#and i would spill my guts to anyone asking if my feet dangled over a dark nothingness and the promise of death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hongism · 3 years

Text

04 - s.mingi + degradation (18+)

» s.mingi x gn!reader » 18+ dni if minor » language, explicit smut, cock caging, degradation, praise, ruined orgasms, overstimulation, manual stimulation, anal fingering, use of sex toys/dildos, use of a riding crop, oral sex: m receiving (but not really), some impact play/cock slapping, use of gendered slurs (directed at mingi), dacryphilia, subspace, dominant reader, submissive mingi » wc 2.7k » link to masterlist

today you have mingi on his knees, skin pressing into the pale carpet in a way that looks more comfortable than it really is. it’s deceptively innocent, even without an ounce of clothing on his body and feet tucked under his ass like he’s trying to seem smaller than he actually is. it won’t work in his favor; such behavior never does when he’s already gone this far.

instead, it earns him a light smack over the top of his thigh with the riding crop in your hand, and the impact draws a whimper from his full lips seconds later. a slight bit of saliva trickles out the corner of his mouth, enough to catch on his chin and stop there before falling further. the visual is intoxicating in a lot of ways, things you don’t like to admit outside the bedroom out of fear of ruining the pretty, picture-perfect innocence you seem to bear there. some part of your brain does wonder what those people would think seeing you dominate mingi in this way when they always assume him to hold that position in your relationship.

on his knees, drooling and whimpering with a solid metal cage around his big useless cock, and you over him with a smile on your lips.

it’s intoxicating.

“you enjoy this, don’t you?” you inquire. the edge to your tone feigns true curiosity but your gaze says otherwise, something borderline sadistic to the way you look down at the man on his knees. “must be so hard having such a nice big cock only to have it locked up right now.”

the riding crop pushes under his chin. you raise his head to look more clearly at his face slowly, admiring the glisten on his brow and in his eyes. something twists in your brain.

you want to see him cry.

“i asked you a question, baby boy.”

mingi’s thighs twitch at that nickname, a blatant cue to how much he enjoys it, and his watery gaze flits up to look you in the eye.

“there’s my pretty baby, looking all good and needy for me,” you coo. there’s a faux innocence in your words, lacing some easy praise in to heighten the blow you’re about to deliver. “what a pathetic slut.”

if he could crumple to the floor, you don’t doubt that he would do so now, but he has enough sense to stay put despite how the words send a shudder through his spine. he tucks his hands further under his legs, pressing between where his calves and thighs squeeze together and make his skin splay like the perfect canvas for you to paint on. the red streaks across his pale skin, the sheen of sweat over them, and the way his muscles tremble from the effort of keeping still — he’s a masterpiece, one of your own creation, and you don’t plan on letting anyone else see him.

for now, though, you wish for those crystalline tears to fall, you want to see spit smeared over his neck and chest, and you want to hear him gag prettily for you.

“what do you want, baby?” you take a moment to squat down to his height, head tilting to the side as you look him in the eye. “want me to touch you?”

mingi offers his first weak nod of the night as his cheeks flush a pretty red and he ducks his chin to the side.

“good boy.” perhaps it’s a bit too cruel, the way you lower the riding crop further and slip the tip between the small gap in his cock cage. the leather digs into his dick, teasing his slit enough to make mingi writhe under your touch. he’s still good though — still stays put and doesn’t try bringing his hands out from where they’re losing feeling between his legs. it’s going to result in his first ruined orgasm, and you count the seconds in your head before he cries out and a weak trail of cum spills through the slit of metal encasing. “must be hard having to cum like that, baby. can’t even put your big dick to good use, huh?”

“n-no,” mingi whimpers as you pull the riding crop back and hold it to his face.

“clean it for me.”

his tongue slips out like he’s putting it on display. you give him a sweet smile that’s deceptively innocent again. the first slap of the leather on his tongue is a shock to him. it’s almost enough for him to lose his position and grab for his crotch, and you’re nearly tempted to take the cage off for him so he can cum properly. he has to earn that right though. you only give him two more sharp hits to the tongue before turning away and stepping over to the edge of the bed. mingi pants behind you, almost dog-like in how hard he’s breathing.

“need a break, princess? what’s your color?”

“green…. ‘m okay, ‘m okay, p-promise,” mingi huffs out in response, lifting his gaze to you as you look back at him over your shoulder.

“my pretty baby, you’re so good for me,” you singsong back through a tight-lipped grin. “made to be my perfect little toy… made for me, yeah?”

“y-yes.”

you exhale a breathy laugh despite his affirmation not being funny in the slightest.

“you aren’t being so chatty tonight, love, are you sure you want me that badly?”

“i do!” mingi almost stumbles over his words in the rush he makes to affirm them, and another laugh slips free, one that comes from your chest with more force. “i do, please, i want you.”

“please?” you echo, arching a brow at the collection of toys before you. you settle on one in particular and pick it up with delicate fingers and a smirk.

“please, please, i’ll beg, i’ve been good. i’m still in position! i’m being so good for you, y/n, i really am, right?”

“you are…” you turn back towards mingi, letting a genuine smile of adoration come over your lips. “you’re being my perfect little princess, baby. the perfect toy for me. you’re always so good, aren’t you?”

mingi nods like a man possessed, motions erratic in his rush to affirm your words. you press the head of the dildo in your hand further into your palm.

“do you wish this were you?” the stroke you give to the shaft is long and obnoxious, emphasizing the twist of your wrist and how you squeeze the base lightly. mingi goes dumb for a moment; his gaze flits over the silicone then up to your face then back down to your hand that repeats the rhythmic motions. “can’t even use your stupid cock to please me right now, but that’s okay, right? you can get off if i fuck myself with this in front of you, no?”

the whimper that leaves mingi is borderline pathetic.

“don’t worry, my love. i won’t do that to you. you’ve been so good for me tonight… there’s no need for punishment, okay?”

“promise?” he asks, lashes growing wetter by the second. your gut twists and turns, the desire to see those tears fall over the balls of his cheeks rising up only for you to squash it a second later.

“promise, baby boy.” you step closer to him again, and rather than kneeling down to his height, you merely stop before him and lower the flesh-toned dildo to his lips. “won’t you be a good cockslut and suck for me?”

it’s a lewd mimicry of an actual blowjob — the visual of him taking the dildo that’s settled in your palm right beside your hip almost makes it look real. his lips stretch around the girth, the size of it almost akin to how his own erection would look if not for the metal keeping him locked up right now. there’s a certain haziness to the way mingi blinks up at you, the motions slower than normal like he’s thinking too hard about it or approaching a different mindset that will leave him needy and clingy for hours to come. not that you mind — taking care of him afterward is almost as good as taking care of him during, and you’d rather die than be a bad dom for him.

you push the dildo to the back of his mouth, hitting his throat in one easy thrust, and the tears overflow. they stream over his skin with ease, and you see his shoulders begin to cave in a bit with each passing second. his hips jut in little staggered motions that betray his intentions, but you simply let him strive for a friction that will never really come. not the way he wants at least.

he’s drooling around the cock between his lips and wetting it more and more with each thrust. you can't resist the urge to take your free hand to his chin, catching a dribble of saliva and smearing down towards his chest. you cross the planes of his flat chest with a wet path in your wake before reaching one of his budded nipples. just brushing over it with the slightest amount of pressure has him groaning out a low moan. like music to your ears, he repeats the sound when you tweak his nipple a little harder.

“you can cum, baby boy. think your pathetic cock can squirt for me?” you pull the dildo from his mouth to let him speak, obviously waiting for an answer with the way you dangle the fake cock just out of his reach. his voice comes out gravelly and low when he manages to squeak out a response.

“good whores can.”

“is that what you are, my love?”

“please,” he whispers, an edge of desperation to his tone, and you can’t deny him what he wants.

“yes, my baby, you’re a good whore for me. all mine.” you nudge the dildo back to his waiting mouth, putting more pressure into your push this time around. mingi takes it almost greedily like it can’t get in his throat fast enough, and he all but leans into it seconds later. you squat down to his level, at last, keeping one arm up to thrust the silicone between his plump lips that have long since swollen up from the overuse. you don’t have your key on hand — it’s over on the bed along with your other supplies — but you won’t be needing it quite yet, reaching down to grip the little bit of his shaft that isn’t trapped within the metal cage.

mingi gags around the dildo once more, but this time you aren’t nearly as deep in his throat, so you withdraw the toy to let him choke out a few words.

“c-can you finger me? please?”

your mind goes blank for half a second, hand reaching up to sweep away some of the leftover tears on his cheeks before you recover and remember your place in the scene.

“mm, keep sucking.” you push the dildo down to the floor then go to pull mingi’s hands out from under his thighs. the freedom has him flexing his probably numb fingers as best he can, but he doesn’t waste any time in sitting up on his knees and bending in half to reach the fake cock once more. you get to your feet, eyes taking in the pretty expanse of his back and ass, the red marks on his hamstrings that indicate how much pressure he was putting on his hands. even as you retrieve the lube from the bed, mingi doesn’t budge and continues to follow your gentle orders without complaint.

you announce your arrival behind him with a sharp backhand slap to one side of his ass, delighting in the way he jolts and clenches around nothing. his noises are muffled by the dildo, but still music to your ears as always. his cock dangles uselessly between his legs, and the metal encasing jingles with his sporadic movements.

your first finger is cold when it slips into the heat of mingi’s ass, no effort put into trying to warm up the lube when you know how much mingi enjoys that first chill a little more every time. your fingers aren’t nearly as long as mingi’s so the effort that goes into searching for his sweet spot is far greater than it would be the other way around. he seems to content to wait, dick still dribbling strings of translucent cum like he never stopped cumming in the first place. you know by now he’s surely bordering the brink of overstimulation, the limit where it starts to become too much, but he keeps whining each time you threaten to pull your fingers out of him.

“one more, baby boy, then we’ll be done for the night and get you cleaned up,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him at this point because of how far gone he is. it’s endearing in a way, at least in your eyes it is, and it turns intoxicating once more with the first brush of your fingers over his prostate.

“hngh, o-oh… y/n, ah, i’ll cum early!” his mouth pops off the dildo to spew the words, and spit pools on the wood floor with his motions.

“the sooner you finish, the sooner we can get you in the bath, love.” you dig your fingers as deep as they can go, crooking them midway to repeat the same brush over his sweet spot. it garners you the reaction you were after — mingi cries out louder than he has so far in this session, legs going weak as he threatens to topple over. you grab for his hip with your free hand and try your best to steady his big body before he fully falls. all his cock can do at this point is give a few more weak spurts of the same translucent cum that pools on the floor between his legs. “good job, baby, look at you. you did so well for me.”

“y/n, i-i, fuck, i—”

“shh, baby, you’re okay, i’ve got you, okay?” you turn him to the side as gently as you can, trying to avoid any of the bodily fluids that are now spread over the wood, and help him lay flat against the floor on his back. you won’t make him stay there long, only enough for him to catch his breath and get some feeling back in his legs. you’ll get the key to his cage later too; you can’t risk leaving him right as he’s coming down from an orgasm even if it’s just a few feet away. so you drag yourself up his lanky body and settle over his waist with hands planted on his shoulders and a smile on your lips. “you with me still?”

“y-yeah,” he pants, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that there are wrinkles around his temples. you shift your hands up to brush over those spots, and the man under you relaxes into the touch.

it’s a slow process, bringing him down from the intensity of the orgasm and overstimulation, but it’s comfortable as well if you ignore the sweat sticking to your bodies.

“mm, okay, ‘m back, i’m back. fuckin’ drowsy as hell,” he murmurs some time later. the way his words slur is indication enough of his exhaustion, but you aren’t about to let him pass out on the floor like this.

“okay, big boy, up we go then. let’s take a bath and let me get everything cleaned up then you can pass out.” you move to climb off mingi and get to work, but he catches hold of your waist and tugs you back down to his face momentarily.

“love you, baby.”

you smile into his lips, pressing a chaste kiss there.

“i love you too.”

493 notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 3 years

Note

if you are interested, i would like to present my dear salem with hero hawks and his little horny crush on his innocent assistant bc man’s corruption kink go brrrrrr😇

okay look LOOK i have... such a thing for hawks getting a h*rd on for his sweet, far-too kind PA.

(NSFW)

word count: 2.5k

warnings: dubcon, coersion, (a little bit of) yandere hawks, reader wears lingerie, reader is sorta oblivious, sugar daddy hawks, scumbag hawks, power imbalance, hawks is a manipulative bastard but its hot so who cares <3

...

“Are you sure this is... appropriate, sir?”

No, no, definitely not, not at all. Taking his sweet, desperately-in-need-of-a-break PA out on a little shopping spree was definitely crossing a lot of professional lines, but how could he care? He was far more focused on the wobbly way ‘sir’ had dripped off your tongue.

It wasn’t sin, but he’d get you there, he was quite persuasive.

The little shopping trip (literally) landed you at a luxury mall across Fukuoka, many-floored and lavishing decorated with twinkling, bright bulbs and crystal on every fixture. The stores were expensive, too expensive for you to afford on your own but Keigo knew how hard you’d been working! All that extra paperwork (he’d been purposefully giving you because it kept you around the office later and more often) had been getting done beautifully, and you deserved a treat. Many of them.

Consider it an early bonus.

You already had quite a few bags dangling off your arms, the cords and ribbons digging into your arms (god, he wished he could make some marks of his own--). And Keigo had decided to treat you to one, final stop. He guided you to the store entrance with a hand on your lower back.

God help you, a lingerie store.

Nothing cheap, only custom-made and designer pieces. It was more of a boutique, some places private where no one would bother the two of you.

He watched your expression, the pull of your brows and the way your pupils dilated. It might’ve been from a bit of ill-placed stress, but he’s sure he can get your eyes just as inky other ways, if given the opportunity.

“This is remarkably appropriate, dove,” He hummed and ushered you inside the store entrance, flashing a grin to the starry-eyed salesclerk. His hand drifted downward, just over the upper curves of your ass, just to watch you squirm. “Consider it a reward! You’ve been doing so much good for me and the agency, you deserve a treat or two, don’t you think?”

You shifted the bags on your arms and dared to meet his gaze with your own, meek and wide, “I-I think this is more than ‘a treat or two’--”

“Then shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, thanking me for my generosity then?” Keigo smirked as your expression faltered. You were way too easy and god, he fucking loved it.

Before you had a chance to fret anymore, he assured you quietly that everything was alright. A bit of praise to ice the pinpricks he left behind. He shooed you into the fitting rooms, pointing a beaming smile at a clerk and getting to work.

He’d have you spoiled, whether you liked it or not.

...

You sat on the plush bench of the fitting room, hands in fist and lip tucked between your teeth. You chewed on it, swallowing around your dry throat. Hawks’ voice drifted back from the salesfloor, though you couldn’t tell what he was saying. You could pick up words like ‘sweet’ and ‘cute’ and you could only assume the words were about the bright-eyed, big-titted employee you saw when you walked in.

You squeeze the fabric of your skirt and tried to let some of the tension in your shoulders dissipate.

“Oh, wow, dove, the selection they have here is amazing!” Hawks whistled as he returned to the fitting room, alone, carrying an armful of padded, velvet hangers.

“I can imagine,” You wished you could have looked around a bit yourself, but Hawks had a much better eye for these things than you did. You were very fortunate to have him around.

He arranged them on a gold railing nearby, wings tucked to his back as to not crowd the small space of the dressing room.

It was truly just a single room, though it was large enough. Six-sided, each wall complete with a well-padded, velvet bench seat to idle on. The middle of the room had a little raised platform, leading to three, angled mirrors. They were massive and felt a bit too revealing as Hawks hummed to himself nearby.

The only thing separating you from the rest of the store was a heavy, velvet draping.

Hawks plopped onto the cushion next to you, letting out a deep sigh and leaning back. You watched him, gaze flickering from the garments on the rack and the exposed patch of his chest visible from the unpopped buttons of his shirt.

His feathers brushed up against your arm and you shuddered.

“Now, sweet thing,” He clicked his tongue, jerking his gaze to the hangers. “I picked out some pretty sweet pieces for you. Why don’t you try them on and let me know what you think, hm?”

You nodded, though your stomach felt like there was suddenly lead in it. From the looks of the lace and silks, those pieces weren't going to cover much of anything. You mentally sparred with yourself.

It’s not... that bad. It’s not like he’s going to see anything more than he would if you were wearing a swimsuit.

Besides, this a gift, right? You should at least show him what he’d paid for on an actual body.

He had you so well-trained--

You stood, moving to the rack on shaking legs and examining the pieces.

They’re all... a bit whorish. None of those soft babydolls and teddies that folks wore in those softcore pornos that you definitely never watched. The pieces Hawks picked for you aren’t the least bit modest. They’re all lace, mesh, and ribbons. Stockings and garters that looked like they might be a tich too snug. You grab the least garish-looking piece.

And Hawks was still in the room, body lax and slumped against the cushions.

His eyes lazily opened, a bushy brow-raising, “You good, dove?”

“... Aren’t you gonna step out?”

He chuckled and you knew you were fucked. Just not literally, not yet.

“Why the hell would I do that?” Hawks laughed and righted himself. His vibrant gold eyes bore into yours, though they looked more black than topaz by that point.

You swallowed.

“I would prefer if you d-did.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice oozed something that made your knees weak. “What then? I know you don’t like disappointing me.”

You didn’t, but this was a bit far. ‘A bit’.

“... s-sir, please,” You begged, albeit quietly.

This was crossing lines. As much as Hawks gave you special treatment at the agency, literally and figuratively taking you under his wing and tending to your needs as he saw them and has he saw fit, stripping and playing dress-up in expensive lingerie definitely was too far.

As much as part of you adored the attention, you tried to keep that quiet. Stuffed down and hidden. Hawks was your boss, and you had to keep yourself occupied with his busy schedule and mountains of paperwork, lest you allow yourself to dissolve into thinking his attentions were anything other than favoritism.

Oh my god, you really were that dense

“’Please’?” Hawks cocked his head to the side, the corners of his lips curling. “‘Please’ what, dovey? Tell me.”

You let out a shaking breath, “Hawks, this is remarkably inappropriate--”

“Maybe,” He cuts you off swiftly, a flap of his wings pushing him to his feet and directly in front of you. “You just need some help? That’s it?”

Your mouth went dry. He wasn’t wrong, not really.

“That’s all, huh?” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, his wings curling around the room, too-wide and fluffed for the small space. “Should’ve just said something. I imagine you don’t do this kind of thing often.”

“N-no, I don’t.”

Does anyone?

“That’s alright, I know you try your best and just need that extra push, hm?” Hawks sighed, deep in his chest.

With the scarlet swallowing your peripheral vision, you feel like you’re suffocating. Maybe in a good way. You nodded, pliant.

He always knows you. What you want, what you crave, what you need.

Nimble fingers untucked your blouse from your waist, and you yipped at the chill of his fingers. He was undeterred, loosening the garment and immediately going for the buttons.

One by one, they came undone and you wrap your arms tighter around your middle. Hawks ogled, openly and without a care. It made something in you writhe, but you still wanted more of it. His attention, overt affections that supposedly mean nothing-- you want it.

He slid the blouse from your shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. You watched as his feather shuddered, rippling as he let out a few harsh breaths. You knew how you must look, hot and flushed to the touch. Bare on your upper half, sans a cheap bra that had seen better.

“Are you sure--” You weren’t sure what you were going to ask, but Hawks didn’t let you say it besides.

“Yes, of course, obviously,’” He licked his goddamn lips. A taloned-finger caught the pilling strap of your bra, snapping it against your shoulder. “Besides, look at this! Can’t have you representing the agency, me, and my brand wearing shit like this.”

Something burned in your gut, some mix of shame and arousal that was threatening to spill from the wet corners of your eyes.

Hawks dropped to his knees, so fast you hardly could register it. His hands hooked in your skirt by the first two knuckles and tugged and he went down. The sound of splitting fabric cracked in the air, and your skirt fell to the floor in tatters.

And Hawks, the fucker, hovered just inches away from your covered cunt. The cheap cotton of your panties did nothing to shield you from the hot breath that he fanned over you.

“H-Hawks!” You cried out, attempting to push at his shoulders with sweaty palms. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Just taking a closer look,” He gave you no time to protest as those quick fingers of his pulled the elastic of your panties, tugging them down your thighs. He had the decency to tap your ankles, one at a time, so you could step out of the garment. “You don’t mind, do you?”

You let him.

Perhaps you should’ve protested a bit more. Maybe. But it wasn’t like this wasn’t your wildest fantasy. Your sweet, too-kind boss, spoiling you. You weren’t sure if you’d thought about Hawks that way at first, but he had gotten to you at some point. The impromptu lunches, the late nights together, the walks and flights home. There was even that one he’d managed to wrestle a guy getting too handsy at a club with (how had he known you’d even been there?)

Hawks unclipped your bra, throwing the thing to the side with a look akin to disgust. He snatched the hanger and garment from your hand and nodded toward the platform.

“Stand over there like a good girl for me, okay? Don’t take your eyes off yourself.”

You couldn’t disobey him, could you?

You’d seen what he did to people who crossed him, when it really mattered. He didn’t put his heart or energy into something unless he really, actually cared. And the handful of times you’d seen that go to shit had left memories of sharpened feathers and terror-filled eyes in their wake.

But you were good for him. His assistant who always made sure his meetings lined up with his patrols, and that everything was brief unless entirely necessary otherwise. You were the one who made sure he had caffeine nearby and a full belly, even on his most busy of days.

He’d never do anything other than be kind, right?

You didn’t want to find out otherwise.

He approached you from behind, the silk of the garment tucked over his arm. His eyes looked predatory, gleaming and inky.

He only stopped when his chest is flush to your back, hands finding their home just above your hips with a squeeze. You shuddered at the feeling, new and raw and you couldn’t tell if you hated or loved it.

“I want to see how this looks on you, god,” Hawks groaned, nails biting into your skin. “Hold still for me, dove.”

You did.

You didn’t dare move an inch as Hawks took his sweet time dressing you up. The garment is silken straps, the lace wrapping around the curves of your hips and chest, securely with expert bows that he pats into place after each one.

It was impossible to ignore the bulge pressing into your ass. Even as he pulled the pair of panties between your cheeks, stroking the lace and the fat with a wide palm, you were far more focused on the heat and hardness slowly grinding at the other cheek.

He tied you up expertly, and you watched in the mirrors, seeing each angle of it. The way his hands squeezed and pulled at your flesh along the way. The hungry glint in his eyes as he traced your figure. The way his wings seemed to shake and flutter in tandem with your short, quick breaths.

You were truly at his mercy.

“Look at that,” He whistled low, grabbing your jaw and pulling your gaze just where he’d like. “Tied up like a pretty present I told you this would be good, didn’t I?”

“Y-You did.”

Hawks sighed, draping himself over your shoulders and nuzzling into your neck. You could feel the part of his plush lips, the way they drag over your skin. You swore you a nip or two.

His gaze met yours in the mirror. One of his hands trailed low, very low, sliding over top of the lace panties and cupping your sex. His index fingers lazily traced your lips through the fabric, idle. His other went to grope your chest, more insistent as he palmed at you, pinching a nipple as you began to sputter.

A warbled moan cracked from your lips as Hawks fingers dipped below the seams of the pretty garment, rubbing at just the rights parts of you, tugging your body flush to his.

“W-Wait, Hawks!” You wrapped a hand around on his wrist, begging your breath to stay somewhat even. “What if someone hears? Or one of the employees comes back? What if--”

“Do you think I care?” Hawks groaned, grunting as he ground into your ass. The unmistakable sound of fabric tearing cut through the room (again) and the fabric of his pants hit the ground. And suddenly you could feel how hard and hot he was.

