#Black Water: ch 20 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

satorruubaby · 4 months

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—𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚍𝚊𝚢 ࣪ 🥥⊹ ࣪ ˖ ☼

Synopsis. You and Gojo decided to spend the day at the beach, savoring each moment. As the sky transformed into a canvas of warm colors, the two of you remind the deep love you shared for each other. Feeling the bond between you grow even stronger with each passing wave.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. All fluffy! Just slightly angsty in the end. Kinda suggestive? fem!reader, not spoiler free! JJK AU, established relationship, He’s love-strucked! Satoru being a cute boyfriend he is, he calls u baby tons, Satoru’s 20 and you’re 18!

W.C 1.6k

A/N. I’ve been gone for 2 months and this draft has been sitting here for like weeks by now, I was just lazy about decorating it….plus this is for ch.261:( I love u Satoru😞 IM SO SORRY IDK WHAT CAME OVER TO ME

On a cloudy, breezy day, you and Satoru arrive at a secluded beach, well he teleported you both there.

The soft pale cream sand warm under your feet. Satoru lays out a blanket, setting up a picnic under a parasol, with a bunch snacks that were mostly his sweets, but he also packed some cute bento lunches for you.

After arranging the mini picnic, Satoru leans back, pressing his hands into the sand behind him. He watches you slowly descend down the shore but you only stop at your ankle level, you were enjoying the view infront of you, the feeling of the wet sand on your feet. Turning slowly, you catch Satoru’s gaze, filled with love and admiration.

Your sundress flutters in the breeze, and he sees that beautiful smile he adores. Oh how could he be so lucky? You looked like an angel, truly the most beautiful girl he’s seen.

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Satoru stood up to make his way to you while unbuttoning his ¥178,861, white polo to reveal his heavenly sculpted abs. Your eyes couldn’t help but betray you as you check him out

“Like what you see love?” He grinned at you, his black-tinted glasses reflecting the horizon behind you

you look away and block his face with your hand“No. Not at all..” you scoff, Satoru’s hand finds its way to your waist, and tugs you forward as he leans down to your ear “Your flushed face tells me otherwise.”

He let out a small chuckle as you made a hmpf sound, “Well, I like what I see.” He shamelessly looked you up and down, the sundress hugged your figure perfectly, and he brought you that dress to make sure it did.

Your death glare made him snap out of his thoughts and quickly placed a kiss on your lips “Baby come on, let’s go for a swim before we start eating” He then suddenly carried you bridal-style which made you gasp “W-wait! I don't wanna get wet yet!” He ignored you as he made his way down the water then dropped you once the water reached above his knee, the hair you worked hours on before leaving the apartment, got wet from the suddenness of his action

“TORU MY HAIR!!!!” You screamed at him as you chased the grinning like-cat down, the water slowing your movement so you just started splashing him with water and he did the same to you but he splashed more water than you did, and that made you want to drown his stupid face. The beautiful horizon was disrupted by you and Satoru’s play-fight.

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“Baby look,” Satoru pointed at a bunny-like slug that was on the wet rocks “It looks like you” he mumbled as his finger gently stroked the little thing “How does it look like me? It’s a slug.” You grumbled, the wet drops of your bodies meeting the wet surface of the rock “Because you look like a bunny and act like a slug, cute but sluggish.”

“How am sluggish?? You’re the one who takes long to get ready because of how infatuated you are with your Nintendo.” You poked his right cheek “Ow!… well don’t act like you don’t take hours to get your hair done Baby!” He defended with a small pout.

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The two of you settled down to eat after Satoru collected shells to receive a ‘Good job’ kiss from you and made sand castles to compete with each other (You won as Satoru whined his loss)

“Babi, does the ocean have likee… brain-eating amoeba?” Satoru muffled with a mouth full of strawberry donuts, “No Toru. Don’t even wanna imagine that right now, and stop talking with your mouth full!” You scolded but that couldn’t stop the white-haired guy from his ill manners “It doesn’t? Then where are they usually found??” Satoru perked up in interest

“Well uhh—They can be found in lakes and rivers or still waters?” Your skin shivered from the thought of deep still-like waters

“REALLY??! oh god, I just recently went to a lake for a mission, and then I was levitating and accidentally fell into the water because of how sleepy I was!!! AM I GOING TO DIE, BABY??” Satoru’s worried-sad face made you chuckle a bit. You had forgotten that when Satoru gets tired and lacks focus, it can cause his infinity to turn off. You learned this about him when he told you how Toji took advantage of his vulnerable state by attacking your poor boyfriend at his blind spot.

“No Toru you wont!.. It's very unlikely to have a brain-eating amoeba. You'll be fine, Mr. Strongest." You rolled your eyes at his worried state. "Are you sure??? I can’t die without having to marry you yet!!" He whined and complained about the thought of dying without having 5,000 kids with you and his last name being yours.

"Satoru, calm down. You won’t die! And I’m sure you're able to have 5,000 kids with me soon, if I don’t die from giving birth to 5,000 babies, that is." You continued eating the sandwich that Satoru made. You couldn't help but notice that there were no bread crusts on the edges. Satoru really did take note of your dislike of bread crust on your first date, the attentive boyfriend he is. You loved him so much.

"HUH??? NO! Okay! Fine! How about 3 babies??" You let out a giggle. "Okay. Just 3 babies." He moved forward to close the distance between you two. "Promise you’ll soon be my wife and that we’ll have 3 kids together?" Satoru had a small pout on his face that made your heart melt. "Promise." You sighed internally, not expecting the mightiest sorcerer to go all love-struck on you.

"Give me a promise kiss then." You raised an eyebrow and took his glasses off before proceeding to plant a small, quick kiss on his lips. Satoru wasn't satisfied enough with it, so he held your waist and tugged you forward, causing your chest to fall against his. His lips quickly closed the distance, leading to a heated make-out session. His long, calloused fingers stroked your hair as he hummed into the kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, and you could taste the strawberry donut he had just eaten.

As the sun began its descent, a soft, rosy glow enveloped the ocean, casting a warm hue upon the scene. The embrace satisfied your cold, wet bodies. Your devoted Satoru persisted in showering you with affectionate kisses.

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The bonfire crackled softly in the background, it’s light flickering against the semi-dark sky. Calm waves lapped gently against the shore, providing a tranquil backdrop to the night. As you gently stroked the back of Satoru’s hair, he lay sprawled across you, his face nestled against your chest, exuding a sense of peace and contentment.

“toru—…you perv.” he hummed in response, unable to process your words, so lost was he in the soothing rhythm of your touch.

“…hmm baby?” He slowly lifted his head to gaze up at you, the flickering bonfire casting a warm glow on his pale skin. “stop face planting on my chest.” you pouted at his lazy smile “s’what babyyy…” he lays his head head down again sideways “boobies so comfy like a pillow, or better than a pillow” he mumbled as he rested his eyes once again.

You flicked his forehead, causing him to let out a soft whine. He tightened his hold on you, burying his face deeper into your chest. You sighed, realizing that you could never prevent him from doing perverted things, but then you realized that the day was spent without his glasses most of the time, so you let him have the comfort.

There were moments when Satoru was like this, too exhausted to move, a painful migraine throbbing around his eye. You came to understand this about him after he began spending nights at your place, revealing his vulnerability in those quiet, intimate times.

The exhaustion came from his life as a sorcerer. Ever since his friends left him, even his bestfriend Geto, he had been facing these missions alone, and they were relentless. As Nanami had asserted that Gojo should alone take on these missions, being the strongest, to prevent others from dying due to his perceived selfishness.

You scoffed internally. Nanami and the others didn’t fail to remind Satoru of his responsibilities, and you couldn’t help but loathe them for it. It was already enough that he lost his childhood due to being the Strongest. You loved him even before knowing about his sorcery life, and you wanted to love him more, to give him what he couldn’t have. You just wanted to hold him close and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

The night sky glittered with stars, and a comforting silence enveloped the place. Satoru had passed out on you, and you chuckled at his slightly open mouth. There were also times his drool would get on your chest. The waves lapped gently against the shore, and the fire grew smaller by the soft breeze.

Satoru appreciated and loved you. You were both his best friend and his lover. He couldn't ask for more. You were everything he yearned for, an escape from his sorcery life through moments like this with you, his beautiful, loving girlfriend.

He often wished that times like these would last forever. He just hoped that someday, once someone surpassed him, he could retire. He dreamed of buying the modern Japanese house you always wanted, putting a ring on your finger, having tons of kids running around the house, and growing old with you.

Little did he know what his future held.

Credits for divider- daddldee on tumblr!

𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍 🥥⊹ ࣪ ˖ ☼

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hopelesslys-world · 1 year

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STOCKHOLM SYNDROME | CH. 5

WARNINGS: NON-CON, Age Gap ( Massimo is 34 reader is 20 ), sex, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, oral (both female and male), yandere themes, stalking, KIDNAPPING, violence, harsh language, murder...

Tell me if I missed something... ( As you can see most of those warnings will make their appearance in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...

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𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏, 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 outside. You felt a slight depressed feeling approaching you, not to mention that you were starving like never before.

Right as your brain woke up, you felt someone’s hand lying heavy on your waist. Massimo was sleeping next to you, spooning you from behind leaving no space whatsoever, curled into a ball just like you with his arm around you securely.

Moments of yesterday's fight flashed before your eyes and disgust washed over you. What was he doing here? Being all cuddly and shit? If he won't apologise for his behaviour then you're in for a much terrible year.

You were afraid to move, to wake him, and you had to go to the bathroom. Slowly, you started to slip from under his arm, lifting it delicately. Massimo took a deep breath and turned over on his back. He was still asleep. You got up and headed to the bathroom tiptoeing.

After you were done with your business, you took your clothes off and went to the enormous shower. You turned the water on letting it soak you. Taking your loofah and using a generous amount of heavenly scented soap you began to scrub your body.

The door slammed open suddenly. It was the Man in Black. He was ogling me, not even trying to act cool.

A surprised scream left your mouth and hurried to cover up all your lady parts. "What the hell" you murmured to yourself

“Good morning, baby girl. May I join you?” he asked, rubbing the sleep off his eyes.

At first first all you wanted was to rush at him, pummel him with your fists for what would have been the thousandth time, and throw him out. But your experience of yesterday's fight told you that it would comedown to nothing and only elicit an abrupt, violent, and unpleasant reaction.

Instead, you replied, “You wouldn't leave even if I told you to. So be my guest.”

Massimo stopped rubbing his eyes, frowned, and froze, dumbfounded. He must have thought he had misheard you. You had thrown him off balance.

Time to finally put Plan C into action I guess. You thought mischievously.

You couldn’t change the fact that he had just gone in behind you and seen you naked, no other man had seen you like this before. It was for a brief moment, though. Your hands hugged your breasts protectively while you crossed your legs tightly preventing anyone from seeing your bare womanhood.

Slowly, Massimo approached the expansive shower, grabbed the shirt from the back of his neck and tore it off with one fluid motion. You backed up against the shower's wall, surely but hesitantly you removed one of your hands and began scrubbing again. Keeping your eyes glued to the floor tiles not daring to meet his burning gaze.

Massimo entered the enormous cubicle and turned on the second shower head. There were four of those in total, not counting the gigantic water jet panel that looked like a bathroom radiator.

“We’re leaving today,” the Man in Black said impassively. “We’re going to be away for a couple of days. Maybe weeks. I don’t know yet. We’ll drop by some galas and parties, so take this into account while packing your things. Domenico will take care of everything. You just tell him what you need.”

In the end, your curiosity won. You turned his way and saw Massimo standing with his arms propped on the wall, letting the water flow freely down his naked body. The first man you saw naked in real life and not movies.

The view was overwhelming— toned leg, shapely buttocks, muscled belly were all testament to the enormous work he had to do to keep his body in such perfect shape. Your eyes stopped wandering not wanting to push your luck and create sly comments from him.

The soap disappeared from your body, you turned off the water and moved forward to leave the shower. Without warning Massimo grabbed your arm and you slammed softly to his chest with a gasp. You could feel his erect cock touching your lower back.

"I wanted to say sorry for yesterday, you made me so furious I wasn't able to control myself." He kissed your shoulder. You didn't move. "I want to be gentle with you Y/N, but I don't know how...will you teach me how to be gentle?" His lips started to trail toward your neck and his large hands roamed your waist.

You nodded. Your body was rebelling against you, where did that even come from? He was so mean to you and now you wanted to fuck him?

What the hell!?

"I have to get ready." You said desperately wanting to get out of there.

He let you go with no complaints and you rushed out. You grabbed a bathrobe on your way and threw it over myself, running through the door.

You shut yourself in the ginormous closet until you heard him leave. You sat at a bench scolding your subconscious that wanted you to sleep with him. How did that thought even crossed your mind, it was sick! You didn't know what time it was or how long you stayed in there.

Suddenly, you heard someone knock on the room's door, unwillingly you gathered your wits and left the closet to go and answer the door.

It was no other than Domenico, "Hi." You greeted. You moved aside to let him in, he was holding two gigantic Louis Vuitton travel bags.

The young Italian smiled. “Hey, you are leaving in an hour, so I thought you could use some help, miss. Unless you don’t want me to…”

“Stop calling me miss. I can’t stand it. Besides, you can't be that older, so let’s skip the formalities.”

Domenico smiled and nodded, signaling his consent. “Can you tell me where we’re going?” you asked.

“To Napoli, Rome, and Venice,” he replied. “And then the Côte d’Azur.”

You opened your eyes wider, surprised. You had never been to all those places. You haven’t seen so many places in your whole life!

“Do you know what we’re to do in each of those places?” you asked. “I’d like to know what to take with me.”

Domenico walked over to the closet. “I do, in fact, but I was told not to spoil it for you. Don Massimo will make everything clear in time. I’ll help you pick the right outfits, don’t worry.” He winked at you. “Fashion is something of a hobby to me.”

“I’ll trust you fully if that’s the case. If we only have an hour to prepare, let’s get to it, shall we?”

Domenico nodded and disappeared in the cavernous closet.

"Domenico," you said. He quickly spun around to meet your face. "Could you by any chance bring me something to eat? I'm starving to death here..."

"Consider it done." He then speed dial someone on the phone and arranged you a meal in Italian.

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Fifty minutes later, you were standing in front of the mirror, packing your cosmetics into one of the leather bags. You'd tied your hair neatly with a hair clip, Domenico picked a red maxi skirt and a white top, along with white heels and jewellery that complemented the outfit perfectly.

“Your things are packed,” Domenico said, passing you your bag.

“I’d like to see Massimo now, please.”

“He hasn’t finished his meeting yet, but—”

“Well it's about time he does, ” you interrupted disdainfully, leaving the room.

The library was one of those rooms whose location you had committed to memory. You headed down the corridor, and the patter of your hills reverberated from the stone floor. As you reached the right door, you took a deep breath and pulled on the handle. You went inside and felt a shiver running down your spine. You hadn’t been here since your first conversation with the Man in Black, only a while after waking up from your deep sleep.

Massimo was sitting on the couch. He wore a light linen suit and an unbuttoned shirt. Next to him sat a man with graying hair—very handsome and a lot older than Massimo. A typical Italian, you thought. Longish hair combed back and a well-groomed goatee. Seeing you, both of them jumped to their feet.

The first look you got from Massimo was ice-cold. As if he wanted to scold you for interrupting his meeting. But as soon as his eyes swept your entire silhouette, his stare seemed to grow less severe. He said something to the other man, keeping his eyes on you, and started walking your way. He approached you and leaned over, kissing you on the cheek.

“You look lovely,” he whispered, planting the kiss. He took your hand in his and led you to his friend.

“Y/N, meet Mario—my right hand.” you walked over to the man to offer him a hand, but he swooped in, grabbed you by the shoulders, and kissed you on both cheeks. You still hadn’t grown used to that. Where you come from, you only kiss your closest friends and relatives.

“Consigliere,” you said with a smile.

“Just Mario is all right.” The older man returned your smile. “It is good to finally see you in the flesh. Alive.”

Those words rooted you to the spot. What did he mean, “alive”? Had he assumed you wouldn’t live to see him? Your face must have shown some of your emotions, as Mario quickly explained, “There are paintings of you all over the mansion. They’ve been there for years now, but nobody ever believed you were real. You must be as astounded as we are.”

You could only nod.

“I won’t lie: this whole situation is a bit surreal and daunting. But we all know I have no power over don Massimo, so I humbly accept each and every one of the three hundred and sixty-five days he has given me.” Irony was your new best friend now, you rolled your eyes.

Massimo burst out laughing. “Humbly…” he repeated, turning to his companion, who immediately joined in the merriment.

“I’m happy I could improve your mood. Now, I’ll wait in the car so you can enjoy my absence,” you hissed, sending them both an ironic smirk. As I turned you back on them and headed to the door, you heard Mario say, trying to hold back the laughter, “Indeed, Massimo, it’s just as if she was Italian.”

You ignored that and shut the door behind you. You stopped before you exited the house and went out to the driveway. The image of the dead man lying on the paving stones flashed before your eyes. You swallowed, took a furtive look around, and headed in the direction of the SUV parked outside. The driver opened the door for you and gave you a hand as you stepped inside.

Your iPhone was lying on the back seat, right next to your laptop. You squealed with glee, seeing both devices. You turned the phone on only to find out that your password was changed.

You tried and tried again until you were made to stop by the phone's security.

That fucking bastard!

In that moment, the car door opened, and Massimo deftly slipped inside. He took a look at your hand. The iPhone was still in it. "Why did you change my password?" You asked your vision going red. That also means that he scrolled through it as well!

“I don't trust you that much, just yet. You will only talk with your relatives under my supervision.” he replied casually. He pressed the button and then the black glass separated us from the driver.

“The last stop of our trip will be Warsaw. It won’t be as soon as you’d like, but calling your parents more often from now on should assuage her concerns and give us more time, so you can call them whenever you want- while I'm with you.”

That was good news. “Thanks I guess...” You turned your head away looking at the window.

Massimo kept his eyes on you for a moment longer. Then he lay his head on the headrest and sighed. “I’m not so bad. I don’t want to keep you here against your will. I don’t want to threaten you. But, tell me: would you stay of your own will?” He fixed you with a searching stare.

You turned away. Would you stay? Of course not. Without second thoughts.

The Man in Black was still waiting for a reply, but didn’t get one, so he turned to his iPhone, scrolling and reading something on the Internet.

The silence was unbearable. You needed someone to talk to. Maybe it was because of your longing for home. Still looking through the window, you asked, “Where are we going now?”

“The airport in Catania. If the traffic is light, we should be there in less than an hour.”

Another good thing, you enjoyed flying a lot.

Massimo reached into the glove compartment and took out a black paper bag. “I have something for you,” he said, handing me the package.

You frowned and sent him a questioning look.

The elegant gold lettering on its front formed the words “Patek Philippe.” youknew that name. There could only be one thing inside. You also knew how expensive those watches were. “Massimo… I…” your eyes wandered back to him. “I can’t accept that.”

He laughed out loud, sliding on his aviators. “Baby girl, this is one of the cheaper gifts I’m going to give you. Besides, don’t forget you don’t get to decide for another few hundred days. Open it.”

You knew this was going nowhere—arguing with him never did. It could only lead to misery for you, especially since there was nowhere to run now. You pulled a black box from the bag and opened it. The watch was marvelous—pink gold encrusted with little diamonds. Simply perfect.

“You have been pretty isolated today. I had to reward you. I know I’ve taken much from you, but you’ll start getting it all back now,” Massimo said, fastening the watch on your wrist.

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[ series masterlist ]

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#massimo torricelli smut #massimo torricelli fanfic #massimo torricelli x reader #massimo torricelli x you #massimo torricelli #massimo torricelli series #365 days #michele morrone #dark themes #smut

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nathanbatemanfucker · 1 year

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Boundless Ch 1: The Rigid Hunter

summary: he’s looking for her— hunting her.

pairing: witch hunter!marc spector x witch!reader

contents: enemies to lovers, mentions of murder/torture, marc is a broken asshole, injury, blood mention

gif credit: @perotovar

wc: 2.4k

an: welcome to the boundless universe! i’ve really enjoyed writing this so far, i love the concept. i’d really love to build it together, so if anyone has any questions, thoughts, headcanons swirling around in your brains please feel free to come talk to me about these two! i hope that y’all like this and i’m excited to hear your feelings on it. 🤍

boundless masterlist | moonknight masterlist

Marc remembers the day he found out the legends were true. Say your prayers, lock your doors, and sprinkle your salt because they’re out there. Witches and wizards walk the streets looking for opportunities to spread pain and suffering. They look like us, and talk like us. But they can’t feel like us, love like us, care like us.

He was 10 years old the first time he witnessed the violence that comes with being in his family . He watched with horror as his parents tied up one of his teachers. She spewed nonsense, objects flew, and fires burned. Each hunter chose their weapons and that day he’d watched his parents use daggers he thought were for show.

He was afraid at first. He didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to be violent like her— like his mother. And though eventually he had succumbed to violence, realizing that there was no way to fight it, that it was in his blood, he always vowed that he would be different. Despite his disdain for witches, he has never been ruthless. He has always killed them quickly, painlessly with mercy, never been one to taunt them as they meet their deaths.

Today, almost 20 years later, Marc’s crossbow is slung over his shoulders, one of his hands resting over the dagger on his hip as he slowly makes his way through the forest. He’s hypervigilant and jumpy, eyes roaming the greenery that fades into orange and yellow and red. He’s ready to defend himself at the drop of a hat.

He’s looking for her— hunting her. The full moon is tonight, and witches always flock to their dens, charging their crystals, infusing their spells with the magic of the celestial being. Her den and a handful of others are in these woods, just on the outskirts of a camping resort so as not to draw too much suspicion. Time and time again witches fail with anonymity— he and his family follow the breadcrumbs they leave and pick them off one by one.

He’s looking for her darkness. He’ll know it when he sees it, he’s seen many dens and killed more witches than he can count. They surround themselves with smoke and blood and evil. This one will go down just like all the others, he’s sure. She’ll be just as vile, conniving. Just as eager to beg for her life when he lines the tip of an arrow up with her eyes. Emotionless and self-serving with a heart that bleeds black.

It’s easy to get distracted by the sights around him. He loves autumn, the symbolism of how even as an organism fails and dies, there’s beauty to be found. It gives him the hope that maybe there’s something to be found in him too despite all he’s been through.

There’s something soothing in the sound of leaves crunching beneath the weight of his boots. There’s a waterfall in the distance that feeds into the creek he’s following. Where there’s water, there’s life.

He continues up the stream, noticing the remnants of a paper sailboat coated in wax tangled in some brush on the bank. He bends to pick it up, noticing words sprawled across the side.

Sail under Hecate’s moon.

The words heighten his senses— she’s close, within walking distance of the area. And while that can mean a wide variety of things, Marc is prepared for the worst, to walk miles and miles if he has to. Standing quickly his eyes scan the area, wary of her. There is no one to be found, not an inkling of life in his sights so he carries on.

He nearly makes it to the waterfall when across the creek he hears the rustle of leaves and his heart lurches in his chest. No matter how many times he faces a witch, there’s always the unpredictable— they could have anything up their sleeves. Thousands of spells and enchantments and potions, each one more horrible than the next. His hands slick with sweat reach back, drawing his crossbow to line up with his sight.

Deer.

Two of them make their way to the bank, bending to drink, paying him no mind. His heartbeat slows and shakes his head, letting out a silent sigh of relief as he lowers the bow.

Marc’s eyes return to the waterfall that’s a short distance in front of him. He could simply go around, and walk a short distance so that he could get to the top of it at a steady incline. But that would be too easy for him. He was taught to never take the easy way, that anything that holds weight in this life is a challenge. It must be difficult for it to mean anything in his mother’s eyes. He still doesn’t quite understand why after all this time, her opinions have a hold on him. He bats the thoughts of her away as he eyes the rocks to the left of the waterfall’s mouth.

They are damp sure, but not completely slick and unclimbable. The summit of the waterfall is much higher than it looked far away, but he thinks nothing of it as he steps forward and begins to climb. The hood of his cape falls as he puts one hand above another, exposing his dark curls.

A bush behind him rattles and he glances over his shoulder, eyes going wide as he realizes how vulnerable he is right now. There’s nothing he could do if he were to face her now, this high up is too far of a jump to do it safely. The best course of action is to finish the climb, it’ll grant him a better vantage point to get his bearings and height is always an advantage in combat. But when Marc turns around, looking up to his goal, there’s a crow— the largest crow he’s ever seen in his life, cawing loudly in his face. He’s startled, losing his grip on the rocks, feet slipping as they try to find purchase and he falls, grunting as he hears his flesh and bone tearing and cracking before he goes unconscious.

When Marc wakes sometime later, he hurts all over. There’s a splitting ache in his head, and a pain much sharper and dangerous sitting in his leg. He can handle pain, he’s been trained his whole life, day in and day out to handle much more than a slip in some gnarly wood. He blinks up to the trees, taking shallow breaths. If he can just lay here and gather his strength he should be able to get up.

What would his mother say if she could see him? All the things she said all his life, he imagines. Baseless shouts of this is not his calling, that he was meant to weld or harvest or research. That his attempts at living for Randall are in vain. Like he wasn’t bred for this. Like the mistakes he made has tainted his blood, taking away his right to hunt.

He tries to sit up and pain screams in his side. Had he broken some ribs? He lays back again, trying to get enough air to his brain so he doesn’t pass out again. His attempts are futile and soon, he drifts out again.

Somewhere in his mind, he can hear the graceful patter of feet near him. He feels when he is picked up by something as large as it is fluffy. A wolf maybe, taking him back to her cubs for a meal. He wonders if it would be such a bad way to go if it meant he’d never see his mother again.

A little while later his surroundings change. He’s somewhere soft and warm. Everything inside him is on edge. His instincts tell him that he’s unsafe, that he must get up and go, but his body is in no state to do so. He can’t even open his eyes, can’t speak a word, let alone take any steps.

Something—someone guides his head up, tipping a cup to his mouth. “Drink this,” A soft voice says to him gently.

He wants to resist but he’s weak to this person’s will. Whoever it is pours a steady stream of the liquid down his throat. It’s thick, warm, and tastes like black currants, mint and citrus. His body goes a little numb, relaxing further into the bed he’s laid in.

His pain waxes and wanes even as he sleeps. Though he isn't conscious, sometimes can feel the way his body cries and aches. He can feel the heat of healing, feel his muscles and bones scraping against each other as they slowly move back into place. He’s grateful for the braviety, happy to sink into a deeper place of unconsciousness, to run from the discomfort.

Marc wakes gradually. He first wiggles his toes, feeling the numbness in his right leg. He taps his fingers softly, enjoying the fullness of whatever bed he lies in. He tries to stretch his neck but he’s quite stiff and decides to just open his eyes. To do the inevitable and face his reality. When his eyes open, he frowns at the sight of paper boats hanging from the ceiling.

Paper boats, covered in wax, sailing under Hecate’s moon.

Marc knows right away where he is. He’s too warm. He can smell moss. The room glows from the outside in, candles lit but somehow he still feels the darkness. Maybe it is the deep dark reds and purples of her linens and furniture. Maybe it’s the white wolf that sits near the fireplace, eyes as dark as the night sky as it watches him. Or maybe the sense of dread as he takes in his surroundings, as he realizes he’s been made. He tenses, turning his head until his eyes meet hers.

