Naruto was down there fighting Pain. Everything was going to be okay as long as they had faith in the Uzumaki. Sakura could focus a bit of her energy on healing her sensei. There was nothing else to do except watch the fight below them, in the center of the wasteland that used to be the Hidden Leaf.

She began the healing process, medical chakra flowing into the woman’s chest wounds, the most critical of all. “Sakura…”

“What is it, Y/N?”

“What’s happening? Is everyone dead?”

“No, everyone is alive. Lady Tsunade sent out Katsuyu to protect everyone. It seems that you were injured before your healing slug could get to you. Thankfully, you have both of us to fix you up,” she muttered. Y/N would have been blind to not notice the way Sakura stared past her deeper into the wreckage as she spoke.

“What do you see?” she asked quietly, as loud as her body could muster.

“It’s Naruto. He’s out there fighting Pain alone,” she said, “He-he’s gotten so much stronger.”

The older woman smiled through her pain, shutting her eyes and letting a soft sigh leave her lips. She hadn’t anticipated Naruto to come saving the day, in fact, it seemed more likely that Pain would kill everyone and leave the village in ruin. Fortunately, Kakashi’s student, the one that people had underestimated for so long, was out there doing what the rest of them couldn’t.

A hero. No matter if he won or not, these are the actions of a hero.

“It’s his destiny: to save this village,” she whispered. “Jiraiya once said so.”

“Let’s hope he was right.”

Together they lay there in the middle of ruin while Naruto battled Pain. They watched as the two men launched themselves away from the village into the woods, the nine tailed fox coming to life far away from where they huddled together. The village was safe from direct harm at this point and the two women let down their guard just a little bit. Down in the middle of the pit some of the students started to gather, including a heavily injured Hinata.

“Help me down there, Sakura. I need to see Gai,” she said, louder than before. After all that time healing, she found herself strong enough to prop up on her elbows and gaze into the destruction.

Once down there, Sakura was quick to start healing Hinata, fearing that the girl had taken too much damage to handle. After all, she charged against Pain, the supposedly leader of this terrorist attack. All of that to help out young Naruto. Y/N felt like she was staring at an image of herself for a moment. A young woman ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of the man she loved.

As her eyes moved around the area, she caught onto the bright green outfit of her long time friend. His eyes caught hers for a moment and quickly, he rushed over to her side. She collapsed onto her knees, wincing at the pain that ran through her body as she did so. She found herself still a bit too weak to stand.

“Y/N, you’re alive,” he gasped. He knelt on the ground beside her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, steadying her shaky form. “Your injuries-”

“Forget about that, Gai,” she mumbled. “Something terrible has happened.” He couldn’t imagine what she had to say could be any worse than the destruction of the entire village. But he nodded and sat there listening as she spoke her words carefully, painfully with each syllable that left her lips. “Kakashi is dead.”

He felt his heart drop in his chest. As he looked at the woman before him, he knew that she wanted nothing more to cry, yet there were no tears. He assumed that she had already cried her fill earlier and could only mourn at this point. He didn’t ask before wrapping her smaller form up in his arms and tugging her to his chest, burying his nose in her hair. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his shoulder, dry sobs causing her entire form to quiver.

In a moment like this one, he just remained still for her. Sit there and be there through this pain. He felt crushed at the thought of his best friend dead, his eternal rival somewhere out there in all that rubble fatally injured. Gai had lost a brother that day, and Y/N had lost her one and only lover.

He listened as she hopelessly bawled in the comfort of his arms, feeling every bit of her pain sink into his form. They had gone through battles together before, they grew up teammates and friends, how could they not. They had seen death and pain all their lives. This was on another level, incomprehensible to either of them.

Pure misery. Every emotion seemed to burn in her chest. She wanted to curl up and die herself.

________

It felt like hours went by before the lives were returned. She hadn’t thought much of it when the elderly Toad woke up from his eternal slumber. For a moment, she thought it was just a fluke. That he had never really died in the first place, they just thought he did. But then, she watched as people above the trench started to stand from their resting places on the ground and in the rubble.

That is when she realized that somehow, someway, the lives lost during this terrible battle had been reclaimed. It was only a matter of time before she found out if Kakashi had come back to life as well. She sat there, focusing all her energy into sensing nearby chakra, sorting through hundreds of people for the one she wanted.

Gai had left to help out some of the others, so she just sat there waiting. Waiting for Kakashi to come back to her. Just like he promised.

After all this chaos, she couldn’t imagine keeping her love a secret from him any longer. He needed to know. She wouldn’t let this opportunity go wasted. Y/N was given a second chance at finding love in her friend, and she would be damned if she let that go to waste.

After a while, she began to feel his chakra. At first it was very faint, like he was a mile away hidden underneath rocks and everything else you could imagine. But then it got stronger.

He was alive.

When she saw his form climb down into the pit with the rest of them, his mask torn and only the bottom layer of his clothes still intact, she nearly cried once again. For hours before this, she was prepared to never see him alive again, never see that masked face look down upon hers once more. She had mourned the loss of Kakashi Hatake, only for him to be returned.

It was as if the God’s had listened to her prayers.

“Kakashi!” she exclaimed as she struggled to get herself up from the ground. She knelt on one knee, pushing herself up with the other, desperate to walk over to him. Her body failed her of course, and she fell back onto her butt. He noticed her though, her tiny figure in the crowd of hundreds. She was the one person he wanted to find all along.

He fell onto his knees beside her, his hands coming up to grasp her cheeks with his dusty, calloused hands. She relaxed into his rough fingers, sinking into the warmth that he was sharing. His thumbs slid along her lips and chin, trying to rub away the dirt that was caked in some places. She was a mess, messier than he was. He could only imagine the suffering that she went through as well, to have survived all of that without death as a retreat in the middle.

“Y/N, what happened to you?”

“Pain’s final blow caused some pretty bad wounds, but it’s fine. Sakura healed me enough that I’ll make it through,” she told him. Softly, she lifted her hands to place them over top his, her fingers slowly wrapping around his. “Kakashi, you broke your promise to me.”

“I know.”

She found that the words came out faster than she anticipated. Emotions and feelings being laid out in the open for him to see/ “I-I completely lost myself when I couldn’t feel your chakra anymore. I thought I’d lost you. I couldn’t stop crying, and I was angry at you for breaking your promise to me,” she rambled, “I didn’t know what I was gonna do without you.”

“It’s alright. I’m here now. Whatever Naruto has done saved my life,” he soothed, letting their hands fall into her lap. She wouldn’t let go of his hands even if he wanted them to himself. She was afraid. Afraid that if she let him go once more that he would be gone forever. “And I’m sorry I lied to you. I really shouldn’t have died like that. So irresponsible of me.”

There he was cracking a fucking joke about his own death. She wanted to smack him for being so dimwitted in a moment of vulnerability. Just the thought of being with him again made tears spring up in her eyes, and she shut her eyes to keep them from falling. Happy tears or not, she wasn’t going to cry again.

“I need to tell you what I was too afraid to say before. What I wanted to say before we went our separate ways,” she confessed, her breaths coming out harsh and rushed. Once again, she gripped his hands tighter in hers.

After taking a couple breaths, she lifted her eyes to meet his, mouth just agape. He really was all she could ever need. This moment wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t ideal, but it was just right for what she needed to say. “I’ve always loved you, Kakashi.”

“Y/N-”

“Listen, I know it’s not exactly an appropriate time to be confessing my love to you and all, but I couldn’t risk another day going by without telling you.”

“I love you, too.”

And silence.

There wasn’t anything else to say. The love was mutual, it had been all this time. They just took their time getting around to admitting it, to just hear those words leave the other’s lips for the first time. There were no butterflies in her stomach nor did her heart race in her chest at his confession.

She could only feel comfort in the umbrella they’d created for themselves, the outside world lost to the both of them.

In a flash, she lurched forward to wrap her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face deep into his neck. “Don’t die ever again, Hatake, or I’ll kick your ass,” she laughed, the sound of her laugh reaching his ear. He held her to his chest and sighed.

“No promises.”

Despite what happened that day, he felt comfortable. For the first time, in a very long time, he felt relief wash over him. Everything was going to be okay.

“Kakashi!”

Requests Are Open!

#kakashi x reader #kakashi imagine #kakashi oneshot #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake x reader #naruto x reader #naruto one shot #naruto imagines #naruto #naruto shippuden #one shot #x reader #writing #hope you guys like this one ill be back with either a new kakashi fic or a shikamaru fic soon

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mianavs · 3 years

Text

meeting the zoldycks pt. 1

part 7 of Cathexis

a/n: we’re finally here~ splitting this up into 2 parts to make it more readable.

wc: 2.2k

Cathexis

Pangs of pain from your leg jostled you awake to a foreign room. With your instincts kicking in, you tried moving only to realize your right leg was in a hard cast and the events that led to your injury replayed in your head ending with the feel of Illumi’s strong arms carrying you to his car.

Your eyes examined the dimly lit but well-furbished room for a hint that would dispel the growing fear in your chest regarding your whereabouts only to watch a Zoldyck butler come in with a tray of medical supplies that included a syringe needle.

Before you could utter a word, the young female butler set down the tray and rushed out of the room.

Anxious, you dragged your body to the edge of the bed and ignored the growing ache in your leg. Just when you were about to set your legs over the edge, purple bruising on your arm caught your eye and halted your progress. Darting your eyes up to the syringe needle the butler brought in, your mind pieced together everything and the realization you’d been sedated broke your composure.

Like clockwork, the door opened to reveal Illumi who entered the room and closed the door behind him. He approached your bed and trailed his impassive eyes over your form, lingering on your casted leg, before breaking the silence.

“How do you feel?”

“How long have I been here?” Your voice was hoarse from disuse but that didn’t stop the questions spilling from your lips. “Why am I here? What happened to bodies? Where’s my phone?”

Illumi’s eyes narrowed the slightest before repeating his question but you disregarded his question yet again.

“I need to get out of here. Ruo Wen is prob—”

Illumi’s bloodlust cut you off as the air in the room seemed to thicken and your surroundings blurred until all you could focus on was the man before you. Beads of cold sweat dotted your skin as fear coursed through your veins in the presence of such malicious Ren. You were trembling like a leaf when Illumi spoke once again.

“How. Do. You. Feel?”

You opened you mouth to speak but nothing came out as your eyes remained fixed on Illumi’s. As if he was pleased with your shaken state of mind, the bloodlust receded and your vision and breathing returned to normal.

“…F-fine! I’m fine…can I go now?” You sputtered, still reeling from the malice that’d permeated the air seconds ago.

Illumi quirked his head. “Not in this state. Your leg needs to heal completely.”

“I can recover at home just as easily.”

Illumi’s face twisted into an eerie smile. “After your little incident, I don’t think I can trust you being on your own—at least not like this.” His eyes trailed to your injured leg and your face flushed in embarrassment at the reminder of your defeat against Saul’s men.

“It was your fault he came for me.” You muttered, avoiding Illumi’s haunting gaze.

“I know. That’s why I took the job to kill him.” He replied absent-mindedly.

“So, you weren’t tracking me?” You cringed at how the question sounded but one look at Illumi’s oblivious face eased your embarrassment.

