#i sat here. eyes wide. mouth agape. heart POUNDING. as i read this

[turtlecleric]

your breath comes out short and heavy as Leo pins his weight on your hips . Your hands pinned by your head as you both come clattering on to the floor. He smiles down at you cockily as you tap his leg with your foot when his weight becomes too much. "I suppose I win this round to." Leo practically sings as he rises from your body and lifts you up to your feet. You let go of his hand and begin to stretch out your limbs pouting slightly. You thought you were ready to take Leo on in these head to head sparring matches, but considering the now staggering amount of losses you are now starting to realize you might have been overconfident about your own abilities. But honestly the worst thing about all of this is Leo's stupidly smug face every time he pins you. How his whole demeaner shifts because, he won. Losing to Leo has never not been the worst thing in all of existence. And the absolute worst thing about that is... its kinda hot when he gets cocky. The way he talks becomes more rhythmic, his voice a song in your ears, egging you on to try and make it shut up, his touch confident and commanding. Forcing you into place so he can straddle you, again and again and again. You are actually considering blaming your lizard lady brain for half of these losses. Its not your fault that him pinning you is hot as shit. You take a plastic water bottle and pour some water out into your palm splashing your face. Cooling you down. fucking stupidly hot prick you think as Leo Saddles on up to you his face tying its best to hide that its radiating smugness. "One more round, or has mi Princesa had enough?" He sings the words at you, overly confident, almost cruelly. you feel the water bottle in your hand crunch in slightly. He's just trying to rile you up, you think to yourself. He just wants another taste of victory, You wont fall for it, nope, nuh uh, Definitely not. "Shut up asshole." you say with an irritated eyeroll as you begin to walk past. "Ooooh, Did I strike a nerve there Princesa? you know its not very lady like to be a poor loser." That stops you in your tracks. You spin around towards him. " Who said I was ever trying to be lady like Leo?" He smiles wolfishly back at you. Like your prey, dumbly walking into his trap. "Good point, I suppose no one really has." "Shut up!" "Make me." You pause looking up at him. you hadn't realized how close to him you had gotten till now. He is still smiling down at you curiously. You can practically feel the electricity forming between you two. Your anger and his smugness mixing together. Intoxicating the both of you. You relent.

"Fine asshole, one more round" You say as you take up your stance on the tatami mats. "trust me Princesa, it wont be much of a round." Leo makes good on that statement. You manage to strike at him twice before he grabs hold of your arm, twisting it behind you and slamming the both of you into the ground. Your anger pushes you forward though, you grit your teeth and try to kick at him but its no use. He pins your knees with his own immobilizing you. The hair on the back of neck stands on end when you feel breath. A laugh that is too hot, too close. You feel your self growing wet, Like you weren't already a bit before. You pray that he cant tell. "Oh, mi amor, I'm starting to think you like it when I pin you." You try to wiggle out of his grasp again so you can smack him, but he shoves your arm up higher and the pain pins you to the ground again. He laughs as he relents the pressure on your arm. "You know if you wanted me to pin you to the ground and fuck you senseless, you only needed to ask nicely." You feel your body grow hot as your cunt clenches around nothing. God that's a hot image. Him fucking you like this. Him taking his pleasure while you scrape and try to overpower him. The only thing keeping you from that fantasy becoming real is your stubbornness. "Eat shit and die Leo." He laughs as he once again shoves your arm up rewarding your comment with more pain, however this time he doesn't relent, he keeps your arm there as you squirm underneath him. You grit your teeth. Is it bad that this is also kinda turning you on? You cant see his face but you can hear in his smile in his voice. You can feel his gaze on the nape of your neck. Everything about this is making you dizzy. "Thats not an answer mi amor. Are we doing this or not? " You bite the inside of your cheek. Fuck it, stubbornness be damned you want this. "Yes." You feel Leo relent on the position he has on your arm. "Yes what Princesa? " you groan in annoyance, God hes such a poor winner. "Yes, please pin me to the ground and fuck me senseless." He smiles. " Good girl." The next thing you feel is his teeth on your shoulder. The pain makes you cry out as he grinds against your ass. He soaking both of your shorts in seconds "Fuck." You cry out as you press your ass up higher giving him a better angle to grind against. God you wanna know what his face looks like right now. primal and heavy. His mouth stained with your blood as he takes his pleasure offering you none in return. After all your just prey to him right now. A prize he won fair and square. God you want him to touch you. You need him to touch you. "Leo please I'm begging." He detaches from your shoulder and licks a bloody stripe across your pulse. "You call that begging?" he say incredulously his voice strained as he continues to hump you. "I've taught you better Princesa. You need to tell me what you want." "Fuck, Please touch me." he laughs cruelly at that "I am touching you." Your going to kill him. Someday, some how, you know deep in your heart of hearts you are going to be the one that murder this man. "Goddamn it you fucking bra-" your anger is cut off as he presses your arm up again. pain shooting through you. "Tisk, tisk, mi amor. Who is the one being a brat right now?" "You." You hiss as he shoves your arm up even higher. tears pricking your eyes. "Me." You say correcting yourself. he rewards you by lowering your arm back down to the first position. Still painful but you sigh anyway from the relief. "Me, I'm being the brat, I'm sorry I'm sorry. Please, I just want your fingers in me. Please ill be good I swear"

Leo hums as if content at you, lowering your arm back down to a non painful position. "See, that wasn't so hard now was it." You grit your teeth holding back any sort of sass before crying out as he glides his hands under your shorts and presses his finders inside of you. Your greedy cunt immediately clenching around them. "Fuck yes, Thank you, thank you." you cry as he pumps his fingers, shallowly. Its not enough but God its something. You try to buck your hips into his hand to get any kind of friction on your clit but its no use the position just isnt right. "Please touch my clit, I need it please I need it." Your too dizzy now to care about keeping up appearances. You need pleasure. you need him to touch you like this. You need his cock in you. He growls lowly in your ear as you feel him drop, He then shoves your hips back down onto the floor and removes his hand from your cunt. you whine desperately from the loss. "No,no,no,no,no, I'm being good please, please your fingers please, I'm sorry."

Its then you feel him kiss your cheek sweetly, letting go of your arm that's been keeping you pinned . "its ok, mi Amor, you are being good I just need to change positions. is that ok?" You nod your head and take in a deep breath as he shifts on top of you. he takes both your arms and ties them behind you. probably with his mask you think. He then lifts your hips up an d removes your shorts and underwear before pressing your thighs together and pressing his cock between them, Thigh fucking against your folds. the tip of his cock head rubbing against your clit with each thrust. God you didn't know what to expect but it was definitely not this. Regardless though the release of having something to grind your clit against is more then enough to have you screaming for more. And you do in fact scream for more. For his cock you actually be inside you however he doesn't relent. He continues to thigh fuck you till the both of you are well and spent. His hand pressing your face into the tatami the whole way.

(-Stranger)

I'M SCREAMING

#i sat here. eyes wide. mouth agape. heart POUNDING. as i read this #oh my god #oh my GOD THIS IS EVERYTHINGGGGG #i need this like i need oxygen #am I drooling???? FUCK SOMEONE HELP ME #thank you for this delicious meal holy SHIT this is my JAM #ff #rise!leo #fav #my heart seriously won't stop fluttering oh my god #asks #hey god? it's me again #I'm begging #just like I would for L- [is struck by lightning] #long post

[albertdabuttler]

Hi! This is a preview for

Drop Off | E.M. (Eddie Munson)

Because I feel so incredibly guilty for being here all this time and giving you all nothing and proceeding to lie about it.

Here it is! Hope you’re up for it. <33

The full version of this story contains smut, sorry minors 🙁

——

It didn't take long until you were at the clearing. It wasn't very large, about maybe fifty feet in diameter, there was a dark wooden picnic table in the middle, four boys sat at the table, two backs facing you and Dustin while you were able to see Lucas and Mike's faces as they looked up.

Dustin smiled as he walked between the last two trees in between him and the clearing.

As you passed the same two trees, you saw a little clearer. Another was revealed, someone sat in an Adirondack chair at one end of the table, whose back was sort of facing you.

Your heart rate quickened at the sight of the long, frizzy hair, forcing yourself to believe it was just some guy in Dustin's club.

"What's up nerds," Dustin called as he approached the table, they all moved their heads in his direction, Mike calling out your name as he waved causing the others to turn their attention to you.

The one in the separate chair suddenly stood up as he saw you, a loud thunk against the table as he hit his hips against it, cursing at the pain and falling back down onto the chair awkwardly.

"Chill out, dude, it's just my sister." Dustin said, face contorted into that of confusion.

The man whipped his head to look at you again as you got closer, eyes locking with yours as his mouth fell agape.

"Sister...?"

Eddie Munson.

You thought.

He meant that Eddie fucking Munson was the dungeon master.

"Munson." You nodded, looking off to somewhere in the trees as you stood on the opposite end of the table next to where Dustin was sitting, hoping and hoping that no one would know your heart was pounding uncontrollably out of your chest.

"He-Henderson...”

He looked at you wide eyed and confused, as if you had just told him the biggest lie in history of big lies.

You pursed your lips and looked at him again, meeting his eyes again. Only this time, a tension sparked up, an incredibly awkward sexual tension as you remembered the events of the night before.

——

Welp, that’s it until maybe a week or two, thanks for taking time to read this <3

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #iz #stranger things 4 #stranger things netflix #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #fanfiction #joseph quinn #writing

[keewriting]

Cove x MC - One Shot #7 (request)

[Read on google docs to insert your MC's name]

CONTENT WARNING: mild spooky imagery in the beginning!

The cobblestone stairs twisted up the spiral tower endlessly. Your breath was short as you struggled to navigate each gnarled step. You couldn’t see your legs, but they felt gelatinous. As much as you tried, you couldn't push your body to move faster.

The tumultuous sky loomed overhead and shifted unnaturally. Green light stretched upward from the base of the tower. The blinding rays were lifelike in their movement. You frantically turned around and caught a glimpse of the horrid Thing. It moved slowly.

The shadowy form clung to the wall of the tower. Bony, black protrusions jutted into the stone from its body. The hollow cracking sound made you nauseous. A sheer membrane shielded its face. You whipped back around to focus on climbing the tower.

The steps in front of you crumbled. The hollow cracking rang in your ears. The Thing rose from the misplaced steps. Dark clouds tumbled around your body. The membrane peeled back, revealing pale skin that clung to a contorted expression. Its mouth hung agape, allowing you to peer into the void of its maw. The hollow eye sockets began to glow green. The ghastly Thing lunged forward as the ground beneath you collapsed. You opened your mouth to scream, but you couldn’t hear your own voice.

You jolted awake in a tangle of bedsheets. Your chest felt tight and your limbs were immobile. The darkness felt heavy on your wide eyes. You heard a shuffling sound from the floor. Your heart pounded, the reality of the situation had not yet settled in. Still reeling from the nightmare, you prepared for the worst. Instead, a mess of green hair popped into view.

Cove stood up and walked to your bedside. Your heart rate slowed, but your limbs still felt stiff.

Cove: What was that?

Cove’s voice was low and hoarse.

Y/N: What?

Cove: You screamed, Y/N. Are you okay?

You blinked heavily. Your mind still felt fuzzy.

Y/N: I’m sorry… I had a nightmare.

The moonlight leaking in through your window lit up Cove’s face. His expression was soft and concerned. He placed his weight on your bed. You didn’t object, so he lifted the blanket and settled in next to you.

Body still rigid, you couldn’t scoot over to make more room for Cove. His options were to hang precariously off the edge of your bed or close the gap between your bodies. He hesitated for a moment before sliding his body closer. He propped his elbow on your pillow and tucked his other hand close to his chest.

Cove: Can I do anything to help?

Y/N: Stay here with me.

Your heart rate leveled with Cove’s presence, but you still felt shaken. You squeezed your fists, finally in control of your body. You brought your palms to your eyes and rubbed them with a low groan.

Y/N: It felt so real, Cove.

Your throat tightened while remembering the nightmare. Images of the Thing flooded your mind. Tears pricked behind your eyelids as you tried to regain control of your thoughts. You lowered your hands to your chest and took a deep breath.

Cove: Y/N…

Hearing Cove’s soft voice broke you. Your lip quivered as tears rushed down your cheeks. Cove gasped beside you. He tentatively placed his hand on yours. His palm felt hot.

Cove: I’m here, please don’t cry.

You turned toward Cove and nuzzled your face into his chest. He raised a shaky arm to cradle it behind your head.

Cove: Do you want to talk about your nightmare?

Your strained vocal cords could barely utter a reply. They faltered under your sobs, but Cove got the message. He held you in silence for a few minutes. His body felt tense. You tried to calm your breathing and relax but it was futile. Cove realized the situation was not improving.

Cove: I’ll tell you a story to distract you.

Cove waited for your nod of approval. He settled his arm under you and rested his head on your pillow. The other arm still cradled your head. He stroked your hair as he spun the tale.

Cove: This is a true story. It happened long ago, only a few miles out from this very coast. Deep under the ocean, in a bustling underwater mecca.

You closed your eyes to imagine the story, but the gaping mouth of the Thing appeared instead. Your eyes snapped open. You opted to focus on the junction between Cove’s neck and chest. The shallow dip above his clavicle rose and fell with his breathing.

Cove: The most beautiful merperson lived in an extravagant coral castle at the heart of the city. Their shining smile warmed the hearts of every fish they met.

Cove described the merperson. Every detail seemed to match your appearance and demeanor perfectly. He spoke casually, almost as if he was hoping you wouldn't catch on.

Cove: There was one lucky merman who—

You absentmindedly traced your finger over Cove's chest, causing him to stumble over his words.

Cove: The uh— the merman. He was lucky. Lucky…

Cove was flustered, but he took a deep breath and powered through. You caressed the soft, warm skin. It vibrated under his low voice.

Cove: This merman got to spend every day with his beautiful friend. Basking in the warmth of their sunny smile. He knew he was lucky, but there was always something picking at his heart.

Your face felt hot. Butterflies dancing in your stomach replaced the tightness in your chest.

Cove: The problem was, the merman didn’t know if their friend felt the same about… how much he cared for them.

Your heart lunged into your throat. The heat from your face traveled throughout your entire body. Cove’s voice continued shakily throughout his tale. The merman and his beautiful merperson went on adventures across the sea. They had an unbreakable bond even through uncertainty and adversity.

Cove’s storytelling immersed you in a fantastical realm. You listened intently and your nerves settled. Soon, your eyelids felt heavy.

Cove: In the end, the merman realized that it wasn’t simply luck. It was an indescribable magic. The most magnificent treasure in the sea.

You submitted to your sleepiness and allowed your eyelids to fall. Your mind clouded with ethereal images of a sweet love between two merpeople. As your consciousness faded, you felt Cove push the hair from your face and delicately kiss your forehead.

Cove: Sleep well, Y/N.

You blinked your eyes open to bright light and warmth. You stretched your arms and knocked into Cove’s face. You didn’t realize he fell asleep in your bed with you.

Cove: Oww…

He grumbled and swatted at you gently. His arm fell and dangled off the side of your bed. You sat up to get a better look at his face. It was rare for Cove to sleep in longer than you.

Y/N: Cooove…

You crooned, hoping to wake him. He mumbled incoherently. You extended your finger and poked his cheek. His eyes fluttered open and focused on your face. They snapped open wide.

Cove: Oh, shit—

Cove’s hand clamped over his mouth. He scurried to sit upward. You couldn’t hold in your laughter. He smiled sheepishly but maintained his distance.

Y/N: Good morning, sleeping beauty.

Cove: I’m glad to see you’re in a better mood.

His eyes softened and his body relaxed. The spot next to him looked inviting. You shifted your position and rested your head on his shoulder.

Y/N: I feel a lot better thanks to you.

Cove’s hands fidgeted in his lap. He gnawed on his lip, lost in his thoughts.

Y/N: Cove?

You moved your hand next to his and nudged his pinky with yours. He lifted it and allowed them to hook together.

Cove: I’m sorry I slept in your bed. I didn’t ask. I was going to get up but you fell asleep and then I fell asleep.

Y/N: I wanted you there.

Cove: Oh. Then... I’m not sorry.

A goofy grin spread across his red face. Your heart overflowed with affection for Cove.

Y/N: You know, I was thinking about the story you told me last night. To me, the beautiful merperson is the truly lucky one.

You sat up straight to face Cove. His eyebrows rose quizzically.

Y/N: I know from experience that having someone willing to swim across the sea for you is the best feeling in the world.

Cove’s cheeks flushed red. He leaned forward, then hesitated. Your heart swelled.

Cove: I um—

His words got cut off by your mom calling your name loudly from downstairs. You stared at each other in shock. This was one of those unapproved, in through the window sleepovers.

Y/N: Window!

You hissed urgently under your breath. Cove was already scrambling to the window when you heard footsteps climbing the stairs. You followed Cove to see him off on his journey. The footsteps grew louder. You whipped your head towards the door, then back to the window.

To your surprise, Cove’s face was inches from yours. His eyes met yours before he leaned in for a kiss. It was quick, barely a peck. He ducked out the window and made his exit without another word or glance in your direction.

You shut the window and turned around in time for your mom to knock on the door. She invited you down for breakfast. You grabbed your phone from the desk and followed. You were stuck in a daze with the feeling of Cove lingering on your lips. You worried that Cove would regret the kiss.

The phone vibrated in your hand, breaking your trance.

Cove 8:27 AM: See you later?

Y/N 8:28 AM: You know it.

You clutched the phone to your fluttering chest. Only Cove could so effortlessly ameliorate that dreadful night. The memory of the nightmare felt so small compared to the story and the kiss.

#our life #our life: beginnings & always #our life beginnings & always #cove holden #cove #cove holden x reader #cove holden x mc #lgbt #writing #my writing #gb patch games #gb patch #fanfic #fanwork #fandom #oc #self insert #mc #romance #one shot #visual novel #otome game #request

[loupettes]

I needed a little break from writing doomsday, and this came out today instead. I hope you enjoy some Nine/Rose fluff!

H I R A E T H

SUMMARY: Nine/Rose. After leaving the Doctor alone in his grief, Rose is still upset over what happened that day he left her and Mickey on that spaceship for Reinette. She goes to find him and confront him and her feelings, but runs into somebody she could never have imagined to instead.

TAGS: fluff, hurt//comfort, romance, missing scene

Read on AO3: hiraeth

***

They sat, Rose and Mickey, at the table in the kitchen, both sipping their tea now in silence. The tour of the TARDIS had been short to say the least, mostly because she couldn’t really focus on much else other than the love of her life having fallen in love with somebody else within the space of half a day, maximum.

She shuddered, and scrunched her nose to finish the last of her tea. Well, not the last; she still had a fair bit left, but it had gone cold and just tasted a bit like sewage water at that point, so she didn’t particularly see the appeal in spending any longer pretending it was still a decent cup of tea.

Funny, she thought. My life now resembles a cup of tea.

***

They sat, Rose and Mickey, at the table in the kitchen, both sipping their tea now in silence. The tour of the TARDIS had been short to say the least, mostly because she couldn’t really focus on much else other than the love of her life having fallen in love with somebody else within the space of half a day, maximum.

She shuddered, and scrunched her nose to finish the last of her tea. Well, not the last; she still had a fair bit left, but it had gone cold and just tasted a bit like sewage water at that point, so she didn’t particularly see the appeal in spending any longer pretending it was still a decent cup of tea.

Funny, she thought. My life now resembles a cup of tea.

She managed to not raise suspicion from the man opposite her when she sighed, but when her cup hit the table a little more forcibly than she had intended, Mickey raised his eyebrow.

“Take it it’s still not a good time to ask?”

Rose threw him a glare; she was still quite irritated by his smug-but-trying-to-hide-it expression. “No, it isn’t.”

His brow pinched, and for a moment he looked sorry for her. Not in a pitiful way, but in a... sorry kind of way — except, he wasn’t the one who should be sorry. He opened his mouth to say something, then decided against it.

“M’ gonna go for a walk,” she mumbled, the chair grazing loudly across the floor as she forced herself to her feet.

Mickey again looked as though he might say something, but again, thought better of it. But Rose was just irritated enough to ask,

“What?”

“Just… don’t go looking for him, okay?” he tried. “Give the man some space.”

Rose grunted. “He can have all the bloody space he wants.”

And with that, she left the kitchen. She was exhausted to recognise her feet were, unsurprisingly, steering her towards the control room, and she could feel with every step how regretful she was about to be if she reached that room. So she pulled every last piece of willpower she had left to stop in her tracks and think.

Should she go and talk to him? She folded her arms and chewed the inside of her cheek in deliberation. She was torn, because she wanted so desperately to talk to him — her friend above all else after all — but he had so horribly hurt her today that she was in half a mind to storm out of this TARDIS for good. She tried, she really did, to feel for him, and she took a step out of her own mind for just one moment to consider he had just lost somebody close to him. Even if her heart was breaking, it was at that thought that they shattered completely.

This was ridiculous, she thought, as her feet once more began to take her to the control room. He quite clearly wanted space, and Mickey only confirmed so much with his Manly Suspicions — seeing you right now isn’t going to make him feel any better.

She grunted, and her steps had a little more purpose to them now. Because it was so horrible to be the last person he wanted to see. He had never, not in their entire time together, been one to regret her presence, to make her feel like she was unwanted even just in a moment of grief.

Calm down, she thought, as she knew she was nearing the control room. The only thing that would make this a thousand times worse is if you burst into the control room in righteous rage.

So, she deliberately slowed down her pace as she wondered just exactly which approach she was going to take. But she found that, the closer she got to the control room, the less control she had over her intentions. So her footing sped up once more, and her heart pounded in her chest as she reached the control room.

She was more than disorientated, then, when the last person she expected to see was now standing in the exact same place as he was when she left him.

“Wha—”

He looked up at her with a frown, a frown she hadn’t seen in oh so many months, and she felt her heart sink to see that daft old, gorgeous, face. For a moment, she forgot that this was completely impossible, being so used to it these days after all, and her breath caught in her throat to see that terribly dusty old leather jacket, those baggy black scruffy trousers that seemed far too big for him and those eyes, good god those eyes were so bloody beautiful that she almost cried there and then to see them once more.

Those eyes that were currently looking back at her in utter bewilderment.

She shook her head and herself back to her senses. The Doctor quickly looked at the door at the end of the ramp and distractedly pointed to it, looking back at her once more in disarray. “What you doin’ there?”

His familiar yet somehow unexpected Northern accent seemed most alerting to her, and sparked the return of her own puzzlement.

“What are you doin’ there?”