Marc’s mouth drops open, going dry. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen— her soft mouth raised in a smile, her eyes clever. There are no words, just sensations that contradict each other. He feels wonky like his body can’t decide if he wants to stay or go. His brain tells him that he should fight, that he should leave. His heart pounds loudly in his chest as adrenaline builds. But in the pit of his stomach, there is nothing but ease as he looks into her eyes. All of this leaves him utterly confused and then some.

When he continues to stare at her quietly, she says, “You’re awake.”

He’s in the witch’s den and here she is, smiling down at him because she’s got him in her grasp. He’s not sure why she hasn’t killed him yet. He should be more afraid. He should kill her.

Where’s his weapon?

“Don’t. I don’t want to hurt you. Or paralyze you, drug you— maim you. Especially after fixing you up, I’d be destroying all my work,” She muses playfully, looking down into her book.

Marc’s eyes go wide with shock. Is she being funny?

“You know who I am,” He states, ignoring the way his heart starts to beat more quickly.

She nods, looking up from the pages, “The sigil on the crossbow made it pretty obvious.”

“You saved me anyway.”

“The wolves would’ve eaten you alive.”

“That would’ve been better than being taken hostage and killed by a witch.”

“You aren’t taken hostage— I’ve nursed you back to health. If I wanted you dead I wouldn’t waste my energy. I would’ve watched them feast,” She says matter of factly.

“Spoken like a true witch,” Marc scoffs.

She narrows her eyes at him, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know everything about you. My whole life is about you. Your kind,” He corrects.

“News flash Spector, I’m just as human as you are.”

“You might look human but our hearts don’t beat the same. You’re a monster, it’s in your blood.”

His words punch her in the gut. She knows that witch hunters are cruel, she’s been taught that all her life. Spell writing, potion brewing, ingredient harvesting, and the all-important learning to murder witch hunters in any and every fashion. There are many rules to be followed in witchcraft— regardless of one’s craft or coven but the most important of them?

If you see one, there should be one less in the world.

She knows they’re raised to hate her as much as she’s raised to hate them. But the hate never stuck. It was drowned in curiosity, in a yearning for peace and understanding. Because how dare she want to live a life that is fruitful and soft. How dare she see the humanity in them. She blows out a breath, eyes raising to the ceiling as she tries to keep her tears in. Even as her heart aches, it roars, begging to retaliate. Begging to lash out and hurt him. She ignores that urge like she always does, wiping at her eyes.

He sees the way her tears twinkle in the soft candlelight— she truly is beautiful. He quickly bats the thought away again. Beauty can only run so deep in her, she is a witch after all. It stops at the surface, he knows that. But, he feels bad for making her cry. She’s a witch, the bloodsucker of the human race. He shouldn’t care if she lives or dies, let alone if she cries. But before he can think better of it, an apology sits on his tongue. He doesn’t get the chance to say it.

“You’d prefer to be alone,” She sets down her grimoire and stands, reaching for a cloak that’s hung on the wall. “I’ll go to look for matching wood to repair your crossbow, part of it broke during your fall. Don’t try anything stupid, your leg is still setting.”

The white wolf that hasn’t taken its eyes off of him makes growls under its breath and Marc glares.

“Neither of us is going to hurt you. She simply wants you to be kinder to me. How a wolf knows that and you don’t….” She clicks her tongue in scolding, turning to look at the wolf, “Come along, Nimbus.”

He watches them leave, letting out a deep breath when he’s finally alone. He’s still confused. He doesn't understand her.

Kinder to her? She must not understand their dynamic— she must be out of her mind. That much is clear since she’d brought him back to her den to help him instead of killing him. Could he really trust that? A witch so unstable? She could’ve brought him here to nurse him back to health for a challenge, all to kill him again. That makes more sense, that aligns with all of his previous experiences. There must be ulterior motives for why she’s brought him here. He won’t fall into this trap.

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#marc spector x reader #marc spector x witch!reader #marc spector x fem!reader #witch hunter!marc spector x witch!reader #witch hunter!marc spector #moonknight fanfiction #marc spector fanfiction #boundless #not sfw #arson writes

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rosanna-writer · 1 month

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we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (24/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~4k

It's quite brief and not the focus of this chapter, but just a note that there's some brief discussion of disordered eating/skipped meals.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twenty-fourth chapter below the readmore.

Cassian found me while I was on another one of my aimless walks through Velaris. Though honestly, they weren't completely aimless anymore—the city was full of public art, and I'd taken to walking by as much of it as I could.

Statues were easier to face than paintings. The largest concert hall had several on its roof—lullabies given physical form in the stone, marble creatures from fae bedtime stories, and lithe bodies of hewn dancers. Several streets over, water sprayed from sculpted copper river nymphs at the center of a fountain where children swam during the summer. And in a quieter square, a black granite memorial honored the warriors Amarantha had killed in an attempt to break a then-captive Rhys during the War.

Murals covered so many buildings, even outside the Rainbow. The soaring, multi-story portraits were far beyond the scope of anything I ever imagined painting myself; they didn't remind me of the thorny emotions surrounding my own art. I could let myself just appreciate the colors and shapes.

The mountains and pine forests of the Night Court were all brutal, untamed beauty. But Velaris had been made beautiful by the artists who'd called it home for thousands of years. It was a waste not to appreciate it, even if I could only manage to paint half-hidden decorations in the townhouse myself.

I'd been crossing one of the footbridges that spanned the Sidra when the shadow of a massive wingspan fell over me. Stopping to lean against the railing, I watched as Cassian dropped smoothly into place at my side.

There was a slight gust of wind as he pulled his wings in tight. "Rhys said you have orders for me."

I stilled. There was a deferential note in Cassian's voice that I'd only ever heard when he was speaking with Rhys—not as brothers, but as High Lord and his general.

I was aware, of course, that courts had a hierarchy and that I existed somewhere in it. Amren ranked above Mor who ranked above Cassian and Azriel—that much had been explained to me early on. I'd never thought much about it beyond that.

But if Cassian was taking orders from me, then Rhys was making it clear that he would not interfere in matters involving my father and sisters. My choice—it was always my choice with him.

"He told you about Nesta?" I said.

An expression I couldn't read flashed across Cassian's face. His wings twitched. "Is that her name?"

"Cauldron, what the hell did he say about her?" Whatever had passed between Rhys and Nesta clearly hadn't been friendly, but…I hadn't thought it was bad enough that Cassian would look so stricken at the mere mention of my sister.

"Nothing, other than that he'd met her. It's your business to handle."

"Nesta can see through glamours."

Realization dawned on his face. "Ah, fuck."

I laughed, partly just because it was a relief to hear Cassian stop speaking to me like I was someone with authority. Being his brother's mate—and his friend—was much more comfortable, familiar territory.

"Would you be able to talk to her about the sentries and ease her mind? She knows they answer to you."

"Of course."

For someone known as the Lord of Bloodshed, Cassian was remarkably reassuring to be around. I'd experienced that firsthand when I'd found him perched on the roof of the townhouse on my first day in Velaris. And there was nothing I could imagine intimidating him.

Well, almost nothing.

"Thank you. Nesta is…." I stopped short as I tried to find the words, eventually settling on, "She's her own creature."

Cassian knocked a wing against my shoulder. "I'm sure. There's no way anyone could have grown up with you and not come out of it unscathed."

I scowled. He barked a laugh, then added, "You're headed to the House of Wind soon, right?"

"Yes."

The world turned on its head as Cassian hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. There was no chance to wiggle out of his arms before we shot into the sky. I went limp, afraid I'd end up plummeting to the ground if I moved the wrong way.

"What the hell was that for?" I grumbled, resigned to my fate for the next few minutes.

"React faster next time if you want me to hold you more comfortably."

Bastard. But he was right—I still had quite a lot of training to do before being grabbed and winnowed unexpectedly wasn't such a concern when I stepped outside Velaris's wards. The practice was good for me, even if he was being an ass about it.

"Fine. Don't drop me on my head when we get to the House of Wind, then."

"Tuck your chin and roll. If you crack your skull open on the floor, we'll do remedial drills once it heals."

Learning to fall safely had been one of the first things he taught me, so I contented myself with a glare at the back of Cassian's head. "You're worse than Az."

His long hair whipped in the wind, smacking my face as he tipped his head back and barked a laugh that echoed against the townhouses below. I gritted my teeth and wished he'd fly faster.

But before long, we did make it up there, and my training was good enough that I earned a pat on my thankfully uninjured head. Cassian left for some sort of business with a promise that he'd be in the mortal lands as soon as Nesta gave me a date and time.

Brushing my bangs back into place, I retrieved a book from where I'd left it in Mor's office the other day. Now that I could read, she'd given me an open invitation to see any diplomatic correspondence that mentioned me and give input on her responses. I'd forgotten to bring my book back home when we'd finished working through the latest round of letters.

There had been more talk of me than I would have thought. Helion himself—not an underling—had asked about what would be required to ensure a human was comfortable during our eventual visit. There had been blandly polite inquiries about my health from the Autumn Court, though according to Mor, those were Beron's or Eris's attempts at fishing for information about me because I'd been the one to whip Lucien Under the Mountain. Even amid a discussion about fish imports, Cresseida, a Summer Court princess, had written that she was relieved to hear Rhysand was treating me well, though she'd left it unclear whether she meant as an emissary or as a…lover.

"They don't know that I'm immortal, so I don't see why any of them care," I'd told Mor, speaking freely behind the privacy wards that she'd casted to protect her workspace. "As far as they're concerned, I'll be dead in the blink of an eye."

"Why wouldn't they care about the fate of Feyre Cursebreaker, Savior of Prythian, a true living legend?" she'd said, brown eyes twinkling.

I knew Mor didn't mean it like that, but I still squirmed in my seat. It sounded too much like the faeries who occasionally stopped me when I was out in the city and thanked me for going Under the Mountain. They spoke about me as if I'd been a selfless hero, but in truth, I'd only been thinking of Rhys. Everyone else just…happened to also benefit.

"Because I'm not that interesting." And because I mostly just wanted to be left alone.

Mor shrugged. "Immortality gets dull after a century or two."

I wondered if I'd ever be able to speak about being alive for so long with the same nonchalance. It was easy to forget just how old my new family was. They were all ancient, even if none of them looked a day over thirty.

"It must if I'm what passes for interesting around here."

Rolling her eyes, Mor swept her golden hair off her shoulders, twisted it deftly around a finger, then secured it to the back of her head with a spare pen. "It won't kill you to be a little less modest. You're allowed to be proud of yourself."

I wasn't sure exactly when I'd forgotten that, but I had. And I was grateful for the reminder.

Today, however, Mor's office was empty. She was back at the Court of Nightmares, but I wanted company, so once I'd grabbed the book off of her rosewood desk, I made my way to the library downstairs.

Several heads whipped in my direction when I entered, gems on their foreheads glittering. I froze. Evelyn, the priestess who'd taught me to read, waved me over to the table where she was sitting with several others.

I'd studied with them before. Roslin, who sat next to her, was a historian, and she'd been kind enough to make me a list of books about Night Court history that were appropriate for someone who knew nothing about the subject. Many of them were children's books. But still, Roslin, Evelyn, and the others didn't mind answering my occasional questions about what I read, and ever since I'd helped with the aftermath of the attack on Cesere, I'd always been welcomed to work alongside them.

No one had ever been crass enough to voice the silent, shared understanding aloud—that I might not have sworn an oath to the Mother and donned a hood, but I was still like them. Another female who'd been through an ordeal and found solace afterward in quiet study here.

But today…when I didn't move, Evelyn merely waved her webbed hand more frantically. Confused, I slid into the seat between her and Roslin.

"We have news for you," Roslin said. Her voice was low, almost conspiratorial.

"You do?" I said.

"Ianthe returned to the Spring Court."

I blinked. "Who is that?"

"The worst," another priestess at the table, Deirdre, said without looking up from the yellowed pages of the hefty tome she was reading. Roslin brought a hand to her mouth to hide a giggle.

Evelyn rolled her coal-black eyes. "The youngest High Priestess in three centuries. Her father sent her family to Vallahan—that's on the Continent—when Amarantha took over. Apparently, now she's back."

I was only vaguely aware of what the High Priestesses did. There were twelve of them, apparently, and Rhys had conferred with some of them regarding temple security after the attacks. They were as powerful and well-connected as nobility, but I didn't understand the intricacies of it.

Maybe I should have asked Mor for more detail when she'd explained all this to me a while back. "Is that a bad thing?" I said.

The look Roslin gave me was….sympathetic. "Clotho mentioned the news came in a letter with other updates this morning. We thought you should hear it first, considering your history with Spring."

It seemed as if she'd done me the courtesy of making sure I wasn't blindsided by something important and possibly upsetting. I just wasn't sure what. But still, I appreciated the gesture, even if I didn't quite understand.

"Thank you," I said, though the words came out as a question.

Deirdre flipped to the next page of her book. "Ianthe is unofficially banned from the Night Court because she tried baby-trapping the High Lord."

My immediate, instinctual rage was so strong that my vision went white for a moment. If anyone said something, I didn't hear it over the roaring in my head. My breathing nearly went ragged.

If any other female even considered bearing my mate's offspring, I'd feed her her own intestines.

A gentle hand on my arm snapped me out of it. I took a breath, hoping my reaction wasn't too insane. And before Rhys could hear anything, I clamped down harder on my mental shields. We'd never discussed the possibility of children, but this certainly wasn't how I wanted to broach the subject.

But perhaps I didn't have as much self-control as I would have liked, because the words that slipped out of my mouth were, "She can live if it means she's making Tamlin miserable."

Roslin laughed. "No wonder Rhysand loves you so much."

The tight feeling in my chest loosened. She'd said the only thing that could have made me feel better when the feral instincts of the mating bond were riding me hard—a casual observation that Rhys loved me. Not that he cared about me as merely as an interesting human playing or a useful emissary doing his bidding.

Knowing that an outsider had noticed was…comforting.

But still, I was curious. The Spring Court had been quiet since our return—no signs of interest in either a misguided attempt at saving me from the wicked Night Court or killing me in revenge for a perceived betrayal. Azriel's spies had reported that Tamlin still kept the boarders with Summer and Autumn sealed shut. We knew very little.

"Do you think Ianthe wants to be Lady of Spring?" I asked.

Deirdre's face darkened, and the scars criss-crossing her cheeks, a reminder of whatever she'd survived before coming to the library, seemed to deepen. "Despite our vows to serve the Mother, some of the sisters are more interested in serving their own ends."

Rhys had said I was the only one he'd ever sent after the ring tucked under my tunic, but there must have been plenty of others who'd wanted it, as dangerous as being Lady of Night could be. It worried me that one of them had now set her sights on my kidnapper.

Maybe it was for the best that Night had no diplomatic relations with Spring—I wouldn't have face Ianthe at some dull courtly function.

And perhaps it was all the talk of sisters, but I couldn't help but think that Nesta would know precisely how to politely eviscerate her if that ever changed.

I'd gone quiet, and the conversation had petered out. We returned to our books, and I flipped to the page I'd marked because there had been a word I didn't recognize and needed to ask about.

"By the way," I said, "What does def— defenes—"

Unable to pronounce it, I gave up and pointed to the word as Evelyn peered over my shoulder. "Defenestrate. It means to throw someone out a window," she said.

"Does that really happen enough that there's a word for it?"

"It was a favored method of execution in the Court of Nightmares a few millennia ago," Roslin said. Her smile turned into something a bit ghoulish as she rested her chin on a fist. "Isn't history just fascinating?"

I laughed, not sure I agreed, but enjoying myself all the same. This was certainly better than Tamlin's war-camp limericks fashioned out of the list of words I didn't know.

It was a good way to pass an afternoon. And it hadn't been a waste, exactly, but by the time when priestesses left for their evening prayers and Rhys had slipped into my mind to let me know he might be late for dinner, I had to admit to myself that I was procrastinating. I still needed to send that letter to Nesta.

It wasn't the wording that I hesitated on. Nesta would feel more comfortable if she knew what Cassian looked like ahead of time—to be sure that the meeting wasn't more faerie trickery. So I intended to enclose a sketch.

I'd set myself up on the roof of the townhouse, paper and pencil in hand, and wrote the letter. That much had been easy enough. But when it came time to draw…I froze.

After the painting I'd done all over the townhouse, I'd thought I could manage it. But this was different. Those designs had been impersonal—flowers, birds, flames, that sort of thing. A portrait, however, was a statement by the artist about the subject.

I couldn't hide. But I also needed to get this done, and all I could do was sit and stare at the empty paper. I'd faced actual danger much more fearlessly, but somehow….a blank page left me paralyzed.

That was how Rhys found me when he landed some time later. Before he could say hello or ask how my day had been, I said, "Could you help me with something?"

He went preternaturally still. Better than anyone, Rhys knew how difficult I found it to ask for things, especially help. I might as well have just declared a crisis.

"Whatever you need," he said, violet eyes roving over me as if he were looking for injuries.

"I'm sending a sketch of Cassian to Nesta so she knows who to look for when he meets with her. Since you're a daemati, could you help me…er…hold a picture of him in my mind while I draw? It'll be more accurate that way."

I actually didn't need that—I knew perfectly well what Cassian looked like. But I couldn't do this alone, and it felt a little pathetic to admit that I wanted the comfort of Rhys's mind curling around mine.

He understood anyway. With a wave of his hand, the chair I was sitting in became a bench wide enough for us both. He sat, draping his wings over the back, and pulled me against his side.

He hadn't even touched my mind, but I'd already relaxed just from having him near. Getting closer to Rhys always felt like straightening out something that had just been askew.

Mate.

A talon rapped politely against my shields, and I let him in. The picture formed, sharper than I would have been able to manage with just my own mind's eye—Cassian, with his rough-hewn features, shoulder-length hair, and easy smile. Not so obtrusive that I couldn't concentrate on anything else, but clear and easily reachable. A perfect, helpful reference.

Rhys's mind encircled mine just as surely as his arms did. For anyone else, that might have been terrifying, but I was held—not fenced in. Cradled. Rhys was there with me, every step of the way. Even the darkness settled around my shoulders.

I managed it. The sketch was hardly my best work, but it didn't have to be. It was accurate enough, and I folded the paper and let it disappear before I had too much of a chance to nitpick my own creation. Rhys, who must have known I didn't want an audience, kept his face buried in my hair and scented me instead of peeking over my shoulder.

Once the letter was gone, I swung my legs to the side, crossing my thighs over his and letting my head fall against his chest as his hand rubbed soothing circles on my back. I could hear his heartbeat through the fine embroidered fabric of his jacket, slow and steady. We sat like that for a while, until the first few stars appeared in the sky.

"You haven't eaten anything, have you?" Rhys said eventually.

Right. Dinner. I'd told myself I'd eat once I'd sent the letter, then gotten so caught up in not being able to sketch that I'd forgotten about food entirely. But now that I thought about it…I was starving.

"No, but I need to," I said, standing up.

Rhys was looking at me curiously, with an expression I couldn't quite name. He'd once told me he could feel my hunger pangs through the bond, but I wasn't quite sure if that was what this was about.

"You could have told me sooner that this was a bad day," he said gently.

"It wasn't. Not until I tried to draw. And then…" It had felt like everything came crashing down.

"Come," he said, taking my hand. "Let's not let an empty stomach make it worse."

Cerridwen had long since left for the day, and the meal she'd left us had gone cold. Rhys set about heating it up again, shooing me away from the oven when I tried to help.

Instead, he reached into a pocket dimension and pulled out a wine bottle. "You can open this and pour if you really feel the need to make yourself useful."

"There's a cellar downstairs," I said, hopping down from my perch on the countertop to take the bottle.

There was wine down there, and whatever magic protected the townhouse had kept the bottles pristine—not a single speck of dust had touched them during his fifty years away. Because I'd refused to snoop, I hadn't known they were even there until Mor had insisted on opening one that first dinner after we'd returned.

Rhys flashed me a wicked smile. "The good wine is downstairs, where Cassian can steal it and think he's put one over on me. But I don't tell him about the best bottles, and they stay where he can't get to them."

I couldn't help but feel a warm rush of affection. Even in something as small as this, Rhys couldn't help but be a sneaky, conniving bastard—who also trusted that I'd keep his secrets.

We sat down, and it was hardly the first time we'd eaten a meal together. I was still acutely aware this was the sort of evening I'd dreamed about Under the Mountain—idle chitchat about how our days had been, enough food, weather mild enough to leave the windows open and let the salt-tinged night breeze inside. Everything we'd fought for, really.

We'd just been finishing up when Nesta's response arrived, the note appearing out of thin air next to my plate. Rhys hovered in the doorway, far enough to make it obvious he wasn't trying to read it, but concern for me evident on his face.

Nesta had given me a date and time, then written, Send an accurate portrait, not cover art from a cheap romance novel. No one actually looks like that.

I hadn't embellished anything. The sketch might not have been my best work, but it was true to life. And if it had truly been bad, Nesta would have said something far more scathing.

With a small smile, I picked up the pen that had appeared and wrote, I haven't been able to read long enough to take inspiration from novels. You can trust it's a good likeness.

I thought that would be the end of it. But the dishes were in the sink, and I was halfway up the stairs and intent on drawing a bath when the paper appeared again.

Was Rhysand angry? An illiterate wife would have difficulties running his household.

I was tempted to scoff or roll my eyes, but those words had a certain weight to them when they came from the woman who'd nearly married Tomas Mandray. Instead, I considered what to say while I brought the note to my room.

There's not much of a household to run. The palace is for business only. Rhys and I are the only ones in the townhouse where we reside. He wasn't angry, though. Just concerned and horrified on my behalf.

Her last note of the evening arrived as I stepped into my bedroom. Your husband is quite strange, but send him my regards. Please ensure General Cassian arrives on time for our meeting. Goodnight.

No pen accompanied the note; Nesta clearly intended the conversation to end there. I tried to let it go, though I wished I'd asked about Elain and my father while I'd still had the chance. But still, it was one of the most civil conversations I'd had with Nesta in recent memory.

Perhaps it was easier to be kind when we weren't looking each other in the face.

Though we could now sometimes manage without it, out of an abundance of caution, Rhys and I took the sleeping draught that night. We'd taken to knocking it back together, then kissing goodnight.

We weren't quite fine yet, but we were getting closer.

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home #please enjoy these self indulgent little nessian crumbs alongside the feysand softness

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333creolelady · 9 months

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Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Ch.1

!black-Afab OC X auPirate Roman Reigns

Chapter warnings : descriptions of injuries/illness, paranoid OC.

Banner created by : @joannasteez

Songs this chapter : Whatever may come, An impossible choice, I'm listening

Alt PL songs this chapter: Me in 20 years, Rebel

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Alternative Playlist here <-

Next -> chapter 2

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She’s floating. Blackness surrounds her as a rush of sound penetrates her ears. She smells salt and sun. There’s a layer of grain that covers her body like sandpaper. She stopped fighting the current of her mind and let go a while ago. In the distance, her grandfather sings to her. She has no energy left to question it. She leans into the melody, trying to block out the loudness below her. That deafening whooshing of water that rings in her ears.

Just as she nearly feels the embrace of death, a splash of cold water blankets her body. She’s so weak she doesn’t wince, instead it pushes her further and further from the peace she so desperately seeks. She’s still alive. She can still feel it all—hear it all. The hoot of a bird, the blistering sting of heat on her chest, the death rattle in her sternum

" Let me go," she whispered to the world. How she wishes she could cut the string that tethered her to this wretched planet. The world was never kind to her. How much easier would it be to just leave it all behind? To never have to endure the stab of grief or the unrelenting sting of loneliness she felt almost every day? Death would be a clean slate. A salve for the burn of her existence.

Another splash of water hits her unreactive frame. Why is the world trying to shake her awake? What more should she have to endure ? She’s certain she’s paid her dues in tears ten times over.

" Ahoy!!'"

" Ahoyyyyy!!— GIRL! "

" Avast! "

Voices boom in the distance. If she wasn’t so cracked and fried from the sun, she’d open her eyes and turn her head. She senses a large presence next to her. A distant “thunk” in the water and a few seconds later she's being hoisted up from her lying position onto a harder surface. The hands that touch her are warm, large and calloused. A deep velvety voice calls out to her. " Alright now Dove, Hold on.”

She floating upward. The sounds of the ocean travels further behind her. Then her back softly hits a hard warm surface. The thumping of shoes startled her enough to make her open an eye. She starts with one, taking a moment to allow her pupil to adjusts to the light. She closes them again.

" Back up. Let the girl breathe ", a voice calls out in the distance.

"Where is she from?"

" Is this an omen?"

"Careful, she could be a siren!"

" The poor girl…”

Different hands fondle her now. They hold her flopping head still and check her pulse point. She’s still using all of her energy to attempt to peel open just a single eyelid

" She's alive. She's just unconscious. Heat exhaustion and maybe—-" This man with no face pulls back her lips to check her gums and then peels one her eyes open from the top. He checks her button gums once more.

“ Her gums are pale and bloody. She is desperately in need of fluids or she might pass on in the next few hours”, says the man. His voice is higher and heavily accented. He sounds foreign and aged.

“ Quick, give me that rag ", the velvety thick voice demands. He sounds like he’s in charge.

Droplets of water splatter her mouth. Her face scrunches in discomfort and then she slowly cranks her mouth open to let the ice cold water into her throat. Her aching dry throat weeps with joy. Finally some drinkable water.

Her head is propped against a hard muscular chest. That thick hand grabs her chin and supports her head, pressing her against him as to not let her waste a drop.

He inspects the beautifully wounded girl. Her face is swollen with cuts and bruises littering her face and body.

“You have a name, girl?”, he finally asks. His tone is hushed as if it’s just them two together. He’s trying his best not to scare her.

She makes a third attempt to open her eyes and she finally can see where the hushed voices were coming from. A crowd of men, maybe 20 or more all towered over her. Looks of concern washed their sun kissed faces. It takes a moment for her to register her unluckiness. Is this her final end? As if almost every moment of her life wasn’t hard enough, her exit was seemingly to be met through a sea of men. PIRATES. Depraved men.

“ You’re alright”, says the voice behind her. She looks up at the man holding her. She has no time to register his face before she’s scrambling away. Her voice is shot, she can’t scream. Her bloodshot eyes are far too dry to produce tears. She only makes it a few feet away before the mysterious man crouches down to her. His hands are in front of him in surrender.

" Easy… "

He watches her carefully. Her eyes are large and protruding out of her face in panic as she clutches her knees. She folds into herself. Suddenly there isn’t enough air.

"We won't hurt ya' miss ", a man steps forward slowly approaching her. She weakly stands up and reaches down into the side of her boot and pulls out a knife, swinging it crazily. The crowd of men don’t even flinch as she points it at them. Her harsh movements knocks her on her bottom again. She can’t take a deep breath, the room is spinning and there’s a pressure in her head that won’t let up. Her mouth opens and closes for relief before she begins to pass out again. She eventually slumps against the wooden edge of the ship, succumbing to the darkness again.

Roman

A moment of silence passes between the men. They watch her limp body rise and fall. Roman tilts his head as he notices bruising around her neck as if she'd been choked. He squints in worry. She's in worse shape than he thought. She needed a bed, a bath and rest. There were no women on the ship to get her out of her torn nightgown. This was all just one big mess. He sighs in frustration as he picks her up again, the crowd parting a path to the cabins for him. He lays her flat leaving a pitcher of water and a glass near her bed. He then shuts the door behind her softly. The crew is still frozen after the jarring event of the girl's arrival.