“No, I knew you were in Meteor City and, after reading up on his recent movements, I figured he would try to harm you.”

You were quiet as Illumi’s words sunk in. Despite the twisted reasoning behind it, you had to admit he’d saved your life and you were grateful. Besides, he was right regarding your current state; you wouldn’t be able to work with your leg in a cast. If you stayed at the Zoldyck mansion, you wouldn’t have to worry about medical bills, treatment, food, or running into your parent’s if they happened to drop by your condo.

“I’ll stay here until my leg heals but—”

“I’ll be sure to compensate you for your injuries and for the time you won’t be working.” Illumi dug into his pocket and fished out your phone before handing it to you. “Your boss called you a couple days ago.”

Scrolling through your missed calls, you looked up to ask the question you’d first asked him only to see Illumi closing the door behind him. The curse on your lips died when a notification from your bank confirmed the deposit of your compensation and you lied back down with a sigh before closing your eyes and going back to sleep.

It was a week after the incident when boredom lured you out of your room with the help of the crutches Canary brought you. While Illumi was on a mission, Canary had been the one tending to your needs and providing her companionship while you recovered. You quickly grew fond of the younger girl and appreciated her friendly personality. However, you couldn’t suppress your hunter instinct any longer and decided to roam the mansion in search for intel on Illumi and the Zoldycks.

As you hobbled down the hallways of the mansion, you noticed they were as dimly lit as your room with only a few lamps adorning the stone walls. You couldn’t help but chuckle how much the home reflected the ominous reputation of its inhabitants.

The possibility of running into one of the Zoldycks was one that you welcomed regardless of how dangerous it seemed. You needed to know more about the other family members—particularly Silva and Zeno—and what better way than to do it face to face.

Just when your arms began to ache after wandering for what seemed like an hour, a flash of white hair from the corner of your eyes caught your attention and you found yourself face to face with the third son, Killua Zoldyck.

You froze, unsure of what to say to the boy, but spoke when he turned around to head in the opposite direction.

“Wait! Do you know where I can rest?” Holding your breath until he turned, you plastered a pained smile on your face and leaned against the wall. “I think I overdid it.”

He was entirely different from Illumi. Where Illumi was inscrutable, you could see a myriad of emotions on Killua’s face that ranged from surprise, confusion, and finally concession. With an exasperated sigh, he closed the distance between you.

“There’s a small library nearby. Follow me.” His tone was harsh but he walked slowly enough for you to keep up with him.

The library was brighter than the hallways, with a large window letting sunlight stream in. It was fairly large with several bookcases filled with books, a couples of lounge chairs, a table, and a lit fireplace. The room was almost cozy and you let out a sigh of relief when you collapsed on the comfortable chair. Killua took your crutches and leaned them against your armrest before taking a seat in the adjacent to you.

“Thank you…” Debating whether or not to call him by his name, you trailed off only for Killua to interject.

“Killua.” He sounded hesitant but curious, nonetheless. “You’re my brother’s fiancé aren’t you.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m not his fiancé yet. I still have a couple months left of freedom.” Adding the last bit to feel out the nature of his relationship with Illumi, you were pleased to hear the chortle that escaped the Killua.

“Guess I’m not the only one who finds Illumi suffocating.” The sadness in his eyes betrayed his joking tone and you wondered just how suffocating Illumi’s presence was to his younger brother. “So how did you get hurt?”

You told him about Rivero’s death, your job in Meteor City, and the encounter with Saul and his men ending in their deaths at the hand of Illumi. Killua was quick to point out Illumi as the root cause of your accident and you quickly found yourself warming up to him.

“Illumi will kill anyone who interferes with his plans. He also likes to control those around him.”

“So I’ve noticed.” You said and rubbed the back of your neck where Illumi’s needle had once been embedded. “Sounds like you don’t agree with his ways.”

Killua visibly tensed and you wondered if you went too far. Just when you were going to backtrack, Killua’s body deflated in defeat before scanning the room for intruders despite being the only two people present.

“Illumi and my father expect me to be an assassin for the rest of my life but I don’t want to keep killing people.” Killua admitted, fidgeting with the material of his shorts.

“And what do you want to do?”

Killua’s eyes widened as they met yours and you couldn’t help but feel for the younger boy. “I…I want to have fun.”

You reached over and placed your hand over his. “Then you should go and have fun. This is our only life so we should do the things we want to do—not what other’s want us to do.”

“Then why don’t you try to break off things with Illumi. If it’s contract-based then there should be ways to null it.”

Watching Killua wrack his brain for ways to break off your betrothal caused a surge of warmth to spread across your chest. He was nothing like Illumi or the rumors that circulated regarding the Zoldycks and you felt grateful to have met him first. With your mind clouded by emotions, you let your guard down even more and opened your mouth to tell Killua about your plan.

“Actually, my parents and I are—”

The door swung open to reveal an old man with white hair. You raised your guard and shut your mouth as Zeno Zoldyck shuffled over to you and Killua. With the opportunity to find out more about the Zoldycks and your marriage deal before you, the corners of your mouth rose to mimic a shy smile and you lowered your gaze.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Zoldyck.”

You looked up to find him sitting next to Killua as he regarded you before smirking. “I’m sure you are.”

He saw behind your smile and sugar-coated words but you continued the façade to avoid a confrontation you weren’t ready for. “Thank you for allowing me to recover in your home, Mr. Zoldyck, and I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Call me Zeno,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Mr. Zoldyck is my son. As for your stay, it’s no inconvenience, after all, this will be your home soon enough.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” The words tasted bitter as they left your mouth. You felt helpless in front of the man responsible for your betrothal and the urge to leave the mansion returned.

“How has your recovery been?”

“Huh?”

The question brought you back from your thoughts and you found Zeno studying your face the way Illumi did only you could see a twinge of genuine interest in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s been going well. My leg is almost completely healed thanks to Canary’s care.”

Zeno smiled at the mention of the young butler. “It’s good to hear Canary has served you well.”

“Did Illumi ask you for Canary?” Killua interjected but Zeno merely chuckled and shook his head.

“No, I offered her up when I heard what happened to Y/N.” Zeno then turned to you. “You see, Canary is under my supervision and, as your grandfather’s granddaughter, I wanted to make sure you were cared for.”

Zeno’s words caught you off guard. You’d always assumed Zeno hated your deceased grandfather for the large debt, so finding out that he personally sent one of his butlers to attend you was a revelation you hadn’t expected.

“Were you close with my grandfather?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t have lent him so much money if we weren’t” The old man laughed while you tried to make sense of the information you’d been given.

“I just assumed you held a grudge against him for the massive amount of debt.” You admitted, hoping Zeno would disclose more.

“Perhaps at one point I did, but he was a good friend despite his poor money management skills. Illumi told me he got into debt with other people and that you and your parents are paying off that debt.”

Your throat closed at the mention of the “other debt” lie you’d told Illumi. It wasn’t that you weren’t prepared to recount the lie to Zeno or the other Zoldycks but the way he said it, made you doubt it’s effectiveness.

Gone was the geniality on Zeno’s face as his eyes searched for a chink in your armor that he could exploit. Knowing you were on thin ice, you played off your surprise as embarrassment over the large amounts of debt your late grandfather owed others which seemed to get Zeno off your tail.

Killua saved you by changing the topic to your work experience as a hunter and you were more than happy to oblige with tales of your jobs from the most difficult, interesting, and just flat out weird. Killua seemed to enjoy your tales while Zeno would nod occasionally to show he was listening but never commented. Eventually, Killua asked about the Hunter Exam but just then a knock on the door interrupted you and the door swung open to reveal Gotoh, one of the butlers you were familiar with, who informed Zeno that dinner was being served.

“You should join us, Y/N.” Zeno declared and you knew it wasn’t a suggestion. “My son and his wife would like to meet you.”

#illumi x reader #illumi fanfic #illumi x you #hxh #hxh fanfic #illumi x y/n #hxh x reader #hxh x you #illumi #illumi zoldyck #hunter x hunter #hxh x y/n #killua #killua zoldyck #zeno zoldyck #ongoing fic #slow burn #navs.hxh #navs.cathexis

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jasontoddiefor · 3 years

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Title: infinitely varied Ship: obikin Summary: Sometimes your husband decides to develop an artificial intelligence capable of free choice and something called a soul and succeeds in the middle of a Thursday night. Or, more concretely: he's in the middle of succeeding because said intelligence first has to learn how to speak.Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics. AN: Happy birthday @ghostwriterofthemachine

Language is a process of free creation; its laws and principles are fixed, but the manner in which the principles of generation are used is free and infinitely varied. Even the interpretation and use of words involves a process of free creation.

Noam Chomsky

Life was a query of expectations, margins on doorframes, bucket lists, first loves, broken hearts, and happy middles because only fools would settle for a happy ending when they had so many decades left to live. The thought never failed to bring a smile to Anakin’s face, no matter how frustrated, remembering the simple way Obi-Wan had proposed. There had been no fancy dinner, particularly stunning outing, or anything resembling outlandish romantic gestures. Anakin would have appreciated them because every act would have been colored by Obi-Wan’s love, but now, older and wiser than the rash youth who’s fallen in love at first heated debate, he preferred the way their proposal had actually gone down. A quiet Sunday morning, eating breakfast together on the sofa while the news droned in the background from Anakin’s old radio, a hesitant “I don’t need forever, but I want the present”.

And, well, for all his genius, Anakin could be a bit of an idiot sometimes, but not when it came to this.

Married life was interesting.

Somehow nothing changed, except also everything. They had bought a real house, moved out of their old apartment and made more compromises than Anakin had ever thought himself capable of, for they hadn’t been like fighting an uphill battle but dancing together. It had made him happy to paint the entrance hall in the shade of green Obi-Wan preferred if he got to paint the kitchen in the light blue he wanted.

Obi-Wan got the attic for his office where his antique book collection looked right at home, and Anakin got the basement where the hum of his servers and the generator powering them annoyed nobody else.

It was as close to white-picket-fence as it could be with two queer men, no kids, a bratty cat, and an anxious dog under one roof. His childhood self would be appalled to see how much Anakin, always the whirlwind, had settled. To a nine-year-old, Anakin probably looked very adult.

Anakin, however, did not feel very grown-up, banging his head against his desk in the middle of the night. Obi-Wan had gone to sleep hours ago, and so had Anakin until inspiration had struck and he’d snuck out of bed to return to his favorite project.

A.H.S.O.K.A may not be a child, but Anakin certainly could relate to exhausted parents when they complained about their children in endless repetitions. To this day, Anakin didn’t know why his mother figured it would be great parenting to encourage her WarGames obsessed kid to dig into the world of artificial intelligence when WOPR nearly started a nuclear war, but he’d forever remain thankful.

Or, he’d resume being thankful when he could finally get A.H.S.O.K.A to learn. He’d rewritten her code a thousand times. It was his ever-constant companion, from his first awful-looking early 2000s website to its current incarnation. A.H.S.O.K.A could solve simple logic puzzles, given that he fed her enough data. Her solutions to tasks could be downright hilarious, but they were not enough. He wanted her to be smarter, better, capable of gaining true understanding.