“I just— you were— you said—” he stuttered, looking back and forth between her and the door. He seemed to only look to her for an explanation, which baffled her, because she was hoping he would explain. The two stared at each other in complete perplexity for a minute at least, before Rose was first to break the silence.

“This a trick?”

He blinked. “What?”

“This. You, here. The TARDIS trickin’ me or somethin’?”

“Why on Earth would the TARDIS be tricking you?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged, folding her arms and resting her weight on one leg. “‘Cos you were a right knob today and maybe she thought I wouldn’t strangle you if you looked like that.”

He was surely stupefied by the force of her words. “Bloody hell, I saved your life today and that’s how you thank me?”

Her mouth hung agape at that, and she quickly scanned her memories today and confirmed, very quickly, that he had in fact not saved her life at any point today. Not even when he stumbled into her’s and Mickey’s capture, drunk, and toyed with the droids for a bit while they held a rather sharp blade to her throat before pouring whatever was left of his wine onto their heads; she was still too furious to consider that ‘saving her life’.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed incredulously, “Do tell me at what point today you so valiantly came to my aid.”

He echoed her scoff. “I said thank you—”

“You did not you little liar!”

“Bloody hell, you’re a lot snappier than you were five minutes ago!”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t even here five minutes ago—”

“Which reminds me, what are you doing here?”

Her eyes narrowed at him; quite clearly, they were going to go round in circles asking questions unless one of them tried to at least figure it out. She took a deep breath, and spoke aloud her thought process. “Right. So, obviously we’re not talking about the same thing, unless you experienced today completely differently to me — which actually might explain your behaviour—” she stopped when she felt her spine pricking with heat, and shook her head “— never mind. And unless the TARDIS is playing tricks on me, and you’re still, well, you, then we’re not — this isn’t—”

She sighed in frustration, still trying to understand the concept of time being relative — whatever that means. The Doctor seemed only to understand her, and he nodded slowly.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I didn’t just offer you to come with me, did I?”

Her heart sank; of all the emotions she was feeling, of all the frustration at being in a situation unknown, of having her first reaction to a man she missed with everything she had being bewilderment over the absolute love she normally had to see his face, her only response was to breathe a very unsteady and deeply sorrowful,

“No.”

He nodded, again slowly. “But— and I’m losing my other leg to this one now— I’m assuming you, at one point, in fact, do end up coming with me?"

Her lips pulled tight as she fought back against saying or indicating anything that might trigger some sort of paradox at having run into a previous him and altering their future, and she sort of expected she might spontaneously vanish at any moment. Her lack of response must have affirmed his question, and his eyes grew wide.

“Crikey. Right then.”

“I should—“ she started, pointing behind her to the door but not really able to move there just yet “— I should probably, erm…”

He looked back at her for a moment, his brow still drawn in concern, before he gave her the smallest, yet still most warm smile that simply melted her.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he whispered.

The relief she felt swept over her in a blanket so comforting that her feet all too easily took her to him, and she blurted, “You have no idea how much I needed to hear you say that.”

He grinned the most terribly beautiful toofy grin, but she didn't process in enough time — or care too much to do anything about — the look of slight panic when she practically tumbled into his arms, into a hold so comforting that she let out a small sob. She felt the relief, her whole body lightening and untightening to feel him, less skinny and tall and against the ever so soft fabric of a jumper rather than an oxford. She wished she could have seemed a little less desperate as she clung to him while he awkwardly — but sincerely — held her in return, but just having him there, against everything she understood to be possible, was the only thing she could possibly need right now and she felt alleviated.

“I’m probably breaking about eight hundred laws here but I literally don’t care anymore,” she mumbled, only half-jokingly, into his jumper, “You left me on a spaceship three thousand years into the future so you can fix it.”

“Oi!” he snapped, and she was relieved to hear he wasn’t actually annoyed. “I haven’t done anythin’, remember?”

She nodded. “You’re right, he can fix it.”

The Doctor had always known how to read her, even if she sometimes thought he didn’t. Even after little more than a day of having known her, to this him here now, he recognised her belligerence and only seemed to find it bemusing.

“You’ve got a lot of faith in him then, if you can think he can fix anything.”

She sighed deeply into his jumper, against the sounds of his steady hearts beneath her ear that sounded different somehow, like they weren’t quite hers yet even if they were beating for her now.

“I really miss you.”

The truth in her voice sounded, even to her, so very pained. She wondered what he must be thinking, why this woman whom had only just turned him down now clung to him in the most ridiculous of ways, close to tears as she told him she missed him. But he didn’t ask questions, instead he only felt it, straight away, by the way his arms ever so slightly tightened around her to more resemble a hug she knew was only hers, and one only he could give her. But she could feel him awkward beneath her nonetheless, and ever so regretfully she pulled away, but not quite able to stop herself from reaching her palm to touch the side of his face as she took him in. All those hardened edges, that stubble and those lips and slightly wonky nose.

“Oh, we’re— okay, so there’s an awful lot of touching between us in the future,” he remarked.

She giggled, and drew her palm away to sit on the jumpseat, patting the spot next to her. “Well, yes, I think we can say that—” she frowned, and stopped herself “—wait, can I say that?”

She looked to him for confirmation, and he shrugged. “Tell you what, if you start to fade out of existence, I’ll let you know, as long as you do the same for me. Deal?”

She chuckled, and shook the hand he had held out to her. “Deal.”

He sat down next to her, pinching his trousers and shuffling about to settle in a little more comfortably. She was relieved to know she hadn’t forgotten a single thing about him, which meant that she knew he was feeling most blindsided by her spontaneous and unprecedented visit, displaying a lot more familiarity with him than he, at that moment, had with her. For whatever reason, and she thinks she knows what, he was, for the time being at least, comfortable with putting aside his own reservations about the implications this might have on time and space if it meant that she could find comfort herself.

She gave him a shy grin. “So I turned you down then, hmm?”

“Great,” he tutted. “Nice to know it was me you said no to, and not the flying-through-space bit.”

She nudged herself to the side to bump his shoulder and chuckled. “Well, I’m here now, so you must have done something right.”

“Oh, I don’t know. From the sounds of it, I haven’t done anything right today.”

It was a suggestion, an invitation to continue, if she wanted to.

The sinking of her heart at the reminder of her today was terrible. So terrible, in fact, that she couldn’t find her words, and only shook her head sadly in response. The soft sound of his leather jacket as his chest rose and fell to his sigh somehow made it all that much harder. When he started to awkwardly pick at the stray cotton string poking out at the knee of his trousers, she managed to find her smile.

“Mention the time bit,” she whispered, turning to look at him, and he looked back at her with his eyebrow ever so slightly raised. “That’s what does it for me, in the end.”

He chastised himself, “I didn’t— I didn’t mention the bloody time bit— well, no wonder you said no.”

“You completely messed up with that one,” she chuckled, closing her eyes to the deep and flat way he said ‘wonder’, and continued, “Actually, know what else you messed up with?”

“Wish I hadn’t bloody offered to stay and listen, now—”

“The regeneration thing,” she scoffed. “Didn’t want to mention that that happens at any point, no?”

“Regenerat— bloody hell, I’m being confronted by a lot of my future in one sitting.”

Her eyes widened at that, perhaps having gone too far, but he grinned.

“Na, it’s alright," he assured her in response. "Promise. I’m not so unused to running into myself in the future, I know how this works, don’t worry.”

Her lips curled into a bashful smile, knowing full well he almost certainly knew the consequences of learning of one’s own future and that, in next to no circumstances, was it a good thing. Still, he had this thing about him, this assurance that he would, somehow, make it okay, and she couldn’t deny his invitation.

“You— I mean— well,” she flustered, realising this was much more difficult that she would have thought. “He... yeah, no, you—”

“Say ‘he’,” he encouraged. “It’ll make it easier, promise.”

Again, with that word, with the softness in which he delivered it, she felt this unravelling as her shoulders loosened where she could just be her. She didn’t have to worry about sounding all clever, like she knew what she was talking about, and now she didn’t even need to worry about the implications of something she’s been told can never ever happen, because he was with her. She could barely keep herself together with it all, with how much she just missed him and wanted him back.

“It’s been a bit… it’s been quite hard. Between us, recently,” she admitted unevenly, but once she felt the relief that came with uncorking the ridiculously tight pressure throughout her whole body, she was powerless to stop herself from blurting out the rest. “You regenerated not too long ago and sometimes I think you’re still the same, and sometimes you— he —” she adjusted, it somehow feeling better to say ‘he’, now “— does things that are so… not you.”

There was a silence in the control room, besides the familiar hum which had of course not altered even within this nonsensical situation. It kept her quite steady, actually.

“He sounds a bit like a prat.”

“You’re not wrong, there.”

“Tell you what,” he began, squaring his shoulders. “Since I’m him and he’s me, why don’t you tell me what he did. I’ll see what I can help you with.”

She snorted. “Told me I was gonna — and I quote — ‘wither and die’, left me stranded on a spaceship three thousand years into the future, fell in love with some posh French woman and picked her over all of time and space, to name just the ones over the last twenty-four hours.”

The Doctor was quiet, and she just had to glance at his expression at that. He did indeed look overwhelmed, as she thought he might.

“That definitely doesn’t sound like me — you sure you weren't just fooled into thinking he was?”

She snickered, although he wasn’t too far off her true musings at this point. “I think when you invited Mickey along, I should have clocked on.”

He really did jolt back in shock, then. “Rickey? As in that sad old sap out there, Rickey?”

“Mmm.”

“The one shaking like a bloody leaf and clinging onto your leg like a wuss?”

“That’s the one.”

He shuddered, and it only made her giggle more. “My god, what do I become?”

“Now you see my problem.”

“Alright, well, I can’t excuse the wither and die bit—” he paused, thinking “— nor the spaceship bit, I suppose. Or even the falling in love bit—”

“Fat lot of good, you are, then.”

“Oi! —” he poked her ribs “— You’re a lot less polite than I remember you being.”

Her smile was so wide that it ached; being here with him and laughing like before, before all the regenerations and the Sarah-Janes and the aristocratic French mistresses was a blissful healing of a wound she had long since thought had sealed up.

“I’m going to need some context over the wither and die bit,” he spoke quietly, a little jest still to his voice.

She frowned, honestly quite against the idea of reliving that conversation last night, and especially not when it was one with another, less recognisable, face than with the one next to her. “I dunno. I guess… I know what you—”

“He.”

She giggled, relieved, and he nudged her knee with his. “I know what he was trying to say, that his lifespan is a heck of a lot longer than mine, and it’s not as if it’s fun to watch us ‘wither and die’, as he so eloquently put it, but it still hurt. Almost like—” she scrunched her nose, thinking of what it was she wanted to say before she heard his calm and patient breathing, his breath and remembered who she was talking to “—like it’s so distasteful for him, that we grow old and all mangly and he just has to sit there and watch it and hope it gets over and done with quickly so he can move on.”

The Doctor was still beside her, his arms folded and leant back while she spoke. He seemed to be mulling something over, and when she looked up at him and saw his profile, his terribly large nose and sharp jaw, she all but melted into his side, tugging on his arm so that she could lean against him.

“He made me feel so bad for being human, and it’s the first time I’ve ever felt like that.”

He was trying to keep himself still beside her, and she knew he most probably felt a little uncomfortable at their proximity, but the fact that he was keeping so still for her reminded her just how much he cared for her in the first place — right from day one.

“Christ, give him a slap for me when you see him again will you?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

She thought about the two of them, if they could meet tonight, and only loved the idea of this him squaring up on the new one for daring to hurt a woman he had known less than forty-eight hours. And she grinned to know that he would, as well, because she knew just how important she had been to him right from the start. He didn’t need to say it, and she felt it even now with a new face, that she was still the most important person to him.

Well, up until today, she had.

“Alright, so you say the spaceship thing—“

“Yep,” she affirmed, punctuating the ‘p’ with an indignant pop. “Rode on a horse through a time window, severed all links with the ship and the future.”

“And you say Rickey was with you?”

“Yeah! Left us both behind.”

He thought for a moment. “How’d you know he didn’t think you were on the back of the horse and he was only trying to leave Rickey behind” — she couldn’t help but laugh at his old dry humour that he carried off so effortlessly, something else she only now realised she missed —“cos I can tell you that seems the only reasonable explanation to that one.”

“God will you stop,” she insisted through her giggles, “Rick—Mickey is not that bad!”

“And on that,” he continued, seemingly unwilling to stop despite her persistent chuckles, “I really cannot explain his decisions behind asking Mickey to join us, you’ll have to ask him yourself, sorry.”

He had such a wonderfully deadpan humour, this one, and for a bloke that wasn’t actually from the North, he certainly could have fooled her. To some, he came off as cold and unaffectionate, but to her, he was hers; she knew his humour so well and had grown so fond of him and the ways in which he made her laugh, knowing that he was doing it deliberately as often as he could only to make her giggle more.

“Alright, and what was that last one?” he asked after a moment. “Something about some French woman?”

Ah, yes. That.

Perhaps he knew exactly what by the way she flinched at his words, because he didn’t follow it up with anything at first. He chose his words well, it would seem, when he prompted,

“Something absurd about choosing her over all of time and space, if I remember you right.”

She fiddled with cuticles around her nails, only realising now how hard it was to talk about — or even think about.

“Something like that.”

And with her sigh, she released her hold on him, withdrawing back into herself at the way everything about her seemed to clench in pain. He wasn’t too unused to it all, then, when she felt his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She smiled softly at the gesture that did indeed loosen her a little, but he seemed to notice that it hadn’t entirely when he tapped her shoulder to bring her to lean back against him.

“Well, I will admit this new bloke seems like an absolute git, but I know I can speak for him when I say he doesn’t fall in love very easily at all.”

She swallowed, her throat so painfully tight. “Yeah, m’ starting to think the same.”

He was quiet, and she was really fighting against herself to not fall completely back in love with a man she knew was gone forever. She did love him though, this him, and she missed him so much that the pressure inside her only seemed to worsen until, finally, he spoke quietly,

“Who was she, did you say?”

She didn’t want to respond immediately, though the name rested just at the tip of her tongue, echoing around her mind as it had been all day. So she took a moment's pause before she replied, “Someone called Madame de Pompadour?”

“Ah, yes,” he recalled. “Eighteenth century? Uncrowned queen of France?”

Rose sighed heavily, before nodding her head.

“Sounds average,” he dismissed. “Meet one of them every day, I do. Don’t think it’s quite like either of us to fall in love with somebody so ordinary.”

She had to remind herself, as she had done so many times over the last twenty-four hours, that she was indeed only that: ordinary. Nobody different, nothing that made her stand out from the likes of Sarah Jane or bloody uncrowned queens of France and certainly not one the Doctor, the last remaining lord of time, would so easily fall in love with.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, a welcome disruption to her morose thoughts. “I should probably, er, go and find, well, you— time, was it, you said? That’s what’ll do the trick?”

She sniffed, reluctant to let him go, but she did loosen her hold to allow him free. “Time,” she affirmed.

As he stood, and she too, it all felt far too formulaic for them, even if he had only just met her very recently. She couldn’t bear to let him go like this, to remember this meeting so sad, so she looked at him sheepishly with her arms hesitantly outstretched and said,

“Can I?”

He seemed to know exactly what she was asking when he pulled her in for a hug. It took them a moment of adjustment to settle; she being so used to his new more slender form, and he not being used to her at all. But when they did, when everything finally slotted into place and they were them once more, she exhaled and felt all that pain and anguish just… release. He didn’t take it from her, and she didn’t know where it went, but being here in his arms when she had thought she never could have been again felt like the most blissful recompense following such wretched and unjust anguish.

“I miss you,” she whimpered, holding on to him tighter.

“Rose?”

The sound of her name on his lips was a comfort in itself. “Mmm?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah?”

“That bloke of yours,” he paused, and she realised it was for dramatic effect when he whispered, “he’s actually me.”

She giggled despite herself. “After everything I’ve told you about him, you still want to assign your name to him?”

“He does sound a bit like a prat, I’ll admit, but he must have done some good things, too, surely?” She shook her head begrudgingly into his chest. “You wouldn’t still be here if he hadn’t.”

She smiled sadly, and reasoned, “I suppose he did regenerate for me.”

“Blimey,” he flustered, genuinely quite surprised by the sounds of it. “I’ve regenerated many times before, and for many different reasons, but I can tell you never for somebody else.”

She smiled; although she had never really known exactly what happened on satellite 5, she had only managed to learn from him that it was to save her life. He didn’t particularly like to talk about it, she gathered, not because he regretted doing so, but in a way she couldn’t quite decipher. Like he was afraid, almost — although of what, she wasn’t sure.

“You, Rose Tyler, must be quite extraordinary indeed.”

She held on to him only tighter as she felt his words find their home deep within her heart, in a way she knew they would never be able to be coaxed out of again by not even herself. And she knew the man she thought she was going to see tonight felt the same, really, if she was honest with herself. She realised, then, that she wouldn’t have been able to hear if he had said it in that estuary accent; it was specifically him saying it in this northern accent tonight that rang deep and true for both men.

And with that, she felt the imminent dread of knowing she needed to leave.

“I probably need to go tell him I’ve made some paradox, then,” she sighed jokingly, although a part of her wished she wasn’t. If she could only have this, this sweet memory of the two of them at a time where she needed to be reminded that it would always be just the two of them, then pulling away from him now might be less tortuous.

“No need,” he said, and then he tilted his head and whispered, “Looks like he’s already fixed it for you.”

She frowned, but even as she tried to process how he — the other him — could have possibly already done anything to fix this, her mistake, her desperate need to see her old friend and deepest love of her life just one last time in a time of such heartbreak, her heart swelled to know that of course he had.

“No paradox?” she whispered back, afraid anybody other than him might hear her.

He nodded, and she felt him kiss her hair. “No paradox, if he’s done it right. Now go, quick, before we find out if he hasn’t.”

#nine x rose #ninth doctor #rose tyler #loup.fic #dw fic

[itsmoonpeaches]

The Ocean Meets the Sky

Chapter 8: Meeting (FINAL)

Please note: Every prompt for this Kataang Week connects into an over-arching story.

Prompt: Free Day

Story summary: After his battle with Fire Lord Ozai, something lingers within Aang's spirit. Katara is the one that pulls the seams back together. No matter what, Aang and Katara find each other.

Chapter summary: Katara remembered watching him being taken away, his back to her as he stumbled up the steps and through the archway.

-

Or, Katara wakes up.

Written for @kataang-week

Read on ao3 or ffn.

---

It started with a promise on a solemn night, under the light of star-studded heavens. Katara remembered that she had been alone, a completely different person, in a period so far behind her that the edges of it blurred into oblivion.

She recalled copper skin, glistening whitecaps rolling gracefully against the coastline. The stench of caught fish baking in their baskets in the sunlight, and how the two of them would crinkle their noses at them.

Most of all she remembered the months, the year, she had tried to save him. It had been the year the life she wished for them became an unfeasible one.

The elders found them sparring in the maze of the stalks of bamboo around the estate. It had been the dead of night. They had never been spotted before. However, once they caught the eye of a single earth element sage, it was all over and there was no turning back.

They separated them with force, boulders of earth rising between them. She could not bend it back for she was not a user herself, but Kun did. He tried, but there was a knife to her neck.

Katara remembered watching him being taken away, his back to her as he stumbled up the steps and through the archway.

The sages tried to kill her that night, but she found a way. She tossed, she toiled, she threw dirt in their faces. It should have been impossible, but it felt as if there was someone looking out for her as she ran through the forest. Stripes of bamboo shadows ran across her body as she sprinted through to the other side.

Gales whistled at her back, urging her forward, and she heard a whisper like a charm. She knew the spirits guided her.

She only looked over her shoulder once when the moon was high in the sky and the night was old. She could never return to their town, lest she risk her life and his.

So, she did the best thing she could.

“I promise I’ll find you,” she vowed unto the wind. “I’ll find you again and again, and I won’t let the world break you.”

She was the only one that could bring him back, and the spirits listened.

-

There was something hard and uncomfortable digging into Katara’s back. If there was roaring in her ears, there was pounding in her skull. Pain spiked behind her eyes. She groaned and shifted her weight. She heard someone let out a surprised gasp above her, and at that moment her eyes snapped open.

She blinked a few times, attempting to get the blurred shape above her to sharpen. The outline of her brother’s concerned face came into view, and then everything slid into focus. His azure eyes were wide, and he frowned. She could just make out other shapes emerging around her.

“Katara?” Sokka asked, voice sounding smaller than she remembered. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Katara sat up gingerly, placing a hand on her forehead. She grimaced. “I’m fine Sokka,” she grumbled and batted away Sokka’s waiting hand. She glanced around what looked to be the same palace courtyard she had been in a while ago. It felt like days, weeks even. But, as she saw her friends flit between her and another person that that fallen onto the ground, she realized that that could not have been possible. She saw the thin streaks of blood on her bare arm and the half-moon crests where the spirit in Aang’s body had pierced her with his nails.

It had only been minutes since she was last here.

Her breath stuttered when she noticed exactly what she was doing there, why she was where she was. Without warning, she scrambled to her feet. She ignored Sokka’s protests and the way that Suki yelped from his side as she tried to lend her assistance.

Both of them hastily followed her the few feet it took to reach Toph and Zuko, the latter of which was patting the cheek of the unconscious figure they were trying to awaken. She saw dusty yellow robes, a wooden beaded necklace with an Air Nomad symbol that was askew. Her heart dropped.

Katara broke through them, and she did not even bother to acknowledge the annoyed huff Toph sent her way. She saw him…Aang. Just there, lying boneless on the cobbles. He was pale, his lips partially agape, head tilted to the side. It was as if he had been sapped of all color, as if he was gone.

Katara sank to her knees.

“Aang,” she whispered as the name hitched in her throat. She placed her hands on his face, caressing it between her shaking palms. She pushed her ear to his chest, trembling harder when she could hear nothing. Not the steady thump of a heartbeat, not the rise and fall of breath.

She lost him. She lost him, and all she could think of was the fact that she had failed.

“No,” she choked out. The tears came, dripped to the bottom of her chin, and dribbled onto his cheek. “This isn’t fair.”

She barely registered the silhouettes of her friends crowding around her, the way they shuddered too. After a hundred years of war and now with the peace they had worked so hard to achieve, it ended with a catastrophe anyway.

She bent over and gathered Aang close. She held him and her hold on him grew tight and desperate.

It was so silent and there was nothing, and she wanted more than anything else to turn back time.

“Hm,” a soft tone came. It was next to her.

She felt a murmur of a gasp against her skin, just close enough to the shell of her ear so that she heard it too. Katara stilled. She did not dare peel herself away, for fear of breaking the cautiously hopeful spell.

