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georgiapeach30513 · 5 months

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Your Mark On Me, Part 10

Summary: it is time

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit sexual content, explicit language, face riding, pinching, anal play, exhibition, branding, pussy worship, loss of innocence, dirty talk, dumbifiction, unprotected sex, PIV sex, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5.3K

Series Masterlist

*Tattoo edit by @randomagnes0210

*Divider created by @firefly-graphics

“Steve,” a giggle mixed with a whimper calls out. Lifting up your skirt you smile down at the menace underneath you. Steve is devouring the honey between your legs with his hands firmly wrapped around your thighs. “Captain, can you breathe?”

His crystal blue eyes look up at you annoyed, giving your bundle of nerves a nibble. When your body quivers, and you bite at your lip, he laughs over your core. His tongue laves up your essence. He needed to be calmed down before he was marked. And this was his method of choice. Drowning in you.

“There’s no way you’re getting…oxygen,” your words come out laborious, and he pulls you down tighter against him. Sliding his hands up to your tits, he pinches your pebbled peaks. Chuckling when your body starts to grind over him.

Closing your eyes you look up at the ceiling. Steve is a big boy, and if he needs air, he’ll figure it out. This feels amazing. He is obsessed with giving you pleasure. Making sure that you are fully satiated, and still you held out on what he wanted the most. It made him more loyal, and somehow more dangerously protective of you.

Bringing his right hand up to your mouth, he pushes two fingers past your swollen lips. Letting you suck on his digits. Muffled moans fill his office, and you want, no you need more. Mumbling over his beefy fingers, he pulls them out of your mouth, “Captain!” But the descent doesn’t stop. The wet appendages travel to your backside, playing around with your puckered hole.

Steve studies your face as he adds pressure, “Captain, I want to feel you,” it’s all it takes before he breaks through the muscled entrance, and you strangle out his name. Legs trembling, and your body turns to mush. “Steve! Steve!”

He doesn’t stop when your body succumbs to the pleasure. He pushes you well past your orgasm. Pulling out another high so quickly you start to buck on top of him. Thighs tightening around his face as you scream out again. Every muscle quivering and leading you deeper into your pleasure.

“Steve,” Sam stands in the doorway. Cursing out loud when he realizes he wasn’t actually hurting you. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Steve’s head pokes out from between your thighs, smiling over at Sam. Pulling his fingers out of your bum, he gives your ass a few taps. “She did so good. Little bird, do you think you need a nap before you burn my skin?”

“How about you cover her tits up. You would want a fantasy of a plaid skirt on top of your face. Dove, honey, cover yourself up.”

“Hey, Sammy,” you dopily smile, as you roll off Steve, joining him on the floor. Cuddling up tight to his body and hiding your bare chest. “My Captain is going to look so pretty with my lips right here,” reaching up, you give him a kiss to his neck, and then pull his face over to look at you before he crashes his mouth into yours.

Tasting his stout beer mixed with you. The flavors that Steve’s mouth wanted the most. “A bunch of damn kids. That’s what you two are. At least get her dressed,” Steve’s body rolls over on top of yours, and he rolls his pelvis into your swollen cunt. His favorite sound is your little shocked whimper. You need him as much as he needs you. You had waited long enough and now ached for him.

“Steve! You have a meeting with Loki!”

“That’s right,” he pops up, looking over at Sam. “Do I have time for her to suck my cock?”

“You’ve got three minutes,” he says, closing the door.

“You want to sit with my cock in your mouth while I conduct the meeting?” You shake your head no, a glint of something in your eyes, “No?”

“I don’t like him. He hurt me.”

“Under my orders.”

“And he didn’t even hesitate.”

“None of them do. Hesitation gets you killed. Dovey, come on, keep my cock warm with your mouth.”

“No. I want you hurting when I finally let you have my pussy,” you giggle when he playfully smacks your face. “Let me up. I’m going to go in the back and shower. I’ve got a sexy little dress I want to wear for you.”

“No. I don’t want you to change too much for this, Dovey. You’re sexy with your little skirts already. I want you as you. Now go on, get out of here before Loki sees you. I need to mention how he went too deep on your tattoo though,” your head shakes back in forth in protest, and he twists his head to look at you.

“No. Don’t mention me at all. I’ll see you in a bit, Captain,” fuck. Steve mutters as you walk away. Getting right to the door, you pull up your skirt to flash him your ass. Little tease. He wouldn’t mention you to Loki this time, since he gave you his word. But he did want to talk about the extra pain he caused you. And tonight, he would be the one in the relationship carrying the pain.

It’s how he wanted it. He always wanted to carry the pain. You should never suffer. And he would make sure that he would hold the burden of your pain. Because you were his. Finally.

“You want me to what?” Your eyes shine up at Steve, and you look over to Sam. They were both insane. You didn’t want to do that. Rubbing your finger over the spot you had chosen for Steve’s brand, you shake your head no. “I don’t want to.”

“You will,” Steve answers with as much authority as he can. “You wanted this.”

“No, you made me make that decision. I don’t…why does it have to be me that causes you pain?” The back of his knuckles slowly caresses your cheek as your bottom lip puckers out. Your sweet face all pitiful and scared is his favorite drug. He wanted more, even if it gave him pain. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re the only one that can, and not die.”

“Steve! That’s not even funny. Why does it have to be me? You didn’t tattoo me, you held me down. So I think it’s only fair that I hold you down. And…Steve, I don’t want to hurt you. Please, don’t make me do this,” burying your face in his neck, he holds you tightly. Clinging to you.

You and that word ‘please’. It made him melt every time. He’d bend down to his knees just to hear you utter that word. But coupled with your pitiful voice makes it so much harder for him to resist. “Fine. Sam can brand me. You sit in my lap, and don’t let move.”

“Promise?” You sniffle on him, refusing to lean back and let him see you. He could make you change your mind if he really wanted to, and you didn’t want him to do that. You had to stand your ground when it came to him. You need a voice in this relationship, too.

“Promise. Come on, get in my lap, Dovey,” his voice is like honey as he walks the two of you back to a chair. Looking over at Sam who rolls his eyes. “I won’t kill you, Sam. I just thought someone prettier was going to brand me, but if she needs to just sit in my lap and give me something to stare at that will be fine.”

“Dovey, you’re going to have to look at me, darling,” he’s about to be branded, and he’s the one talking you down. You have never heard him speak so gently. Like everything he is doing in this moment is to make you comfortable while a searing piece of metal was on his skin.

You finally lift off the confines of his neck, staring up at him while he situates you in his lap. Making you straddle him. Your arms drape over his shoulders for a moment while you look over his face. Starting to count every freckle that sprays over his nose. Leaning to kiss over the spot. His neck is as inky as the rest of his body. Soon a raised and scarred brand will sit there. Your lips will be permanently embedded on his skin.

Say what he wants, he loves you. Makes special allowances with you. Didn’t even think twice about them. While with others he’s harsh and all business. Even the way his thick hands are softly rubbing up your thighs and cupping each ass cheek starts to relax you. You were different for him. You know it. Could feel it, despite his claims. He was yours in every sense of the word, and one day, you would hear his voice tell you that.

He leans forward, pressing a soft peck to your lips. “I didn’t want ot make you cry this way, little bird. I wanted…”

“Shh, don’t ruin this moment. Are you ready, Captain?” His fingers dig into the globes of your rear end. Giving you a nod as he captures your sight. “Sam, we’re ready,” he clenches his teeth as Sam presses the scalding metal to his skin.

You put on a brave face, refusing to react to the stench of his burning skin. Not flinching when his fingers add bruises to your supple skin. You hold his sight, softly saying his name. Time is frozen. Feeling as if it lasts forever that the iron is on his skin. And Sam removes the tool, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Don’t look at his neck. Keep staring at him. His eyes are glossy, but he doesn’t cry. Doesn’t react. Never says a word, just keeps looking only at you. “That hurt like hell,” he chokes out. Loosening his grip as his hands slide up to your waist. “But nothing will hurt as much as losing you, Dovey.”

“I hear what you’re saying, Steve.”

“What am I saying?” His mouth turns up into a devilish grin.

You turn back to look at Sam, nodding your head, and turning back to Steve, “I think we’ll be okay, Sam. Steve may be busy for the next couple of days.”

“Yeah, I will,” he smarts back, and it earns him a swat to his chest. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to come back to the real world. You’re in charge, Samuel,” Sam leaves with a nod, and smiling more at you than Steve. “Dove, we need a bath.”

“What?” He pushes your legs off him, walking towards the bathroom, leaving you standing in the living room confused. You look towards the door to make sure it was locked, and the alarm had been set before you run through the events of the evening.

After he was branded you said you would give yourself to him, and after all this time he just wants to take a bath. That was it. No picking you up and throwing you on the bed. It was his time. And he just walked away. He…he is being extremely un-Steve like.

“Dovey!” His head peeks out of the master bedroom, giving you a dark look. “I said, let’s take a bath. I need you to tend to my wounds.”

“But…I thought.”

“Now, Dove,” standing in the doorway, he lets his pants and boxer briefs drop to the floor, and your mouth falls open. He isn’t even hard. “I have a burn on my neck. It needs to be cleaned and bandaged.”

Mind games. It was always mind games with Steve. He always makes you question things. Your feet start moving on their own accord, following your naked boyfriend into the bathroom. He turns to stare at you with a glint of…something in his eyes. He is unreadable most of the time, but right now he is frustrating.

“You gotta clean the area first. It’s going to scar, that’s the purpose. But I don’t want an infection. Mmm,” he hisses through his teeth as you start cleaning the skin. “That hurts worse than I expected. Dove is something wrong?”

“I just thought we would — you know?”

“Can’t even say the word, and you think I’m going to do something about it,” he clicks his tongue at you. Starting to shake his head, but winces instead. “I’m disappointed in you, Dovey. Where’s this fearless woman that demanded her lips be burnt on my neck?”

“But I told you that after you were branded that you could have me.”

Steve doesn’t respond, just smiles at you, while your mind is making up stupid scenarios of what is actually going on right now. When you finish bandaging him up, he turns the water on, pouring in oils and dried flowers into the bath before he stands behind you. His fingers roaming over your body. Soothing over your curves and kissing over your skin before pulling off your clothes.

His mouth peppers the sweetest kisses over your shoulders, and places a kiss right behind your ear, “I’ve always had you, Dovey,” once undressed he places you in the tub, and crawls into the opposite side, so he can face you.

“The moment you walked into my club looking all sweet and tender, needing just a few pills to keep you awake while you studied, I had you. I had you riding my thigh as Bucky watched you get off properly for the first time. Had you leaking all down my leg. All those times I watched you in class, while you slept, chased you through the woods by my playground, I had you. Dovey, you and I are completely bound together forever. Each of us marked with the other. But if you’re wanting something else, use your words like a big girl. What is it that you want?”

“I want you to have all of me.”

“Go on, explain yourself,” he settles back into the water, caging you in between his legs while his hands rub up and down your calves. The hands that you know have murdered countless people. Had sold drugs to even more. But on you, there’s a care that he can’t deny. He can command you, but his hands and his eyes say what his mouth refuses.

“I want you inside of me. Making love to me all night long.”

“Love, huh?” It’s cruel for him to say that word in such a snarky tone. He knows how much that word means to you.

His eyes coast down to the water, and you push your foot underneath his chin, making him look up at you. “Making love is something you’ve never done. We’ll both be each other’s first,” his mouth turns up into a genuine smile. Nothing hidden underneath. Just him. “I don’t need to hear it, Steve. I’m tired of asking. Even though I deserve to hear it, you’re telling me all I need to know.”

“Dovey, how are you feeling, little bird?”

“Like I want to feel my boyfriend’s entire weight on top of me,” pushing your legs out wide, he maneuvers himself to hover over you. Smiling and laughing when his nose presses up against yours. “That’s a start. Now kiss me,” his mouth slams into yours, giving no time before his greedy tongue slides over your lips.

The best part about Steve is he has no filter. He tells you exactly what he expects and what he’s thinking. But there is a tenderness to him tonight. Scraping your nails down his back, and settling at his round rump, you pull him closer to you. You don’t want any space between you. You want him inside of you. Over you. His skin to meld onto yours.

His hardened cock rubs up against your center. Releasing a whimper, Steve pulls off your lips to nip down the column of your neck. Blowing air over you damp skin, and you mewl, clinging onto his ass, needing him in ways you haven’t ever before. Desperation settles in, and you can’t even think straight.

“Easy, little bird,” he whispers on your body as his mouth moves to your shoulder. Open mouth kisses drift over your supple skin, leaving tiny bruises along the way. “You need to quit trying to force me into your cunt.”

“But Steve,” his head pops up to look at you, not in a menacing way, but to watch your sweet little pout. Noticing how your pupils are blown wide with lust, becoming glossy with your tears. “I need you.”

“Oh, my sweet little needy slut,” brushing the pads of his fingers over your cheek, your lip puckers out, and he leans over to bite it. “You’re such a brat.”

“But I’m your brat.”

Steve lets go of your lip. Rolling his hips, he makes you feel the weight of his giant cock floating just over where you need it. “You are my brat, my sweet little Dovey. Honey, what…” his word squeaks out, and you don’t notice it, only the feeling of his weight starting to settle over you. The spread of your legs to make sure he was fully over your body. “What…what do you need?”

“I need you to fuck me,” he sighs, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, “Steve, I’m ready.”

“As long as you realize you mean more to me than the flesh between your legs.”

“I know,” Steve plants one peck to your nose, looking at you with the sweetest smile. “Steve, I know.”

“And I’m not fucking you in the tub. I’m going to make love to you for the first time. In our bed,” he pulls the two of you up in the tub before lifting you out. Grabbing a towel to dry off your skin. Kneeling down to fully dry off your legs, and he kisses over your mound as he looks up at you. “I’m going to ruin you for other men.”

“I don’t want other men.”

“I know,” he answers softly. Sticking out his tongue he licks as much between your lips that he can. His lips leave a trail of kisses as he starts to stand. “I’m going to ruin you, and in doing that,” he pauses to grab both sides of your cheeks, and forcing you to look deep into his eyes, “You’ve already ruined me, Dovey.”

His hands move quickly to your sides. And he lifts you up, wrapping both your legs around him, and you whine feeling his throbbing cock. Carrying you into the bedroom, your legs hold him tighter as he crawls the two of you into the center of the bed, placing you down softly before he kisses over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

With each press of his lips you tremble more. Anticipation and a slight twinge of fear rumbles out of you, “Shh, Dovey, breathe, baby. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” his mouth hovers over your cunt, and he breathes in your scent. The most delectable taste. If he has to die, he hopes he dies with the taste of your cunt on his tongue.

Grazing his lips over your glistening folds, he chuckles, “Your dripping, Dovey,” reacting, your legs try to close, but he tsks you, moving them further apart. Bending your knees, he pushes your legs down on the bed. “Honey, quit biting your lip.”

“Why are you calling me, honey?” You feel the weight of his silky and heavy steel on you. Lifting up you look down at your body, chirping at how large he seems laying on your stomach. Viewing exactly how deep he’s going to be inside of you. “Steve,” he gives you a soft smile. Pushing back your baby hairs.

“Dovey, breathe. We don’t have to have sex.”

“Stop being so nice,” you squeak, feeling his piercing right over your clit when he shifts back. Torture. “I want you to destroy me.”

“I will. I need to know you’re ready.”

“What?” You look back up at him, and into his eyes. He is so close you can count every different color of blue and green that make up his irises. Sincerity. Nobody is around to see him being kind or soft. It is just you and him. “I’m ready,” you look back down your body when he grips the base of his meaty cock. Running his length through your folds, and coating Clarence in your juices.

“You going to watch, darling?”

“No, I just want to watch you,” he pushes his mushroom tip to your entrance. Letting the soft skin breach through, smiling when you moan. “Watch me, Captain.”

“I don’t want to watch anything else.”

“Don’t stop until you’re fully in.”

“Dove.”

“Don’t. Stop,” taking a deep breath, you hold his sight as his hips drive forward. Your walls grip him so tight when he plunges in. Eyes filling up with tears as your body stretches to accommodate him. Whining. Whimpering. Lip trembling.

“Dovey, tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Oh god,” the first tear releases past your lashes, and Steve kisses it away. “Captain, I’m okay. Don’t stop. Don’t. Oh!” You breathe in deep, choosing to focus on the way he felt, instead of you. How even in the pain, your body could fit him. It craved him as much as you do. Taking a breath, your fingers relax the grip they have on his arm. And you smile up at him through your tears when he finally slides home.

Adjusting his weight to his forearms, he gives you a reassuring grin, “Dove, it’s a perfect fit,” you snort. It didn’t feel perfect just yet. But every second of him just being inside of you feels better. The pain starts to ebb away, and you know that he was in fact made just for your body. The thought of knowing that he will always be your first. And you are determined that he’s your only.

He grunts, and you feel the rumble all through your body. Seeping into your blood, and you need him. All of him. All over your body, and all in it. Lifting your arms you run your fingers through his hair. Needing him to kiss you, needing to look at him. Needing to see his face as he pulls out of you and sinks back in. Watching how he reacts to claiming you.

