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arcadejohn127-9 · 4 years

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Okay so I have a personal head cannon that demon hunters are a thing in the Obey Me World. So I wondering if you could do the brother and undatables finding out that a bunch on demon hunters kidnapped MC while they were in human world because they found out of MCs packs. Your writing is so good, honestly this is one of my favorite Obry Me accounts.

Thank you! It gives me pride for being one your favourites!

I love expanding the world of obey me and idea of hunters is one that seems realistic in a world of demons and angels and just in general, really interesting. Before I joined writing on Tumblr I was actually a Wattpad author and one my books was about a monster hunter who got in a love square with Frankenstein's monster, Dr Jekyll and Mr hyde

Never finished it but it was fun concept so any type of supernatural hunter already just wins in my department

Do I have a thing for making the demons violent and showing off a more aggressive and bloody side to them? Yes, I really do

Warning: kidnapping, gore-ish, violence, religious themes, angst, guns, mentions of torture, long

Your breathing grew heavier as the crushing feeling on your chest continued to grow, your heart slamming against your ribcage. Begging to be released from its suffocating prison. If it weren't for the lump in your throat you were sure your heart would of leapt out of it.

your feet pounded against the street beneath you; you were running faster than you’ve ever ran before. How did it get to this situation? well, you didn't have time to reminisce but to make a long story short - a group of demon hunters revealed themselves to you and are now chasing you down as you refused to cooperate. they wanted to use you for your pact and you didn’t want to be involved, especially seeing as they were literal demon hunters! they were going to kill your friends!

but sadly, fate was not on your side. your ankle twisted to the side, pain shooting up from your ankle all the way to your knee. rope surrounded you, you thrashed against the net as your body slammed to the floor. The last thing you saw was the hunter tower above you, the butt of their gun coming down on your head.

when you finally woke up you already had a gun back in your face, you tried to escape but you were forced backwards. chains rattling behind you. you looked behind you to see you were chained to a cross, both your wrists and ankles were bound.

Your situation only grew worse when the hunter Infront of you snarled down at you. Demanding you used your pacts, spitting on your face. You thrusted forward, matching their snarl as you bared your teeth at them. Demon mannerisms have rubbed off on you but it wasn't doing you any good. The gun clicked, unlocking off safety mode.

Your heart sunk immediately.

"Use your pact or else."

You could only hear the blood rushing through your ears. Trembling as their finger slowly pressed on the trigger. You knew they were going to kill the brother's if you did but you were terrified that were going kill you. You shook your head, letting it hang low as fat tears rolled down your cheeks.

You kept refusing to use your pact and summon the seven demons. Every time you refused they'd hurt you; kicking you, slamming the guns butt down on your head, throwing your head back on the cross. You could barely hear what they said, they just kept screaming at you. Calling you filth and a traitor to mankind.

Despite all the pain you were grateful they weren't killing you. You just had to keep pushing your luck. You couldn't summon them no matter how scared you were. You refused. You couldn't do it.

But fortunately, Magic doesn't always act the way you want it to. Your soul - your entire being BEGGED to be saved. You wanted to save yourself, you desperately tried to spark at the chains and remember any spells but your mind was at a blur. nothing was processing.

You cried out when you saw the large magic circle appear on the floor. You tried desperately to close the summoning circle, cursing to yourself. You demanded your magic to listen to you but it wouldn't work. The brothers symbols appearing in each part and soon enough, they appeared in full demon form.

"FIRE-!"

Lucifer:

his wings blocked at the rapid bullets going their way

His whip quick to come out and wrap around a hunters wrists, he twisted his hand around it and pulled the poor hunter towards him

"This isn't very welcoming, now is it? How bold."

the hunter went flying, the brothers dodging in time

Mammon:

He smirked, a bullet between his teeth and more between his fingers

Steam was drifting off them but he just crushed the metal bullets with no other thought

"How nice of ya to give me a gift~! You really know how to make a demon happy."

He spat out the last bullet and it went flying, hitting a hunters eye

Levithan:

The ground shook beneath you, many hunters missing their shot at his brothers

A crab like beast bursted out of the ground, sewer sludge splattering on the floor

It swiped and grabbed at the hunters, screams filling the space, bodies snipped in half in seconds

"You're all worse than Normies! You took the wrong human from the wrong demons!"

he back hand slapped a hunter that approached him, growling

Satan:

He leapt off the crab, grabbing the nearest hunter to him by the head

Their neck snapped to an odd angle and they immediately dropped

"This isn't how I expected to spend my evening but you took my reading partner....you won't receive my mercy."

He shoved his clawed hands through their chests and spines, ripping out the first organ or bone he could grab

He didn't lie, he didn't show an ounce of mercy

Asmodeus:

His wings flapped behind him, he dragged his claws along the backs of the hunters he flew past

Giggling as they screamed in pain

"Aww I'm just flirting, was it really that bad?"

He pouted before swiping at their faces

Shoving another hunter towards his more violent brother

Whilst he had no issue letting himself get wild, he saw how scared you looked

He didn't want to get too dirty or else how could he comfort you?

Beezlebub:

Beel could be ruthless if TRUELY provoked

And hearing your whimpers when he arrived stirred furious anger within him

When he finally saw your beaten state it made him snap

Hungry for blood

Hunters head being crushing with ikr hand

"You don't even look appealing to eat, you're worst than Solomon's cooking."

He took a chunk out of one hunter when they aimed at one of his brother's

Refusing to let his family get hurt

Belphegor:

We all know he's cold blooded

So it was no surprise blood was gushing everywhere

His dream dust filling his area and nightmares surrounded the hunters

"They're mine....and yet you stole them and hurt them, you're disgusting."

hunters would disappear into the mist and not come back out alive

Bodies littering the floor as he swooped through

As soon as things got gory your eyes were sealed shut, trying to shut out the sound of flesh tearing and screams of agony. Whimpering as you thought about the brothers smiling faces, how gentle and soft they usually were. Chanting in your head that they were here to save you, you were safe, they're still them.

You screamed as your body was lifted off the platform you were on, the cross rising. You were now fully crucified; feet slipping as you struggled against the cross. The chains were barely supporting your weight so you just dangled, fear rising in you.

Mammon charged towards you, his brothers continuing to fight against the hunters. He ripped the chains out of the cross, you fell right into his arms, your heart thumping against your chest.

"look at what they did to you....I shouldn't of protected ya, I hope you'll learn to forgive me - they busted you up real bad."

He caressed your cheek; eyes glaring at your busted lip and the many bruises forming on your face. You winced when his hand touched the side of your head, he recoiled feeling something warm on his palm. It was blood. YOUR blood.

He almost broke down right there and then, looking at how hurt you were - he couldn't handle it.

"thanks...that makes me feel so much better." You let out a pained laugh, hoping to make him feel better.

He only frowned more, softly rubbing his thumb on your cheek. It was obvious he was struggling to keep himself calm. You held his hand, showing off your best smile.

"i don't blame any of you, the hunters did this, okay? You didn't do anything wrong."

Your sweet moment was ruined when the 6 brothers backed all bumped into the two of you. Forming a protective ring as the hunters surrounded them; it seemed like there was no end.

You raised your shaky hands, magic swirling around your wrists and to your fingertips. You barely had enough strength to put on a little light show but you weren't going to just let the demons defend you without even trying to help.

It your lucky day as suddenly, the hunters hideout doors bursted open. You could barely make out the outside but there was blood coating every wall, steam coming off dead bodies. Soon enough four figures emerged and your heart almost leapt out of your throat.

Lucifer growled as he strangled a hunter, turning his attention to the new comers.

"I'm surprised you came so late, espically with the company with you, my lord."

Diavolo laughed, his hands coming together as his magic flared brightly. Barbatos had his arms behind his back, smiling to all of you.

"Forgive our tardy timing, these hunters are determined."

"don't forget us, though I may of caused us to take our time, it's been so long since I've fought this many people."

Solomon adjusted his sleeves, his many pacts glowing against his skin. Simeon, unlike the others, looked completely untouched by the chaos. Smiling as he kept his hands together.

"I beg for your forgiveness (Y/N), It appears we've angered Lucifer more than the hunters have."

UNDATEABLES↓

Diavolo:

Time slowed down within the room, only the hunters going still

Their movements frustratingly slow

"I think it's best to clean up this situation whilst you take (Y/N) back, they've seen enough."

He looked at Lucifer, both men nodding

The prince moved freely through the frozen room, eyeing the amount of hunters

Barbatos:

He bowed to the brothers, offering you a comforting smile

"I must agree with my lord, things will get rather unpleasant."

He slowly slipped off his gloves

He approached you, gently handing you his gloves and patted your shaky hands

A silent request to keep them safe for him

Solomon:

The wizard blew the steam off his wand

Smirking as he pointed it towards the magic still present around your wrists

"Isn't it good I came along? You're going to fall sleep if you keep using your powers, little apprentice, let me open a portal for you."

Just as he finished talking he summoned a portal to the devildom

He gave you a small salute

Simeon:

He hastily rushed towards you all

Checking on each brother for any serious harm, thankful they were okay

He turned his attention to you, doing the same

"all is going to be okay, I promise, I'll bring over some desserts when we get back - tell Luke I won't be long, I know he's anxious about your safety."

He walked you to the portal, caressing your hands

You got a gentle push towards the portal

Once you were all through the portal, you completely shattered. Crumbling to the floor as you broke down sobbing. The brothers tried to approach you again but your nostrils flared, face scrunching up in disgust. They reeked of blood and guts.

Beels mouth was covered in blood, flesh between his fangs. Levithans hands trembling from adrenaline red and stained with blood. Belphegor was showered in the red liquid, a feral look still in his eye. Mammon was the most clean out of all of them but he had blood dripping down him. Asmodeus had flesh on his nails and blood on his cheek. Satan looked just as drenched as belphegor, his shoulders shaking with anger. And finally, Lucifer was the second cleanist but he still was no better than the others.

"i need time to- time to calm down....just.... please just wash."

They all accepted your wishes, hesitant but they understood your predicament.

You laid on the floor, chains still on your wrists and ankles. They felt so tight on your limbs, you whimpered as they scratched at your skin. It took one small burst of magic to make them drop; you were finally free.

You continued to just lay on the floor, shakily grabbing a nearby pillow. Inhaling the sweet comforting scent, letting it fill your scenes. Everytime you even smelled a faint swift of the gore-ish scene from before you just took in another deep inhale.

You laid there for what felt like hours. Silently crying as you hugged the pillow.

You grounding yourself. Reminding yourself you were safe and back in your room. The brothers were safe and they weren't mindless beasts.

You rolled on your side, something poking your hip. It was your phone. You pulled it out from your pocket and began to type, messaging Luke that Simeon was okay aswell as you, apologizing for not seeing him in person. You sent him a quick selfie of you smuggled into your pillow and tried to look somewhat happy. Hoping it'll comfort him.

It wasn't a moment later until you heard a knock at your door. You questioned who it was.

"we're all clean now, meet us in the living room if you want....I made your favourite drink~" Asmo's voice was soft, gentle on your ringing ears.

A small smile appeared on your face. Shuffling out of your room still hugging your pillow, trailing after the lustful demon. Soon enough, you were both entering the living room.

The room was dim, the fireplace being it's only lighting and warming the room up nicely. There must of been something with the wood as it smelled so comforting. The brothers all sat along the sofa, Some on the floor. Everyone had their own drink, blankets and pillows surrounding them.

You curled up in the middle of the sofa, letting yourself be engulfed in multiple hugs. Everyone touching you in some way and you all just sat there. In peaceful silence as you just hugged.

You really needed this....

"thank you for saving me."

"We'll always save you"

"you can always count on us-!"

"I won't let this happen to you again, I promise to protect you better."

"no one is allowed to touch you like that, I won't let them."

"You don't need to thank us, darling."

"I will always make sure you're safe, no Matter what."

"I won't fail you again."

you all hugged each other even tighter, embracing each others comfort and warmth. Tears falling and soothing words shared, each brother did their best to be strong. But even they couldn't stop themselves from shedding tears when the adrenaline died.

They almost lost you. You were kidnapped and hurt because of your connection to them. They were never going to let you get harmed again, no matter the cost.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #gamingclubpresident #aracadejohn217 9 #obey me mammon #obey me mc #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan #obey me luficer #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me imagine #obey me headcanon #obey me x reader #angst

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dilfbane · 3 years

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It Gets Better(A Silky Pearl)

Summary: It’s been a long time since things have gotten this bad. Loki, returned from his latest mission, lets you know that, with help and support, you can overcome the worst of things, and makes sure you know that he’ll be there with you to get you through it, each and every day.

Pairing: Loki/Female Reader

Warnings: Reader in this fic struggles with eating disorders. Thoughts and feelings related to these(specifically to anorexia and bulimia), are made throughout the fic, especially those that, in my personal experience, people with these disorders experience. I cannot stress enough that this will be discussed/referenced/talked about, sometimes explicitly(Though not graphically) and sometimes implicitly, so please be aware of that and know that it’s OK to take care of yourself and skip this one if that would be triggering to you!

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I want to preface this by saying that there are a LOT of people, both here and on AO3, who have made some amazing Loki/reader oneshots where the reader is struggling with mental health and/or physical health issues, that really provide a sense of warmth and fluff and support to people who may be going through those things themselves, and I’ve taken a lot of comfort in those fics over the course of the pandemic(I’ll be shouting out a couple of them in the tags!). I want to acknowledge that these exist, and that they’re awesome and have partly inspired my own writing, before talking about this little project I’m embarking on.