The words flowed out of her mouth without any thought. “Are you there?” she called wistfully for him, just above a whisper, just enough so he could hear. “I’ve missed you.”

Only when Aang muttered back, “I’m here,” did she pull away. Only then did she look into his starbright eyes, the same radiant silver as a galaxy shining on a clear midnight. She looked at him and he looked at her, and she knew that they understood. That they were souls that remembered.

There was laughing and obnoxious crying, clapping, and yelling, but they were together at last. The throngs of people did not return until Fire Lord Zuko commanded them to, and the questions only arrived if they wanted them to be answered.

It was time for rest, for peace. No silence would break them apart, and no more impending threats. For now, at least, it was their moment of freedom to be themselves.

And as the days went by, as the preparations for true reconciliation and unification were well underway, Katara found herself staring out onto the black sand beaches of Ember Island. She watched as the waves crashed against the sandy shore, as the waters smoothed out the stones. A familiar warmth crept up her toes as she waded through the sea water. Even when much of the world was preparing for autumn, she marveled at the fact that the Fire Nation remained in a perpetual summertime.

“It’s just a short pit stop,” Zuko had informed them. “I figured we needed a break…you know…before we have to head out to Ba Sing Se to speak with the Earth King. We’re staying with Uncle. I can’t wait to see how his tea shop has been doing since he went back.”

A ‘pit stop’, as Zuko called it, was really a bit of a vacation. Katara did not mind though, and neither did the others, especially Sokka. (“Finally, some time to relax and order some servants around to make me an all-you-can-eat buffet!”) She supposed that he had not had much time to enjoy himself for a while because of his recovering leg even if she did heal him as much as she could. Toph’s additional enthusiasm did not help. Though, she was grateful that Suki was there to rein them in if things got too out of hand.

Katara admired the way the grains of sand trickled in between her toes. She had taken off her shoes and left them near a palm tree, opting to walk on the beach in her Water Tribe clothing.

Twilight bloomed on the horizon, light blue with flecks of orange and yellow decorating the undersides of feathery clouds.

She could not help but think of a different sky she had seen back when she was entrapped in the world in between worlds, where there was a sunset and a balcony and Iroh’s tea shop. She wondered if perhaps, that could be real.

“Do you want to go inside?” asked Aang from behind her. She blinked when she saw him appear at her side. He was only wearing a pair of dark trousers. “It’s been a long day of traveling here.”

She giggled then at the absurdity of it all.

Aang tilted his head. “What is it?” he asked, confused.

Katara shook her head. “Nothing,” she replied. “It’s just that…I feel like you’ve said something similar before.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, but all she did was take his hand and bring him closer to her so that they were both standing in the shallows of the cool water.

Katara stared at the way their fingers intertwined, the way he seemed to flush at her touch. She tried not to think about how she was probably pink with embarrassment as well. She felt it in how her face heated.

She cleared her throat. “You saw something too,” she started with some hesitancy, “You saw something when you were trapped there, didn’t you? A vision?” She knew that she did not have to explain what ‘there’ was.

He looked at her now, his gaze intense. He did not let go of her hand. “When I switched places with Vaatu in the Tree of Time I saw visions of the past…things I regret that I couldn’t stop,” he said. “It was all the things I thought of when I was taking away Ozai’s bending. It’s the reason why Vaatu could take over. A tiny part of him is in my Avatar spirit, like a tiny part of my Avatar spirit is in him.”

She squeezed his hand. “But you overcame it,” she remarked.

Aang let out a slow breath. “I did,” he agreed, “but only because of you. You saved me.”

Katara smiled and turned so that they were both fully facing each other. The current swished at her feet. “We saved each other,” she said. For a moment, she paused, thinking of how to word what she would say next. But she felt the surety in the way his hand pressed against hers. It was all she needed.

“Do you think…do you think those visions we saw…do you think that some of them could’ve been the future?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.

When Aang studied her, it was as if he had a certain realization settle over him, a composure that Katara longed to feel. Perhaps, she wondered, if this was only something a person who had many past lives could be so confident about.

“I think that place showed us different parts of our lives,” he said. “I was told once that time is an illusion. Maybe what the tree showed me and what you saw…maybe they were the past, present, and future. Maybe whatever you saw is something that will happen.”

Katara found that Aang was most beautiful to her when he was himself, when he was telling his truth and no one else’s. And at that moment, as the humid breeze wavered through her clothes, her hair, she saw his truth right in front of her.

She had not yet told him what she had seen, and perhaps she never would, but it was the way he spoke to her. It was the kind words and the gentle gestures. It was the way he tried to understand what she was asking.

Aang did not know what she had seen, but he could tell that she wanted what she had seen to be true, and that was what mattered the most.

Katara cupped his cheek and her lips brushed against it. She moved with all the quietness in the world until his lips were on hers. They melted into each other.

On the sands of the beach and the sands of lifetimes, they finally met again. It was a meeting, a wish fulfilled. Life after life, until then. They found each other once more in a place where the ocean met the sky, and where their hearts remembered their promise.

#kataang week 2021 #kataang week #itsmonpeaches fanfic #kataang #kataangtag #katara #aang #atla #atla fandom #avatar the last airbender

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Nowhere to Run by  GleefullyCaptainSwan

Read on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s

The song referenced in this chapter is “We are Glass” by Thompson Square. You can hear the song here:

It’s a beautiful song and I felt it really summed up the characters in this story.

Chapter 10: We are Glass

Killian spent the next couple of weeks recovering in the hospital. He asked Robin to stay at his place to keep an eye on Emma and Henry, yet Emma spent most of her time next to his bed side when she wasn’t sitting in the corner of the room with Henry on her lap, teaching him his school lessons.

She told him how she had been teaching Henry everything she could while they were on the run. He could read and write, knew his arithmetic, and was an excellent artist. He found that even when he was tired, he would spend his time watching the two with reverence. Emma was a patient mother, but Henry was also an exceptional child.

“Did it hurt when you got shot?” The boy mused as he sat on the end of his bed, peeking up from between the cards in his hands.

“Aye. I would say it was pretty painful. Go fish, by the way.” He paused. “But the pain was replaced quickly by a sense of numbness, I guess, so I didn’t feel it long.” He stretched restlessly, looking down at his cards. “Have any 3’s?”

The boy narrowed his eyes, looking through his cards. “Go fish.” He smirked. “Do you think my dad is going to get out of prison and come after us again?”

Killian placed his cards against his chest. “I don’t think so lad. He’s going to have a trial. He has that right. The state will present its evidence, and he’ll face any consequences that he’s found guilty of. But you don’t have to worry, Henry. Even if he does get out, he’ll never get near you or your mom again.”

“But what about you? Who’s going to protect you?”

“Well, I’ve got Captain Nolan, and my partner Robin. Will and Belle…”

“And mom and me.” He said proudly.

Killian’s heart swelled. “You’d protect me? I’m honored.”

“Is Rogers ok?” His nose scrunched in worry.

“He’s staying with Will. He’s not a young pup anymore, so the old boy needed a lot of help getting better. But when they finally let me out of here, he’s gonna come back and live with me.”

“Will me and mom live with you?”

Killian swallowed nervously. He and Emma hadn’t talked about the future yet. There was still so much for them to resolve. Ten years was a long time to be apart, especially when the last time they had seen each other they were not in a good place.

“Your mom and I have a lot to talk about still.”

“Are you really married to my mom?” Continuing his barrage of questions.

He sighed. “Aye.”

“That must have been weird having her gone for ten years then. I bet you missed her.”

“More than all the stars in the world.”

“She used to tell me stories about you.” The boy said, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Did she now?” He mused.

“Sometimes you were a cop fighting bad guys, other times you were a swashbuckling pirate searching for treasure, and sometimes you were a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy sailing off on a ship to save the princess. Mom tells the best stories, but they were always about you.”

Killian’s eyes glassed over, bending his head to reach up and swipe at his face. “Your mother has quite the imagination, but I’m happy to be able to oblige for your entertainment.”

“Who’s hungry?” Emma’s voice filled the room as she came carrying a tray of food and drinks. “The doc says you are off your diet.”

Killian groaned happily as she sat the hamburger down on the tray in front of him. The first real food he would get to eat in weeks. He bit into the burger immediately, moaning loudly as soon as he tasted the meat on his tongue. Emma was staring at him, her mouth slightly agape. “Wut?” He said between chews.

“Nothing.” She said with an embarrassing glance away from him, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red. At least he still had some sort of effect on her, he thought.

“How did the call with Liam go?” She sat down in the chair next to him, pulling a grilled cheese sandwich into her hands.

“He was happy to hear that Neal is behind bars. He’s going to come visit soon when the girls are on holiday. He wanted me to tell you how gutted he was knowing everything you’ve been through.”

She shrugged, something she did often when he mentioned her past with Neal. “It will be nice to see him again. The girls must be so big now.”

“Aye. Twelve and sixteen now. He has his hands full for sure.”

She took a bite of her sandwich, watching Henry coloring at the end of Killian’s bed. “He’s not bothering you is he?”

“We were just playing a game of Go Fish. I think he cheats.” He whispered loudly, earning a complaint from Henry. Emma let out a pleasant laugh, something he was happy to earn from her.

“Doctor says you might get out of here tomorrow.”

“That’s my hope as well. I can’t wait to see Rogers.”

“I’m glad he’s alright. The old boy’s a survivor.” Emma mused.

“Aye, that he is.”

“I made an appointment for Henry and I to go see Dr. Hopper next week.” She said with a sad smile. “Figured I might need to talk through some things before we have to face Neal again at trial.”

“Hop’s a good man.”

“You know him?”

“Aye.” He nodded, not wanting to get into the fact that he knew him because he had been his patient, after Emma had left, when the world crumbled at his feet.

“I’ve been looking for a place to stay once you get released from the hospital. I know you’re going to need your bed to recover.”

Killian bit his lip. He knew they needed to discuss this. He didn’t want her to leave, but he also knew that they had a lot to work through if they were going to ever find their way back to each other. If she still wanted that.

“I can talk to Will. He had a vacancy across the hall from him a couple of weeks ago.”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

“Emma…”

“Hey there.” Killian stared at Emma’s face as David entered the room. “How ya feeling?” He turned, facing his boss.

“Doing great, going home tomorrow, I’ll be back on the streets before you know it.” He grinned cheekily.

“Yeah you’re taking some time off, buddy.”

“What?” He complained.

“Take a vacation, Killian. You’ve earned some time off. Robins got your cases locked down right now.”

“Cap, I’m fine.”

“It’s an order, Detective.” He walked over to Emma and smiled, she suddenly reached up and wrapped him into a hug.

“You look better.” He said softly.

“I feel better, I feel like I’ve gained ten pounds just eating three meals a day.” She chuckled, but both David and Killian glanced uncomfortably at each other.

“Hey, don’t do that. I’m fine.” She glared. “I don’t want you treating me any differently than you did when we were at the academy.” She winked up at David, “Still top of my class, sir.”

“It’s good to have you back Emma.” David smiled with a genuine air of happiness.

Three months later

Emma picked the shirt off the floor in Henry’s room, tossing it into the hamper. “Did you remember to pack a toothbrush?” The boy appeared from behind the doorway, poking his head into the room.

“Yup. It’s in the front pocket of my duffle.” He disappeared again and then reappeared. “Are you gonna be ok with this?”

Emma smiled at him. “Of course, I am, why would you ask that?”

“Cuz this is my first sleepover away from you that isn’t over at Killian’s.”

“I’ll be fine, Henry. I actually have plans tonight.”

He moved quickly into the room. “What kind of plans?”

She sat down on the bed. “I kinda have a date tonight.”

“Does Killian know?” He asked with a shocked look of disgust on his face.

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about before you left.” He sat down next to her. “My date is with Killian.”

He jumped up from the bed and pumped his arms in the air. “Yes.”

Emma laughed. “Does that mean you’re ok with this?”

“Of course, I am. Killian’s the best. He even lets me stay up until 11pm when I stay over at his place.”

“Well, I’ll have to talk to him about that, but I’m glad you like him.” She wrapped her arms around Henry’s waist and hugged him tightly. “I love you, buddy. I hope you have fun tonight. And if you need me at all, you know you can call me.” She tousled his hair and kissed his cheek.

There was a knock on the door and Henry pushed away from her. “Gotta go, love you mom.”

Emma looked around Henry’s room, pictures he had drawn hanging on the wall. Her favorite one was hanging above the bed. It was of her, Henry, Killian, and Rogers playing at the park.

As difficult as returning home had been, they had settled into a pretty simple life. Emma and Henry had moved into their own apartment in Will’s complex. It was nice to have a friendly face around now and then when she found herself getting anxious on nights when Henry was sleeping over at Killian’s or when she would wake from a terrifying dream.

Will was always gracious no matter the time she found herself standing in front of his door with a bottle of rum in her hands. He would always sit up with her and listen to her talk about the first thing that came to her mind, something Dr. Hopper had suggested she try to take her mind off her nightmares. She didn’t know when it happened but before she knew it, he had become one of her closest friends.

And then there was Killian.

She wasn’t surprised that Henry had latched onto him so quickly. Killian was great with him, always patient, always offering to assist him with whatever the boy required. Which was often a lot as he was a growing boy who was adjusting to the freedom of being able to go outside and roam. Killian made sure he found new foods for him to try, adventures to experience, even new clothes to wear on his first day at a real school. Watching him with her son, the joy on his face, had her falling in love with him all over again. Of course, she hadn’t told him that. She was nervous about moving too quickly with him. Dr. Hopper told her that was normal. She had experienced a trauma and loss that not many people would cope with.

In her last session, she told her therapist that she wanted to try again with Killian. She had spent the last three months trying to figure out what her life would become now that she was home. She needed to learn who Emma was before she could deal with being Mrs. Jones again.

Killian had presented her with their divorce papers, gave her the choice to sign them and start her life fresh. She put it off, telling him that she needed some time to think before she made any big decisions in her life. He was patient and told her he understood but Emma knew that if he had his way, he would rip them to shreds.

Emma was volunteering at a small clinic that Mary Margaret worked at on the weekends, talking to victims of domestic abuse and rape. Currently she was taking it slow, still not understanding her own trauma that she had endured enough to feel like she had all the answers, but just being there with them to let them know they weren’t alone, and that someone understood what they had gone through. It was freeing to Emma to be able to own her story, to not feel ashamed anymore.

Dr. Hopper told her that was a form of acceptance. Owning what happened to you, claiming it as your story. She would never be over what Neal had done to her, stealing her dignity, laying waste to her self-esteem. But she refused to be defined by it. She didn’t want to be Emma Swan, rape victim. She was Emma Jones, survivor.

Today was going to be another step in her journey. Killian was taking her on a date. She remembered his face as they were eating lunch, a short break during his shift.

“We should go out.” She said nonchalantly between bites.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“Maybe, but I have to ask you a few questions first.” He raised his eyebrow, leaning forward for her to continue.

“Ask away.”

“I need to know if you ok going on a date with someone who is probably always going to be a little bit damaged.”

He shrugged, “Aren’t we all? I like to think I can absorb a little damage.”

“Ok then, last thing…” She grinned. “You gotta like kids or it’s a deal breaker.”

He laughed loudly, “Aye, I adore Henry.” He shrugged, “So, do I win a date with the beautiful woman who currently has a mayonnaise mustache?” He reached out, wiping the offending condiment from her lip, eliciting shockwaves through her body.

That was the moment she knew she was ready. She had felt excitement from his touch instead of withdrawing the moment he made contact.

He had insisted on being the one to plan the date, as much as she was sure she could still plan a night out, she had to admit that it took some of the pressure off. He wouldn’t tell her where they were going, only that it was somewhere she had been asking to go for a while and he felt she had earned it. Whatever that meant.

She slipped into the pink dress, pulling the straps over her shoulders. Looking in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. She looked feminine, happy, with a glint of hope in her eyes. The tears slipped onto her cheek; Neal had not stolen everything from her.

There was a knock on her door, a smile crept on her face. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and centering her mind. She was taking control of her life tonight.

Opening the door, she couldn’t control the shiver she felt when she saw him come into view. The man she fell in love with so many years ago was standing in front of her. Sure, he was older, the hint of grey kissing his hair, fine lines around his eyes, but he was even more gorgeous today than she remembered him all those years ago. This was the man who was willing to give up his life for her, loved her enough to save her, even if it meant he couldn’t have her.

“You look…”

“I know.” She giggled, accepting the rose he passed toward her. Her nose inhaled the fragrance of the flower, eyes glancing down his frame, the anticipation of the rest of their evening taking her to new heights.

“Shall we?”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Patience is a virtue, love.” He winked.

She rolled her eyes but followed him out to his car. They drove in silence, her hands folded in her lap. The soft sounds of the radio playing through the car.

Trying to live and love,

With a heart that can't be broken,

Is like trying to see the light with eyes that can't be opened.

Yeah, we both carry baggage,

We picked up on our way, so if you love me do it gently,

And I will do the same.

Emma felt the tears sting her eyes. The lyrics breaking into her heart as she chanced a glance at the man sitting beside her, his eyes focused on the road, his jaw tensed, that familiar vein popping from the side of his neck. He never forgot her in all the time she had been gone. She knew how he felt about her. The way he loved her. He’d been so patient with her these last few months. Not pushing her either out the door or into his heart.

We may shine, we may shatter,

We may be picking up the pieces here on after,

We are fragile, we are human,

We are shaped by the light we let through us,

We break fast, cause we are glass.

'Cause we are glass.

He turned toward her, a smile ghosting on his lips that held onto hope. When she walked out the door ten years ago, she knew she still loved him, that she would always love the man who had risked everything for her. Now she knew that back then, before everything went to hell, she was being stubborn walking away, letting her fear of the unknown hold her captive.

I'll let you look inside me, through the stains and through the cracks,

And in the darkness of this moment,

You see the good and bad.

But try not to judge me, 'cause we've walked down different paths,

But it brought us here together, so I won't take that back.

She exhaled, a stray tear slipping against her cheek. She let it fall, not afraid of her emotions anymore. She had been stubborn; she should have known that they would have made anything work. Instead, she walked away and ended up in a hell she couldn’t control.

We might be oil and water, this could be a big mistake,

We might burn like gasoline and fire,

It's a chance we'll have to take.

Emma was ready to let go of all of that. To let go of the ten years she had been robbed of, to forget all the stubborn and foolish decisions that had gotten them to this moment. She wanted to reclaim her life. She wanted to take back what was owed to her.

We are glass.

The song referenced in this chapter is “We are Glass” by Thompson Square. You can hear the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPd1GIwjRFMIt’s a beautiful song and I felt it really summed up the characters in this story.

#stacy's fics #nowhere to run #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #captain swan fics #captain swan au #captain swan modern au #emma jones

[saharamae21]

Lilypad - Drew Starkey Imagine

Author: sguymon21

Summary: A request for Drew where the reader is pregnant and throughout their pregnancy he does bump updates and pregnancy updates for both you're families because they don't live in LA. Like her bump getting bigger, the weird cravings she's having, videos of the baby kicking, decorating the nursery, mood swings, parenting classes, and whatever else you can think of? REQUESTED

Word Count: 1.9K+

Warnings: None

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When you found out you were pregnant, you were ecstatic. The only person who stood a chance of matching your excitement was Drew. You knew how much he wanted to start a family, so when the time finally came, he cried. He held you in his arms and placed his hands on your stomach. You knew he was going to be a fantastic father.

Month One

When Drew told you that he wanted to send your families monthly updates, you were completely on board. At one month, you lined up at the wall, chalkboard in hand, and had him take your side profile. You giggled as it felt like a mugshot. Nothing was noticeable yet in the photos, but you were definitely experiencing changes. The morning sickness was already to affect your everyday life and you became super sensitive to certain foods. Even the smell of coffee in the morning made you want to throw up, even though you normally needed a cup or two most days.

You sat on the couch and held your stomach. Even though your baby was only the size of a half grain of rice, they were fully controlling your every move. Drew sat down next to you and pulled you into his chest.

“Do you want a boy or a girl?” he muttered. You smiled, knowing what he wanted already. He wanted a little girl that he could spoil. You on the other hand wanted a boy. You wanted a mini Drew running around the place.

“Secret,” you mumbled. He chuckled at you as you closed your eyes. The fatigue set in, causing you to fall asleep in his arms. He watched the mother of his child with the most admiration possible and hoped that in a few months he would have a new girl to hold in his arms.

Month Two

The first month passed quickly and you found yourself in front of the wall again. You held up the blackboard that read two months and smiled for the camera. However, as soon as it was taken, your smile faded. You were exhausted and your hormones were going crazy. The doctors informed you that you had to severely limit your caffeine intake and withdrawal was setting in. Your head was constantly in agony and the nausea had somehow gotten worse throughout the past week.

Drew got home early from a shoot and looked around. Usually you were in the living room, but today the apartment was silent. He knew you didn’t have a doctors appointment and began to worry something was wrong. He opened the door to your guy’s bedroom and found you nestled in between the sheets. He smiled at your sleeping figure before crawling into bed.

You stirred awake and flickered your eyes open. Drew eyes met you and it filled your heart with warmth. All the sickness and fatigue was worth it when you saw the way he looked at you.

Month Three

The first sign of life appeared when you looked at the picture for month three. A small baby bump presented itself as you excitedly held up the blackboard. It wasn’t very big, but it was enough to make the both of you emotional. He held you from behind, his hands on your tummy. This was his new favorite position. He loved to have as much contact with your unborn baby as he could.

You laid on the floor of the apartment angry. Your emotions weren’t quite back in check and the crazings were starting to set in. All you wanted was peanut butter and tortilla shells, but you were out of peanut butter. You had asked Drew to grab some on the way home, but he was having a less than ideal day and said no. That put you in a mood and you haven't moved since. You wanted to have a stand off and wait until he caved and agreed to get it for you, but the baby was demanding food.

You forced yourself up to look in the cupboards, but nothing sounded good. Feeling emotional and defeated, you sat down on the kitchen floor and just began to cry. Minutes later, the door opened and Drew walked in. He heard you crying and knew that he should’ve had more patience with you. He walked in and crouched down in front of you, holding a new container of peanut butter out for you. You sniffled and looked up at him, knowing that if you two had a little girl, Drew would never be able to say no to her.

Month Four

You stood against the wall with a huge smile. Your stomach was continuing to grow every week and your excitement grew with it. You had begun to think of names for your child, but Drew and you had different tastes. Drew didn’t want to play into the whole celebrity child names, but you wanted something different. No child of yours would be named Jacob or Hannah.