“What are you doing, Dovey?”

“Watching you, Captain. You’re mine. I own you.”

“I know you do, Dovey,” He pulls completely out of you, chuckling when you whine up at him. “I gotta look.”

“At what?”

“I have studied the face of God so many times since meeting you. I need to see how gaping you are.”

“Steve!” You feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment as he leans back on his heels. Looking down, his thumb and forefinger spread you out, and you slap your hands over your face. “Why are you like this?”

He flattens his hand over your core, and creates circles over your clit, “Because this is mine. And I like playing with it. Get used to it, Dovey. When I come inside of you, I’m going to watch as every bit of my cum seeps out of this gaping hole. You should see her spread all wide like this. My god, I was in that tiny little thing. And now I’m going to spend every day stretching her out. I never want you to get used to me.”

Moving to settle back over you, he uses his hips to push through your tight little hole. Your back lifts up off the bed as he burrows balls deep into you. His tip whispers over your cervix, and your eyes water again. “I own all your tears,” he draws himself out of you, and stabs back in.

“I own all those squeaks and whimpers that come off your lips,” he sets in at a slow pace. Drawing his length out before burying himself back into your wet heat. “Every moan, every pant of your breaths, every pillowy wet piece of skin inside of you, every grip of your cunt…my god, Dovey, you’re killing me here, baby.”

The most lewd and salacious moan drips from your lips, and your head tilts back, “Don't’ you dare, I gave you this orgasm. You keep your pretty eyes on me,” you look back into his eyes, furrowing your brow as the most deep and powerful euphoria washes over your body. “There’s my girl. Tell your Captain when you feel it all the way in your toes. Don’t you hold back. I know this is a lot, darling, but you’re doing so good. Go on, let go, my beautiful Dovey.”

Your fingers dig into his back as the most overwhelming rush to your core locks you into place. Your walls cinch around his member, and he holds steady. Letting your body succumb to a most beautiful surrender of Steve. Feeling every inch of his glorious cock. Every vein carves inside of you as you remember your first time. Your first love. Your first restart to life.

“So beautiful, Dovey.”

“You own that, Captain.”

“Do I?”

“Mhmm. Claim me. Don’t stop. Ruin me,” Steve’s mouth turns into a devilish smirk, and he slams both hands above your head. Waiting on your final word. “I’m yours to do what you want with. Just remember, you’re also mine. Earn your tears.”

He doesn’t hesitate to barrel in and out of your warmth. Pushing and pulling so deep into you that you see stars. “Don’t you stop,” you beg as tears stream down your face. Choking on air with every pound into you.

“Fuuuuckk!” If you could see, you’d see Steve proudly looking at you. He is inside of you, and now can allow you to say whatever you want. “Fuck me!”

“You fuck me,” holding onto you, Steve rolls you both over, without ever leaving you. His hands gripping onto your thighs while you count your breaths. “What’s the matter, Dovey? Am I too deep?”

You squeak. Unable to speak, and instead shake your head no. “You’re okay though, little bird?”

“Yeah,” tucking your head down, you take a heaving breath before rolling your hips. His piercing still cool on your insides, such a juxtaposition to his heated steel rod. His toned pelvis rubs over your clit, and you see stars, “Oh my god.”

“You stop whining. Fuck me! You fuck your big cock, Dovey. Make me feel so good. Got your sweet little snatch stretched out so wide. Your tiny little cunt is so full of me. Where do you feel me, darling?”

“In my belly,” you aren’t sure how you fit him. The entire length of him is fully in you. All the way to the depths of your soul. You understood Steve. Your new religion was on your knees and praying at the altar of Steve. “My god!” Head back on your shoulders you scream out your prayer, and Steve grabs your hips, holding you still while he fucks into you.

Your juices spew out over his skin as he stuffs you full. There is no way that anything else could fit it. So wide. So deep. So full. Steve is everywhere. All over you. Every part of you fully belonged to him.

He races for his finish as he watches you travel to another plane of existence. Your head heavy and rolling around on your neck. Getting high off Steve’s pleasure is the most fulfilling moment.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he rolls the two of you back over. Slamming his hands on the bed, his hips jackhammers so hard and so deep into your body. Insides becoming rearranged, and Steve becomes addicted to your dumb blissed out face. His cock soaked in your honey, and your belly pushing up with every drive into you he makes.

“So perfect for me, my sweet, beautiful, Dovey,” one more hard cram into your body, and your cunt blooms with warmth as he blows his load straight into your belly. “Holy fuck,” he whispers. Trembling as your pussy milks him dry. Fluttering and pulsing over him. Perfect fit, “That was beautiful.”

He stills himself so he can watch your dopey smile. “You okay, Dove?”

“Uh huh. Yes, Captain.”

“Look at the mess you made,” he lifts you up. Letting you stare at where the two of you connect. “So wet. So creamy.”

“Blood,” you yip, looking back up at him. You knew he was stretching you out, but this is awful. He probably hates you for making such a mess. Showing just how inexperienced you are. He didn’t spend enough time on fingering you and making you fit him better too.

“I own that blood, too. Mmm,” he groans as he pulls completely out of you, and you stare horrified at the mess on his cock. All of yours and his juices mixed with your blood. “Only I get to make you bleed,” he tilts his head to look at your twat. Leaning down to kiss on your swollen pussy. “Only I get to feel her, and look at how wide your hole is spread. Now, push me out.”

“No,” your hands cover your mound, and your lip quivers up at him. This moment isn’t lasting as long as you’d like. You wish you could prolong it in any way, “I like the way it feels when you’re inside me.”

“You’re making me weak, Dovey.”

“You’re only weak for me, Captain.”

“Yes, ma’am. But I’m going to fill you back up in just a little bit. Do your Captain a favor, and let me see that pretty pussy leak of me.”

“You promise to do it again,” if he could stay inside you all day, he would. There is no high like feeling you squeezing him.

“I promise to never stop filling you up. One day I’ll fill you up so much that your belly swells, and I grow right here. Aww,” he coos down at you when you whimper. His hand splays over your belly, and he imagines you with a tiny little bump. One day. “You like that, huh? What me to grow in your belly?”

“Mhmm,” sighing, you envision that distant future when Steve will breed you. But for now you use both hands to spread yourself out wide. Mewling at how tender your puffy folds are. His eyes cast down on your body before staring at your beautiful hole.

“And there it is,” he could come again just watching his spend ooze out of you. “I’m ruined, Dovey,” there would never and could never be another you. He could spend everyday just staring at you. “I’m so ruined.”

“And I’m in love.”

“Don’t say that,” he gathers up his cum, and presses two fingers into your abused cunt. His thumb rubs gently over your clit, and you grab his arm with both hands. “Don’t you ever say that in front of people.”

“But in front of you?”

“I love the way it sounds,” it wasn’t what you wanted, but also wasn’t what you expected. “Shhh, I’m going to get a warm rag and water, and clean you up.”

“But…”

“And then you’re going to take a nap, and wake up with my cock all the way in your belly.”

“You’re going to fuck me when I’m asleep?” If it wasn't for your smile, Steve would say no. But the little giggle you give confirms to him you just how perfect for him. The sweetest version of nasty. His girl. His everything. And he loves to hear you say you love him.

“Alright, lay back. Get whatever sleep I allow you. You’re going to emerge from this cabin wobbling. And one day, I’ll claim your other hole, too.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @theinheriteddutchess @annaallicce @feyfantome @jesevans @tittittoee @bananapiedreams @onclouds999 @darkserenity24 @abbatoirablaze @ashychangeling @identity2212 @mrsevans90 @weirdothatwritess @floralwsloki @thestralwriting @ambearsstuff @lyndy @kandis-mom @hoodiesandicedcoffee @awhoreformoree @nyxbellabarnes @buckybarnesisdaddy @honeyhoneylovleylove

#your mark on me #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fics #chris evans #Chris Evans character #Steve x Dove

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brabblesblog · 4 months

Text

Ch 10: What is thy beloved more than another beloved, that thou dost so charge us?

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Astarion wakes up to find Ban gone. A much-needed conversation takes place.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

The first thing he felt was panic - white-hot and all encompassing, wrapping around his mind like a dense fog.

“Ban? BAN!”

His hands threw the sheets back, and he almost rushed out of the room before he remembered he was naked. He quickly snatched up a fresh pair of trousers and underwear, haphazardly tugging them both on at the same time. Throwing on a shirt he didn’t bother buttoning, he burst through the bedroom doors.

One of the servants was dusting a display cabinet nearby and started to curtsy, but Astarion held up a hand to stop her.

“Where is she!”

The servant pointed towards the huge double doors leading to the courtyard, and he felt his stomach drop. Without another word, he ran.

Ban had one foot on the carriage step when she saw Astarion thundering towards her. His face was contorted, his hair disheveled. Despite her rising apprehension, she couldn’t help but admire the way the sun hit his bare torso as his shirt flapped behind him.

“Ban,” he gasped, stopping just before her. He raised his hand, reaching for her. “What- where are you-”

“Don’t touch me!” she said quickly, as much a warning as a threat, and he stopped instantly, his hand hovering over her arm. She looked at his face, and was surprised to see no anger there - only anxiety and the fear of being left again. He was breathing hard even though he had no need for oxygen, his eyes wide and pupils blown with stress.

He felt a small pang of hurt as he dropped his hand. She hadn’t trusted him, and had immediately put up her wards the moment she’d seen him. He took a few steadying breaths, meeting her gaze.

“Pet- I mean, Ban,” he corrected himself automatically. “Are you leaving?” The nonchalant and charming thing would be to append ‘without saying goodbye’ to that sentence, but he was beyond caring right now.

“I was going to drop Gale’s letter off and go to the market - maybe to look around, get you a little something,” Ban ventured, carefully gauging the Ascendant’s expression. She had woken up at the crack of dawn, and he had been resting so peacefully that the idea of waking him had felt a little cruel. She’d fully planned on coming back afterwards, but was now realizing how the whole situation must look to him.

“Will you let me accompany you?” A part of him wanted to rage at her, to tell her that he was terrified. But her words had calmed him down somewhat. She seemed sincere, and seemed to have planned on returning. He ran a hand through his mussed curls, then looked down at himself and his half-dressed state. He weighed his choices for a moment, then came to a decision. He would try to trust her.

“On second thought, you go ahead. I’ll have the carriage come back here to pick me up, and I can meet you somewhere,” he suggested. He didn’t know if he’d come to regret this, his heart picking up its pace as he worried yet again that she’d leave him.

She shot him a genuine smile, one that worked wonders at soothing his concerns. He found himself smiling back. “It wouldn’t do for the people of Baldur’s Gate to see me like this, would it?”

Ban couldn’t help but laugh. “You wouldn’t survive it if they ever did, Astarion.”

He laughed as well, and found himself staring at Ban’s face. He wanted to capture her lips with his, but refrained, unsure about the wards. He took a step back from the carriage.

“I’ll see you later, darling.” He knew she’d always liked that name, the one he’d used before, and was trying to make a point of using it more often now.

She giggled, and it was all he could do to hold himself back from rushing forward and wrapping her in his arms. He watched her climb into the carriage and close the door behind her, then waited as the carriage made its way out of the courtyard, watching her go. For once that sight didn’t fill him with dread and apprehension.

He felt light, yet another feeling he had almost forgotten. Smiling to himself, he made his way back inside, a spring in his every step.

Ban was perusing a clothing store when Astarion arrived and crept up behind her, leaning over her shoulder and whispering a soft, “Hello, beautiful,” into her ear.

She jerked in surprise, turning to face him.

“That was rather quick,” she said, and considering how long it usually took to get his curls to fall in line, it really was.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to waste any more time than necessary being away from you,” he said lightly, the old flattery slipping in effortlessly. “Shall we?” He offered her his hand, a quick test to see if she still had her defenses up. To his relief, she instantly took the proffered hand, and they walked together, strolling deeper into the store.

“I’m sorry about this morning, by the way,” she said, “I know it probably looked like I was slipping away before you woke up.” With the way she had tried to leave and then putting her wards up, she had no doubts about how it seemed to him.

His face tightened for a moment. “I can hardly blame you.”

He still felt that simmering anger, after all. Astarion knew that if he wasn’t careful, he could easily lose that tentative grip he had on his more selfish inclinations.

“I know.” She eyed a dress and lifted the sleeve, just for something to do. “But I did promise to try, and part of trying is giving you grace and opportunities to do better.”

He knew she was absolutely right, but still felt a certain sense of indignation at her words. As if he was once again being held hostage, only to be rewarded if he did and said the right things. But Astarion told himself that was only his past experiences talking - that she’d never meant it to come across that way. That she just wanted him to be the person she’d known back then - though even that stung.

He followed her out of the shop, and they walked along the cobblestone streets, their fingers entwined; a gesture so intimate and yet so innocent that he marveled at it.

As they walked past a vendor selling flowers he bought a single rose and handed it to her. She tucked it behind her ear.

“You should never have let me do the rite. You should have talked me down,” he remarked.

She didn’t miss a beat, keeping her pace constant as they continued to walk. She acted as if they were merely talking about the weather. “I’ve thought a lot about that, and I think it would have been selfish of me to tell you no, as much as I wanted to.”

“What do you mean?”

“To ask you to damn yourself to the shadows again seemed like a cruel choice,” she replied, studying her fingernails with a practiced look of indifference in her face. She didn’t want him to know exactly how much thinking she had done about this - how many sleepless nights had been spent lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find out exactly where she - no, they - had gone wrong. “To continue to let you be enslaved by your hunger for blood when there was an out - it didn’t sit right.”

He frowned. “I still starve, you know?” It was a different kind of hunger, a gnawing, gaping emptiness in the center of his chest that he had no idea how to fill. She pretended she hadn't heard him, and he sighed.

“For you.” He pushed the issue. He felt like he’d replaced one ache for another, replacing the hole in his stomach with a much deeper hole in his heart, one ravenous for her love. And there was no easy way to fill this one. No quick solution, no drink, no feeding. She ignored it again, but she squeezed his hand in understanding.

After a few minutes, she continued.

“We both knew we would be murdering seven thousand people. But I also knew it wasn’t my decision to make. At least not entirely.” It had always been his choice to make, and she had tried her damndest to steer him in the right direction. But in the end his fear had blinded him and it had won out.

“Do you blame yourself?” His eyes looked dead ahead, a pained expression on his face.

“Every night. Every day. Every moment you seem… to not be you.” Ban squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. It was selfish, that even now what she felt most guilty for was losing him, and not the lives they had both condemned to whatever fate the hells had chosen for them. But neither of them had ever been paragons of righteousness, and, well. Unleashing that many ravenous vampires would have had its own consequences.

“I failed you, I failed all those people, because I couldn’t figure out which was more selfish, convincing you to save them and to damn yourself, or letting you do what seemed best for you and damning them. I knew in theory what should be done, but when push came to shove and you were begging for my help, my conviction failed.”

She took a breath. “My heart doesn’t have enough moral compunction about what we did. It never did, beyond lip service and an objective knowledge of what’s right. I only ever truly cared for what would help you.”

He considered this, a corner of his lips rising as he thought. “I was afraid.” He snuck a glance at her and was thankful to find her eyes weren't on him. He wanted to hide, but he forced himself to face this conversation. He knew that even as the spawn he would have run from it; hells, he could feel his inner self recoiling at the very idea of opening up. But if he was to be better - for her - he needed to surpass even what that spawn had been capable of and be the best possible version of himself. Unrealistic? Definitely. But he intended to aim for it anyway.

“That I was aware of,” Ban replied. They kept walking with no particular destination in mind, just letting their feet lead them. “I was afraid too. During the rite, and after. In the moment it felt like you did have a reason to be afraid - of a life condemned to the darkness, of the potential weight of responsibility for seven thousand spawn and the havoc they could wreak if unleashed. Of being alone, eventually, if we never found a way to make me undying.”

She felt tears prick her eyes, and wiped them away before they could fall. “I didn’t stop you. I could have tried harder. Instead I let you ascend. I let you change me, because I was afraid of losing you - to time, or to your anger had I refused. And I shouldn’t have.”

She bit back the sob that threatened to escape. This was the conversation they should have had as soon as the cracks in their relationship had appeared. But yet again she had let fear rule her, just as his had ruled him. In the end they were both frightened souls who only ever knew how to cling to each other - no matter how dreadful the cost.

“I should have been your compass at that moment. I should have done - I don’t know. Something. Anything.”

His legs stopped moving and he turned to fully face her, hands on her shoulders. His expression was stern and determined.

“You cannot blame yourself for everything that I do.” She tried to protest, and he shushed her.

Because she always did this. Even back then, every single thing their ragtag group ever did had fallen on her shoulders. She’d been their leader, answering for every mishap and consequence their actions ever carried. She had decided for everyone, and so any unfortunate side effects had also been her fault. As his partner, she had shielded him from every possible pain. As his consort, she had handled everything, helped him manage his schedule and to assess every political move they made.

