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honeybeefae · 10 months

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A Court of Wings & Fire: Chapter Five

Summary// Eris had control of everything in his life. The war was over, he was planning to take the Autumn throne, and nothing was left to surprise him…until he met you. A mating bond with an Illyrian was like a spit in his face and neither of you could understand why fate had put you together. You both swore off relations to each other, refusing to even be in the same court, but you should have known that fate is not to be tested.

(It's here! Fair warning, this chapter includes talks of torture, pain, and some mentions of blood. Nothing too graphic but just warning you in case you are sensitive to it! I hope you guys enjoy! <3)

Warnings: Mentions of torture, Death, Mor Situation, Abusive father

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four /

It was two days of torture that awaited you as they dragged you through the doors. Your cries to Eris had seemed to fall on deaf ears as they gagged you, chained you, and beat you until you were silent and numb. They had inflicted the worst pain you had ever been through upon your body.

And when that had not worked and you did not reveal your court’s secrets…they turned to your wings.

The only saving grace was that they did not clip them. Whether this be from ignorance or lack of care you weren’t sure but you were grateful. However, they made sure to slash the sensitive skin with faebane tipped daggers, their smiles vile as you began to cough up blood from the blisters in your throat caused by your screams.

After all was said and done you were convinced this was the end for you. No one was coming to save you. It was something you had made peace with as you curled into yourself and pleaded that they let you go peacefully.

But, as always, when did you ever get what you wanted?

They had come to your torture room early and dragged you down the hall of cells from where you had initially come from. You could hear the moaning of other prisoners but you were too weak to look up, your eyes barely open when keys jingled to your left and you were thrown into a cell.

You lay in that spot as they chortled and strolled away, your bloodied nails digging into the cold concrete underneath you as closed your eyes. All you wanted was to sleep.

There was a shuffling sound behind you and your mind registered the familiar scent of spice and embers before Eris came into your view. He was dirty and bruised, his jaw black and blue, but his eyes were what shocked you.

They were full of fear and concern…for you.

“Please be alive, please be alive,” He murmured while pressing two fingers to your neck. “Come on, Y/N, please.”

“I’m alive.” You croaked, watching as his shoulders slumped in relief. “Leave me be. I don’t have the energy to fight with you anymore.”

It was silent for a moment and you closed your eyes, your body shivering, before his large hands lifted you up and shimmied you into his lap. You frowned, glaring at him before a small semblance of warmth washed over your body as he rested his hands on your arms.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable here.” Eris whispered, his brows furrowed as he used the bits of magic he had left to keep you warm. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Thank you.” You said softly, resisting the urge to nuzzle into his thigh as you stared up at the ceiling. This sudden act of kindness took you off guard and you faltered for an excuse to explain it away, your shivers fading as he rested his head against the wall.

“What did they try to get out of you?” He asked quietly.

“Nesta’s location.”

“Did you-”

“No.” You cut him off, frowning. “Now please leave me alone.”

Another beat of quiet fell over the two of you before you felt him take a deep breath and sit up straighter. You glared at him, annoyed, but he ignored it.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” He murmured, his eyes staring a hole into the wall behind you. It took you a second to register his words and what he meant and when you did not say anything, he continued.

“What I said earlier was out of anger and ignorance. It was a low blow that should not have been spoken. I want to apologize for that.”

“I didn’t even know you could apologize.” You replied with a slight smile on your bloody lip. Eris noticed and seemed to fight against returning it at your snark.

“I rarely do, however, I realize the generalizations I make about your people and how they must make you feel…and I am sorry.” Eris was watching your face, looking for something.

“You didn’t feel sorry when you made them about Cassian and Azriel.” You pointed out, the pain starting to become a dull sting as you focused on him.

“I’m not as invested in them as I am you.” He smirked before realizing his words. You raised your eyebrows as he cleared his throat and changed the topic. “I saw your wings…what they did. Can you still fly?”

Your face fell and you missed the look of guilt on his face as you shook your head, subconsciously moving closer to him. “Not in this condition. I’m lucky they didn’t cut them off.”

“I thought they cut them off women when they first bled?” Eris questioned, frowning. “Or is that a lie?”

“They do but I am not from that group of misogynistic, barbarian pigs.” You sneered. “I was raised in a different tribe.”

Eris waited for you to elaborate more and when you realized he wasn’t going to drop the subject you sighed. He had been nothing but cruel to you and your kind, why would you want to give him more information? And to top it off this is something deeply personal to you…wouldn’t that strengthen the bond?

However, you also knew it was 50/50 right now if you would even make it through the week. With no signs of a rescue near and no medic, the two of you were running out of time in this life whether you wanted to admit or it not. Did you want to die with someone you hate or with someone that you might be able to tolerate if he could understand you better?

You licked your lips and took on a more comfortable position, watching as his eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t expect you to actually speak about your past.

“My mother wanted more out of her life than to be used for breeding and raising children as you so eloquently put it,” You began, humming as he shifted slightly in embarrassment. “She was a dreamer. She didn’t want her wings clipped and to be tied to the Earth. She was meant for the stars.”

“And there were others like her, women and men. So, with a few others who had the courage to fight for their dreams, they left in the middle of the night and never looked back.” You smiled as you closed your eyes, envisioning your mom. “She was so brave.”

“Was?” Eris murmured, his eyes turning soft as you gave a sad grimace.

“The new camp worked for years and years, growing to about fifty strong. The leaders, my father and mother, trained everyone equally. They taught us to read, write, and fight. It was a paradise that some Illyrians could only dream of. But nothing good ever lasts.” You whispered the last part, your nails digging into your arms as you painfully wrapped them around your chest.

“One night we were discovered. I don’t know how or who but they found us.” Your eyes were glassy as you stared at the ceiling. “They attacked the elders, striking them down with fury. It’s a great betrayal to leave your tribe unless it’s for

something like Cass and Az do. They recognized the elders as the ones who left and they were intent on executing every last traitor.”

You didn’t realize how tense you were until you felt a hand squeeze your arm, pulling your eyes back to Eris. He had a solemn look on his face, not expecting such a dark stain on your life, but you didn’t want his pity.

You were strong, you didn’t need anyone. Right?

“There were so many of them…flying above and fighting below. I remember looking up and seeing their swords glowing in the moonlight, dripping with blood that landed on the crimson snow. I was only eight at the time and I fled to our tent, looking for a weapon when one of them saw me.”

“They followed me into my tent, threatening to do unspeakable things to me.” The tightness in your chest grew as you curled your bruised knuckles in anger. “They were going to take me back to the camp and sell me off, cut my wings, until my mother appeared behind them and sliced off their heads.”

“She was a fighter,” You laughed, wincing as the movement hurt your ribs. “She reached out for me, telling me we had to leave, but when I started running towards her another Illyrian warrior appeared behind her and stabbed her through the heart.”

“And they stole her wings.” Tears were falling down your face as you took a shaky breath, one of your hands raising to touch your broken wings.

“Y/N,” Eris said, taking your hand in his and turning your face towards him. “No child should lose a mother but to see it…I cannot imagine the pain.”

His eyes were full of nothing but sympathy, his eyebrows furrowed in anger and sadness for you. It was a side of him you had never seen, never knew could exist, and you felt the bond inside you hum as you squeezed his hand in return.

“I just hate that they took her wings away. The thing she wanted most, the freedom it gave her, all gone in an instant.” You bit down on your lip, shaking your head. “They knew it too. It was why they did it.”

“Did your father survive?” He asked gently.

“My father came and killed them, scooping me up and taking off into the night sky. I was a mess, of course, begging to go back to my mother but he knew this was our only chance to escape. After hours of flying, he found an old cabin and after making sure it was safe, he made that our home. He raised me by himself and taught me everything I know.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s in Velaris, alive.” You assured, your lips lifting when you saw Eris’s face lighten with ease. “A few decades ago I was out hunting when Rhys, Cass, and Az found me. They were having a snowball fight.”

Eris laughed, actually laughed, and despite the pain you were in you couldn’t stop the butterflies that formed in your stomach at the sound. He looked younger when he laughed, less serious, and you didn’t dare think of how much more handsome it made him. At least not for longer than a minute.

“A snowball fight?”

“Mhm,” You nodded, rolling your eyes in amusement. “A solstice tradition. Rhys sensed me and tracked me down though I did give him a run for his money. When he learned my story and met my father he invited us back to Velaris. The rest is history.”

“That’s…not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” You hummed, gazing up at him as he rested his head back against the wall.

“I’m not sure but it wasn’t that.” Eris chuckled. “Very few people surprise me, Y/N. It’s refreshing when someone does.”

“Careful, Eris,” You say playfully, noting how his nostrils flared when his name fell off your lips. “It sounds like we are getting along and I’m sure that would ruin your image.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was light but you noticed a shift in the atmosphere, as if you had offended him. Whatever friendliness that had blossomed between the two of you seemed to be quickly dying.

“It’s no secret how you feel about me and my race. Even if I am different,” You sighed. “Even if we are mates. I mean, look how you reacted with Mor-”

“Do not speak on things you do not know.” He hissed.

Before you could blink you found yourself almost falling from his lap as he pulled away from you, his eyes turning cold as you struggled to sit up. You scowled, your own anger returning as well as your shivers as his warmth faded.

“I know what Mor has said, what Keir did. If you have a side to this story I will gladly hear you out.”

“I do not have to explain myself to you, bond be damned,” Eris growled.

“I knew your caring facade was an act.” You frowned, turning your eyes to his. “You know, Eris, just because the world might see you as a monster doesn’t mean you have to be one. As far as we know no one is coming for us. All we have down here is each other.”

You were using the last bits of your energy to yell at him but you didn’t care. You had just poured your heart out to him, given him your story despite your qualms and this was how he was acting? He needed a damn reality check.

“I was willing to hear you out, to see what other side of you there is because the man I just saw minutes ago wasn’t a man who could do that to Mor.” You pointed out, scooting away from him. “These might be our last days and I just wanted to feel safe with you, with anyone. And I wanted you to feel that too. But I guess I was wrong.”

He refused to look at you as you turned around and lay on the floor, closing your eyes. If he was going to refuse to open up, to try and be friendly, then you didn’t want whatever was left of your time to be in vain. Sleep was better than frustration.

“I regret my actions with Mor every day.” He murmured, tucking a strand of greasy hair behind his ear as you turned your head in surprise. “But I had no choice. It was a lose-lose scenario.”

“How?’

“I knew Mor didn’t want the engagement from the start. I wasn’t keen on it either. I may be cruel but I would never willingly take someone against their will, take their freedom. But my father all but demanded I followed through, wanting to strengthen alliances.”

“However, I had a plan. A plan to get us both out of this engagement. I couldn’t tell Mor yet, wanting to make sure it was foolproof, and a few nights before we were meant to meet again she pulled a stupid, reckless stunt that ruined everything.” Eris shook his head in annoyance as he replayed that moment over and over in his head.

“She avoided me like the plague when in Hewn City. I can’t say I blame her but if she had just waited…” Eris took a deep breath and sighed. “I can’t blame her for what she did. I can be angry, but she didn’t know and perhaps I should’ve said something earlier. I don’t know, it’s one of my many regrets.”

“Many?” You raised a brow, smiling when he shot you a look.

“She went and ruined herself with Cassian, knowing how I…” He paused, briefly glancing at you before back down. “How I used to feel about his race. She was desperate to end it, I understand as I felt the same but what she did was stupid.”

“Why did you leave her out there? Why couldn’t you help her? Or heal her?”

“Do you think me so cruel that I would leave her out to die? That I wouldn’t try to save an innocent person put into a terrible position?” He asked you, eyes narrowing. But before you could answer, he shrugged his shoulders with an agitated huff. “I suppose you do since it’s the narrative I’ve allowed.”

“I wanted to heal her, to help her. My men wanted to help her. But we couldn’t.” He said lowly. “Keri had beaten her to a bloody pulp, tortured her in truly terrible ways for doing what she did, but he also knew that if I touched her that the responsibility of her, the torture of her, would get blamed on me. He knew it and he counted on it.”

“I hate him.” You interrupted with gritted teeth. “I met him once and you would think with the way he looked at me that I was lower than dirt.”

“Keir and my father are similar in the way that they truly care for no one but themselves and they hold their power by betting on the empathy of others. Empathy and love is a weakness for them.” Eris acknowledged, looking you over. “Though I would say we both are lower than dirt right now.”

“You make jokes?” You smirked, propping your head up after a bit of struggling “I must have died back there then for I never thought you capable of such lowly things as humor.”

He ignored you though you didn’t miss how his cheeks became slightly tinted with pink.

“But I knew,” he began once more, looking at his chains. “I knew if I touched her, the torture my father would put her through would be much, much worse. It would make what Keir did look like a scraped knee.”

“I’ve heard stories of your father, how he murdered Lucien’s lover.” You whisper. “I also heard you took no part in it.”

“I didn’t. I was chained for that, and beaten for two weeks until my mother was able to spare me. My father was going to kill me for being insubordinate. Just one less heir vying for his death.”

You blanch and find yourself reaching out for him, not even realizing what you were doing until your fingers were brushing his hand. He looked up in surprise, frowning, and you immediately pulled away.

“I made sure she would stay alive, and made sure no one would be able to find her besides Rhys and Azriel, but that was as much as I could do. I know how it made me seem and I do not care what others think. The more people who think of me as a monster, the better. It means they know I am not to be messed with.” He finished though you could tell there was something still bothering him, something deep that seemed like it hadn’t seen light in hundreds of years.

“But…” you added, knowing he wanted to add more. He looked at you, really looked at you, and whispered.

Eris watched you, studying to see if he could trust you. You knew the feeling.

“But sometimes I’m tired of pretending.”

You felt the bond shift again, glowing brighter, but this time you didn’t pay it as much attention. You didn’t know if he felt it as well and you briefly considered that perhaps you were imagining it all, that the pain had made you delirious. Or even that you might already be dead.

But when you sat up slowly and he began to lean towards you, you realized just how very real the moment was. Your heart was racing, your body sweating, and for the first time in your life, you felt alive.

Until you moved wrong and flexed your wings involuntarily, sending white-hot daggers of pain into your body. It had you crying out and before you could stop yourself, you began to throw up from the spasming nerves. You didn’t have time to feel humiliated as your nails dug into the floor, your throat burning along with your skin.

Eris moved beside you and moved your hair out of your face, brushing the back of your neck and then your cheeks with his bare knuckles. “You’re burning, Y/N.”

“N-no I’m not.” You shivered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m cold.”

“You’ve probably got infection setting in.” He murmured, pulling you back into his lap. You were too weak to fight him and also too numb to even care what that meant for you. If this was how you went…at least it was with a friend.

“A friend?” Eris chuckled, watching as you realized you must have spoken your thought aloud. “I don’t have friends.”

“You could,” You whispered hoarsely, closing your eyes to rest your head against his chest. “If you wanted to.”

“Acquaintances maybe…but not friends.” He mumbled and you let out a small snort.

“Acquaintances then, that’s what we’ll be.” You smiled, your mind already dosing as your body yearned for sleep. Eris kept touching your forehead and kept one of his fingers on your wrist, counting under his breath which was oddly soothing.

Just as you were falling asleep a loud noise came from the end of the hall. People were shouting and the sound of swords clanging echoed as Eris stood while cradling you in his arms, shushing you as you whimpered in pain.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts. Just stay awake a little while longer. I don’t know what’s happening.” He urged you, looking around for a weapon before two large men appeared before the two of you.

It took you a second to recognize your brothers but when you saw the glowing siphons you almost cried out in praise.

“Cassian…” You called out, reaching out your hand. “Azriel.”

The door was kicked off its hinges and before you could react you were being transferred to Azriel’s arms, his face pale as he took in the sight of your wings. Casisan quickly did away with Eris’s chains before hoisting him up as well.

“Be careful with her,” You heard Eris whisper, his voice tight. “Her wings…”

“We know.” Azriel snapped, nodding at Cassian as he kicked down the stone wall and took off into the sky. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s get you home.”

Taglist: : @elizarikaallen @kristeristerin @a-frog-with-a-laptop @littlebbb @introvertsuntes68-blog @clairebear08 @feyretopia @jangmi-latte @bubybubsters @nightless @glaciuswduo @yourfavf1wag

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morrowalker · 5 months

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we need to talk about bruise.

i see a lot of people casually throw around the name bruiseshipping for cole/jay, and its something that ive never seen questioned. if any of you had a critical thought for more than two entire seconds in your life youd understand that the implications of calling a ship bruise is fucking insane. "but its their colors! black and blue!" the implications are still there. especially paired with the fact that, as far as i can tell, this post seems to be the origin of the name;

if you have an older one mentioning the name, by all means, feel free to share. but from what i can tell, this seems to be where it was coined. which .. isnt really a surprise, considering referring to a relationship as "bruise" already has clear implications of abuse. but the confirmation is no less disgusting.

there has always been alternative options to use, and truely people have no excuse to continue calling them bruise. call them geode. make something else up. you all seem to be creative when it comes to ship names. it should be no issue.

#ninjago #bruiseshipping #lego ninjago #cole ninjago #jay ninjago #.txt #tagging this as the guys so it gets in the tags. you Will look at this post.#theres a lot of things i could talk about that are inherently questionable and yet ninjago fans blindly follow them anyways #(gesture to the entire fucking show basically).#but. whatever.

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phanfictioncatalogue · 16 days

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The Ultimate Soulmates AU Binge Masterlist

below the cut is 50 soulmate aus for your bingeing pleasure

6:30 Special - dansphlevels

Summary: In a world where you and your soulmate both have constellations of dark blue freckles that glow when you’re together, Dan has been waiting for his whole life for it to finally glow. And when it does, he is stood face to face with a man Phil, who looks back in confusion, his own constellation unlit.

4A - imnotinclinedtomaturity

Summary: Most people’s soulmate tattoos are fairly short – “excuse me” or “nice to meet you” were common phrases. Most people just don’t say that much in one breath to a complete stranger. Most people, however, are not Phil’s soulmate. Thus, while everyone else has pretty, dainty phrases on their forearms, Phil has an entire paragraph crammed between his elbow and his hand in teeny tiny print.