Because, while I have gotten a lot of comfort out of many of those pieces of writing, there are definitely some things which I feel like aren’t talked about as much in pieces like these which I have gone through, and which a lot of other people have gone/are going through, and…. I figured that maybe I could take a crack at trying to provide that hit of fluff for people dealing with those things, if I can, and hopefully use my own experience with them to do it in as respecful and accurate a way as possible.

All that being said, the first oneshot in this little project is going to be dealing with a pretty heavy subject, that being eating disorders. The reader in this fic does struggle with eating disorders - specifically anorexia and bulimia. I will not be actively describing anything too graphic about these disorders in this fic, except to highlight through implication and some sparse details that this is what’s happening here, as well as show some of the inner thought processes of the reader, but there definitely is enough in here to show that that’s what’s going on, so if anyone would be triggered by that, please take care of yourselves and give this one a pass! Also, I will further disclaim that there are many types of eating disorders, and everyone’s experience with them is different. In this oneshot, I wrote based off what I know to have been true during the time in my life when I struggled with the same conditions, and I really tried to make the fluff and support as kind and encouraging as I possibly could. If for ANY REASON there’s something that I did badly at, or something that’s disrespectful, anyone reading this may feel more than free to let me know and I’ll do my best to fix it! I don’t want this fic to be a place where anyone feels hurt or disrespected, that isn’t my intention at all, and if I make a mistake in that regard for any reason whatsoever, I would really appreciate knowing so that I can correct it!

Anyways, after that extremely lengthy A/N, just… please know, if you’re going through something like this, that you’re not alone, that help does exist and is out there, and that you are seen and heard. And take this Loki fluff, because honestly, there can never be too much of that in the world!

You know that he worries about you. Even before his latest, three-week mission, you know that he worried about you. In the mornings, as you pour your coffee, you watch him watch you with careful nonchalance, gaze boring into the back of your head, slight furrow creasing his eyebrows, frown pulling small at his lips. He dresses early, because he wakes early; it is a battle, most mornings, for you to get out of bed. And so what, if you take your coffee with more creamer than is necessarily normal - it has to last you a long time, this coffee. You need the sugar of it, to get you to that clean pain. It is sharper, more real, than any scalpel, any knife that Loki keeps concealed by his armor; all that fine Asgardian leather, green and supple and him. It gives you back the control that you lack. Lets you be the person that you would be.

It’s not that you’re afraid of your body, but you are ashamed by it; cannot fathom, even now with his gaze on you, that Loki could love somebody so dreadfully overweight.

Today, though - Today, you had thought, you had hoped, that it might be different. You don’t know why you have that hope, but it brims up in you; a physical need, a visible yearning, for you to be enough for once. Someone that Loki can stand to look at. Someone that Loki can love. He is looking at you now like he’s seeing you for the first time, and you flinch from the frown that creases his piercing gaze, unable to bear how it roves up the planes of your body; silhoutted in the light coming in through the window, you can feel each ounce of fat that stretches over your sinew, cartilage. (You know that Loki hates your body - He traces it sometimes like he’s probing you, trying to find where your bones are. You wish that you could call him on it, and know that you never could).

You stand at the counter, and turn from him; rummage in the cabinet for your coffee mug with shaking fingers; you almost feel like they’re rubber. Blue and cold, like his Jotun skin, but you know that it isn’t enough. Pins and needles prick at them - you can almost convince yourself that it’s only your guilt and shame, but you cannot hide from the pain suffusing Loki’s voice when he speaks.

“Darling,” He says, on a shaky breath, “We need to talk about this.”

“I know -” You tell him - you know that you can’t run from this, anymore. He knows how you look, how nothing you do is fixing it. And now, he’s going to leave you. “I know, Loki - I tried, Loki, I’m so sorry -“

The agony that wells up in you threatens to overwhelm your ability to speak, and you feel your knees buckle the second before you fall. Your kneecaps slam against the cupboard underneath the sink, your head hitting the edge of the counter as you slide down hard to the floor. It hurts. But every part of your body hurts, these days. It’s as constant as your worthlessness. And something else, too -

He is there, on the floor with you, in less time than it takes place to blink, pulling you hard and desperate into his arms; you don’t understand why, and you try to wrench yourself from him, sobs bubbling up and spilling out from your tightly shut eyes. You can feel the bruises starting to form on you, a lump throbbing at your temple.

“Love,” He is saying, “Y/N, sweetheart, come back to me. Come back to me, darling, please.” He is stroking your hair; you feel his fingers at its strands, thin and brittle. God, you think, how pathetic you are - you can’t even keep yourself pretty for him, for this god and all the sacrifices that he’s made. You cry harder, unable to stop your own wailing. When you finally do, you’re exhausted - it takes everything out of you.

“Loki,” You say, on a wretched whine, “I’m so cold.”

“Hush,” He says, “You’re alright. You’ll be warm soon - We’ll sort it, darling, I promise.”

You don’t know how to tell him that it isn’t something you can sort, but somehow you know, deep in your heart, that Loki understands. Still, his voice is so sweet, and the shudders that wrack you begin to halt in the steady hold of his embrace; the tender brush of his fingers over your skin. You feel like you can look at him, now, so you do it, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth to steel yourself for the cruel things you’re certain he’ll start with. But Loki’s gaze isn’t angry at you, not full of fury or disgust. They sparkle with unshed tears and concern, emerald in the daylight. It takes you a moment too long to realize all that pain, all that worry, is for you; when you do, though, you flinch away. Feel Loki’s fingers drop from your hairline to your cheek, then your chin, tilting your head up so that you can’t run and hide.

“I’m losing you, love,” Loki says. His voice is low, and steeped in sorrow. It is his turn to look down, with guilt and shame, and you feel a pang blossom, raw and red, in your heart. He sighs, and straightens his shoulders. He is filled with some new resolution, some new determination you can’t wince away from.

“I need to know,” Loki tells you, “How long this has been going on. I need to - I need you to tell me why, love. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

“I can’t,” You say, blinking back a fresh torrent of tears, “Tell you why. It’s not - I can’t - I don’t know.”

But you know, and Loki does, too. It’s the god of lies, holding you - of course he can tell that you’re lying. It is something other, and runs deep, this bone-y reluctance. A complex game of mental gymnastics. How could you ever tell Loki about the control that it gives you, the desperation with which you used all your calorie-counting and aching restraint to regain the love that you lost? The nights bent over toilet bowls; the way that, sometimes, you empty stomach made you dig your nails hard into your palms ’til they bled, to stop yourself from crying out at the pain. And he loves you - the part of you that craves his affection, that yearns to burrow fast and fierce into Loki’s embrace and spill all your secrets to him, makes sure to remind you of that.

“Y/N,” Says Loki, soft and tender, yet infused with a note so harsh that you would wince, if you could. “You can tell me anything. You need to.”

You notice things, now, in the face of his determination. You notice that Loki is looking at you like he’s in physical pain, and that there’s something sticky and red on the pads of the fingers that brushed up against your head.

“I’m bleeding,” You say. It comes out soft, horrified.

The frown that creases Loki’s face would bring you to your knees, if you weren’t there already.

“It’s just - a thing that I do,” You tell him, too ashamed to look at his face as you reveal it. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

“That’s not enough for me, love.”

Loki’s lips are pursed tight, and the wound in his eyes has hardened to steel. The you part of your body - the fleeing part, the one who knows how to survive - seizes its’ chance and you duck out of his embrace, with far more strength than you had possessed in what felt like, potentially, years. Scrambles, backwards, like a cornered animal, over the tile floor, before heaving itself up to standing. It faces Loki, and its’ breath comes in stabbing-sharp. It is hard to remember that you have to call it ‘myself’. You feel older than you were, yesterday, and you cannot, quite, get air to come into your lungs. That’s not enough for me, you hear your lover say, ringing in your ears like a hyena’s howl.

You’re not enough for me, love. Your fingers spasm, clutching the sides of the kitchen table white-knuckled. You wonder, fleetingly, what Loki would do if you died. The thought makes you cry out in pain, a whimper ripping out from a throat rubbed fingernail-raw, but Loki does not move to stand.

“Come back to me,” He tells you, spiked with sorrow and need. And, perhaps for the first time, you admit it - to yourself, as much as to him.

“I don’t - I don’t think I know how.”

He smiles the smiole of someone who’s seen his own pain, faced his own lashing demons, and you pause to take him in fully, this god who says that he loves you, the man he is trying to be. You catch on hixs eyes, those bright emerald coins, his hair like the feathers of crows. His high, pale cheekbones, and his silver-tongue cut like glass. The pads of his fingertips, slender and cold, tender and fierce on your skin or the hilt of a dagger. You breathe in the smell of him, parchment and iron; peppermint tea and the smoke from a lorn, crimson fire. Wet leaves, after a rain. You feel your resolve start to waver.

“Well,” He says, all thoughtful, all trickster, “Sitting down, I believe, would be a good place to begin.”

The teasing lilt of his voice - an act that he is putting on, and all for you, always for you - cajoles you, coaxing you to lever your elbows and slide back down onto the floor, your weary legs feeling unimaginably grateful. Loki shoots you a new smile now, light and proud. He beckons you, with a cock of his head and a slim, fond gesture, to him - Of a sudden, the tiles beneath you seem like a desert, an ocean. You feel the weight of your emptiness. It laughs at you, its’ white teeth filed and barred. In your head, your failure is heavy; a hot and cackling creature with seven-foot claws pressing down on your chest, restricting your matchstick limbs. You are lost to the unyielding insistence of it, trapped in the maw of its cage, and Loki’s words, when they come, sound as far away as the shores of a country ancient and foreign.

“I was hardly gone,” He is saying, but you cannot answer him. “How could it have gotten this bad?”

It is that - that sadness, that fear in your lover - that breaks you, and you take the thing at a clumsy, terror-steeped sprint, not caring how wretched you look, so long as you can reach him - So long, you finally let yourself think, as there is something left of you for Loki to hold in his arms. Your body hurts worse than anything. You feel every scrape and bruise and chill on it; the pins and knives working at oxygen-starved nerves, and the gnawing clamp of your hunger, a brand pressing into your gut; and you know that Loki can’t save you. But maybe, just maybe, you can find some way to save yourself. And his fingers are there, going up to your hair, thumb rubbing at a hollow cheek and catching the salty dirge of an errant tear.

“It gets better, you know,” Loki tells you. He gets you onto his lap; you feel his heartbeat under your palms where you clutch tightly at his shirt to hold yourself up. A steady, thrumming proof that he is alive. And when he says it, you get the sense that, somehow, you’ve always know it, this whispered secret he’s weaving into your soul. “If you get proper help for it. If you want it to.”

He speaks casually, but there is a weight to his words. Miraculously - you’re not quite so sure how - you find yourself able to meet them.

“I want it to,” You tell him. “I didn’t, before - “ And here his eyes widen, and he shakes his head like you’ve shot him - “But I do. I want to -“

“Alright, love,” He tells you, running a soothing hand down over your side, past the hard planes of your collarbone, “Alright. It’s okay. You’re such a strong person- It’s going to be hard, for awhile, but I know that you can get through this. I’ll be right here with you, darling. Right here, by your side.”

“You will?” You ask him, voice cracking, hardly daring to hope that despite all this, he would stay. He chuckles, sadly, as if your thinking it hurts him, and he is deadly serious when he tells you,

“Y/N, of course I will.”

Somehow, though he’s the god of lies, you don’t doubt his words for an instant. You nod, and the nodding takes effort. Yet you are certain he understands what you mean.

“So,” Says Loki, “Can you - Tell me about this?”

You have to think, for a minute. Can you tell Loki about this? You know that he’s telling the truth, that he isn’t going to leave you. Still, you’ve never been this vulnerable with him before, not even in bed, and the fear in you won’t be put to rest so easily. You shake in his hold, and realize, with a frigid shock, how you must look to him - how badly you are hurting him, and how badly you’re hurting yourself, by keeping your feelings inside yourself and leaving your body to rot. You know, now, that Loki will help you through this - that he will be there, kind touches skirting the bad days; warm, mischevious smirks smoothing the wrinkles of your persistent self-doubts. There was a time when you needed to do this - there will, probably, still be days when you feel like you need to do this, to get a firm hold over your life, and keep the jackals at bay. There are other words to keep yourself safe, though. Loki’s breath in the dark is more home to you than anything you’ve ever had, and his open waiting, here in the daylight, makes you brave enough to speak.

“Maybe… Over lunch?” You offer. You bite your lip and hold out the query, a silky pearl in your hand. For one moment, Loki seems to consider; after all, he is the trickster, and a man not given to acting rashly, or stripping the drama from his complicated schemes. If this is a scheme, you think that you might forgive him - Later, when his lips are on your frame, when you’re there with him, again. His lips twitch into a grin so affectionate and proud that you know- you know - that if you seek proper care and really want to get better, you’ll get through the days that feel like walking on broken glass. You’ve done so much for me, that grin tells you. Let me do this for you.

He reaches out, and takes the pearl. You hardly recognize the man who rained hell down on New York, who snorts and jabs with sarcasm at every word that comes out of Iron Man’s mouth.

“Breakfast?” He counters, shooting a pointed glance at the microwave clock. It is a dare and a promise - a challenge, but never a trick. It tastes like honey on your tongue.

“Fine,” You say, “But you’ll have to cook.” Some kind of joy is creeping its way into you. Your voice, you find, barely trembles.