Perhaps, it was a dream for the future and not a Thursday night.

Anakin didn’t have any work tomorrow morning as he worked as a freelancer, so he could afford to pull an all-nighter. But his dear husband had planned a nice afternoon for them, so Anakin should call it a night or a morning as a glance at the clock told him.

Staring at the many lines of code again, Anakin sighed and leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his by-now cold tea. Obi-Wan would definitely complain that Anakin had snatched his favorite mug once he got up and couldn’t find it in the kitchen. Anakin had bought it at the last linguistic convention Obi-Wan had taken him to.

Language is a process of free invention, it read in delicate cursive before the rest of the quote disassembled in pure chaos.

Huh.

Now there was a thought. Anakin got out of his chair and left the basement, haunted by fixed principles and infinite combinations. Up in the attic, carrying Obi-Wan’s computer downstairs again, Anakin thought on interpretations and free creations. He was as giddy and nervous as he’d been on the morning of his wedding day, which had started similarly early. Connecting Obi-Wan’s computer, and more importantly, the priced result of his thesis, to Anakin’s server felt a little like unwrapping birthday presents.

language_acquisition_prediction.exe

Enter.

II.

Obi-Wan was not surprised when he woke to an empty bed. Anakin had a habit of suddenly pulling all-nighters or getting up early before the sun even thought of rising. Given that he couldn’t smell breakfast yet, Obi-Wan deduced that Anakin had pulled an all-nighter again. He slowly crawled out of bed to avoid disturbing Artoo and Threepio sleeping to his feet. Obi-Wan was pretty sure he shared his bed more often with his pets than he did with his husband.

He walked down the stairs to the ground level and went by the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of tea. To his displeasure, Obi-Wan couldn’t find his favorite mug and so had to settle for another. After another thought, he decided to make a second one for Anakin, lavender this time so Anakin would hopefully crash after breakfast. He put both mugs on a small tray together with a couple tomatoes. Obi-Wan usually wasn’t one for eating a full breakfast on workdays – that was the influence of Anakin and his mother’s kitchen – but he was the expert in smalltime snacks. With both in hand, he walked down the second flight of stairs, down to the basement. As expected, he found Anakin at his desk, clinging to what was bound to be a cold cup, staring intensely at his screens, which were running one program or another.

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan greeted him and kissed Anakin’s cheek.

“Mo-orning,” Anakin replied, a yawn interrupting him halfway. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Eight,” Obi-Wan said. “How long have you been up?”

“Uuuh.” Obi-Wan didn’t need to see Anakin’s face to know the answer. “Did you even go to sleep?”

“I did sleep for a while!” Anakin argued. “But then I had an idea, I mean, look at this!”

Obi-Wan gave the screens a closer look. Despite common misconceptions, he was not technically illiterate. Privately, he blamed the fact that Anakin was quite well known for his tech know-how and Obi-Wan tended to talk more about literature given that he was filling in as a lecturer in the British Lit. department. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan had gotten his professorship with a program he’d written, and the code currently displayed on the screens looked very similar to a section that had given him stress nightmares. “Is that my thesis?” he asked.

“Yes, sorta, partially?” Anakin replied. “I kind of took it apart a lot and maybe corrupted it a bit, but that’s not the important part! Look what she’s doing with it.”

She could only refer to one person, intelligence. There were a few constants in their life, their new house the most recent one, and Ahsoka was probably the longest. Obi-Wan didn’t know why Anakin hadn’t set her aside already, he was happy enough to leave other started-never-finished projects lying around, but the last time he’d even just suggested such, Anakin had looked heartbroken.

Obi-Wan looked at the screen Anakin was pointing at and began to read.

script input: inhibition auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˌɪn.ɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˌɪn.hɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: outstanding

script input: better auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˈbet̬.ɚ/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˈbet.ər/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: rhoticism? query: define

The text continued for a while, though apparently Ahsoka only picked out the mismatched parts in her analysis.

“Is that ‘Must have done something right’?” Obi-Wan asked, the connection between the words suddenly starting to make sense.

“Yes!” Anakin grinned. “I wasn’t quite sure how to teach her sounds properly because I hadn’t equipped her with a sound analysis program before and I figured that if babies just learn by listening to their parents, Ahsoka could learn by listening to us.”

“So you fed her audio of us singing?” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether to be impressed, confused, or just plain tired but decided to settle on confusion for now and let the course of the conversation determine where they’d end up.

“That too, but I actually just started by playing old voice messages. I figured getting her used to just one phonetic inventory would be enough for now. Honestly, for the first hour, I wasn’t even sure whether that would be of any use because she had no symbols to connect the sounds to, and I thought using the IPA might bias her.”

Because, of course, Anakin never deleted any of Obi-Wan’s voice messages and just kept them on his phone. The fact that he just glossed over it as if it weren’t anything special either made Obi-Wan smile.

“It’s cute that you think we have the same inventory,” Obi-Wan commented. “But continue. You just let her listen to sounds and then? Don’t tell me you gave her written texts.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and confirmed another one of Ahsoka’s queries before answering. “No, I gave her the IPA then and let her listen to the full inventory and then analyze which ones we use.”

That made enough sense. Obi-Wan was reasonably sure it was a great deal more complicated than Anakin was lying it out right now, but it was still within the realm of possible and not downright sci-fi. There were enough programs that could analyze speech and filter out patterns, recognize even emotions and tone. Feeding data to a computer wasn’t too different from the way babies learned, though, as far as Obi-Wan knew from talking to people with children, they didn’t like their progeny being compared to lines of code.

“And you accomplished this by feeding my thesis program, which is meant to predict the language acquisition of children, to Ahsoka?”

“Yes, that, uh, happened more or less,” Anakin said, his nose scrunched up just so that Obi-Wan knew he wasn’t certain. “I’m pretty sure I like, wrote some of it down. Not all of it because I knocked out at like 4 a.m., which resulted in pretty interesting inquiries on the great vowel shift.”

Obi-Wan froze. “She’s asking about the great vowel shift?”

There was a difference in the size of the Atlantic between analyzing sounds and recognizing a six-hundred-year-old change in pronunciation.

“Not really,” Anakin said. “She just noticed the patterns? And had inquiries? We’ve been following up on it since, mostly by also giving her written text, but I think that might have backfired and confused her a bit. I’m thinking of synching up the input with a visible feed so she’d learn to associate an actual object with the sound, but I’m not sure whether that wouldn’t just lead to her matching data instead of actually learning its relevance. Can teach an AI what an apple looks like, sounds like, tastes like, but that doesn’t mean you can teach it what an apple is and all that.”

Anakin smiled impishly, and unfortunately, despite his generally messy appearance, Obi-Wan still thought he was handsome. “Please don’t cite my book back at me like that.”

Closing his eyes for a moment and pinching his nose, Obi-Wan tried to focus. This was not how he expected to start his free day. He needed to wake up and possibly grab his notes to sort out this mess. This almost made him wish the car was still wrecked and Anakin would spend all his free time fixing that. “Did you have to start her on English of all languages?”

Anakin was fluent in two other romance languages; it would have been much easier to deal with a French AI than an English one. Sighing, Obi-Wan looked at Ahsoka’s latest question and promptly frowned.

script input: bear auditory input: /beər/ match found: bare analysis: mismatch diagnosis: failed word formation query: bear = bare? query: deletion >bare<?

“How long has she been doing that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Doing what— oh, that’s new.”

So Ahsoka had jumped from matching sounds to text to comparing sound to words and then referencing those words against one another. That was a logical step, but also a step Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure she should be doing without prompting.

“She thinks bear and bare are related because they have the same sound. Didn’t really expect that turn of events. Should I show her those are two different words?”

“Does she even know what a word is yet?” Obi-Wan asked in turn.

“No.”

“Then teach her what a word is first— after breakfast. I want your pancakes.”

“You never want pancakes on a Friday.”

“My husband also never decided to rope me into teaching an artificial intelligence morphology before.”

Obi-Wan needed a proper meal for this. He could talk to his students on an empty stomach, but he could not deal with the latest brand of Skywalker insanity without something sweet first.

“I haven’t—”

Ever the negotiator, Obi-Wan decided to shut Anakin up with a kiss. “After breakfast.”

Ahsoka’s many questions could wait for an hour.

#star wars #obikin #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #fanfic

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babygirlizz · 3 years

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izzie’s favorite movies and tv shows of 2020 (aka the worst year ever)

another year, another movie and tv show review. this year has, to put it simply, sucked. 2020 has been so terribly awful that sometimes the only light you can see are the absolute bangers of movies and tv shows that came out this year. with that being said, some of the movies and tv shows didn't come out in 2020. if the are mentioned in this post it is because they either: had a season come out this year, i found them this year, or they became popular this year.

SPOILERS: it may not come as a surprise but just in case you didn't realize, there will be many spoilers ahead, read at your own risk.

tw // death, suicide, drug use, mild adult language. if any of these things might trigger you, i strongly urge you not to read this post.

there is no specific order of these shows and movies, i'm just writing as they come to mind. if you enjoy any of these movies or tv shows, or if you have any suggestions for me, please let me know!

TV SHOWS

1) Santa Clarita Diet

Okay, so I know this show doesn't have anything to do with 2020. But, I found this show in 2020. I put it off for a while, thinking it wasn't my style of a show, but boy was I wrong. I loved this show. Sheila Hammond (Drew Barrymore) is a normal suburban wife and mom. She is a real estate agent with her husband Joel (Timothy Olyphant). She struggles with the fact that she isn't very adventurous. This all changes when she throws up an insane amount at a house showing. She then finds herself craving adventure, and craving human flesh. Yeah, she's a zombie. Not only is this show super hilarious, but it also shows the growth that they have with their characters and their family. I'm also team Abby (Liv Hewson) and Eric (Skyler Gisondo).

2) Outer Banks

So, I'm from NC. And, watching this show at first bothered me because I can very obviously tell this show isn't actually filmed in the obx, and the geography isn't exact, but once I got past that, I loved it. John B (Chase Stokes) is a teenager that lives in the poor side of the outer banks. He has a friend group called the Pogues which consists of JJ (Rudy Pankow), Pope (Jonathan Daviss), and Kie (Madison Bailey). They absolutely hate the Kooks, which are the rich kids. A while after John B's dad gets lost at sea, presumed dead, the group finds some evidence that may solve the mystery, and make them rich. In the process, John B falls in love with a Kook names Sarah (Madelyn Cline) whose father Ward (Charles Esten) may have a little more to do with the mystery than he let on. Through friendship, murder, and secrets, the gang may just figure out what happened to John B's dad.

3) Love, Victor

Alright. I loved loved loved Love, Simon. I also really loved the book "Simon vs. the Homosapien Agenda." So, when I heard about this show, I was so excited. Victor (Michael Cimino) is a teenage boy that moved to Creekwood with his family. He meets Felix (Anthony Turpel) who lives in his building. He also meets Mia (Rachel Hilson) and they begin dating. But, he also meets Benji (George Sear). While trying to get used to a new school, new friends, and a new relationship, Victor finds himself questioning his sexuality. With the help of Simon (Nick Robinson) and his friends, Victor finds it in himself to finally come out, and he admits his feelings, for Benji. This is such a good show, but I was so upset when season 1 ended on a cliff-hanger.