A Match a Day Since 1965 - nebulous-frog

Summary: Phil works at a diner with a sign that says “Matching soulmates daily since 1965” and he never really understood it until one day, he did.

Everyone has a soulmate and you know you’ve met them when you injure yourself in front of them. Marks show where and how badly you will be injured.

An Arrowhead in the Right Place - chocolatesaucelester

Summary: At birth everyone is given a half to a special necklace that your soulmate has the other half to. As you get closer to your soulmate the necklace gets warmer. Phil has yet to find his soulmate and is afraid he’s going to miss his chance, just like the first time the necklace got warm.

And So They Did - phanfluffs

Summary: soulmate au where the first thing your soulmate says is tattooed on your arm, however, both Dan and Phil’s tattoos are in a foreign language that they don’t understand (as in they don’t speak the same language).

Bacon McDouble with a Pepsi - pinky-dan

Summary: In a world in which the first words your soulmate says to you are inscribed upon your wrist, Dan finds a mcdonald’s order on his arm.

Blue - melancholymango

Summary: au where everything is black and white until you kiss your soulmate.

Bringing You Home - rephil

Summary: Soulmate AU where you can summon your soulmate once.

But It Takes Someone To Come Around To Show You How (ao3) - Cutaehyung

Summary: Dan is born mute into a world where once in everyone’s life your soulmate will say the specific words that are tattooed onto your body, and bring you together. These words will save your life in more ways than imaginable. Whilst Dan resigns himself to the fact he will never have a soulmate, fate has different ideas…

Daniella Jane - philingdan

Summary: Phil almost finds his soulmate and then he does.

Déjà Vu (ao3) - xawesometrio

Summary: Daniel Howell was born with the curse of immortality and the only way to break that curse is to meet his soulmate twice and fall in love twice. He has already met Philip once and now he must wait for the chance to find him again.

Dumbledore’s Fault - fiction-phan

Summary: The very first words your soulmate ever says to you are tattooed somewhere on your body since the day you are born and no one could really understand why Dan got stuck with ‘Man I can’t believe Dumbledore died’. For years he worried about the fate of whoever Dumbledore is, until he actually started reading the Harry Potter books. After that, all he wanted was to actually meet his soulmate so he could give him a piece of his mind over having ruined his favourite franchise.

Embodiment - intricately-woven

Summary: AU where everyone has the same birthday as their soulmate and at midnight on their twenty first birthday they swap bodies with their soulmate and everybody runs around trying to find each other.

Emergency Rooms and Bruises - auroraphilealis

Summary: Shared bruises AU. Phil wakes up with the realization that his soul mate is being abused, but doesn’t know how to help him. (TW: Abuse)

Fated Flowers - huphilpuffs

Summary: Soulmate AU where, every time your soulmate realizes new feelings for you, you get a rose. One random day in 2014, Dan wakes up with a red rose on his bedside table.

First Words - phan-dil-lions

Summary: Everyone is born with the first words their soulmates are ever going to say to them etched across their skin; Phil hates his. But when he meets his soulmate everything turns out a little different than he expected.

Follow Your Arrow Where Ever It Points (ao3) - meggie_megs

Summary: Soulmate AU where an arrow on your wrist points to your soulmate.

For the Love of Elsa - nebulous-frog

Summary: Soulmates AU where the first words your soulmate says to you are on your arm. Phil works in a toy store and Dan comes in four days before Christmas when they bump into each other.

If You Love Me, Never Let Me Go (ao3) - implicit_despair, TheBruhTheGenieAndTheYam, universal_colors

Summary: Your soulmate’s name appears on your arm when you hear their voice, what happens if that voice is coming through your stereo?

In Dreams (You Will Lose Your Heartache) (ao3) - surfeitquill

Summary: Prompt: Soulmate AU where soulmates can appear in your dreams, but Dan’s too shy to say hello until Phil has a nightmare. (Or several nightmares, and after a few Dan finally builds up the courage to help out.)

Isn’t He Pretty? Isn’t He Insane? - daeguk

Summary: in a world where a person’s soulmate has an identical birthmark, police intern phil lester is completely alone; that is, until he starts receiving cruel gifts from a psychotic serial killer. seeking out the comfort of a boy on the phone, dan howell, while desperately trying to figure out the killer’s messages, time is running out by each fractured second.

Just Dropping In - nebulous-frog

Summary: Soulmate AU where the first thing your soulmate says to you is tattooed on you from when you were born. Dan’s could say some kind of scream/growl and Phil’s something along the lines of “jesus on a fucking bicycle” (spooky week) because they first meet in a haunted house that phil is a character/working in.

Let Loose Your Glow (ao3) - awrfhi

Summary: in a world where your eye colour matches your soulmate’s hair colour, phil decides to dye his hair black.

Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat - velarisstars

Summary: (Soulmate AU) A year after the death of his parents, Dan finds that the only reason he’s able to get up in the mornings is because of the ring on his finger - the one that beats to the rhythm of his soulmate’s heart. Soon enough, Dan finds another reason to wake up in the mornings. And he supposes that’s due to a kind stranger who keeps invading his thoughts.

Let the Plants Bloom and the Stars Shine (ao3) - Star4545

Summary: Dan is innocent. Sure he knows the facts but never kissed or felt anything with anyone. Phil is not so innocent. He will go up to people, talk to them, and kiss them, trying to find the spark he will feel when he finds the one.

Make Me Happy - velarisstars

Summary: Your soulmate is your opposite. For every happy, there is a sad. Phil can’t wait to meet his counterpart. He wants to make them the happiest person on the planet. But his soulmate is having a bit of trouble coming to terms with that.

meant for me (ao3) - graydar

Summary: Dan doesn’t believe in soulmates. Phil believes in everything. Dan is scared of everything. Phil is scared of Dan.

Of Souls and Art - crystaiskiess

Summary: Soulmates are connected through what they write on their hands, and Phil’s soulmate does more than just write; they draw the most beautiful things Phil’s ever seen. He is the only person with a soulmate that he knows, so how will he find his one and only?

One Second Closer - goldenrose95

Summary: Soulmate AU where you’re born with a timer on your wrist that counts down to the moment you meet your soulmate. Except there’s one other case when the numbers reach zero, and Phil doesn’t find out until he’s too late. Almost.

Phil Lester And The Boy Who Spoiled (ao3) - LauraLittleMiss

Summary: “Man, I can’t believe Dumbledore dies.” Soulmates au where the first words that your soulmate says to you are written on your wrist.

Quixotic (ao3) - thewayulook2night (orphan_account)

Summary: Phil was always told his soulmate would be a beautiful girl with shiny hair and a good sense of humour. It’s not, his soulmate is Dan Howell, who’s got too many walls that Phil’s determined to break down, falling in love with him just happens in the process.

Share A Coke - nebulous-frog

Summary: Dan and Phil wouldn’t necessarily go so far as to say that Coca-Cola brought them together, but they couldn’t deny the significant part it played in their first meeting…

Singing Songs That Nobody Wrote (ao3) - Star4545

Summary: If you have a soulmate, their favorite lyric gets tattooed on your body. Phil is a singer, and his favorite lyrics are his own. Dan loves the lyrics.

slutty, slutty soulmates (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: Easy, not stupid. And maybe Dan does have some standards. Not like he’s thinking about settling for anything while he looks the guy up and down, so many of his boxes ticked it’s honestly a little overwhelming. or soulmates and where not to find them

Snokoplasm (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Soulmates AU where the first words you hear from your soulmate are somewhere on your body.

Somebody’s Watching Me (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Dan is non too happy about waking up in heaven. Being informed that he will have to wait for his soulmate for decades because he managed to die before it was time, he decides to pay his man a visit. Shenanigans ensue.

Someday - philsdrill

Summary: “Everyone had a link with their soulmates, some could hear some of their partners thoughts, some had a tattoo that would appear with their partners name; for me, I knew when they got sick.” For a while Phil has thought that his soulmate might have an eating disorder and doesn’t expect to meet him in the restaurant where he works.

Someone in the Crowd (ao3) - Cloechecksmyflow

Summary: When Phil went out with his family for his mother’s birthday, the last thing he expected was to receive a surprise himself.

Soulfinders (ao3) - JulienneJc

Summary: In an Alternate Universe when we where born, we have a clock implanted on our wrist, counting down to the day we meet our soulmate.

Swapped - doomedhowell

Summary: Soulmates AU where you switch places with your soulmate on your eighteenth birthday and you switch back once you meet each other.

Tangled Up In Blue (Hair) - sleepyverstappens

Summary: If you dye your hair, your soulmate’s hair color changes as well and you swear the moment you see your soulmate you will choke them because you just woke up with your hair colored like a rainbow and it’s your first job interview at a prestigious company what the fuck.

(Didn’t do rainbow hair though, just blue.)

The Way it’s Supposed to Be - crescendohowell

Summary: Soulmate AU where the name of your soulmate is written on your wrist from birth. Phil’s has always said Danielle Howell, but one day that changes.

Three Strikes, You’re Out (ao3) - DarkEyedDreamer

Summary: Dan doesn’t believe in love. Never did. Love was a gamble and he didn’t want to be left with nothing but a scar. When he met his college roommate, Phil Lester, things change. Phil Lester, the boy with two marks against him. The one who falls fast and hard. The one who Dan is sure this new tally mark is for… (AU where whenever you fall in love you get a tally mark on your wrist)

Together, We Will Rule - doomedhowell

Summary: Phil is the prince and soon to be future king, and hasn’t found his soulmate yet. Everybody in the kingdom is on edge waiting to know who will be the future princess. But, plot twist, his soulmate happens to be Dan (aka a boy, and not a princess), and everybody is shocked because being gay isn’t accepted with most people in the kingdom. But, it’s not Phil’s fault his soulmate turned out to be a boy, so things have to change whether the kingdom likes it or not. He and everyone else in the kingdom have to get used to this new idea of there being two kings rather than a king and a queen.

When the Clock Strikes Twelve (ao3) - Willow_Angel

Summary: Phan AU. Dan is embarrassed by the time on his tattoo until he meets a handsome stranger at a party for the prince.

When The Day Met The Night - darling-phil

Summary: Soulmate!AU where people only ever experience either the daytime or the night until they meet their soulmate and experience the entire cycle for the first time. Dan feels trapped by the perpetual darkness of the night sky until he meets a boy sitting under a tree.

When We First Met - botanistlester

Summary: Soulmate au where if you draw on yourself, it shows up on your soulmate’s skin.

Where - cactuslester

Summary: Everyone is born with a tattoo of where they will meet their soulmate. Phil Lester was born with “library” inscribed on his right shoulder blade.

You’re My Sole Rival - jilliancares

Summary: In which you wear your soulmate’s name on one wrist and your enemy’s on the other, but Dan has the same name on both.

Zero - phanlight

Summary: Digits counting down to meet your soulmate.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #au #soulmates #soulmates masterlist

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fr0gggy22 · 7 months

Text

Ghost ~ Reaper

WARNINGS

Abusive relationship

Assault

Threats

MDNI!!!!! I will block you.

I was an Army Medic for the U.S. army, callsign: Reaper, when Captain Price noticed me and thought I would be a good fit for Task Force 141. I of course said yes, since this was a pretty huge deal; though my boyfriend did not like it one bit. He wanted me to stay home more, not be off in a different country almost every few weeks.

I had been on the task force for about a month now and have only done one mission, though I seem to be getting along with everyone, except for Ghost. I don't know why, but he seems to have a grudge against me for something; who knows what.

"Baby, you home?" I hear my boyfriend open the apartment door. I smile and greet him. "Surprised you are home. Thought you would be with the dogs."

"Don't Max, I work with them that's all," Here he goes again; he has this theory that I am sleeping with either one of them or all of them. "You know I would never cheat on you." Not like you cheated on me last year.....

"You sure about that?" His eyes narrowed and he dropped his briefcase to the ground before walking towards me. He gently placed his hand on my throat. My breathing got harder, what was I supposed to do in a situation like this? He wouldn't hurt me, right?

"I promise Max, I love you and only you," I assured him. He then threw me against the wall and tightened his hand around my throat, it was barely letting me breathe.

"Then why the fuck is your phone full of texts from all the guys?" His eyes were almost pitch black now, originally a dark blue. "Hmm?"

"Work texts." Wait... "When did you look through my phone?"

"Doesn't matter," He waves his other hand at me, and the other tightening even tighter to the point that I was wheezing.

"Max...." I pleaded. "Please don't do this."

"Do what? Hmm?" His hand tightens. I could feel my blood vessels popping on my face and numbness overtook me. This was going to leave a bruise for sure. "Teach you a lesson? Cause that's what you need right now. You need to know that you belong to me and only me."

Darkness then took over and I passed out.

I woke up the next morning on the floor and my throat was on fire. I groaned and got up; looking in the mirror you could see dark purple handprints wrapped around my throat. Fuck, how was I going to cover this from the guys?

Checking the time, I see that I am late for work. So I quickly get dressed in a turtleneck and head out to the base.

"Reaper! There ya are!" Soap smiled as he saw me and then noticed what I was wearing. "Why the fuck are you wearing that? It's like 100 degrees outside."

Shit. "I realized that I have to do laundry, all I had left." That was a good excuse, right? He nods, still looking a bit confused. We both walk to the briefing room where everyone else was that was going on the mission in a couple of days.

"Y/L/N, glad you can finally join us. Had Soap go and find you," Captain Price looked towards me and the turtleneck I had on.

"Sorry Sir," I sit down in the open seat between Ghost and Soap. My leg shook the whole time Price was briefing us on the mission, it was hard to stay focused. My hand kept playing with the edge of the turtleneck as I was now sweating profusely. Once the briefing was over, I scurried out of the room and towards the bathroom.

I looked towards the mirror and pulled down my turtleneck to see the dark bruises. Why did I let Max do this? I know how to handle myself and fight back, yet I let him do this to me. Was I that weak? I heard someone come into the bathroom and quickly pulled up my turtleneck. It was Ghost.

"Lieutenant," I nod at him. "I think you have the wrong bathroom."

"Tell me he didn't," He demands, taking a couple steps towards me. "Tell me I am wrong." He was practically pleading. He knew, he fucking knew. My eyes started to water. "Fuck Y/N. Let me see how bad." I didn't say anything and only nodded slightly.

He came forward and gently put his hand on my face before pulled the turtleneck down to see my neck. He inhaled and exhaled forcefully. He then put the turtleneck back and put both his hands on my face while I stared into his eyes as he wore his signature balaclava. "Please tell me you beat the shit out of him."

"I couldn't," I cried. "It's like I couldn't move my body." I told him honestly. I shouldn't be breaking down in front of my superior but here I was, doing it.

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his chest, one of his hands around my waist while the other was cradling my head. "I've got you Y/N... I've got you, you are safe here." My phone then dinged notifying me that I got a text.

Looking at the text Soap sent, my heart dropped. It said that Max was at the gate and he let him in to see me. Ghost looked over my shoulder to see the text. "I am going to fucking kill him."

"Don't," I pleaded, placing my hands on his biceps and looking up towards him. "He is not worth it."

"But you are," My face warmed up at his words and I quickly wiped my tears away, getting ready to face Max. Once I was good, I looked towards Ghost and gave a forced smile.

"Here I go," We both walk out of the bathroom and towards the front of the base where I see Soap and Max talking, but as soon as Max saw me, his eyes narrowed. "Hey baby." I smiled at him.

"You forgot your lunch," He pulled me in for a rough kiss before handing me my lunch.

"Thank you, guess I was in a hurry this morning," I chuckle hesitantly.

"What were you doing with him?" He muttered into my ear, furiously.

"We just got out of briefing and I ran into him," I lied.

"Fucking liar," He hissed. Soap and Ghost were looking at us both, not knowing the conversation that just happened between Max and I. "I think Y/N is coming home today, she doesn't feel well." What? Fuck.

"I think she is feeling just fine," Ghost sneered at Max. Soap looked between Ghost and Max and then me, silently asking what was happening.

"Step away dog, go back to where you came from," Max grabbed my arm roughly. Ghost then snapped.

He grabbed me and pushed me behind him. "There are many who prey on the innocent. I'm sure your kind would agree." He looked towards Max who looked pissed as all can be.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were making a threat," Max stood his ground.

"Well, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Know better."

#simon riley #call of duty modern warfare 2 #COD #cod mw2 #ghost cod #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #mw2 #cod mwii #Simon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader

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clotpolesonly · 1 year

Text

As Hazy Heaven Trembles

Adam really should talk to Gansey about Monmouth’s front door. Namely, how easy it was to jimmy open even when it was, supposedly, locked. All it took was some aggressive jiggling of the heavy metal, not unlike shaking a vending machine to loosen a stubborn bag of chips, and the locking mechanism cheerfully gave up the ghost. It was horribly unsafe and Adam had been meaning to say something about it for months.

As he jiggled the door open, though, he acknowledged to himself that he wouldn’t. That would require admitting why he knew. It would require admitting that he let himself in sometimes when no one was home. It would require admitting why.

He closed the door behind him, sliding the faulty lock back into place. The clunk of it echoed in the cluttered emptiness of the main room, Gansey’s miniature Henrietta a harsh but silent judge sprawled out across the stained concrete behind him. Adam gave it a quelling look. It continued to judge him, like it always did, as he picked his way toward the bathroom.

He could only bring himself to care so much when his head hurt as much as it hurt right now. He was pretty sure the bleeding had stopped, and the dizziness had only lasted a minute or two, so he wasn’t worried about concussion. At least it hadn’t been the face this time. Black eyes were a lot harder to hide or explain away. He’d have to wear long sleeves for a while, though, for the handprint blooming dark and ugly around his forearm. Keep his coveralls fully on and zipped up at the garage. Hope he didn’t get heat stroke for it.

He’d be fine. He always was. Unless Mr. Lockwood docked his grade for missing first period again. He was usually pretty chill about it, so he probably wouldn’t. It was Mr. Traynor that Adam had to watch out for, but if he showered quick and pedaled fast and luck was on his side, he could still make it to second period on time.

Luck was not on his side.

“What the fuck?”