Something twisted in your gut and your legs rubbed together. Hawks caught your gaze, scarlet enveloping the room from the sides of your vision and the mirror in front of you.

Hawks shifted your face toward his, nosing along your cheek. The grip on your jaw was replaced by one on your throat; he was hardly exerting any pressure but the threat and meaning were clear.

Keigo has you right where he wants you. He always has, always will. You’re just a bit too... naive? No, maybe dumb... That’s a bit mean, isn’t it?”

“You need this just as I do,” He spoke low and rolling, touch burning like embers. “You know you do. I know you do. You trust me, don’t know?”

All you could do was nod before Keigo slotted his lips to yours, staking a claim that was only new to you. He nipped at your bottom lip, tugged until you were wincing into his mouth. He caught every sound, every little gesture of yours was his, just like you were. Keigo kicked himself for waiting for this so long, but he could be ginger, under the right circumstances. Ones that benefited him. He could only hope you were as good of a fuck as you were fun to toy with.

You’d be sin yet, Keigo resolved as he pulled away. He just had to coax you there first, and he wasn’t against more... direct methods.

Maybe you’d finally get it then.

#salem answers #tw dubcon #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #my hero academia #PLEASE mind the tags askdljfks #i've never posted anything like this on this blog so #enjoy💕#honeykeigo

322 notes · View notes

willwriteforhugs · 3 years

Text

i wish i’d never met you- choi jongho

boyfriend! jongho x reader - one shot!

word count: 1.8k

genre: angst, pain

synopsis: your idol boyfriend finds out that you’ve been getting hate for dating him, and you’ve been hiding it this whole time. this doesn’t sit well with him...

warnings: death threats, arguing and yelling, cursing

a/n: this hurt so much to write i’m sorry

so i feel i should put a sort of disclaimer- this fic involves the mc receiving some pretty serious threats and hate content, and i just want to say: this sort of behavior is absolutely not okay in real life, or even fiction. i wrote this as a way to express my anger towards fans who act in this way- sending hate and threats to people you don’t know is horrible and completely fucked up. i just don’t want anyone to misunderstand and think i’m condoning this behavior. it’s very destructive, and unfortunately very real.

on a lighter note, i do hope you all appreciate this fic. it was hard but incredibly entertaining to create. thank you for reading <33

- - -

your keys jingled as you struggled to fit your house key into the lock. stupid lock. you jiggled it harder, finally hearing the telltale click. your apartment complex had never gotten around to replacing it, though they said they would.

you sighed as you entered your home. it had been a long day, but you were looking forward to tonight. your boyfriend, jongho, finally had a night off. he'd been so busy lately... of course, you knew this was just how it was. dating an idol was a lot of work, and one of the downsides was the lack of one-on-one time. but jongho was supposed to join you at your small condo in only a few hours. so you kept your head up.

your relationship with ateez's beloved maknae had gone public recently. dispatch had caught you. you can still see the headline: "ateez's jongho spotted out with female office worker- to be or not to be?" jongho had been furious, apologizing profusely. you'd told him it was alright, though. after all, you weren't an idol. this couldn't possibly turn into much of a scandal. you will admit that you had been nervous about the public knowing- but it had been two weeks already, and not much had happened. (well, there was one exception, but you had convinced yourself it wasn't a big deal.)

you had picked up the mail on your way into the building, and you now set it on the counter, ready to filter through it.

you spent the next few minutes sorting the mail into piles. bills. ads. more bills.

then, a letter. your address was scrawled in pencil on the envelope, and there was no return address. you flipped it over, dread beginning to claw up your throat. you peeled the envelope open and pulled out the single sheet within. your hands trembled as you read what was typed:

"bitch. i told you to kill yourself. don't make me do it first. you can't just traipse around dating idols, you fucking whore. who do you think you are? you should be scared, knowing i have your address. kill yourself already. i shouldn't have to ask."

your breath came in shallow gasps. your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. this was the fourth letter you'd received. frantically, you shoved the letter back into it's sleeve, then sank to the ground.

the letters were the exception. you didn't know who was sending them. all you knew is that it was scaring you. you prayed it was a hoax. in fact, you'd been convinced that the first one was. but this was the fourth, and you were no longer thinking this was a joke.

suddenly, your cell phone rang, scaring you so hard you jumped. you stood up and left the room to go get your cell. and for a blissful few hours, the letter was forgotten.

- - -

you were in the bathroom reapplying makeup when you heard him come in.

“jongho-yah!” you called. “i’m back here!”

a moment later, your boyfriend rounded the corner, looking beautiful as ever. his dark hair was in a fluffy, wavy style today, and he was barefaced. you smiled as he came in, wrapping his arms around you from the back.

“y/n-ah.” he mumbled, his face buried in your hair.

you turned your head, hoping for a kiss. “hello.”

he responded by pressing his warm lips to yours. he ended the kiss quickly, pulling away to look you in the eyes. when you didn’t say anything, he did it again, this time lingering. he parted your lips with his own, and let his tongue brush the inside of your mouth.

this time you were the one who pulled away. “woah there, tiger.”

his face flushed. “i’m sorry, i just missed you.”

“i missed you too.”

he smiled and the two of you exited the bathroom, heading back out to the main room.

“are you hungry?” he asked, suggesting buying take-out.

you told him not yet. for a few minutes, the two of you made idle conversation, considering how you were going to spend the evening.

out of the blue, you were overcome with a sudden chill. you shivered, running your hands over your bare arms. “hold on, babe. let me grab a sweatshirt.”

you slipped into your bedroom, seeking out your favorite black hoodie. (stolen from jongho, of course.)

when you emerged from your room, you saw your boyfriend standing at the kitchen counter, mindlessly thumbing through your mail.

your mail.

the letter.

you gasped, rushing to where he was standing. your sudden movement startled him, and he stepped back. frantically, you snatched the envelope off of the surface of the counter.

jongho raised his eyebrows. “what was that?”

“nothing.” you answered too quickly, and his brow furrowed.

“baby, are you okay? where is the letter from?”

“it’s not important.” you snapped, reaching to shove it in the trash. before you could get it in, though, jongho had slipped the letter from your hand.

“jongho!” you yelped. “wait, please-”

but it was too late. he had gotten the letter out, and his eyes were already scanning the page.

a beat passed, the room filling with thick, insufferable silence.

then, finally, he spoke. his voice was low.

“what the fuck is this?”

you squeaked, reaching for the letter again. jongho spun around, grabbing your wrist midair.

“y/n-ah! what the hell is this?!” his voice had risen.

tears threatened to spill over your cheeks. “it’s nothing, nothing! it’s just a joke, i promise-”

he cut you off. “y/n-ah.” your boyfriend’s voice broke. “is this the first?”

your vision blurred.

what were you supposed to say? that it wasn’t? that the letter was only the most recent, but you’d never told him? how do you tell the man you love that you’d been lying to him?

“y/n.” you’d never heard jongho speak with so much emotion. “how. many.”

your voice cracked as you responded. “this is the fourth.”

jongho’s face splintered. “the fourth?” he whispered, his voice foggy. his eyes were unfocused. a beat passed, then; “why wouldn’t you tell me?”

your knees threatened to buckle. you didn’t want him to know for so many reasons. because you loved him. because he loved you. because you didn’t want him to worry. because you didn’t want to get him in trouble. because you didn’t-

“what the hell is wrong with you? why wouldn’t you tell me?”

in that moment, you swore you felt your heart crack.

the room was once again filled with a suffocating silence, strangling you as he turned his thoughts over.

finally, he spoke, the realization having hit him.

“you didn’t want me to worry. to blame myself.”

somehow, even though the sentences themselves seemed kind, your boyfriend’s tone practically dripped in venom. you looked back up at him, vision blurry, but he plowed on.

“y/n, that’s not how relationships work. why would you hide this? why would you put your health, your happiness-” he stuttered, having a hard time voicing his emotions. “your fucking safety! your life, goddammit! why would you rather risk that than worry me?!”

something in his voice began to anger you, and you snapped back at him, surprising the both of you.

“because, jongho! because i fucking KNEW-” you slam your finger into his chest. “i knew you’d blame yourself, just like you are right now!”

“i blame myself because it’s my fault!”

“how?!” your voice rose to meet his. “how the hell is this your fault?”

“because it’s me! i’m the issue here!” he seethed. “if you were dating any normal guy, this wouldn’t happen. “but no. i was the one who fell in love with you, and now you carry around a weight you never asked for.”

you inhaled sharply, responding before you could even fully absorb his words. “but i chose you, too! i love you, and i’m willing to carry that weight, i always have been!”

“but that’s not the point! the point is that in the end, this!-” he gestured angrily to the letter. “this is because of me. and i hate it. because you know damn well who those come from. they come from crazy fucking people who don’t want to see you with me.”

you sighed, indignant and angry. “i don’t see why it has to be your problem! that is my fucking name on the letter, not yours.”

“but you wouldn’t be getting shit like that in the first place if it weren’t for me!” a beat passed and suddenly his whole body seemed to deflate. “it’s my own fucking fault for loving you.”

you couldn’t possibly think of how to respond.

“you... you get so much shit for being with me, and you know it won’t stop. i’ve made your life so much harder than it has to be.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but your boyfriend plows on.

“if only i wasn’t part of the equation- this would be unthinkable then.”

you felt ravaged. like you were dangling on the edge of a cliff, barely holding on. once, jongho had been your support. your rock. now- now you felt the air beneath your feet, sending chills through you as your heart hung by a thread.

“god.” he put his face in his hands. “god, sometimes i just wish i’d never met you.”

the thread snapped. you let go of the cliff.

you fell.

you inhaled as the brutal words hit you. they entered like a smooth knife, only to be jerked and twisted in your gut. you took a step back, silent tears streaming down your face.

jongho instantly realized his mistake, his face paling. “y/n...” his voice was almost a whisper as he neared tears himself. “you know i didn’t mean it like that,” he took a hold of your wrist, and you jerked it back.

“no.” you managed. your voice was scratchy and hoarse. “no. you did.”

you couldn’t look him in the eyes. turning away, you stumbled towards your front door. without stopping to think- to think that it was already late, to think that you were leaving your own apartment- you shoved on your shoes and left. you didn’t even take your cell phone.

- - -

back in the kitchen, jongho’s knees buckled, and he sank to the ground. a moment passed. then he put his head in his hands, and for the first time in ages, he sobbed- letting the world swallow him and his feelings whole.

223 notes · View notes

obiwhat · 3 years

Note

Hey! I've been reading one of your fics and I kinda felt the need to request one! Your writing is so good! If it's levi/erwin is up to you, but that is the ship I'm usually going with 😍🙃

My rec is; Levi is acting out after his squad is killed (Petra, Eld, Gunter and Oulo/Auro? Ouro? I don't even know anymore-) in the way of how he would let out steam in the underground. He goes out drinking and instigates a fight, intentionally or subconsciously, and ends up getting overpowered by a group of men, probably because of his drunkenness and perhaps because of the injured ankle he sustained after the meeting with the female titan. His injuries after the fight are significant and eventually, he's found in an alleyway (or something), by Erwin who's been worried about his mental state (cause obviously, Levi has been trying to hide it, all though rather poorly), and takes care of him.

I hope this isn't too specific 😅 I take requests myself and appreciate people being as thorough as possible. If not; take whatever you like and run with ut 😄😄

AHH THANK YOU FOR SUCH A DETAILED ASK!! good stuff right here^^ big brain moves^^

Fix You:

(AO3)

(warning: language, violence, a bit of a emetophobia and drinking ofc)

His heart ached.

It spread through his chest into every limb of his body, to the point where the horrible throbbing from his ankle felt like a slight ache in comparison.

Every time Levi lost someone, it broke away a little piece of him. Even though he’d never let it see the surface, there were several cracks underneath. When he found his squad; bloody, with limbs dangling from trees and branches, it broke off another rather large piece.

These were people he had trained closely. Erwin had trusted him enough to assign him a special leadership role in the Scouts and a special operations squad to suit it. When he trained them, he had drilled it into their heads everyday not to die. He gave them every bit of his knowledge on how to survive in the shitty world they had to endure.

He wasn’t a leader. He never had been. Unfortunate people just tended to follow behind him. Levi never knew the right thing to say or how to express what he was thinking, but his squad had still learned quickly. They were smart and skillful and he was… proud of them. Truly.

And their blood still painted that forest floor.

Levi knocked back another shot, numbing the pain for a moment longer. A fleeting escape from the horrors that crept into his mind yet again that night. He was dangling off of his bar stool as he slouched forward even further with his shoulders barely holding his head up. He flagged down the waiter for another round.

It wasn’t exactly clear what had driven him to the rougher side of town, to drown himself in shitty booze. It had a lot to do with his hands, which he refused to look down at. Every time he did, he saw red. Dark crimson. The blood of his comrades. Paired with the echo of radiating pain from his ankle. A pain, he felt, was well deserved.

He wasn’t even supposed to be walking on it, as much as possible at least. Hanji had given him grief about going to an actual doctor for the pain and the swelling. At the moment, he couldn’t find the will to care. As long as he could shove it into his boot and stumble his way into a bar for the night, then he was fine by his standards.

He downed another shot of whiskey, barely feeling the burn in the back of his throat any longer. The room spun, he huffed out a broken laugh quietly under his breath. It’d been years since he’d drank himself to this pathetic point. Not since the underground. Or maybe not since Farlan and…

He threw back the next shot and took in a sharp breath as he stubbornly blocked the memory from surfacing. His eyelids shut tightly as he tried to remove the thoughts of his failures from his mind. All the people he’d failed to protect. Despite his overwhelming strength.

Humanity’s strongest soldier…

What a load of bullshit.

He flagged down the bartender once more and asked for the whole damn bottle, slurring his words to the point of near incomprehension. The bartender didn’t seem to mind. Money was money. Even if his patrons drank themselves into a ditch. That’s how it went in these parts of town. Money was the only language anyone spoke, because money was the only way anyone could make it through the day.

It reminded him of home.

He slammed down his money and swiped the bottle from the counter, the bar spun wildly as he stood on his feet again. Levi had nearly forgotten about his injury, the sudden shift of weight onto his ankle sent him stumbling a bit. He hissed in pain, but only responded with another pull of the whiskey, straight from the bottle.

As the chilled night breeze hit him, Levi felt a sudden wave of disgust. It was the smell of sewage and grime. These alleyways were radiating with it. Swaying a bit, Levi grabbed out blindly for purchase. His palm found a brick wall, covered in something sticky. He winced, pain shooting up his leg as the alleyway walls spun dizzyingly around him.

The pain was welcome. In fact, he’d decided he didn’t deserve the numbness that the whiskey brought. He should feel it all. He’d gotten his comrades killed. Again. He wanted to feel something. To hit something.

Levi’s chance was walking down the other side of the alleyway, feet dragging confidently through the sludge of the streets. A group of men walking together, talking irritatingly loud in contrast to the quiet night streets Levi had enjoyed before.

“Haha! He was dumber than he looked!” One hollered confidently.

“What’d you expect from a son of a whore?” A burly man spit as he laughed, his dull voice echoing through the alleyway. He was obviously somewhat of a leader to them.

His last word perked Levi’s attention. He gripped his whiskey bottle tightly in one hand, nearly busting it into pieces.

“That’s a choice word there.” Levi lazily brought up a shaky finger, along with the whiskey bottle, to point in the direction of the burly man. Or at least where he thought he was. His vision was dancing.

The leader laughed a grating chuckle and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What is, you drunk idiot? You got a problem with the word whore?”

“I gotta problem with your shit leaking face.”

Levi growled out his words with a half cocked smirk, looking much like a wild animal in the dark of the alleyway. Although his threatening appearance was subdued by the fact that he could barely balance on his feet, without the help of the wall nearby.

“Haha!” The man belly-laughed once more, drawing near, his companions followed closely behind him.

“You got some guts, short stuff. Got the chops to back that shit up?”

The leader rolled back his sleeves, his friends followed suit. They were all geared up to fight him. Levi laughed hollowly in the dark. A sick, empty, laugh influenced by the whiskey fueling his veins.

He swung hard at the burly man, a bit surprised to have connected with his jaw. Levi could barely see straight at this point. A hit was coming from his left, which he barely dodged sluggishly before grabbing the man’s arm with the hand that wasn’t still gripping his whiskey. He twisted it, breaking the man’s wrist.

Levi took a slow swig of the whiskey before he caught a glimpse of something shiny out of the corner of his eye, coming from his right. Someone had pulled a knife. Interesting.

It didn’t quite register properly until the next man lunged at him and he barely had the chance to grip his hand before the knife could plunge into his chest. This new face looked angry. Angrier that Levi had felt about the burly man’s comment. The cause of this chosen chaos. In fact, Levi wasn’t feeling much anger at all over this fight.

The knife drew closer and closer. Levi managed to smack it away, not a moment too soon. The sound of metal crossing the stone ground echoed over the heavy breathing of the group. Levi had placed a heavy weight on his ankle with his last move causing a bit of a wince to unconsciously form on his face. Before he could register what had happened, he felt an even more crippling shock ripple through his entire leg.

He gasped suddenly, vision darkening.

The whiskey bottle hit the ground, spilling the burgundy liquid all over the stone floor. Glass shards scattered all around.

The man had kicked him, hard, in his wounded leg. Right where he’d shoved his bruised, aching flesh into his boot. Levi’s legs gave out beneath him and his knees connected with the stone below with a loud thud. His palms hit glass in front of him as he could barely hold himself upright.

His head was spinning, swirling, and darkening his vision around the edges as he knew nothing but white hot pain for what felt like an eternity.

“I knew it! He’s got a bum leg!” The man who’d pulled the knife shouted gleefully to the remaining members of the crew.

He must’ve noticed Levi’s wince from before. The man sent another crack into Levi’s wounded leg, sending ripples of agony through his entire body. It sobered him to another level fairly quickly. The other men were getting to their feet again as Levi quivered on the ground in pain, gripping his palms into glass and whiskey.

Everything was dark around him as another anticipated strike came through, this one connected harshly with his ribs. There was a deafening crack of bone. There was nothing he could do but wait for the next impact. He couldn’t help but yell out in pain as the agony overwhelmed him. Levi nearly passed out as his head hit the cold stone, whiskey and grime covering one side of his face.

With the side of his face, not plastered to the ground, Levi could spot more legs swinging, connecting with his side, and more sounds of shouting. He couldn’t tell if the shouting was his own anymore. He couldn’t feel much of anything anymore, everything was fading out slow. He was fading.

There were six faces dancing around above him in his hazy vision. His head pounded as he tried desperately to get a grip on his consciousness.

Had there always been six of them? Or were they doubling from his drunken, wounded stupor? They all swirled into a confusing mess of faces. Ugly, contorted, swirling faces. He felt sick.

Another shock connected with his ribs. He heard another sickening crack over their laughs and hollers before his vision finally graced him with complete and utter darkness.

—

Another dead end and no sign of the captain.

At some point he was going to have to send out a missing report. Erwin was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to that, but after hours of scouring the near entirety of the city and finding nothing, he was beginning to accept the facts. Levi was missing.

Missing. Out of bed. Injured.

Erwin remembered when he first saw Levi’s leg after the expedition. He’d only caught a glimpse when Hanji was looking him over. It was horribly bruised and swollen, raw. A part of him blamed himself, he’d sent the captain to fight the female titan. Yet again, Levi had sacrificed a part of himself for humanity. His wounded leg was a sacrifice, but Erwin knew there were much heavier weights on him, paining him deeper than flesh would show.

This small section of town was not one he expected to find Levi in. It was full of filth and squalor. A familiar sight to that of the underground. Something he’d assumed Levi would never return to willingly.

A chill was in the air. Cool breeze passed on the outside of his hood as Erwin pulled it over his eyes. He turned into what he assumed was one of the last streets he hadn’t checked yet. There was a group of men who had just left an alleyway quickly, Erwin noticed a bit of blood on their clothes and faces, not exactly a shock in this part of town.

One man was gripping at his wrist and complaining loudly as they passed Erwin by.

“Piece of shit broke my wrist!” He cried out and kicked a stone on the ground irritatedly.

“Be glad it wasn’t your neck, I bet he would’ve been a lot more dangerous if his leg wasn’t busted. I think he was trained or something. Did you see the way…” Their conversation trailed off as they disappeared around a corner.

Erwin was no longer listening, he was more focused on a particular phrase in their conversation.

Busted leg? Erwin thought for a moment, fearing the worst in the back of his mind. It couldn’t be…

The commander broke into a quicker pace, sweat dripping nervously down the back of his neck as he followed the alleyway, where the men had come from. It was dark and smelled of filth, blanketed in whiskey. There was glass covering the ground as he walked further, he could hear it crunch underneath his boots with each step.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erwin caught a glimpse of black dress shoes. A body lay slumped up against the brick wall of the alley. A head of dark hair, shadowing a pale and bloody face.

Levi.

Erwin kneeled down quickly and placed a warm hand on his shoulder, attempting to rouse him gently. His body was shaking horribly, covered in his own blood and the scent of whiskey.

“Levi…? Please.” Erwin winced as his voice died in his throat. “Say something. Are you alright?”

There was no response. Erwin pushed his dark locks out of his eyes to get a better view of his face. The blood he’d spotted earlier was dripping from his lips which made him immediately check his torso for wounds. He couldn’t find any blood, but when he lifted his shirt carefully, he spotted it.

Erwin had looked emotionlessly at many wounds before, but this made him winced in sympathy. Seeing black and blue paint the side of Levi’s porcelain, perfect skin made him want to run and find those men from before. But no. Levi was the most important thing right now and he had injured himself even worse than before.

The thought over his previous injury crossed Erwin’s mind as he hesitantly lifted Levi’s pant leg. If the bruising on his torso was dark, his leg looked like the night sky. His bruises were black and dark purple, spiraling their way up to his knee. The flesh was swollen and warm to the touch when Erwin hovered his hand above it nervously.

How did this happen? Why was Levi here in the first place? He smelled heavily of alcohol, it was probably what was covering his clothes and turning his cheeks pink. Had he come here to get drunk? To start a fight in an alleyway?

It would be very uncharacteristic of him. But, of course, finding him here in the first place was very uncharacteristic. He wasn’t himself. He hadn’t been for some time now.

Without time to spare, Erwin pulled his cloak off of his shoulders and wrapped Levi’s broken, shivering form. He frowned as he watched the man continue to shake harshly despite the warmth of the cloth. He hadn’t even noticed Erwin’s presence, unusually unalert and dazed.

“It’ll be alright Levi. I’m here now.” His hands hovered over his chest. He’d have to carry him back. “I have to lift you. Please endure it for a moment, we’re not too far from my house.”

Erwin scooped him off of the filthy stone floor and into his warm hold as carefully as he could muster. Levi moaned in pain in his embrace, Erwin pulled him tighter against his chest as he brought them out of the dark alleyway and back into the light.

—

A bath was in order. Erwin knew Levi inside and out. He knew he wouldn’t be too keen on waking up smelling like alcohol and blood. He’d be better if he was cleaned up a bit and his wounds were wrapped. Erwin was determined to fix this. To fix him.

He laid Levi’s still, unconscious body carefully into his bathtub, kneeling beside him and washing off the dirt and the blood from his face with a cool rag. He was so delicate with him, like he was handling fragile glass.

Erwin surprised even himself with how carefully he guided the rag across Levi’s broken skin. He wasn’t used to being this careful and soft. War and death had all but stripped him of these qualities. But not with Levi. With Levi, he was different.