You sat on the couch with the most energy you had in weeks. Drew slumped next to you, just in the mood to cuddle. You were in the mood for other things though. It was the first time in the past few months that your sex drive was back. You leaned over and pressed your lips to his neck, causing him to jump. He looked at you as your hand gripped his shirt. He looked at you wide eyed and told you politely that he didn’t want to. You stared at him, mouth agape.

“I-I just don’t wanna hurt the baby,” he said with the most innocent look on his face. You laughed at him and placed a soft kiss on his lips telling him that you loved him.

Month Five

You stood up as straight as you could, proud of the baby that was growing inside of you. You held up the sign and smiled as big as you could. Drew was running around the house for the past week, excitedly talking your ear off. You were supposed to find out the gender this week and he literally couldn’t wait. You two had finally settled on names and that made everything so real. If it was a girl, she would be Lilith. If it was a boy, he would be Jasper.

You sat in the doctor's office with Drew. His arm was slung over your shoulder as the doctor walked in. She smiled at you and told you that the baby was in wonderful condition. So far, there were no issues.

“So, would you like to know the sex?” she said.

We both said yes and you leaned your head on Drew’s shoulder. He had a hand placed on my baby bump and we waited as she looked at the file. She opened her mouth and Drew began to tear up. He kissed the top of my head as you wiped the tears away.

We were having a little girl.

Month Six

You stood against the wall and basically begged him to take the picture. Your legs were aching and you were gaining weight so quickly these days. You smiled as he took the picture, holding the sign like always. After it was done, you went and sat on the couch. Drew joined you shortly after, lifting your legs onto his lap to rub the cramps out of them. You closed your eyes and let him comfort you for the rest of the night.

You looked around the room and smiled. It was painted this muted yellow color and had accents of pink and white. A crib sat in the corner of the room and decorations were everywhere. It was really starting to come together. Drew pulled you in for a quick kiss as you stood in the center of the room. You felt the baby kick inside of you and smiled brightly. Drew had never been around when she was kicking. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your tummy. You watched his eyes go wide as he stared at you in awe.

“Our kid is pretty great, isn’t she?” he said. He loved her so much already.

Month Seven

You were getting pretty big by now. You stood by the wall and held the sign. Our families were getting so excited as we got closer and closer to the due date. They lived for your monthly updates. They also FaceTimed you guys weekly to make sure you felt perfect and so they could see what was changing. They loved being updated on my cravings and you health condition.

You laid on the couch, cuddled into Drew’s arms, as you talked to Jodi. You loved seeing how similar Drew and his mom were. She smiled and asked for a hint on the name we picked, but you had agreed not to tell anyone until after she was born. It was killing your parents.

When he finally hung up, you smiled at each other. The baby always kicked when we talked to our moms. Their voices triggered a happy reaction. He placed his hands there again and felt the movement. He placed a small little kiss on your belly.

“Hey, baby girl… It’s daddy,” he whispered. Then he said something that made you fall in love with him all over again. “I love you, my little lilypad.”

Month Eight

You took the picture for month eight and smiled. You were continuing to gain about a pound of weight a week. You knew we were on the home stretch and honestly, you just wanted my little girl to be here already. Drew took the picture and smiled at you. He was being especially sweet that past few days. He constantly praised you for carrying his child and it made your heart so happy.

We laid in bed together and you shifted in discomfort. The baby has been pressing up against your ribs lately and it was really uncomfortable. You felt Drew pull you into his arms and rubbed your back. You sniffled as your chest felt like it was tightening.

“Hey, shhhh…” he cooed in your ear. He placed small kisses all over your face. “I’m so proud of you. Just a little bit more and then we finally get to meet our little lilypad.”

He was right. One more month and Lilith would be right here in your arms.

Month Nine

We took the final pregnancy photo and jumped for joy. Our little princess would be with you guys in no time. He had gotten your hospital bag ready and the nursery was now finished. All of your friends and families were getting super excited to meet your little girl. Most days, you sat on the couch, on the phone with your moms. They both were planning their trips out here for after the baby was born.

It was about a week before our due date when my contractions began. You sat in bed and panicked as you tried to get a hold of Drew. Your eyes squinted as they became more frequent. Finally, he picked up and you told him you were going into labor. You stood up to grab the hospital bag as he told me he was leaving the gym, clearly in a state of shock. While you were hanging up, your water broke. That’s when it all became way too really.

About 7 hours later, you laid in the hospital bed with Drew. Your little girl was curled up in his arms and the way he stared at her made you melt. He teared up as she slept so peacefully in his arms.

“She’s so beautiful,” he said in a strained voice. He was holding in tears at the sight of our child. “Welcome home, lilypad. Mommy and daddy love you so much.”

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Tag List : @justcallmesams @jellyfishbeansontoast @prejudic3 @queenieloveswriting @jjtheangel @infinitydols @simpingforrudypankowonly @waywardbarbie @outerbankslut @outerbongs @ilovejjmaybank @beth-winchester21 @jiaraendgame @sunwardsss @talksopretty @bb-tings @teenwaywardasgardian @netflix-imagines @canibeoneofthepogues @raekenliar @judayyyw @jjpogueprincess @waywardbabie @casper17

Tagging a few more: @spilledtee @starlightstarkey @potterheadhollander @anonymous0writer @tomhardybby @diverdcwn

#drew starkey #drew obx #drew #obx #obx netflix #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks

[thetorturerwrites]

Eos

Summary: Unblinking, unfocused, you stared at the metronome, losing track of what you were supposed to do. She liked the metronome, Dr. Howard, because it kept her patients calm when reliving their trauma. At least that’s what she told you.

It was your name that drew you back. Not your actual name — the one he’d given you. Your legal name. The one in all the papers.

A/N: This is not for the faint of heart. And do not come for me over this. Non-con/dub-con is a valid fantasy.

That being said, this should be considered a prequel to Get It Right and is for @findyourdarkness​, who wanted more.

C/N:  DEAD DOVE; graphic depictions of violence; Non-con/dub-con; Torture; Stockholm Syndrome; Kidnapping; References to Emesis/Vom; References to forced addiction; Blood and bits; Med/surg; LOOK YOU KNOW WHO I AM OK

All the way behind the cut....

Tick tock tick Tick tock tick

Unblinking, unfocused, you stared at the metronome, losing track of what you were supposed to do. She liked the metronome, Dr. Howard, because it kept her patients calm when reliving their trauma. At least that’s what she told you.

It was your name that drew you back. Not your actual name — the one he’d given you. Your legal name. The one in all the papers.

“He held you captive for three years,” she said, as though you didn’t know, down to the hour, how long he had you. “Are you ready to talk about what he did to you?”

The detective said they needed to know so they could make an accurate accounting in the file.

But how could you answer?

“The... the first year…”

... was all pain.

You didn’t come to his life willingly; he stole you from a happy home and a family that loved you. In the dead of night, he crept into your house, punched you so hard he fractured your jaw and broke your nose, and carried your limp body out with no one the wiser for it.

Your jaw was wired shut for weeks, which lent itself well to his design. The first few days, you shouted yourself dizzy, but all that came out was a muffled wheeze; and when you cried too hard, you choked on your own spit. The blockage at your broken nose kept you from breathing normally.  Inside a week, you learned to not scream lest you asphyxiate from the effort.

Everything made you wretch — the smell of him, the smell of yourself, the water, the air, the plump head of his cock as it rubbed against your puffy, useless mouth.

Thinking you’d suicide your way out of this hell and deny him his newfound plaything, you plastered yourself to the corner of the dismal room, refusing food and water. Undeterred, he shoved an NG tube into your battered nose to scratch along the back of your throat. Force feeding you was something he thoroughly enjoyed, as was the waterboarding that inevitably followed to ensure hydration made it down your gullet.

That was the first time he fucked you.  Drenched and bent over the very table he drowned you on, he wracked open your body and growled possessively at your pitiable screams. Your muted sobs only made him pound at you, claw at you, that much harder. On autopilot, your body made space for him, clenched tight around each violent shove of his dick, and fell headlong into something you tried to tell yourself was just a physical response.

Mangled as your face was, bruised and locked up tight, you could do nothing but swallow the bile, the half processed liquid diet, the snotty water your body tried to expel as you jerked and quaked through the unwelcome orgasm.

You told yourself it meant nothing.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!?”

You screamed when he caught you trying to escape, having scraped your fingers bloody, trying to gouge the lock from the door. He dragged you down into the bowels of his house, throwing you into a pitch black cellar. He forced pins beneath your nails so you couldn’t use your fingers and set them with super glue.

“To keep you from pulling them loose,” he chided.

It was a gruesome manicure, and it set your teeth to grinding. Your fingers throbbed, and you could feel each individual pin. It drove you mad until you finally did rip one set of pins free, along with the entire nail. Your echoing screams only drove you further into a rage; and soon, there were no more pins. No more glue. No more nails.

Exhausted, you collapsed into a dirty heap in the corner.

Under his feet, beneath his very floor, you continually wailed and pleaded, shouted and begged, but he ignored you. For days, possibly weeks. He only came to see you nourished, which no longer included the NG tube, but instead a handful of supplements he forced you to swallow, washed down by a gallon of water and his sticky seed.

You were too filthy to be fucked, he told you.

Angered by his judgment, you spat at him.  You rallied and railed that you were filthy because of him. He kept you in that hole with only a goddamn bucket and a worn mattress on the floor like a fucking animal.

Your outburst cost you the bucket and gained you a regular rotation of ORS, accompanied by his thick fingers buried in your cunt and his weighty palm pressing on your abdomen until you could no longer control your bladder. You wept each time he coaxed the golden liquid from you and fumed when he told you how much better he liked you when you behaved.

That became the first rule.

You asked his permission to urinate.

When you disobeyed and relieved yourself without asking, he shoved you face first into your own waste and belted you bloody. When you followed the rule, when you waited for him to arrive and told him of your need, you often got his fingers in your pussy, pumping and curling, sending you into a subdued, subtle orgasm until you pissed in his hand.

The alleviation of your discomfort was always so palpable.  Punctuated with breathy, grateful moans, it stole your dignity. You hated that he wanted this ritual, but you hated more than you came to crave it. Each time, he pressed his lips to your temple and bore your sagging weight. He clucked and crooned that you could be such a good girl if you wanted.

He only had to slap you once before you licked his dirtied hand clean.

Complying with his demand earned you food, water you didn’t have to fear, and a clean mattress, but your basement cell was still frigid, and your bare legs and feet still froze. It was only when his harsh treatment and inhospitable accommodations made you ill that he relented. He carried you and your pneumonia up into the house proper and helped you through the first bath you could remember in what felt like months.

Too feverish to enjoy it properly, you cried into his shoulder, clinging to him as he washed your back. And though you knew it was madness, knew it was the sickness, you murmured thanks and fell asleep against his broad chest.

Tock tick tock Tock tick tock

Dr. Howard stared at you, mouth agape, for an uncomfortably long time. Unable to remain stoic, her face telegraphed every thought. She was horrified, plainly terrified, and, at the same time, amazed that you sat here in her office, telling her such awful things as though you made pleasant conversation.

“Do you, ah…” Her brow furrowed, and she fidgeted. “Do you need to take a break? Get a snack? Use the…”

You chewed the inside of your lip subtly as her thought trailed off. Use the facilities, your mind furnished. She couldn’t bring herself to ask you if you needed to pee, given what she’d learned. You debated telling her you couldn’t force yourself, no matter how hard you tried. Instead, you had to wait until need won out over volition.

“No, thank you.” You brushed an imaginary fuzzball off of your skirt hem and looked away, a flush creeping into your cheeks at the memory of his fingers inside you. “I’d rather do this all today, if possible.”

“Ah.” She nodded and scribbled something down. “Please, go on.”

Your gaze crawled over the books lining the wall behind her desk, reminding you of his library and the mountain of books he made you read to him. Your shoulders rose and fell on a sigh, the intake of breath no longer steadying as it had been then. It was simply function now.

“The second year was transformation. That’s what he called it.”

Satisfied that he broke you of any desire to flee, he started with your teeth. Uncommon, you made it to adulthood with all of your wisdom teeth, which he had removed to make more room in your mouth for his cock, to ensure they wouldn’t scrape at him when he forced himself into your throat, which he did every morning.

No longer banished to the basement, you slept tied to the foot of his bed. First, it was with heavy, scratchy coconut rope, and your mornings started with a roughshod swallow when he awoke. You knew better than to outright fight him, but you still leaned away, still shook your head no, and he punished you for it with a face fucking so brutal your lips split.

When you accepted his cock with no derision, no argument, you earned medication, a sedative for your night terrors or a pain pill for your discomfort. When you sucked his dick of your own will, without him holding you in place and rutting into your mouth like a savage, you earned a less coarse rope and a pillow upon which to sleep.

That became the second rule.

Knelt at the side of his bed, you worshiped his cock every morning, gulping down whatever he saw fit to give you that day, be it his cum, his piss, or a blend of both.

Next, it was your eyes. Nearsighted on the left and farsighted on the right, your prescription was so strong, he had been a blurry demon for a year without your glasses. And now that he no longer had to beat you senseless every day, that would not do.

“The devil is in the details,” he said, wanting you to remember every moment in vivid color.

You cried when you saw him clearly for the first time. Great, untamable sobs erupted from your chest because you didn’t understand how someone so beautiful could be so inhumane. Even without perfect vision, you knew he was tall, wide, and muscular. You knew his hair was dark and wavy. But you didn’t know the line of his nose was so poetic. Nor did you know that his lips quivered as he pondered.

It was only when you saw the details, just as he wanted, that you realized you knew him. You’d seen him. You remembered smiling at him in the shop every day. Putting together the puzzle, you realized he planned for this, for you.

Halfway through the year, when you were compliant, quiet, and addicted to the steady stream of pharmaceuticals he plied you with, there came a tracker in your throat and laryngeal chondroplasty to make the pitch of your voice more pleasing. You had a pretty voice, he told you, but your screams weren’t high enough. Your whimpers didn’t have that special something.

He tested it by withholding the medication he’d allowed you to become dependent upon. You scratched at the walls, shuddering and whining. You jerked against the iron collar keeping you within a foot of his bed. You pleaded with him for just one pill, just one of anything to make you feel better. You bartered with nothing and promised to do anything if he would chase away these tremors, these shakes and hallucinations.

Only when he wanted, no sooner, did he give you what you sought. Two little pills were all it took for you to brace yourself on hands and knees and whore yourself for him. That night, he fucked you hoarse.  On the floor like a beast, he slapped and choked you while shoving his massive length all the way into your guts and prodding you to say what he wanted again and again and again.

And you did.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

That became the third rule.

You thanked him every time he fucked you, more so if he allowed you to orgasm.

You couldn’t remember when your breasts changed. You’d simply awoken one morning from a medicated fog to burning chest muscles and tits that sat higher, perkier than before. He liked to palm them as he made plans, to pluck and tug and roll the nipples until your ragged breathing lured him away from his blueprints.

He never allowed you any clothing, even when he set you to working in his home. He wanted to feel your hips, to dip his fingers into your sex when he caught you bent over to clean, to fuck you whenever the fancy struck him. He often kept you in his lap, either curled into his chest upon it or bent over it and strapped to his chair.

Finally, you underwent tubal ligation. He debated the pros and cons — though not actually with you — of it versus an outright hysterectomy for weeks.  He didn’t trust the vasectomy he had and wanted to be sure.  Children, he reminded you, were not part of his plan; and thus, they were no longer a possibility for your future.

After the last surgery, he put you through a detox program. Less harsh than the abrupt first round, he combated your withdrawals and illness by wringing a long string of orgasms from your overheated body. You slept through half of it; and when you weren't sleeping, he sent you into orbit with his lips, his fingers, his cock.

From then forward, he allowed you human food, even teaching you how to cook his favorite dishes, but he controlled your portions, your supplements, your hydration.  And your exercise to stave off atrophy.

At the close of the year, after the false color had grown out and your long hair hung its natural hue, he told you that your transformation was complete. Your body was stronger, having run the gauntlet in his name, and you were healthier than you’d ever been.

Pressing your lips into a firm line, you looked away from Dr. Howard, diving into the memory as though it would warm you.

His fourth rule was that you ride his dick every night, slowly, languidly. He didn’t always cum when you did it, a fact that somehow sorely disappointed you, but he wanted to watch you stretch and writhe. He wanted to run his hands over the body he molded, to appreciate the effects of your metamorphosis.

At midnight of the third year, he gave you a new name.

You cried when he said it, when he repeated it again and again. Head tipped back, his hands everywhere, filled to the brim with his thick cock, fat tears spilled from the corners of your eyes because he said it with such tenderness, such possessiveness you felt branded by it.

He wasn’t wrong. You were a wholly different person — whether or not you wanted it.

“What was it? The new name?”

She asked on bated breath. She even leaned forward in her chair, engrossed as though your life, your ordeal, was a suspenseful movie or salacious novel. The look you gave her was charged with ire, a clap back on your features that needed no words.

Realizing she’d been caught, Dr. Howard slipped back into clinical professionalism and rifled through the file on her lap. She made a few notes, which you believed were little more than doodles and simply a way to regain some ground she’d lost.

“When did you learn he was hurting people?”

“June of the 3rd year.”

She looked at you incredulously, taking off her glasses to huff slightly. “He’d killed 6 people by then. What were you doing?”

“Training.”

Your education into his extra-curricular activities began the day he called your new name, and you looked up automatically. It took time. You rarely realized he was even speaking to you until he threw a book at your head or kicked the chair out from beneath you. To punctuate the conditioning, he buried his face between your thighs at least twice a day, but he wouldn’t let you cum until you repeated it to his satisfaction.

“My name is… my name is… my name is…”

Much the way sheltered children are bought private educations, he arranged for you to have tutors in subjects he deemed fit.  You studied anatomy, infrastructure, and chemistry. You learned to speak Italian, Dutch, Farsi, and a handful of other languages. Some more than others, but all to the point you could get by. He demanded you slog through massive texts on physiology, engineering, even rudimentary architecture.

For a month, he hired a dominatrix to teach you about knots, rope, and bondage. You tied yourself to chairs and columns, learned how to wiggle out of what most people thought were secure bindings, and made quick-and-dirty cuffs and gags from a single length of clothesline rope. Every lesson ended with you in a hogtie and him balls deep inside you some way or another.

Masseurs came to teach you about pressure points and fascia. Nurses gave you lessons on starting an IV, administering fluids, and creating an arterial tap. You learned jiu jitsu and how best to break bones, how to perform a choke hold properly, and the quickest way to subdue someone twice your size.

He hosted dinner parties at which his guests, doctors and lawyers, discussed Mozart, politics, and hypothetical ways to disarticulate a human body, to eliminate evidence of a crime, to elude the supposed authorities just by being patient. Don’t make rash decisions, they said. Stay calm; don’t deviate from your plan.

“Why did you not try to escape?” One red brow piqued over Dr. Howard’s eye, and she continued. “It is arguable that you were well qualified to fight your way to freedom. Why didn’t you?”

You looked towards the window. This was the thing she wanted to know more than anything. Yes, she wanted the gory details of his crimes for the records, and she wanted to know how you made it through all that time alive. But she really wanted to know why you weren’t chained to a radiator, emaciated, or addicted to heroin. The way she expected. She especially wanted to know why you didn’t run.

“If I had a suitable answer for that, I doubt I’d be here, Dr. Howard.”

Two and a half years into your captivity, his ownership was complete. You not only obeyed without hesitation; you often anticipated his demands, and you routinely left his home for errands without the compulsion to flee. Now when he beat you, it was because he wanted to see you suffer rather than needing to re-educate or punish you. When he took away your food or your bed, it was to sate his sadism. Instead of waterboarding you in the basement like a hostage, he plunged your face into ice-cold bath water while he fucked you from behind in ornate hotel rooms around the world.

It wasn’t that you were too afraid to escape. He eviscerated everything that made you you. To where you knew you’d never fit into the life, the family, you had before. It was this revelation, this acceptance that planted the seed that would become his trust.

He believed you would never leave. To say you didn’t believe the same would be a lie.

His seventh victim instituted your fifth rule.

Your information, your input, was accurate; or you paid the consequence.

He nearly lost her because the information you gave him on the tunnel system was outdated. The city filled in some tunnels with concrete to keep the streets above from collapsing, but that information hadn’t made it onto the schematics you found online. You didn’t know he needed the information to kidnap someone, but that was the night you learned it was him leaving women stitched up and bloody in abandoned churches.

The only kindness he showed you was that he did not carve at your sides the way he did with them. But he used the same coarse black thread. He sliced off chunks of your skin and rubbed the same jagged salt into your wounds. And he sewed your flesh to itself to pay back the trouble you’d caused.

All before he dragged you to the edge of his bench, yanked your head back to hang over it, and forced his cock directly into your throat. He gripped your neck as he watched himself slide in and out; and right before he climaxed, he tore at the dreadful stitches with his bare hands so he could cut off your screams with the throb of his dick and gag you on his cum.

After that, your research was tireless, your intel unshakable.

“Did you ever help him kidnap or hurt someone?”

You met her assessing stare, certain that the true reason you were here was because the law, the victim families, needed someone to blame.  Everyone knew it was him, but some rookie hotshot was too excited to get his load off, and the guy they came to arrest ended up in the morgue. You were the only link to him, the only potential prosecutable person. Despite the fact you were, in the most basic sense of the word, a victim, too.

“I gave him the information he asked me for.” You nodded, giving her this admission because it was true. What you told him directly led to the suffering of others. “But I did not take part in any of his crimes beyond that.”

She must have believed you because the interview wrapped up within 30 minutes of that confession. It isn’t uncommon, she told you, for victims to develop Stockholm Syndrome, but your case was particularly severe, and the bond was particularly strong because of it. She would give her report to the detectives, and she scheduled you for another appointment in a few days.

“It will take a lot of work, but you can come back from this.”

Feigning a brief smile, you left, threw the appointment card into the street, and ducked into the nearest taxi. This life, this ‘real’ life, felt foreign, muddled. The car felt too small; the hotel felt too empty. Everything you knew from the last three years was ripped violently from you, and the rest of the world expected that you would pick right up where you left off and carry on.

Inside your room, you dropped your things to the floor. The key clattered, and your bag tipped over haphazardly. Trivial things. Without turning on the light, you dramatically tore off your clothes and, blessedly free from all of that fucking fabric, pondered all the things you didn’t tell Dr. Howard.

You didn’t tell her you hadn’t seen your family since they had found you, or that you didn’t want to.  You didn’t tell her you couldn’t stand to wear clothes when you were in whatever semblance of home you had. He kept you naked for so long, always ready for him, that it felt sacrilegious to hide behind them.