“Midgardians,” Lok says, with an eye-roll - a friendly, loving glint in his eyes that refuses to fade. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who burns water.” The joke prods your tender, new understanding, reassures you that he is still Loki; that he isn’t going to treat you differently, like a child, just because you’re suffering. The smile comes full onto you, and you wriggle, stretching your arms over your head and yawning, exaggerated for effect to add to the banter.

“I never said that I couldn’t cook,” You tell Loki, “Just wanted you to do it.”

“Mm,” He says, “And what will you be doing, then, while I cook?”

You chew at your lip, and choose to answer before your nerves make you panic.

“Finding the right words,” You admit, laying the truth bare to him.

His hands are wending through your hair now, and his lips are unberarably gentle on yours. He tastes like embers and ink. That sweet, slightly metalic tang that you’ve come to associate with his magic; cinnamon, tinged with steel. He kisses you for a second or two, before pulling away, but you could live in those seconds - Unfold it, like a blanket, and let the care of it warm your thin, freezing bones, if Loki weren’t here to show you that, with the right help, you can learn how to do it yourself.

“Finding the right words,” Loki muses, vaulting himself up to stand in a movement that’s unfairly graceful. “I’d much prefer yours, to be honest.”

He holds a hand out, and you take it, letting him pull you up. The floor, underneath you, feels solid. The sun is coming through the clouds, and out there in the wide world you can hear bird-song, the low, sugared sway of the breeze. There is something else there, too:

You let it wrap its tendrils around you, and you decide that it’s hope.

#loki/reader #loki/female reader #established relationship #eating disorders #mental health struggles #not me writing 3k plus words of loki helping the reader come to terms with the fact that they can recover from their eating disorders #because that's what I wanted to have when I was going through it #soft loki #i mean seriously #yeah there's angst #BUT #also just an unrepentant amount of loki fluff #he says it in the fic but i'll mention it here too:#if you're going through anything like this #know that you don't have to do it alone!#and that not only is it okay to get professional help #it's a good and positive thing that can be a very important part of recovery!#you have so much love and support in your life #because you're a beautiful amazing strong person and it's NOT YOUR FAULT that you're struggling with a mental illness #fics mentioned in the beginning as inspirations for writing this(and the next couple oneshots I have lined up) include:#The 'Loki's Lullabies' series by kaoerin on AO3 #and the 'As You Are' series by hopeless_romantic_spoonie/yespolkadot_kitty #also on AO3 #if any of you are on tumblr i'm so sorry i don't know your url's #but y'all should go show these fics love

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camthesolemnone · 3 years

Note

Hi, it's like, 11PM, but I just thought of 3 more promising for you:

1: Nightmares. One of them end up eating g nightmares after their married (the severity of it is up to you), and ends up waking up/getting woken up by the other. They try to help them calm down, and yeah.

Hurt/comfort style, bay-beeeee

Crap I made this nightmare a lot more hurtful than I probably should have. Poor Heavy :<

Warnings for violence, harsh insults, and a mention of sex (not explicit).

Also you mentioned "after they're married" so I'm assuming you mean Misha and Josef. No quarrels here, I'll take any excuse to write about them again.

Scout stood in front of him, tapping his foot and his metal baseball bat against the pavement in an irritated fashion. He had stolen yet another one of Heavy's sandwiches and the giant was determined to get it back. What threw Misha off, however, was the man's sudden stop.

It seemed like he wasn't planning on running away anymore.

"So, tons o' fun, you ready to fight me like a man?" Jeremy taunted, shifting back and forth on his feet in a battle-ready position.

The Russian glared at the Bostonian and cracked his knuckles.

"You are the baby man here. All you do is run like big coward. Heavy will show you real strength!" He shot back.

Scout's smirk and the way he twirled his bat in front of himself held not just confidence, but an overwhelming amount of spite. Misha was almost paralyzed by the man's unforeseen change in demeanor.

"Does a real man just sit at home and bang his gay husband while his ma 's dying and his sisters are tryna fend for themselves?"

Suddenly, that state of paralysis came true. Heavy's blood ran cold while his heart sped up to an unhealthy level.

"How...what--it is not like...I DID NOT KNOW SHE WAS ON HER DEATH BED! IT HAPPENED SO SUDDENLY THAT EVEN SISTERS DID NOT KNOW!" He shouted, stepping forward to grab Scout by the collar and knock his lights out, "how do you even know of these things? I never--"

Misha was stunned back into silence. His hand went straight through Jeremy's body, and the nimble runner reeled back before bringing his bat down on the Russian's shoulder. The impact was five times as painful as it should have been for Scout's pitiful muscles, and Heavy was sent to the ground with a startled scream. Why couldn't he touch Scout when the man could hit him? He attempted to stand up and retaliate, but Jeremy placed the handle of the bat on the top of his skull and pushed down, shoving his face into the ground.

"You're a failure, chucklenuts! You failed your team, your family, and you're about to fail yourself!"

Heavy cried out, "Nyet!" but in a flash, Scout had disappeared. After a few hesitant moments, the Russian determined he was in the clear and began to lift himself up. Then, as quickly as Scout had vanished, Spy appeared. The Frenchman unfolded his butterfly knife before thrusting it downwards into Heavy's hand, essentially pinning him to the ground. Misha let out another howl of pain.

"I have places to be, so I will make it quick. Enjoy your stay in hell, fat man!"

Heavy wasn't given a chance to respond, as Soldier and Demoman came crashing down onto his back, grinding their boots into his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip so hard to prevent a whimper from escaping that it started to bleed.

"Pozhaluysta, make it stop."

"You are nothing but a greasy Commie who deserves to have his fingers ripped off one by one!" Soldier yelled.

Demoman smashed a beer bottle on the back of the bear's neck, causing him to let out a choked gasp. A rapid series of lashes from Jane's whip resulted in more shrieks and Heavy bleeding in multiple places.

"I ain't drunk, I just despise you, you blubbery Bolshevik!"

"I HATE YOU, STALINGRAD!"

"You're the most rotten crop in the field, partner."

"I've had a lot of poor souls as targets, but bloody hell! You're past pathetic, ya pig! What's this? I think you might even be bleeding gravy!"

"Mmph mmph hmm! Hudda!"

"Yeah, not so tough now are ya? Are ya!"

Misha couldn't stand it. He was being torn apart from the inside out. What had he ever done to deserve this? Why was his team, his friends, punishing him like this?

"Stop! No more! Heavy has had enough!"

Everyone turned to dust, leaving only one figure standing tall and proud. He almost seemed to glow amidst Heavy's blurring vision.

"Doktor, I made vow to myself that I would never appear so weak in front of you, but please, I beg of you, help me..."

Medic turned around. His initial expression was one of confusion, but it soon transformed into one of cold ill-will.

"And why should I do that?" He asked solemnly.

Misha could feel tears pricking in his eyes.

"Josef, please, I love you. Do you love Heavy? You said you did, on day we got married, on the day before that, so, so many times. Do not tell me you have given up on me as well!"

Josef's features softened with concern for his other half. He bent down towards the trembling, bleeding giant and caressed his cheek.

"Of course I haven't left you, Misha," he whispered with a tiny smile.

Through his agony, Heavy could almost feel his own smile coming on. His love was here. He was going to save him from this prison and clean him up and everything would be normal again.

Then, he felt a blade pierce through his chest. One that could only belong to the Ubersaw.

"I couldn't have left you if I was never yours in the first place."

"NO!"

Josef awoke with a start, his breathing almost as rapid as the man sitting next to him. With owlish eyes, he turned his head towards his husband and felt his heart shatter.

Heavy has his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He was crying into his sleeve like a child and his whole body shook with remnants of fear. Medic reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, but then quickly withdrew it when he determined physical contact towards someone unstable wasn't wise. Instead, he lowered his tone to a murmur and called out to Heavy.

"Misha? Meine liebe? What on earth happened?"

The giant continued to shake and sob for another minute, but once he turned his head and saw his beloved doctor next to him, he gasped.

"You are still here!" He cried.

The German's worry intensified.

"Of course I am, geliebte. I will always be here for you. Just what sort of nightmare did you have?"

Without warning, the giant eclipsed the smaller man completely and cried into his hair. His large arms were almost suffocating, but Josef returned the embrace, rubbing his back through his pajama shirt.

"Scout and Engineer and everyone-...and Doktor stabbed me and--"

"Shh, calm down, Misha. It's going to be alright, I'm here now, and I would never hurt you. I love you, meine Bär," Medic mused, putting everything into making his partner feel comfortable again.

Heavy removed his face from the medic's hair and looked him in the eyes, his own still slightly wet.

"Heh, Heavy is such a mess. Leetle baby dream turned ME into the baby," he joked, wiping his left cheek.

Josef took to wiping his right with a comforting thumb, "There is nothing to be ashamed about, Misha. We all have our bad days and nights. I wake up frequently with nightmares too, usually of you or my parents dying."

Heavy's face dropped again.

"You never thought to wake me up? You know Heavy does not mind. I love you very much, Josef. Would climb mountain for you to be at peace."

The German placed a finger over his husband's lips and shook his head.

"We'll talk about that later. Now is about you. Come now, you must feel exhausted."

And he was right. His breakdown had thoroughly wiped him out, and Medic's soft hands rubbing circles on his hip and on his cheek wasn't helping.

Smiling softly, Josef placed a small kiss on his lover's lips, a reminder that they were both safe, before wrapping his own arms around the Russian and laying the both of them back down.

"Don't worry, Misha. I promise you'll dream sweetly now. I'll even make some French toast in the morning, how does that sound?" Medic grinned.

Heavy, however, was still a tad on the anxious side, so he pulled his wonderful husband closer to his chest and kissed the crown of his head.

"Thank you for staying by my side, Doktor. Heavy appreciates you more than you will ever know."

Medic wanted to respond, but Heavy fell asleep almost instantaneously afterwards. Instead, he continued to smile in the darkness and ran a steady hand across the specialist's back until he himself succumbed to the world of slumber.

A promise was a promise. Misha was not tormented further.

#tf2 #heavymedic #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #damn this is brutal

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hello-everyfandom · 4 years

Text

“I’m doing this for you!”

Warnings: Mentions of death and war

Pairing: Sirius Black x PotterSister!Reader

Words: 2.2k

Summary: James forbids his reader from going on an undercover mission for his sister

(More angst for you all!)

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s not up to you, James,” you argued.

“Like hell it is! You’re my little sister, and I forbid it.”

“James, perhaps if you’ve for once decided not to speak out of your arsehole, then we could continue. But I must insist, that this decision was not, and is not yours to make, entirely so.”

From where you sat, your older brother leaned against the kitchen counter. His arm crossed against his body and the other against his chin in frustration. The walls of his hidden away home were quiet as the Potter twins separated into the kitchen to speak amongst themselves as siblings.

He squinted his eyes, cleaning his glasses on the bottom of his cotton shirt before replying.“And if not mine, then whose decision?”

“It’s my own. It’s my decision.”

“You cannot! It’s... it’s not even debatable.”

“James,” you said sternly, “this is happening.”

James looked at his sister, only younger by several minutes, and yet still saw you as a child.“Don’t you understand it is dangerous? More dangerous than you could ever understand?” he wanted to take you by the shoulders and shake you vigorously.

“As if I were even slightly unaware of the dangers of this,” you said sarcastically.

“And yet you are still stupid enough to agree to it?” James slipped his glasses back on with shaky fingers.

“Stupid? You’ve always been overprotective, but now this is just bordering abusive.” you lightly joked, hoping to see a smile reach across his face to mirror yours. Your smile dropped when you noticed his grave expression, pale to the skin.

“James-”

“I’m delighted you can joke about it, the idea of dying a grizzly, cruel death.

”You groaned at his overdramatic stature, “You’re overreacting.”

“Am I? Y/N, you seem to be underreacting. This, this mission, this undercover assignment is mental, it’s practically a death wish.”

“I’m a skilled witch, I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m not arguing you’re not phenomenal at duels, but this is much different then Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Y/N.”

You thought back to your conversation with Dumbledore. He had admitted to a close group of the Order that they were in dire need of Death Eater intel. Most of the people he had told refused considering the danger it’d put themselves and their family, however, he turned to you, the youngest Potter to take up the responsibility of joining the inside ranks of Lord Voldemort. You agreed quickly, understanding the current losing position of the Order. It was telling James that was more difficult than ever.

“Do you not understand?” James asked sharply.

“Of course I do, James. But, it’s my responsibility.”

“It’s selfish, is what it is.”

“What!?” you exclaimed.

“You’re willing to risk your life, for what? What about us? Your family?”

“I’m doing this for you!” you shouted angrily. The door creaked open slightly, showing Lily’s figure holding tiny baby Harry in her arms.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I’m putting Harry to bed and thought he would want to say goodnight to his favorite aunt.” You stood to meet her, gathering your nephew in your arms. “Is everything alright?” she looked worriedly to her husband and to her sister in law.

“Yes.”

“No.” the two of you said at the same time.

“I’m sorry, Prune, your father seems to be more of a prick today than usual,” you cooed to Harry who seemed to grow every day. You gave your nephew the nickname Prune after his birth when you noticed how wrinkled he was, like a dried prune fruit.You held Harry close, reminding yourself why this mission was of extreme importance. You were doing it to create a world for Harry to live in, a world that was safe from prejudice and violence. James whispered a soft goodnight and kissed his forehead, handing Harry back to his mother. She glanced between the Potter twins.

“Sirius and I will be in the living room,” you nodded in response as the kitchen door shut behind her.

“James, please.”

“I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why you would agree to this?”

“That’s the problem without a key or an answer. You wouldn’t understand, even if you were me, James, you’d never understand.”