A crew member speaks up, "What do we do with er’ capn’? "

" You lot’ keep your distance and don’t approach unless she addresses you directly. Earl, I need you to tend to her after she wakes up ", he grunts protectively. Earl was the Doctor and a Surgeon—a real one and the smallest man on the ship. He was also graying with huge glasses and a short stature. He was a safe bet.

“ Aye captain”, says Earl as he scurried off to get supplies for the girl. The men all slowly fall back to their tasks and the ship takes off again. Roman eyes her cabin once more before heading to his own small quarters. This does not and should not interfere with the plan. He plops down on his wooden chair and sits at his table, rolling open his map marked with black ink. He'd been familiar with the sea for some time. He might as well have been a fish by now. He knew the ocean more than land and this journey would make every hardship he endured worth it. He was one of few who were brave enough to make the quest.

A small secluded island sat on the edge of the world. He’d found hints and torn maps over the years. How the riches got there? Nobody knew. Gold, Jewels, endless riches. Many had made it there but nobody could seem to make it back. Some called it a trap by the gods. It was rumored to be a trip to hell. He was certain that he would be the one who would live to tell the tale through knowledge, science and destiny.

As for his men? Well they believed in Roman.

Over the years, he gained his crew by taking over other ships. The men with the better vessels usually weren’t the best lads. He always gave his conquered groups the option to leave but they stayed. He was a fierce fighter, a true beast with a sword should anyone be pinned by the other end of it. There were stories of his brutality to the men who wronged him. He was a fierce protector to those who swore to him. Cross him and he could make someone wish they were dead. This duality earned him acclaim and respect but also fear. Thankfully, his outstanding leadership made his crew true believers and in return they put their best foot forward. These were the men he would sail into glory with. If they found these treasures not a single one of them would have to work again. Not even their families- family.

"We need to dock soon Captain. We need more supplies for the girl—Medicines. She’s in a bad way. She'll need something for her throat as well. The fluids will help for now but not for long ", said Earl in a thick German accent.

“ Tomorrow we stop. I sense a storm coming, I want to get as far away as possible," Roman grumbles in displeasure as he takes a swig of spiced rum. Earl sees himself out and closes the cabin door behind him. Roman kicks his feet up and indulges himself as he tries to decompress.

Early the next morning he notices the clouds ahead. Roman sent his surgeon and his cabin boy to get supplies for the girl. Extra boots, clothes fit for sailing and night gowns. Whatever they could get their hands on would do. His surgeon would fetch her the soups, healing balms and medicine for her fragile state. By noon they are back at sea and rushing to get ahead of the storm that would even further set them back. Afternoon comes and he asks for updates often on the girl. Earl can see his worry which was unusual for Roman.

" I'm sure she’ll turn around. She wouldn't have survived all this way just to pass like this. There's a reason she's crossed our paths”, Earl pats his Captain on the back and leaves him to his solitude. Roman sighs in doubt. He is not too fond of seeing the spiritual side of things. He had a better understanding of miracles or magic. Immaculate conceptions of the universe producing luck seemed more digestible to him—it wasn’t religion or fate. In the back of his mind he believed magic to be science in some way. Pirate culture was superstitious at times, even bordering religious despite how violent the life path could be. Truthfully, he believed that if some devine being existed, he wouldn't have had such a hard go at life. Surely his suffering would have amounted to something ? Still, A single Dove sitting beside her as she clung to life in the middle of the ocean? The universe had it’s humor.

Dove

She wakes with a gasp. Her eyes peel open slowly yet she remains motionless. Immediately she notices the water and bread on the night stand beside her. Sitting up, she quickly grabs the pitcher of water and drinks from it like a madman. Gulping hurt, but she’d deal with that later. Right now she needed to replenish what was lost.

After she gets her fill, nearly making herself sick in the process, she truly takes in her surroundings. Her room is lit by a lantern and the rock of the boat becomes more noticeable. Ah yes, she almost forgot she was captured by fucking pirates.

She watches the door in fear, hoping she can use the pitcher as a weapon. She clutches the glass to her chest as the door knob slowly turns. She slyly raises the pitcher in a defensive position. A man peaks from behind the door. He's balding, short, with glasses and a plump mustache. His non-threatening appearance means nothing. A man’s horror knows no bounds and a monster has no specific look. That’s what she learned the hard way.

" Miss-" before she can compute what he's about to say, she throws the pitcher at the door. She misses him by a second and he slams the door shut. She can feel her pulse in her ears.

" Ma'am... I'm not here to hurt you. I'm the physician of this ship. I was just coming to give you medicine for your throat ," he calls from behind the door. She doesn’t answer.

" M-Ma'am. I mean no harm to you. Just wait one second I'II get the captain and he can explain-"

She throws her plate at the door in protest. She attempts to stand and the world spins. Her knees shake trying to support her weight. He goes quiet. The man with the glasses pokes his head from behind the door once more. She’s frantically looking for another weapon.

" My lady please. Don’t throw anything else—let me leave you with the medicine and I’ll go”, he says carefully. She stills her movements in the corner of the room, looking well on her way to being a corpse.

“You've lost a lot of weight and you will need bandaging for your throat. Do you know how….? ", he asks carefully. She just stands wide eyed, unmoving like an owl. Maybe her nickname should have been owl instead of dove with how uncanny her eyes were. Earl had seen eyes like that by soldiers shaken from war, never to be the same again. She had a tremor to her that left him uneasy.

He held a hand up in a pleading manner, “ I’m leaving now. Just know that an hour from now a man will come in with a tub of hot water, soap and a rag. We’re out of oils, salves and hair wash until our next stop so you’ll have to make due. He’s the young lad—you might have seen him. Anywho, he’ll be in and out and you’ll have an hour to wash up. Alright?”, Earl speaks frantically as if running out of time. She nervously nods her head, still trembling in the corner. Earl bows out with a troubled look on his face.

After the man left she ate herself into a stomach ache but eventually it subsided. A knock disturbed her thoughts and she returned back to the corner with a piece of glass in her hand. He announces himself and pushes a medium sized bin full of water into the middle of the room. It wasn’t filled to the rim in case of the rock of the ship. She could see the steam floating from it. It was boiled sea water with a herbal smell. The boy was tall, lanky and had an extremely young face. He couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16 years old.

“ Miss…your bath. The doctor added some medicine to it to help with your soreness. I’ll be back in an hour to retrieve it. Please be clothed by then ”, said the young man. He set a towel on her bed and a change of clothes before heading to the cabin door. He stopped just before exiting.

“ My name is Caden … my lady ”, he took off his hat briefly and put it on his chest in acknowledgment before putting it on and leaving.

She rushed to her door and locked it before stripping and sinking into the water with a hiss. It was just tolerable enough, slightly stinging when it touched her. She let out a long gush of tension while she flexed her toes. The water felt so good on her aching neck. She sank far enough to submerged herself in a cramped fetal position. She let the water work into her scalp and fill her ears. She stayed submerged for a moment.

Her bones sung their praises as she massaged her skin. She washed herself gently along with her hair. Once she was done she dressed in the men’s garments left for her and twisted her wet hair in small sections, pulling it up and away. It was her attempt to keep it from matting with limited products. She also applied the medicine and the bandages to her neck. She finished just in time as Caden came to retrieve the water. She didn’t feel as scared around him, likely because he seemed so young. Still, she carefully watched him as he moved the bin out of her room. He nodded at her and shut the door behind him once more.

Then she was alone again with nothing to do but think of the horrors that could be inflicted upon her. She played with the pirate's hat in her fingers, twirling it around as she thought of an escape. Perhaps she could fake an Illness or play insane ? She had to find a way off this ship. God knows what they could be planning for her. They could be getting her strength up just to —-

Dove jumps as the door opens and freezes like a fawn when a large man ducks into the cabin. He’s so large, his head nearly hits the ceiling. Her eyes widen as she stands slowly and makes her way to the corner. All her weapons are gone. Caden cleaned it all up.

“ The doctor said you’re awake. I thought I’d come in and check on you. I’m just going to ask you a few questions and I’ll be on my way”, his voice is so velvety, rich and calm for a man of his stature. He’s undoubtedly European born and very posh sounding with a tinge of foreignness in his accent. He couldn’t have been originally from Europe though. He’s at least 6 ft 6 with wavy long onyx hair. It’s shiny in an unnaturally healthy way. His eyes are a deep chocolate with a slight deep set almond shape, which make his features pop. His jaw was sharp and defined just like the rest of him. His skin is a light olive, likely due to his work in the sun. He’s got a full beard that connects across his face with dominant brows. His nose is broad and wide but straight. It compliments his full evenly proportioned lips. Her eyes trail down to his neck and then his chest. He was huge and cut, his shoulder never seemed to end. He wore a loose white short sleeved shirt that revealed his elaborate tattoos. He was covered in them, especially on his right side. He had a some sort of tribal tattoo that covered his collarbone down to his wrist. He wore black breeches with a sword tucked into his waistband and black boots.

Everything about him made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. He swallowed the light in the room. She felt her heart beating out of her chest. She was almost certain they had a plan now. They cleaned her up for HIM. That’s surely what this was. They bathed her and put a metaphorical bow on her, ready to serve the captain. She shakes her head, ducking into the corner.

Romans eyes widened in offense, “ Look I’m..not here to harm you. I just need some information about where you came from. So I can return you”, he says with a hand out.

She can’t go back either…..

“ What’s your name ?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer, she was frozen. She was trying her hardest to focus on her breathing. To mentally prepare herself for whatever he could possibly do to her .

Roman

Roman looked around the room awkwardly trying to find a way to calm this hysterical woman. “Why don’t I introduce myself? I hear that it’s what you’re supposed to do in these situations.”

Still no answer from her. He shifts with a hand in his pocket. “Uh…I’ll start— My name is Roman. At least I go by Roman. It’s not the name I chose but when you’re forced into the west it’s better to have a western name. I’m the captain of this ship,” he sighs.

The woman before him was a complete shell of herself. She wasn’t fully here despite being in front of him. She was also freighteninly beautiful. Full lips, beautifully coiled hair, eyes deeper than the ocean. Everything about her pulled him in and it seemed like everything about him pushed her away. He hated that. He hated being looked at like the cause for every evil in the world.

“ The men on my ship will cause’ you no harm believe me. There’s no need to be afraid. I can tell you more about myself—would that make you more comfortable? If I talk about something else?”, he asks.

Through her shaking he could almost see some semblance of a nod. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his thigh and sighed out, wracking his brain for some sort of information to humanize himself in a moment like this.

“ I’m from the pacific islands. My people reside on an even smaller island there. We were invaded by Germany. Some islands the French…others Spanish. I was taken as a child—aged 8 by German soldiers as a gift to Queen Augusta Marie Luise Katharina. I was kicked out of the court and left on the streets at age 15. I figured you were wondering why a man like myself could seem so…”, he doesn’t finish his sentence. He really meant proper sounding, civilized. Smart for a —

A brief feeling of regret washes over him as he contemplates if he should have told her. He didn’t tell many people his origins but he felt the need to now. It must have worked because she relaxed at bit at his words.

“ I had nothing. I volunteered myself on a ship in exchange for food and shelter. I mopped decks and hung laundry and cleaned chamber pots. I worked up the ranks doing dangerous jobs, joining fencing competitions and gambling. I won enough money to buy myself a haggered boat. I started sailing around the world and along the way I met my crew.”

Dove had stopped shaking now and swirled circles into the wood beneath her. There was something catatonically innocent about her movements. Like she was visiting a long lost part of herself for comfort. It worried him deeply.

“ I know you’re probably scared. You think you can’t trust the word of a pirate and most times you can’t. Please know that we do have some morals. I won’t allow them to touch you. I know the men I vetteed. Where I come from, a man who hurts a woman suffers are far worse fate than her ”, he promised.

Dove

Dove stared at him curiously. This dark, tall and looming presence confessed his troubled past. He was a victim of something bad too and for some reason it made her feel slightly better. She finally caught her breath now that she was thinking about something else. She’d heard of this “adoption” thing that royals did. Queen Victoria stole a boy from Ethiopia and the Queen before her, a boy from India. The British empire acted like it was some gift from god, believing Britain was a savior for children in “poor” countries. Really it was kidnapping and brainwashing. She couldn’t imagine how long a child must cry for their family after something like that. It was a murder of the soul.

And here was this hulking, quiet man laying out his story to her. His voice hadn’t raised an octave, not even in panic. She hadn’t spoken a word and yet he was so open with her already. He looked at her like he had been waiting for her for some time. The pain was so brief in his face but he hid it so well she nearly missed it.

She wanted to say something. In a moment like this one someone was supposed to share their pain too. That despite the fact that they came from other places, they could feel the same homesickness. She should say that she was a stranger in this world just as much as him. That even though she spent most of her life in England, every fiber of her being told her she didn’t belong. That she was a traveler from another world much like him. How lucky was she to meet someone from the outside. Someone who once lived a life outside of the poison and vitriol of Europe. Maybe he was like her. Yet when she opened her mouth the fear wrapped it’s hands around her throat and rendered her speechless.

His eyes widened in a hopeful way before they darkened with disappointment as she curled back into her self. She turned away in defeat. He slowly got up and walked to the door stopping just at the entry.

“ The doctor told me you were in shock. My apologies for not giving you more time to make sense of all of this. I was just rather eager to see you. I don’t run into many people like you—- seems you’ve triggered my homesickness in a way. I’ll check back with you in a few days”, he admits. His tone was defeated as he stole another glance at her and then quietly left.

She remained in the corner, scolding herself for not saying anything. She wasn’t entirely sold on the idea that his crew members wouldn’t try anything. However, she believed that if she laid low she might be able to get by until they dropped her off.

Roman

Roman went to bed that night puzzled. He didn’t know why he cared so much about this. She was a complete stranger who hadn’t spoken a word to him. Despite it all, he approached her with an openness that most couldn’t pull from him. He wondered if he came on strong. Perhaps she thought he was weak…or desperate.

Their encounter left him aching from memories of being a child and feeling alone. Longing to make a connection with someone who understood him. Next time he swore to himself would be more stern—more distant. She didn’t care about his story. She was the only woman on a ship of almost 200 men. She had bigger problems. In a few days he would get her to talk and send her on her way. Her story ends somewhere else and his begins with his treasure.

The way it should be….

————————--------------------------------------------------

Note :

Don’t forget to like, comment and re-blog. ALL reblogs will receive a link to a sneak peek of next weeks chapter!

Special thanks again to @joannasteez who helped me during my writing process and actually gave me the original idea for the fic as well as designed the cover. Love you! ❤️

#roman reigns #the bloodline #wwe smackdown #wwe #Roman reigns au #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x oc #pirate au #the tribal chief #head of the table

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hellishere7980 · 5 months

Text

Whatever It Takes (CH-4)

Dear mother, I know you're mad at me. I was supposed to stay with Damien. Stay ‘safe’ as you put it But there is still a weak point I need to cover. You said our aim was to get Damian to safety. Mother, you and I both know he is not completely safe. Safer? Yes. But not completely safe. You know, I promised to myself that I would do whatever it took to keep you both safe. This is my way of doing it. Go ahead and say that ‘You don't need to do it’. But I know I need to do it. So, forgive me, mother, for disobeying your direct orders. I was following the order you gave me a long time ago.

I love you, Mother.

You always said that repeating something again and again reduces the value of your words. These three words I will never tire of speaking to you. Because you gave birth to me. You kept me safe as much as you could. You snuck in and stayed with me when I was sick. You are my mother.

You always said, “Mariam, You are my daughter. Be brave.”

Now I'm saying, “You are my mother, Trust me.”

Trust me to know what I'm doing.

Your daughter, Mariam.

Talia fell down crying after reading the letter. The woman who never shed a tear even after being stabbed and shot.

Bruce stepped forward and supported her to a chair.

— — — — — — — —

“M-Mother?” Damian asked as Talia was about to get back into the car.

“Yes, Damian.” Talia said, smiling at him.

“Don't worry.” Bruce said, standing beside Damien. “We'll keep a lookout for Mariam.”

Talia just nodded and was about to get into the car when a notification chimed up in the bat computer.

Facial match: Ra’s Al-Ghul Location: Gotham Harbour, Dock #7

They all looked at each other as they rushed to put on their costumes. Dick dragged Damian with him to at least make him wear a basic black Kalver uniform. Soon enough, they all took off. Dick and Tim on the nightcycle and the R-Cycle. Bruce, Damian and Talia in the Batmobile with Alfred manning the comms. After breaking some traffic laws, they pulled up at the Gotham Harbour in under 20 minutes. They all stepped out and saw Ra’s standing on a cliff while his personal helicopter, ready for takeoff, waited below in the sandy area.

“Well.” Ra’s said, turning towards them. “I expected that pusillanimous girl of yours to do this.” He said to Talia. “But you? You failed to achieve the low expectations I set for you. This has gone on for long enough. If you so desperately wish to get out of the league, then fine. The league has no place for cowards like you and your daughter who can not even respect their blood. Come along, Damian.”

“NO!” Talia And Damian said together.

Ra’s opened his mouth to say something else but just then a stone was catapulted from the nearby higher cliff which hit Ra’s, the momentum throwing him off the cliff and onto the spinning blades of his helicopter.

Everyone else remaining on the cliff were stunned and watched in utter shock as they heard the sound of flesh being sliced and falling into the slightly acidic waters of Gotham Harbour. As the men in the helicopter jumped out, arrows from the nearby cliff, although from a different area, claimed their lives as they fell down in the pools of their own blood.

All of them stood motionless. Then Batman said, “Whoever did this, the intention was not to harm us yet. Proceed with caution. Robin, Damian, check if there are any survivors. Talia, Nightwing and I are going to check the cliff from where the attack came.”

After spending hours, they couldn't find anything. Just a note that said.

I Bow to thee, Talia Al-Ghul. The Demon Head of the League of Assassins.

“What does this mean, mother?” Damian asked when they showed the note to everyone back in the Batcave.

“This is an ancient ritual.” Talia said looking at the note with something akin to silent horror. “Whenever a Demon had died and the heir took the place as the next Demon Head, all the people of the League of Assassins were supposed to pledge their loyalty to the new Demon Head. They used to bow as a symbol for accepting their superior.”

“But didn't Ra’s say that you were not to inherit the League?” Bruce asked. “Because you are a woman.”

“I know that.” Talia said.

“OK, OK, you are the new Head.” Dick said. “Got it. What are we gonna do now? I think that Mariam might have done it—”

Talia said, “She wouldn’t kill her own Grandfather.” She took a deep breath in.

“I still think the League isn't a fit place to bring up Damian. I still wish you would keep him here.” Talia said, looking at Bruce.

“That would be my absolute pleasure.” Bruce said. “But I want to know one thing.” He continued turning towards Damian, kneeling down to his level, “You wanna stay here, Damian?”

Damian looked deep into Bruce's eyes. “Yes, Father.”

“Well, that's settled!” Tim said. “He gets to stay with us. And you,” He said to Talia. “Get to head the league. Fun.”

Talia gave a light chuckle. “I will leave now.”

And so the days went by. Damian adjusted in his new life as the new Robin after Tim gave him the mantle. Talia went on to Head the league, changing the name from League of Assassins to League of Shadows. When Damian called her about it, she replied, “A new change of aim, means a new change of name.”

Talia even revealed that Jason was back in the living world. They tried to fix that burnt bridge. But Jason was still not completely open to coming back, but, baby steps. Everything was going swimmingly until one day, specifically on Damian's birthday, someone rang the doorbell.

#maribat #miraculous lb #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #alfred pennyworth #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanworks #hellishere7980 #marinette and damian #damian wayne #tim drake #talia al ghul #marinette dupain cheng #bio dad bruce wayne

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meltedbluecaterpillar · 21 days

Text

Hemophiliac

you are here - ch. ii - ch. iii - ch. iv

A/N: This is a commission for @twisted-desires . I am a big fan of vampires and this will be another male!reader. The AU is... It is a little modern... But more... A form of the 50's or 60's in a way. Don't think too hard about it...

tags: vamp!male!reader x noble!riddle rosehearts, aged up au (Riddle is 20+, reader is 200+) wc: 1k+

Riddle sobbed quietly, stuffing some of his clothes into a small leather suitcase. Big round tears rolled down his cheeks as he wiped at his face with a pale shaking hand. “She’s so… Just so awful to me…” He whispered under a croaked breath. Hiccuping softly he crossed the room to grab his coin purse from his vanity, adding it to his suitcase as well. Riddle Rosehearts has always obeyed his mothers wishes. He has always done what she asks of him even if he didn’t want to. But this was something he would refuse to do.

His mother is the most well respected doctor in the country. Especially being a woman in the field of medicine while his father was off in another country for reasons he couldn’t get answers to. He wondered if the reason his mother arranged a marriage without Riddle’s knowledge was because of this. Just telling him over lunch this afternoon that he was set to marry a woman he has never met before. “Just because I’m twenty years old doesn’t mean I want to marry… She married when she was twenty three… Maybe I want to wait…” Riddle grumbled bitterly to himself as he zipped the suitcase shut and looked around his large bedroom. It was illuminated by a yellowing gas lamp chandelier high above him.

Everything he owned was selected by his mother. Clothes, books, the very bareboned decor… Even the cream and olive colored wallpaper with fern lace. He had nothing of his own that he could truly feel attached to in this large and lonely manor. It was hardly a home. It was just a place he lived in. That is why it felt so much easier to run away under the cover of the gray, cottony clouds and the blacked out moon. He sniffled away one final time before grabbing a thin necklace with a small silver cross, and his thick, red, traveling cloak. The sky was starting to rumble, and the delicate tap of rain pelted against his bedroom windows.

It was dark. The moon had vanished as he slipped past the servants quarters, down the marble stairs, and out the heavy doors of the manor. He held tightly to his leather suitcase, keeping it protected beneath his cloak as the rumbling grew louder and the rain fell harder. Riddle cautiously avoided the puddles as he raced up to the iron gate. His body was thin enough for him to slip through, but his bag was the problem. He pulled and grunted, attempting to yank the bag through the bars before slipping and landing on the soaked ground. His bag tumbled into a large mud puddle on the other side. He would be traveling even lighter than expected.

Riddle despised the dirt, but he had no time to complain. He had to leave now or be trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman he didn’t know. The young man kneeled in the softened earth, sticking his arm through the water soaked bars to pull his bag close enough to dig through. Riddle would only take his coin purse and abandon the rest. It didn’t matter. All of his clothes are things his mother bought him. Riddle rose to his feet, the small purse tight in his icy fingers as he began to walk down the lonely dirt path. No destination in mind. Only the rain and cold kept him company as the manor shrank behind him. Riddle had never done anything like this. He had fantasized about running away. Of vanishing into thin air with no traces of him ever existing. But everyone reaches a breaking point. This was his.

It was exhilarating,

This newfound freedom to wander the world as a proper adult. No one would tell him what to do. Riddle could live in the forest among the deer and the little bluebirds. He could bathe in the rivers and nap in a patch of clover. All very idealistic despite the stormy weather. But that would be for the future when he abandons the modern world for a life among the trees. For now he needs somewhere to hide from the rain. “If I seek shelter from Trey… My mother will surely find out. Pinkā is completely out of the question.” He murmured as he found himself nearing a wooded area. If he camped out in a cave for the night he would have better luck in the morning. With the moon and stars hidden it was impossible to see anything. So he would just have to pray. The foliage was thick, branches swatting against Riddle’s legs as he continued his trek. His boots continuously became stuck in the soft soil, and it became harder and harder to walk among the dark trees. Riddle didn’t mind. He actually was enjoying himself.

For the first time in his life he was able to go somewhere alone. Even if he had no real destination in mind, his mother wasn’t holding his hand. Riddle is an adult and he wants to be seen as one. As he walked, he made it to a clearing. One he couldn’t recall ever seeing near the manor in the past. A small manor, appearing ancient and gothic with its architecture. A large iron gate surrounded the area but Riddle was confident in his thin frame to squeeze through the bars. The cobblestone path clicked beneath his heels as he avoided the larger puddles. The plants all looked dead, yellowing and bone dried under the sun. Riddle walked closer and closer, feeling the chill from the sleet starting to settle into his bone marrow. Maybe the place was abandoned? He now stood at the doorstep, staring at the heavy oak double doors with a trembling fist. He would knock and announce himself. If no one answers he will just let himself in. It isn’t a crime to break into an abandoned building. Riddle will just say he was sleepwalking.

Before Riddle could muster any more courage, the door suddenly opened and a masculine frame greeted him. But something felt wrong. Riddle just hasn’t pieced together what.

#absolute commissions.#ch i #vampire au #male reader #riddle rosehearts x reader

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theboywithburninghands · 3 months

Text

And just like that… I got another one. Okay, so this one isn’t nearly as long or as complete as the last one, but I had the day off today and just… went for it. It could be good, it could be crap. But it’s here! @fernstarsblog And honestly I just felt like doing something… nicer today. It’s not nearly as tense or harsh as the last one. Hope you enjoy it byyyyyyye

T/W: Era appropriate sexism, mentions of domestic abuse and drug use

Primum Peccatum Ch. 10: Are You Ready For A Miracle?

Pomni and Jax returned to Primum Peccatum around 10:20 at night. Full dark had fallen by then, and the ferry had to maneuver carefully by spotlight through the inky black saltwater of the reach. Once they arrived on the island, Jax took one of the communal lanterns from the post office’s storage containers, lit it and handed it to Pomni, who led the way home. Moths tapped futilely at the hot glass, and mosquitos descended on the two of them. The citronella oil in the lantern kept many of them at bay, but a few alighted on them to drink, only to be crushed into charcoal black smudges. Insects chirred and frogs sang, but it was otherwise a silent trek home.

Even in almost total darkness, Pomni knew the path. She could do it blindfolded, having lived on the island for two and a half decades. The edge of The Rooker estate’s sterile garden came into view, and Jax turned to look at Pomni. His eyes were shaded in the bubble of light created by the lantern, painting his already dour expression in shadow.

“My sincerest apologies for my family’s behavior tonight. If my father sends another letter to you, I’ll read it for you. If it isn’t anything worth reading, I’ll be rid of it.”

Pomni shook her head. “I’m the one at fault. I failed to adhere to our plan to keep quiet and let the night play out. I owe you and your brothers an apology. …I’m ashamed of myself.”

Jax managed a smile. In the dark, his Cheshire grin looked quite ominous.

“You needn’t be. How can you be expected to not react when all of this, the wedding, my family, was dropped on you so suddenly? I’m… impressed at how you stood up to my father,” Jax looked off into the dark. “Goodness knows I don’t have the backbone.”

Pomni looked at him for a long while. “I believe you do. But I’d rather not bandy with you at the moment… I’m quite tired.”

“As am I,” Jax concurred.

Pomni led him down then overgrown cobblestone walk to Kinger’s front stoop. Jax unlocked the door.

“Mr. Krolik?” Pomni asked before the rabbit could open the door. She kept her eyes on her shoes. “…Please go straight to bed. You needn’t sedate yourself. There’s no sense in making yourself sick when you’ve already been ill once tonight.”