She lifted her gaze at those words, shocked. That hadn’t really occurred to her. For so long now, it had been a reflex for her to feel responsible for every choice they made, a habit internalized so deeply she didn’t really even realize she was doing it. Her life had been so utterly consumed by him ever since they’d met, so much so that there had been little time or energy left over to identify and work through her own issues. She had given him all of her focus, all of her sympathy, her understanding, her love. He knew this, and he looked at her with a wry, slightly sad smile.

“You already do far too much for me,” he murmured, his voice low. It wasn’t a challenge to bare his heart this time - the vulnerability in her eyes made him want to be just as soft. “I deserve far less.” He always had, he thought. From seducing her at the grove, to taking that special bond they had and twisting it into this facsimile of it - for everything.

“And yet you stayed. You came back. You’re willing to try.”

In the middle of the street, he tipped her chin up to him with an unusual amount of gentleness and hesitance. He wanted to be the man who could tell her to leave. To tell her that she deserved better than this, that she could go to Gale, or Halsin - or anyone else, really, and they would be better than the Ascendant.

“I want to be the husband you deserve.” She was undoubtedly his wife, ever since he’d turned her.

Perhaps even before that, he thought, his mind drifting back for a moment to their earlier days. But was he her husband? Had he ever behaved like anything even resembling that, beyond the surface level?

“But if I can’t, you should-” he began, and found that he couldn’t get the words out. His eyes fell shut, fighting himself. You should go. I love you enough to let you go.

Say it. Say it!

He couldn’t. He exhaled roughly, a low rumble of frustration slipping out. He snapped out of it as Ban’s hand touched his cheek, her thumb brushing across the sharp line of his cheekbone. He opened his eyes to meet hers, seeing her smile, and he saw nothing but understanding in them. She wasn’t perfect herself, and she would never hold him to that standard.

“The real you,” she reminded Astarion. Not perfect. Real.

With those words the Ascendant needed little encouragement. He leaned forward, capturing her lips with his own. When the kiss broke, they were both breathless. He smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered.

The carriage ride took too long for both of them. The moment its door was closed Ban straddled him, the bumpy ride only serving to enhance the sensations running through their bodies. Astarion frantically slipped his hand under the waistband of Ban’s trousers, moving his hand downwards until he found her clit and her folds. To his immense delight, she was already wet, her underwear damp.

He gave her a quick glance, and when she nodded, he worked his index and middle fingers inside her, pushing them into her perfect core. She gasped, and his cock throbbed in sympathy, making him wish it was him inside her instead. He kept his hand still, teasing her a little, making her buck her hips and fuck his fingers. The carriage hit a rock and jolted upward; she made a small noise of pure pleasure as his fingers were inadvertently shoved deeper into her.

“Do you want it here?” he asked, meeting her lust-filled gaze with his own. He curled his fingers inside her, earning himself a low, needy moan.

She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. With every ounce of willpower she had left, she moved off his lap, reclaiming her seat.

The sudden loss of her body pressed against his cock made him ache, and he sighed a little. Staring at her, he lifted his two drenched fingers to his mouth, licking every inch of them while maintaining eye contact. His other hand palmed the bulge in his trousers, trying to ease that overwhelming need.

“When we’re home, then.” He stopped palming his erection; there was an insistent throb from his cock at the loss of sensation.

A short while that felt like an eternity later, they stumbled out of the carriage, rushing to get inside the palace. Ban tugged his hand, leading him to the ballroom and straight to his garishly ornate throne. As he moved to sit, she stopped him with an arm across his chest.

“Uh-uh,” Ban cooed, shaking her head and sitting on the throne herself, spreading her legs. “Kneel.”

Astarion took a moment to process the command. He glared, opened his mouth to protest, then thought the better of it. It had been enjoyable, surrendering to her; and so he did as she’d asked, sinking to his knees in front of her. He scooted forward so that his torso sat between her spread legs.

She smirked, the sight of him kneeling before her a thrilling one. “Good, sweetheart.” she crooned.

Watching her face, Astarion slipped into his role without difficulty, and the world shrunk down to just her and his need to please her.

“May I?” he said, hands hovering over her trousers. “Please?” he added immediately, knowing she’d demand it otherwise. At her quick nod his hands moved deftly, undoing the laces and tugging the trousers down, shimmying them off her legs.

His hands rested on her thighs and pushed them farther apart, spreading her open like a feast only he could enjoy. He could see the gleaming wetness of her sex, and he leaned in to press his tongue against her folds.

She bucked her hips up into his tongue in a rolling motion, seeking more friction. Astarion’s hands gripped her hips for purchase as he delved deeper, his tongue finding her entrance and slipping inside, thrusting into her.

The sudden hot press of his tongue, his nose brushing her clit, and his warm breaths dancing over her flesh made her groan helplessly, her hands fisting in his hair. She made a point not to pull too hard, gently guiding him where she wanted him to go.

Astarion obeyed without complaint, his tongue moving up to lavish her swollen clit with attention. His tongue alternated between licking and going around in circles. He couldn’t help but tease her a little, his tongue stilling, pressed against her clit. The unmoving pressure and his hot breath made her whine; she bucked against him insistently. She shot him a warning glare and he relented with a smirk, resuming his movements.

Ban watched as Astarion snaked one hand down his body, unbuttoning his trousers and freeing his aching cock. The head sprung out first, engorged and blushing a gorgeous pink. The rest followed, and Ban shifted a little to get a better view as Astarion wrapped a hand around himself and stroked. She appreciated how his hand glided along his length, his precum making the tip glisten obscenely in the sunlight. She felt herself clench, longing to have him deep inside her, but resisted for now.

He let out a low, guttural moan as he touched himself, realizing that if he kept this up he wouldn't last very long at all.

“Ban,” he pleaded, trying to use the round, wide eyes that he knew melted her heart. He kept his mouth on her, both lips and tongue working to bring her ever closer to climax.

“Stop touching yourself, and then maybe I’ll let you fuck me.”

He immediately obeyed, a small whimper escaping him as his cock pulsed, begging for more. He returned his hand to her inner thigh, his tongue lapping at her entrance and then moving back to her clit. He suckled her more insistently now, trying to be good and to give her what she deserved.

Ban’s hands worked, lifting her shirt off. She was now fully naked, and he took a moment to drink in the view, his cock giving another pained throb at the sight.

She tugged his hair gently, an instruction to lift his head, and he did. His eyes met hers, and she could tell he was lost in it, his gaze hazy. His chin and mouth shone with her wetness and she smirked, satisfied by the sight.

“That was wonderful, Astarion. Now you can sit.” She stood and he wordlessly shuffled over to sit on his throne. She marveled at the sight for a moment, then nodded.

“Remind me what you wanted, again?”

He didn’t hesitate. There was no room for his pride at the moment. “I want to be inside you, love.”

“Anything else you’d like to add to that?”

“Please, I’m begging you,” he replied, his cock visibly pulsating, the vein running across the top throbbing in time with his racing heartbeat.

She took in the sight of the Ascendant on his throne, begging for her, and gladly relented. She climbed up and slowly sat on his cock, both of them moaning at the sensation of finally being one.

She braced against the back of the chair and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue. “Go ahead, Astarion,” she murmured, “Take what you need.”

It was all the permission he needed. He thrust upwards, slamming his cock deep inside her with every stroke. His hands wrapped around her waist, seeking purchase as he pummeled into her again and again. Astarion was mostly silent; the only sounds that escaped him were small pants and whimpers. He didn’t have to perform for her, didn’t have to think. He only had to take her. It was sublime.

She didn’t move much, grinding against him lazily, content to let him ravish her to his heart’s content. She could feel him pulsing inside her as he approached his climax, his breaths getting faster and shallower as he chased it. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted. Ban reached down to grip his hips, feeling every clench of his ass as he hammered into her again and again.

She slid a hand down to rub her clit, beginning to chase her own climax. The combination of Astarion’s movements, the sound of his ragged breathing, his utter focus on taking his own pleasure, and the feel of his thick, hard cock pounding into her were almost too much.

“Why does this feel so good?” she whispered, mostly to herself.

Astarion smiled, his eyes remaining closed. “Because it’s us.”

They were both wonderfully close. As his mouth opened in a whimper, Ban slipped two fingers inside, feeling for a fang. He playfully sucked them, not realizing what she was planning. She found a fang and pressed it with her fingertip until it broke skin, blood dripping onto his tongue.

Astarion whined, licking her finger, his hips thrusting erratically, the taste of her blood sending him over the edge. He rode out his orgasm, grinding into her as he felt his cock spasming inside her. The feel of him filling her with his seed pushed Ban to the brink as well. Rubbing at her clit desperately, she clenched around Astarion’s oversensitive cock as she finally reached her peak. He whimpered, the sensation a mix of pleasure and of pain.

They both came down from the high, Ban slumped against Astarion, his arms pulling her in for a hug. He was fully clothed from the waist up, and she could feel how sweat-soaked his shirt was. He was still catching his breath when she spoke again.

“Good, sweetheart?”

It took him a moment to respond. Their bodies were still joined, and he was content to stay that way for a little while longer. As reality came back, he placed a kiss on her forehead, removing her fingers from his mouth.

“Amazing,” he breathed.

“Ban,” he asked after a moment, his hand tucking errant strands of her hair behind her ear, joining the flower he bought her. “Do you think we'll ever be the way we were?”

Do you think you’ll be able to forgive me? The last part he projected directly into her mind, not trusting himself to try and speak it aloud.

She frowned. “I don’t know. Probably not exactly the way we were. But that’s not to say we won’t ever find something resembling it. Or something even better.” She didn’t answer his second question.

Astarion slowly pulled out of her; she felt the warmth from his cock and his come slowly leak out. She instantly missed it, wishing he’d stayed put longer.

Hearing her say that, knowing that she didn’t forgive him yet, hurt. He knew why - had fully been expecting her response - but that didn’t lessen the sensation he felt in his chest, like a knife had been twisted between his ribs, puncturing his heart. But he didn’t fight back, nor even feel offended. It felt good to speak the truth. To have a little honesty and openness to each other’s feelings, instead of the constant games they’d played with one another before.

“Well, I suppose we have time,” he said airily. He had another chance to win her, and even if it was a struggle, he hoped that these past few days were a sign that he was making inroads at winning her trust and love again.

“We do.” She kissed him again. They stayed that way for a long time, wrapped up in each other’s arms in the heart of their little kingdom.

In their bliss, they didn’t notice the feeling of being watched, failing to sense the weight of the invisible eyes that had been observing them since they’d gone out into the city.

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ymechi · 8 months

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The Naiad au (Scrapped)

EDIT: 17/11/2023 I have decided to rework this series, so this story won't continue, instead there will be a new one with the same concept.

-slight idv and genshin crossover, the mc is an OC and has female pronouns

-english is not my first language

TW: SAGAU, Cult au, imposter au, mentions of death, drowning

part 1 , This is part 2

authors note: if i am correct this part was 1.5k words;; i was so unmotivated to edit i should try to find a beta/editor, sorry for the writing mistakes

She looked up towards the sky from the ocean floor staring at it for a while. While she managed to survive she had no idea what to do. Going to the surface was probably a very bad idea in case she ran into those villagers again, for now she should explore her surroundings.

To swim in the sea came surprisingly easy for her, she was never an excellent swimmer but the way she moved felt eerily natural. She came to realize she did not need to move her arms. Her legs and perhaps something else (a power she did not understand) did most of the work.

Oxygen was not a problem either, she idly wondered if she had gills somewhere on her body.

She swam in between some kelps and fishes. There was, yellow, green and red big huge vines which she saw in between too. The floor beneath was a vibrant green shade, everything here was so colorful and beautiful. It felt so alive and thriving. She would have thought that the ocean deep beneath was darker, murkier and scarier but she fell in awe the more she saw.

She looked up and saw the sun giving the water above a golden hue, soon the sun would set but she did not feel afraid at the thought of the dark.

The ocean was mostly empty of any dangers. There were so many colorful schools of fishes swimming around, occasionally she would see a big fish that would look like a predator but they would never come to her and harm her. Perhaps she did not look tasty to them?

At the thought of food she did feel slightly hungry but it wasn't anything too urgent, yet it was best to find something to eat now while she could. She looked around and saw some seaweed. She did remember seaweed could be edible and the water here looked clean, there was no harm right?

At most it would perhaps taste gross, she tore off some of the seaweed and hesitantly took a bite. The taste was not unpleasant, it tasted salty and the texture was not slimy like she expected but rather a bit rubbery. She happily took another bite, the best part there was a lot of seaweed so the chances of her running out of it was very low. While eating her impromptu lunch-dinner she did not notice a few fish appearing beside her. When she noticed them she looked at them curiously one of them came near her face and bumped into her mouth.

She was rather confused and she started to laugh. While laughing the fish entered her mouth which caused her to panic, which caused her to choke and then her trying to get the fish out of her mouth. She looked at the troublemaking fish she finally caught in her hand in confusion.

What was going on?

in her peripheral she saw one of the larger fish approach her, it looked like a salmon but she was not sure. The larger fish approached one of the smaller fishes and opened its mouth, she could see the fish's sharp teeth. The smaller fish then willingly entered the pseudo salmon's mouth much to her shock.

The salmon then began to eat the smaller fish all while looking at her and she could not help but to think of the smaller fish's earlier actions. They wanted her to eat them?

This was all too confusing. Fish are not supposed to behave like this, since when did prey willingly enter a predator's mouth? The fish in her hand wiggled before approaching her face, more specifically her mouth.

Should she try to do it? Maybe just one bite. . .

She held both ends of the fish with her hands, closed her eyes, did a sharp exhale and took a bite.

crunch.

Yikes she forgot about the fish bones but the bones did not hurt at all. The fish's taste was rather tasty and flavorful, much better than the seagrass. Another fish appeared in front of her, a different species than the one she ate and she took the fish and proceeded to eat it too, this one tasted a little bit saltier. Soon different species of smaller fish came up to her and she ate one of each.

After a while she patted her stomach. She really overdid it but in her defense she never had eaten fish like this, they were raw and despite that they were tasty. Hopefully since she was presumably no longer human she would not catch any diseases from eating raw fish. . .

She slowly traced her sharp teeth with her tongue, another discovery about her body. Speaking of her body she really should move around to digest the food. With that in mind she began swimming around with no direction in mind exploring the seafloor and its vibrant ecosystem.

She followed some manta ray looking creatures (she was pretty sure manta rays were not green). She swam along with them doing twists and turns which caused her to laugh. One nudged her on the hand which caused her to start petting the manta ray like one would a dog, the texture was not unpleasant to the touch.

After some more playing around with the manta rays they approached. . . something?

She looked towards the direction of the place. It was ominous, omitting a weird aura. It was as if she should not approach the place but that only piqued her curiosity even more. If she was sane she would not approach whatever that place was yet she has gone through multiple literal life changing events so she went ahead to the direction of the place.

It certainly did not disappoint.

She gasped as she saw the tall pillars holding down a creature which she could only describe as a blue sea dragon with multiple heads. The structure despite being so impressive looked old yet so sturdy still holding down the monster (or creature?).

She hesitantly approached a pillar that pinned down one head.

The creature snapped its eyes open.

She made a small squeaking sound and fumbled backwards. The bound creature gave her what she could only assume was an unimpressed yet annoyed glare as they stared down at her.

She shivered yet stood frozen still in his glare unable to move or break eye contact.

"You should not be here."

She gulped and frantically tried to come up with something.

"I-i- i just followed a trail. . ."

"This place is sealed, no mortal or god should be able to come in here."

The creature ignored her previous comment and the annoyed expression he had previously turned into curiosity as he stared down at her like one would do to a dog who made an interesting trick.

"I am- i don't know," she cringed at her own words, "I uhh sort of woke up in here, the ocean, and-and just came upon this place."

The more she spoke the more she wanted to dig herself into a hole and curl in there. The creature before her did not change his expression, continuing to stare at her.

"You were just born?"

Born? That was one way to look at it. She did die but now she is alive, so a sort of rebirth.

"Yes?"

Her answer came more out as a question, she herself was unaware what really happened.

"I see and do you have a name?"

the creature looked at her expectantly as if that would give the creature an answer to a question. For her that question was a curse.

Impostor. Heretic. Stealing the name of the creator.

She sucked in a harsh breath except what filled her lungs was water reminding her of her drowning. Her mind began to go hazy, flashes of the village mob still inside of her mind. She hugged her body tightly. Her real name was a liability in this world. Yet just like her body she can change it as well.

"It's Naiad."

The creature closed their eyes, perhaps thinking or reminiscing. She doubted the creature would know of her name. The name was not of this world.

"I see you were born with a name, not many do."

Naiad looked at him questioningly, not really sure how to answer, she had so many questions other than what he just said. Yet could she ask them? Despite having a powerful aura he was pinned down, as if they were imprisoned, the pillars acting as chains to this prison. If Naiad did end up offending them perhaps she could make a run- swim for it.

"Uhm. . . What do I call you?" She asked with a meek voice.

He looked down at her and she stared back. Naiad felt like time passed slower before the creature finally answered.

"I am Osial."

#genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #cult au #female mc #idv naiad inspired #slight crossover #please check the TWS #i have no beta #english is not my first language #the naiad au #imposter sagau

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txttletale · 4 months

Note

opinion on moffat dw series 10? also does anyone know what the deal with the flux was bc i feel like it changes everytime somebody new tries to explain it?

series 10 was the best the show ever got after series 4 and imo the second-best season of nuwho hands down. genuinely incredible run of stories with only one big dud (the lie of the land) and several all-timers (extremis, oxygen, world enough and time/the doctor falls) .

flux was.... really confusing. it changes when people try to explain it because the editing was bad enough to make it really difficult to follow what was happening or why at any given time. which to be fair to chibnall is partly because covid-19 fucked up the whole production and its a small miracle anythign was made at all. unfortunately miracles are not always good.

#ask #doctor who

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Text

v. a new day

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter five of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers. no use of y/n. smut. oral sex (man receiving), angst. bit of emotions are coming outttttt. Wordcount: 6.3k AN: apologies for the lateness, my personal life has just been throwing things at me and I didn't want the emotions to bleed in when i was editing. also, if there's errors, i'm so sorry, i have had no sleep. pls forgive me. as always, huge thank you to @yeyinde who allows me to ramble continuously and to @guyfieriii who is on her way to get me a magazine and send it to me. I adore you both.

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“I can’t believe you caught him?”

“Me neither.”

You lean back, eyes wide, twisting the cord around your finger.

“I did call you—last night. After we’d seen him. Rang your place, work...”

Swallowing, you smile. “I, um—“

Looking up as Peña steps out of his office, sliding his tie through the loop, eyes staring over you. Drinking you in. Making every part of you burn up under his gaze.

“—had a date.”

“Oh. How did it go?”

Biting your lip, you watch him. How his brows furrowed, letting your eyes descend down before noticing his tie. How it sat off-centre—all threaded in a rush.

You suspect he’s been ordered to attend a meeting. One likely about the day's events, one with a lot of Colombians, officials and higher-ups. So, you gesture.

The corners of your lips slightly rise, watching his smile slowly grow.

“It was good. Nice.”

Van Ness snorts. “You going to see them aga—actually, fuck this, I don’t think I wanna hear anymore.”

“Wasn’t about to tell you, Van Ness. Hey—I have to go, please be safe.”

“Always am.”

“Says the man catching Narcos—anyway, Stoddard is here, speak soon.”

“He best not be making you drinks…”

“Promise he isn’t.”

You place the phone down, standing up as Peña comes to a halt barely an inch away from you.

“That my name now? Stoddard.”

“Well, you’re struggling to sort your own tie, does seem a Stoddard thing to do, sir.”

He twitches his fingers at his side. Has been doing so since he guided Gilberto out to the flashing lights and clicks of cameras.

The significance of what they’d done—what he had done—crashed into him. Not knocking him off his feet, not even knocking him off his axis. But it kickstarted something.

It truthfully only slid over him when he slid into the seat of a car.

They’d done it. Proved that surrender wasn’t the only option—that they could be caught. Because they had caught one of them. The ones they all said were untouchable. Right in his fucking home, hiding away.

A new lease of life spreads as Javi swallows. A thrum of energy, one which has been missing since before he was sent back to the States, rippling through him as though it had never gone. Disturbing the regret he’d been feeling since…

They’d done it. The thought rolls around, his finger occasionally stroking his bottom lip—sometimes pinching his thigh as the streets flash past the window. Doing so even as his knee hits the door, needing to, just to be certain he’s awake, and not dreaming.

The truth it’s all a reality weaves into his muscles, the adrenaline bursting into his bloodstream—beautifully blending with the newly rejuvenated oxygenated cells that swim to his heart.

He knows there's a shitstorm waiting for him at the embassy. For what he’d done—but, then, they hadn’t really wanted him here for the accolades.

Stechner hadn’t vouched for him because he’d been a rule-follower. More someone to blame, to use.

And now, he’d shown them the sheer proof that it could be done—the surrender could be nil and void. They could get more.

That’s what he’d thought as he had hammered his knuckles into Martinez’s door, pulling on a string marked ‘do not touch’. Hoping he’d be forthcoming—that he’d trust him to work alongside him.

Javi hadn’t been sure if a speech on how much he wanted to do right would make up for what had already transpired. Less excuses spoken, and more acknowledged errors that he’d been determined—foolishly so. Blinded and only seeing through tunnel vision. Focused on the wrong thing; determined, but for what? None of it became clear even when he’d sat in his childhood home—or stood out in the field. The more he looked for answers, the less weight his reasonings had—the fewer excuses he could grasp at why he’d let things poison and ruin.

In the end, he was grateful he hadn’t needed to spout any of that. The sheer opportunity that Javi had brought it to him, had been enough.

Not sure any of his truthful ramblings would have made sense, anyway.

It was a true second chance. A hope which had been living in some recess, brushed off and placed front and centre at his feet. His hand outstretched, watching as Martinez shook his—a truce, of some sort, a promise. Maybe, in the smallest way, an element of forgiveness—not that Javi would allow it. It didn’t mean he’d squander or wreck it either, using it to stand a little taller and ensure his shoulders were a little more square.

It’s why he takes a moment when the car pulls up outside the building. Sitting, spreading his palms in long strokes over his thighs. Catching his breath.

He can already feel how things have changed. Already knows there will be faces turning when he steps inside, the burden of it meeting his shoulders again. Having temporarily moved it, placed it on the floor while he focused on what needed to be done. Now, the music was playing, and the true heaviness of what a second chance meant began to rest on his bones. The true power of doing good didn't just provide accolades, but gifted in moon-eyed agents and hopefulness he felt guilty squashing.

It begins when he steps down the embassy stairs, bodies stopping, turning. His cheeks warming, ears burning as they murmur and mutter. Focusing on it, while another part blindly wants to ignore it as he enters the office. It’s why the first clap doesn’t register.

It takes a moment, the applause slowly raining around him, covering him. Layering in thick noise that soaks into his skin and makes him feel cold, rather than joyous.

The worst thing is, deep down, he knows there’s an old version of him who would have smirked at all of this. Who’d have relished in it. Likely lifted his chin, and shook each hand—man or woman—rather than sinking his chin to his chest like he’s currently doing. Trying to shy from it, get through them all as they begin to move closer, ready to congratulate him—shake his hand.

A part of him knows he should be glad. Should be proud he has somewhat earned the notoriety he walks around with now. A slither of it, anyway.

Finding Stoddard’s hand, he’s the only one he shakes. Not sure what to do with the rest of his body as he lets his eyes move across the room, seeing the closing circle of those wanting to thank him, celebrate and pat him on the back. But, his eyes land only on the pair which pulls him to shore.

Yours.

The one person not clapping—leaning against your desk, head tilted to the side, doing your trademark smirk. The one Javi likes to think is just for him because he pulls it from you so frequently. The one which hits your eyes and shines like the sun on a cloudless day and warms him, even if he keeps trying not to let it.

His heart sinks, just a touch. It’s still floating on the surface of the day and is the only explanation for why it doesn’t fall to his feet. Because as he lets his eyes fall over you he realises it’s the first opportunity he’s had to think of you. To allow himself to think of you.

How he hadn’t had a chance to make sure you got home okay. The last sight of you had been in his office, lips swollen, eyes shimmering with post-lust bliss and your clothes a little off-pristine. Your hand on his wrist, sliding circles into his pulse—all thought-out and considered. You’re gonna get him, Javi. Your teeth chewed the skin of your lip as the words washed over him, a nervousness to you he rarely ever noticed—a slight discomfort in your forced expression.

But he hadn’t asked.

Swallowing, he releases the hand in his.

“–Where you going? C’mon, we want to toast you…”

Hearing Stoddard, but watching you. “Start without me.”

He never questioned the tight expression when you released his wrist, his hand grabbing at things from his desk—all set to walk out, to leave. Be safe, Javi.

It echoes through his ears as he crosses the room, watching as you take a deep breath as the gap between the two of you closes.

Javi could let himself feel it now—the spark and the concern. Could question it—let it fill him. He could find the words to ask why Cali undoes a part of you, why you always place one particular type of mask up when it's mentioned—when someone goes. Unpicking it all, seeing it all as though someone was showing it to him all on video.

Having been so laser-focused before, he’d missed it. Placed them all to the side, noticing the other things—the ones inflicted by others' words and actions, and not the looming one hovering over you as you worked.

Something had happened to you in Cali. Something that was left from the reports.

He tucks you away, hides you—keeps you purely for the times he can spare a second to truly think and consider you. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet—in the calm. A welcomed retreat, a safe haven. A person who populates a carved space in his mind, one you had barely needed to hack at to make. Because, in truth, he made it for you, found a place that he could store you in for when he felt safe enough to let you out, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

Now just watching in slow motion as you try to hide what he assumes is relief.

It’s a gift, how you keep people out. One he would admire if he wasn’t on the other side of it and wasn’t able to recognise how quickly and smoothly you were able to slide up the veil which isn’t breachable. While he doesn’t know what monsters live in your wardrobe or which ghosts haunt you, he knows there’s a reason why you can’t tell him too.

A reason why you talk in riddles whenever bureaucracy is mentioned.

A discomfort which ebbs and flows, but never truly meets the two of you, even if it tries to. It did so before he fucked you on his desk. A look so similar to the one you gave him in his office, all soft eyes he wasn’t sure if he could ever earn deserving.

He knows people consider you to be a storm. A restless bundle of anger and lightning—thunder rumbling with every step of your heel.

But, as he comes to a stop in front of you, Javi realises he hadn't seen you like that, not since the first day when you'd tried to convince him you were. Not even as you slide around your desk, using the wooden furniture as a barrier between the two of you.

Ironic, really. When the two of you used one similar as a surface for relief, hours and hours ago.

Javi thinks you’re something more akin to a rain cloud—all set to burst and let whatever it is you hold close fall like raindrops. Maybe they’d be acidic, maybe they’d burn those unfortunate to be underneath, but he’d only care for the relief on your face.

The one he’s sure is hiding behind the smile he’s being presented with.

“Congratulations, sir.”

He slides his shades from his shirt, nodding at you. Thanking you.

Continuing, you clear your throat, “I think the Ambassador would like to see you.”

You let your words wash over him, before dropping your hand close to your mug, slowly pushing it toward him. A gesture, a bold one in a sea of eyes.

Voice dropping, you flick your eyes up to his, “You can have one sip.”

“And, if I take one more, cariño?”

Your lips scrunch, a real smile—all teeth and lines in your cheek—so desperate to break out. “You wouldn’t want to know, sir.”

Each time he swallows, he tastes your coffee.

Desperate to find a mug, to enjoy one more sip in some silence—even light up a cigarette, if he could be spared. But, it’s one thing, then another. Almost feeling the flutter of anxiety and adrenaline merging into something unheard of.

From the meeting to the note in his file, right to the press conference he had needed to lead.

As soon as it ended, he was led to the staircase—practically shoved off. His feet all heavy, legs like lead as he steps down, ready to hide in his office and release many heavy, simmering breaths.

That had been his plan. His only focus—until he finds you waiting.

Then he thinks of the file room, his place, his desk…

It knots all inside of him—that thrum of disbelief that blends so disastrously with the sudden acknowledgement he doesn’t deserve you. Something he thinks a lot, yet is finding it harder to fight off under tiredness and waning adrenaline.

It isn’t just whatever it is between you—the fun, non-committal thing neither of you are likely to acknowledge—but your mere attendance in his life.

The way you make things brighter, shine something that makes the edges a bit more colourful and meaningful. Not quite ready to allow it closer to the centre, to let it touch the parts of him still tainted in darkness and regret. He doesn’t think even your shine can do that alone.

Wiping a hand over his face, he moves towards you. Absently wondering when you’ve snuck in, having not seen you arrive or between his meeting finishing and arriving here. He’d looked for you, met Stoddard’s eyes and nodded for him to come.

Yet, here you are, shaking someone’s hand as Javi moves past another person, noticing that you’ve removed your jacket, so that he can see the outlines of your bra straps through the back of your blouse. He spots the clipboard pressed to your chest, hand wrapped around another mug—one he soon realises is the one you always give him.

It diminishes, the part of him which wants to protect you from him. From the disappointment he tends to bring and the fact he’s so thoughtless. That even under your occasional frostiness and many secrets, you’re kind… sweet.

It’s why he should blink, and turn away—not that he can tear his eyes away enough to solidify his thought of walking away. Your presence practically demands his attention, even if you’re talking to someone else. Your leg crossed in front of the other, a white pen tucked away behind your ear and hearing, as he moves closer, the Spanish flowing from your tongue. It’s crisp, and clear—rolling beautifully to his ear as the conversation nears an end. The man’s hand in yours, another placed on your arm—squeezing—bidding you farewell.

Something unfurls, and stretches its legs inside of him. Only settling when the man’s hand leaves your arm, leaves the close proximity and is walking away.

“You making friends?”

Shrugging, you smirk. “Apparently so. You looked good by the way.”

“I did?”

Nodding, you hand him the mug. “Yeah. Like you were supposed to be up there. You know, before you get into your head, it should have been someone else.”

He nods, taking a sip, wincing at the strong taste of alcohol—frowning at you as you smile wistfully.

“Thought you could do with something stronger. Also, you doing the conference is smart, I like it—takes the heat off Chris and Dan.”

He nods again, taking another sip. More prepared this time to coat his throat in amber, staring, wondering how you managed to sneak a mug of bourbon to him. Not that he should be surprised. You seemed to manage to do a lot, keep things turning, keep things organised.

“So, sir. How do you plan on celebrating?”

He takes a long drag, raising his brows that hopefully says, I think you already know, and from the smirk, you shoot him back, you do. The two of you fall into a walk, one where your strides match, where your eyes can be on the other but not walk into a thing or soul. Not speaking, not for a minute, your eyes taking him in—raking over him, assessing him for something (or nothing) he can’t be sure.

“Are you waiting for an invite for that or…”

Shrugging, he watches you take the mug back as he narrows his eyes. “Never been one to wait to be asked to be somewhere, cariño.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” you comment, sliding closer as you press the button for the elevator. “So, what? You want to take me home and fuck the day away?”

He looks at you, flicking from your eyes to your lips. Watching as you swipe the tip of your tongue against your lower lip. Your body heat is almost smothering his skin—even through his shirt and jacket. “If I ever say no to doing that, cariño. I’ve got brain damage.”

Smirking, you nudge him, the ding of the elevator's arrival making you step back. “If we have a choice, I choose yours. It's fancier.”

“I don't know, I bet you have candles and decorative pillows.”

“That what makes a place fancy in your eyes? The amount of candles someone has.”

“I have no candles.”

Snorting, you shake your head as he presses the button for your floor.

As the doors close, he glances at you, how your expression is fixed on the metal doors.

“I’m glad you came back, Peña.”

He hears it, and conjures another set of words. Ones he heard, ones he had been meaning to acknowledge—until the phone rang. Until life hurtled a thousand things, and then he was flying to Cali.

Javi… I was worried. I was worried about you.

You turn your head, flicking your eyes over him. “Another night, I’d show you how unfancy my place is. Tonight, though…”

He knows. Knew even before the teasing had begun about his place or yours. His thumb strokes over his middle and index finger as he chews his cheek.

“Plus, someone must have come in and knocked all your files on the floor,” you say, a lightness to your tone, “Left your office in a right mess.”

The doors pinged open, only able to watch as you step out—not waiting for him, just leaving him behind, chewing his smirk.

The moment Martinez left his office, he just remained sat on the edge of his desk.

It had taken longer than it should to sink in. The power people had, the corruption, how it bled and rotted in every corner of the place. The enormity of it all, how without his sacrifice and him handing his notice in, it would have all been undone.

Martinez was the good one. The one who hadn't toed the line, hadn't stepped into the grey, hadn't even been selfish. Not like him.

He drained the glass, finished his cigarette—staring at a patch on the floor until his fingers wrapped around the edge, feeling marks along the wood. For a solid minute, he traces them, feels the lines, the deepness to them, until his mind wonders if they’re from you.

No, Javi. Just you. Only you.

It’s instant, the way he darts to his bottom drawer, rummaging through until he retrieves the file—the one marked with your name. The one he’d sourced before, now paying attention to the parts he had ignored then.

From the look on your face, you’re as surprised to see him, as he is that he knocked. A wine glass in hand, the red of it sloshing from side to side as he observes you process his arrival. That he even got out of the car.

“You… know where I live?”

He drops his hand from leaning on the door frame, wiping his mouth. “I know where you live.”

Opening the door, you step aside—hands tugging at your cardigan to wrap it around yourself. “Some could call that stalking, sir.”

“Y’gotta stop with the sirs.”

“Do I?”

You smirk—it spreads up your cheeks until it hits your eyes, before your hand pushes the door closed behind him, keeping your eyes on him.

All he can think is how pretty you are. How beautiful you look, even if you’re all undone—nothing on your face, a baggy t-shirt and some shorts, the thickest socks on your feet.

“Drinking alone, cariño?”

It’s slow, how you lean against the door. Not letting the two of them head further into your place. “Some days justify it. Don’t you think?”

He does.