James bit his lip and narrowed his eyes, “Explain it to me then, because it is rather unfathomable to understand why you’d go through such great lengths to ensure your own death in the unfortunate and probable circumstance that anyone finds out you’re a spy.”

“Fine then. For Harry.”

“Harry?” he asked confused, “What do you mean?”

“I’m doing this for Harry. You wouldn’t understand because he is your son, it is your job to stay here, in your home with your wife and protect your family here. It is my job to go out and protect your family from out here.” You said after taking a deep breath, “And, if I die, then at least I die trying to protect my own blood, my nephew. And that’s as good as any reason there is.”

“Y/N...”

“Don’t you see? It is not up to me, or you, it is about Harry. It is about winning the war. It’s about ensuring his safety, you know what the prophecy says about his birth! Sacrifices come in all shapes and forms, James. The entirety of this secret home is a sacrifice in itself. I just wish you could understand.”

“Right, well. What about us?” James asked firmly, “What about us? What happens if you die? What about us? Me? Harry? Sirius?”

“I expect you’ll understand the reasoning behind my death, then.”

“But I won’t! All I’ll even comprehend is the fact that my baby sister is dead and it’d be her own fault!”

“It’s not confirmed I actually will die, have you already picked out my casket then?�� you said sarcastically once again making James roll his eyes in complete frustration.

“Yes, well, it may as well be in writing.”

You looked to the ceiling as if searching for guidance in this conversation. “If the roles were reversed if I had just had a child with Sirius, would you stay behind closed doors during this mission? Or would you go?”

“Yes, but that’s different-”

“How?!”

“Because I can’t lose you too!” James snapped making your heart drop. Just barely a year ago, your parents had passed away due to nasty Dragon Pox. Though it seemed to hit you harder, losing your parents, but James? He always placed himself as the protector, the brother, and he had never fully expressed his sadness but rather tended to your broken cries. He’d much rather focus on his friends and his growing son than the ache of losing his parents, but the idea of losing his sister? He could barely process the idea without being in utter agony.

“James...”“

Y/N, Dumbledore can find someone else to take your place. Stay here, we can set up the living room for you. I can’t lose my sister too.”

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and encouraged your tears to burrow back in your eyes in “I can’t do that. I leave tomorrow morning before dawn.”

“Y/N...” James nearly cried.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“I’ll come with you.”

“You can’t do that, James. Not with Harry and Lily. Not with the target on your back. You know that.”

“But what if you fail?”

“What if I succeed?”

James swallowed and hurried to wipe his tears of worry, “You’ll come back?”

“I’ll try my hardest to.”

“I mean it, Y/N. You come back or I swear I’ll put dung bombs in your bed again.”

You sent him a sad smile, “I’ll try, James.”

James pushed himself off of the counter and entrapped you in a brotherly hug. He placed his chin on the top of your head, already missing his twin more than anything.

“Did you remember to pack panties?” he joked in a high pitched voice making you snort. That was something your mother used to ask before every family trip they took in the summer up to northern England. It was nice to hear it once again, maybe for the last time.

“I love you,” you said seriously.

“I love you too, now. Well. Go kick ass and make the Potters proud.”

You sent James a grateful smile before exiting to the living room. You passed Lily who gave you a knowing look and entered the kitchen, likely to convene with her husband. Sirius sat facing away from you, looking deep into the embers of the fireplace.

“Sirius?”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving.”

“Not you too!” you laughed,

“‘ve just convinced James now ‘ve got to convince you? Seems like you lot have already planned my funeral and everything.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say funeral. You’re not going to die.”

“I hope not.” you sat on the arm rest where Sirius sat. Playing with the hair on the back of his neck, he shuddered under your touch.

“As much as I hate to disagree with James, I do understand.” Sirius huffed lightly.

“It’s a duty that we signed up for when joining the Order. And now, with Lord Voldemort and the whispers of a traitor in our ranks?”

“I know.” Sirius turned, holding your soft hand in his and placing his other on your thigh. “Will you at least promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Will you marry me when you come back?”

You beamed through wet tears, breathing deeply, “I will marry you if I come back.”

“No,” you stopped, Sirius looked at you with a firm look, “When you come back, you will marry me.”

“When I come back, I will marry you.” You repeated before placing a loving kiss on Sirius’ lips. He brushed your tears away and kissed your cheeks and then your lips. He whispered words of love and courage to you.

That night was spent in front of the fire in the Potter home. There was a comfortable silence that settled into the bones and veins of each and every one of you, neither words were spoken but only small murmurs. And when the morning arose, you placed a confident smile on your lips and hugged your loved ones goodbye, giving Harry a gentle squeeze on his fat newborn arm. As you apparated away, James and Sirius both let out a heavy sigh.

“She’ll be alright,” Lily assured, rubbing James’ back.“I think so,” Sirius clenched his jaw, already missing you immensely.

As days, weeks, and months passed, you were barely able to send letters to Dumbledore nevertheless to Sirius. But, when they did receive letters, they were short and written in a hurry.

“All okay, don’t worry. Love you.”

“Easier said than done, missing you.”

“Awful people. Awful acceptance.”

“Dark mark. Love you always.”

It was only until Dumbledore told the Order that you had successfully infiltrated the Death Eaters in London. You had received classified information and had relayed it to Dumbledore meaning your homecoming would be within the next few weeks. James felt rejoiced in the idea of his sister coming home and nearly bounced across the walls. Lily noticed her husband was nearly going pale with worry each and every day you were gone, but the minute he heard of your future return, and excited redness returned and she sighed in relief. Sirius, with James’ help, purchased a ring they thought you’d rather enjoy cementing the engagement beyond just words. Sirius was nervous but mostly excited to be able to safely hold you in his arms without his horrifying imagination placing you in a dungeon being tortured somewhere. The day of your arrival, Sirius and James rocked back on their heels anxiously, constantly looking towards the fireplace for a floo.

“How about I put the kettle on, yeah? I’m sure she won’t be arriving till later this afternoon,” Lily bit back the nervousness and frightened feeling she had felt. Past five in the evening, nearly time for supper, James was already writing a letter to Dumbledore asking for sister’s return. He moved to the kitchen to open the window and place the letter in his owl’s mouth. His ears perked up at the noise of the floo explosion going off and raced to the living room.

“Blimey, thought you’d never get here!” He looked around the room to see his wife with her hand on her mouth in shock and his best friend on his knees on the floor. He shifted to look at Dumbledore who had just floo’d in.

“What’s going on? Where’s my sister?”He cleared his throat and sighed with a heavy frown. Upon hearing the news, James thought he’d nearly pass out. Maybe he did. Because he couldn’t remember sitting down on the living room couch. Sirius shook vigorously, the feeling of sudden grief and sorrowful stricken emotions that took over. Dumbledore repeated himself again. You were coming home, nearly two blocks away from the Order headquarters and more than a few blocks from the Potter home, when you were ambushed. Sirius found himself needing to throw up, but swallowed his bile. Death Eaters, who were earlier informed by a traitor that you were working for the Order, took you, tortured you, and killed you. Nothing was left but the broken and beaten body that was dropped off at the steps of headquarters. You were so close, you were so close to being home, to being safe.

#sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #marauders #marauders imagine #james potter #james potter imagine #james potter sister #james potter imagines #marauders imagines #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter masterlist

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how-masterful · 4 years

Text

Remastered

Dhawan!master x reader

Chapter 3: New Earth

Summary: New earth, new adventures, but the return of a dreaded old face. You’d been acting strange all day, and despite the distracting wonder of the mysterious cures the sisters of plenitude were concocting, the Master had most definitely noticed. But when all is revealed in the hospital, things go from curious to complicated- especially when the sick break free, and the root of all the days problems decides she wants to try the masters body on for size.

Notes: At last! Another remaster! This time not a Matt but a David episode: loathed by some, but a guilty pleasure of mine! I mentioned wanting to write this fic while ago, and i finally got around to it on the eve of Doctor Who day! I hope you all enjoy!

As usual, this fic is dedicated to my dearly beloved queen @plethora-of-imagines. My watchalong companion, fellow soft dom lover, most trusted confident, and the most hat obsessed girl i’ve ever met. I hope it lives up to the hype!

They were surrounding you in droves.

The sick. The diseased. The nearly dead.

The filthy pipe covered walls of the hospital basement flying past your field of vision as you desperately raced towards salvation.

Or at least, the woman who was currently controlling your body raced.

Cassandra's presence in your head was agony- not just for the fact the woman was compressing you to death, but because she was so damn judgemental. In all of your adventures in time and space you’d never met someone so cruel, so self absorbed. And you travelled with the Master of all people, for crying out loud. You suspected the only reason you were being saved was because she was too self preserving to let herself, and by extension your body, go to waste. At least she had the common sense to keep up her speed, the Masters pace just in front of you as you bypassed the closing passageways of the intensive care unit and headed towards the room where she'd been hiding all this time.

“You’d better know where we’re going!”

The Master, for lack of a better term, was fucking pissed to say the least. The revelation that you weren't truly yourself was far more shocking than the revelation of the human farm the Sisters of Plenitude were hiding in their basement. He’d first accused the matron, who denied having any part in the ‘fuckery with your brain’, but it soon became clear who exactly had decided to hitch a ride inside your delicate human brain. The, as the Doctor's pet had once referred to her as, bitchy trampoline. You supposed he was also furious that she’d kissed him. You yourself were certainly boiling with anger at that fact. At least it was still your mouth, you reasoned.

“Keep a lid on it, handsome! This has been my terf much longer than its been yours!”

She knew the way well, the distance between yourself and the following lab grown humans strengthening as your feet lead you towards the dingy basement where your mind had been overtaken. Her assistant chip was long gone now, the boy probably dead from the swarming humans. All that was left was you, Cassandra, and the furious Master.

The pair of you skidded around a plethora of corners, the basement of the hospital built not unlike the elaborate mazes the Master would construct within the walls of the TARDIS. You very much wished to be safe in your home instead of running from manic nuns and the almost living dead, but you knew that travelling through time and space meant a girl couldn’t be picky. If only Cassandra also shared the sentiment

"THROUGH HERE!"

You still weren't used to the ridiculously posh accent coming from your mouth, her shrill yell guiding the timelord to the small door that lead to her chambers.

The Master huffed, following your guide as you crawled through the square metal hatch. You heard the door slam and latch shut soon after, the chambers flying past as the far entrance arrived into view. With a heave the hinges opened, Cassandra letting out another scream as the diseased loomed large in the doorway. The door slammed shut as she pressed your back against the rusting metal and pulled down the lock, her eyes meeting the deadly glare of the Master in the middle of the room.

"My god, we're trapped in here! What are we going to do?!"

The Master narrowed his eyes, leering at the woman with a cast iron gaze that made you even shiver.

"Get out. I want her back. Now."

Cassandra rolled your eyes, the woman matching the Masters stance. He let out a low growl, the Master stepping forward with gritted teeth.

"I know you've met the doctor, but you've never dealt with someone like me. So let me be quite plain: I'm not going to play your stupid little human games, Cassandra. I want Y/N back, and I want her back now."

"God, you timelords are all the same, so demanding! You do know it's just a title, don't you darling?"

The Master scoffed, pure fury evident in his sneering grin. Cassandra took a step back, arms dropping from their fold as he took a step closer. His presence was intimidating to say the least.

"This plan of yours, it had potential. A psychograft- I must admit, rudimentary but creative."

It was Cassandra's turn to scoff now. The pair of them practically circling each other, the Master watching her turn her back as the last human stepped towards the ruined remains of her rusted frame. The Master stood besides the psychograft, the TCE now in his grip as he gestured with the small device squarely at the machine.

"Banned on every civilised planet, I can relate. But you know why they were banned, Cassandra? They were sloppy, completely unstable."

"Another thing you can relate to?"

"You're compressing my Y/N to death!"

Cassandra sighed, venom on her tongue as she kissed your teeth, scrunching her nose in disdain. Your fingers carefully traced over the metalwork of her frame, the jarred brain she once used now beginning to wither as the suspension fluid leaked and pooled out onto the rank basement floor.

"And where do you suppose I go, hmm? My skin is long dead." Cassandra snapped, head whipping around to glare at the man in the purple coat. She smirked cockilly, tilting your head.

"You ought to play softer with your toys, time boy. This very sore little human of yours is my one ticket out of this shit hole"

"I'm afraid you'll have to deboard your vessel, Cassandra. You can float in the air- like dust, or a disgustingly persistent mosquito. Quite on brand, for you-"

"Very funny-"

"But your self preservation, Cassandra, is nothing but a big, fat you problem. That body you're in is precious to me and I'm not letting you get even a scratch on her."

Cassandra glowered, clenching her teeth as the Master gripped the TCE tight in his palm. She stared at him, lips quivering as she planned her next rebuttal. The Master held his nerve, unable to help the tightening of his chest as he thought of you, stuck inside your own body. He knew the feeling of being kept from your own being all too well from his little stint in utopia. Cassandra finally relented as the Master slowly raised the TCE to aim at her head.

"Give. Y/N. Back."

Cassandra carefully stood, slowly stepping towards the Master as he brandished his weapon in his hand. She teasingly began to twist the charm on the necklace around your throat, holding the pendant between her fingers. The Masters glare strengthened, eyes focused on the jewellery in her grasp.

"You know, once you were dead and this place far behind me, I was planning on dumping the meat and pawning the bling as soon as I could. But you, Master, are too stubborn for your own good."

