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fweasleyswhore · 3 years

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Commitments - Smut

pairing: Oliver Wood, Fred Weasley, George Weasley x fem!reader (no incest just sharing)

a/n: I would like to do a pt 2 to this because I just have so much more I can fit into this dynamic and I like it (hornhee disease really takin over)

word count : 4.9k

warning: smut, 18+ themes, face fucking (male recieving), oral and fingering (female recieving), unprotexted sex -wrap before you tap kids-, choking, dom/sub themes, slight bdsm themes, subby reader, titles are given, its pure filth, friends with benefits relationship

mature readers only, this has heavier themes in it and i only want people who are completely ok with those themes reading

My head pounded and my stomach growled. It was the first feeling I registered as I opened my eyes. I was cold, hungry, and in pain. I blinked a few times, pulling my head up from its position on the table where I had been napping. I focussed my eyes on my unfinished potions essay. Groaning I rubbed my eyes. Not only did I not finish it, but I also fell asleep. It was due in two days and I had barely started. I still needed to-

Quidditch Practice. The potions essay fell to the depths of my mind as I scoured the library walls for a clock. Unsuccessful in finding one, I decided I was probably only late. Shoving my papers into my bag I ran out of the library, ignoring wandering stares from students I made my way to the changing rooms.

The door flung open and slowed down for the first time, panting slightly I made it over to the lockers, ready to get out my equipment. I picked up my shaky hands to do the combination when a voice interrupted me.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Oliver spoke. Based on the volume of his voice and the slight temperature change in the air, he was right behind me. Pulling my bottom lip between my lip I turned around, his toned chest was dripping, a towel hung low on his hips and his hair was ruffled slightly and damp. Our bodies were merely inches apart and I could see the anger in his eyes as I looked up at him.

“Ollie…” I tried but my nickname for him only caused an annoyed look to grace his features.

“Don’t,” His voice was stern and it made me feel cold. “You knew how important practice was today but you skipped anyway. We play Slytherin in two days! Where were you? Giving our play strategies to Adrian Pucey probably.” He rolled his eyes and walked next to me. He turned his attention to his locker, presumably to get clothes as I was left there with my mouth feeling dry and a ball of guilt in my stomach replacing my hunger.

“I fell asleep in the library, I don’t have an excuse,” I spoke truthfully and watched my hands as I spoke afraid to meet his gaze. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately and I dozed off. I really am sorry.”

He sighed and I wished at that moment I could crawl inside myself and disappear. “L/N, I don’t play favorites, you know this, but you are an essential part of this team. In this practice, we were working in groups, Fred George and I practically sat there the entire time because you were missing from our group. The other chasers were running well-needed drills and we had devised a strategic plan that would push not only you but the three of us too and you weren’t there. Today’s practice was a waste of time for us.” His words hurt me, they were filled with anger and it wasn’t a feeling he had ever directed at me.

“Ollie I truly am so sorry. I know this and I wish there was anything I could do to make it up to you. I know how stressed you are about the game, I just, I’m so sorry.” I finally looked up and he was facing me again, his locker forgotten. He was close to me again, his body heaved as he breathed heavily.

“Stress relief?” He asked, causing me to furrow my brows. Before I could ask him what he meant he spoke again. “You are right, I am stressed, that’s why I’m asking if you will help me with stress relief.”

I nodded understandably. I couldn’t fight the smile that found its way to my face as I realized what he was asking for. “You want me to massage your shoulders Wood?” I asked teasingly. He let out a short breath before taking a step forward. He toward over me, our chests almost flush as his hand caressed my cheek. His touch was sending shivers down my spine and butterflies to erupt in my stomach. Oliver was a good friend of mine, I always left my lingering eyes on him for too long but never admitted my feelings for him. I wasn’t sure if they were real feelings or pure lust. Being on the quidditch team I was never sure if I liked him or seeing his half-naked body as he ran down drills.

“Not what I had in mind,” I bit my lip as the nerves began to build up. His hand trailed down my cheek and under my jaw which he grasped semi firmly, pulling my face up to his. Our lips met in a messy heated kiss. I gasped into his mouth as my hand found its way to his neck pulling him closer to me. His legs parted my own and he pushed his hips flush against mine. An unintentional moan slipped from my mouth at the contact but that didn’t stop him, if anything it fueled his motions. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth, it was a short fight that he quickly won. He pulled away suddenly, my face remained in his grip, the stern hand he had on my face caused my lips to part slightly. I looked up at him, blinking my lashes and grinding my hips softly onto his leg that was positioned in between my legs.

“I want this but I need to know you do too.” His voice was usually cheery but now it was stern and low, a side of him I had never seen and god I wished I did sooner. I pushed my hips down with more force, the friction finally hitting where I need it most and I moaned.

“Godric, yes Oliver, yes, yes, yes.” His gaze was cold and his face didn’t change when I gave my answer, instead he pushed his thigh harder into me, adding pressure I didn’t know I needed. “Fuck.” I whimpered shutting my eyes.

“Tsk, Tsk,” He tutted, pulling my eyes open I looked up at him. “If you continue to have a dirty mouth like that I’ll fill it up. Understood?” Growing wetter at his words I nodded feverishly. “Words darling.” He pushed his thigh into me harder. I let out a short breath, trying to compose myself.

“Y-Yes Sir.”

“Good girl. Keep being good maybe I will forget about the punishment I had planned for your absence.” I let out a whimper at his praise, the promise of punishment striking my core, had he thought of this before? He smirked down at me as I began to rut my hips against his thigh. Occasionally he would pull his leg back causing me to whine only to push it back with more force than before causing my legs to lose feeling as the pleasure built up. We were so wrapped up in our display we didn’t hear the two prominent footsteps grow closer until they were right next to us.

“Bloody hell.” Geroge’s voice interrupted. I opened my eyes and pulled Oliver against me to shield myself, in doing so I could feel the prominent bulge that formed under his not so restraining towel. “We heard Y/N came to the locker room and Fred and I were half sure you were killing her, not…” He trailed off and I watched as his eyes looked me up and down, my hair was no doubt a mess and Oliver’s leg was still in between mine applying a wonderful but also horrible pressure to my clit.

“Glad you’re not dead Y/N, but if getting off is what you wanted you could have always just come to my dorm,” Fred spoke from beside George. Leaning against the other row of lockers he looked significantly more comfortable than George, his trademark smirk plastered his face and his eyes kept flickering to where Oliver’s leg was positioned. I grew hot at his words as I looked between the twins. My eyes flickered up to Oliver who was giving both boys, especially Fred, a hard glare. Before I could protest Oliver’s hand found my hip and he pushed my hips into his thigh, pulling me forward into a rocking motion. I reacted by throwing my head back and letting out a moan, the feeling was too good to hide it. I didn’t let myself get too lost in the pleasure as I remembered our audience. Pulling my head back I eyed the boys with half-lidded eyes. Oliver was still guiding my hips against his thigh, his eyes were trained on my face as I whimpered trying to blink and focus on what was happening, my brain was fighting not wanting to stop but also worried about Fred and George’s presence.

Fred’s eyes were wide and hungry, he was still leaning against the lockers but his eyes were trained on the way my body moved. George was too watching, he took his brother’s stance, leaning on the lockers next to me. I could see two significant tents forming in both of their trousers, George’s hand slid into his pocket and he silently palmed himself at my display.

Seeing that they were enjoying themselves I let my worries dissipate, throwing my head back I moved my hips in time with Oliver’s guiding hands. Oliver ducked his head and began sucking on my neck. Rutting my hips faster I became more vocal, Fred and George let out small grunts here and there that I assume was due to their hands work which only egged on my ministrations. Soon enough the feeling became too overwhelming to bear, my legs began to shake and my breathing was becoming labored. “Ollie please, I need to-” My words were cut short as Oliver harshly nipped at my neck causing me to gasp.

“That’s not my name.” He whispered in my ear. I felt his arms stop their guidance slowing me down.

“Please Sir, please let me cum.” I begged submissively, not worried about the whine in my voice but rather the orgasm that was so close which was starting to vanish.

His hands grasped my hips with a different purpose now and he brought me back to the same speed that had me whimpering and moaning a few seconds ago.

“What do you think guys? Shall we let Y/N cum? Has she earned it?” I snapped my eyes open looking between the three boys frantically, letting out whines as Oliver applied more pressure with his thigh.

“I’m not sure she has,” Fred spoke up, he had a drunken look of hunger that made me shiver.

“I don’t think so.” George agreed.

“What a shame,” Oliver said looking down at me. “Guess you have to wait, darling.” With those few words, he held my hips firm and removed his thigh from me. I wouldn’t be surprised if his thigh had gotten wet through my trousers but I was too upset to be concerned with that at the moment. I whined lightly at the loss of contact and tried to stabilize my shaky legs.

“How can I earn it?” I looked between the boys who all adorned with wide grins. When I got no response I decided to push a little. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just get myself off.” All three boys lost their grins, not completely but their eyes went dark at my words, and they stood up straighter, they watched my hands as they trailed down to my trousers, popping the button.

“Brats don’t get rewards,” George said softly from next to me. His hand grasped mine and halted my motions, his grip was iron tight as he looked down at me. I angled my body so I was facing him, with my free hand I cupped him through his trousers.

“Then tell me what to do, sir.” I looked up at him with the most innocent face I could muster, cocking my head to the side slightly. I’m sure the markings on my neck from Oliver ruined the innocent facade a little bit but watching George swallow hard and breathe heavily through his nose was enough to tell me it was working.

“On your knees, now.” His voice was firm and it sent shivers down my spine as I sunk to my knees. My face was level with George’s clothed cock, I placed my hands behind my back and looked up at him waiting for permission. He brought his hand down, pulling my head up from my chin, he swiped my bottom lip with his thumb. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

I smiled at the name, undoing his pants with ease I heard a slight groan as I pulled them down freeing his erection a bit. He was big, much bigger than I’ve had before. I tried to swallow my nerves as I pulled him out and stroked him slowly. I wrapped my lips around his tip, circling the tip with my tongue that elicited a moan from above me. I smiled and began to take him, or as much as I could. He hit the back of my throat before I got to his base, I gagged lightly and began to bob my head, stroking what was left with my hand. I felt a foreign hand in my hair, straining my eyes I looked up to see Oliver pulling some strands of my hair back. I rubbed my thighs together my arousal building to extreme heights.

“Fuck,” George moaned. He pulled out enough so his tip rested against my lips. “Do you think you can take all of me?” I stroked him slowly as I thought to myself.

“Will it get me my reward,” I asked in a sweet tone. He opened his mouth to reply so I kitten licked his tip, twisting my wrist as I continued to pump him. His words were cut off by a sharp intake of breath as he hissed.

“Definitely, and if you stop being a brat it will probably get you two.” I smiled at his response and pulled back my hand, opting to rest both of them on my thighs. Opening my mouth I relaxed my jaw and stuck my tongue out. George took his dick and slapped my tongue with it a few times.

“Such a good girl, so ready for me aren’t you, whore?” He asked with a devilish smirk. I nodded and let out a small involuntary whine at his words.

“Such a little slut, you’re gonna let him use you like that?” Fred asked. He walked over, his dick now free from its restraints he pumped it slowly. He ran his fingers through my hair, grabbing it tightly and pulling my head back to face him, his harshness made me whine and I squeezed my thighs together, growing wetter. “You like this don’t you? Such a dirty girl.” He let go of my hair and my head fell forward, George’s dick slapping my cheek lightly in the process.

“Our dirty girl.” Oliver praised smoothing my hair. I smiled before opening my mouth again, making eye contact with George to let him know I was ready. He smiled and slid in slowly, I wrapped my mouth around him and tried to maintain my composure as he began to slide down my throat. I gagged lightly which caused him to groan and go deeper. I breathed out through my nose as my eyes began to well up, I closed them and focussed on keeping my throat open for him.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my thigh, opening my eyes, blinking some tears away. I could make out Fred smiling as he kneeled next to me. I shut my eyes spreading my legs for him. He dipped his hand into my trousers tracing my lips from outside my panties. I moaned at the contact around George making him groan.

“You’re getting off on this aren’t you, completely soaked for us,” Fred whispered in my ear pushing my panties to the side. I moaned again which caused George to pick up his pace. I was gagging and tears were streaming down my face but I was enjoying it so much. Fred circled my clit with his nimble fingers making me gag and moan more but I didn’t care. George’s thrusts were becoming erratic and I knew he would come soon. Purposely swallowing around him caused him to meet his end. He buried his dick inside of my throat, my nose pressed up against his abdomen I moaned, swallowing his cum that shot down my throat. He pulled out of me, a trail of spit followed connecting us until it broke, slapping against my chin. Panting, I gasped for air and leaned my head on Fred’s shoulder. Fred picked his speed up on my clit causing me to yell out his name. He continued his brutal pace and I felt my orgasm catching up to me yet again.

“Please, George,” My words were cut off by a moan and I jerked my head back. “Please I’m going to cum I need your permission.” Fred was chuckling in my ear from my desperation but I couldn’t care right now. My legs were shaking and my abdomen was cramping up as I continued to fight it off.

George knelt in front of me, grabbing my neck with a strong hand he pulled my head forward. I fought against my body to open my eyes and look at him. “Cum for us, cum like the whore you are.” As he spoke he increased the pressure on my neck. My eyes rolled back as my orgasm washed over me, I shook violently, screaming out I felt myself release. Fred didn’t stop his fingers, they continued his brutal pace and his smirk grew as I began to shake from overstimulation.

“Good whore.” Fred whispered pulling his hand away from my core. I leaned back against Oliver’s leg and watched as Fred sucked his fingers clean. Oliver looked down at me with his dark eyes, filled with lust and hunger. Fred linked his arm around my waist and pulled me up. We walked over to a bench at the end of the row of lockers, he laid me down on my back. I giggled to myself watching him struggle to pull my trousers off. My laughter was cut short as he landed a short slap to my bare pussy, I moaned at the harsh contact.

“Don’t be a brat.” He warned and I nodded. I pulled my shirt off and unhooked my bra. Fred inserted a finger inside of me, slowly he began to pump in and out before adding another one, I moaned at the light stretch as he pumped faster, curling them to hit my G-spot.

“Such pretty moans.” George praised. He was knelt beside me and began to massage my breasts. I gasped as he began to suck on my nipple. Pulling my hands up I ran my fingers through his hair. Oliver stood on my other side, he was slowly pumping his cock at the scene below him. I felt Fred pull his fingers out and I whined at the loss. Fred spit directly onto my clit, I felt the liquid drip down and mix with my own juices.

“Spread your legs for me, darling,” I did as he said and opened my legs for him. “So pretty, princess, are you ready for me?”

“Yes, please,” I whined out. George was now attacking my neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh that took my breath away. I stopped breathing completely as Fred pushed into me. Slowly he filled me to the hilt, he had to be the same size as George. I felt him bump my cervix when his hips met mine. My mouth was open in a silent scream as he let out a slow groan. He stayed there for a moment, letting me get used to the stretch that came with his impressive size. When he felt me relax he began to slowly thrust in and out of me.

“Faster, fuck, please faster.” I moaned out. He quickly obliged by setting a ruthless pace that had my brain cloudy with the pleasure I was feeling. Oliver leaned down, kissing me roughly, our teeth clashed due to my shaking from Fred’s pace but that didn’t stop either of us.

“Such a whore, putting this show on for me, is this supposed to make me forgive you?” He asked, one of his hands trailed down my torso, he left feather-light touches on my breasts.

“Y-Yes all for you.” I struggled out. He suddenly pinched my nipple, pulling it lightly causing me to moan out loudly.

“Hm, all for me? You let them down too, it’s not very kind if it’s all for me now is it?” I nodded in agreement unable to speak as Fred propped my leg onto his shoulder, the new angle intensifying the pleasure I was feeling. “What are we going to do about that then?” Oliver asked.

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water. I couldn’t conjure up a sentence much less a viable answer that would satisfy him as my orgasm steadily approached.

“What a shame, it looks like I will have to punish you after all.” He whispered in my ear. I moaned at his words. Fred continued to hit that spot deep inside me that sent me closer to heaven and hell at the same time.

“I need to, please, I-” My words drowned out into a moan as Fred thrust harder.

“You need to cum, slut?” Fred asked, words spaced out with his thrusts. His hair was dripping with sweat, his chest was glistening with sweat, somewhere in the process he had lost his shirt.

“Yes, yes please!” I begged.

I could hear the smirk on his face as he replied. “Cum for me princess.” My second orgasm washed over me. My legs shook and I tightened my walls, screwing my eyes shut I let out a long moan as Fred continued to pump in and out of me, riding out my orgasm. His hips began to slow and he stopped, flush against me I felt his dick twitch, shooting long ropes of cum painting my insides.

Fred’s hands rubbed up and down my thighs, soothing their shaking. He kissed my knee and unhooked my leg from his shoulder, gingerly pulling out, I whined feeling sensitive and empty at the loss. Fred walked to the side of me, replacing Oliver who was now out of sight. He kneeled beside me and stroked my hair. “You did so good.” He praised.

George hummed softly, his head rested on my stomach under my breast where he was leaving soft kisses earlier beforehand. “Such a pretty slut for us.” He added.

“She may be pretty but that’s not going to make up for what she did.” Oliver said, he was circling his hands on my thighs, his towel now long forgotten, his erection was prominent and it prodded my legs as they shook. His tip was red and needy with precum, I could only assume how much it ached.

“Hm and what did she do?” Fred asked, feigning confusion, a slight smirk on his lips. Oliver had a smile playing on his lips as his hands trailed toward my core. He started to tease my folds, rubbing around spreading the shared release between me and Fred everywhere except my throbbing clit.

“She skipped practice, you know that.” Oliver growled.

“I didn’t mean to-” I trued but Oliver suddenly slapped my pussy, the harsh contact with my clit made me moan.

“You skipped.” He said sternly. I took that as a signal to shut up so I nodded, feeling the excitement buzz in my veins. My pussy throbbed in anticipation as his fingers ghosted over my entrance and up to my clit.

“Hm, I didn’t think about that, should I have punished you princess?” Fred asked. Before I could answer George attached his lips to my nipple, he lapped it and bit it lightly causing me to gasp. He pulled off with a pop, grinning.

“I should have bent you over my knee, showed you who you belong too.” George purred, he trailed up so his breath fawned over the shell of my ear. “Would you have liked that sweetheart? Being so marked and bruised you can’t sit straight? Everytime you sit down you will be reminded of the little whore you are for us, how you bent over willingly, swallowed my cock and came on Freddies fingers. You would like that wouldn’t you?” His voice was deep and it sent shivers through me and took the air from my lungs.

“I think she likes that George.” Oliver said grinning. “Shes practically dripping.” Suddenly he inserted two fingers into me, pumping at a relentless pace. Sounds of squeltching filled the air as he began to hit that spot inside of me, over and over again. I screwed my eyes shut feeling blissed out as George nipped my ear whispering small taunts while massaging my breasts, Fred on my other side whispering praise and playing with my hair.

“You like being used don’t you?” Geroge would ask, licking the shell of my ear.

“Such a good girl, you gonna moan princess?” Fred would add, kissing my cheek.

They continued the process until I was a writhing mess. I was about to ask for permission to cum when Oliver wrapped his lips around my clit, sucking and flicking it with his tongue that just sent me over the edge. I came for a third time, shaking crying out, I felt a few tears fall from eyes as he didn’t slow down until I was convulsing and my eyes were rolled back in my head. Oliver pulled back and I gasped for air now that I was given a slight break. Suddenly he slammed into me, his dick stretched me in a delicious way. I yelped at the sudden contact. He didn’t give me time to adjust like Fred, instead he pulled out nearly all the way before slamming back into me.

“O-Ollie.” I moaned out throwing my head back.

“What do you call me?” He growled, slapping my clit lightly and thrusting in forcefully. He halted his motions for a moment, grinding his hips into me and it felt heavenly.