4) The Haunting of Bly Manor

The sequel to The Haunting of Hill House. Now listen, haunting of hill house was an absolute banger. When I saw that Bly came out I nearly died. I was so excited. But, I was alone in my apartment and also a lil bitch. So, I had to wait a week until I was home with my family to watch it. Now, I was so excited to be scared, and there were a few jump scares and ominous moments, but this season was more centered around the story line of Dani Clayton (Victoria Pedretti) and her new life in a foreign country. When seeing an ad for a live in job as an au pair. When she gets there, she meets the two young children she’ll be looking out for and the other workers of the house, including the gardener, Jamie (Amelia Eve). Throughout her stay at Bly she begins to notice weird behaviors from both children and by the end of the series she sacrifices herself for the children. Sadly, this story is being told by Jamie who Dani had fallen in love with during her stay at Bly. Now I was somewhat upset about the lack of horror, but was still very intrigued and drawn in by this series.

5) Julie and the Phantoms

Alright, at first I was not gonna watch this show. I thought it looked a little too young and childish for me, but everyone was talking about it on twitter so I had to. I. Love. This. Show. This show centers around Julie (Madison Reyes). Julie is a teenage girl who, sadly, lost her mother. The one major thing she shared with her mom, was their love for music. Since her mothers passing, she gave up music. This is until, dead musicians from the 90′s show up in her garage. Luke (Charlie Gillespie), Alex (Owen Joyner), and Reggie (Jeremy Shada) all tragically passed away in the 90′s after eating bad street hotdogs. When Julie finds their CD in her garage, she decides to play it and they come back in ghost form. But, only she can see them. With their help, she finds her confidence to play music again. Also, she has to find away for them to stay because they’re slowly disappearing.

6) Derry Girls

Bitch. I love this show. And yeah it didn’t come out in 2020. Shut up. I found this show recently after watching the cast on the holiday special of the Great British Baking Show. I loved the actors so I had to watch the show. This show focuses on Erin (Saoirse-Monica Jackson) a 16 year old girl that lives in Derry, Northern Ireland in the 90′s. Alongside her is her cousin Orla (Louisa Harland), her two friends Clare (Nicola Coughlan) and Michelle (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), and Michelle’s English cousin James (Dylan Llewellyn). During these years, a lot of people in Ireland struggled, especially because it was during wartime. Even thought this show isn’t focused heavily around the war, it’s amazing to see these teens live a fulfilling life while struggling with the state of their country, and the lack of money that their families have.

7) Elite

HA. This show did have a season in 2020 so leave me alone. But bro, I love this show. At first, I didn’t watch it because I thought I could only watch the dubbed version in English, which I hate. I hate dubbed shows they look so weird. But, once I found out I could watch this show in Spanish, I fell in love. But, sadly, theres too damn much to talk about in one little post. It’s crazy. But basically it just follows the lives of teens in high school that are trying to survive. And no, not in the “I’m surviving high school,” sense. No, people be getting murdered.

MOVIES (tbh i didn’t find a lot of movies good this year lmk which movies u liked this year and maybe i’ll like them!)

1) All the Bright Places

After the death of her sister, Violet (Elle Fanning) is devastated. She closes herself off, and has her parents get her out of doing school work that involves working with others. But, as time goes on, they realize she may need to start to move on. Violet then meets Finch (Justice Smith) who is enamored by Violet. He suggests they do a project together. While finding and visiting some of the smallest wonders of their state, they begin to fall for each other. While you are focusing on Violet and her mental health, you tend to miss some of the signs that Finch’s mental health isn’t great either, but by the time you do, it could be too late.

2) Dangerous Lies

Hmm. This was weird for me. I had only ever seen Camila Mendes in Riverdale, and honestly, not a fan. So, Katie (Camila Mendes) and her husband Adam (Jessie T. Usher) are struggling with money. Katie decides to take a job working for an elderly man, and eventually gets her husband hired there as well. Unfortunately, he dies, but for some odd reason, leaves the house and all of his fortune, to Katie. As they get comfortable in the house, they begin to uncover some very weird and dangerous lies.

3) The Devil All the Time

Ok. Iconic. You got so many hot men in this movie. Bill Skarsgård, Sebastian Stan, Tom Holland, Robert Pattinson. C’mon now. That’s crazy. But, this story is so long and in depth that I wouldn’t even know where to begin. This movie is a bit disturbing. It involves murder, sexual assault, killing of animals, and so much more so if that’s an issue for you please do not watch this movie. It was also quite long, but it was still good.

4) After We Collided

Okay just listen. I was that teenager. I read wattpad stories and was, embarrassingly, addicted to After. This was not a great movie per say, but it was After. This is a sequel to the movie After. This movie centers around Tessa (Josephine Langford) and her recovery after her breakup with Hardin (Hero Fiennes Tiffin). Theres sex, alcohol, bad acting. The whole nine-yards. But c’mon, they’re so cute together.

5) To All the Boys p.s. I Still Love You

Okay it was a good movie. I enjoyed it. This movie focuses on Lara Jean (Lana Condor) and her boyfriend Peter (Noah Centineo) and their relationship post the first movie. But of course relationships aren’t super steady, and John Ambrose McClaren (Jordan Fisher) shows up. Yeah, John Ambrose, from her letter. They become closer and Lara Jean has to decide who she wants to be with. Spoiler, it’s Peter. BOOOOOOO justice for John Ambrose McClaren, he deserved better.

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deathvalleyusa · 3 years

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day’s eye

Summary: In the eyes of a child named Daisy, Alfie Solomons is a thing of adventure books and mythical tales. As she grows he seems to morph to even more mythical proportions. That is, until Margate shows Daisy just how mortal and human Alfie is. ONE SHOT.

Characters: Alfie Solomons, Child OFC, OFC

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Language, S5 spoilers

A/N: Wrote this a while ago but only recently picked it up again. I had plans to write a fic about Nora (Daisy’s mom) and Alfie but this ended up happening instead lol. x-posted from AO3.

When one grows up without a father, people assume a terrible fate befell him. The War. An accident. Perhaps he had found himself in trouble with one of the many gangs that ran the streets of every city on British soil. His absence could be explained away.

When one grows up without a mother, death is often called upon as the excuse as well. Childbirth. Influenza. Beatings no one saved her from.

But in certain cases, the father is simply gone and the mother still lives and breathes. Daisy was one such case.

Her mother, a lovely woman named Nora, had dreams. Visions of a house, a garden, and a job to keep her steady. Daisy was a part of the vision, but not a part of the journey thus far. So at her grandparents cottage she stayed. Six years old, knowing her mum was somewhere else, trying her hardest.

The day Nora came for Daisy was one of excitement. Tears. Good-byes from her Papa and Gran, hugs that melted into her skin. A buzzing ecstatic feeling as they boarded the train, heading to a place called London.

"It's all new there for us, Daisy," Nora had said. Pretty in her makeup and burgundy cloche hat. "A life for us, eh? Me and my girl?"

Daisy was not expecting to meet a man that week.

At six, she'd met her fair share of men from her grandparents' village. Her mum had never brought around anyone other than her uncle Harry. So this man was something new entirely.

Daisy had thought he maybe had been a bear before he was a man. Towering and scruffily bearded, he was an odd one.

"This is little Daisy, then?" He had asked. Voice low, accent unlike the Liverpool one she had lived with all her life. He spoke with a curiosity and a kindness, deep blue eyes twinkling.

"That's her," Nora answered, beaming. "Daisy, this is my lovely friend Alfie."

He offered a hand. Daisy stared, then gave a glance to her mum. A supportive nod, and her tiny hand met his.

It was not unlike her grandfather's, or Uncle Harry's. Worn and slightly rough on the pads, work showed it's time through calluses and small light scars. It was warm though, gentle as he shook hers before enveloping it in another large hand. Daisy couldn't help but admire his rings and the small crown tattooed into his skin.

Like a man from the pictures, she thought to herself, giving a pleased smile. Like a pirate. Or a king.

One thing Daisy learned, as she spent more time with her mother and Alfie, was how much he spoke and how rapt her mother's attention was to his words. He spun stories, rambled about the folk about town. Posed hypotheticals at Nora who would answer after a long pause. Alfie would always include Daisy, posing the same questions or asking about life in a quiet village.

Years passed. Daisy, in her infinite child wisdom, came to understand some of the nature of Alfie besides his sweetness. That he was just as she had suspected, a pirate and a king. He terrified others, kept the men in the bakery in reverence of him.

She came to understand her mother as well. A woman with muted glamor, someone with quiet dreams that slowly seemed to materialize. She was not the princesses or damsels in the films or books Daisy consumed. No, she was something of a beautiful warrior.

Daisy thought of herself as an adventurer. No one feared a child of her age, and she had no one who needed her protection quite yet. Instead, she was a wily spirit, content with exploration during the day and a cozy home with her mother, and quite often Alfie, at night.

It came as no surprise at the age of nine when Alfie sat her down and explained he had asked her mother to marry him. Truly, it felt like a long put off event, and Daisy had just wanted it over and done with.

Alfie's laugh filled the sitting room when she told him.

"It's not always that simple, Daisy Bell," he said. "But I'm pleased, your mum expected you to take the news hard. Not sure why, but you are full of surprises, yeah?"

And so, on one afternoon that had gifted pockets of sun, Daisy watched as Alfie made her mother his pirate queen. Daisy, in turn, became a pirate as well. And with her new place as the daughter of a pirate and a king came new lodgings.

Not a ship, but a house with many rooms. A place for her toys and baubles, and a new wardrobe to hang the pretty things her mother liked to dress her in. Daisy quite liked to sneak into Alfie's study, staring at the little collections that lined shelves. On the occasions she snuck in while he sat at his desk, he'd call her over with a wave of his big hand. A sweet would appear, followed by a kiss to the head.

"Don't tell your mum," he'd whisper in gruff tones, "or she'll 'ave both of our heads for spoiling your dinner."

It was those moments she liked best, when the two of them would hold a small secret. Daisy knew Alfie and her mother had their own secrets, whispered under their breaths as if Daisy would pay it no mind. Talk of bread, of a man named Shelby. Nothing that ever reached her in her fortress.

And in that fortress protected by men led by Alfie, who as Daisy neared eleven, seemed more pirate than king, she thrived. Played with the other children, took pockets of Yiddish they taught her home to practice with her mother. Spent hours feeding treats to Cyril behind her parents’ backs. Tormented Alfie's men with silly games and questions they usually had no answer to. Ollie was her favorite. He had taught her to play cribbage in the moments where his time wasn't completely occupied with Alfie's commands.

There were long stretches where Alfie did not return home, only giving a phone call to calm Nora's nerves. Her mother would get whispered conversations; Daisy was given sweet words and a gentle good night or morning. Daisy contented herself with this, until one day Alfie did not return.

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

"He's gone to Margate," Nora explained, rubbing at her tired eyes. They seemed to grow more tired with each passing year. "I haven't heard from him yet, Daisy. Perhaps tomorrow we'll get a ring."