The Masters expression reeked of confusion, his head tilting to the side as Cassandra squared off her shoulders. The time lord took this as a threat, tightening his hold on the TCE as he watched her every move. You could see it in his eyes- Thousands of possibilities processing at once, the gears of his mind shrieking as they grinded through his manic yet methodical systems of thought.

"You want her back? You asked for it."

The tremendous pressure on your head suddenly lifted in a whirlwind of overstimulation. Every sound screamed in your ears, the basement around you caught in a surge of darkness as your hazed vision was stolen from you. A loud ringing persisted, if only for a few moments, the muted and muffled existence you'd sat within ripped from under your feet. Your knees weakly buckled, shoulders slumping as you felt the ground connect between your feet. You let out a gasp for air, eyes scrunching shut as you shook your head. The basement slowly came back into vision, your head recovering from the imprisonment with a low groan from your throat and a palm to the side of your skull.

"Ow, jesus christ, my fucking head. Where did she go?"

You focused your vision on the man in front of you. The Masters back was turned towards you, the timelord almost bent in half. He didn't respond, body oddly still as you dared to take a step forward. You had a dreadful suspicion about where she'd run off to after leaving your head.

"Master?..."

"Dear lord, I'm a bad boy now!"

No way. No fucking way.

Cassandra turned around with a flourish, hands upon the Masters chest as she let out an excitable giggle. His eyes sat wide, a half smile upon his face as she familiarised herself with her new body. She stumbled on her feet like a newborn deer, inspecting her fingers and rocking on her toes as she rubbed at her chin. The presence of a beard under her fingertips seemingly blowing the woman's mind. You didn't know whether to laugh at her antics or cry at the problem that just emerged before you.

"I've never been a bad boy before! Bad girl, for sure, but this?! Isn't he just delicious!"

His usual northern tone was long gone, a fact that hurt much more than it should. Cassandra couldn't stop giggling to herself, her hands playing over his cheeks as he hurriedly raced towards the cracked mirror placed upon the wall. She gasped loudly, rippling with excitement as her hands roamed over the Masters body: Fluffing his hair, synching his waist, popping the top button on his shirt. Seemingly doing everything she could to fill you with jealous rage.

"Are you about done?"

The Master flapped his hand in your direction, shushing you as she childishly jumped up and down on the spot. You folded your arms, biting your tongue as she preened and primped in the mirror, pushing his face within her hands and posing with narcissistic delight. You'd seen the Master do this himself, on occasion. But this was a completely different beast- especially since you didn't enjoy where her hands were seemingly wandering to

"Oh hush, darling. I'm just having a little fun with all these new… graciously extensive parts- these have definitely been well worn in, the saucy little thing. I'm quite the handsome devil now, aren't I?"

You growled, nose scrunching as she hummed to herself, smoothing down his purple tweed collar as she began to prance and strut around the room. She lept over various apparatus and rubble, spinning and watching the purple material of his coat fly like a skirt behind her. Cassandra let out a satisfied cackle, sighing with up most content. Your rage was furiously simmering within your chest.

"He's quite the riot, isn't he? He's so feisty, I love it. So edgy, so... Naughty! He has lots of filthy thoughts about you in here, oh the pictures i could paint for you."

"Get out of my- the Master now!"

Cassandra cackled, leering in towards you with a torturous grin. You'd feel rather flustered if it weren't for the fact this wasn't the Masters doing. Cassandra held her hands to his chest, stalking forward as you desperately clung to your stoicism. You wouldn't give her the satisfaction of watching you crack.

"THE Master? Or were you about to say MY Master? You forget darling- i've been inside your head. You want this samba in his chest to only beat for you."

You rolled your eyes, leaning away as the Master giggled and leant in closer towards your face. If Cassandra weren't within the Masters body you most definitely would've punched her. But your growing level of rage meant that was a fact you would possibly be able to overlook.

"It's a shame, really. If it weren't for the fact he'd kill me on the spot, I think i'd like to keep him. He seems like a seasoned professional in showing a lady a good time, after all!"

You let out a scandalised squeak as Cassandra grabbed at your hips, causing herself to dissolve into stitches of laughter as you shoved at the Masters chest. A blush of embarrassment flooded your cheeks, your fists bunching together in furious resentment.

You sighed loudly, narrowing your eyes as you glared at the woman currently possessing your time lord. She was well and truly pushing your limits at this point and you weren't sure how much of her shenanigans you could handle.

"It's so easy to tease you, darling! You know at first, i just thought it was a personal interest of yours. But he actually calls HIMSELF the Master!-"

"Cassandra-"

"How fabulously kinky! Lucky girl, you did find an exciting bedfellow. How you kept hold of him i'll eternally have no idea."

"ENOUGH!"

The timelord paused from playing with his hair, turning to look you up and down with widened eyes. Cassandra took in your heaving chest, the tightening of your jaw as you glared daggers into her forehead. She raised his eyebrows, raising his hands in mock surrender. You could feel the sarcasm dripping from her actions, which served to infuriate you even more so than before.

"Struck a nerve, did I?"

"We're stuck in the basement of a hospital in QUARANTINE, chased by INFECTED LAB GROWN HUMANS! All of which, by the way, is ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT! And you think the best use of ALL OUR TIME is to play a game of musical bodies and piss off the only person able to help you out?!"

Cassandra pouted childishly at your words. You let out a frustrated huff, causing her to almost recoil in shock.

"We're short on time and big on problems. The last thing I need is you making this situation any worse than it already is!"

A thick silence sat between the pair of you. It was almost a dare to see who would attempt to move first, Cassandra's lips pursed and quivering as if the sarcastic retort was planning itself behind the Master's teeth and upon the timelords tongue. Your determined stoicism was completely abandoned in favour of indulging in the buttons Cassandra had been desperate to push. At this point all you wanted was the Master- not the stuck up snob currently cursing you internally in several languages.

You wanted to be out of this hospital and back in the TARDIS, to lay together and laugh at how a crazy old human who didn't know when to die decided to prance around inside the pair of you for an hour or so. But you couldn't. Because that crazy old human was ridiculously persistent. You thought her and the Master could possibly get on if it weren't for the current predicament you'd found yourselves in.

It seemed Cassandra had finally found her argument. The Master stepped towards you, hands on his hips as he sneered up and down your body. You opened your mouth to speak, ready to smack down any argument she could possibly have against common sense and decency, until a loud crash suddenly broke the pair of you from your standoff.

"Please… Help us!"

The far door to the basement slammed open, the sound of metal ricocheting against the aging stone wall. The diseased clawed and clamoured, spilling into the dingy room with a surge of newfound freedom.

The Master let out a petrified scream, hands flinging to your shoulders as he yanked you forwards to act as his human shield. Cassandra cowered behind you, peeking over your shoulder in terror. You could most definitely slap that woman, you decided. Guilt be damned. He let out a shrill yowl of panic, jutting you forward towards the oncoming hoard.

"TAKE HER, SHE'S LESS VALUABLE THAN I AM!"

Yep. Guilt be most definitely damned.

"Cassandra we have to work together!" You pleaded, turning over your shoulder to face the terrified Master cowering behind you.

"The Master would know what to do but since you won't leave his head you have to trust I know what he'd say!"

Cassandra whined, roughly pulling you backwards as she stepped away from humans that were slowly beginning to close in.

"And what would he say?!"

You assessed your options. The sick were surrounding you from most angles, your entrance still sealed from your previous escape. However, a possibility caught your eye.

A slender black ladder. Your way out.

You turned once more to the woman, confidence finding itself back in your stride.

"UP THERE!"

The Master screamed once more, heaving you forwards with a weak shove as he scrambled up the stone steps that just emerged behind him. You yelped, gathering your footing with haste as you saw the purple of his coat flail behind him.

“Out of my way! Pretty people don’t die first!”

You followed Cassandra's path, clambering through the remaining metalwork of her skin frame and heading towards the metal ladder that sat flush against the wall. The basement supposedly lead towards all manor of places within the hospital, this upward ascent leading you towards the hollow insides of an abandoned elevator shaft. You watched the timelord hesitantly grasp hold of the flaking and rusting rungs of the ladder, disgust evident on his features as he retched at every climb. You couldn't be dealing with any more of her antics today.

“WHAT’S THE PROBLEM!?”

“THIS LADDER IS FILTHY!”

“SO!?”

“I HOPE YOUR MASTER HAS HIS TETANUS SHOT!”

You shrieked in frustration as you shoved Cassandra further up the ladder, your wafer thin patience having been tested today by that woman more times than you ever thought you could possibly muster. Your time was very much running out, and getting a disease from a ladder was of more concern to the woman than obtaining every single disease on new earth. The audacity of that woman astounded you to a completely new degree.

“IT'S EITHER THAT OR PLAGUE!”

“STOP YELLING AT ME, I CANT COPE WITH ALL THIS PRESSURE!”

“FUCKING CLIMB, CASSANDRA!”

A metallic thunk erupted from the bottom of the ladder, the blistered fist of one of the lab grown humans clinging tight to the first rung of your escape. The flustered cry of Cassandra floated further up the length of the ladder, your stomach filling with pity as you watched the pained glances and heard the pleading cries of the sick. You only hoped you could get the Master back and figure out a way to help them.

“Please… help us!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll try, I promise!” you called in return, before turning to face the panicked clambering of the Cassandra possessed Master up to safety.

You could do this. If you were lucky, you reasoned. It was possible.

If you were truly lucky you could get your Master back, lift the quarantine, save the sick, and escape this dreaded hospital. Only four things. You could do this.

But first, you had to deal with Cassandra:

And judging by the fact she was still screaming, several rungs up the ladder, you needed all the luck you could possibly get.

91 notes · View notes

megalony · 4 years

Text

When she’s better

This is my first Harry Styles imagine that I hope everyone is going to like, any feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Masterlist

Summary: Harry and (Y/n) recall what happened during labour when their daughter was born and how it affected them and their daughter’s future and life.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It isn't about the money, I have more money than they could offer, we're not here for a settlement. I don't want this to be swept this under the carpet, I want them to admit liability for what they've done to our daughter."

Harry never spoke like this.

It wasn't in the singer's nature to be abrasive or even to be straight to the point with people. When interviewers asked him questions that were rude or interfering or just plain rude he weaved around the question or gave a polite answer, Harry didn't know how to be mean or rude or cruel or subjective. He gave people the benefit of the doubt, he treated people with kindness and expected others to do the same.

But this was someone Harry couldn't be calm with and it was a subject that simply couldn't be talked about kindly. He felt cheated, he felt broken and hurt and fearful for his daughter's future and he didn't know how else to go about this when it was foreign territory to him.

"I understand that Mr Styles-"

"Then why offer us a settlement that discloses we can't go to court if we sign it?" Harry took law in college even if it wasn't something he had pursued or taken to university, he knew the basics. He read the contract that was pushed in front of him and waved in front of his face like a flag, it was there urging them to sign to make this all go away when that wasn't the point of them being here.

If Harry and (Y/n) signed the settlement in front of them all that would happen was a sum of money would be placed into their bank account for Lilah's future and that would be it. There would be no one taking responsibility for what they had done to her, no one would say sorry or be held accountable and if (Y/n) and Harry ever changed their minds, they couldn't go to court or take this any further because the settlement meant that was it. It was a contract to make everything go away for the hospital, not for them.

Harry would be blunt of that was what their solicitor in front of them wanted. Harry would tell her that the money the hospital were offering wouldn't make a dent on what he himself had made by the time he was nineteen with the band and it was nothing compared to what he had gotten over the years afterwards. He didn't want money, Harry had far too much of it for his own good, he didn't need any more money he was set for three lifetimes over.

He and (Y/n) hadn't come here today to try and get money for themselves or for Lilah because they could provide for her. They were here because their daughter deserved some kind of justice for the mistakes that had happened and Harry wasn't leaving without it.

"Because going to court can take months, even years and there is no guarantee that you will win the case, and that's if it gets to court. A settlement is easier for both parts and it is the first point of call. The medical board has already examined your case and is willing for a settlement because court is unlikely."

"We've got the rest of Lilah's life to take them to court for what they've done to her. Money can't change how they've ruined her life." (Y/n) felt Harry taking her hand in his when she spoke up for the first time since they entered the office. She wasn't in the mood to argue but it seemed to be the only way they were going to get through to the solicitor who was supposed to be on their side. They had hired her so she could help them get the hospital to admit liability for Lilah.

Lilah's birth two years ago hadn't been a smooth ride, it had been anything but and because of the midwife and doctor's negligence during her birth, Lilah hadn't been breathing for fourteen seconds. She suffered with her breathing when she finally managed to breathe and was stuck in ICU for two months and two months ago at Lilah's checkup, they found out she had cerebral palsy caused by the lack of breathing during her birth. It wasn't something that could be treated or cured, Lilah could only be helped and her life made easier but her condition was lifelong.

Harry and (Y/n) had more than enough money to care for Lilah and any medical expenses or treatment she would need, they weren't trying to sue the medical board for compensation. They wanted them to take responsibility for how they had ruined Lilah's life. Walking was going to be a struggle for her, if she could ever walk, she might have speech problems and development issues growing up. Her life was never going to be normal or easy but if her birth had been smoother her life would be normal.

"Mrs Styles, I can see why you're wanting to do this, but you must see that there is a very limited number of people who take these kind of cases to court when they're not after compensation for their child. The court would deem it pointless."

"It's pointless to want justice for your child? Lilah's whole life is ruined and money can't fix it, I want them to admit what they did and be reprimanded for it." (Y/n) knew this. She knew most parents didn't have the kind of money she or Harry did so when they went to court they wanted both justice and compensation which meant they would be able to look after their child and have their child cared for for life. But just because they had money didn't mean they had justice.