“I’m sorry Sir! Please keep going!” I whined.

“Good girl.” Oliver praised pulling out an slamming back into me. He continued his relentless pace, slapping my clit and tits, pinching my nipples, occasionally leaning over to nip at my leg. I alternated between kissing Fred and George who whispered dirty things to me and swallowed the moans I left in their mouths. I felt Oliver speed up and I felt yet again that I was teetering on the edge.

“Sirs, please I need to cum,” I whined looking between all three boys. Fred and George nodded with cheeky grins and my gaze fell forward to Oliver between my legs. Oliver grabbed my hip with one hand, reaching down and grabbing my neck with the other in grip that could bruise.

“Cum then, cum on my dick slut.” Oliver grunted tightening his grip on my neck. I gave in, letting go and cumming harder than I have before. I let go, squirting onto his torso. Oliver kept pumping into me riding out my orgasm until he pulled out, cumming on my pussy, throwing white ropes on my glistening cunt. I was breathless and lightheaded, Oliver let go of my neck, my head fell back against the bench and I panted. Oliver spread my legs whistling lowly to himself.

“So pretty.” He muttered before ducking his head down and running a long stripe up my folds with his tongue. I jolted at the feeling, my body spasming as his tongue hit my clit. I felt him suck lightly and I whined. That’s when he pulled his head up, and leaned over me, his lips were in a tight line and his body caged me. He took one of his hands and placed two fingers on my chin, applying light pressure signaling for me to open my mouth. I did, sticking my tongue out as I made eye contact with him. He spat our combined juices into my mouth, some of it getting on my chin. He used his thumb to lap it up, wiping it on my tongue.

“Swallow it.” He commanded. I did as I was told, opening my mouth to show him when I was done. “Good slut.” He praised.

“Beautiful.” George added.

“Breathtaking.” Fred quipped. I felt my cheeks heat up at their praise.

“T-Thank you.” I said timidly. Oliver smiled, it was his usual soft smile that made me melt. He stood up, offering a hand I gladly took and stood with him on my shaky legs. I slipped slightly and George stood on my side grabbing my hip. I felt Fred’s gentle hand on my back offering his support should I need it.

They cleaned me up, offering support and praise every second of the way. The game with Slytherin went well, Gyrffimdor won by a landslide, and once again we found ourselves in the locker room together celebrating.

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kybervisions · 3 years

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midnight at wayne manor [clark]

summary: during a new years party at wayne manor, a drunk reader makes a move on clark. feelings long buried resurface, which leads to a clark breaking up with lois.

author’s note: i love chaos,, this was just a small and quick idea that popped into my head while working on another clark one-shot,,feel free to send requests!! clark does try to be a good boyfriend to lois buuut......still a soft!clark fic bc im pretty sure he gets manhandled in this???

tags: cheating, dry humping, intoxicated!reader, reader is kind of a maneater in this ngl, kinda angsty

They should have stayed home, that was Clark’s immediate thought upon laying eyes on you. The wind had been knocked out of him and he felt frozen in time as you approached them with a bright smile. Your dress fit your body perfectly, complimenting your shape in a sexy red faux leather mini dress, and then your eyes met. Dazzling and alluring. Clark almost forgot about Lois standing beside him, but she grabbed his arm and dragged him to greet you.

“Happy New Year!” Lois exclaimed as she went in for a hug. “Your house looks amazing by the way,”

“Thank you,” You chuckled and hugged Lois. “I didn’t think you’d be coming,” You kissed Lois’s cheek and withdrew from the hug. Clark knew you would go to him next. He knew it was just a friendly greeting, but he couldn’t keep himself composed if your body was wrapped tightly around his.

So, he extended his arm and went for a handshake.

Clark saw a flash of hurt in your eyes, which you quickly covered with a happy face, and he felt like he had been punched in the gut.

“Almost didn’t,” Lois laughed. “But our schedule cleared up,”

“Good,” You smiled. “Alfred and I spent too much time planning this for people not to enjoy it,”

“Where’s Bruce?” Clark looked around the room.

“My dear brother has locked himself in his room,” You said rather somberly. Again, the sadness in your eyes impacted him. Clark wanted you to be happy, and he needed to be the reason for putting a smile on your face. “Like a fucking child,”

Lois chuckled nervously, uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. Clark takes a step closer to you, “Do you want me to talk to him? Try and convince him to come up?” He asked.

“No...I kinda want you to beat his ass,” You said, and you shared a small smile. “He knows how much this party means to me and doesn’t care enough to show up,”

“I’m going to get some drinks,” Lois said, wanting to leave such a personal conversation. After all, she and you had never been close. You met Lois through Clark, but Lois had written about you long before Clark became Superman. You’ve kept a cordial relationship with her, in the name of team bonding.

So, Lois quickly exited the scene.

“I’ll rough him up for you,” Clark chuckled and pushed his glasses up with his index finger.

The sudden alertness in your eyes should have told him not to follow you to the Batcave. When you grabbed his arm and interlocked your fingers with his, he should have pulled away, but he let you lead him deeper into the manor, away from the party.

Clark turned a corner, and you pushed him against a wall. The attack took him by surprise, but he didn’t fight you off. He felt your lips on his and melted. His mind went fuzzy. All he could focus on was you and the feeling of you against him.

He kissed you back. Desperately. Like you’d disappear and he’d never be able to kiss you again. Clark grabbed your hips and switched your positions — having your back against the wall as he thrust his crotch against your wet core.

Being so close to you made Clark delirious. He should have stopped it, but instead, he deepened your kiss. He tasted the tequila and weed on your tongue, which reminded him you weren’t in the right state of mind, and that completely shattered this little paradise.

“You’re so warm,” You slurred in a whisper.

“Y/N, you’re drunk,” He tried to hide his hurt. It wasn’t some confession of love from you. It was something fun for you to do while drunk, which broke his heart.

“Hmhmm,” You nodded. “And high,” You smiled. “Want some?” You tried to kiss him again. He turned his head to avoid your lips touching.

“We can’t,” Clark struggled to pull himself away from you.

“Because of Lois?” You asked.

“Oh, god, Lois,” Clark ran his fingers through his hair, panicking at the mention of his girlfriend. “I’m sorry,” He apologized. “I shouldn’t have let you do this,” He looked deeply into your confused eye.

“You don’t have to apologize, Clark,” You smiled. “I wanted to kiss you,” You took a step toward Clark, closing the space between you. “I want to do a lot more than that,” You added, reaching for his crotch.

“O-oh,” Clark whispered as your hands teased his hardened cock through the dress pants. You kissed his neck, and Clark shut his eyes. “Please, don’t,”

You immediately pulled away.

Clark opened his eyes but didn’t see you standing in front of him. He turned around, looked down the hallway, but saw nothing. Only when he used his enhanced vision did he see you had made it to the Batcave. He looked at his watch, which read 11:38pm and sped down to the cave.

When he reached the control computer, he could hear you crying. Bruce was holding you and looked at Clark with an angry expression. Your tears were his fault, somehow. Confused, but desperate to make you feel better, Clark approaches you.

“Lotta nerve making a girl cry on her birthday,” Bruce said callously.

It stung.

“You’re not not guilty either, asshole,” You punched Bruce’s shoulder.

“Ow, fine, I’ll leave,” He kissed your temple, “Love you, spider-monkey,” You rolled your eyes at the nickname. Bruce shot a death glare at Clark before exiting the Batcave to join the festivities.

Your eye makeup had smeared, with black tears running down your cheeks. You looked a mess, which Clark still found endearing.

“What’s wrong?” He asked in a soft tone.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” You hiccupped. “Soo I drank a lot really fast,” You continued, almost embarrassed to explain your emotions. “Because I really wanted you here and I felt sad but then you showed up and I got really happy and you look so good right now and I’m really drunk and—” To save you your breath, Clark kissed you.

He moved your hair, cupped your face, and passionately kissed you. He wanted this, you, for so long, Clark didn’t care it would inevitably hurt Lois.

You shoved him away and tears filled your eyes, “We can’t, remember?” Lois. “I’m such a horrible person,” You began to cry. “I shouldn’t have kissed you, I shouldn’t have done that to Lois,” Your eyes were red and puffy from crying.

Clark hugged you. He wrapped his arms around your body, tiny in comparison to his stature, and he just held you.

“I look good tonight?” Clark asked after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

You burst into laughter, and Clark was happy to see you smile again. “Yeah, like a sexy librarian,” Your eyes met.

“How long have —

“I don’t even know when it started,” You answered his unfinished question. “All I know is that I looked at you one day and I wasn’t afraid of it anymore,”

Right. The unspeakable ‘it’. You’d been so scared of falling in love with your best friend that you patiently watched him date another woman for nearly a year.

“But by then, it was too late,”

“It’s never too late,” Clark asserted. Despite his relationship with Lois, he didn’t feel at home. He’d never experienced a passion like you. Lois tried her best to keep him happy, but her efforts were pointless. “I love you, Y/N,” He confessed.

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” You blurted out.

“Dear God, woman,” Clark laughed at your explicit commentary. “I’ll break things off with Lois first, alright? So we can both try and keep some semblance of a conscience,”

“...tonight?”

#clark kent x reader #clark kent one shot #clark kent imagine #henry cavill x reader #superman x you #dceu fanfiction

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c-is-writing · 3 years

Text

intimacy

pairing: lena luthor x gn!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1894

warnings: none

a/n: okay ngl i was pretty head empty while writing it so i apologize if this made no absolute sense :’D

original request

It all began with a simple brush against her hand that led to two hands intertwined with each other, swinging back and forth as the two of you walked through a park. The sun was setting, casting a peach light across all surfaces before transitioning into shades of pink and purple until settling into the dark blue of the night. You lean your head on Lena’s shoulder as the two of you continued to walk under the dim lamps scattered along the path. It was almost as if you were the only two people in the whole world. As you absentmindedly hum a tune, Lena could feel the heat rush to her cheeks, painting them red like the sunset sky. The warmth radiating off your body pressed against her side comforted her in a way that she never knew she needed until now. The hand connected to yours suddenly feels burning hot but Lena makes no effort to remove it. There’s no way a Luthor, someone who is meant to be cold and cruel and undeserving of this sort of comfort, could enjoy something like this. Right?

Wrong. Absolutely wrong. Ever since that park date, Lena has practically become addicted to your touch. She constantly craves it like a smoker with a cigarette but she has restraint, she has an image to uphold as a Luthor. To her, it’s almost embarrassing how quickly she gives into your touch. Despite the embarrassment, the CEO is willing to do anything to feel your touch on her skin again.

A knock on the office door brings her out of her dilemma as she looks up to meet your bright smile and bag of takeout in your hand. Immediately feeling a warmth bloom in her chest, she returns the smile as you make your way towards her. Placing the bag down on a spot that’s not covered by papers, you finally greet your lover.

“Hey, Lee.”

“Hi, love.”

“Are you ready to take a quick lunch break or do you still need to finish some work?”

Glancing at the unfinished document on her screen, Lena shakes her head and says, “I’m more than ready for lunch, I’m starving. Just let me clear off my desk first.”

Giving her an okay, you take the bag to the coffee table and settle down, watching as Lena organizes the files. You reach into the brown bag to pull out the lunch items when you hear a gasp. Your head shoots up to see Lena holding her finger tightly. Rushing over you quickly ask, “Is everything okay? What happened?”

Almost laughing, Lena waves it off as nothing major. “I just got a papercut that’s all.”

“May I take a look at it?”

“Oh, sure, I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” Lena says after seeing the concern in your eyes.

She watches as you grab a bandaid from the first aid kit in the office and return to the table. Lena’s heart practically stops as you go to grab the injured hand. The gentle, feather-like grasp on her finger was enough to make her melt on the spot. As you wrap the bandage around the small cut, you press a soft kiss to it before placing her hand back into her lap. At this point, Lena has been reduced to a very flustered and embarrassed mess as her brain scrambles to understand what just happened. You were so gentle and loving with Lena that she could feel your adoration and care for her through your actions. Lena quickly clears her throat to hopefully pause her panicking mind and calm her racing heart.

Noticing how Lena is still sitting in her chair, you take one of her hands and lead her to the couch where the two of you talked and had lunch together. Throughout the conversation and eating, Lena could still feel where you kissed her finger as if she touched a hot stove. Imagine a Luthor being this soft for someone. She can’t enjoy your touch. She’s not allowed to. Or at least, that’s what Lillian kept telling her. Luthors are cruel aren’t they? They are undeserving of love and care, so why should this be any different for Lena? Why does she have to feel so embarrassed about wanting your touch?

Following the papercut incident, Lena found herself exaggerating her headaches and migraines from working constantly at L-Corp just so you could take care of her and cuddle the pain away. This went on for a few weeks and eventually you caught onto what she was trying to do. You realized that early on in the relationship, you always initiated physical contact with Lena and in those moments, she would tense up, making you think that she was uncomfortable with it. Later on, you learned that Lena is trying to get used to receiving so much physical love because it’s still new to her. So, you began to give it to her in small doses whether it was hand holding or pecks on the cheek before you left the apartment. Now, you see that Lena wants more but she’s either too afraid or too embarrassed to ask for it.

Looking down at the CEO that’s currently in your arms, you quietly laugh at the realization and almost find it endearing. You tuck that thought into the back of your mind as you readjust your position on the couch and tighten your hold on Lena. She snuggles a bit deeper into your chest as your focus falls back onto the movie playing on the TV. Maybe, it’s okay to let herself relish your touch as long as you were hers. After all, the Luthor name is simply a name, not a rule for her to follow.

A few days later, you find yourself heading back to your shared apartment where Lena is currently resting. According to Jess, she wasn’t feeling well and decided to take the rest of the day off to ensure that she could recover and work more efficiently tomorrow. It became a normal occurrence for Jess to call you whenever Lena was unwell so that you could take care of her. Upon arriving at the apartment, you find the raven-haired woman curled up in bed. At the sound of the bedroom door opening, she immediately sits up as her eyes light up when they lock with yours. You send her a loving smile as you say, “Lena, I want you to be honest with me.”

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Lena simply answers, “Okay…”

“Are you actually feeling unwell or is this an excuse to have me take care of you?”

The moment the question leaves your mouth, Lena’s eyes widen. Shit. Unsure of what to do as you watch Lena try to formulate a response, you decide to turn around and head to the kitchen to start preparing for dinner. As you’re about to leave, Lena desperately calls out, “Y/N, wait!”

Pausing, you turn back around and tilt your head, expecting a response. As she slowly begins to speak, Lena breaks eye contact in favor of tracing the patterns of the bedsheets with her eyes.

“I-, um, yeah, it was an excuse and I’m really sorry for disturbing you while you were at work for this.”

Watching as Lena slumps over in shame, you make your way to the bed and sit down next to her. Quietly waiting for her to continue and give you a reason, an awkward silence fills the bedroom. You’re the first to break the silence.

“Lee, you know I love you right?”

“Yes, I know.”

“Okay, so then, why? Why did you feel the need to make excuses to get me to come?”

“Well, um…” Lena trails off while continuing to look at the bedsheets, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Babe, if you don’t give me a reason then I’m not giving you any cuddles until you tell me.”

At your words, Lena’s head flies up, exposing her flustered state.

“Wait, no, that’s not fair.” She whines as she tries to wrap her arms around you.

Laughing, you do your best to push her off. With a soft smile, you tell her, “I just want my girlfriend to communicate with me and if I have to revoke cuddling privileges to get you to communicate then I’m going to do it.”

Lena lets out a sigh as she realizes that you’re going to stick to your words and she loves your touch too much to lose it over her slight issue with communicating properly in relationships. Readying herself, she allows the Luthor mindset to slip away from her mind as she opens up to you.

“I really like your touch and I was just afraid of how much I liked it because I wasn’t sure if I deserved it. When I was young, I was always told that Luthors don’t deserve love or care because of our cold nature. But the way you hold me made me melt and I felt tingly all over.” quickly adding in, “In a good way, I promise!”. She takes a deep breath before continuing, “I guess I just felt embarrassed of how strongly I wanted physical contact with you because I wasn’t sure if you would give that much to me. In the back of my mind, I thought that you were giving me all of this physical affection because you felt obligated to and not out of love.”

Taking in her words, your expression begins to soften as you pull Lena into your arms. Your fingers slowly trace random patterns into her back as you begin to speak.

“Oh, Lena, sweetheart. I love you so so much. I’m so sorry that you felt undeserving of this love and attention but I can definitely assure you that you deserve it all and so much more. You are so kind and you are everything that the Luthor name isn’t. You’ve worked so hard at L-Corp and trying to rebrand it as a company for good instead of how it was made before you.” Pulling away, you cup her face in your hands. “I promise that all of the affection that I freely give to you is out of love and not obligation. I will do everything I can to give you all of the love that you deserve. If you ever want cuddles, just ask okay? I’m definitely more than happy to cuddle you whenever you want.”

With your final statement, you seal your promises to Lena with a soft kiss. You pull away from her to see her eyes brimming with tears. She simply nods at your words and you pull her into your chest once again. Lena has never felt so loved in her whole life. You practically radiate love and warmth that she will gladly receive without feeling as embarrassed now. Letting out a sigh of relief, Lena feels lighter now that she was able to open up to you. Before fully settling into your embrace, Lena asks one more question.

“So, does this mean I get my cuddling privileges back?”

Feeling the vibrations in your chest as you laugh, Lena smiles as you reply, “Yes, your cuddling privileges are no longer revoked and you can now ask for them whenever you want. Just promise that you won’t make any more excuses, alright?”

“I promise.”

taglist (all): @teenwonder @procrastinatingsapphictrash @owloftheshadows

#*mine #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor x gn!reader #lena luthor x you #lena luthor #supergirl imagine #dc imagine #send help i'm so tired lmao #no thoughts head empty

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eldritchqueerture · 3 years

Text

Hello! This is a project for @summer-in-the-archives-event that I worked on with @horizonindigo! We came up with the idea together and based our individual works around the poem I wrote, included in the fic. You can find their absolutely amazing art here!!

I freaking loved working on this one and I got more and more excited as we progressed. I also surprised myself with the poem itself a bit, definitely didn’t expect it to end up quite as cool, if I may say so myself. It was incredibly fun to write.

Big shoutout to @sunflowers-and-frogs for beta reading, I love you bestie <3

I would like to thank all the mods that made this event possible! It’s my first time taking part in anything like this and it was really, really fun, so THANK YOU <3 Love you guys :3 Anyways, enough of my rambling kdfjgkjsdfg

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Kissing, Excessive Tea-Making, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Poetry, Love Confessions Warnings: self-esteem issues, typical Lonely content, discussions of free-will and determinism, graphic kiss

Summary: As Martin fights the remnants of the Lonely's influence on their ride to Daisy's safehouse in Scotland, he focuses on his feelings for Jon to keep him tethered to reality. He watches Jon be himself in the safety of the cottage, share these small intimacies of domesticity and the words come to him as a poem weaves itself into the pages of his notebook...

He feels the taste of salt in his mouth, as he looks out of the car window at the rapidly falling away landscape, covered in the darkness of the night. He feels Jon’s presence next to him, focused on driving but glancing every so often at him with concern. Martin feels like he should say something, somehow fill the silence that has befallen them, but no words ever find their way to his mouth. He stays quiet, watching the trees pass them by, trying to ignore the anxious churning in his stomach. He’s always been pretty good at filling awkward silences with chatter; at least before the Lonely. Now… he can’t help but feel bothered by Jon’s presence, even though he did all of this for him, even though this is what he’s wanted all this time; it’s like a splinter, prickling at his mind, almost causing him physical discomfort. He swallows and feels the salty taste on his tongue; he discards the thoughts and tries his best to breathe through the discomfort, instead focusing on the sensation of Jon’s warm hand on his.