The call did not come. Daisy thought of terrible fates that befell kings and pirates. How easily it could happen to a man whose business kept him in hushed conversations. How her pa, dear Alfie, could be struck down in crossfire with the polished guns he kept locked in his study.

When a letter came, and with it a terrible wail from the beautiful mouth of her mother, Daisy knew she was right. Wished it not to be so; that there had been a terrible mistake and the news written was wrong. But sneaking a look at the letter when her mother had finally let it out of her grasp, Daisy found her worst thoughts had not been bad enough.

Alfie's wonderful handwriting lay before her. Asking forgiveness of Nora, then of her. A betrayal to the Shelby man detailed Alfie's demise. A desire to end a painful, cancerous existence that he had never spoke of to Daisy.

Another letter detailed his condition. Alive, but for how long would be up to him. Where he could be found in the winding streets of Margate.

With no noise, she returned the letter to it's envelope. Daisy took care to walk quietly, letting herself hang at the entry of her mother's room. For the first time in many years, she crawled beside her in the vast bed, letting a desperate hug melt into her skin.

On the eve of her twelfth birthday, the house with many rooms lay barren. Everything had been packed and sent to Margate, which Nora explained would become their new home. Daisy had seen her mother hold back tears as they locked the doors for a final time. Her house and her garden that had materialized out of her dreams since Daisy was very small was no more.

Camden Town had too much risk lying to the north to bring Alfie back even in secret. He was no longer a king, but a ghost of one. They were to follow the ghost, live in a haunted home by the sea.

In that haunted home, Daisy helped place Alfie's collections and her baubles on shelves. She ignored the moans from the guest room, which had become a makeshift hospital ward. Instead she practiced her piano and read on the balcony to avoid the noise. Wished that Cyril, wherever he had gone off to, was by her side to help her ward off the ghost that lived here.

Alfie haunted her, night and day. He haunted her mother more, once he became more coherent and spoke his rambling nonsense to her. More than once she had heard Nora's voice raised behind the oak door, and no reply from Alfie. Her mother was not an angry woman, but Margate in those early months had sparked like a flint and filled Nora’s glamorous face with a rage-fueled fire.

As time passed, Daisy returned to her schooling. New friends were found, and so was a sense of normal. Her mother’s anger had become smoldering coals, and she started to leave the house. Sometimes for pleasure, other times for business still left from Camden Town. Daisy wondered often if Alfie, who remained behind the closed door, envied their comings and goings. She wondered more if he missed her, months separating the moment she had seen him in a gauze mask till now.

***********

On an unremarkable Sunday afternoon, her mother had gone out for some air. Daisy had been left to her own devices, plunking out a song on the piano in the sitting room. A voice, one she hadn't heard in more than a gruff whisper in weeks, sang out:

"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do!”

He was awake. Calling to her, it seemed, with a silly song he'd sing to tease since she was small.

"I'm 'alf crazy, all the love for you!”

Daisy rose from the piano bench, wood upon wood scraping quietly before feet plodded to the guest room she avoided. Now, though, the call from within was irresistible.

The door groaned silent as she peeked in, black curls slipping around her shoulders. There in bed lay the man she called father. A man in a pitiful state, but lucid.

"Daisy Bell, sweetie." he managed to crack a smile. "I'll cover up this nasty face of mine if you like, yeah, I just need to see that cherub one of yours."

She stepped in, trod closer.

"It's all right," Daisy remitted. "Will it always look like that?"

Alfie took consideration. "It won't always be as red, yeah, but it'll still look like a gnarled fucking tree. Maybe it'll smooth one day, but it's stuck, love."

"Then don't cover it," she said quietly. "If it's forever, I need to get used to it."

"Wise words from the mouth of babes."

"I'm nearly thirteen." A slight bristle shook through her voice, reminding herself of her mother. "I'm no baby."

"Is that right?" Alfie shut his eyes, heaving a grumbly sigh. A few beats passed, and he opened his good eye. Deep blue, like the ocean at night. Daisy sometimes sat on the balcony of their townhome and watched the waves roll in and out. Alfie's eye held no waves, just stillness.

"Well, if you're such a grown woman now, with wisdom and maturity beyond all our years, right, you'll fetch your dad a thimble of whatever Mum's got in that fancy bar cart she had to have, yeah? A secret between us grown ones, so I can partake of the earthly pleasures again."

Daisy's face hardened. "Mum says you can't."

"A biscuit then. With a strong cuppa." Noting her doubtful looks, he gestured to his face. "The tea to soften the biscuit so this old man can chew softly."

Daisy gave him a doubtful look, but obliged. Wondered how many times he'd asked for small tokens from the nurse or her mother and was promptly shut down. She returned, biscuits and tea in hand.

"You have my undying gratitude, Daisy Bell," he said.

He seemed quite happy, but Daisy couldn't tell if the biscuits or her presence was more the cause. As he dipped a corner of the biscuit into his tea, she thought how silly it was for a ghost to enjoy afternoon tea. She couldn't help an amused smile.

"What's that you're giggling about?" Alfie asked. His own mouth drew into a devilish grin. "You do something funny to these biscuits, ey?"

"No," Daisy replied, smiling wider. "It's a silly thought is all."

"I haven't heard silly thoughts in some time, just a nurse droning on and on about health and tablets. Indulge me."

For the first time in many months, Daisy felt heard again. Hands grabbed the wooden chair next to the wardrobe, scooting close to Alfie. She even let her forearms rest on the side of his bed, close enough to feel warmth not usually becoming of a ghost.

"Well you see," she started, "when we met when I was very little, I saw your rings and tattoo and thought of the men in the books my Gran would read to me. All while we lived in London, I thought of you as a pirate king."

"Is that so?" he chuckled, taking a sip. "Reckon you were a pirate princess then, weren't you?"

"Something like that." Daisy grinned before looking away at the wall. "After Mum got the letter and we couldn't bring you home… Well, I felt like you were a ghost. Like I've been living with a ghost this whole time in Margate."

Alfie didn't respond. Daisy had known he wouldn't; the wound on the soul was still as raw as the scar on his eye.

"But just now, seeing you eat,” she continued, “I found it quite funny to see a ghost eat a biscuit and enjoy a cuppa. All ghosts should be that funny, I think."

"Do you?" Alfie heaved a great sigh, then chuckled. "Better to be a ghost with a sense of humor and an appetite for sweets than a man who's lost both, yeah?”

Daisy nodded. The more she let what he had said rattle about in her mind, the more she came to understand the thankful truth of it. Though she mourned her pirate king, Cyril, and the house with many rooms, Margate and its ghost with his biscuit and tea had their own comfort.

She once again was a child who had a father with a terrible fate that had befallen him. A dozen excuses could be made for his absence but Daisy knew this time, at least, that in secret he still existed. The little secrets they shared had grown to one of great magnitude, like ones of novels and myths.

“I’ve missed you.”

Alfie, who had finished one of his biscuits, eyed her up with that twinkle she loved so dearly in the still dark blue iris. The cup clinked against the saucer as he set it on his lap covered by a blanket. Daisy felt the familiar roughness of his hand as it grasped hers.

“So have I, Daisy.” He gave her hand a squeeze, the feeling less ghostly than she had imagined. “Someday, I promise you, I’ll be out of this terrible fuckin’ bed and you and I can do whatever pleases your sweet heart.”

“That could be a very long time,” Daisy answered. “Is it okay for me to come back in? Will Mum be upset?”

Alfie took a pause.

“I don’t think so,” he decided. “And if she does get upset, it won’t last. The rotation of faces will do me good, yeah? That nurse sometimes makes me feel more ill by her presence alone, she’s got a particularly sour smell to match her face. The sooner I’m out of this room, the better I’ll be, I think. The sea air’ll do me some good, don’t you think?”

Daisy nodded again, vigorously. If Alfie thought the sea and the wisping salt against his face would help him be less a ghost and more a man, she would believe it too.

“We can go walking together,” Daisy suggested. “In the afternoons when I come home from school. And all day on weekends. Mum said she’d buy me a swimming costume for the summer, maybe we could swim—”

Alfie interrupted with his distinctive laugh, a near giggle unexpected from such a large man. The first time Daisy had heard it she had been taken aback, only to laugh along. Hearing it now was like a balm slathered on a skinned knee.

“We’ll start with a short walk, sweetie, then think about swimming in the next distant summer when these limbs can carry this old man easier. If I try to swim now, right, I might be swept away into the sea and some fantastical creature may happen upon me and drag me to its home in the depths. You believe in mermaids, love?”

“No.” Daisy sat back in the chair. “Not anymore.”

“Pity,” Alfie answered. “I saw one once at a carnival; pretty thing with a tail blowing bubbles under the water. If anything were to drag me out to sea, I’d choose her.”

“Stay on land, then!”

Alfie looked at her, quieted by her outburst. Daisy hadn’t meant for the words to leave her mouth so loudly. But all the talk of leaving once more sent her deep into a place of fear.

“I don’t want you to leave again,” Daisy tried once more in a softer voice. “I don’t want you to even try.”

“Then I won’t,” Alfie replied simply. “I’ll ignore all those siren calls I hear from the beach and stay right here, on your orders. You’re the boss, then.”

“Mum said she’s the boss now.” She shifted in her seat, wondered how cold the tea sitting on Alfie’s lap had gone. “Her and Ollie, she says.”

“Right then, you’ll just have to be my boss, won’t you?” Alfie shut his eyes. Daisy inspected his face, riddled with red scars and the patches of scaly rashes around his scalp he had explained as an affliction called psoriasis when she questioned it. He opened his good eye, giving her a quick smile. “Keep me in line and give me my orders to follow. First order is no following mermaids, got that love, what else should I heed from you?”

Daisy had never had that kind of power before, giving orders to an adult. The men at the bakery heeded her silly requests before, yes, but Alfie had always been the one to bark orders. As a child on the cusp of thirteen, it was an immense responsibility. She racked her brain, lips pursed as she ignored Alfie’s amused face, before settling on one.

“Get well fast,” Daisy finally said. “And don’t make Mum cross again, I’ll know if you do.”

“A tall order, that last one, but I’ll do my best,” Alfie grunted, tapping her hand before saluting her. “Yes ma’am.”

#alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons #peaky blinder fanfic #i love soft alfie fics ok bye

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

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JL Fic Recs: Angst With Happy Ending Pt. 3

Hey all!!

OKAY, so... I somehow LOST the original ask that this list was supposed to attach to, so I’m going to just offer it as a standalone list, because I need it posted for another ask I have, LOL.

So, for whoever asked about 2 months ago for Angst with a Happy Ending, this one is for you, LOL. I’m sorry, I have no idea why your post disappeared from my drafts. Enjoy, all, a rare List Without an Ask :). ENJOY!! And as usual, add your faves! <3

ANGST WITH HAPPY ENDING Pt 3

See also:

Angst With a Happy Ending

Angst With a Happy Ending Pt. 2

Angsty Fluff

A Room of One's Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock's mind palace. It's actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn't taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.