It had been a struggle carrying the captain back, with his wounds being so extensive. However, Erwin had made it to his house in record time without much unconscious complaint from the shivering form in his arms. He had been light. Far too light for Erwin’s liking.

He tried to ignore the way Levi’s collar bones stuck out slightly as he washed away soap and the whiskey smell with the soft scrub. Erwin couldn’t bear to glance at the curious patterns of bruises over Levi’s thin body or the way his chest rose and fell with a heavy struggle. He just continued to wash away the soap and water.

Erwin scooped a bit of water into his palms and washed it through Levi’s hair, watching as the last of the blood and whiskey found its way down the drain. As the water trickled through his dark hair, down the back of his neck, Levi stirred a bit but never opened his eyes.

“E-Erwin…” Levi breathed through his words, dazed and unaware of his own incoherent mumbles.

“I’m here, Levi.” Erwin gripped his slender hand tight and ran his other across the man’s creased forehead. “I’m right here. You’re alright.”

“No…” Levi mumbled, voice breaking as his eyes pinched together tighter. “Can’t leave me… Not you… too…”

“I won’t leave you Levi... I promise.”

Such promises were foolhardy in the work they did, but Erwin couldn’t stop himself from making it. He couldn’t stand the way his captain cried out in pain and heartbreak, it was worse than any gruesome scene he’d witnessed.

Levi leaned into his touch as Erwin cupped his palms around his cheeks and kissed his forehead gently. He didn’t know exactly what possessed him to do so, but it seemed to cause some relief from his captain so he allowed it.

Once he was clean, dry and warming up again, Erwin took him to his warm bed to rest finally. He dressed his wounds carefully, glad to see that Levi was finally resting somewhat peacefully. He hoped he could now sense his presence at least. To know he wasn’t alone tonight.

Erwin was concerned with the heat radiating from Levi’s ankle as he wrapped it. He was determined to get Levi to an actual doctor in the morning to look everything over. He would command him this time, to ensure he actually did so. For now, he placed a cool rag on the man’s forehead just in case a fever began, which was entirely likely.

He was in rough shape. Erwin had been lucky to find him when he did.

What if he hadn’t? Would he have caught his death in the chilled night? Or slept on the cold stone ground, injured and alone?

Erwin couldn’t understand Levi’s behavior. It wasn’t like him in the slightest. He was usually so level headed and composed. It made the commander ache to think that this sacrifice had made the man fall so low.

—

A dark ceiling was spiraling above him. One that seemed vaguely familiar. His head hurt too much to even try to deduce where the hell he was. There was a cool cloth placed on his brow, wrappings covered his ribs, palms, and leg, his shirt was missing.

All this spinning was aggravating.

He was going to be sick.

Levi crumbled off the side of the bed, hardly making it to the floor as his legs refused to hold him. His body was broken, defeated, exhausted beyond belief. A dizzying roll to his stomach made him clutch it in pain. There was a waste bin by the bed frame which he gratefully and regrettably clutched to his chest.

For a moment, nothing happened. He wished it would, feeling unbelievably nauseous and confused. But he could do nothing to help himself rather than sitting there, shakily clutching the bin.

“Levi…” A familiar whisper found him in the dark.

He jumped and lashed out with a blind strike that hit nothing but air. Erwin’s hand gripped his wrist softly and lowered it, slow. “It’s just me. You’re here with me, at my house.”

Levi’s chest collapsed in breath as he winced again and dry heaved into the bin. Nothing had come from it. He hadn’t eaten enough. He hadn’t eaten much at all… Since…

Blood… Everywhere…

He dry heaved again, gripping the bin with white knuckles. Erwin rubbed soft circles on his back. The familiar touch was welcome despite the circumstances.

“You haven’t been eating, have you?” He asked, quiet so as to not upset Levi further.

Levi didn’t respond. Not because he was unable, but because he simply did not want to. It was pointless. He couldn’t have stomached food. Not while looking at the blood on his hands as he chowed down. Not while his comrades were left bloody in those damn woods.

He slid the bin to the ground and brought his knees into his chest despite the pain it caused him. Levi rubbed cruel circles into his thigh as his wound echoed agony through his entire leg.

He heard Erwin inhale deeply.

“Levi… Why were you…? You can’t just do something like this. What if I hadn’t found you?”

“How did… you… find me?” Levi coughed slightly as his breath caught in his injured chest.

Something deep inside him almost wished Erwin hadn’t found him at all. He shut it away.

“I came to your room to check on you.” Erwin explained, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “You weren’t there, so I went looking at your regular spots.”

Levi faced his head towards his chest and buried his face deeper, to try to escape this. He wanted to escape again. It was all too much.

“I didn’t think you’d be in the bar district. It was the last place I tried looking.”

He’s been looking for me all night then.

What an idiot.

“Why were you there, Levi?” His voice turned soft, a tone that only Levi had probably ever heard from the man. Something sacred between them.

“Why do you think?” Levi’s tone was more venomous than he intended. If his head wasn’t pounding, he might’ve corrected himself.

“I was worried about you.” Erwin maintained that soft voice despite Levi’s defensive nature. He placed a hesitant hand on the injured man’s knee.

“With everything going on, I can’t lose you too. I need you.”

He needs me, huh?

Why?

Levi hadn’t realized he’d asked it aloud.

“Why?” Erwin repeated his words back to him, looking damaged by the question. “Because…”

The words caught in his throat, at a loss for the right phrasing.

“You’re important to me. To humanity.”

Humanity…

It all feels like a bad joke…

What part of humanity am I even helping if everyone around me gets killed?

“Why’d you even let me train a squad? I just got them all murdered…” Levi felt his chest hitch.

“Their blood… Erwin…”

He finally risked a glance at his shaking hands and clenched his fists so hard he thought his fingernails might draw blood from his flesh.

“It’s all over my hands.”

Erwin was silent. Without his drawing of breath nearby, Levi wouldn’t have known he was even still there with him. But he was, he knew Erwin would never leave him alone right now.

“No matter how many times I scrub them…” He swallowed a wave of nausea as he could see the red start to blanket his palms again. He felt insane. “I can't clean the blood off.”

Suddenly, large warm fingers wrapped around his slender hands, steadying them for him.

“I can't either.”

Erwin’s voice was hoarse in the dark. He rubbed a thumb across the back of Levi’s hand softly, despite the pain in his voice.

“I’m sorry.” His words soothed something deep inside Levi’s aching chest. “We’ll never be able to wipe this blood away.”

Levi released a captive breath, leaning forward into Erwin’s chest despite the burning in his ribs. Erwin could soothe it. He could soothe this pain. Even just by a fraction. Levi sunk into him with fatigue in his bones.

“It reminds us of their sacrifice. What they did for humanity. What we will continue to do for humanity, with their strength fueling our fight.”

Humanity… Humanity’s Strongest…

Never strong enough to save anyone important though…

No one really needs me… Especially not like this…

Broken…

“Stop. You’ll regret it.” His deep voice was stern now. A command from years ago. A call back to reality. “You were a good leader to them. They did their duty well. Perfectly.”

“Don’t—” Levi’s voice caught in his throat.

“You taught them well. They were able to live as long as they did only because of you. Because of what they learned from their time with you.” Erwin brushed a hand through his hair softly and held him closer. “You did well by them. They were proud to die under your last command, I can promise you that.”

Levi wanted to argue, to refuse this, but he couldn’t find the strength behind words just yet. He could only be held tightly by his commander and hear his voice next to his ear.

“I saw the way they looked up to you. Worshipped you in some cases. Loved you in others. They would not do this if you weren’t worthy of it.” He pressed further. “Just the idea of you makes our soldiers confident in a future of freedom. It’s not just your physical capabilities, Levi. It’s the strength within you as well. That is why you’re important.”

He meant it. He meant every damn word. Levi had never heard someone speak so passionately about another person. With such vigor and honesty. It made his heart clench painfully in his broken chest.

“You have to continue. For them.” He whispered in Levi’s ear now, soft and comforting. “For me, as well. I need you, most of all.”

Tears finally found their way onto Levi’s cheeks, eyes turning red in irritation. He cursed himself and crumbled in Erwin’s arms completely.

“God it hurts… It hurts all over.” He couldn’t tell if he was talking about the pain in his heart or the pain in his body. It didn’t really matter as Erwin caressed him softly and made it fade for just a moment.

Erwin didn’t numb him like the alcohol had. He allowed him to feel, to cry, to express. And he held him tightly through it all.

Until the morning sun rose, finding them fast asleep in each other's embrace on the wooden floor. Soft rays of sunlight crossed their cheeks in unison.

27 notes · View notes

horrorslashergirl · 4 years

Text

Chromeskull x Ghostface!Reader- “Playing with the bad boys“

CHAPTER 1: Looks can be deceiving

CHAPTER 2: One cut of information (You are here)

A smile was on your face as you exited work, finally, it was weekend, your free weekend and you couldn't wait to get home. You just parked into the driveway of your apartment complex, walking upstairs to the third floor and opened the door to your apartment, getting inside and letting your bag fall on the floor, too lazy to put it on its place. You stretched your arms above your head, your muscles sore from sitting down on a chair into an office 8 hours.

You really needed some workout; a smirk plastering on your face at the thought of it, your steps moving towards the closet where your killing gear was. Yes, tonight would be just perfect.

You had tracked down two girls that lived together, they were probably from the local college, the usual dumb bimbos who begged their daddy dearest for money, so they could buy more drugs or use the money for cheap botox. It was still earlier, so you made yourself some fast dinner, before going hunting.

Later 11:25 AM....

It was a suburban neighboorhood, the kind where nothing interesting happened, a good reason for why you choosed it for your next game. The two girls lived in a two story modern home, the other neighboors were either away because of the weekend, probably on vacation or a trip, alas, you liked when none was around. You weren't fond of witnesses, only when they find the dead bodies. That was always the fun part, imagining the people finding the dead bodies, all mutilated and guts falling out.

The two girls were, Angelina and Fionna, you remembered seeing them at the coffee shop, talking about the Ghostface murderers and how they could beat him, that they aren't scared of a weirdo in a costume. You raised an eyebrow at that statement.

Oh, really? Let's see when they feel it on their own skin.

You were hiding in the shadows, behind trees and bushes, a perfect view of the kitchen and the girls. That's a reason you loved modern homes, nowdays they used more wall glasses, giving no privacy, meaning anyone could see what they were doing if they so desired.

In one hand you were grasping the mobile phone, while the other one had the hunting knife, the grip on the handle of the blade getting tight, imagining how you could end their lifes; maybe pull their eyeballs out? Or hanging them from the tree with their intestines out?

Hey, a girl needs a hobby.

It was time; you dialed the number of Fionnas phone, waiting for her to answer, your eyes always on them.

Into the house...

Angelica and Fionna were ready for a movie marathon, preparing popcorn and getting the sodas out of the fridge.

"I can't believe she colored her hair red, she looks like the nose of a clown." Angelica said, looking over her manicured nails.

"Ughh....You tell me. She's like so overrated." Fionna said, rolling her eyes, then her phone ringed, the called been unknown.

"It's probably Tony, he sometime calls me with unknown number just so he can hear my voice." Fionna said with an arrogant smirk, answering the phone.

"Hello. Who's there?" she asked, putting the cans of soda on the kitchen counter.

"I don't know. Who's this?" the raspy manly voice spoke.

"Look Tony. If you wanna jerk off to my voice at least record it, will ya?"

"This is no Tony." the stranger on the other line answered, making Fionna furrow her eyebrows.

"I got to take more ice from the freezer in the garage and stop talking with that weirdo." Angelica said, a disgusted look on her face as she went out, leaving Fionna in the kitchen.

"Look. I am busy. I have to go." Fionna said, her voice wasn't so confident anymore, then she hung up. The nerve of that bitch. You will take care of Fionna later. Right now, Angelica was into the garage and the oportunity was too good.

With stealthy moves, you went over there, and you couldn't believe how easy this was. She had her back turned to you, earbuds in, listening to music. Gripping the knife tightly you stabbed her right between her shoulderblades, making her gasp and tremble, the blood pouring out as you took the knife from her flesh.

She turned around, her eyeballs big and full of fear. Another stab, right into her stomach, your hand dragging the blade up until it reached her chest, then you pulled out, blood dripping on the cement ground of the garage, her body falling on the cold ground, shaking a little as she gave her last breath.

You took your phone out and dialed Fionnas number. One down, one more to go.

Fionna was on the couch, the movie had started and she was waiting for Angelica, when her phone was ringing. She looked up and saw it was Angelica.

"What happened? Got your head stuck into the freezer?" she asked in a sassy tone.

"Something like that." the raspy voice spoke, making Fionna stand up fast, the bowl of popcorn falling on the floor.

"Who's this? What did you do to Angelica?" she asked, her breathing picking up as she went into the kitchen.

"So many questions at the time. The important question is...Will you make it to the sequel?" the voice taunted, Fionna whimpered as she slumped down against the kitchen counter.

"Hey, hey! Stop whining like a little bitch. With that attitude you won't make it past half the movie."

"T-This isn't funny." she said in a shaky voice, the deep voice chuckling.

"Of course is not. It's a horror movie, altough I find myself laughing at guts spilling."

"W-What do you want?"

"To see what your insides look like. I bet they're way prettier than you caked down face." the raspy voice hissed.

"I-I know you're here! Y-You killed Angie!" Fionna screamed, more tears running down her face.

"Looks like you're not all silicone and paint. Maybe you got some brains floating inside that skull of yours."

"Where are you?"

"Above you." the answer made Fionnas eyes widen as she looked up.

You were dressed in all the Ghostface costume, right on the kitchen counter, then your gloved hand grasped Fionna by her hair, throwing her across the floor and before she knew it, she was stabbed three times into her back. Still, she crawled on the floor, trying to get away.

"You got some fight into you." you said, the voice modulator inside the mask, making you sound like a male.

You were ready to go over to her and finish her up, but a blur of black and silver knocked you down, making you stumbled on the floor. Your eyes from behind the mask looked up from polished black shoes to a pair of long legs clad in black slacks to build form in a black coat and finally settled on a silver skull mask and a bald scalp.

"You got to be fucking kidding me." you said, getting up, knife in hand.

In all your life as a killer you meet all kinds of possibilities of getting screwed over. You almost got shot by the boyfriend of one of your victims, another victim who had a black belt in martial arts. You dealt with them, but nothing could prepare you for coming mask to mask with the infamous Chromeskull. Still, you weren't going to back out.

"Screw over, GhostRider! This is my movie." you snarled, the camera on his broad shoulder filming your every action.

You lunged at him, knife in hand, only for him to pick your body up and throw you against the kitchen cabinets, making you fall on the hard tiles, a groan leaving your lips. You saw how he went over to the crawling girl, the knife he held much larger than yours and you saw how he pretty much decapitated her, fisting her hair and dangling her head, mocking you.

Quickly, you got up onto your feet and you saw how he lunged at you, swinging his knife at your form with expertise moves. You managed to dodge his hits, until he slashed across your chest. It wasn't a deep wound, but it stung like a bitch.

You knew you were powerless and you weren't ready to lose or be caught, especially by a killer, so you did the only thing you could, you run, straight out the glass walls, your body hitting the porch, but getting up and sprinted into the shadows.

Jesse huffed in annoyance. The small killer managed to get away, but unlike Ghostface, Chromeskull has much up his sleeve. This was just a first meeting and he managed to cut Ghostface. It was a 1-0 in Jesse's point of view.

Back at your place...

You groaned as you started to patch yourself up, the dezinfectant making you hiss at the paint, it surely would leave an ugly scar. This was bad, very bad in your opinion; you never would have guessed that you would challenge Chromeskull, at last he didn't knew your identity.

The thought of crossing him again settled an unpleasant feeling into your gut, knowing damn well that he had more skills than you, way more advanced technology and he was way smarter than you. You felt pretty much humiliated, but you were glad he didn't cut you somewhere else, more visible. You didn't particulary were up to explaining to work what happened.

After finishing up to stitching your wound, you poured yourself a glass of wine, feeling so stressed and tiered, you almost gulped down the whole wine. You had to be more carefull, because if the universe arranged the things so you would meet up with Chromeskull again, you didn't knew if you would make it out alive.

Your mind assured you that there was nothing to be afraid. Everyone thought Ghostface was a male and nothing would pull on the pieces together that there is a small chance you are Ghostface.

Your idenity was safe.

Somewhere else in Jacksonville...

The huge black desk was thrown across the room, the strength behind the action conducted by pure anger. Jesse was huffing harshly, single brown eye filled with rage that the organization hadn't gattered any other information about Ghostface.

Spann and Preston were looking at their boss, used to his brutal anger. Angry Jesse wasn't pretty, but they knew better than to try to calm him down, unless they wanted to fall victims to his blinded carnage.

The meeting with Ghostface hasn't got the way he exactly wanted, the single wound hadn't done justice to that rookie killer and to think Jesse almost had his hands wrapped around that neck. He wished he could have snapped his neck, that would have been a pretty scene for his collection of tapes.

A knock was heard on the door of the office, one of the medics from the organization entered, large frammed glasses perked on his nose as he cleared his throat.

"The results of the blood from Mr. Cromeans knife have arrived." he simple said, handing the file to Spann, then leaving without another word. Spann looked over the files, her eyes widening a little, but she quickly pulled on the emotionless facade.

"Sir, I think you wanna see this." Spann said, Jesse was looking out the window, his hands in tight fists, then he turned to look at Spann, taking the files from her hands and dismissing both her and Preston, who just huffed in annoyance, but didn't said anything.

The last thing Preston needed was to end up with a black eye from Jesse, so he followed after Spann, closing the door.

Jesse pulled up his armchair that he threw across the office five minutes ago and slumped down on the comfy leather, taking out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one, taking a drag. He was stressed, and anyone who knew Jesse on a more personal level could tell by his posture.

His gaze moved to the file in hand and read over the results; the blood type, the antibodies in plasma, the antigens in red blood cells and finally the gender.

His scarred lips parted as he read over the gender one more time, making sure he wasn't hallucinating.

Female.

Quickly, all the tension flew out of Jesse and a smirk that could make anyone shake in fear formed on his disfigured face, a silent chuckle rumbling deep within his chest.

Oh, this changed a lot of things.

So, the infamous Ghostface who tauned his victims on the phone with menancing and horror trivia question was actually a SHE?

Oh, Ghostie, when I will get my hands on you...

To be continued...

#Chromeskull: Laid to rest 2 #Laid to rest 2009 #chromeskull x reader #Chromeskull #Jesse Cromeans #jesse cromeans x reader #chromeskull x ghostface #ghostface #ghostface!reader #horror movies #slasher #slasher x slasher

122 notes · View notes

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

Best Friend Pact- Part 1: Best Friends

Calum attempts to drink the sadness away one night at a party, but his friend, Neveah, doesn’t let him completely. And in their stalled journey off sobriety, they make a secret pact. Black!OC.

CW: Over the course of this series, death and death related trauma is mentioned. Mentions of pregnancy and birth.

Enjoy my masterlist

Support me on Kofi

________________________

Calum is no stranger to the crowded house party. He's no stranger to a kitchen counter lined with liquor bottles or the red solo cups stacked on one side of the counter. He's no stranger to rattle of speakers thumping out tunes. He's no stranger to the random assortment of chips, finger sandwiches, and sweets laid out too. He's no stranger to the bodies pressed into each other as they dance. He's no stranger to the people spread out on the couch and into the backyard, no stranger to the people settled onto stairs.

Calum pours himself a drink. He'd normally go just for a beer. The week's been long though. Working in the studio has drained him. The final products all sound good. They're all worth it. He feels, however, like he's poured every ounce of himself into these songs and left him without a drop of anything left in his soul. The disaster of vodka and mixer is not going to help him. It'll shut down his brain and keep him from thinking about how lonely he feels.

He's used to being alone. He's used to sleeping with a woman here and there. Lately, his chest has been aching. He wants to come home to a full house. Someone to tell about his day. Someone to cook for even if it's just a frozen pizza. He's always been a bit of a romantic. Romance has never been favorable to him. It's always cut him down with the same hand it helped him up. He knows it's not smart to give up, but he has. There's no romantic love for him out there.

"It's not a beer in his hands," Nevaeh muses, yelling over the music. The pair of been friends for what feels like forever. She takes the cup and sniffs it. "Oof, you could kill a horse with that."

"Tell the horse to get off my chest and I won't have to kill it," he mutters back, downing a fourth of the cup.

She takes his hand, tugging him off the counter. Calum won't talk. It's why he's opted for the alcohol. She won't force him. She won't even force him to dance. He might do it-- that's always a shot in the dark. No, she's just getting him in the crowd, away from his solace. They stand off the side of the dancing crowd. "Besides the horse on your chest, how's life?"

He shrugs, hiding in the alcohol in his cup, in the burning of his chest. It's strong but he's going to finish it. That's for damn sure. "Life is long," he muses.

She sighs and nods to the dance floor. "Maybe dance life away. If it's long, make it enjoyable."

Calum gives another shrug. He finishes the cup and steps closer to the sea of bodies. He's gotta do something besides drink and mope. One song turns into two. Two turns into three. But then the buzz of the first drink isn't strong enough anymore. He knows the smart thing to do is wait, give it a couple more minutes. He's just impatient right now. He just needs to feel nothing but the floating in his veins. "Need a refill?" he asks, nodding towards her cup. She shakes her head. "Okay, I do. I'll be right back."

She watches him, all the curls on the top of his head, and shoulders filling out his button up, sliding through the crowd back towards the kitchen. Calum grabs a beer this time, cracks the can up and downs about half of it in one go. He takes a breath before going in after the rest of it. He only gets about three-fourths of the can down before someone is pulling at him. He knows it's her. He can tell by the way she squeezes at his hand. He lets himself be dragged by her smaller frame. "Couldn't even let me get one more beer?" he smirks, settling onto the back porch with her.

"Spill your guts and I'll personally get you that second beer."

"I don't have any guts left to spill," he huffs. "That's the issue. I give everything away. Every goddamn thing and for what? What do I have to show for it? And romantic love is a fucking lie. A scam," he spits.

"Maybe that's because we're all believing in lies," she counters, the slight chill of the night shocking her. "Maybe love isn't an anvil that's dropped on your head and maybe it's not sunshine and rainbows. Maybe it's work, just like everything else in life."

"You might as well just say you don't believe either," he laughs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He makes sure to avoid the long black coils. Her skin, normally a medium brown is now helping her fade into the night. "Join the club."

She pushes his side a little, rocking with him when he falls to the right a little. "Fucking sue me for thinking love exist, somewhere out there. Just not for me because I'm bad at it."

"You're not bad at it. You're just too good for anyone."

"That's reassuring," she huffs. "Besides love not existing, is there anything else plaguing you?"

Calum goes quiet, staring up into the black night. Neveah's always been easy to talk to. Calum hates being a downer. He's already sat around and moped. Can he go back to drowning out the sorrow? He sips at his beer this time. "Second beer still on the table?"

"It's got your fucking name on it."

He sighs. She leans into him, a small gesture that she is right there for him, ready for whatever he has to say. "I'm so lonely. I'm not alone. I have people. But I don't have that one person you know? I told myself all I needed was music, my friends and my dog. But maybe that's not true. I want a family. I want kids, ya know. I just don't think I'm capable of it sometimes. Walls too high, hurt too many times and all that jazz."

"You're capable. You've just gotta trust again. It won't be easy."

"No one's got the patience for me, not that I fault them."

"That's what you think. But someone does. You're very sweet and caring."

"I'm polite," he counters, downing the rest of his can. "I was raised to be polite. It shouldn't be a shock."