Martin used to be the warm one; he’d always been generating heat and his mind goes back to the early days in the Archives when the basement was cold in the winter and both Tim and Sasha used to gravitate towards him with their respective cups of tea during breaks. Now his whole body is cold, the chill of the ocean breeze and fog having settled in his bones so deep he thinks he’ll never feel warm again. The thought isn’t sparking any emotions in him though. It’s just a thing that he’s learned to accept, just as the fact that he’ll always be alo—

“Do you want me to put on some music?” Jon asks with another one of his glances. Every time, he raises his eyebrows a bit, and tilts his head to the side; Martin expects the concern in his eyes, but he sees something else there as well. He’s been afraid to put a label to the expression for the fear he’s reading him wrong, but the bolder part of his mind tells him it’s fondness.

Jon’s hand is warm, and his thumb grazes the skin of his palm just a little, as if not sure he’s allowed to. Martin looks down at their hands and feels warmth spark in his stomach; he smiles.

“I’m sorry I’m—I’m not really good at the whole, uh… small talk thing,” Jon adds with a flush, turning his head back to the road. “I should probably be talking about something, though, to, uh… to keep you here. I suppose.” He visibly cringes at his words.

“It’s—It’s fine, Jon,” Martin chuckles, and Jon relaxes, fixing him with a quick smile of his own. “I’m just… you know.” He looks down at their hands again and has a brief feeling they belong to someone else. Not him. Never him. “I’m not quite… out of that. Yet.”

Another look of concern. Martin feels heat prickling at his cheeks and he’s a little bit glad, because at least it’s a feeling. He interlaces their fingers and looks out the front window.

They spend the ride in relative silence. Jon tries a couple more times to start small talk and fails; they stop at a gas station at one point and Martin takes out his notebook when Jon disappears inside the station to pay for gas. He flicks through it and his eyes stop at an unfinished draft; he started writing it shortly before Peter took him down to the Panopticon, but he’d only managed to get a few first lines down. Despite still feeling the cold in his bones and his mind being clouded by the remains of the fog, words come to him, and he starts scribbling. He continues to do so even when Jon comes back with tea and an assortment of snacks, blushing just a little bit when Jon shoots a curious look at the notebook. He doesn’t ask and Martin is thankful for it. He’s not the sort to show his drafts to anyone, especially to the subject he’s writing about.

It’s 1am when they arrive at the cottage; they’re both exhausted and they quickly take their bags inside and lock the door. The cottage is small and practical, just Daisy’s style; it’s also quite dusty from months of abandonment. Martin yawns as he opens one of the bags to get the essentials. They should leave unpacking and cleaning for the next day.

He hears Jon’s footsteps on the wooden floor coming back from the initial run of the house and he turns to tell him that, but the somewhat sheepish look on his face stops him in his tracks. Has he ever seen Jon look sheepish before?

“So, uh, obviously this was Daisy’s safehouse when she was, well… Avoiding people,” he says, not meeting Martin’s eyes.

“I hope ‘avoiding people’ doesn’t mean killing them in this context,” Martin snorts, not sure if he’s entirely joking. The humour is lost on Jon, however, as he looks at him confused for a moment before he processes Martin’s words.

“Oh, no, no, I-I don’t believe she, uh… She just slept here.” Jon shifts awkwardly. “And that means there’s uh, there’s only one bed.”

Martin’s eyes widen and his lips form a little “Oh”.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with sharing, I can just take the couch, you need some proper rest and I’m used to running on low sleep” —Jon averts his gaze as he speaks. He grabs his bag and walks over to the couch, and Martin wants to stop him talking and just say that they should share the bed, but his voice seems to have left him at this crucial moment. He just stares as Jon places the bag on the couch and looks back at him, aware of the silence. “Martin?”

Martin swallows, a familiar cold freezing his toes. He feels the damp sand underneath his bare feet and a chill runs down his spine. He blinks and tightens his grip on the bag he’s been holding. This is real, he is real, Jon is real.

“You need good rest too,” he finally manages to say, and he’s surprised by how clear and normal his voice sounds; it makes Jon relax a bit. “We should share the bed, if-if you are comfortable with that.”

A small smile appears on Jon’s lips and a warm feeling fills Martin’s stomach again; he knows the smile is for him.

“Okay,” he says softly and picks the bag up.

They manage to keep the awkwardness of it to the minimum; they’re both very tired and at one point it just doesn’t matter anymore. Jon hands Martin a separate blanket and he pushes the disappointment down into a void inside him where he keeps feelings to come back to when he’s alone. It would be foolish of him to hope for cuddling since they haven’t talked about anything yet.

He expects to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow, but he finds himself awake in the darkness after goodnights are said (Jon’s voice sounds so soft and tender Martin has forgotten all about his earlier disappointment). He’s laying on his back, eyes closed, and he feels Jon’s presence on his right. His breathing is steady, not yet slow enough to indicate sleep, but calm and relaxed. Martin peeks out through half-lidded eyes – he hasn’t gotten used to the darkness as much yet, but he can see Jon laying on his side, facing him, his eyes closed and his hair loosely framing his face. One of his hands rests close to his head on the pillow. Martin blinks, fully opening his eyes now and smiling softly. As his vision clears, Martin notices Jon frowning ever so slightly, and he wonders if the faint lines between his eyebrows smoothen when he’s asleep.

“Is watching people sleep a usual activity for you?” Jon whispers with amusement as he opens his eyes and Martin gasps with surprise and looks away, feeling heat prickle at his cheeks.

“Wha—uh, no! No, of course no—Sorry, I—” He rambles, and he thinks he might just die from embarrassment when he hears Jon laugh quietly.

“It’s fine, Martin.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Really. I-- Sorry, I thought a joke would, um… lighten the mood somewhat.”

Martin risks a look at him and wonders if the red on his cheeks is visible through the darkness. Jon looks at him with that expression again, something Martin would very much want to classify as fondness if it didn’t feel so impossible. But now that he thinks about it… Would it really be thatfar-fetched? Jon had gone into the Lonely just to get him out. Would he have done that for anyone else? Martin rolls his eyes at himself in his mind, of course he would. He did go into the Buried, and it was for Daisy, a person who has threatened him multiple times, kidnapped and almost killed him. If Jon was ready to lay down his life for her, out of all of them, it shouldn’t be surprising he would do the same for his assistant; it says nothing about his feelings on the matter.

Martin’s memories of the Lonely are hazy. He remembers the cold, the dampness, and the loneliness. He remembers his thoughts, the lonely ones, and how they felt both alien and familiar at the same time. He remembers the comfort, the feeling of fitting in, but also the pain and the fear, just before they were numbed by the cold and the fog that made him forget. And then suddenly, Jon was in front of him, looking at him with desperation on his face, tears in his eyes glowing with a green light. Was it Jon calling for him, or just the Beholding?

“What are you thinking about?” comes Jon’s voice and Martin realizes he’s been staring into the air for a while. He blinks and looks back at Jon.

“Uh…” He searches for words before he gives up on trying to come up with an excuse. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Why did you do it?”

Jon blinks at him a couple times and rises to lean on his elbow, to better look at Martin.

“What do you mean?”

“The Lonely,” Martin says, not meeting his eyes. Jon is wearing a blue t-shirt with a logo of a band Martin doesn’t recognize; the shirt is loose and it uncovers one of Jon's shoulders which would probably be distracting if Martin’s mind wasn't chilled by the remnants of the fog. “Why did you come for me?”

Even without looking at him, Martin sees Jon’s forehead ripple. A while passes as Jon searches his face and the thought that he shouldn’t have asked starts creeping up to Martin’s head. Shouldn’t have brought any attention to the subject, he should just be glad, he should—

“I care about you, Martin,” Jon says in a very gentle and quiet voice, like he’s afraid anything louder would take away the meaning of his words. Martin looks up at Jon and the hint of that intense blush from before makes it back to his face. “You’re… You matter to me. You will always matter to me.”

Martin can’t stop a small smile appearing on his face and Jon mirrors it.

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, feeling a warmth settle in his chest, finally driving the cold away.

“Anytime.” Jon lays his head back down and settles back with the right hand near his face. “Sleep well, Martin.”

Martin closes his eyes contentedly and he curls up on his right side, facing Jon, as if trying to keep this warm feeling from escaping his chest too soon.

“You too, Jon.”

---

Martin wakes up alone in an unfamiliar bed, the smell of foreign covers filling his nostrils and for a second he panics. He opens his eyes and the memories come back to him; their late arrival at the safehouse and laying down to sleep next to Jon.

He sits up, looking at the space Jon had occupied. It’s vacant now, just the curled up covers he left behind, but it manages to bring a blush to Martin’s cheeks, nonetheless. It feels so… intimate to know that they slept next to each other. It makes him feel warm and cosy.

Martin gets up and goes to the bathroom before he finds Jon in the kitchen. He’s humming quietly as he finishes cleaning the table and he looks up when Martin enters.

“Good morning, Martin.” He smiles and Martin’s afraid he’s going to melt. He takes a quick look around and notices that their sparse kitchen supplies are mostly unpacked, and the kettle is already on the stove.

“How long have you been awake?” He asks; some of the shock must have made it to his voice because Jon looks amused.

“Two hours or so. I’ve always been a morning person.” He shrugs and finishes cleaning the table. “Tea?”

A smile lights up Martin’s face and he gets swept up by the familiarity of the activity, while Jon busies himself with fixing up some breakfast. As both of them work in the kitchen, Martin notices the casual brushes of their skin and touches of the shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously or if it just happens naturally, but he knows that Jon’s open demeanour is drawing him closer than before. He wonders if he’s been like this ever since he woke up from the coma, and there was just no one to appreciate it.

The morning is relaxed, the casual conversation flowing a lot smoother than the day before, and after breakfast they set out to clean the whole cottage and go down to the village to buy some actual supplies. The village is small, but the local shop provides all the essentials they need; for a moment Martin forgets about everything outside of that village and shopping for groceries with Jon, as if this is their life now, in the Scottish Highlands, living together in a cottage. They talk about cooking dinner, and the cows they passed on the way, and Martin thinks he could get used to that.

The bubble bursts when they finish up and Jon decides to call Basira. She picks up after a while and updates them on the absence of both Jonah Magnus and Daisy. Basira says she’ll send some statements up to them when the Institute stops being an active crime scene, and a shadow passes over Jon’s face. Wrapped up in a conversation about their taste in dinner dishes, it was almost too easy for Martin to forget food isn’t the only sustenance Jon needs. He finds it easier to forget things ever since the Lonely. They walk back to their cottage in silence, Martin grabbing Jon’s hand as soon as he lets go of the phone.

When they get back, Jon declares he’s going to take care of unpacking and cooking, and even though Martin knows Jon to be stupidly stubborn, he’s surprised by the strictness with which Jon insists he sit back and relax. Martin doesn’t really complain; he’s spent his entire life caring for others and, to be honest, it does feel rather good to be on the receiving end for once. He watches Jon from the couch for a while, before he takes out his notebook and looks over the poem he wrote in the car.

Wisps of mist conceal my eyes

A lone indulgence to lose one's face

And soothing a part inside that cries

With chilling sadness and numbing grace

The steadfast rhythm of waves ashore

As ocean breeze leaves a taste of salt

The words forgotten, erase what I swore

Until I hear your voice once more

I wondered many times what it might be

That we finally took to calling "us"

What would be left if we broke free

Of dread and horror's eternal grasp

The Eye looms aloft, ever-present dread

Watching all, eternal lids apart

You made your choice unaware you were led

By strings of web, against your heart

Jon starts humming under his nose in the kitchen as he cuts something on the board; the water in the kettle boils slowly and fills the air with a quiet whistle. Martin smiles while shooting a subtle glance at Jon; he seems to notice his gaze and falls quiet, but a smile lights up his face when he sees the fondness on Martin’s face. For all this talk about Jon “losing himself” in the role of the Archivist, this seems as human as you can get. Martin never favoured the approach the other archival staff took to the knowledge of the significance of Jon’s position, and he often wondered how they could look at him and see a monster. Of course he made bad decisions, but so did everyone. They’ve seen or read about so many avatars giving into the powers that fed them and yes, maybe Martin is biased, but Jon was nothing like them. They’ve all been caught in this huge web of statements that turned real; the more they struggled to break free the more tangled up they became, and it wasn’t Jon’s fault that he ended up in the centre of it. He knows Jon tried to make right choices every step of the way. Can you really blame a human being for failing to completely resist something that’s beyond mortality and human reality? One way or another they ended up here, together, and yes, maybe the Eye and the Lonely are still looming as very tangible threats, and Jonah Magnus is nowhere near being stopped, but at least they’re together now. Martin remembers thinking the Unknowing was the endgame, the last chapter of this horror for them, and he remembers the hopelessness of their story getting a bad ending that essentially pushed him into the Lonely; now he feels a different kind of an end approaching – he dares to be hopeful. Maybe everything works out in the end? Maybe, if they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t actually be the end of the world.

Martin looks down at his notebook and starts writing, sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration.

What is a monster? Where is the line

That would separate us from the world

All I know is our paths align

And we together can battle the cold

You cut through the curtains of mist and See

The green glow fades when our eyes meet

My lips form a soft and quiet plea

To be loved has never felt so sweet

To be loved is a new feeling for me

I only know how to love from one side

But with you I hope we can once be free

Maybe ignore the whims of the tide

Although I know we're not nearly through

I taste and savour your voice, your breath

If only for a moment, we can start anew

And I will follow you even to death

As he stares at the last word of the finished poem, his hand with the pen hovering over it, he registers that his eyes have watered a bit. He blinks the tears away quickly as Jon sits down on the couch next to him, looking at him with a gentle worry. Martin looks up at the two mugs of tea he’d placed on the table.

“Did you make tea?” He asks with mock bewilderment, and Jon scoffs at him.

“I know how to make tea, Martin.” He nudges him with amusement, that gentle worry not quite gone from his eyes. “What are you writing about?”

Martin falls quiet, pressing the notebook to his chest in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Thought you didn’t like poetry,” he huffs out a laugh that’s only a little bit self-conscious. Jon shrugs, reaching out for his mug and taking a sip.

“I don’t understand it. And yes, I have been known to dislike it at times, but… Maybe I could be swayed to give it another shot.” Jon rolls his eyes fondly and looks at Martin out of the corner of his eye, a look that says ‘for you’. Martin grins, heat pricking at his cheeks once again.

“You see, i-it’s all about emotion.” He places the notebook gently on his lap face down and reaches for his own mug. “You w-want to put all of your emotions into words in a-an artistic way, that has a rhythm and, uh, and feels alive. And you want your, uh, your readers to feel that, that emotion through your words.”

Jon listens attentively and his eyes aren’t leaving Martin’s face; at one point Martin gets distracted by it and forgets where his explanation was going. Jon’s gaze has always been intense, in different ways throughout the time they’ve known each other. At first it was judgemental, the gaze of his boss, full of unmet expectations; then it was piercing, watchful and suspicious; as time passed, it seemed to gain more and more weight of the Beholding, something Tim always complained about. After Martin had joined Peter Lukas, the rare glances he got from Jon were full of yearning that Martin didn’t understand at the time; didn’t want to understand. Now, it’s that gentle fondness, interweaved with something intangibly sad and Martin feels an urge to hug him, to bring him close to his chest and never let go; to bury his face in Jon’s hair and protect him.

They move to place their mugs at the table at the same time and snort, amusement quickly turning into a fit of laughter. Jon throws his head back a little with it and Martin wonders if he has ever seen him laugh so openly before. He didn’t think it was possible for him to fall in love with the man even more, but once again, his heart proves him wrong. He stares at him with a lovestruck expression and thinks they should really talk about it. Martin doesn’t know where to start though and Jon seems to be thinking in a similar direction because his expression shifts into gentle seriousness.

“Martin, I…” He starts and bites his lip. “I need to apologize.”

Martin straightens a little; it’s not exactly what he expects.

“I—The way I used to treat you…” Pain and guilt flash through Jon’s face as he looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It was not okay. None of it was okay. And I’m—I’m really sorry for that. It doesn’t—I know it doesn’t change anything that happened, but I” —he sighs. “I really am sorry. I hope I can, somehow, uh… somehow make it up to you.”

Martin reaches for Jon’s hand, and he looks down in surprise; Martin sees his eyes start glistening.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.” He continues in a whisper and his eyes are locked on their touching hands. “I’m so sorry about the Lonely. I’m sorry that you’re trapped in all of this with me, and I would understand if you decided to leave—”

“Jon.” Martin squeezes his hand and Jon’s eyes shoot up to look at him.

“I’m sorry, that’s not an apology,” he sighs again. “I just… I’m sorry, Martin. About everything.” His other hand grips Martin’s. “I’m glad you are still here. I’m—I’m so glad, you d-don’t even know,” he laughs.

“I think I do.” Martin smiles gently. “Thank you for saying that. I’ve—I've forgiven you for a lot of it a long time ago. A-And the rest just isn’t your fault.”

Jon frowns.

“The Lonely was always there,” Martin shrugs. “Peter Lukas was just… a catalyst, I think. But now I have you.” His finger grazes the outside of Jon’s palm and his heart flutters in his chest when he sees that small smile appear on Jon’s face. “And you can’t be blamed for Elia—Jonah’s games. We’re all just… a bunch of people who didn’t know what was going on until it was too late.”

Jon’s eyes fall as he nods slightly.

“He’s still up to something,” he says quietly.

“Figures,” Martin laughs bitterly. “But we’re here now. And frankly, I don’t really want to think about him when we’re finally…” The word ‘together’ gets stuck in his throat, as if it would breach this fine line of ambiguity they’ve drawn between themselves. Jon seems to fill it in and his eyes land back on Martin.

He’s never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. Jon's eyes are wide and glistening with something that looks suspiciously like hope, and his fingers gently graze the outside of Martin's palm. Warmth spreads in his chest and his eyes flutter a little, not breaking the eye contact. He wants to pull Jon close to his chest, to run his fingers through his hair and feel his breath on his own skin. To really feel like he's there, next to him, with him.

Before he can follow through with any of that, something sizzles in the kitchen, loud in the silence, startling them both.

“Food!” Jon chuckles slightly before he jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen, while Martin snorts and follows him. Jon stirs the pan with curry and sighs with relief when he sees it's not burned. He turns down the heat anyway and checks on the rice.

“Jon, this smells amazing,” Martin says, peeking into the pan with cheese and spinach. “I didn't know you could cook.”

“Well, contrary to the popular belief I was a functional human being. For a while,” Jon snorts and leans against the counter to look back at Martin. “It's Palak Paneer, my grandma taught me when I was a child.”

“It looks fantastic,” Martin grins, and Jon rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

Even though the moment's lost, the remains of the feeling can be felt between them as they prepare the plates and take the food to the table. They easily fall back into usual chatter and, as soon as they’re finished, Martin jumps to wash the dishes. Jon relents after extensive affirmations from Martin that he's alright and he can definitely take care of a couple dishes in the sink, and he drops onto the couch with a content sigh instead.

Martin finishes up with the dishes and dries his hands on a towel.

“Do you want some tea?” He asks and hangs the towel back on the rack. When there's no response, he turns to the couch. “Jon?”

Something sinks in his stomach when he sees that the object that consumes Jon’s attention is the poem he’s finished; he scratches his neck, as his cheeks take on a pink tinge. “Oh…”

He walks up to the couch, unsure, trying to gauge Jon's reaction. His face seems tense, he squeezes the notebook in his hand so hard his knuckles go white, and his eyes are focused at one point on the page.

“Um... Jon?” Martin asks weakly, his heart drumming in his chest so loud he's sure both of them can hear it.

Jon jumps to his feet, startled, and looks up at him with eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. Martin instinctively raises his hands in a placating gesture, as Jon registers his presence, looks down on the notebook in his hands, and quickly puts it on the table as if it stung him.

“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look, it was just there and—”

“Hey, Jon, it’s alright!” It’s maybe a little not alright, since the poem is nothing short of a love confession and a wish Martin had no right to assume would ever be true, so Jon reading it is less than ideal. Martin rushes to gently place a hand on Jon’s shoulder but when he recoils from the touch, Martin withdraws his hand, cursing everything about himself.