To the Nines by suitesamba (M, 2,724 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Magical Realism, Pining, Angst, John Whump, Time Travel, Fortunes, Time Jumps) – John skips forward in time, and Sherlock reads the signs that point to nine. John knows he’ll eventually be with Sherlock, but the waiting is nearly impossible, and his body is a lot more than transport. A foray into magical realism where all the canon events occur, and a hell of a lot more.

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomolies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John's chest, right at his heart, and shot.' Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

Bridges by sussexbound (M, 6,602 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TLD / S4 Fix It, Love Confessions, Mending Relationships, Moving Back In, Pining Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Past Abuse, Shaving) – The silence between them is deafening, interrupted only by the hum of the traffic outside, and the soft click-clunk of the plastic cups Rosie is playing with on the floor beside them. It is the first time they have been alone together, since Sherlock’s birthday. It’s only been two days, but it feels huge, important, like there is a precarious bridge stretched out before them both that they need to at least attempt to traverse.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

The Hand You're Dealt by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 12,092 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Light Violence, BAMF John, Doctor John, Injury, Friendship) – Sherlock, John and several others are trapped in a building when an explosion disrupts the crime scene they are working.

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names, Panic Attack) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship, Different TRF, Sherlock’s Past, Victor Trevor is Past Boyfriend, Depression, Hallucination?, Love Confessions, Christmas, First Kiss) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing.Almost...magical.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU || Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) – A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater / Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #fic rec sunday #angst with happy ending #long post #angst fics #my fic recs

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andawaywego · 4 years

Note

Hey!! Could you maybe write a jealous Dani fic please? I mean we all know Jamie is a catch.

she totally is. but...they both are. here you go! i hope you like it.

The first time that Dani ever saw Jamie—coming into the kitchen at Bly, dusty and dirty in with those rolled-back sleeves and that unaffected smirk on her lips—the sight of her knocked the breath from her chest. Even under the grime on her cheeks and the shimmer of sweat, Jamie somehow looked like a Hollywood starlet. One of those black-and-white movie stars that Dani grew up fascinated by. Her curly brown hair brushing the tops of her shoulders, her eyes happy and bright, even the pink shape of her mouth and the pale column of her neck. It was almost hard to look at.

Of course, Dani kept that to herself for a little while. It wasn’t as if she’d never thought of girls as beautiful before—or that she hadn’t daydreamed about them every so often. It was that Jamie was a colleague, an associate, and someone she saw practically every day. Throw in the added bonus of Dani having just lost her fiancé who was haunting her, the mess that was everything Flora and Miles, and all the rest and it’s amazing that they found each other at all, really.

But then they’d kissed and Jamie hadn’t run even when Dani had and it was as if she came even more beautiful every time Dani became aware of something else in this hard world that tried to put her down. The lines beneath her eyes were something she caught herself staring at, that scowl she came to love a near-permanent fixture on Jamie’s face. The way she looked in the summer sun, pruning roses and wiping the sweat from her forehead. It was...a lot.

And Dani is only human. Of course she thought Jamie was beautiful the moment she first saw her, just as she knows she is now. It’s a truth she’s come to live with: Jamie is absolutely breathtaking, even on her worst day.

And she would absolutely roll her eyes if Dani ever said that aloud.

It’s been thirteen months since that first day at Bly and Jamie is still beautiful, yes. All the time.

But Dani isn’t the only one who notices that.

Of course she isn’t. She could be so lucky.

Jamie has had a myriad of smitten fans since they opened The Leafling—teenage girls shopping for corsages who aren’t sure what to make of her winning smile and winking eyes; men who come in shopping for wives, or girlfriends, or mothers and trail after her around the store as she suggests different arrangements; even little boys who come in with their parents who turn bright red the moment Jamie greets them.

And Dani knows it shouldn’t bother her. No matter who it is that’s fallen under Jamie’s spell, she’s the one that goes home with her at night. She’s the one who knows what it’s like to touch Jamie and kiss her and be loved by her in return. It isn’t as if she owns Jamie—you can’t be the property of someone else.

But again: she’s human. She has flaws.

And one of them is the bitter knot of jealousy in her chest as she watches the bearded guy—who’s come in three times in the last week—listen to Jamie describe the meanings of different rose types.

He’s handsome enough—tall and blue-eyed with a dimple in his left cheek that’s put on display every time he smiles. And he smiles a lot at Jamie as she speaks. Every so often, he’ll say something Dani can’t quite hear from her spot behind the counter—working on an arrangement for someone’s recently-engaged daughter—and Jamie will laugh, this genuine, joyful noise that never fails to make Dani’s stomach bottom out.

“What about pink, then?” the man asks and Dani narrowed eyes bore holes into the back of his head. “If red means love and desire.”

There’s a quality to his voice when he says this that sort of makes Dani want to smack him across the face. Briefly, she imagines going over and forcing herself into the interaction—wrapping her arm around Jamie’s waist and pulling her tightly into her side. Glaring daggers until the man gets the hint and stops his incessant and completely unsubtle flirtations.

“Well, they can mean a lot of things,” Jamie begins, and her voice trails off in a list of the different emotions that pink can convey. The familiar cadence of her voice washes over Dani’s ears, making her mind calm a little, her hands steady.

Her ears still feel hot, yes, and her chest tight, but she forces herself to watch Jamie’s profile as she talks. The way she moves her hands. The smile on her face that’s always there when she’s discussing something she’s passionate about.

She’s mesmerizing, really. Sometimes it’s like Dani can’t even think clearly because of it.

Her eyes trail down Jamie’s neck to the collar of her shirt, buttoned high to hide the love bite Dani left on her neck the night before. She’d scolded Dani when she saw it that morning, while she was getting dressed, but she’d been grinning as she did it. Biting her lip. And she’s been stealing kisses between customers all day.

Dani does that, too—pretending to be bother by the marks that Jamie leaves behind, but she’s never really attempted to hide them once they’re there. There’s something to being able to see the evidence of Jamie on her body. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of it.

Mr. Beard laughs and Dani’s eyes flit over to him. He looks way too charmed with himself. She rolls her eyes so hard it kind of hurts, then forces herself to return to her arrangement.

Eyes down. Hum a song to herself so she can’t hear what he’s saying to her girlfriend. Good distractions. Clean and non-violent thoughts.

Eventually, she’s jarred from them by a light touch at her waist. When she looks up, Jamie is there, smiling fondly and it makes Dani’s heart stutter in her chest.

“Can I squeeze by ya’?” Jamie asks. “Need the till.”

“Oh. Right.”

Dani moves to the side, letting Jamie slide behind her, and has to force herself to keep from making a truly inelegant noise when she feels Jamie’s hips press into her from behind as she goes.

It takes her a moment to realize that Mr. Beard is standing in front of the counter, a single yellow rose in his hand. He gives Dani an awkward, close-lipped smile as Jamie reads him his total, fishing into his back pocket to pull out a few bills.

“Um, so,” he says once Jamie has handed him his change. She leans forward against the counter curiously. His eyes flit to Dani for a moment, an expression she can’t quite read on his face. She thinks it might be slight aggravation. She turns her attention back to her arrangement. “I’m sorry if this is forward, but I’m actually buying this...for you.”

Everything falls silent. Dani’s muscles freeze and she blinks down at her flowers, trying to figure out if she’d just heard him right. Beside her, she feels Jamie’s similar reaction and she can see—out of the corner of her eye—that the man is offering her the rose he’s just bought.

“I thought maybe you’d like to get dinner sometime?” he says, continuing on like the air in the shop hasn’t just been viciously murdered and is now stagnant and thick.

Dani clenches her jaw so tightly, grinding her teeth together, that it could snap.

“Oh.” Jamie’s voice is understandably surprised. Dani feels, rather than sees, Jamie glance over at her and then away. “Um…”

“I know this great place just up the street—”

“I...uh…”

“—and I’d love the chance to get to know you better.”

“Excuse me,” Dani says, so quietly she almost can’t hear herself, and turns on her heel, marching into the back room and closing the door behind herself.

The office is really nothing more than a desk, two filing cabinets, and a couch that had been part of the shop’s lease. Frustration is licking the back of Dani’s neck, hot and livid, and she has to clench her fists to keep from hitting something.

She’s never been a violent person—no, never—but the audacity of this stranger to think he has some sort of claim on Jamie—that Jamie would even be interested—is doing interesting things to her poor heart.

This isn’t how she thought her day was going to go, that’s all.

The door is just thick enough that she can hear voices, but can’t actually make out anything that’s being said. After a moment or two, she collapses onto the couch and buries her face in her hands, trying to calm down.

It isn’t as if the guy actually has a chance with Jamie.

They live together, for God’s sake. They have a shop together and a life together and when Dani says, “I love you,” Jamie doesn’t even hesitate to say it back. There’s no realistic risk of losing her to this guy.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. There’s no reason to be upset.

She’s still telling herself that when the door opens sometime later. There’s movement—she can’t really tell because her hands are still covering her eyes—and then a warm hand is wrapping around her arm, gently guiding her hands away.

Jamie is kneeling in front of her with an apologetic smile on her perfect lips. “Hey,” she says simply, softly.

“Hey,” Dani returns. Then, bitterly, “So when’s Beard-o taking you out?”

Jamie’s smile falters for a second, but then she shakes her head. “Oh, Lord. That was the...absolutely worst, wasn’t it? I was actually embarrassed for him.”

It shouldn’t be, really, but her words are still a bit of a relief.

“You mean that’s not your type? Making you pick out the flower he gives you? From your own shop?” Dani asks.

Jamie feigns a shudder. “He loses points for creativity there, yeah.” She grabs one of Dani’s hands and pulls it nearer, pressing her lips to her fingers in a gentle kiss.

Morbid curiosity bites at the back of Dani’s throat. She can’t help but ask, “What did you tell him?”

“What do you think?” Jamie says, a breathless little laugh accompanying the words. “I said no.”

Dani’s shoulders deflate. “Right.” She’s trying her hardest not to sound as frustrated as she’s feeling, but she knows it’s not working.

There aren’t secrets between them anymore. Dani doesn’t think she’d be capable of keeping any even if she wanted to. So Jamie’s smile slips away and she shifts nearer, finally understanding what it is that’s going on.

“You’re not...Poppins, are you actually...jealous?”

Dani shakes her head, looking away. “Of course not,” she says, hating the way the messy swirl of emotions in her chest is making her feel so juvenile and silly.

“You are,” Jamie decides.

And, okay then—

“Yeah, okay,” Dani confesses, her voice pitched a little more exasperated than she’d like. “Some handsome guy comes into our shop and makes you laugh and asks you to dinner because he can do that—he can just ask, and he could hold your hand at dinner if he wanted or give you things that I—” She shakes her head, trying to clear it. “I’m sorry. I know it’s dumb, but I…”

She trails off, unsure of how to finish that thought.

Jamie is staring at her silently, her expression one of serious consideration and it makes Dani all the more nervous. All this time together, part of her has been so scared that, one of these days, Jamie will finally find the thing about her that’s made everyone else want to leave, too.

