#( he feels it but he's become so numb because he's just experienced agonies so far beyond the norm --

[erabundus]

if  he's  in  the  mood  to  play  with  his  food,  scaramouche  has  a  tendency  to  just  let  the  other  party  get  free  hits  in  on  him  —  because  he  knows  his  regeneration  is  deeply unsettling  to  witness  and  he  enjoys  seeing  the  horror  dawn  on  their  faces  when  they realize  how  useless  their  efforts  to  hurt  him  truly  are.

[random-yandere-fandom]

How about yandere TC meliodas but a soulmate au where him and the s/o( Fairy and goddess hybrid who fights for stigma) both share a connection to each other, from sharing emotion, to having vision of where they may meet for the first time. This seem like a nice concept, I imagine meliodas is use to constantly feeling pain from training all the way to fighting the war only to have a s/o who is yet to meet him but is willing to send over positive emotion and feeling to make him feel better. Im sucker for this kinds of things.

Oh hell yes, I love soulmate aus! Which is why it got a bit longer than what I normally write (and took so long lol)

Yandere TC Meliodas with soulmate darling

For as long as you can remember there had been a second layer to your emotions that you couldn`t quite grasp, let alone influence. It was just barely there, almost unnoticeable.  Annoyance, nonchalance and a deep-rooted but hidden pain. After learning that those belonged to your soulmate, to the being your were destined to meet and love, you were baffled. Three emotions. A few feelings. Was that all they were capable of, or was that all they could allow themselves to? You mused that they felt your surprise and pity and hoped they wouldn`t connect the dots, they didn`t seem like the kind of person to appreciate such sentiments. Nonetheless you wanted to help. If they weren`t able to and didn`t have the opportunity to experience joy, wonder, excitement and a healthy amount of sadness and grief that one felt at ending a wonderful book with no continuation than you would have to do it for them. If they were hurt you could send them comfort and if they were bored you`d jump down a cliff if you must only to open your wings at the last second to send them a dose of mixed excitement and fear and laughter.

Meliodas had known of the concept of soulmates for as long as he could remember. Since then he had always been told that he wouldn`t need them, that demons barely needed their destined partner and only to allow any connection beyond the unavoidable should they be of the same race. He knew that something was wrong with that but in the end he didn`t care enough to do anything about that. So they felt what he did and at some point he`d know where you two would meet. Great. As long as they don`t get in his way and he can do what he must it`d be fine. 

He always knew that his range of sentiments were by far not the widest or the happiest but he would do. Meliodas had to. He had to be strong and cold and unfeeling. That did not seem to be the case for his soulmate, however. There were a mix of emotions constantly changing, most of them he hadn`t even experienced himself. They are a bother, he told himself and ignored it. He also ignored the twinge in his chest whenever they felt sad, ashamed or dispirited. Told himself that he was lucky that they weren`t sending feelings consciously, especially when he had to concentrate.

That changed. There was no warning, no prompting, nothing. Meliodas was about to go to sleep when they did it for the first time. They must have felt his exhaustion and either they thought he didn`t deserve to rest or wanted to spite him because the next thing he knew he felt adrenaline coursing through his veins and excitement erupting. Cursing he sat up, trying to calm his racing hearts and suppress that stuff. The emotions promptly calmed down and went into their normal, ignorable state though he could make out some guilt. For good measure he made his annoyance clear before flopping back down and closing his eyes. That didn`t stop a small and rather short lived smile from surfacing.

Was it your best idea? No. Did you think about what you were doing? No. You had felt your soulmate`s fatigue and seeing as it was the afternoon and they didn`t normally feel like that at this certain time you had assumed that they needed a bit of energy. Luckily, you had been sitting on a rather high branch and before you could think it through you had thrown yourself of from it. Upon their rejection though you had quickly stopped your little stunt and the idea that they had wanted to sleep crossed your mind. Ups. This had been the first time you had enforced an emotion and it had gone wrong. Hoping that their first impression of you could still be fixed you laid low for a bit. 

The next opportunity presented itself when you had discovered a beautiful small pond in the forest. It was surrounded by rich plant live and some ducks were swimming on it, the sunshine reflected and sparkled on the water’s surface. Deciding that now would be a good opportunity you checked on their emotions. There was no apparent change from normal so it should be fine. Carefully and a lot slower this time you let your admiration seep through to them and being encouraged by the response, which was nothing, you strengthened it, letting yourself enjoy the coolness of the water as you dipped your feet in. Sitting there you shared this feeling, the contrast of the warm light and the refreshing cold, the calmness of the forest, far away from the others and the silence only being broke by the wind and birds in the sky. With all the work you had been doing and the tense atmosphere of your partner the relaxation was welcomed with open arms. 

After this first successful interaction you continued, first about once a week and then once a day and soon simply whenever you felt like it. You were a bit disappointed that your soulmate never openly reacted but you had noticed that their feelings had calmed down and that was enough to keep you going. Having long ago realised that they were fighting in the same war, the suspicion and caution mixed with the occasional numbness, you assumed that they numbed their feelings in hopes of suppressing regret, you sent as much comfort as you could. It was gut wrenching whenever you noticed the impassivity but you did your best to help.

Meliodas grew used to it, over time. He even grew to like it, not that he`d ever admit it. Sensing your enforced emotions brought him joy and comfort, knowing that there was someone out there who cared. He sometimes felt guilty about not replying but what did he have to share? So he let the one sided communication continue. 

You always made sure to only strengthen positive emotions or small harmless sadness, just to let them know what you were feeling. This time however you feared that you had made a mistake. You were patrolling and you were careless. It was close to enemy territory but there hadn`t been an incident here and there was this beautiful flower in full bloom and you simply had to send your amazement. Doing just that you hovered over the flower, it`s sweet smell calming your mind. The next thing you knew was a sharp pain in your side as you moved away, away from whatever had slashed you. 

It was a small demon and you were quickly able to take care of it before healing your wound. Before you could investigate if there were any others you felt their worry. It was overwhelming. For the first time they openly enforced their feelings and it was intense enough that you couldn`t breathe for a moment. You noticed some anger interlaced, too, directed at what had harmed you, you noted. Quickly sending them your calmed frame of mind you searched for any other attackers and upon finding none you returned to report to one of the other goddesses.

Meliodas had been walking down a lonely hallway when you noticed the flower. Humming in acknowledgement he opened the door to his room and froze. Instead of admiration you seemed to be in pain. What had happened? Were you okay? His mind raced as he allowed himself to worry and let that worry reach you. The seconds were he felt your pain, surprise, resignation and caution were agony. After he was assured you were fine he sighed in relief. 

After the second time the demon decided that he should contact you more. After his initial worry had subsided he had become anxious. Not only could you be harmed at any time, he had no way of helping you, not without knowing who or where you were. He realised he didn`t know much of you. Was there someone who liked you beside him, someone you liked? He hoped not. You were his. You two were fated to be, no matter how stupid that sounded. However he had no real way of checking, so interacting with you like this had to be enough for now. He also grew more attentive of your passive emotions, not letting a single feeling pass his attention.

It is a well known fact that before you meet your destined other, you envision the place you will first meet. You had been waiting for that day for ages, knowing that soon after you`d finally meet them, your soulmate. They had been so much more communicative and their joy caused by interactions grew day by day. So when you opened your eyes in a supposedly dream and felt closer to them than ever before you knew that your encounter was drawing near.

The first thing you noticed were your surroundings which resembled a patch of woods just on the border to demon territory. It was cold and clouds hung deep over the sky, it was eerily silent. Not the most romantic, you decided, but whatever. Taking a closer look you noticed a figure approaching from the woods, across from you and the border. It was more of a shadow than anything, you could make out the rather small height but any other details didn`t quite seem to be comprehensive or noticeable. So this was them. You smiled, though you could guess that they wouldn`t see that with how they most likely perceived you in a similar way that you could view them. No words were spoken as you stood only meters apart, time seemingly frozen as all you could do was hope that you could stay like this for longer. Neither they nor you moved, fearing that otherwise the bubble would burst and the glass would shatter and you would wake up, more lonely than ever now that you were apart again. You couldn`t speak, somehow knowing that sounds would not travel far here, but you didn`t need to do that, as all you needed was your connection and bond as soulmates. Warmth, affection and joy swirled between you both and almost felt tangible, as if all you needed to do was reach out to drown in these emotions. 

When Meliodas found himself in a dream more realistic than any other he wondered what had happened. He wandered a bit before recognising the forest to be the one crossing the border that Stigma established and vehemently defended. Feeling a presence he followed the strange pull, coming across the figure hidden in shadows with wings that couldn`t have been a fairy`s or a goddess`s. Something else or something in between? He didn`t care. All that mattered was the sense of recognition. It was you. His partner. His destined other. His soulmate. His.

Only after waking up did he realise where exactly you both would meet. The verge on which enemies would meet to battle. Where blood was spilled in the constantly ongoing war. The perimeter seemed in tact though, so you at least wouldn`t meet directly on a battlefield. One thing he did know now, however. You stood on opposing sides, Demons against Stigma, darkness against light, him versus you. How cruel to put you so far away from him, Meliodas mused. But if he had to he knew who to betray and who to stay loyal to. 

You spend the next days searching for the exact place you two would meet, ignoring the suspicious stares and whispers about, oh, look, the hybrid is slacking of, no wonder. You wondered how they`d react to your soulmate who was undeniably on the opposite force of the conflict. You supposed one of you would have to switch sides and if you couldn`t convince them than you would have to do so. Though with how they ended up emotionally before you interacted you hoped they would agree with you. Even if the others were against it, the higher ups respected your hard work and if that didn`t work you`d ask Elizabeth, who always seemed hesitant about the war and disliked judging others no matter who they were, for help. 

Either way, you thought, being prepared wouldn`t hurt. After finally finding the place you hid a small bag full of important belongings and necessities in the trunk of the hollow tree along with a small gift you hoped your soulmate would appreciate. Following the thickening of your bond you had started to feel other and smaller sensations of them and while you were quite distressed with how often they seemed to fight, you couldn`t deny the feeling of joy when you drank a wine and instantly knew that they liked it, having had a faint taste of it. Hoping that this time you could enjoy it together you made sure the bottle was secure before heading of again.

Every time the weather was like the one in your vision, your and their hope grew and while you reached the place in no time, having memorised the way, they still hadn’t found it. Meliodas wished to fly over the forest but he had seen himself walking and knew that was the only way to get to you. So he wandered around, over and over and when he finally recognised a turn he followed the path eagerly. It took a bit to notice your presence, it being hidden seeing as anything else would be suicide so close to a hostile region. He rushed through the trees, his and yours excitement mixing and growing as you waited, peering through the woods in hopes of catching a glimpse, the first glimpse of the person you had grown to love.

The wind, his hearts and time itself stopped as he came to a halt in front of you. Your eyes were the first things he noticed, shining with a light that warmed him, overflowing with affection. You stared just as much, his black eyes turning into a beautiful shade of green as he lowered himself to the ground, his black wings disappearing from sight. You did the same, letting your feet touch the earth below you before moving one in front of the other. The grin on your face widened as he did the same and before you knew it he wrapped his arms around you.

“Hello“, you whispered. All former thoughts and ideas on your first words spoken to him seeming too far away to speak now, all you could do was great him. He was so warm, his arms protectively shielding you away from a world that was to cruel to a wonderful being like you, he decided, as he responded in the same manner. His hearts were finally beating again and were much faster now.  

“My name is Meliodas“, he added, chin comfortably resting on your shoulders, eyes closed and melting into your embrace. It felt so right to finally have you. You fitted perfectly into his grasp, his eyes fluttering open and a smile tugging on his lips as he heard your name. You were finally here, with him. Meliodas knew in this moment he could never let you go. He would follow you wherever you wanted to and destroy anyone that dared and try harm you, no matter the consequences, as long as he could be with you, the one who cared and comforted him, the one that was made for him and the one he was made for, his soulmate.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 24: Prinxiety

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 24: When you meet your soulmate for the first time, you get a brief flash-forward of your future.

Content warnings: character getting stabbed, blood, mugging, violence, storm mention, near death experience but he doesn’t die okay I couldn’t do that. 

While replaying SVS in my head at work, the line “I think he’s suggesting we beat someone up and rob their unconscious body” came up. Then little old me thought, yeah, that, but make it angsty. 

Word count: 3.3k

Roman hadn’t been knocked down by the first hit. It had stunned him, sure, but when faced with a fight or flight response, his instinct was to hit back, and hit hard. So even with his eyes throbbing in his skull and a drop of blood trailing down his neck, he spun around to the attacker and swung, elbow cracking neatly against his nose. 

The man was surprised, and for a second Roman thought he had the advantage. Until, that is, he recalled that a surprised person is a dangerous one. By that point, it was too late though, and his hands were already fumbling at the knife sticking out of his stomach. Why couldn’t he just have gone down easily?

The attacker must have pushed him farther into the alley he had sprung from, was Roman’s only thought, as he lay deadly still on the dirty New York concrete, his only sensation being the sickly warm pool of blood spreading out under him. It soaked through his shirt, an uncomfortable feeling that definitely shouldn’t be the worst thing about this situation, but he’d gone numb. He knew distantly that that was a bad thing, that the pain had started fading until it was as dim as the world around him had become, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was dying. And that really should have alarmed him more. It was so peaceful, though, the way the streetlights blurred and shifted, the steady thrum of bass from a nearby building, his own shallow breathing.

As it was shown in every story, in all the movies, he kept waiting for his life to flash before his eyes. There were things he’d gladly see one more time; annoyed tiffs with his brother, building their treehouse, his mom planting a big kiss on his cheek on his first day of senior year. His college drama group, and their stupid shenanigans. Late night rehearsals at his first signed theatre company. Strangely, the closer he got to complete silence, the more annoyed he was that he couldn’t see it all one last time. Is that really so much to ask?

And then, all of the sudden, it was there. It was like settling into your seat in the movie theatre just as it began, reclining in a big chair and just watching it go by. However, his addled mind took far too long to realize this wasn’t in fact, his life. Or, anything he’d lived so far, that is. 

He saw a man standing before him, just barely shorter than him, with a reluctant grin on his face and a blush rising in his cheeks. The guy wasn’t anyone he knew, though; he’d remember such a gorgeous face. Their hands were softly intertwined as they stood on the roof of a building, outlined by the stars and a distant flickering of a candle. Then the scene changed. 

...

The man was sitting on the floor, hunched into the corner of a bedroom that Roman didn’t recognize. Like in a dream, he had no control over his actions as he lunged forward, dropping to his knees in front of his shaking form. He asked something, the exact words contorting in his brain until they were unintelligible mumbles, and the man nodded. In experienced movements, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, running a hand through his hair and reminding him to breathe, that he’s okay. He felt a sense of protectiveness he hadn’t felt in a long time, pulling the curled up figure onto his lap until his breathing returned to normal. 

...

He was on the stage, a pretty typical place for him to be, but tonight it was different. The butterflies were absolutely nuts in his stomach, and he kept scanning the audience directly after songs, in those brief seconds of pure raging applause where he could just admire the crowd. Finally, he spotted what he was looking for; a lone person sitting near the front, grinning at him like he was a puppy and it was Christmas morning. The single expression on his face was one of pure admiration, and it somehow made the butterflies both completely dissolve and increase tenfold. 

...

Now they were in a park, walking side by side. His focus was carefully set on the path before them, focus switching between the gorgeous red leaves in the trees and the winding path. He recognized the park vaguely, as if he’d been there many times, and was mentally mapping out the best trail for them to go to. He wanted them to stop at the turtle pond, he knew that much. There was a pull on Roman’s arm and he looked down, heart melting at the wide grin the young girl between them was flashing. They were both holding one of her hands for balance as she toddled along, and apparently she’d tugged on both their hands, because they were both looking at her now.

“Swing me!” She giggled, using their support to keep her from falling as she lifted her feet off the ground, hopping in her best impression of a kangaroo. And how could they say no to that (they couldn’t), so they gave into her wishes, tightening their grips and counting down. On one, they both swung her forward and she exploded into shrieking laughter, not stopping until her feet were firmly on the ground once more.

“Again, again!”

...

She was older now, probably just starting school. They were in the same park as before, not that Roman could see much of it from his intense focus on the little girl, but he just knew. Her tongue was stuck out in concentration as she readjusted her elbow pads and helmet before they were perfect, and he gently held the back of her shirt as she shuffled her feet onto the pedals of the small bike. They lapped around the playground twice as she grew more confident, pedaling by herself, before Roman let go and she took off by herself.

“Dad, Papa, look! Look!” 

They both laughed quietly as she continued to shout in joy, riding her bike for the first time. The other man laid his head in Roman’s shoulder, and he felt as though his heart would burst.

...

Dropping her off at college was the hardest thing the two of them had ever done. Unlike every annoyed college student stereotype, she hugged them tightly and tried not to cry, promising to call every day. Roman didn’t even pretend to try and stop the tears that trailed down his cheeks as the other man drove them back home, rubbing his hand soothingly. 

“She’ll be okay.”

He couldn’t make out his own response, but he didn’t have to to know that it was positive. The man smiled lightly, pressing his hand to his lips and kissing it softly. 

...

It was early Sunday morning cuddles and three AM cookie batches. It was falling asleep on the couch after cliche rom coms wrapped in fuzzy blankets and pressed together like they couldn’t get enough of each other. It was electrifying first kisses and dreamy first dates and terrifying proposals and never ending bickering, but it always ended in giggling fits and kisses where they couldn’t stop smiling. It was holding the other as a storm raged outside, the thunder making him shake, and it was spontaneous lunch dates with their daughter. It was everything Roman wanted.

...

And everything he’d never have. 

As the visions faded, the world seemed just a tad clearer, and all the harsher. The knife in his stomach began to burn, white hot pain, as bad as when he’d first been stabbed. Every bone in his body screamed in agony, now the blood under him cooling and causing chills to spread through him. To his left, where the entrance to the alley was, there was some shuffling and a bright light burned through his eyelids, nearly making him flinch. He didn’t quite have the energy for that, though.

“Holy shit!”

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

Not often did Virgil walk downtown after it was dark, but when he did, he followed his own set of rules to a tee. Head down, peripheral vision on high alert, keys clutched between his fingers in his pocket. New York was hell after the sun went down, and today he had no choice but to walk the rarely trodden backroads to get home. The continuous shivers up his spine made his breath hitch, but his anxiety had gotten to the point where he couldn’t tell if it was an actual sixth sense warning or his brain deciding to panic out of sheer boredom. 

As he did when walking past every even subtly suspicious dark alley, he kept his head down but searched the abyss with his eyes, ever vigilant for oncoming attackers. He’d envisioned every possible bad scenario, every mugging and kidnapping possibility down to the minute details. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the sudden barrage of unrelated images that flooded across his vision, like a chopped up movie that he had no control over. 

He was looking up at a guy, maybe the handsomest he’d ever seen. His auburn hair glinted in the light of the candles set around the edge of the building, a nervous smile on his face as he showed the amazing view to him. It was beautiful, Virgil would admit, but he felt more at home in the man’s arms, more dazzled than anything the world could show him.

...

The cold grip of a panic attack was something Virgil was all too familiar with, and in his mind’s eye he could almost feel the tightness of his chest, the adrenaline pumping through him, the dizziness that every shuddered intake of breath caused. A voice called for him, somewhere else in the house, but he was unable to answer, pressing himself further into the wall to try and ground himself on something solid. 

There was a thud and rapid footsteps, but instead of pulling away as he expected himself to do, he felt drawn to it. An almost tearfully gentle voice asked if he could be touched right now and he nodded immediately, wanting nothing more than to not feel alone as he was collapsing in on himself. He was lifted into someone’s arms and he felt instinctively that it was the same man from the first vision, cradling him and hushing him softly. A hand carded through his hair and the panic receded bit by bit, leaving him feeling absolutely exhausted but just as safe. 

...

There was a stage before him, a grand thing with an even grander set. He was caged in by people on all sides, a fact that would usually cause those little ribbons of panic to start blooming in his chest, but he was so focussed on the actors that he didn’t have the energy. One in particular stood out to him, the lead character of the show, belting out perfect melodies with pitch perfect notes and taking on his character with no flaws. After a song, when he was taking a breather during the applause and scanning the audience, their eyes locked, and his character smile turned into one of real elation. And Virgil knew, he just knew, that this was a smile only he was privy to. 

...

There was a girl tugging at their hands. Virgil didn’t know her name, but he knew that he knew her, if only by the way his eyes never left her. He was protective of her, watching her every clumsy little step so she didn’t fall, with the man on her other side looking ahead, choosing their paths and watching for bikers. It was like a little unspoken agreement they had, and his skyrocketing anxiety appreciated that. She caught his watchful eye with a gap toothed smile, expression suddenly alight with a smile. The other man looked down to her as she tugged on his arm.  

“Swing me!”  

So they did. 

...

He hated this, but he knew deep down, if they didn’t teach her to ride her bike now, she’d never learn. She’d already been complaining that all her friends were riding bikes already. Even still, he’d refused to be the one to teach her, not wanting to be responsible for any scratched knees or broken arms or cracked skulls or-

He was gnawing on his fingernails as she fixed her helmet and elbow pads, drawing blood in his cuticle when she finally started moving. It was more of a restrained wobble, what with the man holding her steady, but to his equal horror and excitement, she got the hang of it quickly. It was barely two laps of the playground before she broke free of his grip, with an exuberant shout. 

“Dad, Papa, look! Look!”

The man stood next to him proudly, panting slightly from the run, and Virgil smiled, resting his head on the other’s shoulder as they watched their daughter. His anxiety immediately lessened as he placed a tender kiss on Virgil’s head.

...

She grew up far too quick for either of their likings; it seemed only yesterday that they were taking their baby girl home for the first time, when in fact they were now pulling up to her first college dorm. While he was generally the anxious one of the family, his partner was definitely the dramatic one. Not in a bad way (most of the time), but it was enough to know that Virgil would definitely need to be the strong one today. It wouldn’t help anyone if all three of them broke down. He offered to drive, since the other man was too tear clogged to even see the road.

He reached over and took his hand as they pulled out of the campus, letting his thumb rub over the knuckles.

“She’ll be okay.”

“I know. She has us as parents, duh. I just... miss her already.”

Virgil smiled, still keeping his stoic face on. He’d cry later. For now, in a move that was very much the other’s specialty, not his, he lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed them. 

...

It was never ending hugs after hard days and midnight dance parties to old songs. It was learning new recipes in the kitchen and settling for take out when it all inevitably went downhill, and holding hands while brushing their teeth like they couldn’t get enough of each other. It was terrifying first kisses and nerve-wracking first dates and unforgettable proposals and never ending bickering, but it always ended in giggling fits and kisses where they couldn’t stop smiling. It was clutching onto the other as a storm raged outside, every lightning flash bringing new rounds of choked sobs (it was still scary, but for the first time in his life, he wasn’t alone), and it was dress shopping with their daughter for her first dance. It was everything Virgil wanted.

...

Everything he’d never thought he’d have. 

He blinked rapidly, his chest tightening. From all the stories he’d heard, that was definitely a soulmate vision. Meaning, he’d just seen his soulmate for the first time, but he hadn’t seen anyone. 

Had he? 

Squinting in the inky darkness, he peered down the alley he was passing. There was a lump on the ground, which could be a person, but could just as easily be a garbage bag. He very much hoped it was not a person, despite what that would mean for his confusing visions. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, turning on the flashlight setting, and shone it towards the alley.

“Holy shit!” He yelped before he could stop himself, sprinting forward like his soulmate had in the vision and dropping to his knees, ignoring the way the man’s blood soaked through the legs of his jeans. “Holy shit. Holy shit. Oh god. Are you awake? Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”

The man was still for a moment, unmoving, before he let out a low groan. His hand twitched by his side and Virgil immediately took it, social anxiety be damned. It was cold.

“Keep… I don’t know, keep breathing, okay? I’m gonna call an ambulance, just hang on. Don’t die, dude, I’m serious.” The two rings it took for the emergency operator to pick up the phone were the most tense seconds of Virgil’s life, and he almost started crying when a voice spoke from the other line.

“I need an ambulance,” He choked out, describing their location as best he could. The operator kept speaking to him, drilling in him to not touch the knife and to apply pressure around it, asking question after question, but her all-too-calm voice was too much for Virgil and he hung up. She'd already assured that an ambulance was coming, anyways. 

With shaking hands, he turned the flashlight back towards the man on the ground, apologizing when he squeezed his eyes tight at the light. His eyes were both swollen, an abundance of black and blue bruises bleeding down to his lips. He was wearing too much, and was too still, to tell if anything else was hurt on him (aside from the jarring knife, which Virgil was trying hard not to look at). Whether he was shaking from fear or pain, Virgil couldn’t identify. He apologized again, placing his phone on the ground and pushed in around the wound, trying to apply pressure without causing more damage.

His repeated apologies were unable to actually prevent any pain, though, and the moment he made significant contact, the man hissed loudly, eyes shooting wide open. 

“I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry. Please don’t move,” Virgil stammered, shocked when the man actually gave a weak, blood stained smile.

“Don’ think... I could ‘f I... w’nted to,” He breathed, words slurring and breath stuttering. The rise and fall of his chest was so shallow, Virgil doubted he was getting any air at all.

“Don’t die, okay dude? It’s gonna look real bad on me if they get here and you’re dead,” Virgil blurted, letting the tiniest smidge of sarcasm into his voice. To his surprise, the man actually gave a small snort.

“Wouldn’t... w’nt you to look... guilty.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Virgil smiled shakily, adjusting his fingers lightly around the knife, wincing at the hiss of pain it elicited. “Sorry. What’s your name?”

“Roman,” He whispered as his eyelids began to flutter, eyes losing their brief focus.

“Hey, no no no. Look at me, Roman. My name’s Virgil.”

“V’rgil… Like that name.” Even through his increasing haziness, he was doing his best to listen to the instructions from the other man. Blinking rapidly, he tried to study the blurry face of the man above him. He could just make out his dark hair and eyes, and a faint purple shimmer across his lids. The other details were just a tan blob.