"No, besides the random stranger," she huffs. "Besides the letting animals cross the road and besides helping the elderly person in the grocery store, besides that you care deeply for the people you put in your life. Whoever cracks that wall of yours is gonna have a great man on their hands. You just have to be willing to put in the work to change. You've gotta meet them halfway."

She's right; he doesn't want to admit that. Every time he meets them halfway he gets burned. How much longer can he be expected to stick his neck on in the fire? He squeezes the can, forgetting it's empty. His jaw flexes, she notes. "I'll go get you that second beer."

"It's not you. Just a long week," he says softly, not quite facing her. He can see her fishnets tucked into ankle-high boots and the end of her skirt in his peripheral vision. She stares down at him, half her body tucked into the warmth of the house, half exposed to the biting chill of the night.

"I know," she answers softly. Then with a wistful smile, Neveah reclines into the door molding. "Maybe you should create a pact with someone. Say by 27 if you and someone else aren't in a relationship, just have a kid together. It'd be like the romcoms."

Calum laughs, staring out into the backyard. "Could I ask you?"

"Mr. I-Don't-Believe-in-Love and then me, Ms. Who-Knows-If-Love-Exists-For-Me having a kid together. That's quite the sight, but sure, why not? What the fuck would I have to lose?" she laughs, sliding into the house. "Cracking a cold one with your girl comin' up," she hums, closing the door behind her.

When she returns, two cans tucked under her arm, she hands one to Calum and then opens one for herself. "Bet money your kid is going to look so much like you, it's going to be like you spit them out. Like you and Momma Joy. She will never be able to deny you," she says to Calum's hunched figure.

He exhales another soft laugh. "Love her. Miss her too."

"When's the last time you talked?"

"Couple weeks."

"Whenever you do talk to her, tell her I said hi."

"I will," he whispers between gulps. "But my kid will be cute. Gets it from his dad."

She softly releases her laughter. Her sip is the only sound against the silent night. Her hands tremble a little from the chill. She hates seeing him like this, hunched over, a can in his hands dangling between his legs, head tucked to his chest. She knows he'll be reaching into his left pocket for the pack and lighter. And sure enough, the hand comes up to his jacket. But instead of sliding into the jacket, they grab the front. His arms wind back and out of the sleeves. He stands, pulling his right arm free finally and hands it over to her.

"I can hear your teeth chattering," he grins. She slips into the sleeves and pats the pockets.

Her hand slip inside and grab the small cardboard pack. Pulling the box out, she taps it twice, pulling a cigarette out and dangling it between her teeth. Neveah doesn't smoke. "Got a light?"

Calum shakes his head, a grin lighting up his face. Only her. Only she would do something like this. He reaches into the right pocket and pulls out the lighter, giving it a light shake between his fingers. "Looks like you had one all along."

"Oh, would you look at that," she mumbles around the butt of the cigarette. Calum pulls on it, removing it from her lips and wraps his around the same spot hers once were.

He stands to her left, away from the door, leaning against the railing. He covers the end of the cigarette, watching the paper burn as the flames lick it. "You're killing yourself, you know," she mutters, watching the nicotine and paper burn, curling up and falling into ashes at their feet.

"I'm killing the horse," he retorts. "Remember, he's the one sitting on my chest."

"Well, just don't kill yourself in the process."

"No plans to, but I can't make any promises."

It's album, tour, album, tour. But finally, finally, there's a break. It's only a year at first. Then they realize, again, like most major shifts, more time is required. One year turns into almost two. Making an album in L.A. turns into taking some time off at home in Sydney. His mother smiles as he slides the plate over to her. "Cooking for me yet again?" she jokes.

"Gotta treat you right," he grins, then turns back to the stove. Joy watches her boy. He seems alright, but she knows he can hold too much onto his soul before it cracks.

"How about treating yourself right?" she probes with a hum. He's getting older, nearing 29, almost thirty, but makes no mention of a partner. She knows the pain, the betrayal. She just prays he doesn't stop him, doesn't hold him back.

"I'm alright, Mum."

She nods, humming again. "Just alright?"

"I'm okay. I'm good. I'm–alive, at the very least."

"Alive is good," she answers, grabbing a forkful of the salad in her bowl. "Alive is a start."

Calum's been thinking a long time about how to tell them. He stares at the pristine backsplash of his childhood home, trying to think of the right words. He knows the backsplash all too well. She finally got most of the grease stains out, he notes. He remembers when he was barely tall enough to see into the oven, the moment when he could see the top of the stove. He remembers running after Mali, hearing her laughter when he finally manages to catch up with her. He wants that. He wants something other than the sound of Duke's paw on hardwood floors.

"I want a kid," he says, turning around, facing his mother and father. Joy's grip on the fork slackens. His father clears his throat.

"What was that?' David asks, in his thick accent. Calum remembers how hearing that sometimes as a kid would scare him. It's not a disciplining tone to his voice now; it's shock, confusion, the lilt of 'did I hear that right?' laced in his voice.

"I said I want a kid."

"Like adopt a kid?" Joy tries. That's going to be hard for him. He'd be a single father, constantly traveling, long hours away from home at the studio.

Calum shakes his head. "No, like try with someone."

"Who?" both his parents ask. He's never mentioned anyone to them. "With a donor?"

Calum shrugs. "Of sorts. It may not work out. It's just a thought. Just one option. If it doesn't work, then I try the 'old fashion' way and whatever avenues I can go down. But I-It's just-"

"You need to try. Need something or someone else," Joy finishes, her grip tightening back again around the utensil. "I understand."

David looks at her, eyes trying to read what exchange is happening between mother and son. They speak in a language he sometimes does not understand, not Māori, he's used to that. It's silent. It's something in their gut shared between them in nods and glances. He's never been able to decipher it. He may never be meant to understand it.

When Calum returns to L.A. after picking up Duke, he makes a pit stop. It's about noon, he knows where Neveah will be. He strides into the coffee shop. And sure enough there she is, standing about four from the counter, hair tucked up into a pineapple, the curls gelled a little in the back. He waits off to the side until she's next. He slides in next to her, sliding a ten across the counter to the man.

"Add a venti black iced coffee to that receipt too. Extra strong."

The boy nods. "Not a problem." He turns around, grabbing cups and wrapping their orders around them, scribbling her name on both cups.

"Back in town, huh?" she laughs, smiling up at him.

"It would appear so," Cal smiles. "Mum says hi and she hopes you're taking care of yourself."

Waving a hand over herself, she grins. "I think I'm holding up just well." When her name is called, Calum grabs both cups and she takes Duke's leash. They settle outside. Duke climbing into Calum's lap, sniffing at the straw.

Calum spins the cup a little, barely a sip into the drink. How does he bring up that pact? It was years ago. They weren't necessarily drunk but they definitely weren't on the path to sobriety. "Can I ask you something?" he starts, finally.

"I knew something was on your mind."

"Do you remember six years ago?" He takes a breathe, playing at the lid. Is she even going to remember? He keeps talking. "It was at one of Ashton's parties, we were making the fourth album. I told you I wanted kids. But I was on that whole love sucks kick and you joked about the romcoms that have that pact thing where neither one of them–"

"I remember," she interrupts softly. "I told said that you could ask me. Because we would make quite the pair." Her laughter falls out in tufts, soft and breathy, exhaling from her nose mostly. "What about it?"

Calum blinks. There's no beating around the bush, no softening this question. He flicks his gaze to her, she's looking at him patiently, lips wrapped around her black straw. "Would you consider having a kid with me?"

She blinks, jolting just a little. "Oh, oh, fuck. Seriously?"

Calum nods, swallowing the thickness forming in his throat. She's going to say no, he can feel it. She's taking too long to answer. He blabbers on, "If you don't want to, I totally understand. A baby's a huge responsibility, but I–I'm at a point where the band's finally slowing down and I know I want a family. No, it's not the traditional route. Maybe it's the route for me, ya know. If you're not comfortable, I'll figure something else out."

Her fingers wrap around his. Calum finally looks back to her, after staring down at the cup and his dog. "You'd still need me then, idiot. You'd call me late at night, and lord knows, I would move in to be there for your baby. Even if you went a different way, that baby needs a motherly figure."

"So?" he asks, pausing, unsure of what she's implying. Certain she wouldn't go for this. It's crazy, right? Insane. Asinine. Here he is, asking one of his best friends to have his baby. Certainly, she'd turn the suggestion down. He knows she'll always be there, but for this? Offering more than just her body, her time, her life for him, for his desire to have something else to love.

"I'll do it."

"You'll what? Are you sure?"

"I'll have your baby, Calum." Her grin is soft. "I'm clearly not getting any younger. My love life is down the fucking drain. You'd make a great father. And this means I get to sucker you into being into my life for at least another 18 plus years," she smiles.

Calum finds his glee bubbling in his chest. He tightens his hold around her fingers. "Something tells me even without you agreeing to this, you'd be in my life for a really long time. But thank you. So much."

"Well," she laughs, "let's make this day count because after this bye bye coffee and deli meats."

Hearing her say that makes it twice as real. Calum exhales hard, bringing the straw to his lips. They sit hand in hand for a moment or two longer before she pulls her hand away. Sure, it's crazy to agree to have your best friend's baby, but it's not like everything in her life has been perfectly sane or easy. It's not like she hasn't been thinking about a kid. Though, in addition to her own desires, she had witnessed what the loneliness does to him, sees how sometimes he becomes a shell of his former self. A kid won't fix everything wrong in his life, but he's talked about having a kid lot lately. Always points to a seat, or stroller, and gushes at how cute the baby inside is. She has to ask. Just to make sure. "Cal, you know a kid isn't going to miraculously change your life, make it all better, right?"

"I'm not looking for a kid to fix everything. I know I can still be reserved. I know a kid won't make me an open book. I know I'm going to be traveling eventually. I know my life isn't ideal. But I want a family. I want the chance to give something back. I need this for me. I've already gotten serious about quitting smoking. I know it's not a lot, but I'm trying. The guest room would be the perfect bedroom for a baby. I'm thinking yellow, maybe a soft orange. That way it's not too girlie or too boyish. I have some money set aside too to help with doctors appointments. Getting pregnant is the hardest part, or so I've read. Miscarriages are a lot more common than I ever realized. There's a great OB/GYN facility about ten minutes from my house. I went in before leaving for home. They gave me some pamphlets to read."

"Someone's done their homework. So, tell me, what's next?"

"Well, I guess step one is to make sure we're both good to go. We go get some tests and see if we get the green light from there." Calum scratches at Duke's head, watching her nod and stare out over the foot traffic. "And then," the thought catches in his throat. Do they have sex? Do they go to a doctor's office?

Her laughter is loud and sudden. "Is the Calum Hood bashful about sex?"

"Well, ya know, it's a way. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable with it. There are other ways I'm sure."

With a shrug to her shoulders, she reclines into her seat. "I know a fertility clinic, was a secretary there for a couple of months. Let's start there, make sure none of us are experiencing any issues. Though," she shrugs again, lips curling into a grin, "I'm not opposed to a more natural approach."

The heat rises quickly to his cheeks, but he leans forward, careful of Duke's body pressed close to him. "What are you saying, huh? Fantasized about me?"

The air fills with her bark of a laugh. "Once, maybe twice. After you bulked up, I'll admit to a scan here and there. You weren't the lean kid I had met in that Starbucks."

Calum rests against the cool metal of his seat. It's been a long ass time. He's nearly her for nearly a decade. It somehow feels so much shorter than that, but somehow longer too. "It's really been a decade, hasn't it?"

"Over a decade actually. I visited London about twelve years ago." She was there for a summer program before going to university and hadn't even noticed Calum. Until they collided. Thankfully, the whipped cream to her drink was the only casualty, though her jacket and his suffered wounds. The whipped cream was easy to remove and didn't stain. But there he was, voice still a little high, but somehow still low and hushed, wristband peeking out beneath his sleeves, big brown eyes terrified. He apologized profusely, the accent sitting on her brain and making her more curious as to why he sounded so Australian. She thought he was cute but never in her league.

But he had surprised her. He asked if she was free that weekend to hang out and make up another way for getting whipped cream on her jacket. They hung out at the mall, mostly near the food court, talking. He said he was in a band, was actually working on some new music. She was talked about school; Calum admitted school wasn't his thing. Though, she consistently told him he was incredibly intelligent and school wasn't for everyone. They hung out occasionally since he was becoming busier in the studio and talked mostly through messenger. The summer ended, she went back to the states. That hasn't stopped their friendship. He moved to LA for music; she was in Arizona for school. He made a trip to see her, the first time he had seen her in person in years. It was like nothing happened like they hadn't spent years of their friendship behind computer screens.

About a year after she finished graduate school, she made the move to LA, or more like back home. Her mother was having some health issues. Her dad needed some extra hands at home. Her younger brother was still at school; so she went back home. Things with her mom improved. Neveah moved into her own place with a roommate, worked some part-time gigs until she found herself now a program coordinator at the small museum in town. Their friendship had always been easy, never awkward, or sexually charged. But it didn't mean they didn't talk about it. Calum sometimes found it easier to talk to her than any of the boys, including Ashton.

Calum's not afraid to admit that over the course of their friendship, he had considered making a move on her, once at the start. But he could never truly bring himself to do it. Her friendship was much more valuable than whatever lonely horny vortex he might've fallen into. But now, somehow, the smirk on her lips felt right. It's clearly flirty, but it didn't feel like it was overstepping. "Twelve long years, I'm not gonna lie. I thought early on, especially after the band got big, you'd try something with me," she muses.

"I wanted to but never did. I valued you more as a friend."

"Such a gentleman."

"Did you ever wish I had?"

Her lips screw up and to the right. "Not really. Would've probably made things awkward."

"But not now? When I'm asking you to have my kid?"

"No, I'm near 30. I want a kid too, but everyone in this plastic town doesn't seem viable. Using a random donor scares me. I'm not aging in reverse. I know you. It's not ideal. This is doing things like all out of order. But I want to help my best friend out. When the opportunity presents itself, you take it. Even if it seems crazy."

Calum raises his cup of coffee; she mimics the action. "To crazy opportunities when they present themselves."

"To crazy opportunities when they present themselves," she echoes and gently taps her cup against his.

Calum's sure he's going to drown in pamphlets. There's almost too much to know, makes him feel like he's in school again. He knows he must know it. The good news is that both of them don't have any issues. Now it's a question of how. That sends both of them back down the vortex of more pamphlets, artificial insemination was one that kept coming back home. Not that he was against having sex with her. They had tried it once. It ultimately failed when she made one too many smart comments.

It's hard to get into the mood when the person you're trying to seduce keeps laughing, reminding you of all the embarrassing shit you did when you were a kid, asking if this is how you seduce all your other partners. The moment that sentence left her lips, Calum knew them having sex to get her pregnant would be a far-fetched option. He laughed, resting his forehead onto her collarbone. "I swear to God, if you don't shut up, my dick will never get hard."

"Ya know as much as I should be upset by that sentence, I find myself only amused."

"You're...Jesus, woman. We can't have sex if you want to bring up all the shit awkward seventeen-year-old me did. Like you weren't exactly all put together yourself. You managed to dump an entire bowl of cereal on yourself while sitting."

Neveah slapped his bare back lightly. "I was laughing too hard and tipped the bowl a little too far."

"Yeah, sure, blame it on laughing." That night ended with a marathon of the Great British Bake-Off since it was his turn to control the Netflix. That night also landed them here, attempting to artificially inseminate at home. The process is no less awkward, a huge game of jacking off for Calum pretending like his best friend isn't just a few rooms away. Then it's a long process for her as well, but they make it work. They talk about it, make jokes, her favorite line is, "Huh, sounded like quite the adventure for you."

To which Calum always laughs a little with a shake of his head, responding with, "Your number's up next. Get ready."

Calum's not even intending to hear the statement that filters out through the door on his walks back inside from the backyard. Duke had been itching to get out and Calum always tries to give her as much space as possible. When on his way to refill his glass of lemonade, he catches her voice from behind the door.

"Fingering myself is easier than this, and that's some work," Neveah mutters to herself. Calum freezes outside the door, trying desperately to hold back his laughter. But a snicker or two falls past his lips. "Shut up! I'm doing this for you!" she shouts from behind the closed door.

Calum rests his head against the closed door, shoulders shaking with laughter. This is her second attempt for at-home insemination. Calum's offered to pay to do this at a doctor's office, even their doctor from the fertility clinic said that it would be a difficult process to do on oneself. They went on to explain that there was a risk for infection and that doing it at their office would be the safest way. But Cal could see the way her smile only turned up her lips to a polite degree and knew immediately she was going to disregard that.

"I could help you know," he says between his breathes of his laughter. Her grumbles are intangible. "I don't speak mumble," he retorts.

"Fine, I need your help."

Calum opens the door to see her lying on her back, hips pushed up by a couple of towels, one draped over her lap. "Quite the sight."

"It's about to get a whole lot prettier because you're going to get acquainted with my vagina and cervix."

More laughter shakes his shoulders as he eases into the room, placing his empty glass on the bedside table. "Hmm, I love it when you talk medical to me." He sits next to her bent knees, gently resting a hand on her towel covered thigh. "Now, what do I need to do?"

Neveah explains the process, he has to make sure the syringe goes in as far as it can, to be careful. She shows him how to empty it and to leave it for about fifteen seconds before removing it slowly. "I just have trouble with the angle because I'm nervous."

"No need to be nervous. It takes a few tries as the doctor said." Calum washes his hands in the adjacent bathroom. "Want me to put on gloves?"

"At this point, I'd just like for this to work. But, nah, unless you're concerned." He grabs one, sliding it over his hand and takes the crazy shaped syringe from her. They don't have too much more time before they miss the hour window, but Calum takes a moment, putting a hand on her lower stomach, lowering his voice a little.

"I know this is crazy, but it's okay. Things will happen when they need to."

"You guys are almost done with this album, before long you'll be gone, touring. There will be a huge gap in time."

He nods. "There will be but right now we've got a shot and I'm going to be there the entire way."

"You kind of have to be," she laughs. "I need you in order to have your kid."

"Details, details, details," he grins, moving his hand to her hand, giving it a squeeze. She gives a short-lived smile, before inhaling deeply. Music, Calum finally notices, plays faintly in the background. It's her instrumental playlist, soft sounds of piano hitting the air. He lifts the towel just a tiny bit to see. Normally this is a view that turns out differently. This is a view starts with an NDA and ends with him naked and breathless. Right now, it feels different. It's intimate as he gets her to relax. However, instead of a hunger to feed his own desire, he is filled with a surge of uncertainty. He feels her nerves too.

She squeezes at his forearm. "This feels weird. Like strangely intimate, but still oddly medical."

Calum nods, clearing his throat and meets her gaze again. The eye contact helps a little bit. Less strange, still oddly medical. "Yeah, it is a little strange."

She squirms just a little before releasing her hold. "Okay, let's do this. We've got like ten minutes left."

"That's still 600 seconds. Take another deep breath."

Her chest rises, lungs filling with air before she pushes it out slowly. Calum brings the syringe closer to her body, hovering just outside of her. "It's okay, I'm good," Neveah states softly. Her voice sounds kind of far away. Almost without thinking as he slides the contraption into her, he finds himself gently rubbing at her calf and thigh with his non-gloved hand. Her skin is mostly smooth. He plunges his seed into her, a slow and steady press. "Has anyone told you, you have really pretty eyes?" she asks suddenly.

Calum's too focused on making sure he doesn't pull it out too soon. There's a small lull. As he pulls the syringe out, he finds himself responding. "Not really, not that I could remember."

"Well, you do. They look like melted toffee in bright sunlight. Then they can be this rich dark brown. When you talk about your mom or family they lighten a little. I'm not sure if it's like actually happening, but they look lighter."

She stares directly at him as she speaks, unphased by what's happening. Like it was just a normal conversation at the dining room table or something. Calum's thankful, that made it a little easier. He brings the towel back down to cover her. "Thanks, I-uh, no one's paid that much attention."

"I've practically moved in at this point. You've got yourself your own personal observer."

He can't understand why the statement makes him bashful. He looks down to the bedspread, the smile softly resting on his face. "Thanks, again." After removing the glove, he stands, going to clean the syringe but pauses at his bedroom door. "Do you need anything? Snack? Water?"

She shakes her head no. "I'm good. Thanks though."

"I know this might be strange to admit, but you've got a more prominent dimple on your right cheek than your left when you smile and it's really cute when you laugh really hard. Mostly because you can really see it."

Her eyes widen, a small gasp leaving her. Neveah is silent for a moment before she whispers, "The only other people to mention that are my parents. I didn't think others noticed it."

Calum reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck, a smile briefly crossing his lips. "I just really noticed it yesterday when you were watching that stand up routine."

"Wonder what else we notice about each other."

Calum nods and finally exits the room to clean everything. He's noticed a thing or two, like how she almost always closes the lower cabinets and drawers with her hip and how she always taste test something with her pinkie, how she has a dimples in her butt too, and how after a day at work heels and the skirt are usually the first things to go, her bra is quick to follow. She does most of her cleaning in the evenings too, almost like she's gotten her second wind of the day. He's noticed a lot, he thinks, shocked at how long the list is in his head.

Duke climbs off her lap at the sound of keys in the door. She pushes up from the sofa, her limbs heavy with sleep still. The TV's still a soft blue hue washing over the grays and blues of the sofa and dark brown coffee table. Calum kneels, petting and scratching Duke. He notices the TV first and then her sleepy figure. "I'm sorry," he whispers. He hadn't realized she has stayed up again waiting for him.

Neveah hums, waving it off. "I shouldn't have. I hadn't planned to still be up here. But then some crazy movie came on and I got intrigued," she shuffles into the kitchen, covering up a yawn. "I made pork chops if you're hungry."

Calum follows in behind her, pulling the jacket off his shoulders and unzipping his boots. "I've got it. Don't worry. Thanks."

"Welcome, sugar." The nickname falls all too easily from her lips. She doesn't even think twice about it; she can't. Until it's already off her lips. "Shit, sorry."

Calum finds himself wrapping her into a hug, a chaste kiss to her forehead. "It's alright. Get some rest. Thanks for fixing dinner."

"I should mention it was a scary movie," she pouts. She always does this, knows damn well horror movies freak her out but still watches them by herself.

"My bed always has an open invitation. I'll be there soon."

"Thanks, Cal. You're the best. One of these days, I'll stop watching them all alone."

"That's a damn lie. But I promise nothing's going to get ya. Not with me here now. Also, you had Duke. He's big and scary."

"Duke is just a grandpa," Neveah laughs.

She walks down the hallway. Calum eats, going in for seconds because the meat is so tender it falls off the bone and melts just at the thought of it touching your tongue. After showering and brushing his teeth, he slides into his bed. She's curled onto her side.

Sensing his presence, she turns to face him, gently holding to his bicep. "I probably shouldn't bore you with today."

Calum turns to his side, tracing her cheek. "Bore me. What happened?"

"Know how I was supposed to take those two tests today?"

"Yeah."

"I couldn't. I couldn't bear seeing not pregnant again."

"It's alright. Tomorrow, I'll be here. We can do it together tomorrow. There's still time. Come here," he breathes, pulling her into his chest, wrapping an arm around her. "I've got you. It's not easy, I know. But you've always got me."

They've been trying with the at-home kits for months now. This is their fourth attempt if he's keeping track right. Calum's frustrated but not nearly as her. He can't fathom the kind of guilt she feels. She has nothing to feel guilty about. It takes time to get pregnant. That's a fact neither of them truly understood the weight until now. He isn't going to give up on her, even if she wanted to give up on herself. He would always be right there for her.

39 notes · View notes

blackleatherjacketz · 5 years

Text

My Brother’s Keeper: Chapter 12

Negan x Reader

Featuring: Laura, Morgan Jones

Summary: Your brother runs away from the Sanctuary and you pay the price. This Chapter: You start your journey to the Kingdom to keep the rest of your family safe.