“You wanna know what I told him?” Jamie says after the silence has lingered for a little while and she doesn’t wait for an answer. “I told him that I’m taken. That I’m in a relationship with somebody I love more than anything.” Dani looks up, finally, to meet her eyes. “And even if I wasn’t...even in a world where I never met you, Dani, it still would have been no. But I did meet you and I love you. So you have nothing to worry about.”

And she smiles again—that brilliant smile that never fails to make Dani’s knees feel weak; she’s so glad she’s sitting down—and, just like that, all those worries and fears drain away. She knows Jamie better than she’s ever known anyone and she knows that Jamie would never lie to her.

She leans down and Jamie meets her halfway, grinning into the kiss in a way that makes Dani grin, too. She scratches a hand through Jamie’s hair, one arm coming down to grip her upper arm, kissing her back with everything she has.

“I’m so in love with you, Dani,” she whispers, dotting her kisses to Dani’s cheek and pulling her into a one-armed hug.

And it’s been over a year, but those words still make Dani feel like the ground has been dropped out from beneath her feet.

“Well, that’s convenient,” she says. “Because I love you, too.”

Jamie laughs, kisses her again, whispers, “What a coincidence,” into the air as she leans their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry that I—” Dani begins, but Jamie doesn’t let her. Kisses her to shut her up.

“No need,” she says. She runs her fingers down the side of Dani’s face and then pulls her other arm—the one she’s been keeping tucked behind her back—out to reveal a yellow rose, which she offers up. “As a token of my affection.”

“Is this—?” Dani asks, biting her lip to keep from smirking too wide.

“The same.” She shrugs. “He was in a rush to get out. Just left it there on the counter. Figured...it’s paid for. Might as well go to a pretty girl.”

“And that’s me?”

Jamie nods. “That’s you.”

Dani takes the rose and then they’re kissing again and, by the time Jamie is weaving her fingers into Dani’s hair and straddling her on the couch, Dani can hardly remember what she was worried about in the first place.

#send me prompts lads #and love #bc i need it for motivation #and other totally selfish reasons #the haunting of bly manor #damie #dani/jamie #dani x jamie #andawaywego fanfic #prompt #damie prompt

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rainy-day-gracie · 4 years

Text

Innocent

WOW I got this idea last night and I couldn’t keep myself from writing it.

Spencer arrested Reader for six murders she didn’t commit. What will happen when they need her help four years later when she’s in prison?

Spencer Reid x Reader

Enjoy !!

MASTERLIST

Four years. I have spent four years locked up in a jail cell for six murders that I didn’t commit.

All thanks to the BAU.

The door to my home was kicked open all of a sudden, causing me to shriek and drop my coffee cup. A muscular dark skinned man pointed a gun at me. “FBI! Don’t move!”

I put my hands in the air, nearly trembling. “What is this?” A tall man about my age with fluffed brown hair pinned my arms behind my back and slipped handcuffs on my wrists. “What did I do? Hello, are you high? Let me out of these!”

The man just recited the Miranda rights and dragged me out of my small home. While sitting in the police car watching the FBI search my house, the man came back and leaned against the car door.

“I’ve never really liked cops too much, but this is a new low.” I said backhandedly. “What do you expect to find in my house anyways?”

“Anything that can help us prove that you killed six men in cold blood.” His face was stoic on the surface and angry underneath.

“Excuse me? You guys really think I’m capable of something like that?”

He just looked at me coldly, not speaking.

I rolled my eyes and looked away from him. “God, I hate cops so much.”

“Is that because you were raped when you were nineteen and the police never investigated?” The man just looked over at me casually, as if these were normal circumstances.

“What’s your name, slick?” I said with a glare.

“Dr. Spencer Reid.”

I was lying in my jail cell reading poetry when Guard Reese approached my cell. “What do you want, Reese?”

“You have a visitor, YLN.”

Anger flared in my stomach at the sight of the good doctor.

“Well, if it isn’t Dr. Spencer Reid!” I gave him a fake smile, spreading my arms in mock welcome. “The reason I’ve been locked in here for four years! Mighty job you’ve done.” I applauded him sarcastically.

Reid just rolled his eyes and sat across from me in the interrogation room. “Good to see prison hasn’t broken your sense of humor, but I don’t have time to exchange pleasantries, YFN.”

I squinted at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why are you here? Disturbing my lovely routine of doing nothing all day in a six by eight cell.”

“My team and I need your help. There’s been recent murders, and they are an exact match to your MO four years ago.” He opened a file on the table, spreading out gruesome photos of young men that were slaughtered. “Two young men suspected of rape charges both emasculated and stabbed to death in their home. The same MO as your victims.”

Reid’s hair had gotten longer since I last saw him at my trial, and he seemed to be more muscular through his sweater vest, but those weren’t the only differences about him. He seemed colder, more experienced.

“Who did you lose?” I peered at him, reading him the same way he can read me.

“Excuse me?”

“You lost someone… a friend, relative, lover…” The way he looked down and his jaw clenched gave me my answer. “You lost your lover. Girlfriend, or wife?”

“Girlfriend.” His voice was soft, and he glanced back up at me after a moment. For the first time, I noticed how sharp his jawline was. For some reason, I didn’t want to look away. Reid cleared his throat, continuing bitterly. “We’re not here to talk about that though. We’re here to talk about you and the people you killed.”

I sat in the interrogation room for two hours before Reid came in to talk to me. I spoke in a way that was almost boring. I couldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me crumble. “Dr. Reid, I didn’t kill anyone.”

He didn’t respond, instead he sat and displayed photo upon photo of young men, murdered. In the center there was one photo from a passport. Eddie Williamson. “Do you know these men?”

“Eddie. He…” I trailed off, memories of that damn frat party flooding back to me.

“He raped you at a frat party in college. You reported it, but there wasn’t any proof, and he wasn’t charged.” Reid peered at me, looking for a reaction.

Looking at Eddie’s face, the face that haunted my nightmares, made me want to vomit. “That son of a bitch ruined my life, and no one believed me. But what does that have to do with anything? You’re charging me with six murders.” I shoved the photos away, refusing to look at the mutilated bodies of young men.

“He was found murdered and emasculated in his apartment two weeks ago. Since then, five other men accused of sexual assault allegations have been found in the same state of being.”

I couldn’t help the satisfaction that curled in my stomach at the news of Eddie’s fate. At the same time I wanted to vomit. They think I could do something like that?

Reid didn’t believe my claims of innocence. I could tell in the way he stared at me, like I was an animal out for blood.

My voice was shaky when I spoke again. “I want my lawyer now, if you don’t mind.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.” My voice was steady despite my anger. How many times did we have to do this dance? “I know you don’t believe me, your team didn’t believe me, a jury didn’t believe me. But it’s the truth. I can’t help you.”

Reid was quiet for a long time. “If you didn’t kill these people, who did?”

I slammed my palm against the table, nearly shouting at the top of my lungs. “What do you want me to say? I’ve done everything I can to convince you and anyone that will listen that I didn’t kill anyone. Somehow I was convicted for 6 murders I did not commit, despite there being zero physical evidence against me. I cannot help you, Dr. Reid.”

Reid took a deep breath. His brown eyes looked into mine, and for a moment, I could’ve sworn he believed me. Believed that I wasn’t the cold blooded killer everyone perceived me to be. “My team and I made a profile for the killer four years ago. A woman in her mid to late twenties that had been raped, probably in her college career. She has a steady job, probably as a receptionist or secretary. Something that goes along with typical gender roles. She’s angry at the world for never giving justice to the man that violated her in college, and this anger causes her to push away those who care about her.”

I smiled bitterly. “That’s me to a T.”

“There was one major part of the profile you didn’t match with. When we arrested this woman, we expected her to be extremely hostile, physically fight back however she could. You didn’t do that. You were strong, but you didn’t want to look at the crime scene photos. You didn’t resist us, even though you got a lawyer.” His charming brown eyes were thoughtful, as if he was thinking deeply about something extremely important.

“Well, what does that mean?”

For the first time since I’d known Dr. Reid, he looked confused. “I don’t know. The profile is the same as it was four years ago, and we think it’s someone close to you. You can help us by thinking of anyone that could match that description.”

Something occurred to me, someone I had barely thought about in years. “My sister. She’s a little older than me, and I haven’t heard from her since my arrest.”

Reid abruptly left the room, taking the files with him.

The memory of his voice echoed in my head, and my mind couldn’t help but dwell on the feeling that maybe once, in four years, someone believed me.

PART 2 : Guilty

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #dr reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic

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knchins · 4 years

Text

Heaven Sent, Hell Proof - Two

Summary: An angel named Keigo is assigned to win over the soul of a mysterious woman for heaven. He quickly finds that he is not the only one with his eyes on her. Can he get to her before his arch rival does?

Pairing: Angel!Hawks x Reader x Demon!Dabi

Rating: M (for now)

Word Count: 3k

Bingo Prompt: Angels and Demons

Warnings: Mentions of noncon, minor yandere themes

Notes: This is only going to be three parts! I figure it was going to be around 10k and it looks like I was right lol. I hope everyone enjoys part two! And stay tuned in the upcoming weeks for the final part that will include some very...steamy scenes.

Part One → Part Two → Part Three

Keigo had always been confident in his speed, especially while flying. What he wasn’t confident in, however, was how skilled his demonic adversary was in tailing him. Any time he left headquarters, he would sense Dabi nearby. They were after the same thing of course, but what the red winged angel didn’t understand was why he didn't try to find her independently. Why was Dabi so focused on whether or not he could find her himself?

On the third day, he finally got sick of it. He coasted back down to the ground where the demon was hiding in plain sight and landed right in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be out searching for my girl instead of sniffing after my trail?” He asked, an indifferent look on his face.

Dabi smiled in a particularly devious way that had Keigo taking a step backwards. “What’s wrong, Feathers? Can’t take the heat of a demon on your six? Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust that you have some ulterior motive.” Hawks snapped back, wings flexing behind his back as some sort of show of strength. Not that it had any affect on Dabi.

The demon shrugged nonchalantly, “Actually, I thought maybe we could team up this time. Just this once. This girl is something special, don’t you think? Half angel, half human, left to live on earth and not in heaven. Definitely the sluttiest virgin I’ve ever met. I can’t wait to rip that flower from her dainty little hands.”

Dabi noticed the sharp feathers of his wings puff out, standing on end as they tended to do whenever Keigo felt threatened or aggravated. “Don’t talk about her like that. You are not going to defile an angel.”

“She’s not an angel, Keigo.” Dabi said, his voice turning serious suddenly. “She is an abomination, said so by the gods. She belongs in hell with the rest of us. Do you not read your own holy scripture? What do you think they do with nephilim in heaven, bird brain? You think they let them exist as they are?”

Keigo was silent. That had been what he was led to believe. That their half angelic souls resided in heaven. That they were given the same treatment as any god-made angel. However, Dabi was right. The scripture did state that hybrids between man and the celestial were not natural. However anything beyond that just fell short from his memory.

“The pages were missing, right?” Dabi said, seeing the turning wheels in Keigo’s head creaking to a stop as they were met with an impasse. “Ripped out of every version in heaven and earth. Trust me, I know. I know because I’ve been there- and you know that I was. You work for my father, after all. I fell because I wanted answers no one could provide. The gaps in memory. The rules that didn’t make sense. The missing information. It’s all in hell, bird brain. I know everything your daddy wants to keep hush hush.”