“Yeah, you’re probably the first. My mom thought it was unique, or whatever.”

“I like it.”

“I’m glad.”

“Can you stay with me?” Roman croaked, gaze flitting between the few features of the other’s face that he could see. “I don’t want to die alone.”

“You’re not going to die!” Virgil said vehemently, though his heart broke at the request. Did this guy really think he would just leave him as he was? “You can’t.”

“I’m scared,” Roman whispered, and in the dim light of the street lamps, Virgil could see the glossy tears filling his swollen eyes. 

“I know you are. I am, too. But I’m not leaving, okay? I’m staying here; I’m not leaving you alone. Stay awake for me, okay?” Virgil got a tiny nod in affirmation in response, and he shifted his hands again so he was pressing around the knife with only one. The other one was sticky with blood, but that wasn’t important, as he reached down and took Roman’s hand in his own. 

Roman kept his promise, as difficult as it was, and kept his eyes open and focused on Virgil until a flurry of sirens and flashing lights lit up the alley. 

[kimkims-world]

when he suddenly likes you back

you had a crush on taehyung.

you don't know what happened, what triggered it but you were 100% sure you are head over heels for this man.

you thought you kept it low, not being so obvious. you would only steal some glances, and acting shy and nervous with all that stuttering stuff. you didn't make yourself shy though, you were actually shy when kim taehyung decides to grace his presence.

i mean, who wouldn't?

to you, he's like this sweet human being that brings happiness to your world and gave colors to your blank canvas. you like him THAT much.

until one day taehyung texted you to meet up and your whole world turned dark.

turns out he knew about the little feelings of yours towards him. he said you were like an open book, too easy to read.

you still remembered what he said that day.

"that's sweet of you and i appreciate it. really, i do. but i couldn't return your feelings, we can still be friends? i mean, if you want to. i hope this won't hurt you."

well, it hurts A LOT.

you never even wanted to confess in the first place because you were scared of rejection. rather than being dissapointed in taehyung, you were quite angry at yourself for being too obvious.

it gave an impact to you of course.

there were countless of days you wasted your tears to the point you just couldn't cry anymore, sleepless nights thinking that maybe you weren't good enough, and the numb ache in your chest that doesn't seem to go away.

you stopped talking to taehyung at campus because he will look at you with apologetic eyes that you surely do not need. so you decided to hang more with your group of friends and try to shake him off your head or maybe busy yourself with some work.

you didn't want to be stuck on him forever. you were sane enough to think that there are other guys like him, or maybe better. it was the only thing that tied yourself together and finally you got over him.

after all the struggles, all the pain, you've made it.

yes, you see him quite often especially when you share every classes together. but the way you see him is different now, he just looks like a guy. not the light to your world, not the colors to your canvas, not anymore.

it's just taehyung.

and you can proudly say you have succeeded on loving yourself. though not fully, you can say it was a progress that you worked hard for. all those nights drowning in self-hate for not being enough for your crush pains you so you were determined to make you feel better about yourself.

you found new hobbies that you enjoyed a lot and found comfort on pampering yourself. you finally realize that you did not need a guy to feel whole, all you need is yourself.

you are undeniably happy.

you and taehyung didnt have that tension anymore so both of you hung out again. you both hung out very often, more than when you had a crush on him.

this time taehyung and you were walking back from hanging at a cafe on a snowy day. the road was covered with beautiful white and the fluffy snowflakes kissed the ground. you love snow.

you didn't notice taehyung slowing his pace until you let out an 'oof' when something hit you from behind.

you whipped your head and caught taehyung balling some snow in his hands.

"oh it's on." you took some snow near you and quickly bunch it up in your hands before launching it at taehyung.

taehyung managed to hit you again and both of you now are laughing like crazy, ignoring the people that passed by giving a disapproving look.

"okay stop!" you panted, clearly tired after the intense war you just experienced.

your attention averted to the falling snowflakes. you put both of your hands out, wanting to catch a snowflake. you giggled ecstaticly when one landed on your palm, a wide smile appeared on your face before you glance at taehyung who was oddly quiet.

"taehyung i caught a snowflake!" you squealed happily.

taehyung stayed quiet as a small smile was visible. he looked bewitched for some reason. his eyes delicately scanned your glowing face.

he wordlessly pulled both of your wrists after the snowflake melted by the warmth of your palms that was covered with mittens.

you blinked, completely caught off guard by the sudden action.

"is everything okay?" you asked. worried that something might be wrong because taehyung is being too quiet.

"y/n," his low voice send shivers down your spine as he stares at you with his hazelnut warm orbs.

"hmm?" you answered, eyes widening to urge him to continue.

"i like you." he said breathily, his warm breath brushing your face softly.

this time your eyes got two times bigger if that is even possible. your head spinning after you heard what he said. how dare he?

anger bubbles in you as you stare at his annoyingly perfect face. why is he so careless? just why?

you yanked your wrists away and taehyung clearly didn't see that coming.

"taehyung, what is wrong with you?" your brows furrowed as you look at the boy. "you can't just waltz in whenever you want to. am i some kind of joke to you?"

"of course not—"

"then why now?" you looked at his as your visions became blurry.

you were angry, sad, disappointed, confused. just when you finally feel better and got out from the pit of darkness that almost ate you alive making yourself suffer. that days were enough to slap you out of reality and opening up to new things.

and when you are already at the top and finally satisfied with where you are now, he decides to bring the past back?

"you've said it yourself taehyung."

"i know what i said!"

"then why are you doing this!?" your heart squeezed as you feel hot tears running down your cheeks. the mixes of feelings whoosh to you like a hurricane. "don't you know how much that hurted me? how much pain i went through and how much struggle i needed to bear to be here?"

taehyung's expression was depressing, he didn't want to see you cry but deep down he knew that what he did was wrong. it was careless of him to reject your feelings but he has his own reasons on why he did it.

someone threatened him that if he didn't cut ties with you, your life will be put at stake. the person was arrested a few months ago so that's why taehyung approached you again to start over.

he saw everything.

from when you were looking so depressed and emotionless, the colors drained from your bright face to the slow progress of healing and picking yourself up to stand tall and strong. he was absolutely proud of you for being able to trudge through everything and overcoming the depths of despair.

"i know." taehyung's voice was so weak, it sounds pathetic to his ears as his head hung low and eyes not worthy to stare at yours that are glowing like a blazing fire, the strength from within you twice bigger and more fierce.

the pain made you independent and powerful.

"you don't. you don't know taehyung! you don't know the days i need to put up a facade in front of you every goddamn time, you don't know how tiring it was getting through the day and crying alone without no one beside me, you don't know the sleepless nights i went through thinking i wasn't enough, you have no idea how hard it is to be able to let you go—"

you were suddenly pulled into his chest. his scent waft over your nose which makes your tears flow out like a broken dam. you clenched his coat in your fists, screams muffled because of your face pressed against his chest, and body shaking because of the immense pain and also the coldness that suddenly felt unbearable to you.

you hit his chest, taehyung being unable to stop you because he knew he deserve it. he deserve every hit you throw at him.

"those times were my worst nightmare." you whimpered.

taehyung's heart ached as he heard your trembling voice clearly in pain. the guilt that was in him becoming bigger as you try to quiet your sobs. you were the same before he broke your heart but different at the same time.

the old y/n won't try to disguise her agony, where the y/n now tries to stop her tears and act tough.

"i'm sorry y/n, i don't deserve you." taehyung sighed as he caress your hair emotionally.

"i'm not blaming you taehyung," you hiccuped as you wiped away the tears. "feelings can be so random and maybe just maybe, we can find each other in the right time."

taehyung bit his lip as he stare at the woman who has grown so much. technically, it was all his doing but the choice of staying strong and refusing to collapse is yours. you learn from the heartbreak and being able to build a better you.

what you said may be right, because maybe you both were at the wrong timing. the universe was having fun playing with you but now it is going to give you the perfect chance. who knows?

"alright, i hope to see you soon y/n." taehyung nodded to you while staring deeply into your eyes, never wanting this separation.

"me too."

4 years later

you were so excited as you got ready for a college reunion after a few years of graduating. though you kept in touch with some of your friends, the thought of meeting other familiar faces made you feel giddy.

you went out of your apartment and took your car to drive there. the distance was not that far but is still enough to take some time but you finally arrived at the bar. you heard that it was owned by one of your college friends.

you entered the bar and saw a lot of people greeting you. you squealed as you see some faces that you know too well and gave them the biggest bear hug.

you manage to slowly walk further into the pact bar and whem glance at s certain table, someone was already giving you the warmest smile.

the smile that succesfully sweep you off your feet and helplessly make you fall deeper.

"long time no see, tae." you smiled as the guy stood up and approached you.

"you too, y/n."

and you swore you felt your heart skip a beat.

[a-lil-perspective]

Hunter x Reader

A/N: What nobody asked for. I didn’t think a title would be appropriate for this particular piece of work. It really doesn’t coincide with any Star Wars themes, save for everybody’s favorite Sergeant making his debut within. It’s more of a Lil perspective. (Lol I’m sorry my last two brain cells have no sense of humor) For context: I have been absolutely suffocating lately, in every sense of the word. It’s almost indescribably oppressive, so I wrote this in desperately seeking comfort and therapy. Just a fragmented depiction, addresses underlying mental health issues and sensory disorders—in carrying my own subtle semblance of it, I love exploring those complexities with Hunter. It turns out soft. I think. Also, if you squint hard enough, you will see some song lyrics scattered throughout the fic in the form of thoughts. I wrote this in the format of Reader, though it’s practically a self-insert, I’m just not brave enough for those particular pronouns. :) Sorry in advance if this doesn’t apply to you...

▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️

Isn’t anyone trying to find me... Won’t somebody come take me home...

The silence was prodding. Hunter’s gaze darted to your tense form numerous times over the span of several painfully long, anticipating minutes. Each time, your lips remained pulled into a tight line while your extremities fidgeted in repetition. Agitation hung thick in the air. A terse statement of Y/N’s mystics echoed off the walls, to no-one in particular.

“I think... I’ve been gone for a long time.”

Hunter’s eyes incredulously searched you. “What do you mean?”

You see me standing, but I’m dying on the floor...

Your fists reflexively clench in grabbing at any semblance of weight to prevent your form from being dragged down into the mental abyss. You could feel it’s foreboding pull. It’s impending chaos.

It’s coming.

“Talk to me, Y/N...”

Your grip slackens, and you slip right over the edge. Hunter is too late to grab you.

I only want to die alive...

Your broken, unbridled guttural cries in response to the months of overwhelming emotional suppression caused Hunter to wince, and his own sensory receptors gain enough momentum to inwardly complain. He instinctively stuffs it down before kicking into action.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m here—”

Electric. The touch. His touch. It pricked, and the very fine hairs adorning the skin along your arms instantly retaliated to the calloused padding of Hunter’s fingertips caressing. It exacerbated your state of distress and just like that, your neurons overloaded. Sharp, stale air seeped in between your grit teeth and inhalation of insecurity.

Your sudden intake of breath and harsh flinch caused Hunter to cease in brushing up and down the outer region of your upper arms. His eyes narrowed slightly and quickly picked apart your stance. It greeted him like an old adversary with the remnants of a longstanding history, and a discomfiture swirled around Hunter at it’s painful familiarity.

“I can’t do this...” You breathe out despair.

The existing in general? The physical connection itself?

The latter wasn’t your fault. But it sure as hell felt like it. It certainly wasn’t his fault. Thankfully, somehow, the glint in Hunter’s shifting irises reassured you that he was privy to your suffering, to some degree; he knew. He understood.

Of course he did.

For who to better understand heightened tactile sensitivity than Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99? He was neither confounded nor dissuaded by your particularity in the slightest.

It had always been an inherence of yours; a rather obnoxious caricature within the conundrum, some obscure accessory buried in your already heavily packed bags. An extra ingredient that completely screwed up the recipe. Constituted as awkward, plain and simple; the dramatized detail never became easier to address with age, and the thick lump of disdain in your throat only grew.

You set your jaw in frustration. How to even begin picking up and putting together the pieces of a person who’s constantly missing one, or several. You were never satiated, equanimity never extended it’s stay for long; simply just renting. There was always something, someone, leaving a smoking hole in your chest, forcing every euphoric guest out.

I seek to cure what’s deep inside... frightened of this thing that I’ve become...

Your features twisted in agony and discomfort that accompanied the stoked episodes. It made you bitter. It threw you to the streets and dubbed you a martyr before satirically exposing, taunting at the misfortune of your dealt deck of cards. It was downright embarrassing, obtruding. Trepidations instantaneously trampled your meager, sensory overloaded form each and every time. Your bitter, corrosive laugh was all the evidence in that moment; a feeble reminder of your hypocrisy.

Because how, pray tell, does one’s physicality simultaneously experience both a revulsion for tactility and desperate craving for touch itself? You never understood exactly the way the two collided and contradicted themselves. Your teeth clamped your tongue in quelling the deprivation and plea for more rising in your throat, while your neurons worked to whisk your form as far away from the man as possible—away to the repetition of obsolete emptiness and desolation awaiting to greet you. As always.

“Let me help, cyare.” Begging... the man was hurting for you.

Don’t want to say yes, don’t want to say no...

Your mind ached. You can’t stop the pendulum in your head. Forced to look through a kaleidoscope of melancholy. Pleas echoed in a cavernous empty shell, but fell on deaf ears. Tears cancelled their appointment, and the well currently ran dry. There was... nothingness. And you fought the growing complaisance with the notion. Numbness was terrifying, and being terrified was numbing. You didn’t do well with attitudinal changes, seeking restitution more than ever while you wholly acknowledged the aspect of a ginger touch; the literal power within one’s fingertips to effectively mitigate your suffering. An opportune moment standing before you, his brows furrowed in sympathy and the corner of his lips angled in assuring you of his patience.

But the sharp pang and quick successions of staccato rhythm reverberated deep in your chest and only exaggerated your pain. Curse your heavy heart. A huff of breath incited subtle movement in the loose strands hanging over your profile, to which Hunter borrowed a moment in reaching out to sweep the curtain back.

Your head was under water, yet... you were breathing just fine. You just had yet to find the damned drain to expel the pernicious and suffocating sea of psychological terror into.

I just need to clear my head... don’t let it go to your head...

You quiver under Hunter’s intense appraisal, and shame swirls thickly. “I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be. Please.” He immediately interjects, his palm turns upright and opens invitingly. “I’m here. Tell me what you need.”

Just tell him what you need.

“I... I don’t know.” Your admission speaks in a whisper of loss and uncertainty. You roll the flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, the lump returns to your throat, and it’s crawling. Your gaze flickers.

“Just focus on me, cyare.”

Another catch: you can’t maintain eye contact to save your life. Kriff your soul. “That won’t work.” Your eyes anchor to the cold floor as sheer panic and the sturdy walls themself began to rise around your trembling self.

I can’t come alive... I want the room to take me under... Feel myself fading away...

“Okay—it’s okay,” he soothes. Hunter fervently wracks his brain—the way he decompresses and approaches his own form of stimming is slightly different; it’s different for everybody with a hyperactive response to stimuli. It took the Sergeant years to cultivate those particular penchants and even longer to tailor and perfect them to his predilection. If anything, he felt slightly apprehensive in the success of his methods.

Your hands that now wrap tightly around your rigid form are currently the only familiar pair of hands granted permission to access the area. You give a brief squeeze and teeter on the balls of your feet.

Hunter didn’t require a sniper’s nonpareil eyesight to see right through your peculiarity, even if he was briefly taken aback at it’s sudden effervescing. Truthfully, he should’ve picked up on it days ago: at your fierce denial and subtle panic over Hunter’s harmless offer of a massage after you had worked out a particularly stubborn knot kinking his lower back—a simple requite of mutuality, or so he thought. At the time, the Sergeant found himself shrouded in enigma over your reaction; seriously, who—other than him who barely tolerates it—doesn’t enjoy massages? It now made perfect sense. He fought the urge to self-deprecate over his ignorance.

“I’m suffocating, Hunter.” You choke, and the cadence of your voice is like a knife twisting into his heart; he gleans vicarious pain from your own.

Clarity suddenly lights up the Sergeant’s features, and you’re briefly hyper-fixated with the way the inky but slightly faded outline of his shadowy tattoo fluctuates in natural contortion with his many facial expressions. Just behind his eyes he beholds his brothers—

‘I’m suffocating, ori’vod’...

Hunter remembers...

Of the exact way he presses against Tech in order to smother his vod’ika’s fleeting bouts of anxiousness—the pressure nearly breaking the kid’s goggles on more than one occasion, and the way he compresses Crosshair’s shoulders in squeezing out the pent up anger to placate amidst the sniper’s wavering, and the position of which Hunter managed to encompass his brawny brother in a comforting embrace whenever the big guy experienced despondency—that is until Wrecker quickly outgrew his ori’vod and began flaunting his own prowess of overpowering hugs.

The difference between the scenarios was minimal. Hunter knew exactly what to do. Like second-nature to him, his nurturing instincts fully kicked in and determination spread through every fiber of his being, quashing the previous buzz of his own nerves.

Hunter didn’t know how well he could alleviate your emotional pain, but there was something he could do for the neurological aspect, and hopefully, one could ease the other...

Hunter ambles up to you and in one swift motion, secures the length of his arms around your upper back, noting the delineate contour of toned muscles and shoulder blades poking into his forearms that now drape across before his hands encircle and come to firmly rest on each shoulder. Firmness. Pressure—for your state, this depiction is key. He determinedly pulls you to him, unrelenting in a tight grip. The position of the crown of your head settled neatly under his chin, and stray hair peppered his textured features with tickling kisses as Hunter dips his head to softly press his lips to your roots.

I wish that I could bring you back to me...

With your face suddenly buried in the man’s chest, you come to distinctly acknowledge two immediate sensations. One; the man is warm. Not the muggy, stuffy warmth of Tatooine that is unpleasantly abrasive and dry; but a soft warmth that permeates, stoking memories of baked goods within the cushion of a heated oven warmly enveloping you each time it’s doors open, and seeking to melt the hardened encasing that is your tense muscles. It eases you towards a serenity. You have a ways to go before you can make out the sign in the distance, but Hunter himself is one step forward along the path.

Two; he smells amazing. A faint smoky sultry, an obscurely mesquite scent, slightly tangy and reminiscent of raw timber that is both luxurious and intoxicating; a sweet smell you’d classify as anything but cloying. Like he bathes with suds of fresh mountain air and luscious forests. It’s soothing, and your mind immediately associates the tangibility with a daydream and mercifully blesses you with the glimpse; of your husband having just entered your cozy homestead from a day of hard but fruitful labor in his intricate works of carpentry within the serene seclusion of temperate countryside enveloping your favorite planet—

Handle with care... say you’ll be there...

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, cyare—is this okay?” Hunter momentarily shifts and the rich baritone of the Sergeant’s voice resounding through his broad chest reels you back while he briefly tenses at your pending answer.

It was okay—your head was still swimming in an infinitely deep ocean of thoughts, but the way his hand slips from it’s position on your shoulder to cradle the back of your head before curling around the soft locks equates to the physical manifestation of a life preserver cast to your drowning form.

Your muffled confirmation and sheepish thanks warmly enveloped Hunter, as did your hands shifting to wrap around his broad frame in reciprocation. His grip tightened, and he patiently waits for you.

Hold.... Hold on... Hold on to me, ‘cause I’m a little unsteady...

Hunter refrains from trailing to stroke further along your back; the sneaking suspicion that the sensation might further tip off your nerves. So he remained stationary, and deciphered the way you seemingly favored a firm, weighted grasp and a grounding touch over ghosting fingertips and light, feathery textures. He could relate to that.

But Hunter couldn’t stop the hum of contentment that escaped his lips at your fingers having absentmindedly wandered up to twirl at his ebony tresses. He, personally, loved your soft, well-placed strokes full of deliberation and meaning, and only you were allowed to grace him with them.

Hunter could feel your heart hammering against the veil of his blacks, and his ears hearkened to the rhythm of your burdened breaths. He shifted his weight and began to gently sway with you, unsure of the words to say.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” your conscience suddenly prods.

A snort fills the air. “Oh, I would’ve figured it out soon enough. I’m kinda smart like that,” Hunter cringes at his corny sense of humor, but he swore the faintest of chortles rumbled beneath him.

He grants a final squeeze to your shoulders, careful to avoid the sensitive areas along your arms, before pulling back to address your face. Trouble and distress still graced you, and Hunter laced his fingers with your own. He thumbed at the worn flesh encasing your defined knuckles, a relic indicative of steadfast manual labor. You slowly exhaled at the touch; pressure along the palms and backside of your hands was soothing to you. You often wrung them to keep preoccupied when there was no warmth to solidify the muscle, fingertips drummed erratic tempos along your thighs whenever the mood struck, and loud cracking of the stiff joints in transient tics was a regularly becoming thing.

Take me by the hand, take me somewhere new...

Hunter tugged lightly in ushering you to the cot, firmly planting himself on the worn, creaking edge before his gaze met yours in awaiting approval. If he blinked, he would’ve missed the barely perceptible nod of your head in confirmation. Hunter leaned back on his full weight in gesturing you with him, and your form followed suit as you found yourself abruptly layered directly atop the rugged plains of his chest. The quirk of his lips told you he didn’t mind being used as a body pillow. Hunter’s arms suddenly turned up empty to rest above his head.

“I want you to be comfortable. No brushing. Just tell me where to put my hands.” He clarified, and appreciation bubbled in your chest. You contemplated for a moment.

“Just... hold me close.” You began to guide his hands to the exact position. “Please.”

His limbs obeyed by wrapping snugly as a hand found rest at the small of your back, and the other nestled itself slightly higher up the expanse, fingers splayed. Hunter solidified the closed space, and not even a muted ray of light could pass between the two forms.

You found solace within the cage of well-endowed muscle, slowly suppressing your nerves on each side and physically shielding you from the works of mental oppression. But his touch left you hyperaware; from an overtly suffocating insecurity towards every part of your body now lingering against his own, to the precise and tranquil thrum of his heartbeat in contrast with your racing one. Your stimuli sparks again in response to the stress.

“Y/N.” Hunter cuts through your tension, his voice laced with concern—you cannot calm yourself down, and you’re certain your mind absolutely loathes you. “Everything will be alright, I promise—don’t tense up, baby. Relax against me.” You angle your head so that one side of your face plants to his chest; you wish to better hear his sturdy heartbeat. You suddenly remember your own. It’s still beating. Resounding; indicative of purpose. Your breaths; symbolizing life.

Just keep breathing... my air...

“That’s it. Just breathe.” Hunter encourages. He reaches up to press against your temple in stroking at the hairline. Unbound locks cascaded around each other, a mixture of two colors softly tangled on either sides of the furniture. You lost count of your numbered breaths in the midst of solitude when a question unveils from your thoughts.

“How do you do it?” Your words trump the stagnant silence, a desperate inquiry that peaks through the fibers. You tilt your chin to better regard the man.

Confusion tugs at the corner of Hunter’s lips. “Do, what?”

“Anything...” you unload, and there’s a crackle to your voice. “The stress, the sensory... how do you manage? What’s your anchor in this wretched, kriffing life?”

A smile creeps up Hunter’s features, and his deep, reflective pools burn through you. “I’m looking at my anchor. And she helps me manage just fine.”

Your eyes blow protuberant and you manage to stare at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Honey, you are it.” His satisfied smirk grows wider, digging into his cheeks.

Something twitches at the corners of your lip and pulls into an upward curve; the feeling is tight, foreign. Your cheek muscles are unsure of how to compensate for the expression. You can’t remember the last time a smile has naturally graced your features. Now, it’s genuine. It’s... nice, and the hot rivulets currently streaming down your face are in a unanimous agreement.

Hunter moves to cup your face and thumb below your eyes, and his lips kiss the salt away. You grab hold of his forearms and shut your eyes.

“You want to know how I manage?” He croons in determination, “When my visual is overstimulated, I close my eyes and focus on the features of your face ingrained in my memory. When certain auditory has me weak at the knees, I remember the lull of your voice, comforting. When my nerves are on fire and I want nothing more than to be physically desensitized, it’s your soft touch that acts as a blanket, covering, making it easier for me. You make it better. Me better. Life better.” Hunter finishes his declaration in lovingly swiping at your face once more, expunging your pain. Words make a prompt exit along with it.

Your lips find purchase at the stubble along his jaw, in response. You love being able to fully make out the intricacy of his irises, now that you’re lovingly gazing into them. When you exit your captivated trance—his eyes are beautiful—you vaguely note with a twinge of pride that the encounter was indefinitely your longest standing record for maintaining eye contact. Another gentle smile fills your features. You remove your weight from him.

“Take this off?” You shyly tug at the collar of his blacks, seeking his consent, respectful of his own sensory receptors and their boundaries.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Hunter sits to quickly shed the upper article of clothing. He pulls you on top once again, and you are relishing in his bare skin. Your fingers map out a path of their own volition along the various textures and scars dotting the pectoral flesh.

“You never told me what you were thinking about earlier,” Hunter nonchalantly called you out. Your brows furrow in confusion. “There was something different on your face when I first held you. Just a flicker. But you looked... happy. Content, even.” Hunter smirked. “Hope you’re not planning to keep all that happiness to yourself.”

You certainly weren’t planning to. You recalled the picturesque and beckoned it forth... there was your sign of serenity. Just the shape of it, but solid, and clear. Hopeful, and promising, just on the horizon. It made your chest flutter, and ebbed away at the heartache. You realized Hunter’s brow arched in anticipation.

“How would you feel about working in carpentry?” A chuckle. Hunter was thoroughly humored, and surprisal was briefly evident on his features.

“So I can build you and I a house? To fill a bunch of babies with? Gladly.” He chased the daydream alongside you, and it was your turn to borrow the surprise; your mouth hung agape as heat crept through the apples of your cheeks. Hunter’s laugh boomed as a hand fit under your chin to close your parted lips. He wished to use his own to do the trick, but, another time.

“I’m with you.”