Word Count: 2009

Author’s Note: I’m taking some creative license with Morgan in assuming (for this story) that Carol stayed with Rick in Alexandria.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Zombies, Grief, Mirages, Self-Doubt, A Reference to Glenn, Lying

Read the rest of the story HERE!

The road ahead was long, heat rising off the pavement in waves before disappearing into a lush green border of trees that stood on each side. It went on like that forever, dipping down into rolling hills as the translucent waves turned into mirages of puddles in each valley that disappeared as soon as you reached them. The sudden image of water reminded you of just how thirsty you were, the summer sun sucking all the moisture from your body into tiny droplets of sweat on your forehead.

You wiped your brow with the back of your hand, running it through hair that Laura had cut short for you earlier this morning. She’d told you that you needed to be unrecognizable from before, just in case anyone at the Kingdom remembered who you were.

She took the clothes off your back and replaced them with bigger ones, giving you the look of someone who had been starving on the road for a considerable amount of time. She took the polish off your toes, the earrings from your ears and the metal Rolex off your wrist. Instead she replaced them with a worn-down watch, a knife, a lighter, and a canteen full of water. She did all this before going over your backstory and fake name, making sure you remembered what Negan told you to do.

“The Kingdom’s six miles down that road,” she’d said before slowing the car to a complete stop. “Take a right at Glenn Avenue and you’ll see the ghost town a few yards in.” She paused, squinting as the sunlight blurred her vision through the windshield. “Look, I know this sucks, but I’ll keep an eye on your dad and sis for you, make sure they stay out of trouble.” She kept her eyes forward as you visibly saw her cut ties with you emotionally.

You wondered for a second what she did before all this, regretting not asking her when tensions weren’t so high. You could see her as someone like a prison guard or maybe even a soldier in one of the military branches, but you decided it was better not to know. If she was distancing herself from you, well, then, you could do the same thing back.

“Yeah,” you answered, leaning down in the passenger seat to grab your backpack. “I appreciate that.” You tried not to show how disappointed you were that Negan couldn’t drive you all the way out here himself. If it had to be anyone else, though, you guessed Laura was the next best choice.

You came back to the present and let your hand fall down to your canteen, unlatching it from its container on your belt. You kept walking forward as you slowly unscrewed the top, keeping your eyes peeled for a street sign named Glenn. Even though you were pissed at Negan, it didn’t change the fact that he still had your family at his disposal, or that you secretly still wanted to please him.

When Laura dropped you off, you felt like a wounded animal being brought out to pasture, a useless creature sent away before your master shopped around for a newer better version of you. That dark feeling started to take root in your chest, but you didn’t let it take hold. You kept your head up and refused to be that gimpy dog kicked out on the side of the road. This journey was going to make you stronger, sharpen your fighting skills and survival tactics while your master was away. You had to reach your destination no matter what; if not for him, then you definitely had to do it for your family.

You brought the canteen up to your mouth, taking the first swig in an hour since you’d hit the road. It was still cool as it hit your coffee-stained lips, washing over your teeth and tongue as you swished it around and swallowed it down. You never regretted taking the running water in the Sanctuary for granted until now; all those times you used the toilet, washed your hands, took a shower or even drank several glasses of water without even thinking about it… what a selfish bitch you used to be.

The sticky Virginia heat brushed past you in a long-awaited breeze, moving the leaves on their branches to the left in a calm and soothing wave, almost as if the sky itself were an ocean full of currents and undertows. You took another sip to cool yourself down, closing your eyes as the breeze brought fresh air around you. Ahh, you thought, spreading your arms out wide like a scarecrow, this is the good stuff.

The sound of the leaves rustling up above was interrupted by hoarse wheezes down below, forcing your eyes to open. You saw what you hadn’t seen in years, what Negan had ‘saved’ you from all those years ago when he brought your family to the Sanctuary. Half-dead bodies crept out of the green forest, their limbs dangling by sinews and tendons as they attempted to climb up the small hill onto the road. Their wheezes got louder as they saw you, mouths opening wide in anticipation of a fresh meal that they hadn’t had since God knows when.

“Oh, shit,” you whispered, putting your canteen back in its container. You hadn’t killed a deadbeat in gosh, three years… had it really been that long? You remembered celebrating three Christmases with your family behind concrete walls, so, yeah, it had to have been that long.

You pulled the knife that Laura gave you out of its holster, the handle a little different than the one you had before, and tightened your grip. “Go for the head,” you coached yourself, “Go for the head.”

You spread your legs to broaden your center of gravity as the first one approached you. Its guts were spilling out of its abdomen, dangling down below its knees as it came toward you with a hungry yawn. Arms outstretched in a coarse and desperate scream, it tried to grab hold of you, but you dodged its grasp. You ducked to the right and rammed your blade into the side of its skull, destroying what little brain it had left. You heard the last of its screams as it stopped moving and finally fell to the ground. Phew! So that’s what that felt like; you’d almost forgotten!

You felt your heart begin to race as you took out the next one, feeling good as you ended the ‘lives’ of the undead. One, two, three fell down on the pavement as you got quicker with your technique, getting used to the weight and feel of your new knife. You wasted a few more as you pushed through them on your path to the Kingdom, stopping as you saw one in particular that looked familiar.

This deadbeat happened to be a woman of middle age, her eyes gray and blue as the veins surrounding them burned jet black. She was slower than the rest, waddling toward you with caution as she wore the face of your mother. Her hands grasped at the air in front of her; your mother’s wedding band glistening in the sunlight on her finger. Oh no, no, no, no. No, it couldn’t be. Your brother would have… wouldn’t he? Alex had to have taken her down when she turned, he couldn’t risk her turning and then… Wait a minute, did he just leave her here to die by herself? Was she all alone in her final moments?

The sound of hissing screams tore you out of your hypothetical list of ‘what if’s. Your mother, or what was left of her anyways, had a giant staff lanced through her head. You blinked dumbly as her blood splattered across your face, those blue eyes closing forever before the staff caused her body to slump onto the floor.

You stared at the blank space in front of you, where she stood before any questions of your mother’s fate were left unanswered. You wanted to say thank you like a normal person, but felt yourself unable to speak. You turned to find that the man who saved your life was just around your father’s age, pulling his staff up and out of your mother as he brought it to his side.

“You know her?” He pulled a rag out of his pocket and began wiping off his weapon.

“She was m...mmm...mmmy...mmmmy,” you stammered, looking back down at her. “She was my mom.” A tear fell down your cheek, and for the first time in your life you weren’t afraid to show such emotion.

“I’m sorry.” The man spun his stick in a skillful circle and planted it firmly between his feet. “I know how hard it can be to put down a loved one.” He placed both hands on top of the staff and leaned slightly forward.

You forced a smile and bent down next to your mother’s corpse, looking at her one last time. You noted the bedazzled shirt she had on, the loosely sewn-in sequins shining a colorful rainbow onto your skin as you leaned in closer. She always loved to be flashy, even when the deadbeats were chasing her down the road.

You laughed to yourself and took the ring off her finger, necrotic flesh and blood coming off the bone. The smell of her rotting body finally got to you once the adrenaline of the kill had worn off; gastric contents and mucus mixing together in a sickening stench that only worsened in the rising heat. You swallowed down your breakfast as it threatened to travel up your throat and into your mouth, wiping the remnants of your mother’s jewelry onto your shoe before placing it in your pocket.

“I’m Morgan, by the way.” He offered, waiting patiently as you took your time to stand up.

“I’m Maria,” you muttered, the first of many lies you’d have to tell on this journey. The name sounded extremely foreign coming out of your mouth. Maria, Maria, Maria, you chanted in your head. My name is Maria.

“Where you headed, Maria?” His squinted eyes widened as he turned to you, the scalding afternoon sun beating down on his nearly bald head.

“Nowhere in particular,” you lied again. “You?”

Morgan laughed under his breath, picking his staff up off the ground before stepping forward. “Nowhere in particular. You part of a group?” He cocked an eyebrow upward, his suspicions rising with it.

“I was… well, she was and my brother was…we were...” The fear that this man may have been planted by Negan overruled your innate desire to trust him.

“Just them?” he prodded.

“Just them.” You looked at your boots as you continued to walk, each stride getting wider with each step. “How about you? You part of a group?”

“I was.” He stared off into the distance. “Didn’t work out.”

The two of you walked alone together in respective silence after that. You kept your hands on your weapons, offering each other food and water every hour or so until you finally reached Glenn Avenue. You stared at the placard as it drew closer, white letters on green looming over you like a warning sign as you thought of a reasonable excuse to turn right.

Morgan signaled to you as the sound of hooves interrupted your paranoid thoughts. He twirled his staff around himself in a protective barrier, readying himself for action as the sound grew louder. Luckily for you and your lying quota for the day, the sound was coming from down Glenn Avenue. You let out a sigh of relief and took out your weapon, feigning surprise and readiness as the sound of screams quickly accompanied the sound of hooves on the road.

“You hear that?” He whispered, glancing at you. “Someone’s in trouble.” Without a second thought Morgan sprinted off down the road, approaching two men on horses as a small group of deadbeats started to attack.

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

Tags: @irrelevantwriter @genevievedarcygranger @chamberofsloths @letsby @negans-network @annablack1102 @negansdirtygirl22 @rasa1945 @bodhi-black @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @namelesslosers @collette04 @mblaqgi @bishsposts @haleyea @ptite-shit @jamiekingofmen @ibelongtonegan @marriedtonegan @chloejanedecker1 @divadinag @dxloverpunk @tylersblurrylittleface

#negan x reader #the walking dead #negan fan fiction #the walking dead fan fiction #morgan jones #morgan jones x reader #negan #twd #twd fan fiction

72 notes · View notes

marvelmando · 5 years

Text

tempest [p.parker x o.c.] - ten

notes: and we come to the close of part 1!! and perfect timing too, because today i turn twenty :D thank you all so much for your lovely birthday wishes, you guys are the absolute sweetest. as a present from me to all of you, here’s the conclusion of the first part of my tempest series! hope you all enjoy <3

contains: some swearing, violence

pairing: peter parker + fem! o.c.

word count: 4k

previous chapter next chapter tempest masterlist

THE FIRST THING MARIN NOTICED WHEN SHE REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS WAS THE PITCHED RINGING IN HER EARS. She peeled her eyes open slowly, taking in the sights around her.

Fires had cropped up everywhere, debris of all sizes and shapes littering the sand. Her hearing was muffled like her head had been submerged underwater. But as the seconds passed, she registered the bangs and crashes coming from somewhere to the side of her.

She twisted her body on the ground and saw that about of hundred feet away, the Vulture had slammed Peter's body into the sand so violently that Marin's gasp contorted in her throat. Then, as her vision stopped swimming, Toomes pierced the hood of Spider-Man's hoodie with the tip of his wing and raised him high into the air. Peter's limp body dangled uselessly like a rag doll, and Marin's heart twisted in her chested.

Enraged, Marin scrambled to her feet and charged at the Vulture with a strangled scream. Somewhere in her, her years of training resisted against the scream because she knew it would give away her intentions, but her rage busted out of her like a flood crashing through a damn. Unconcerned and without giving it much thought, Toomes only swung his unoccupied wing in a deep arc, slamming it into Marin's exposed body and throwing her to the side.

The impact forced the air from her chest, Marin curling up in agony. Some of the razor-sharp edges sliced into her stomach and the burning sting on her cheek told her that she'd been cut there as well.

Distantly, Marin realized that the Vulture had dropped Peter, flying over his unmoving body. Grunting with pain as she gasped for air, Marin saw the sparks shooting out of his wings as he approached a crate spilling with arc reactors. If Toomes was integrating those alien devices in his suit like she strongly suspected, then the damage that had caused his wings to spark and buzz like that could only mean one thing.

"Peter," Marin wheezed, trying to inch towards him. A fleeting thought told her to radio Lucy and James, but with a touch to her ear, Marin realized that her earpiece must've fallen out during the crash.

"Peter!" Marin finally reached him, grabbing his arm. He slowly lifted his head, sand stuck to the hair and cheek dampened with sweat and blood. "Peter, his wings—"

Peter tried to prop himself up, evidently recovering much quicker than Marin was. Then again, he did have enhanced healing abilities. He stared at Toomes, who was rummaging through the wreck. "Your wings," Peter croaked out, but Toomes either didn't hear him or didn't care because he began to lift off with the crate of arc reactors clutched in his talons. "Your wing suit's gonna explode!"

The whirring was getting exponentially louder, and Peter struggled to lift a hand to stick a web to the crate, pulling with all of his might. Marin tried to stand, but the pain radiating from the cuts in her abdomen caused her to fall back to her knees. With an outstretched arm, she pulled at the ocean water and grabbed the crate with one hand controlling the surge of water, and the other cradling her bleeding stomach.

Unrelenting, Toomes shook his head and faced them. "Time to go home, kids."

"We're..." Peter gasped, and screamed, "Trying to save you!"

The Vulture cut the web, the sudden loss of pressure jerking the crate back and out of Marin's already weak grasp. Marin fell backward as the water splashed into the sand, and the Vulture began to take off.

Peter tried shooting another web as the wings' mechanics whirred at dangerously loud levels, but the vial clicked in the shooter, empty.

Marin looked up to see the wings give off one more giant set of sparks before plummeting to the sand in a small explosion. Peter and Marin covered their heads, then watched in horror as flames erupted where Toomes had landed.

"No," Peter breathed and got to his feet, sprinting over to the fallen man.

"Shit, Peter." Marin winced hard and gathered the strength to stand. She hobbled over, only needing a little bit of her energy to grab another wave of water to smother the flames as best as she could. Suddenly, a figure appeared next to her, two dark arms outstretched. It was Lucy, taming the fires as she approached Peter and Toomes. Marin knew her friend was in good hands and as she released the water, she would've collapsed if it weren't for James rushing to catch her. He hoisted her with one arm underneath her shoulder blades, and lifted his other hand to her temple, sending encouragements and soothing warmth through her mind.

She was feeling slightly better, the pain in her stomach and arm more manageable than before, and was able to stand on her own. She straightened to see Lucy extinguished the flams so Peter could carry Toomes' limp body to safety.

Peter dumped him at a clear spot, and Marin hurried to crouch over Peter as he coughed and grabbed at his chest. He clutched his shoulder as she helped him to his feet, and Marin saw Toomes become alert, looking up at Spider-Man incredulously.

After a moment, Marin looked to James and nodded. James lowered himself over Toomes, put his fingers to his temple, and the Vulture slumped into unconsciousness once more.

Peter's gasp caught Marin's attention. "How..."

"These," Marin grunted, letting go of Peter. "Are my friends."

Stunned silent, Peter could only nod.

Together, they tied Toomes up to one of the still (mostly) intact crates (that also wasn't on fire) and waited as Peter wrote a note using a nearby marker and piece of paper, and sticking it to the wood next to his head. Peeking at it, Marin read, "FOUND FLYING VULTURE GUY –SPIDER-MAN + FRIENDS", and below that, in smaller letters: "p.s. sorry about your plane".

Marin chuckled as they all headed down the beach together, to where the jet was parked far away from all of the debris.

Peter was supporting Marin as they walked, with one arm under her shoulder. "So, are you guys mutants, too, or something?"

+++

Marin, Lucy, and James had returned to the Institute that next morning to find that most of the students welcomed them all back like heroes. Marin later learned, after having a conversation with Mary, that they'd all seen the events unfold on the news, and watched and cheered her on into the earlier morning.

There'd been footage from a shot in the sky where the viewer got a good look of Marin's face, which was easily recognizable despite the blood and sand caking her skin.

Even three days later, Marin was still being clapped on the back, commended, and complemented by her peers as she walked the halls. Charles had given her the full weekend to rest before interrogating her, for which she was immensely grateful.

"And what happened after you left Coney Island?" Charles asked amicably once he called her in for a report. Marin was the last to go; James and Lucy had already given theirs earlier that morning.

"We took the jet back to Forest Park where I then walked Spider-Man back to his apartment." Although Lucy and James knew Peter's secret, Marin wasn't comfortable with divulging it to anyone else, if she could help it. "Then Lucy figured it would probably be a good idea to pick up some fast food, so we stopped at the closest restaurant that was open and ate until, like, three in the morning. Then we came back, and that's it."

Marin chose to leave out the part where Peter had let her inside his bedroom so that Marin could help heal some of his more artificial wounds with water from the sink in his bathroom.

Charles hummed, studying her. "And what happens now?"

Marin blinked. "Sorry?"

"What do you want to do now, Miss Frost?" Charles repeated, though not unkindly. If there was one thing Charles was never, it was impatient.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Professor." Marin furrowed her brows.

"Do you plan on staying at the Institute?"

Marin scoffed lightly. "I'm not sure where else I could go, Professor. I'm still not sure that Spider-Man has completely forgiven me, and Tony Stark no-doubt still hates my guts because he still thinks I killed my parents, so this is kind of the only place I can stay."

Charles narrowed his eyes at her curiously. "But you don't want to stay here, do you?"

He may have said that he was not able to read her mind just yet, but Marin was beginning to doubt that. She blew back a section of her bangs with a huff. "I never did." She answered honestly, feeling only a slight bit of shame.

"How so?"

Marin searched for the right words. "I never really belonged here, did I? I mean, from the moment I got here, I was constantly at odds with everyone around me. A part of myself was taken away from me, and I don't think my memories will ever be quite the same, again. But it's not entirely because of you," she rushed to explain when she saw the guilt creep onto Charles' face. "I've yet to find myself at this place. I know what I want, but I'm not sure I'm strong enough to get it." She looked down at her hands.

"What is it that you want, Miss Frost?"

Marin carded a restless hand through her hair, sighing out a laugh. "It seems stupid, now. But ever since I got these powers, I wanted to use them to save people. And when we watched the Battle of New York through a TV screen instead of through our own eyes, I wanted to be an Avenger. Being in the X-Men program was as close as I could get to being a superhero, and as soon as I saw the chance to prove myself, I took it. But I... I've really blown it. I had the chance; I was so close—and I failed. And now, after losing Spider-Man and Mr. Stark's trust, I'm beginning to think that maybe I was wrong." Marin lowered her gaze, and this time, she let her bangs dangle in front of her eyes. "That I really don't have what it takes to be a superhero."

The Professor was silent for a full minute. "You're right." He stated simply, and Marin lifted her head to look at him, half offended, half disbelieving, and just a smidge surprised. "You don't belong here, Marin." He smiled gently at her. "You have so much good in your heart—so much bravery—and you just need the opportunity to use it. And you won't be able to use it here."

Marin returned his smile, but it faded once reality caught up to her. "But... how? I'm still stuck here."

Charles gave her a private smirk. "It would seem, Marin Frost, that you are not."

+++

There was a car waiting for her. Shouldering her new duffel bag full of clothes and any remaining memorabilia, Marin looked to Lucy and James, who were standing in front of her.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," Marin said, surprisingly sad. "At least for now, right?"

Lucy nodded. "Of course, Marin." She wrapped her in a tight hug, then pulled back. "This isn't forever."

James took his turn. "You'll do great things, Marin Frost."

Marin gave them each a genuine smile and turned to approach the car. Happy Hogan was at the backseat door on the passenger side, and with one hand he opened the door, grabbing her duffel bag with the other. She thanked him and slid into the seat. She startled to see Peter already in the seat beside her.

"Jesus, Peter!" She gasped, clutching her chest.

"It's just Peter," he snarked. Marin rolled her eyes and buckled herself in.

Happy got back into the driver's seat and pulled away from the mansion. Marin didn't look back.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" Marin whispered to Peter, settling in her seat.

"No one told you?"

"No, they just said to pack a bag of my things," Marin shifted her eyes to look at Happy's reflection in the rear-view mirror. "Nothing about the destination, though."

"Mr. Stark wants to see us," Peter whispered conspiratorially. "Upstate."

Marin's eyes widened. "I figured it had something to do with Mr. Stark once I saw Happy, but upstate? Really?"

"You know I can hear you two, right?" Happy said without taking his eyes off of the road.

Marin shrugged at him. "How far away is upstate?" She said at a normal level.

"About an hour, so find a way to entertain yourselves without bothering me." He grumbled, and Marin raised one eyebrow.

"Is he always this grumpy?" She asked Peter, her voice hushed again.

"Sometimes he's worse." He whispered back.

"I can still hear you!"

Peter and Marin snickered as he raised the partition.

+++

"Oh, that's great!"

"Yeah, Michelle really deserved it, especially after winning Nationals for—"

"We're here," Happy called from the front. At some point during the trip, he'd lowered the partition again, but not before they'd promised not to bug him. "Take a look; pretty impressive, huh?"

"Whoa," Marin breathed.

The building they were driving by was only a few stories tall, but each floor must've been at least fifteen feet, and the whole building stretched on for at least an acre. Massive windows lined the entire length of the front-facing wall, the panes glittering in the afternoon sun. There were other, smaller buildings surrounding that main one, but the Avengers symbol built into the side wall drew Marin's eye as they drove along the paved road.

"They just finished remodeling the whole thing." Happy was saying, and Marin turned to see Peter's awed expression.

They'd hurried into the building as soon as Happy had parked the car, dashing up the steps and looking around with amazement. The ceilings seemed to stretch on infinitely high, and Marin practically pressed her nose to the windows. "Pete, look!" She pointed excitedly at a Quinjet taking off. He jogged over, his smiling growing wider as he followed the rising jet.

"You don't see that every day." Happy quipped proudly as the two turned to follow him.

"Oh, there they are!"

Marin blanched as she saw Tony Stark approach the group with his hands casually tucked in his pockets. Her excitement fizzled into fear, and despite knowing that he was the one who summoned her, she subtly moved so that her body was mostly concealed by Peter's.

She tried to avoid Mr. Stark's gaze as he tried to dismiss Happy, only for the bodyguard to relent and trail behind as they walked. Mr. Stark stepped towards them, punching Peter playfully on the shoulder and mussing up Marin's hair. She wasn't breathing.

Then, Mr. Stark threw his arms over his shoulders and began to walk jovially, as if the last time he saw her, he hadn't yelled at her and exposed her darkest secrets.

"I'm sorry I reacted like that," Mr. Stark said to Marin. "Charles called me the day after to correct himself, and gave me a play-by-play on how he was wrong, you weren't a murderer, blah, blah, blah..." then to Peter, "And I'm sorry I took your suit. I mean, you had it coming. Actually, it turns out it was the perfect sort of tough-love moment that you needed, right? To urge you on, right? Wouldn't you think?"

"Uh, I—yeah," Peter stammered.

"Let's just say it was." Mr. Stark said, then sighed happily. They walked for a measure until Marin found the courage to speak.

"Mr. Stark, I really—"

"You screwed the pooch hard—both of you." He interrupted her. "Big time. But then you both did the right thing. Took the dog to the free clinic, you raised the hybrid puppies... all right, not my best analogy." He paused to think. "I was wrong about you. And I was really wrong about you, Miss Frost. I think, with a little more mentoring, you both could be real assets to the team."

"The team?"

They came to a stop at a wall with two sets of doors on either side and a large half-circle wall extending outward, marked with the Avengers symbol.

"Yeah. Anyway..." Mr. Stark pointed haphazardly to the set of doors on the left. "There's about fifty reporters behind that door. Real ones, not bloggers." He tapped twice on his wristwatch, and the circular wall opened up to reveal a secret compartment. Inside, two mannequins swiveled up.