Jax smiled again. It did not reach his eyes.

“I’ll try,” he said.

Even Pomni, who had her difficulties with reading people, could tell that was a bald-faced lie. However, she found her rebuttal caught in her throat when Jax reached down to gingerly pick up her left hand. He removed his sweat-addled gloves and tucked them into his breast pocket, so his paw was relatively dry. He closed his eyes and bent down slightly, placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, just beside her ring.

“Good night, Pomni,” he said, opening the door to The Rooker Estate.

“…Good night, Jax.” Pomni replied, just before the door closed in its entirety.

Pomni was left standing on the stoop, the lantern and her cheeks smoldering. She stood and thought for a good half minute before she turned and journeyed home.

—

As soon as the next morning’s birds began twittering, and dim, gray dawnlight filtered through her curtains, Pomni rolled out of bed. She dressed herself in a plain, Robin’s egg blue dress. She hadn’t slept particularly well, and a need for rest laid heavily on her eyelids, but she sought guidance that morning. She took a moment to brush her teeth and comb her slightly oily hair, splashing some cold water on her face to help keep awake.

She pulled on her stockings and crept downstairs to avoid rousing her parents. She slid her feet into her pumps, tapping the toe of each on the floor to fit it correctly, and went to find Zooble.

“Up early again, Ms. Shutnyk,” they said. They hadn’t begun making Pomni’s parents breakfast for the day, instead enjoying their own light meal, toast with strawberry preserves and a dusting of sand with plain red tea, at the dining room table.

“Good morning, Zooble,” Pomni said.

“How went your meeting with the in-laws?” they asked, blowing on their tea and taking a sip. Zooble had been the only person Pomni told about the meeting, naturally.

“It went…” Pomni thought for a moment. “Dreadfully. Simply dreadfully. Drexl Krolik is an ogre.”

Zooble let out what might have been a faint laugh. “He did come off as rather severe, didn’t he?” They took a bite of their toast, holding it over the plate so any loose crumbs or grains fell safely back onto it.

“He left in the middle of dinner to beat two of Jax’s brothers,” Pomni continued. “I asked the eldest brother to excuse us as head of the house, and he did. So, doubtlessly, I’ll be receiving a letter demanding my return.”

Zooble swallowed their food, having another sip of tea to wash the sand out of their invisible mouth.

“I’ll keep your secrets, but when your parents discover them, and they will, I will be very, very disappointed in you.” they said.

Pomni smiled. “Of course. You don’t deserve to lose your position because of me. And my parents…”

“Can go walk off the pier, as far as you're concerned?” Zooble finished.

“That’s significantly more mild than what I was envisioning. But yes.” Pomni said with another smile.

“I imagine that you and I share similar sentiments about your parents’ decision-making prowess.” Zooble replied.

Pomni giggled. “Indubitably. I should be going now. If you receive a letter from Drexl Krolik-”

“Then you will be the first to read it,” Zooble finished. “Honestly, what kind of third-rate caretaker do you think I am?”

Pomni nodded. “Of course. My apologies for interrupting your breakfast.”

As she made to leave, Zooble spoke up. “Please be back at a reasonable hour. Your mother has hired a tailor to measure you for your wedding dress. You know she’ll be upturning the entire island to find you.”

Pomni sighed. “Very well. Thank you as always, Zooble.”

“They really should pay me more, shouldn’t they?” Zooble replied without looking up from their tea.

Pomni exited the estate with her purse. She picked up the communal lantern from the stoop, planning on returning it to the post office and then heading to The Gray Church. It was a cloudy morning, the sky a billowy gray and white. There was a very slight chill in the air, the final hurrah of springtime before summer arrived in full. Pomni closed her eyes and enjoyed the soothing ambience. She was still quite tired, her eyes remaining lidded for almost a full minute before reluctantly opening again. She hoped this dress business wasn’t an all day affair, her mother could take so long on tasks that should have taken an hour or two at most.

She sighed, turning and walking towards the post office.

—

Pomni glanced around the confession booth. She had never been inside it before, and she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. It was nothing but a gray room, about the size of an outdoor privy, with a pull string for the bell, an old and somewhat moth-eaten cushion to sit on, and a screened window into the priest or priestess’s chamber. She swallowed, sitting on the cushion, and rang the bell.

She waited a moment. Another moment. Several moments more. She thought about leaving, and she thought about ringing the bell again. Ragatha always told her that it greatly irritated her when a confessor repeatedly rang the bell, so she thought better of it. Sure enough, she soon heard footsteps from within the sanctuary, the door to the confessional booth open, and a person take their seat just by the window.

“Good morning, my child. Tell me what ails you,” came Ragatha’s motherly voice from the other side of the booth. Anyone would feel more at ease if a voice that warm told them everything was going to be alright.

“Sister, I have doubts and seek guidance,” Pomni said.

“Of course, you may begin when you are ready,” Ragatha said.

“Well… you see, my… friend is to be married to a man she barely knows. And she was opposed to the idea at first, naturally, but now-”

“Pomni?” Ragatha asked in her regular voice.

Blazes.

“Er… but-but now she-”

“Pomni, that is you! What are you doing in the confessional?”

Pomni sighed again. “I was… hoping to get some advice anonymously.”

Ragatha scoffed. “Darling, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Come inside, I’ve just made tea.”

Ragatha then rose to her feet and exited the confessional, chuckling to herself. Pomni bit at her thumbnail, but obliged, entering the church anyway. She took the stairs down into the rectory, where Ragatha and Gangle sat around the table.

“Ms. Shutnyk! It’s so nice to see you again!” Gangle said with a wave.

“Good morning, Ms. Gangle,” Pomni said, waving back shyly.

Ragatha smoothed out her habit, keeping her hood down as she normally did around guests. It appeared as though she had just gotten dressed, as she had to pause a moment to roll up her sleeves.

“So, something so serious has happened, you felt the urge to confess anonymously? For the first time as long as I’ve known you? Goodness, what could have happened?” Ragatha said with a small smile.

“It isn’t anything wrong that I’ve done… It’s merely something… embarrassing.” Pomni said. She sat in her usual chair and picked up her cup.

“Embarrassing?” Ragatha asked.

“Yes, embarrassing. I am to be married soon, as you both know…” Pomni began.

“I seem to recall you were somewhat upset about that.” Gangle jested. Ragatha fought a smile and gently nudged her.

“But… things have changed. I believe…” Pomni took a deep breath and stared down at her teacup. “I believe I have caught feelings for him.”

Ragatha and Gangle were both silent with anticipation.

“But..?” Ragatha coaxed.

“…But nothing. I… I fear I’ve caught feelings for him.” Pomni said. She looked at them both with a dire expression.

Ragatha and Gangle looked at each other, then back to Pomni.

“That’s what is upsetting you so?” Ragatha asked incredulously.

“Ms. Shutnyk, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!” Gangle chirped, clasping her ribbons together.

“You had me so worried, darling, good heavens…” Ragatha fanned herself, slumping over with relief.

“N-No!” Pomni shouted, making Gangle jump. “It’s not wonderful! They’ve won, don’t you understand? They’ve finally forced me to gain feelings for a stranger!”

Ragatha sat up straighter. “Forced you? Little sister, no one forced you.”

“But they have! They-” Pomni began, but Ragatha gently interrupted her by grasping one of her hands.

“Pomni Shutnyk. I’ve known you for seven years, and there is one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty. If you don’t want to do something, I don’t think anyone short of The Allfather could make you. If anybody, and I mean anybody told you to love Jax Krolik when you didn’t actually love him, there would be no further discussion. You wouldn’t.”

Pomni frowned and sipped her tea with her free hand. She looked down at her feet. “I don’t follow.”

Ragatha smiled and leaned forward. “I’m saying, Pomni, that your feelings are real, not manipulated. You are not the kind to be manipulated. I think you feel this way about Mr. Krolik because you are genuinely fond of Mr. Krolik. And that’s wonderful! You found a kindred spirit!”

Pomni gripped her cup a bit tighter. “But… It’s manufactured. I didn’t meet Jax on my own, I was forced to! I wanted to pursue my own dream, not my parents’ dream!”

“Who says you can’t pursue a dream, Ms. Shutnyk?” Gangle piped up.

Pomni shook her head in frustration. “Everyone! The entire broken, idiotic ideology that this country is built on! I wanted to take over my father’s firm, but I cannot because-”

Ragatha held up the hand she was using to hold Pomni’s. “Peace for a moment, dear. Do you still want to inherit your father’s business?”

“No! Never, not after he betrayed me like he did!” Pomni declared.

“So… what is your dream now?” Ragatha asked with a tilt of her head. Her curls bounced.

“I…”

Pomni froze.

“I… I don’t know.”

Ragatha rested three fingers on her chin and looked up, deep in thought. “Perhaps that is something you should contemplate for the future. This is my advice. I believe you should find what brings you the most joy. But even if you aren’t sure what that is now, answer me this question: Who do you see at your side in the future? Are you alone?”

“I don’t know…” Pomni said again.

“Oh, but I think you do, Ms. Shutnyk. I think you do know.” Gangle said with a smile.

Pomni covered her face and whined. Ragatha stood up from her chair and embraced the smaller woman.

“It’s perfectly fine to have feelings, darling. You’re not gullible or weak for it. This is a good outcome to an incredibly untoward scenario.”

Pomni embraced Ragatha right back. “I’m… I don’t want to be a housewife…”

“Then don’t be. Be with the one you love, and do what you wish to do. That’s what I’ve done.”

Ragatha smiled and put a hand over Gangle’s ribbon as the shapewoman placed it on her shoulder. Gangle rested her cheek on Ragatha’s head with a smile.

“…I didn’t say I loved him.” Pomni said after a moment. “It’s only been a week. I just… I… I’m not as opposed to… courtship as I used to be…”

“Oh, bless your heart, darling.” Ragatha waved a hand and giggled. Gangle began to laugh, and Pomni joined in. Soon, they were all laughing together.

Pomni left the church, her spirits brightened somewhat. Ragatha’s guidance revealed something not quite expected, but it was… something good. She still detested the whole wedding rigamarole, and how her parents thought of her as a commodity, and her soon to be father-in-law’s compassion-free, ink-black soul, and how society treated her just because of her sex… But. She had grown an interest in the man she was to marry. A real interest. And that was something to treasure.

#the amazing digital circus #tadc arranged marriage au #funnybunny #jax x pomni #tadc jax #tadc pomni #tadc zooble #tadc ragatha #tadc gangle #oh no cringe #tadc #tw mentions of abuse #tw drugs

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bugs1nmybrain · 8 months

Text

Give Your Heart a Break - Chapter 3: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader series

Notes: This series is going to be released slowly due to my workload from school and jobs. That said, it may be sloppy and inconsistent. I will try my best to make it all mesh together! I reread Chapter 2 and will admit it was weak, but I was kind of just trying to gear up for them to meet in person.

ALSO! I am going to try to include songs that inspire my fics at the top of them! I hope it helps convey the mood of my stories.

Summary: Tomura and the reader finally meet in person after their discord call from last chapter.

Warnings: 18+ content (minors don't interact), shigaraki has a psychotic disorder and his voices act up violently when he's stressed, substance use (weed), POV swings, repressed Tenko Shimura themes, Dabi shows up but doesn't do much, long chapter, reader and Tomura are moving fast tbh, not fully proofread

Word Count: 4568

Notes About Y/N?:

anything from ch 1 and 2 applies here

she's a stoner

reader is actually hella shy

autistic coded

she has an interesting quirk<3

reader is the child of people who use substances, but she herself doesn't use anything past the holy trinity of "okay" substances: alcohol, weed, and nicotine

she's a virgin

Shigaraki was about to jump out of his skin. He could see your silhouette through your window as he stood outside your house. Even through the window, he could see how curvy you were. It made his mouth water. Fuck, you aren't even out the door and he's already being a pervert.

He was so anxious yet very excited. He was confident that you somewhat liked him, too. You wouldn't have agreed to come out with him at almost midnight if you didn't. His mission tonight was to be as not-scary as he could be, which he didn't think he'd ever want to do.

The sound of your front door opening made his heart pound viciously, and he stood where he was across the road with a shit-eating grin on his face and a fruit punch rockstar (pinky up!). You looked at him with a blushy smile and began stepping close to him, stomping heavily in your platform-heeled black boots. When you got up close to him, he couldn't help but laugh softly when he realized that you were still so short even with the shoes, though you didn't seem to pick up on his laughter.

"Hey," Tomura said with a crack in his voice, as if his voice couldn't get any more raspy.

"Heyy," you replied nervously, but forcing a smile.

"Howyadoing?"

"I had a long day at work before we started talking."

"Sounds like shit. I got you this," he looked at you like an excited puppy and held you the energy drink. "This is the kind you like, right?"

"Yeah," you smile kindly, taking the can. "Thank you for getting this."

"Of course, hehe. Have you been dressed like that all day?"

"No, I only got dressed like, 20 minutes ago?"

"You look pretty," Tomura smiled, looking visibly turned on by your fitting clothes, though he tried very hard to keep eye contact. He noticed you look down at yourself briefly whenever he snuck a look and you were clearly uncomfortable. Fuck, that's the last thing he wanted. Has he already fucked this up?

You fucking monster

Take her

Tomura began itching his neck in frustration, though he took a deep inhale through his nose and tried to pay attention to you instead.

"Whatcha wanna do?" He asked, huffing out his words anxiously.

"I don't know. To be honest, I don't hang out with people often," she shared.

"That's good, it means you realize how shitty most people are, right?" he laughs.

"Yea, that's true. I'm also new around here."

"It's my pleasure to be your new best friend, then," Shigaraki chuckled. "Or no?"

"You move fast."

"What's moving, exactly?" He retorted with a cocky face.

damn,,

Your laughter was like bubbles popping to him when he heard you giggle in response. He's got you, he knows it. You kept holding your head down at your feet, a habit Tomura noticed while you were talking. It frustrated him because he wanted to see your pretty face and the spooky makeup you put on it.

On the other hand, he understood what it was like to not want to flaunt your face. If you didn't happen to be a normal civilian he would've shown up with father on his face and maybe some of the others. Instead, he wore a hoodie, though his hood was up. He hardly ever left it down in public.

Now that he thought of it, he remembered you saying you liked his hair. Tomura let his hoodie down, falling to his shoulders and exposing his dry, tangled blue hair. Your face froze as you admired his baby-blue pigment. You also began to take in his ruby-red eyes and dehydrated appearance, with scars on his neck and face. He looked like a beaten-up kitten and a strange part of you instantly wanted to take care of him.

Shigaraki took your appearance in as well because now he could properly see your face. You looked at him with curious eyes, perky and alert. At the top of your shoulder, though, he saw what looked like an animated red heart beside you. Then it faded away.

Was he hallucinating again?

He shook the thought off and started noticing your face, instead. Your black eyeliner smudged your eyes, making them look intimidating, though to him you were no threat whatsoever. He admired your lips, as well. They looked softer than his, and he wondered how they'd feel. Even at 20, he had never kissed anyone. He had gotten one blowjob, but it was a hooker that he had paid for, and he couldn't shake the thought that the one sucking his cock was only doing it for money. Not that there was anything wrong with that at all, Tomura was just more romantic than he thought. They never kissed, and it felt empty for him.

"We could just take a walk," y/n suggested. He noticed your face back down facing your feet.

"Do you want to come to my place?" Tomura suggested back. Though bringing you around his roommates might be a challenge. You're cute.

He saw your hesitant face, a little offended by your quick distrust, at least from what he could tell. "I promise, I don't bite." Oh, the irony. The only thing roaming around in your head was what his intentions were. Tomura didn't exactly know himself.

"Where's your place? I'm not sure if I can stay the night."

"When did I say you could?" He retorted sarcastically.

"Oh, sorry."

"I'm teasing. I live about a 15 minute walk from here, is that okay?"

"Yea."

On your way to his place, you took in the fresh air and calming night scenery. There was a strange nostalgic feeling, though for no particular reason that you could think of. There were moments between you two when you wouldn't talk at all, but when you did, you came to notice that Tenko was a geeky, yet feisty guy. He had an interest in games, and had admitted to playing League of Legends, DOOM, some shit on the Switch, and occasionally GTA but he said that "the fun stopped years ago."

The two of you fumbled a bit, more you than him. Your socially awkward composure made it hard for you to not be jittery, but he seemed like a harmless guy thus far (haha, you had no idea). He was awkward, too, but had more guts to speak up.

Tomura would discover how truly shy you were. Your body shook when you talked, and your voice cracked in sheepish fear (he knew well what that looked like). He could tell you were socially anxious and that it probably wasn't just because he was scary, but he had a deep feeling that you thought he was. However, when he managed to get you to talk, you were quite funny and unique. It was cute to him, freakily enough, turning him on a little. He's had a semi for a bit, but the hoodie covered his crotch, thankfully.

His libido got the best of him sometimes, because the ass on you was a distraction. You were walking a little in front of him, so he could get a look without feeling like too much of a pervert. You looked cozy and huggable.

"fuck," Shigaraki thought abruptly.

He thankfully had a pair of gloves from Dr. Ujiko, ones that combated his quirk. He only really used them when he was sleeping or when he couldn't possibly avoid disintegrating something. He'd been careless, not even realizing how his quirk could easily fuck this up until now. Maybe he was being a bit entitled to already think that you'll automatically let him get close enough to touch you.

Still, explaining his quirk to you was going to be interesting. It would probably break his heart if you didn't want him, fuck, even want to be friends with him because of his quirk.

grab her, she is yours

Tomura ignored his aggravating voices and you and him continued to walk, laugh together, and drink your energy drinks like punkass kids. You finally came up on an apartment complex. It looked run down from the outside, most of the nearby apartments did, too.

His place was a few floors up. As soon as Tenko opened the doors, there was a whiff of a musky, dusty smell. A linger of cigarette smoke, maybe a little weed. For you, there was some level of familiarity with the smell because of your upbringing. The time was about 12:11am, so the apartment wasn't loud, although there was a faint sound of rap music playing in someone's room, and they were clearly smoking, based on how fresh the odor was.

"So, let me address this now," Tenko began. "Are you comfortable being in my room?"

You cocked an eyebrow.

"I mean, like, I know it's awkward being in a guy's room. We can hang out in the living room, if ya want," he pressed his lips together, sort of wishing you said yes to his room.

"Can we hang out-out here?"

"Nooo," Tomura thought internally.

"Aight," he said aloud.

Tomura plopped down on the couch, looking in your direction to indicate that you could sit there too. You sat some space away from him, making him a bit sad.

Shigaraki had never had a girl in his place before, not one that wasn't Toga or Magne. Not one he wanted. He was kind of nervous, but excited! He saw this as a good opportunity to try to get to know you, and maybe rizz you up a lil. Though, he'd never done that to anyone who wasn't a person on Discord, so he wasn't sure how to establish a bond.

Honestly, he was taking a bit of a chance with you. You didn't really do much to impress him yet, but your warmness to him made him feel important. In a different way than being his master's successor.

"Do you want to play video games? That's kind of the only thing we have to do here. And smoke weed, but I don't know if you do drugs."

"That's kind of an intense way to refer to weed," you comment.

"Then you smoke?"

"Yea."

"Awesome. Let me grab some shit and we can smoke. Maybe game at the same time??"

You laugh softly, "sure, sounds fun."

He could see a restless tremor in you, though, he felt that you liked him. That you enjoyed him, thus far. You were probably just shy because you had a crush on him :)

You had taken note at his neck when Tenko took off his hoodie, noticing how slender he was under it. You only saw him with his sweatshirt on so far. He was kind of...sexy? Your body radiated a few small hearts, dark red in color. Tenko was already out of the room before he could see, you thanked.

Little did Tenko know, you were also an inexperienced person when it came to girl and guy interaction. You were attracted to him, definitely. You were a virgin, though, and were worried to get too close to the "wrong person." You didn't know much about him yet. You sat patiently in the living room, tired from the day behind you. Thanks to Tenko, you now had caffeine, helping you fight the eepy.

It didn't take Tenko long before he reemerged with a pipe and a bag of pot. You got an instant waff of the flower when he opened the bag and took some out. He sat down, close beside you. You were a little nervous and startled, but you now got to smell his scent. He was a little smelly, but in a way that you hadn't known before. It was masculine and acted as pheromones for you right now.

Your hearts started popping out, this time colored a tangerine orange shade.

Tenko swung his head in your direction, instantly seeing them. He squinted at you and looked confused. You recalled that he heard voices, so maybe he thought that he was seeing things. You averted eye contact very quick and started mumbling.

"Uh..I'm sorry.."

"Huh?"

"Oh..um..tch..."

"Huh? I can't hear you."

"My quirk."

Tenko began picking out the stems in the weed, and you noticed he was wearing black gloves, but they were only covering he ring finger, pinky, and thumbs. You hadn't seen them on him before. Did he have a germ phobia? He didn't smell like he did.

He turned to face you every now and then, "I'm listening."

"I..uh.."

"You sure stutter a lot."

"Yea, I do."

"Are..the hearts your quirk? Or am I seeing things. In that case, this must be confusing as fuck to hear. Sorry."

"No! It's okay. No, you're not seeing things."

"Huh..What does it mea-."

Separate foot steps came up to the living room. You and Tenko looked up to see an average height man with black hair and burn marks all over him, staples keeping himself in place. He had piercings on his ears and his nose, and he had a cocky demeanor to him. You recognized this guy, you thought, but were having trouble thinking where from.

"You smoking?" He drawn out in a tired yawn.

"Uh..yea," Tomura replied.

"Who's this?" Dabi said, eyeing you down. Tomura had a millisecond instinct of possession. If Dabi swooned you, which wouldn't be a surprise, he'd be very pissed. Furious, even. He shot Dabi a look of "don't try anything," and Dabi knew full well what his face was telling him.

"I'm y/n," you said.

"Ah. I've never seen you. Are you and Shigaraki together?"

Tomura froze.

Not this quick, he thought. He thought he could pull some Aladdin shit and roll with a fake identity for a bit.

DABI YOU FUCKING IDIOT he thought, starting to panic internally.

K-kill he-

"Jesuss..." Tomura groaned, trying to drown out his voices. He held his hands at the back of his neck and leaned back.

Fuck

Destroy her, destroy, kill

You furrowed your brows and now it was coming together on your end.

The League of Villains were infamous, of course you knew the name "Shigaraki." The most wanted criminal around and notorious for rather..inhumane crimes. You tried telling yourself that he could be a different Shigaraki, but you now figured out the guy with patches on himself. Dabi, who stood out like a sore thumb in the photos that were taken of their gang. Shigaraki did, too. But he had a dead hand on his face whenever you saw pictures, so you didn't recognize him.

Tomura could sense your own panic from planets away. He saw you trembling, and he was trying to come up with a quick lie in his head, but you were already speaking.

"Are you Dabi?" you said in a neutral tone.

"Yeuh. How'd you know?"

"Uh.Ten...Tomura?" you said his name as if you were asking him a question, but continued. "He's talked about you."

He was confused now. Were you playing along? The fuck? Or did you feel like you had to? You could've felt in danger, he considered.

"Good things, I hope," Dabi slurred.

Tomura wanted to question you, but didn't want to cause tension about the fact that you now both knew he was manipulating you into thinking he was some ordinary guy. He also didn't want to have this conversation around Dabi. You didn't say anything else.

Dabi crouched on the floor. "Give me some."

"Invite Spinner, too, I don't want to look at only your ugly face."

"He's sleeping. Don't you have eye candy next to you?"

Oh right. He thinks you and Tomura are dating. And he called you "eye candy." So many angry thoughts were racing through Tomura's head. You were probably terrified right now, and he knew this whole situation was fucked. He had no idea what to say.

But he tried, turning to you shamefully and mumbled out, "do you still wanna smoke?"

You paused, unsure what the answer should be. You should be trying to find a way to leave and soon. These guys are...well. The League of Villains. Though, you found yourself agreeing with their mission, even if murder, abducting a high schooler, and assaulting people weren't anything you necessarily felt comfortable with.

Tenko- or Tomura, had made you feel seen up to this point. You didn't feel that way, ever. He took interest in you while also wanting to listen to you. You shared interests, and personality traits even if yours were more sheltered away. When you knew someone closely, you were talkative and feisty, too. You felt understood, somehow. And maybe that shouldn't excuse him being a horrible person, but your need for validation and attention took over you.

"Light that shit up," you declared.

You saw a smile crack on his face, which was admittedly very cute. He was scary looking, but not to you. He looked run down and scrunkly, with his pale skin and tinted sharp teeth. Itch marks all over him and dry wrinkles at his forehead and eyes. He also had a beauty mark below the edge of his dry lips.

But he looked adorable, and you had a desire to just have him hold you. You knew of his quirk, of course. But you were guessing that his gloves were because of his quirk. He was protecting you.

Your hearts fluttered rapidly, and Dabi raised an eyebrow. He didn't care to ask anything, figuring it was your quirk. He could tell it was in response to Shigaraki, which was easy to deduce. Tomura started to get it, too.

Tomura, you and Dabi all passed around the bowl, not saying much. You'd cough viciously, trying to hold it back. Shigaraki saw your eyeliner mess up from the tears you made from coughing. He wanted to snatch you up, absolutely infatuated with your girlish charm.

"You alive?" He asked.

"What strain is this??" You asked with slurred speech and dozed off red eyes.

"Uh, weed. I don't know. Dabi, what's this shit?" He asked, as Dabi usually was the one who acquired the League's stash of pot.

"Probably GMO."

"Probably? If you lace my company I'll knock you out."

You giggled out. Tomura's sense of humor was one of your favorite things about him so far. And maybe you should be scared, but you felt comfortable around him whenever he cracked jokes and smiled at you.

"Jesus, it's not laced. If I wanted to do coke or something, I'd do the actual thing," Dabi joked.

"It's okay. I'm just really stoned," you laughed.

"A lightweight, huh?" Tomura snickered. "It's cuz you're so little."

"Am not."

"You're like, 5 foot nothing."

"I'm (your height)!" You retaliated.

"Uh-huh. I could put you in my pocket, if I wanted. Do you wanna game?"

"Yeaa."

Tomura turned on his console, giving you the option to pick a game. You chose your favorite video game, as it was already owned by Shigaraki. He and Dabi watched you play badly, with Dabi chuckling and Tomura groaning at the sight.

"Let me try," he said.

"You'll just steal it from me," you assumed.

"Well, you've tried this mission like 6 times," he pointed out.

"Three."

"Oooo okay smart ass," Tomura said in a flirty tone. "Let me show you then, hm?"

Tomura scooched closer to you, holding his controller with his hands perched on against the top of your thigh. He was trying to show you what moves to play, telling you all his strategies. He was also testing you and paid close attention to how you responded to his close proximity. You had to now know what his quirk was. You didn't pull back from him to his satisfaction, but he was still confused.

"Here, you see how I'm doing this? Now you try."

Every time he talked to you, he had a sort of softness to his voice. A raspy yet nurturing tone, even when you messed up your game repeatedly. And you'd respond with a blushy and embarrassed tone, but obviously swooned by Tomura's charisma.

Dabi could sense the horny from Tomura and got up, not wanting to see this shit. "You two have fun."

Shiggy felt like he could breathe with Dabi leaving. Now he had you all to himself, which might work in his favor. You still seemed uneasy, but at the same time he saw that your body had relaxed more. He was a little shocked, and wondered what the ulterior meaning was for it.