[hellowkatey]

tribulations: book II

As it turns out, it is impossible to deliberately forget something. The very act of trying not to think about a certain moment seems to do the opposite. Obi-Wan truly thought he could push it into the depths of his mind, but the Force was not going to grant him this one reprieve. Though he so desperately wanted the details of his fall to be nothing more than a dream that fades with time, that proved to not be the case. With every day he walked along Maul's side, he remembered the distinctive feeling of falling even more clearly.

Or, "falling".

It doesn't actually feel like falling. Not in the literal sense. A part of Obi-Wan expected that physical sensation of plummeting through the open air. How he felt when he jumped down the cooling shaft on Naboo. Another part of him assumed the term "falling" was just some dramatic metaphor the masters dreamed up to scare the younglings.

In a way, both are correct. What he found, is the Force is not a tall cliffside overlooking a dark ravine. Nor is it the stark distinction between sunlit heavens and a fiery hell. No, it's more like a placid pool. Refreshing clear waters on a warm summer's day.

As a Jedi, he floated on his back, arms outstretched and open as the suns shone down upon him. Warm and relaxing, though, it took practice to float for long periods of time. But the light is not just atop the surface. It shines down through the clear water, a cool basin to dive into. Obi-Wan loved the feeling of being surrounded by the Force. The world around him dampened by the viscosity and blurred into an ever-changing kaleidoscope of color and light.

Peaceful.

Comforting.

The warmth did not reach him as easily when he dove, but the light guided his way. There was never a question of which way was up or down. And there were always watchful eyes treading along with him, ready to guide him up if he strayed.

But when Obi-Wan collapsed on the floor of his Temple quarters, there was nobody to take his hand and show him the way to the surface. Because nobody realized how far he'd dived. He was swimming alone. When he looked up, the light was a pinprick above him. Obi-Wan had never been this deep before. He didn't realize how quickly the boundaries between his familiar waters and the murky space below faded into one another.

It should not have been that easy to go so deep.

Though he knows he is strong enough to return to the surface, his strength is not the problem.

The light betrayed him. He did not turn his back against the light, the light turned on him. It had ceased to become a warm companion and instead was a blistering tyrant. Every time he tried to paddle back up he could feel the rays burning his skin. Blinding his eyes. He frantically searched for cooler waters, but the only way to escape was to go down. Further. Down where the light didn't reach and the waters weren't threatening to boil. Down into the darkness, terrain uncharted.

He just wanted relief. He wanted it to be quiet and cool and he wanted to rest. But the difference between the darkness and the light is that when you fall so deep, there is relief, but no rest. The basin just grows darker and deeper. No surface to float upon or fresh air to inhale. Only the heavy pressure on his skin. Obi-Wan cannot tell what direction he's going. He doesn't know what lies in the pitch-black blur around him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi did not fall to the dark side. He waded into it slowly. He did not realize that he had gone too far, but the Force did. The riptide of the dark swept him up in its current suddenly, and without the chance of being saved. When it finally deposited him into the inky depths of the Force, Obi-Wan gazed in the direction he believed to be up. He wondered if the light would ever cool and the surface would allow him to float upon it once again. He longed for it, deep in his soul. But every time his mind desired to search for the light again, the Force disoriented him.

The Unifying Force was always stronger for him, which meant visions were rare, but not impossible. Obi-Wan had experienced a few in his life. Mostly as a child and during sleep. But down here, the Force assaulted him with a different type of vision than he had ever experienced. These were not just brief sensory experiences but full-body immersions. Some memories and some realities he has not experienced yet.

Every time he tried to search for the light he found himself staring with teary eyes at Qui-Gon's ship as it descended into the sky. Alone. Abandoned. Wondering if he'll ever return. Wondering if he'll survive long enough to see him return.

Every time he tried to reach out for help through the Force his screams were stifled by the deafening sound of agony in rapid succession. Death, war, despair, he choked on the overwhelming sensation of what had to be decades of darkness in a matter of seconds. His entire body ached, tearing itself apart from the inside.

He's three, staring over the shoulder of a Jedi master he cannot remember the name of. A young couple stares back, the human woman with curly auburn hair and freckles covering her face and arms. The man with sharper features and a burly beard is holding her close, bright blue eyes filled with tears he does not intend to spill. They turn as Obi-Wan starts to scream and reach out to them. They do not look back.

He's in his thirties, the bottom half of his face itchy and raw from the sweat that has dripped and dried over and over again. His back feels like it's on fire, warm and wet with a thick substance he knows cannot be perspiration or water. A whip snaps and he curls in on himself.

He's twelve, hiding his hands in his robes so Master Jinn does not see that they're shaking. He offers to sabotage the slave collar around his neck to save the Jedi Master. Qui-Gon's look of horror is more preformative than it is genuine. The Master makes the unspoken decree for both of them to never bring this up again. Obi-Wan never forgets the feeling of his fingers shaking as he gripped the wires that would set off the explosive.

He's old. Maybe seventy or maybe fifty. It feels like he's lived for centuries. He's worn through the soles of his boots again, and the walk across the brutal desert causes blisters to sprout on his feet. He ignores the pain of his bubbling skin. It's nothing compared to what caused the scars that cover his body. And feeling pain means he's feeling something, and something is better than the numbness he's grown used to.

He's fourteen. He stares down at the lifeless body of a boy that used to sleep in the bunk above him. The boy's eyes are open but the life that used to fill them is leaking out onto the stones of the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It used to be his favorite room. After the accident, he couldn't enter that room without seeing those eyes.

He's twenty-five. Qui-Gon places his hands atop the shoulders of a boy he won in a bet. The council has to remind him he already has a padawan. He can feel his master's surprise and annoyance that Obi-Wan is his biggest obstacle in getting what he wants. When he supports his master's plan anyway, the words feel sour on his tongue.

He's still twenty-five. The crimson lightsaber protrudes from the center of Qui-Gon's back. Obi-Wan feels every moment of his Master's death because his shields have been shattered and he is not strong enough to sever their bond before it bleeds out on its own.

He's still twenty-five. It all happened so quickly, didn't it? He's staring at his braid as it burns into ash atop Master Jinn's funeral pyre. The boy Qui-Gon won is staring at him. The light is burning his skin so he dives beneath the surface to escape it.

He stops fighting. He stops searching for the light and the Force rewards him with relief. Not rest, just relief. No more horrors playing through his head. No more reminders of the worst moments of his life and a preview of the pain that's to come. Obi-Wan looks in the direction he believes to be up, but he does not think about trying to find the light. The pain is too much. It will undoubtedly kill him before he reaches the surface.

He submits, and the darkness draws him into a bone-crushing embrace.

Cold.

Suffocating.

Sometimes with memories, tiny details rear their subtle heads much later down the line. Obi-Wan was wrong when he said nobody was there to save him. Anakin Skywalker reached his hand into the water, but Obi-Wan pretended not to see it. He dove deeper.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

chapter II.I will be posted by this Friday

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 12: Respiration

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Twelve: Respiration 

Note: I’m going to go ahead and dedicate this arc to Owen Hamze, V’s likeness actor. He’s been going through a lot lately, and it parallels what happened in this fic in an eerie kind of way, as far as violence goes. Fiction aside, I hope he’s alright. Domestic violence is awful, and I’m sorry he’s been having to go through what he’s been going through.

(-~-)

Breath.

The ability for the human body -and many times much less human bodies- to intake the oxygen that they desperately needed to survive. The vital yet invisible literal lifeblood of the body that most beings couldn’t survive without, at least not for long. Without a simple but complex combination of molecules and atoms, nothing living was sustainable, and it was something that most everyone went through every day of their lives without giving a thought to unless they possessed a condition that made it difficult to them to do so. And up until that day, it had been something that he had never really thought much of, aside from the various times that he’d felt his lungs burning and his oxygen-starved body swaying and aching from a lack of it.

V missed the moments when he didn’t have to think about something so precious as though it were a privilege; the times when all he had to do was inhale and he was greeted by something so basic yet so essential to his very existence. Only the dead didn’t require it, as far as sapient beings went, and they would all be dead without it if they were deprived of it for very long. Their limbs would become limp and their essence would leave them, the useless sacks of flesh, adipose tissue, and muscle they had once depended on becoming nothing more than a negative impact on the carbon footprint. A heavy weight that meant nothing without blood circulation to carry vital components to their bodies that were needed to do literally anything. And what was one of those components?

Oxygen.

How he missed it now, given the state that he was in. How had it come to this? The darkness had pulled him under, his jump amounting to nothing in the very end other than to condemned him to the murky depths. Was it enough that the nefarious individuals who had sought to take his life from him for whatever purpose they served would now be deprived of their satisfaction? He hoped so vainly for the brief second that he was able to think before the air was stolen from his lungs and the light was stolen from his eyes. Never in his short life had he experienced such staggeringly cold water, not even in the moments that he had been forced into the river as a child. How distant that those days behind the menacing walls and buildings that he had once called home felt now. He imagined that the proprietors would feel a great sense of accomplishment and relief if they could see him now. How sure they would be if they could see him falter and fail that they had succeeded in crippling him so that his supposed evil nature could never be acted upon. They had thought that he was cursed then, and at this rate, he was almost ready to believe it now. But no. He would rather die than give them the satisfaction, even if they were right or they had no way of knowing. That was the only victory that he could see himself achieving over them in life. 

Living virtuously and prosperously was simply out of the question.

As he faded into blackness, he remembered seeing the night sky. How purple it had been, so beautiful and full of stars. If this was how it had to be, then he was thankful that it was the last sight he’d been granted the privilege of seeing. It was a small source of comfort to know that he could at least be at peace in this environment, none of the pain, sorrow, or. He wasn’t ready or willing to accept it, but he was willing to accept that some choices weren’t choices, and that the crushing existential horror that he felt in that moment would pass as quickly as it came regardless of what he had to say about the matter. Or at least that was what he thought. Who was to say what would actually happen at that moment. He wasn’t even sure what he believed, or if he believed in anything at all. 

But before he could ponder this, everything went completely black, and the world became still.

(-~-)

Morgan had been sitting there for hours, watching as the gurneys brought in person after person, doctors and nurses writing up and filing reports with grim efficiency and even grimmer expressions on their faces. This was all such a terrible mess, wasn’t it? Such a preposterous waste of life. And all for what? The temporary amusement of a few random madmen? Was that all this was? All that she’d lost her grandparents for?

People wandered about, filling the space around them with the sounds of footsteps, heavy breathing, and. Paper folded out of her line of view as relatives and well-wishers as well as horrified onlookers and shocked spectators filed down the corridors in a horrified rush to find out what had become of the people who had once resided in the small town of Lympha. She had never been so hyper-alert and yet completely distant before in her entire life, and there wasn’t a single thing that she could do to lessen the terror that she felt growing inside of her. A simple but all-consuming question eating away at her like an infection deep in her bones.

Where on earth was he?

Despite the fact that she had sat quietly and diligently in precisely the spot that she would have expected to have seen or heard something by now, there had been nothing. She eyed one of the nearby guards who had been stationed near her, the man glancing over at her as though he simply knew what she was thinking at that moment. Sympathy and annoyance were both present in his face in equal measure as he turned to face the young woman who had helped to make his eventful day even more eventful for the last two hours or so since she’d arrived in a crowded van along with a bunch of other disheveled strangers.

“Look, little lass. Before you ask me again, no. No, I’ve yet to hear anything back from my superiors about the matter at hand, other than the fact that they are combing the woods for any signs of them.” He paused, noting her dismay and hopelessness, her small shoulders falling as the gravity of the hopelessness that she found herself in weighed heavily on her. Perhaps crushing the last remaining remnants of a young and probably traumatized girl’s hopes to find her missing friend was not the best use of his time. “Look… Extra patrols have been despatched, and they are doing everything they can. That’s all I can say. I’m sorry. Really.”

Morgan nodded and sighed heavily, her elbows sliding forward as she used her open palms to cup her moist face, shivering as she finally allowed herself to begin to lose hope. “I know, sir. I know. I’ve just got to tell him that I’m sorry and that I’m grateful for everything. I’ve just gotta say something. I can’t live with it. With what he did for me. No, not like this. Not like this.”

But just as quickly as she’d begun to lose what little hope she had left, something caught her eye.

(-~-)

As if possessed by some otherworldly force, V felt his body lift up out of the frozen grass, his from soaking wet from the water that the ice had thinly concealed below its glossy, reflective surface. Every part of him down to the very marrow in his bones ached, and yet he felt no pain. He was freezing cold, but his body felt strangely warm. Although he was soaking wet, he didn’t feel the weight of his body as he dragged himself forward, his lungs emptying themselves of an impossible amount of water. It was as if the late had attempted to convert him into a part of itself, and there was nothing that he could to do escape the agony that he felt every time he inhaled and found his lungs practically frozen.

It was as if his body were compensating for his lack of mobility, a subconscious part of his brain noting that he was practically floating along despite the fact that he was heavier than he’d probably ever been. His skin prickled from the cold only to immediately become warm again even as the icy wind blew against him. His eyes watered only for the water to freeze and then become strangely warm given the circumstances. By all accounts, he should be dead. But it was as if he simply refused to lay down and die, some part of him too cold to freeze; his entire being fighting his condition in a way that seemed otherworldly and foreign to him.

Despite the fact that he couldn’t feel his right leg, he carried on. It was a numbness that he was familiar with, akin to the way that a limb felt when it went to sleep only much worse. There was a part of him that was sure that he would never be warm again, his body far past the reasonable threshold for hypothermia. While he wasn’t a medical expert, he could tell that much, and he remembered reading somewhere that once you started to feel warm because you were so cold, that that was the correct time to let panic set in since you were more than likely doomed. Medical science was incredible, but it could only do so much against odds like that. And despite everything, he still wanted to live. Maybe if he dug deep enough, he could continue forward just a little while longer?

One of the key issues with this plan was that he was simply walking aimlessly with no particular destination in mind. His feet carried onward like they knew where he was supposed to go despite the fact that he had literally no idea where he was going or how he was going to get there. It was surreal, but he didn’t have the strength or the willpower to act against whatever force drove him towards whatever his destination would turn out to be. That coupled with the fact that he seemed to be flashing in and out of consciousness meant that he couldn’t keep going much longer despite his seemingly inhuman drive to do so. 

His skin begged and pleaded with him to be covered with something, anything to stave off the elements, but he couldn’t oblige it. And as he carried on at a questionably rapid pace give his condition and the elements that battled against him, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the reality of the situation that he found himself in. something was genuinely unnerving about the amount of ground that he’d managed to cover in such a short amount of time. If he looked down at the ground, he wasn’t even sure he’d find evidence that he’d walked there. It was almost as though he’d simply moved his body to that location without his permission or direct input, and he didn’t know how to explain why or how it had happened, or the energy to object to it. He was simply there now, and that was all he could do about it.

Before long, against all odds, he saw the lights that lined the main highway, his mind trying and failing in his strangely energetic state to comprehend how he’d managed to walk here. It didn’t seem possible, yet here he was. Was it possible that he’d simply died and was now stuck in some strange idealistic limbo? Most certainly so, but he somehow knew that wasn’t the case in this situation despite the fact that stringing together any kind of coherent thought seemed nearly impossible. He exhaled heavily and stumbled forward, relieved and yet totally unsure as to why as he approached the road, eyeing it in a way that implied that he drew some measure of relief upon seeing it like it would offer him salvation of something. But perhaps that wasn’t too off base considering what happened only a short moment later.

The very instant that his legs finally became weak and he felt himself swaying unsteadily, V heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. By that point, he was too weak to even feel the fear that he knew he should have felt at the prospect of encountering what could be his enemies again. All his mind could focus on was the searing pain in his right leg and the full-body throbbing that threatened to sap every ounce of strength he had left. And as the patrol car came barreling into sight, V felt an ounce of relief was over him like a tidal wave as he hit the pavement and everything went black for the second time that day.

(-~-)

For a moment, all he could hear was the roaring of an engine, a vehicle that was too light to be the truck that had held him against his will spiriting him away to some unknown location. He vaguely remembered seeing lights along the street in the misty night sky, the fog that encompassed the area making everything brighter than it should have been. It was like he was caught in a fog machine, and all he could do was close his eyes again, despite the fact that he wasn’t really sure he’d actually opened them. All around him were the sounds of machinery and engines, and he wasn’t sure when the two became separate entities.

Then came the second set of lights, this time directly over his head as he felt himself moving forwards towards something. Warmth encompassed him as he registered the low hum of something unfamiliar near him once he stopped, his brain attempting to pull its self from the fog that he now metaphorically found himself stuck in. There was some part of him that knew that he was indoors, but he didn’t have the slightest idea how he knew that. Maybe it was the inviting warmth that he imagined he’d feel if every nerve ensign that had the misfortune of being attached to his skin wasn’t screaming like he’d been lit on fire. He wanted to muster the energy to speak up and say something about his condition to the other human beings who he could only imagine were around him, but he couldn’t, so instead, he focused on the rhythmic spinning of the wheels below him as they passed over a skip in whatever surface they found themselves on every few seconds or so.

Much to his surprise, he found himself stationary shortly thereafter, an obvious change in texture drawing him from his semiconscious state back into a more dreamlike level of consciousness. It was as though he’d just gone from laying on pavement or something equally as rigid and unyielding to being swaddled by the clouds themselves, his body not used to being in such an ergonomic state. It was strange, but not at all unwelcome. And finally, he registered the voices that he was willing to guess had always been there. At least two figures were standing somewhere nearby, and from what he could tell, they were discussing something pertaining to him.

“I’m sorry, you said his internal temperature was what now? That can’t be!”

“You know, that’s what I said! So I went and check again, and sure enough, it was right.”

“Everything I’ve ever been taught says it’s impossible to come back from an internal temperature that low! And you’re telling me that he’s, what, just on basic support? No Hypothermia, Renal System failure, or Frostbite or anything?!”

“Look, I didn’t say it made medical sense. I said that’s what happened. He just got incredibly lucky. I don’t know how else to even put it. It’s literally a miracle that he isn’t frozen solid right now. Aside from some kind of undefined injury to his leg that we’re currently investigating, he’s going to be totally fine somehow!”

“Well, geez. I’m happy for him, then. It’s about time we got some kind of positive news today. It’s good to see that at least one of these poor people is going to pull through and come back from the brink. Everything is such a mess. It’s a tragedy. I’m gonna see if that poor kid needs anything.”

They were doctors, and he was in some kind of emergency room. Suddenly everything became so clear to him as he peered over at them quietly, some part of him curious to hear what they had to say and equally unwilling to ask out of fear of being delivered a bad outcome. He was still alive, and he’d made it out of that place, even if he didn’t know who had found him and brought him the rest of the way. He would have to thank them in the future if he was able to. But as the reality of where he was and what he’d just experienced set in, so did an undeniable wave of relief and undefinable grief.

Somehow against all odds, he was still alive. He’d managed to escape with his life after everything had stacked the odds against him, and he was somewhere safe and warm and dry where those psychopaths couldn’t reach him. And he had no idea how to process that. But as soon as he could, he would. And then he would go and find Morgan. To see her safe; to know that she was in good hands would bring him closure. But for now, he would allow himself to rest and recover. Something told him that whatever was going on with his leg was going to prevent him from going anywhere anytime soon, and so it was best to let his body take its natural course and for him to relax and recover as best as he could.

With the day they’d both had, it was the least he could do. And he hoped that wherever Morgan was, she was doing the same. Something told him she wasn’t far off.

(-~-)

This chapter hits different now. Yikes.

Phew! It’s been a while since I’ve written a chapter this early in the morning. Well, time to go to bed! It’s Monday morning now, and I have things to get down tomorrow so that I can go to bed on time and get up Tuesday morning to write again lol! Literally, my entire life schedule revolves around the release schedule of this fic now. It’s crazy, but it’s the only thing giving my life structure during this quarantine. And yet, in spite of it all, I’m just glad that I have time to write again. Gosh, it’s been forever.

If you haven’t already, check out the link I posted at the end of the last chapter of the fic. I’ll be taking submissions from now until the end of time, so that might be fun for you. And to the FF.N readers: do you actually exist? My statistics and stuff don’t work, but I haven’t heard from you all in about 30 chapters. Everything alright?

Anyway, see you all on Friday, and remember: I adore you all! Take care and stay safe!

[butterfliesandsadness]

Okay, this scene has been bothering me from the moment I saw it so I rewrote the whole thing. I’m not a great writer but this is kind of the essence of how I think it should’ve gone. I think it makes more sense this way and would just in general make a better scene.

Natasha and Clint hear nothing but the crunch of gravel under their feet as they approach the top of the mountain. That, and their own hearts beating in their ears. They know it can’t be this easy; decades of espionage will teach you that. So they approach carefully, waiting for an attack from some unseen force. So when they hear the greeting of the shrouded figure they are hardly surprised even if their hearts leap into their throats. They have carried out scarier missions but none with the stakes quite so high. Clint knows he isn’t leaving Vormir without that stone.

“Welcome Natasha, daughter of Ivan. Clint, son of Edith.”

Natasha freezes in her tracks, how does he known her? How does he known that? But she roll the unfamiliar name around in her head before filing it away. It is all she has, but she wonders if he is alive. If she will ever meet him. Clint is unfazed by the troubling familiarity of the stonekeeper, he rarely cares how or why things happen, just that they do. He grips his bow tighter and his fingers tingle with the anticipated action of pulling an arrow. “We’ve come for the stone.”

“You should know... it extracts a terrible price.”

“None more terrible than—“ Clint falters, but in his head he finishes “never seeing my family again.”

The Black Widow has had Hawkeye’s back for years and she won’t stop now. She places her hand firmly on his shoulder and replies when he can’t.

“We are prepared to pay your price. We didn’t come all this way to be cheapskates.” She grins that signature grin— cocky and sarcastic but somehow also sincere and disarming.

“We all think that at first.” The shrouded man glides from the shadows revealing blood red skin that clings to his skull in a most grotesque way. “We are all wrong.” He gestures for them to follow as he approaches the summit. “I, too, once sought the stones. I even held one in my hand. But it cast me out, banished me here. Guiding others to a treasure I cannot possess. A fate worse than the Hell waiting for me in death.” He points off the edge of the cliff to a circular engraving far below. “What you seek lies before you. As does what you fear.”

Clint immediately begins assessing the stone around them for the best place to fasten a harness but Natasha’s mind begins puzzling at the pieces. What could she fear more than failure? What could Clint fear more than never seeing his family again? What price is too high for an infinity stone?

“What is this?”

“The price. Soul holds a special place among the Infinity Stones. You might say it has a certain wisdom.”

Seventy years alive grants one a certain seventh sense, Natasha feels. She finds it so difficult to be truly surprised anymore. And now she felt her stomach drop. Whatever was coming, she knows the stonekeeper is not exaggerating. Every sense tells her to grab Clint and run as far and as fast as she can. Clint meanwhile, finds himself humming his daughter’s favorite nursery rhyme as he carefully fastens a rope around a stable boulder. He feels hopeful for the first time in a long time. In his mind he can picture seeing his family again, he pushes away the thought of how he will look his wife in the eye again after what he’s done. It will work out. They will be a family again, and any price is worth that.

“To ensure that whoever possesses it... understands its power.... The stone demands a sacrifice. In order to take the stone you must lose that which you love most. A soul... for a soul.”

Clint stops. The ropes he grips in his hands trembling as he absorbs the pain of the cost. And Clint has a thought he wishes he could tear from his mind and bury, he wants to live, to see his family again. Which means he wants his best friend to die. The dream of meeting his kids again seems thinner even as he grabs at it ever more desperately. He knows he could never ask that of her, but he hopes just a little, and he hates himself for it, that she will volunteer.

Natasha Romanoff’s thoughts take significantly less time to form. She has lived a long life, and Clint was her only family. She would do anything for him to smile again. Even if she wouldn’t be there to see it.

“I see, so I just jump? Is there a ceremony or something? Do I get a last meal?”

“One must simply die at the base of this cliff.”

She shakes her arms out.

“No, you can’t. I can’t ask that of you.” Clint grabs her wrist to pull her away from the cliff’s edge but Natasha can see the pain in his eyes, and she can see the little spark of hope.

“You aren’t asking. Buy Nathaniel a BB gun from me.” She pulls him in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He was the light that had guided her from the dark, and maybe now she can finally wipe clean her debt to him. She walks to the cliff’s edge but is stopped mid-step by the interjection of the stonekeeper.

“I would not if I were you. The stone demands the the sacrifice of the one you love most. And you are not that to him.”

The other boot drops.

“Of course I am,” she argues with the immortal keeper of the Soul Stone. “Who else could it be? His family is” She trails off so Clint won’t hear her say it.

“But she is not dead to him. He holds her ever so tightly even from the grave. You are not a suitable cost. But him? You would do anything for him. You /love/ him more than anything.” The keeper drags out the word love as if he knows it is gutting both heroes. Natasha crumbles to the ground and Clint simply leans back against the stone he had been so sure would help him save his family. He will never see them again. The man raises his face to the sky but cannot even summon the strength to curse God. Natasha watches as the light in her best friend is extinguished. She would do anything for this man. She would do anything to save him, and to save his family. But because of that, she simply can’t. Natasha realizes that she will carry around her debt for the rest of her very long life.

Clint suddenly straightens and walks to the edge of the cliff. He does not look at his friend, hunched over in the sand, weighed down by her failure. For the first time, Natasha really believes that they could move on without undoing the snap. She grabs at Clint’s legs and holds on fast. “Please—“ Her words choke in her throat and she can’t even beg. She knows she is being selfish. But Clint Barton has been the only consistent good in her life and she doesn’t know who she is without him. Or rather, she thinks she does and she doesn’t like it. But even as she holds him, she knows that she can’t do that to him. She cannot force him to live in pain for her own peace of mind. He has to do this for his family, and for everyone’s families. She slowly lets him go as she finds a small stone that she focuses all her energy on. She picks it up and squeezes it in her hand, she memorizes every facet of that pebble before suddenly Clint is in her face, kneeling on her level.

“Listen, I need you to do this. No matter what, you have to bring them back. You have to make sure they’re safe.” He sounds desperate, as if he’s running out of air, instead of being given all the time in the world. “I trust you. If I had to die, I’m glad that I can leave my family with you.”