Adam swung around, his overfull backpack slipping from its careful perch on the only part of his right shoulder that didn’t hurt. The sharp stab of pain caught him off guard almost as much as the sight of Ronan, shirtless and bleary-eyed, leaning out of the bedroom he was not supposed to be in right now.

“What are you—” Adam cut off the stupid question, the answer to which was guaranteed to be a caustic ‘I live here, dumbass, what are you doing here?’, and tried again. “Your car’s not here.”

“Left it at the fairgrounds,” Ronan said, flat with the uncomprehension of being not fully awake yet and, probably, a little hungover. “Got a ride home from Jiang. Gansey’s driving me back out for it later.”

Ronan’s sleepiness was disappearing fast, blue eyes sharpening into shards of ice as they took him in. Adam was acutely aware of the blood in his hair, the hunch to his shoulders that he couldn’t straighten out and still be able to breathe properly, the bruises on his arm hidden under one measly layer of thin cotton blend, the blank fear no doubt on his face.

He expected Ronan to say something. To yell, maybe. About the blood and the bruises and the fear, or about Adam breaking into their home, or a million other things because Ronan liked yelling and was never short on excuses for it. But he didn’t. He just stood there, ramrod straight in his bedroom doorway, so tense that Adam could see the clench of his stomach muscles.

Adam swallowed. “I was just gonna borrow y’all’s shower before second. If you don’t mind.”

Ronan looked like he minded every single aspect of the situation, but he shook his head sharply, once, and Adam took that as the most permission he was likely to get. He had his hand on the door, calculating how much time he could spend on washing up and still account for the traffic around Aglionby, when Ronan found his voice again.

“You’re bleeding.”

Adam ducked his head. His hand found where the hair was damp and sticky before he could stop himself. Face burning, he said, “It’s fine, it looks worse than it—”

“Not there, dumbass.”

Adam’s backpack was yanked off his shoulder. It brought with it another flare of pain, sharper than expected. Ronan’s hand was on his back then, his palm wide and hot through the fabric of Adam’s shirt, and when he brought it around to Adam’s line of sight, there was a smear of fresh blood on it.

Adam didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say, not least because he didn’t remember receiving that particular injury. Logically, he could deduce that it was the same impact with the open refrigerator door that had cut his head open, or maybe the edge of the kitchen counter he’d staggered into in the subsequent dizziness, but there was something disquieting, on a level deeper than logic could touch, about seeing blood he hadn’t known he’d spilled.

When Ronan opened the bathroom door, Adam didn’t resist being pushed inside. Ronan didn’t offer him much choice in the matter and fighting wasn’t worth the effort. He’d wiped Adam’s blood off on the thigh of his sweatpants, red-brown on gray. It would stain if he didn’t wash it soon. He didn’t seem fussed about it.

There was a first aid kit stacked between the microwave and the toilet tank, such that Ronan had to unplug and relocate the microwave to get at it. It wasn’t really a kit, honestly, just a shoebox full of stuff that the factory’s inhabitants had thought might come in handy in case of minor injury. A plethora of loose band-aids of various shapes and sizes, peroxide, gauze, a few half-empty OTC pill bottles, some disinfectant spray, a tub of arnica, a wrist brace that looked like it had been through a war zone and wished it hadn’t made it out alive.

Ronan grabbed the peroxide and a wad of toilet paper.

“Shirt off.” He kicked the toilet lid shut. “Sit down.”

“I don’t need—”

“Off.”

Adam gritted his teeth against a rising tide of words. Biting words. Cruel words. Words that would make Ronan drop the nursemaid bullshit and leave Adam the hell alone to handle his own fucking problems like he wanted to. Like he’d been handling them his entire life just fine.

The words were right there, on the tip of his tongue. They would work. They would probably even feel good to say, in the moment.

He didn’t say them.

Getting his shirt off proved difficult, between the cramped quarters and the way his shoulder protested at being forced to rotate. He didn’t think anything was torn or broken—he knew how that felt—but it was sure sore as all hell. Might be a strain.

Ronan didn’t offer to help, thank god, and he didn’t comment on the moment of struggle. He just waited expectantly until Adam slid around to straddle the lidded toilet in front of him. The peroxide stung like a bitch. Adam swallowed down the hiss he wanted to make. It didn’t feel like too big of a wound, judging by the track Ronan followed along his right shoulder blade. Too big for a band-aid, but nothing he needed to be really concerned about. He’d had worse.

The toilet paper wad disappeared, replaced a moment later by something softer and less astringent; Ronan must have found a reasonably clean washcloth somewhere. He was rinsing away the blood. The cool water felt good. Adam let his head fall forward to meet his forearms, folded across the newly exposed porcelain tank. He did hiss then and shifted his right arm out of the way. The bruises there, tellingly arrayed, stood out plainly even in the dim light from the tiny, grimy window set high in the wall.

“I could kill him.”

Ronan’s words fell into the silence between them like a pebble in a lake. The ripples of it caught in Adam’s throat.

“For what he does to you,” Ronan added, as if either of them needed clarification. “I would kill him with my bare hands if I could get away with it. If it would keep you safe.”

The ripples took hold of his lungs. Something in Adam shook.

This wasn’t a thing they talked about. Gansey talked about it sometimes, because he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t keep his nose out of where it wasn’t welcome. Noah didn't bring it up often, but he had a bad habit of doing so when Adam wanted him to the least. Ronan had never said a word, though. Adam knew he knew, but he’d always known it quietly. Ronan knew it in the way he showed up sometimes to drive Adam home from late shifts to make sure he got there on time, in the way he sometimes did stupid shit on purpose to get Gansey’s attention when Adam didn’t want to deal with him, in the way he never asked a question Adam didn’t want to answer.

He still wasn’t asking. It didn’t feel like an offer either, or like the threat it could’ve been. It felt like something wholly different. Something loud and something quiet and something altogether more honest than Adam had ever known how to be.

“You know murder is a sin, right?” he murmured against his own skin. Ronan was still dragging the cloth over his back, though surely there was no blood there left to wash away. It had warmed in his hand.

It stilled, a light pressure between his shoulder blades.

“Some sins are worth eternal damnation.”

Adam turned, Ronan’s hand following the motion until it couldn’t anymore and his back was left cold and bare with its absence. He kept his head down when he said, “Don’t say that.”

He couldn’t see Ronan’s face, but he could see the way his fingers tightened around the cloth, the way his knuckles whitened. He could see the smear of blood now well-dried on the thigh of his sweatpants and the traces that remained in the creases of his palm. He could see Ronan’s bare feet against the dull, grimy tile and, from the corner of his downturned eye, the heave of Ronan’s chest as he breathed and spoke.

“I mean it, Parrish.”

Adam raised his head then, drawn by the force of Ronan’s tone.

“I know you do,” he said. “That’s what scares me.”

Ronan didn’t flinch to meet his eyes, but he did frown. The furrow of his brow was something new, at odds with his declaration of surety. In the small bathroom, with Adam turned around to face him properly, there was very little space between them, but Ronan made no move to step back. At his side, his hand twitched forward, then fell.

“You’re not the one who should be scared,” he said. “I don’t want you to—”

“I’m not scared of you.”

The words fell like another pebble in the lake, bringing ripples of silence in their wake. They were as honest as Adam knew how to be.

Ronan looked at him for a long time, brow smoothing and then furrowing again. His lips parted, but no words emerged from them. This was new too. Adam had never known Ronan to be lost for words. Even in his silences, he had always been deliberate.

Now, Ronan closed his mouth and, deliberately, he lifted the washcloth again. It found a spot just under Adam’s left eye. There was no blood there, but there was a scar. A small one, old and long-healed, from the sharp-edged tab of a thrown beer can. Ronan pressed his cloth against the mark like he could wash it off too, like he could make Adam new again.

Adam took hold of his wrist.

“I don’t want you risking your soul for me.”

Ronan stilled but did not take his hand away. He could have, if he’d wanted to. Adam’s grip on him was loose, unrestraining, but he let Adam hold him in place anyway. He was stood, now, between Adam’s knees.

“Do you even believe in the soul?” he asked, somewhere between sardonic and genuine. His eyes were on Adam’s fingers against his skin.

“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. “But you do.”

“It’s my soul,” Ronan said, a stubborn, petulant twist to his mouth. “I can do what I want with it.”

“Ronan.”

He looked away then, blue eyes downcast. The cloth fell away too and left Adam’s fingers with nothing but cool, empty air between them. His feet shuffled, carrying him out of the cradle of Adam’s knees, and Adam was struck by how bare they were, paler than the rest of him with how seldom they were exposed. The open expanse of his chest didn’t hold half the vulnerability of the way his toes curled against the tile. Adam was struck with the urge to kick his own shoes off to match. To meet Ronan where he was.

He stood. There wasn’t room for it. The bathroom, crowded as it was with a laundromat and a kitchen and two mostly-grown young men in it, often felt too small for even one of them. The motion brought Adam into Ronan’s space, almost chest to chest. He said Ronan’s name again and he didn’t recognize his own voice. It was doing something he’d never heard it do before. Something new. Something that his dad would have a lot of unkind things to say about, if he could hear.

Those unkind things were there, stinging, in the back of Adam’s mind. He’d heard them all before, launched at him alongside beer cans, thrown Gansey’s way for daring to wear color, lobbied at the TV and the guy on the sidewalk and anyone else determined to be a worthy target of his father’s rage and derision. They were there, and they stung, and they didn’t matter because Ronan’s eyes were on his again and the silence felt like a holy thing. He could feel Ronan’s breath on his cheek.

It wouldn’t do him any good to tell Ronan that he wasn’t worth sacrificing for, no matter how true the words felt where they sat on his tongue. Telling Ronan what to do was a fruitless endeavor at the best of times and an outright challenge to do the exact opposite at the worst. No, he couldn’t tell Ronan not to care about him. But he could sway forward to close the distance between them. He could let his body, at least, be honest in the way it pressed against Ronan’s, skin to skin in the dim mid-morning light, and turn his head just so until he found Ronan’s parted lips with his own.

He felt the sharpness of Ronan’s indrawn breath, the way Ronan’s chest rose against his, the way the air he took in was taken from Adam’s own lungs. His lips, though, were wonderingly soft, moving gently, questioningly. His eyes stayed closed long after they parted. Adam was sure he’d never seen anything as delicate as the way Ronan’s eyelashes lay against his cheeks. They fluttered there like butterfly wings until his eyes finally opened.

“Why did you do that?”

Maybe Ronan felt the sanctity of the moment too, because his words were hardly more than a whisper.

“Did you not want me to?”

It wasn’t really a question, but Ronan frowned as if it was. His hand rose like he wanted to reach out, to touch, and Adam found that he wanted him to. He wanted the warm weight of Ronan’s palm on his bruised back. He wanted Ronan’s callused fingers on his cheek. He wanted to step forward again until he could feel Ronan’s heartbeat in his own chest. He wanted a lot of things, with a sudden and immediate desperation, that he had never allowed himself to want before.

But Ronan’s hand still held the washcloth, damp and bunched up and turning his fingertips pruny from how long he had been holding onto it. Ronan looked down at it, his frown a living thing, and said, “That’s not why I—”

Adam laid his fingers over Ronan’s. “I know.” Gently, he pried the cloth from Ronan’s grasp and dropped it, not caring where it landed. “I wouldn’t have, if I’d thought so.”

Ronan looked like he wanted to repeat his question, to demand that Adam justify what he had done, but the words were swallowed when Adam did it again. He kissed Ronan simply, because that’s what it felt like: simple. It wasn’t, he knew, not really. But in this moment, in this nonsensical space, at a time neither of them should’ve been there, with bare skin and blood in his hair, kissing Ronan felt like the simplest thing in the world.

Ronan’s hands found his waist, then his ribs, then the curve of his neck. They were softer than Adam would’ve expected, if he’d ever given himself leave to speculate on how Ronan Lynch would touch him. Not like he was broken or breakable, but like he was precious. The tenderness of Ronan’s thumb on the hinge of Adam’s jaw, feeling the motion of their mouths together, brought with it a dangerous wave of emotion in him, something hot and cold and complicated that lodged in his stomach and would not be moved.

Those roving hands slid up into his hair next and a hiss of pain caught them both off guard. The blood had dried, but the wound remained, and the back of Adam’s head still ached something fierce.

“Fuck,” Ronan muttered against his lips. “Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Adam let him retreat, not that there was far to go. He reached up to poke at the wound himself, wincing double as his shoulder reminded him of its own damage. The hair there was molded into sticky-crunchy spikes. Flecks of dried blood flaked off between his fingers. “I really do need a shower.”

Ronan nodded. His cheeks were pink. So were his lips, flushed and wet and familiar now in a way they’d never been before. Eyes averted, he cleared his throat.

“Right. I should, uh…” He thumbed over his shoulder.

Adam had never thought he would be able to smile with his own blood on his hands, but he’d also never thought he would bear witness to Ronan Lynch looking shy. Whatever holy stillness had surrounded them a moment ago was gone, leaving just a boy in its wake. A boy who cared about Adam more than himself. A boy who didn’t make demands of him. A boy with a sharp smile and soft hands. A boy who Adam had kissed, and kissed, and already wanted to kiss again.

A boy who lingered in the bathroom doorway to say, “You’re probably not gonna make it to second period.” He even had the good grace to sound sorry about it.

Adam shrugged his good shoulder, though. “Traynor’s a jackass anyway.”

Ronan’s bark of laughter took even him by surprise. “Yeah, fuck that guy. You should skip the whole day and hang out with me instead. Save me from my lonely, hungover house arrest. You know, I always feel like Gansey’s little diorama is judging me on his behalf?”

Adam ducked his head to hide the flush that stole across his cheeks, somehow both embarrassed and pleased to have had the same thought. “We can add a few buildings ourselves,” he said around a stubborn smile. “Put an X-Mart downtown, see how long it takes Gansey to notice.”

Ronan’s answering grin was all mischief. He knocked his knuckles against the door before closing it behind him. Adam could hear him whistling something lively as he moved about the main room, probably gathering building supplies.

He should go to class. He should rinse the blood off quick as he could, get on his bike, and pedal hard to salvage as much of the school day as he could manage. But the urgency from earlier was hard to keep hold of. So he would miss a few class periods, get docked a few points, have to borrow Gansey’s history notes and ask Tad Carruthers what the homework was in English Lit. It had all happened before and likely would again. So he would have to go home tonight and keep his head down until his father’s mood had passed. That had happened before too, and would again.

For now, he had a warm shower, and hazy mid-morning light through grimy windows, and a wonderful, messy, contradiction of a boy waiting for him in the other room. As Adam finally turned the water on, he thought that maybe luck had been on his side after all.

#Pynch #Adam Parrish #Ronan Lynch #TRC #the Raven Cycle #fics by me #fanfiction

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wellsayhelloaagin · 2 years

Text

𝙴𝚗𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜- 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛

◌𝘉𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵◌

𝙴𝚗𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

Summary: Just when you thought things couldn't get worse, along come your feelings to make things that much harder.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader, Wanda Mamimoff x f!reader

Genre: Smut, Dark fic

Words: 6.1k

Warnings: dark!Nat, kidnapping, mentions of murder, mentions of noncon, attempted noncon, allusions to forced pregnancy, beating, violence, bruises, blood, broken bones

AN: This took forever and I have no excuses. Hopefully there are people still following along with this story. Also, again, please read the warnings. This is a dark!fic and deals with some heavy subject matter so please be responsible for your own media consumption. With that being said, the story really picks up from here. Only three more parts to go.

Days continue to pass in your own personal hell and without even realising it, you quickly fall into a routine.

Each day is the same — you wake up, you cook, you clean and you try to avoid the marbles as much as possible. But no matter how hard you try, Natasha always finds something to punish you for.

The food is too salty, there is a smudge on the edge of her glass, the laundry is not folded the correct way. You dread the sound of the marbles hitting the bottom of the glass jar, the sharp, clinking noise beginning to echo in your nightmares.

While Wanda tried to bear the brunt of the abuse, she was right about not being able to shield you forever from the full horrors of living under Natasha’s control.

It always came after the punishment, the strikes that you had to count out through the tears and the pain. Natasha would take you roughly, using you for her own needs and discarding you afterwards. You would walk numbly back to the bedroom, trying to forget what had just transpired.

Sometimes though, Natasha would be sweet with you. She would whisper praise in your ear, making your pleasure her greatest concern. You would always try to fight it, not wanting Natasha to get what she wanted but your body would always betray you.

Those nights were the worst.

You always felt dirty afterwards. You would scrub yourself raw in the shower but it never felt like enough. It felt like Natasha was under your skin; no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t wash away the feeling of her hands touching you.

Wanda always held you tighter those nights, letting your tears soak her shirt while you clung to her like a lifeline.

You knew she was still enduring worse and you found yourself torn over how to feel. On one hand, you were glad that you never had to follow Natasha upstairs after lunch, to experience whatever had Wanda returning day after day with tear-stained cheeks. You never asked her what happened up there, not wanting to make her relive it again.

But on the other hand, you often found yourself consumed by guilt when you saw the evidence of Natasha’s abuse on Wanda’s skin. You’d catch a glimpse of the bruises as she slept, the overlapping handprints of blue and black that would litter her thighs. The welts on her sides, the result of something striking her in the same place repeatedly. The scratches that seemed to stretch the length of her back.

It made you sick to your stomach every time you felt relieved that Natasha had grabbed Wanda’s hand and not your own.

You had begun to live for bedtime.

Most nights, after Natasha would lock the two of you in the room, you found yourselves gravitating toward each other. You would sit beside each other in the bed, backs resting against the headboard as you talked. Eventually, you would find yourself growing tired and the two of you would move under the covers.

While you always tried to keep a respectable distance, each morning when you woke you found your body tangled with Wanda’s. You would savour those few moments of peace before a new day of terror would begin, fear filling your veins whenever you heard Natasha moving around upstairs.

During your talks, you began to learn more about Wanda. You learnt what she liked and disliked, you learnt about her life before this nightmare, you learnt about her hopes and dreams. You found out about her family, about the parents and brother that she lost in her home country before she moved here.