"So.."y/n started. "You're..not Tenko? Or is that a nickname?"

"Uh..jesus," He sighed, cupping his forehead anxiously. "No. No, I'm not. You know who I am, right? I'm sorry."

"I, um. Yea, I think so. I knew who he was, too. You're Tomura Shigaraki?"

"That's meee. Are you gonna leave? Tell someone?" He sad in a worried and sharp voice.

What? No. I won't, it's just, I guess I'm taken aback."

"I couldn't just tell you who I was that quick, d'ya get it? Especially online."

"Yea, I know."

You and him turned and faced each other, both of you breathing hard. Your hearts turned blue, but appeared in slow succession. Tomura cocked a brow, and finally was able to inquire about your quirk now that Dabi was gone.

"What are those hearts about? I have a guess, but.."

"mmmnNN," you grunted in embarrassment. "It's nothing.."

"Liar," he chuckled. "Is it cuz you like me?"

He was taking a bold risk to ask that, but so much was already on the table. Asking you if you wanted him wasn't much more intimidating, unless it added to the mess. His eyes were lidded and he smirked when he questioned you. You could tell he liked you, himself. There was a hint of desire and arousal that you could sense from him, as well.

You blushed a deep rose color and looked away from him. "K-kind of..."

"Mm, and is the Shigaraki thing a dealbreaker?"

"I..I don't want it to be," you smiled, and he saw your eyes shine at him.

"I promise I'll be nice to you," he joked, leaning closer to you.

"I...okay. I trust that, and honestly, I kind of don't care? That you're Shigaraki, that is. Well! Of course I care. But I like you, and you've made me feel like my company is wanted. People see me as weird, and offputting. You don't, at least I don't think. Why me, though? I mean, why do you like me?"

"Uh, cuz you're cute?" wow Tomura. "Shit, that was creepy. Uh, you're nice. Nicer to me than most people, and you like my hair and stuff. You also seem to find me quite funny, yea? You're also unique, and you dress spooky. You're a funny girl, and you play games with me!! I can tell you're an anxious mess, but you seem to want to be around me, and even when you found out about me being who I am, you didn't try to leave or treat me differently. I don't know, I just think you and I would be good together. And what's not to like? You're kind of my dream girl."

You laugh, flustered and feeling undeserving of all the praise. "You don't know me much."

"Can I get to know you, then?"

"I mean..yes..can I get to know you too? I don't know if what I hear on the news is all that you are,"you smiled widely while looking away from him. It pissed him off a little when you'd avoid him. He brought his gloved fingers to hold your jaw, and gently turned you to look at him.

"I can see you better when you look at me," he said in a seductive tone. He stroked the side of your jaw with his thumb while he ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth. The risk of decay scared you, but you trusted the gloves would be okay, and if your quirk did the right thing, you two may not need them soon...The hearts you produced had many colors now, all red, dark red, and white.

He snickered. "Do the different colors mean different things?" Tomura asked.

"Y-yea..The standard color is red, but different colors mean different emotions."

"So," Tomura rang his hand to pet your hair for a brief moment before setting it at your side. Rapid dark red, white, and red hearts continued to flutter out of you. "What do those ones mean?"

You tensed up, knowing full well the meanings, but admitting to two of them was embarrassing. Vulnerable, even. Was this all going too quick? Frankly, the adrenaline and attraction were entirely operating you at the moment.

"Spit it out," he jabbed.

"The red ones..they're standard hearts that say, "I think you're attractive.""

"Thanks. I think I'm ugly as shit, but-"

"You aren't. I think you're very cute, hehehe!!"

"Oh really?" He teased. "Ehah..what do the burgandy colors mean? And..the white ones?"

"Mrnrnjdsn..."

"What?" He laughed, getting the feeling that they had a not-so-innocent meaning to them.

"They, uh..they mean that-that I'm..that I'm turned on."

Satisfaction grew in Shiggy's eyes, his eyes the color of a scorching fire. He clenched his grin into an excited and relieved expression.

"So I turn you on?"

You nodded your head bashfully.

"And the white ones?" Shigaraki pestered.

"urrrnnnnn, I can't say it!!"

"Come on! Out! I wanna know..."he said with a yearn in his voice.

"They, they mean my body is responding. You know..that I'm wet, and that my horny-ness is spiking."

"Cum colored, haha. That's not surprising."

You and Tomura sat in a quiet tension for a bit, and he looked like he was hungry and trying to hunt his prey silently. His lips parted a little, and you saw his tongue run against his teeth as he leaned his face closer to you discreetly. You pressed your lips together tight and tilted your head up slowly, your eyes darting all across Tomura's handsome face and instinctively moved closer, as well. Your body knew exactly what it wanted and what was natural. Tomura became daring, and pressed his lips on yours without much warning, wrapping his lips in between yours.

You instantly hummed, unsure what to do. You moved your lips to dance with his as well as you could, and you started with passionate and sweet kisses. The whole act was uncoordinated, and you both weren't sure how to keep going. He kissed you for a long time, holding your neck while he leaned closer than you thought possible. His smell clouded your thinking, and built your arousal little by little.

He finally pulled away, taking a deep breathe and looked at you with a seduced flushed face. "Do you wanna go to my room now?" He scoffed, knowing his intentions, and you did too. He wanted you. It was fast, but he didn't really care. He just wanted to claim you, and make you his.

"Mhmm," you mumbled in approval.

Taking your hand in his protected ones, he guided you off the couch.

"Lets do that then, yea? I want to get to know you, like we talked about. I gotta know all about you."

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x fem!reader #tenko shimura #shigaraki fic #Spotify

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distortedclouds · 1 year

Text

Annie's bonus PoV of Black Water

Set: Chapter 20

Word count: 2k

Tags: Angst

“You know,” Annie murmurs, letting one of her hands trace a line from the center of his abdomen, up the ridges of his muscles to the midpoint of his chest, and then a little to the side. “I’ve been saying shit like ‘I had doubts’ and ‘I wasn’t sure’ and… while that’s all true, I… for a few days back then, I really thought I was pregnant, Armin,” she says, catching the violent thumbing of his heart beneath her palm, a storm just for her. Annie wishes she could see his face right now, but looking into his eyes, she’d probably not be able to find any of the right words, let alone the courage to speak them.

They were only four days. Four short days that Annie would look at herself in the bathroom mirror, meet her own wide-eyed gaze, almost panicked, and then glance down. It had all felt so real back then. The possibility was a reality in some parts of her brain, and that was more than enough for her; that she was going to become a parent in a few months’ time.

Her and Armin.

“I actually started counting the days,” she muses with a small laugh. Maybe that was actually ridiculous of her, a little too hopeful and all up in her own head over a small possibility. “It felt a bit weird, overwhelming, maybe, that in less than nine months, I’d be able to hold her in my arms.”

“Her?” The question comes out almost instantaneously, only mildly muted against the fluff of the pillow.

“Problem?” On his chest and through his ribs, Annie can feel the racing of his heart. Whether it’s excitement or horror, she can’t tell-

“None,” he rasps out, breathless, which is easy to explain, since he’d stopped breathing for a moment there, relying on the air pulled in through a single gasp.

She can now swallow the lump in her throat, lips pulling into a soft smile and she sighs; the tension in her shoulders draws out of her like a single, loose string as she reaches to intertwine their fingers together, feeling his slightly bigger hands in hers. To think that both her and Armin had shared a similar vision on opposite ends of the spectrum. That had she actually told him back then of who she thought she was growing in her abdomen, he would’ve had an identical reaction. A type of love and curiosity for the unknown that she’d only ever seen in Armin’s blue eyes. Ones she hopes he’d pass down.

“I think she’s gonna end up really short,” she holds back her excitement but still ends up with a small laugh that flutters in her chest. His lungs jump under her palm in a similar gesture.

“She’ll have tall uncles to sit on their shoulders.” Annie thinks of how Reiner easily towers over both her and Armin. How, despite him being a bit of an asshole, he seems to be good with young kids. At least, if she’s gonna go by how much those two—Falco and Gabi—seem to like and look up to him. “She’d have no problem seeing over large crowds.”

“I know Hitch’s gonna spoil her rotten, if given the chance,” she grumbles, trying to convince herself it’s a bad thing, but maybe it won’t be. Maybe having a vaguely corrupt aunt would help her gain confidence and raise her voice when necessary, not taking anyone’s bullshit to heart.

“Mikasa will tell her plenty of stories,” Armin says and Annie hums in approval. She’d never known Mikasa to be of the talkative type, but if there was anyone she was going to trust her daughter to—other than Armin—it’ll definitely be Mikasa.

Annie taps her fingers repeatedly against his chest; counting. She’s going to be surrounded by so many people that love and cherish her. Although, if she catches on to Connie’s awful sense of humor, Annie might actually have to resort to capital punishment.

The world isn’t perfect, far from it, but they might be able to carve out a small space for her to live a good life. She’ll have everything: “She’ll have an amazing father who’ll kiss her goodnight after checking under her bed and closet for monsters.”

Armin’s going to be there. At the very center of her world. He’s going to make sure she’s alright; she’s safe and sound and loved. His soft eyes and gentle hands fend away all nightmares and worrisome thoughts. Annie would be able to stand by the door, a little to the side, and watch little eyes skitter to him at the clap of thunder in the distance or a creaky floorboard in the attic, he’ll smile and reassure her every time, and she’s going to believe him.

“He’ll teach her everything about this world so she doesn’t fear it,” she says, almost in a dreamy haze, squeezing at his fingers for emphasis when she feels his breathing becoming airy, like he, too, isn’t entirely here in this very moment.

“She’ll also have the most wonderful mother,” Her fingers inadvertently twitch between his. “Who’ll take her on long walks and carry her back home when she’s tired.”

… of course, yeah! Annie will… also be there.

She won’t be a distant spectator to her and Armin. She’d also be there. She’d be her mother.

Annie nods with a small hum, though he can’t see it.

“I’ll tell her of how her mother loved and adored her before she even got here,” Armin says, almost singing out the words as they sound like honey dripping from his mouth. How come he always knows everything?

She slips one of her hands from his gentle grip, watching the motion intently as she meets her palm to her stomach. Beyond the initial inhale, Annie can’t breathe.

It no longer feels as painful, thinking about the possibility of growing a life inside her, now that she knows Armin’s going to be alongside her every step of the way. Those four days might’ve not been this torturous had she had his hand on her stomach, right next to hers; reading to her, kissing her, and leaning down to listen when there was nothing to yet hear.

Perhaps, it would be so easy to let affection swell in her chest when she finally gets to hold her in her arms, a small body that fits just right in the crooks of her elbows and a small head that’d find warmth and peace against her chest. Small eyes, as bright blue as Armin’s, would look up at her, hair a rich, golden yellow that’d beautifully reflect the rays of sunlight, a cute button nose that she’d kiss with every chance she gets.

Pause.

A child… can’t be an identical copy of their father. Annie’s going to be there, too. She’ll see bits of herself, maybe in pale blonde hair, a strong nose, or a-

No.

Absolutely not!

When people look at her—at her daughter—if they’re constantly reminded she’s Armin’s then… maybe they wouldn’t be as harsh. Perhaps, they’d be reminded that this little girl will smile and laugh a lot. That she’ll be curious and kind and gentle and-

And nothing like Annie. She-

“She’ll be good,” Annie says out loud once her lungs capture enough air to wheeze out her narrow throat.

“Annie?” His free hand beelines to the pillow still on his face, but Annie, in her rising panic, moves faster, pressing it down and keeping it on place with both hands.

“I’ll… do my best,” her voice is so small it’s unable to withstand the journey up her constricting airway, crumbling at the edges by the time it reaches the room’s ambient air. Her hands on the pillow begin to shake, arms growing weak, muscles that have long served as her source of pride now fail her. A couple of failed inhales, her vision becomes blurry she might as well be looking through a rain-soaked glass window. “She’ll be good, I promise.”

Maybe if, for once, fate is on their side—or just plain luck—they’d have a daughter that’s the spitting image of her father. One that’s bright and loud. One that’s courageous and adventurous and curious. One that’s easy to love.

In one fell swoop motion, the pillow is snatched from under her hands and then she can see him.

And Armin sees her.

Her arms retreat to herself, her shoulders almost snapping her collarbones as they attempt to fold inward. Tighter, tighter, tighter trying to constrict herself to a smaller space. Smaller things are harder to grab, but Annie knows that’s not true.

One glance confirms that he’s not looking away, eyes wide, deep blue hiding behind the stark black of enlarged pupils, as he begins to push himself up but Annie wants him to stop. She can’t—she shouldn’t—continue looking at him knowing what she’d do to his daughter. How he’d trust her to be the mother of his child when Annie might doom her to a wretched fate before she even took her very first breath.

“H-Hey…” he whispers, tentatively reaching a hand towards her, but Annie flinches away.

No, not yet! He needs- Armin needs to understand that she’s going to do her absolute best! That Annie won’t half-ass it, that she means it- “I promise.”

Armin shakes his head, left to right, right to left, slowly, eyes not leaving hers.

He doesn’t believe her.

Annie nods, arms dropping to wrap tightly around her stomach, where her own very first sin was going to manifest, but she needs him to believe her! To trust her! “Armin, I promise. She’ll be good.”

It gets frightening when she can no longer see him. Her vision growing fully blurry and distorted around the edges with tears. She won’t be able to tell whether he’s angry with her or not. She won’t be able to tell when it’ll finally dawn on him, that Annie isn’t making shit up, that she’s being serious in both her caution and her promise. She won’t be able to see the moment in his eyes when he agrees.

Her legs refuse to move, so do her arms, and Annie remains frozen when the shadow of his image approaches her, closer and closer until his face slips beyond her line of vision to the side and his arms wrap around her shoulders. She still quivers even when it makes her feel a little better, somewhat safer and she wishes—and hopes and prays and begs—he’d do the same with her daughter whenever she’s afraid, so she never has to cry or tremble alone. She can. She absolutely can, just- “She’ll be nothing like me.”

“Don’t say that,” his voice, raw and wounded and a shaky whisper in her ear and she wonders when it became like that. His arms circle her middle and support her back and Annie can’t breathe, relying instead on sobs that tear at her throat for whatever air she could get. “Annie, don’t say that.”

“I don’t- hic! I don’t want her to grow up thinking,” her voice seems to be breaking out of her chest in shattered cries and weeps, but she can barely hear herself over the sharp beating in her ears, over the blood deafening her and the turmoil fogging her very thoughts, “that she needs to be useful just for us to want and love her.”

“That won’t happen.”

“Yeah…, because she’ll be a good kid,” Annie breaks down sobbing against his shoulder, finally ripping her hands from her middle to wrap around him, instead, a plea for him not to leave her; not now and not when he eventually realizes she’d not what he wants. Pushing her front as flush as possible against his, maybe she’ll feel less lost and less terrified and less of everything if her heart can listen to his and mimic its rhythm, oh, so full of love and adoration. Maybe if he holds her hard enough, this will all go away and she wouldn’t have to worry about the world outside of these four walls if Armin’s here with her. If Armin’s here with them- “it’ll be easy for you to love her. She won’t-- She won’t deserve a life like ours!”

There’s a pause, where only one hand glides in repeating lines up and down her spine and she refuses to open her eyes to ask what it was that Armin whispered in a low response, mouth pressed against her shoulder as she continues to grieve.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aruani #aruannie #Black Water #Black Water: ch 20 #Left Behind #Black Water: filler #my fic

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astoldbyaja · 1 month

Text

Primal - Ch.20 ~AU Predator (Franchise)~

“I will need to go back home so I can prepare for the events that will happen next. Do you understand?” I replied. He gave a low cackle looking down some.

“I understand.”

My mate was worried about the safety of her home and the feline that lived with her. I knew that the warrior and his tribe of peacekeepers, could possibly enter her home without her there as I have seen many of them do before. They would find the gifts I have left her, and this could lead to further trouble and that I would not allow.

As I moved through the city jumping from roof top to roof top, I heard her voice in my head as she sang the melodies of her hypnotic lyrics. A wave of calm washed over me, and I felt levelheaded as I ran. I felt ready for anything as long as I heard her voice in my head. What type of powers did she possess to have this impact on me? Whatever it was, I liked it. It made me feel powerful, stronger than I ever had. As I landed on the roof top of a building, I could hear the familiar siren patterns of the cars the peacekeepers drive. I leaned over and looked back in the direction of the city noticing many vehicles were driving in the direction I was going. I had to assume they were headed for Teleya’s home. She was taken and the warrior who lived beside her must know that. I needed to get back to her home swiftly. I growled and jumped down onto the street and ran toward the street jumping on a larger vehicle carrying multiples humans through the town.

I would collect her gifts and bring them back to the ship and convince her to stay there until the attention shifted off of her. I made it to the land of homes that my mate lived in. There were no peacekeepers in the area. This was good, but my mask was already picking up the distant sounds of the sirens. They would be here soon.

I quickly made it back to her home, climbed on the deck, and merely pushed the door in to enter. The lock is broken as when I first arrived all I had to do was push with minimal force to break it. Her home was empty. Good. The familiar noises of her feline made me look down with a shrill. The black cat, was vibrating against my leg as I had seen it do with Teleya many times, a sign of trust I assumed. This was the first time this cat has done this to me. I had earned its trust, and I gave a snort feeling honor to have my mate’s feline’s trust.

“Pandora.” I replied feeling honor enough to speak her name. I lifted my head and moved through her cooking area. I have seen where Teleya keeps the feline’s food and water and although I didn’t have the time, I quickly refilled the two bowls on the ground and then moved down the hall. Teleya would be upset if I left her feline without food. That would be cruel. I went inside her bedroom and paused for a moment. I removed the air tubes in my bio mask and removed it slowly. Once it was off, I lifted my head to take in the scent of her. Once again, the feeling of calm washed over me.

Many elders from my clan, spoke of these feelings. It was an indicator that you had truly found your mate. If a female does not make you feel safe, even when she is not with you, then the bond of mate ship isn’t strong. I let out a light chuff and placed my mask back on my face before moving to collect the trophies and spear. I removed the two small rib bones I used to prop the spear up, before spraying the room with a solvent that can remove any traces of me. I grabbed one of the gowns I have seen her ware before before I moved to spray other areas of the home as well. I was unsure of the effects on animals and so when I moved from the back door, I left it crack so some of the solvent can exit. I turned and looked at Pandora who was lying on her side sleeping peacefully. I could not bring her with me since I was going to be collecting more skulls, but when it was safe, Teleya would be back. The sirens were louder, closer and so I activated my armor’s camouflage and climbed atop of the home.

I crouched and watched as the vehicles flooded into the area and vehicles stopped all around Teleya’s home. The warrior led the group of peacekeepers to her door and banged on it. I watched quietly as he looked determined, he looked angry and fierce. He calls out to her like a wounded mate himself. He cares for her. My blood was boiling at the thought of being able to one day collect his head. Another human showed up and unlocked the door and the group flooded inside. Now it was time to finish the two dangerous tribes. For once, the hunt did not bring me the usual excitement, but the thought of returning to my ship with my mate was the only thing I wanted more than a trophy. Trophy. That gave me an idea.

Teleya’s POV

I woke up to what I thought would be numb legs but surprisingly my feet were very active. I rubbed the sleep gently from my eyes remembering why I had passed out. I looked over to the space beside me noticing an empty spot. How long was I out? I looked around some more noticing the entire room was empty.

“Scorpion?” I asked slowly sitting up. I looked around some more noticing the table where Scorpion’s armor was empty. He had left. Maybe something had happened. Now I looked around the bed for clothes and then remembered he had burned them. And I was pretty sure there were no extra clothes anywhere for me to wear. I grabbed one of the smaller furs and wrapped it around my body and carefully moved from the pile of larger furs. The ground was cool to the touch, I almost shivered. I held the fur tightly wondering if it was a good idea to leave this room or not.

Was this ship safe to explore? I was confident Scorpion wouldn’t leave me alone here if it wasn’t. I slowly looked around this room noticing the large empty pools we were just bathing in. I then moved over to the silver doors noticing lights blinking above them. Once I was close enough, the doors slid open, and I was met with darkness. I gasped at the gentle blinking lights on the walls and ceiling. Once I took a step out, I noticed the ground below me lit up in the shape of a rectangle. I tilted my head and took another step forward and another light popped on. I took more steps, and the hallway began to come to life almost. Black screens were on the walls lighting up with the same blinking messages I had seen on Scorpion’s wrist. Doors opened when I passed by them and of course I was curious and wanted to stop and look inside them.

One room was a large room, and on the walls were skulls, but these were not just any skulls. Some skulls had rows of sockets, and large tusks that you’d think belonged to a mammoth. Some were tiny and others were huge and oddly shaped. There were rows upon rows upon rows of skulls of different shapes and sizes.

“Oh my god.” I said softly. This answered my question of life elsewhere in the universe that was for sure. I wanted to touch them, but I definitely did not think it was a good idea. I left the room blinking wildly. Wow. Alien skulls. What has Scorpion seen?

Now I moved down the hall and found another room with weapons mounted on the walls, but they were unlike any weapon I had ever seen. The wall closest to me had jagged knives and spears as I walked about the room, the weapons changed and shifted from knives, to what looked like some type of gun perhaps. I had seen it on Scorpion’s shoulder. There were whips with spikes and whips with metal tips and now I was looking at swords and axes and other machinery. There was even a bow. It was beautiful with markings carved into the metal of the riser. I didn’t feel too safe in here, so I quickly left and moved to the next room and what I found in here made my entire body pause.

There was clothing, artefacts, broken and aged, of different times in history. I knew this because there was a lion’s pelt on the ground beside the wall where a Shuka cloth, worn by the Maasai people were bolted to the wall. A spear was also bolted beside the cloth. I took a step closer to the wall now noticing a row of swords bolted next to samurai armor! I walked over to it and noticed the exquisite detail of this armor. It looked very old, and I knew it was from a time I never lived in. There were so many other “trophies” of clothing, weaponry, and pelts all around the room. Scorpion’s people hunt. Did he hunt the owners of these clothes and weapons. I walked closer to one gun that looked like it was from one of those old English movies. I lifted my hand to touch it, but a loud beeping caught my attention. I leaned up and looked over to the door.

What was that and what did it mean? I moved from the room feeling more curiosity grow inside me. I followed the beeping noise further down the hall until I found myself at a much larger silver door. They slid apart and I entered noticing the pillars in the middle with smoke pooling around the bottom. There were dark looking pillars that formed chairs to the front of the room with a large glass screen and control board. This must be the bridge. I entered, having false hope that this floor was clean. It definitely felt odd to walk on. I moved to the front of and looked out the window seeing the sewers out in the back. I looked down at all the strange buttons and fast blinking lights. Wow. I heard the blinking from off to the side of the room and turned to look over toward an enclosure area. I tilted my head and approached the large glass window.

The inside mimicked a small forest enclosure. Something was in a nest of vines and twigs. It was clear what it was, a foggy grey colored egg with little purple diamond shapes peppered all over. I looked at the heat lamp in the ceiling and then the black screen above the enclosure. It was showing the egg and something moving inside it. The entire screen was blinking white and black, and I was sure whatever was inside, was ready to come out. I heard a crack, and I looked down at the egg, eyes widening at what was coming out. The shell of the air was slowly cracking, but it seemed somewhat slow. I tilted my head trying to see if I could see a silhouette of what was inside, but I couldn’t. Then a swift crack made me gasp. It shot across the egg but what was inside, didn’t just pop out. Instead, it continued to push slowly at different angles of the egg. What was inside, I had to know! Parts of the egg started to break and crumble, and I leaned closer to the glass noticing the eye scale that was looking back at me. A black void was inside, until suddenly I was staring at a pink disc shaped pupil. It was looking right at me, and I was looking right at it. Did Scorpion have a snake egg? I tilted my head and the disc tilted to one side. I tilted my head the opposite side, and the disc responded doing the same. More of the egg began to crack.

Then suddenly there was a loud bark that startled me, and I leaned up realizing it was Scorpion. He was back. I looked back at the egg and then back up hearing another bark. He must be looking for me. I should go and tell Scorpion his egg is hatching. I quickly hurried from the bridge and down the hall. There was another bark and I followed it back into the room we had mated in. The doors slid open, and I entered, looking at Scorpion’s back.

“I am here.” I called and Scorpion whipped around and shrilled. His mask was gone, and he approached me, and I smiled up at him as he nuzzled his head against mine. “I am fine. I am well.” His bottom mandibles gently scrapped across my flesh, and I raised my fingers to gently push back against him.

“Where have you been?” I asked. Now his eyes widened as if he were suddenly filled with emotions, which is hard to really see in his eyes. He suddenly scooped me off my feet and I gave a gentle yelp as he moved down the hall to the room of skulls. A large sheet of rock took up the majority of the ground. This wasn’t here earlier, and Scorpion sat me down so he could take my hand and lead me over to the sheet of rock. What was on them made me tense heavily. Rows upon rows of human skulls were on the ground, perfectly positioned and facing us. They were clean and polished and there could have been at least a hundred here. I was a bit confused as I looked up at him.

He had another successful hunt, but who were they? My eyes definitely asked that, and he shrilled heavily.

“Feuding… tribes.” he said. I winced in confusion. Feuding tribes? I looked down for a moment and over to the skulls again. “They fight… in city.” I tensed now as I realized who these skulls were. The Hilltop Slashers and the Hu Mongols! These were there skulls?

“What? I don’t understand. Why did you kill them?” I asked. Scorpion cackled some.

“Your warrior… his warriors… keep attention off… of you.” he said. I looked at him even more confused before shaking my head. He killed them so Axel would bring his attention to them. I looked down hiding my mild frustration. Although my mate had good intentions, right now I am still missing! And there is no guarantee this is the entirety of both gangs. Sure, they’d leave me alone, but being cleared from Axel was more important.

“Scorpion, you shouldn’t have done this.” I replied looking at him with a frown. He noticed and gently shrilled, his eye showing confusion.

“Right now, the best thing we can do is go back to my home.” I replied. Now his entire body inflated some and he growled.

“No.” he said. My head jerked a bit in shock.

“No? Scorpion I have to go back, I cannot stay down here while this is going on. People are worried about me.” I replied. He gave another sharp shrill before walking around me and leaving the room. I groaned and followed. “I appreciate what you tried to do, but the solution cannot always be killing.”

“Yes.” he replied moving back down the hall back to what I could assume was now officially our bed chambers. Once inside, I jumped in front of him holding my arms up.

“No!” I snapped, and now he paused and roared down at me. It wasn’t violent enough to scare me, but I could tell in his eyes he was annoyed and frustrated.

“You... safe here.” he replied. I shook my head slowly.

“You don’t get to decide that.” I said.

“I am male.” he said firmly. Now my entire body tightened. Was that supposed to be mean something! Was that supposed to signify that he had a final say or something! I frowned and I poked his armored chest. He watched almost with gentle curiosity as I did this.

“You will bring me home, so that I can fix this with the warrior and peacemakers or else you will never hear my singing again!” I stated. Scorpion stared down at me for a moment and I could tell the wheels were turning in his head, before nodding.

“As you… wish.” he said before leaning down to take my hand that had poked him and merely brought it to his face to nuzzle and purr against. Great now I felt bad for snapping, but I had to hold it together.