"I'm sorry but the court won't see admitting liability as a reason for taking things that far if you don't want compensation. I'm not saying it won't ever happen but the chances aren't great when you aren't asking for money, that's how the court and the hospital will see this."

"Fine, tell the medical board we'll take them to court for liability and for compensation that can be donated to a charity of our choice because of what they did. They can put a large chunk of money towards a charity helping kids with cerebral palsy because they caused it for Lilah. They ruined her life, all we're asking is for responsibility and we're getting it. Tell them anything, that we want that doctor fired for this, just... please, our daughter isn't a case they can throw money at to get her to go away. Her health can't be fixed with money, they should know that."

The way Harry spoke was almost admirable if it wasn't for the pained expression on his lips or the way that his rings punctured into his fingers and his palms when his hands clenched into tight fists. His legs were crossed causing his knee to push into the desk in front of him as his head was leaning on his right hand, pushing his ring into his jaw.

If they would only go to court for compensation reasons then he and (Y/n) would do that. They would take a large amount of the hospital's money and donate it to a charity to pay for what they did to Lilah, as long as it got the hospital to admit what they did and get some kind of repercussion for the doctor who let Lilah suffer in the way she did.

Her life was ruined just as it began, no money could fix the doctor's mistakes and no amount of money could make her better, if it could Harry would have paid it already. He wanted to be able to tell Lilah when she was older that this wouldn't happen to anyone else and they got justice for the life she had to live.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lilah-Rose Styles.

The name floated around in (Y/n)'s head like a mantra she couldn't stop thinking about until she could see the letters dancing in front of her when she opened her eyes. But what really made her head swim and her heart beat faster was when she heard the name from Harry's lips. The way he spoke so slowly and drawled out the name made it sound like it was the most precious thing in the world. Anything sounded better when Harry said it but that name sounded so unique when his accent and slow speech put a spin on it.

For this last month of the pregnancy (Y/n) had heard that name from his lips almost every day and it was heaven, it was as if she was already born and right here with them when he said it. The name made this so much more real, even more real than being in labour right now.

They practised saying the name and seeing how it rolled off the tongue, how it looked in writing and they imagined how she would look and if the name would suit her. But now they had their hearts set on the name, (Y/n) was worried she wouldn't look like a Lilah-Rose when she was born.

"I'm gonna get it tattooed somewhere, with a little rose in the corner and the letters spelled out in vines and petals." The way Harry whispered those words in her ear made (Y/n) smile sweetly despite the agony she felt and the sweat glistening on her skin or her hair that was matted in its bobble and hanging limply wherever it so pleased.

She could tell that Harry already had the design ready in his head as always, with an intricate tattoos he could picture the exact size it would be, where he wanted it, if it should be in colour or just dark navy blue ink. He could picture every little detail and describe it as if it was already inked onto his skin.

"W-where? You don't have much space left." (Y/n) mumbled quietly through gritted teeth, not wanting to speak much louder in case her voice broke but there was no annoyance or malice in her tone. The only free space Harry had left was his back, his neck and his legs. Having their daughter's name on his legs wouldn't seem right, having her name on his back meant Harry couldn't see it which was why he had no tattoos on his back and on his neck didn't seem right somehow.

"Just above the butterfly, gotta have it near my heart, right?"

(Y/n) could only nod her head in response before she tucked her chin into her chest giving Harry the exposure he needed to kiss the back of her neck which reminded her of butterfly wings delicately fluttering against her skin.

Both Harry's hands were curled around (Y/n)'s to the point her hands were engulfed and no longer visible but that was how she liked it. The only difference was that he didn't have his rings on, only his wedding ring was left and it was weird for both of them when he only took a few of them off when he went to sleep. But Harry didn't want all the rings on right now because he wanted to hold (Y/n)'s hands and the rings would only puncture into her skin and cause her more pain.

(Y/n) found herself staring at Harry's nails for a few seconds when it felt like her head was buzzing with static. She focused on the very light shades of pale pink and lime green coating his nails and she almost got lost in the simple colours until the pain came rushing back to her.

The water they were sat in was very calming and soothing to her torn and aching muscles but it wasn't medicine, it didn't mask the pain. But it did stop (Y/n)'s muscles from seizing up and stopped her from being stiff sitting on the bed like she had been for the past six hours.

"Okay, a big push for me and her head should be almost crowning."

That was music to (Y/n)'s ears, they were getting so close now that it was becoming scary, but it was almost over. Lilah was so close she was almost within their reach, they could have her in their arms soon, they could see what she looked like and how big she was and how delicate she looked and hear her cry for the first time and take her first breath.

(Y/n) felt the water lapping at her skin when she leaned back against Harry's chest and sunk down just a little bit more into the water, letting it envelope around her in a smothering hug.

It felt relaxing to have Harry's hands in hers and his arms pulling around her waist like he didn't want her to suddenly drift away in the water. But (Y/n)'s eyes soon opened and her head leaned back on his shoulder to look up at him when he shifted back in the water rather suddenly like something had spooked him or dawned on him. She didn't have the energy to speak so she just looked up at him quizzically.

"I- is that normal?" Harry looked over at the midwife who was across from them in the small pool they were sat in but his eyes showed only anxiety and confusion. He knew what to expect, he'd been to the birthing classes and to all the doctor's appointments with (Y/n) and they'd gone through the birthing plan they wanted. But when he looked down and saw that the water was turning a bright shade of red, it didn't look normal to him. Blood was normal in this case but the way the water looked like he was becoming dyed with food colouring made Harry nervous.

(Y/n) tightened her hands around Harry's when Jane reached forward to examine her stomach before pulling back.

"It's a small haemorrhage because baby seems to be breach. She seems a bit distressed so I'll call doctor but the best thing might be to get you out of the pool and onto the bed." The midwife they knew as Jane didn't look worried which settled one of the many nerves raging in Harry's stomach but he still didn't like this.

He could feel (Y/n) tightening her hands around his and he saw the pained expression on her face. The water had calmed her from the moment she sat down in the pool and it was making her more at ease and relaxed, getting back on the bed wasn't what she wanted, she wanted to have Lilah here in the pool.

"Harry I- I can't move." (Y/n) tucked her face into Harry's neck as she felt like crying in anger and annoyance. Her legs were immobile right now and her lower half was numb despite her not having any pain relief, standing up wasn't going to be a good option, let alone trying to walk over to the bed. (Y/n) wanted to stay here, she wanted to sit in the water and have Lilah here and have her properly as opposed to having her breach like this.

It dawned on Harry as odd that Jane didn't know sooner that Lilah was going to be breach but he suspected Lilah must have just wriggled around at the last minute and decided to change her position to keep them on their toes.

"S'alright love, we'll get you up and on the bed, you'll be fine."

They both turned their heads in the direction of the door when it opened and a doctor walked in. He looked to be middle forties with slightly grey hair and grey stubble but he wore a smile which was kind of calming. He spoke quietly with Jane for a few seconds before he examined (Y/n)'s stomach presumably to check Lilah was actually breach.

"Alright Mrs Styles, let's get you on the bed and check you both over, I don't think we'll be needing this pool any longer."

Harry could hear the small whimper that left (Y/n)'s lips at the news but they couldn't really do anything else. He got out first so he could help (Y/n) without the risk of slipping or falling himself but he could see the way she trembled and how her legs were buckling the moment she stood up. She was too numb and weak to be moving far at all. Her arms locked around Harry's neck and his hands were firm on her hips, slowly guiding (Y/n) out of the pool with Jane holding her arms for added precaution.

"Shh, shh it's okay, I've got you." Harry's voice was so quiet yet calming it sounded like he was singing in (Y/n)'s ear when a pained moan escaped her lips and her nails suddenly punctured into his upper back. Her head pushed into his chest and her back arched along with her knees but Harry managed to keep her upright, not wanting her to go down on her knees in case she hurt herself.

He made sure to be careful when they walked over to the bed since all three of them were dripping water from the pool but Harry couldn't help but wince when (Y/n) screamed the moment they tried to ease her onto the bed. She seemed to want to squat down or kneel on the floor but that wasn't really a choice right now.

Harry kneeled on the edge of the bed with (Y/n) sat in the middle, her legs hanging off the other side of the bed and her back leaning up against Harry, his arms cocooned around her waist to calm her down and secure her against him. He could almost feel the pain (Y/n) didn't seem to notice when the doctor injected her in her thigh with something to help clot her blood to make sure the bleeding would stop.

Jane placed a few monitoring stickers on (Y/n)'s stomach but the sudden noise the monitor made made both Harry and (Y/n) jump, it sounded like Lilah's heartbeat was slow but the monitor was panicking and getting louder to voice its panic.

"Baby is distressed and she's haemorrhaging... should I call for an emergency C-section?" Jane tried to be quiet when talking to the doctor but both parents heard and Harry felt (Y/n) shaking in his arms. That was a last resort, (Y/n) wanted to do this naturally but she didn't count on anything going wrong, she hoped for the best and didn't try and think about the worst.

"Is something wrong, that sounds bad." Harry had both his mother and his sister talk him through this so he would be ready and neither of them had had anything happen during their pregnancies. Everything had gone smoothly and Harry was only prepared for this to go smoothly too, he didn't know what to do if something went wrong or out of plan, he liked things scheduled and perfect. Things going wrong or out of time didn't settle well with him because he liked to have control of the situation so everything was okay.

"Don't worry we won't need a C-section, baby is just unsettled. I'm sure (Y/n) can start pushing again and the sooner we have baby here the better things will be. We don't have any reason to panic just yet."

The doctor seemed very certain and he was still smiling like he had control but it didn't feel right. (Y/n) wondered if a C-section might be easier because it would be swift, Lilah could be born quickly and helped instantly. But then again, if she was almost crowning now, it might be too late for a C-section if she was almost here.

"Let's start pushing." The way he spoke was almost forceful even though he was calm and still partly smiling. It was like he was in a hurry or had somewhere else he needed to be.

(Y/n) looked up at Harry who looked just as uncertain as she did because they both knew (Y/n) had been coached to push on contractions rather than as and when she was told by a professional. But as soon as the next contraction hit (Y/n) pushed like she was told, even though this time it felt like her lower half was beginning to burn.

Harry punctured his teeth into his lower lip to stop himself from screaming when (Y/n)'s shriek tore through to his soul as if she had been stabbed but it didn't phase the doctor at all.

"Just unhooking baby's legs (Y/n), keep pushing everything is fine."

She couldn't keep pushing, it was hurting more than it should and (Y/n) didn't like how this doctor was acting or speaking. He could have warned her that Lilah's legs were caught and he was going to pull them down to free them rather than hurt her and then tell her what he was doing. He could be more considerate and understanding that she was pushing a baby out and it wasn't going according to plan.

"I can't... H- Harry s-she isn't okay..." (Y/n)'s chest was vibrating and shuddering up and down as she was barely breathing, all of her air was bumping out through her lips but only small amounts of air were being inhaled to the point she wasn't really breathing at all. (Y/n) could see the monitor was becoming more frantic and Lilah wasn't even moving anymore, aside from (Y/n) forcing her out into the world. Something wasn't right, she didn't want to do this anymore she wanted to be at home safe and sound with Lilah and Harry, not here in pain and in danger of something going wrong.

"I know, I know but she's almost here now love. Just keep going at your pace, you're doing so well." Harry couldn't do anything or say anything to make it better. He could only hold (Y/n) and encourage her to carry on because Lilah was nearly born, they couldn't very well have a C-section now when she was half born, the only way to help her was to get labour over and done with, as bad as it may seem.

Harry's eyes darted around the room though he wasn't sure what he was searching for. He watched Jane getting towels and clamps and scissors ready to cut the cord and she set up the scales and got tubes in case Lilah couldn't breathe, she seemed to have given u and let the doctor take over fully. But he wasn't much help and when Harry leaned over he could see the steady flow of blood dripping onto the sheet on the bed and the one placed on the floor. The blood was trickling down Lilah's legs and smeared onto (Y/n)'s legs and it made him want to be sick.

"Baby's arms are stuck, I need you to push long and hard for me so we can free them."

Harry could feel the exact moment the doctor tried to free Lilah's arms because it sent waves of shock and pain through (Y/n) who vibrated in his arms. Her scream was ungodly and Harry could only imagine how the pain must have felt but as he hugged (Y/n) tighter and tried to calm her down by humming in her ear, he leaned forward to look down over her shoulder.

The blood was getting substantial but what scared the flesh from his bones was looking at Lilah. Only her head wasn't born yet but her chest was moving like she was convulsing and her arms were shaking and it made Harry wonder if she was trying to breathe. He'd heard of it, babies trying to breathe when born breach because it would be confusing to them but if she was doing that she could suffocate.

"I- it hurts... please..." (Y/n) didn't know what she was pleading for but whatever it was, she needed it to happen now. She was feeling like she was about to pass out from the pain that the doctor was only making worse and she could feel Harry's lips pressing to her cheek and the tears falling from his eyes because he was scared for both his girls.

She just wanted it to stop.

"Just the head now (Y/n), we need baby born now so she doesn't start breathing with her head suffocated like this." His words did nothing to calm the couple down because Harry knew. He could feel it in his gut that his girl was already suffocating but if he told the doctor or (Y/n) that it would only further hurt and panic his wife. Harry couldn't tell (Y/n) in case she hurt herself trying to get Lilah into the world.

"S-stop! Stop it!" (Y/n) wanted to kick her feet out and knock the doctor away from her until he was on his hands and knees and didn't dare come back near her but she couldn't move her legs an inch with how numb and broken they felt. The air was taken from her lungs when it felt like the doctor was butchering her.