“It’s how I ended up with Natasha,” Wanda whispered to you one night. “I had no one. I was the perfect target. My brother had just died, and I was still grieving. She seemed so nice at first and I really thought that moving here had been the right decision.”

You hadn’t known what to say to that, instead intertwining your fingers with Wanda’s in an attempt to comfort her. She squeezed your fingers in return, her small smile letting you know that she appreciated the gesture.

You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered when she did.

As the weeks drag on, you find it harder to ignore your attraction to Wanda.

At first, you try to reason with yourself that it’s just because of the situation. That the two of you were experiencing something traumatic together so it only made sense that you would turn to her for comfort.

Then, you tried to pass it off as just a physical attraction. There was no denying that Wanda was beautiful, her eyes captivating you from the first time you met her.

Eventually, though, you realised that it was more than that.

Wanda was the type of woman that you would have fallen for before you ended up here. She was kind and selfless, always trying her best to keep your spirits up. She had a wicked sense of humour and you quickly discovered that her laugh was one of your favourite sounds. She was stronger than anyone you had ever met, the fact that she had endured so much and still maintained her spirit was something you admired.

There was just something about Wanda that drew you in and as much as you tried to deny it, you had fallen hard for her.

“Tell me something fun,” Wanda distracts you from your thoughts, poking her finger into your cheek.

The two of you were in your room for the night, your mind wandering during a lull in the conversation.

“Uh-” you reply dumbly, blinking slowly at Wanda as you try to clear your thoughts.

When you don’t respond she sticks out her bottom lip, pouting adorably.

“Please, I’m bored.”

“Okay, uh…” you trail off, wracking your brain for something to say.

Wanda sits there patiently, wide green eyes watching you and making it much harder to think clearly.

“Oh,” you exclaim after a minute, finally coming up with something to discuss. “I have a question for you.”

Wanda bounces onto her knees beside you, eagerly waiting for you to continue.

“Uh,” you begin, rubbing the back of your neck, already rethinking your question. “If you had to plan a perfect day, what would it be?”

“What do you mean?” she looks at you puzzled, her brow furrowed adorably in confusion.

“Like if you could have one day with everything you wanted, what would it be?” You regret the question as you watch her face fall.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says quickly, the lightness in her tone gone. “I’m stuck here. My days are far from perfect.”

“Okay, but just imagine-” you try to continue, not wanting to ruin your time with Wanda.

“What’s the point?” Her voice is sharp as she cuts you off and you feel the sting of hurt in your chest.

“Well, we have to have some hope,” you try to reason, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice.

“Trust me, there’s no hope.” Wanda scoffs, her bitter tone feeling like a stab to your heart. “Even if I did get out, I still have no one”

The last part is said so softly that you almost missed it. The vulnerability in her voice hurts more than anything she had said and you feel the urge to pull her into your arms.

“You’d have me,” you confess quietly, looking down at your fingers twisting together on your lap.

“What?” Wanda asks, all hostility gone from her voice now.

You look up at her and your heart jumps at her soft expression. You can see the shine of tears in her green eyes, a glimmer of hope swirling amongst the jade green.

“You’d have me,” you repeat yourself, louder this time. “If we get out of here, I still want you in my life.”

Wanda’s soft smile dazzles you and fills you with courage you didn’t know you had. It’s the only explanation you had for what you say next.

“I- I care about you.”

The room is silent again after your confession and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. Wanda is looking at you wide-eyed and you hold your breath, waiting for her to recoil in disgust. You had come so close to admitting the real depth of your feelings, glad to have caught yourself before you ruined the only good thing you had left in your life.

“Oh,” she says after a moment, the word hanging in the air awkwardly.

Maybe you ruined it afterall.

“Yeah,” you reply with a shrug before backtracking. “I know I haven’t known you very long but I like to think of you as my best friend. I mean, I didn’t have many friends before this and the ones I did have, I wasn’t as close to them as I am with you.”

Wanda just nods, pursing her lips as she thinks. You blow out a breath, resting back against the headboard of the bed wishing a giant sinkhole would appear to end your suffering.

Of course she didn’t feel the same about you, she was stuck with you due to circumstances beyond her control. If the two of you ever did make it out of here, she’d probably try and get as far away from you as she could, not wanting to be reminded of the horrors of this house every time she looked at your face.

“My perfect day,” Wanda begins, resting beside you on the bed, her back against the headboard as well. “I think I’d like to go to Disneyland.”

“Disneyland?” you question with an arched brow. “Aren’t you a little old for Mickey Mouse?”

Wanda pokes her tongue out at you and you smile at her antics, thankful for the return of the playful mood.

“I’m young at heart,” she retorts and you just roll your eyes. “Besides, I’ve never been before. My brother and I always saw it advertised back in Sokovia and we would beg our parents to take us. We never had the money to travel but Pietro and I promised each other that one day we would make it to America and finally go there.”

She smiles wistfully, obviously caught up in her memories of her family.

“Well then it sounds like a great day,” you tell her, earning a bright smile.

“I’d go on all the rides and eat so much food that I’d feel sick,” she continues, her excitement from earlier returning. “I want to eat everything Mickey shaped in the park and walk around with those ears on all day. Then I’d watch the fireworks at the end of the night.”

Her eyes are bright with hope as she talks and you can’t help but grin at her.

“You’d be there too of course,” she finishes, turning to look at you.

“Oh?” you question, surprised that she’d want to include you in a day that was so special to her.

“Yeah,” she replies, bumping her shoulder against yours. “I couldn’t spend a day at Disneyland without my best friend.”

Her eyes twinkle as she looks at you and you feel your heart swell. Maybe you wouldn’t lose her after all.

“What about you?” she asks after a moment, picking at a thread on the blanket. “What would your perfect day be?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, thinking about what you’d want to do if you ever made it out of here alive. “It would definitely be spent with you though.”

Wanda’s hand finds yours on top of the covers, her pinky finger interlocking with yours.

“Maybe we could go out to eat a meal we didn't have to cook ourselves. Somewhere with a nice open outdoor seating, so you can feel the breeze on your face.”

You close your eyes as you talk, trying to imagine it. Sitting across the table from Wanda, comparing who ordered the best meal, sharing each other’s dessert.

“That sounds nice,” Wanda’s soft sigh draws you from your fantasy, and you open your eyes to see her watching you carefully.

“Then afterwards we could do something fun like mini golf or bowling,” you continue, trying to swallow around the lump in your throat from the look Wanda was giving you. “We could go to the arcade and I can try and win you a giant teddy for you to cuddle at night.”

“But I like cuddling you,” Wanda’s reply comes so quickly that you think she must have blurted it out without thinking.

Her cheeks are dusted with pink, her teeth chewing her bottom lip nervously after her admission.

You squeeze her pinky in reassurance, smiling softly at the woman you were quickly falling in love with.

“Yeah, I like cuddling you too.”

After your ‘perfect day’ discussion, something shifts between the two of you.

It’s never brought up, neither of you wanting to shatter the carefully formed illusion of friendship, but there is something different in the air.

The stolen glances between the two of you linger just a little longer, the smiles are just a little brighter and everything feels easier to bear.

You find the days easier to get through, even with Natasha being her usual horrible self. Whenever she does something particularly awful, the two of you would just mouth ‘perfect day’ to each other and that tiny glimmer of hope would take hold.

You didn’t want to be too optimistic, you knew that your situation was less than ideal. But still, you knew that you had a better chance of escaping if you could keep your spirits high.

You were cleaning the kitchen after lunch as you normally did, making sure that everything was spotless. Natasha hadn’t added any marbles to the jar today and you were determined to make it through just one day without you or Wanda needing to be punished for breaking her asinine rules.

Wanda was currently upstairs with Natasha and while the thought made your stomach recoil, you were trying to keep it out of your mind.

You’re pulling the last of the dishes from the dishwasher when you hear footsteps on the stairs and you quickly look around to make sure nothing was out of place.

Natasha enters the kitchen, Wanda standing silently behind her. Her face is cast downwards so you can’t check to see how she is doing, the defeated hunch of her shoulders worrying you.

“You’ve done such a good job of cleaning, malyshka,” Natasha addresses you, once again ignoring the tension in the room.

She had to know how much you despised her but she obviously didn’t care. Or maybe she just got off on the fact that you hated her.

You nod in response to Natasha’s compliment, not wanting to anger her. You kept trying to catch Wanda’s eye to make sure she was okay but she still wasn’t looking up. You feel anxiety claw at the pit of your stomach, wanting to run over to talk to her but knowing it would arouse suspicion with Natasha.

“I’m going to go do some work while you two make dinner,” Natasha informs you, pressing a kiss to the side of Wanda’s head.

Wanda doesn’t even jerk away like she usually did, standing stoically in place as Natasha retreats to her office. You approach her carefully, not wanting to startle her.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, hand hovering awkwardly over Wanda’s arm, too afraid to touch her.

Wanda looks up at your voice, her eyes red-rimmed and cheeks tear-stained like always. Except, this time the shine of her eyes that was usually there when she looked at you was absent. Instead, a vacant stare replaced it, Wanda’s eyes dull and glazed over, like she wasn’t even there.

She gives you a shrug, pushing past you toward the kitchen. You can hear her opening cupboards and the clanking of pots as she drags them out to get ready for dinner.

Her behaviour has you worried, your stomach coiled in knots as you try to work out what to do next.

You follow Wanda to the kitchen, silently helping as she makes dinner. You keep glancing at her but she seems to be moving on autopilot, barely acknowledging your presence.

You want to ask her what’s wrong but you don’t want to set her off, choosing instead to wait until that night, when you were both in your room with less chance of Natasha walking into the middle of your conversation.

Dinner passes quickly, Natasha spends most of the time talking about herself as usual. You try extra hard to seem engaged, answering Natasha’s questions and keeping up with her conversation. Wanda was checked out most of the meal, pushing the food around on her plate more than eating it. She only responded to Natasha's questions when you kicked her foot under the table to gain her attention but even that was mostly her nodding her head in agreement to whatever Natasha had said.

You clean up afterwards and to your relief, you make it to the end of the night without earning any marbles. The joy is overshadowed by Wanda’s strange behaviour but still, you’re grateful to go straight to the room without having to make a detour with Natasha like you usually did.

She bids the two of you goodnight before locking you in and you press your ear to the door to make sure you hear her footsteps retreating down the hallway.

When you’re sure she’s gone, you turn to Wanda to finally get some answers out of her. She’s rummaging around in one of the drawers, pulling out some clothes. She turns to you once she’s done, her eyes still expressionless.

“Do you mind if I shower first?”

It was the first thing she had said in hours, her body language still as tense as it had been when she first came down the stairs.

“Um, sure,” you reply, not wanting to upset her any more than she already was.

She walks to the bathroom and closes the door behind her and a few moments later you hear the shower start up. You sit on the edge of the bed, your thoughts running rampant about what happened between her and Natasha.

You knew it had to be bad and you were almost too scared to ask but you know you owed it to Wanda to try and help her. You gather your clothes as the shower turns off, the sounds of Wanda getting changed muffled through the door.

Once she exits the bathroom, you take your shower to give her some more time to herself. The hot water helps ease some of the tension and by the time you’re drying yourself off, you’ve already planned what to say to Wanda.

However, when you walk back into the bedroom, Wanda is already under the covers of her bed. The overhead light is off, leaving the moon the only source of light in the room. You get the hint, walking over to your bed and crawling under the covers.

You look over to Wanda’s bed but she’s faced away from you and you can’t quite tell if she’s asleep or not. You whisper her name but get no response so you roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I hope you’re okay,” you whisper again into the dark, not even sure if you were being heard. “I just want to help, I hate seeing you like this.”

You still get no response so you sigh quietly to yourself, determined to wake up early to find out what the hell was going on.

“Goodnight Wanda,” you try again. “I hope you know that no matter what I still care about you. Nothing you could say would make me stop being your friend.”

You close your eyes then and for a few moments, the room is silent.

Then you hear some rustling from across the room, the sound of feet padding across the carpet before the edge of your blanket is lifted. You scoot over to the side of the bed, leaving enough room for Wanda to climb in next to you.

She settles into the bed, her head resting on your chest as your arm wraps comfortingly around her shoulders. Her arm is slung across your waist as she gets comfortable and you drape the blanket carefully over the both of you.

You don’t say anything, not wanting to push Wanda. You can feel the warmth of her tears soaking into your shirt, her sniffles the only sound in the room.

“When we were upstairs earlier,” Wanda begins, her voice sounding broken and defeated, “Natasha started talking about the future. About the plans she said she had for me.”

Your stomach drops, knowing that whatever Natasha had said must have been bad.

“She said that I’ve been doing so well she’s decided to keep me long term, that she didn’t need to get rid of me like Carol.”

You tense up at the name of Wanda’s former roommate, wondering if Natasha was going to subject you to the same fate. Wanda pauses for a moment, taking a breath before she continues her story.

“She started talking about kids. About how she’s been looking into different methods and that we could start trying in a month or so.”

You feel your blood run cold at her words, Natasha's sick fantasy feeling more and more twisted as Wanda spoke.

“She said that I’d look so good pregnant, that I’d make a good mother.” Wanda’s voice breaks on the last word, a sob catching in her throat.

You rub her back soothingly, unsure of what to say or what to do. Your determination to get out of here only increased, hell-bent on getting Wanda out of here before it was too late.

Wanda pushes herself up to look at you, her eyes wide and fearful.

“I’m so scared,” she admits, her lips trembling. “I don’t want it to get to that point. I couldn’t handle bringing a child into this, to expose something so innocent to that monster.”

She collapses back against you, her body shaking as she cried.

You just held her until she fell asleep, her sobs eventually dying down as she succumbed to the exhaustion of the day.

You were well and truly fucked.

The light wakes you in the morning, the sun bathing the room in a cheery glow that didn’t match how you felt inside. You were exhausted, only managing a few hours of sleep the night before as Wanda’s confession played over and over in your mind.

You were no closer to a plan of escape and it seemed as though your days were numbered here. You had to get out before Natasha managed to put her plan into place but you didn’t even know where to start.

You feel Wanda stirring, her head still resting on your chest as she clung tightly to you. You cast your eyes down, your heart breaking as you watch her face shift from peaceful slumber to fear.

“Morning,” you mumble, alerting her to the fact that you were awake.

“Morning,” she whispers in reply, her eyes already shining with tears.

You knew it was going to be a long day.

You both get ready for the day, Wanda’s movements slow. She looked so defeated and you wanted nothing more than to wrap her in your arms and protect her from everything.

You hear Natasha’s footsteps above you, Wanda’s head snapping up to the ceiling as she tracks the sound to the stairs.

“Ready?” You ask, offering her your hand in a show of support.

Wanda just shakes her head, her arms wrapping around her middle as if she was trying to hold herself together.

“I can’t do this,” she whispers frantically. “I can’t take another day in this hell. I wish it was all over. I wish I was dead.”

You feel your blood run cold at her words and you walk over to her quickly, cupping her face in your hands and forcing her to look at you.

“Hey,” you say urgently, wary of the approaching footsteps. “I won’t let it happen. I’m going to get you out.”

Wanda just shakes her head again, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing a tear to run down her cheek.

“I promise-,” you try to continue but the pounding on the door makes you jump back, terrified of what Natasha would do to you if she found the two of you in this position.

“Five minutes,” you hear behind the door.

Wanda uses the distraction to scurry into the bathroom, the lock clicking behind her. You want to bang on the door for her to open up but it was too risky with Natasha awake so you just sit on the floor beside it.

“Wanda,” you say softly, hoping she was listening. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can to keep you safe. You have to trust me.”

You hear nothing in return and you want to yell in frustration at the whole situation.

When you hear Natasha unlocking the door, you quickly get to your feet. The door springs open, her fiery red hair the first thing you see before her sinister grin comes into view.

You’d love nothing more than to slap that grin off her face but instead, you try and keep your breathing under control, standing there silently as she scans the room.

“Where’s Wanda?” she asks, her brow furrowed.

You knew she hated being kept waiting and you hoped that this wasn’t going to be an indication of your day.

“Bathroom,” you reply quickly, hoping that Wanda would make an appearance soon.

As if she had heard your silent plea, the door to the bathroom opens and Wanda walks out. Her face is blank, eyes vacant like they had been the day before. You hated seeing her like this but with Natasha standing there, there was nothing you could do.

“Hurry up,” Natasha taps her foot impatiently and you despise seeing her in the safe space of your room. “I haven’t got all day.”

As you and Wanda trail after Natasha, you keep trying to catch Wanda’s eye but she doesn’t take her gaze off her feet. Natasha detours via the living room and your stomach sinks when she drops two marbles into the jar.

The morning continues the same way. Wanda not seeming to be present, Natasha growing frustrated and marbles being placed in the jar despite how hard you try to overcompensate. By the time you’re making lunch, there are already twelve marbles in the jar and you’re dreading the time after dinner.

You cast a wary glance at Wanda, her plate of food untouched in front of her. Her eyes are still vacant and you don’t know how you can snap her out of it. Natasha is talking about herself again, eating happily and ignoring the almost comatose person at the table.

“Delicious as always,” Natasha compliments the two of you as she finishes her meal, placing her hand on top of yours. Her thumb strokes over the back of your hand and you fight the urge to pull it away, hiding your shiver of disgust.

“Thank you,” you force out, trying to smile at her.

This seems to placate her enough and she turns to Wanda, a smile on her face.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she tells her, tilting her head to the second floor. “We can finish our conversation from yesterday.”

The reminder of the previous day's events makes Wanda jerk, her hand flying out and accidentally knocking over a glass. You watch in slow motion as it flies across the table, the water spilling in Natasha’s lap before the glass careens to the floor. The shattering sound echoes in the room and you can already see the rage building on Natasha’s face.

“Sorry, sorry sorry,” Wanda blurts out, dropping to her knees to try and clean up the mess. She continues to chant apologies as she picks up the shards with her bare hands.

You sit there in shock, still processing the last few seconds as Natasha rises to her feet, visibly shaking with anger.

“You stupid fucking cunt!” She roars and Wanda flinches, the glass cutting her palm as she continues to try and clean the mess.