“No, I, uh…” Jon runs his hand through his hair, eyes darting between Martin, his hand, and the notebook frantically. “I shouldn’t have— uh, it’s—it’s your private business, what you write about, so—”

Martin is sure he’s tomato red on the face by this point and hopes against hope that the afternoon light filtering through the curtains obscures it just a little. Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t have the embarrassed blush that usually darkens his cheeks; instead he breathes fast, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Martin sees him hunch just a little, making himself smaller.

“Um, yeah, I, uh—” He starts fidgeting with his fingers. Did the idea of—of love frighten Jon so much? He was stupid to leave it out in the open and now Jon knows, and it’s not how he feels, so he hates him… “I’m sorry.”

Jon’s eyes snap to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“For what?”

Martin huffs out something like a pained laugh.

“Th-That’s not exactly how- how I wanted to tell you.” He wrings out his hands and shoots Jon a pleading look. What’s done is done and the only thing he can hope for is for Jon to let him down easy and never speak of this again.

“Tell me?” Jon looks down at the notebook again and there’s the worry again, stark on his face. He breathes out, slowly, and looks at the floor. “I don’t—I don’t even want to think this is a possibility…”

Martin doesn’t need to imagine what it would be like to be stabbed, if he wanted to - he’s pretty sure the acute pain of his heart shattering in his chest is close enough. His mind tries to catch up to the emotions, slow them down just a bit, because something seems off, and isn’t this a weird way to reject someone you must have known had a crush on you? But his throat tightens with the swell of pain and shame and Martin blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes.

Jon sighs and plops down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands and pushing his glasses up to his forehead.

“We d-don’t have to talk about it, if—if you don’t want to,” Martin says quietly. He sits down next to Jon, careful not to touch him in any way, and puts his hands between his knees.

Jon lets out a bitter laugh.

“Isn’t that what they—the Web would want? Just… mindlessly follow, go with the flow until something… irreversibly bad happens?”

Martin turns to Jon with a frown.

“Wh—What?”

Jon looks at him with something glistening in his eyes and Martin can see the lines of pain and misery written on his face like they belong there.

“The web,” he says faintly. “Strings of fate. I—” He lets out a breath. “Was I just being manipulated this whole time? Was I ever really—Did I ever have a choice?”

“Jon... what are you talking about?”

“You—You said I was...” He reaches for the notebook and points at a verse with his finger. “’Made your choice unaware you were led by strings of web against your heart.’ How—W-Why did you say this?”

Martin stares into Jon's green eyes with concern, yet parts of his heart start to weave themselves back together. However confused and worried Jon seems to be, none of it is directed at Martin; he looks at him with desperation, almost pleading, and he realizes they’ve been having two different conversations at the same time.

“Oh-Oh, God, Jon, I-I didn't mean—I just, it's a-a metaphor, just that, you know,” he takes a breath. “It does remind me of a web, the-the way we got caught up in Elias' plans.” He looks down, his cheeks burning as he remembers why Jon would get caught at this specific phrase. “I'm sorry for, uh, using that, it was just the first thing that came to my mind and—”

Jon exhales next to him and Martin risks a look up. The uneasiness isn't gone from his face but he relaxes just a little bit, enough to stabilize his breathing.

“I'm sorry for this… this whole thing, Martin.” He gestures at nothing in particular and it's his turn to look at the floor, as if it's all of a sudden the most interesting thing he's ever seen. He starts fidgeting with the notebook. “I'm just—What if it’s true?” His voice goes higher at the question and he closes his eyes. Martin squeezes his arm. “What if I am just... Just a puppet? An inhuman, helpless puppet in the hands of—Of some spider pulling the strings?”

A tear rolls down Jon's cheek and Martin grabs one of his hands. It’s small and still shakes a little; he tries to put all the protectiveness he feels into this small gesture. Jon doesn’t recoil this time, instead taking a moment to watch Martin’s hand clasp around his.

“Jon,” Martin starts softly. “You're still you. You're not some—Some spider puppet that can't make choices.”

“But what if—”

“You've made a choice to go into the Lonely for me.” Martin bumps their knees together lightly and Jon looks up at him. “I don't suspect any webs would need me alive to push you into it. It was You.”

Jon looks him in the eyes and Martin barely stops himself from reaching up to his face to wipe away his tears.

“Or it just makes us think that we have a choice but are ultimately helpless against fate and everything we do is determined by intricately crafted circumstances,” Jon whispers. “Maybe free will is a lie.”

Martin blinks.

“Jon...”

“Maybe I was never able to stop it. Any of it.” Jon’s voice grows more horrified and even though his eyes are directed at Martin's face, he seems to be looking somewhere past him. “Maybe nothing we try to do really matters.”

“Jon.” Martin’s voice gains a bit of force, even though he feels all but sure. “What do you see?”

Jon frowns. “What?”

“Look at me and tell me what you see?” The force is gone; the sentence sounds more like a feeble suggestion than a request, but Jon's eyes refocus on Martin's in a frown of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“We're here now,” Martin says quietly. “And yeah, maybe our decisions are all predetermined or whatever. I still think it matters that we try. I think our experience matters. And you're not a-a monster without free will, Jon. You care about people, and you’ve sacrificed a lot for other people. You've made your own choices and, no matter if they were good or bad, they were still yours. And I think that matters.”

Jon blinks at him for a moment, then his shoulders slump with a sigh and he interlaces their fingers. Martin doesn’t miss it and he feels warmth in his chest.

“I've always been afraid of—of my will not being my own anymore,” he confesses quietly. “Of, uh... of not knowing the difference.”

“I get it,” Martin nods. “If it’s any consolation, I see a lot of Jon in you still.” Jon looks up at him with surprise and Martin gives him a half smile. “I see a very changed Jon but it's still Jon.” He strokes Jon's palm as his heart picks up the pace. “The same Jon I've first fallen in love with.”

Jon exhales softly, his face caught in a soft surprise, and Martin smiles around the dull ache in his chest.

“You don't have to say anything. I'm sure you've known for a while, but I just... I wanted to say it.”

With every second that passes in silence, however, Martin's cheeks grow hotter, and he concludes that this might have been a mistake.

“I-I'm sorry. M-Maybe I shouldn't have said that, I… I don't want things to get weird or anything, so, uh, we can, we can just forget—”

“Martin.” Jon says his name in a soft and kind of inquisitive way that makes his heart bounce around and transforms the ache in his chest into swirling butterflies again. Martin looks up and Jon’s head is tilted to the side, his face still wet with tears, but he notices something hopeful glitter in his eyes. “I love you too.”

Martin frowns, suddenly wondering if he isn't dreaming. Is Jon really saying what he thinks he is? Did he hear correctly? Maybe he misheard—

“I have for a while,” Jon's voice is still quiet and soft. “I didn't want to say anything because I thought it was too early after the Lonely and you might not feel this way anymore, but...”

Martin swallows, acutely aware of how loud his heartbeat is. He squeezes Jon’s hand and smiles slightly.

“I... I didn't know,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to cooperate.

“As soon as I woke up from the coma, I wanted to tell you,” Jon says. “I thought I was too late; that it took me too long to stop denying the feelings I had because I didn’t know how to deal with them, and I'd missed my chance.” He laughs bitterly.

“So that’s what it was about,” Martin whispers, as Jon's actions towards him throughout his time as Peter Lukas’ assistant start falling into place. Jon looks at him with a frown, so he adds, “The ‘let's gouge out our eyes and escape'.”

Jon scrunches up his nose and clears his throat.

“Yes, well. Yeah.”

Martin chuckles quietly.

“I don't think I would have lasted in the Lonely if I understood then. But then again. It didn't really matter in the end. It didn't help.”

“But it was your choice,” Jon echoes Martin's words from before and their eyes meet again.

“Yeah. It was my choice.”

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, losing track of time, before Jon smiles slightly and looks back at the notebook.

“I really am sorry for not asking your permission, though,” he says. “I got so caught up in the metaphor I didn’t even finish it.”

Martin blinks, the warmth from his chest spreading to his cheeks again.

“D-Do you want to?”

Jon smiles softly, this new smile that Martin has only seen in the past couple of days, always directed at him.

“If you’d let me.”

Martin needs to look away, unable to handle the affection in Jon’s eyes. He mumbles an ‘okay’ with a smile that’s not entirely under his control and gets up.

“But I am making that tea whether you want it or not, waiting for someone to finish reading something is a torture.”

He hears Jon laugh as he heads back to the kitchen.

When he comes back with two steaming mugs, Jon is waiting for him with a smile and his nervousness dissipates with his next words.

“I like it,” Jon says. “Apart from the, uh, web metaphor, obviously. It's hopeful.”

“Y-You do?”

Martin swallows; the pleasant tingling in his stomach is back. He places their mugs on the table and reaches out to join their hands again. Jon intertwines their fingers immediately and caresses the outside of Martin’s palm with his thumb.

Jon looks down at the verses again and smiles softly, almost sheepishly, a familiar blush darkening his cheeks.

“I—I don't know if there would be anything for us outside of. You know. The fears and all that,” he grimaces. “At least, for me. But, uh…” He looks at Martin again with a hopeful expression that makes Martin melt a little, and he gently caresses Martin's cheek with his free hand. “I really like the thought of it.”

Martin's brain might be short-circuiting at this moment and all of his thoughts take form of fuzzy static.

“Me too,” he says, suddenly breathless. Jon's hand rests cupping his cheek and, are they a bit closer than they were a second ago? Jon's gaze slides down Martin's face to his lips and he feels he might faint right there and then. He doesn't, instead gathering up his courage to take a breath.

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asks first and Martin feels his lips form a grin.

“Please,” he breathes out; the next second their lips meet, soft but urgent, desperate and sick of waiting. Martin's hand dives into Jon's soft hair, fingers scraping the delicate skin of his head and earning him a low sound from Jon's throat. They pull each other closer and find a rhythm to lose themselves in for just a moment; the sensation of Jon's tongue swirling in his mouth, of his slender fingers on his cheek and his neck, the pressure of his body against his chest; all of it making Martin dizzy with happiness.

Martin pulls away when his lungs painfully remind him breathing is still a necessity and he opens his eyes to look at Jon – His soft lips, his nose, his pockmark scars, and his eyes, green yet with no trace of Beholding in them. He takes him in whole, with all of his flaws and all of his virtues, and he feels seen in return, seen by the man he loves and who loves him. The weight of it all hits Martin like a crashing wave and he pulls Jon in for a tight embrace.

“I love you,” he whispers against his shoulder, and he feels Jon's arms tightening around his torso.

“I love you too, Martin.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #summer in the archives event #niki.writes #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin

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isfjmel-phleg · 2 years

Text

Have I actually finished any writing lately? Goodness no. Is that going to stop me from sharing something unfinished for no reason? Also no.

This is the beginning of an unedited, unfinished short piece featuring a younger Delclis and Elystan (about eleven and six/seven). They’ve never been close, but, for a change, I want to examine a time when things weren’t so strained between them. This bit is mostly Delclis and his tutor; Elystan is so far an off-stage threat (until Delclis gets roped into entertaining him and accidentally finds out that it’s possible for them to have fun together--at least, that’s the plan).

Delclis pressed his nose to the cold windowpane and glowered out at a landscape that had never done him any harm. “Why does it have to rain?”

“Rain” was perhaps not quite the right word in this case. It was too weak. Rain dribbled down from the heavens, drop by glittering drop, to bless the open-armed world with a refreshing taste of dihydrogen monoxide. The meteorological events currently in progress more closely resembled the results of dousing some unsuspecting acquaintance with the contents of a bucket for a lark, with endless encore performances featuring larger and larger vessels. Puddles on the garden paths were forming their own miniature lake district. Oceans roared down the drain pipes. Bleary torrents cast the view from the window in a murky overlay, as if Endean House and its grounds had sunk into the pond like a modern-day Atlantis.

“Well,” said Mr. Davell, Delclis’s tutor, a little too brightly, “remember what we talked about when we studied clouds?”

Delclis raised an eyebrow at him. Of course he remembered. Precipitation was something mere children studied–Elystan was probably learning about it now–and Delclis was a seasoned scholar with more than a decade’s worth of impressive experience behind him. Mr. Davell was missing the point entirely.

“I mean, why does it have to rain today? Are you sure we can’t finish work on the treetop rest? Not even if we bundle up and wear galoshes?”

After a few too many times of being caught perched in precarious positions on tree branches with his books, Delclis had combatted the grownups’ fears for his safety by drawing plans for a wooden platform with a seat in the fork of an oak tree. Mr. Davell had approved the project as not only good exercise but also useful practice of mathematics and engineering, and he had helped Delclis obtain the wood and tools. The two had spent long hours on ladders, hammering and sawing and chattering about geometry, and they had nearly finished. The “treetop rest,” as Delclis had dubbed it, would have been completed this afternoon.

If the weather had not had other ideas.

Delclis thought he had made a perfectly reasonable suggestion for compromise. But Mr. Davell shook his head. “Afraid not. If you had an accident–”

“I would be very careful. I wouldn’t fall.”

“Perhaps not, but I might. And your mother would have my head if you caught your death of cold.”

Delclis slumped deeper into the window seat. “I never catch cold. I think I have immunity.”

Mr. Davell put a hand over his face and said nothing for several minutes. He did this sometimes when Delclis had perfectly reasonable arguments. Delclis had concluded that these sudden silences must be visitations of prayer that had overcome his tutor. Which was commendable, but Delclis wished that these conferences with the Almighty would stop interrupting conversations just when they were becoming interesting.

He picked up the nearest book, something about deciduous trees of Central Western Corege, a topic which ordinarily fascinated him but now seemed to fling the afternoon’s disappointments in his face. Sighing, he set it aside only to find that Mr. Davell was conducting a hurried exchange at the door with Mrs. Melbray, Elystan’s nurse.

“Of course,” he was saying, and Mrs. Melbray flew past him and descended upon Delclis. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes dark-rimmed, but that was a natural result of having to spend any significant length of time with Elystan.

“Would you please be a dear and sit with him for a while?” she asked. “The poor thing has been asking and asking for you, and I haven’t had any–well, it was a long night.”

“But I’m busy,” said Delclis. “Lessons…”

“Have been over for the last hour,” said Mr. Davell.

“Doesn’t he have a bad cold? It’s probably better if I don’t go. You don’t want two of us ill on your hands.”

“Fortunately,” said Mr. Davell, hoisting his pupil off the window seat and shepherding him toward the door, “you have immunity, as you were just saying. Come now, it won’t hurt you to entertain your brother for a little while. You can read to him from your book.”

Before Delclis could argue that one shouldn’t waste the sacred truths of botany on an uncaring heathen like Elystan, Mrs. Melbray was thanking him with the overwhelming profusion of one whose life has been saved as she conveyed him across the gallery and into the other wing, where she ushered him into Elystan’s room and abandoned him there.

#The Blackberry Bushes #The Blackberry Bushes excerpts #my writing #Delclis Phemister #Mr. Davell #Edmara Melbray #Elystan Liddick

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

Day 30, Post 1 by @blimeypeople

Hi! This is my first time writing a fiction story in English (I'm not a native english speaker) and it's unbetaed :( If you have time to spot something wrong or if this story doesn't make any sense, just let me know, pretty please?

Thanks for hosting this fest. You're all so awesome!

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Title: Don’t run, please.

Author: blimey,people

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

Prompt: Parenthood

Rating: G

Hermione Granger-Weasley really thought her life was perfect, that she had achieved everything she wanted and made her heart happy: she had a husband who loved her, a job she enjoyed, saw her friends and family whenever she could (well Sunday lunches at The Burrow were an unwritten rule but she enjoyed them a lot), but then what was she doing running through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic? Hiding from her husband, that's what she was doing. She turned on the corner of one of the corridors, she was no longer running, but she was walking hurriedly heading in the direction of the main library of the Ministry, so big and wide that not only was it difficult to locate the books you needed, but also the people that were inside. The best hiding place, Hermione thought and quickened her pace when she saw him: Ron, standing in front of the large wooden doors, staring at his shoes in his scarlet Auror team uniform, which was somewhat wrinkled. Probably coming back from training, Hermione barely had time to think when she turned around running to the opposite side. They were quite far apart, so it wouldn’t be that easy for him to reach her but he was faster.

"Hermione!" She heard him scream, but she couldn't stop, she was scared, she was afraid of having a conversation with him. She accelerated her escape as she felt his footsteps getting closer.

"Hermione! Don't run, please! " She had heard that voice a few times. Her memories took her to a particular occasion, when she was also hiding, but from evil forces who wanted to end their lives and the life of their best friend. She couldn’t resist his voice, she had resisted it countless times while he asked her for forgiveness inside the horrendous tent. It hurt her soul, it hurt her not being able to hug him telling him how much she loved him, but her pride won. Only months later, she was able to achieve what her heart and mind most wanted: to reveal her feelings and be reciprocated. Now her heart and mind told her this was far more important, that this could perhaps destroy the relationship that with so much love, time and dedication they had built, this could possibly end one of their most cherished dreams, burst the bubble of joy and emotion that had appeared inside them almost three months ago. This could take away their most precious gift: their future child.

So she stopped, took a deep breath, and waited for him to catch up with her. It didn't take many seconds when she felt his long fingers capture her left wrist leading her towards a deserted office.

I should’ve flooed home, Hermione thought as she walked alongside Ron. He would have found me there in an instant though, I should’ve gone to..., she tried to complete the thought, when she was struck by doubt. Her choices were limited in terms of places where she could just go to think without being seen, without being interrupted, no questions being asked by anyone. Her childhood room in her parents' house might have been a great option, but now recently her parents had semi-retired from their jobs (occasionally they went to the office in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, at times they took turns and one of them stayed home while the other went to work), thus Hermione didn't know for sure when the house was thoroughly empty. Besides if they found her in her old room on a Friday lunch, at the time in which she should still be at the Ministry plus they were aware that, due to her almost obsession with completing every unfinished task at the end of the week, Fridays were her most complicated days at work, it would potentially lead them to ask her thousands of questions and if she chose to answer truthfully, as she had done since she met them again in Australia two months after the war, tired of hiding things from them. This time, though, she was certain they wouldn’t be as understanding as they were back then. Now the situation wasn't just about her, it involved someone more important and vulnerable, someone they hadn't met yet but they already loved.

Her parents, Jean and Hugo, were over the moon since the day they learned about the arrival of their first grandson or granddaughter. The imminent growth of their little family filled them with infinite joy. On countless moments, mainly when Hermione and Ron would give them the news about the birth of a new child in the ever growing Weasley family, the faces of Jean and Hugo gave away what they wanted: they were dying to ask her when she and Ron would finally decide to have one of their own. Therefore they were ecstatic. The decision to adapt a room on the first floor as a playroom for their future grandson or granddaughter came easily. Well, we don’t need a library anymore, do we, Hugo?, said her mom. It took them a week to disappear the shelves loaded with books that were once part of the room. Toys, kids books, little stuffed animals, big stuffed animals, a white cot and the largest most colorful collection of clothes Hermione had ever seen overflowed the rather large space. Apparently, her mother considered it was better to have more variety than later needing a neon green footie embroidered with dinosaurs and not having it on hand. Her father, more serene and restrained, but just as enthusiastic, had bought a beautiful memoir book for the baby, where he himself would be in charge of writing down every detail of his or her first year of life. However, Hermione was sure something was wrong with her for she hadn't been able to share the same level of enthusiasm of her parents or her husband hence she just smiled everytime they mentioned the baby. Therefore, she was certain Jean and Hugo would probably agree with Ron on this issue. So now he was being proven right, they would help him convince her to "do the right thing for the baby." Except she honestly couldn’t discern what was right anymore so the confusion and fear consumed her. She loved her job, enjoyed the responsibilities that came with it, rejoiced in every new challenge she encountered no matter the outcome, she was sure of it. Her newly discovered feelings for the little human being growing inside of her were what confused and scared her at the same time.