Passing by the full-length mirror, you gazed at your reflection, tracing your outline in the glass.  When she asked why you refused a rape kit, you hadn’t shared how he’d cemented his ownership of you with tattoos, the kind nobody else knew about.  Tattoos he could see in the dark.  Absently, you ran your fingers along the UV ink marking your sternum, admiring the soft glow it lent you. His molded clay. His masterpiece.

You barely heard it, your name whispered. 

It was so soft; you didn’t think it was real. Sobs jumped up into your throat, and you covered your mouth to keep them quiet. You pressed your forehead against the mirror, trying desperately to keep your mourning on the inside of your skin.

Again it came, louder, surer.

Your tears, your breath, your heart stopped.  You whipped your head around to look over one shoulder to the black mass occupying the darkest corner of the pre-fab room. The little desk light switched on, casting that corner, and its person, into a soft glow.

You flew to him, leaping over the bed and shoving the ottoman out of the way. You vibrated, barely managing to not throw yourself into his arms. You only touched him when he allowed it, but the effort to obey in this moment was colossal and brutal.

“You…” Your voice wavered. You lifted bewildered eyes to his, pushing your hands into your hair to keep from reaching for him. “You’re here.”

“On your knees, pet.” The barest hint of a smile tugged the corner of his mouth up.

It was all the permission you needed. You hit the floor with a thud and pressed your face between his thick thighs. You ran your hands up his sides and fought the urge to tear his clothes to pieces. You slid loose the expensive belt with its silver buckle and tugged pants and underwear out of the way. Your heart rate kicked up higher and higher. Your mouth watered.

When his growing girth sprang free, you kissed the little dip where it met his body, nuzzling your mouth and cheeks there elatedly. Frantic for the velvet feel of his skin, you enveloped his dick with your mouth on a soft whimper. You mouthed and licked and nipped until he was fully erect, straining red and purple.

His ragged breathing drew your focus, searing this minute, and the way he looked, into your mind forever. Flushed, dotted with beads of sweat, lips parted and panting, he was everything you dreamed about these desolate weeks and more. Beyond that, he missed you. You saw it in his face.

Wasting no time, you curled your tongue around the head of his dick and slid onto it, humming at the weight on your tongue. Slicking up his length, you vaulted into a quick pace, bobbing up and down hurriedly. You needed to taste him, to feel the twitch right before he poured into your mouth. His soft groan at your tight, insistent lips had your eyes upon him, which earned you another heavenly purr of approval. He allowed you to worship, to lathe him with your tongue and bathe him with your spit.

But then, he didn’t.

Wide hands wrapped entirely around your skull, and broad hips surged forward to lodge his cock as far into your face, and down into your throat, as physically possible. Where you’d have fought him before, you now groaned. Your body tightened, lengthened, moistened.

Your desire for his meanness was grotesque, carefully curated and expertly executed.

“Did you tell them? Hm?”

He pulled you off of his dick so fast you sputtered. Sticky ropes of spit connected you to him, and you struggled to think. He didn’t give you any time to answer before he bucked forward and sunk back in. You gagged around him. Your tongue jumped and tried to curl up, but he occupied every centimeter of your stretched mouth.

“Did you fucking tell them?”

At the next reprieve, as you sucked down air miserably, you shook your head as best you could against the tangle of his fingers at the back of your skull. You blinked hard to make the two of him combine to one.

“Th-they didn’t ask me that.” You fought to steady your heaving chest, to calm the thunderous beat of your heart. “They think you’re dead.” You bit at your swelling lower lip and tried to hide the falter of your voice. “I thought you died.”

“Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

Every muscle clenched. You wanted to obey, but you also needed something in this moment. You couldn’t put words to it, but you crumpled, both hands slamming against the floor. You keened, louder than you expected, because the war inside you was too great.

“Please.” You wept, reaching out to clutch at the toe of his shoe. “It’s… it’s been weeks. I need…”

Your dick. Your hands. Your belt. Make me see stars. Make me bleed and scream and burn. Drown me. Bite me. Hit me. Crush me underfoot. Anything so you’ll see me.

The me you made.

“Stand up.” His fingers dug bruises into the soft flesh under your arm and hoisted you up. “Fast.”

He spun you and lifted you onto your toes. You clawed at your own thighs for a bit of leverage, but he held you exactly where he wanted with his incredible strength. With not even a hint of caring, he lined the fat head of his dick up with your opening and slammed all the way home in one vicious thrust.

Valiantly, you didn’t scream. You shook and swallowed hot tears, but you didn’t scream. You remembered the rule, though, and the words tumbled from your mouth louder than you intended.

“Thank you. Fucking Christ, thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

He gripped half of your face in his right hand, shutting you up with a growl and making himself an effective handle. He dug fingers into your soft belly and rammed into you, painfully filling you, driving you mindless. The flutter of his breath at your ear, the sexy grunt against your shoulder, the bite at your throat, all of it coalesced to send you reeling.

“We have fucking work to do.” He groaned into the side of your neck, his thrusts unrelenting but stuttering. “And you’re begging to be fucked like a common whore.”

You squirmed at the lewd squelches coming from your flooded cunt and whined against his palm. You knew you’d pay for it later, for making him wait with your idiot feelings, but even the thought of that lit you up, fire under your flesh. Another gush of molten slick perfumed the air as you imagined him carving you up again or tying you to the bedpost and beating you to sleep.

Cursing, he wrapped both hands around your hips, and threw himself into you recklessly. You plastered both of your hands where his had been to dampen the shrieks you couldn’t possibly keep down. You knew better than to cum without his permission, but he hadn’t even given you leave to beg. Still, your body tightened, and your cunt contracted, dangerously close.

“Say it, pet.” His voice was choppy, split by labored breaths. He was going to spill into your sloppy pussy any second, and you flew, leaving your body until he gouged trenches into your back with his uneven nails. “Fucking say it.”

An otherworldly calm settled over you, slipping you further away from whatever the normal world was and into this mania with him. It was delirious, abhorrent, obscene.

He made you his own pet monster, blood hungry, wanton, and vulgar.

“My name is Eos.” Somehow, your breathy voice was stable. “And I belong to Kylo Ren.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo x reader #DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT #not sorry

[sohin-ace]

Bucciarati - Drunk

This is cross-posted from Wattpad and available on AO3.

Enjoy~

Gender Neutral reader peeps

-----

You barged into the hideout, slamming the door behind you as you could barely stand on your two feet.

You leaned over the wall, one hand searching anything to grab on and the other craddling your face as a sharp migraine hit you.

"U-uughh... Hmngh..." You groaned and panted, which grabbed the attention of the two males who were present and talking before you came in.

"Y/N, are you okay?!" Mista gasped as he noticed you stumbling clumsily into the living room. You didn't look good at all.

"What on Earth happened to you?" Bucciarati came in worriedly, opening his arms wide to catch you as you struggled to walk to him.

You eventually toppled over into his arms and gripped his shirt for support as you tried to stand up properly.

"B-bruno..." You mumbled and he stared at you in shock as the strong stench of alcohol hit his nose.

"Y/N, are you drunk?"

"A wittl-little bit..." You slurred, burying your face in his chest as your legs wanted to give up right under you.

"Why? I sent you undercover, why did you drink? Did you even get the information I asked?"

He had his hands secured on your arms, keeping you upstanding as he got a bit frustrated by the current state you were in. You were usually so efficient on missions and so serious about work, you better had a good excuse for this.

"Iss... The shtand uge-user...."

You patted and fondled messily with your pants pockets until you finally took out a folded piece of paper. You lifted your hand up, almost shoving the paper in your superior's face to offer it to him.

He squinted his eyes and took the paper, carefully reading the content. His expression relaxed as he sighed in relief upon seeing what you had written. All the confidential informations he needed was scribbled down by you prior to losing your mind. Mission was completed. Thank God.

At that very moment, you lost balance and collapsed on him, your legs giving up under you as you slid down his stiff body slowly.

"Yo Y/N's waaaasteed..." Mista gasped before he snorted, throwing his soda can in the trash without a care in the world. "I'm going to sleep, have fun, capo."

The gunman, although yearning to see you all drunken and weird and maybe get some good juicy embarassing stories to bring up and mess you with later, still fled the scene with a snicker, leaving the elder have that pleasure for himself.

Bucciarati on the other hand, felt utterly betrayed as he was left to deal with you all alone. Oh Mista would pay for this. But that's a story for another time. Right now, Bucciarati had other things to attend to.

You couldn't even keep your head up as you blindly gripped at Bucciarati's legs and hips, trying to climb him back up like a tree.

He tensed up and flinched when you leaned your face against his crotch for desperate support, trying to get on your now wobbly knees.

Quickly, and in a moment of brilliant improvisation, he opened a portal with Sticky Fingers right underneath you, which lead right through another one above him, making you fall down directly into his arms. A smooth move, truly. Expected from the one and only Bruno Bucciarati.

He couldn't help but sigh. Seems like he'd have to take care of you for the night, clearly you were in no state to even do the very basics of self-care. Not that he wasn't used to being caretaker anyways.

Bucciarati took a moment to look at you as he held you, his hands secured protectively around you.

Your face was unnaturally flushed red and your eyes were half-lidded, threatening to flutter close on your behalf. Your mouth was slightly agape as you breathed steadily through quiet snores, almost like you were already sleeping.

He couldn't deny that it was extremely cute in his eyes, this uncharacteristic sight of you. He smiled down with a quiet chuckle.

"You'll have to tell me what happened in the morning..." He muttered softly to you, craddling your body preciously against him.

"I like your face~" You brought your fingertips to his face and carefully touched him, flinching slightly at the airy contact, like a curious cat discovering a human for the very first time.

He huffed and you leaned your head up to rest your chin on his shoulder, throwing one arm lazily around his neck and the other on his cheek.

"Oh yeah you're almost as cute as Bruno Bu-hic!" You hiccuped and he bit back a laugh. "Bucci... Buccillati... Buttiarrati... Buchittity..." You mumbled messily against his shoulder, struggling to pronounce his name as he walked you both towards the stairs.

Oh he would definitely make fun of you for that as soon as you're sober. You better not try to mess with him in the future, he just has quite enough material to blackmail you now.

As his mindset was still waving on the thoughts of all the ways he could tease you, if you asked for it, he was certainly not, and could never be ready for your upcoming drunken shenanigans.

"Aahh~ I want to have rough sex with Bruno..." You moaned quietly and he stopped dead in his tracks, tensing up, a light gasp escaping his lips.

His heart jumped in his chest at your words and he gulped slightly, trying to look down at your hidden face.

Were you serious? No, surely it was the alcohol, toxin or whatever Stand user you went against had done to you... right?

"Ah! Don't tell Capo I said that!" You perked up very suddenly, realizing you just blurted your deepest secret out to what you currently thought was a perfect stranger.

But you relaxed back against him as fast as your panick fit came. He squeezed gently on your thighs and torso, right where he was holding you as if to give you validation, and regained his composure.

"I won't..." Bucciarrati reassured you softly as he arrived to your assigned room in the hideout.

He pushed open the, thankfully unlocked, door and gently placed you on the bed as you whined like a small child. He cared to take the time to remove your shoes, jacket, belt and any constraining piece of clothing and accessories off of you.

"Nooo don't do this! Where's Capoo I want capooo!" You complained and squirmed, your voice cracking slightly.

"I'm right here Y/N, it's me. Calm down." He sat down at the edge of the bed, sensing your sudden distress.

"Where is capo? Where is Bruno when I need him..." His expression fell when he noticed tears streaming down your face. "I don't want to die like you fratellino..."

His heart shattered. He couldn't help his widening eyes boring through yours. Were you seeing your brother through him right now? Did you really have to hallucinate in such an insufferable way?

He knew of your past and how your little brother had gruesomely died in front of your very eyes, you helpless to his cries for help and mercy. Bucciarati knew it was hard to live on with this memory, but he didn't know that it still haunted you so strongly to this day. And he sure would have loved to prevent said memory to resurface.

"Don't be scared, Y/N. I won't let you die..."

"Capo..." You whimpered quietly as you finally recognized his kind voice and he shushed you, brushing the back of his hand on your wet cheek.

"Go to sleep, I'm right next to you." And just like that, with the small confirmation that you were safe with him, you calmed down and closed your eyes, drifting off to sleep.

He sighed heavily, not moving for a moment as he watched your peaceful expression.

You always were so strong and unfaltered, as if nothing could ever break you. You were such a piece of sunshine in Passione in his eyes, making sure everybody was always fine, that he was fine. So seeing you so weak and vulnerable in front of him really tore his heart.

He got up from his seat and went to grab a clean towel and some warm water. He cleaned you off of the blood, sweat, tears and alcohol, careful to not wake you up.

When he finished, he gently tucked you in the covers, brushing some hairs out of your face, taking the liberty to touch you. Surely you wouldn't have minded the gesture, he thought.

The next morning came and you walked groggily in to the living room, the cold shower you just took having no effect on waking you up.

"Hi Y/N!" Narancia muffled at your sight, a croissant halfway shoved into his mouth.

"You don't look so good." Giorno noticed as you took a seat at the table, joining the men who took notice of your, quite awful-looking, presence.

"Yeah..." You breathed, obviously tired. "I have the worst headache possible, yesterday's mission was just terrible..."

You craddled your painful head with one hand and served yourself some coffee with the other, in desperate need of some caffeine to relieve the pounding in your brain.

"Oh yeah! You came back home all wasted and messed up last night, what happened?" Mista shot up as he was feeding some biscuits to the Sex Pistols.

"The mission started off great, just some basic undercover at some grand ceremony, but right around the end of the party, that one Stand user spotted me and long story short, I had to down up the entire punch bowl all by myself to drown the Stand's effect and prevent the guy from jumping me. It was wild..."

You sighed and chugged your black coffee raw, no sugar, no creamer, no nothing, bland. Fugo made a face at you and Abbachio feigned concern.

"Poor child."

"You remember what happened when you got home?" Mista smirked, a deliciously evil idea suddenly running through his otherwise empty head.

"No... It's all blurry, I woke up in my bed, that's it..." You rubbed your eyes, not even slightly ready for what you were about to hear.

" 'Cause you and Bucciarati were loooouuud yesterday night!" Mista teased, pointing accusatingly at you and you stared at him in disbelief.

Giorno squinted suspiciously at his friend and Abbachio clicked his tongue with sheer annoyance. There we go again. Narancia could only lean over the table in anticipation, things getting just about the right amount of juicy.

"What?? What do you mean loud?!"

"Like..." Mista choked in an arrogant snicker. "You fell in his arms, and I went to my room, so far so good, but then I heard the noises."

"You're lying!" You tried to sound confident, but you were very much believing his words and getting more and more scared. "Wh-what kind of noises?"

Mista slowly slurped his tea while glancing at you sideways. "...well I shouldn't elaborate, there are children in this room."

"W-where is he now?!! Bucciarati!!" You turned fully to the gunslinger, your hands shaking, burning with the need to grab him and shake his brains out. No way he was truthing right now, he must be messing with you, you thought.

"He's probably still sleeping, you must have left him... Heh... restless." He snorted by the end of his sentence and Narancia roared at the sinful assumption.

"OOOOOOOHHHH!!!"

You gasped and grabbed his collar. "Dude I swear you're lying right now, you're lying! Bucciarati will lick your face that's how bad you're lying!!!"

"Can we not talk about this again, please?" Speak of the devil, Bucciarati came in and you all stared at him.

You checked him up and down anxiously for any signs of dishevelement that could have resulted from a potential 'wild' night Mista seemed to hint at.

But he looked perfectly fine, as he always was. Nothing strange or out of place to note. You bolted up so fast, you almost knocked your chair off.

"C-capo!!! I have a question!" You choked on your own spit from speaking too fast and the man chuckled, putting his hands on your tense shoulders.

"That can wait, Y/N. Go sit down and finish your breakfast. You have the day off, take it easy."

He then sat down next to Abbachio and started eating and you defeatedly got back to your seat. Mista, as well as the others pretended the conversation never even happened and rathered none of you ever bringing anything up.

And so you were left there, confused out of your mind, wondering if anything was even real and what was your life anymore.

You glanced over at the smiling gunman joking with Fugo.

Thanks a lot Mista.

Bonus:

"Hey Bucciarati?"

"Hm?"

"Did you... Like... Do the do with Y/N last night?"

The leader deadpanned at Mista while putting his newspaper down. What the hell was he babbling on again?

"...Really now?"

"I'm just asking! 'Cause you know, yesterday, you two were all alone and..." He trailed off, hinting at the obvious, at least for a dirty minded person. "Y/N was kinda like... Not even standing straight and shit..."

Bucciarati sighed heavily, already tired on his only peaceful day and got back to reading his newspaper.

"I'm not taking advantage of a drunken, non-consenting person, Guido, if that's what you were assuming."

"O-okay..." The gunman paused and looked forward for a moment. Not done with the conversation, he broke the silence again.

"But would you be mad if everyone thought you did it?" Bucciarati glared at Mista, wondering if he was serious. "...including Y/N?"

"...You're a dead man."

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo #writing #x reader #reader insert #jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #golden wind #vento aureo #jojo part 5 #part 5 #bruno buccellati x reader #bruno x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #gender neutral reader

[unnecessaryadversaries]

LOVE & DEATH [Alucard | Adrian Tepes x Death]

Summary: After Dracula’s passing, Death (also known as Mistress) returns to his castle to mourn. When discovered by Alucard the two of them find solace amongst one another. As their friendship deepens into something more, Mistress Death and Alucard learn to overcome ghosts of their past and challenges of the future.

(A/N: This idea has been brewing in my mind for months after I finished season 2 of Castlevania. The character Death hasn’t been adapted from the games yet, so I took it upon myself to do it in my own way. Btw, this is only the first chapter so if you like what you read, the rest is posted on Ao3 under the same title.)

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I killed him… I killed him. My father, my flesh and blood.

I saw him. I heard him groan in agony as his body disintegrated before me. His blood still stained my gloves, and the smell of decay never left me. The ash from his burnt body still seemed to cling to my hair, and sometimes I'd catch myself flexing the hand that held the stake which pierced him as if it were still in my grasp.

I miss my father. He’s dead. I miss him.

So why then do these accursed memories plague me so? Why then do I see him there, clutching my mother’s portrait in his hand? This is no memory; this is no ghost…is this really my father? He’s dead. Has he returned? He’s dead. I killed him, he’s dead. 

What is this?

“Who are you?” Alucard demanded.

Earlier in the night, Alucard had left the castle to wander the grounds in search of an animal to hunt. When he returned, an unsettling chill set into his bones as soon as he stepped foot in the foyer. It made him shiver and gave him goosebumps; it was as if this chill constantly crept down his back, making his hair stand on end. There always seemed to be some sort of quiet, ambient noise that echoed throughout the castle, however now it was unnaturally quiet as if time had stopped. Even his footsteps seemed too loud as he searched the halls for an intruder. The echo from his boots unnerved him, so he decided to levitate instead. As he approached the open door to his father’s study he gasped.

A tall, dark figure loomed by the lit fireplace; it wore a dark, hooded cloak and its back was facing Alucard. Its head was dipped to stare at the portrait of Lisa Tepes, which is held in its hand. It was as still as a statue. The outline of this figure was too sharp, it's body too solid to only be a memory or a spirit. Alucard fell silently to his feet and his mouth fell open with the intent to speak. 

Is this my father? Tears brimmed his eyes and threatened to spill. Has he returned? 

He hardened his expression and placed his hand on the handle of his longsword, ready to unsheathe it if necessary.

“Answer me, who are you?”

The figure lifted a hand to softly trace the outline of Lisa’s face with a long, pointed fingernail. It raised its head at the sound of Alucard drawing his sword and turned slightly to face him. He narrowed his eyes and posed to strike.

“Speak,” he ordered for the final time.

The figure sighed as if out of breath and lowered the portrait, then slowly turned to face him. His eyes widened slightly as he realized that this figure is… a woman? From what Alucard could tell she stood a few inches above him and she wore what appeared to be a floor-length, hooded black robe with long medieval sleeves. Underneath was a long, form-fitting, velvet dark blue dress that almost appeared black. The neckline of her dress was high and straight, hitting right below her collarbone. A three chained, silver belt hung loosely on her wide hips and tiny human skulls hung like charms from the lowest chain. An intricate, round silver amulet hung proudly from her neck; a red, cracked gemstone sat in the center. Her hood shrouded her eyes and nose in shadow and her full lips were downturned at the corners. Alucard gripped his sword tighter.

  Who is this woman?

She made no further movements and only seemed to stare him down. Her stillness caused his stomach to turn. An odd and uncomfortable fluttering sensation permeated his gut; a sensation he hadn't felt since he had encountered his father with the intent to kill him. His hands started to sweat as the memory of that fateful night flashed through his mind once more, and his body began to involuntarily shake. The woman tilted her head slightly to the side as a corner of her mouth lifted into a small pitying smirk, "hmph.”

 She brushed him off and walked towards the desk where the portrait hung above. Carefully, as if fearing to damage it, she lifted the painting, placed it back on the wall, and continued to stare at Lisa. He bared his teeth as irritation stirred within him. He felt humiliated, ignored, and he cursed himself for succumbing to the overwhelming unease this woman evoked. From her eerie silence to the unnaturally smooth way she walked —as if she were gliding across the floor— it set him on edge. She was unearthly and seemed far too detached from even the most otherworldly creatures he’s dealt with before. It alarmed him how nonchalantly she ignored him, like how a man would ignore a line of ants beneath his boot: too indifferent to pay them any attention but confident in the fact that he’d crush them in an instant. The thought made Alucard shudder.

He watched as this woman lifted her hand to caress the cheek of Lisa’s portrait longingly. His eyes widened and his mouth fell agape. What the hell?

The way she touched his mother’s portrait seemed far too intimate for his liking. His confusion quickened to rage as he imagined this horrid woman touching his mother like that when she was alive, and he grimaced at the thought. Despite his discomfort, his anger was enough to steel his resolve. He gripped his sword tight, raised it, and quickly lunged towards her. In the blink of an eye, he had pierced her heart from behind deftly. He paid no heed to whether she was too slow to react or simply did not care to put up a fight. She grunted and slowly turned her head. Alucard stared in horror as he watched her head begin to rotate at a perfect 180-degree angle to face him. Before she had a chance to completely turn her head towards him, he plunged his sword deeper, to the hilt, inside of her body. This caused her head to swivel back quickly, her head bowed as she hunched over and braced her hands on the edge of the desk.

He spoke gravely, “You come into my home unannounced and have the gall to touch my mother’s portrait like that.”

He leaned towards her by a few inches causing the added weight to push her slightly forward against the desk. She exhaled shakily. “Your presence confounds me, woman, and your disregard angers me, so I ask again, what is your business here!”