You watch the scarlet liquid bloom across her palm, dripping onto the floor below her as Natasha pushes her onto her back with the heel of her boot.

“You think you can just break my things, the things I work hard to provide for you and just say ‘sorry’?”

You could see a fire in Natasha’s eyes, the venom in her voice making you shrink in your seat.

“No, I-” Wanda squeaks out, her eyes wide and fearful but Natasha doesn’t let her continue.

“You useless slut,” she screams out, spit flying from her mouth in her rage. “You’re going to pay for that.”

You watch in horror as Natasha bends down, grabbing a fistful of Wanda’s hair before she begins to drag her down the hallway. Wanda’s pained cries spur you to action and you rush out of your seat, standing in front of Natasha to try and block her.

“She didn’t mean it,” you plead, tears filling your eyes. “Please, let her go.”

“Move,” Natasha demands, her voice low and dangerous.

“No,” you shake your head, surprised by your own bravery. “Don’t hurt her please.”

“Move,” Natasha tells you again, louder this time.

When you shake your head again, she pushes you aside with her free hand, her strength no match for you. You crash into the wall, watching as Natasha drags Wanda past you again.

You catch the blood staining her shirt, the agony and fear written across her face, and the pleading in her eyes. You can’t explain your thought process for what you did next, all you know is that you had to protect Wanda.

You were desperate.

You push yourself off the wall, panicked breaths escaping you as you move toward Natasha again. Her face turns to look at you, eyes still full of malice as you bring your arm back and swing as hard as you can.

Your open hand makes contact with Natasha’s face with a resounding smack, her head recoiling from the force of your blow. You feel the heat bloom in your palm, dread instantly filling you as your mind catches up to your body.

“Oh no,” you whisper as you back away, clutching your hand to your chest.

You feel your back hit the wall, Natasha’s hand letting go of Wanda’s hair, the brunette slumping to the floor in a heap, body shaking from sobs.

Natasha wipes her lip, blood coating her finger as she pulls away. Her head turns to you, the fire from earlier increased tenfold. You want to run but her stare is holding you in place, fear coursing through your body.

Wanda is quickly forgotten as Natasha advances toward you, grabbing your arm roughly as she drags you to the room. You stumble over your feet, trying to wrench yourself free but it’s no use. Your fate had already been sealed.

Natasha throws you inside the room and you land on the floor with a thud as she shuts the door behind her. You hear the lock click about a second before the pounding on the other side begins, Wanda’s desperate pleas muffled by the wood.

“Stand up,” Natasha spits at you, her eyes wide. She had never looked more crazy.

You are shaking too much to follow orders, every instinct telling you to run. Natasha lets out a frustrated growl, rushing over to you and yanking you up by your hair.

“I said stand up,” she yells over your cry of pain. You try and pry your hair free of her grasp but she punches you in the stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs.

“You want to hit me?” she asks, punctuating the statement with a blow to your cheek as you stand there hunched over. “You think you can take me?”

She shoves you and you fall again, landing on your side on the bed. You still haven’t caught your breath before Natasha jumped onto the bed, straddling you.

“Come on then,” she taunts, landing another blow to your side. “If you want to hit me, do it.”

She doesn’t let up, her fists landing on any exposed inch of you they could find. You don’t know when one hit ends and the other begins, the only thing you know is the overwhelming pain.

After a few minutes, you feel her tire, one of your eyes already swollen shut from a particularly brutal right hook. She’s panting above you, her knuckles bruised and bloody.

“Don’t you ever think about doing that again,” she warns, her face close to yours. “Or you won’t live to see another day.”

You know she’s telling the truth, Carol's name flashing to your mind. You can still hear Wanda on the other side of the door, her sobs and pleas muffled by the ringing in your ears.

You feel Natasha stand, the sound of a zipper reaching your ears. You knew what came next but it wasn’t something that you could handle right now. Your body was already aching all over, you couldn’t withstand more of her abuse.

You did the only thing you could think of, you rolled off the side of the bed, groaning as you made contact with the hard floor.

“Get up,” Natasha screams at you, kicking you in the leg. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You just groan again, your entire body on fire. You hear Natasha let out a scream of frustration before her boot hits your leg again.

“I said get the fuck up.”

You instinctively cover your head with your hands, trying to offer it some protection. Natasha kicks you a few more times in frustration and you hope that it will all be over soon.

One of her kicks lands swiftly against your ribs, the sharp pain stealing your breath instantly. You’re sure you felt a crack, almost certain that she had just broken your ribs. She kicks you a few more times for good measure, her growls of frustration slowly easing.

“God you’re pathetic,” she sneers after a while.

You feel her hand in your hair once more, lifting you to your feet. You feel groggy, the pain almost unbearable as she jostles your ribs. You whimper which just makes her laugh at you.

She starts walking toward the door and you have no choice but to follow to stop your hair from being ripped out. She opens the door and you spot Wanda on the floor, blurry through your tears and what you assumed was blood dripping down your face.

“Get out of my way,” Natasha commands and Wanda scurries back.

Natasha drags you down the hall to your bedroom, throwing you inside. You let out a wail as you land heavily, the pain worsening.

You sense someone kneeling beside you, the soft hands letting you know that Wanda had made her way to the room. You hear the door slam, the lock clicking into place and the sound of Natasha’s boots retreating up the stairs.

Wanda’s soft sobs echo beside you as she gently cradles your head in her lap, her fingers softly brushing over your cheeks.

“Why?” she chokes out and you don’t know what she's referring to.

Your mind feels hazy, the pain pulling you to the edge of consciousness as her soft voice fills your mind. You want to stay awake for her, to let her know you were okay but it was starting to become too hard.

“Why did you do that, why did you stop her?” You can feel Wanda’s tears dripping onto your face, the salt stinging as it makes contact with the open skin. “You were so stupid. Why did you do that?”

“Had to protect you,” you cough out, the effort making it even harder to stay awake.

“Why?” Wanda questions again, clearly upset by your actions.

You had to try and make her understand, make sure she knew why you risked everything for her. With the last of your strength, you open your one good eye, Wanda’s tear-stained face coming into view.

“I think I love you,” your voice is barely a whisper but you know she heard you, her eyes going wide.

And then the world went black.

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lene-loki · 10 months

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Sweet Salvation

Summary: Even though you already ended your toxic relationship, your abusive Ex-boyfriend still has got ahold on you. Addicted to drugs, he threatens every cent out of you for his criminal machinations. You are only working as a cleaning person for Nelson&Murdock and barely afford to live in your tiny apartement even without your Ex milking your wallet dry. One day you find yourself desperate enough to steal money out of your bosses office after hours.

Plagued with guilt you try to return the money before your boss notices it but Matt Murdock already knows and he's not happy.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Female Reader

Warnings: (I'm sorry if I forget some), angst, it's really dark, drug addiction, abuse (physical and emotional), swear words, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts

A/N: It's not completely proofread yet, so please excuse any mistakes! ❤️

It rumbles in the hallway in front of the door to your apartement and your heart starts to race. Knowing all too well who's coming to visit you this late again. You can hear the clinking of keys, how they find their way to the keyhole while you automatically hold your breath. Fingers clamping painfully around the handles of your handbag, your knuckles turning white from the straining of your skin. The door finally opens and your Ex-boyfriend enters, having you wide-eyed and shaking before he can even say a single word. You aren't just afraid of him. You are totally terrified to the point where every fearful beat of your heart hurts so much inside of you that you would prefer to rip it out of your ribcage yourself.

"Y/N." He rasps menacing, his voice held low while he shuts the door. Trying to swallow you stutter a simple: "Hi."

Your saliva gets stuck from not being able to properly breathe and having your throat drawing itself together. You know why he came. It's the same reason why he visits you since you two were together. He wants money. You didn't know that he is a drug addict and further than knee deep into the criminal scene of Hell's Kitchen until it was too late. You thought breaking up with him would free you from him - but it was only the beginning and now you know the real him. The man he hid from you when you two met and you cursed every day that you have ever been involved with him. You know too much about him and his life and he wouldn't dare letting you off the hook that easily. He knows how to break you and get what he wants. He isn't even saying what he wants anymore, he just expects you to give him the money without any hassle from your side. Of course you would never cause any trouble - you are far too scared and weak to defend yourself from him and you know fully well what happens when you put yourself in his way.

You hesitate, still frozen in fear when he clears his throat impatiently. Shaking, you rummage your wallet out of your handbag and weakly put your entire cash onto his awaiting palm. You watch him as he counts it angrily.

"Fifty Dollars?! Are you serious?!" He roars.

The feeling of choking spreads inside of your throat as every bodily function of yours grows numb.

"I-I don't have more." You tremble, knowing that by the time you can finally leave for work you'll be covered in black and blue bruises.

He lets out a dry laugh, his forehead already covered in sweat again. You know all of the telltale signs when he experiences withdrawal symptoms again and at this state he's the most dangerous to you.

His own fingers are shaking. He probably hadn't had any illegal substances for quite a few hours.

"I need 400! Now!" He growles with emphasis in his voice.

"I don't have more." You repeat, your voice shaking and the absolute opposite to his vigor in tone.

Faster than you can react he wraps his empty hand around your throat. Even though he seems a little unsteady on his feet, you can't manage to get out of his strong grip. All of your fingers are desperately grasping his big hand in an attempt to loosen his grip. His face comes closer, his hand squeezes your throat some more and it's getting harder to breathe. You try to scream but your voice disappears like dust in the wind.

"I want 400 Dollars by midnight. Or else" his voive becomes scarily low, "I crush your pretty little neck." His hand demonstratively squeezes even harder around your throat and you can feel your consciousness walking on a fine line between reality and nightmare.

He isn't making empty threats. You learned the hard way that he means everything he says always a 100 percent.

When he finally lets you go, you stumble backwards, almost completely losing your balance. It's not until he left your apartement that you allow yourself to cry. The shock and the numbness disappearing, leaves you feeling every single emotion you had surpressed just minutes ago.

After you had calmed down enough from your little breakdown, you walk into the bathroom to check on your throat. A big bruise is already forming on your tender skin - impossible to hide. So your only choice left is to wear a turtleneck in the middle of August in case Mr. Nelson is still present in the office. You don't worry about Mr. Murdock since he is blind but sometimes you feel like he sees more than you think.

When you arrive at the law firm the sun had already set.

You step into the office and turn on every light in the room in an attempt to feel a bit more safe.

Just when you think that you're alone, you hear footsteps around the corner. Matt Murdock walks out of his office space and you clutch your hand over your heart, gasping wildly as if a kidnapper just caught you.

"Woah there." Matt smiles softly as he approaches you.

"I-I thought I'm alone." You pant still shaken from your encounter with your Ex-boyfriend.

He frowns and although his eyes are covered from his red lenses you can see his eyebrows furrowing.

"Is everything alright?" He asks so tenderly that suddenly your heart feels like its melting.

You are not used to be cared about. Matt's soft voice and his sudden interest in your well-being is throwing you completely off guard and you stand there speechless.

He tilts his head after another second of silence passes.

You shake your head, hoping to shake some sense into you again before you clear your throat.

"Eh- Yes. Th-Thank you for asking." You stammer your words but mean them sincerely. He shows you a crooked smile, obviously not believing you and you start to wonder how he even knows that something's up with you.

"You sure?" He pushes cautiously, afraid he could scare you off like a freightened deer. You instantly nod before you let out an akward laugh. "You nodded, didn't you?" He grins.

"Yeah." You start to tense from all the akwardness in the air but there's something else too.

You can't quite put your finger on what it is but the longer you look at your boss the more an unknown feeling spreads inside of your belly and strangely in your ribcage right where your heart suddenly looses its control - unable to keep its normal pace. For a moment you think its about to rip open your body from the inside and flee right into Matt's hands.

Your eyes widen and you can't help but to furiously blush at that sudden thought. Your cheeks are burning up and you wonder if you have to call the fire departement to extinguish this heat because you doubt that you get this fire inside you tamed by yourself.

But why are you suddenly feeling this way?

It's not like you notice for the first time just how attractive Matt is and how his voice is as smooth as honey.

"Uhm, I should get to work." You say after another moment of you gawking at your boss.

You try to push away your feelings which are seemingly clouding your sanity. Deep down inside of you, you know that you would never have a chance with such an handsome man like him.

"Oh, yeah, of course!" He says rapidly, scratching his neck with a breathtaking smile plastered on his face. "Then I let you get back to work. See you tomorrow, Miss (Y/L/N)."

"Good Night, Mr. Murdock." You can't help but to beam at him.

He accidently brushes your shoulder as he passes you on his way to the clothing rack. "Sorry." He giggles slightly while you are sure that your heart is by now exceeding every tempo limit on a highway.

You watch him as he puts on his jacket and unfolds his cane. He shows you a last smile as if he knows that you are looking at him before he leaves the office.

Now that you are really alone, the giddy feeling inside of your body caused by Matt slowly disappears and you are left with the suffocating fear of your Ex-boyfriend.

It suddenly dawns on you that you are in no way able to get 400 Dollars until midnight which means he's going to kill you.

Your knees start to shake and you try to distract yourself with your work.

~*~*~*~*~*~

For about an hour you manage to succesfully clean the little kitchen and the reception area. It isn't until you step inside Matt's office space that you get really consumed by very bad thoughts. It is the moment that you notice a glass jar with dollar bills inside on his desk that your fingers start to itch in need to grab that container.

"No, no, no." You tell yourself.

You are not a bad person and you wouldn't do this to Matt.

He would never forgive you for this. He would most certainly fire you for stealing money from his office - money that his clients probably paid him for his work.

You are depending on this job. You can't risk losing it.

You can already picture yourself homeless and starving.

Shaking your head so hard it hurts you try to focus on cleaning his space. But you just can't.

What choice do you even have?

Either you steal that money and get fired and homeless or you get beaten to death at midnight by your Ex.

You had to decide between pest and cholera.

Your heart is beating painfully hard inside of your chest, adrenaline pumping in an abnormal speed through your veins. Your hands seem to have a mind of their own as they turn up the lid of the jar.

For a moment you pause.

What if this was a trap and Matt left it there on purpose?

But even this concern can't stop you anymore. Carefully you take the money and start to count the bank notes. There are 500 Dollars in your hand. As honest as you could be in this situation you only take 400 Dollars and put the rest back inside the jar.

The guilt already eating you from the inside.

It is already past midnight when your Ex finally comes into your apartement - still having your key even though you begged him multiple times to give it back.

He rushes immediately to your shaking form on the sofa, raging and even more aggressive than he had been a few hours prior.

"I'm waiting, bitch!" He screames at your face after you seemingly struggle with moving a single bone due to your fear.

"Y-Yes." You stutter, jumping from the seating and running to your handbag.

You don't know what it is but suddenly you can't pull out your wallet anymore. He groans behind you, impatiently waiting.

But the immense guilt that you have been feeling this whole evening, makes you second guess if you could really live with disrespecting Matt like that. After all the trust he put in you to go behind his back and do something like this.

You can't do it, even if it means you get killed tonight.

You are already feeling half dead as you turn back around to the furious man standing in your flat.

"I-uhm actually couldn't get the money together." You say surprisingly composed given your current situation.

He let that humorless laugh out again that sends chills down your spine.

Frustrated he rubs his hands over his face as if he's trying to stay calm although he's been raging since he stepped a foot into your living space.

You try to prepare yourself for what's to come as he finally puts his hands away and looks you directly in the eyes.

You can't move a single muscle.

Everything hurts. From your toes to your forehead and everything inbetween.

You can barely hold yourself up as you lean with your entire weight on the sink in the bathroom - gripping the surface as if your life depends on it.

Sobbing loudly you try to take care of your wounds by yourself.

To the bruise on your throat came a few more in addition. Not even a turtleneck could hide that now. It is unsettling obvious what happened to you last night - that your Ex tried to choke you to death but fortunately failed.

But is it really fortunate that you are still alive?

Maybe it would have been better if he killed you. Or is it a twisted game of his to see how much more he can torture you until you break for good?

"You won." You whisper, keeping eye contact with yourself in the mirror. That was the last straw. You can't keep living in fear that he might kill you any day and with the aftermaths of this hurting. The only salvation for you has to be death. At least you can take your life by yourself without pain. You won't give him the satisfaction of dying because of his hands.

But you couldn't peacefully die like this - not with the guilt of the stolen money still tattooed in the back of your mind. You need to sort that out first before you can finally come to rest - forever.

You could manage to make your bruises look somewhat alright. There are only two in your face anyway, he focused mostly on your upper body and neck when he almost succeeded in killing you not too long ago.

The way to Nelson&Murdock is absolute hell.

Wearing a turtleneck and a thick scarf you are close to melting into a puddle in this summer heat. Only after the shock from your other injuries subsided you felt the unbearing pain in your throat. You also noticed before you left how hoarse your voice was and how much it hurt to even breathe. Yeah, you can't do this anymore and you won't.

You sneak into the office before Matt, Foggy and Karen come to work and put the money back in the glass jar on Matt's desk. Then you go back home where your bathtub is already waiting with a bottle of pills to put an end to this misery.

Your stomach starts to flutter in anticipation of what you're about to do at home. You don't care if you're even in the right mind at the moment to plan something like this or if it's the dumbest decision you ever made.

When you enter the building you notice a shadow underneath the door to your work space.

No, this can't be. You start to panick.

They shouldn't be here this early.

With your heart thumping in your chest like a horde of elephants stomping inside of you, you open the door and enter.

Already six pairs of eyes are set on you. All equally suspicious of you.

Matt, Foggy and Karen are standing at Karen's desk, watching you as if they awaited you.

You had no chance to return the money without anyone of them noticing it. That is it.

You are feeling like fainting when Matt suddenly tenses up so hard his shirt begins to strain against his body.

"Miss, (Y/L/N)? I would like to speak to you for a moment." You gulp at how serious his voice becomes compared to last night.

"In my office."

You are close to breaking your own fingers with how hard you are fidgeting them while you are sitting across from Matt.

He sighs when he suddenly takes of his glasses. You have never seen him without them before and you can't help the excited tingle in your stomach when he shows you his beautiful hazel eyes. It feels so intimate to you as if he's sharing a secret with you no one else knows.