Ron guided her to an old and solitary chair within the rather desolated office gently helping her to sit on it. Rather than sitting beside Hermione, he stood in front of her and crouched down. He took one of her hands, placed it on top of her knee, gently stroking it.

“Hermione, the evidence is overwhelming. If they were able to send an object specifically charmed to harm you into your office, it is because they aren’t our most common enemies. It means they are doing their homework figuring out your routines. They’ve been following you for at least a few weeks. They knew that only us usually go there so you would open the package without a second thought,” Ron couldn't control the tone of sadness, anger and despair as he spoke.

Minutes before lunch, Hermione received a small package wrapped in a black paper with little stars, the wrapping of Hermione's new favorite bookstore in Muggle London. She frequently went there alone and sometimes Ron accompanied her. She ran to get it, unwrapping it in an instant. She didn’t even have time to see the title of the literary work, when the book came to life and suspended in the air began to hit her repeatedly, increasingly hard on the chest, arms, legs. Her wand was on the handbag she regularly took to lunch. The book kept hitting her, in one moment heading for her belly. Hermione started to scream, moving as far as she could from the object. In seconds, the auror who was stationed outside her office managed to undo the spell. It wasn’t the first threat, that's why the auror guarded her office. Whoever was behind it, had tried to harm her on previous occasions but they had never been so close to actually hurting her. The spell was very powerful, the package was able to pass the rigorous inspection of the experienced auror. A mother who genuinely loved her child would already be home, protecting him or her by being away from danger, the thought stunned her. She began to run through the corridors of the Ministry even when she heard the auror screaming for her to stop. She didn’t want to see anyone, especially Ron, who a week ago had almost begged her to stay home for a few days while they determined who was threatening her.

“Harry and I are very close to identifying who is doing this, Hermione. We just need you to get away from danger a bit… ” Ron started, looking her straight in the eyes.

“I don't want to quit my job, Ron, not after working so hard for many years. I'm nearly there with the house-elf protection law… "

“I know about all the work you've done, Hermione. I would never ask you to do it, if it weren't for… "

"The baby," Hermione completed looking down, "I understand Ron, but I honestly don't think it's necessary ..."

"Not putting our child at risk is more than necessary, Hermione, it will only be a few months," Ron interrupted quickly.

"Ron, I can't. So many magical creatures trust in me..."

"They will continue to trust in you when you return," said Ron.

"We said having a child wouldn't alter our lives, that I would continue working, you know I don’t want to be a stay at home mum." Hermione felt Ron's hand tighten on top of hers.

"It's not that. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if the situation wasn't like this," argued Ron, "Tough I must say you were the one saying having a child wouldn't alter our lives. I think you were trying to convince yourself. For my part, I believe that many things are going to change, things we won’t be able to control."

"Ron…"

"I reckon you're getting scared ..." Ron continued coming closer and reaching her shoulders to hug her.

"I'm not…" Hermione tried to interrupt and wriggle out of the hug. But he knew her better than anyone. Hermione was sure he had noticed her doubts, insecurities and fears even before her.

"I am scared too, I'm not just talking about the threats, because I can assure you that we are going to find out who is behind everything and he’s going to pay for putting you through this," his voice was harsh and he had struggled not to shout during the last sentence. "I’m positive you're scared for him or her too," his voice had taken a delicate, sweet tone, the tone he used when they fought and he wanted her to understand he was right without making her feel too bad.

"You are doubting yourself, asking that brilliant mind of yours a ton of questions, not finding answers. You’re wondering if you’re going to do a good job or if you will love him or her enough. The fact is, Hermione, the love you will feel towards our child will never be enough, it will be infinite", he raised one of his hands caressing her cheek, “It's not about doing a good or bad job, love. It's about doing the best we can in our own way, making mistakes and learning together, because you do realize we're in this together, right?” Ron delicately squeezed her cheek, Hermione looked up, her beautiful blue eyes pierced through her with the deepest love, he lowered his hand placing it on her still small belly, “He or she deserves the world, I assure you we will give it to him or her when the time comes. What we can do now is protect our little one, we are not going to let anything happen to him or her. Okay, we should definitely find out if it’s a boy or a girl, I'm getting tired of this”, he grinned.

In that instant, Hermione felt within her how the little life Ron and she had created began to move and the most profound love, love she only felt for the man in front of her, completely invaded her. Ron gave no sign of feeling it, but it wasn't necessary. She placed her hand on top of Ron's, looked him straight in the eye, and nodded. He smiled at her, hugging her tightly.

At this precise moment in her life, despite her insecurities about her ability to love and protect her unborn child, the certainty of knowing Ron never made vain promises began to fill her with strength and hope. If he firmly believed everything would be fine, it would be. If he was by her side on this adventure, there was no doubt the next few years would be different, challenging, but wonderfully incredible.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #romione #ron x hermione

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kuronanox · 3 years

Text

Every moment with you-Ukitake Jushiro

"If I had to be reborn every lifetime it would always be you."

(Your Name) sighs while sitting on the floor packing all her belongings and putting them in boxes to move out the barracks. This was the hardest thing to do, everything they shared and everything Ukitake had were being placed else where. It didn't feel right to her but and she just lost her husband and home.

She felt lifeless as Kyoraku sat across from her and frowned. Of course he was still heart broken by his best friend, his brother death. They were inseparable.

"(Your Name) I know it's hard but I promise you things will get better."

"Better said than done." She answers back but doesn't look him in the eye and folds his captains cloth placing it in a nice decorative box where she put all his special belongings.

"You will be okay out there?" He asks worriedly as she nods her head in response and rubs her red eyes from all the crying.

"I'll check up on you every often." Kyoraku sits himself up and takes one last look of Ukitake and (Your Name) house before looking down and bidding a farewell.

"(Your Name) come here." Ukitake kindly smiles at his wife as she set the hot tea down. Walking towards him he held a brush as she sat in front of him and hummed in delight.

"You know my favorite part of the day is at night and we get to spend quality time together." He says as she hums in response.

"My favorite part is waking up to you." She answers back as he chuckles and ties her hair back in a low bun as she turns towards him.

"I guess your answer is better than mine." He slightly pouts and takes a sip of the tea that was prepared.

(Your Name) curled in bed alone as she cried again they spend hundreds and years together as friends and the love of each other life's. So she asked herself how do you fully heal if you've spend most your life depending on each other.

Ukitake was no longer here, who could she depend on that was like him? His soothing voice and calming nature made her feel secure.

Looking out the window it was a starry night as she moved out to the country side to heal more. Setting up his shrine and everything else it was weird. Never had she been alone like this.

(Your Name) wondered was his soul reborn yet? Was he in Rukongai or the Human World? Either way it would be impossible to find him. There's was millions of soul getting reborn everyday.

"You're sick! I'm not letting you leave this room." (Your Name) yells at Ukitake as he coughs and holds onto his desk for support as she ran to his side and held him up.

"Yes but work comes first." He says softly and sits back down to do unfinished business.

"Honey. You've down enough, maybe it's time you retired? It's only a matter of time and you are only getting older!" She exclaims as he chuckles and swats her away kindly.

"I still look young though."

She rolled her eyes and pouted, Ukitake health was slowly getting worse but it never stopped him from working hard and supporting his squad.

There were times she worried he didn't have long to live because of how severely sick he would get at times but those thoughts she bore were heavy on her heart.

"I'm just scared...what if something bad happens to you?"

Ukitake looks up to her and grabs her hand gently with his and kisses it.

"I'm here right now that's all that matters."

"But what if there comes a time you aren't no more?" She questions as he knits his brows to find words to say.

Ukitake didn't know what to say because he also knew.

"You know I'll always have you and I'll be somewhere better." Although those weren't the words he wanted to say the truth had to be told as she looks down and nods.

"I love you." She whispers and he smiles.

"I love you too."

Waking up the sun peaked up as she groaned and looked towards her side.

"I guess its still a habit. I can imagine you here but you aren't here."

Getting ready for the day she had a unexpected visitor. Well it was expected but he didn't tell her.

"Good morning!" Kyoraku happily says walking into her new place as she smiles back and lets him in.

They both said their prayers to the shine before setting up the table to eat breakfast.

"How are you holding up?"

She wanted to lie but didn't know how to.

"It's okay, I can't say I haven't stop crying and doing old habits but I think being out here is better and getting the fresh air feels nice."

The older man hums in response and stares out to look at the flowers scattered everywhere. "He would have loved it out here."

"I know... that's why I decided to come out here. It's more like 'you've worked hard let's go rest somewhere peaceful now' I know it's time for me to rest also."

Kyoraku smiles and then looks at Ukitake picture.

"He's smiling down at us (Your Name) theres no need to torture yourself no more."

She rolls her eyes playfully and looks at the picture too before grinning. "I know but it's hard."

"I'm not leaving him!" (Your Name) screamed at Kyoraku as Ukitake prayed to Mimihagi as to becoming the right hand of the soul king.

"I promised him you would not die in this war!"

(Your Name) cried as she watched Ukitake sacrifice himself and suffer in pain.

"You knew and didn't tell me, you guys both knew! How could you let me leave him like this." As she cried and fell on the floor.

Kyoraku grabbed her forcefully as she struggled to get loose and she screamed in pain.

"I'm not letting him leave by himself."

"Don't be selfish (Your Name) you aren't thinking! He's doing this for the sake of Seireitei! He's doing this for everyone! For you!" Kyoraku yells at her as she looks away and cries into his chest.

Glancing back at Ukitake she wasn't sure if he was still physically here.

Wiping her tears she cooled her head and nodded.

Kyoraku left as she signed and laid in bed. She would go back to work when she was fully healed but as of right now she didn't wanna do anything.

Life at this point had no meaning to her if he was gone.

"I promise you I'll get better."

50 years later

It took her a few years after Ukitake death to piece herself back together, during the time she went back to being a shinigami and full filling her duties to protect souls and those she loved.

There had been a disturbance in the world of living so her and few lieutenants were sent down to the world of living to check it out.

"I feel a high reitsu coming from the west." Hisagi says as him and Kira went to check it out.

"I'll check east and Renji will go south." Rangiku tells (Your Name) as she nods and follows north.

It had been many years since she was last down here. It had been during Aizen's battle.

"The human world has changed quite a bit."

After reporting a few suspicious incident to Kyoraku she watched the sunset alone waiting for the others.

A man in his 30s walked by her reading a book, he was smiling peacefully with his hair tied in a low pony and a nice button up.

The white hair tamed.

She gasped slightly as he looked up to her and his eyes widen a bit.

"You can see me?" She asks questioning him.

"I can see you, Ive seen many things since I was a child." Ukitake laughs not fazed a bit from her outfit and sword.

She felt happy tears fall from her eyes as he jumped a bit afraid he had hurt her feelings because she was dead and he wasn't.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so happy. You're alive."

He tilts his head in confusion as she wipes them away.

"My name is (Your Name)." She introduced herself as he kindly bowed

Although she wanted to bring him back he had a different life here and showing them together would only confuse him.

"Your name sounds familiar to me." Ukitake says as she sadly smiled and lied to him. "Maybe it's common around here?"

"No it's pretty unique. I've heard it somewhere." He says but can't seem to connect the clues.

Oh how was the world was cruel to them both at this moment. She would have to remember all the memories of them as his was mixed with confusion and facts.

"Do you believe in rebirth?" She then asks him as he nods his head. She took a deep breath and said the following words Ukitake told her before his death and sacrifice.

"If I had to be reborn every lifetime it would always be you."

Ukitake touches his head as it started to feel a bit dizzy and she held him and he gasps. He knew for sure something about her was familiar but he was getting frustrated not being able to figure it out.

Tears fell from her face as Ukitake eyes were watering. "Why am I crying? My body is doing it on its own."

Ukitake was beyond confused but she wouldn't let him suffer no longer. She knew he was safe and happily healthy living down here and that's all she needed to know.

"I'll wait a few more years for you and then we'll meet up there."

Ukitake looks at her and reached his hand out. He didn't want her to leave this comforting feeling and Ukitake knew he knew her somehow but he can't remember.

Kissing his forehead she took one last glance and disappeared.

"I'll see you then my love. I'll watch over you till it's your time and then we can finally be together again."

Ukitake looks up to the sky as the uncontrollable tears fell from his face and he tried his best to compose himself. He just couldn't as he cried, he felt something from her and he would have to wait.

As much as he wanted the pain to leave, his own heart neglected his mind.

"I'll see you again (Your Name)."

(Authors note: Oo so sad, Ukitake is literally so precious, he didn't deserve death.)

#bleach #tite kubo #bleach x reader #bleach oneshots #bleach oneshot #bleach imagine #bleach imagines #bleach ukitake #jushiro ukitake #jūshirō ukitake #ukitake jushiro #bleach Jushiro #bleach Kyoraku #shunsui kyoraku #kyoraku shunsui

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honestlyfrance · 3 years

Text

to bleed on paper is to create

ship: sam/bucky

warning: angst, hurt/comfort

summary:

“What does this mean…” Sam whispered, setting his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder.

“We could…” Bucky trailed off, then he became silent, “What do you want?”

Sam, an amateur artist, and Bucky, an international nude model, blur the lines of work, ending up being unprofessional to the point that they'd need to end it.

—■—■—

The way the sunlight streamed in through the musty French windows was of grandeur and an absolute aesthetic to the abandoned atmosphere, whisking the abandoned ballroom into another century too old for tales, yet it felt like home: like we belong. It’s here that the room looked like a filtered nude brown as jagged columns high as the sky reached the half-finished mural on the ceiling, raggedy pale nude curtains decorated itself with holes drawn aside to let the sunlight dance on the marble tiles like mosaics on a Cathedral; this architectural beauty wasn’t done yet — construction beams and debris nets design the far end of the unfinished floor plan, and there’s much to do to make this room the final product.

In the empty expanse of the ballroom was one lone creaky bed, the clean cream sheets shoved to the side and the bed frame rusted with golden paint. Two figures were lazing on the bed, one half-naked and one fully clothed, too close together to call it anything but intimate. Their atoms buzzed together, seemingly forever and nowhere at the same time, as if they finally felt at peace with each other’s existence, almost as if they wanted nothing more than to lay in each other’s arms, feeling the other finally breathe so freely it should’ve been a sin to be so lax and human as if lovely and heavenly all the same, they’ve reinvented the very definition of such thing as if they’re the very essence of it.

Bucky Barnes was resting on his elbow, his bare chest free for the eyes as the lower part of his body was wrapped with the thin sheets that came with the raggedy bed. His breathing was relaxed and free, and he couldn't help but inhale the scent of the entire atmosphere; paint buckets lining the window sills and rose pots displayed at the double doors of the ballroom, mixing in together so beautifully it had a personality of its own. His fingers were lightly pulling at the sheet, feeling the softness like a desperate lover, you couldn’t help but take note of the adoration written in his eyes, and if he could, he would take that adoration to the stars, because right in front of him was Sam Wilson, in a criss-cross position as he sketched away on his sketchpad, his tongue gracing his lip slightly in concentration, and Bucky wanted nothing more than to place the pad of his thumb on the man’s mouth and to tell him to shut up and let me love you right here, right now.

Bucky’s eyes were glinting with genuine idolization, wanting nothing more but to throw away his beliefs to make Sam the leader of it all, or instead, wanting to serve the man before him, to save the man right beside him, and to unconditionally love the man like no god has ever thought of before. His heart was pounding in his throat, making it dry and him unable to voice every little enthusiastic poetic claim he wants to tell Sam. Does Sam know how much Bucky’s lungs grow blue from depriving himself of air just so Sam could breathe freely? Does Sam know how much love pounded in Bucky’s chest that he just wanted to rip his stomach wide open to let it pounce right out of him? Does Sam know how much thrill Bucky gets from his sight alone that he couldn’t help but want to drown himself to slow down the pace of adrenaline in his veins? Will Sam ever know how much Bucky painfully starves himself of this love because he never wanted to be full of it, always afraid that if he took it all with open arms he’d never have this ecstasy ever again?

He fights the urge to grace his knuckles against Sam’s cheekbone, being delicately layered with the golden sun rays the sunset outside had blessed them with. Bucky fights the want to lean into Sam’s space and lay down beside him, embracing Sam with all of his body and never letting go, afraid that he’d miss him the next time they escape each other’s grasps. Bucky wanted to plant himself like a tree and scream at the fate the stars had set out for him, begging the universe to let him rest with the man he had found to love because it’s too much — God, it’s too deadly, it sickens, it pains Bucky to even love Sam because it’s too intense to hide it. Bucky needed to yell out Sam Wilson’s name to the suns and beg Icarus to rise once more to grace Sam with wings made of wax, forever intact in legend and forever an angel of the stars. There’s nothing more desperate than to want this badly, and Bucky’s too greedy to share the man with anyone else, always wanting Sam to stay and never loosen his grasp— Please. Just hold me close and never look back, Sam, please. Love me as I do you and never know of heartache. It’s below us to digress.

Bucky’s too tired to voice it, but he wants to bury himself in the ground just because Sam had smiled at him, always feeling the need to appear small to make up for being… himself. It’s not insecurity, it’s the idea of knowing you would only suffice; just being enough. Have you met Sam, you’d know that the man is full of service, and it wouldn’t take too long to learn to love him to the brink of exhaustion, and in the end, you wouldn’t think your love would be enough to satiate a man such as him, deserving of every last drop of love anyone could ever offer. You’d have the sudden urge to brace yourself for the god-like abilities the man has, and his smile alone is one of them.

Sam, on the other hand, didn’t think so, always burying himself six-feet below whenever anyone gave him a slice of heaven, because maybe it was too much, needed to make up every amateur thing he did by making sure no one saw him as a professional. It’s not healthy, and it’s not what he knew was right, but it did; it felt right to dwindle into nothingness and blend into the wallpaper because maybe it was easier, maybe he was tired of the attention towards him, needed to forget himself to truly feel like himself again.

All Sam wanted was Bucky to stop staring at him as if every constellation known to man was in his eyes, knowing full well that Bucky was an astronomer and would want nothing more but to drown in his irises Bucky had claimed to “have the fates of every person written in the stars” as if Sam would believe such folly. Sam wanted nothing more but to bury this immense feeling of warmth that grows in his chest every time Bucky moved as if a danseur dancing to the melody that is his heartbeats as if dedicating his every move to the sun and the stars, wanting nothing more to make art in the form of love if such dedication existed in the first place. Yet, it did — Sam just didn’t want to believe it.

Sam stared intently on his sketchpad for so long that his neck began to strain at the weight of it, his hand diligently making careful light strokes with his charcoal. Sam could feel Bucky’s eyes on his clothed body, and he wanted nothing more but to run away because— “it’s too much, don’t you dare see me so vulnerable to you! Don’t ever let me fall for you,” Sam wanted to say, but with Bucky’s eyes and playful smile, Sam would begin to judge himself, because why must I run away from a man who made me know he wouldn’t let me down? “I care about him,” Bucky said to himself, and he made sure of it that night when he held Sam that close, under the stars peeking through the windows, and under the same mural above them. It was an intimate getup, with the way Sam had clutched onto Bucky’s coat in the cold, Bucky rubbing Sam’s back in careful circles, and that could’ve been the time when they admitted they loved the other — forever buried in secret, because they were professionals, goddamnit. They shouldn’t be this close, and it hurts just to think of it.