Natasha strains to process every word he is saying but she feels numb, crouched there on the mountain-top. Her mind is racing so fast she is stuck playing catch up. “You are going to save everyone, and that’s what makes you a hero. Not SHIELD, or even the Avengers. I believe in you.” He is the only one who always had. In almost perfect imitation of their earlier goodbye he pulls her close and kisses her on the cheek. And then he is gone. Clint barely registers the biological panic that he is experiencing. He is consumed by the only thought he has been having since the keeper’s last words. He will never see his family again. And so he will never leave Vormir. He barely flinches when the earth rises to meet him.

Natasha wails as he hits the ground. Partially in agony and partially so she doesn’t have to hear the sickening crunch she knows is coming. Suddenly unable to breathe she bolts up. The Black Widow has found herself sitting in shallow water; far from the cliff’s edge and what she might see at the bottom. She feels the small rock she had been fiddling with in her hand. She holds it up to see that it is no longer the stone she had become so oddly familiar with, but an orange gem, glowing faintly in the twilight. She clenches her fist around the treasure and hangs her head. And she cries for a long time.

Anyway, I think that makes more sense than the way they played it.

[eddiemxnsons]

TOUJOURS DEBOUT — Edward ‘Hillbilly’ Jones

REQUESTED BY: @ourmiraclealigner —

hi!!!! I absolutely adore your writing!!! is it possible for you to write an imagine about edward “hillbilly”? maybe being in his company and saving him. and then meeting again after the war and he confesses he has feelings?

Is this an imagine or a dictionary ?

EDWARD JONES gazed tiredly at the billows of smoke contrasting the blue sky above, it being a beautifully tragic horizon to encapture her admiration for a final time. His aching back was cradled subtly in the arid foreign dust — it not being damp from a deluge across the Japanese countryside, but from blood, a fine mixture of his own and other wounded soldiers. His legs throbbed with oozing burns on skin that had been exposed by shrapnel from the explosion that had forced him down in the middle of a ragged cliff side. His legs were what made him a remarkable runner, his bloodied body holding the strength that had distinguished him from being a mere soldier. And it all seemed to crumble at his hands when a mortar was propelled in the direction of the small group he was escorting across the ravine. The bodies of those soldiers now were scattered like Ragdolls around his withered body, all their eyes glassily staring at him in their afterlives, as if mocking his apparent invincibility. You’re supposed to be better.

Cramped fingers shakily reached to apply pressure to what wounds Edward could graze on his upper thigh and arms, recalling the basic medical training each Marine was endowed with. The pang of anguish focused him away from the dead gazes encompassing him. He gasped through gritted teeth at the impressive surge of agony trembling his frame, his blood now painting his clammy palms as compared to others.

“Fuck, fuck,” He panted incredibly fast, securing his hands to the accessible wounds in a last desire for survival.

Edward faintly felt the subtle pressure of his cross necklace administer into the curve of a wound on his collarbone, the ornate crucifix blemished with speckles of his blood. The reminder of what — who — he’d be leaving behind upon succumbing to this was nearly more agonizing than his cascade of wounds. His best friend — a childhood best friend, a last connection to home, an unspoken love — was feet away pressed down by enemy fire, oblivious to the aftermath of yet another explosion. His thumb careened to graze the sleek surface of a broken promise of returning home alive, as if mourning his short life and apologizing to the girl so resolved to return with him safely at her side. She’ll be okay, without me. She’ll return home a war hero, a name to remember within the Marines.

Y/N and the other company soldiers were engaged in rapid fire with the remaining Japanese soldiers — no one was hastening over to save him, one person, when the entire company could be decimated by bullets. However, it was his anxious movements to save himself that had garnered the attention of some closer soldiers behind a craggy crevice, who were certain that the officer was as lifeless as the men crumpled around him.

“Shit, he’s alive!”

All the voices that responded to the soldier’s outcry seemed to muffle and it was all too much noise for his already ringing ears to manage. His chaotic mind could merely register that any and all speech was loud and demanding. Abruptly, there was a pressure encompassing his quivering forearm, it being a few hands of those daring soldiers as they exposed themselves from their position in the sultry afternoon.

He screamed regardless of his resolve to suppress the mind-numbing anguish for the sake of himself and his men that were altruistically aiding him; if the Japanese heard and regarded them tending to him, their bodies would all be riddled with bullets. Yet, his numerous wounds were being scraped against rough mounds of dirt and upheavals of ground.

“Goddammit, we need a fucking medic over here! L.T. down! You’re okay, sir, you’re okay,” one of the soldier’s voices penetrated his feeble ears as they settled him onto the footpath of the ravine. He pointed at another soldier swaying around the first lieutenant as he started applying pressure to his other wounds, extricating sulfur packs and gauze from his pocket flaps, “Potter, stop holding your dick and go and get a fucking medic!”

A remarkably sharp needle of morphine was poked into his arm, his frustrated scream merging with the soldier’s bellow for a medic. If more strength could have been mustered, he would have nudged the incompetent youngster aside and anticipate the arrival of more experienced hands, but he was pinned to the dirt with his entire body churning with waves of agony. His chest was heaving and he couldn’t get any word uttered through his clenched throat, the pain superiorizing the need to talk.

“What the fuck happened?!” The soldier poorly attempting to nurse his wounds almost dropped the gauze he was holding into the dirt, as Y/N came running towards the pair of them, Ack Ack and a corpsmen hastening in at her heels. Her boots noisily struck rolling pebbles on the chasm, collapsing into dampened dirt amidst the cluster of perturbed soldiers. Her expression was consumed with petrification as she regarded his bloodied body heaving on the ground. There was so much blood and dirt on his baggy uniform and what skin was exposed.

Glancing up, Edward could see Y/N with horror petrified amidst the dirt on her face, it being no different than the feeling devouring his chest as the medic replaced the soldier at his side. His fingers prodded around his grimmest wounds, face scrunched up into a medic’s typical focused expression yet his eyes wide as they could have become, never have previously tended to an officer prior to this calamitous afternoon.

Her own face was blemished with a mix of the dirt that had been flung up by explosions and blood that belonged to her and those that laid not too far now. Her eyes were just as remarkably expanded as his as they steadied eye contact with one another, and it seemed incredulous now to call her the most dangerous in the regiment when she trembled like an ill child. The medic attempted to nudge Y/N from the access points to his wounds where she had steadied herself numbly. She remained head strongly knelt in her spot amongst the dirt and blood, a stern glint in her narrowing eyes, exhaling hotly when Ack Ack who set a bloodied, scraped hand on her shoulder to wordlessly shift her back tenderly.

As bandages were applied rapidly to his clammy skin, she had clasped his cold hand softly, gradually, and delicately, not even minding the blood from his wounds.

Sweat tickled the creases of Edward’s forehead as the medic harshly tied up the remaining gauze on his wounds, the first lieutenant feebly smiling to Ack Ack and her after they were secured, “Guess I got a ticket home.”

“Figures you’d clock out of hell before us,” Y/N uttered through a throat that she could’ve sworn was harboring jagged rock shards, the medic hoisting Edward up on the stretcher meanwhile. His eyes may have been horribly bloodshot from burst blood vessels, his lips chapped with blood in the crevices, and his entire uniform resembling the aftermath of an animal mauling, yet he was still there with her, smiling fondly from beneath the layers of destruction. Still alive.

She exhaled the tight breath constricting her lungs as they maneuvered out the crevice, soldiers guarding their departure with rifles strict against them, a makeshift ambulance idling in the dirt road with other wounded already boarded.

Yet, it was an unforgiving war — Death was unforgiving and the enemy was relentless even as their lungs puffed out crackly breaths. Tranquility was a vulnerable child in a war zone, the crooked grin under the shadow of his helmet a poison to the toxicity, her beholding his gaze that expressed a continuing conversation of contempt, ire, and adoration — urged war’s enemy to slink away from her lips because war was bloodthirsty, and the man on the stretcher could be a intrepid, decaying body in days.

It was the hands of a young Japanese soldier with partial of his boyish face marred by an explosion, rivets of throbbing crimson flesh prickling in the haze of the sun as he wrenched up his weapon, haphazardly aiming for the approaching Marines. The bullet was particularly designated for the wounded officer in the midst of their gagging bodies, the small shard of metal death fixated to snag through the bottom of the stretcher and into Edward’s upper body. A fatal hit.

Y/N had heard the bustle of a weapon amidst the crumbles of dirt at her six, the scraping infiltrating the tensely silent atmosphere, and she cast a hand out to seize her rifle from the dusty earth before sweeping around her foot and down on the barrel of his gun, nudging its salvation away. She wrenched up the lanky Japanese by his OD jacket with a sharp cry of anguish emitting from between his clenched teeth, her gaze was all just a billowing cape of anger for the deformed young man — a deformity inflicted by a mortar shell from her platoon, but undoubtedly warranted now that it was evident of his undying fidelity to finishing off the enemy.

The man twisted around furiously so he could push her away for the security of distance, and she could taste the acridness of blood in her mouth from suppressing the impulse to scream herself raw at him; the enemy and Death didn’t deserve the satisfaction of acquiring another demure young man. Yet, was he really alive? She was dead, he was dead, they were all dead at this point, and they were going to die regardless of their attempts to halt death, so why had it mattered to save him when it meant propelling him back into danger?

“Y/L/N, put him down! That is an order, Lieutenant!” Ack Ack clamored, an intensity about him that would never exude from him if it was any other soldier with a lethal clasp on the enemy. All she could hear was the obnoxious banging of her heart, of when the scream for a medic shattered the rage of bullets, of when the sniper shredded the heads of the young boys at her position just as she sprinted in direction of the clamor.

Anger seemed to ooze out of every pore of her body. The young soldier allowed her to glare at him ruthlessly, hate her beyond measure for being so obstinate to Death’s outreached hand. Then, she merely rammed himself down to the mishap of disturbed dirt, indifferent as ever for him, but only relenting at the frail murmuring whimper of Edward from behind her, beckoning her to the brittleness of his condition.

“Shoot him, Private Fick,” Ack Ack’s sigh sounded defeated as he now loitered a few bodies from her, perhaps even exhausted, “Put him out of his damn misery. Lieutenant Y/L/N, check on your platoon, the corpsmen got Jones from here.”

Y/N fell profoundly frustrated, something that bubbled painfully as she didn’t spare a wince at the sharp cut of a bullet in the murky atmosphere, the Japanese soldier crumbling to the scorched pebbles with a oozing head wound, and her captain departing to conduct his individual check-ins on surviving soldiers.

Her chest was filled with this tightening feeling of misery, letting it scorch her from the inside.

In a moment, Edward’s left palm was cradling her hand while his right one eased on the deposit between his shoulder and neck on a wound, easing her around to face him. They looked intently at each other, both broken differently and still the same.

Y/N tread a few fingers through his messy, disheveled hair, his breathing almost instantaneously steadying with the slight yanks at the tufts of his hair brushing his neck, wordlessly igniting ardor between them and the longing for acknowledgement of implicit feelings.

“Don’t get your ass court-martialed because you gave someone the beating of their life before I see ‘ya again, doll,” his gaze was essentially throbbing with the admiration he only showed for her as she laughed with an eye roll spared.

“I’ll see you when I do, Ed,” she merely murmured in return, tapping the stretcher’s arched rim in wordless indication for the corpsmen to continue on with him, his fond eyes peering up to her as she squatted against a dusty tank watching him.

—

THREE MONTHS LATER

FOR A FEW obsessive seconds too long did she trail a few fingers across her Navy Blues, her gaze fixated on an echo of herself in the washroom’s timeworn mirror. The clothing was the closest feminine, cleanest attire she had been graced to adorn in the near three years she had been in the military, where her daily appearance was defined by a thick layer of mud from head to toe and her clothing a baggy uniform for the skinniest of privates. Her hair was liberated from the notorious braid she fixed it in for the sole purpose of fitting a helmet on appropriately, now a soft glide down to her mid-back. But, she never could mourn her temporary loss of complete feminism as her mere presence as a ranking soldier in her company was a rare opportunity for her gender. She was a thoroughly trained nurse but her combative skills were regarded as impressive enough to spare her from being a nurse for the span of the war. Neighbors of her backwater town had all yearned — craved — like fiendish beasts to see her break down, mourn, and realize where she belonged in the midst of this conflict. The men at basic training hungrily watched her flawless body, with anticipation of her falling and tripping while running. They were waiting neurotically for Y/N to give up, return home before an official shipment to the Pacific because that’s apparently where she belonged, no longer being intimidated by a woman who was more physically and mentally adept than them.

And Edward Jones had bystood it, desiring nothing more than to bloody a few of the yaking men into pathetic pulps, he refrained at the reassurance that Y/N herself could silence them herself by merely entering the room, authority a dark shadow eclipsing the light of her essence. Such silence is what implied that she had secured what she wanted — deserved — after enduring the constant lapses of confidence, the derision, the catcalling.

It had been three months. Three months of extensive burn treatment therapy and a decent threading of string through numerous wounds, as decreed in Edward’s scribbled letters to her. Fortunately, the doctor had consented for his release to her care the day following her return home from the Pacific. And she could finally be back at Edward’s side, pulling him around their backwater town to secure some degree of isolation for the pair of them now that unspoken feelings wouldn’t be buried any longer, teasing him endlessly and having him hot on her tail when she did, or just merely having her head on his shoulder.

For once, luck had been on her side.

There was a spur of conversation from outside the poorly equipped restroom door, the corridor’s confined state echoing the discussion and enticing her to reality, not a mind loured like the skyline of a burning village. She was a categorical victim of war, constantly drowned in tidal waves of guilt, regret, pain, anger. Nowhere is safe for her now, at least that’s what being in Japan had exhibited; for the remainder of her lives on this planet, she will toss a glance over their shoulders even in the safety of her home, grasp the nearest object that could be a weapon when a subtle shift springs throughout the night, and freeze in the midst of a psychedelic torrent of Independence Day fireworks, wondering if, when the smoke settled, there would be dead bodies littering the grass. Hell, even a back-firing of a car. H-Company and herself had been thoroughly taught a lot of things from their strenuous days in basic training, but never were they equipped to manage the emotional repercussions if they survived this misery.

Yet, Edward Jones and she still remained, alive with a litter of shrapnel in one’s body and the other scarred by a boundless battlefield of terrors.

Upon departing the Navy ship the previous early morning, in the half-light of the breaking day, had she felt once again wedged in the trauma of a foreign land as widows, lamenting mothers, and whimpering children were bestrew amidst the jubilant cluster of townspeople, clasping the dog tags of men that would never step off that vessel. And Edward nearly had bled out on a foreign field, nearly be stowed into a grave with no appreciation, spilling blood for a country who wouldn’t make the effort to remember him as someone more than just another soldier.

He was still with her.

She wouldn’t have to avow her implicit feelings for him to an immaculately sculpted, virgin white cross in a field of many, rambling about a wedding, children, all that ‘domestic shit’ her mother always jabbered on about in childhood memories. The man she had loved since junior high wouldn’t be six feet beneath her trembling heels, blighted with bullet wounds that no experienced hands, supplies, or medicine could have stitched for recovery. And he nearly was a canvas for shrapnel wounds if she hadn’t heard the metallic bristle of a rifle behind them.

The pestering jarring of the restroom doorknob once again beckoned her haywire mind to reality, and no longer in the middle of a battlefield razed by devastation of death, smoke, and artillery.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s a public restroom, not an ejaculation stall-” a masculine voice groused, tone fervid with fluttering chaos and madness as he jostled the doorknob simultaneous to her seizing it on the opposing side.

She grumbled away her individual vexation, opening the door with a flattened palm, she looked upon the human barrier prohibiting her departure from the restroom; an exhausted man with a tan composition to his skin, that was ablaze in the nascent ray of sun behind him, a divine juxtaposition to the tragedy of his missing leg, his lower body that was bolstered on a crutch.

“Shit, miss -” his guttural voice sprang apologetically, broad eyes surging with humility as he regarded the patch on her Navy Blues, broadcasting a position of first lieutenant and essentially outranking him despite their stark height difference, “Ma’am..uh...first lieutenant.”

“I’ve dealt with far worse,” Y/N pardoned the hassled man, a sly eye brushing along the curve of his hospital band that rattled on his wrist; Joseph Toye, Easy Company was scrawled by a nurse’s penmanship on the white veneer, “...Joseph Toye. Being back home, I get lost in my head easier than before, y’know? Anyway, stay frosty, Toye, be a shame for the war to keep on waging in our heads.”

“Fucking sucks to spill blood for a country who sees you only as their nutcase murder weapon,” he mused with a wry stretch of the corner of his mouth, sobering enough for the tightness in her chest.

“Fucking sucks,” she concurred softly as her frowned lips as dared to defy and curl up at the corners, “I should go, my friend, uh, he’s waiting.”

“Don’t let a fucking cripple hold ‘ya up, go on.”

—

Y/N WAS PRESENTLY A JUMBLE OF NERVES, an electrical storm of anxiety and distress twitching fingertips twinged with the ghosts of blood, a crimson reminder of Edward’s blood adorned on her upon a desperate scuttle to aid him those months ago. There was a fleeting glitch in reality where her ruffled peer through the room door was met with a spartan stare of a herself, on the opposing side of the eggshell, thin spread of glass, adorned in OD’s and a crimsoned musical facade of a dance with the Devil. The spirit of a soul abandoned to the scarlet misery of war, of a young woman shredded of an insolent smile upward on a sun-kissed face, of a young girl sprinting bounds across a green lush of field with a young boy on her wrist.

The young boy beyond the flickering ghost.

Their statures mirrored each other as the tidewaters of the past puddled around Y/N’s shins. The shimmer of her past slightly pursed her lips, a silent encouragement tempting itself out, to forget the dried blood that was stagnant in the divets of her nails, the greyish, cold hands she clutched of dying boys as they bled out in a cradle of dust, forget how their lips that once mingled with laughter implored for their mothers or their lives. She always sought for their salvation and now her own was beyond the disparaged soul that was miles away amidst bloodied bodies of young men on a foreign land.

Her absentminded fingers poked and prodded at her dog tags, a fine coolness on her skin in the tepid tension. And with the pressure of her hand guiding the door agape, the glimmer vanished into the humidity, Y/N staring a second too long at the barrenness before entirely stepping forward.

Her eyes were greeted by the weary young man that was her best friend, his back turned at her. His brown hair was no longer littered with dust and debris, his exposed skin scrubbed of any dreg of war. His shirt was no longer the shambled remains of OD’s, no longer ghastly saturated with blood and sweat, rather adorned in sky blue pajamas that was an ample facade on his rather athletic body.

Edward’s expression was consumed with bewilderment as he regarded her presence in the stark white threshold, smiling fondly from beneath the layers of mental destruction.

“Didn’t get court-martialed,” her voice was pitifully soft, nearly a disaster of tears and convoluted emotions as her headstrong mental barriers fortified. He was safe. She was safe. They were owed happiness.

Edward tilted his head subtly while leaning away from the bolster of his bed, “Damn shame.”

Y/N’s mouth was dryer than a sandbox beneath the summer sun whilst her mind contemplated through races of agitation these tacit thoughts was casting. The frustration was a burning rod weaving between the bones of her ribcage, cooking with their shared, fervid gaze.

She faintly laughed, nearly as wispy as the evening air bristling the shades of the window, and impossible that it sprang from an aching chest, but was a sound he appreciated hearing after three months. Glancing to her, he observed her softly laughing with the descending sun a beam of subdued colors inching onto the linings of her prominent features. Her supple bone structure rose with her smile, her intelligent beauty stretched beyond that of her physique and to that genius mind she evidently possessed, and the fire and gold in her eyes.

“I love you,” Edward blurted before a dense silence could descend between them, stifling the fleeting boldness ardent in his core.

“Took you long enough,” his trepidation was contrasted by the repose on her expression, and he couldn’t bear to slip into the allure of her consolation, “Only been since junior high that I loved your dumbass, Edward Jones.”

His eyes drowned with something deviating between disconcert and lust as, in a moment, she was closer to him in the oppressive white of the room, stepping towards him with fingers just mere inches from his goosebumped arm. She wanted to touch him but seemed like she couldn’t bring herself to, dubious of the patchwork of intravenous tubes on his forearm and recalling the terrors of the injuries he had, how he had nearly succumbed to them beneath the same hands months prior.

Edward regarded the stave off of her fingers, the tips of them crippling with implicit reluctance and fret mere inches from the peaked hairs of his arm. His dark brows solidified into a furrow, shifting down his chin to gaze towards her, “Don’t think about it.”

Y/N felt Ed’s warm breath disperse over her flushed features, all the same sputtering crazily, “You almost fucking died -”

His chapped lips were pressed against hers before she could continue her nervous bout of rambles, showing just how hastily he could move and shut her up. He could feel her lips form the bow of smirk, it being a rush in the tenderness of the kiss, his hands toying with the hem of her shirt.

They were still standing.

[agent-shield-blog]

A Light of Hope

Pairing: Reader X Tony Request: I was wondering if it would be okay if I request an imagine of Tony x Reader, where it's post infinity war and Tony finally comes home and the reader  Warnings: A little angsty and some language Notes: Sorry it took so long but I hope you enjoy it!

72 days. 72 days since I had seen Tony Stark. Since we said our goodbyes before his com cut out into space. Now here I am at the avenger's facility in upstate New York. My body has been nothing but numb for the past few months. I’ve lost almost all my friends, my family, and the love of my life. Its been months and I can’t feel a thing. The only thought that goes through my head is that maybe it would be better if I were gone instead. If I would have just turned to dust and floated into the galaxy. Nat and Steve tried their hardest, even through their pain and loss, to help me but I was so far gone I didn't know how I found the power to draw breath every day.

It was a cloudy Thursday, but then again I could have sworn that the sun hadn't appeared since that day. Everyone was in Bruce's lab, and we were all going over the data once again. Going over our numbers of how many people we had lost. Looking at the friends that had either died or possibly gone missing. In my head anyone missing was dead, to think they were alive was just wishful thinking. I watched as Peters' face came up, then Shuri, followed by Scott.

It was just a constant reminder of what we had lost. The others kept throwing out ideas of what to do and how to do it. I listened to their opinions but knew all of them were long-shots. I glanced over my shoulder to the other end of the room where Rocket was sitting. He hadn't talked to anyone since the day we lost everyone. He would just sit in front of the transmitter Bruce had set up to try and get into contact with anyone out in the galaxy. Whether it was rockets friends, or possibly Tony. We were all waiting for the day that the transmitter would go off.

Feeling sorry for Rocket, I left the conversation that was as always growing tension from arguments, and took a seat next to him. I didn't say anything but simply stared at the machine. I didn't know exactly how it worked, but from what Bruce had told us, once it starts blinking or making some sort of sound, it means that we picked something up.

Rocket and I sat there for about two hours as the others came and went from the lab. A few were trying to figure out some pager that Fury was fumbling with before he got turned to dust. Nat was trying to locate Clint, who we hadn't heard from. She checked his home and found four piles of dust inside. Meaning someone was either outside at the time, or someone had survived.

As we stared at the machine, Rocket finally had spoken for the first time since that terrible day.

“I always wondered why I avoided friends.” I turned to look at him. His face was tired and sad, as most everyone's was. “I always thought it was because life would be easier on my own. Taking care of my own business, not having to deal with other peoples shit all over my ship. But now, I think it was because I was afraid to lose people I cared about. And now that I've experienced all the thing you do in friendship, I still wouldn't give up the memories we had together to trade away the pain.” I grinned to myself, probably the first time I had in weeks, and gave Rocket a small comforting pat on the back. And surprisingly enough he didn't cringe or turn away. Before the moment was over Steve came back into the room to grab something he had forgotten.

“(y/n), Rocket? Do you guys want anything to eat? Rhodey is making some sandwiches, and I could bring you guys something?”

“I’m fine Steve.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm absolutely positively fucking sure.” Steve sighed as he turned his back and walked back out the door. Rocket looked at me with a look of questioning on his face.

“A few years ago, our governments were trying to sign an accord that our group only be called in when needed. Steve hated the idea but Tony and I saw that if we signed, we could get the laws writing to change, and in true times of peril, such as when Thanos sent a spaceship down here, we would intervene without orders. The group was divided for a long time, and it felt like I lost part of my family ever since that day. I betrayed Tony at one point, and it almost tore us apart. Life for me that year wasn't easy.”

“So you hate Steve?”

“I just wonder if all of this could have been avoided if we were all still on one team. If Steve could have just signed, maybe things wouldn't be the way they are.” Rocket nodded in agreement before turning his view back to the transmitter, and me the same.

Another hour had passed in silence. I got up from the chair and did some stretching as my limbs were becoming sore from sitting all day. One thing I always bugged Tony about was that he had all this money yet couldn't afford to find stylish yet comfortable seating. He’d always have some excellent one-liner ready to go in response. As I bent to the floor, I saw a red flash between my legs. I shot up as Rocket scrambled out of his seat and onto the table with the transmitter.

“Rocket did it just flash? You saw that right?”

“Yeah, I did.” We both looked at each other and back to the machine. Once again a bright red flash lit up the room. I fumbled for my phone in my back-pocket before dialing Bruces number.

“Bruce, the transmitter it keeps flashing red what does that mean?”

“Stay there and don't touch anything!” Bruce told me sternly before hanging up the phone. Within thirty seconds Bruce came running into the lab to where Rocket and I were. Bruce lightly moved me to the side while he fumbled with some switches. I quickly texted Rhodey, Thor, Nat and Steve to get in here ASAP. I put my phone back in the pocket and waited for Bruce to get the transmitter in, and after turning one last dial, we heard a voice fill the empty room.