Matt's gaze lands on your chin as he probably tries to focus his eyes on yours.

"Miss (Y/L/N)." He sighs again. "It is not easy for me to do this and I want in no way to accuse you of something. But something happened and I need you to be really honest with me." He says calmly, having you gulping down in guilt and shame.

Without moving his eyes from your face, he grabs something from the floor beside him and puts it subsequently on the surface of his desk.

Your eyes start to burn with building tears as you look at the almost completely empty glass jar.

Having to see his uncovered eyes during your inner turmoil somehow makes you feel even more intimidated by him.

"Last night when I left there were 500 Dollars in this jar. Now there is only a single hundread dollar bill left." He is stating matter of fact.

Neither raising nor lowering his voice.

Since you started working for Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson you had conversations with either of them in their offices of course - but none has ever been so serious.

Matt stays silent, patiently waiting for you to answer even though he didn't ask a question. He wants to give you the chance to be honest about what you've done. And this is the moment where you can't keep yourself together anymore.

Sitting there in pain, having not slept the entire night you realize just how much of a mistake you've done.

Before you can get a word over your lips, you start to sob. Embarassed by yourself you try to force yourself to be quiet but it's useless. Shaking, you wipe your tears away from your cheeks while still crying too hard to talk. Matt's facial expression softens a little bit as you cry obvious enough for a blind man to notice despite your best efforts to hide it.

"Miss (Y/N/L)," Matt starts but you interrupt him, sobbing loudly now. "I'm sorry." Your voice breaks, your injured throat hurts too much to bear.

His gaze falls, he doesn't even try to cover up the look of pure disappointement. He trusted you and you abused it.

That hurt even more than all of your bruises combined.

He doesn't speak a single word while you rummage the cash out of your handbag and return it to your boss. Ashamed you press a hand over your mouth, not wanting to let Matt know that you are still crying like a baby that made a mess in its diaper.

His fingers brushes the dollar bills that you put in front of him.

You can't read his expression.

Is he surprised you gave it back?

Did he expect you to keep it?

It is impossible to tell what he's thinking.

But then he finally talks again after all this silence where you've been crying and apolygizing.

"Why?" Is everything that comes out of Matt's mouth, barely above a whisper.

Now it's your turn to lower your head.

You can't tell him what's going on in your private life. He would probably push you into going to the police or sueing your Ex-boyfriend and that would just all make it worse.

Matt sighs yet again as he puts his head into the palm of his hand.

"I don't like to do this, but I have to. And you know it."

Blood starts to dripple inside of your mouth from how hard you bite down on your lip - dreading what he's about to say.

"You are fired."

The words leave his lips ponderously and weak as if he really doesn't want to dismiss you.

You nod your head, not caring if he sees it or not, in agreement since you knew from the moment you took the money that this would be the outcome.

"I will refrain from filing a lawsuit against you because you returned the money and" He takes a deep breath "I trusted you."

The last sentence hits you right in your chest.

It confirms to you that you have lost everything with Matt whatever you thought you had with him.

Trying to compose yourself and not to break down in front of him, you stand up from your chair.

You shouldn't care about losing your job actually. You don't intend to come back anyways but what really destroys you is how you betrayed Matt and have to die knowing that the last time you saw him - felt nothing but disappointement for you.

"I'm sorry." You say for the last time before you exit his office, keeping your head down low so Foggy and Karen can't see your tears which are still streaming down your cheeks.

Back in your apartement you can finally let everything out.

For hours you are lying on the floor, crying and unable to stand up. You just want to die right there on the spot, too weak to even walk to the bathroom where your pills waited for you.

You somehow managed to fall asleep on the floor in exhaustion, waking up hours later in complete darkness and hurting.

It is almost two a.m. when you finally manage to get up on your feet.

The bathroom door is standing open just like you left it. But you can't put your plan into action yet.

Something's still holding you back or maybe you are just a coward.

You don't care about how much your body is hurting, but you need to get out of your apartement. And the time doesn't matter to you as well.

You get dressed in sporting clothes and go for a jog to clear your head. You accept willingly to get mugged - that would really make your day perfect.

But in reality what's really torturing you is how you lost Matt.

What is really crazy considering you never even had Matt to begin with. The truth be told you always had feelings for him - deeper than a normal boss-employee relationship. And now all of that is destroyed.

Crying again you are running through the night driven by all of your emotions, bubbling to the surface after years of surpressing them. This is how you find yourself in front of Matt Murdock's apartement - too high on adrenaline to think straight. Your sanity has long been gone.

You need this.

You can't die with how things went.

Sweating and shaking you start to hammer your first against his door regardless of his neighbours.

It only takes a minute for your former boss to open the door. His eyes are half shut, tired and annoyed he tries to put his unfocused gaze somewhere without falling asleep on his feet.

You get extremely nervous all of a sudden. And then he furrows his eyebrows.

"Miss (Y/L/N)?" He asks irritated. It was always just professional between you two.

You don't even question how he knows it's you.

Pulling all your courage together, you get a step closer to Matt. Hesitatingly, you softly take his head in your hands - wishing he could see the look of admiration you always hold in your eyes for him.

He's not moving, curiously letting you do what you wanted to do since you met him for the first time.

Before the nerve leaves you, you place your lips tenderly on his.

Risking to get pushed away, risking to get your heart broken.

What you didn't expect was for him to return your kiss.

Can he taste all of the unspoken emotions you keep closed up in your heart because the way he puts his hands on your waist feels like an answer.

Overwhelmed from the feeling of his lips moving against yours, you are experiencing feeling you never felt before.

Your heart flutters when you realize that this is what you have been craving.

This feels like what you thought dying would feel like. But now you know what really heals you.

Matt is your sweet, sweet salvation that you want to last for infinity and beyond.

#marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #angst #imagine #charlie cox #daredevil #matt murdock #mcu fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #matthew michael murdock #matthew murdock #hurt #foggy nelson #karen page #abusiveboyfriend

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voxofthevoid · 8 months

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Welcome to Dickfest Wednesday #2. As per the will of the people, I present you with a handjob feat. some good ole milking. All unedited, so excuse the horrors.

To no one's surprise, this fic is already out of control. We're a little past 14k, and a full 13k is one chapter of dubcon train groping. I still have...6 chapters left to write, and while most of them won't be this long (I fucking hope), they're all pretty meaty. And entirely porn.

CWs: Public sex, train groping, dubious consent, overstimulation, adult/minor

Yuuji’s hand curls around his cock, good and proper. Satoru slaps his hand over his own mouth, stifling a cry.

“Very pretty,” Yuuji says again, voice effervescent with pleasure. “So wet too.”

Satoru’s fingers dig harder into his jaw, but it doesn’t stop a thin, trembling noise from clawing its way out of him. Yuuji swipes his thumb over the tip, collecting precome that he smears all over the head, making it glisten a filthy pink.

It feels—

No one’s ever touched Satoru there. It’s nothing like his own hand. Yuuji’s palm is calloused from fingertips to heel, and there’s a roughness to even the uncalloused skin. Satoru remembers noticing it before, when their hands brushed the first time. An innocuous touch—Yuuji was handing him some candy, indulging Satoru’s sweet tooth less than an hour into meeting him.

Nothing about his touch is innocuous now. His flesh is branding Satoru’s cock, carving alien sensations into every inch of it.

And it just gets hotter and wetter in answer, twitching needily in Yuuji’s grip.

Yuuji starts stroking.

Slow at first. Tentative.

Then not, shifting gears between one stroke and the next, every slide of his hand spilling slick sounds into the air, and he was right, Satoru’s so fucking wet, and it’s embarrassing, but it only gets worse, Satoru’s throat trembling with a keening noise, high and endless, and his hips bucking forward to fuck his cock into Yuuji’s fist. Satoru tries to stop, to be silent and still and fucking sane, but Yuuji’s hand is warm and relentless and clever; the angle gets better with every stroke, and when he finds the spots that make Satoru arch his back and bite his own mouth bloody, he bullies them sweet and slow, flicking a nail against the ridge and squeezing tight under the head and playing with the foreskin.

Satoru doesn’t know when he stops fighting it—when Limitless becomes an afterthought rather than a constant pressure against Yuuji’s domain amplification, when the writhing and bucking his body become all about chasing the pleasure instead of flinching away from it.

He realizes it too late, a hot flaring ache making him look down to find Yuuji’s other hand back on his chest, a nipple caught idly between two long fingers. It’s a gentle touch—still hurts.

Satoru’s dick just keeps drooling.

He meets his own eyes in the glass—a rim of gleaming blue around swollen black. The rest of his face is a worse mess, skin flushed a blotchy red and damp all over, and it’s sweat that’s making his hair stick to his forehead, but the sheen on cheeks is something else entirely. It’s even worse below, Satoru’s chest already bruised. There are angry red finger marks on one side, framing an abused nipple, and the hand responsible is splayed over the other, large enough to cover the entire pectoral. The gesture feels obscenely possessive.

Yuuji plucks at his prize, and Satoru bucks into his other hand.

His bites his palm, trying and failing to stifle another noise. Yuuji’s hand speeds up, and the wet sounds of it drown out even the pounding of Satoru’s heart.

He meets Yuuji’s eyes in the glass and instantly, violently regrets it. It’s a clean split, the lower pair trained on the spectacle below and the normal ones unwavering on Satoru’s face. They’re warm to the core, but there’s hunger there, in the dark depths Satoru never really noticed, and it comes alive to swallow him whole.

Satoru screws his eyes shut; his hips chase Yuuji, over and over and over.

There’s a noise from behind him, quiet and considering. Yuuji’s thumb brushes Satoru’s nipple with marked finality, and it’s still an electric bite of sensation, Satoru arching up and away at the same time. Yuuji’s grip tightens on his cock, pulling on it in counterpoint to the clumsy bucking of Satoru’s body, but his other hand abandons Satoru’s chest to wrap gently around his throat.

Satoru’s eyes fly open, his whole body freezing.

The pressure is soft, barely there. Yuuji’s fingers are just flirting with Satoru’s skin, the thumb pressed carefully to his pulse. There’s nothing threatening about it.

So why does Satoru feel like he just placed his head in the maw of a beast?

“That’s better,” Yuuji says, all warm approval. “Watch, Satoru-kun. See how good you look.”

Satoru throttles a keening noise, but his eyes obey without conscious thought, fixating on their reflection in the mirror. Nothing’s changed. Yuuji’s still mostly hidden behind Satoru, only his head and the edges of his bulky torso showing. Satoru still looks like a slut, bruised and blushing but still fucking panting for it.

He wants to close his eyes again. The hand now pressed more firmly to his throat, not constricting his breathing in any way but burning him down to the bone with gentle pressure, doesn’t allow him.

“Yuuji,” he says helplessly. “Yuuji.”

In the glass, Yuuji’s smile widens, softens. He turns his head, lips pressing to Satoru’s temple in the most chaste, tender kiss anyone’s ever given him.

Satoru’s knees buckle, and Yuuji’s hand is a blur as it snaps tight around his chest, holding him up without a hint of strain, and it knocks the breath out of Satoru’s lungs worse than the grip on his throat did, and through it all, Yuuji’s other hand doesn’t once stop or slow, working Satoru’s cock with simple, searing strokes that claw him open all the way to his core.

He breaks with a whimper, fucking violently into Yuuji’s fist.

And he watches, he can’t not, and the sight of it just makes it worse, his cock twitching and spilling all over Yuuji’s waiting hand, and then there’s another one there, Yuuji wrapping his fingers around the base of Satoru’s cock and stroking up, a harsh, messy slide from root to tip, and his other hand’s still cupped over the head, already gleaming wetly with come.

He milks out the rest, Satoru watching with a whine trembling in his throat as his cock throbs and spurts, giving up the last few drops and then some, softening inch by excruciating inch under Yuuji’s determined strokes.

The pleasure grows teeth. Satoru’s legs start trembling, hot shocks of not-pain–not-pleasure shuddering down their length. He throws his arms out, bracing himself against the glass, but that’s not nearly enough strength to withstand Yuuji’s dual-handed assault on his dick.

“Stop it,” he manages to say; his voice is weak, whispery, and it’s not the worse it could be. “Yuuji, enough.”

“Alright, alright,” Yuuji soothes ineffectually. His hand gives Satoru’s dick one last squeeze, the gesture almost fond. “There. You did well. Look at how much you came.”

“Don’t say embarrassing things,” Satoru hisses, closing his eyes against the wet, sticky mess splattered all over Yuuji’s hand. “You’re such a fucking pervert.”

“You really like that word,” Yuuji says, more amused than offended. “I guess you’re not wrong though.”

“Oh, you guess—Yuuji? Yuuji, what are you doing?”

Yuuji doesn’t answer. Why would he? It’s pretty fucking obvious what he’s doing—trying to stick a finger up Satoru’s ass.

#goyuu #jjk snippets #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #wip wednesday #my fic #fic: your looks can kill

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somethings-monstrous · 9 months

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Content warning: abuse mention and description below the cut, mild sui ideation mention, some csa related talk. Me/Us venting, you guys know the drill. Keep scrolling and stay safe out there in the Tumblr wilds, ya'll.

I didn't want to know.

I didn't want to know how she is doing.

I didn't want to know she still lives with them.

I didn't want to know what she is doing.

I didn't want to be reminded of her.

I didn't want to feel the aching void left behind by the child I helped raise.

I didn't want to remember how they slowly made her hate me.

I didn't want to remember how that hatred began to stain my skin in purples and blues.

I didn't want to remember how they tried to use her to drag me back.

I didn't want to remember her words of hatred and anger immediately followed the next day by mock understanding when guilt and fury failed. "I get why you left. They never listen." As if I walked away because of clogged ears.

I didn't want to remember her kind words dripping with poison mixed by our mother.

I didn't want to remember the puppet she became in their failed attempts to drag me back.

I didn't want to remember how my silence finally made her drop the act..her hatred for me lashing out from every word spilled across the screen.

I didn't want to remember her mocking me for being afraid of them knowing my address..and the next day finding the cops at my door.

I didn't want to remember how she witnessed so much of what we survived, and still chooses them...and how I cannot fault her for it.

I didn't want to remember my grandmother telling me that she saw him dragging me though the house by my hair, kicking and screaming with bruises around my neck and arms. The riding crop still in his hand. Dragging me to the bathtub to try to drown me again.

I didn't want to remember that in my idiocy and denial, I called our mother and told her our shared daughter saw. Looking in through the window with our cousins. Crying and afraid. Too young to understand. She was only 7. She shouldn't have seen. I never wanted her to see.

I didn't want to remember that the next time I saw her, I could tell she was no longer happy to see me. My own stupidity shining through the distrust in her eyes. I'll never know what they told her..but it worked. I handed them the knife they used to sever our bond. Stupid. Foolish. Ignorant child that I was.

I didn't want to remember how she wanted me to support her vitriol towards him, the hurt looks when I refused..staring into my mother's black eyes through the review mirror, watching me..waiting for me to slip up and give her an excuse to take her from me. The glass I walked on just to keep seeing her. Nausea as I gently told her not to talk about him like that. Tinge of disappointment in those black eyes that I passed the test..then glee at the sight of pain in those blue-green eyes staring at me..wanting solidarity against the stupid oaf she had hated since she saw...never knowing how much she didn't see. Never suspecting. Too young and innocent.

I didn't want to remember what I did to protect that innocence. 10 years old, telling him we would kill him if he touched her. Standing guard at her door night after sleepless night. Years of standing guard. The terror when I fell asleep on the couch one night and she came to me shaking almost violently. "Did he touch her? Did he hurt her? Did I fail?" Relief when she just had a nightmare and was cold from sleep. No blood. No bruises. No pain. Sleepy eyes still innocent and unknowing.

I didn't want to remember how painful my existence has been for her. That my survival has meant her pain. Even with her hatred...I knew it would hurt. I knew..but I knew she was safe..they wouldn't hurt her. They needed her to grow up normal. Needed one kid that wasn't a fucked up walking red flag for abusive family. They wouldn't hurt her. She was safe..but dripping poison..and the pain I caused by walking away just added to it.

I didn't want to remember that she became cruel like them. Hatred and disdain..racism, homophobia, cruelty on her tongue and hardening those eyes that looked at me with more and more loathing.

I didn't want to remember how my abuse and trauma took away her sister. Left her with anger and hatred and grief. A void where "mommy number 2" and her jealously guarded sister once dwelled.

I didn't want to remember her child's rage at being told we were only half sisters. "We are all sisters, not just half! She's my sister. You're my sister!" Tiny arms wrapping around me..jealous little creature clinging to me, glaring at the offending person who dared point out that we didn't share a father. (If his blood flowed through my veins I would have emptied them years ago..but that wasn't something she should ever know.)

I didn't want to remember that I was the only one who could get her to smile for pictures. The blue of her dress. The last movie we watched together, curled up on my "bed" in the garage, every extra penny I could scrape together spent on making her happy..spending time with her. Taking her shopping. To the movies. Normalcy..and apologies for the future I knew was coming. The inevitable severance. The hope I could stay until she was old enough to understand..or ask why.

I didn't want to remember coming home from her 15th birthday with fresh bruises as my last gift from her, knowing it was the last time I'd see her..failing to keep myself from hoping one day she would see through the lies and manipulations clearly enough to ask me why. To want to know..to reach out.

I didn't want to remember how that hope withered and rotted when I realized I could never trust her not to be a puppet for our mother.

I didn't want to remember the guilty relief I feel, knowing she will never know what they did to me. She will never know how broken we are. She will never see the monsters lurking beneath their skin. That me leaving is the worst thing that happened to her before adulthood. It aches, but I am grateful that I am the worst thing to happen to her.

I didn't want to remember.

I didn't fucking want to remember.

I didn't fucking want to know.

#my housemate is a thoughtless fucking asshole sometimes #“oh youre recovering from surgery?”#“time to randomly give you an update on how your family is doing!”#gods fucking dammit #I told him all I ever want to know is when my primary abusers die #thats it #beyond that I dont want to know #their fucked up lives are no longer relevant to my own #all it does is stir the grief and bring it back to a simmer #I just..I didn't want to know #just hearing her fucking name hurts #fucking fuck #tw: abuse mention #tw: vent #tw: abuse description #tw: sui mention #tw: sui ideation #tw: csa

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fizzigigsimmer · 2 years

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The Wish Your Heart Makes

Part 1/2

I love Halloween and was thinking about how I wanted a body swap fic.This idea bit me and wouldn’t let go so I wrote this instead of cleaning my house.