Sam shook his head, stifling down a laugh; his smile alone, Bucky thinks, could challenge suns on its own. “Can’t believe you stripped down,” he said, and Bucky, right on cue, raised his arms to stretch his bare torso, a smirk on his face as Sam continued with an eye roll, “It’s way past our session, Barnes,”

read more on AO3

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #france: works #france: writing

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unimooshi · 3 years

Text

Christmas Fluff Snippet Megapost

(brought to you by your host Mooshi bc I’m stuck at home and wanna procrastinate cleaning my room :) )

Rated: G/Fluff

Relationship(s): Literally as many I can think within the span of 3 hours as they’re all basically 1 paragraph long. Feel free to read whichever ones you want I’m making word soup rn. We smackin’ tonight kings, queen, and royals in between😌😭✨

All relationships can be whatever universe you want, unless stated otherwise. Have a good time

Also please keep in mind that I haven’t read a lot of the comics and have a limited knowledge on the cartoons bc I haven’t watched some of them, but I’ll try my best to write out the dynamic as I see it.

1) Starscream/Optimus (StarPrime) you knew we were gonna start with OTP

“I know you wanted to visit Earth for a small vacation, but did you really have to choose the coldest of Earth months to visit?”, Starscream said with borderline disgust as he stared at the snow at the bottom of their ship, the only redeeming thing about the environment was the setting sun.

He kneeled down and scooped up a pile of snow, watching it crumble away between his digits. His internal heating system kicking into overdrive to compensate, little puffs of steam floating into the air. It wasn’t that it was cold, the issue was how wet it would be. The mess that would be made inside their circuits and the water dripping from exposed wiring made Starscream shiver.

“No, I didn’t have to but Earth has such a happy culture this time of year and I wanted to share that with you. I think you’ll like Christmas. Cheer up, let’s take a walk.” , Optimus planted a small peck on the side of Starscream’s helm and stepped outside, the soft crunch of snow following the Prime.

Starscream reluctantly stepped into the snow and groaned with how much water his sensors were already detecting, “How happy could this holiday possibly be with frozen condensation falling from the sky and getting into your circuits?”

“Well, according to what can be found on the internet, it’s an annual religious festival, but most humans use it as a time to see loved ones and celebrate their love for one another.”, Optimus took Starscream’s servo and interlaced it with his own, removing his battle mask to reveal a soft smile with blue optics to match, “and besides you can take a warm lather in the washracks later while I warm up some energon. I know you like watching Earth movies every once in a while.”

Starscream really couldn’t argue with his conjux and just vented out more heat, the puff leaving a trail of white steam as it floated into the evening sky. If being on a mud ball planet meant Optimus would be relaxed then he supposed it would be worth getting his circuits drenched for. Honestly, doing anything was worth it if it meant his Prime would stop thinking about his responsibilities even for just a cycle.

“Your strobes are blinking by the way.”

Starscream stopped walking and flapped his wings into view then dipped them low, brushing it off.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t.”, Optimus rolled his optics and laughed, holding his conjux’s servo a little tighter.

———

2) Knockout/Breakdown (KOBD)

“Merry Christmas Knockout!”, Breakdown burst into the Medbay with a clumsily wrapped box.

Knockout nearly dropped his datapad and jumped from the sudden intrusion, his servo switched out for his buzz saw until he saw who it was.

“Breakdown!”, Knockout vented out and transformed his servo back, “Don’t scare me like that so suddenly.”

“I’m sorry, but I just wanted to finally give you this. I knew you just had to have it when I saw it and I really hope you like it.”

“All is forgiven. Thank you.”, Knockout casually tore away at the wrapping and lifted the lid, his optics glowing brighter.

“Well...do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it!”, Knockout unfolded the white stripe vinyl inside to it’s full length, laughing with a full smile, “You always know just what to get me!”

He put his gift down on the examination table and went to go hug his conjux, climbing up a little to properly plant a kiss.

As high as the mood was brought up, it was quickly shot down again.

“Wait, I’m not done with your gift yet.”, Knockout left for his datapad and scrolled through something.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to give me one. Your company is the only gift I need.”, Breakdown tried to comfort his conjux, but Knockout held out a servo to stop him.

“That’s a sweet sentiment, but it doesn’t feel fair if I had my gift before yours is even done and I don’t want you seeing it while it’s incomplete.”

“I’m sure I’ll like it even if it’s unfinished. The thought matters more than what it is. Can you tell me what it is?”

“Are you sure?”

Breakdown nodded excitedly.

Knockout sighed and handed over the datapad, “It’s only about 75% of the way done, but it’s a transcription of that Earth book you wanted to read but couldn’t find an online PDF version of it.”

Breakdown scrolled through the pages of words and felt his frame melt.

“I know it’s not as good as what you gave me but—”

“I love it!”, He lifted Knockout off the ground and squeezed, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome but watch the paint!”

———

3) Bumblebee/Blitzwing (TFA Blitzbee)

Bumblebee wasn’t one for snow to be perfectly honest. Sure, making snowmen and having snowball fights with Sari were fun, but he mostly did those activities to make her happy as her best friend. The frosty windows on the base served as another reminder as to why he liked to stay inside where it was warm and there was plenty of oil to drink, so it was rather ironic when he started seeing a mech who could make ice and enjoyed just burying himself in the frozen stuff.

“Come outside my little bee~”

Random sang softly and taunted him from outside the Autobot base. The heat from Blitzwing’s system fogging up the window further. Everyone else in the base had retreated back to their rooms for the night, leaving Bee free to do what he wanted in the living room. At least, he would be if there wasn’t a giant beige and purple bot trying to get him outside.

“No way Blitzbrain. It’s beyond freezing out there. I’m not locking up my servos just so you can eat street snow again.”

Bumble whispered harshly and opened the window, a gush of frozen air creeped their way through the cracks of his frame. His central heating system kicked online.

Random’s glossa slithered out of his intake, “Aww why not?”

“Because it’s gross. And that’s saying something when it comes from me!”

Vrrrr.

“I suppose that’s true.”, Icy’s lips pouted outward as he pressed his digits to his chin. His sharp features standing out in the crisp darkness of the night, “But aren’t you the one always wanting to go out? Why is it so different this time?”

“Because time impossible to drive in snow and I don’t wanna deal with traffic.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“So?”

Vrrrr.

“So why don’t you want to come out here and spend some time away from this stupid base you tiny bug bot!”

Bee held a digit to his intake, “I’m right here idiot, you’ll wake everyone up and then they’ll see you and then we’ll have to fight.”

Vrrrr.

“You’re afraid of the snow aren’t you.”

“What? No. That’s not—I’m not afraid of it are you kidding me? Only sparklings are afraid of stupid things like that.”

“Ok, so you just don’t like the cold.”

“So what if I don’t?”

“Even if you can’t drive, it’s still a nice night for flying.”

Bumblebee’s optics widened, “Flying?”

“Yes. Calm winds, clear skies, no organics or bots in the streets, what more could you wait for?”

“You’re gonna take me flying?”, Bee’s voice rose in pitch and he looked up at his mechfriend with stars in his eyes.

Vrrrr.

“If you keep repeating the same thing I’ll crush you with this wall!”

Vrrrr.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen something go splat!”

Random laughed at his own morbid thought.

“Ok, first of all, don’t crush me. You’re like three times my size, you don’t need a wall. Second, as long as I don’t have to get my servos wet I’ll be there in a nanoklik.”

Bumblebee gave a quick peck before racing away to touch himself up a little for his small impromptu date.

———

4) Megatron/Soundwave (MegaWave)

Megatron was busy. Again.

Soundwave didn’t mind it much as he just worked on his reports, but deep in his spark he really hoped he would’ve made some time to be with him. There was no such luck unfortunately. Soundwave knew his leader was always busy which is what made their small times together all the more special and intimate. Nobody ever saw the side of the warlord that he did and he was quite proud of that. It made him feel special.

>Soundwave.

A private communication line blipped open from Megatron. What convenient timing.

>Yes, Lord Megatron?

>I need you to send a message to Shockwave about the latest export of energon. There will be a delay because of Autobot meddling, but it shouldn’t take more than a couple earth cycles to have everything in order.

>Message received. Will be sent as soon as possible.

>Good. By the way Soundwave, I’ve left something for you in your desk compartment. Consider it a token of my appreciation for all you’ve done staying loyal to the Decepticons.

>Understood. Thank you Lord Megatron.

With that, the line cut off and Soundwave was left alone again in the communication center. His optics glanced over at the large compartment in his desk and opened it. Inside he found a small stack of datapads and one single use datapad filled out.

—

‘To: Soundwave

Silent as a thief in the night

You crept into my spark and took flight

Your visor so full of mystery

Yet take away much of my misery

In war there is treachery

In war there is loyalty

No words could ever be strung to say how much you mean to me

Merry Christmas,

From Megatron

—

A/N: I’m done with this post. Whoop. 4 short stories in one post. This is all I could crank out in a few hours. I didn’t anticipate this day to be so busy for me😭😭. I’ve been hanging out with family and dropping off gifts for friends at their door step. You can kinda tel I gave up at the end and poems aren’t really my thing. I’ll finish the rest tomorrow, so just pretend that whatever I post tomorrow was done today. Tell me what you think and have a nice night. I’m gonna pass out now. Mwah.

AND YES WHEN I WRITE MEGS IN ANY FIC HE IS A MUSHY BASTARD WHEN HES NOT AN ASS HAT AND THATS ON SOFT BASTARDS😌✨✨

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spencer-reid-in-a-pool · 3 years

Text

It Was You All Along (Part 6)

Author’s note: I want to thank @ayyyyitswednesdaymydoods for helping me and listening to me ramble constantly about this series. I know I am probably annoying, but she inspired much of this fic just through our conversations and I am so thankful every day that I met her and that she is my friend. This chapter is Jaskier’s POV, so hopefully you will learn more about that night that (Y/N) eavesdropped! Enjoy~

Tags: @ayyyyitswednesdaymydoods @blackjay04 @mxsmwndr @bravelittlesunflower

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

If the gods could have blessed me with some other talent besides music, it should have been the ability to figure out where the hell I was in this forsaken forest. I wish I knew how to map out these routes in my head like Geralt seems to do, but I simply can’t. I guess you could say it was my own fault for running off after the attack, but I couldn’t risk getting punched again. Gods know that I am the one bringing in the most money, what with my music and all. Witchering be damned.

I mean, what can I say? I’m irresistible.

The trees in front of me seemed to stretch out infinitely, and I sighed as I came to a stop. I knew Geralt would be alright, of course. My thoughts were mainly focused on (Y/N) and where she might have ended up. I couldn’t help but think us getting separated was my fault. But I only did what I thought was right in the moment, and that was getting her as far away from the danger as possible.

She has been acting a bit strange lately, and that consumed my thoughts going forward. Was it... girl problems? Those happen monthly, right? Wait- what month is it?

A snapping sound drew me from my thoughts and brought me to another abrupt stop. It sounded far away, so I decided not being around to find out what made the noise was the best course of action.

It was starting to drop dark now, and I had found a fallen log to sit on and rest. It was so quiet. I hated the quiet. My thoughts and fears were always loudest then, so I decided to pull out my lute and strum mindlessly to bring about some comfort. Without meaning to, I started playing the song I was writing for (Y/N). It just kind of happened. I thought she was onto me and knew about the song when we arrived at that town the other day, but luckily she didn’t seem to pay any mind to it. If only she didn’t make me so nervous and loose-lipped, maybe she wouldn’t have even realized the song was new and unfinished.

My heart sped up the tiniest bit as I played, just like it always did when I thought about her. Which was quite often, to be honest. I simply couldn’t help it. She was my muse, even if she didn’t know.

Of course, thinking about her made me think about the other night in the tavern with the other woman. A stab of guilt made my chest hurt, and I cursed myself for that night. (Y/N) didn’t seem to be catching on to anything I was doing, so I had wanted so badly to be distracted. How stupid was I to let that woman be my distraction? Incredibly. And I would regret it for the rest of my days.

Obviously, thinking about that night and that woman made me think of the conversation Geralt and I had after. I remembered the whole thing, surprisingly, considering how drunk I was. I think- no, I know- the cause of me remembering was how much I was thinking about (Y/N) then. How badly I had wanted that woman to be her, in my arms and safe and loved.

I told Geralt everything. But I’m sure he already knew with his Witchery-ness...I swear he could read minds sometimes.

I went to the woman’s room- I don’t even know her name, now that I think about it. I don’t think I asked. It didn’t really matter, because it wasn’t (Y/N). Instantly, I had regretted my actions. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want this woman on me, touching me. So as soon as I had come back to reality, I pushed her off, probably a bit too hard, and winced as I realized how purple my neck would be soon.

Of course she was hurt, and I felt awful. But a second later, she smiled at me with what looked like understanding on her face.

“It’s that girl down there, isn’t it? You’re thinking about her.”

I didn’t answer her, and she took my silence as a yes. And that was that. I spent the rest of the night getting drunk to try and drown away this feeling I had. It didn’t work, of course. I suppose karma was being her usual bitchy self. Although, I knew in my heart that I deserved it.

As I strummed her song over and over, I replayed the conversation Geralt and I had that night in my head.

“You couldn’t have been any quieter when coming in?”

I pulled out a chair and sat in it heavily, the drink and regret weighing me down.

“Shut up, Geralt,” I groaned.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

I was silent for a moment, and decided to just come out with it.

“You wouldn’t understand. I- I so desperately want (Y/N)...What do I do?”

If he expected something else from me, he made no mention of it. He simply stared at me with that same stupid expression he always had.

“You want advice? You need to grow a pair, Jaskier, and stop whining. Watching you be like this is incredibly exhausting.”

I sighed once more, like I had so many times previously tonight.

“That woman...seeing her was a bad idea. (Y/N) can’t know how I feel. At least, not yet. I don’t want her to know.”

He glanced at the wall for a split second, but I thought nothing of it. He was probably just tired of listening to me talk.

“You truly are an idiot. Both of you are.”

And without another word, he left for the washroom.

I played until it was pitch black outside, and even after for a little bit. I didn’t need light to see where the strings for her song were. I knew them by heart, even if it wasn’t quite finished yet. Only when my fingers started to ache did I stop, and I didn’t really want to. Playing her song made it feel as if she was right next to me.

I sighed and placed my lute down gently before laying myself down next to it. There probably wasn’t a really comfortable spot around here, so I balled up my doublet and used it as a makeshift pillow. Before long, I fell asleep and dreamed of (Y/N) all night, as I so often had since meeting her for the first time.

When I woke in the morning, it was just after dusk, and a bit cold out. I put my doublet back on quickly and grabbed my lute, ignoring the ache in my back and the growl coming from my stomach. There wasn’t really much else to do besides start walking and hope for the best.

Eventually, I made it to a small, run-down cottage near a stream. It was as good a place as any to rest and catch my breath. There didn’t seem to be anyone home, but I knocked nonetheless. What can I say? I’m a gentleman.

No one answered, so I let myself in. But what I didn’t realize was that the door was on its last limb, so as soon as I opened it, it collapsed onto the floor, sending up a cloud of dust and dirt directly into my lungs.

“Melitele’s tits,” I croaked.

After I recovered from my little ordeal, I dug around the place to see what it had to offer. Was it too much to hope for food?

I came across a plant potted in the corner. Underneath the cobwebs and dust, it almost looked edible. Almost.

“Should I?” I thought out loud.

I stared at it for a good while, heavily considering eating it, before realizing it was probably not a good idea.

“I should not.”

Defeated, I sat down on one of the rickety chairs, thanking the gods that it didn’t fall out from underneath me. Maybe I’ll eat my own arm off. Wait, then I can’t play the lute anymore...

“Bollocks...”

I hadn’t realized that I had fallen asleep in the chair until I heard rustling and voices outside, which startled me awake. It looked to be later in the day, probably the afternoon. So I couldn’t really take off running- they would definitely see me.

The voices and footsteps got closer and closer. In a panic, I scanned the room looking for something- anything I could use to defend myself if need be. There really wasn’t much. The place has probably been ransacked more times than I can count.

Unfortunately, all I had was my lute. How horribly tragic.

I hunkered down in the corner farthest away from the door, and waited until they were right against the house before shouting, “I’ve got a very large- very hard sword! And I’m not afraid to use it. You had best leave- right now. Please.”

Idiot, why did you say please at the end? You sounded like an insufferable p-

“Jaskier!”

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t my name. And it definitely wasn’t (Y/N) stepping over the fallen door.

Time felt frozen for a second. A bit annoying really, considering how all I wanted to do was run to her and hug her. But she made it to me first, and before she threw her arms around me, I looked at her like it was the first time.

She was disheveled of course. Scratches and bruises decorating her skin. A particularly large bruise was right in the middle of her forehead. Wonder what caused that monstrosity.

Twigs and leaves and grass were twisted into her messy hair, and for a split second all I could think about doing was getting it all out for her and washing her hair. She’d like that, I think.

Even in her condition, I had never seen such a beautiful woman. And I realized that even looking at another for the rest of my days would simply be a sin.

Her arms finally fell around my neck, bringing me closer to her and back to the present. I took a deep breath, telling myself that this was actually real. She was actually here and she was okay, and I wrapped my arms tightly around her waist. I simply could not have her close enough to me.

I sighed her name, relaxing against her, and hoping against hope she couldn’t feel how hard my heart was beating right now.

Geralt stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. But there was a gleam in his eye.

“Shut up,” I mouthed silently to him, turning slightly with (Y/N) still in my arms as if I was hiding a sweet I refused to share.

He simply shook his head, and stepped back through the doorway from where they came.

Geralt and I sat around the fire now. (Y/N) was asleep a few feet away, curled up on a ratty old blanket laid out on the forest floor. I couldn’t help but watch her sleep. She was so peaceful. So beautiful. There wasn’t a single thing I would not do for her.

I had spent the better part of an hour picking out all the offensive bits of nature in her hair, and combed it out as best as I could.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, darling,” I had said to her after finishing with her hair, “But what in the gods’ holy names happened to your forehead?”

Her expression fell instantly, and she grumbled something under her breath. I leaned in closer to hear what she had said, ignoring the weird expression on Geralt’s face.

“I ran into a branch while I was escaping on Lily.”

If she hadn’t had such a pitiful look on her face, I would have lost my shit then and there, laughing until I felt sick. But I managed to stifle it, if only to laugh about it later.

“What a special girl you are,” I said instead.

She turned away from me for a moment before telling me to shut up.

Geralt’s words startled me from my recounting of the events in my head.

“If you don’t tell her, I will. You’re ridiculous.”

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, and quickly turned away from (Y/N)’s sleeping form.

“I’ll tell her. Just...not yet. When the time is right. She deserves to know, even if she doesn’t feel the same.”

His only response was a sigh. Then he laid down on the other side of the fire, facing away from me.

That was fine. I’ll be up a while, and I preferred it that way right now. Perhaps I’ll finish her song...

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nemesis-is-my-middle-name · 3 years

Text

#10: Mistake

(read it on Ao3 here!)

Things were still tense between Lewis and Arthur. Vivi could tell.

Of course they were. After Arthur thought he was missing and searched for him for years, while Lewis went on a misguided revenge quest against him, only for his identity to be revealed at the worst possible time in the worst possible way – they had every right to feel conflicted about each other. While Lewis unlearned the belief that Arthur killed him, and Arthur adjusted to the giant murder specter no longer being out for his blood, of course they were a little… awkward.

But this was getting ridiculous. It had been over a month, and the two of them still barely so much as looked at each other, keeping their eyes carefully steered away when they were forced into the same room. Had they even talked about anything yet? Or were they just pretending the other didn’t exist?

She didn’t want to push them if they really weren’t ready. Not least because it could end bad, if Lewis went into another rage or Arthur was harboring more resentment than she thought. But she didn’t see the harm in giving them little nudges. Encouraging them to spend time together, hoping to remind them of why they’d loved each other, back when Lewis was alive and nobody was afraid of murder coming out of nowhere.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working.