More than he wants to say—not wanting to spoil your evening. Taint your home with talks of work and bureaucracy. Things he suspects you know more than you’re likely to share. The thick lines through your file are all an indication of it.

You take a sip, and then another.

Adding nothing, just letting him stand there, and he half wonders if you expect him to plead his case here—or whether you’re assessing whether to eject him out of your place as quickly as you left his prior.

Mainly, he focuses on the fact it smells like you. Floral with a hint of darkness—your decor not all that different from his, just with additional touches. Some candles, some colour—some attempt at making the place feel like a home and not somewhere to rest your head.

It’s only in the growing silence does he hear the faint sound of music, something low, involving a guitar thrumming in the background.

“Are you lonely, Agent Peña?”

He places his hand in his pocket, leaning against the wall opposite you.

“No.”

You nod, rolling your lips. “Just in the neighbourhood then?”

He wipes his mouth as his other hand rubs his palm against his index finger in his pocket. Suddenly unsure why he was here—why he’d found your address and come.

Javi wasn’t lonely. Didn’t have the time to be. A sea of paperwork on his desk, the guilt weighing down on him, hearing the colonel's voice over and over—the once pleasant taste of liquor now turning bitter in the back of his throat.

“You forget I know where you live, so I know you’ve come out of your way.”

A laugh escapes and falls from his lips as he dips his head.

It all of a sudden catches up with him, how the day has been a range of emotions. The delicate way things had needed to happen, the thrum of adrenaline—the joy, the meeting, the conference…

Lifting his chin, he finds you still watching him.

No smirk. No smile. All soft edges and a comforting presence—waiting. For what, he can’t be sure, but he kicks off the wall all the same. Sliding his hand from his pocket, softly wrapping it around your hip as he places his forehead against yours, walking you backwards, taking the glass from your hand and placing it down.

He tells himself he needs a moment. A stolen one that doesn’t bleed and change into others. A break in from everything, for a second.

It only shifts when he wraps each finger on your hip, pulling you close. He keeps your shoulder blades against the wall, the guitar strumming increasing as much as his heart is beating. It’s all rhythmic, a remix of a song he isn’t sure of—but one he is tuned into all the same.

It takes his breath away how you look at him. How it’s harder to stop himself from falling into them, worsening as your hand cups his elbow. At first, it’s all shared breath and waiting. Neither moving, his forehead just remaining against yours.

“Are you okay?”

It’s so soft. Barely audible if his body wasn’t pressed against you, as he shakes his head, feeling your fingers slowly sliding in gentle circles around his elbow. Cupping him, keeping him as close as his hands keep you.

“What do you need?”

He says nothing. Afraid that saying ‘you’ is too much. Having hoped the action would speak louder than the words as he stares into you—mixing brown with yours to make a colour artists dream of.

“Hey,” you say again. More demanding, assertive. “Javi, what do you need?”

He doesn’t think, doesn’t attempt to. Embodies the former version of him—the one which had gone to the Colonel’s home, to begin with—the one who takes and takes and takes.

“You drunk, baby?”

He hears you swallow, before slowly shaking your head.

“Good,” he whispers.

Closing his eyes, he lifts his forehead before dipping his head, his mouth captures yours. Javi merges the taste of sweet wine, whiskey and his cigarettes together, creating a taste so intoxicating and delicious he’s not sure he ever wants to come up for air.

Just need you, he thinks as his tongue slips past your parted lips.

Only want you, he urges as he feels your other hand sliding around his neck, deepening the kiss, his tongue able to taste that small whimper you do when he squeezes your hip.

It’s different—but then each time he kisses you is. It has been needy, and passionate. Another, it has been soft, almost meaningful. Now, this time, he’s able to feel how warmth consumes him as you kiss him more purposefully. He deepens it in search of more, kissing you more hungrily, full of need and want.

It’s only when he feels your hand skate over the back of his neck, fingers teasing the bottom of his hair, does he slow. In time, pulling back, pressing his forehead against yours—bruising your hip with his fingers as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Whatever it is…”

“We can’t fix it, cariño.”

It’s cold—the way he says it. Wishing he could retract it the moment he sees your brows scrunch. Instead, he shows no sign of letting up his grip on you. Hoping it’s enough to wordlessly explain that he needs you close, wants you—in fact. Needed to just be around you. Even if he shouldn’t, couldn’t…

He presses two fingers to the side of your cheek, curling them. Your mouth parts, words—likely reassuring ones, knowing what he knows about you—are all desperate to fall and heal over the cracks. But, he shakes his head, watching your lips close as quickly as they had opened, your fingers continuing to draw shapes at the base of his hairline, studying him—searching his eyes.

Then, like a light in a dark room, understanding spreads across your gaze. Illuminating everything, likely connecting the dots in that beautiful—but deeply fascinating—way you do.

“Martinez…”

“Cariño… not, not right now.”

Slowly, you smile, spreading your fingers in his hair—tugging on him, pulling him with far too much ease until his forehead presses back against yours.

“You did this… before.”

A breath escapes his lips. “Yeah…”

“Why’d you come, Javi?”

I needed you.

It wasn’t a lie. If anything, it was more truthful than he cared to admit or accept. Which is why he didn’t say it—didn’t let on that the moment the walls began to tremble, he thought of you. Looked through the blinds, bitterly disappointed you weren’t there to be witty and sarcastic, smirk in that way that gets under his skin and make some flirtatious comment that makes it hard not to kiss you.

He could tell you that. Be honest.

Instead, he says nothing, staring into your eyes until he feels your other hand, the one which has been continuing to grip his elbow, squeeze.

“Okay. Lemme look after you,” you whisper, before kissing him.

Brushing your lips against him, before pulling away and then kissing him again. Testing the waters, looking for some form of permission as he grips your hips, giving it to you. He doesn’t protest when you begin trailing kisses down his jaw. Your fingers sliding around his arm, to his waist, to the belt holding his trousers up.

Holding the base of your neck, he stares into your eyes, feeling your palm brush suddenly over his cock. “You don’t have to, car—“

“Shh,” you whisper.

Slowly, he watches as you lower yourself to your knees, his throat going dry at the mere sight of you. Watching as you grip his cock. All teasingly slow, dragging it out—your tongue sweeps across your bottom lip as you continue to stroke him.

Eyes closing, he lets his head meet the wall. Needing more—almost asking for it.

It’s what you want, he assumes. Because as soon as he reaches the point where he’s going to ask, you wrap your pretty lips around him. Taking note of the way you run your tongue around the head of him before licking a stripe along the underside of his cock. Finding that your eyes don’t leave his—watching what you do to him, enjoying it.

It’s endearing.

A desire building, suddenly wanting nothing more than to watch—how he wants an unrestricted view of such beauty—of you taking him down your throat, of your cheeks hollowing, even if your actions are compelling him to close his eyes.

You’re always pretty—but this is something else. You are on your knees for him.

Taking as much of him as you can, your hand working what you can't fit—his own hand tightening around your head as you wrap his cock in warmth.

He feels you smirking, your mouth pulling back as you swirl your tongue over the head of his cock, a hand grasping the back of his thigh as you hum around him.

“So fuckin’ pretty, cariño.”

The tip of your tongue slides over his slit, making him hiss again—making your name tumble freely from his tongue as he leans himself against the wall for leverage.

“I know,” you whisper, tracing your lips with his slick head, “Come down my throat, Javi.”

He grunts, nails digging into his palm as you take him down your throat. His other hand bites into your head as you take him deeper, his hips spluttering, thrusting against your tongue.

Your eyes have closed.

The window into your need to please him vanishes, and he wants to ask you to open them. To let him see. His finger strokes the top of your cheek, feeling the dampness from a tear at how deep you’re taking him.

How deep you want him down your throat.

His hand aids you, fucking into you as you hollow and moan—it vibrates all around him. It covers and smothers his own grunts and groans. The one you pull from him with ease, because everything with you he is slowly learning is easy. Not complicated—even if the situation is.

All he can think is you’re a fucking goddess, an angel—something he’s now one hundred per cent sure he doesn’t deserve.

He hisses out your name, feeling your hands clutch at him for balance, his moans filling the hallway of your place until he’s coating your throat in his pleasure. You lap up every drop of it, swallowing it—swallowing all of what he’s given you.

You don’t move, not for a minute. Him slowly pulling himself from your mouth, your hand wiping any spend from your lips to your tongue.

“You’re… fucking—”

“Something?”

He snorts, arranging himself before he fastens his trousers, shaking his head. His hand offers out to you, pulling you up from your knees as he adjusts your cardigan—as he places his lips against yours.

“I didn’t… this wasn’t why I came around.”

“Why did you… come round?”

His muscles tighten, swallowing as he stares at you.

Then you smile, placing a hand over his chest, palm flat, fingers spread. “You got anywhere to be, sir?”

Javi is frowning, before the rest of your words sink in. His hand captures yours, holding it flat against him as he shakes his head.

“Because you’re here, may as well let me toast you.”

Some mornings greet him loudly—sweat clinging to his skin, head hammering, and the world chirping.

The morning, it greets him gently, softly. The sun slides through open curtains, a calmer sound of occasional passing cars greeting his ears.

It’s only then that he registers he’s waking beside you. Your warm, soft skin curled against him—his own arm holding you close, keeping you close.

It takes a second for the sleep to flutter past his eyes, glancing at the clock on your bedside table—the one which ticks ever so loudly now he’s awake. It’s obvious the two of you have managed to catch a few hours, remembering how he’d brought you in here—thrown your decorative pillows to the floor with a smirk that you kissed immediately from his mouth.

He had told you he wouldn’t stay.

But, here he is. Now, though, he should move—even if he’s unsure if he wants to.

It’s never been his favourite thing, waking up outside of his own space. Never mind besides someone else. There were occasions and exceptions. He’s not prepared or currently capable of assessing whether you’ve slotted yourself there, either.

All he knows is… he likes it, being here.

Enjoying the fact he’s been allowed to steal a moment of this—of you. Letting himself enjoy it, the sound of your soft inhales and exhales, the way you fit against him—not in a way that looks perfect but simply feels it.

And it scares him. Just a little bit.

That thought returning, the one which bellows and beats the drum that you deserve better: than him, than what he can give you and the life you’d have being around him.

Pinching his nose, he knows he should go to the office. Should begin to unravel the highs and lows of the day prior. Make a start on the paperwork that is already mounting higher than he expected.

Instead, he turns his head. Selfishly admiring the way you sleep so peacefully, how he’d somewhat expected to find a creased forehead or a tightened jaw. A part had also expected to hear nightmares plague you, knowing there’s something there—living in your mind. A bad memory, a past which hammers at you to get out.

He’d half expected to have his own rear its head too.

Instead, he’s sure none had greeted the night air.

If anything, he slept peacefully, soundly. Almost oddly, for the most consecutive hours since way before Escobar was caught. He shuffles against the pillow, eyes widening when he realises and feels your head rolling ever so slightly on his chest. The smallest of movements that had rippled out into hearing you murmur.

Freezing, it dawns on him that he doesn’t want the bubble to burst. Studying, secretly praying he hasn’t woken you, as your lashes flutter and your lips don’t press back together. He’s a passenger, unable to stop the undoing as your brows dip, your fingers spread over his chest—

“J-Javi?”

It’s full of sleep, his name. And fuck, it has never sounded so nice.

He thought it bellowed or screamed as he fucked someone was good, but this… is something else. It takes a chunk from him, snatches it, and renders him thoughtless as you turn your head on his chest, looking up at him, blinking.

“Morning,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek. “I’m… I should go, cariño…”

You frown, not like normal—smothered in sleepiness that it doesn’t quite form.

A string is plucked in his chest when your fingers slide over his chest, watching them rub at your face. A desperation rises in him to kiss you, to taste what morning and goodness is like—even if it's coated in unbrushed teeth and last night.

But, it’s his moment to move—his chance. To relieve you of his presence.

Not that he takes it. Instead, he absorbs the moment he was robbed of the first night he took you to his—of seeing you without armour or walls.

“If y’give me…”

“—cariño—“

“… like fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” you say, words monotone and low as your hand slowly drops from your face to his chest. “I need… really need a shower. Then can come wit’you.”

As soon as you sit up, cool air brushes over the places you’d been against him—goosebumps appearing over his skin as you stretch. His hand lightly grasps your forearm, keeping you from sliding out the sheets completely as he whispers your name.

Lets it slide into the air of your home, around the two of you—the room he secretly wishes could pause time so neither of you had to leave.

Not ready to face the fallout from Martinez, the look of ‘what’s next’ on everyone’s face. Never mind the note clearly from Stechner.

“You don’t… you don’t have to, I need…”

His fingers move to your cheek, sliding over your jaw, only managing a half-breath as you flick your eyes to look over him—stunning him in a shade, he’s not sure truly has a name.

“W-what?”

“Nothing,” he lies.

Following your suit, he sits up, your sheet falling to his waist as he marries his lips back to yours. Fingers finding your chin, keeping you there, stealing another moment, and another. Doing so until your hand wraps around his wrist, thumb stroking a line up and down his wrist.

“I need a shower…”

He snorts. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I’m normally in an hour or two later anyway—plus…”

“Plus?”

Your lips slide, less of a smirk but more than a smile. “I have to come and ensure you don’t fuck with my organisational system. No other reason.”

“Not one?”

“No.”

He tuts. “I can keep things organised.”

You scoff, light and airy. “Peña, you’ve been here five minutes, and your desk already looks like it’s amassed ten years of files, so—I’m gonna call bullshit. Respectfully.”

“Respectfully?”

“Yes.”

He allows a laugh to escape, light and airy, it falling from him with far too much ease. Pulled from some depths he hasn’t allowed himself to explore.

Sliding from him, you stand, grasping at a t-shirt that begins to mist over your body—hiding your skin, your curves and the marks he’s left from view.

“I… I should say, I don’t mind that you showed up at my place, Javi.”

He traces his mouth with his thumb, looking at you. “Javi, huh?”

You smile, rolling your lips as you sigh. “You wore me down.”

“Go shower, I’ll wait for you.”

Pausing at the door frame, you glance at him, half your body framed in shadow and the other in the morning light. He’s not sure he’s ever seen someone look more beautiful in the earliest hours of a new day.

chapter six ->

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itsagrimm · 1 year

Text

He Who Comes from under the Water

Chapter 10 - Little Giants

Monster!König X she/her afab Reader

CN: Near drowning, fear of drowning, dead animals, food and drink mention, mentions of slaughtering and preparing hunted animals, animal blood, mentions of kidnapping and abusing women, technically what Bride does is self-harm.

Notes for better understanding at the bottom!

Beta-read by the patient @queenquazar. thank you so much for reading several versions and listening to my ramblings.

6.3k words

Masterlist

I wanted to put more into this chapter but +7k words pre-edit made it unavoidable to cut it at some point. that's why the ending is a bit sudden. sorry.

I made a playlist for this series. Enjoy.

Your dream was hazy like all dreams are. It was the golden hour of day with the summer heat cooling down, and the light of the sun turning everything into the most pleasant of sights. It changed you too, with your wedding dressing and braided hair. In all your golden shine, you floated over the fields and forest grounds like you were weightless, nothing standing in your way as you travelled to your wedding ceremony. No human walked with you - the village was long behind you, your family dead. Instead, there were laughing Rusalkis greeting you, the Fox and the Heron peeking from behind trees, swamp lights dancing happily and leading the way further and further until you arrived at-

The pond.

A dark green abyss, a maw in the ground of the lush summer forest, ready to take you and swallow you whole.

You were happy as you finally stepped onto the wood planks where your grandfather used to fish so long ago.

One, two, three… With quick steps you made your way to the end of the planks and gazed down into the dark murky water. There was nothing to see. Only endless water and darkness. For a moment you wavered, uncertain if this was what you wanted as the maw stared up to you with unforgiving finality.

You stepped back, unsure of what to do. That is when König arrived.

He came from under the water, rising from the pond like a being of a different time with water running down his skin and eyes burning in a blue you have drowned in already. His hair was wild and tangled with all that was in the water. His hands were clawed and his appearance as frightening as the first day you saw him.

“You are afraid, Bride,” he said and straightened up high into the sky, so much higher than usual, nearly touching the sky and so far out of reach. The water of the pond followed, rising with him and bit by bit closer to the shore, to the planks.

You screamed as the water touched your feet, the hem of your dress, your knees, and hips. Screams like you had heard outside of your house sounded through the forest, dreadful and frightening. You tried to run and reach for one of the trees to get up higher and away from the dreaded water.

“König!”you screamed, “what are you doing? I am afraid!”

But he could not hear you over the rush of water and screams, so far up and away from you. Did he even care?

The water rose higher and higher to your belly, your chest and shoulders, your neck. Fear was gripping at your heels, making you stumble as you dragged your body through the floods and closer to the shore and treeline.

A wave splashed in your face, and you gasped for air only to swallow water.

“Please!” you cried, reaching upwards for anything to save yourself.

“Please!” you managed one more time before the water reached your head, punching all air and hope out of you. The maw trying to swallow you whole.

Please, you thought to yourself before closing your eyes. All strength leaving your body and bubbles of precious air making its way up where you belonged too but could reach no more.

It was cold, dark, and wet.