(Y/n) had been prepared when they came to the hospital, she knew that when having Lilah the head would be the worst to give birth to but she thought that would be first and then it would be much easier to push. But having her come the wrong way round meant the worst bit was at the end and (Y/n) was out of energy to push any more but it was almost as if the doctor was pulling Lilah or moving her to try and get her head free and (Y/n) didn't like it one bit.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Harry looked over at the doctor with malice in his eyes, he was causing (Y/n) so much pain with such an air of confidence about him that he shouldn't have. He should be kind, sympathetic and be helping (Y/n) rather than trying to get this whole ordeal over with.

"Baby is born now." His words were overpowered by the mix of a scream and a wail that echoed around the walls and reverted back to Harry's ears that made him cringe.

Harry felt (Y/n) slump down against him like she had suddenly passed out or even died but when he looked at her he could see her half-lidded eyes were still conscious. His arms tightened around her despite not wanting to cause her pain, he wanted to comfort her as well as himself and holding her closer was the only way he could calm himself down right now.

He leaned over (Y/n)'s shoulder again, pressing his lips to the top of her head but his eyes focused on the doctor who had their girl resting on his knees. She wasn't moving anymore, not even a spasm of her arm or a little wriggle, her chest wasn't quaking and her lips were a pale shade of blue with her skin being pale grey instead of peach or bright pink.

She wasn't okay.

"Harry..."

He looked down at (Y/n), trying to hide the pain in his eyes so she wouldn't get scared but she was already afraid. She hadn't heard their girl cry, she hadn't managed to look down and see Lilah and the doctor wasn't saying anything either. She knew something had been wrong and she knew Lilah wasn't okay by the way Harry wasn't smiling or crying with joy or marvelling at their daughter.

"Shh... it's okay." He knew it wasn't but he didn't know what else to say.

Harry watched Jane mess around cutting the cord and delivering the placenta as the doctor stood up and moved a few feet away, not looking panicked as he tried to get Lilah to breathe. Harry couldn't help but count the seconds he watched the doctor try and force Lilah to take a proper breath and he got to roughly thirteen seconds before his eyes widened in their sockets. He heard (Y/n) moaning in absolute agony when they both watched Lilah take a breath but blood and a murky substance left her lips at the same time.

Jane rushed over to the doctor with a small tube which they placed down Lilah's throat to clear her lungs as she continued to cough and breathe very shallow, small breaths.

Neither couple knew who had called for another doctor who came rushing into the room but they were thankful for her. When Harry felt the way (Y/n) started to shake against him when the previous doctor who was no longer holding Lilah came over to them, he felt like screaming.

This man had hurt (Y/n) when there was no need, he hadn't treated her with any respect or kindness or like she was a mother in pain and he'd not cared or fussed over Lilah when she was in peril.

"Get out. Get out I want him out!" The words were repeated again and again with more rage until finally the new doctor came over to the couple.

"I'm Dr Hane, I'll take over your aftercare now. Dr Cole, can you leave the room please?" She clearly didn't understand the tension in the room but she was at least obliging to the couple's wishes and putting them first. She took a few seconds to check over Lilah who was in Jane's arms before she moved to kneel in front of (Y/n). "Jane, please take the little one down to ICU immediately, (Y/n), is it? We need you laying properly on the bed, let's sort you out honey."

"Baby... I w-want my baby..." (Y/n) reached a shaking hand out to Jane who was just about to rush out of the room with Lilah in her arms. But (Y/n) hadn't even gotten one glimpse of her yet, she wanted to see her and touch her and make sure she was alive before she was swept away anywhere else.

"You can't hold her just now but you can touch her and look at her for a few moments... she's inhaled fluids and some blood when trying to breathe in the womb so her lungs need to be cleared out."

Dr Hane nodded and Jane who moved and stood beside the couple, not really willing for them to hold her since Lilah was clearly unwell and needed special care right now but they could see her. Harry's hand enveloped over (Y/n)'s and reached out for Lilah, their fingers brushing over her cheek and pale chest. They were relieved that the blood wasn't due to a problem in Lilah's lungs but at the same time, inhaling fluids was still a very bad thing, she could get infections or pneumonia from that.

Harry kissed (Y/n)'s temple repeatedly when her breaths started to tremble before a round of sobs escaped her lips when Jane left with Lilah. (Y/n) felt like it was the last time they were going to see her, like they were stealing her away or she was dead and they couldn't even hold her.

"S'okay baby, shh, we'll hold her when she's better." Harry hoped to God that his words were true.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #dad! harry styles #imagine #one direction

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hideawayintheimaginationworld · 4 years

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If your still accepting story request and don't plan on writing this in one of your stories, maybe Night reuniting with Mike?

“You're my brother...”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Daniel—”

“I don’t answer to that name.”

“Then what do you answer to? Please tell me.”

Nightmarionne sighed. He never thought, his brother, or rather, the man who use to his brother was pleading for answers.

“Nightmarionne.”

“Why that name?”

“I didn’t want to be who I was anymore. Accept it.”

“I will... I will... but listen to me.”

“There is nothing to listen to Michael, this discussion is over.”

Michael grabbed his hand, “No! It's not!!” He realised how cold and bony his hand was, he looked at Nightmarionne in his cold blacken eyes, trying to see if he could actually see his brother in there, but he found nothing.

“I made an irreversible mistake... I killed you and now you're.... you’re this.”

“The proper word Old Man Consequences said was a Reaper.”

Michael's world has crashed before him, he thought his brother had been dead for years but he was here... standing in front of him... taller than him, “This is my fault...” He muttered.

“You were responsible for the events that led to my death, but you aren’t responsible for my death,” Nightmarionne said in response.

Michael frowned, “That makes zero sense... I never imagined you'd be like this...”

“What? Be like what? A monster?” Nightmarionne asked him showing him his taloned hands to emphasise his point. He was use to being called a monster, he didn’t wear the title with honour it was more like a label... a burden in a sense.

Michael gently shoved aside his hand, “No... not a monster... you speak with such little emotion... it's like you're apathetic or something... and it's creepy.”

Nightmarionne knew that already, his voice only sounded demonic but it was void of any real emotion. The only real emotion Nightmarionne felt was rage, and it was almost always explosive, as he had seen a man abusing a dog and immediately allowed Plushtrap to attack him in retaliation.

“It's like you really died on that day.”

“I did,” Nightmarionne answered, “Michael, I am not really your brother... I am the shell of who he once was... I can’t remember my mother... I was created from tragedy, agony... I can’t feel any real pain, Michael... I feel my head bleed sometimes...I can’t be your brother because I’m dead. Your brother is dead Michael. You must accept it,” Nightmarionne turned and walked away.

Michael shook his head, he felt himself cry for the first time in years, his brother was slipping away again, he thought about the last day in the hospital, a day he had nightmares about, a day he also died inside, with him being crushed with the realisation that he killed him.

“NO!!” Nightmarionne was stopped by Michael, who threw his arms around his waist to stop him, Michael noticed his whole body overall felt like a skeleton, as he just felt his spine... no meat or fat. Just a tall curved spine that held him up like a mannequin.

Nightmarionne looked down, towering over Michael but seeing him full on crying like a child.

“I won’t lose you again!! I spent so long believing it was my fault! I tried to end my life so many times because you weren’t there anymore! The guilt was killing me, Daniel!!” Michael sobbed.

Nightmarionne snapped.

“I KNOW YOU TRIED! I WAS ALWAYS THERE!!”

Michael froze, still crying, he truly did look like a child. A child who had just been told off by their parents.

“W-What do you mean... you were always there??” Michael asked confused.

Nightmarionne tried to push him away but Michael still hung on tightly, “I watched you... for years... I saw William beating the crap out of you...” Nightmarionne answered, “There were so many times I wanted to kill William myself but something always told me he'd get his comeuppance someday... I saw the fear in your eyes... I watched you mourn... ever wondered why your nightmares abruptly stopped?”

Michael shook his head.

“It was me, Nightmare was preying on you, like how he did to Alec many years later... like how he did to Millie... Sarah... he even tapped into Lefty trying to scare him by showing him what he feared most, which is losing the kids he'd tried so hard to protect... Nightmare weaponised your guilt and regret.”

“But if you did that... then there must be a part of you that doesn’t want me hurt... why have you never come back...?”

Nightmarionne shook his head, “Because... I can’t die... I would have to watch you die... I would suffer watching you die... the thought kills me.”

“So you don’t want to develop any emotional attachments??” Michael asked, “Because you think you'd lose them?”

“You taught me unintentionally that life can be easily stolen in a few moments...” Nightmarionne pushed him off, “Why grow fond of something if it will inevitably die? Especially when you would never be able die yourself.”

“You aren’t living Daniel... if you would be human again at this very moment, would you immediately stay here?” Michael asked.

“I would,” Nightmarionne honestly answered.

“So this immortality is the only thing that stops you??” Michael questioned.

“I hate how people dress up immortality like a paradise... it's hell... a punishment... walking through a long street, watching people come and go, as they are born then die... Immortality is a punishment to condemn permanent loneliness... the best part about being human is living the sweet moments... my life is a circle that never ends... I can’t even get a puppy... I would be too sad when it dies.”

“How about I get a puppy and you can play with it?” Michael suggested.

“No. Michael. No.”

Michael stammered for a response then said “Y-You are only dead because of me! I want to make it up to you! I want to be the older brother you deserve!”

“Then do what I ask Michael...” Nightmarionne lend down his body and his eyes were lined up with Michael's blue eyes.

“Walk away,” Nightmarionne said, seeing Michael's face turn to heartbreak, “Walk out of my life Michael... go enjoy your life with Sammy... with everyone... your brother is dead... you accepted that...”

“I only accepted it because I thought you were dead... but you aren’t!!”

“Why can’t you just fucking forget me?”

Michael wanted to sob again, but he immediately got an idea, “I use to self-harm... but I covered it with this...” Michael showed his arm, Nightmarionne saw the tattoo on his arm, he had seen it many times, it was a little plush Fredbear with a Foxy animatronic holding his hand, taking him somewhere, with words above it that said “Even when I’m gone, The Love in My Heart will Never End. I Love You Both, My Little Boys, Take Care of Each Other Always.”

Nightmarionne suddenly remembered that.

His mother.

It was the final thing she said to them ever.

He had desperately tried to remember her.

Even now he couldn’t recall her name or her face.

He just remembered that.

That had disturbed something in him. Something broken shifted.

He noticed the tattoos were obviously covering self-harm scars, Nightmarionne had seen him self harm at one point and just let it be, not wanting to get involved in family stuff ever again.

Nightmarionne traced a finger over where he saw one of the scars, “You are better than me.”

“Why?”

“Because people won’t run from you.”

“Well, I’m not running from you.”

“Not even when I show this?” Nightmarionne asked, his lower face immediately tore in half, Michael saw the wall of teeth in front of him, Nightmarionne then slowly opened his mouth to show he had more than one row of sharp teeth in his mouth.

His face then came back together, he had a normal mouth, he was waiting for Michael to give an answer.

“When you consider your hair already makes you look like a demon... it doesn’t bother me... I mean we have a bunch of things, that we've both seen, killer clown robots, body-swapping robots, and the weird kid.”

“You’re just saying that Michael.”

“I’m saying it because you are my brother.”

“Yes, I am.”

#Ask #Five Nights at Freddy’s #FNAF 4 #Fazbear Frights #FNAF Michael #Nightmarionne #FNAF Crying Child #Writing Drabble #anonymous

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dandelions-and-white-wolves · 5 years

Note

Witcher prompt time!! What about Geralt treating a wound for Jaskier and then it gets infected and Jaskier doesn't want to tell him because he already fixed him up once and he feels like he's pressing his luck asking for it again 😭 if you don't like this, feel free to ignore it! or I could try again!

I really enjoyed writing this one 😭

Jaskier bit back a complaint as Geralt poured fresh water through the angry gash on his thigh. The wound was deep enough that every time he glanced down he could see fat and muscle and his vision went dark around the edges, so he'd taken to staring into the nebulous space between himself and Geralt as the Witcher worked to clean the swamp muck and debris from the wound.

"Maybe next time," Geralt said, being rather rougher than necessary, Jaskier thought, as he begun to push the sides together to stitch it closed, "when I tell you to stay back, you'll stay back and not try and use yourself as kikimora bait."

"I wasn't trying-" and then whatever else he was going to say was lost to a hiss of pain. Geralt was being exceptionally grumpy and Jaskier could only assume it was for the whole afternoon lost trying to recover from the cut and blood loss and the parts of the next day lost as he tried to hobble along enough to keep up.

"If you can stand on it in the morning, we're off." It was the only words Geralt offered, and he didn't even smear the stitches with the salve Jaskier knew he had that would cool the burning of it. Jaskier huffed and lay down where Geralt had sat him, not bothering to try and maneuver pants back on or to find a more comfortable spot closer to the fire.

The next morning he was up and dressed at the crack of dawn just for spite. Pulling pants back on over the bandages had been fresh agony, but he hadn't let on, had masque the limp it gave him as much as possible as he helped take down camp and get ready for the day. Geralt seemed to be of better spirits after a night's sleep, or at the very least no longer hostile, but he didn't wish to test it.

The first couple of hours was bad, but not terribly so. A stiffness had set into the muscle and it took some time to work out, but after that he was even able to pull out his lute and strum little, distracting himself. He didn't even fall that far behind. The afternoon was a different story. Geralt looked back once to see why he'd fallen so silent and found him all but dragging himself along, face set in a rictus of pain. He tried to straighten up when he realized he'd been noticed, pushing himself to stop limping, to walk faster.