Maybe they needed time alone, without her there. She could admit she’d been a little… hovery. She was just – she was worried, she still hadn’t gotten the new memories a hundred percent situated in her head and when she looked at Lewis her first thought was still shit, it’s the wraith, run. But… he’d been anything but the wraith, now that his own memories were complete. He’d been almost the opposite, meek and uncertain at the best of times. Maybe her presence was discouraging him from actually talking to Arthur, worried that she’d see it as a threat and snap at him. Which. Yes, she’d done that a couple times, in the first week or so, but she wasn’t doing it now. She’d been very careful (after Arthur gave her a warning about it) not to be rude to him! But… maybe it was worth a shot to orchestrate some alone time, anyway.

Well, “orchestrate some alone time” sounded more fancy than it was. She was going to swap shifts with Chloe.

It didn’t help.

She found several different excuses to go out, all with very well-defined time limits – work, running to the next town over for research material, stopping at home to help with chores. But if anything, the situation seemed to be getting worse. She came home every time to a clean but quiet house and two quieter friends, in separate rooms, giving her one-word answers when she tried to talk to them.

She really didn’t want to put them on the spot about this – was it even her place? – but unless she wanted to keep dealing with this, it seemed like she didn’t have a choice.

“Do you think Vivi knows?”

“Hmm?”

Arthur and Lewis were sitting together on the couch, legs tangled together. Lewis was reading, and Arthur was scrolling on his phone, though he’d set it down to look back at Lewis.

“About… y’know.” He waved at the room. “This.”

“Wh- oh. I mean, I don’t… see why… she would? It’s not like we’ve done anything, or said– I mean, I know I haven’t.”

“Yeah- yeah, I know, but it… it s-s-seems like she’s been orchestrating a lot- a lot of… time for us alone? I mean- this doesn’t feel like- like just, coincidence, yeah?”

Lewis sets the book down, staring at the ceiling. “…Maybe. Maybe she… overheard something, or just figured it out on her own, and… wanted to give us our space?”

“Feels too- too nice for Vi, but yeah, maybe.”

There was silence for a moment.

“We could just… y’know. Tell everyone.”

“I- I mean, it’s your call.”

“It’s yours too!” Lewis looked back down at him. “This affects you too.”

“Yeah, but it- it’s mostly you.” He tapped him on the chest with the back of his hand. “I’m good with wha- whatever you wanna do, yeah?”

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “I just… I want a little more time.” Time for everyone to get used to me, is the unfinished second half of the sentence.

“Then time you’ll have!”

“It’s just, I know- you probably don’t like keeping it a secret.”

“You don’t like keeping s-se- secrets. I do this for fun.” Arthur’s hand trailed down to his wrist and squeezed it. “It’s al-“

He was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and Vivi’s voice shouting “Hey, I’m back, I just forgot something!”

Immediately the two of them scrambled to untangle themselves from the very conspicuous limb pile they were wrapped up in. There was a moment of confusion about which way was best for each of them to move, and then Arthur ended up pulling himself across Lewis’s lap and hopping the armrest while he got up.

They mistimed spectacularly, and Arthur tipped over before he had his feet on the floor, smacking his head directly into the end table with a definitive bang and an “Ow! Fuck!”

Lewis floated over the back of the couch, intending to help him– but then he heard Vivi’s footsteps coming down the hall and was frozen in indecision for a moment. Was helping him up too familiar? Should he sit back down? Should–

Vivi was there before he could make a decision. She glanced between the two of them, frowning, and then focused on Arthur, saying, “you okay?”

“You surprised me,” he whined, the very picture of innocent, boring clumsiness. Lewis almost had to admire it.

Her eyes flicked to Lewis for a second, and then she was moving to help him up, even though he was mostly standing up already.

Okay, this time wasn’t part of some grand scheme. Vivi legitimately had to run out. Or, not had to, but they were in dire need of snacks and the store was closing soon. She didn’t get very far before realizing she left her wallet at home.

Only a moment after she opened the door, there was a loud bang from down the hall, accompanied by Arthur swearing a lot. She frowned and stuck her head in the door, still in her shoes.

Arthur was there, kneeling on the floor, apparently having just smacked his head on the table. Lewis was hovering just behind him, staring at her and looking a little paralyzed.

A shock ran through her, turning her blood cold. He– he wouldn’t have. Right?

Not a good time to ask. She looked back over to Arthur. “You okay?”

“You surprised me,” he huffed, reaching up to put one hand on the table and pull himself up. He sounded honest, but she was having trouble imagining how her opening the door translated to him tripping over into a table. Although Arthur was impressively clumsy and easy to startle sometimes.

She glanced over to Lewis, but his expression didn’t hint at anything. With a laughed “hey, sorry!” she went over to check on Arthur and help him up.

Enough was enough. She was all for letting them talk things over on their own – they were adults, after all, they should have been capable of that – but that required them to actually talk. Or at least admit they weren’t comfortable sharing a living space for now, if that was too hard.

So over dinner one day, as everyone was more or less finishing up, she set her utensils down on the table with an, “okay, look. We need to talk.”

Weirdly enough, it was Lewis who went more tense at that. Had he always been that edgy?– She couldn’t remember, but she didn’t think so. He fiddled with his sleeve-cuff, regarding her with upturned brows, his shoulders high and tight.

Arthur looked nervous, for his own part, but not quite as much as Lewis did. His eyes flicked to Lewis for a moment, and then he slowly lowered his fork with a wide-eyed stare. “About… what?”

“About you two!” She spread her hands out to emphasize. “I mean, I get it, okay? But you either need to talk or step away. Not– the weird- uncomfortable ignoring thing you’re doing now.”

Some of the tension actually went out of Lewis at that. Like he was expecting her to say something even worse. Arthur tilted his head a little, frowning. “Uh, what?”

“Come on, you two can barely even look at each other! I’ve been trying to get you to work it out, but apparently you aren’t getting the message! So. Talk.”

The two of them stared at each other for a while, expressions unreadable.

“I, um, I think the game is up,” Lewis said hesitantly, and then Arthur burst out laughing.

“Uh, what?” she said, lowering her hands. He just slumped back into his chair, continuing into an almost silent snort-giggle. It was… nice to see him laugh so genuinely, but she still wasn’t entirely sure why.

“I- uh, shit.” He lowered the hand he had pressed to his face to look at Lewis. “Are y- are you s-sure?”

Lewis sighed, but the crinkle around his eyes indicated he was smiling. “Yes. Sure. Go ahead.”

“Okay. W-we-“ He took a deep breath and sat up straighter, reining in his laughter. “We’re not av- a-avoiding each other ‘cause we’re- we haven’t t-talked. We, we’re actually, uh.” He glances again at Lewis, who nods. “We’re dating.”

“Wait, what?”

He giggles again at her reaction. Lewis is still quietly looking at his hands, but for once, Arthur seems content to do most of the talking. “We, uh, we talked everything out right af- after th- a-after the… whole thing at th-the shop. Th-that night, actually. You were asleep. Kind of… cleared the air, yeah? Once we figured out the… th-th whole thing with my arm,” he swallows, shivering at the memory, “it was… a lot… better?”

“Obviously we didn’t start- then,” Lewis picks up, “but… it was only a few days after. After a few more conversations and… there was kind of this feeling of- at least for me- not knowing if we’d… have another chance to say it? So…”

“I- I mean, and that was- w-was part of the reason why we… didn’t tell anyone? We weren’t sure if i- if it’d work, there might’ve been… too much stuff, or we just weren’t… in- i-in the right space, but… it… s-s-seems to be working okay?”

Lewis nods. “And, I know you… a lot of people still don’t… trust me. Entirely. I didn’t want anyone to think…” he trails off, letting Vivi fill in the sentence on her own.

“Oh. Okay. But, um, then, what’s with all the… glaring in Arthur’s direction…?”

Arthur snorts again, and Lewis buries his head in his hands. “My face just does this,” he groans. “I think it’s my default with the skull.”

She bites back a giggle at that. “Sh- okay, then, uh. I’m… I’m really happy for you guys…?”

“Thanks,” they both mutter at the same time.

#mystery skulls animated #MysteryMarch2021 #the nemesis speaks #swift writes #the disparity between this and the last prompt is amazing lmao #i do not control the fluff to drama slider

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wish-that-i-was-buckys-girl · 3 years

Text

A/N: Hello again! This is apart of my pop song series with Sebastian Stan Characters. This one is Mob! Charles Blackwood and the reader. It is based off the song “my boy” by Billie Eilish. I figured the song would be perfect for this character and this trope. Specifically the line “my boys and ugly crier, but he’s such a pretty liar and by that I mean, he said he’d change.” There are other lines that fit as well but this one stuck with me the most. I hope you enjoy :)

Summary: Your boyfriend is a mob boss. He’s always working and you’re always worried. You never get the attention you deserve, will he be willing to change his ways for you?

My Boy Part 1

(Not my gif)

You hated living in Chicago. Well, hate was a strong word. You hated where you lived in Chicago. You couldn’t walk to the tourist attractions to distract yourself from being home alone all day long. You loved the museums, and your boyfriend Charles always gave you money to take a cab and treat yourself as you’d like, but you preferred to walk.

You loved to visit the Museum of Natural History and the Aquarium. You’ve seen them a million times, but you couldn’t get enough of the vast amounts of information it held. You would sit in front of the dinosaur exhibit for hours, wander the Egyptian exhibit until they closed, and do it all over again the next week.

You also didn’t hate your home in Chicago, if you would even it call it a home. It was a beautiful house, just empty. You didn’t like to call your home a mansion, even though it was. Unlike Charles, you were humble when discussing your possessions. However, all the marble countertops and comfy furniture in the world wouldn’t make up for the deafening silence that filled the halls every day.

You weren’t afraid of the city. Your boyfriend practically ran it, that’s what he told you anyways. You would believe it, too. Charles never stated exactly what he did for a living, but you picked up on his endeavors by the second month of the relationship. That’s when he stopped giving you the proper amount of attention, and stayed out all hours of the day and night. You overheard phone calls of an angry man demanding his money by the next Friday, sometimes even threatening men’s families. You knew it was all wrong, but you just couldn’t believe that Charles, your Charlie, would ever do something like that. You thought, or at least hoped, they were all empty threats. You didn’t know what you would do if you found out they weren’t.

You knew being involved with the mob was dangerous, leaving you to worry every hour of every day when Charles wasn’t with you. Would he be killed if a deal didn’t go right? You hated being left alone with your thoughts. Not to mention you missed your boyfriend. What time you did spend together made you so incredibly happy. You were his princess, and he would always take care of you to the best extent. Draw you a bath, rub your back, give you tiny kisses all over your body. He was a completely different man at home. You figured none of the “guys” have or will ever see this side of him. He would probably get harassed out of town if they did see the way he treated you.

Those days are few as far between. You were at your wits end, begging him to stop the deals, lies, and even potential murder of families. You were scared. Not only for your life but especially his. He would always tell you the same thing.

“I promise I’ll stop baby, please, you just gotta let me finish this one deal.”

“Babydoll, you know I’m gonna quit, just be patient for me okay? Can you be a good girl?”

“Princess I have to take care of you. How am I gonna take care of you if I lose my job? I want the best for you sweetheart, please just give me more time to make arrangements for us.”

You were tired of the lies, tired of waiting around for the day he would finally choose you over his job. This was the last straw. When he came home tonight (like he said he was going to) this would be the last time you asked him to choose you. If he gave you another bullshit excuse, you were going to walk out the door and never look back.

_______________________________________________

Charles returned home from his “job” at an ungodly hour, 3AM to be exact. You stayed up to confront him. You didn’t care how long you had to stay up, only compromising that if it reached noon the next day, he probably wasn’t coming home for a while.

He was surprised to see you awake, his face turning from confusion to anger.

“Babydoll what are you doing up this late?”

“Waiting for someone important to get home. Aren’t you excited to see me?”

He knows he needs to control himself.

“I am irritated, but of course I’m excited to see you. You should be getting to bed. Cmon, I’ll come join you. We can watch your favorite Disney movie.” He says enticingly.

You were tempted, daydreaming of going upstairs to cuddle and watch Y/F/M. You needed to stay strong though. Confront him with the truth.

He begins to turn on his heel and make his way up the staircase.

“No, Charles. We need to talk.”

He rolls his eyes with his back still facing towards you. He puts a smile on his face before he whips around. “Why on earth do we need to talk Angel? I thought you would be happy to see your daddy...”

You were. You were practically bursting at the seams, wishing you could run up to him and shower him in hugs and kisses. You loved him so much, but you needed to set your limits. You deserved to be happy.

“I miss you. You’re never here. I feel like all I do is ask you to stay when you come home. You always promise me that you will ‘eventually.’ When will that day come Charles? When will you give me the love that you promised?”

He looked like a wounded animal as you spoke to him. He looks at you with what seems like confusion, hurt, and disappointment. You couldn’t tell if that disappointment was targeted at himself or you.

“I-, baby you know I love you. Why would you say that I don’t give you the love that I promised? Of course I’m going to quit this job. I already have a job lined up in Connecticut. We can stay with my cousins. I just need to finish up one more deal. Can you wait for me sweetness? Can you be a good girl and wait for your daddy to finish his last and only job?”

You heard that lie too many times. Empty promises. When will it end?

“I’m done” you whisper.

He comes closer to you.

“...what?”

“I’m done Charles. I can’t do this anymore with you.” You feel the hot tears brimming in your eyes.

“Y/N, please, please don’t leave me. I need you.” His eyes seem to also tear up, but you don’t notice. You needed to get out of here. You needed to leave.

You started to make strides to the door. You’d worry about the finer details later. Collecting your clothes didn’t feel as important in the moment.

He grabbed your arm.

You finally looked at him. He was a wreck. Tears flooding his red cheeks. You hadn’t noticed but his hair looks like it had been demolished by his hands.

“Please, Y/N. I love you. We’ll leave tonight.”

“Is this a promise you’re willing to keep?”

He nods quicker than you expected.

“I’ll do anything for you, my love.”

You were unsure. You wondered why he caved so fast after begging him Was it truly love that was motivating him?

“This is it Charles. If this is just another empty promise for us to move back here, I’m done. I love you but I can’t keep putting myself out there like this. I shouldn’t feel alone in a relationship. I need to feel loved and appreciated.”

“And you’ll get it.” He comes over to cup your cheeks in his hands. “You’re the only damned thing I care about.” He kissed you deeply. He captured your lips with his. You always loved how his kisses were so inviting. You kissed back with as much ferocity, wanting to truly believe this was going to be the start of the rest of your life.

_______________________________________________

Two hours into driving to the promised mansion in Connecticut, Charles actually keeping his promise.

Charles was a foolish man, in trade and deals, but not foolish enough to lose you.

He knew you were the only thing that mattered. Although leaving with unfinished business could pose potential danger to not only him, but you as well, he was willing to take that risk to keep you.

Your head felt amazing on the cold window of Charles’ red Camaro. Your head had been throbbing since crying a little over two hours ago when you thought you would lose your boyfriend to his “job.” Thankfully, he chose you. Crying, however, exhausted you beyond belief. All you wanted to do was rest. This is probably why you wouldn’t notice the subtle details that would lead to you and Charles’ demise just hours ahead.

You looked over at Charles briefly, his eyes firmly on the road, determined to take you both to your final destination. There was no hint of regret swimming in his eyes, only pure joy thinking of the beautiful life you two would share. This euphoria is probably why Charles’ wouldn’t notice the subtle details that would lead to his and your demise just hours ahead.

You reached over and took his free hand in yours. The touch was electric. Even though you were in a car traveling 65 miles an hour, this was home.

_______________________________________________

In the moments of euphoria both you and Charles were experiencing, you didn’t notice the van following you since you left Chicago. What Charles failed to mention to you about his job was that he was in debt. A lot of debt. Charles would repay these debts by collecting from other people who had yet to pay his boss as well, and if they couldn’t, he was asked to “take care of them.” Charles refused to hurt the persons family, but had no other choice when it came to the individual who owed the debt. Especially if he wanted to keep his own life, and his sweet girl.

What you didn’t know was that your life had been threatened many of times. On your walks to the museums there were always men watching you, waiting to attack if Charles refused to take on a mission. Thankfully that hadn’t happened, until now.

Sam, his boss, only had two more missions for Charles when he decided to skip town with you. However, Sam was not pleased to find out Charles wouldn’t be finishing what was owed to him. Due to Charles’ ignorance, Sam had no other option than to send 4 men after the pair. They would slowly tail behind them on the highway, making sure not to lose them. Even if they did, Sam knew Charles’ license plate number and other information that would ultimately lead the boys to them. They were surprised neither of you stopped for gas or a snack, but the time would come when they would spring into action.

_______________________________________________

You woke up from your brief nap to see you had pulled into a gas station with Charles. He smiled at you lovingly.

“Good morning sleepyhead. I’m gonna go fill the car with gas and get us some snacks. Is there anything you want?”

“Can I just have some sweet tea and a bag of chips? Any kind is fine. I’m not too hungry right now.”

“Of course, Angel. I’ll be right back okay?”

You nodded as he planted a kiss to your forehead. You shut your eyes as Charles went in to pay the teller and grab you your snacks.

You were startled by your door ripping open, two men standing there with a gun pointed directly at your face.

“Don’t make a sound, and get out of the car” the first one spoke. You unbuckled your seatbelt quietly and got out of the car. The other pointed a gun to your back as you stood there, praying Charles would see through the window to come and rescue you at any moment.

“Go to the van and get in. If you scream, I shoot. We both don’t want that, now do we?” The second one said.

You shook your head no, holding back a waterfall of tears. You did as you were told. Immediately as you got in you were blindfolded and held down. Your arms and legs were wrapped with duct tape, your mouth being covered as well. Before you knew what was going on the van started abruptly, racing out of the parking lot.

Charles had noticed the van pulling up behind them, but didn’t think anything of it. He just assumed it was a family who needed to stop and grab stuff on their way to or from an airport for a family vacation. However, he became skeptical as five minutes rolled past and no one came in for anything. Why would someone just pull into a parking lot and sit there? He suddenly got an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach, putting down all the snacks he had gathered up until that point. He told the attendant he would be back as he quickly ran outside to see if something had happened. And indeed, something had.

You were gone.

#charles blackwood x reader #sebastian stan characters #charles blackwood #Charles Blackwood x you #sebastian stan

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fuckingdeadbutroyal · 4 years

Text

Jasonette July- Soulmate AU- Part 4

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

!Season 3 spoilers coming right ahead!

A tiny sigh escaped Maris lips as she felt her body filling up with energy. “He ate. I think I’ll be fine in a few”, she told her partner, who was currently swimming next to her. She hadn’t dared to detransform for a day now, knowing that doing so would mean her finally collapsing. The duo hasn’t been wasting time, though. Theyvwere trying to come up with a new plan. Ladybug told him all about her being the new Guardian of the Miraculous, about Chat Blanc and Bunnix. Pointed out how if Bunnix hasn’t turned up yet, that meant that they could handle the situation. Explained why she wouldn’t dare share her identity with him, even though she wanted to, because of how she couldn’t afford to risk him turning into Chat Blanc again. Ladybug told him about her soulmate. Now he finally understood how she had such incredible stamina and... had a hard time agreeing to the two of them staying as nothing more than friends.

Adrien did not disregard their friendship as something unimportant. Knowing that he was Ladybugs best friend and feeling that she was just as well his... best friend, his partner, the person he could rely on the most. It was amazing, unique and so very very important to him.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt, though. He loved her and she liked him, they both knew that. It just was never enough. Not for Adrien.Now was not the time to grieve his broken heart, though. He was used to suppressing his emotions due to Hawkmoths terror. He could keep it together for a little longer.

Now that all their cards were laid out on the table, they were ready to come up with a plan.

“Look. I can’t cast my cure while the akuma is still out there. Creation doesn’t work with destruction working actively against it.”, Ladybug told Chat who, though currently detransformed as Adrien, winced. The word “Destruction” has already intergrated itself as a trigger, setting off a bad reaction in the teenagers mind. Plagg did not like that in the slightest. “Kid, you’ve gotta get it together. Yes I am the god of D-Trigger, but I’m also the God of Chaos and let me tell ya, I can’t sense a hint of chaos on that dusty dirtbag out there.” Adrien smirked, a drained, sarcastical smile forming on his lips. “Are you trying to tell me I have another power you’ve just forgotten to mention?”