The one on the right looked like Spider-Man's, but instead of vibrant cloth fabrics, this suit was made of a reflective metal; the blues and reds more muted, and overall had a gray-undertone and looked like a Spider-Man version of an Iron Man suit. It was impressive, but the one on the left made Marin inhale sharply.

The suit decorating the mannequin on the left resembled that of Black Widow's tight leather suit, except this one was not as tight, was decidedly not black. The large, golden emblem of a lightning bolt was the first thing that caught Marin's eye, positioned center on the chest. Geometric strips of matching gold extended outward from the lightning bolt, wrapping around her bust and shoulders in harsh lines. The rest of the suit was an electric aquamarine, the same color as her energy. Blocks of light gray fabric covered the armor plates on her forearms and shoulders, as well as matching gray shin-high boots. But there was no mask, she noticed, the mannequin bare from the neck-up.

"Why don't you guys try them on?" Tony Stark prompted, Peter and Marin stepping forward to examine the suits closer. "And I'll introduce the world to the newest official members of the Avengers: Spider-Man and..." Mr. Stark trailed off, pointing at Marin. "I'm sorry, do you really go by 'Rain'? Because I'm gonna be honest, it's kind of lame."

Marin chuckled, still in awe from the suit. "I hate it," she murmured, running her fingers lightly over the fabric. "'Rain', I mean, not the suit—god, the suit's amazing—"

"You sound like Pete." Mr. Stark laughed to himself, though Marin had no idea what he meant. "Figured out a better one, then?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"No, I don't... I don't really have another one." Marin frowned, and saw Peter glance at her out of the corner of her eye.

"Tempest," Peter said suddenly, causing Marin to pivot and look at him. "What about 'Tempest'? Cause of the water, and stuff. Like a storm,"

Marin felt her lips curl into a large, toothy smile as she nodded. "Tempest. I like it."

They shared a look, where Marin felt like it was just the two of them until Mr. Stark broke it up by clapping his hands together. "Okay! So how 'bout it, Spider-Man and Tempest—newest official Avengers? So, after the press conference, Happy will show you to your rooms, your new quarters. Where's Peter between? He's next to Vision?"

"Yeah, Vision's not big on doors," Happy responded with a grimace.

"It's fun."

"Or walls."

"You guys will fit right in." Tony smiled at Marin and Peter.

Marin looked back at her suit, and for some reason, a weight settled in her stomach as she realized what that would mean.

She noticed Peter hesitate, too. "Thank you, Mr. Stark, but I'm good."

Marin's eyes flicked to him. Apparently, Mr. Stark was surprised by his response, too. "You're good? Good? How are you good?"

"Well, I mean, I'm... I'd rather just stay on the ground for a little while. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man." Peter chuckled shyly, shrugging. "Somebody's got to look out for the little guy, right?"

Mr. Stark pulled off his glasses. "You're turning me down? You better think about this." He pointed to the new Spider-Man suit. "Look at that." He pointed at himself. "Look at me. Last chance: yes or no?"

"No." Peter said without missing a beat.

"Okay. It's a kind of Springsteen-y, working-class hero vibe that I dig." Marin could tell that Mr. Stark was trying not to look too disappointed. He then turned to her. "What about you, Marin? You in?"

Marin pursed her lips, rolling them against her teeth. "I'm in." She said eventually, giving Mr. Stark a smile.

Mr. Stark looked genuinely pleased, and even a little excited that she accepted his offer. It made any doubts that he'd truly forgiven her wash away. "Wonderful! Happy, can you take Peter home for me?"

"Yeah," Happy agreed, then said to Peter, "Mind waiting in the car? I need a minute."

Peter nodded, and while Happy went to speak to Mr. Stark in a hushed voice, Marin offered to walk down with him.

"Do you think that was a test?" Peter suddenly asked.

"What?"

"Like, the press. You think there was actually nobody back there, and it was all just a test?"

"Hmm, I guess I'll find out soon, then?"

"So, you're really accepting his offer?" He pulled to a stop in front of her at the front of the staircase. "You're gonna... move here, and become an Avenger?"

Marin sighed. "I just... these powers, Pete. I've only been using them for a couple of days, and I can already feel..." she trailed off, not knowing how to explain the constant buzz of the energy pushing against her skin, begging to be let out. "I need to train them, and in a place where I'm least likely to hurt anyone in case I go rogue."

Peter frowned. "I highly doubt you'd go rogue, Marin. You're like, the strongest person I know."

Marin's stomach fizzed, and she smiled. "That's sweet, Parker, but I'm not going to take any chances." Her smile faltered. "You'll be safe, won't you?"

"Of course," Peter hugged her, his arms solid and his chest tight and warm and soft all at the same time. Marin fit perfectly in his arms like that, her own arms wrapping around his waist and her cheek resting against his pectorals. She could feel his heart pounding against her chin, fluttery and rapid like a hummingbird's. "And you'll keep in touch?"

Marin pulled away, giving him a soft smile. "Always, Peter."

"And we'll see each other soon, won't we?" Peter took a small step back, toward the stairs. "Please take advantage of those cool Quinjets, even if you have to steal one."

Marin laughed. "I don't think stealing jets is going to look good for me, Parker."

"Well, I'll come to you, then."

Marin rolled her eyes. "Focus on school, Peter Parker. And for heaven's sake, make Ned your Guy in The Chair."

Peter mock-saluted, stepping down a step backward. "Yes, ma'am." He nodded, and turned, descending the stairs.

On the floor below, Peter turned and looked up at her. "Be careful, out there, Marin Frost."

Marin smiled down at him. "You too, Spider-Man."

+++

As it turned out, there really was a swarm of reporters waiting for the surprise announcement. But instead of getting two new Avengers, they got a marriage proposal.

Marin loathed to keep Tony away from his fiancée, but Pepper insisted they talk about the logistics.

"Are you sure you don't want to be an Avenger?" Tony eyed her.

"Yes, I'm sure." Marin nodded, looking determined. "I need to focus on controlling my new powers, and I figured that this was the best place to do it."

"And... the suit?"

"For when I'm ready, I suppose."

Tony nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. Marin sat back in her plush armchair. "So, what now?"

Tony Stark looked at her, grinning, and held out his hand to the side. After a moment, a piece of red and gold metal flew straight into his hand, and slowly extended over his arm. "Well, let's see what you got, Tempest."

taglist

@dark-night-sky-99 @pushmeinablackhole @demi-starzak @-thatgirloverthere- @silver-winter-wolf @yourwonderbelle

16 notes · View notes

i-llbedammned · 5 years

Text

Recovery

Inspired by the numerous fanarts of Crowley being taken care of by Aziraphale after the incident in the church, I decided to write a fic of it. I will eventually also do a chapter where it is from Aziraphale’s perspective

Title:Recovery Word Count:2111 Summary: After the church scene in WWII, Aziraphale stops by to help Crowley recover from his wounds.

Read on Ao3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273104) or below the cut

It was a stupid thing to do, Crowley ruminated as he limped his way back to his apartment. It was a very stupid thing to do for someone who didn’t even deserve it. For an angel who told him he didn’t want to see him again because he wanted some holy water in case the forces of Hell came knocking at his door. For a stupid angel who looked at him like he was the second coming and whose face when he smiled lit up like the sun. The only angel to look at him with kindness since The Fall. That sweet angel…

Damn it.

It was still a stupid decision, even if he couldn’t convince himself that it was a regrettable one.

His feet ached worse than they had in ages, like he was still walking on broken glass even though he was long since out of the church. As he drove down the streets in his Bentley he was quite sure that he would be feeling the effects of this little bit of heroism for weeks to come. Wounds made by consecrated items and places didn’t heal the way that the typical damages did, a final spiteful spit in the face by the Heavens he supposed. As if they didn’t suffer enough when they fell.

By the time he reached his apartment, he was quite sure that there was blood pooling at the bottom of his shoes. He clambered out of the car practically dragging his feet along the pavement and feeling his socks squish unpleasantly. He wished there was a working lift but with the way power worked thanks to the war it rarely worked. With a snap of his fingers he used a bit of a demonic miracle to send power to it and take him up to his flat. Now was not the time he was going to trifle with stairs, not with how tired he felt after the church incident.

The hallway to his apartment never felt so long. The green wallpaper seemed to be mocking him as he passed it. As he struggled with the key in the door he mumbled under his breath that all of God’s creations seemed to be mocking him. Though he was damn sure that Hell was not watching him at this moment, but sometimes he still cursed existence simply out of gut reflex. What was taking this door so long? Was the lock jammed again? Was he the one responsible for doors jamming when you needed them to open the fastest or was that another minor demon?

The demon practically melted into the soft black carpet on his floor as the door swung open. With flair he flung himself onto the couch and lay for a few moments on his chest, burying his face in the pillows. It was so good to be home. Rolling over onto his back, he pulled his long legs to his chest and pried off his shoes.

Satan’s balls, that was even worse than he expected. There were thick layers of blisters, many of which had popped and spilled dark black blood all over his feet. Oh this was going to take a damned eternity to heal up. The stupid angel better appreciate the books that were saved.

“Oh dear, that looks even worse than I thought it would.” Came a soft voice from his doorway and a thrill of fear went through Crowley as he froze with one leg curled to his chest and the other dangling with a shoe still on at the end of the couch.

“Aziraphale!” the demon cried sitting up and trying to sling one arm casually over the back of his couch, as if the angel could not see his wounded foot from the front door, “What are you doing here?”

“I, well,” Aziraphale looked away, with the pretense of looking at Crowley’s unique décor, “I happened to be in the area and I wanted to check in on you after the whole ruckus at the church. “ He moved and sat down on the large black leather chair, next to the couch, not quite touching the demon, but letting his eyes drift down to rest on the exposed foot. His eyes welled up with tears and for a moment Crowley wanted to kick him out. He was a demon who chose to walk in a church, he didn’t need anybody’s sympathy for that. He knew what he was doing when he made that choice and now he had to suffer for it.

“Well no need to check up on me, I’m fine.” With a flick of his wrist he tugged a blanket down over his foot, sitting up with his legs splayed. His foot screamed in protest of anything touching it, making him hiss loudly despite his best efforts. A grimace was on his face afterwards.

“You most certainly are not fine.” Aziraphale got to his feet, sounding indignant and pointing at the stain on his grey shirt. Honestly, Crowley had no idea why he was suddenly so irritated. It wasn’t like they ever exactly were honest with how they were feeling or their wounds, “I can see the blood!”

“Oh that,” Crowley gave a shrug, “Blood’s in fashion now. War and all that.” He flicked his fingers and a glass of red wine appeared in his hands. Wine wasn’t the best, but a little alcohol helped with pain. At least if he was drunk he would forget about it. He took a long sip, looking over Aziraphale’s head to avoid meeting those tender eyes. “Let me see the wounds, I can help.” The angel’s voice softened.

“No, you don’t need to. I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.” Crowley growled. Between The Fall and living in actual Hell for quite a while before he convinced the others to let him play around the Garden of Eden and Earth, it wasn’t an exaggeration. If he thought about it like that, then the pain was easier to deal with.

“You are exasperating. Listen,” The angel knelt down by Crowley’s feet and gently tugged the blanket off, making him hiss. All the same, he didn’t move his feet away. Part of him wanted his friend to see the wounds he had gotten, wanted sympathy and understanding that he knew he would never get in Hell. “You got these wounds helping me. At least I can help make them better as payment.” “Payment?” You don’t owe me payment for anything!” Anger tinged the demon’s voice. Just like an angel to assume that everything a demon did always came with a price tag. Maybe he was just trying to do a nice thing for once!

“Then as a favor to you then.” Aziraphale had the remaining shoe in his hand, but his silvery eyes looked at Crowley waiting for a nod or something before he continued. How polite of him. Despite the pain a smirk crossed Crowley’s face, “Oh? An angel would owe a demon a favor?”

“One angel, specifically me, would owe one demon, specifically you, a favor. Yes.” The angel looked like he was going to be sick to his stomach which made the other laugh a low, deep chortle. Oh the things he could ask for were he a bit more inclined to be devious.

“Right. Get on with it then.” The expression on the demon’s face was sour, but he nodded and kept his eyes right on the angel as he undid the laces on his black leather shoes and gently removed it. “Oh dear.” Soft fingers brushed against his wounds and it stung, despite all the efforts to be gentle. Socks were peeled off and thrown in a bloody heap on the ground. “You really burned yourself badly.” Tears welled up in the angel’s eyes, “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve these. Not for-“ With a watery grin, Aziraphale broke off.

A non-committal grunt was all Crowley could manage. He was glad for the glasses covering his eyes. Despite his desire for sympathy there was almost something heartbreaking in getting it. It was like all the raw wounds in his heart were being exposed. Yes it was worth it, for him and all of his silly books. He’d do it again and again until his feet poured blood if given the chance.

“Be back in a tick.” A whirl of white and Aziraphale was gone. In the kitchen, Crowley heard the running of water and several drawers being opened. Closing his eyes Crowley drained the rest of his glass of wine, taking strength from the mild burn of the alcohol. With another flick of his fingers he refilled the glass and began drinking once more.

Humming, Aziraphale came back with some herbal smelling soap and clean bandages. Getting down to business, he took off his jacket and hat, laying them across the leather chair he had formerly been sitting on. Knowing exactly how painful this was going to be, he rolled up his sleeves and buttoned them into place. Damn, the angel looked so good when he was in business mode.

Once more Aziraphale knelt down on one knee. Taking one foot, he began to clean it with reverence, slowly and gently. Black blood poured into the tub of water and Crowley bit his lips to keep from crying out. Casting a glance up at him, never breaking his pattern of cleaning, Aziraphale said tenderly, “It’s alright if you need to cry out, my dear. I won’t judge you. What you are going through is tremendous. I can’t imagine how much it must hurt.”

With a grin Crowley shoved aside his pain and bluffed through gritted teeth, “No. This is fine. Feels like puppies.”

A soft murmured laugh came from Aziraphale, but he didn’t argue with Crowley’s perceptions of the world. Bless him, erm curse him? Whichever was the good one that wouldn’t burn him. He just continued cleaning.

Once the blood was clean, a cool salve was put on the wounds. Somehow it took the pain away and it smelled heavenly. “What’s that, angel?” Crowley picked up his head and put down his wine glass on the ground next to him, finishing up the second glass with a long draught.

“Family recipe,” Aziraphale responded, not bothering to elaborate. Heaven blessed medicine? My, he sure was taking a chance bringing that in here. There’d be Hell to pay if he got caught. There was a soft degree of honor, something soft and warm that was poured into his chest when Crowley realized that. This was far more than a misguided sense of pity and it wasn’t just anyone you brought out the heaven-blessed medicine for.

Resting an elbow on his knee, Crowley watched and let a genuine smile inch across his face as the angel worked without looking up. Aziraphale was focused upon the work he was doing, the soft lines of his face made more dream-like in the shadows of the apartment. His soft hands spread the pale blue unguent and wrapped the clean bandages around the wounds. The silvery-blonde hair of his hair made him positively luminous. Crowley watched the way his arms worked, the way that the muscles seemed to effortlessly work beneath the skin and noting how the layers of softness didn’t make the grip any less strong. He sat there admiring the way that the sweat gently beaded on the angel’s forehead and made some stray locks of hair stick in place when Aziraphale looked up.

Rather than looking away, Crowley sat there for a few moments and let their eyes linger upon each other. Electric sparks raced between them and for a moment Crowley wanted to cross the line that the Heavenly Forces had drawn in the sand ages before either of them were born. To let their lips meet and see where that led them. Understanding passed between them and Aziraphale’s smile lit up the whole room before a small, sad look entered into his gaze.

“Good night, my dear.” The angel knelt low and placed a soft kiss above each ankle before rising. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you some time soon.”

On impulse Crowley blurted, “You don’t have to leave, you know. I could get wine and-“

Aziraphale shook his head, responding with the utmost patience “Another time. There’s a war and I have to go put away my books. But I will see you again. I assure you.”

As he left, the ghost of his lips and of the way his hands held his poor wounded feet danced across Crowley’s memory. The grin never left his lips. It was good to have his dear friend back.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #world war two #missing scene #fanfic #ineffable husbands #hurt/comfort #fluff

27 notes · View notes

keelywolfe · 5 years

Text

FIC: Any Other Tuesday (ch4, baon)

Summary: It started the same as any other Tuesday

Tags: Spicyhoney, Original Undertale Characters, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Prejudice Against Monsters, Violence, Injury, Homophobia, Off-Screen Minor Character Death

part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Notes: Well, here we are, the concluding chapter, where we get some answers, a lot more questions, tie up some loose ends, and make some new ones. This chapter has a reference to past homophobia, so please be warned. There is also off-screen character death but definitely not of a major player, not even of a minor one.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Waking up seemed more difficult than usual, but Jeff tried anyway, prying open his sticky eyes to see an unfamiliar room. It took him a moment to collect his hazy thoughts enough to realize he was in a hospital bed, rails up on either side of him and an IV taped to one arm.

A throb of pain started up warningly in his side when he tried to sit up and Jeff sagged back against the pillows, swallowing hard. Oh, right. Those guys, the blood—

There was no sign of any blood now. His hands were scrubbed pink and clean and his clothes were replaced with a hospital gown. A faint snore caught his attention and that was when he finally noticed the chair pulled up next to the bed. No rickety plastic one but a regular armchair, and Stretch was curled up in it, asleep, a tangle of a blanket partially covering him and legs dangling over the arm. His bony feet were hanging over the untidy pile of his shoes, a different colored sock on each one.

That must’ve made for a rough night, trying to sleep in that little chair. Stretch was a good foot and a half taller than him, Edge only slightly less so. Antwan didn’t tower over him quite as much, but Jeff was definitely the shortest in their group.

Their group.

A quick glance around the room told him that it was only the two of them and a pang of concern overshadowed any discomfort from his gut. Jeff groaned as he struggled to sit up and Stretch’s eye sockets opened instantly.

“hey, kid,” he said, groggily. Stretch stood up, pushing his hands at the small of his back as he straightened his spine with a groan. “the chairs here could definitely use a built-in futon or something.”

“I bet,” Jeff said. His voice sounded raspy, his throat painfully dry. “I think I’m supposed to tell you that you look like shit, but honestly, you kinda always look like that.”

“you can’t be too bad if you’ve got jokes,” Stretch said dryly, then more seriously. “how are you feeling?”

“Thirsty.” There was a styrofoam cup with a bendy straw sitting on a swinging tray attached to the bed, and Jeff reached for it, almost fumbling the cup. Stretch caught it before it could spill all over the sheets and held it while he drank gratefully from the straw. The water was cool and refreshing, and Jeff didn’t think it had ever tasted so good.

“Thanks,” Jeff said, after he’d had his fill, sinking back into the pillows.

"no problem. don't feel too bad, klutz, you're still on the good drugs.” Stretch set the cup back down and stuck his hands in his pockets. “welp, from your expression, you’ve got a shitton questions, so let me see if i can sum up before you fall back asleep. you're in the monster side of the hospital. it's technically a part of the embassy, so even though it’s supposed to be family only, they let me in, and it keeps the police out.”

“Where are Edge and Antwan?” That was his most pressing question, because they had to be together. If they were hurt, he was sure Stretch would have told him that first, but he…he needed to know.

Stretch poked absently at a tray sitting on the table next to the water. It held what looked like breakfast; a box of cereal, some fruit, a carton of orange juice. “still talking to the police, down at the embassy. they’ll be by later.”

He tried to offer Jeff an orange and he shook his head, refusing to be distracted. “Are they in trouble?”

“nah,” Stretch’s smile was careless, almost deliberately so, “edge might’ve been a smidge overzealous putting those shits down,” He held up a hand, thumb and forefinger a bare inch apart, “lil’ bit. but it’s hard to argue it wasn’t deserved when you were laying there doing your best impression of a pincushion. things got a little hairy, but it’s all good now.”

Somehow, Jeff didn’t think that was the entire story. Once, in a moment of rare confidence, Edge mentioned that Stretch, and his own brother, either lied terribly or very, very well. It made it impossible to know for sure which was which, and a bad lie could be a disguise for a better one, partial lies strung together into a necklace of half-truths.

Whatever the actual truth was, he’d have to wait and try to get it out of Edge. He was straightforward, at least. Edge would either tell you or refuse, not bothering with any nuances in between.

The ache in his belly was rising like a dull throb. Jeff set a hand gingerly over it, feeling the heavy padding of bandages, and remembered warmth, eerie green light. “You healed me.”

“yeah.” There was no attempt to dismiss that, at least, nothing but an honest answer.

“I didn’t know Monsters could heal Humans like that.”

“no humans do,” Stretch fiddled with the blanket, picking little lint balls from it and flicking them away. “we didn’t want them to know. asgore is lots of things, but he’s not stupid, and we were afraid of what might happen if the humans in charge got wind of what we can do. hence, the healing shit sans and i were working on. yeah, it takes magic to make it, but a manufactured product puts monsters out of the direct equation. or it would’ve, if it worked.” He coughed a little, his eye lights skittering around the room. “anyway, that’s one of the reasons i couldn’t heal you all the way. couldn’t really explain away that much blood and no one hurt. not like they were going to buy that dracula fumbled a snack or something. i took care of the worst of it, i think. i don’t have a liver or spleen but i’m pretty sure you like having ‘em around.”

Jesus. It left him cold, thinking of what Stretch had risked, healing him. If anyone saw or guessed— “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

Stretch finally looked at him, surprised, like it hadn’t even occurred to him to ask a promise of it. “of course you won’t. so, they’re gonna keep you a few days, the doc said, make sure everything is on the up and up before they cut you loose.”

“Sounds fun.”

“eh, i’ll keep you company. gotta say, it’s kinda nice to be on this side of the hospital bed. trust me, i know what it’s like. we’ll get you netflix and everything in here.” Stretch hesitated, then added, slowly, “edge thought we should wait to let you decide whether or not to call your parents, but he didn't say why.”

He didn't ask, but his expression was gentle, inviting confidence. He’d never judge Jeff if he didn’t tell him, but somehow, he thought he could this time, even if it hurt to say. Today seemed like a day for confessions, may as well lance the wound.

"My parents kicked me out when I was fifteen," Jeff said, tiredly. "When I told them I was gay. I ended up stayed with one of my teachers until I graduated if you can believe it. I don't have any other family, so...anyway, she helped. She was so great and—" His voice broke, old pain rising up, joining the ache in his belly, but this one was a wound that had never really healed.

His parents he was mostly over; sometimes his mom called to check in these days, but whatever maternal instinct that wouldn’t allow her to cut him loose wasn’t enough for her to welcome him back, either. Their stilted phone calls were more relief when they were over than anything else. But Mrs. Stinson. Julia, she’d told him to call her with a laugh, she wasn’t a teacher in her own house. He could still remember her hugs and the light, floral scent of her perfume, comforting him in those dark first days when he couldn’t believe his parents had…he’d never dreamed that—

A hand settled over his, bony, inhuman, Monster, and Jeff gripped it desperately.

“what happened to her?” Stretch asked quietly.

“Cancer happened. My junior year at college. She didn’t tell me for a long time, didn’t want me to worry.” A fine sentiment, but it’d given him no time to prepare himself when she’d died. One day she’d been there, supporting him, the foundation holding him up and the next, he’d been on his own again, adrift. “And ever since then, I’ve been…I don’t know. A little lost. All my friends from college graduated and moved on and I’m still here and—I know you don’t believe it, but I was so, so happy when you wanted to be friends, I…I haven’t had that for such a long time.”

He could taste salt and this time it was tears. There was a box of tissue on the side table and Stretch snagged it, plunking it on the bed so Jeff could grab a few, wiping his face dry, as much as he could with tears still trickling.