Your kicking feet were starting to freeze in the dark water, cold, so cold.

Trying to escape the dark you opened your eyes, gasping for air as your body tensed up from the lack of oxygen and swallowing cold maw closing in on you.

Above you was the all familiar sight of your room's ceiling greeted you, indifferent as always with its knots in the wood staring down at you like unblinking eyes.

At your feet the lingering sensation of cold and wet stayed as the dream faded.

You sat up and screamed.

König was deep asleep and draped around your bed like a sea serpent encircling a besieged island. Water flooded your room up to your bed with your feet already in the closing in water and not much dry space left for you to save yourself too.

“König!” you screamed in terror, “Wake up!”

No reaction, his deep breathing stayed slow and peaceful, undisturbed by your screams of help from the dreaded flood.

You scrambled up onto your pillow and grabbed your blanket, bunching it up into a ball and throwing it at König’s head.

“Have you lost your mind? Get up!”

The walls and the water started to come closer, looming over you as if just waiting for a chance to strike and take you as your eyes darted through the room without focusing on anything

Asshole.

The thought went through your body like lightning hitting a tree, setting you ablaze and forging you into something sharp.

Giant, sleepy asshole.

Anger was taking over your panic.

Yes, this felt better. Fury gave you the will to think and move instead of freeze and drown. The water was a problem. It had to be Königs doing. But this was your room?! When did he enter and why? And how did he flood the room?

A shiver went through you at the thought of König flooding the whole region for good – the village, the garden, your family’s house.

You screamed again hoping it would wake König up. Your muscles tensed with welcome strength as you howled like a trapped animal.

Still no reaction from him except for a few louder snores.

Of all the bad past mornings you had waking up, this was the worst.

“I hope you are having a lovely dream” you seethed as you tried to avoid as much of the little waves threatening to flood your last sanctuary.

“Hello?” You called, “Anyone here?”

If König was not waking up, you had to save yourself from this, not ready to wait and hope for the best as the water slowly threatened to sink your sanctuary. Your eyes fell on König and his sleeping frame. He looked peaceful, indifferent to the havoc he caused. His long limbs were wrapped around your bed as if still in sleep he had guarded you. Tangled, messy hair hid most of his face as always. And his skin had the shimmer of scales on it. Asleep and half submerged in water, König looked at peace.

Maybe there was an explanation for all of this.

It’s better be a good one, you thought to yourself as you tried to calm yourself enough to get yourself out of this flooded mess of a room. A different emotion reared its head inside of you as you watched König, regretting that you yelled at him in fear – soft and filled with hope that this would turn out okay.

König snored softly as he shifted his body around your bed, causing your mattress to lift and float on the little waves.

You looked around for a way to help yourself. Your chest with your clothes was solid enough to not be moved by the currents yet was flooded and under water. And the door would be impossible to open with the pressure of the water weight in your room pushing it shut. But the window was close enough for you to… Carefully you got up on your little mattress island, stepping forward onto König’s shoulder jutting out of the floods and finally making your way to the window, opening the window frames, and saving yourself onto the windowsill.

He only shifted around before calming down again and continuing his deep slumber.

“This is a nightmare”, you moaned as you peaked outside.

Outside the garden was as usual. No flooding, no water and most importantly no ladder for you to climb onto and get down into the garden.

You looked back into your room were the water sloshed around your room in its full implausibleness while the rest of the world continued as always.

“Ah, you made it. I knew you would make it. Yes, yes.”

You looked around to discover the Heron standing on the ceiling and watching you from its spot.

“Heron! Why did you not help me?”

The bird shrugged as much as a bird could shrug.

“No hands,” It explained. “How was I supposed to open the window for you, hm? Really, I am just a regular bird after all.”

“Sure” You deadpanned, not feeling like arguing with the speaking bird. “Would you mind helping and getting someone who can help me climb down from here without breaking a bone, and who can help wake up König?”

“The honourable Vodyanoy is asleep?” The Heron asked. “I suppose that should not be a surprise, he has pushed himself a lot these past weeks. Everyone has their limit.”

The bird nodded to himself and stretched out his wings before taking off.

“Stay where you are, I’ll be back in no time.”

Obviously, where was I supposed to go from here? You thought to yourself bitterly and brought your knees up to your body. It was a lovely summer morning, but the heat had not set in yet and you were perched up on the shadowy side of the house wearing nothing but your simple night dress.

You looked back at König.

Had he really pushed himself so much that he had passed out, still trying to do right by you and keep his promise to keep you safe even in his sleep and curling around you like a mother cat around its young?

Not that it had helped much. Your room was flooded now. Your heart was still beating like you had barely survived a drowning, which was not too far from the truth. And you could not wake König for the life of it.

Why did he not say something? How was I supposed to know how tired he was?

The thought of being sheltered and kept in the dark because König thought you untrustworthy or helpless hurt you more than you wanted to deal with, and you pressed your nails into your legs, trying to fight the cold numbness and your dark thoughts away.

A breeze kissed your cold and clammy skin and you pressed your teeth together to distract you.

“Ha! The Bride did not run off!” The Heron cackled as it landed back on the ceiling.

“Funny.” You turned back from watching the soundly sleeping König and faced the heron. “Thank you for your help, Heron.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You eyed the Heron, who probably saw this as a new amusing way of getting itself into your good graces, absolutely hoping you would mention it later to König at some point or get it some fish or another less obvious favour.

“Who did you get, Heron?”

“Your future brother-in-law.”

“What?!” It snapped out of you with a sharpness that surprised you. But freezing and trembling on your windowsill after escaping your nightmare first and your flooded room second, you felt yourself less and less willing to engage with niceties.

Regardles of what you had always been told – to be nice and make a good impression on your in-laws.

“You look stressed.”

You shrieked, nearly falling off the windowsill, and looked up to follow the sound of the deep voice.

Above you, as if leaning over the house like a child’s doll house, was a giant. With unblinking eyes, he stared at you - dark and unmoving. As if he was a being unaffected by time and you just a curiosity that would vanish in a human heartbeat if he blinked. He had a mask over his head, a deer’s skull maybe for it had antlers. But there were sharp teeth in it, reminding you that König had mentioned more than one being out there on the hunt for your flesh.

Unable to move and hoping for the best, you just stared up.

“What happened with my brother, little Bride?” the giant stranger asked after what felt like an eternity.

You blinked and the world was still there.

“He fell asleep, and I cannot wake him,” You answered with a thin voice and hoped for the best.

The giant shook his head, and it was like a giant tree shook its giant crown, with wind rustling through leaves and a flock of birds taking off somewhere in the giant's crown.

“The boy overdid it again. Allow me.”

The giant stepped around the house, looking like he was shrinking himself before standing comfortably before you and peaking inside your room.

“You are in the way,” He said and grabbed you from your spot, lifting you up and putting you down on the grass before you could even catch your breath to scream from surprise.

“Hey, fishhead!” the giant grumbled and stretched his arm inside your bedroom window.

“Wake up! You are flooding your girl’s room.”

“Минуточку,” you heard out of your room as you got onto your feet and crossed your arms to keep warm as you watched the giant trying to wake up your future husband.

“Forget минуточку! You are being rude and making a flood again. Get out of that puddle.”

“Urgh. Отстань.”

The terrifying giant rolled his eyes and stepped back.

“Sleepyhead,” he mumbled to himself before looking down at you.

Instinct was telling you to step back, to run away or at least lift your hands and shield yourself from what was about to happen to you next.

Instead, you froze to your spot.

“Pardon me,” the giant declared and stepped closer, shrinking himself into an even more manageable size to talk to you yet still looming over you like a tall human would.

“We have not met before, and I had not expected to stay long enough to introduce myself. I am a brother to your future husband. They call me Keeper of the Forest. But, I do not care about titles. You may instead call me Ghost.”

He bowed slightly and it looked concerning like an oak tree shaking in a terrifying storm.

You felt tiny, unsure and at a loss of words.

What was the appropriate thing to respond now?

Maybe it was best to rely on what your family always taught you after all – be polite and honest.

“Hello. You know who I am.” You said and bowed in greeting. “Thank you for help, Ghost. I had hopes we would have met under more usual circumstances but-”

“You mean the wedding. I was not planning on attending.” He interrupted with the finality of a falling tree.

Your heart sank.

“Oh.”

The pleasant song of birds in the morning was hanging over you as you stumbled through your thoughts to find anything useful to say.

“Is there something wrong with me and König marrying? I do not want to cause anything bad,” You asked.

Ghost looked at you, his skull covered face unmoving and unforgivingly blank.

“Do not worry, little Bride. Nothing wrong with you.”

Dread creeped up your spin and you shivered, unsure if it was of fear or from the cool morning breeze. Ghost, even in his smaller size loomed over you with dark eyes. And his words worried you.

Can I believe him? Was he a friend or a foe?

“You are cold, Bride. Let’s get you inside and warm. My brother would not forgive me if I would not keep you well while he is…” Ghost shifted his head around like he was considering plenty of words before settling on one, “… busy.”

Unsure if you even could say no you nodded and walked towards the house entrance. Ghost, without a sound, followed you and you could do nothing but watch his shadow casting figure behind you. At the door you turned to Ghost who followed you.

“Will it be safe, or will there be water, too?” You asked, eyeing your door for signs of a flood awaiting you behind it.

“We shall see.” Ghost stepped past you and opened the door, peeking inside before humming deeply with approval.

“No water.” He declared. “It seems like my brother's dreams only included your bedroom.”

Surprised by his teasing you felt your face go hot at the implications of Ghost's words and stepped into the kitchen.

“Wait here. Do not open the door,” He ordered and turned around, leaving you alone.

You looked around while you waited. Königs axe was outside. The broom was small and would not keep you safe from someone like Ghost. And you shivered like a branch in the winter wind before grabbing a forgotten blanket from an evening spent at the oven.

Covered with the blanket, you took a seat in your usual spot. It was warmer this way, having no dry clothes to change in with your wood chest under water.

You sighed. This would have to do.

Ghost was strange, terrifying and threatening. Unlike König with all his oddness and sheer size, you felt like petting a wolf who liked to play with its food.

König on the other hand…

He would never harm you.

You thought back to your dream and your flooded room above you.

Well, König would not harm you consciously, you thought, wishing he were here now.

The door opened again, and Ghost stepped inside, bowing his head to fit his horns through the door frame.

“I got you wood and water. Start a fire. I will be back.” He declared and left again as if there was no doubt you would do as he told you.

Wondering what Ghost was doing, but too afraid to ask, you got up from your spot and did as he told you. A fire to warm your cold and damp body and to make tea for you and your apparent guest, was reasonable enough to follow Ghost words.

After a while, right as the tea was ready, you started to set the tea table for you, Ghost and König, Ghost came back with a deer.

It was dead, hanging off his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

“I’ll carve it up for you. Here, I got something smaller for now.”

With big eyes and careful steps you took the skinned hare from Ghost's hands.

Meat.

You could not remember the last time you had the luxury of meat.

Quickly you started to prepare a meal after Ghost left again, cutting up the rabbit and saving every bit of it while grabbing herbs, vegetables, and grains from your storage.

Putting everything in a pot over the oven, you stepped away. Still wrapped in your blanket and feeling a bit better, you argued with yourself what to do now. Ghost could have killed you or taken you away, instead he had brought you food and made sure you were alright. You weren’t entirely sure about him but maybe it was best to treat him like you were taught to treat any guest.

With a big breath you mustered up all your bravery and grabbed a cup with tea for Ghost.

Before your house, with König’s large axe in his hands, Ghost had started to skin and cut the animal. With the blood dripping into a large blood bowl, you could not help but squirm at the sight of the horned and masked giant with blood on his hands.

“I brought you tea,” You called over and placed the delicate little cup onto the cutting block normally used by König cutting for wood.

Ghost nodded and continued his work and you went back inside.

That went well enough.

You decided to stay close to the warm oven, stirring the stew and seasoning the buckwheat with wild garlic and a precious amount of rabbit bone.

At least you will be eating well thanks to Ghost’s help. You looked up to the ceiling. König would enjoy this too. He liked trying out whatever you prepared him, always eager to have cooked food the human way, as König liked to say.

Maybe you should try to wake him up again? Fighting the thought of water right above you, and with a final measuring look at the simmering pots, you wrapped your blanket firmly around your shoulders and went upstairs. No sound except your own feet on the old wooden and creaking stairs greeted you as you made your way up and to your own bedroom door.

“König?” You tried and knocked.

Behind the door waves crashed. Storms rose and quietened again. A whole ocean threatened to flood continents.

Guess he is still tired; you thought to yourself with disappointment and went back down again.

In the kitchen Ghost was awaiting you, having finished his work in the garden he was stringing up parts of his catch up above the oven to have it dried and preserved. With Ghost's uncanny ability to grow and shrink as he pleased, you wondered if König could do that too. If he could become the giant flooding the world on your wedding day like you had dreamed. Or if he could be tiny enough to sit in your lap as you played with his ever-tangled hair.

“Still asleep?” Ghost asked and stepped away from his work.

“Aye,” You answered and busied yourself with the food instead of having to face Ghost.

Ghost watched you before sitting down like a human would have done, choosing your brother's spot like he knew where he was supposed to be.

“He will wake up soon. Don’t worry, little Bride.”

You smiled politely and nodded.

“König had always been like that. Pushing himself and overdoing it instead of asking for help.”

You blinked.

“What was there to push himself for?”

“You.” Ghosts’ words rasped over your skin like a piece of dry wood. “Our kind is strong but not invincible. Everyone can break.”

Why? I am just the bride.

“It’s been a few stressful days and König has been doing a lot,” You looked down at your hands. “He will have his various reasons for it. Not just me.”

You looked up to give Ghost your bravest smile.

“Besides, what kind of fiancé would I be if I wanted such a sacrifice?” You added.

Ghost crossed his arms in front of his chest, watching you carefully.

“I suppose you are right, little Bride. No love requires sacrifice to be true.”

You shifted around again, uncomfortable talking about love with a stranger, future in-law or not.

“May I ask…“ you started carefully to change the topic, “Have you been inside a human house before? You move indoors with much more familiarity than König. You did not take to the floor and you knew about tea and cooking.”

“Not everyone in the family spends their time sitting around in swamps.” Ghost replied, sounding nearly amused.

You smiled at Ghost’s little jab, remembering how clueless König could be at times.

“But you are right, little Bride.” Ghost continued, more serious now. “I once was engaged. He lived in a house not unlike yours.”

“Was? What happened?”

Ghost shrugged, his antlers softly knocking against the wall behind him.

“He vanished as spring began without a word.” He began slowly. “One morning, just as the snow had started to melt, I woke up and he was gone. No trace left to track. Nothing. There is no one better at following the trails and tracks in the forest than me. But with no clue, there is nothing to trace.”

He paused.

“The only other option left is that I, in my ravenous dreams, swallowed him whole, eating my love in one bite.”

Ghost’s dark unforgiving eyes pinned you to your spot.

“Is that really-” you squeaked but his eyes bore into you like arrows.

“That is what we are - dangerous to the delicate and fragile humans. Even if we do not intend to kill or harm, we do. You witnessed it today how different my family and you are.”

Wide eyed you looked at him, unable to move. The power of his gaze was enough to subjugate you. Despite your clothes warming up you felt cold fear wash down your back and your limbs turned heavy as if you would fall down onto the floor the moment his gaze passed from you.

“That’s why you told König I will die,” You whispered, not daring to speak up.

Ghost nodded and the intensity in his eyes vanished, allowing you to move again and you fell onto your knees.

“Are you alright?”

His words confused you, his cruel demeanour so different to these three words.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, staggering back to your feet.

The blank skull mask on Ghost's face told you nothing. But his eyes shifted and turned sorrowful.

“Actions have consequences. I will have to live with mine,” Ghost stated. “But I hope I am wrong so that König will not have to live with his. I need you to understand how vulnerable you are so that you stay alive.”

You balled your hands into fists. How dare he do this to you? Make you crawl onto the floor of your own house and tell you how weak you are.

“I am sorry about what happened, Ghost,” Your voice was shaking but it was not from fear anymore. “But König - with all his flaws - is not like you. And I am not a doll you can just throw around and mistreat. I understand that you and your family are powerful while I am not. Believe me, I am very much aware of that. But if you really want to help me, do not intimidate me in my own house. Put your act behind your words and show me how to stay alive instead of how I can die.”

Ghost stared at you.

For a moment you feared that you had misspoken and that he would just get up and wring your neck or invite the villagers in while König was asleep. Your life ran through your fingers like it was drops of water falling down. All that anger started to leave you, making you feel shaky and cold again.

“The little Bride may have no teeth or claws, but she has brain and tongue to keep herself alive,” Ghost hummed approvingly under his skull mask. “You will fit right in with us.”

He paused.

“I am sorry.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“You heard me, Bride. I will not repeat myself.” He paused and something akin to mildness crept into his eyes . “What do you need me to do to stay alive?”

You swallowed.

The fear and rush of confrontation was still in your bones and you staggered to the table and to your seat like a newborn calf.

“Are you really okay with helping me?” you asked finally after a few moments of your thoughts running wild and still not believing that you had fought and won for once.