“You have to let me show you I can be strong in dangerous situations too.” I replied. Scorpion nodded and pulled me into him, removing the fur so my bare body was pressed against his cold armor. I gave a moan of discomfort.

“Ahh you’re cold.” I said. I could feel his claws gently sliding over my body trying to touch and prod at everything. I could tell he was becoming aroused by both the throaty growl he was emitting and the fact his cock was sliding past the covering between his legs. I shook my head.

“No mating now. We have to move. Your egg hatched by the way.” I announced. His purring slowly subsided, and he nodded.

“Another gift… for you. For later.” he said. I tilted my head. He got me an alien species as a gift.

“Are you sure? Can whatever it is survive until you come back?” I asked. He nodded and then moved over to the pile of animal furs and held up one of my black lace gowns. I smiled thinking I was sure to turn heads if anyone saw me out in the street in it. Although I was even more curious of what was in that chamber, I knew that before we could give attention to it, we had other important matters to deal with.

Scorpion escorted me from the ship and helped guide me back to my neighborhood. My car, phone and purse were still at the parking garage of my work, but if the cops are involved, they’d have all of it. Scorpion was invisible as he landed on top of one of the trees across my home with me under his arms. He slowly got down to the ground and placed me on my feet. He gave a gentle shrill. Although I couldn’t see him, I had to assume he was worried about all of this.

“I will be okay.” I replied. Scorpion cackled and I nodded. I was sure he would be close by. I couldn’t have him take me to the police station especially in this gown. It would raise too many questions. Right now, I had to think of a good story to tell Axel. I moved across the street over to my home. The front door was locked, but I kept a spare key under the matt which was still there. I went inside and was greeted by Pandora who immediately rubbed all over my ankles.

“Hey girl.” I replied and lifted her up to give her some snuggles and kisses. Once I put her down, the back door opened and suddenly closed, Scorpion cackled as a sign he was there. I noticed numerous footprints on my floor and winced.

“The warrior was here?” I asked. Scorpion uncloaked himself and nodded.

“Yes. I moved… your gifts to the ship.” he said. That would explain why this place isn’t still crawling with cops. Scorpion covered his traces to give no suspicion of alien activity here. Good alien.

“Now that the feuding tribes won’t bother me, we have to deal with the cops. And of that, I have a plan.” I replied with a smile.

#blackfemoc #smut #yautja #predator franchise #yautja oc #predator x blackfemaleOC #interspecies relationships #interspecies romance #interspecies sex #interspecies love #black female oc #yautja x human #yautja x blackfemaleOC

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wolveria · 1 year

Text

The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 33

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “Are you here to do what they cannot?”

AO3

The elevator came to a rolling stop, and the door parted to reveal a large tunnel ahead, chiseled out of the surrounding bedrock. Hanging fluorescents lit the way, bracketed by pipes and wires that must lead to a separate power generator and cooling systems. You were so far beneath the facility that it had to be isolated from the site’s power and water grid.

A squad of five soldiers waited once the doors parted, and they weren’t any standard security you’d ever seen. In fact, upon looking closer, you saw the Mobile Task Force logo etched into the arm bands of their uniforms.

What was the MTF doing here? Their whole purpose, their advantage, was mobilization to where they were needed, but you’d never heard of them being kept on-site before.

The Site Director offered no commentary or explanation, simply gave a nod, and the Site-20 guards handed you off to the MTFs. They were ridiculously overpowered in their tactical suits compared to your knee-length nightgown, of which did you no service in keeping you warm so deep underground.

Walking no more than five minutes, your group arrived at a massive door at least 10 meters tall, thick enough to sustain a bomb blast by the looks of it. But what drew your eye was a familiar face, already there to greet you.

“I don’t recall inviting you, Amin,” Leahy drawled. Dr. Puli stood straighter, his frown the most severe you’ve seen it yet.

“This isn’t right, Geoff. I must protest.”

“Noted.”

“When the O5 Council learns what you’re doing—”

“Who do you think authorized this project?”

Dr. Puli’s eyes widened, glancing between you and the Site Director, but his jaw clenched into a stubborn hold.

“They would never allow this.”

“It’s a shame you don’t have the clearance level to know for certain.” Leahy motioned his head down the tunnel, back the way you’d came. “Now, are you going to retreat with your tail between your legs? Or are you going to stay, because despite your weak objections, you wish to know what will happen just as much as I do.”

Dr. Puli met Leahy’s stare, the Site Director’s without any warmth behind his rimmed glasses. Your former boss lost the test of wills, stepping aside and sending you a quick glance before looking away.

Leahy scoffed, taking your arm as he pulled you forward.

“Despite being a psychologist, you’re as predictable as anyone else.”

Leahy walked to a panel and retrieved something from his pocket: a flat, rectangular object, its surface solid black but thicker than a typical keycard, and inserted in into a card reader.

“Open it.” The Site Director gave the order to a technical engineer at a console, and he worked the controls, the massive door sliding upwards at his command. Beyond was a catwalk, leading into darkness so black it seemed to be the end of the known universe.

Leahy wasted no time, pushing you forward before letting go.

“Walk.”

Your feet remained glued to the ground, your legs trembling and refusing to budge.

Leahy went to the console and pulled out what looked like a handheld microphone, the kind that belonged to CB radios. He instructed the engineer which channel to dial before he clicked the microphone on.

“049 containment team? Over.”

A small, tinny voice replied, but it was loud enough for all to hear.

“Standing by. Over.”

“Are you prepared to move the SCP into permanent containment? Over.”

“Affirmative, over.”

Leahy stared at you, not needing to say anything more than that. He had you trapped, and it disgusted you that he knew you well enough to know it would work. You wouldn’t let 049 be punished because the Site Director was a sadist, and you could only hope that if this last test killed you, Leahy would lose interest in 049. Maybe, he would move on when his shiny toy was broken, leaving 049 in peace while he found some new victim to torment.

You turned back to the black void and walked forward. Moving past the door, you stopped and half-turned when it began to slide shut behind you.

“What am I supposed to do!” you yelled to be heard over the humming gears.

“Make physical contact with the anomaly!”

“What else!”

Leahy said nothing, even though he had time before the bottom of the door touch the ground, sealing you inside with a final loud series of locks sliding into place.

Your breathing was too loud in the open space, straining to see in the pitch dark, searching so hard that you flinched when the catwalk lit beneath your feet. Walking lights lined the suspended pathway, revealing you weren’t suspended over nothingness. The bottom curve of the tunnel was roughly ten feet below you, but the ceiling was still high overhead. It didn’t bode well why the Foundation needed such a large tunnel for whatever they were keeping here.

With nothing else to do, you moved forward, guessing that Leahy had some method of monitoring your progress. The tunnel was too large to spot any cameras or other equipment, so you kept going, illuminated by the lights stretching out ahead of you, like a runway guiding your path to take flight.

If only you could.

The rock walls had vanished, though you couldn’t pinpoint when, replaced by rectangular, metallic panels curving around the tunnel, leaving you with the impression you were walking inside a giant conductor of some kind. A low humming noise came from ahead of you, and the hairs on your body stood upright.

The catwalk ended in darkness, and as you approached the last few remaining steps, lights flashed on overhead, forcing you to shield your eyes. When you lowered your hand and opened your eyes, you couldn’t understand what you were seeing. The rectangular panels of the round room were raised and aimed at the center, like an array of solar panels, but they were aimed at no sun. Lit in the middle of the room, illuminated by focused spotlights and hovering in the air, was what had to be the anomaly.

It was a writhing, shifting mass of flesh with a spherical shape, constantly moving and turning. At first, it would coalesce into something that resembled a face, though the muzzle was long and filled with teeth, and then it would disappear again into a twisting mess that hurt the mind to comprehend.

And then you realized it wasn’t shifting; the mass was turning itself inside out, over and over. The muzzle appeared again, and this time, it spoke.

“Have the apes finally found a way to end me?”

You went back a step, halfway raising your hands as if to block out the bone-jarring voice.

“Are you here to do what they cannot?”

Fighting down the bile that threatened to rise in your throat, you stared at the mass and concentrated on the features before they could disappear. A long snout, a greenish mane, and grey scales.

“682?”

The SCP rumbled an affirmation that rattled the panels on the wall.

“But… that’s not possible,” you choked. “You were labeled as neutralized after the Site-19 breach.”

682 rumbled again, this time it was closer to a threatening growl. You took another step backwards.

“I am trapped here… in a constant state of eternal agony, unable to prevent my bones from twisting and my flesh from boiling. This… is as close to neutralized as humanity can achieve.”

Even without any eyes at any given moment, the accusation of his gaze was hot on your skin.

“Though, perhaps that has changed, and my torment will be finished. Come. End it.”

You could only stare at the horrific thing that used to be 682.

“I don’t… understand.”

“What is there to not understand?”

“What did they do to you?”

Though you’d never seen 682 in person, you’d seen photos and video footage. The reptilian anomaly could change his size and composition to fit his environment, but this was something else.

682 was silent, though you could swear you heard… or felt echoes of its screams of agony, especially the longer you were in his presence.

“The humans managed to trap me within another entity,” 682 said, his words dragging out as if with reluctance. “A singularity the size of a speck, but capable of consuming my body just as quickly as I can regenerate. I do not think they meant this room to be my new cell, but per their fashion, the apes can do nothing right. I cannot die, but perhaps for the first time, I wish I could.”

The Hard-to-Destroy Reptile was no longer the menacing, humanity-hating entity he had once been, and you actually felt sorry for him. With how many times he had tried to escape, and how many lives he’d taken, it wasn’t a mystery why Leahy wanted you here, to touch the SCP and stop his healing regeneration and adaptive capabilities.

He wanted you to kill 682 permanently.

“What are you waiting for?” the reptile snarled, his teeth bared for the brief moment his muzzle appeared. “Get on with it.”

You shook your head, needing to stall for time, time to think.

“How do you know what I can do to SCPs?”

The monstrous reptile gave an offended snort.

“Even without your Site Director trotting you out like a prized hound, I know you. I would know you anywhere.”

Coincidentally, or to prove his point, one large, slitted eye gazed down on you, malice held in those yellow depths.

“You were sent to do their bidding. I make no illusions, and neither should you. Now, do it. Destroy me.”

“I…” Your mouth was dry. “…I can’t. I can’t kill you.”

682’s roar sent you scrambling backwards, the panels trembling in their positions as bits of dust drifted down from the rounded ceiling.

“Foolish, naïve child! Believing you still make your own choices because you are blind to the leash around your neck! You do not understand your own nature, your ignorance will be an instrument used at their whim. A beast set upon your masters’ enemies!”

682 writhed faster, snarling and biting at the air, his claws lashing at nothing only to disappear inside his twisted body.

“And you dare tote yourself as something better than us, absolving yourself of death even as blood stains your hands. And there will be blood, so much of it. When the leash tightens into a noose, that is when you will be the most dangerous. Your masters are not as foolish as you are. Perhaps, even now, they are building the walls of your containment.”

Your limbs wouldn’t stop shaking; you wanted to run from this horrible place, from the impossible nightmare scene in front of you, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“I don’t… don’t understand. What I am, what you th-think I am. But this is… this is wrong. Cruel.”

“You cannot be cruel to a thing.”

The words were so similar to Leahy’s opinion about 049 that you didn’t doubt he’d said them to 682. You would never understand how a man who despised SCPs had risen to the rank of Site Director.

Another rumble echoed from the twisting mass, this one laden with heaviness.

“If you will not end my suffering, then get out of my sight. I have little use for something like you, clearly in the early stages of infancy. Perhaps with time you would grow to what is needed, but time… is what we both lack.”

You began to back away, your hands no longer curled next to your head but now pressed against your chest.

“I… I don’t know what to do for you,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re… sorry?”

The writhing mass twirling and focused on you, pulsing faster.

“I experience a lifetime of suffering within the span of a single moment, and you’re sorry?”

682 roared, and for a moment, his head formed out of the grotesque sphere, cohesive and baring his ancient teeth.

“Your apologies are poison! More insidious than their lies! Make your apologies to 079, and then perhaps your words will amount to more than useless noise!”

The face disappeared back into the mass, giving one last agonizing scream that followed close at your heels as you sprinted back down the catwalk. You slipped and stumbled, your hospital shoes not affording much traction against the surface, but you didn’t stop running until you reached the vaulted door. Trying to catch your breath, you hunched over and braced against your knees, your eyes burning as you alternated between gasping and retching.

They must have known you were there; the door began its arduous slide upwards, guards spilling through the open walkway, half of them aiming their guns at you, the other half moving past you to set their sights down the catwalk. Nothing had followed you, but they clearly weren’t taking any chances.

“Well?”

You raised your head, neck craning as your palms remained on your knees.

“Status report?” Leahy prompted when you didn’t answer.

You wanted to tell him where to show his status report, but instead you said, “It didn’t work.”

Leahy frowned, glancing over you back down the catwalk where you’d come. The MTF no longer had their guns raised, but they weren’t at ease by any means.

“Explain.”

You slowly straightened your spine and stared at him. Your usual mixture of hate and disgust was there, but fear swam under the surface. You wanted to believe that Leahy hadn’t meant to trap 682 in an eternal cycle of suffering, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it either. You were beginning to realize you’d underestimated his capacity for cruel violence.

“I touched him, and nothing happened.”

“The lizard still lives?”

You didn’t bother to correct him that lizards and reptiles weren’t interchangeable terms. All you said was, “Yes.”

Leahy brought up his tablet, swiping over its surface with a frown.

“Disappointing.”

Pressing your lips together, you kept at bay the pleas you wanted to make on behalf of 049, for Leahy not to punish him for your failure. But he didn’t call on 049’s containment team, nor did he make any threats. He merely nodded at the MTF soldiers, and they grabbed you by the arms and led you back down the tunnel.

You looked over your shoulder and watched as the massive door slid into place.

Next Chapter

#the raven's hymn #scp 049 #scp 682 #scp 049 x reader #scp fanfiction #scp 049 fanfiction #wolveria writes

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ichiwashername-o · 11 months

Text

What Are Friends For Ch. 24

An Undertale fanfiction.

Written by ichiwashername-o

Summary: The skeleton brothers begin to construct their time machine! But, of course, time traveling is very rarely a simple endeavor . . .

Rating: Viewer discretion advised. Contains swearing, trauma, and psychological horror

Cast: Undyne, Papyrus, Sans, W.D. Gaster, Grillby and others

WE'RE BACK, BABYYYYY! And to kick it all off is a doozy of a chapter! I really hope you all enjoy!

[CH.1] [CH.2] [Ch.3] [CH.4] [CH.5] [CH.6] [CH.7] [CH.8] [CH. 9] [CH.10] [CH. 11] [CH.12] [CH. 13] [CH. 14] [CH.15] [CH.16] [CH. 17] [CH.18] [CH. 19] [CH. 20] [CH. 21] [CH. 22] [CH. 23] [CH. 24] [CH. 25]

AO3

With no time to waste, with neither brother wanting or needing sleep, the duo headed downstairs to the basement, a room Papyrus hadn’t personally entered for some time. It was much like how he remembered it; dusty, with parts and blueprints strewn all about, a massive blue tarp half-covering some sort of strange metallic contraption. And for the first time in a very long time, Sans stepped forward to tear it off.

A great cloud of dust billowed in the air as the tarp was removed, revealing an arc-shaped machine, half-constructed with metal plates torn off, exposing the wiring and skeletal structure underneath.

“The time machine?” Papyrus ventured.

Sans gave a lazy half-shrug. “Was supposed to be. All the math checked out ok, but theory and practice are two different beasts. Could never get it to work right, and never figured out how. I suspect the human kid had something to do with it. Interference, or something.”

Papyrus gave a cautious nod. He was vaguely aware the human has— had —some strange influence over time. “But now the human is . . . not here anymore—”

“No more interference. So, maybe it’ll work this time,” Sans finished. Hey, it was the best they got. Anything was worth a shot if it meant they kept Gaster well and out of their lives. Let him rot in whatever purgatory he found himself in.

Bastard deserved a lot worse.

“Let’s get started.”

Sans dug through the drawers, stuffed with an encyclopedia’s worth of blueprints and schematics. Initially, Sans was tentative about showing all this to Papyrus. This was complicated stuff, and the last thing he needed was to confuse his poor brother. But, to his delighted surprise, Papyrus took to the blueprints like a fish to water. It seemed all of Papyrus’s extensive knowledge of fabricating his own convoluted traps proved to give him exactly the experience he needed to read the blueprints. He had quite the mechanical eye, Sans would learn.

It really was impressive how quickly Papyrus picked up on things. With something to do, something for him to physically work on, Papyrus dove in with vigor and enthusiasm Sans hadn’t seen in him for a long time, not since the kid, that was for sure.

“Could you hand me that crescent wrench?”

“Sure thing, just pass me the terminal plates while you’re over there—"

“You want 12-gauge or 9-gauge wire for this?”

“Well, our current voltage is going off 240, and depending on the load, I say we err on the side of caution and go bigger—”

“-Green to ground, white to neutral, red to hot—could you hand me that black wire, this motor is three-phase, oh, we might have to change out the fuses, those aren’t nearly big enough—”

The hours flew by, both skeleton brothers working in tandem, getting their bones and clothes covered in dust and grease and wire shavings. And it was . . . fun . Sans had no idea how much fun it could be building something with his brother. Why hadn’t they done this before? The two of them had their fair share of joint projects, but either Sans’ slacking off made the end result a joke, or Papyrus’s endless ambition and enthusiasm caused it to blow up in a spectacular fireball before the final piece was finished.

To be fair, they were very spectacular fireballs.

But now, with the two of them working with synchronized fervor and purpose, they were making more progress than either of them could ever dream of.

Which proved to be to their detriment, they would find. So engrossed in their work, so captivated by a tangible mission and something to throw all their energy into, they . . . might have lost track of the time. And only were reminded of petty things like eating and sleeping when Papyrus stood a little too fast and nearly fainted.

Sans caught him before he could crack his head on a table. “Alright, um, I think we need to put a pin in this And I ain’t talking about the pins and needles in my legs from kneeling so long,” he chuckled.

“Clearly, we do need a break,” Papyrus noted sourly. “Because your jokes are becoming truly insufferable.”

Retreating up from the basement, they made their way to the kitchen where Papyrus began to pull out various food bits from the pantry in an attempt to cobble together some sort of breakfast—actually, what time was it? Papyrus glanced at the clock and his eyes widened. Ah, not breakfast, he decided. More like a dinner. A very, very, very late dinner.

How the time flies.

And how he hoped they’d make time fly at their own discretion when they were through, he thought wryly.

Soon enough, Papyrus, with Sans’ help, (or interference, depending on how you looked at it) he had made a nice dinner of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. So, he did end up making breakfast. But only because he hadn’t gone shopping in a long time and they were starting to run out of food! That was next on the list! Going to the store!

As they ate, they continued to talk about their project and how the time machine was coming along. Progress was going smoothly. If they kept up this pace, it’d be done by the end of the week.

“The hardware’s not the issue, though,” Sans said, jabbing the air with a fork. “It’s the programming. If you think plotting out a series of coordinates in 3D space is tricky, try doing it with another dimension mixed in there.”

Papyrus stuttered for a response. Yes, he was more than capable of handling the mechanical side of their little project, but the mathematical side? Not as much. “Well! Surely you have a good idea of how to do it! Or at least, where to start.”

“I do, but it’ll take a while,” Sans shrugged. He speared a rather crispy piece of bacon where it crumbled under his fork. Shrugging again, he squirted a dollop of ketchup over it and nibbled up the pieces. Papyrus gagged.

“Seriously, how on earth did I end up with such a defunct brother,” he sighed, shaking his head

Sans snickered. “I’m gonna swing by Alphys’s lab tomorrow and run the numbers by her and see what she thinks. She has a great eye for this sort of complex stuff.”

“Good idea! I need to go grocery shopping and refill our pantry! And then we can have a proper dinner!”

“Why, what’s wrong with eggs and bacon? It’s a classic,” Sans says as he takes another bite of a ketchup-slathered slice of bacon.

“But that’s breakfast food, and we’re having dinner!”

“Huh, funny, because we’re eating it for dinner, thus making it a dinner food.”

“UGH! Sans! You know what I mean!”

“I defy your conventional food standards and declare myself a culinary rebel.”

“Not as long as I’m the one in the kitchen, mister!”

“Ah, then I better go get my own.”

“Maybe you should! Then you can commit all the sacrilege against your daily sustenance that you wish!”

They shared a laugh, and in that moment, it was like their life was right back to normal. No longer did shame and guilt haunt Papyrus, and no longer was Sans writhed with fury and indignation. Determination filled them both. Determination to set things right. And knowing his brother as well as he did, Sans had all the confidence in the world that it will be done.

The brothers departed their home, both traveling on the boat together to Hotlands, further discussing construction plans and Sans waxing theories too complex for Papyrus to understand. But the younger brother didn’t mind in the least; he was more than happy to be someone Sans could think to out loud. Stepping off the boat, they split off, Papyrus running to the store and Sans veering towards the Hotland labs.

He knocked on the door, but there was no immediate response. He knocked again, and veering on the side of caution, he also opened up his phone and shot the good doctor Alphys a text.

Hey, you around? I wanna run some numbers by you, he wrote.

He didn’t get a response back to his text, but the doors did crack open, revealing the little yellow lizard. Alphys had certainly seen better days. Her eyes were lined with dark circles, her scales were dull, her clothes absolutely filthy. But there was a brief spark of life in her eyes behind those dusty scratched spectacles that lit up when she saw Sans.

“S-S-Sans! W-What a surprise!” she said, her voice quiet and scratchy. Sounded like she had a sore throat. “I w-w-wasn’t expecting you.”

“I wasn’t expecting me, either,” he joked. “You got a moment? I’d like your input on something.”

“O-Oh, do you? I’m n-n-not sure what input I’d even give you–”

“You don’t even know what I’m working on yet,” he said gently. “C’mon, ain't you a little bit curious? I can promise ya, it’s real juicy.”

Alphys’s lips twitched in what Sans assumed–-or at least, hoped-–was a smile. “O-Okay, b-but p-p-please don’t be mad, the l-l-lab’s a total disaster.”

“Why would I judge? It probably looks exactly like mine,” Sans said, earning an actual laugh from the doctor. He stepped inside, casting a brief look around the lab. Honestly, it wasn’t that much worse than the last time he was here to look at the camera footage of the fight. Maybe the garbage pile was a little taller and more instant ramen cups were scattered about.

Alphys cleared a small space on her desk, swiping away reports and food wrappers alike off into the overflowing trash can. On the trash was a small sticky note that simply said, “Me.” Sans frowned.

“S-so, what are you w-working on?” she asked. She tapped her claws together nervously.

“Paps and I are building a time machine,” he said simply. He produced a folder, opening it up and showing off all his blueprints and notes.

Immediately, Alphys’s interest was piqued and she leaned forward, adjusting her glasses. She picked through the papers, reading them over eagerly.

“Y-you are?!” she said, the excitement in her voice palpable. Sans shrugged, his grin growing. He figured this was just the thing to break through poor Alphys’ stupor. “B-but I thought you totally gave up on this project–”

“I did, because the human kept interfering with it,” Sans said. “But now with the human gone . . .”

Alphys deflated. “Y-yeah, that’s a good point.” She chattered, her entire body shivering as her stuttering grew worse. “But there’s–there’s s-s-still s-someone else wh-who can control the t-t-timeline . . .”

Sans paused. “Flowey.”

Alphys nodded.

Well. Shit. In all the excitement, he completely forgot that one tiny little hiccup.

Sans tried to hide his frustration, but it was hard not to be discouraged. He was so sure this would work, only to find out that–once again–his plans and work all amounted to nothing.

“Ah. Well, in that case, I better get out of your scales,” Sans said, taking the folder out of Alphys’s reluctant hands. “Sorry to bother you.”

He turned to leave. Now how in the world was he going to break the news to Papyrus–

“Wait.”

Sans paused. He turned around. Alphys was still hunched over, but from her frown and the way one claw was raised to her lips in deep thought, he could see the gears churning rapidly in her head.

“W-what if . . . what if Flowey was . . . willing to help us?”

Sans stared. “And why in the world would that little weed wanna help us ?”

“Because he’s bored !” Alphys said. “H-h-he was talking to me recently, a-a-after he m-m-made me–”

“What,” Sans asked sharply. “What did Flowey make you do?”

“It’s not important,” Alphys dismissed. Sans knew better than to push her. “But what is important is that he was telling me how bored he was now! He told me how much he hated how things worked out! Nothing’s fun for him anymore!” Despite what she was insinuating of the little flower’s psychotic behavior, she was smiling. She looked genuinely excited.

“I-If we told him we were w-working on something to fix the timeline, I think he’d help out!” she went on. “N-Not because he’d want to help us, o-of course, but because the one thing Flowey hates more than anything is being bored. And this timeline is really, really boring for him!”

Sans hated to admit it, but Alphys had a point. He remembered all of Flowey’s rants and taunts about how much he liked to play with them. How much fun he was having torturing them. And he recalled very distinctly how furious Flowey was when the fun had run out for the little beast.

“Well, that’s an idea,” Sans said slowly. “But it’ll be hard to convince him. He can be pretty stubborn and egotistical. Maybe if we make it seem like his idea instead of us asking him directly–”

“L-Leave it to me,” Alphys said, smiling for the first time in what felt like forever. “B-Being s-stuck with him for so long, I know how he thinks.”

“Just be careful,” Sans warned. “And if he does anything to hurt you–”

“D-Don’t worry about me, he w-won’t hurt me,” Alphys said. Her voice lowered. “He . . . he enjoys playing with me t-t-too m-m-much to hurt me too badly.”

Sans stiffened.

“I got this!” Alphys added in a rush, putting out her hands. “J-Just trust me! P-Please?”

Sans let out a reluctant sigh. “You got my number handy. Just promise to call me if he does anything funny . Cuz that’s my job.”

“Promise,” Alphys swore, drawing an x-shape over her chest. “O-Oh, and Sans? I ran your calculations through my head.” Once again, her eyes sparkled.

“It’s going to work!”

–---

“Let’s see here–spaghetti noodles–always an essential–and sauce, and bread to make Sans’ favorite sandwiches, and milk ! Don’t forget the milk!”

Papyrus cruised up and down the isles of the massive general store, appropriately called The General Store, loading his shopping cart with food. If they wanted to build the time machine, they needed plenty of energy! And for that , they needed food to make plenty of tasty meals!

As he shopped, he hummed a little tune to himself, not paying too much mind to the surrounding shoppers. If he was, he might notice them giving him a wide berth, which just made shopping that much easier since he wouldn’t have to snake the big bulky car through the throngs of fellow patrons!

The humming also drowned out the whispers and the mutterings. All for the better.

As he proceeded to the check-out, he was surprised to see a familiar blue flash of scales and crimson hair. He brightened, waving over at Undyne. Undyne caught sight of him, jerking in surprise herself, before she smiled and hurried over.

“Hey, Paps, whatcha doing?” she asked gently. She hadn’t seen him since the funeral for all the Snowdin residents and sentries, but he looked so much cheerier . Which was a very good thing!