“Why would the creators do something so demonic?” Keigo asked with a huff, his feathers relaxing the tiniest bit. “What purpose would that have?”

“What purpose?” Dabi scoffed, “What did my father tell you about this girl? That heaven needed her for the apocalypse? Do you always believe everything you’re told?”

Keigo stared at him with a blank expression, unsure of how he should answer. Why would Enji lie to him? Why would anyone lie to him? Again what purpose would that serve? He was clearly growing frustrated.

The demon knew exactly how Keigo felt, because he too had once been in his shoes. An angel trying to do the right thing. When would he learn that Heaven wasn’t always about doing the right thing? “Listen, Feathers, the reason she was able to live this long is because no one could find her. Her powers only recently awakened and when they did it was like a homing beacon for everyone above and below. She’s more powerful than the average nephilim because of her lineage.”

“Who is her father?” Hawks asked, tired of the run around. “If he is so powerful then why could he not find her?”

“He kept her secret, no one knew she existed until a week ago. Why they sent you, bird brain, I’ll never know. Maybe my dear old dad just enjoys using his little soldier boy to do his dirty work. Maybe you’re just so naive and eager to believe their lies that they thought you could be trusted. What they didn’t count on was me.” Blue flames sprouted from either of Dabi’s hands. “If this is such an important mission, why not send the angel who sired her himself? Why not let him deal with it?”

Again, Keigo was quiet. Dabi did have a valid point. If something as big as the apocalypse was on the line, then why send a lower ranking official such as himself. “Who is her-”

The flames grew brighter. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? Angels that copulate with humans get dusted. They get thrown down to hell. But this angel is so powerful that Heaven wouldn’t dream of doing that. Who is the one angel that that could possibly be?”

His golden eyes widened, jaw slackening, “Toshinori Yagi…”

The urge to use her powers had been growing more and more prevalent in the back of her mind. She had lived twenty years without them, so why did she suddenly feel the need to use them at any time she could? Was it simply because of convenience? The thrill of teleporting anywhere in the matter of seconds was just so exhilarating. No more driving, no more waiting at the bus stop, and no more walking. Just pop in and pop back home, that’s it.

She had lived in isolation for most of her life without the need for others. True, up until a year ago it had been with her mother and at first the loneliness was suffocating, but now it was just simpler to be by herself. She didn’t have to explain why she could do the things no one else could. She didn’t have to worry if they were really an angel or demon in disguise to whisk her away. The only one she could trust was herself and that was the one person in all of the realms that she needed.

While she had conceded that not interacting with people was necessary, she did admit that it could be quite lonesome. She had found herself watching more and more romance movies as a way to surrogate that feeling of being with someone. Twenty years old and never been touched, what a joke. Virginity had been hammered into her brain since she was old enough to understand what it was.

But since that fateful encounter with the red winged angel and burn scar demon, she had found herself longing for companionship more and more. The demon had spoken incessantly about the things he would do to her, and at this point she kind of hoped it was more a promise. To her, her innocence was a curse that would haunt her until she could finally get rid of it once and for all.

She had been praying to her father at night for guidance, but she had heard nothing in return. Typical. She had never seen his face and didn’t know his real name. Heaven’s mightiest angel, my ass, she thought bitterly as she walked down the street to the convenience store.

Her mother had taught her not to trust neither angels nor demons. Other angels would kill her and demons would want her for more nefarious purposes, ones she didn’t have to think too hard to figure out. Maybe though, just maybe those things wouldn’t be too bad. Was it possible for her to fall into hell and become a half-demon instead of half-angel? She wished she had asked her mother while she was still alive. It was too late now though.

A sigh left her lips as she lifted her head. She walked past an alleyway where she could hear two men talking. She stopped abruptly, recognizing the voices.

“Toshinori Yagi…”

The name stirred something deep within her, she recognized it but couldn’t place who the person was. She blinked in surprise, having never guessed she’d run into the two after her randomly like that. Not after she had taken precaution not to use her powers and keep herself hidden.

Something stopped her from running away. Fight, flight, or freeze as they say. She stood still, watching them with a curious mixture of horror and fascination.

Dabi noticed her first, a smirk on his mismatched face. “Well, looky here. Guess we don’t have to keep combing the city any longer, bird brain.”

Keigo turned his head, eye widening when he saw her. She was radiant as ever, standing there with a dumbfounded look on her face. Clearly she wasn’t expecting to run into them either. Quickly his eyes snapped to Dabi, “Don’t you dare lay a finger on her.” He said through gritted teeth. His feathers stood on end once more, wings flexing as they tended to do when he got anxious.

“Please, I wouldn’t dream of it, Feathers. At least, not while you’re here.” Dabi said in a sly voice as he approached the nephilim in front of him. “Don’t you want to come with us, doll? Maybe decide who’s side you want to join? The one willing to snuff out your existence or the one that will make you more powerful than you can even imagine?”

Her eyes seemed to grow even larger at his words. Power? Did she want power? There was no denying that the small amount she had been playing around with since her gifts awakened had breathed new life into her. All her life she had felt as if she were going through the motions, not real thought put into anything she did. She kept her head down and kept out of sight, doing the same boring thing day in and day out.

Now that she could do so much more, she truly felt alive for the first time. It was amazing, euphoric even. She knew the gods would rip this power from her and dismantle her existence into nothingness. Were the demons any better though? What would they do to her besides a lifetime of torture? Of course, that was just what her mother told her. She had never had any contact with an actual demon, though she was reluctant to even trust what one would tell her.

“You can give me that?” She asked tentatively, her voice portraying her uncertainty. Dabi didn’t seem to take an offense to this as Keigo watched him with doubt.

The demon reached out, brushing her hair back behind her ear in a way that caused butterflies to erupt in her chest. “I can give you that and so much more.”

Suddenly Keigo’s hand was on Dabi’s wrist, ripping the scarred hand away from the woman before him. “Wait a minute, I deserve a chance for her to hear my side too.” He said, releasing the demon once he was confident that he wouldn’t touch his charge again.

“Settle down, I said she could decide, didn’t I?” He asked with a scoff. “Though once you know the full truth, I believe you may be more...accepting of my offer to her. After all, heaven would have her smote for simply existing.”

Keigo fell silent once more, his gold eyes piercing the half-angel. Her beauty was astounding, captivating him yet like a shiny object might a crow. He didn’t know what to think about what Dabi was confessing to him, but he did know that he would do anything to protect her. Even if that meant he had to fall from heaven to do so. He took her delicate hands into his. “Please, come with us.” His voice was deep and pleading. “I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.”

She quickly realized she had no will to resist him and found herself nodding her head. She took both of his hands into hers as she fell deep into his bright golden eyes. “What is your name?”

“Keigo…”

The three of them arrived at her apartment and she told them to make themselves comfortable. Dabi took the opportunity to tell her that the only way he’d be comfortable was if he were between her naked legs, but she chose to ignore the statement.

Hawks sat on the couch while Dabi took to the plush recliner. Their host was in the kitchen making tea for the three of them. “I have always heard conflicting things of what would happen to me if I were to ascend to heaven.” She said, speaking loudly enough for her two guests to hear her. “My mother would say one thing and then turn around and contradict herself in the same breath.”

Dabi was nodding his head, despite her inability to see it. Keigo was giving him a wicked side-eye. “So what have you heard, princess?” He asked. “Just so I can point you in the right direction.”

“Heaven wants me dead.” She said calmly as she entered the living room with a tray of hot tea and a small assortment of cookies. “However, also that angels were trustworthy and will protect me. My father loves me, but won’t respond to my prayers or give me some kind of sign that he even knows that I exist.”

She took a seat next to the angel as she poured herself some tea. “How can angels be trusted if they only want me dead? How can my father love me if he denies my very existence?”

The demon tutted, giving her a mock sympathetic look that she saw right through. “I bet bird brain here will tell you something similar. That you are important to heaven and that you will be reunited with your family there once and for all. The truth is, princess, heaven doesn’t just want you dead. It wants to see your existence completely erased for good. Nephilim don’t go to heaven or hell or even purgatory. The road stops completely for them. Only a god has the power to make a soul completely vanish, but I can assure that every single nephilim that has ever existed has wound up in the hands of one in one way or another. And that’s because they employ some idiot lower tier angel to guide them up there sooner rather than later.”

“You see, we’re only sent after people that are about to die. Your time on Earth was counting down the second we were assigned to your case.” Dabi said rather nonchalantly as he sat with one leg thrown over the arm of the chair. “So this here angel is trying to aid in your demise. You don’t want that, do you?”

Keigo was uncharacteristically silent. Was what Dabi was saying true? Would she vanish without a trace as soon as he took her to the proverbial pearly gates? He had never in his life been faced with such a terrible decision.

He had never felt enamored with anyone before her. The need to wrap his wings around her and shield her from harm felt like his most basic instinct at this point. No other charge had that sort of affect on him. And because of that, he was actually thinking of believing Dabi. He took the demons words in carefully, assessing them, and searching for any sort of dishonesty.

His heart shattered when he could find none. He knew in the deepest recesses of his soul that Dabi was telling the truth about what the gods would do with his little half-angel. Nothing was more terrifying to him than losing her.

“I am…” he almost choked on the words, hating himself for having to even say them, “in agreement with Touya- I mean, Dabi.” He said, correcting himself. “It doesn’t seem like heaven will be a safe place for you.”

She looked at him with warm and caring eyes, clearly seeing how much he was hurting. Many angels had empathic abilities, so it wasn’t farfetched to think that she would have them too. “Demons are supposed to be great liars, but even I can sense that he’s telling the truth.” She said, rather plainly. “But if I do choose him and descend into hell, then what will become of you? I do not want you to get in trouble for my decision.”

“I will go with you.” He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the mortal world. “Tear my wings from my back and accept damnation with open arms as long as I could stay by your side.”

Dabi straightened himself in the chair, somewhat surprised by his confession. Was his arch rival serious in changing sides? Falling from heaven, transitioning from angel to devil, was an extremely painful process. Obviously, he had the scars to prove it. Keigo’s signature red wings would be ripped from his flesh and a creature that had previously never known the feeling of pain would know nothing but. Some didn’t survive the fall and instead descended into madness.

There was always a chance of something going wrong, however the demon kept it to himself for the time being. “I know how to take care of you two birds with one stone.” He said, unable to stop the twisted smile that graced over his mismatched features.

Keigo didn’t like that look, not one big. The nephilim next to him was also feeling a little weary, thinking that perhaps she should take more time in her decision. “What is it?” She asked tentatively.

“Feathers is not going to like it.” He said in a taunting voice, as if he were dangling something irresistible over their heads.

Keigo’s sharp eyes were narrowed with distrust. “Just spit it out, Monster Mash.” He said in a rumbling tone as one feathered wing flexed to wrap around his charge so that he could force her closer to him for protection. She moved so that she was sitting right against him, his wing enveloping her with his body heat.

“It’s time for you two to pop your cherries.” He said, grin growing even wider in the process. “And I’m going to be the one to do it.”

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