“Aye.”

You eyed the giant at your kitchen table.

“Please tell me more about the family I am marrying into, Ghost.” you asked.

He nodded.

“It is as simple as it is complicated. I don’t remember where we were from, but I remember being together as family. There were many of us, but some vanished. And some found their home far away from my forests or König’s waters, so I do not know what happened to them. But König and I were close until our nature called us away from each other. The water is as enticing to him as my forests are to me. He can not die or be harmed when he is in the water while I am strong when I walk among the trees.”

You listened intently.

“But we had another brother. He was very different from us. Graves, the Koshey. He calls himself King of Bones and Battlefields. Graves finds great liking in gaining more and he is never satisfied. However-”

Ghost eyed you pensively.

“- Graves is a great sorcerer and it is said he is immortal.”

You felt your face light up

“König mentioned Graves. He said Graves could help me survive but was hesitant about asking him and then he was busy. I can not write so I did not do it myself but maybe Graves can tell me how I survive the presence of beings like you and König?”

Ghost hummed.

“A fair assessment. Graves loyalties and sides as he pleases. He cares little about anyone but himself and the occasional maiden he keeps in his castles.”

Ghost crossed his arms again, leaning back against the chair.

“But-” he added, “he has a thing for beautiful women and he likes to present himself as benevolent at times. It could be worth a try.”

Beautiful woman. Me?

You felt your eyes search your hands or the floor again instead of facing Ghost.

“I would like to try and get his help,” You spoke, trying to collect yourself again.

“I will write the letter for you if you want.”

You nodded and Ghost got up to get birch bark and a knife to write.

Quickly, he returned and started carving. While you tried to catch letters and words with your slow, unaccustomed eyes in between checking on the food.

I will practise, you promised to yourself as you watch in awe how quickly and fluently Ghost wrote.

After a while, he was done and leaned back.

“Would you like me to read it out to you?” he asked but you shook your head.

“You know Graves better than I ever will. I am sure you phrased it better than I could.”

And I would not know if you lied to me anyway, you mournfully thought to yourself.

Ghost nodded and passed you the rolled-up birch bark.

“Now you just need to find a way to send it to Graves.”

You lightened up.

“That won’t be a problem.” You called out and grabbed the bark. “Thank you so much.”

Quickly you turned on your heels, grabbed a dried-up fish and went outside to call the Heron.

It was lounging in the grass, cleaning its feathers.

“Fish.” The Heron stated. “You want something, Bride.”

“Am I that obvious?”

You stepped closer and sat next to the Heron in the grass.

The bird titled its head.

“I think you know the answer, Bride. Tell me what I can do for you while I eat that delicious fish in your hand and ignore what looks like a Messenger job in the other.”

You passed the Heron the fish and fixed the blanket around your shoulders.

“Would you like to have some cooked fish, too?” You asked innocently.

The Heron eyed you as it swallowed the fish in one go.

“Go on.”

“This letter needs to be delivered to my future brother-in-law, Graves.”

The Bird jolted up.

“What?! You want me to fly to the Koshey? What if he will eat me?”

“He will not.”

You looked over your shoulder to find Ghost standing in the doorway watching you.

“My brother, the Koshey, will not eat you, birdy.” He repeated. “You are too bony.”

“That’s so reassuring. Thank you so much!” The bird cried angrily. “The king of bones and battlefields is not known for his kindness. What if he feels like keeping me like he does with girls he likes?”

“You are the messenger of the future Vodynitza.” Ghost explained with annoyance in his voice. “As part of the Queen of Under the Water’s entourage and as a court messenger, you have protection.”

“I am more of a jester if you think you can send me to that wretched place!”

“You will quickly turn into an appetiser for me if you don’t start flapping your wings-”

“Please,” You interjected, giving Ghost a begging look for him to shut up, and turning back to the Heron.

“I am sorry I am asking for so much from you, Heron,” You started, laying your words out carefully. “It sure sounds terrifying. But do you really think Graves would start a fight with König and I simply because he feels like it? He sounds more like the clever type.”

The bird flopped back down.

“I suppose you are right,” It replied weakly.

“And you are a messenger carrying my letter. I would take great offence if something happened to you. And that would anger König.”

“Yes,” It croaked.

“See, you will be safe.”

The Bird rattled with its beak.

“Fine.” It gave in. “But I want soup once I am back. Shchi. Warm one. And made by you.”

“Consider it done, Heron. I will serve it in the most beautiful chalice I can find.”

The Heron staggered up and stretched its wings.

“Wish me luck, queen.”

“I am not yet- “you tired but the bird snatched the letter from your hands and took off.

With quick flaps the Heron rose into the sky and disappeared.

You watched from your spot before getting up and turning back to the house.

Ghost was still watching you.

“You are doing well for a delicate little human Bride.”

You gave Ghost a forced grimace.

“I am just trying my best.”

He grumbled something before stepping out of your door again and watched the treeline, listening to the song birds. The dark forest was inviting, its branches waving invitingly to come closer. It was like Ghost had changed from a man, odd and terrifying and full of powers you did not understand, to the Leshy. As if just the sight of the dark green rejuvenated him. Was this how König felt, too? How he craved to and needed to be in the water, in the swamps, in the rivers and ponds to feel like he was supposed to be? You thought back to the sleeping König and how peaceful he had looked as the water slowly filled your room. How much more he had looked like himself.

“I need to go back soon.” Ghost rasped like an old oak. “Let’s try to wake up König one more time.”

Cultural Context Notes:

Quick reminder that hair weaving or braiding is a traditional way of wearing longer hair in many Slavic cultures and due to imprecise translations, it can mean all types of braided hair styles.

I was thinking about using old church Slavonic for their little banter but using Russian was easier, sorry.

The somewhat random binary about men’s or women’s work is not really a thing when looking closer at history. Yes, plenty of women were expected to make clothes and do crafts. But so were men if they had the time and skill. Ghost stitching and crafting a Kokoshnik is not that off.

I understand that not everyone is comfortable with meat as food or thinking about animals as something consumable. I have a hard time with it too. But meat was, and is, an incredibly luxurious item for people in central and eastern Europe, especially when it’s wild game. Daily meals historically included much less amounts of meat than most consume today because it was so expensive or hard to get. Wild game even nowadays is reserved for special occasions like Christmas or birthdays. And a Leshy bringing hunting meats when König as a Vodyanoy brings fish to Bride, is very coherent.

Yes, blood bowls are a thing. My grandparents have some as heirlooms from their parents who owned a farm and animals. But while these very wide, massive and simple bowls are perfect to catch and contain slaughter blood, nowadays they are primarily used as fruit bowls at my grandparents' place. However, I thought I’ll include this little detail because many people aren’t familiar with items that were used for food processing at home. Also, blood is used in several dishes to really use up everything from an animal. I am most familiar with the German style blood sausage but it appears to be a thing in other cultures as well to not waste very nutritious parts of the animal.

It's wild garlic season here but please be careful while collecting it. It’s easy to mistake it for poisonous plants like lilies of the valley.

Salt and plant-based fats were extremely expensive and hard to come by not long ago in central and eastern Europe, so a lot of seasoning included using the natural salt and fat content of animal products. I am only slightly sorry that this is slowly turning into educational historical cooking commentary. Also, I have to mention at this point that I am a vegetarian.

Plenty of eastern-European fairy tales have heroes with different qualities than in the central-European tradition. Being honest, knightly, and virtuous are qualities that are appreciated. Many of the main heroes regularly lie, cheat, or trick their way into luck. Being lazy or slow but still making it, is a regularly celebrated feature of many heroes in eastern-European tales. The reasoning is that due to the hero’s smarts and charisma they are good because they end up doing the good thing e.g. saving the princess or slaying the dragon. In comparison in more central-European tales the heroes are being “born good” and always make the right decision with their moral compass never being challenged or evolving because they are already perfect, therefore they are the heroes.

Shchi / Russian: щи is a type of soup. I only knew it as a fish soup but apparently there are meat versions of it as well and the fish version is only eaten during fasting times or when meat is not available. It’s a cabbage-based soup with some form of protein like fish or meat cooked with flour, cabbage, and spices. I included this because it’s an old food that has been around since the 9th century in the Kievan Rus. Also, this recipe is fascinating generally. Its name comes from the word "съто" which means so much as satisfied or not hungry anymore and apparently was a popular travelling food because it can be frozen and cut up in portions as needed. The last part is a bit funny but considering the continental climate in many eastern European and central Asian regions it absolutely checks out that foods mirror the climate they originate from.

Would like to be tagged as well? send me a message.

@thesinsoflust @kdkj122920 @die-prophetin @lillianastuff @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @fatedeniedhope @queensidillasworld @agspgrwasb @silelda @unlikepoltergeist @matcha-flavored-cake @blvkwondaland @diamondnightdreamer @brooklyn-1918 @thorns-x @icepancakes @sizzlingsaladpeach @peachymonsters @blackrockshooter780 @cl3rks @king-thunderstorm @hosshihusshi @id0nthaveidea @perilous-pasta @lothiriel9 @berryjuicyy @blvkwondaland @asmohunny @@amatis-gray @blubumblebee @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @c00kied0ugh44 @quesowakanda @moonlitmoonpie @ktmjoslin @globalmilk03 @interactive-brain

#monster!könig #monster x human #könig #könig mw2 #könig cod #he who comes from under the water #hwcfutw #grimmwriting #monster romance #monster x reader #monster!ghost #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #philip graves

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raidtheradio · 10 months

Text

Hard Morning

Summary: You help Arthur through a particularly hard morning.

Notes: I just wanted to write something short and simple hehe, I have this other series I really gotta work on I posted like one chapter then disappeared for a month. Anyway, I haven't edited this since it's midnight and I'm high I might edit it later though who knows.

Read it on AO3!

Arthur Morgan is dying, his sickly dry heaving reminds you every day. ‘Black Lung’ Micah calls him. The cruel nickname creates a devastating image in your head when you hear him heave.

He struggles through daily life, he helps you girls with camp chores that are normally left to the women and Mr. Pearson. Karen is often too drunk to walk, and Abigail struggles worrying about her husband in prison. With two people out of condition, the workload had been overwhelming for you and your partners in crime. You tell Arthur every day not to worry, that he should just rest and focus on getting better. He never listens, he’s always up. Chopping wood, feeding horses, repairing travel-worn carriages. Between the scores that Dutch always assigns him to, he somehow manages to bring home dinner for the camp. It’s not always enough, but it keeps you and the gang going. You remember a time when you woke up before the rest of your little family. You were still in your undergarments, and working to restart the fire so you could make a large pot of coffee. That was when you heard the too familiar sound of dry heaving. Micah's nickname echoed in your head as you rushed to the source. Arthur was sitting on the log used to chop wood, the axe in his hand was forgotten and a half-chopped log was on its side in the grass. You weren’t good with people, quiet and reserved. Your flawed social skills became prominent when you saw your dear friend struggle with something as simple as breathing. You stood there and stared, slack-jawed. This man could survive on a can of beans for a whole day, you’ve seen him tear through drunken men with his bare knuckles. A whole tank reduced to a man. You could practically see his black lungs struggle to bring oxygen to his body. With every heave, you could hear the fluid filling his chest. You had no words for the dying man, so you placed your hand on his back. You began with light circular motions, not wanting to take his concentration away from breathing. When he finally began to stabilize you increased pressure. Your stomach was filled with cement, your brows upturned.

“I’m sorry.” He heaves, and your chest begins to hurt as well. He shouldn’t feel the need to hide his pain the way he does. He was always around to lend people a shoulder to cry on.

“Take your time friend.” You respond. He draws in air through his nose, and exhales through his mouth. He’d finally caught his breath, you pulled your hand away as he began to stand.

“That was bad.” Stupid, but you had nothing else to say.

“I’m ok, thank you.” He bends down to grab the axe and log. You grab his hand, he stops and looks at you.

“There’s no need Mr. Morgan, there's plenty of wood already.” You start to lead him, and like a poorly trained horse he hesitantly follows. You set him down on a nearby chair and he watches as you start the fire. You’ve done this many times before, being the early bird in the camp. You shove scraps of dead leaves and twigs in the center of the little tiipii and before you could even ask, Arthur holds his lighter out to you. You didn’t know how he managed to get his hands on such a nice one, gold with antler engravings, but you didn’t ask as he didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. Soon the fire was blazing, and coffee was brewed. You settled yourself beside him and handed him his own cup. He took it, his large hands looking out of place as he grips the small handle. You take a sip and look out to the forest.

“Everythings just gone to shit.” Arthur is never really one to complain. Actually that’s a lie. You remember giggling many times when you’d catch him swearing under his breath over something stupid Sean did. Aw, Sean. You missed the poor bastard.

“You’re right.” You look him in the eye. He looked as if he’s aged ten years in the past two weeks. His once bright blue eyes faded, his mouth downturned into a heartbreaking frown. “But we have coffee, and this nice view.” You gesture to the woods around you both, and you thank God for his beautiful work. Even if his world is cruel, he sure knew how to landscape. Arthur doesn’t even chuckle, his mouth cemented into his frown. You take his hand and rub your thumb over his bruised knuckles. You have nothing else to say, and neither does he. He sips his coffee while the first sounds of life come from Dutch's tent. Well, let the day begin.

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #angst #hurt/comfort

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moonlight-prose · 2 years

Text

BADLANDS | ONE

a/n: guess who's late to the fucking party. meh it's alright i'm just here to drool over miles teller with y'all. seriously i churned this out so fast it's ridiculous. the top gun maverick wave passed already, but i'm dropping this series either way. it's not beta read but semi-edited so there will probably be a few mistakes i missed. hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think if you liked it!

reblogs, comments, and feedback is always welcome!!

summary: you fucking hated bradley "rooster" bradshaw. it wasn't your fault your knee accidentally met his groin.

word count: 4.7k+

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradhsaw x fem!reader (callsign panther)

warnings: enemies to lovers plot, explicit so MINORS GO AWAY, cussing, arguing, angst, mention of past screw ups, longing looks, alcohol consumption, minor violence, p in v sex, rooster is a bit of an asshole here, but we're working on that.

next chapter

You’d never miss the smell of the fuel as the planes took off in the sky; the echo of the engines reverberating through the air. Hell, you’d never miss the sight of it—your lungs burning to gain oxygen as you stood on the sidelines and watched. The day was winding down, all pilots having arrived in the one place you didn’t want to come back to, but nonetheless you took them up on their offer. You couldn’t say no.

Not to something like this.

The closer you walked up the pathway to the building ahead, the more a feeling of dread began to knot in your stomach, turning your insides. Some part of you knew that saying yes meant the chance of having to return to a place where you watched your life fall apart. A place that was so well engraved in your bones that you could navigate it perfectly while being blindfolded. Still your stubbornness won out and there you stood. Three feet away from the front door of the Hard Deck.

“Dammit,” you whispered, watching as two girls nearly collapsed as they stumbled out. Their giggling filling the air and pressing the weight on your lungs down even further. You remembered being like them once.

Music poured out of the open door. Laughter following it. You could spot a few familiar faces through the window and smiled at the sight of them still in their uniforms. You had opted for a simple jeans and t-shirt combo; your combat boots nearly falling apart and held together by the laces. They were old enough to be considered a relic, but you were too fond of the embroidered plane on the side. That had been your first sign to join the Navy.

Back then you relied on those small little signs to keep you going—to tell you where to go—but now…you felt as if there were no more signs to receive. You made this decision on pure dumb fucking luck and even you knew you may not make it out of here alive. They hadn’t briefed you on the mission yet—the same would be said for the others—but you weren’t an idiot. You knew that the best pilots were standing in that bar tonight and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

The word nervous didn’t even begin to cover what you felt as you reached for the door handle. For the first time in a long time…you hand shook. The burn in your lungs returned as you realized this was it. There was no turning back once you stepped through those doors. So, you decided to go against your instincts, hoping you weren’t shit out of luck this time, and pulled the door open. The loud music and echo of the crowd filled up your veins, replacing the burn of engine fuel and easing some of the weight off of your chest.

Penny laughed with someone you thought you recognized, but couldn’t quite make out his face through the crowd. She was too enamored to notice you. However, you didn’t mind. Not when someone else had clearly spotted you through the crowd, her eyes lighting up and a smirk tugging at her lips.

Ah Phoenix.

“And here I thought they were only calling the best,” she said over the noise as you walked closer.

She scanned your figure, taking in the few tattoos you’d gotten over the years and landing at the sight of your boots sticking out like a sore thumb. You didn’t seek out people’s approval often, but Phoenix was special. Before graduating you were practically joined at the hip, desperate to keep one another alive as you attempted to navigate the world around you. Of course not everything stayed the same. You just wished that piece of your life had.

You knew just thinking that was selfish, but you couldn’t help it.

“Then why are you here?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as her inspection came to a close.

“Don’t you know? I’m here to take your spot Panther.”

For the first time in weeks, you laughed. A real genuine laugh that sunk deep into your body and shook you to your core. You shifted closer, gripping her in a hug that finally felt like coming home and strangely enough…you were okay with it. She smelled like jasmine perfume and apples. A combination that shouldn’t have worked, but with her it did, and memories from when you were younger flooded through your mind.