“What does it look like? Shopping, obviously!” Papyrus said, gesturing to the cart of food. “Our food stores grew dangerously low, so I thought it most prudent to restock!” He glanced at the basket in Undyne’s hand. “I’m assuming you’re doing much the same?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I was running low on tea and seaweed,” she said, hefting the basket stuffed so full it was a miracle nothing was spilling out and over. Or that Undyne could carry it all effortlessly in one hand. “Um, you look . . . good.”

“I am, and I’m feeling much better, too!” Papyrus said. He leaned forward and whispered in a voice that was only barely quieter than his usual bombastic voice–

He was speaking loud again!

“Sans and I are building a time machine!” Papyrus said excitedly, barely able to contain his own excitement. “Isn’t it great?! We’re going to go back in time and fix everything!”

Undyne stared. Now, she had seen plenty of animes with time travel shenanigans, and it always seemed to go . . . poorly . To say nothing if it was even possible.

“Oh, is that so?” she asked, trying to gauge if this was some sort of ruse. But no, Papyrus looked completely serious.

“Indeed! My brother is visiting Alphys as we speak! He’s running the calculations by her to make sure everything’s up to snuff! We’ve already got the machine built in our basement!”

Oh. Oh, wow, they were serious .

“That’s–that’s great, Papyrus,” Undyne said, but her head was reeling. Darn it, she didn’t have the head for all this complicated science crap! She knew Sans was smarter than he let on, but smart enough to build a time machine?!

“Hey, you know what? I haven’t visited Alphys in a bit myself. Let’s swing by and say hi!” she suggested. She needed to see all this for herself. It was too crazy to believe! Time travel, of all things!

“Okie-dokie!”

Papyrus quickly paid for his groceries, loading himself up to the elbows with bags. Undyne helped. They made their way over to the labs, which wasn’t too far of a jaunt from The General Store. With their arms so full of groceries, they didn’t have anything free to knock, but the door was slightly ajar, so they let themselves in, figuring Alphys and Sans were just inside.

“Hey, Al! Sorry for barging in, we just wanted to say hi–!” Undyne shouted, but her voice stopped cold when she saw the lab was a wreck . It was more than the usual mess of papers and food wrappers and trash; furniture was toppled over and computers smashed. Vines snaked their way out of cracks in the floor and walls.

Both she and Papyrus dropped the groceries. They only shared one brief and horrified look before they took off, scouring the labs.

“ALPHYS?! ALPHYS!!!” Undyne shouted madly, panic and anger rising up in her soul. If anyone hurt a single scale on her girlfriend’s head, she’d destroy them!!!

They rounded a corner, getting a brief peek of more carnage before Papyrus grabbed Undyne’s arm firmly and pulled her back. He placed a finger at his mouth, signaling her to keep quiet. They both leaned around the corner together.

Beyond, in a room, similarly destroyed, with vines coating nearly every inch of wall and floor, was Alphys, wrapped up in thorny vines as a little yellow flower scowled viciously down at her.

Teeth grinding together, Undyne summoned a spear. She was going to KILL that thing–!

“ Wait ,” Papyrus urged, pulling her back again.

“What– why ?! That stupid weed is hurting her!” Undyne seethed.

But Papyrus held firm, simply gesturing to hold back to watch and listen. The scientist and the flower, not noticing their presence, continued to talk.

“And you just thought you could sneak around like this, behind my back, and I wouldn’t know?!” Flowey was saying.

“I w-w-wasn’t trying to t-t-trick you,” Alphys insisted. Though she was shaking and completely trapped, she didn’t look . . . scared . In fact, she looked quite focused and composed. This was enough to get Undyne to pause, much to her regret. “I’m j-j-j-just the m-messenger.”

“So that sneaky little trash bag thinks he’s so clever, doesn’t he?! Bet he thinks he’s even smarter and more clever than me, huh?”

“W-w-well, he is very s-smart,” Alphys said, shrugging as much as her vine prison allowed.

“Enough! No more smart retorts from you! Tell me! What’s that trash bag up to?!”

“M-m-me? Or him?”

“DON’T PLAY STUPID WITH ME!” Flowey roared, and the vines tightened around Alphys, making her wince.

That was it. Undyne didn’t know what was going on, but she wasn’t going to let this stupid flower hurt her friend!

She stepped around the corner, and she saw Alphys’s gaze flicker over to her. And she swore she saw Alphys mouth “No.”

No?! No what ?! No to saving her from this monster?!

But Alphys turned right back to Flowey, acting like Undyne wasn’t even there. “S-Sans is working on something. A big machine. He sh-showed me some notes . . .”

Undyne felt her phone buzz with an incoming message. Instinct told her to answer it. She pulled it out of her pocket, hardly tearing her gaze away from the scene in front of her.

It was from Alphys. It simply read, Don’t.

Undyne didn’t understand. What was Alphys doing?! She looked harder, and between the layers of vines, she could see the glow of a cell phone clutched in Alphys’s hand. Her thumb moved as she typed, all while keeping her attention focused solely on Flowey.

“It-it looked like . . . like . . .” she stuttered.

“Like what ?!” Flowey demanded.

Another text from Alphys. I got this.

“A time machine.”

Trust me.

Flowey paused. “A time machine?! Really? HA! That proves it! That trash bag is as stupid as ever!” He puffed up smugly.

Undyne deflated. That proved it, didn’t it? Time travel just wasn’t possible–

“No one can control the timeline but ME!!!”

Wait, what?! Undyne thought.

Alphys’s eyes widened in horrible realization. But it looked . . . forced? “W-what?! Oh no! That’s t-t-true! H-How could I have forgotten?”

“That’s right, my scaly little friend!” Flowey cackled manically. “You of all people should know the extent of my power! Silly little scientist! My DETERMINATION won’t allow just anyone to mess with my SAVE!”

“W-Well, I guess it’s not much of a loss,” Alphys sighed sadly. “Not much of a SAVE, if you ask me . . .”

Flowey froze. His smile slowly turned from gleeful to enraged.

“Would you like to repeat that?” Flowey hissed, dragging Alphys close. Alphys, despite herself, couldn’t help but squirm.

“I-I-I’m just s-s-saying what you said!” she pleaded. “W-Weren’t you the one who was s-s-saying how you weren’t having fun anymore?”

Flowey paused, grumbling, growling to himself. “Well, it’s pointless anyway! I can’t go back past the stupid human’s death!”

“Not unless you had some help , maybe . . .”

“I don’t need anyone’s help! And certainly not the help of that dumb trash bag!” Flowey protested fiercely.

“Right, of course, of course,” Alphys backpedaled quickly. She then sighed again. “I guess that means we’re stuck in this boring, dull, not-fun timeline. Forever.”

Flowey scowled, barely able to speak.

“Yeah, yeah ! That’s right! You’re all stuck here! With me ! Because no one has control of the timeline but me ! SO DON’T YOU DUMB SCIENTISTS EVER FORGET THAT!!!”

And then, Flowey was gone. The vines slithered back through the walls and floor, dropping Alphys on the ground as Flowey slinked away.

“Alphys!” Undyne raced up to the scientist, pulling her to her feet and looking her over. Papyrus joined her, coming out of his hiding place. “Are you ok?!”

Alphys, despite the terrifying encounter, was smiling, looking quite pleased with herself. “Y-Yeah! I’m fine! I’m ok! I w-wasn’t expecting you! What are you two doing here?”

“Checking in on you, ya big nerd!” Undyne said, breathing a sigh of relief. Alphys was unharmed, thank the Angel above. “Are you going to tell me what all that was about?”

“W-Well, long story short, Sans is building a time machine,” Alphys said. She looked at Papyrus. “You told her, right?”

“I did! But I am not sure how Flowey found out! Or why was he so angry!”

“Oh, th-that was me!” Alphys explained.

“WHAT?! WHY?!” Undyne cried. “Flowey’s crazy evil, why would you tell him?!”

“Undyne, it’s ok! It was all part of my p-plan!” Alphys explained quickly. She adjusted her glasses, which now had a hairline crack through them. “Sans and I figured out that the time machine won’t work because Flowey’s power wouldn’t allow it to work; he would override the machine Sans is building.”

Undyne stared back and forth between Alphys and Papyrus. “Wait, are you actually telling me time travel is real ?”

“In a sense. But it’s very situational, and only beings with incredibly high Determination can do it,” Alphys said. “Beings like Flowey and the human.”

Papyrus smacked his forehead. “Oh, of course! How could I forget that?!”

“To be fair, Sans forgot, too,” Alphys giggled. “And if we want the time machine to work, we figured we needed Flowey’s help. B-But, of course, Flowey being . . . who he is, we couldn’t just ask him for help.”

“So, you set this up?” Undyne asked.

“This was all a most clever ruse into tricking Flowey to help us!” Papyrus said, putting together the pieces. “Well done, that was incredibly clever of you, indeed!”

Alphys blushed.

“And incredibly stupid . He could have hurt you!” Undyne protested.

“I k-know, but it was a risk I had to take,” Alphys said. “A-And besides, I think I know Flowey well enough to know he wouldn’t do anything too terrible to me. I-it would mean one less friend for him to p-play with.” She laughed, but she couldn’t suppress a shudder.

Undyne got down on one knee and wrapped Alphys up in a tight hug. “Alphys that was . . . so brave of you. But you shouldn’t have done something so dangerous without telling us!”

“I knew what I was doing. I had everything under control!” Alphys assured. “Besides . . .”

She pulled out her phone, pressing a button on it. Two things activated at once: first, a magical bubble barrier popped around Alphys, shielding her from harm, and secondly, machines in the room they had just been standing in began to activate. Out of the wall panels, gears and pistons whirred to life, revealing a mess of pipes that extended from concealed holes in the walls from every angle. The pipes sputtered to life, belching out a torrent of roaring flames that engulfed the room.

Alphys grinned. “I had a back-up plan.”

Undyne stared at the booby-trapped flamethrower room, lips slowly pulling back into a delighted smile. “Alphys, you are the coolest person ever.”

Alphys beamed.

–--

Sans didn’t have to wait long.

In fact, he was barely back in his basement, setting aside his notes, when a most unwelcome visitor barged in, springing up on Sans and wrapping him up in vines.

Sans sighed sarcastically. “Hey there, Buddy. But, I thought you knew better by now to try this trick on me,” he said as he seamlessly teleported out of the vines, standing right back on the floor.

He stared up at the mess of tangled thorny vines that had inexplicably grown in the corner of his basement lab, and front and center was Flowey himself, grinning sinisterly. But Sans also knew Flowey fairly well, and he could see the flower’s frustration and anger behind the mask of sadism.

“It’s still fun to remind you how easily I could crush you to dust!” Flowey sneered. “And besides, it’s been a while since I popped in on my faaavorite trash bag.” A vine extended and poked the machine. “And lookee here! Someone’s been busy.”

“Just a little pet project of mine,” Sans shrugged.

“Don’t pretend I’m stupid!” Flowey scowled. “Oh, I already visited your bestest friend, Alphys, and she squealed allll about your secret project! I know what you’re working on!” He closed in, his grin growing. “And I can tell you, it’s not going to work! I won’t let it!”

Sans allowed his smile to fade. But from his point of view, his and Alphys’s plan was going perfectly.

“You forget, little trash bag, that as long as I’m around, I’m the only one with the power to SAVE! I can decide when we get to keep going, or if we get to start alllll over from the beginning–”

“Well, not the very beginning,” Sans interjected unhelpfully.

Flowey’s voice cut out, spitting in frustration.

“As powerful as you may be, you’re not as powerful as that kid. There’s only so far back you can go,” Sans reminded him, trying to suppress his own satisfied grin.

“Well, you know what?! NEITHER CAN YOU! Not with this dumpy, stupid hunk of metal!” Flowey protested, smacking a vine against the machine.

“Still doesn’t change the fact. I think we’re both getting fed up with how current events played out, aren’t we?”” Sans pressed, shrugging casually. “It would be real nice if we could go back and prevent any of this from happening.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t ,” Flowey fumed.

“Not with that attitude we can’t.”

Flowey paused, turning to Sans very slowly. Sans could practically see the flower swallowing his massive pride to maybe, maybe humor the idea that it might be beneficial to actually work with him. Just this once.

“Keep talking,” Flowey hissed.

Sans stepped up to the machine, tapping where Flowey smacked it with a vine. There was a scratch, but it was superficial. “This time machine replicates the power of Determination. And we know from past experience that Determination is a multiplicative power–”

“Use English!”

“It means, if you use your power in tandem with this machine, your power multiplies significantly. You’ll be way more powerful than you are now.”

“Powerful enough to override that brat’s SAVE?” Flowey ventured hopefully.

“It just might.”

Flowey chewed it over. It was true, he hated being stuck in this timeline more than anything. It got boring so quickly seeing Papyrus mope about and cry. He wanted Chara–-Frisk, whoever back again so they could keep playing together.

But he couldn’t let Sans know he was actually contemplating this. “Or I can just take this machine for myself, harness its power, and take over the WHOLE Underground! With that sort of power, I can easily defeat Asgore, take his soul, and take the rest of the human souls he has hidden away!” he cackled gleefully.

“Great plan, but unfortunately it doesn’t work like that,” Sans said casually.

“What?”

“It’s a lot of science-y mumbo-jumbo, but the crux of it is that this machine only works on the time travel part of your Determination. Effectively just enhancing your ability to SAVE.”

Flowey blinked, confused. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Yeah, like I said, it's a lot of complicated science. You try to do anything outside of travel around the time stream, it won’t work. Sorry.”

Flowey scowled. “You could be lying to me.”

“I could be.”

They stared each other down, but Sans’ expression was the completely unreadable mask it always was. Finally, with a defeated huff of frustration, Flowey relented.

“Fine! FINE ! I’ll do it! But it’s not because I want to help you! In fact, first thing I’m gonna do when I bring back that brat is torture your brother even MORE! I’ll find even more sick, twisted ways for you and your brother to go feral! I’ll make you go on a feral killing spree! I’m gonna make you kill the WHOLE Underground! Hee hee hee hee!”

Sure, you do that,” Sans said calmly. He wasn’t concerned in the least. He knew a bluff when he saw one.

“I will!” Flowey declared triumphantly. “Now just tell me what I have to do to get this hunk of junk working!”

“Well, first, we need my brother here.”

“Fine, fine.”

“And then we need to activate the machine, and when the machine powers on, I go through and–”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Flowey protested furiously. “I will be the one to go back in time! I will kill your rampaging brother! And the human brat for good measure!”

“Sorry, you can’t.”

“WHY NOT?!”

“You can’t exactly time travel if you’re the one powering the machine, can you?”

Flowey dissolved into a furious sputtering fit of rage. “That–that’s so unfair!!!”

“Sorry, it’s just the way it works.”

Flowey sputtered more barely comprehensible obscenities. “ARGH! This isn’t fair! This sucks! YOU suck!”

“Sorry.”

“NO, YOU’RE NOT!” Flowey continued to rage. But his desire to go back trumped all else. “UGH! FINE ! I’ll do it! But if you’re tricking me in any way, I’m going to make you and your brother suffer! As well as Alphys!”

“That’s fair.”

Flowey stood there, fuming. And with that settled, Sans made some phone calls, and within a few minutes, Papyrus was back home, dropping off his groceries in the kitchen before heading downstairs. With him was Alphys and Undyne. Undyne glared at Flowey. Flowey stuck his tongue back at her, and Alphys desperately avoided eye contact with anyone.

“So, we’re all filled in on what’s going on?” Sans asked. “With Flowey’s most generous assistance–” Flowey grunted. “--we’re going to power on the time machine, go back in time, and stop the human from falling to the Gaster Blaster beast.”

There was a nod amongst everyone, all looking grim and determined. Save Flowey, who continued to pout.

“Our priority is making sure the human soul isn’t destroyed,” Sans went on. “So that means preventing the Gaster Blaster from fighting the human. Our optimal option is to prevent Undyne from turning Papyrus in the first place.”

Undyne squirmed uncomfortably.

“If that doesn’t work, we need to take out the human.”

“Or take out Papyrus,” Flowey said with a cruel grin. “Killing either of them prevents all this mess, doesn’t it?”

Sans frowned, not immediately responding. As correct as Flowey was, he wasn’t going to just suggest killing his own brother!

“Aww, what’s the big deal? He’ll just come back. If everything goes to plan, that is,” Flowey continued to taunt.

“We’ll play it by ear,” Sans dismissed. “You just focus on keeping the timeline open and sending us back.”

Flowey just swayed back and forth, grinning unsettlingly.

“Alphys, stay here and keep an eye on things. Papyrus, you too. Undyne–” he paused, settling his eyes on her. “You come with me.”

Undyne jumped. “Wait, you want me to come back in time with you?!”

“You’re pretty tough. If we need to fight the human, I’m gonna need your help,” he explained.

Undyne understood. Papyrus was strong, but his fighting spirit was completely shattered. If they needed to fight–and based on the unsettling feeling she was getting in her gut, that was very likely–Sans needed a fierce and determined warrior at his side. And knowing what the human would do to Papyrus, what that human subjected them all to, Undyne would find no qualm in her conscience about putting that human into the ground.

“Alright, everyone, let’s begin.”

Everyone got to their stations. Alphys stood at the controls, typing up the commands to power it up. Flowey wrapped his vines around the machine, sinking into the cracks to get at the “meat” of the electronics so he could feed his own power into it. Papyrus stood back, offering his assistance where he could. And Sans and Undyne stood before the gate, ready for anything.

“Powering on!” Alphys called out.

The machine whirred on, lights blinking on, electricity humming. At the same time, Flowey’s own magic pulsed, flooding his Determination into it. The roar of motors grew louder and louder until it was a constant thunderous rumble. Sparks ignited within the circular gate, the sparks coming faster and faster until lightning arched at a constant flow. And with a sudden crash, the sparks split across the gate, creating a vortex of light. The light became a cyclone, a fierce wind whipping up and pulling them towards the vortex. Sans planted his feet, bracing himself against the wind.

Beyond him was a swirling kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. It played tricks on his mind, blinking away the stars that were flashing in his eyes as he struggled to comprehend what he was even seeing. But he knew this was it. The time machine was powered on. It was working .

“Readings are stable!” Alphys cried out over the deafening noise. “GO!”

Giving one last nod to Papyrus, Sans jumped in, followed closely by Undyne. They stepped into the vortex, and suddenly, they were pulled and stretched and thrown about, two tiny insignificant beings battered in the incomprehensible stream that was time itself. Beyond flashing lights that blinded them and shapes that defied definition, they saw images. Fragments of moments in time as they were buffeted about. Some they experienced themselves, some experienced by others, and some they couldn’t tell when they happened, or if they happened at all.

And strangest of all was the overwhelming feeling of a presence with them. Sans felt a hand grab his hood, and he turned to see Undyne clutching onto him fiercely, her eyes wide with awe as she struggled to take all of this in.

Having fun? A familiar voice called out.

“Flowey?!” Undyne scowled. “Where the heck are you?!”

“All around us,” Sans reminded her grimly. “This is his SAVE. We’re flowing through his timeline.”

Hee hee! Perhaps we should make some little detours!

“Not now, you punk! Just take us where we need to go!” Undyne cried out. But her protests were ignored as a memory played in front of them. It was the day Papyrus woke up from his extensive sleep after the human died, where he found out . . . what he did.

Helpless, they could only watch as Papyrus broke out in tears, crying in sheer anguish–

“This is old, Flowey,” Undyne growled. “Could we all just get this over with already?”

But don’t you feel just terrible about what you did to your very best friend? I mean how could you do something so hideously awful to him?

“No shit , Sherlock, why do you think I’m here right now?!”

Flowey scowled, clearly discouraged by Undyne’s lack of a reaction. Well, how about you, trash bag? Shall we relive some savory moments for you?

“Sure, it’s not like I can stop you,” he shrugged passively.

Huh? Flowey said, stunned. There was a brief pause and a stutter as Flowey found his voice. Ha! That’s right! You can’t stop me! I can do whatever I want! Show you whatever horrible memories I choose!

And he did just that. He showed the two of them the worst memories he could think of, from Papyrus’s anguish to the way the townsfolk spoke of him with fear and revulsion. He showed them how miserable Papyrus was, lamenting in his grave sin.

Through it all, San did not react, and following his lead, neither did Undyne. They couldn’t give Flowey that satisfaction. They couldn’t let him know he was getting to them.

Clearly frustrated by this, Flowey tried harder. And with a wicked burst of inspiration, he dug up the memory of him in the lab with Alphys, forcing the scientist to watch the video of the bloody carnage over and over and over again, punishing her if she dared to look away and laughing cruelly at her sobs.

Undyne stiffened, rage billowing in her chest. That horrible little thing! She wanted to lash out and hurt him for daring to torment her friend, but Sans was there, gripping her hand tightly. He gave her a subtle shake No.

Don’t give him the satisfaction.

Undyne swallowed the hot lump of rage in her throat. And she scoffed.

“Yeah, like I care.”

The images paused and then slowly began to fade away.

You two are so boring!

“Just take us to where we wanna go,” Sans said.

Reluctantly, and with much belly-aching, the timeline swirled around them, bringing them further and further back. They could almost sense approaching the fated event–

Undyne screamed in shock as she was suddenly slammed against some invisible wall. Her reflexes kicked in and she hugged Sans close to her chest, preventing him from striking that wall. But still the billowing force of the timeline bore down on her, pinning her to that “wall,” like being trapped against a drain under a tumultuous downpour of water. She could barely move. And worse of all, she felt a static energy burn all along her back as it was pressed against the barrier. It seared her skin, burned her flesh, setting her teeth on edge as she felt lightning course through her body.

“FLOWEY!” she screamed. “What are you doing?! MAKE IT STOP!”

We’re not there yet! He protested. It’s right there, it’s right there , we need to get there!

“There’s a wall!” Undyne cried. “There’s a wall! I can’t! It burns! IT BURNS!”

Stop your complaining, I can get it! I just need more–! More Determination! I need to get past that wall!

A foul acrid smell filled her nose. The burning turned to an ice-cold chill. The rest of her body still seared from the constant surge of lighting flowing through her. Her muscles clenched so hard she thought her teeth would crack.

“Sans!” she called out.

We’re almost there! We’re right there! Just hold on! This was your idea!

Sans saw the state Undyne was in, but beyond that, he saw the wall. It was made of an energy Sans knew all too well.

Determination. But not just anyone’s Determination.

The kid.

Even with all that extra power . . . it wasn’t enough.

I can get it! Just hold on!

Sans looked back to Undyne. She was barely hanging on. They didn’t have time to spare.

I–I–I can . . . ! Flowey protested. His voice cracked. I can’t! It’s not working!

“GET US OUT.”

And just like that, everything . . . stopped.

Undyne cracked open an eye. She was laying on the lab floor, Sans standing above her. Alphys and Papyrus rushed to her side, while Flowey was still wrapped up in the machine.

Papyrus was the first to come to her aid, looking worriedly at the burns all over her back. “Oh my goodness, Undyne!!! What happened?!”

Undyne was too rattled to speak. Papyrus didn’t hesitate before putting his hands on her and cast his healing magic. Like a soothing salve, the ache of the burns dissipated and her skin began to slowly heal. She sighed in relief.

“Thanks, Paps,” Undyne muttered. She shook her head and stood on uneasy feet, Papyrus helping her up. “Seriously, what the hell happened in there?!”

Flowey wouldn’t look at them. He stared at the machine, shaking with frustrated rage as his vines wrapped around it. “We were so close! We were so close !!! Why couldn’t you just hold on for a little longer?! I could have broken through!!!”

“No you couldn’t and you know it,” Sans said, his voice level but fierce.

Flowey didn’t look at him. Because as much as he hated to admit it, Sans was right.

The kid was far more powerful than they thought, if even all this didn’t work.

“So . . . what now?” Undyne pressed. “That’s it? It can’t be it! We can’t give up! There has to be another way!”

Sans and Papyrus shared a look. They both knew of one more option, but Sans refused to humor it.

“That’s it.” Sans said, locking eyes with Papyrus. “That’s the only plan we got. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you,” Undyne said.

“I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for,” Sans replied.

“Yes you can,” Papyrus said, startling Sans. “You just don’t want to.”

“What are you talking about?” Undyne pressed.

“We have one more option,” Papyrus said, turning to Undyne. Sans sunk into his jacket. “We’re going to ask Dr. Gaster for help.”

#undertale #waff #what are friends for #papyrus #sans #undyne #alphys #dr gaster #wd gaster #wing dings gaster #flowey #gaster blaster au

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annaizscribbling · 1 month

Text

Ch 12.

Wordcount: 1896

Content warnings: Suicidal content. Paranoia. Hallucinations.

The water flows unceasingly.

There’s blood on his hands. Blood in the water. Water on his hands. Water mixing with blood. The stone cave floor is covered in it. Virgil can’t tell what’s a puddle of water and what’s a pool of blood. There’s too much. It’s flowing. It’s everywhere. It’s his. It’s theirs. As plentiful as the water in the ocean.

Rivers of blood. Oceans of decay and rotting remains. A million slain float dead in the water. Blood. So much blood.

He’s covered in it. Covered in the mix of holy and unholy. They say blood is thicker than water, but he can’t tell the difference between them any longer. He can’t find where blood ends and water starts. It’s swirled together, mixed and combined and homogenized.

Virgil is soaked in it. His hoodie is dripping. His hair is sticking to his face, heavy with liquid. It makes him feel 20 pounds heavier. He can’t tell if he’s shivering from the cold or sweating from the unbearable heat.

No matter how much he tries, he can’t get up. He can’t leave. It all hurts. It hurts so much

The tattered tie is still clenched in his hand. It is stained and sopping wet, evidence of what Virgil has done. It is sickening. It is painful.

He lies on the cave floor, wracked with unsleeping terrors.

It hurts. It hurts. It won’t stop hurting. He pulls at his wet hair, trying to make his vision go clear again, instead of the aching fuzziness he can’t blink away. There is a black vignette around his eyes. He can’t think straight or see correctly. Everything is wrong.

What did he do wrong? When did he misstep? He needs guidance. He needs a savior. What sin is he paying for?

Virgil’s stomach churns again, a violent, rolling sensation. He turns over just in time to vomit again. His body burns from the pain, his every limb shakes from exertion. It’s just water that sloshes up and out of him. He thinks it’s just water. Maybe it’s blood. He can’t tell. It’s thin and it doesn’t burn like stomach acid does. Either way, it’s everywhere. His hands are filthy, but he holds onto the tie. It’s just as disgusting now.

Everything is disgusting. Everything is wrong.

For the millionth time it feels, Virgil tries to get up again. He tries to leave. This is wrong. It hurts. He needs to run, but he cannot.

He slips and falls. He’s too weak. He can’t get up. Can’t get out. It hurts. He’s bleeding. Or maybe it’s water? He can’t tell the difference.

“Please,” Virgil whispers, looking downwards. Maybe if he was worshiping something else, he’d look to the heavens. But he wasn’t. The waters lie below. Always below. Below everything, ever present, ever watchful.

He shakily rolls onto his hands and knees. Slowly, agonizingly, he crawls towards the edge of the rock, to look down at his maker.

“Why?” His voice is so broken it’s nearly incoherent. “Why are you doing this? I love you … I love— it hurts. Why?”

The water flows without change. There is no shift in its churning and rushing. There will never be a change.

“Make it stop. It hurts. I don’t understand. I’m hurting people.” The words hurt to say. It hurts to speak it aloud. The guilt is hot and searing. “I hurt them.”