Summary: Billy Hargrove goes to sleep a 15 year old omega in sunny California and wakes up someone else in Chicago. The man everyone thinks he is has everything Billy ever wanted, and everything he never let himself want. Including an adorable little hell raiser and the alpha of his dreams.

Warnings: Neil Hargroves greatest hits, child abuse, racism, sexism, and homophobia.

~San Diego, 1982~

Billy hunched over in his seat, cradling the bruises hidden beneath his sweatshirt and tried to ignore the kid in the yellow raincoat. He looked about seven he thought, but what Billy knew or cared about kids could fit neatly inside a condom. So the kid could be ten for all he knew. Point was, the boy hadn’t blinked for at least twenty minutes and Billy was sure that could not be healthy.

He bounced his knee up and down to prevent himself from biting his nails; and just ended up hunched over in the uncomfortable plastic chair, jiggling his knee like an addict and biting his nails down to the beds anyway.

‘Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?’

The canned Christmas music pumping out of a speaker on the ceiling of the bland waiting room was giving him a headache. Billy had been sitting there long enough for it to transition from the over produced bubble gummy covers of pop stars singing ‘Jingle Bells’, to stiff churchy sounding hymns. His very catholic mother had loved those. Used to fill the house with the sound of angels bringing in the good news before the dishes had even dried after Thanksgiving dinner. So it was inevitable that he think of her, even though he had a rule never to do that. He hated this time of year. A whole holiday designed around the lie of happy family, goodwill, and a merciful god. What was not to hate?

Besides the creepy kid, there wasn’t much to look at in the waiting room. Brick walls painted the color of oatmeal covered in peeling posters with muted calming colors, depicting heavily pregnant women and smiling doctors. Trust US To Help You Plan Your Family. A bold black headline demanded. Billy felt like giving it the bird, but that would just make him look crazier than he already did.

“William Hargrove?”

Billy jerked in surprise. Winced as the bruised skin beneath his sweatshirt stretched. But he stood and followed the tall thin woman with the blue scrubs holding open the door into the back hall where the exam rooms were. The nurse introduced herself as Susan and lead him to the second in a long row of square rooms with tightly closed doors. He supposed he would be glad for the privacy himself soon enough, but he still thought it made the place look like a prison.

Susan got Billy situated on one of those motorized chair/bed things and grabbed a backless gown from one of the upper cabinets that lined the wall above the desk. It was next to a large metal sink. There was a stain near the drain, too faint to discern what had caused it, but for a moment Billy was captivated by it. Was it blood? Bile? Maybe chemical wash had corroded the metal?

“Mr. Hargrove?”

Billy jumped again. Snapped, “It’s Billy.”

“Billy. The doctor will need you to get into this.” She set the folded gown on the seat beside his leg and gave it a pat. Her eyes dragged over his ratty jeans and the oversized sweatshirt he wore despite the practically balmy sixty degree weather they were having. “You’ll probably be more comfortable.”

No. Billy thought of the bruises covering his stomach and the excuses he’d have to make now to a nosy doctor and thought, no. No he fucking wouldn’t. But he needed those meds, and there was no way to get them without going through this circus. So here they go.

He changed into the gown. Ignored the nurse’s cluck of concern when she got a good look at the job his father had done on him the night before. All because he could smell Billy stronger than usual. His glare dared her to say anything about it. It was a toss up who that worked on. Some people got even pushier when they sensed a locked door. Susan was not a pushy woman. She avoided looking directly at Billy as she prepped the doctors tools and filled out his chart.

William Hargrove, fifteen, male, omega. And what brings him in today?

“I need stronger blockers. Mine don’t work worth shit right now.”

His doctor’s name is Dr. Mehta. She’s a short curvy Indian woman (strike one) and even though her scent is sterile and chemical with perfume, the no nonsense look she gives him is all alpha. And that’s strike two. Billy’s father would hate her. Would probably kick the shit out of him again just for the insult to his sensibilities. Say some shit like, ‘you going to let that curry monkey tell you what to do?’, because the only thing Neil Hargrove hated more than his omega son, were job stealing immigrants and female alphas.

Dr. Mehta pursed her lips and looked down at his chart. Flipped a page. Then another. Billy knew what she was about to say before she even said it, but it still comes as a shock to his system. Like a slap.

“Mr. Hargrove, this is the third time you’ve been here in under six months. It’s natural for traces of an omegas scent to linger, even on blockers. Especially around what would otherwise be a normal heat cycle.” Her grip tightened on the clipboard. The corners of her mouth pulled back like she was bearing her teeth. Billy locked his muscles in place, resisting the urge to curl up on himself and hide from the angry alpha.

“Giving you a stronger prescription so soon will likely have adverse psychological effects, as well as cause irreparable damage to your reproductive – ”

“I don’t care!” Billy snapped. He clenched his hands, fisting the thin cotton gown between his fingers and tried to breath through the feeling of rising panic. She had to give him the meds. She had to, or Billy’s dad was going to kill him.

Nothing set him off like having to smell Billy and be reminded that his son was a wet assed sissy boy omega. He didn’t care that Billy’s scent and his heat were natural functions that he could not just turn off and on like a light switch. Neil would yell, slap, kick, and punch until Billy was obedient. Until Neil had knocked the bitch out of him and Billy remembered how to be a man.

“I don’t give a fuck about kids or heats or any of it. I won’t fucking regret it someday or change my mind, or – Christ.” Billy grabbed fistfuls of his hair, tugged until his scalp stung, trying to ground himself with the feeling. He was going off the rails and he doubted Dr. Mehta was going to listen to a hysterical omega. Who would?

“Mr. Hargrove –

“It’s Billy!”

He wasn’t helping his case he knew that. Knew it was unusual for an omega to hate their own name so much. The reminder of family bonds should have brought him comfort, might have if Billy were normal. If he’d been like all those smiling omegas on the posters, with loving fathers and protective mothers. He’d heard a story on the news about a woman who’d died trying to save her baby from a gang of traffickers. She could have lived, traffickers were only ever interested in unbonded omegas, only she wouldn’t let go of the stroller.

“Billy.” Dr. Mehta amended, softer. “I’m obligated to ask if there is any reason that you do not feel safe at home.”

She paused but it was obvious that she did not expect Billy to be truthful. He shook his head and she nodded. “Right. But am I correct in assuming that for a personal reason it would be unsafe for you to detox from prescription suppressants and allow your body to go through a natural cycle?”

Billy shuddered. With his eyes closed he almost forgot to nod. Only did so when her soft voice prodded him once more. No. No Billy could never let himself go through heat.

~*~

After having burned through most of the morning Billy left the omega free clinic twenty minutes later with a little brown bag full of white pills. ‘These are much stronger than you’re used to Billy’ the doctor had warned him. ‘You’ll need to wait a full twenty-four hours to make sure your system is clean before you start them. Absolutely do not double up on dosage and I’m going to schedule a follow up in week to check your progress.’ Billy sneered at the memory. Yeah right. Like he was going to give his scent even more time to get stronger and then go home to Neil.

He stopped at a corner store near the bus stop and bought a bag of chips and a soda with the last of his money. Billy cleaned pools and mowed lawns to make money when he wasn’t in school since he didn’t get an allowance like the rich kids and the idea of Neil giving him omega pin money was laughable. He was saving up for parts to fix the car his grandpa had promised to buy him when he turned sixteen.

He felt sort of bad that his grandfather was using part of his pension to buy Billy a car (even a used one) but Pops wouldn’t hear no. He said it was because he worried about Billy traveling downtown to the free clinic without an alpha, but they both knew it was more than that. Pops was old and wouldn’t be around forever. Having a car of his own meant that no matter how bad things got Billy would always have a way out.

Billy washed his first pill down with a mouthful of Dr. Pepper on the city bus and ate half a bag of chips because the label recommended taking the drug with food. And for about ten minutes he felt fine. He sat slumped in the uncomfortable seat with its torn cushion, his head resting against the window and watched the colorful streets of San Diego pass by. Glazed eyes took in brightly lit shop windows decorated in silver, gold,red and green tinsel; couples walking arm in arm with their shopping bags, bouncing children with drippy noses trailing alongside them. A pair of old men ambled along the sidewalk together bickering, even as one helped guide the other with an arm snugly around his friend’s back. Billy blinked back tears… we two have run about the slopes and picked the daisies fine… and frowned. This fucking song again.

He looked up toward the front of the bus, thinking he might beg for the driver to change the station to literally anything else, but his head swam with the movement. He did not feel so well anymore he realized as a pounding set in. He gave up any thought that wasn’t laying his head down and slumped down again, letting the motion of the bus lull him. By the time he got to his stop in the burbs Billy was sure he was ill and all he could think of was getting to his bed.

He forced his tired legs to put one foot down in front of the other, glad that he knew the way home well enough that he didn’t have to pay much attention. His head felt like it wasn’t attached to his neck, like it was liable to roll right off if he didn’t hold onto it with two hands. Distantly he thought that if someone were watching him now with an eye to snatch him and sell him on the black market he’d be easy pickings. He’d be a story in the newspaper that the omega wives would cluck their tongues about and the alphas would sigh over. ‘What was he doing out by himself when he should have been in school? Drunk too, by the sounds of it.’

Billy might have looked drunk stumbling down his street in the early afternoon but he didn’t feel it. He mostly just felt sick. It was strange but he could almost feel something pulling at him. The feeling reminded him of being caught in a riptide. He tried to push against it but it was a struggle just to keep his eyes open long enough to reach his house and find the extra key they kept under the pot with the dead plant in it on the front step.

When the door opened to the empty living room a sob caught in Billy’s chest. This might be the first time he could remember in years that he wished his father were home. He was scared he’d fucked up with the pills and poisoned himself and there was absolutely no one to help him. Falling onto the sagging couch in the middle of the living room, Billy told himself he just needed sleep. That it was a bad reaction, because he should have waited, but he’d be fine… he’d be… for auld lang syne, my dear, for… for the love of god! He fucking hated Christmas.

Billy tried to shout for the driver to turn off the radio but he couldn’t get his mouth to move. He was caught, and the tide was pulling him down, down, down, into the dark. The chorus of singing voices were still echoing in his head as he passed out.

~ Chicago 2002 ~

The first hint Billy had that he was not in Kansas anymore was the softness. It felt like he was laying on a bed of clouds, so fluffy was the pillow resting under his cheek and comfortable the mattress that cushioned him. He couldn’t help burrowing deeper into that warmth and softness. He’d never been allowed to make anything approaching a nest, but he imagined that if he had it couldn’t have felt better than this. The comforter lying over him was buttery soft… but it smelled strange.

The smell was the second clue. Because it smelled like omega. Ripe. Dense. Like he’d sweated out his blockers and rolled around in the sheets for hours. And that wasn’t good. That was dangerous. Billy had jerked awake and already started to scramble out of bed tearing the blanket and the sheets off the bed thinking, get them in the laundry and get in the shower right now right now, when he froze. Because it wasn’t just his scent that wasn’t what it should be.

That couldn’t be right though. Could it? His heart picking up pace in his chest Billy tentatively brought a corner of the comforter to his nose and sniffed.His senses were flooded with the scent of a strange alpha. It was so strong he couldn’t figure out how he’d missed it until now. The whole room smelled like toasted almonds and and…Billy kept sniffing. At first it was to try and identify what else it was making that scent smell so good, so masculine and warm, but he kind of forgot about that along the way. Fuck he’d never smelled anything so good.

A low rumbling sound filled his ears and Billy yelped, dropping the blanket. He whirled around to face a threat that wasn’t there. The room – this big ass room that wasn’t his – was empty. He’d been startled by the sound of his own purr. Fear began to numb Billy as he realized that he was in a strangers house, with an alpha off his blockers. His frantic brain kept screaming that he’d been trafficked and that any minute now some huge ugly asshole was going to burst in here and try and knot him whether he wanted it or not. No. Fuck no. He was big for an omega. Hadn’t spent all that time bulking up and honing his body just to wind up a sex toy. If he stayed calm he’d find a way out. Billy forced himself to breathe and to look around the room for an escape route.

The room he was in was… well strange. There weren’t chains on the bedpost or anything weird like that. It was the ordinariness of it that was off putting actually. It was like he was Goldilocks and he’d stumbled into the house of some unsuspecting alpha and fallen asleep in their bed. Maybe he had? Billy strained for a moment to remember. He’d been so out of it, had he accidentally gone to the wrong house? Picked up the wrong key from under the wrong potted plant?

But no, even as he thought it Billy knew he hadn’t. This bedroom was the size of his living room. There weren’t any houses on Battle Creek road that could accommodate a room like this. The big four poster bed looked like it had been bought out of a catalogue. The heavy oak furnishings were obviously well made and the carpet beneath his toes was white. Only rich people had the time or the money to keep white carpets clean.

He noticed there was a rack of dumbbell weights tucked in the corner near the closet and a pair of running shoes had been left haphazardly near the closed door of what was presumably the bathroom – if the sound of running water behind the door was anything to judge by. Oh fuck oh fuck – Billy wheezed, realizing that the sound of the shower meant there was a naked alpha with very big feet behind that flimsy looking door. Some sick pervert who had to kidnap underage omegas just to get his knot in.

Billy shook his head sharply and made himself focus. The door was sure to be locked but there were large windows on either side of the bed. He hurried over to the one on the right side, shocked to find it not only unlocked but cracked open to let in a biting breath of air. Billy pushed the window open as far as it would go and stuck his head out, dismayed by the sight of the ground too far below to jump and covered in a white blanket of snow.

“What the fuck?” he stumbled back from the window, struggling more and more to keep the panic at bay because that was fucking snow outside! Where the fuck was he? Drugs. It had to be drugs. They’d have kept him unconscious while they transported him across state lines, or god fuck, maybe even out of the country! That would explain why the blockers were gone and his scent was so strong too.

Abandoning caution Billy ran to the bedroom door to try the knob. He couldn’t believe it but it turned easily under his hand and the door opened to the hallway beyond. He saw the flight of stairs at the end of the hall almost immediately and made a beeline for them. But when he reached the top of the stair a soft sound made him stop. It was music, slightly tinny in that way it got when it was being pushed through a speaker, and it was coming from a bedroom near the stairwell. The door had been left open just enough for Billy to glimpse pastel blue walls dotted in daisies.

It was just a tinkling tune without words but Billy already knew them by heart. He heard them in his head as he crept closer to that door and pushed it open, pulled by the distant memory of his mother singing in the kitchen some Christmas long ago and her scent blooming bright with happiness. Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot, and old lang syne?

Billy had walked into a nursery. There was a changing station next to a white wardrobe that bore small colorful footprints up the side, marking the growth of a child. There were toys and books lining a stack of shelves near a window covered in gauzy curtains, and an old rocking chair set beside it. Billy blinked, taken back by the sight of the big purple octopus that had been shoved onto it. The stitching on one of its eyes was mostly gone, giving it the appearance of winking. Someone had taped a small red squirt gun to one of its arms and pointed it at the door. What the fuck is going on? He thought even as his feet carried him to the edge of the toddler bed overflowing with pillows and stuffed toys. In the center of what was obviously a tiny nest even to Billy’s untrained eye, was a small girl.

Honey colored lashes rested against a round cheek. Her hair fell down her back in soft blond waves that curled a bit more in the back. She had a lot of it. Billy didn’t think kids that size usually had so much hair. Did they? He wouldn’t know. Didn’t like kids! But something about the pup asleep in the bed had grabbed ahold of him and wouldn’t let him go. Was it her scent, milky and baby powder soft with a hint of omega sweetness? Was this some kind of weird omegean baby fever because he was off his meds?

“Hard to remember why we set the limit at two when they’re asleep like this isn’t it?” A voice said softly behind him and it was only years of living with Neil that kept him from jumping out of his skin. He froze like a deer in headlights because that was the key to survival sometimes. If he didn’t move (didn’t breathe) Neil might not find anything that needed correction. But Billy could feel the alpha’s eyes burning into his back and the weight of his expectation. His skin was crawling thinking about having some strange guy behind him so…

Billy turned slowly, and gaped at the man – because it was decidedly a man – he found leaning against the door frame in nothing but a towel. Blushes and shy glances were for sissy omegas and girls, but he found his eyes darting away from the sight of the slick hair clinging to the alpha’s well defined chest and then back again for another look; because fuck me, the guy was hot.

“Babe?” Mr. Chest hair asked, that single word imbued with so much significance that Billy’s fear started to resurface. There was just no good reason for some old guy to be standing there calling Billy ‘babe’ like they’re in a sitcom and Billy’s June Cleaver. They’re strangers to each other and the guy has to be at least forty. Billy doesn’t see any grays but he’s from California sacred home of implants and hair dye so that means nothing.

“Where am I and who the fuck are you?” Billy demanded. He didn’t know what sort of reaction he expected from the alpha; but it wasn’t for the bemused smile on his handsome face to disappear and for his eyes to narrow on Billy in speculation. The alpha had pretty eyes Billy noticed, if only because they were rounder and softer than was typical for alphas. Billy didn’t think it detracted from his appeal one bit, but then again Billy wasn’t the typical omega either.

Disturbed perhaps by the sharpness in Billy’s tone and the scent of omega distress filling the room, the sleeping pup shifted in her bed drawing both their gazes. Billy held his breath and prayed the kid wouldn’t wake up. He didn’t know why, but whatever this was going to be he didn’t think a pup that young should see it. The alpha seemed just as relieved as he was when the girl settled and slept on.

“Well that’s one crisis averted.” He muttered before looking back at Billy again like someone gearing up for a chore they weren’t particularly fond of. “Why don’t we get dressed and then we’ll sit down and talk. Okay? I’m sure you’re very scared right now and have lots of questions.”

He knew it wasn’t a logical response but Billy resented that look and the implication that he could be handled like he was the one who was three-years-old.