Silence filled the room once more apart from the crackling of the fire. Alucard’s chest rose and fell with the heaviness of his breathing, his eyes were narrowed, and his patience was beginning to fade. He felt his sword waver slightly as the woman’s body began to tremble and he almost couldn’t believe he began to hear light sobs and hiccuping. 

Is she crying?

“To mourn,” she replied. Her voice was soft and barely above a whisper.

His brows knitted in confusion, “what?”

She quickly turned around causing Alucard to lose his grip on the sword and stumble back.

“I said—!” Her voice boomed.

Suddenly a mysterious force snuffed the fire out and the room was bathed in a thick, dark shadow that seemed to wrap itself around every corner. All at once the high-pitched whistle of a strong, howling wind resounded throughout the room, it’s screeching deafening. Alucard could not tell from which direction this wind blew, nor what caused it, but it’s iciness bit at his skin, chilling him to the bone; and its force blew his long hair around wildly. Without warning he was overcome with an overwhelming feeling of dread and distress; it was as if a heaviness had settled upon his shoulders. He staggered back and fell helplessly onto his rear. He could feel his heartbeat wildly in his chest; the thrums of this beating pounded on his chest and rattled his rib cage.

Bumbumbumbumbum!

He struggled to breathe and found it hard to swallow because of how dry his mouth had become. Panicking, he clutched his chest and choked. An ambient droning sound— akin to the buzzing of a multitude of flies— grew louder and louder in his ears, and static seemed to cloud his sight; invading from his peripheral vision and closing in towards the front, his line of sight becoming narrow. The figure of this woman loomed above him imposingly and he looked upon her in fear. He felt his nose begin to stuff as warm tears ran uncontrollably down his cheeks. 

What’s happening! Am I going to die?

However, these sensations and the darkness were gone as quickly as they came, too quickly in fact for Alucard to process. It was as if nothing had happened. The fireplace was lit once again, bathing the room in an orangish glow, and the snapping of firewood filled the otherwise silent room once more. His chest expanded widely as he gulped down lung fulls of air. He dropped his head in his hands and carded them through his hair to tug on the roots. 

Was that real? Did I almost die?

Alucard quickly realized that this woman was more dangerous than he’d originally believed, and he felt anxious at the thought of her harming the villagers who lived far beyond his castle. He released his hair and lifted his head to steal a glance at her through his parted fingers. He was afraid to stand, not wanting to seem like a threat. When he noticed that her head was bowed, he lowered his hands and cautiously raised his head to view her fully. She was trembling slightly, and she clutched her amulet in a tight fist.

“I—I said…” she began with a sad voice.

Hastily, Alucard scooted back as the woman walked forward to unsheathe herself from his levitating sword; it dropped to the ground with a clank! The woman followed suit, falling to her knees with enough force to shake the ground.

“…to mourn.”

Her sobs began again as she curled in on herself; Alucard’s eyebrows raised in disbelief.

To mourn? He looked at Lisa's portrait. She was mourning my mother?

It was then that he felt a slight tug on his heart. He hadn’t thought anyone else, besides his father and himself, had dealt with the pain of losing his mother. After killing his father, bearing the weight of loss became something he had carried himself, and it was such a heavy burden. At that moment Alucard had wished things were different, and that his mother’s love was enough to completely eradicate his father’s hate towards humanity. Maybe then he wouldn’t have needed to kill his father. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been so drastically alone. He yearned for the presence of his father, and much more than that, his mother. These were desperate and grieving thoughts, ones he had thought he was able to subdue, but they clawed their way from the recesses of his mind and attacked him once again. His throat tightened and he chastised himself for losing control of these wild thoughts, ones that used to keep him up for days at a time. To calm his mind, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, then exhaled through his mouth; he repeated this technique a few more times before opening his eyes.

He steeled himself and spoke with a gentler tone, “I do not know who you are and yet I empathize with you. If you truly came here to mourn my mother, then please…tell me who you are.”

The woman's sobbing stopped gradually, and she exhaled deeply once she was finished. Next, she sat back on her legs with one hand splayed behind herself for support and the other still clutched her amulet, albeit with a much softer grip. Most of her face was masked from Alucard, so he couldn’t see the forlorn look she had in her eyes when she raised her head to look at him.

He looks just like her, she thought. 

Fresh tears brimmed her eyes, but she was too exhausted to stop them from flowing.

She released her amulet to grip her hood, “very well.”

Frozen, Alucard didn’t blink as he finally saw this woman’s face. Her skin was a dark shade of brown and the richness of it was emphasized by the warm glow of the fireplace. This was contrasted by her wide eyes which were framed by thick, black eyelashes. The entirety of her irises and pupils were a blue so pale they almost blended in with the sclera, oddly there seemed to be some sort of inner glow that shone through, furthering her ethereality. Much to his surprise, they held a deep sadness that Alucard also saw in his own and momentarily reminded him of his father’s eyes moments before his death. Long, white, loosely waved hair cascaded down her back and echoed the same glow in her eyes. Though she looked to be in her early thirties, her face did not betray age-old wisdom.

Alucard gulped, she was beautiful.

Despite her grief, she lifted her head proudly and said with confidence, “I am Death, but you may call me Mistress.”

#castlevania #castlevania fandom #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania fanfic #castlevania fic #castlevania imagine #castlevania imagines #adrian tepes #alucard #castlevania alucard #adrian fahrenheit tepes #castlevania headcanons #alucard x oc #adrian tepes x oc #alucard x reader #adrian tepes x reader #castlevania adrian tepes #castlevania netflix #fanfic #fanfiction #read on ao3 #poc characters

[somuchchaoss]

When Witches Connect Over Literature (Lumity Fic) (Pt 8)

only two more chapters before this thing ends lol

Chapter Eight: Why We Don't Judge A Book By Its Cover

The whole ordeal felt so surreal. What felt like a few seconds ago, Luz was sitting on the couch, pretending to read when really she was overthinking the hell out of everything. Next thing she knew, Amity Blight was sat next to her. Amity never spoke about why she had come here, yet alone why she had all her stuff with her. But that didn't matter, according to Amity. And Luz just wanted to take her word for it. But it bothered Luz. It worried her. Was Amity okay? Did she have a fight with her parents? Did they try to hurt her? Those thoughts scurried through Luz's mind.

Eda, being the owl mom that she was, took Amity in and was in the kitchen making some healing ointment (since Amity had accidentally got a burn by the acid rain) and after that adrenaline high had died down, the burn had become rather painful.  

___________________________

"Amity," Luz's voice snapped Amity out of her thoughts. The two had been sitting close to each other, with Luz carefully looking after the burn on Amity. Amity had been thinking over what she had just done and that reality was really sinking into the pit of her stomach.  

Her parents were going to be angry. What would happen if they found her? What would they do to her? To Luz? What if-

"Are you okay?" Luz whispered, placing her hand onto Amity's shoulder. Amity jolted and moved Luz's hand away from her. She realized what she did. "Sorry." she mumbled, looking away from her. Luz was silent, but moved her hand back slowly to Amity's shoulder. Amity said nothing, but the two silently agreed that it was okay. This silence. This awkward as awkward could get silence. Both wanted to say something. Anything. But words were nowhere to be seen or heard.

Finally, Amity spoke up.

"...Luz," Amity whispered, her voice a little hoarse. Amity forced herself to look into the other girl's eyes and all she saw reflected back in them was concern and worry. Was she making Luz sad? "I-I need to tell you something." Oh cramity, that knot in her stomach hurt like hell. And it only got worse as Amity searched for the right words to say. "Amity," Luz said. "If you aren't comfortable right now to say what happen, we can talk about it lat-" "I ran away from home." Amity quickly stated. A pause. Luz sat there, dumbfounded and even more concerned than ever. "Are you okay? Did your parents hurt you? I swear if those witches hurt you-" Luz was frantic in her speech, and she started to speak in frantic, if Amity was correct with what language this was, Spanish. "Luz, I'm fine. They didn't do anything... well, they did, but not this night." Amity said. Luz was still muttering in rapid Spanish. Amity sighed, placing her non burned hand onto Luz's back. 'Blight, what are you doing?' she thought to herself in a panic. She gently rubbed it back and forth to sooth the frantic Luz. Luz jolted a tiny bit, but let Amity continue. "And..." Amity continued.

Now, normally, Amity would never let these sort of words slip out in front of Luz. But maybe it was just the adrenaline crash and burn that got Amity's thoughts jumbled and mushy.

"...I think it's sweet that you care so much..." Amity's heart was pounding. Her palms felt sweaty, her knees weak, her arms were heavy. And those other few words that fell out of her mouth were the words that Amity had been wanting to say to her for a long time...

"I love you for that."

No taking back words now. What is said is said and done. And the moment Amity had said that, was the moment Amity felt instant regret yet relief.

Luz froze, her eyes wide and her mouth agape a slight bit. Never in her years of life or the months here on the Boiling Isles, would she have thought that anyone would say that to her. Let alone, Amity freaking Blight. Sure, she was oblivious half the time, but she was smart enough to know that who could love a weirdo like her? In hindsight, maybe Luz was a tiny bit stupid to not pick up on the signs earlier enough, she would hold herself to that.

Back in reality, the two had been sitting in silence. And both couldn't tell if it was a comfortable one or not. Finally, Luz broke the ice.

"I- uh, wow." was all her blurry mind could come up with. Amity immediately panicked. "I'm so sorry, I don't know why I said that. I just, I think I'm a tiny bit tired so please ignore what I just said-"

"I had no idea you felt that way." Luz whispered. That made Amity go into mental overdrive. 'I-I-I-I-I" was all Amity could muster. Luz turned around to face the girl, placing her hands gently onto Amity's shoulders. "Hey. It's okay." Luz said, slightly grinning.

"I love you too."

Those words. Holy cramity, that made Amity ascend. All those feelings came crashing into her all at once and to cope with that, Amity started to laugh. "Oh my-" Amity giggled. Luz was a tiny bit confused and a bit hurt, thinking that Amity was joking with her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Amity composed herself. "It's just that, I never thought you would return those feelings towards me. Hell, I thought you didn't even notice that I had a crush on you." This made Luz laugh. "Well, I am a bit oblivious, I'll hold myself to that." she laughed. "I mean," Amity continued. "I turned at least like 13 shades of red whenever I was around you." Luz shook her head. "I always assumed you were embarrassed to be near me." she said. Both girls went into fits of laughter.

After the laughter died down, the two were smiling at each other, and unconsciously holding each others hand's.

"So..." "So..."

"What are we now?" Amity asked. Luz shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know romance. Normally by Chapter Eight, the two protagonists kiss and by Chapter Ten, they're married and have six children." she said. Amity snorted at that. "But, I'm not sure about the kissing thing." Luz said. "I get it." Amity said. "Are you not ready to-" "Well, yes and no." Luz said. "A part of me feels ready but at the same time I don't want to rush things, y'know?" Amity nodded. "But, in terms of our relationship..." Amity started. "Maybe we should go on a date?" Luz asked. Amity froze, but quickly smiled and said. "I'd like that." Luz grinned and leaned in to give Amity a hug. On any other day, Amity would've blushed by the sudden contact of her crush. But today, Amity returned the gesture.

#the owl house #the owl house luz #lumity #amity blight

[heyyyharry]

Y/N just wants to be seen (pre-relationship flatmates)

.

Y/N had always been invisible.

She’d lived under her brother’s shadow since she was born. Her best friend Violet had always been ‘the pretty one’. She didn’t have any friends in university, and living with someone as popular as Harry wasn’t really a perk.

She appreciated how he always tried to involve her in fun activities with his friends, but if anything, it only made her feel lonelier. Like tonight, she had only been at Liam’s party for half an hour yet she already felt like she’d been there for too long. Parties like this should be a life-changing experience, and it would have been that if she was the main character in one of those classic rom-coms. Sadly, she wasn’t, which was why she was standing at the back of the room with Trix, who probably felt bad for her and, for that reason, wanted to keep her company.

“I think that guy is checking you out,” Trix said as she gestured across the room, and the guy she was hinting at immediately turned away when he caught them looking.

He was cute. Not ‘Harry cute’ but...cute.

Since when did Harry become the standard of cute??? Y/N wondered, only to roll her eyes at herself.

“Well? Go talk to him!” Trix gave her shoulder a nudge, but she shook her head to refuse.

“He’s probably looking at you.”

“No! It’s definitely you! Go on, talk to him!”

As if the guy could hear them from the distance, he said something to his friends and made his way toward Y/N and Trix.

“Hi,” he said, grinning at them.

No, not them.

Only Trix.

The guy asked Trix if she was enjoying the party and told her he’d had his eyes on her since the moment she arrived.

While Trix was still speechless and obviously flattered, Y/N took advantage of her distraction to flee from the scene. After walking around aimlessly, she found an empty room in Liam’s enormous flat where she could be alone in peace.

“Y/N?”

“Jesus!” Y/N screamed and almost tossed her phone at her flatmate who was standing at the door.

“W-what are you doing here?” Harry asked and shut the door as he entered. The loud music was muffled and now Y/N could finally breathe.

“Just...feeling a bit overwhelmed,” she said and sat down on the edge of the bed, chin resting on her palm.

“Are you okay?” he asked in concern.

“Yeah.” She snorted, raising an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Um...I was just...you know, going to...”

Harry never finished that sentence but Y/N was too sad to care about the reason. She sat there, blowing up her cheeks and wondering if he was going to leave. But after idling there for a moment, her flatmate decided to come and sit down next to her.

“So...” he trailed off, rubbing his hands on his thighs. “If you want to talk or something, I’m your guy.”

“No, I’m fine. Stop acting weird.” She scoffed, but he wasn’t buying.

“You don’t seem fine though. Something about this party is bothering you and—” He stopped, his eyebrows snapped together. “Was someone mean to you? Just tell me who it is and I—“

“No, not that.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Nobody paid attention to me anyway.”

“Weren’t you with Trix the entire time?”

“Yeah, well, nobody but Trix. And then also Trix.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “There was this guy.”

“This guy? What guy?” Harry asked as he frantically looked around the room and Y/N slapped him on the arm, chortling.

“He’s outside, probably making out with Trix, I don’t know. She thought he was staring at me from across the room, but he was actually checking her out.”

“You wanted that guy to check you out?!”

“Yeah...well, no!” Y/N corrected herself as soon as Harry widened his eyes at her. “Not that guy specifically, just...someone. I don’t know...It’s just never happened to me before. No one has ever come up to me in a crowded place because they want to get to know me or simply thought I was pretty. I don’t want to sound pathetic but...I just want to know what it’s like to get that kind of attention...”

When she turned to look at Harry, his reaction made her cheeks turn red. He was gawking at her in silence with his eyes wide and she immediately buried her head in her hands.

“You can make fun of me now,” she said, laughing nervously. But then he responded with a question.

“Have you ever seen someone attractive in public but you’re too shy to say hello to them?”

She slowly looked up, confused by his question, but nodded anyway.

“Exactly!” Harry snapped his fingers. “So there were probably many people who thought you were attractive but were too shy to make a move.”

“Yeah, right...”

“No, really. Men...you know, we get extra nervous and awkward around the girls we like.”

“We?” She squinted her eyes at him, smirking. “You don’t get nervous around girls. You see a hot girl and you come to her and the next thing we know you two are fucking.”

“I said ‘the girls we like’. There’s a big difference. It’s easier to flirt with someone you find attractive but if it’s someone you really like, even talking to them is hard because you just...can’t stop trying too hard to impress them, and you end up saying something stupid. Niall told me that! I don’t know! Never felt that way before! Oh, look at the time!”

“You‘re not even wearing a watch, silly.” Y/N released a soft laugh as she took his wrist and brought it back down to his lap. Harry breathed in deeply and then cracked a bashful grin as he looked into her eyes.

“What?” she asked, her voice was almost a whisper.

“No,” he told her, “it’s just...I see you.”

Y/N’s heart started pounding inside her chest as she heard those words. She swallowed hard, her hands were trembling. Was she imagining it or he was really staring at her lips? He was sitting so close. Their faces were so close. Maybe she should say something. No! Maybe they were gonna—

“There you are!”

The door flew open and the flatmates instantly pulled away from each other. The girl shut the door behind her and the smile fell from her face when she saw Y/N.

“Who is she?” she asked Harry, who had already got up and was biting his nail. “You didn’t tell me we were gonna have a threesome?”

“A threesome?” Y/N gasped, shaking her head as she stood up. “No, no, no, we’re—” Then she paused and shot Harry a glare. “Was that why you're here? To have sex?!”

“Well...”

“Sorry for making you wait. I got caught up in Meg’s gossip,” said the girl as she walked past Y/N to hold Harry’s face, but he swiftly dodged her kiss and called his flatmate’s name when she was heading toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’m not gonna be here to watch you have sex!” She chuckled, trying to act like she didn’t care but she did and they both knew it. “Just...have fun. I’m heading back to our flat.”

As the other girl sat down on the bed and kicked off her shoes, Harry stood there, frozen, mouth agape yet speechless.

“Oh, I forgot,” Y/N said as she opened the door and turned around, smiling at him. “Thanks for the pep talk. You’re a good friend.”

“Oh...um...you’re welcome...”

Giving a nod, she walked out, shut the door, and heaved a long heavy sigh. Her heart was still racing, but it was a different type of feeling from what she’d felt earlier.

Why did the things he said always contradict his actions? Why did it make her sad to know that he was a good friend? Why—

“Hey there! It seemed like you came here alone so—“

“Not now, gotta go,” Y/N said quickly and ducked past the confused guy who hadn’t got a chance to introduce himself. All she could think about when she left that party was Harry.

.

Read the exclusive blurb from Harry’s POV on Patreon :)

#part 2 from Harry's pov is on patreon :) #flatmate blurbs #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #flatmate!harry

[daybreak-academy-fanfic]

Daybreak Academy: Chapter 49

Romantics For Life

Summary: In which Ventus wins a teddy bear, Lauriam and Strelitzia discuss her crush, and Ephemer gains an intense hatred for Skuld. Word Count: 1,706 First | Previous | Next ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

Ventus was starting to think that absolutely no one like resting around here. Not the Dandelions, not the headmasters, not even Lauriam's sister and Anora. Sure, the Star Festival was a given occasion that they had to participate in, but seriously- they had only arrived at the beach four days ago. When were they going to stop running around and actually relax for once?

At least the activity kept his mind off of Vanitas. That must have accounted for something.

Ven walked alone, trying to not get too overwhelmed by all the carnival games and the smell of deep fried food as he walked down the boardwalk. He didn't know where everyone else had gone. The last time he had seen everyone, Skuld, Anora, and Strelitzia had put on rather nice looking yukata, and Ephemer and Lauriam were simply wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Brain had gone to the festival far before anyone else, so Ven definitely had no idea where the older kid was now.

That is, until Ven happened to stumble across the balloon dart game. Brain was actively trying to predict his current throw- Ventus almost laughed when he noted that the older kid had one eye closed and his tongue sticking out in concentration. Brain finally made his throw, and then immediately let out a disappointed “Drat!” when it missed. Ven couldn't help but laugh, which earned him Brain's attention.

“Hey Ven!” Brain called over to him. “Wanna try this dart game with me?”

Knowing he had been spotted, Ven let out a nervous chuckle as he scratched the back of his head. “S-sure.” he agreed as he walked over to Brain.

Suddenly nervous as he picked up the balloon dart, Ventus gave Brain a quick side glance before turning his attention to the balloons. There were five rows of balloons- each row corresponding with a different color of the rainbow, which indicated what kind of prize could be won if they were popped. The higher the balloon, the higher the prize, obviously. Ventus tried to carefully line up his shot with one of the middle tier balloons and made a silent prayer to himself before tossing it.

His heart nearly leaped into his throat when the dart popped the exact balloon he had been aiming for. Barely. Just barely.

“Congrats Ven!” Brain cheered for him, giving the kid a hearty pat on the back.

“It was just a lucky shot...” Ventus sheepishly said, reached a hand behind his head.

“Lucky or not,” the older kid mused, “You get to pick out a prize now. So Ven, which one is it?”

Ventus jumped a little before looking at the prizes he could get. His heart was pounding far harder than it should have been as he looked the prizes over. “That one!” he finally declared as he pointed to a medium sized teddy bear.

Brain tried to hold back his laughter as the game's operator got down the teddy bear for Ven. The younger kid happily hugged the stuff toy in joy.

“Don't ever change Ven.” Brain then mused, placing a hand at the back brim of his fedora.

“Huh?” the younger questioned. “What's that about?”

But his only answer was a laugh, right before Brain messed up Ven's hair a bit. Ventus recoiled out of the way with a grimace. But, despite himself, he also started to laugh.

. . .

“Oh, look at that one.” Lauriam said to Strelitzia as he pointed out a line of fukinagashi streamers. “It looks like they hand painted those symbols on. The detail is so intricate.”

“But what about those paper cranes?” Strelitzia offered, motioning to a booth that sold origami creations. “Imagine how long it took for them to create all those little cranes!”

“True enough.” her brother laughed. Strelitzia gave him a bright smile of her own before joining in. It was a small relief seeing his sister's relaxed demeanor after several months of watching her slowly agonize over an unrequited crush.

“Would you like some mochi?” he asked her some time later. “I think I saw a food stand offering some earlier.”

“Sure!” she grinned. For a fleeting moment, he could see so much of their mother in her. He wondered how their mother would have handled Strelitzia's crush; surely their mother was the type that would have loved to have grandchildren. Unfortunately, it seemed both he and Strelitzia seemed to be slightly more deviant in that regard- but they were still young, there was still time.

The siblings found a stand offering mochi, and Lauriam paid for two. They then sat down on a nearby park bench to feast on their sweet treats. Truth be told, Lauriam didn't have much of an appetite at the moment.

“How are you doing?”

“Hmm?” Strelitzia turned to him with her spoon still in her mouth. She took it out -making a little 'pop' sound in the process- before inquiring, “What do you mean?”

“Well, if your cabin is anything like ours, it means that you girls are all sharing the same bedroom.” he said to her- sounding as if he were speaking more of a thought “I wanted to make sure you were getting enough sleep since she would also be sleeping there.”

“She…?” Strelitzia started to question before it hit her. Her face quickly flushed as she looked away from her brother. “It… it was hard, at first. But she goes to bed pretty early, so it's not that bad, I guess. I don't think I slept well the first few nights though. Just thinking that she was right there...”

Strelitzia looked down at her mochi. The ice cream inside was starting to melt and threatened to dribble over the outer coating.

“Have you ever just…” she started to say, faltered, then started again, “Have you ever just wanted to kiss someone so badly that you'd be willing to forget that other people will notice? And… And you're afraid that everything will change between you two, even if you never truly knew each other before then?”