“Is this thing on? Hey miss (y/l/n). If you find this recording, don't feel bad about this. Part of the journey is the end. Being adrift in space with zero promise of rescue is more fun than it sounds. Food and water ran out four days ago. Oxygen will run out tomorrow morning, and that will be it. When I drift off, I will dream about you. It’s always you.” And with that, the message ended. I turned around with tears in my eyes to see everyone else standing in the doorway. Everyone looked just about as heartbroken as I was. But before I could let my legs fall to the ground in agony, an alarm started going off in the tower. We pulled out our phones and saw an alert from FRIDAY with notice of objects overhead off the facility. Nat snapped out of her emotions first and ran towards the nearest door with a tactical belt near hand. Steve and Thor were next. Followed by Bruce, and Rhodey was last to follow. Rocket made his way towards me and patted my leg. Trying to console me just as I had done with him before. In my mind, there was a glimpsing light of hope slowly fading. Tony was the smartest person I had ever met. If he were stuck in space, he’d find a way out. If he could cheat death more than once, he could do it again. I looked down at Rockets before making my way out to grab my gear and to head outside. If any enemy was trying to cross paths with me tonight, they should know things for them will end poorly in the state of fury I'm in.

I joined the others who were gathering off near some of the acreage we had. I looked up as I jogged over to them, and a small, but bright orange dot was trailing overhead.

“What is it?” Nat questioned Bruce as he attempted to point some equipment at it but was getting no reading back on it.

“I have no clue whatever it is, it's not from around here, and we've never had it in our system before.” We waited with as much patience as we could as the ship made its descent into the field in front of us. Rocket made his way forward through the group taking a piece of Bruce's equipment.

“I’ve seen this kind of ship before, definitely from a galaxy much further than here.”  Finally, the ship landed in front of us, slowly settling itself into the ground. The engine turned off causing all lights to go dark. Everyone had hands on weapons ready to go waiting for the doors to open. Finally, a platform slowly began to descend. I took in the spaceship trying to get any readings. I looked through the windows trying to see if I could make out anything. My eyes grazed over one object in particular. It almost seemed like, it couldn't be… Tonys’ helmet.

A figure weakly made its way out onto the platform almost stumbling along. Within a second I knew. I rushed through the others, and past by Steve who was leading the group forward. He grabbed my wrist and tried to hold me back. Having enough pent up anger from the battle at the airport I had no problem punching Steve in the stomach to make my way to the ship. The smell of hot earth filled my lungs as a continued to run to the figure in front of me. I made it halfway up the platform,  before greeting the figure and crashing into an embrace. With all the energy he could muster, Tony wrapped his arms around me. I began to sob uncontrollably as part of the hell I was living just became bearable. Tony ran his fingers through the back of my hair trying to calm me down.

“Thank God you’re alive. It’s okay (y/n), it's okay. I’m here now.” I drew back just a little to take in his face. There were new scars abundant on his face, alongside his tired eyes, and his more prominent check bones from lack of nutrients.

“I thought I lost you forever Tony.”

“You can't get rid of me that easily.” I choked up a laugh through the intermittent sobs. I finally broke the embrace and helped Tony down the rest of the platform. At this point all the others where they're at the bottom to welcome Tony back and help in any way they could. When it finally came to Steve, Tony looked at him sternly before bringing him in for a hug. “I never thought I’d say this capsicle, but I missed you, I still don't forgive you, but I missed you.”

Once all reunited and introduced to Nebula we made our way back inside. I had helped Tony get a shower, and insisted he get some rest, but he told me that he was fine and needed to talk to the others. We all made our way to the living room near the labs for a chat. Tony sat down, wincing a little in pain from the scar that was still trying to heal from his battle against Thanos. I covered Tony with a blanket before giving him some more water as his body needed to readjust to food and liquids. I finally took my spot next to him on the couch, and we all waited a moment before Tony finally spoke.

“Peter and Dr. Strange are gone. Star-lord and the rest of his crew are all gone too.” I brought my head up to look through the window into Bruce's lab, towards Rocket who was back to his position of waiting at the transmitter. I’d have to go tell him after this.

“We tried. We tried so hard, but it wasn't enough. We almost had it but one wrong move and it was all over.” Tony still staring straight at the ground, grabbed for my hand which I took and gave it a squeeze, not dare letting go.

“And now we’re here. With half of the population of the universe decimated, Thanos still on the loose somewhere, and a broken group of Avengers. Who would have thought that one stone so many years ago would lead to this.” I gave Tony's hand another gentle squeeze and scooched closer to him. No one said a thing, absorbing the rest of the information in. Tony took a sip of water before continuing.

“Strange looked at all the outcomes, and he said there was only one in the millions that he saw, where we win, where we come out on top. The bastards gone now, so I don’t know how to do it, but there's a way. And since we couldn't protect the earth this time, you should all be pretty damn sure that we are going to avenge it.”

We all talked for a little bit before deciding it was best for Tony to get some sleep. Everyone slowly exited out while Tony and I sat there. Tony laid down on the couch and placed his head on my lap. We both stared at each other for a while, taking in a sight we both longed for the past few months. I slowly brushed my fingers through his hair. I rarely got to see his hair in a state where it wasn't perfectly blowdried and gelled. We sat like this for about thirty minutes before I gave up on trying to get Tony to fall asleep like this.

“I’m going to go get you some applesauce to eat before you go to bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed, I just want to look at you some more.”

“Eat the applesauce, and then we can head off to bed together, and you can drift off to sleep to dream about me, while I'm right there next to you.” Tony brought up his hand and brushed my cheek softly, holding it there for a moment while taking in my face one last time before allowing me to get up.

As I made my way back from the kitchen with a bowl of applesauce and a spoon in hand I turned the corner to the door of Bruce's lab, knowing there was something else that needed to be done first. But as I took a step inside, I noticed Nebula and Rocket sitting at the transmitter together. Nebula was talking in hushed tones, but I knew what she was saying. I slowly backed out of the room and made my way back to Tony who was now sitting up, with the blanket on top of his head, but his face still showing. I placed the bowl and spoon in his hand and waited patiently for him to finish. Once done I sat the bowl on the table knowing I could take care of it in the morning, although Tony in the good old days used to have a fit anytime I left dirty dishes out overnight.

Once in our room, I grabbed Tony some pajamas and let him change while I washed my face and brushed my teeth. Once done I exited the bathroom and saw Tony in bed, his eyes following every move I made. I changed into some more comfortable clothes and climbed into bed with him. I sat my head down on my pillow and turned so my face was turned to his. I studied his brown eyes, taking in the moment that I had so longed for 72 days ago.

“I love you (y/n) (y/l/n). I don't think I’ll let a day go by where you don't hear those words.”

“I love you too Tony Stark. Get some rest, I’ll be right here. Always.”

I made sure to let Tony fall asleep first, and once he finally did, I turned over and shut off the light before turning back around to face him. I took in his face one last time before closing my eyes and allowing my mind to shut off for the night. For once in these 72 days I had hope that things might turn out okay.

[weirdochick56]

Past Lives- Dean Winchester AU  Chapter Three

Dean Winchester x Photographer!Reader

Warnings: Explicit language. Sadness. Heartbreak. Cheating.

Disclaimers: I don’t own DW.

Word Count:  6,121 words

Read Chapter Two Here!!

*

(Gif’s not mine!)

You wring your hands nervously, fingers subconsciously fiddling with the ring on your forefinger. Dean had given it to you, the simple silver band and small puzzle piece bringing you the warmest of feelings and comfort, somewhat quelling your anxious mental chatter.

You teased him endlessly for it afterward but Dean had made sure to tell you how serious he was as he slid his own, vastly more masculine counterpart, on.

“Because you’re my missing puzzle piece. Because despite what it seems, you complete me and I complete you.” And then he’d leaned over and kissed you sweetly on the lips, hugging you firmly to his chest. He held you like no one else even existed other than you. Like you were his most treasured thing in the entire universe.

You couldn’t remember a day where you had felt as happy as you did that one. Dean satisfied you in ways you didn’t even know existed before him.

And now...now you were getting ready to possibly break his heart.

He had begged you to stay in Darkwell with him when the option of flying out to a completely different state was put on the table. Hell, he practically got on his knees. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest when you remember the desperation his beautiful face held when you’d told him you might be leaving for college.

He didn’t want you to leave. Said it’d end your relationship and that he couldn’t possibly live without you.

But you knew - you didn’t want to admit it to yourself at the time- but you knew that your future ran far beyond Darkwell. You had the kind of heart and passion for photography that a small quaint town like Darkwell could never nurture. And now, after weeks to think it over obsessively, you were ready to take the next big step in the direction of forever.

SAIC, the school of your dreams, had offered you a full four-year free ride to their institution and the fact that they hosted the best photography courses in the country didn’t make your decision any easier. Who were you to let that go? To let an opportunity such as this one go to waste?

Your future was at stake and although you loved Dean from the deepest parts of your soul, you knew that if he felt the same, he’d let you go to accomplish your life-long dreams.

That was what love was right? Letting go of the people you love for their ultimate happiness?

And it wasn’t like you were going to stop being in a relationship with him either. Like you were going to stop loving him.

You wanted to be with Dean forever if possible. You dreamed of carrying his children and marrying him and having “an apple pie life” as he liked to call it. You desperately wanted that with him. You wanted it so much, sometimes, it physically hurt you.

So you knew for a fact that a long-distance relationship could never alter your feelings for him. They were just that strong.

And you were prepared to tell him that. To let him know that you were so helplessly in love with him you weren’t letting him go despite the distance separating you two.

So with the heaviest, fastest-pounding heart, you’d ever experienced, you make your way to the small beige house at the end of your block. Only a small lantern illuminated the mostly-dark end of the street as dogs barked in the far distance.

It was fairly late, you knew that. And you hadn’t told Dean you were coming. In truth, it was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, coming here to tell him this right now.

But you had built the courage and if it wasn’t now, then he wouldn’t find out till you were eight hundred miles away from him. Plus, you knew for a fact he’d be here. It was a Wednesday night so he didn’t have anything going on.

You bite your lip nervously and walk slowly up the stoops, stopping at his front door. With a slightly trembling hand, you press the ring bell, shivering when a cold wind whisks past you and trying to ward off the anticipation gnawing at your queasy gut.

Was this really a good idea? What if Dean ends up hating me? What if the long-distance relationship proposal is something he's not up for and we end up-

You choke back a startled scream when the door flies open, and you’re face to face with Dean’s father; John Winchester.

John Winchester was kind of a mysterious figure in Dean’s life, that much was clear. He was a drunk and hardly ever home for his boys, but he did care for them as far as Dean had told you. He didn’t really like speaking of his father much.

And as far as you were concerned, John Winchester was a shadow, always near but never really a part of anything. Obscure and undecipherable, he was.

You gulp as he slumps lazily against the door frame, giving you a questioning frown. “Can I help you?”

Softly, you speak. “I’m here for Dean?”

He gives you a once-over, chuckles, then leans off the door frame, stumbling his way inside and speaking in a slightly slurred voice over his shoulder.

“Come on in sweetheart. Dean’s upstairs,” he mumbles something else under his breath, plopping back onto the small couch with his eyes glued on the tv and his beer already in hand.

You don’t waste any time idling around, quietly walking in and making a beeline for Dean’s room upstairs.

That is....until a loud snicker from John halts you right before you place your foot on the first step.

You stop and listen carefully to what he mumbles mockingly under his breath. “Damn, that boy is on fire!”

You frown, finding the remark a bit random, but climb up the stairs nonetheless, heart pounding loudly in your ears and hands getting clammy.

C’mon Y/n! Calm down. Dean isn’t going to make you choose, he loves you! He told you so himself and you’re it for him, just like he’s it for you, so no need to-

Just as you reach Dean’s door, you pause, a frown blossoming on your face almost instantly.

There was a sound- loud banging...and...screams? No, more like, shrieking?

Your eyes widen in alarm and your heart races even faster in your chest. Your brain becomes faint and your throat closes up with urgency. It sounded like someone was getting hit. Really hard.

You gasp loudly when a thought strikes you.

Was Dean in danger? Had someone tried to break in through his window? Or even worse, was it someone from the- Oh my  God, oh my God, oh my God! You try to remain composed, looking for anything at hand you could use to battle an intruder.

Silencing an excited yelp, you shoot forward and grasp Dean’s old baseball bat tightly in your hands, holding it readily above your head with one hand and using the other to turn the doorknob.

As silently as you can, you step in as the banging and screaming come more into focus. It almost sounds like- you quickly brush the thought off. Dean could be in danger and you’re here thinking about sex.

The room is dark and you can only see what you imagine is Dean and the perpetrator ensuing on a struggle in the bed, so you decide to flicker the lights on for a better view of who you’d be hitting.

“Worst mistake of your life” would be a vast understatement in this particular situation.

Because what you saw next absolutely and utterly crushed you. Broke you completely.

You stood there, heart completely torn to pieces as Dean scrambles to get off some brunette he’d been previously fucking into his mattress.

A slight sheen of sweat glistened on his tanned, lean torso under the moonlight filtering from the slightly-opened window and for a moment, a mere moment of complete agony when your eyes met his shocked green ones, you couldn’t breathe. The pain was so great, it was suffocating you as you remained immobile, gawking at the scene unfolding before your very eyes and still unable to grasp everything that had just been unveiled.

Dean keeps the sheet tightly wrapped around his slim hips and you can’t help it when the bat drops from your trembling hand and lands loudly and carelessly on the floor of his room.

Tears quickly prick the back of your eyes and your nose and not a single breath is released past your throat.

“D-Dean?” You breathe, mouth agape, heart utterly shattered.

His eyes widen out of shock and fear and he lets out a choked-back gasp. “S-sweetheart!”

You almost couldn’t believe it.  And maybe you didn’t want to believe it. Maybe you wanted this all to be some horrible nightmare you could wake up from and be happy again.

But even as your ears rung and your body remained frozen in place and your lips parted and closed repetitively with utter shock- even then, you knew this kind of pain, the kind that is so powerful it numbs the rest of your senses so that you can’t do anything but feel this intense, overwhelming grief wash over your entire being mercilessly, it couldn’t belong to a simple bad nightmare. No. This kind of all-consuming pain, the one hitting you right now, it was real. And so was the reality of the situation.

Dean cares not for the nudity of the brunette when she yelps in protest at the loss of coverage for her nonexistent dignity. You almost don’t notice her, but from what you can tell, the girl is runway-model gorgeous.

You feel queasy as more tears resurface.

He makes his way to your frozen figure, eyes ablaze with unbearable guilt.

“Y/n,” he whispers hoarsely, arms outstretched as if to touch you.

You blink back tears frantically and scoot as far away from his nearing touch as you possibly can without actually leaving the room.

“Don’t touch me,” you spit with disgust, glaring at him through your blurry eyes.

He flinches with hurt and his own eyes fill to the brim with tears as yours roll down your cheeks, warm and wet.

He swallows thickly and his voice breaks when he speaks to you. “Please Y/n, let me explain. I-”

You cut him off harshly, complete and utter hurt, betrayal, and grief hitting you in large, powerful waves of excruciating pain one after the other. “Explain what Dean? Huh? The fact that you think I’m some dumbass that you can simply manipulate and fool mercilessly or the fact that you’re a cheating lying son of a bitch?”

Your coldness clearly hits him hard as he flinches back from you, his jaw clenching with soft eyes.

“Please Y/n. Please, I beg of you. It isn’t like that! I love you!” he reaches out once more to get a hold of your arm, but you scoot back further from his touch, the immense pain in you suddenly turning into pure rage and disgust. At him. The mere thought of him touching you after having tangled his fingers in her hair. Of using those same hands to touch her in places he probably hadn’t even touched you made you feel absolutely sick to your stomach.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” You wipe violently at your tears with the backs of your hands and throw him another disgusted look. “You actually make me sick Winchester. God, I’d be more pissed at you right now if I weren’t so angry at myself. I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve known that you were the piece of shit everyone warned me against.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t give him the chance to, speaking with venom laced in your every word, your gazes evenly met, but yours far more cold and detached than his, which was full with burning regret and fear.

“I actually believed you. God, I can’t believe I fell for your act. Of course you‘d do this to me eventually. And of course, I didn’t fucking see it coming because I didn’t fucking listen.” You smile sardonically, throwing your hands up and trying to push back the big fat tears in front of him. “I refused to believe what other people could see and I couldn’t. Because I was so damn blinded by my love for you and was hell-bent on convincing myself you were actually salvageable.” You scoff at him with pure and utter disgust. “But boy was I wrong.”

He looks down guiltily, begging quietly. “Y/n, please listen to me...” he looks up at you, terror in his eyes. It’s clear from the gritting of his teeth and the tightening grip on the sheets that he’s holding back from touching you. “I swear on my mom’s grave that what I have with you isn’t an act. Y/n please you have to believe me. I’m in love with you.”

Normally this would’ve worked on you. The sincerity in his eyes, the desperate breathiness of his voice, but now that you knew it was a trick, he just ends up looking like a sadistic entitled ass whom you feel nothing but hatred towards. The most immense love was now just as big and full- but with turned to hate and rage instead of endless adoration. Everything -even the air- now tasted sour.

“And you,” you walk past him, careful not to touch him and towards the bed, where the bitch laid, bare and spectating the entire conversation between you two like she had done nothing.

Upon closer inspection, you realize this is someone you know. You look back at Dean with shock on instinct. His back is to you and he stands in the exact same spot as before, head bowed low. You quickly realize your mistake and whip back around to face her, a cold smirk painted clear as day on your face.

“Jane Thomas, huh? I always knew you had particularly low morals, but this? Really bitch?” You cross your arms over your chest and look down at her, cool and -somehow- collected.

She sucks her teeth cockily and smirks up at you, stretching over Dean’s bed lazily like some sort of cat, frustratingly perfect body on display.

“Hey, I don’t blame Dean-o.” She looks you up and down with indifference, piercing blue gaze meeting your own. “I’m definitely an upgrade.”

Her words sting. They really sting. You’re not going to deny that to yourself, but who said she needed to know that?

You go to tell her off but are cut off by Dean.

“Jane, just shut the hell up will you?” He growls.

Your head immediately snaps to him and your face twists into a scowl, your dinner crawling its way up your throat at the sight of him, the face he uses when he’s being protective over you fiercely instilled. It once brought you an immense amount of discreet joy but now...

“Dean, make me a favor and. Stop. Talking.” You almost add “because the more you talk the more it hurts to be here and the less I can act like you haven’t just destroyed me” but bite back your tongue, observing as he immediately shuts up. You know it’s fucked up, but your heart breaks when his eyes, all big and green and wet and wounded meet yours.

Not that it moves you. At all. If anything, it only fuels what you do next more.

You turn back to look at Jane, who’s glaring at you sharply, but still looking far too cozy.

You don’t think you can stay for much longer in this place or with them, the stench of her cheap perfume and fresh sex covering every inch of every wall in the place.

With a condescending smile, you look down at her. “You know...you may think you’ve won. You may think that because he cheated on me with you you’re somehow better. An “upgrade”, if you will.” You lean in real close, making sure her eyes are looking straight into yours so she can see you’re dead serious. “But the truth is, you haven’t won. Because I’m not hurt in the least that it’s you.”

She sputters, swallowing thickly. “W-what do you mean?”

You chuckle in a sickly sweet manner and can see Dean shivering from beside you at the clear darkness of the sound.

“Because, you imbecile, you’re not an upgrade. In fact, you’re so under me that I simply cannot find it in me to be hurt that it’s someone like you.” You turn to Dean, making sure they’re both being addressed by you. “I would’ve been even more hurt if he’d cheated on me with someone with a tad bit more class and intellect. But you, Jane dear, you’re predictable. I expected nothing more from an uncultured, bourgeois philistine and -quite frankly- basic bitch such as yourself.”

You almost laugh at how much more confused she looks than offended. You can’t wait for her tiny walnut-sized brain to catch up to the insults with the help of google.

You turn to Dean, your face stoic as you all but rip the ring he gave you from your finger. You can’t help it when finger immediately feels naked without it, your soul hollow and the true gravity of what had just happened hitting you like a ton of weights. But you pay the emptiness in your heart no mind.

You quickly step close to him, blinking back even more tears. Remaining strong was tearing you up on the inside. Acting like a cold bitch even though what Dean had done was breaking you was hard. It was like being stabbed and having the knife twisted whilst it was still sunken deep into your skin.

His eyes are bigger and more guilt-ridden and broken than you’ve ever seen them but you can’t find it in you to feel anything other than hate and resentment towards him for what he’d done to you.

With strength you had no idea how you mustered, you slap the ring into his chest, your hand quickly retracting from him as his own rises and grips the silver piece of jewelry with heartbreaking slowness.

“I hope you know that you’re dead to me Dean Winchester. I would’ve expected this from anyone- everyone- else but you.” Unwillingly, your voice cracks at the end of your sentence and his frown deepens as big hot tears roll down your face.

“I gave you everything and it still wasn’t enough. All those lies you were spewing when you told me you loved me- that you were in love with me...All those moments we shared t-the ones I cherished the most. The ones that I gave to you despite knowing they would matter for the rest of my life...Th-they meant nothing to you. Absolutely nothing.” A soft sob escapes you and you immediately cup your mouth, watery eyes meeting his. “They meant everything to me Dean. You meant everything to me.”

You look at him one last time. Really look at him. Not for who he acted like with you. But for who he really was, the real Dean Winchester.

And as you looked at him, half naked, hair messy and eyes red-rimmed and tender and begging you softly, you realized...He-he was broken. He was a sad boy who craved love. Someone to save him from his deepest darkest inner demons. ...And you knew this all along.

With a final shaky, deep breath, you straighten out your back and hold your chin up in the air.

“I thought I could save you, Dean. But I see not even the immense love I felt for you was enough to save you from yourself.”

His lips part and fresh tears push their way up to his eyes, silently rolling down his cheeks.

“Y/n, please! W-we can talk this out! Please, baby, I love you! You have to believe me-!” He reaches out, hands outstretched towards you, but you shake your head at him firmly.

“This is goodbye forever Dean Winchester. I never want to see you again.”

And with those final words, you leave him, the first man you’ve ever loved with your entire being and thought you knew, standing there, half-naked and alone. Truly alone.

*

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

And almost a third time, to try and wrap your head around the abruptness of it all.

Because there he was. There he was. The first man you’d ever loved. Your first everything.

With a racing heart, and pushing through the initial shock of it all, you gaze at him, eyes flickering unbelievingly fast, aiming to take in as much as him in as you could.

A shock of electricity runs through you unwillingly. You can’t help it when your heart flutters at how unbelievably gorgeous he was.

His sharp jaw was no longer only smooth skin, but lightly stubbled and made him look more masculine than before. His cheekbones remained high and sharpened the rest of his heavenly facial structure. ...and his lips, those plump pink lips you’d often found yourself having fantasies about as a teen, were now even plumper than before. He’d gotten bigger but instead of it being fat, he’d gained muscle. So much muscle.

You suppress a small groan as your eyes flutter. You don’t realize he’s sizing you up too until your eyes meet his.

Ah, those eyes.

You’d almost forgotten the effect they had on you until they meet for the first time in almost a decade and it’s suddenly crystal clear why you fell for them in the first place. Your heart skips a beat and you find it hard to catch your breath at the sheer beauty they held. So green...so intense.

He looked at you with complete shock and awe, his lips parted slightly. It’s hard not to enjoy how gobsmacked he was.

But there’s also something so deeply hindering in his gaze. Because although it’s clear he’s completely taken aback by you, the expression on his face completely catches you off-guard. He looked...wistful.

Your whole body twitches, your breathing quick and your fast heartbeat making you dizzy. Your stomach flips and knots a hundred different ways and you don’t remember the last time you ever felt so...unnerved by a mere look.

Neither of you looks away from the other too soon though. Completely bewitched. Under some spell...

Finally, you snap out of it, adverting your eyes elsewhere. It feels like an entire eternity, but it was probably only a few seconds.

You dip your head down, using your hair as a protective curtain and begin to completely freak the freak out.

Oh gosh, what do I do?! D-do I say hi? Do I smile? Wave maybe?

Your hands get clammy and your breath shortens with panic. You consider bolting out the door and acting oblivious to it all when the decision is made for you by Oliver.

“Y/n Y/l/n! Oh my God! Is that you?!”

You groan mentally, hiding a flinch when you raise your head with an awfully awkward smile plastered on your face. Slowly sliding off the stool, you have no choice but to approach the pair.

You try to keep your nervous trembling as minimal as possible and your buckling knees well-hidden by having a firm grasp on the bar. Somehow avoiding falling on your face, you stop a few feet away from both men, painfully aware of Dean’s burning gaze on you.

You swallow thickly before offering Oli the sweetest smile you could muster. “Oli. It’s nice to see you again.”

He gasps a little, looking you up and down.

“Y/n, oh my God! It’s been so long sweetie! I can’t believe you’re back.” He beams so genuinely, you can’t help but return the favor with a real smile of your own.

“Yeah, me too.” You find your smile wavering because Dean hasn’t stopped looking at you this entire time. “But I’m only staying here for a week so...”

He gasps in dramatic horrification. “My God Y/n, that’s such a short amount of time!” You hear Dean shift uncomfortably beside you, but decide to ignore it.

“Yeah I know, but I can only really stay for my dad. I’ve got a-” You immediately stop yourself from saying “wedding” and smile to cover your fuck-up up. “An event to plan.”

Oli raises a suspicious brow but doesn’t comment further, opting to give you a dazzling smile instead. “You look fucking gorgeous by the way. Damn girl, the city did you well.”

“Thanks,” you mumble. You can’t help but blush and giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and biting your lip.

Slowly, and with fear equally as much as anticipation gnawing away at your gut, you slowly turn to face Dean, releasing your lip gently to speak.

“Hi.” Your voice is so soft and trembling, you’re surprised he even hears it. I mean, you barely yourself with your heart thumping so loudly in your ears.

His voice is just as soft and breathy with awe and shock as he looks at you, gulping lightly. A small, slightly sad smile graces his luscious lips. “Hey.”

His voice is smoother, richer and far more masculine than you remembered it to be and it sends pleasureable shills up your spine. Damn, his voice was sexy.

You suddenly have an overwhelming desire to stare at him longer, but refuse to give into to it, turning around to smile at Oliver once more.

Dean, however, doesn’t seem to feel the same, his eyes still stubbornly set on you. It’s almost as if he’s looking at you with the intensity of a thousand suns, eyes grazing every inch of your body like he wanted to photograph it with his eyes.