Fuck, you had missed her.

“It’s good to have you back,” she whispered, pulling away and shooting you another smile. “Come meet the newbies.”

“Newbies you say?” Your curiosity peaked as you faced the group that surrounded the pool table.

“Fuck off Phoenix. I’d say I’m more experienced than you are.” A blonde man said. He had a smile that would have made your heart flutter if you weren’t so turned off by his personality. He screamed egomaniac, but you let it slide knowing how some pilot’s heads were too large to fit in their own helmets sometimes.

“That’s Hangman,” she muttered. “An ass who thinks he’s too good to be true.” You turned to the others, smiling at the man who sat silently in the chair, his glasses propped up on the tip of his nose. “And over here we’ve got Payback, Fanboy, Coyote and Bob.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling up in your throat. “Bob? Is that your callsign?” He nodded, a faint red tinge flooding the tops of his cheeks and melting your heart. “I like it,” you said, shooting him a wink and enjoying as he blushed even harder.

“Boys meet my former wingman Panther. One of the best.”

Nudging Phoenix in the side, you grabbed the beer she handed you. “Don’t you worry boys. Phoenix here will be taking my job before you know it.”

The beer tasted the exact same, like a strong swig of gasoline, and you relished in the bitter tang of it as you swallowed. Last time you were here things hadn’t gone so smoothly. Phoenix and you nearly broke each other’s noses as you explained you were no longer going to be her wingman after graduation—heading off on your own path. She never knew the real reason why you turned tail and ran; why you refused to catch up with her after all these years. But you knew…you knew what happened to cause you so much fear it nearly paralyzed you.

“I’ll be damned. Is that you kitty cat?”

You stiffened where you stood, the voice behind you nearly causing you to run out the back doors. What the fuck was he doing here? He couldn’t possibly be one of the contenders for the mission and it was then you realized you should have followed your gut instinct, because right now you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Guess you were truly shit out of luck.

Turning, you swallowed the now flavorless beer as your eyes met his—the small smirk on his lips the exact same. A flash of him younger, wearing a taunting smile came to mind. Really everything about him was the same, but you could barely focus on everything else. The others greeted him with excited tones, obviously glad to see him. Except you could barely pick up your tongue which now felt like lead—his eyes never leaving yours.

“What are you doing here?” you croaked out, noticing the way Phoenix gauged your interaction at seeing him again.

No doubt, she’d ask you about it later and just as you always did…you’d deny everything.

“What, you think you’re the only good one here?” He was still pissed. You saw the way his eyes flared, the look of anger being tamped down quickly with another grin and snarky response. “Didn’t know you thought so highly of yourself, kitten.”

“Fuck you Bradshaw.”

The words were blurted out, an instinct after so many years going at each other’s throats, but even now…they felt off. As if you were still in a dream—watching him smile and greet the others with true joy. You however got another brief glare as your words settled in his skin; his hackles rising as he held himself back from taking a chunk out of your jugular. You’d verbally sparred with Rooster enough to know he could tear you down with only a few words.

So why was he holding back now?

“Kitten’s still got claws,” he joked, grabbing a beer and taking a swig.

“And I’m not afraid to use them, Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

His eyes narrowed at the use of the formalities. Everyone referred to him as Rooster, but not you. At first it was to get under his skin, watch him squirm as he fought against ripping you a new one, but now…it felt different. Now you did it without realizing; the familiar territory you held with him only based on one thing. Hatred of the other person. If there’s one thing you could count on it was this—Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw hated you just as much as you hated him.

You couldn’t even remember when the feud first began, the memory now faded in the back of your mind, but it lasted through the years at TopGun. That is until that night. Right before you took off and ran from everything you were offered here. Fuck, you could still feel the burn of his eyes against your skin as he touched you—the anger dissipating into something more. That’s what terrified you. The idea that you and him could be more than just this.

“I thought you were done with the Navy,” he said, ignoring the curious looks of the others as they took in your obvious hostile nature towards one another.

“And I thought you were done being a dick, but here we are.”

Phoenix choked on her sip of beer, coughing so hard you had to pat her on the back to help her clear her throat. “You two haven’t changed,” she mused, a glint in her eyes as she watched Bradley.

“Guess not,” he stated, giving you a look you couldn’t read before turning away entirely and focusing on the others instead.

You knew that reaction from the days at TopGun. The same one that used to drive you up the wall at his absolute arrogance. He was done talking to you for the night, the conversation having lost the luster he once craved with you. Believe it or not, he was the one who usually began your fights—the cause for which you did not know—but tonight he seemed different. Granted, several years had passed since you last saw one another. You chalked it up to him finally having grown up after so long getting on your last nerves.

“I’m going to get something stronger,” you said to Phoenix, motioning to where Penny stood.

Bruce Springsteen played in the background, a song you’d heard over and over again back when you were first in TopGun. Hell, you used to come here religiously. Drowning yourself in partying and drinking before having to drag your ass out of bed and do it all over again. Even though you’d blocked out most of that time in your mind, you could always remember Penny being there for you. A friend more than anything else.

“Well look who’s come home again,” she called out to you, sliding a glass of bourbon across the bartop with a smile. She remembered your favorite. Just that alone made your defensive shield lower a bit.

“You just can’t seem to get rid of me once and for all.” You took a sip, nearly moaning at the familiar taste.

She shrugged, wiping down the bartop beside you. “I wouldn’t want to either way.”

“Glad someone wants me back.” The words were muttered to yourself; the sour feeling of interacting with Bradley still permeated your senses. You knew running away from him was what caused this hostility; after all you’d be pissed too if it was him running away from you.

You’d made your bed and now you were finally lying in it.

Penny’s hand pressed against yours, the comforting smile was one thing you missed all those years being away. “Give him time.”

You reared back. “No, it’s not what you think—”

“I’m not an idiot.” She poured more bourbon into your glass. “You think I don’t know what happened between you two? I was the one who saw him after you made your choice.”

Just that thought alone made you wince—imagining Bradley try to drown his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. Part of your reasoning was that you were both too young. You had no idea what you were getting yourselves into, but you knew what the truth of the matter really was. Fear made that decision for you and like an idiot, you took off running towards the sunset, never looking back and never once thinking of what it did to him in the end. After all, you didn’t have to.

Both you and Bradley were on different ends of the world. While he was no doubt building up his career, you were trying to hide in your own mistakes and only did smaller missions here and there. Anything to avoid coming into contact with him. Did that make you a chicken shit? Yes it did. Yet all your work to forget the past didn’t seem to come in handy when your past stood a few feet away, happily ignoring your existence.

“He hates me,” you muttered, watching as he unplugged the jukebox and took a seat at the beloved piano.

“He hates what you did.” She took your empty glass and replaced it with a beer; her way of cutting you off from hard liquor for the night. “But knowing him. He couldn’t hate you even if he tried.”

“No need to lie on my behalf Penny,” you said, tossing down the cash needed, ignoring her sound of protest. “I’ll see you soon.”

She opened her mouth to bargain with you to stay, but Bradley’s voice singing broke your concentration from her. The song brought a wave of nostalgia to your body, so strong you nearly buckled right where you stood. It had been awhile since you heard him sing, but that didn’t stop the racing of your heart. The sensation you still loathed to this day. You went there once and no matter how much Penny’s words stuck to your skin, slowly digging their way to your heart, you couldn’t go back.

You wouldn’t.

Catching Phoenix’s gaze you waved to her as you headed towards the backdoor, throwing one last glance at Bradley in the hopes of possibly catching his eye as well. He looked…happy. So much so that the sight nearly made you dizzy and you didn’t bother shoving down the smile this time as the entire bar joined in, nearly shouting the chorus. That one look—it would have to keep you going for a while. You knew he hated you; felt the frigid way he glared at you. So, you fell back to your old ways. You shut out the prospect of more and settled for less, knowing that it would keep you safe in the end.

The door swung shut with a bang as the music was quieted by the roaring waves crashing to the shore. Your leather jacket kept the chill out and you headed towards the water, sand sticking to your boots. Sure you missed The Hard Deck and Phoenix and hell you even missed Bradley, but if there’s one thing you yearned for more than anything. It was this. Being able to sit on the cool sand and smell the saltiness of the ocean in the air.

Why did you ever give this up?

Why did you give him up?

They were questions you didn’t hold answers to—questions you were terrified to answer once and for all. The sound of the door echoed behind you; the crunch of boots on the sand coming closer as you continued to stare at the horizon. A cold beer was pressed to your hand as Phoenix took the spot beside you, her grim look telling you that she was about to berate you for keeping shit from her. Yeah…you definitely missed her.

“You’re an idiot Panther.”

You spluttered, nearly spilling the beer onto the sand. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not—”

“So Rooster looked like a kicked puppy as you left for no reason?”

Her words pressed against your already aching chest; the image of him sad was far more painful than any injury you sustained and you hated it. “It’s…complicated.”

She took a sip of her beer, contemplating your words—her eyes never leaving the horizon. “So uncomplicate it for me.”

You scoffed. “That might take awhile.”

Finally she turned to look at you, the same glint in her eyes that you knew so well. The same one that said you’d be spilling everything without question. “Then it’s a good thing we’ve got all night.”

So you spilled your guts right there on the beach. You told her about that night at the bar, about the words he said, the promises he made to you and even about what happened after. How he went from treating you like enemy number one to someone he could no longer keep out of his system—someone he longed for day in and day out. She listened to it all and winced as your voice cracked with emotion, because for the first time you finally told someone how you felt. You revealed the hidden crevices of your heart you kept so guarded and hoped she would accept you in the end.

The truth was it may have hurt Bradley when you left, but it sure as hell hurt you a lot more to be the one leaving.

“There’s a reason why he hates me now Phoenix and it’s not just competition or petty arguments anymore.”

Thankfully she stayed silent, simply wrapping an arm around your shoulder as you furiously wiped away the tears that fell. You couldn’t believe you were crying over Bradley Bradshaw. If younger you could see you now she’d call you pathetic for letting him get so deep under your skin. But there was no denying what you ignored for all these years. You couldn’t anymore even if you tried.

You hated Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw with a burning passion, and yet…you loved him all the same.

The thumping of boots entering the building knocked against your brain like a hammer hitting a nail into wood. It had been awhile since you guzzled down alcohol like it was water and waking up to a hangover was the last thing you needed. Yet you still dragged your ass out of the bed, taking a freezing cold shower to hopefully dampen some of the pain, and downing a searing cup of black coffee on your way here.

You were seated at a desk, your notebook in front of you and a pen tossed on top. They were for notes on the mission, just in case you needed to remember things—which you probably did given the extremity of your hangover. Fuck, next time Phoenix offered to drag you back to her place for one more round, you would make sure to flip her off and go home. Somehow during the night you managed to drive—albeit clumsily—back to your small apartment. The musty scent of it being boarded up for so long caused you to vomit the second you entered the door.

“What’s the matter kitten? Can’t handle your drinks anymore?” Bradley’s voice sneered behind you. Just that alone caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand up.

You opted to ignore him, rubbing your forehead as you tried not to throw up the coffee you drank—even as it burned its way through your stomach. Flying today would be hell, but you wouldn’t give Bradley the satisfaction of seeing you in pain. Let alone watching you fail. You could recall the taunting remarks he made back then whenever you missed the mark. They were the one thing that made you strive to be better. Even if it was purely out of spite for him.

“So is this your version of the cold shoulder act?” He seemed to be in an unforgiving mood today. “I got to say it’s not working for me.”

Biting back the array of curse words that built up in your throat, you simply squeezed your eyes shut even tighter. Hoping that if you thought hard enough he’d simply vanish into thin air. Maybe if you clicked your heels three times it would work. Although you weren’t sure your old combat boots would do the trick, given their wear and tear over the years. They were hardly ruby red slippers, but you’d try anything to get him off your ass.

“Just admit it. You’re only here to be our understudy. You know the pilot who gets left behind due to lack of experience.”

You spun around so fast the room shifted in your view—the nausea building up in your stomach. “Careful Bradshaw or I just might think you’re talking up a big game for nothing. What’s the matter? Are you making up for a lack of something?”

His face darkened, eyes narrowing at the sight of your grin. “You and I both know that’s bullshit.”

“What is? You talking up your ego? Or your lack of…something?” The headache had dulled now to a small throbbing pain thankfully as you took all your anger out on him.

He leaned forward, his face so close that you could count the individual flecks of gold in his eyes and your heart fluttered. “I proved my something to you already, kitten or have you forgotten who’s name you screamed that night?” His voice was low enough that the others couldn’t hear him, but you heard him loud and clear.

That night wasn’t entirely forgotten from your mind and just like someone flipping a light switch on, memories flooded your mind.

“Bradley!” you cried. Your nails scratched so hard along his back you were sure it would leave marks come morning. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

Not when he gripped your leg and yanked it over his shoulder, thrusting into you so roughly that you were shoved up the bed.

“That’s it kitten,” he grunted, his voice barely audible over the slapping of skin against skin and the wet squelch of your pussy. “Come on. Give me one more.”

Shifting the angle of his hips, he struck gold—a sharp keening wail bouncing off the walls of his small shack. His head shot up, eyes meeting yours as a blinding smile spread across his lips. He could listen to the sounds you made all fucking day if it meant he was the one inside of you and like a madman seeking his prize, he sped up. His cock pounding into you, hitting your g-spot with so much precision you would have thought he was hitting a target that was assigned to him.

Your toes curled over his shoulders, the pleasure mounting in your body so high that it made your vision blurry, but you forced yourself to watch him. To see the sweat practically drip from his face as his lust clouded eyes bored into yours. He panted with every thrust, baring his teeth and fighting against his own release, because he wanted to see you fall apart around his cock again. He needed to feel it.

His name was like a prayer on your lips and with a final devastating thrust, you shattered.

Your thighs clenched as the vivid memory played on a never ending loop in your mind. His eyes flashed with the same look from that night as he remembered what happened too, and suddenly your hangover was not the only issue. If you could go back and change things you would. Maybe then you and Bradley would be on the same page rather than different ones—maybe you wouldn’t have to tear the other one down just to feel something again.

“Good morning.”

You tore your gaze away from his, turning back to face the front as his eyes still burned a hole in the back of your head. What you wouldn’t give to switch seats with Phoenix who sat across from you, but one glance in her direction and the shit eating smile she gave you told you enough. You would remain right where you were—facing the consequences of your actions. Perhaps if you asked the Navy to reconsider, you could leave again, focus on other things instead of the man behind you who’s sole mission in life was to make yours a living hell.

“Please follow me outside,” the man you learned to be called Maverick said, turning swiftly and taking the lead.

Your chair screeched across the floor as you practically rushed out after him, adamant on getting away. But it didn’t help. A hand gripped your upper arm, yanking you backwards and nearly causing you to trip on your own feet. Anger burned hot in your veins as you spun around, coming face to face with a glowering Bradshaw. He looked at you like you were the very bane of his existence—the reason he was where he stood.

“Let go of me,” you spit, yanking against his bruising hold.

“Not until we get one thing clear.”

“Fuck you Bradshaw.”

He smiled, the sight coming off as menacing. “You’re not the leader here. Not while I’m around.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” Another yank proved your efforts to be futile. He wouldn’t be letting you go—not unless it was his choice to do so.

“We both know you’re not here to be the best. You just showed up because they ordered you to. So why don’t you back off and let me take it from here? You know I’m the better pilot.”

“I can’t wait to watch you crash and burn,” you sneered, feeling your heart twist at the flash of hurt in his eyes. He masked it quickly enough though.

“You can’t keep your goddamn mouth shut for one minute huh kitten.”

Yanking as hard as you could, he finally released his grip causing you to stumble back. “Go to hell.”

There was one card he hadn’t played yet in this ongoing game of hatred—the single card you knew he was keeping up his sleeve in case a moment like this came up. His eyes narrowed, the glare so brutal you swore you were dead on the ground as he got in your face; the warmth of him being so close to you made your heart beat erratically. The shuffle of feet quieted down as only you and him stood in the hangar, staring each other down until the other backed off. Yet you didn’t see him aiming his punishing words in the back of his mind.

You barely even saw him pull the trigger.

“You’re one to talk about crash and burn. Tell me, how is your second wingman after Phoenix? Hunter, is it?”

The missile landed dead on target, your heart shattering at the mention of the man you couldn’t save. Pain flashed across your face; your eyes welling up with unshed tears and you could physically see Bradley try to reel back his words. His face went stricken with an anguish that surely matched yours as his mouth opened and closed. Except the words had been said and there was no taking back the lethality of his intentions.

He wanted to win and played his final card.

He just didn’t know how harsh that final card was.

Your true name left his lips, pouring salt on your wound and you shook your head—wiping your face clean of any emotions. He wanted to see your reaction and you refused to give him the satisfaction. No one got to see you in pain, especially him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt y—shit!” He groaned in pain, falling to his knees and clutching his groin as your leg lowered to the ground.

“Yeah you did,” you said, turning on your heel and leaving him there, now certain that the choice you made all those years ago was the right one in the end.

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