Lauriam was silent for awhile. He lulled his head from side to side as he thought the idea over. “Can't say I have.” he finally decided. “But I've never felt an actual attraction to someone either.”

“Oh...”

“Strelitzia,” Lauriam sighed. “I really want to help you, but I don't know how. I've been wondering a lot lately on how Mother would deal with this.”

At the mention of their mother, Strelizia's head popped back up. She looked at Lauriam with wide eyes and her jaw slightly agape.

“Mother?”

Lauriam nodded. He reclined a bit on the park bench, looking up at the sky. “The thing is, the more I dwell on it, the more I come to realize that I'm not the one that can help you. It's time to make a choice Strelitzia; you need to talk to Anora.”

Well, if her jaw hadn't hit the ground yet, it certainly did now. “H-how?” Strelitzia questioned, her voice sounding more like a strangled cat. “I… I can't…!”

But Lauriam shrugged. He had nothing else to offer. However, in some attempt to assure her, he mumbled, “May your heart be your guiding key.”

. . .

There were very few things that Ephemer truly hated. Skuld insisting that they make Tanabata wishes was starting to become one of those things.

“It'll be fun.” she assured him and Anora. 'Fun.' Right. Sure. As if she wasn't the one to make the girls wear yakuta, or purposely grant them all the best application of smokey eye this world has ever seen. And then there was Anora. Anora who, despite saying nothing so far this whole festival, made Ephemer's heart rush with a single side glance. The wonder in her eyes almost made her shine under the festival lights, drinking in every colorful lantern and origami crane like it was her first time out in the world. How could anyone be so… adorable? At this point, Ephemer was going to keep biting his lip until it bled.

The three of them had moved away from the main festival to a quiet picnic area on the beach. Anora had chose to write her wish at a different table than Ephemer and Skuld. Not that it mattered, they were all going to see the wishes when they hung them up anyway.

“Are you done yet?” Skuld asked him, her voice hushed so Anora couldn't hear. “Or are you going to keep gawking all night?”

Ephemer looked up from his wish strip and gave Skuld a funny glare.

“What are you talking about?” he asked her.

An impish smile crossed his friend's face when she said, “I know you have a crush.”

“I do not-!” Ephemer immediately tried to shout back, but caught himself before hissing, “I do not have a crush on Anora.”

“Never said it was Anora.” Skuld smirked. “But now that you mention it...”

“Skuld, you're ridiculous.”

To this, she let out a rather unflattering snort. “Me?” she mused. “I'm the one being ridiculous? You were the one who drooled over themselves at the formal!”

“That was different.”

“No it wasn't.”

A small growl escaped Ephemer's lips. “Yes, it was.”

“Urg, fine.” Skuld decided, throwing her hands in the air. “I've known you for six years, I know when to cut my losses.”

But the words stung. They lingered in Ephemer's mind as the three of them hung their wishes up on a palm tree. And you know what? Forget Skuld. She knew how to get under his skin, and (unfortunately) it worked. He hated her. He hated her more than these stupid wish strips, this stupid festival, and the mere fact that she might have even been right.

But then Anora's wish strip flickered at him from the corner of his eye. There was a word he was able to catch- a word he really wished he hadn't had seen. Making sure that Anora and Skuld had left, Ephemer moved a bit closer to the wish strip to read it in full. A part of his heart sank. He knew so little about her. This wasn't fair. There was no way that he could…

“Skuld, I freaking hate you.”

#daybreak academy #chapter 49 #kingdom hearts fanfiction #Ventus #Brain #Lauriam #Strelitzia #Ephemer #Skuld #Anora #Summer 2020 #Season 1

[wistfulcynic]

Rainbound

I have three major WIPs on the go at the moment and they all require a lot of concentration, research, and brainpower, and sometimes I need to take a break from that. Recently these breaks have tended to take the form of tropey trope-fests of trope-ness, otherwise known, in this case at least, as “OTP stranded together due to bad weather and forced to share a bed.” 

For @thisonesatellite who always encourages me (even my worst instincts which now that I think about it is maybe not such a good thing but I love her anyway 💕💕) 

5k words

Rating: M

On AO3

@kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm @thejollyroger-writer @stahlop @mariakov81 @teamhook -- just tagging off the top of my head some people I think might enjoy this. 

Rainbound: 

Rain ran in rivulets down Emma’s face, soaking her clear to her skin as she climbed the three steps onto the cabin’s wide porch. It was a small cabin and a simple one, not at all what she would have expected for a man with the cocky swagger of Killian Jones. It was incongruous, and she disliked it as she disliked all things that didn’t fit a pattern.

Frowning, she knocked on the door. It swung open to reveal the man himself, the charming twinkle in his bright blue eyes dying instantly when he saw her.

Killian slouched against the doorjamb and smirked. “Emma Swan,” he drawled. “Well, well. To what do I owe this dubious honour?”

She stiffened, hating having to ask him for this, for anything. “My car broke down,” she said grudgingly. “On the main road just past where you turn to go to the harbour. I remembered you lived around here and I thought I’d come and…” she sighed. “And see if you could help.”

He looked past her to the rain that was pounding down in torrents, turning his dirt drive to mud and the potholes into puddles, deceptively deep. He sighed himself. “You’d better come in, then,” he said, just as grudgingly as she. “There’s no point going out in this weather, best to wait until the rain lets up.”

“What about my car?”

“Are you afraid someone will steal it?” The frank disbelief in his voice rankled her, but she couldn’t refute his point.

“No.”

“Well then. It’ll be fine on the side of the road for a few hours. No one’s going to be out in this mess. Come in, Swan.” He stepped back and opened the door wider.

Emma took three steps into the cabin and stopped dead in astonishment, eyes wide and mouth agape. The interior was as simple as the exterior, a single room panelled in wood with a small kitchen along one wall and a narrow bed pushed up against another. A worn sofa and a battered sea chest sat in its centre. But what drew Emma’s attention, what astounded her, were the books. Shelves and shelves of them lined the walls from floor to ceiling, crammed with volumes of every size and colour, hardbacks and paperbacks and even some bound in faded leather.

She turned to look at Killian, who was watching her warily.

“Are all these yours?”

“I’m not in the habit of keeping books that don’t belong to me,” he said irritably.

“And have— have you read them all?”

“Aye.”

“All of them?”

“Every last one, and I don’t appreciate your tone,” he snapped.

“Sorry!” Emma held up her hands. “Sorry. I just— I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh? And just what were you expecting, love?”

She shrugged, embarrassed. “I don’t know, like— like a bachelor pad or something. Someplace swish where you can bring your women.”

“I never bring women here,” said Killian shortly. Emma could only gape in response, and he ran a hand through his hair then shoved it deep into the pocket of his jeans. “You’re dripping all over my floor,” he mumbled. “Let me get you a towel and a change of clothes.”

“It’s really not—”

“Yes, it is necessary,” he retorted, anticipating her protest. “I won’t have you getting pneumonia or some such. Not on my watch.” It was a weak attempt at humour, but she forced a smile.  

He opened a door just to the far side of the kitchen area and Emma could see a small bathroom with a shower and toilet. Killian pulled a clean towel from a shelf and handed it to her then went to the sea chest and removed a pair of sweatpants and a worn t-shirt. He handed the clothing to her as well, and indicated the bathroom. “You can get changed in there,” he said. “Just hang your wet clothes on the shower rail. I don’t have a dryer.” He looked at her defiantly but she said nothing, merely took the clothes from him and headed to the bathroom.

He might not have a dryer but his clothes were clean and soft and she sighed as she slipped them on over her still-damp skin. She squeezed the water from her hair and wrung out her clothes as best she could before hanging them in his shower and returning to the kitchen, feeling oddly shy. It was a peculiar sort of vulnerability, wearing his clothes. Emma deeply disliked being vulnerable to Killian Jones.

His lips curled up when he saw her, his eyes softening in a way that made her want to squirm. “Those look far better on you than on me,” he said. Emma doubted that, but she managed to bite back the words. He didn’t need to know how attracted she was to him. How attracted she had always been. “I made tea,” he continued, handing her a steaming cup.

She sniffed it dubiously. “Tea?”

“Aye. Don’t look like that, Swan, just give it a try.”

“Don’t you have any coffee? Or better, hot chocolate?”

“No,” he said shortly. “It’s tea or nothing.”

Tentatively she sipped. It was strong and sweet, bitter in a different way than coffee but not unpleasant. She took a deeper drink. “I guess it’s all right,” she said.

His smirk told her he saw what she was doing but he merely sipped his own tea and moved to the sofa. He sat down and crossed one leg over the other, resting his mug on his knee as he took up a book lying facedown over the armrest. “You’re welcome to join me, love,” he said. “My library is at your disposal.”

Emma wasn’t much of a reader but she found herself intensely curious about what Killian had read, this man she only knew as her brother’s friend’s friend, the shameless flirt who had tried to sleep with her the first night they’d met then treated her with amused disdain ever since.

She sipped her tea as she wandered around the room perusing his bookshelves. He had an amazing variety of books, from histories to science fiction novels, heavy volumes of philosophy and slim ones of poetry.

Killian Jones reading poetry, she marvelled. Who could have imagined that?

“See anything you like, Swan?” asked Killian. She turned to see him watching her, a soft smile on his face. Without looking she snatched up a book and sat on the small sofa as far from him as she could manage, ignoring the fluttery feeling that rose in her chest from even that much proximity. From the corner of her eye she could see he was smirking at her again, with that glint in his eye that she hated, the one that said he understood her. Firmly, she ignored him, opened the book and began to read.

An hour later her teacup was forgotten on a corner of the sea chest, her legs curled beneath her as she devoured the words on the page. She failed to notice Killian get up and collect her teacup along with his own, carrying them to the kitchen.

“Care for some dinner, Swan?” he called.

Emma jumped, startled. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted some dinner. It’s still raining, and I’m hungry.”

Emma’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. She flushed bright pink and Killian laughed. His laugh made him look younger, carefree, his eyes twinkling brightly. He was unfairly gorgeous, thought Emma, not for the first time, though for the first time she wasn’t mad about it. He was being nice for once, the least she could do was reciprocate.

“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”

“It’s chicken marsala, if that’s okay.”

“Um, I don’t really know what that is, but I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she replied, and he smirked again.

“Not a terribly adventurous eater, are you love?”

She tried not to bristle defensively. “I just know what I like.”

“But if you never try anything new, how do you know you won’t like that too?”

Emma had the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn’t just talking about dinner. She shrugged. “I’ll try this chicken whatever and let you know.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose,” he muttered.

Emma tried to return to her book, but she found she could no longer focus. Setting it down on the sea chest she approached the kitchen cautiously. “Um,” she began, twisting her fingers nervously when he looked at her. “Is there— can I help?”

Surprise flared in his eyes and they softened with an expression that made her heart thud painfully. Then he blinked, and the smirk was back. “Think you can manage to slice some mushrooms?”

“Without chopping my fingers off, you mean,” she snarked.

“Aye, preferably. I don’t find blood to be a very tasty seasoning.”

She snorted and he grinned, and handed her a knife. She took it and moved to the chopping board, frowning as she concentrated on slicing the mushrooms evenly and not on the disconcerting man standing so close to her in the tiny kitchen.

“So how did you learn to cook?” she heard herself ask.

Killian gave her a sideways glance, surprised again, but he answered politely. “I spent ten years in the Royal Navy, and travelled a lot. Whenever I had leave I would go exploring and try to learn something new. In Italy, through an odd series of events I ended up on a farm in the hills above Rimini and was taught pasta making there by a beautiful Italian woman called Marcella.”

She snorted again. “Of course you were.”

“She wouldn’t approve of me using her recipe for chicken marsala, I imagine, but I think they go well.”

“And what else did you and this Marcella do?”

“Very little, I’m afraid, Swan. She was eighty, and had arthritis in her hips.”

“Oh.” Emma focused on the mushrooms again, feeling ridiculous.

“Now her granddaughter Emilia, on the other hand, we did quite a few things together.”

His smile was teasing when she turned to huff at him, and she couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t know how much of this to believe,” she said.

“Every word, Swan. Everything I say is one hundred percent solid gold.”

“Solid fool’s gold, maybe.”

He laughed at that, deep and rich and filling her with a tingly warmth. “Ah, Emma Swan, you are a challenge,” he chuckled.

Emma’s laughter died at those words. A challenge. Wasn’t that just a nicer way of saying difficult? Too much trouble? Not worth it?

All words she��d heard before.

Killian’s fingers brushed hers as he reached for the chopping board. “I love a challenge,” he said, his voice low and rough and too near her ear, his breath ruffling the fine hairs at her temple. She held her own breath to keep from gasping, and when she risked a look at him the soft expression was back in his eyes. Soft and understanding.

How did he always understand her?

Her heart was pounding again, thudding so loudly she feared he’d hear it.

He took the board and tipped the mushrooms into a pan where they immediately began to sizzle. He stirred them, not looking at her, and when he spoke again his voice was normal. “Grab that bottle just to your left, would you love, and pour half a cup of it into this,” he said, laying a glass measuring cup where the chopping board had been.

Emma’s hand trembled slightly as she picked up the bottle, but she managed to measure out a half cup without mishap, and held it up when she was finished.

“Now what?”

“Pour that in here,” he instructed, indicating the pan with the mushrooms, now a pale brown.

She did so, jumping when the liquid hissed in the heat of the pan. Killian chuckled, continuing to stir. “Burns off the alcohol,” he said.

“What’s the point of that?” she attempted to joke.

His smile took on a razor edge. “If you’d like me to get you drunk, Swan, all you have to do is ask.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Your loss, darling.” Killian poured some chicken stock and cream into the pan along with what looked like mustard and spices she didn’t recognise. He gave it a final stir then covered the pan and lowered the heat and lifted a towel off of several small nests of uncooked pasta. Emma peered at them, fascinated.

“You really made this?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“And… you’re sure there’s enough for me?”

“I always make two servings. It’s hard to cook for just one person, and I have the leftovers for lunch the next day.”

“So what will you do for lunch tomorrow?”

He shot her another smirk, but a soft one this time. An I-appreciate-your-concern-but-it’s-all-under-control smirk that she recognised from her own arsenal of expressions. “I’ll think of something, Swan. Don’t worry about it.”

He lifted the lid off a pot bubbling on the back of the stove and tipped in some salt, followed by the pasta. He stirred it with a fork and replaced the lid, leaving a gap for the steam to escape. Opening a cabinet, he withdrew a colander and placed it in the sink.

“Plates and glasses are up there,” he said, indicating a cabinet next to the refrigerator. “If you could grab two of each. Wine glass for me but you’re welcome to have water, or I’ve got some iced tea.”

Emma hesitated. She’d always been so careful not to drink too much around him, afraid of what loosened inhibitions might lead her to say, or do. But surely one glass of wine wouldn’t hurt? She took down two plates and two wine glasses, then looked around for where to put them.

“I eat on the sofa,” said Killian quietly.

“Okay.” Emma kept her face neutral. He was clearly sensitive about the way he lived. She supposed he was worried she’d judge him for it.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

She set the plates and glasses on the sea chest then returned for silverware just as Killian was pouring the pasta into the colander. He removed the chicken from the sauce and replaced it with the drained pasta, tossing it along with a splash of the water it was cooked in. Emma watched, impressed by the ease and confidence of his movements. He’d definitely done this before.

That Marcella must have been some teacher.

“The wine’s in the fridge,” he called to her, “If you wouldn’t mind opening it.”

His fridge was ridiculously clean —Emma wondered vaguely why this surprised her, given the rest of his place— and she found the wine lying on its side on the top shelf. She took it out and twisted off the cap then brought it over to the sea chest, where Killian had just placed a serving bowl full of pasta and neatly sliced chicken. He sat down and using two large forks scooped some onto both of their plates while Emma poured the wine. She sat next to him, and awkward silence fell.

Emma had the wild thought that all they needed were some candles and maybe a few actual chairs and this would be a very romantic date indeed. She stuffed a huge bite of pasta into her mouth to cover her embarrassment.

And nearly groaned in delight.

It was delicious, creamy and rich with a slight sweet tang. Her eyes fell closed as she chewed slowly, wanting to savour it, and when she opened them again she found Killian watching her with an unreadable expression.

“What’s the verdict, then, love?” he asked.

“It’s wonderful.” Emma couldn’t even snark. She sipped her wine and was delighted again as its flavours perfectly complemented the ones the chicken had left in her mouth. “Do you eat like this every night?”

“Pretty much, aye. Food and books are my only indulgences.”

“And women.” The words were out before she could stop them, and Emma winced as his expression shuttered.

“Aye,” he agreed tightly. “And women.”

“Well this is amazing,” she said effusively, “One of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Better than Granny’s grilled cheese?” he teased, with a tentative smile.

“Well, let’s not get carried away.”

He chuckled, breaking the heavy tension between them. Emma sighed lightly in relief, and they both began to eat.

“You were reading quite intently earlier,” Killian remarked after a short silence. “What book did you pick?”

“Oh,” she said, surprised by the question. “I just grabbed it at random, but it’s so good. It’s, um—” she picked up the book and flipped it over to look at the cover. “Northern Lights.”

He nodded. “One of my favourites. That copy I actually brought from England when I moved here. In the US it’s called The Golden Compass.”

“Oh yeah! That was a movie wasn’t it?”

“Aye, an abomination of one, best forgotten.”

She rolled her eyes. “Book people always say that.”

“‘Book people,’” scoffed Killian.

“Yeah, book people. You know, the people who no matter what the movie or miniseries or whatever tries to do are always like ‘Oh but the book was so much better,’ like that’s special knowledge that only they have, or something.”

“Fair point,” he conceded, “Some adaptations of books have been very well done, but in this case we ‘book people’ are completely correct to say the movie is utter crap.”

“Well, when I’m done reading it I’m gonna watch the movie and judge for myself.”

“That’s the wisest strategy for most things, I find,” he replied, and again she had the uncomfortable sense that he was talking about more than the subject at hand.

“You said books were your indulgence,” she blurted, surprising herself with the question. “What did you mean?”

He gave her a searching look before replying, and when he did his voice held a quiet sincerity she’d never heard in it before.

“I’ve always loved reading,” he said. “My mum was a librarian, and when I was a child I wanted to be one too. But you need a degree for that and by the time I was eighteen my mum was dead and my father had drunk away all the money she’d saved for my education. So I went into the navy instead.” He sipped his wine. “I intended it just to be for a few years until I’d saved some money myself but I ended up liking the lifestyle and I figured what was university really but a lot of reading, which I could do on my own for free.”

Everything he said was true, but Emma could it wasn’t the whole story. Their understanding cut both ways.

“You regret that now, don’t you?” she asked, though it wasn’t really a question.  

He looked wry. “Aye, I do. It’s hard to get any decent job without a degree, so now I work at the docks until I’ve saved enough to buy my own boat.”

“What kind of boat?”

“A sailboat,” he replied. “For me, mostly, but I figure I could make a decent living chartering it for tourists.”

She nodded. He probably could.

“So that’s why you live so simply. To save for your boat.”

“Aye.”

It was such an unexpected twist on the character of this man she’d thought she had the measure of that Emma could barely get her head around it. She was beginning to think she’d badly misjudged him.

And that terrified her.

She asked him to tell her about the boat he wanted and they made surprisingly easy conversation until the food was eaten and the wine drunk. Emma insisted on carrying the plates and glasses back to the kitchen where Killian insisted on washing them immediately. “No dishwasher,” he said, and there was a lightness to the admission that had been lacking in earlier ones of a similar nature. Like he knew Emma would understand now why he chose to forgo expensive household appliances.

She did. And she insisted on drying.

When the kitchen was spotless she hung up the dishtowel and felt awkward again. It was late and she had already stayed far longer than she’d planned, but the noise of the storm outside was if anything even louder than before.

“It’s still coming down in buckets,” said Killian, looking out the window into the dark night. “The roads are likely flooded. I fear you might be stranded here, Swan.”

She tried to answer but her words were swallowed up by a yawn that nearly cracked her jaw. He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take the sofa,” he said.  

Emma regarded the furniture in question. “It’s not very comfortable”.

“I’ll manage.”

“Killian, no,” she protested. “I feel bad enough showing up unannounced and eating your food, I’m not going to steal your bed too. I’ll take the sofa.”

“Absolutely not, you said yourself it’s uncomfortable.”

“I don’t mind—”

“No. And that’s final.”

She threw up her arms in exasperation. “Well, I guess we’ll have to share the bed, then.”

The moment the words left her lips she regretted them. She froze, barely breathing, unable to look away as she waited for his reply. He had also gone completely still, staring at her with hooded eyes. “All right,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Emma sucked air into her lungs. “All right,” she echoed.

The tension was back now, thicker than before but no longer awkward. Nervous. Anticipating. Eager. He produced a spare toothbrush from the bathroom cabinet and she brushed her teeth and splashed water on her hot face. When she finished in the bathroom Killian went in and Emma approached the bed with butterflies dancing in her belly. It seemed to grow narrower the closer she came and she wondered how they would manage. If they tried to keep too far apart they risked falling out. But if they got too close...

She imagined Killian pressed up against her back, his arm around her waist, his warm breath teasing her hair as it had in the kitchen. The butterflies in her belly began to do rhythmic gymnastics, and her heart beat so fast she felt faint.

I should have let him take the sofa.  

She climbed into the bed, scooting as close as she could get to the wall. That way he wouldn’t have to climb over her to get in, she thought. Yeah. That sounded plausible.

Killian emerged from the bathroom wearing another sweats-and-t-shirt combo, and a carefully blank expression. He climbed in next to her, careful not to let their bodies touch. “There’s a switch right by your head,” he said. “To turn out the light.”

“Okay.” Emma flipped it and the room plunged into darkness. She rolled onto her side, her back to him, and tried to ignore the sound of his breathing and the heat radiating from his body, tried to ignore her blood pounding through her veins and the way she absolutely longed to know what it would feel like to have his arms around her. To kiss him. To—

“No!” she whispered, too loudly, and felt the bed shift as Killian turned.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked, his voice low and soft, like he cared. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s fine.”

She could feel his eyes on her, could sense him willing her to turn around and face this, this pull of attraction between them, always difficult to resist and nearly overwhelming now that she actually liked him.

“Swan,” she heard him whisper.

It had been there from the beginning, that attraction, fierce and terrifying and like nothing she’d ever felt before, which of course was why she had been so eager to write him off as another asshole only interested in fucking her. In retrospect, viewed through fairer eyes, he had probably just wanted to get to know her a bit, maybe ask her out. She had shot him down, epically, and Killian, she could see now, had taken refuge behind snark and disdain to protect himself, exactly as she would have done in his shoes.