You felt a warm fuzziness blossoming in your chest. One that prompted tingles to erupt under your skin. One very much like the one you felt for him a long time ago.

And you didn’t like that prospect. At all.  

Your head felt unbelievably faint with surprise both at him and well, him as you pretended not to notice his -for lack of a better word-existence.

“Anyways, I just came to say hello Oli. I’ve got to get back soon.”

He pouts, his excitement dimming significantly at your words. “Aw, hun! But I thought we could catch up with everything! Ya’ know...like how life was after SAIC and living in the big apple! I can get you a drink or something-”

You shake your head firmly, giving into the nagging urge and glancing at Dean slightly. He’s already looking at you, so your eyes end up clashing against eachother as soon as you make the rookie mistake.

He blinks a few times, dazed, before clearing his throat and turning his gaze to his beer as if to seem uninterested.

You purse your lips before turning back to Oli with a nervous smile. “Uh, I’d really love to Oli, but my mom’s expecting me to go out with her.” You grin softly, feeling guilty for both lying and leaving so abruptly. “Raincheck?”

He seems hesitant but nods with a small smile nonetheless. “Sure. Think you can swing by tomorrow to chat?”

You smile meekly, rubbing your neck doubtfully. “I don’t know. Depends on what the doctors say to my dad, but we’ll see.”

Oliver immediately frowns, shaking his head sadly. “Yeah, I heard about what happened to your dad, hun. I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

You fight really hard to brush off Dean’s intense staring and the ridiculous effect it has on you, but it was infuriatingly hard to do. If it wasn’t for him, you’d be having zero issues feeling grateful for a friend’s apparent empathy and staying to chat.

You offer a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, thanks. I uh- I h-have to go now so...” you glance at Dean awkwardly and give them a wave of the same manner.

Oli responds enthusiastically, waving frantically after you. You can’t help but giggle softly and shake your head at him, somewhat glad to see your old friend despite the circumstances. Dean offers a tight-lipped smile and waves unceremoniously.

You nod a bit, turn on your heels and walk off. You can still feel Dean’s gaze following your retreating back as you walk away, your heart pounding erratically.

What the fuck was that?

*

“I saw Oliver Rochester today.”

To be fair, the incident had been on your mind for the remainder of the day, so when faced with a heavy silence at the table during dinner, that was the first thing that escapes your mouth.

Your mom smiles, swallowing her food and raising her brows from across you. “Really? How’s he doing?”

You poke a baked potato with your fork and shrug. “He’s fine I guess. Didn’t get much time to talk to him.” You pop the potato into your mouth and hold back a groan at the buttery goodness currently melting in your mouth.

Your mom hums thoughtfully, seemingly overly-interested. “Were you in a rush hun?”

You blush, smiling sheepishly. “Something like that.”

She searches for your gaze, but you refuse to look at her. “Why?”

You choke on your food promptly and your mom only grows more suspicious at your reaction. You attempt to shrug casually, hoping she’ll drop the subject. 

“Y/n? You couldn’t have been in a rush today. That’s kind of impossible considering you just got back. Why didn’t you wanna talk to Oli?”

Dabbing your lips carefully, you sigh defeatedly. “You’re not gonna drop it are you?”

She smiles triumphantly. “Nope.”

You clear your throat and sigh again, this one exasperated. On one hand, you didn’t think talking about your abrupt and awkward encounter with Dean Winchester was a good idea. But on the other hand, you were practically itching to tell someone.

“So?” She urges impatiently. “Why were you in a rush? Saw someone you didn’t like?”

You snort. “That’s an understatement. He was there.”

Your mom remains oblivious for a few more seconds, brows furrowed. “What do m-oh!” She snaps her fingers and then she does a double take, eyes wide and excited as she leans forwards in over-the-top interest. “You mean Dean?!”

You glare at her. “Mom.”

There was also that small detail. Your mom kind of...doesn’t know why you hate Dean with such a passion. I mean, she knows about the break-up, she saw you wallow in self-pity the days leading up to your leaving, but you might’ve...sort of...lied? Not a huge lie. You simply covered up the fact that Dean had cheated on you with the excuse that your heartbreak was all due to you traveling out-of-state for college.

She raises her hands in mock self-defense, huffing. “You know, I don’t know why you hate that boy so much. He loved you.”

You gape at her words, nearly choking on your wine. “W-what?”

She shrugs, cutting up her stake nonchalantly. “It was clear as day. When someone looks at someone else the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t looking...” she grins. “There’s really no other explanation.”

Your grip on the glass tightens significantly and you try not to chuck it across the room out of pure irritation. If only she knew...

“That’s in the past anyway,” you can’t help but grumble sourly, taking a huge gulp of wine.

She laughs, not looking up at you as she cuts up more of her steak. “Fine, But you can’t tell me the man ages like fine wine. I mean-“

“Mom!” You gasp, utterly horrified and already blushing madly.

She looks up at you and bursts into hysterics. You let out an incredulous groan and stare at her with wide eyes.

She speaks in between pants. “Y-Your...face. I-I can’t!” And then she bursts into a whole new set of giggles before finally calming down enough to speak a somewhat comprehensible sentence.

“Y/n,” she looks you dead in the eye. “I honestly don’t know why you hate him so much, but you can’t deny that Dean is an incredibly attractive man.”

When you see no trace of a joke in her face, only an annoying expectancy of you to agree with her, you grow increasingly uncomfortable. You push yourself off your chair on the table and groan -albeit- to cover up your true discomfort at the topic.

“Well, unfortunately, it would seem I can’t stick ‘round for much longer. I have to call Dave.” Your frown funnily at her. “You remember Dave right mom? Ya’ know, the guy I’m marrying in a few weeks. So if you’ll excuse me..” you smile sarcastically, walking away from her.

She calls after you, voice dripping with sarcasm that almost rivaled your own. “I’d like to meet this guy you say you’re marrying! Preferably before you commit yourself to him for the rest of your life if that’s possible!”

*

Once you’ve brushed your teeth and changed into a pair of comfortable pajamas, you settle into your bed. You’re cautious at first seeing as the last incident didn’t go so well, but once you’re done blushing profusely at the memory and feeling comfortable enough that it wouldn’t happen again, you settle into the warmth.

Picking your phone up from your nightstand, you turn it on, eyes frantically searching for any sign of Dave. Ah! There it is! You smile.

Dave sent you a message.

Your fingers fly across the keys as you unlock your phone and press the messaging icon.

From: Dave❤️😍

Hey babe. I’m so deeply sorry I couldn’t get to you earlier. I got your message and just wanted to let you know the wedding planner is still working out a few kinks with the silverware...or something....

Anyways, my business trip just ended and I’m home right now, headed to sleep off the jet lag.

Is your dad alright? I didn’t want to call and intrude, but let me know when you see this to update me both on him and your safe landing.

Love ya’😘

You can’t help but smile brightly, immensely happy at the text. He does care. I mean, you already knew that obviously, but with the hectic energy of today and Dave’s busy schedule, sometimes it was easy to forget it just how present for eachother you really were.

You immediately go over to his contact name, pressing it with eagerness. You practically bounced off your bed with excitement as you pressed the phone to your ear, intently listening to the ringing.

...only to be disappointed a few seconds later. Again.

Your smiles falls at the familiar voicemail. “Hi, this is Dave Larrson and this my personal phone number. If you’re looking to-“ before his dumb recording can continue to speak and further aggravate you, you sluggishly press the red button, a sad sigh escaping your lips.

You really wanted to talk to him. You wanted to hear his voice, to help remind you just how much you had waiting for you back in NY. You had no idea why you needed this so desperately but didn’t read too much into it. What’s wrong with wanting to speak to your fiancée?

Though, you suppose he’s sleeping right about now. I mean, he was working all week, at least you got some days off. Maybe you should just stop being so selfish.

A bit reluctantly, you text him.

To Dave❤️😍:

Hey baby. I landed safely, though I’m a bit achy all over from the jet lag.

Thanks for checking in with her. (Idk if I should be worried that you’re so lost in the planning process😂.)

My dad is stable, but the doctors are keeping him under close watch in an ICU just to see how his cancer’s gonna progress and when it’s okay for him to leave. I’m going to see him tomorrow morning though, so that’s good.

You’re probably sleeping right about now, but call me as soon as you see this. I want to hear your voice.

Love ya’ too. 😘

You sigh lightly, putting your phone back on your nightstand and letting the exhaustion of the day hit you like a truck.

Your body begins to shut off, eyes fluttering shut, muscles relaxing, breathing slowing down and just before completely losing consciousness, you can’t help but think back to today.

To Dean’s hauntingly green eyes.

It was only your first day back and already the exact thing you didn’t want happening...happened. And with that last thought, a half-second one manages to slip in before you fall still.

You wondered what a brand new day like tomorrow would bring.

Nothing good, that’s for sure.

***

YAYYYY!! Idk why, but I have so much motivation for this one!

The slow burnnnn that will befall you, my dearies, will be unlike any you’ve ever experienced. MUAHAHAHA!!

BRING ON THE FIREEE!!

Lmaooo.

A Special Thanks To: 

@thewinchesterchronicles

@topthis808

@vvinch3st3r

@thorins-queen-of-erebor

And my forevers of course.

@sherlockedtash88

@lilypalmer1987

@jessikared97

@mogaruke

[howlingwind]

RIVER SELINA MARSHALL who strongly resembles OLIVIA HOLT, has been spotted in Pandæmonium. The CISFEMALE is a EIGHTEEN year old INHUMAN, and has been in Pandæmonium for TWO WEEKS. I hear they’re KIND & DARING and HEADSTRONG & MOODY. If you’re lucky you may catch them working at PHANTOM PARK as a GAME HOSTESS or at NYU as a STUDENT. 

younger sister to rory & reese marshall. middle child of the six total siblings.

lovingly referred to as the moody middle marshall.

absolutely adores her older siblings, roreo & reese’s pieces, annoying big sis to the “lil rye’s” as she calls them.

she’s an inhuman with empathic (emotional) powers and atmoskinesis (steam manipulation). was never in very good control of them in the first place but the big life change of moving to pandemonium as made them even more out of control.

developed her powers at the same time as reese & rory despite being states apart. (more on this below)

loves saunas, okay? loves em. she wishes she could spend her whole life in the sauna.

also fond of partying, video games, and comic books. when she was little, river used to always sneak and read reese’s comics when he was done with them, but she’d deny ever having touched them. she’d also pester rory to play video games with her practically nonstop. 

she discovered her love for partying in high school after reese and rory had already graduated and left. now she was the oldest sibling in the house but the lil rye’s were much closer with each other than her, so she had this sort of lonesome independence thing going on that made her seek out ways to not feel so alone. she ended up always attending the parties the richer, more popular kids threw, and it was one of the few times she’d really let her hair down. mostly thanks to an abundance of weed, booze, and the occasional drop of acid. while she’s definitely beginning to settle down a bit, at the time the partying did help her cope with the loneliness and get through the difficulties of managing her new powers.

freshman at nyu, majoring in psychology, minoring in creative writing.

game hostess at phantom park because what’s a better job for an empath than being near the most excited, happy little kids ever, and giving them prizes for winning at a game and making them feel even more over the moon?? she practically gets high on happiness the whole time she’s at work lol

keeps a diary, a dream journal, and a separate journal dedicated to her writing.

pretty new to her powers, so even the stuff she’s “good” at, she’s not really good at. (aka if she had any decent control over this shit she’d be way op so she’s gotta be clueless)

empathy:

heightened emotions — experiences every emotion far more intensely than most people.

emotion detection — can sense or interpret a person’s emotions, and experience them herself. best controlled and most precise through touching another person, although river can also get a more general sense of a person’s emotions by just being in their general vicinity.

emotion projection — river can make a person feel what she’s feeling. with more experience, she would even be able to project specific emotions that she’s not feeling at the time. however, she’s not very skilled at this technique and will often fail if she tries.

empathic echoes — can send or receive glimpses or flashes of mental imagery associated with a memory or past event.

empathic inundation — overwhelms a target with a flood of emotion that can render them unconscious or even cause aneurysms depending on the strength/severity. river has not experimented with this yet. 

lie detection — lying causes slight changes in emotion, and river can pick up on this if she’s focused. however, she’s inexperienced at this, and the more comfortable and experienced the person is at lying, the more likely it is that the lie will go undetected by her.

clairvoyant empathy — after forming a strong emotional bond with someone, river is able to innately sense their emotion, location, and sense whether or not they’re in danger, even across great distances. she has a bond like this with each of her siblings, and it’s that bond that allowed her to sense what was happening to rory & reese as they underwent their torture and terrigenisis, and awaken her own powers.

empathic conversion — an empath with enough skill, training, and experience can essentially overwrite another person’s emotions and desires into anything they’d like, most commonly to create a loyal follower to carry out their will. unfortunately (or perhaps just fortunately), river has none of the above and is currently incapable of this.

empathic combat — with training, river could theoretically use empathy to her advantage in combat by predicting attacks through her opponent’s emotional state and instincts, or by using emotion projection or empathic inundation as her own form of attack.

atmoskinesis – steam manipulation

whereas empathy is something innate and automatic, steam manipulation is not. thus, river is not very skilled with these techniques, and would likely fail to perform most of these at all.

heat generation / boiling — river can create heat, but as far as she’s aware, can only increase the temperature of water molecules.

steam generation & calo-hydrokinesis — using the powers of heat and water manipulation in conjunction, river can control steam and even create it from water. she cannot use her heat or water powers individually. she can only control the heat levels in water, and to control water, it must first be made hot enough to enter a gaseous state.

geyser creation — can create blasts and eruptions of steam from bodies of water, big or small.

steam constructs — can create object shaped constructs out of steam, the way a water manipulator can for example create a trident out of water, or an air manipulator can create a spinning ball of air.

steam based telekinesis — can use steam to propel herself or other objects into the air, as if in flight, or “surf” on the water by heating the surface into steam.

asphyxiation & internal boiling — can asphyxiate a victim by filling their lungs with steam. can boil a victim from the inside by heating the blood and other water molecules in their body. obviously these are both pretty gruesome and haven’t even really crossed river’s mind. yet. don’t piss her off?

heat resistance — obviously, river has a very high resistance to heat to be able to control and touch boiling water and steam. the heat resistance isn’t just water based, however. she is also very resistant to high temperatures and fire.

when rory left town, river missed her, of course, but she didn’t feel alone. she still had reese. but that year without rory passed by so fast, and before she knew it, reese had left too, and river just felt abandoned. that feeling of abandonment never truly went away, but over time it got easier to forget for a few moments here and there, and when she thought about it, what once felt like a gaping hole in her stomach had become a sort of numbness. she was able to move on for a while, focus on being a good older sister to riley and ryan, getting decent grades, catching up on the latest video games and movies… all the stuff that she’d admittedly put on the back-burner in favor of any and every opportunity to hang out with one of the older siblings she idolized. the keywords however, were for a while. 

river was alone in the school’s bathroom that day. it was a rare occurrence, but fortuitous in the fact that no one saw what happened to her. it started mildly, a dull pain in her side that progressed into a searing, throbbing nightmare against her ribs. a dull ache in her head that grew into a brain melting electric shock. difficulty breathing that quickly started to feel like someone had filled her lungs with water, then reached through her chest and squeezed it out of them. she didn’t even scream – probably couldn’t if she tried. she just collapsed into a ball of agony on the disgusting bathroom floor and endured, sure she was about to die. the face of evil incarnate flashed through her mind, and for a moment when she closed her eyes she was no longer in the bathroom, she was hallucinating a nightmare. reese and rory in chains, each on the receiving end of the torture she was experiencing. she reached out and called to them. they didn’t notice. she ran to the large, evil, man and pounded on his chest and face, but he didn’t react. it was like she wasn’t even there. she cried out, desperate for the man to stop, but all that did was pull her back from wherever she’d gone, the reality of the exploded sinks and scalding water shooting from the pipes all around her surprising her just enough to make her snap out of the delusion.

the water was hot, boiling even, but as it sprayed onto her it barely felt lukewarm. she stood from the floor, a soaked, dripping mess, and took tentative steps at first, squeakily exiting the girl’s room. she wandered lost and confused through the halls, dizzy as so many different emotions flooded through her mind. she was certain she was going crazy, and she had no idea how she’d explain where the screams had come from and why she was soaked from head to toe, so she simply left the building, drifting home in a daze. she barely made it up to her room before she passed out. when she awoke the next morning, she realized she hadn’t been hallucinating, and she wasn’t going crazy, this was all really happening. she reached out to her older siblings to check on them of course, but deep down she knew that somehow they were alright.

river adjusted to her new normal fairly quickly. she wasn’t very good at controlling her powers, but she got used to them. she started partying more and worrying less, and her feelings of abandonment felt so distant now that she could substitute her own feelings with those of someone who was truly happy. things were actually going really well for her, until the college acceptance letters came. stanford, harvard, surprisingly, she was accepted to both. she was also accepted to nyu, and when she saw that, there was no choice to make. for all her growth and new independence, and claims that she’d been fine without them, the second she had a chance to rejoin rory and reese, she took it without hesitation. graduation came and went, and the very next day river had a bag packed and she was heading out to her new school, her new town, and her new life.

[son-of-the-omega-blog]

#SL #PlayTime 

#TriggerWarning #Abuse #Violence #Torture 

 Written by @Son_OfThe_Omega and @ToTheGrahve

Mentions @OffKeyDeviant @Qhuinn_BDBFM @Dehstruction

*~*~*~*~*

Grahve: Every breath hurt. Granted, that probably had something to do with the knife that’d punctured my lung like a fucking balloon. My blood was a flavor I was tired of tasting, but every rattled breath only pushed more of it up my throat. I wanted to hurl, but the gag in place made me fight the reflex. The bag over my head wasn’t much better.

I could still see the look in his eyes. The sheer, unparalleled delight as he’d buried that blade to the hilt, savoring my shock and horror. My fists clenched in the chains holding them above my head, the soft rattle the only sound other than my labored breathing. Fury licked through me, and only half of it was toward the male who’d trapped me. The other half was all for me.

How could I have been so stupid… I wasn’t sure what was worse; the fact I’d become so emotionally compromised and entangled, or the fact it had led me to make one poor decision after another. Until I was here, in what had to be a Lesser hideout, if the smell was anything to go by, bag or no bag. Yet the male who’d lured me, flirted with me, had definitely ‘not’ been one of the Omega’s minions. No matter how emotionally blind I was, there was no masking that rot.

Which meant…

I closed my eyes beneath the bag and tried not to sag in the chains, my mind turning over the only possible conclusion and feeling my dread curdle into nausea.

Lash.

The son of the Omega. The one who hounded the Brotherhood and sought to destroy them. The one who’d helped corrupt Blaylock. The one who’d kidnapped and tortured an angel.

No wonder he’d looked so pleased with himself as I’d choked and struggled. I’d never seen his face before. Never known his scent. A trainee so oblivious to who he was had wandered into his web. And now here I was. Helpless. And furious.

Lash: [Watching the male hang as each breath cost him valuable energy, I gave myself a pat on the back. Ever since my little encounter with Queen Beth, the Brotherhood has been totally ghost on the streets of Caldwell. And it left me quite bored. When I'd walked into the club tonight, I hardly expected to come out with such a prize. Granted the male wasn't a Brother, but still, a trainee was better than offing civilians all night as a draw.

The look of shock on Grahve’s face was worth the effort as the knife incapacitated him, but it didn’t stop the male from trying to get his own pound of flesh. Even unarmed, the male had made a formidable opponent based on pure spirit alone. The few hits he managed to connect with would have been enough to loosen the teeth of any civilian, but I didn't have time to waste playing the games of posturing young.

The struggle in the alley lasted less than a minute before I had tucked the half-conscious male into a stolen car, courtesy of some halfwit human who’d left the vehicle not only unlocked but with the keys tucked into the visor.

The longer than necessary ride looped around the south of Caldwell, dumping us at a dead end road turned narrow deer path that led deep into the woods. Steel chain link fencing surrounded the new compound wasn't just to keep the wildlife from setting off the motion sensors and cameras; any errant nosy human who happened to get too curious for their own health would have found themselves on the business end of a shovel, six down. Not that it would be hard to disappear a body out here, but time was a commodity I didn't want to extend if I didn't have to.

The few Lessers I had around the place served as my watchdogs, the beyond-pale fuckers that had been inducted many decades ago were the last of my Prime squads, well seasoned and hungry for Brotherhood blood. New recruits were being added weekly, courtesy of the Omega, the last of the more experienced Lessers in charge of their training.

Leaving the knife in the male's side during transport was a game; he wouldn't have been able to dematerialize regardless, but it was fun to watch him squirm and pant for breath each time I reached over and gave the blade a twist. I upped the ante and added the element of darkness via a black hood over his head. One more sense of his compromised. Even more so as I strung him up in chains and lifted him until he was barely balanced on the balls of his feet. I was letting gravity do the rest of the heavy work on Grahve's muscles. The pull would only serve to weaken him further, and unlike the angel, sunlight wasn't going to miraculously bring him back to near full health. No, the male would need a female's blood for that.]

Tell me. How's mine cousin, Qhuinn. Still besotted with the fair Chosen Layla? Or has he turned to finding new bed partners?

[Circling the deadweight with a grim smirk, I reached out and jabbed the male's wounded side with a hard fist.]

Grahve: Holy. Fucking. Hell.

The pain that erupted up my side threatened to send me night night, right before it caused a spasm to tear apart my lungs. I coughed, spluttered, the gag and the hood catching a mouthful of blood. My body struggled to cope as I pulled back against the chains keeping me up, away from where the hit had come from. But with the hood, I was helpless to predict Lash’s next hit. Not that I thought I’d be conscious after a second hit to my ruined lung...

By the time the agony had faded to a dull roaring throb, his question finally registered. I’d never felt my fangs grate against a gag before, the sensation uncomfortable even as a weak growl rumbled in my chest. Which I also regret. Immediately.

I tasted more blood and forced myself to calm down. But the idea that Lash was still gunning for Qhuinn made my blood boil. Regardless of how I felt, of what had happened between him, me, Crhis… all of it, I’d die before I let this miserable prick hurt them. And hey, whaddaya know, if he kept sticking me like a pin cushion and hitting the flesh around it, that death was all but guaranteed in a very short timeline.

I could feel his amusement, his utter delight at my helplessness, and if anything it fueled my rage, my defiance, until I was straightening and clenching my fists in their manacles. My chest hurt like a mofo, but it was all I could do until the gag came out and I could tell him a hearty ‘fuck you’.

Lash: [So, /that/ little query got a reaction from the trainee. Qhuinn must have been tapping more than one ass if this male was so reactive to mere questions. Did this hanging piece of meat know my oversexed cousin had impregnated a Chosen, I wondered; he had to have known. Layla paraded that swollen belly around like the trophy she was. She must have certainly had the young by now. Or dropped into the Fade on her birthing bed. Pacing around the dangling and gagged bit, I had to give him a small props for ‘hanging’ in there.]

Oh, wait. [Leaning in close to the male's ear, my voice was a harsh just-above-whisper.] Let me see if I'm reading this sitch right. Qhuinn gave the fair Chosen more bed time than you, so you turned to bedding another… [Inhaling deep only confirmed the stronger scent of another, a male.] … male.

[Just a guess, even with the scent of the trainee Qhuinn had been making eyes at all over Grahve, it wasn't too much of a stretch because I knew Qhuinn to be a possessive male that liked to take things too far.]

And mine cousin didn't appreciate the turn of your.. [Grabbing the back of the hood and jerking it off the male's head, the cold anger blowing off him in waves, hurt evident in his eyes as he twisted, bloodied and bruised before me.] .. attention to another. So you decided to drink away your broken heart. [Reaching out and cupping the male's face in a firm grip then patting his cheek hard, I slid fingers back to loosen the gag.]

Grahve: Layla. Hearing a Chosen’s name on Lash’s filthy lips made my skin crawl, but I wasn’t about to correct him on the little scenario he’d invented in his head. Especially if it kept my partner off his radar. Instead I narrowed my eyes at him as the hood was torn away.

It didn’t seem fair that someone so evil had a face like that. I’d never wanted to break something beautiful so badly in all my life. The memory of his lips on mine, of the way he pressed down my body and made me ‘feel’...

I spat out a wad of blood and spit the second the gag was gone, and whatever self preservation instincts I had left kept me from spitting it ‘on’ him. Though the temptation was definitely fucking there.

“Congratu-fucking-lations. You have it all figured out. Go you,” I sneered, wishing I’d had a lot more to drink. Maybe then it would numb the pain that was sure to follow. “I’d pin a gold star on your collar but I’m a little tied up right now. So how bout you fuck right off and do it yourself? There’s a good lad.”

In my head I ran down my list of options. Insulting Lash for as long as possible definitely made the list, and pretty close to the top I might add. Holding out for a rescue, though, was pretty far /down/. The nausea in my gut curdled into a dread realisation as I recalled the Lockdown, the fact that no one was supposed to be out on rotation at the moment to even notice me not showing up, and that after everything with Crhis and Qhuinn? No one was going to be looking for me…

A spark lit up my nerves. The realisation was so bright I struggled to keep it off my face, out of my eyes, so Lash didn’t see the kindling of hope.

Adrian.

The angel would surely notice I was gone… right? I’d made a promise to stay put and broken it. Sure, he might look for me back at the manse, but if I didn’t turn up he’d raise the alarm. The Brothers… they’d at least know the scent of Lash. Realise, maybe, what had happened. And even if they didn’t find me before I died… it soothed something jagged in me to know they’d at least be looking. That someone, somewhere, cared enough to notice I was gone.

“Considering how fancy you like your clothes,” I tried again, looking around, “I thought maybe you’d have a nicer place. Dad not covering your costs?”

Lash: [Pacing behind the male, my hand snapped out to grip the male's throat and tip his head back, his breath staining from the tension as I spoke.]

Oh I got more than a gold star. [My tongue slid up the side of his neck tasting anger, anguish, and a fainter hint of fear. Now that he'd figured out who /I/ was, most of the arrogance had been knocked out of his sails. Hence the hint of fear.]