The heroes knew they still weren’t off age and therefore didn’t have access to their full potential. That didn’t stop hope from lighting up in the backs of the duos hearts. They already couldn’t use the other Miraculous power, since all of the previous Miraculous holders were eliminated on day three, due to Hawkmoth already knowing their identities (thanks to what he had done on heroes day two years ago) and him finding the civilian heroes’ hiding places before Ladybug and Chat Noir could even locate their presence in Paris. Searching for new holders was clearly not a good idea. They couldn’t risk throwing someone inexperienced and terrified into a battle they didn’t know how to win yet.

But if Chat could use a new power?

That would be the element of surprise they needed! Adriens 18th Birthday was just around the corner, there's a chance it could work!

"Nah, he's not in the right condition to try, too young and way too exhausted"

Bye bye little flame of hope.

"But if you were to get some ACTUAL sleep and eat some fucking food? You would totally make it."

"Wait what?", Marinettes eyes were the size of asteroids. They had a chance! She just had to get him to one of those bunkers so he could get some sleep and then..."Then we'll have to go without it. I'm not leaving you alone milady."

Oh, yeah, there was that tiny detail she had forgotten. The two of them were too protective of each other to leave their partner to their own devices and Ladybug entering any building was not an option.The girl let out a frustrated huff, "Cha-" "I understand what you mean, Ladybug.”, Adriens voice was solid and left no room for argument. Batman would have been proud. “But this is not up to debate. I'm not leaving you alone, not while you are in this state nor during any of our battles. It has never ended well in the past and it sure as hell won't end well now."

Plagg' and Maris' annoyed sighs were absolutly identical, which would've made Adrien laugh, if it weren't for their current situation. He knew he was right, though, and he knew she did as well.

Mentally, Marinette was feeling better. Less on edge, more focused. It was surprising to all of them. Of course she still was incredibly tired, even more fatigued than yesterday, which was understandable since she has not slept for about a week now and spent most of her time swinging around Paris, thinking her head off and crying her eyes out while trying to save as many civilians as possible. Nontheless, even though her body was about to shut down, her brain was working at a thousand miles per hour. She knew it was thanks to her soulmate, who was currently fueling the both of them by ingesting loads of energizing substances and getting closer.

Marinette was now certain her soulmate was a man. He was in Paris, in danger and aware of her dependance on him.

Who could he be? How did he get here? Why now? Why hasn’t he ever tried to find her before?

She didn’t judge him, of couse. Did not expect him to put everything aside just to find her. Who if not Ladybug could understand what it meant to have duties holding you back, chaining you to the ones who claim to love you? (While they only do so because they need her, Marinette believed. Paris didn’t actually love her, no-one cared about her wellbeing unless it was important for their safety. No-one would jump into fire for Ladybug if they wouldn't trust her to sacrifice her sanity to resurrect them. No-one has ever jumped to rescue Marinette in her civilian identity, after all.)

Marinette was spiralling. Memories and repressed emotions suddenly jumping to the surface, reminding her of all the ways she had offered her very self to help anyone in need and receiving nothing in return. She had people who were nice to her, she had friends and family and people who loved her for who she was. Sadly, Mari only just now realised that love wasn't enough. It has never been enough. She would spend many nights awake, working on gifts and projects and helping her friends out or even just simply entertaining them over the phone. What for? Why?!

"Marinette is a saint", her parents would say, "She can do anything." Mari knew that wasn't true. She wasn't almighty. She couldn't even say "No".

That’s where the spiral came to an end. All those thoughts were standing at a cliffs edge, staring down into the abyss right beneath their feet. A tiny step forward, a minimal lean in and she would fall. Where would she go? What would she encounter? Was it okay to do this? Was it okay to change?

For once, Mari felt sure of herself. In a place she would've never thought she'd be, swimming under a god damn Ladybug themed boat in the middle of the Saine. Her mind was clear, certain. She opened her eyes and her mind jumped.

"Well fuck no I can't always do everything.", Mari heard Ladybugs voice, only partly recognizing it as her own.

The black cat duo next to her winced, having been discussing the topic of whether or not Adrien could leave Ladybug alone for a few hours. Not at all have they been expecting the sudden change in the star of their argument.

"Bug...?"

She looked at him, face straight but full of rage. Eyes sharp but full of thought. She didn't need to look around to figure out how to use her lucky charm, instead she had a horrible, unstable and unfinished plan she was absolutely going to follow.

"I have an idea."

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

Hawkmoth was nervous. The akuma was stronger than he had expected and definitely much harder to control. He hasn't yet decided whether or not it was a good idea to akumatize a homeless man, especially considering his educational history in architecture and geography.

It was like the Akuma was thinking, not just feeling like all his previous ones did. It could either mean victory or the literal end of the world. Gabriel was hoping for the first option, of course.

Another reason for his nervous state of mind, were the unexpected members of the justice league, who for whatever reason just now decided to enter the battlefield. He hasn't been expecting them anymore, once the first year of his reign had passed without a droplet of attention from Gotham and the rest of the world. If they've never cared before, why now? Did they suddenly have more free time or did they only just realise they were literal vigilantes and could therefore ignore any and all international borders?

Or was Hawkmoth finally on the right track, finally about to win so they sent the last of their forces to come and save his enemies? A grin split his masked face in a horrifying grimace. His secret weapon was still leashed, still waiting for his order. Agreste Senior had the upper hand, this was his time to shine, his time to win.

Finally.

----------

Much clearer air seeped into Jason's lungs. He even went as far as removing his mask, just so he could properly breathe in something that wasn't poisoned with a literal mist of dust and the stench of death. His heart, no, their hearts were beating faster. Jason stood right by the river. He felt the cold water numbing her legs and reaching for her throat. He felt her dizzy fatigue and her clenching stomach. He knew her thoughts were just as clear as his. It felt as though their minds were finally complete, as if their brains could finally grasp the whole situation. Their body's were so close, they could finally function the way they were meant to. Together, helping one another.

"Red Robin. I found her. The boats are meant for shelter, the akuma can't come out in the open and it’s afraid of water. The heroes must be somewhere underneath those fat kanus."

"Copy."

"I'm going in."

"Hood wai-"

Jason was already underwater, hearing but not listening to Tim's voice.

Red Hood was about to find his Red Lady and no one could stop him.

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

Marinette had just finished explaining her plan to Adrien, who was now transformed and ready to move, when she felt it. "He's here.", was all she could muster. Chat didn't have to think twice to guess what she had meant and subconsciously started to brace himself. He couldn't help but think that now really wasn't the time for her soulmate to interrupt. They were at war, which meant that her uninvited lover was putting himself and Ladybug at risk. Risking her safety meant risking Paris safety which meant that over all, Adrien felt like they were being royaly fucked by the Kwami of Timing.

The Duo felt the water underneath their feet moving. (The rivers flow has been stopped right at the beginning of the akuma battle. It was a safety precaution the mayor has ordered after a particularly unpleasant spread of akuma poison. Now, whenever the Akuma-alert went of, the city shut down, sealed shut and closed up. Not a single soul could enter and not a single twig could leave.

The heroes had formerly agreed to that being a great idea, now that they were short on everything, though... let's say they have learned that isolation wasn't always the best solution to their problems.)

Ladybug felt him before she heard him, a weird sense of Deja-vu overcoming her.

He came up behind her. Her spine felt like it was buzzing with electricity.

"Pixie?"

Jason didn't know why he called her that, but it sure as hell felt right.

Another shiver went down their spines. Marinettes reaction caused by her soulmates voice, while Jason's body just seemed to mimic hers even more intensely now.

She turned around.

Their eyes met.

Their scars felt like they've lit up in flames.

Two sleeping bodies were sinking towards the floor of the river Saine.

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

Hey ho, friendioh

I am so tired, my eyes are so done, je suis juste come Jasonette in my story.

You comments though? I LOVE YOU. Thank each and every one of you lovely message-leavers, my heart is now full of love and excitement and it’s your fault!

I can’t stress this enough, your feedback is shooing my depressay far far away.

Now back to the content. I am not finished yet, there’s more coming and the end is still uncertain, even to me. I have my plotline and my scenes, but this story has kind of started writing itself (which in my opinion is what makes writing so great). So I guess we’re all looking into a future just as uncertain as Dukes vision :)

My taglist has grown! Message me if you are interested in joining that cute group you are about to read the names of, I’ll be happy to add you ^^

Tag List \o/

@maribat-is-lifeblood @lokilex @amayakans @readingismyoxygen

Thanks for reading ^^

#jasonette #jasonette july #jasonette soulmate au #jason todd #jason todd x marinette dupain-cheng #maribat #maribat fanfic #marinette dupain-cheng #ml ladybug #ladybug #platonic ladynoir #platonic ladrien #ml angst #ml salt #hawkmoth is a psychopath

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

Text

Pure Blood 35 (Sirius Black x F!Oc)

Words: 2,084

Warnings: Mentions of death

Masterlist:

Chapter 34 Chapter 36

"And what was it like having the whole train to yourself?" James asks sitting next to me.

“Lonely,” I sigh. "But I was able to sleep better."

He nods.

"Well, Jenna still doesn't know I'm here. So, it's your turn to help me catch up with all the gossip.”

“Sorry, Singh. But I won't be your gossip consultant,” He huffs.

"Oh, come on! I know you're a gossip. Even more than Sirius!”

“I am not a gossip. I only find out about events on accident.”

“Ha!"

He rolls his eyes.

“Fine. Everyone is nervous about graduation. They’ll make a ceremony and a small party here. What else? Regulus looks bleaker than usual. Sirius has tried to talk to him, but it's impossible. Peter tried to invite someone to graduation. The first attempts failed, but then he got someone from Slytherin, I really don't know how it happened, but I'm happy for him."

"What about the plan with Lily?"

His face lights up and he smiles, I can even see his cheeks blush.

"It's going well,” He clears his throat.

"Tell me something else, please,” I say, lightly hitting his leg with the crutch Jane told me to use for another month.

“I asked her out,” He laughs like a small boy. “At first she seemed uncomfortable. They were all staring at us, but Merlin! She was beautiful. She always is. Then she agreed to go on a date with me! We went to the three broomsticks and I told her about my family and she finally told me about hers, everything improved when she felt comfortable around me…”

I smile at the sound of his voice, he looks genuinely happy.

“Then we went to the bookstore. I know, the only way I’d be there would be because Remus asked me to, but with her, everything seemed more interesting. She explained to me what some of the books were about. We kept talking, we ate sweets,” Little by little he was sliding on the couch all the way to the floor. “We got to the castle and I wasn't thinking of doing anything else, but she kissed me! To me, Persephone!” He reaches the ground, melting completely at his own words.

"So my advice worked."

He looks at me and nods.

“You’re dating, then?" I ask. He climbs back up to the couch.

“I haven't asked, but I'm waiting for the right moment. After the kiss, she was happy, but embarrassed, she didn't want to ruin anything. Maybe I'll take her to a nice place…”

"Or you’ll just blurt it out.”

"That makes more sense.”

We both laugh.

“Glad to see you like this, James. Truly. It seems like it was worth waiting so many years, right?"

"Maybe. If I hadn't been an idiot, we would have been together longer. If I had listened to you, but it doesn't matter anymore. Thank you, Persephone.”

"You're welcome, James."

“Now, I know that's a stupid question, but. You'll be okay?" His tone is serious now.

I shrug.

"I don’t have any other option.”

"But it's something you want, right?"

"It's complicated. I'm sick of just waiting for bad things to happen, for someone else to control me. I no longer have the family I thought I had, but I don't have control either. I'm afraid of not knowing what to do now, without someone telling me what’s next.”

“Complicated," He makes a face and I nod.

“Yes, but I try to hold onto what I have left. Apollo and Jane, Atlas has been a great help. You, Sirius, Jenna. I don’t know…”

"I have a theory.”

"I hear you.”

“You’re hurt, and maybe that also affects. Just think about it, you can't move without that crutch, you have a very ugly neck scar and your left arm is still broken. Maybe when you're fully healed, you'll feel better, you know, therapy, going out, sticking to a routine a bit. By the time graduation comes you’ll walk better.”

"Could work…”

"Persephone Amelia Singh!" Someone yells.

"Oh, Jenna already knows you're here,” James mentions.

“Hadn’t noticed,” I replied sarcastically.

***

“Thanks," I say when Lily grabs my backpack, we both walk towards our classrooms. She laughs and I look at her confused.

"A few years ago, you would have insulted me for even being in the same hallway as you.”

I feel my cheeks burn.

"You're not going to kick my crutch in revenge, are you?" She laughs again.

"No, calm down. The good thing is that now we’re friends.”

"It's strange. But I do not regret it.”

"Neither do I,” She stops and gently touches my arm. "I also wanted to thank you.”

"Why? I just arrived yesterday–”

"For helping James,” She says.

"Uh, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I know you helped him. I thought someone had done it and once I saw you alone talking. Don't worry, it's not a bad thing. I guess we both just needed a push. Now I feel like a fool, but I'm glad that everything is going well…”

"I really don't know what you're talking about, I don't talk to him that often,” I say. She laughs.

“Persephone…”

“Perhaps you're imagining things, Mrs. Potter,” I say with an innocent smile.

"Persephone!"

***

"Are you sure you're comfortable?"

I roll my eyes and smile.

"I'm sure. Don’t worry.”

“Okay."

Potions class continues, but I still feel Sirius's gaze.

"Now what?"

"You don't look comfortable.”

“Have my arm and leg bandaged will always bother until it heals, it's not like I'm in a perfect position to be comfortable Sirius. I'm fine, now pay attention…”

After a few minutes, not only does Sirius's gaze return, but now he's just playing with a lock of my hair. I let him pass, at least he's quiet.

"Professor Slughorn. I'll have to ask students Black and Singh for a moment,” says Professor McGonagall.

Slughorn nods and points at us. Sirius takes my backpack and helps me off the bench. We both leave the room, following the teacher.

"What is it, Professor?" Sirius asks.

“I'm afraid, young Black, this is not good news. But there’s someone in the principal's office looking for you."

"I-it's not someone from my family, is it?" I stutter.

“No, Miss Singh."

We got to the office. The Headmaster is at his desk talking to a woman.

"I'll leave you alone," says McGonagall.

Dumbledore finishes speaking and points to us. The woman gets up and sees us with a sweet smile. Her hair is black and short, she wears a black dress.

"Andy?" Sirius asks.

"Hello, cousin,” she answers and they both embrace.

I missed something, I'm sure, but at this point I just want to sit down. My leg is heavy and the silly stairs up here didn't help at all. I sit in the other chair near the desk. Sirius and the woman talk about things.

"How does it feel?" Dumbledore asks me, drawing my attention.

"I'm improving,” Then I remember something. "You and I have unfinished business.”

He smiles.

"Maybe for another time.”

"I just want to know how you knew…”

“I can't see the future if that’s what you were thinking. I knew that sooner or later something was going to happen, but I had no idea how serious it would be. Yet you are still here, healing,” He winks at me with amusement.

I still don't know what to think, it's quite suspicious, but I'm still in school, so I can't make a claim on him.

“She's my girlfriend, Persephone, I turn back and smile, shaking the woman's hand. "Percy, she's my favorite cousin, Andromeda.”

"It was about time that little Siri introduced me to a girlfriend!” I raise my eyebrows and look towards my boyfriend.

"Siri?"

He blushes.

"A silly nickname,” He complains looking at his cousin. We both laugh.

"Sorry I couldn't stand up, my leg was killing me," I say with a grimace.

"Oh, don't worry, honey. I understand,” She sits in the chair next to me.

"I think it's time to tell the news, dear," adds Dumbledore. Andromeda’s smile disappears.

“Yes,” She clears her throat. “After hearing all about your families, I knew it would be my duty to tell you if something happened. Guys, I'm so sorry. Alphard passed away last night.”

"What?"

Andromeda takes my hand.

"It's true, darling. I know this is horrible news…”

"B-but how?"

Alphard's tired face appears in my mind. Was he sick? Dumbledore and Andromeda share a look.

"The medical report says it was a cardiac arrest…”

"But you know these are dark times," continues Dumbledore. “And we suspects the old families. They both had reasons for not wanting Alphard on their way…”

“Is there a possibility that my family is in all of this? Do the aurors know? Someone must investigate it. We can't just leave him like this…” My hands are shaking.

“As Miss Tonks said. The report is done, I'm afraid we can't do anything. You know they’re very good at hiding anything that stains their reputation."

"Where is he buried?" Sirius says. I turn to see it. His face is pale and he seems about to throw up. "I don't think my mother buried him with the others."

“Ted agreed to put him together with his family. I hope you don't mind,” Andromeda answers.

Sirius shooks his head and looks down.

"He wouldn't have wanted to be with them anyway,” His voice breaks and his cousin stands up to hug him.

"Can we go to the funeral?" I ask the director with teary eyes.

“I'm afraid that's another risk, miss. If the assumptions are correct, they would be waiting for you both. You better not leave Hogwarts until they finish.”

"I'll take care of everything,” says Andromeda, separating from Sirius. “I promise you that Alphard's memory will be remembered. Many of his friends have written to me and asked about you.”

“Thanks, Andy.”

"Thank you…”

She smiles taking my hand and caresses Sirius's cheek with the other.

“He would be very proud of you. And above all, he would like you to remain close and safe.”

"In addition to giving you the news, we must speak of a small inheritance you have received from Alphard," says Dumbledore.

“Alphard knew that his life was in danger, so he hastened to leave some things to you,” continues Andromeda.

I nod wiping my tears. Andromeda sits Sirius in the chair and Dumbledore reads us the will. I don't even bother to ask why the Headmaster is responsible for giving us this. I only hear his distant voice.

In the end, Alphard left us the money that he had kept in his vault. Sirius got his house and some things he couldn't use until he’d graduated.

"This too," says the director, handing him a red velvet box. “Along with an indication. 'Use it when you're ready,’” He recites.

Sirius takes it, but he doesn't open it, just nods.

“And for Persephone Singh, this,” He hands me a long box of the same material. "Alphard indicated that this necklace once belonged to his late beloved, and he knows that it’ll be in good hands.”

He opened it, and I see a beautiful necklace of small green diamonds. It’s a very simple and elegant necklace. I smile wistfully.

Andromeda says goodbye, but not before agreeing to a small meeting with her husband and her six-year-old daughter. Sirius and I walked through the hallways of the school. He walks me to my common room. We stop at the entrance.

"I'm so sorry Sirius," I whisper. “I know that Alphard meant a lot to you. He was the only one who treated you like you were his son…” I close my eyes and feel some tears escape them.

I feel his arms surround me in a strong hug.

“He also treated you as his daughter. He loved us very much, Percy.”

We hugged each other for a few minutes, crying.

“Now more than ever we must go on, Percy. May Alphard's death not be in vain,” He says as we part. He takes my face and wipes some tears. "We are in this together, my love.”

I nod not knowing what to say. He kisses my forehead, and hugs me one last time. The first thing I do when I enter the Slytherin common room is look for Jenna and try to cope with the pain that will not go away so easily.

Thanks for everything, Alphard Black.

Taglist:

@treestarrrrrrrr @siriuslysirius1107 @thagreenmoon @madmaiden2890 @ren-ela @avipshamitra @auroraawrites @findzelda @lizlil @siriusmuch @chloe-geoghegan1 @reverse-hxlland @may-rapp @the-specific-oceans @eveft @secret-obsessions @theeicedamericano

@xkonpinkx @inkandpen22

@littledeadgirlwalking

@yunloyal

@bloodorangemoonlight

#Pure Blood #Sirius Black #Sirius Black x reader #Persephone Singh #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Regulus Black #Lily Evans #Harry Potter #Harry Potter fanfic #twoidiots writing

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