She’d been an idiot, and a jerk, and she wished like hell she could do it all over again. But it was too late.

She forced herself to relax, to close her eyes and breathe deeply and evenly. Killian sighed and the bed shifted again, and after several interminable minutes his breathing evened out as well and she sensed he was asleep.

It was a long time before she followed.

—

Emma awoke when the sunlight shining through the window threatened to blind her. Grumbling incoherently, she buried her face in her pillow.

Or would have, had her face been on a pillow.

Instead it was pressed against Killian’s chest, his t-shirt soft under her cheek and the spicy, musky scent of his skin filling her nose with every breath. She inhaled deeply and rubbed her cheek against him and his arms tightened around her.

His arms were around her. So that’s what that felt like.

She felt warm and protected. Content. Loved.

No! Emma jerked back, digging the heel of her hand against his ribs, and he jolted awake.

“What the devil— oh!” His eyes widened as he took in their position, his arms still around her and their legs entwined, their faces inches apart. “Bloody hell!” He scrambled out of the bed, stumbling backwards and almost falling on his ass as he did. “I’m sorry, Swan, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine.” Emma willed her stupid heart to stop beating so fast, to stop being hurt by his reaction.

“It’s not, I—”

“I said it’s fine, Killian!” she snapped, and he closed his mouth, running both hands through his hair then clenching them into fists at his side, unsure of where to put them.

“Looks like the rain’s stopped,” he said. “We can go get your car now. Do you, um, would you like breakfast first? Tea?”

“No. Thank you.” She wanted to get the hell away from him, before she did something stupid.

He nodded. “Aye. Well, get dressed then and we’ll be off.”

He moved towards the kitchen just as Emma rolled from the bed and they collided awkwardly. His hands came to her hips to steady her while hers landed on his chest and she could feel his heart pounding beneath her fingertips. He caught an unsteady breath and when she dared to look up she saw his eyes were wide and full of the same longing that ached within her.

“Emma,” he whispered.

The sound of her name on his lips, in his voice, when he’d only ever called her Swan or love, was more than she could take. Her hands on his chest clenched into tight fists, gripping his t-shirt and pulling his mouth to hers, into a kiss that blazed instantly into barely-leashed passion, all open mouths and clinging lips and his tongue stroking hers in a way that set her on fire. One hand tangled in her hair as the other slid down to cup her ass, pulling her hips into his so she could feel the press of his erection against her belly. She moaned and ground against him, as close as she could get, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted his skin on hers, his mouth all over her, wanted to hear him moan her name into her flesh.

She pushed him away, ignoring the flash of fear in his eyes, and pulled his shirt off her body. His eyes instantly latched onto her bare breasts, hunger chasing away the fear, and she smirked. “Now yours,” she rasped.

He nearly tore the shirt in his haste and Emma gave herself a second to admire his lean form liberally covered in dark hair before launching herself at him, toppling them both onto the bed. His mouth was on hers again, kissing her deeply as his hand cupped her breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb as her own hand slid beneath his sweats and closed around his cock.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he spluttered, grabbing her wrist almost painfully and pulling her hand away. “Don’t do that again if you want this to last.”

“But—”

“Emma, please. I have wanted you for so bloody long I could be finished in minutes, but I would very much prefer to take my time.”

The way he purred the words made her tingle, the look in his eyes made her melt. “Take your time how?” she gasped.

“Well I’ll start by kissing you.”

“You’ve already—”

“Everywhere.” His hand slid between her legs, fingers slipping through her slick flesh, gliding across her clit with the lightest touch. “There are some parts of you I just want to lick.”

“Oh, god.”

“Indeed.”

“And then what?”

“After I’ve tasted every inch of you and made you come at least twice with my mouth and my fingers—”

“Cocky,” she gasped as his fingers slipped inside her, one first and then another, stroking her walls as his thumb caressed her clit.  

“Confident, darling,” he corrected. “As I was saying after I’ve made you scream my name—”

“Oho, screaming your name now—”

“—then I will run as fast as I can to the sea chest because that’s where the condoms are.”

She laughed, her face pressed to his shoulder, gripping his shoulders as his fingers worked inside her, proving his confidence was not misplaced.

“And then,” he said, leaning down to breathe the words in her ear. “Then I will fuck you, hard and deep and thoroughly, as I have wanted to since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“I knew it,” she gasped. “I knew you just wanted to fuck me.”

“Not ‘just’, Emma,” he said, pulling back to look at her, so she could see the truth in his eyes. “I want everything with you.”

She waited for the fear to come, and the overwhelming urge to flee. Waited, but it never came.

Instead, she did, as Killian’s thumb pressed hard on her clit and her orgasm ripped through her, taking her by surprise.

“Fuck, Killian!” she screamed.

“Later, darling,” he murmured, fingers still inside her as he eased her down from her high. “That’s only one.”

She opened her eyes to find him watching her with eyes softer than she’d ever seen, warm and full of promises she knew he’d keep.

She smiled. “Maybe I’ll stay for breakfast after all,” she said.

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #cs au ff #captain swan #stranded #in a cabin #by the rain #bed sharing #ust #like a lot of it #as much as I could cram in #'cram in' haha #that happens at the end #rainbound #(which is not a word btw) #profdanglaisstuff

[maydaygirl-save-our-ships]

Two Truths and a Lie (Amphibia Fanfic)

I’m in love with Amphibia and I knew it would only be a matter of time before I wrote a fanfiction for it. It took me a while to figure out what to write, but Anne and Sprig playing “Would You Rather” reminded me of this game.

Two Truths and a Lie

“Hey Sprig, do you know how to play two truths and a lie?”

It was a nice, calm evening in the Plantar household. After a day full of playing, chores, and Hop Pop’s lectures, Anne and Sprig sat together in Anne’s basement-bedroom. Anne was propped up on her bed reading one of Sprig’s dusty adventure books, and Sprig was on the floor leaning his back against her bed as he read curiously through one of Anne’s magazines she happened to bring with her.

Sprig lowered the magazine he had been staring at in transfixed wonder and turned around so he could look up at her.

“I don't think so. How do you play?”

Anne put the book down, crossed her legs beneath her, and scooted forward until she was at the edge of her bed.

“It’s really easy. One person starts and they have to say three statements about themselves. Two of them have to be truths and one has to be a lie. If the other person guesses which one is the lie, they win. Make sense?”

Sprig nodded slowly. “I think so.”

“Okay, I’ll go first. Let’s see… I was on my varsity tennis team…. I have an older sister who is in college… and umm… oh, I’m vice president of the Asian American club at my school.” She looked over at Sprig expectantly. “Now you have to guess which one is the lie.”

Sprig’s mouth was agape as he stared at her, but then his expression broke out into a grin as he threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t even know what half that stuff means!” he said with a laugh.

Anne started laughing as well, although her laugh sounded a bit more devious, like she knew this would happen. “Just make your best guess. And don’t feel too bad when you lose. I’m really good at this game.”

Sprig grinned up at her, the look in his eyes clearly accepting her challenge. “Let’s see…” He pressed his lips together in thought. “I’m pretty sure you said something about varsity- whatever that is- before, so I don’t think that’s the lie. Hmm, you’ve never mentioned a sister, so I bet that’s the lie!”

“I could just not like my sister,” Anne suggested. “There are plenty of reasons why I might not have mentioned her.”

Sprig shook his head. “Nope, I’m going with that one!”

Anne grinned. “Not bad, frog boy, not bad. You win this round.”

“Alright!” Sprig put his hand to his chin in thought. “Now it’s my turn....” There was a moment of silence before he began to speak. “I was hatched on a full moon, my favorite food is wax- worms… and… my best friend is a creature we found in the woods.”

“Aww, best friend?” Anne said as she placed her hand over her heart. “That’s so sweet.” She paused. “Wait, that last one isn’t the lie, is it?”

Sprig gave her a mischievous look. “Is that your guess?”

“No, no. Give me a second.” Anne bit her lip. “Let’s see, I’m pretty sure you’ve talked about how much you like wax-worms before, so I’m going to say the hatched on a full moon is the lie.”

“Yeah,” Sprig admitted. “That would have been cool though.”

“Okay, my turn! Let’s see…. my parents almost named me Lily, I didn’t have any friends until I was nine, and hmm… oh, my friends Sasha and Marcie taught me how to be popular.”

Sprig cocked his head to one side. “Popular? How?”

Anne blinked at his question. This wasn’t how you played the game but she let it slide in favor of being able to talk about her friends.

“Oh you know, who’s cool to talk to and who's not, how to ditch class, what to wear and what not to wear.”

To her surprise, Sprig frowned. “There are people you’re not allowed to talk to? And you can’t wear whatever you want? Being popular doesn’t sound like very much fun.”

“What? Being popular is the best!” Anne defended. “No one wants to be friends with losers who aren’t popular. Sasha and Marcie taught me how to be cool. Like… I used to really like reading comic books, but my friends told me that wasn’t cool, so I switched to reading beauty magazines instead.” Anne indicated to the magazine in Sprig’s lap.

“But… you liked reading comic books... whatever those are. Don’t you think it’s kind of mean for your friends to make you stop doing what you liked?”

Anne scowled down at him. “It’s not mean, they were just helping me out! And what would you know about being popular anyway? It’s not like you had any friends before I came along!”

Anne crossed her arms and turned away from Sprig, her heart pounding in her head as her blood boiled. Sprig had no right to judge her friends! He didn’t even know them!

Seconds past as Anne continue to stare at the basement wall, trying to best to ignore the suddenly very quiet frog child on the floor next to her.

After a minute, her heart rate began to slow and she felt the tightness in her chest fade away. She chanced a glance at Sprig who was staring sadly at the floor, lost in his own thoughts. At the sight of his expression, Anne felt a heavy pit settle in her stomach.

Anne let out a long breath. “Sorry…” she said at last. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

For a moment, Sprig was silent and Anne was worried she had really hurt him.

“You didn’t have any friends until you were nine,” Sprig said suddenly. “That’s not the lie, is it?”

Anne swallowed and glanced down at her hands. “No, that wasn’t a lie. Sasha and Marcie were my first friends, but I didn’t meet them until I was going into fourth grade. I guess that’s why I get a little defensive over them.” She hesitated a moment before pressing on. “And maybe they did tell me to do stuff I didn't want to do, but they were only trying to help me, and it’s not like I could say no. I couldn’t lose my only friends, you know?”

“Yeah…I guess,” Sprig said quietly. “So, if your name almost being Lily is the lie, then does that mean it’s my turn?”

Anne picked up the book she was reading and scooted back until she was propped up against the headrest again. “I’m getting tired of this game,” Anne said, pointedly looking down at her book instead of Sprig.

“Aww, come on!” Sprig begged as he climbed up on Anne’s bed. He was in front of her, his eyes wide and pleading. “Let me go one more time!”

Anne sighed and closed the book. “Fine… one more time.”

“Okay… Let’s see…” Sprig sat cross legged as he thought. “Everything got a lot more fun since you got here, I want to help you get home but I also wish you didn’t have to leave, and I think you’re cool even though you aren’t popular here and the whole town hates you,” he said brightly.

Anne looked at her friend skeptically. “I give up, which one’s the lie?” she asked, her tone guarded.

“You don’t know?” Sprig asked as he tried unsuccessfully to keep the grin off his face.

Anne sighed in annoyance. “I’m pretty sure I’ve made your life more exciting so…you don’t want to help me get home? Or you don’t think I’m cool?” Anne crossed her arms. She didn’t like where this game was going.

“Wrong!” Sprig shouted. “They’re all the truth!”

Stunned, Anne’s brain tried to process what Sprig had said.

Then, without warning, her shoulders began to shake. Anne couldn’t help herself as she doubled over in laughter. It felt good to laugh, and she could feel the heaviness of her bad mood float away.

“Sprig!” she said between giggles when she could finally breathe again. “That’s not how you play!”

Sprig was grinning widely. “Well I changed the rules! Besides, I’m not very good at lying.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Anne said, her cheeks still hurting from how wide she was grinning.

Sprig always had a way of making her feel better, and it was in this moment that Anne abruptly  realized she never felt like she had to act cool in front of him. She had even told him about not having friends until she was nine, and she never told anyone about that. Not even Sasha and Marcie knew how lonely she had been. Somehow, she had known Sprig would understand, and even if he didn’t always understand everything she said, he never judged her.

He probably would like comic books too, if he knew what they were. Sprig was the type of person that didn’t care if something was cool or not, he just liked the things that he liked no matter what other people thought.  It was a good thing too, Anne realized, because if Sprig cared about what everyone else thought, he would have never tried to befriend the strange monster in the woods. If it wasn’t for him, Anne would be alone.

Maybe giving up things she liked because they weren’t cool wasn’t always worth it. After all, she doubted that a hyperactive frog child with the fashion sense of a 1930s aviator would seem cool to her friends, but his friendship was one thing Anne was never willing to give up.

I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought!

#amphibia #anne boonchuy #sprig planter #amphibia fanfiction #disney's amphibia

[omgviolette12]

After Hours -Chapter 2   A Professor Loki fanfic

Previous chapter

Summary: Evelyn Monroe has been a TA for professor Laufeyson’s Calculus course for four months now. He was known to be quite strict, but that never deterred her from applying for the position in order to be close to the man she had been secretly pining for. One evening, she returns to his office after opening hours… and with her bountiful luck, she walks in on something not meant to be seen.

Warnings: Sexual content, Excessive swearing

Chapters: 2/?

Words: 1805

Tags: @milkymaidme @dangertoozmanykids101 @alexakeyloveloki @little-moonbeam-666

If you’d like to be added, let me know. I’ve also posted this on AO3

___________

Never, in all twenty-four years of her life, did Evelyn ever think she would see the stoic and cold Professor Laufeyson in this manner.

He looked close to animalistic as he pounded into the female underneath him - his long raven hair dampened by sweat, his shirt open to reveal his chiseled form, and pants down just enough to release the cock currently nestled deep inside the mystery woman’s cunt.

Her professor was so concentrated on his task, that it took the screaming woman underneath him to alert him of Evelyn’s presence.

When he finally noticed her, Professor Laufeyson had gone sheet white, shock and terror written on his features.

Evelyn was frozen in place, eyes wide and mouth agape as she watched the two people in the room frantically try to cover their modesty.

The woman leapt off the desk in a panic, stooping down behind it to hide her nakedness. Her professor was busy buttoning his shirt with trembling hands after tucking his softening erection back inside his pants, having long discarded the paddle to the floor.

Evelyn’s eyes then looked down to the lemon cake that had spilled entirely outside its box, ruining a vast majority of the polished floor.

Without thinking, she dropped to the floor in a stupid attempt to shove the cake back inside the box, “Oh- oh my god, holy shit oh my god I’m so sorry, I- I just wanted to.. Holy shit..!”

Evidently, Evelyn was unable to think clearly in her frazzled state. In her attempt to salvage the cake, she only worsened the mess on the floor.

Although her ears were buzzing in a panic, she could still hear her professor’s breathless voice above her.

“What… What are you doing here… ?”

The only answer he received was incoherent babblings from a woman who was not in her right mind, “I-I- I don’t know I thought I heard my name - fuck this fucking cake! Holy fuck…”

Panic coursed through his veins as he felt himself raise his voice, “Just leave it. LEAVE!”

He didn’t need to tell her twice.

Evelyn got up quickly, but with the mess on the floor, she slipped right back down face first with a crack.

He did not expect that. Before he could even attempt to help her, she scrambled up off the floor, cupping her nose as she ran out of his office. The cake on her flats gave her extra speed as she slipped and slid through the hallway, leaving behind a trail of cake as she raced to exit the building.

Evelyn did not stop running, tears blurring her vision as she ran all the way to her apartment. Perhaps due to adrenaline, what would have been a thirty-minute walk home only took ten minutes with the way she ran.

She didn’t even bother trying to find her keys, and instead started to bang on the door until her sister opened it for her.

When her sister finally swung it open, what greeted her was Evelyn covered head to toe in cake, with teary eyes and a bloody nose.

“What the fuck happened to you?!”

She did not answer her, and instead ran inside to bolt straight to her bedroom.

“Hey! Eve, what the hell? You high or some shit?”

Her sister was hot on her heels, following Evelyn as she threw herself haphazardly on the bed to hide underneath the blankets. “ Oh fuck, I wish. I’m dropping out. I’m so dropping out.”

Now, her sister became extremely concerned. “Hey hey hey… what’s goin’ on? Something up at school? Come on, you’re messin’ up the sheets…”

Evelyn pulled the covers roughly from her head to glare at her sister, “I don’t give a flying, ever living fuck about the sheets Candice. I’m ruined. Oh god, everything’s ruined.”

She then proceeded to curl into an even tighter ball, before crying hysterically. She couldn’t get the images of her professor having sex out of her head, in addition to the way she made a fool out of herself like Bobo the clown.

“Okay, okay… I’m sorry. But take a shower so you’re more comfy, okay? We can talk about it over tacos.”

At the mention of tacos, Evelyn peeked once more from underneath the covers, sniffling, “From the place down the street? With extra hot sauce?”

Candice laughed at the instant perkiness, “Yup, only on Taco Tuesdays. Now get up so we can eat.”

Evelyn begrudgingly listened to her sister’s advice, getting up from under the sheets to wash off the cake. It took some effort to detangle the cake from the mess of curls, and her nose stung as the water hit her face under the spray of the shower. With the way it bled, Evelyn hoped it wasn’t broken.

When she was finished, she quickly dressed in an oversized T-shirt and underwear, opting to go without shorts as she sulked her way to the kitchen.

Candice was busy heating up the tacos, and Evelyn sat down at the table to watch her with a blank expression. Even after the shower, she still felt like shit.

Eventually, a plate of steaming hot tacos was placed in front of her. But she couldn’t even work up the appetite for her favorite meal.

“So…” Candice blew on her taco before taking a big bite, “ Spill the tea. What the heck happened?”

Exhaling deeply, Evelyn tried not to cry as she spoke, “You..oh fuck…do you remember, uh…professor Laufeyson?”

“Mmm!” Candice made a noise of recognition, her mouth filled with food. She then spoke with her mouth still full, “The one with the sexy ass accent? And the cheekbones?”

Evelyn made a look of disgust at her sister’s open mouth before replying, “Yeah…him.”

“Oh shit… he is fine as hell. But continue.” Evelyn tried not to break down as she retold her story. But by the end, Candice was a screeching, laughing mess.

“Oh FUCK! Hahahaha! I’d drop the hell out too sis! Phew! You’re fuckin’ with me. Please tell me you’re just fucking with me,”

She was beginning to grow upset, but Candice didn’t care, “Did you see his dick? The hoe he was with?”

“You think I gave a fuck about looking at his dick Candice? And who he was banging the shit out of?”

Her sister gave her a look before she relented, “It’s huge, okay? There. And I don’t know who she was…”

Candice calmed down eventually, and when she did, her tone grew a bit more serious, “So..what’re you actually gonna do? It’s not like you can just drop being a TA..”

Evelyn looked down at her untouched plate, idly picking up a taco, “Yeah… and it’s too late in the semester to drop anything anyway. And I need the credits if I want to graduate on time…”

They both sat in silence, before Evelyn jumped up with renewed determination, “You know what? I’m just gonna confront him. Write a nice letter stating why I can’t be his TA anymore, then leave. Then I won’t see his face anymore. I..I won’t..”

At that point, Evelyn began to cry once more. “ I like him, you know? Fuck, I liked him. Now I can’t look him in the face anymore after this. Please don’t laugh Candice, I already feel like shit…”

“Hey… I’m not laughing at all.” Candice went around the table to pull her sister into an embrace, “ I don’t blame you. You can’t choose who the heart likes, okay? Confront him, then leave. You’ll forget about him eventually.”

“ Okay… I think I’ll skip the meeting tomorrow though. Way too soon.”

That’s what Evelyn told herself when she continued to skip classes for a week.

Whenever she thought about Professor Laufeyson, sordid images would replay in her mind, then she’d put off going to his office.

She was even afraid to check her email because just seeing his name on the subject line would trigger it. The look on his face. The way his hips moved as he thrusted, then she’d imagine it was her instead on his desk…

She was ashamed that her imagination even strayed in that direction. That she felt jealousy towards the woman that had the luck to get fucked on his desk.

And at the thought of that woman… something about her bothered Evelyn. She looked extremely familiar; chocolate brown skin, short curly hair… she just couldn’t put her finger on it. She was around her height as well -

Her sister’s sudden intrusion into her room interrupted her thoughts, “ Eve, you can’t put it off any longer! And you have to be on campus today anyway. Don’t you have midterm critiques?”

“Yeah yeah…I know. Don’t you see I’m dressed?”

Candice looked Evelyn up and down in approval, “Okay, good. Do you have the letter written?”

“Yup,” Evelyn took the folded note from her handbag, handing it to her older sister to read, “What do you think?”

She watched as Candice’s eyes quickly skimmed the paper, “ Nice, looks professional and shit. He better not fail you. Make sure to hand it off in person, send a clear message.”

Evelyn retrieved the paper from her fingers, placing it back inside her purse, “…Yeah. Definitely. In person. Got it.”

Evelyn dreaded the entire day going to his office. She couldn’t concentrate on critiques, and she spent the remainder of the day moving at a snail pace in order to avoid the inevitable. She took her time, doing all sorts of things she’d never normally do just to get out of seeing the professor that plagued her with sinful thoughts.

It was around seven in the evening that Evelyn finally worked up the courage to march towards the Science department, heading straight towards his office. When she finally reached it, however, her nerves took over completely.

She spent the next ten minutes pacing in front of his door, letter in hand as she contemplated what to say in order to salvage her grade. And the more she contemplated, the more her determination fled from her.

You know what… fuck the grade. I’ll just take the damn L.

Evelyn then proceeded to bend down, in an attempt to slip the letter of her withdrawal underneath his door.

Just gonna slip this under, then dip. Easy peasy.

However, the letter refused to slip under, remaining stubbornly on her side of the door.

“What the..get.. get under there…!” Evelyn mumbled to herself in frustration as she got on her knees, still trying in vain to shove the paper underneath the door.

She was about to give up when the door opened abruptly, causing her to fall forward fully on her hands and knees.

A pair of polished Oxford’s came within her line of sight, and Evelyn all but froze in shock at the deep voice that rumbled above her.

“…Evelyn?”

———————

A/N: Hey, let me know what you thought! It’s always encouraging to see comments about the story :) I didn’t expect that you guys would like this fic so much, so I couldn’t leave you hanging for long.

#loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #tom hiddleston fanfiction #loki (marvel) #tom hiddleston fandom #loki fic #loki smut