You were more than willing to give it to me, weren't you… you cannot deny that scent of fucking you were giving off.  The male you'd been fucking must have been quite the tasy little treat. [A slow, hard bite to his ear, fangs drawing that much more blood, coupled with a rut of my hips against his ass for emphasis and I stepped back around to face the trainee, brushing my hands off.] And yet you went to the club looking for more ways to drown yourself.

[I hadn't missed his initial outburst made, I barely contained the giddy feeling inside, and grinned fiendishly at the way his body tensed and grew cold at the mention of the Chosen and his sappy broken heart. I knew I'd hit a low sore spot that I could use to against him.

Ignoring his baiting comments about my attire -mental note to swap out to leathers once I'd returned to the compound, no sense in ruining an Armani- I delivered a hard fist to his fine nose, the burst of fresh coppery iron wafting across the breeze as it dripped in rivulets down his chin.]

See? We're going to have lots of fun.

Grahve: The feel of his tongue against my neck earned a disgusted shudder, my stomach revolting even as I swallowed down a fresh wave of bile. I barely felt it as his fangs pierced my ear, blood scenting the air. His hips bucking against mine brought to mind all the ways we might’ve tangled in the sheets, when I’d been willing, and the reality was so much worse. What would the Brothers say? I’d been about to fuck the enemy… Sweet Scribe… and all because I’d let myself fall for and give a shit about the males in that manse.

What had I become?

Trying to shake off the darkness that flooded every molecule of my miserable being, I adopted a sneer, forcing myself to remember the times I’d been completely alone in the world and survived. I could be that guy again.

“Next time I’ll just look for ways to actually drown. Probably a better outcome than ‘this’ one,” I point out coolly.

My last smart ass comment. Right before he broke my nose.

My head snapped back. I tasted blood. As I blinked through the haze and the pain, I sagged forward and spat a fresh mouthful onto the floor. Well, mostly the floor. Pretty sure a nice bit of it landed on his pants. And shoes. N’awwww…

“No wonder you weren’t in the training program long…” I panted and heaved in a breath with a broken, bloody smile, “what with a weak ass punch like that…”

Lash: Think you're funny? [The mangy fuck had the audacity to chuck a mouthful of blood at me. Growling low, I spun the male around and drove my fingers into the knife wound, pushing deep until his body swung off the ground and something popped and the male cried out.

Movement at the doorway barely registered enough to draw my attention away and only served to piss me off even more. The growl that tore from my throat spoke only one word to the brainless fuck that had the balls, -figuratively-, to interrupt me. Death.

Liquid energy rolled down my arm, pooling in my bloodied hand as I turned to decimate the motherfucker that dared interrupt my playtime. The lesser stood his ground but the fear dripped off him like a sliced carotid. In his hands shook a female body, a black canvas hood bunched around her head and shoulders, doing nothing to staunch her whimpers.]

You're fucking lucky, you know that. [The immediate impact of the sudden additional present hit me, a smirk kicking up the corner of my mouth as I glanced at the strung up trainee. Oh yes, this was going to work so much faster this way. She wasn't a Chosen, but female blood was female blood.]

String her up. [Pointing with just a look, the Lesser nodded without a word and did as told. The female's struggled, nearly freeing herself when her body suddenly slumped, loose-limbed, the lesser having knocked her cold with a fist to the temple. A hoarse growl and muffled rattle of chains fueled my smirk.]

Oh wait. [I glanced at the male dangling by his wrists and then at the female and back to the hanging meat.] My bad. Where are my manners. Are you thirsty?

Grahve: I didn’t know pain like this existed without unconsciousness following. As Lash buried his fingers in my flesh my whole body jerked and twisted to escape it. I wasn’t even aware I was doing it, every animal instinct in me screaming to get away when something gave out. Probably a lung.

The room swam as blessed darkness crept into the edge of my vision. But it didn’t linger. As Lash withdrew, my mind returned. It was just in time to catch the whimpers of a woman - a female. My spine stiffened, my fingers curling into fists in their chains.

Of course. The lock down. With no Brothers on the street, Lash had free reign on the species. Nausea coiled in my gut as I watched him tie her up, and when she resisted, the demon struck. She crumpled as a snarl bubbled up my throat, wound be damned.

“You don’t seriously think I’d take blood from some helpless female?” I growled, glaring, furious at my helplessness. How was I supposed to help her when I couldn’t even help myself right now? It didn’t matter if her blood would heal… me…

I closed my eyes and dropped my head.

It doesn’t matter if I don’t want to… He’ll force feed me if it means he gets to keep playing. The idea is revolting.

“…it doesn’t matter if I say no, does it?” I mutter blackly, disgust laced through every word.

Lash: [Ignoring the trainee’s disgust, though I don’t know why, the female wasn’t bad on the eyes except for the fat lip and swollen eye and she smelled fucking delicious, I indicated to the Lesser he needed to make sure she was easily within reach without having to loosen her bonds. There was little chance of her finding escape, but it was better to overly cautious. Past experiences were still biting my ass in the form of the Omega each time we had those sire-son talks.]

Absolutely, I think that you’ll do it willingly even.

[Stalking over to the female and gripping her chin, tugging it up enough to confirm she was still indeed alive, I let the supple slumping of her unconsciousness hang from her place near the trainee and stepped back to admire my haul without giving anything away. This was going to change my plans only slightly, in the manner that I’d be able to keep the trainee longer than I first anticipated. If my Lessers could obtain another female within a few days, unharmed enough to be of use, I’d be able to send the Brotherhood quite the set of messages. Piece by fucking piece.]

And if you want the female to live beyond the next rising sun, I suggest you feed when you’re told to.

Grahve: I wanted to curse, to snarl my disbelief; as if he wasn’t going to kill her - fuck - kill us both, but what other option did I have? If I refused… he killed her now. If I took her vein, maybe I got enough strength to get us out of this. Maybe I buy us both time.

Biting back the slew of responses, all of which would probably go down about as well as a lead balloon, I went with the smart option. Even as my insides shrivelled in repulsion and shame.

“Fine.”

The word tasted nasty as I dropped my gaze to the blood spattered floor. My blood. It dribbled down my side as I heaved in a breath through the agony of a burst lung. And my broken nose.

“But let’s not kid ourselves…” The words slipped out even as a small part of my brain screamed to STFU. I met his gaze again. “How long are you gonna do this before you get tired of me? I’m just a toy for you to play with till I break, right? Then let’s get it over with. Just do it.”

Lash: [Strolling back to face the male, I gave a minute nod to the Lesser that had positioned himself behind the trainee. The pale fucker began cutting away the male’s clothes, starting with his shirt.]

Looks like it hurts.

[Grinning, I eyed the jagged edges of the bright red and purple wound as he was stripped down. And thought of the angel Lassiter. How his scars were MY mark on his body. Scars I created, a signature of sorts. What kind of signature could I put on the trainee? Mentally waving it off, I knew it would come to me when the time was right.

The male’s body was definitely impressive, well muscled and lean, as a fighter’s body should be. Once he’d been stripped of all his clothing, the bloodied pile on the floor.. wait, was that.. Tipping my head a bit, my grin pulled the smirk routine. He was blushing! Face flushed, aside from the fact of how pale he was starting to look from blood loss, there was no mistaking the traineed was embarrassed at being so exposed.]

Oh come now. [Chuckling darkly, I hardly ficked a finger toward the hanging female and the Lesser that had bared the male’s body of annoying restrictions now worked the same effortless theme on the female.]

I’m sure she’s seen a naked male before, though maybe not one of your particularly appealing form. She’ll be honored to offer you her vein. If she wakes in time.

Grahve: Being left bare before the Brotherhood’s greatest enemy brought whatever blood I had left to my face. I tried not to shift in the restraints and give the game away, but as his eyes raked over me like I was a meal, he smirked and knew. Fuck. Like this could get worse…

My lip lifted in a snarl that bared my fangs (probably the last thing of me that had actually been covered) as the Lesser set about stripping the female.

“Leave her alone. Whatever you wanna do to her, do to me! She’s a /civilian/, right? Not a fighter. Not a warrior. It’s beneath you to hurt her,” I bit out, somehow averting my eyes as the female body was bared, every curve and slender muscle. “Or are you so low I should be shocked you don’t slither and crawl?”

Hey, provoking him probably wasn’t my best idea, but if it drew even a lick of attention away from the female, I’d do it again. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go; me helpless and watching some poor female be strung up and humiliated.

Lash: Who do you think I practice on? [I spoke without taking my eyes off the male, the illborne wickedness boiling under the gossamer surface of my form. Even without being consciously aware of what fueled the process, John Mathew had been my first directive. I had paid, and was still paying, for fucking that one up; the Omega never forgave for incompetance no matter the reason.

So I put into practice what I gleaned from each call ‘home’ to my sire. While it was never a fun visit, I did take away new skills to cultivate for my own use. It took too much energy to reanimate my own Lessers in the beginning, so I used whoever they, or I, managed to capture. Like the Chosen Layla. Now /she/ was one that never should have escaped. The Lesser that gave her the opportunity still decorated the wooded copse I’d blasted his carcass across. Or the more frequent random males and females of the species. Human rats were overlooked for the obvious reasons that they would never survive the capture. Let alone a single day/night under my hand.

Realigning my thoughts with the here and now, I waved a dismissal to the pale fuck who was eyeing the naked female with too much drool dripping down his chin at the malicious hunger brewing in his mind. With a sneering smirk, the Lesser skulked back to the corner of the room to await further orders. Just because they were impotent, didn’t mean that the desire to cut and kill died off as well.

The trainee’s compassion for the female negated his own need for survival. But this wouldn’t do. He needed to make the choice to fight to live. Even at the expense of another should the choice come to it, which I’d make sure it would. Many, many times.

Stalking back to the work bench along the far wall I picked up a long flat blade and returned to stand before the female, keeping the male at the edge of my vision. The sharp steel glinting under the lights as I held it up, admiring the razor honed edge before pressing it to the female’s throat deep enough to draw a nice, slow but steady rivulet of blood to run down her neck between her ample breasts.]

Do you think you can stop it before she bleeds out? [I mused to myself, turning to the feral-eyed fury that was the male strung up in chains and licked the blade clean.]

Grahve: As the blade cut into her flesh I felt two things. One, that I hated myself for wanting her blood, and two, that I now knew such hatred that I would gladly lose almost every limb if it meant the last one could plunge a knife into that bastard’s heart.

Her blood perfumed the air the longer it ran, from her throat, all the way down to her naval and down her leg to her toes. My body hungered for it in my injured state, and with sheer force of will alone I made myself focus on Lash. He watched me, watched every emotion that played out on my face, and I found myself wishing I was more like Vishous, or Zsadist, two Brothers who knew how to hide every thought, feeling or desire. Why couldn’t they have taught a fucking class on /that/?

“What, with my tongue?” I glanced at the red river with a flash of panic and wanted to punch something. Pulling at my own restraints - and boy, didn’t that remind me of the whole gauntlet my body had already run - I leant in closer to the female, breathing in her scent. “She won’t die. It’s not enough…”

I somehow managed to regret the words the instant they were out of my mouth. Because even a statement of fact, or a general denial, would undoubtedly seem like a challenge to the demon spawn. The fresh burst of anxiety, the fear that he would suddenly pull that knife back up and whip it across her throat until I was sprayed in blood, opened my mouth.

“Forget it, you’re right. Let me stop the bleeding!” I pulled at my restraints until I could put my lips to the wound, and even as a mouthful, or two, slid down my throat, I lapped my tongue over the wound, trying to seal it.

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore Lash, ignore my body and the need that was burning inside it, even as the blood started to slow. My fangs scraped against her skin and my stomach snarled, a growl bubbling up my throat. Then I was trying to pullback, my tongue running over the wound.

Lash: Come on, you can reach her. Come on. [The encouragement was sincere enough, I /did/ want to see if he could make it on his own; the pulley system which they’d both been rigged to was movable to any place in the building with the right adjustments. The trainee didn’t disappoint. But I had doubts, I really did. For all of five seconds. And I’d been ready to follow through and gut the female from chin to belly if the male hadn’t stepped up when he did.

I shuffled around the two in a macabre dance, watching the male’s throat work the blood down as quickly as he could, his efforts trying to stop the flow in spite of the need, his body’s need, to keep drinking. I could have played this out far longer than was formally necessary, but I did so enjoy a little drama after a long dry spell. This was merely play time, a warm up session for when the Royal family came to visit. I absolutely could /not/ disappoint King Wrath upon his arrival.

As Grahve’s throat slowed, the working of his jaw indicating he was finished, though I knew he would need more than a few little sips to heal properly, I reached over and patted him on the shoulder for effort.]

Such a valiant effort. Bravo my friend. Bra-vo. See? It wasn’t as difficult as you made it seem. [I paced around the pair once, twice, the female slowly beginning to come to with mumbled whimpers and moans.] Are you sure you’ve had enough?

Grahve: Feeling Lash’s hand on my skin in a fashion that wasn’t torturous was, in itself, a kind of torture. My skin crawled as I shifted away from him, not wanting the contact, the camaraderie sensation. Crhis was my partner. The Brothers my allies. I didn’t want Lash’s praise.

I ignored his question to stare at the female, leaning in slightly.

“Hey, are you okay? My name’s Grahve. Can you hear me?”

I shot Lash a filthy look as the female mumbled and groaned, barely coherent as she struggled in her restraints and shifted in the puddle of her blood on the floor. She seemed to notice that - notice that she was naked straight after. A shudder went through her, then a kind of sob. My chest ached for her; that she’d been dragged into this shithole.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay, I’m here with you,” I murmured, wishing her blood wasn’t still on my lips, helping seal the hole in my lung. “Can you tell me your name?”

Lash: Looks like she’s not that into you, Grahve. [Doing a back n’ forth between the two, I wrapped an arm around both waists, ignoring the fact that the female was starting to really wake up now. The weak tugging on the chains was indicative of the minor blood loss and likely the blow to her head and the trainee’s encouraging tone.]

But don’t worry, I’ll send my boys out to find you something a little more fresh and easier on the eyes. [With that promise, silent shock painted the male’s face, his half-strangled cry caught in his throat as the hot red scent of iron dripped down his face, his chest and thighs. The female’s struggles were more erratic now, twitching really.]

Grahve: Red. It had a smell. I was covered in it. The taste of her was all over me. Her body writhed in front of me. Her throat was a gaping hole. Blood spurted, oozed, trickled and spilled.

“Shit…”

It was the only word that came out. She looked at me, the light in her eyes dying. Betrayal flickered there. Why was she dying. Why was I alive. Why was Lash still holding me…

Bile rose in my throat as I tried to wrench away. From him. From her. I’d failed her. As she gasped her last breath I knew I’d remember the sound until I died.

Hopefully it’d be soon…

[chokememrstark]

Loki or Thor find the other having a nightmare? can be fluffy or smutty, up to you

You may hate me for what I turned this into, because while there is some fluff and a hint of smut (not explicit), most of it is angsty… I’m sorry :(

This is set right after TDW, in case there is any confusion.

The nights have been unkind for Thor for a long time now. Ever since he lost his brother, sleep had become unreliable, often avoiding him completely and lately, nightmares have begun to disturb the little bit of rest that he managed to find. There was so much guilt in him, so much grief over what he had done. Seeing Loki die had been horrible already, but being forced to leave him in a foreign place, alone and in the cold, was what turned out to be too much in the end.

He had come back to search for his brother, of course, after he had turned his back on Asgard and the throne, but Loki was gone. Thor had spent days wandering Svartalfheim, shouting Loki’s name, begging and pleading, but there was never more than the echo of his own voice, as if the whole realm itself was mocking him by whispering his brother’s name like a prayer that would never be heard.

“He died to save you.” “He wouldn’t want you to mourn him.” “You shouldn’t let yourself go like this, you’re still alive, right?” “At least you were with him.” “He’s in a better place now.”

Thor knew that Jane’s words shouldn’t have angered him to the point they got into a fight, of course he did. She meant well and despite his sorrow, part of him was thankful for that, but every time she tried to console him, everything in him tensed up and he wanted to scream. Loki was his brother, for crying out loud! How could he be in a better place now when he was dead? He should be with him, alive and laughing, not gone from this world as if he never existed! She didn’t understand and, in the end, that was what broke them apart. There was never a question to Thor’s answer when Jane told him to “choose between your dead brother and me!”. His answer was Loki. It would always be Loki.

Weeks had passed and alone, things seemed even more hopeless than with someone else around, no matter if they understood or not. Eventually, Thor even began to search the other realms for his brother, holding onto the faint hope that he was still alive somewhere, hiding from him for whatever reason. Of course he was met with nothing but disappointment - and the occasional joy when people heard about his brother’s death, something that hurt Thor deep down, even though he laughed it off on the outside.

When the nightmares began, Thor felt an overwhelming wave of dread that numbed him for several days. They never started out as nightmares, but ultimately turned into them. He woke up in cold sweat, his brother’s name on his lips and tears in his eyes, again and again and again. And then came the worst one, the nightmare that made him beg for this all to end more than all others could before.

They were on the ship in Svartalfheim, Jane sleeping and both looking over the ruins around them. Thor knew Loki wanted to say something, the tension was so thick he could have sliced it had he tried, but when his brother finally spoke, it wasn’t what he expected. That’s when things turned sour.

“You abandoned me.” Loki’s voice was cruel, cold, like a shrapnel that pierced right through Thor’s chest, paralyzing him so much he couldn’t even turn his head. “I waited for you to come, brother. Days, weeks… months. You never came.”

“I couldn’t,” Thor wanted to say, but the words were stuck in his throat.

“Do you feel proud about leaving me down there to suffer? Do you? You took everything away from me, even the chance to say goodbye to mother. You took it all, even my life.”

Suddenly, Loki’s hand was on his back. It was a gentle touch at first, for a moment making Thor believe that Loki had forgiven him, but a second later his fingers dug into his skin, drawing blood. Thor was spun around, facing his brother, who looked at him with nothing but hate and disgust. It made his heart feel as though it was bleeding.

“Can you feel it? The hunger that nothing can satisfy? The guilt that eats you alive?” Loki’s eyes turned dark as he laid a hand against his brother’s chest, right above his heart. There was no pressure in this touch, but suddenly Thor couldn’t breathe anymore. It felt as if the air was sucked out of his lungs, only leaving an agonizing burning in his chest that began to spread. He fights to say something, but all that comes out is a weak whimper. Just one word.

“Lo… ki…”

“You deserve everything you feel,” Loki continued, pressing his hand harder onto Thor’s chest. When he curled his fingers, it was like he gripped his heart and squeezed it. “This is the punishment for your betrayal. This is what you get for what you did to me.”

Thor couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell Loki that he was sorry or that he never meant to hurt him, not even the most important of all; that he loved him. He was overtaken by the intensity of his guilt and grief, unable to do more than wrap his hands around Loki’s wrist without any strength in his touch.

“I despise you,” Loki hissed, stabbing his brother deeper with his words than he ever could with a knife. “I never loved you. All I ever wanted was your end and now it’s finally here.”

Loki clenched his hand to a fist and it felt as if Thor’s chest was exploding. He screamed and with this scream he was thrown back into reality, the sheer agony of his heartbreak echoing from the walls around him and it wouldn’t stop, it just wouldn’t stop. Thor wanted to die, just so this pain would end, and at the same time he knew that death would only make things worse, no matter how much he wished for it.

“Thor, brother…”

At first, Thor didn’t hear the gentle voice next to his ear. Only when he felt the soft fingers pressing against his cheek, caressing him in a way that made his chest ache from the memories, he realized that he wasn’t in Svartalfheim anymore. He closed his eyes and leaned into this touch that he had yearned for so much, without believing it to be real.

“Why are you hurting yourself so much, brother?” Loki asked, pressing a tender kiss onto Thor’s stubby cheek. “Have you not suffered enough?”

“Am I still dreaming?” Thor had to ask, even though he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to know the truth or not.

“Is it really that important?”

Thor smiled weakly, but eventually shook his head. No, it wasn’t important. Even if it was a dream, he yearned for his brother so much more than words could say. A dream like this was better than experiencing those nightmares, no matter if it would last or not.

It felt strange when he turned his head and his lips brushed over Loki’s again for the first time in so long. He still didn’t look at him, feared that opening his eyes would destroy what he needed so much, but even this soft touch was familiar already. When he raised his hand, gently cupping Loki’s face to kiss him properly, every last one of his nerves felt like they were on fire. He had never felt such an intense and mind blowing wave of affection before. It was so strong, it actually drove tears into his eyes.

“Don’t leave, please,” Thor whispered, pulling away only far enough so he could speak, without letting go of his brother. “Not again.”

“I won’t leave you again,” Loki promised, returning the kiss again and taking any possible answer away from his brother. And despite knowing that it would hurt so much more the next morning, Thor decided to believe Loki. He allowed his mind to give into this fantasy, into this wonderful moment that he had prayed for more than for anything else. Even if it was just one night, he wanted to believe it was real.

Thor was used to realistic and vivid dreams, but this night turned into so much more than just that. Every touch felt like needles under his skin, every kiss sent small electric shocks through him. Having Loki back, holding and feeling him in this wonderfully intimate way, was all of his hopes coming true. They were gentle with each other, slow and patient, savoring every last second they had together. Thor remembered the last times they actually made love, instead of just having sex, but nothing came close to this and it broke his heart a little to think that nothing ever would again.

When it was over and Thor held Loki in his arms, he wanted to stop time just so he could keep this moment for the rest of his life. It was perfect and calm, maybe a little melancholic, but he wouldn’t want to trade it for anything else. He bowed his head, pressing a kiss on his brother’s head, before pulling him as close as he physically could.

“I’m sorry, Loki,” he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Loki’s. “I should have never left you there all alone, I will never forgive myself for this. I tried to find you, I really did, but I couldn’t…”

“I’m here now,” Loki said, squeezing one of Thor’s hands gently.

“It’s too late, I know, but I love you, Loki… I always did, I need you to know that…”

“I know you do,” Loki whispered, kissing Thor’s chest gently and trailing his fingers over it. “Whatever happens, remember that I feel the same and that there is nothing to be forgiven.”

Thor wanted nothing more than to believe Loki’s words, and when he closed his arms behind his brother’s back and shut his eyes, the only wish he had was for Loki to still be with him in the morning. Of course, as soon as he opened his eyes, the bed was as cold and empty next to him as he knew it would be. He took a deep breath, telling himself that he was thankful for this small gift that he had received. Even if Loki was gone, something granted him this moment of happiness with his brother. He would embrace it as much as he could.

—–

“It’s better this way, brother,” Loki sighed, waving his hands to make the image of Thor in bed disappear. Leaving once more had been the hardest decision of his life, but he knew anything else would have hurt Thor so much more than this. Still, he couldn’t stand seeing his brother punish himself so much night after night, when all he wanted was his happiness. Yes, coming to him had been a reckless and partially selfish decision, but Loki, too, had yearned for his brother’s embrace ever since they parted. Only with him he had ever been able to be truly happy. Maybe it was just a small light in those lonely times, but he was determined to hold onto it until they met again, hopefully accompanied by luck, for once.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me- Chapter 40

WARNINGS: SMUT. NSFW

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @ocfairygodmother​

He wakes to the sound of rain and rolling thunder and the crashing of the waves as they pummel the shore. The storm has brought much cooler conditions; a much needed break from the oppressive heat and humidity that has blanketed Australia for weeks. The wind is strong; bringing with it the heavy smell of salt,  the sound of rustling trees and the fluttering of curtains and the shuddering of windows.  For several minutes he stays where he is; comfortable and content, flat on his back with his closed and a forearm resting across his forehead. Listening to the sounds of the storm and the soft, slow breathing coming from the warm, sleeping figure beside him. On her stomach with the comforter pulled up to the tops of her ears and and her feet sticking up at the bottom; her face turned towards him and her hair messy and falling over her eyes.

Last night had been one of his better nights for sleep. Drifting off shortly after they’d made love for a second time; not hampered by pain in the shoulder or knee and waking up only once with the baby for a middle of the night feed. There’d been no dreams, thankfully. No vivid recollections of being a kid hiding in his bedroom closet, listening  to his father beat on his mother. No visions of Austin -as a child or an adult- and Millie on the beach.  No sounds of gunfire and explosions or the feel of a sniper’s bullet ripping through his back.  Just a peaceful, deep sleep the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in years. At least not without the aid of a lot of booze and a handful of Oxy.

Esme stirs beside him; mumbling in her sleep and then rubbing her cheek against her pillow; a hand blindly reaching out for him and coming to rest on his collarbone.  Counting the five days in Dhaka -and not including the months he’d spent in the hospital- they’ve been sharing a bed for seven years,  yet he still spends a handful of minutes every morning watching as she sleeps. There’s something different about her beauty when she’s at rest; when her features are softer and no worry creases her brow and there’s always a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips.  She seems more innocent. Fragile, even. As if the purity and the youthfulness returns with the temporary banishment of stress and turmoil.

He moves onto his side, the movement causing her hand to slip from his collarbone and down onto his chest.  Her eyes never opening or even twitching when he uses a fingertip to clear the hair away from her forehead, gently tucking it behind her ear. He’d always struggled with moments like these; even after it had become clear that he was in love with her and they’d gotten married and started a family. Always anxious...even self conscious...about allowing him to show that level of affection. To let his guard down and be vulnerable. Emotional, even. Years of having it drilled into his head that that isn’t how a man -a real man- behaves; they don’t allow themselves to be ‘soft’.  Slowly she’d chipped away at the particular wall he’d built around himself, and over the course of their first year together he’d changed considerably; realizing it was okay to allow him to ‘feel’. That sometimes it was okay to think -and react- with just your heart.