He didn’t care. Stretch needed a tissue or two of his own, wiping at his cheek bones, "yeah. me, too. maybe not ever.” Stretch let out another sigh, his bony fingers flexing in Jeff’s grip. “but this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t friends with me.”

That made Jeff laugh weakly through his tears. “It must be because you’re a scientist.”

“what?”

“You guys love being technically right. Yeah, I wouldn’t have gotten hurt, but that doesn’t make it your fault.”

Stretch only hummed thoughtfully. There was no telling if he believed Jeff or not.

He squeezed Stretch’s hand; his grip was weaker than he would have liked and he was starting to want to go back to sleep, but he needed to say a few things yet, “If they'd attacked you, they would have killed you."

There was no question of that, Jeff knew. Low HP, Antwan had told him on that first visit, five on a good day. One good swipe of a knife and Stretch would have been gone, dust, and as terrible as it had been, as terrifying, the blood and the fear lingering in the back of his mind, it was easier to accept when he thought of the alternative; Stretch in the lead, trying to sneak a cigarette, and maybe he would have noticed them, noticed the knife. Maybe not.

"they almost killed you,” Stretch took a deep breath, let it out in a shaky rush, “let's not dwell on the almosts and could be's, yeah? bet edge and antwan will do enough for both of us.”

Antwan, the shock on his face when he was kneeling on the ground next to him, the fear, his bloody hands holding his jacket, pushing it down on the wounds. Fuck, he wanted to see him, touch him, make sure he was okay. Jeff tamped down that urge as best he could. They would come when they could and that would have to be enough.

He wasn’t exactly in much condition to storm out and find him.

Nope, now he was here, in the hospital, and with that thought came another cold realization. Fuck, but this was going to be a fortune in debt, a replacement for the student loans he’d gotten rid of. And they would fucking know it, Stretch and Edge, no, no, not this time. “Listen, I need you to not pay my medical bills.”

Stretch only looked startled, without a hint of guilt, but yeah, liar, liar. “what? andy—”

“I mean it,” Jeff said firmly. “You guys already do too much for me. It’s one thing when it’s bus fares and Chinese food but this is too much. I’ll take care of it.” Surely he could set up a payment plan of some sort, hospitals wanted their money but they’d take what they could get.

Since he hadn’t been able to persuade Jeff to try anything from the breakfast tray, Stretch seemed to have decided it was fair game, peeling the orange and munching on the segments. “pretty nice speech, but we weren’t gonna pay your medical bills. since you’re listed as an embassy employee, they get to cover it all under your health care plan.”

What? Jeff sat up too fast, had to sink back into the pillows with a grimace as his side protested vigorously. “I…what? How am I listed as an Embassy employee?”

Stretch only grinned smugly, licking juice from his fingertips. “did you ever take a good look at that permanent badge edge gave you?”

“Past seeing the picture is terrible, no.” It was in his wallet even now, but Jeff never really looked at it, only handed it to the guards at New New Home whenever he was stopping by.

“welp, spoiler alert, you’re listed as an official liaison between humans and monsterkind. pretty sure edge has been trying to discreetly slip you a job for weeks now, but i’ll let him bring that up to you.”

“But…Edge has me listed as an employee?” Jeff sputtered. “He can’t…he’ll get into trouble!”

“why would he get into trouble?”

"He will!” Jeff scowled as Stretch flopped back into his chair and for once, his visible amusement was not damn well funny. “Look, I don’t want him to stick his neck out for me and cause problems for himself at work.”

Stretch propped an elbow on the chair arm, resting his chin in his palm as he asked with polite interest, “do you even know what edge does?"

"Yes!" Jeff said defensively. "He showed me a lot of it once when we were having lunch together."

"uh huh, i bet he did." Stretch blinked once, slowly, and his amusement was shining in his eye lights. "kid, uh, no one is going to be yelling at edge for what he put on your swipe card. or for anything, really. edge is the senior director of operations, he lowkey runs the embassy from behind the scenes."

"What?" Dumbly, the word falling free, because yeah, Edge really had shown him some stuff, spreadsheets and documents, calmly explaining what he did every day, but Jeff hadn’t suspected that.

Stretch shrugged. "that bit ain’t official, but everyone knows it. edge doesn't want to be in the spotlight, so he does everything from the background, all kinds of shit. He handles pr, the legal teams, sets up meetings with heads of state. all of it goes directly through him. embassy would fall apart without him, no one is going to even question handing over a benefits package. come to think of it, there's probably only a couple people over his head who could question it.”

"Like…like who?" Jeff asked weakly.

“well, there's asgore, of course,” Stretch snagged a handful of grapes, popping one into his mouth. “probably janice. if they'd fall apart without him, he falls apart without her. okay, that’s enough, you’re hurting, and you need to go back to sleep.” Stretch wiped his hands carelessly on a napkin and stood, walking over to the IV to fiddle with something.

“Wait.” Jeff caught his hands, stilling him. “Those guys, the ones that…what happened to them?”

“they got out with their souls intact,” Stretch said sourly. “they’re in jail far as I know.”

That sounded weirdly ominous and gave him another question. “Are you sure Humans even have souls?”

That seemed to take Stretch aback. “um, yeah. i’ve seen them.”

“How?”

“monsters can summon souls," Stretch said, a little impatiently. "it’s a thing, c'mon, kid--”

Today was fraught with information and as much as his side was aching, Jeff couldn’t help asking, “Can you summon mine?”

“well, fuck, you chose a hell of a time to get over your problem asking questions. you’re pretty banged up, kid, i—" Whatever Stretch saw in Jeff’s expression gave him a pause and he stopped with a sigh, “yeah, okay. just…real quick.” He gave the door a wary glance, then settled a hand over Jeff’s chest. “this shouldn’t hurt. tell me if it does.”

His fingers curled inward, almost like he was grabbing something. There was the strangest tugging sensation as if he had a hook caught painlessly in his spine, making his back arch until—

Light coalesced in Stretch’s hand, hovering above the bones and Jeff stared, distantly amazed.

His soul.

Illuminated a pale green, it looked like an actual heart, the same as on a Valentine card. Sort of. It was hard to look at, the edges undefined, wavering between the childish outline and something undefinable, and the light came somehow from within it. “Oh.”

“yeah, you have a nice one,” Stretch didn’t touch it, only let it hover over his outstretched hand. “monster souls are silver, if you don’t have lv, but human souls have a color that matches your dominant trait.”

“What’s my—“

“compassion,” Stretch interrupted softly. “okay, that’s enough.” He let his hand drop and the soul faded, disappeared like it was sliding right through his shirtfront. “don’t try that with just anyone on the street, it’s kinda a big thing.”

“Oh.” He was suddenly terribly sleepy and wondered if it was from pulling out his soul or if Stretch had managed to hit the painkiller pump on his IV when he wasn’t looking. “You seen Edge’s soul?”

“that’s a more complicated question than you think.”

He’d heard that Edge had LV, knew what it was. His mouth seemed to be willing to go on asking questions on its own, uncaring if it was rude or prying. “Has Edge killed someone?”

“yes.” Stretch offered no excuse, no explanation.

“More than one person?”

A long, slow sigh. “yeah, but that’s really his story to tell.”

“He was a soldier.”

“yeah,” Stretch agreed, quietly. “he was.”

Jeff didn’t know why he asked, couldn’t stop it from spilling out, “Have you killed anyone?”

“one person,” So terribly soft, barely audible, “but i killed them a lot. now go to sleep or i’m gonna put your lights out myself.”

“Stretch?” It was getting hard to think, his consonants softened, slurring out.

“what now?” Stretch asked in exasperated amusement.

“I'm glad you're my friend.”

“thanks, andy.” Warmth settled over Jeff, another blanket? He couldn’t tell. “me, too. i’ll be here when you wake up again, kid.”

“Mmkay.” Sleep was too hard to resist anymore, and his questions faded, lost, as he drifted. His last thought was to hope Antwan and Edge would get here soon and then even that faint worry faded, lost in the darkness.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

47 notes · View notes

vhenadahls · 5 years

Text

and we’re tried and true

Esther and her family aren’t handling the sardines-in-a-can experience of Gamlen’s house well. She runs into Varric at the Hanged Man, and they get themselves into a bit of trouble. Nothing they can’t handle.

Hawke and Varric friendship, 1300 words. Rated T for two fuck words and a bar fight.

I’m still on hiatus, but I wrote a thing!

After a knock-down, drag-out, family-wide fight that leaves Gamlen sulking and Mother in tears, Carver storms out the door, greatsword on his back and every Kirkwall stormcloud in his face. Esther waits precisely five minutes, trying to pretend she knows how to handle this sort of thing, before following his example.

She leaves her staff propped in the corner, a subtle, modified repulsion glyph woven around it to prevent anyone noticing or trying to take it. Including Gamlen. The staff’s not a necessary thing, she’s just far more comfortable with it on her back than without. But Athenril’s protection of her prize mage isn't there anymore, not when she's out finding her own work and fucking around Lowtown herself. She's always been able to channel more than enough mana for most things without the staff, though, both of them are - were. A fact that made Esther proud and Bethany shy away from her magic even more.

Bethany. Bethany would've known how to handle tonight's blowup without shrinking out the door, would know how to talk to Mother in a voice that wasn't shouting. She may not have wanted to understand her magic, but she understood people, more than she thought she did, and Esther wishes she had half that knowledge to bring into Gamlen’s tumble-down Lowtown house. Maybe they wouldn’t feel so much like they’re crashing someone’s party.

She swipes at the tears threatening in her eyes, and looks up to find her feet have walked her to the Hanged Man. The doors are flung open and blurry conversation spills out into the street, along with a circle of reflected candlelight. It smells like cheap ale, too many people, and stale piss, and it's just what she needs.

A seat’s open at the end of one of the long benches, and she drops into it with a wave at Norah. A mug of ale appears in front of her a moment later, and so does a familiar dwarf.

“Drinking alone, Shorebird?” Varric asks, tossing a copper to Norah when Esther doesn't.

“Not anymore, apparently.” She gestures him to the space on the bench across from her. He climbs up, and the way his legs dangle puts a smile on her face she didn't think would appear for a lot longer. All the furniture in his room is dwarf-sized, so she’s used to choking on her knees while she drinks with him. It's a nice change.

“Damned human-sized furniture,” he mutters under his breath, and her smile turns into a laugh. He grins in such a way that she knows the comment was for her benefit. Another mug of ale appears on the table, and he drains half of it in one gulp. “What's ailing you?”

She sniggers. “Ale-ing. Nice.” Stalling, she takes another sip from her mug and glances around the room. It's all the usual suspects tonight, various Lowtown louts and Fereldan refugees and the occasional guardsman just off their shift. It's loud, and crowded, and the perfect place to forget all her troubles. If he'd let her.

Varric waits. She'll give him that - he's remarkably patient, when he wants to be. He nurses his ale more sedately, swinging his feet in the too-big chair, and waits for her to come clean.

“Fuck you, Varric,” she finally says, and drains the last the mug in one swig, banging it down on the rickety table when she's done. “Just family shit. It's not important.”

It’s not often that Varric doesn’t have a ready answer. He just nods slowly, and takes another sip. “Did I ever tell you about the qunari mage Bartrand hoodwinked onto our last expedition?” he asks, his eyes wide and as innocent as he can make them.

Laughter rises from the patrons next to them, wedged in on the bench. “You’re a terrible liar, Varric,” one of them says, raising their mug to him.

“I resent that!” he cries. “I’ll have you know that I am an exquisite liar, but this is definitely one hundred percent true.” He launches into another one of his tales, one that is obviously false (he’s never met a qunari mage, as far as she knows, let alone been on an expedition with one). But his wide-eyed pretense has her and the rest of his audience holding their sides from laughter soon enough.

Norah refills their mugs, and after the story someone produces a Wicked Grace deck. She's got nothing to play with, but Varric spots her, and she cleans their new friends out with an easy smile. Her shoulders start to relax, tension easing.

“Fucking dog lord!” comes a sudden screech, when the Angel of Death card comes up and Esther lays her hand flat on the table - four knights: ages, dawn, mercy, and sacrifice. Another win.

The screecher jumps up from the bench, his path a little wobbly from alcohol consumption. “You're cheating!”

“Now, now,” Varric says, helping gather Esther's winnings so none of the audience takes them, “that's no way to be a gracious loser.”

With another screech, the man tries to aim a punch at Varric, but his own inebriation and Varric’s lack of height mean he misses by a mile. Varric ducks even so, sliding out from the bench.

Esther does, too. “Hey!” she shouts. The angry man turns toward her and raises his fist again, but she sidesteps it and drives a mana-enhanced punch into his gut. He slumps over, heaving, and she spins to face his friends trying to disentangle themselves from the bench.

“So, my good men, you’ll find that I can more than hold my own in a fight. And if you don’t want to end up like your friend over here,” she points her foot backward at the man still gasping for breath, “you’re going to let me just walk on out of here with my winnings and we’ll forget all about this. How’s that sound?”

One of the man’s friends looks like he’s considering the offer, but the other winds up for another punch. Esther lets him get it in - he’s so drunk it feels more like a mild shove - and follows with another punch of her own, softer than the last but in the shoulder.

A number of Fereldans from the next table over stand up as the reluctant one advances on her, and she tips an imaginary hat to them in thanks before he grabs at her arm. He’s stronger than his friends, and it’s more of a fight for a few moments. One of the incoming Fereldans throws a wild punch that makes him loosen his grip and she wriggles away from him, heading for the door with Varric on her heels.

She’s laughing before they even make it onto the street. The denizens of late-night Lowtown barely glance up at the intrusion. They walk towards Gamlen’s house, still chuckling. “Cheating at cards so much you start a bar fight, Shorebird. That’s one way to have an interesting evening.”

Pretending to be affronted, Esther flattens a hand on her chest in a horrendous impersonation of Leandra. “Me? Cheating? I am appalled that you could ever think such a thing of me. I would never cheat!” She flutters her other hand through the air like she’s supposed to be holding an ornate fan - this imitation, spot on.

The sound Varric makes is something like a cross between a nug and a pig. “And I’m next in line for the Sunburst Throne. Honestly I’m glad for it, you’re far more interesting than the usual clientele.”

They’re in front of Gamlen’s place now, and Esther leans against the sagging stairway. “That’s not saying much, though.”

Varric tilts his head and a hand toward her, agreeing. “That’s true. Anyway, I’d best get back before the fight’s too rowdy and they kick everyone out, that’s always some fun people-watching. See you later, Shorebird.” He turns and heads back the way they came.

Still leaning on the stairs, Esther taps one foot against the carved-stone ground. It’s a familiar sound, and it helps center her thoughts. “Varric?” she calls. He turns back, a question in the angle of his head.

She takes a deep breath. “Just...thanks. For being there tonight. It helped.”

No response, for a moment, and then he nods. “Anytime, Hawke.”

#dragon age #hawke #varric tethras #esther hawke: ringing joyful and triumphant #otf: together we're chaotic rhyme #logan writes fic #verse: even a short blade #made by me

11 notes · View notes

wolveswithhats · 6 years

Text

writing wip game

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you or interests you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!

The titles weren’t interesting so I vainly just posted some excerpts from a grab bag of more recent stuff. If I did everything it’d honestly probably go on for pages. I have a lot of unfinished stuff (pretty much...exclusively unfinished stuff dfjkdjfkg). Like a decade’s worth.

Tagged by @ackbang. TY TY, MY DUDE. If you see this and you’re a writer, consider yourself tagged. Like for real. Only not tagging because I can’t remember who writes fanfic and who doesn’t.

Looooooong post below.

ling ling the goblin king (ling + lan fan, fma)

"lan fan did it," the prince says, and for a moment she feels a flare of anger and betrayal over his deception. 'it wasn't me, i didn't do this. i didn't kill anyone.' but the prince is bending at the waist, low enough that that his tail of hair brushes the dirt, and she realizes his lie is for her benefit. "thank you, m'lady. i owe you my life."

her mouth feels dry, face hot from exertion and the burning gaze of her older peers. "d-don't do that," she stutters, and she's not sure if she's referring to the lie or the bow.

"you dare give me orders?" but there's no heat in his voice, eyes crinkling with humor as he rises to his full height. she has no idea how he can look so amused with a hole in his shoulder, covered in the blood of a man he just killed. he grins lopsided, teeth crooked and painted red. the sight is altogether ghoulish.

limb choppy choppy (lan fan + greed + ling, fma, part of the revival au)

And Greed is stilling his struggles, catching his wandering hand in his own, running comforting circles with his thumb over Ling's blood-smeared cheek. “Hey, you little pissant, this is nothing, piddly kids table shit. Remember that time that one Central soldier tried to gut us? Right down the middle, like splitting a sausage. Goddamn crimson tide. I thought we'd never get the blood out of that coat. Now that was an injury.”

“T-they took my arm.”

“Yeah, and who needs one of those anyway? Gonna get you all sorted, get you one of those shiny metal ones, like your girl Lan Fan here. Guess the adjustment period takes a bit, a year or three, but bet we could expedite the process with proper motivation. I'm thinking sandwiches.”

He laughs, or something approaching as much, a soggy intake of air. She's struck with an unexpected wave of jealousy, that it's Greed that's offering reassurance and intimate personal jokes. A former homunculus, a former demon, a watery imitation of a man. Creature comforts from the creature. It should be me, she thinks, though she has nothing to offer beyond promises of protection, and even those feel like falsehoods after all that has happened here. Comforting platitudes are beyond her. What could I ever say to make this better?

lets get lit fam (greedling + ed, fma)

wobbly-legged, too uncoordinated to walk. almost stumbles into a line of trash cans at the mouth of the alley, but ed hooks his elbow and steers him away. "what the hell were you thinking? we're supposed to be keeping a low profile."

it's not an accusation he's fully equipped to grapple, not when he's still so bleary from sleep—and some other pleasant, dizzying sensation he thinks might be inebriation. he's never woken up drunk before. he's never been drunk before period. "what'd i do?"

"not you, ling. you would have gone straight for the food menu, not the liquor list. i'm talking to the dipshit you share a mental occupancy with. greed, what the hell?"

"was just a few drinks," ling slurs, but it's not his words, or his voice, and wow he's never been so aware of his own tongue before.

solid citizen (ling + greed, fma)

"geez, kid, you're certainly in a mood." so he was reading his thoughts, just fantastic. he look he gives him is withering, but greed pats his shoulder, almost condescendingly, pitying for sure.

"you're plenty fine, kid. i'll give you the ears, but you're top shelf in the looks department otherwise. if you were ugly, i'd tell you straight up. i don't lie. this here," he points to his own face. "is ugly. nothing like my old human face."

it's a bated response, he knows, and he doesn't really feel like playing, but greed did make a passing effort to make him feel better. "human face?"

he beams, dreamily, which is an impressively soft expression to pull off a mouthful of razors, and ling is suddenly reminded of the mythology of the man fawning over his own reflection. surely greed can't be that vain? "yeah i was a real stunner. fucking gorgeous." or maybe he could, apparently, what did ling know anyway.

wreckage (vincent, re-l, ergo proxy)

When she makes it back to the Rabbit, chest burning and damp with exertion, Vincent has already stripped Pino of her overalls and laid her across the table. Cooling fluids draining, frayed wiring spooling out of her gashed torso, sprawled like a tiny metal Tityos. Her left arm is snapped off and dangling at the elbow, her eyes glassy – glass, literal glass – staring at the ceiling. Broken doll parts. Just another disassembled AutoReiv, but this isn't like that at all, because Pino isn't just another AutoReiv. She's like Iggy--

It's almost too much for Re-l to take. Hand over her mouth, breathing sharp through her fingers in short repetitions. Tries to steel herself, to be calm and assertive, because one of them has to be, and Vincent-- Vincent was awkward and mousy and sensitive, Vincent who spilled his cereal and tripped over his own feet and housed an ancient being of unspeakable power in his lanky boy-frame. But his god-strength was of no use here, drowned under the weak, simpering, overpowering grief for something that was no more human than he was.

do NOT worry about meryl (vash + wolfwood + milly, trigun)

milly caught the hurt. naive, for sure, but shrewd. "oh, we'd never think that of you, mr. vash. it's just our job as representatives of the bernadelli insurance society to mitigate any and all damages from the humanoid typhoon, even the rumored ones."

wolfwood: "bernadelli employing a little insurance of their own, eh?"

milly nods. "if we had to pay out claims on every false report of mr. vash's wrongdoings, we'd go belly up in no time!"

caught up on the word 'wrongdoing', growls, "you make it sound like i'm doing any of this on purpose."

"it's just sensible. your name has a lot of weight, vash."

grumbles: "yeah, i'm aware."

"and that's why meryl was so insistent on following up on this one, even knowing it wasn't really you. so many people drag your name through the mud, and it just doesn't seem fair at all."

his name had long since been dragged, strangled and shot, left to rot under a flock of buzzards circling its carcass in the heat. There was no saving it. still, the intent was kind, if not bewildering. "you...were trying to protect my reputation?"

milly looks at him like he's insane for thinking otherwise. "well, yeah. we've come to think of you as a friend, mr. vash, and that's what friends do.”

baby scrub (locke + rachel, ff6)

offers his hand and a single word: "lock."

her faces scrunches distastefully at his uncouth greeting, but she's not sure what else she was expecting from a dirty street boy. "lock?"

"with an e," he adds, as if that clarifies anything.

"that can't be real. you just made that up."

"all names are made up," huffs locke-with-an-e, looking impatient with her slow uptake on this odd world of his. "and i never said it was real, but it's all you're going to get."

spike bday (spike + dawn, btvs)

“if I show you something, you need to promise not to say anything. not to the watcher, or your sister. not to anyone, right?”

even through her tears, she nods, curious. spike's always good for skirting just outside the limits of good taste.

“I'm serious. spool your intestines out your nose, string 'em up like christmas garland. I mean it.”

“colorful threats of bodily dismemberment, I get it.”

hands her a faded yellow tintype. a young man, twenty-five or thirty maybe, a riot of disheveled curls, glasses, frumpy suit. not an unattractive man, but a timid one, uncertainty written into the slanted bow of his shoulders. he had the weedy air of someone who spent a lot of time duct taped to flag poles, or whatever the victorian equivalent would be. did it count as a twirly if you were dunked into a chamber pot?

a rebellious counterpoint in wrinkled tweed to the hard, starched lines of victorian decorum – interesting, but not very relevant. and a little disappointing, if she was being totally honest. spike's anecdotes usually had more flash and gore. “I don't get it.”

he's exasperated, fingers twitching like he's ready to snatch it away, and he tucks his hands under his arms in an awkward self hug. she takes in the hard set of his jaw and the...flush of his cheeks? god, she didn't even know vampires could blush. it had to take some serious breaking of undead physiology to ping that level of embarrassment, and something beyond that even to flap the unflappable spike. he hisses impatiently. “would you just—look at the face.”

and she does, tilting the little photo to and fro in the dim of the crypt. unassuming man-hermione with hair that cannot be tamed. sharp cheekbones and dark heavy brows under the rims of his glasses and suddenly she sees it—him—the angular planes of his face coming into sharp relief, like a camera finding its focus. “oh. oh my god! this is you. holy crap, spike. you look....”

“normal,” he finishes for her, and something in her stomach swoops and clenches, stones in a pond. “mundane.”

“i was going to say like a megawatt dorklord, but we can use your word instead.” she wipes her nose on the back of her hand. he snorts, amused and embarrassed.

“i was a poet.”

she tried to envision anything beyond smutty limericks carved onto the wall of a bathroom stall.

“were you ever published?”