“I’m not scared of you old man. I’m pissed and I’m leaving!” Billy declared, lowering his voice halfway through when he remembered the kid. But he wasn’t going to wait around either. The guy was taller but Billy had him beat for muscle, plus he was younger so that had to count for something. He barreled his way past the alpha but the guy didn’t try and stop him. Probably because he seemed more concerned with shutting the door of the kid’s room and making sure she wouldn’t see or hear whatever was about to happen next.

Billy took off down the stairs at a run.

“Damn it. Billy! Billy wait!”

He ignored the guy calling after him and took the stairs as fast as he could, hopping the last two to land at the bottom and bolt toward what he hoped was the front hall, judging solely by the brighter daylight he could see spilling across the stretch of wood floor beyond the archway. Thankfully he had guessed right. Dominating the short little hall between the stairs and some kind of living room was a set of big doors with fancy window cutouts.

“Billy!” He could hear the alpha behind him over the drumming of his heart. He made a desperate break for the doors, praying, praying, oh please god please.

Billy stumbled out into the blindingly bright snow, his saint Christopher’s medal swinging and slapping against his skin from the momentum. That was when it sank in that he was without a shirt or shoes. Fuck, fuck fucking fuck! Billy took several hopping steps as the chill speared its way through the pads of his feet and up his legs. It was so fucking cold!

A dog barked and Billy looked up to see an elderly woman in a set of pink hair rollers walking a fluffy white dog on the sidewalk passed the drive.

“Help!” Billy called out, waving his arms. “I need help!”

The woman looked up startled, her wary expression melted away into one of recognition and then scandal. Her face scrunched up disapproving, as if the sight of half dressed teenage omega in obvious distress was some kind of stain on the neighborhood.

“Mr. Harrington! Does your alpha know you’re outside in your underwear?!”

Billy ran. He had no idea who this Harrington guy was that the old bat had mistaken him for, but he knew the woman would be of no help to him. She didn’t have a single question about why a teenage omega would run out of a house barely clothed making a scene besides did his alpha know. If that alpha caught up he could say whatever he wanted and that old woman would take it as gospel.

So Billy ran as best he could in his bare feet down the drive and into the street, ignoring the woman’s increasingly frantic calls.

“Mr. Harrington?! William!”

Billy bit his tongue to stave off the knee jerk instinct to turn and correct her. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

‘Your name is Billy.’ He told himself, bare feet pounding against un-shoveled sidewalks as he ran. ‘You might be an omega but you won’t be a victim. So fucking run.’

Billy ignored the pain in his feet and the cold gripping his body as he ran down the street, passing block after block of picture perfect homes with pruned shrubs, long driveways, and two-car garages all covered in cotton cob webs, pumpkins, spiders, and ghouls. What the fuck was going on? He’d heard of people holding onto their Christmas décor but who kept their Halloween decorations up past November?

Billy slowed as he reached the intersection of what looked to be a main street. The cookie cutter houses had given way to shops, and he could see what looked like a gas station two blocks down to the left. Billy stood at the intersection unsure of which way to go, watching the cars pass while he waited for the light to change. It was an odd thing to do maybe, wait for a light to change when you were being chased, but Billy’s thoughts were no longer on what was behind him but what was right in front of him.

The cars were all wrong.

He couldn’t explain how in so many words. They were just off. He saw too many models and makes that he just didn’t recognize. It seemed excessive even for a rich neighborhood that so many people would be driving foreign cars. And the ones he did recognize looked weird. A slimmer body here, a rounder trunk there. And the ones that were the same, that should have just rolled off the factory floor for some Bob or Ted to show off in, they all looked old. Well used and ready to be handed down to some eager teen.

The light turned green. Shaking, Billy crossed the street. He was no longer thinking of running but of reflections. He needed to find his, because the cars were all wrong, and maybe it was just in his head but he thought that maybe his voice was wrong too. He’d been so scared before that it hadn’t registered, but his voice sounded different in his ears. Still recognizable but off. Just like the cars.

A book store was the first shop on the strip. The window had been decorated in fake cobwebs and a paper witch riding a broom hung from a hook in the ceiling along with a trio of ghosts. But the window was clean and just lit enough that he could see his reflection in the glass.

Billy bit his lip, cringing away from the glass. The stranger had the same colored hair as his, but it was cropped short till it was longer in the front than the back, one annoying lock of hair still long enough to curl across his brow. Crawling over abs that looked like the ones Billy worked so hard to develop were a network of thick scars on the stranger’s abdomen, like he’d been in a fucking knife fight and come out the loser. But honestly it wasn’t the scars that Billy found the most upsetting. It was the fucking stretch marks on the man’s stomach, fuck, and the lines on his face. The stranger in his reflection was old.

A car pulled up to the curb behind him, it’s engine purring softly, and Billy just stood there. He was too numb to run. Too numb to do anything but stare down at the legs of the body that was somehow his but not his and wonder how he could have aged so much in a single afternoon. He had to be dreaming, he decided. There was no other explanation for it. Dr. Mehta had warned him increasing his prescription might have psychological effects right? Boy did he have a story for her! He started to giggle despite everything. Because it was kind of funny when he thought about the doctor asking him if he’d noticed any adverse side effects.

“Billy?”

One of those side effects was a tall handsome alpha, now dressed in a long coat with smart looking buttons. He had a ratty pair of shoes in one hand and the coat was unbuttoned. He’d also left the car running and the door open, Billy noticed, as if he thought he might have to leap back in again at a moments notice. He needn’t have worried. Billy wasn’t going anywhere. It was fucking cold and this was all a dream so…nowhere to go.

“I’m old.” Billy said the only thing he could think of that seemed to matter in that moment.

The alpha’s mouth quirked a little, like he might smile and replied softly, “Yeah. Fucking ancient.”

He waited, but when Billy didn’t say anything else and made no attempt to move he heaved a sigh and ran a trembling hand through his thick head of dark hair. “What’s the plan here B-Billy?” the alpha asked, stumbling in a way that made Billy think he’d been about to call him babe again. “I know you’re scared, but you’re gonna freeze out here. Will you at least put these on? They’re your favorites.”

He held his arm out and wiggled the tennis shoes like somebody would wiggle a steak in front of a hungry dog and Billy rolled his eyes.

“You give me shoes and then what? Are you gonna let me go home?” Billy thought he should ask, on the off chance that this wasn’t a dream. Maybe he was having some kind of psychotic episode. Fuck for all he knew he was wandering around downtown San Diego right now talking to himself.

“I’ll tell you what. Let me get you somewhere warm and dry – your choice!” he added hastily when Billy tensed and looked liable to bolt again. “We don’t have to go back to the house. We can go anywhere you want, this bookshop even, Billy, anywhere. Just let me get you warm and I can explain.”

Billy shivered. If this were one of those dime novels they made for omegas he’d be saying some shit about how it was the quiet intensity in the alpha’s eyes that did it, or the way he said ‘just let me get you warm’ and so clearly meant ‘let me take care of you’. But the truth was, Billy was really fucking cold and these shivers were bonafide freeze your balls and shake em off shivers. He was probably going to start crying like a little bitch if he didn’t get warm soon.

Stiffly he reached out and took the shoes from the alpha’s hand. It fucking hurt to lift his feet and slide them inside the trainers. The soles of his feet had long since gone numb. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d torn them up until they were raw and bloody. Bad as it stung, Billy had suffered way worse and wasn’t about to be a sissy about it so he forced one foot in after the other.

The alpha watching him swayed a little, and Billy noticed the way he had to physically stop himself from trying to stop him. That intense focus on him was a little unsettling, but not as scary as Billy would have imagined it would be. It was kind of nice in a strange way, watching the alpha bite his lip and wring his hands, all to keep himself from touching a distressed omega. Nobody would have blamed him for trying to help. Nobody would have stopped him either. A few, I’m sorries, it’s just my omega having an episode, and everyone would crown him alpha of the year and go about their business.

Shoes on, Billy stood up as straight as his stiff bones would allow. “How about we go to a police station?” he suggested just to be an asshole, but the brown haired alpha nodded easily and almost immediately agreed.

“Sure. I can drive us there, only… you’d have to get in the car.” Hands dove inside his pockets looking for his keys before he seemed to remember he’d left them in the engine. This was definitely a dream Billy decided. Because this was starting to feel like a fantasy. A gorgeous alpha who didn’t posture or immediately try and put Billy in an omega’s place, who was so worried about him apparently he couldn’t even think straight? Billy snorted. He wasn’t born fucking yesterday.

“Here’s fine.” He jerked his head toward the bookstore and turned to walk inside.

“Wait! I uh –” The alpha turned and darted back to the car. Billy watched shivering as he turned the engine off and slammed the door behind himself. He came running back with something slung over his arm and Billy saw that it was a coat, similar to the one the alpha wore but in a darker coal grey. Billy snatched the coat warily from the alpha’s extended hands.

“You had a coat the whole time?” he accused once he’d wrapped the stupidly soft thing around himself like a burrito wrapper. He immediately felt better in it. Like the sheets it smelled strongly of Billy, but it also smelled like the alpha too, and Billy had to resist the urge to rub his cheek against the collar to saturate his face in it. It smelled so good. Fuck. Why?!

“I figured if you did another runner the shoes would be more useful?” The alpha grinned sheepishly and shrugged. He was trying to subtly edge Billy toward the door of the bookshop, practically squirming in place, and Billy could smell the anxiety twisting through his scent. The guy was clearly going to pop if Billy didn’t get inside where it was warm, and yet he’d brought Billy running shoes instead of a coat…

He was so cute. And Billy was so screwed.

Neil had made it clear what would happen if Billy ever even thought about letting an alpha close to him. So it was probably for the best that the alpha of his dreams was just the product of a very vivid drug dream.

#steve harrington #Billy Hargrove #steve x billy #harringrove #alpha omega #omega!billy #alpha!steve harrington #halloween stories #Stranger Things #body swap #sorta #time travel #fizzi writes fic

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inkstained-pages · 1 year

Text

drowning in these bruises

~ day 9 of daily txt drabbles ~

summary: a staff member abuses Soobin and Yeonjun is having None Of That Shit

wc: 1.6k

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, abuse

relationships: soobin & yeonjun

+x+

“Soobin-ssi, a moment of your time?”

Soobin’s blood runs cold at the words. He thought he made it out of the meeting safely, he thought he hid enough behind the crowd of people exiting that he wouldn’t see him.

Alas, his efforts are always futile. No matter where he hides or how far he runs, he always catches him in the end.

Soobin turns around slowly, forcing himself to un-hunch his shoulders. He learned early on that he didn’t like it when he looked scared in a public place. The bruises from that particular lesson had remained on his skin for weeks afterward, and it’d been a pain to hide them from everyone, especially his members.

Haekwan’s eyes are as sharp as always, cold and cruel and calculating. He’s always had a talent for making Soobin feel so, so small. “Trying to hide from me, hm?” He asks, his voice soft, but carrying an edge.

Soobin swallows and wills his hands not to shake. That tone never bodes well for him. “No, Haekwan-ssi, of course not. I was just-”

“No excuses, remember Soobinnie?”

Soobin flinches at the use of the nickname. That’s supposed to be a name used fondly, by his members or their sunbaenims or their fans. It shouldn’t be in his mouth. Still, Soobin forces himself to nod and look down in deference.

“You’re right sir, I’m sorry.”

Haekwan hums, then strides forwards and grabs Soobin’s arm, the one still bruised from earlier that week. “Well, good thing you didn’t manage to get away from me then, hm? We still have our lesson today, and you know how upset it makes me when we miss a lesson.”

Soobin pales, but his feet stumble along after Haekwan’s lead as they pass through the hallways, his arm still in the cruel man’s grip and already aching. He feels the familiar sting of tears in his eyes as the dread of their “lesson” grows larger the closer they get to the practice room where they always have these sessions. He really should be over crying by now, he thinks, but almost every time they do this he’s left shaking on the practice room floor and waiting until Haekwan has left so he can dissolve into silent sobs.

It’s pathetic, and Soobin hates himself for it, but he can’t help it. He wills the tears away until they’re done, until he can attempt to pick up the pieces of himself after he’s been beaten black and blue.

“Here we are!” Haekwan says cheerfully, opening the door and shoving Soobin roughly inside. “Now, where were we last time?”

The door shuts, and all pretenses between them drop. Haekwan’s previously smiling countenance shifts into the sickly smirk Soobin’s grown used to, and Soobin himself turns into the shaking, panicking mess he feels is all that’s truly left of him now.

“Ah yes, I remember. I was trying to teach you how to be a better leader. Goodness knows you need the lesson. Get on your knees.”

Soobin swallows the whine building up in his throat and does as he’s told. It’s useless to fight, he’s known it since the beginning. Useless to fight, useless to tell anyone, useless, useless, useless. All he can do is surrender to the ringing in his ears and the pain in his body and hope Haekwan is merciful enough to let him live.

The first blow hits his stomach, as is routine. Soobin had been bracing himself for it, but he’s not as strong as he used to be, and the punch to his gut leaves him doubled over, breathless and gagging.

“Is that all, Soobinnie?” Haekwan mocks. “A leader should be more resilient than that. Get up.”

Soobin forces himself off of his hands and back onto his knees, and even before he has his balance a sharp slap to his left cheek sends him practically sprawling across the floor. He bites his cheek to stop from crying out, but a muffled sound of pain still escapes and Soobin curses himself.

A hand fists itself into his hair and pulls harshly until Soobin’s face is right next to a crouching Haekwan’s.

“No one wants to hear your pain. No one wants to see your suffering. A leader should hide all of it so he’s not a burden to anyone.” Haekwan’s voice pounds into Soobin like a deafening drum, and the words are familiar.

They’re the reason Soobin hasn’t gone to anyone about this. Deep down he knows this is wrong, that Haekwan would be fired in an instant if this was exposed, but that part of him is buried so far under Haekwan’s manipulation that he can barely hear it most days.

Most days, the mantra of don’t let them down, don’t be weak, don’t be a burden is all he can hear. It’s what keeps him going when he’s in so much pain he can barely move, and when he’s so tired he can’t see straight.

It’s all for them.

“We’re going to try this again, Soobin, and maybe if you don’t make a noise we can move on to something else. Would you like that?”

Soobin’s head is still spinning from the blow, and his tongue doesn’t quite move right when he tries to answer. “Y-yes.”

“Say thank you, you ungrateful brat.” Haekwan shakes Soobin by the hair, and Soobin sees stars.

“Thank you, Haekwan-ssi.”

“Better.” Haekwan releases him, and Soobin slumps to the floor. He wants to stay there forever and forget the pain and the mocking and the man looming over him, but he can’t.

So he hauls himself back onto his knees and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long.

Haekwan backhands him again, and this time Soobin manages to stay upright with his eyes squeezed firmly shut. He doesn’t want to see the sick satisfaction the man wears as he tortures him.

Apparently, Soobin’s lack of response isn’t what Haekwan was looking for (even though he just told him that’s what he wanted; the man is two-faced on the best of days), because the next hit is a punch to the ribs. Two more follow in quick succession, and Soobin, while staying silent the entire time, collapses on the ground again, struggling to drag air into his lungs.

He feels strangely like he’s underwater, like the world is in slow motion. Fog settles over him like a blanket until he’s drifting so far away from his body he doesn’t know if he can get back. He can’t feel his limbs, and the ringing in his ears is so loud he can barely hear Haekwan’s next words.

“Better, but not good enough. If you want to be a good leader, Soobin, you really should listen to my advice. I’m only trying to do what’s best for-”

“What the everloving fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

The voice sounds familiar, achingly so, but the fog and the ringing doesn’t let Soobin pinpoint it. He drifts, the only thing he’s aware of being the pain in his body and the odd noises around him that sound like they’re coming from half a mile away and through a walkie talkie.

Then there are hands on him. Soobin flinches on instinct, his first thought going to Haekwan’s rough grip on his body, pushing and hitting and kicking. These hands though, they’re gentle. They pat up and down his body like they’re assessing for injuries, and the technique is so grounding that Soobin finds himself floating back into his body with great reluctance.

Sound begins to filter back in, and when the hands reach his face Soobin finally figures out who is talking to him.

“Soobin! Oh my goodness Soobin, can you hear him? Please, please answer me Soobin!” Yeonjun’s voice rises and falls in an uneven pitch, a sign he’s on the verge of tears. His hands rub circles into Soobin’s cheeks steadily, and the sting of Haekwan’s hits lessens, if only a bit.

Relief slams into Soobin so fast that tears spring into his eyes even before he opens them. When he does, the tears spill out and he can only see his hyung through the watery film they create.

“Hyung,” he croaks, his hands coming weakly up to clutch at Yeonjun’s sleeve. “Hyung, please.”

He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but Yeonjun seems to. He gathers Soobin into his arms carefully, a bit hesitant around Soobin’s obvious injuries, but still solid and steady and there.

Soon enough he has Soobin completely wrapped up in his arms, and Soobin breaks. He sobs into his hyung’s chest, great heaving ones that he’d stifled for so long under the weight of Haekwan’s abuse.

“Shh, it’s okay Soobin, it’s okay. Hyung’s got you. You’ll be okay now, yeah? I’m never gonna let that piece of shit anywhere near you again, I swear.” Yeonjun pets his head softly, rocking them back and forth, and Soobin eventually runs out of energy to cry.

Tears continue to leak from his eyes, and he hasn’t stopped shaking, but he can breathe now, and he can speak.

“Yeonjun-hyung,” he whispers. “Can we go home?”

Yeonjun gives him a sad smile. “Yeah, baby, we can go home. We’ll have to come back later today to talk to the police about what’s been going on, but you need time to recover first. We’ll get you cleaned up, and then we’ll all come back together, okay? We’re with you Soobin, every step of the way.”

The idea of returning to this place and rehashing every bit of what’s happened to him in the weeks he’s known Haekwan terrifies Soobin to the bone, but Yeonjun’s guiding hand on the small of his back as they stand feels like the best starting point he’ll ever get.

He follows Yeonjun out of the room that’s swarmed with staff, his head down and body still shaking, but for the first time in a long time, he feels safe.

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