Millie’s birth had been the tipping point; breaking down in front of the doctor and nurses when his baby girl was placed in his arms for the first time.  After that he’d no longer felt the need to hold back; comfortable with both saying -and showing- what he’s feeling.  His wife is the only one he truly trusts. Without question or hesitation. Not just with his life, but his heart. Knowing that she won’t judge him for his weaker moments; not seeing him as ‘less of a man’ if he shows even the slightest bit of vulnerability. And not once causing him to question her faithfulness. Sarah had fucked him up; the constant lying and cheating. And he’s never thought he’d ever put that kind of trust and loyalty into another woman again.

He leans in to place his lips on  her brow, then presses a series of feathery kisses against her face; over her eyebrows and against both eyes, down the bridge of her nose, across her cheeks and along her jaw. Their talk last night has unnerved him; forcing him to think about all the time he’s taking HER presence for granted. Those night he didn’t kiss her goodnight because she’d pissed him off about something stupid and trivial, the times he’d left the house following an argument and didn’t tell her that he loved her.  Or when he’d let physical pain and and his PTSD issues get the better of him and he’d been irritable and off hand with her. And there’s so many little things that he’d miss if they suddenly ceased to exist. Her laugh and the sound of her voice and the little she gives when he wakes her up after she’s fallen asleep on the couch with her head in his lap. The familiar scent that clings to her hair and how soft and warm her hands always feel against his body; the way she always stands on the top of his feet to hug him because she truly believes that even that little bit of extra height makes a difference.   And he can’t help but wonder if she ever feels that he’s taken her for granted; if he’s ever given her a reason to doubt just how much he appreciates her.

How much he loves her.

There’s so much uncertainty now; knowing there’s targets on their backs -more so his- and  that legitimate threats have already been made. Even he can’t stop thinking about the ‘what ifs’. If something does go horribly wrong and he doesn’t make it home., Or worse yet, if Mahajan’s people do manage to get close enough that he loses her.  He knows he wouldn’t be able to do it; raise five kids on his own.  He’d be a broken man; turning back to alcohol and pain meds to numb the overwhelming pain and the agony of tremendous loss. He’d been broken; nothing more than a shell of his former self. And then he’d lose his kids too.

His lips press against hers and he feels her smile against her mouth; her hand sliding up his chest and over the side of his head and up onto the back of his head; fingers in his hair as she responds to the kiss. Long and slow and soft, followed by several light pecks and the exchange of sleepy smiles.

“I’m cold,” she murmurs, and slides closer to him; chest pressed against his and her head tucked under his chin.

“I got you,” he says, draping a leg over hers and then wrapping both arms around her; as tight as she can possibly stand.

“That’s better,” she says, and he can feel her smile against his throat.

“You good?”

“Yeah…” she gives a content sigh. “...you’re so warm and you smell so good.”

“Haven’t showered since last night.”

“You smell like you. Like Tyler. And there’s no better smell in the world than that.  You smell like a man. MY man.”

“All yours baby. I’m all yours.”

She smiles again and he feels the tickle of her lashes against his skin when she closes her eyes. Her hand settling briefly on his hip before sliding up over his rib cage and around to his back. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Pretty early, I think. Kids are still asleep.”

“Did you get up with the baby last night?”

“Just once. Around two. She’s been sleeping since.”

“She’s growing up.”

He grins. “She’s not even a month old yet and six pounds soaking wet.”

“She’s starting to change. She’s only getting up once a night now.  And she’s getting longer and heavier. Maybe the newborn clothes will actually fit soon.”

“Maybe. She’s still a tiny little thing. I’m still afraid of hurting her when I pick her up.  I’m not used to one THAT small.”

“You’re a good daddy. A VERY good daddy. You know what you’re doing.  Did you sleep good?”

“I did, actually, No dreams.”

“That’s good,” she presses a kiss to his Adam’s apple. “I had a dream.”

“About what?”

“Us.”

Tyler grins. “Oh really…”

“Not THAT kind of dream. And not a Dhaka dream, either. Just a nice, somewhat normal dream.”

“Somewhat normal?”

“We met in a grocery store. In the produce section. And you had your old haircut and you were barefoot and you had on these low riding shorts and no shirt. I was buying cantaloupe and I had one in each hand and you said ‘nice melons’.”

He can’t but laugh at that, which in turn has her bursting into giggles.

“It was so cheesy but so charming at the same time. Because you said in that voice and with your accent and that makes everything that comes out of your mouth sound so sexy. So yeah...you said ‘nice melons’...and I gave you my phone number and that was it. We would have had crazy hot sex but you woke me up before things could get that far.”

“Why just dream about it when you can actually do it?”

“We had crazy hot sex twice last night.” She reminds him.

“There’s a rule we can’t have it in the morning too?”

“There’s no rule. But….”

“No buts. I don’t want to hear any buts. Only but I care about is this one..” his hands tightly grip her ass, fingers digging through the fabric of her pajama bottoms and into the soft, supple flesh. Pulling the bottom half of her body against his and letting her feel the state of his morning arousal.

She grins. “Almost forty one and you still wake up like that.”

“I’m a guy. I’ll wake up like this ‘til the day I die.”

“The kids are going to be up soon,” she says, but doesn’t protest when he reaches between them to undo the drawstring at the waist of her cotton bottoms..

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, as he sits back on his heels and yanks the pants down and off her legs, leaving them at the bottom of the bed.

“If I was to suggest that, you'd be offended.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do, yeah?”

“You’re very needy lately,” she teases.

“I have my reasons..”

He doesn’t want to tell her how scared he is.  That he’s ’s fully aware of just HOW dangerous and complicated it will be going into Mumbai. Mahajan has placed an enormous bounty on his head, and his reach and influence extend far beyond what Amir Asif had had in Dhaka.  He may be able to get away with killing off two of three of Mahajan’s ‘people’, but after that it would be open season on him; Mahajan will know exactly who is behind the kills and in turn will order for things to escalate. It will be hard to get  around Mumbai without being spotted. And it won’t matter how many people he brings with him. The target on his back will only grow bigger.

“And what reasons are those?” she asks.

“Ever thought maybe I just love you? That I like having sex with my wife?”

“I think you’re very lucky to have a wife that loves you back and also likes having  sex with you. And puts out as much as she does.”

“I definitely don’t take any of that for granted, trust me.”

He places  a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other; palms on her knees as he pushes her legs further apart.  Lips pressing against each juncture of where thigh meets hip, then moving up her body; hands lifting the bottom of her t-shirt. Pace quicker than the night before as he kisses, licks, and sucks all the way to her mouth. Tongue impatiently pushing past her teeth; calloused palms cupping and massaging her breasts, strong fingers plucking and toying with the painfully hard nipples.

“Get on top,” Tyler gently orders, gripping her hips as he rolls onto his back; one hand moving down to her ass while the other slips up the front of her t-shirt to fondle her breasts.

“You giving up control?” Esme grins, as she kneels between his splayed thighs. “This doesn’t happen often.”

“You better enjoy it while you can. Might be another seven years before it happens again.”

“We’ll see about that.”  Her fingers  hook in the waistband of his boxers, tips soft and teasing as they glide against his skin as she pulls them down. Grinning..almost victoriously...as a hiss escapes his lips when her nails dig painfully into the cheeks of his ass. “What?” she teases. “All of a sudden Tyler Rake can’t handle a little bit of pain? You of all people?”

“I’m about five seconds away from throwing you down and spanking your ass.”

“Promises, promises.”  She leans down to place a trail of kisses along his pubic bone and then lower; lips grazing against the inside of one thigh before sucking and biting at the flesh. “You’re so beautiful,” she breathes, and bite down particularly hard on one spot, causing him to flinch. “...so...so...so beautiful…” She speaks between kisses to the juncture between hip and thigh, tips of her fingers skimming along one side of his cock. A sly grin on her face and her eyes locked on his when she swipes her thumb across the head and proceeds to lick off the precum.

“Get up here.” he breathlessly demands.

“You don’t want me to..”

“I said get up here,”  he orders, pushing a hand through her hair and dripping tightly, gently yanking at it and urging her to do as she’s told.

“You’re very bossy this morning.” she chides, her eyes focused on his wide, dilated pupils and flushed cheeks and the sweat that glistens on his forehead. Her top teeth digging into her bottom lip as his fingers bite into her hips as he assists her in straddling him; sighing as she feels  his length running along her slick folds.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” he growls, a low groan rumbling deep within his chest when her hand wraps around his cock to position it at her entrance. Hands moving from her hips to her ass; tightly gripping it as she lowers herself onto him, both of her hands on his chest for support.  His eyes closing and his head tipping back at the sensation; her tightness and her moist heat. It’s so familiar yet still feels incredible each and every time he gets the chance to be inside of her.

“So good…” she whimpers, his face in her hands as she leans down to kiss him; breasts flattened against him,  one of his hands sliding over her ass and up underneath the back of her shirt. “..you feel so good, Tyler. You’ve always felt so good.”

He grips her ass painfully tight and his short nails rake against her back as he slips his tongue past her teeth; the kiss hungry and aggressive as his hips lift off the bed, pushing further inside of her.  And she gasps into his mouth, the feeling of him being so deep inside of her is almost overwhelming and too much to take; filling her like no man before him ever had.  He moves his hands from her back to her front; palms cradling and fondling her breasts and fingers teasing and playing with her nipples as she begins to move. Slowly and patiently rocking into him at first; eyes never leaving us, her hands planted firmly on his chest. Tyler can’t stop watching her; transfixed by those hooded eyes and her flushed cheeks and the way her hands tumbles down the sides of her face and over her shoulders.  And he groans when she allows his cock to slip completely out of her, only for her to sink back down again in one quick movement. His hands becoming rougher as her movements pick up pace; squeezing and pawing at her breasts, pinching and pulling at the sensitive nipples. Knowing exactly what she needs...what she wants..to bring her closer to the edge.

“Tyler…” she whispers, head falling onto his shoulder, nails dragging down his side. “...make me come...please make me come.”

“Look at me,” he manages through harsh, ragged breaths. “I want you to look at me. I want to watch you come.”

Her head lifts and her eyes flicker open; a slight blush creeps into her already flushed cheeks.

“Don’t be embarrassed, babe,” he says. “Never be embarrassed with me. Keep your eyes open and look at me the whole time.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can. It’s okay. I love you and there’s no reason for you to ever be embarrassed with me.”  He reaches up to cradle the side of her face in his palm, lifting his hips to encourage her to keep moving. “It’s okay, Esme,” his tone is gentle. Soothing. “I got you.”

His confidence in her sparks her own. Her chest heaving and soft, breathy sighs and moans begin to tumble from her lips as she rides him harder and faster. His one hand still on the side of her face; soft and loving, his thumb caressing her cheek and under her eyes and brushes over her lips and chin. A startling contrast to his other hand; rough and aggressive against her skin.

“You close?” he asks, and when she manages a feeble nod, he removes his hand from under her shirt and places his palm against her lower stomach; thumb pushing through her folds and finding her clit. Pressing against it and firmly rubbing at it until she’s coming undone. Her eyes dark and wild and her face flushed, entire body trembling; his name leaving her lips in a strangle cry as she struggles to keep the volume down.  “You’re so beautiful,” he praises. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”

He gathers her in both arms and pulls her down into him; kissing her deeply as his body takes over; those few trusts rough and punishing as he loses control. Her name and a slew of profanities slipping from his mouth as he empties himself deep inside of her. And her body goes completely slack against his; her face buried in the space between his neck and shoulder. His heavy, uneven breath tickling her skin and fluttering her hair.

“I love you,” he breathes. “I love you so much and I don’t want to lose you.”

“I love you, Tyler,” she says in return, lips against the side of his neck. “Tell me it’s going to be okay. That WE’RE going to be okay.”

“We’re going to be fine.” he assures her, and presses a kiss to her sweaty forehead. “I promise.”

****

Addie is the first to wake; her incessant crying filtering through the baby monitor speaker that’s kept in the nightstand next to his side of the bed. Groaning loudly, he untangles himself from a mixture of sweaty limbs and sweat dampened sheets.  Careful not to wake his wife as he gingerly removes both her arm and head from his chest; gently placing the latter upon her pillow before sliding out of bed. Wincing when the simple act of pulling on a pair of sweats causes immediate pain in the small of his back. The arthritis is getting worse; a deep ache that seems to travel straight through into the bone. No amount of over the counter medication takes the edge off anymore, and he briefly considers trying to hunt down someone...anyone..that can get him something strong. Not necessarily Oxy; he’s determined to NOT go down that road again. But something at least equivalent to it.  The doctor will be of no help; his addiction no secret.  

All thoughts of pain meds and other vices disappear when he hears the rustling of sheets and Esme's soft voice behind him.

“Tyler…” she lifts her head from her pillow; so cute when her hair is messy and she’s completely disoriented. “...do you want me to get her?”

“I’m already on it. Go back to sleep, baby.”

He waits by the side of the bed until she settles and proceeds to  draw   the comforter up past her shoulders; tucking   it tightly around her and then placing a kiss to her cheek before leaving the room.

***

Ovi sits at the kitchen table; hair mussed and eyes blurry, a massive bowl of Lucky Charms cereal and a glass of orange juice in front of him. And he manages a smile that comes across as pained and miserable.

Tyler knows a wicked hangover when he sees it.

“You look like shit,'' he comments, Addie laying stomach down along one of his forearms as he grabs a bottle of formula from the fridge. It’s been almost six years of daddy duty and things are routine now; able to do them in his sleep if he had to. Boiling water in the kettle and pouring it into a measuring cup and letting the bottle sit in it for no less than a minute.

Even at three weeks she’s incredibly picky. And demanding. Already taking after her older sister.

“I FEEL like shit,” Ovi grumbles.

“You were already pretty trashed when I stopped by. Did you give up after that or…”

“Drank until I puked. Then drank some more.”

“I remember those days,” Tyler smirks. “Trust me when I say no pussy is worth that.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if Esme left you,” Ovi counters. “You’d probably go on a week-long bender.”

“Probably a month. If not more. But there’s a huge difference. That’s my wife. Not just some girl I’m playing house with. Little worse I think if my wife and mother of my kids took off.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. She’s never going to leave you. No matter how bad you fuck up. All the times you messed up and she still sticks around. She even took you back when shit got really bad. For some reason.”

“Maybe because she’s a grown ass woman and not some little girl. Maybe because she actually loves me. And maybe because three years and three kids with one another means a hell of a lot more than the six months you spent with Chloe. Don’t even compare the two, mate. They’re not even close. Alright, calm down,” he addresses Addie now, as he plucks the bottle from the boiled water and vigorously shakes it; dripping  some of the formula into his mouth to test the temperature. “It’s coming, I promise, Don’t freak out now. Don’t be such a drama queen. You’re not gonna starve. You’re getting more like Millie every day.”

“Knee?” Ovi asks, noticing the wince and the sharp intake of breath when Tyler sinks into the chair across from him.

“Knee. Back. My whole fucking body.” He adjusts  Addie’s position on his arm; laying her on her back with her head tucked into the crook of his elbow, then offering  her the bottle. A smile curving his lips as he looks down at her; those huge dark eyes focused intently on him, her hand coming up to rest on his and her entire fist closing around one of his fingers.  It’s been three weeks and he still can’t get over just how small she is; much daintier and more fragile than all the others had been.

“Daddy’s girl already,” Ovi remarks.

“I think so. Her big sister must be rubbing off on her.”

“It’s always a little weird when I see you doing dad things,” Ovi admits. “Even after all this time. Because I still remember what you were like in Dhaka. And then I see you like this...with a baby...especially a little girl..and it doesn’t seem like those two guys are even the same person.”

“‘Cause they’re not. I’m not the same person I was back then. Far from it.”

“Maybe not in some ways. But in other ways you still are. You’re still Tyler.”

“Old Tyler, new Tyler,” he muses. “That’s what Esme calls them. I like to think I’m more new Tyler, but to be honest, these days I’m not so sure anymore. I’m starting to feel more and more like the old one again. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

“Getting back into the job, you mean?”

“It’s gone way past just getting back into the job and starting my own business. We’re so far past that.”

Ovi’s head cocks to the side, a quizzical look on his face.

“When were you going to tell me about your old man?” Tyler asks. “That you’ve been talking to him?”

The younger man’s eyes widen in surprise. Maybe even a little fear.

“You weren't going to tell me, were you. You had no intention of telling me.”

“I thought I could handle things,” Ovi feebly explains.

“On your own?”

He nods.

“Didn’t handle things so well seven years ago, did you? When you were so scared you pissed your pants. When you shot Gaspar and cried to me about wanting me to go home.  You know who put you in that mess? Who put ME in it? Who got Esme mixed up in it? Your old man. That’s how much he loves you and respects you. Couldn’t even stay on the straight and narrow for his own kid.”

“I know that. I know ALL of that. I know what kind of person he is.”

“Wouldn’t take no for an answer, would he. No matter how many times you said it. He can’t handle the fact that you want nothing to do with him or his business.”

“I DON’T want anything to do with it. That’s not who I am. That’s not who I want to be.”

Tyler’s eyes remained focused on the baby happily feeding; her gaze still on him, her fist holding his finger as tightly as it can. He knows he can stay calm if he just looks at her; at that dark hair and the look of trust and adoration she has for him. Even the purple, pink, and yellow stripes on her sleeper. If he concentrates on all of that, he knows he can keep it together.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“I didn’t want you getting involved,” Ovi replies. “There were so many other things going on. Esme was just getting ready to have the baby and things were stressful and you were worried about them and…”

“You should have told me,” Tyler insists. “We could have stopped it before it got as far as it has. Did he threaten me too? Did he say anything? About me? About my wife and my kids?”

“How do you know all of this? How…?”

“Did he? Mention my wife and kids?”

“He was angry, That I wouldn't go back to Mumbai and take things over. He blamed it on you. Said that you had brainwashed me into into  hating him. Into disrespecting him. And that if you weren't careful, you’d pay for it. Because he knows how to hurt a man where it hurts the most.”

“He say anything else about them? About my family?”

“Just that if you didn’t watch your step, they’d be the ones to pay the price.”

Tyler gives a derisive snort and shakes his head. “And you didn’t think it was a good idea to tell me this? That he was threatening my wife and my kids?”

“I thought I could handle it another way. That I could get into the job and then I’d be able to protect myself. And you guys, My family.”

“That is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. You’re a kid.”

“I’m twenty,” Ovi argues.

“You’re a kid,” Tyler stresses. “That is my wife and my kids your old man is threatening. And I would do anything to protect them. No question asked. And you didn’t think it was a good idea to tell me about all of this?”

“I thought I could handle it. Especially once Nik got on board and…”

“Oh fuck Nik,” Tyler snarls. “Who gives a shit about Nik. This is my family your father’s threatening. Not Nik’s. And you should have told me. Not her. Because now the shit is really hitting the fan and things are fucked up and if anyone gets near Esme and my kid because of your old man…”

“I think it’s just threats. Harmless one. To scare you.”

“There’s nothing harmless about them. They’re legit. They’re the real deal. You know the next door neighbour?”

“Salena? What about her? What…?”

“Her name isn’t Salena. It’s Allison. Allison Rav.”

Ovi frowns. “She’s related to Saju? How?”

“She was married to his youngest brother. They started a private security company. To honour Saju and the absolute fucking disaster he got dragged into. Your father threatened his family, too. Did you know that?”

Ovi nods.

“Seems to be his thing. Threatening a man’s family. Seven years later and he’s still after Neysa and Aarav.”

“What? Why?”

“Revenge. Saju didn’t complete his mission. Not all of it, anyway. And now her and the kid are in hiding and your old man’s people can’t find them. They’re pissed. So guess who they’re going to take it out on?”

“You?”

“Not just me, mate. Esme, The kids. It could be today, it could be tomorrow. Could be a week. Maybe even a month from now. I’ve got a big fucking target on my back and they’re going to come for my family first. Because they know that will break me. They know my family is my weakness. And they won’t stop until my wife and my kids are dead.”

“So what are you going to do?” Ovi asks. “What…?”

“It’s what WE’RE going to do. Me and you and Nathan. That ex Marine I told you about. We’re going to Mumbai.”

“No,” Ovi vigorously shakes his head. “No. I’m not going there. I’m not going back. I won’t go there.”

“You ARE going. Even if I have to drag your ass onto the plane. You let things get this far. It didn’t need to get worse. If you'd told me right from the start, I could have stopped things before they got worse. But now it’s a regular goddamn dumpster fire. You got me into this mess, you’re going to help get me out of it.  Understand me?”

“I can’t,” Ovi insists. “I can’t go there. I can’t.”

“You’re going. There’s no way out of this. You fucked up.  You put my wife and my kids in danger. You put this target on my back.  Now you’re going to help straighten this shit out. You think I’m just going to sit back and let these people come here? Think I’m just going to wait for them? Fuck that. I’m going to hunt them down. Every single last one. And I’m going to put a bullet in each of their heads. And your old man is the last one on my list.”

Ovi blinks. “You’re going to kill him?”

“You going to stand in my way?” Tyler retorts. “Because if you even try to stop me…”

His voice trails off at the sound of little feet rushing down the stairs. Accompanied by boisterous chattering and giggling  from the three oldest and Declan’s broken speech and ear piercing shrieks; a tired sounding Esme begging them ‘turn it down a notch,”  And soon they’re flooding into the kitchen; little arms wrapping around his neck and kisses being pressed to his cheeks and their ‘good morning daddy’ in those tiny voices.  Always happy to see him. Even if it’s only been ten hours since he tucked them  into bed. Always trusting that he’ll be there. Never worrying they’ll come downstairs and find his chair empty.

“Good morning.” Esme places her hands on his shoulder and kisses his temple. “Everything okay? You guys look pretty serious.”

“Just having a little chat,” Tyler says. “About what we talked about last night.”

“Not right now, please, Not with the kids here. They don’t know about any of this. Normal, remember? We need to keep things normal for them.”

He nods in agreement, and she pecks his cheek and tousles his hair before heading to help the kids with preparing the Sunday morning family breakfast.

“You won’t stop me,” Tyler says to Ovi. Voice low. Menacing. “You CAN’T stop me. And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t even try.”

[odairing-a]

@butscrewmefirst <3′d for a starter !

THE  GLASS  CONTAINER  IS  UNCORKED  then  tipped  into  an  elegantly curved  glass.  this  is  a  motion  finnick has  performed  countless times  in  service to  a  buyer, but  not  until  recently  has  this  beverage of  deep  cerise  been so...  unconventional.  he  had  thought he’d  seen  it  all.  he  had  been  wrong. the  metallic  scent  wafts  upwards, and  he  thumbs away  a  stray  drop  clinging to  the  lip  of  the  bottle.  this  is  his  second night,  here.  he  wonders  how  close  he  came  to  becoming  the  contents  of  one  of  these  bottles. he  wonders  if  she  will  grow  bored  of  him,  and  wonders if  that  fate  is  what  will  happen when  she  does.  he  doesn’t trust  the countess,  but  he  is  an  actor  of  impeccable talent  with  a  thousand  intricately crafted  masks  at  his  disposal, one  of  them  being  her  lover. he  turns,  ocean  hues  greeting that  of  the  other,  then  approaches,  handing her  the  glass. “  there’s a  frequenter  at  a  strip  club  a  few  blocks away.  I’ve  known  him  since  I  was  sixteen,  and  he’s  known  me  as  well.  ”

he  sits  upon  the  mattress at  her  side,  lips  parted in  thought,  eyes  softened  with  feigned  innocence,  but  sharp  in  alertness.

“  if  it  pleases  you,  darling, I  think  I  can  rather easily  sway  him  to  come  with  me  here. I’m  somewhat  convincing, you  see.  ”  a  smirk  flickers onto  his  expression, fading  almost  as  soon  as  it  appears. he  does  not  sway  from  her  gaze.  “ once  he’s  here,  I  want  to  tie  him  to  the  bed,  and  he  will  let  me  do  it.  after  he  is  restrained,  I  want  to  kill  him.  slowly. I  want  him  torn apart.  ”  head  tilts  almost  curiously. “  you’ll help  me?  ”

she  is  far  more  experienced in  murder  than  he,  but  he  prides himself  on  being  a  quick  learner. finnick  is  a  survivor, and  he’s  vicious and  cunning  as  a  serpent. his  lover  needs  to  feed,  and he  happens  to  know  plenty of  individuals  who  are  deserving of  facing  such  wrath,  individuals who  not  only  does  he  know  their  names and  general  locations,  but owns  a  piece  of  each  of  their  hearts.  how  easily such  vile  creatures fall  desperately  in  love  with him,  and  his  heart  races  in  pleasure at  the  thought of  betraying  that  foolish  trust  in  a  gush  of  gorgeous  crimson, an  avalanche  of  screams. the  countess  does  not  love  him,  but  she  is  so  tantalizingly capable  of  helping him  exact  revenge, and  has  so  much  to  gain  from  it  all!  it’s  so  perfectly  crafted in  theory…  

the  tales  that  fall  from  his  tongue somehow  surface  easier  to her  than  to  another.  she  feels  like  a  vault  of  secrets, someone  who  holds  no  real  affections  for  him,  no  real  desire to  use  these  emotions  for  his  gain  or  suffering, simply  a  weapon  he whispers  to.  he  continues  in  a  detached murmur.

“  he’s  only  one  of  the  endless  who  have  ruined  me  over  and  over  and  over  again.  and  the  anger  is  rotting me  from  the  inside.  I’m  hollow  now. there  is  nothing left  of  me.  I’m  broken, I’m  numb,  I’m  dead  and I  will  never  live again  because  of  people  like  him.  he  ripped  away  everything  from  me,  and  I  want  to  make  him  to  feel...  just  the  smallest amount  of  agony  I’ve  endured  because of  him.  I  don’t  want  him  just  to  regret touching  me,  or  ever  crossing my  path,  I  want  him  to  wish  he was  never  born.  I’ve  been  angry  for  a  long time,  love.  I’ve  never  gotten to  indulge  that  rage  before  now—  you  will  help  me,  won’t  you?  ” voice  carries  with  it  a  submissive  plea.  he  reaches  and  tucks  a  lock  of  white  blonde behind  her  ear,  palm  coming to  rest  against her  cheek.  he  thumbs  it  back  and  forth,  gaze  begging for  her  approval. “  don’t  I  deserve  it? after  so  much  pain?  ”