“i was a shitty poet,” he amends, grimacing.

boston au (spike + dawn, btvs)

bodily kicking a dumpster, sending it careening into the street with a rusty scream of metal. a hydrant follows suit, ripped from the sidewalk. caps off his tantrum with a boot to the side of Angel's GTX, but even the size-10 crater marring the passenger door of the angelmobile did little to ease his frustration.

“better?” dawn asks, when he drops bodily into the driver's seat with an aching sigh, anger dissipating. she looks so tiny and forlorn, knees drawn to her chest, picking at a cigarette burn in the upholstery. two years ago she'd have been a ripe treat, poor little lost lamb. now the idea twists his gut, her sorrow palpable, proprietary, under his skin and in his veins.

“no,” he grunts, staring out impassively at the aftermath of his outburst. water spurting from the sidewalk, skip spilling out into the road. half a dozen cars along the block chirping in a chorus of wailing alarms. and angel in the foyer, something vaguely resembling pity etched across his massive cavebrow. fucking wanker.

...

“we go back to sunnydale then. try again. badger the scoobies until they agree to help. we'll figure this out.”

“i don't want to.” quietly. barely a whisper.

“to figure it out?”

“to go back.”

“dawn...”

“there's nothing there. they're not going to help because i'm nothing. it's an ongoing memorial to my own non-existence. can we not go back? can we just keep driving?”

“where?”

“I don't care. away.”

thinks about leaving sunnydale. thinks about what he's leaving behind. shitty memories, regrets, lost love. he has a small collection of personal effects; records, first edition books, family heirlooms that cannot be replaced, a hundred years of mementos of his whirlwind romance with dru. wonders if he can ring up clem, ask him to send a care package once they get to wherever they're going. looks at dawn in her clearance-rack pajamas, realizes she has lost everything. she has no belongings, no family, no remnants left as evidence she even had a family. nothing but him and her, here, in this moment.

it's just stuff. it's surprisingly easy to let go.

he drives.

taco hell (spike + dawn, btvs, part of the boston / unravel au)

Right where her window was supposed to be, a swirling doorway of light ringed in licking green flame, spilling out into....a fast food restaurant?

"I think it's Taco Bell," Dawn said, pinching a tissue to her--aw hell--bleeding finger. He took inventory of the spell books around her, the scrying bowl, and the ashy pentagram burnt into 70s shag weave of her bedroom carpet. So much for their security deposit.

"You opened a hell dimension to Taco Bell?"

She craned her head to squint at the pimply teenager manning the register, oblivious to his cross-dimension spectators. "I think it's just a regular Taco Bell. I don't see any dragons or shrimp people or anything."

"Not all alternate universes have shrimp people."

"I know that. You know, it actually looks like the one downtown, across from the KFC? On Kellner? Unless the Kellner Street Taco Bell is a Taco Hell. I've been reading up about liminal spaces, where the fabric between realities is weakened. Maybe it's a hot spot, and all the employees are actually like, octopus centaurs. How would we know? Not like I'm going to crawl over the counter to check, you know?"

"Well, now's your chance to ask Squiddly Diddly here what he's got going on downstairs." Slack-jawed employee finally cottoned on to the door to another universe in the restaurant lobby. Dawn awkwardly waves. Poc Ock waves back, bewildered, before the portal collapses in on itself in a burst of white light.

"It stopped bleeding." she holds up her finger.

(I don’t think anyone would, but as a precaution: please don’t reblog these to the Herald. They’re sloppy and incomplete and mixed in with a bunch of other fandoms so it’d just be really weird. THANK)

#some of these are ok #most if not all of them will never be finished #i have a ton more?#i just didn't want to go TOO buck wild with it #i already feel like this is way too much lfgklfg #wolves writes

3 notes · View notes

lostinfic · 6 years

Note

Hardy x Hannah • 12

Enchantment

#12 Storm clouds

Thank you for the prompt, I hope you like it!

Rating: all-ages

Word count: 2124

Summary: Hannah is a witch afraid to fall in love, until one of her spells backfires in the best of ways.

@tinyconfusion here’s your Practical Magic AU (although maybe not the one you dream of) (early birthday present?)

Ao3

Hannah had swam too far. The cliffs were a mere copper line in the distance. Not a soul on the beach, they’d all gone home for supper.

The water turned grey. It shivered around her, stirred, restless under the gathering clouds.

Hannah swam towards the beach but the undercurrent pulled her back. Waves sucked at the strength in her legs. Rain fell like a lead curtain. She couldn’t tell the sea from the sky, the beach from the horizon.

Panic flared in her guts, short-circuited any rational thoughts. She tried to scream for help but waves slapped her face and salty water splashed into her lungs.

In the conservatory of her aunts’ house on the Isle of Wight, a young Hannah— nine and a half years old to be exact— carefully chose her ingredients. A sprig of valerian, a row of foxgloves, a blackberry leaf. And she whispered to herself: “He will hear my call a mile away. He will quote my favourite books. He can see the future in his dreams.”

Jackie walked into the room and watched her sister for a moment. “What are you doing?”

“Summoning up a true love spell called ‘Amas Veritas’,” Hannah replied. She sprinkled dried lavender into her wooden bowl and added a bunch of bluebells to it. “He can flip pancakes in the air. He’ll have a big heart, as big as the world. Too big. And he’ll wear ties all the time.” She added sunflower petals. “And he’ll have golden eyes.”

“I thought you never wanted to fall in love,” Jackie said.

The Baxter women were cursed, any man who fell in love with them was doomed. Or so the family legend said. Was it fate or just an accident that had killed her father? Whatever their mother believed, she’d died of a broken heart. And thus, Hannah promised herself never to fall in love.

But today, she had witnessed a woman begging her aunts to cast a spell on a married man she loved. That woman’s desperation, bordering on madness, had shaken Hannah. There was nothing beautiful or dignified about it. Love dragged you in the mud.

As the woman pierced a dove’s heart, Hannah had decided to take concrete actions to protect herself from love.

“That’s the point,” she explained to her sister. “The bloke I dreamed of doesn’t exist. And if he doesn’t exist, I’ll never fall in love and die of a broken heart.”

She carried her bowl to the balcony on the second floor. The warm night air fluttered the petals, and when she recited the spell, they twirled and rose towards the moon.

Hannah coughed up water. Salt stung her throat. Sand chafed her cheek.

“You alright? Miss? Bloody hell, d’you have a death wish?”

With a great effort and a moan of pain, she turned her face towards the voice. A thin man, all scraggly hair and unkempt beard. His tie dangled above her.

The sun came out, piercing the clouds, and illuminated his face. The brown of his eyes shone almost golden.

“How…?” She didn’t have the strength to finish her question.

He helped her to her feet and supported her through the short walk to a small blue house.

As if he’d expected her, there already were towels and blankets in the living room.

“I was folding the laundry,” he explained as he arranged towels over the couch.

She shivered in her bikini, and he promptly draped a knit blanket over her shoulders. Then a second one. He peered into her face— her teeth were chattering— he scrunched up his nose, and covered her legs with a duvet, tucking it tight under her knees and feet.

“What’s your name?”

“Hannah.”

“I’m Hardy… Alec.”

“Thank you, Alec.”

“How are you feeling? You were pretty out of it.”

“I feel… tired.”

“Is there anyone you want to call?”

“I don’t know. Not really.”

Well, there were people she could call, but no one she wanted to. Actually, inexplicably, she wanted to stay right here, in this cozy, seaside shack.

“You can rest here for a while,” he said.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“I know the harbour master.”

“He came to get you?” That seemed like a strange protocol.

“I heard you calling,” Alec said.

“From here?”

He shrugged and disappeared into a bedroom.

There was something familiar about Alec Hardy that she couldn’t put her finger on.

The files spread on the coffee table told her he was a policeman.

In the full bookcase behind the sofa, she spotted a worn-out copy of Peter Pan and even her first novel. Maybe she’d met him at a book signing. He didn’t seem the type.

Underneath, there was a family portrait, outdoors, at some birthday party. Alec with his daughter and wife. “She looks more like a witch than me,” Hannah mumbled.

Alec had changed into a dark blue jumper, and he tossed another one her way. She’d stopped shivering, but put it on anyway. It smelled of Irish Spring soap.

“The books were there when I moved in,” he said.

“And the family picture?”

“I’m on it, aren’t I?” He offered no further explanation.

She tracked his movements as he prepared two cups of tea in the narrow kitchen. He opened crooked cupboards, searching for saucers, sugar and snacks.

Looking at him was as maddening as having a word on the tip of her tongue.

“Have we ever met?” she asked.

He looked up from the cups he was filling, his eyes wide, and he spilled water from the kettle all over the countertop.

“Shit.” He quickly cleaned up the mess.

He place a cup of tea with two Jammie Dodgers in front of her. “Careful, it’s hot.”

She stirred milk and sugar into it, and the spoon kept spinning much longer than it naturally would. When he noticed it, she put her hand over the mug— she was slipping.

She held the cup in two hands and brought it close to her face, she closed her eyes, basking in its warmth for a moment. The first sip soothed her.

“Are you from Broadchurch?” he asked.

They compared places they’d been to and people they knew, but nothing overlapped. He admitted uncomfortably to appearing in newspapers, but Hannah wasn’t one to keep up with the news. They were complete strangers after all.

Alec was rough around the edges with his scruffy cheeks and sharp nose and blunt questions. She thought of thistles, the floral emblem of Scotland. Still, his actions revealed a genuine concern for her well-being despite his small talk flaws.

“What were you doing out there?” he asked.

“Swimming?”

She took a long sip to dissipate her uneasiness.

“You were very far into the sea. Do you have suicidal thoughts?”

“No! No, don’t worry. Really don’t. I was, er, you know, training for… a swimming competition. Amateur competition. Obviously.”

He quirked an incredulous eyebrow at her excuse and inquired further as only a detective would. Thankfully, he relented when she rubbed her forehead in pain.

If she told him she needed to bathe in the first high tide of the summer equinox to ward off evil, he would laugh in her face.

Hannah always “scanned” her clients to keep the creepy ones away. Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to her to do the same for this handsome man she’d met at a writing workshop. She’d ignored the red flags, chalked it up to his passionate nature. When she finally listened to her fear and tried to break things off, he already knew too much about her to get rid of him easily. She’d had to resort to belladonna and magic.

That bloody spell better have worked because it almost cost her her life.

Thinking back on these events, Hannah decided she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Can I use the loo?”

In the tiny bathroom, she found a dusty candle that might have belonged to the previous tenants. She blew softly on the wick until a flame blossomed. Then she whispered one of the few spells she knew by heart.

The beating of Alec’s heart echoed in her head. There was something off about it. She sensed anger in the irregular beats. But he was not a bad person, on the contrary, his kindness washed over her mind like the gentlest waterfall.

Her skin goose-pimpled.

“He’s a good one.”

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror and then noticed she looked… well, she looked like someone who’d almost drowned.

She asked Alec’s permission to take a shower, and he lent her sweatpants and a police t-shirt.

The hot water and soap made her feel better in an instant.

She noticed— with some satisfaction— the lack of women’s beauty products in the bathroom.

Hannah braided her hair in loose pigtails and rolled the sweatpants’ elastic waistband low over her hips.

When she came out, he stared for a moment. “Looks better on you,” he said, rather gruffly.

Hannah had fallen asleep on his couch, and Hardy didn’t know what to do. He stood beside her, hands on hips, contemplating the situation. He couldn’t possibly wake her up and kick her out of his house after what she’d been through today. And to be honest, he enjoyed her presence. He welcomed it even if she snored. He’d been alone for too long.

The last sun rays descended behind the horizon and momentarily alighted her hair.

He’d heard her call for help from impossibly far away. It didn’t make any sense and yet, somehow, it did. He knew why but the explanation vanished as soon as he tried to grasp it.

He thought of Peter Pan.

“You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming…?” he whispered.

He knew the quote by heart from reading the book multiple times in his childhood and then to Daisy, but in this moment he could not finish saying it.

“For God’s sake,” he muttered as he adjusted a blanket over Hannah.

In the morning, sunlight bounced off the water surface, slipped through the windows and shimmered on the ceiling. Through blurred eyes, Hannah watched it dance above her for a moment.

How could something so beautiful have nearly killed her yesterday?

A healthy fear and respect of nature was what every witch needed. Perhaps it had been a reminder to not abuse her powers.

A delicious scent pulled her out of her musings. Alec, in a grey t-shirt and PJ bottoms, looked at her from the kitchen doorway.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Famished.”

“Pancakes?”

Hannah smiled, wide and bright, and jumped to her feet. He returned her smile.

As he cooked the pancakes, she set the little table by the window.

“Let’s see if I can still do this,” he said.

He shook the pan until the pancake slid around then flicked his wrist to make it flip. But the pancake landed on the floor, and all of his good mood vanished in an instant.

“Give it another try,” she encouraged him.

This time, a few words whispered in latin made sure the pancake landed in the pan.

They wolfed down the pancakes and washed it down with coffee, between bites, they chatted some more.

Hannah had a gift to make people talk, and there was nothing magical about it. She asked the right questions and gave people time to reply rather than rush to fill the silence. And in desperate cases she had a go-to, self-deprecating, anecdote that usually put people at ease. She didn’t need it with Hardy, she didn’t want to use it, she wanted to just be herself.

She told him about her ex and coming to Broadchurch to escape.

“I suppose it’s the place to get away from exes,” he said.

He told her, in very few words, about his divorce.

“Why Broadchurch?” she asked.

He scratched his cheek and gave this some thought. “I don’t know… there were other towns where I could’ve worked.”

The question really seemed to bother him, he kept frowning as they carried dishes to the sink.

“Well, if you hadn’t been here, I would’ve been in trouble,” Hannah said.

He gripped the edge of the sink and stared as it filled with bubbles. “Aye.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No… maybe you’re right. Maybe I was here to save you.”

She leaned closer. Her arm brushed his, and he looked at her, straight at her. An earnest gaze that made her ribcage feel too small for her lungs and heart.

And she realized, she’d experienced attraction before, but never like this, never more than physical.

“Hannah,” he said softly.

She nodded as a lump rose in her throat. She didn’t understand why.

He cradled her face in his palm, his thumb stroked her cheekbone, and Hannah leaned into his touch.

“I think I know you,” he said.

She stepped closer to him and placed her hand on his heart. “Yes. Somehow.”

“I was waiting…”

“Between sleep and awake.”

He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her closer to him like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

She was in a daze. Everything made sense even if it didn’t. In that moment, the only truth worth believing in was that they’d found each other at last.

Both turned their heads at the same time and, with a sigh, pressed their lips together. Shyly, at first, a chaste kiss, until Hannah licked the syrup off his lips. He pressed her against the counter and deepened the kiss, ravenous after a lifetime of waiting. Each caress of tongue and smack of lips brought to light hints and clues, moments, words, images.

They broke the kiss with a sudden gasp.

“My spell.”

“My dream.”

░

Full Peter Pan quote

#meanwhileinpetesworld #tinyconfusion #Hardy x Hannah #teninch fic #practical magic au #lostinfic writes stuff #two-word prompts #I'm sorry I took a movie about sisterhood to write a shippy fic

40 notes · View notes

wingsofanillyrian · 6 years

Text

Would you Take an Arrow for Me? (Feysand)

Anonymous asked: “ Can you please write one where in the middle of Feyre and Rhysand angst fighting, Feyre sees an attacker from the corner of her and quickly pushes Rhysand out of the way so she takes the full blunt pain of the ash arrow? And Rhysand loses it”

Full Fic Masterlist

Send me a request!

Feyre’s POV

Rhys had been on my nerves all day.

He’d agreed to take me with him to visit Devlon’s camp, but had neglected to inform me that he didn’t plan to let me out of his sight. I had intended to gain some hand to hand training experience from some of the battle hardened Illyrians, but hadn’t been able to focus with Rhys’ burning gaze tracking my every move.

I doubled over as my opponent’s staff landed a jab at my stomach for the third time. The lead trainer clucked at me, shaking his head.

“Your thoughts are elsewhere,” he said, eyes flicking above us to the edge of the pit. Frustrated, I growled and threw my staff to the sand.

“I’m done for now. Thank you for your time.” Without another word, I turned on my heel and exited the pit. Rhys said something as I stalked past, but the blood roaring in my ears drowned it out. He caught my elbow, forcing me to face him.

“Feyre, what is it-“

I whirled on him. “Do I need to be babysat?”

Rhys blinked once before releasing my elbow. “What? I’m not babysitting you. I’m just making sure you’re safe.”

“Damn it Rhys, I can protect myself!” He opened his mouth to either argue or agree, but I cut him off. “You know what, I’m not fighting with you about this here. If you really want to discuss, I’ll be waiting outside the camp’s border.”

I tromped past the gathered warriors, unflinching under the weight of their stares. Not every day that you witness a High Lord and Lady duking it out. The wards zinged against my skin as I crossed the camp’s barrier, instantly feeling more at ease.

I breathed the crisp autumn air deep into my lungs, letting the scent of dry leaves cool the anger in my veins. A twig snapped behind me, and I knew it was more for by benefit than an accident.

“I’m sorry you felt that I was babysitting you.” Rhys’ inky, thoughtful presence enveloped me as he came to a stop a few feet behind me.

“Felt like?” I forced my voice to remain calm and steady. “Rhys, what kind of image does it present to those men if I can’t do anything without you hovering over me?” I shook my head as I faced him.

“You can do things without me, you’ve proven that-“

“But they haven’t seen any of those things first hand. I want them to be able to see me as their equal, and I can’t do that with you breathing down my neck!”

“Feyre, please, look at this through my eyes-“

“What do you see? Do you see a pitiful being that needs your protection? I can take care of myself! What are you so afraid of?“

“What am I so-“ He chuckled, the sound low and unnerving as he raked a hand through his hair. “Do you even know what they do to females in those camps? The horrible things the males do when they think no one’s watching?” I stiffened at the words.

“They wouldn’t dare touch me.”

“You’d be surprised!”

“Even still, that’s no reason for you to-“ I sucked in a breath, my focus narrowing to a glint of light over Rhys’s shoulder.

In an instant, time thickened to the consistency of syrup; everything flowing at a snail’s pace.

I saw the ash arrow whiz through the trees, tracked it’s path through the brush. It was going to impale Rhys, a clean shot right through his heart. He’d be dead in seconds.

I had barely a moment to decide, but then again, there wasn’t a decision to make.

I threw my entire body weight at him, knocking him out of the arrow’s trajectory. Birds cawed as they fled from the disturbance. I didn’t register the hit, but I knew immediately that something was wrong.

My mind was fuzzy. Spots blinked in my vision. As if outside my own body, I touched my bicep, fingers coming away wet. Distantly, I recognized the scarlet color as blood. My blood. I felt the shaft of the ashwood arrow protruding from the flesh.

And then the pain hit.

Searing, bone-deep pain lanced through my left arm, coating my veins in pure, liquid fire. Someone was screaming, probably Rhysand. Maybe it was me.

I remember crumpling to the ground and Rhys kneeling over me. Tears streaked down his cheeks as he shouted something, but the ringing in my ears was too loud for me to hear anything.

Black tinged my vison as a fresh wave of white-hot fire licked through my body. My fingers clawed at the dirt, my mouth open in a silent scream.

End this, I begged through the bond, the only thing tethering me to consciousness. Kill me, kill me, kill me-

Stop it, he growled back, suddenly fierce as he lifted me into his arms. The movement jostled the arrow, twisting it and exposing me to more of the splintering ash, bringing more agony. I was bleeding too quickly, I could feel the liquid dripping from my dangling fingers.

I was going to die. But I couldn’t leave him without saying goodbye. I fought against the black tinting my vision long enough to choke out three words down our bond.

I love you.

I plunged into the black abyss, never expecting to return.

***************

Rhys’ POV

I replayed the moment over and over in my mind. I’d been screaming at her, more upset and annoyed in that moment than I had ever been before. One second, she was flinging more poisonous words back in my face, and the next I was on the ground.

It had taken me a few precious moments to realize what happened.

And then I saw the blood.

There was so much blood.

It poured from around the ash arrow that had punctured straight through her arm. She’d touched it then, activating the detrimental effects of the wood.

For as long as I live, I will never forget her scream.

It tore from her throat, a blood-curdling, ear-piercing scream that rattled my bones. With half a thought, I misted every foreign body within the dark forest as I scrambled to her side.

“Feyre, darling, stay with me baby,” I pled, cradling her face in my shaking hands. Her breathing was labored- not a good sign. The ash must’ve pierced an artery, the poison coursing through her veins already reaching her vital organs.

And she was losing more blood with each increasingly weak beat of her heart.

My tears splashed onto her cheeks as her eyelids slid shut. I pulled her into my lap, the arrow twisting. Her face contorted, mouth open in a silent scream as she convulsed.

“Feyre, it’ll be alright, I love you, I love you, I love you-“

End this. Feyre’s strained, broken voice filtered through our bond. The words clanged through my entire being.

Kill me, kill me, kill me-

Stop it. I hefted her fully into my arms, phantom pains pulsing through my own arm. I knew they were but shadows of what she was enduring.

She was slipping away, our bond dimming with each moment. It guttered and flickered, like a candle in the wind.

I winnowed us to the nearest camp, directly to the healer’s tent. I remember screaming for someone, anyone, as she told me she loved me one last time. And then she was asleep.

***************

She’d been asleep for three days.

Over the course of those three days, healers came and went, Cassian and Azriel cried- actually cried- at their High Lady’s bedside, and Mor had taken one look at her, at the pus leaking through the bandages, and hurled her guts up.

I paced. I sat at her side, holding her hand, begging her to wake up. It was a futile effort though; she couldn’t hear me.

Her mind was shielded by a wall of solid onyx stone, not a single crack for me to slip through. I didn’t know if she was going to pull through. I became a rubber band stretched taut; one tiny incident away from snapping.

The healers had told me that the arrow had nicked her brachial artery, and that she was lucky to be alive. Most people bled out within the space of a few minutes. They said it was the strength of our mating bond that had kept her alive.

They told me it was good that she was asleep. Because that meant her body was healing. Because she couldn’t feel any pain. I tried to accept their reasoning, but I just wanted to look in her beautiful blue eyes one more time.

But she didn’t wake up.

I didn’t stop pacing.

Two more days passed the same as the others.

But then she tugged at our clouded bond.

A tiny crack in her mental shield appeared, allowing me into her consciousness. Where there had once been blindingly bright light, I found only a dim spark. But it was something at least, and I sobbed with relief.

Tenatively, carefully, I called out to her.

Feyre?

The spark flickered, dimming further. My heart lurched, and I clung to her hand like a lifeline.

Feyre, come back to me. I love you, Feyre darling.

Nothing happened. The light stayed as it was, a barely-there pinprick of her consciousness. Fresh tears spilled from my red, puffy eyes, dripping to the sterile sheets. So this was it, then. Her shield was cracking because she was dying, slipping further and further away with each passing breath.

This was her goodbye.

“Feyre, I want you to know that I will always love you.” I smoothed a hand over her golden hair, committing the feeling to memory. “I will look back on the love we shared every day for the rest of my life. And I promise-“

Sobs wracked my body as I struggled to find my voice again. It was too hard- too hard to imagine going home without her.

“I promise our daughter will know how brave, strong, and courageous her mother was. She will know that you loved her, and are watching over her.”

I kissed her hand, lips wet with salty tears. “I love you.”

Her conscious flared. Wild, senseless hope flared in my chest. My heart pounded as I tried to rationalize the momentary flash. Maybe I’d imagined it in my grief, or it was just her way of pushing my buttons one last time. But I had to make sure.

Feyre?

A pause, long and heart-wrenching. And then a single syllable from her.

Rhys.

#feysand #feysand fanfiction #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses fanfiction #my writing

689 notes · View notes