Sinners?

“No,” Virgil shakes his head, he can hardly breathe, “No Lo—he didn’t do anything wrong. He was trying to help. I just hurt him.”

Sinners are simply born, aren’t they? They don’t have to do anything at all to be damned.

“Please. Make it stop. Please.” Tears from his eyes well up before they fall over the ledge. He looks at the surface of the water, looking for a familiarity in the water below.

The waters flow unceasingly.

Blink blink blink blink blink blink Blink blink blink blink blink blink Blink blink blink blink blink blink Blink blink blink blink blink blink Blink blink blink blink blink blink Blink blink blink blink blink blink Blink blink blink blink blink blink?

A young man weighed down by the weight of his mind leaps off the ledge. The abyss below swirls and churns. It has been waiting for this. Waiting for its meal. It’s a beautiful, perfect meal.

Hunger can be considered love under dire enough of a circumstance.

There’s no struggle as the man hits the water. Nor when he sinks to the bottom like a rock. It’s a rapid descent, less like sinking and more like being yanked down by a thousand eager, invisible hands that grope and grab and yearn.

The water rushes and swirls around the man. The body. The meal.

The man does not thrash and wail like some might do. He drowns with dignity. With reverence. It’s a beautiful sight, to see a life so utterly wasted, and for what? The pursuit of wisdom? Not of happiness or peace, but truth. Not safety, nor power, not even comfort.

His eyes had always been open, but he refused to look.

Blink.

Virgil stares with eyes that no longer want to see. A single cold tear trickles down his cheek. Was that real? All of it was real, it had to be. As real as anything could be for him. For all of them.

Maybe the waters do not love him. It’s not as if he loves himself.

What’s the point? No truth. No love. No safety.

The waters flow unceasingly.

Shaking and shivering, Virgil rises to his feet. He drags his feet to the very end of the ledge, staring down at what he once loved. The pain is so great, so utterly all consuming. Every fiber of his being, every cell in his body, it burns with betrayal.

He thought the worst thing he could ever face was rejection from the only thing that mattered to him. He was wrong. This wasn’t rejection, yet it felt like the mournful agony of a city erupting in flames.

The waters keep flowing. They will forever continue to flow. Virgil is nothing to it. He is not even a worthy sacrifice, simply a meal, something to corrupt and enjoy for only a moment. A rabbit caught in a trap.

The water flows unceasingly.

Maybe all that’s left is to flow with it. There’s nothing else left anyway. Nothing left of Virgil.

He’s burned too many bridges. Spilt too much blood. His everything has been siphoned away in the pursuit of truth and the gift of the worship he sought to offer. He spent so much time trying to be a worthy offering, but he was blind to how unworthy of a god he had.

He takes one last deep breath, holding it in his lungs. Squeezing his eyes shut, he lifts one leg, extending it over the waters as it rushes below in a frenzied, hungry excitement. It is time to join the misty cloud of souls. It’s time to submit his everything to the water. There’s simply nothing left.

The water flows unceasingly.

He steps off.

Let the water have its meal.

Virgil doesn’t even get a moment to think before an iron-like grip around his arm wrenches him backwards. He doesn’t even react. It’s too fast.There’s a loud scuffle that Virgil barely feels present for. His knees hit solid, wet ground, hard enough to bruise them.

His vision reels. It’s spotty and distant. He can faintly make out his own hoarse, choking sobs.

“Virgil,” a panicked, yet unmistakably tender voice pushes through the haze. Soft hands cradle his jaw, gently tilting up his head. “Virgil, Virgil come on. Look at me. Come on.”

“…Janus?” Virgil slurs, wobbling precariously.

“Shh, shh. Don’t speak, just breathe.” Janus rubs his fingers through Virgil’s hair, neatening it. The side is checking Virgil for injuries, using his thumb to wipe the tears off his cold clammy skin.

“Janus!” Virgil is grappling with it all.

“Shh. You’re alright. It’s going to be alright,” Janus says softly, soothingly.

Virgil’s shaking. He’s crying. He feels the cold bite of the damp cave air in his bones. He doesn’t remember it hurting so badly. Was there always such malice lingering over it all? “You came. You found me,” Virgil whispers.

“I always come get you, don’t I?” Janus shows what could barely be considered a smile. It’s slight, just the faintest crinkle of his eyes. Virgil feels an old, childlike nostalgia at seeing the thin smile lines that are usually smoothed out so carefully.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You were right. I— I don’t know what happened,” Virgil says frantically, pulling at his hair in a panic.

“Shh. It is all forgotten now. I’m here, and we’re never coming back here, right? Not again?” Janus asks softly, pulling Virgil into an embrace.

Virgil nods, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Is Logan okay? A— are you? What did I do? Oh god, what did I do? Make it go away. Please, please, Jan. Make it go away,” he begs, clinging to Janus’ arm.

“The past is a good teacher,” Janus said quietly, reluctantly, regretfully, even. “I think we’ve learned that, haven't we, dear?”

“No, no, no. Please, Janus. Please,” his eyes are wild and frantic. “Can you just… Can you make it go away?”

“Again?” Janus whispers, a dread clear in his face.

“Please. Please, I can’t do it. I can’t do it. Not again.” Virgil grows frantic, erratic. He starts panting for breath. His pupils are mere pinpricks.

Janus rubs Virgil’s back slowly, his face pensive. It’s a losing battle. The past is a good teacher indeed. They’re bound to the same fate as before. He sighs softly, pressing his lips to the crown of Virgil’s head. He closes his eyes, just for a moment. Not too long.

“Jan?” Virgil says shakily, afraid at how long the silence is stretching.

“Everything will be alright. It never happened,” he coos, slowly standing, pulling Virgil up with him. “It was just a very bad dream. You got a little sick.” The words taste like honey, like taking spoonful after spoonful. They come naturally. Muscle memory.

Virgil nods, limping with Janus. They hobble to the exit of the cave. “A bad dream…” Virgil echos.

“Just another very bad dream. A recurring nightmare,” Janus whispers, supporting most of Virgil’s weight. “It’ll all fade eventually. It always does.”

As they exit the cave, Janus pauses long enough to look back at the waters. His eyes are dark, a calm, calculated fury burns like smoke in his eyes. He looks at Virgil’s weak, trembling form that he is so steadfastly holding up.

The water flows unceasingly.

The words seep into Janus’ head. A familiar phrase as of late. The waters speak to whoever will listen. They always have. It preys on the unsure and the unsafe.

Janus turns away from the cave, helping Virgil leave it behind. How many times have they been here? Each time being years before the last, after time has made them barely complacent enough to stumble. It’s an orbit, or perhaps like running a lap. The end is only the beginning. Foresight and hindsight are one and the same.

The water flows unceasingly, huh? Unceasingly. Well. Not if Janus has anything to say about it.

Come Into the Water

Ch 11.

#virgil sander #janus sanders #sander sides

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rossellini-tyrell · 1 year

Text

Nothing’s Gonna Change My World

Ch. 5 - But If I Seem To Act Unkind (it's only me, it's not my mind)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Word Count: 4,255

Warnings: MINORS, PROCEED WITH CAUTION! Pav and Reader are getting steamier, but there’s no smut here (or even implied), nothing happens that you wouldn’t see in a given MCU movie. A reminder that these characters are in their early 20s.

Pairing: Pavitr x F!Reader also found on AO3 and Wattpad. ----- You stand on your fire escape, watching Spider-Man dance across a noontime sky. Every now and then, when the bug bites him, Pavitr likes to bust out the suit and show off for the locals. Today, some children are gathered round a domed building nearby, with your boyfriend (your boyfriend!!) perched at the dome's apex, balanced elegantly on one leg, not unlike a wading bird hunting in a brackish lagoon. Children of assorted sizes whoop and holler as Spider-Man puts on an impromptu performance atop the glittering dome, flows through an arabesque, a jete, an aerial in place, a handstand on just two fingers. He wheels into a straddle lever, the sunlight striping in thick ribbons across the thick black waves flowing with him atop his head. Your breath hitches as you watch Pavitr's well-toned muscles flex and release, quads tightening, scapula retracting, feet arching. Your eyes are glued to his little show, because in what world would you have expected that you'd get to date this. Not only that, this wants to date you just as much. A bangle glimmers as it's tossed into the air, becoming a diabolo of sorts that cycles upon a gossamer strand of web, surprisingly strong despite its appearance. Pavitr deftly twists the web into a bridge, does a J-whip, a C-whip, a cat's cradle. Hops, stops, and bounces, everything in between. The gaggle of kids gasp in delight as he launches a second bangle, aces seemingly impossible tricks, impossible for anyone but him. The crowd goes wild as he leaps to catch both bangles on his wrists in the air, and takes a bow with a flourish and wink. And then he's gone, slinking behind the dome of the building. You need to fan yourself after catching that view. You step back inside to escape the oppressive midday heat, only to be immediately confronted with a sight that nearly gives you heatstroke on the spot: Spider-Man, who is now your boyfriend (dreamy sigh goes here), is standing unmasked in your kitchen, and he's stripping off his suit top. You freeze, rooted to the spot as he flexes his arms in front of him and ahead to cleanly peel off the top. The top rides up along his back, treating you to a reveal of a well-developed, incredibly powerful torso. He's all lats, obliques, traps, deltoids, all the power you'd expect of a gymnast, yet compact and lithe enough to remain nimble and catlike. A fine sheen of sweat clings to a rich expanse of smooth, chestnut toned skin, with only whispers of scars dappled across him thanks to his enhanced healing factor. You can't help but profusely thank whichever past life iteration of you that did whatever it was they needed to do for you to see this today, this is your first time seeing Pavitr shirtless, and damn he doesn't disappoint. Your boyfriend grabs a sport-top water bottle off the counter (when that got there, you have no idea), upends it to take a huge swig, eyes closed in relief. It's then he notices you, statue-still where you stand, seconds away from spouting a nosebleed. Pavitr's eyes light up in acknowledgement, he spins on his heel to face you, treating you to deliciously sculpted pecs and abs, with a bonus hint of the crest of his hips peeking out of the rest of his suit. "Enjoying the view, darling?" he slyly asks, his lips pulling off the bottle with a pop. "I have...a lot of questions for you right now," you stammer, mind still in a blue screen of death. Error 404: sweaty shirtless superhero boyfriend in my house right now. "Like, how did you get in my apartment, and where did that water bottle come from?" "Bathroom window, and I put it in the fridge before I left," Pavitr answers in order, nonchalantly, as if he were being asked which way to the nearest ATM. "Nobody's paying attention to that side of the building so I can just slide in like it's the DMs." "...How—and why—in the fuck did you get in and out of my apartment twice without me noticing?" you demand, exasperated and still processing how confusing, surprising, and glorious this all is. Pavitr chugs the rest of the bottle, a rivulet of water escapes the corner of his mouth and trails along the cut of his jawline and his neck. He plops the bottle down and wipes it off with the back of his hand. "I'm Spider-Man, I'm sneaky," he pans. He advances towards you, walks you back against the counter, before caging you in with his toned arms. There's nothing aggressive about it, only a little playful banter, you know you'd have your freedom if you so wanted it in an instant. "And I thought you might appreciate a little surprise, dove," he purrs, nose only inches from yours now. His locks are extra shiny from the sweat, sepia-toned eyes sparkling with mirth, affection, a hint of...want? You can feel yourself flushing, burning up all over again because what you would have given to be looked at like that sooner. "Oh it's...appreciated," you say, wetly. You could swear a few beads of sweat are popping up on your own brow. Pavitr's eyes flicker from yours, to your lips. You watch his tongue subtly dart out to wet his own, before he meets your eyes again. And then you're floating, shrieking, legs dangling off the ground as he's snatched you up into a bridal carry, strong, so strong arms holding you against that smooth, sweaty, delicious chest of his. Your boyfriend snickers lowly at your shocked expression, eyes now glimmering with mischief. "You're not limited to appreciating with just your eyes, sweet girl," he huskily implies. The deep, slow kiss he melts on your surprised mouth doesn't help things, sends a shudder to all ten fingers and all ten toes, his tongue swiping the ridges of flesh behind your top teeth setting your nerve endings ablaze. Hesitantly, you splay your hand across his bare chest, the context so different from the first time you got to. The skin beneath is damp, supple, electric, instantly enrapturing you with the velvety feel. Looking at and touching the sweaty shirtless superhero boyfriend? You could kiss the past life version of you on the mouth right now. "'Yanno what the best part of getting to hold you like this is, dove?" Pavitr breaks you out of your trance, the question winding between your ears like oil added to a diffuser. You arch your eyebrow in query, your cheek pressed against one of his pecs. "I get to kiss you to death!" he beams. He's on you like white on rice, smacking kisses anywhere he can reach by pulling you close to him, some land on your hairline while others are mashed into the apples of your cheeks, the swell of your nose, one or two catch the hollows where your eyes sit. The ridiculous display of affection makes you giggle, kicking your feet like a child. "Pav! Pav, no, that tickl-mph!" you protest, a squeal stifles as he peppers kisses to your plush mouth. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that," he smirks against your lips, gently tugging your top lip between his. Fuck, he's an amazing kisser, something he's shown you progressively more of as you've warmed up to the idea that a relationship could be like this, unfailingly affectionate for the sole reason of getting to revel in it. "I think I'm gonna keep kissing you to death somewhere else now." Pavitr near-runs with you to the couch, you're still squealing and kicking the whole way down, not letting up through the solid five minutes of making out he spoils you with after, until he delicately cups your face and silences you for good with a press of lips so tender and sweet, you think you'd have felt it in a past life. ---- "Mmm, I'm gonna be thinking about that dessert on my deathbed," you muse as you enter his apartment. You've just arrived back from your dinner date with Pavitr, all dolled up in that green dress he'd picked out, complemented by the new pair of shoes he'd surprised you with before leaving. I'm Spider-Man, I'm observant, he'd said when you asked him about how he knew what shoe size you were, and then he'd fastened up the buckles before kissing the inside of your ankle, lips finding purchase on the bony point there. "Agreed, that was divine," he concurs. "I've never understood what people meant when they said 'better than sex'...until I learned you could grate cured egg yolk onto ice cream. I would kiss whoever came up with that on the mouth if they asked." You could think of a lot of things that were "better than sex", in your opinion. Maybe a sign that you need to raise your expectations, a tall order after the lackluster experiences you've had in the past. Not that you were going to debate that point with your boyfriend. "Seems like it's asking a lot to get a kiss on the mouth from you these days," you snark. Pavitr doesn't hesitate to angle your chin towards him, swallows up your mouth with his in a kiss that damn near sucks your soul out "Sonu, I truly hope you've learned by now, you never have to ask for that," he murmurs. The way he looks at you is sweet, like the chocolate hue of his irides. It never fails to make you want to melt, like the ice cream you'd enjoyed tonight. He kisses you again, and then once more, his lips taking the lead in a slow dance you're finally mastering. Pavitr starts to veer off the choreography and moves to kiss at the corner of your mouth instead. "You keep calling me that one, sonu," you wonder aloud. "I hope it's a good thing." "It's Marathi for 'gold', or 'precious'," he clarifies, his warm breath tickling your cheek. "So yes, a very good thing for a very sweet girl." "Hmm, and what about—oh!" you yelp delightfully as your boyfriend mouths on your jawline, you can tell he's relishing in the sound. "About that other one, the one I can't remember." "Ahava?" he supplies, the word spilling perfectly from his lips in a way that makes your heart flutter. "Yes, that's the one," you confirm. You don't miss the subtle pause, the falter of his breath. "Mmm, I'll tell you later," Pavitr says. He immediately distracts you with a light nip on your earlobe, smears a kiss on the skin he finds just below. "Stop—ah! Stop avoiding the question!" you protest, your heart floating up to your throat as the sweet torture your boyfriend administers to you sends your heart racing. "Not avoiding it, darling, just want to kiss you a little," he dismisses, trailing down your neck, now. "We gotta crack open that Malbec I've been saving too." "Well, will you tell me after?" you ask impatiently. Pavitr grins into the skin of your neck, lathes it delicately with the blade of his tongue in a way that makes everything muzzy and warm. "Sure I will," he half-answers. "Just let me enjoy this a bit longer." "Incorrigible," you mutter under your breath. Pavitr chuffs at that, starts dotting kisses up and down your neck so ticklish you can't help but squirm in his hold. Kissing's nice with him, both playful and comforting. He could thrill you with a kiss on the forehead, shut your unquiet mind off with a press of his mouth to yours. It's almost as if he uses his lips to pour out the overflowing fondness he's got into your very soul, trying to fill the void spots others have left behind with his brand of syrupy-sweet heartsong. A potent sap to glue the seams of old claw marks together, you drink it down greedily. The little attentions he's gracing you with are sensual, yes, but you know by now that Pavitr never asks a question he doesn't know the answer to. Kissing's nice, yes, but you're meant to enjoy it here and now, as an answer and not a question, the tiny dots his soft lips make on your neck are punctuation, not ellipses. Here and now is disrupted by the gentle tug, an itch in Pavitr's countenance. You recognize it now as the way Spider-Man knows, knows to follow, to to find, to protect, save. The pulling of a thread between your souls one night that led to this moment, cocooned in each other's embrace. It pulls on him now, thick eyebrows knitting together, laugh lines deepening at the crease of his mouth. "Pav, you should go," you assure, your hands gently flattening against his shoulders. Pavitr sighs, reluctance souring his expression. "Sonu, I don't want to interrupt the date," he protests. "You had your suit on when I kissed you, I was well aware of what I was doing," you assure, trying to show on your face that you're not unhappy. "Go get 'em, and we can continue this over a bottle of wine when you get back." Pavitr considers this, before planting a fond, grateful kiss upon the apple of one cheek. He scurries to climb into his suit, his second skin. Before you know it, one foot is out the kitchen window, and he turns to you on his way out, and says: "One for the road?" You roll your eyes, call him 'insatiable', peel up his mask to kiss him once, slow and sweet. You pat his cheek fondly, and he holds your hand there with his for a beat, savoring the feel. "If you die, I will google what that word-" Pavitr stops you, two gloved fingers against your lips. "Don't finish that sentence, darling," he smoothly replies. He slips you a wink, and you kiss the fingers against your lips before he melts into the evening sky. You watch him go, roll down the window when he's out of your sight. Alone in the low light of your boyfriend's apartment, you resolve to tidy up a bit, knowing he can be short on time for that. You clear up a few stray dishes he's got in the sink, pull that wine bottle he was after down from his wine rack (you wish you could afford to have a wine rack). You get the idea to start lighting a few candles to set the mood to unwind, you're rooting around in a drawer for a lighter when you hear the window roll up again, no more than fifteen minutes after your boyfriend had left. "(You), the dishrag in the drawer. Quickly," he orders, uncharacteristic worry in his voice. Unsettled, you locate the item in question swiftly, passing it over to his outstretched hand, surprised to hear high-pitched murmurs coming from his lips. "Pav, are you okay?" you inquire. In the back of your mind, you know his healing factor will do most of the work, but you have yet to see him actually hurt since you started dating him. "I'm fine, it's not for me," he hurriedly explains, climbing carefully through the windowframe. Your confusion peaks when he tucks the dishrag into the crook of his other arm, which suddenly emits a keening cry. "What on earth is that noise?" you ask, bewildered. "Oh, little love, shhhh, shh, shh, don't cry, don't cry," Pavitr coos at the source of the sound. You watch spellbound as he retrieves the bundle from the crook of his arm, delicately unfolding it to reveal a tiny, squalling kitten, its fur dirty and wet. It's but a button high, no more than 4 weeks old, and it looks famished. Pavitr gives it a scritch between the ears with one finger, the little ball of fur obviously appreciative given the way it arches into the touch. "You were all alone in that alley, bitty fidget, no mom cat to keep you from falling into that storm drain," he croons to the kitten, half comforting it, and half explaining the situation to you. "But I heard you calling, and I found you, and you're okay now, little love, you are okay, shhhh," he soothes. "The poor thing, it must be freezing," you respond, overwhelmed by how adorable this all is (both the kitten, and also your big, strong superhero boyfriend cuddling the tiny kitten). It's total cuteness overload, save for the fact that this kitten is clearly in bad shape. "Here, hold it for a minute—I know, fidget, I know—I have to get out of my suit," Pavitr directs, passing you the swaddled, wailing kitten. "There's a love, let her hold you, there you go," You accept the bundled ball of fur, it squirms weakly in your hold. You hear beneath the strong cries a wet, warbling quality, worrying you that the kitten might be sick. "Come on, kitty, come on," you encourage, giving the kitten a vigorous rub between your toweled hands to keep it warm. The kitten responds with a sneeze. Pavitr ducks back into the room, stripped down to a simple tee and sweats. He starts up the kitchen sink, checks the temperature on the inside of his wrist before beckoning you closer. "We have to get it cleaned up, it won't last long in that state if we don't get it warm and dry again," he urges. You hold the kitten in your cupped hands while he gently works a smidgen of dish soap through the kitten's soft fur, cooing to it as the dirt and grime lifts away, running through your fingers. "What a good fidget you are, yes!" he praises in response to the kitten's annoyed chirps. "Doing so good for us, little love, and look at that, what pretty golden fur you have under all that grime!" You're almost jealous of this tiny scrap of a thing, how much your boyfriend loves on it. He's right though, the water starts running clear, revealing a thick coat the color of a late dawn. You hold it still in the towel as Pavitr carefully cleans up its face with a damp cloth, freeing the kitten to open up dusky blue eyes, the color of a kitten too young to be without its mother. You borrow his blow dryer to dry the kitten off so it won't get sick, the fur fluffing up nicely under the heat. It's a pom-pom of dense goldenrod fluff by the time you're through with it, taking wobbly steps across the towel. "Do you think it's a male or a female?" you ask. "Beats me," Pavitr admits. "I don't know how to tell if it's healthy or if it needs milk or anything either." An idea comes to mind, you whip out your phone and start furiously googling. "Are you...googling how to tell the sex of the kitten?" he asks. "No, I'm looking for an emergency vet that's still open," you answer, face still buried in your phone's screen. "I mean, it fell down a drain, we should make sure it's not really sick or hurt or..." "That's...a good point. I'll grab the car keys, you grab a box to put the munchkin in," he concedes. ---- "A little boy, huh," Pavitr murmurs, the kitten in question mewling loudly from the carrier he's been placed in at the vet's office. The kitten received a mostly clean bill of health, but was given some medicine to help with the wet sounds coming from his chest. The poor thing has been through the wringer, loaded up on flea prevention, vaccines, a nail trim, he's scared and he wants his mother. "Yeah, a brave little boy." you remark, releasing him into the produce box you'd hastily grabbed from your apartment to serve as an impromptu playpen. Tomorrow, you'd have to find something better, but for now, you're sitting cross legged on the living room floor, watching the fluff ball with rapt attention. Pavitr gives you an appreciative once-over, you're still in the dress you went to dinner with him in, covered now by one of his heavier coats. "I'm sorry I ruined our date," he apologizes. "What...no, you didn't ruin anything," you refuse. "If anything, this was a pretty damn good way to end the evening, unexpected but still good." "Ah, but I was gonna pour you some wine, rizz you up, put on a movie so we could cuddle and make out on the couch—" he elucidates. "Let me stop you right there," you cut him off. "First of all, it is current year, there is no fucking way we are still saying 'rizz'". "Oh, come on," Pavitr whines. "Let me finish," you hold up your hand. "Secondly, yes, that would have been a great way to end the date. But so was getting to experience this with you, it's...it's nice getting to save a kitten's life together. I'm happy because it was with you, Pav. I don't care what it is we're doing, I'm just happy I got to share it with you. I wanna share all the things with you, someday." Pav's smile is relieved, impossibly fond. The kitten mewls in the background, clambering around on the blankets lining the box. There's words he wants to spit out, you can tell, but he swallows them back down. "Thank you, dove, I...hey, we should name him," he says. "You're keeping him?" you ask, surprised that he's up for this kind of responsibility with his...busy schedule. "Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, I wanna keep him. There's gotta be a reason I was able to hear him, maybe this was it." "The cat distribution system's timing is always right," you chuckle. "The other reason I wanna keep him is because I found him with you," he states. You don't know how you should respond to that. But the sentiment is bubbly, full in your chest, like the tiny bubbles of the Prosecco you had over dinner. "I'm glad," you say. "I'm happy I could do this with you, and I hope that extends to helping you pick a name." "Oh it does, sonu," he replies. "I'm coming up with blanks right now, maybe you could help me think of something?" The kitten is screeching now, his squalling mighty, demanding your attention. His golden fur is puffed up around his chest, he'd be threatening if he weren't a little wisp of a thing. "He kinda reminds me of a lion," you ponder aloud. "Like that scene in The Lion King where baby Simba was trying to scare off the hyenas by trying to roar at them." "Sheru, then," Pavitr proclaims, gathering the kitten up in his arms. His voice wraps around the word in a way you know he wants to keep saying it. "Sheru?" you ask. "It's Hindi for lion," he explains, lifting the aforementioned kitten up to give him a kiss on his pink nose. "I thought you spoke Marathi, though," you wonder, confused. "Mmm, I can speak both," he extrapolates. "Marathi's my mother tongue, but I've learned Hindi as well, a little bit of some others too." Sheru nuzzles into his cheek. "Well I like it, it's a wonderful name," you affirm. "You're good at coming up with names for things...like me." "I wouldn't disagree with that assessment, darling," he quips with a sly wink that makes your heart skip a beat. "Hey, you should get to hold him too, you did half the work." "I thought you'd never ask," you say. Pavitr passes you the kitten, who settles into the curve of your hands. "Oh, hello, cutiepie!" you gush. "Welcome home, Sheru!" Pavitr watches you, besotted as you play with Sheru, how joyful you look nuzzling against the tiny ball of fur. You look so peaceful, the most peaceful you've been since he's met you, and it fills his heart complete in a way it hasn't felt in years. He knows now that he has to tell you. The word lodged in his throat comes floating, floating up, before it passes through his lips like a prayer. "Beloved," he says, simply. You freeze, putting Sheru in your lap as you turn to face him where he sits next to you. "In Marathi, Ahava means beloved," he tells you. The bubbles in your chest fizzle, pop, explode inside of you, almost choking you out as you process the implication. It feels unreal, your life feels unreal, but you know it's real because the way he's looking at you with the little kitten writhing in your lap wearing his coat and the dress he bought you is bright "Y-You mean...you really...?" you stutter, the first tears beginning to prickle. "Yes, I do," he breathes, the statement sure, steady. His own eyes, full of affection, full of want, full of love are misting over now. "Oh Pav, I—I love you too, I have for a while now," you admit, your voice warbling. "You've been calling me that since..." bright "Since you asked to be my girlfriend, yes," he reveals. "I always meant it, I told you that I've always been a bit of a softie," the tear tracks run down his full cheeks. You tearfully smile, knowing that it's been a couple months since that night. For all this time, he's been waiting for you, never asking you a question he couldn't answer. He's said the words a thousand times, but never making you listen before you were ready. "Pav, can I—" "A thousand times yes, Ahava," he exhales, gathers you up into his lap, furiously kisses your tears away where they stream on your face, pours his affection, his heart into yours from where it spills out of his lips. I love you I love you I love love love you I do I do I love you I do I love you my love my girl my perfect precious sweet girl my darling little love I love you— bright

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