"Roach needs a break. We'll stop here."

Jaskier was grateful. He all but fell against the bark of an evergreen, letting it take all of his weight as he slid down to sitting. Geralt said nothing, but brought him water and a sizable portion of dried rabbit from a few days prior. He took the water but offered the food back with a little shake of his head.

"Not hungry?"

Jaskier felt his stomach clench. He hadn't taken stock of his body with the screaming in his leg taking all of his attention, but now that he was sitting down, a deep, heavy malaise settled in. He felt too cold and shaky and nauseous and it felt like a cruel joke on top of the aching leg.

"Not right now. You have it."

Geralt took the food back but didn't eat it, Jaskier noticed, just squirreled it back into their bags to save for him for later. It was a small, kind gesture that made Jaskier almost forgive him for being so short the day before.

The rest ended all too soon. Jaskier pulled himself up using the tree, fingers digging into the bark and good leg sliding for purchase. Geralt said nothing but offered him a hand the rest of the way up and then did most of the work getting him into the saddle in front of him, firmly seated on Roach's back. The Witcher wrapped his arms around Jaskier, presumably to keep him from falling as he urged Roach into a canter, but it felt incredibly nice to let Geralt hold up some of the weight of his body that felt like it'd been growing heavier by the minute.

"Are you alright?" Geralt finally asked, the third time that he'd drifted to sleep or unconscious and had to be stopped from sliding from Roach.

"Fine."

"Hmm."

He'd had another cold spell and started shaking again, which didn't much help his case. "Maybe should've eaten earlier, is all."

The next time he nearly fell, Geralt stopped Roach so fast that the horse skidded on the loose gravel of the path and Jaskier jolted awake, panic blazing in his eyes. He was truly miserable, whole body aching like he'd picked up the flu, stomach roiling and an ice pick lodged behind his eyes. The worst was his leg, the entire thing reduced down to just agony, burning like he'd stuck it in their campfire and pulsing in time to his heartbeat.

"We can't travel like this."

"'M sorry," he said quietly, still shaking sleep away. "I can walk, it's okay-"

"No." It was sharp. "We're stopping for the night."

He helped Jaskier off the horse and spread out his bed roll for him. Shame burned in Jaskier's cheeks. He'd tried so hard not to complain this time, to keep up, and he'd still bungled it.

"Stop that," Geralt said, having noticed the bard's brooding. "Take your pants off."

"Excuse me?"

"Your leg. I need to see it. Take your pants off."

Shrugging out of his trousers was considerably harder this time. Fluid had leaked from the wound, through the bandage and stuck the cloth to his skin and he couldn't hold back a cry as he tore it free. The wound was grossly swollen, angry red and puffy with streaks of red travelling away from it towards his groin and abdomen. It was easily ten times worse than when he'd been bandaged up this time the night before. Geralt made a low sound in his throat and his yellow eyes lit up with concern. Jaskier turned away from him, pitched to the side and threw up, nothing in his system to bring up but burning bile but his body making a valiant effort nonetheless. He retched, coughed, felt a cold hand come down on the back of his neck to guage the fever as he squeezed his eyes shut against the misery.

"Oh, Jaskier." He wasn't used to such a tenderness in Geralt's voice.

"'M sorry," he said again

"Why didn't you tell me it'd gotten so bad?"

"I didn't know-" he stopped. It was a poor lie. "I didn't realize it'd gotten infected but I didn't want to slow you down."

The hand on his neck moved. Geralt swiped across Jaskier's mouth with his sleeve and offered him their water skin, then set about tossing herbs from his bag into a mortar and pestle. Jaskier washed his mouth out and spat away the taste of sick, watching Geralt.

"You have to tell me if you're hurt or unwell, Jaskier. I can't help what I'm not aware of." He took a dollop of the paste he'd made onto his fingertips and coated the wound with it. Jaskier hissed as the burn intensified but it soon faded down into a dull pulse.

"I was afraid." That you'd go on without me, the words hung unsaid between them. Geralt moved closer to the fire, preparing a mug of tea without being asked, spearmint and chamomile and extra honey, the same he made for any of Jaskier's ailments. Jaskier took it gratefully, just the smell working to make him feel a little better.

"I'd rather have a complaining travel companion than one that could never complain again," Geralt said, finally, and when he tugged at Jaskier, Jaskier fell into him, slotted easily into his side, and was most of the way asleep by the time Geralt eased them both into lying down.

#sickfic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher sickfic #the witcher fanfiction #ask #fic request

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Note

Hi! Your fics are so amazing and I absolutely adore them ❤️ I have a fic prompt, though not the most novel, but in a reversal to Martin waking up w Jon gone, I propose Jon waking up post-160 to find Martin gone. Maybe after a nasty attack, so Jon’s extra tired and didn’t feel Martin leave and he has a hard time getting around! Regardless of whether you write this, thanks so much for sharing your fics!

(you are so kind and lovely, and this is an excellent prompt - thank you for sending it!)

post 160 apocalypse, jonmartin, hurt/comfort

content warnings in the tags

Wake up.

Jon breathes in a cold and smarting frost, and for a terrifying knee-jerk of a moment, he thinks the air panting and pluming from his mouth is fog.

The taste of Peter Lukas' last furies stick tacky under his tongue. This is a dream but then the world has grown so dream-like lately.

Jon curls up, nightmare-knocked and blinded by the confusion of being awake, clenching the covers over him like a den, like a hibernation, and wonders why the bed is so cold, why the room is so marred with quiet.

Wake up, something tolls in him with the furious clatter of church bells, wake up.

Dread itches over his skin, like there is something small and gritty and scraping in his eye.

Wake up.

Jon gasps, moans something that could be a 'no' as there is a sliding pulse and eyes pop open like boils on his skin, like the drip of hot wax skittering over the bruised and burned tapestry of his body, slit-shaped goat pupils expanding his vision panoramic.

The Eye wants to See something, and it will not take his exhaustion as excuse.

– Something is absent from us. –

The impression slicks over him, the dense oil of it poorly pervading the water of him.

– The front door was opened recently. –

– The temperature of the room has dropped three point two seven degrees. – – Something is absent from us. – – There is a cave twenty miles north-north-west and the ground surrounding it is sunken, subsumes the unwary that it draws to swim through ground they know is hard until their fingernails break and they choke on soil, beached and bloated with dirt in their lungs. – – A bird in the far distance, whose beak has twisted and stretched like a pointed sabaton, it spears through bodies and laps at the blood with its hideous tongue as they writhe and bleed out, and tonight it has caught two people this way. – – Something is absent from us. –

Jon opens his blinking, feeble human eyes. Feels around with his finger tips, feels the cool sheet next to him, the unoccupied imprint on the pillow.

Martin is not next to him.

“Martin?” he breathes out, hearing his damaged windpipe expel the sound with a laboured croak, like broken bellows. “Martin – christ – Martin? Martin?”

He cannot make a shout but he feels the intent of it as a build-up in his chest. He sits up and grinds his teeth down on a shout. His stomach concave with his fasting, battered with bruising. Martin dragged the creature off him and burnt his own palms in the process, impaling it on the molten tines of a garden fork, and all Jon had smelt was cooking meat as he'd been pulled to safety.

“Martin,” he says, and his legs, treacherous, traitorous, human, weak, give out under him, his knees slamming painfully against the hard-wood flooring and his ever-stretching vision swimming.

– Martin Blackwood is not in the kitchen, nor the bathroom, nor any rooms of the house, comes the tide of the voice.

– A man thirty miles away was ripped apart five minutes ago by a woman who looked like his dead sister, and he didn't scream as it ate his offal. These are his final thoughts: Marn? Marnie, but yea're dead, yea're dead Marn. –

– Martin Blackwood is not in our sanctuary, our sepulchres, our dominion –

– We did not traverse his fog-knotted dreams tonight, nor skim our fingers through the surface of them to taste the sound of them –

Jon tries to shake his head free of Seeing for a moment, so he can think, croaks out another Martin that is dismissed and dispersed amongst the gloom of the house. It's not night, not really, not when there is no such thing any more, but it's the closest thing they get in this world.

His arms shake as he levers himself up to standing, hobbling on his bandaged, fire-scoured leg. He almost drops again, but catches himself on the post at the end of the bed, grimly forces himself back up.

– Martin Blackwood did not leave us willingly –

– Martin Blackwood has been stolen –

– Martin Blackwood is thirty-three years old and six months and five days and he has told six people in his life that he loves them –

“Tell me something useful,” Jon hisses, blinking away tears at the raw agony that doesn't serve to dull his mounting panic. “Tell me where he is.”

Knowledge coats the inside of him like a slick, a spillage, a catastrophe far from land, and Jon grits his teeth as it strikes over him.

– Martin Blackwood on foot could have travelled a distance of two point six eight miles maximum in all directions. –

– Your last words before sleep were you must be exhausted. His last words before sleep were pressed against your hair, and they are the same words he prays against your scalp every night, I love you. Stay safe. Sleep dreamless. –

– There is a brook ten miles away that sings, and its waters are deceptively deep, shadows stretching out under the surface, waving like pondweed. –

– Martin Blackwood is whittling something for our birthday when he thinks we are asleep –

“Useless,” Jon snarls at himself, almost sobbing at the inanity of it, how little help his curse can provide him, how little he can protect those in his care. He tugs the door open wider, wincing, gargling with a cry as it pours down his throat, into his lungs. “Where....”

Eyes bloom as he flounders, blossom as he drowns.

He Sees in a deluge.

– Marija Blackwood kept his first tooth in an old ring box that they lost when they moved to London –

– Martin Blackwood's chances of surviving a direct attack from an suitably powered entity is less than fifteen percent –

– Martin Blackwood is talking to a man on the road who is not a man. The man lured him from our borders thinking he would be undefended –

Jon is staggering into shoes, his movements punch-and-judy ragged, jerked on worn-down strings. Every motion tugs and tears at his injuries – we could rip its statement from its pretence of lips, we are always so hungry aren't we, and it has dared to steal from our horde of one – and Jon bites down a whimpering cry as he feels the burst and pop of more eyes that push forth, wavering and shimmering like ill-formed soap bubbles, that coalesce in the place of skin like frogspawn.

A limping run out of the door. The path down to the mud-track at the bottom of the stumpy hill is swathed in dark, but Jon's Eyes glower in black-light, splayed wide as moth patterns, and nothing will dare touch such an Avatar.

Jon's pained steps get faster. He stumbles, catches himself on dirt-ripped palms, drags himself up. The thing inside him that is both him and not him is uncaring for the agony of his body as it turns more of his skin to its purposes, as his edges become less, as he pours over himself in a slick of bubbling sight and more eyes flex open like the maws of sea anemones as he strives to see, to See.

Martin's back is to him when he gets to the lane at the bottom of the hill on which their cottage presides. He's decked in his pyjamas, the hem of them soaked with dew and grass-strains. His feet are muddy and scratched up from walking down this track unprotected.

He sways like he's dizzy. His body is shaking and he doesn't turn around.

“Look, Jon!” he says, sounding ever so pleased, if anything buoyed with delight, even though his voice creaks, even though his hands are curved into trembling fists. “It's – you won't believe it, look, it's Tim, he found us, all the way out here.”

The man who is not a man studies the archivist solemnly. There are enough pieces of him slotted together to make an inventory of a human body, though they are jumbled, ordered wrong. He smiles out of his stomach, a fat, gluttonous grin.

He is a metre from Martin, not making any motion closer. He is enjoying the taste of Martin's confused terror too much.

Jon's Eyes ring his body like an aperture. The last of his skin has flaked away for a final bulbous, flexing eye to join the gelatinous whole of his vision.

Martin laughs at a joke. It is far too high.

“No, I can't believe it either!” he says, looking at the thing that does not even mimic the appearance of Tim Stoker, whatever is being shoved into Martin's struggling brain. He is smiling, a big bright beaming curve of a thing, even though his eyes are beginning to well up with desperate despairing tears. “We thought, god, Tim, we thought you were dead, how did you – ?”

“Martin,” Jon murmurs out of a body part no longer a throat, rocking dazedly on his unsteady limbs. “Martin, turn away.”

“I – ” Martin replies, still smiling. His eyes won't turn away from the man who is not Tim, even as they widen in grief, and he swallows and more tears flow down his face. It is clearly impossible for him to follow the impulses of his own contorted brain. It is clear he is trying. “I – it's Tim, Jon.”

– The Spiral cannot have Martin Blackwood –

– Martin Blackwood cannot come to harm –

– Martin Blackwood belongs to the Archives –

“Martin,” the Archivist repeats with a gargle of hungry static. “Turn away and don't look.”

Martin closes his eyes as commanded, almost dropping as his legs are finally able to move.

The Archive takes its statement messily, hungrily. Gets it all over his pyjamas, Martin's feet, the spatted dirt of the road.

He is no longer starving.

“Jon – that – that was – ” Martin's holding a horrified sob in his throat. His shaking has worsened, and Jon is both sated and exhausted down to the marrow of him. He straightens out his leg, rubs at the newly healed skin at his throat, feeling the unsettling sensation of marbles rolling back under his skin.

“I was so worried,” he manages to gasp out, “Martin, I woke up and – ”

He doesn't manage to finish the sentence. Martin, shell-shocked, quaking, Martin, nods. Understands. Near falls against him as he buries his face into Jon's neck.

They lean on each other as they make their way back to the cottage.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #post 160 #cws for body horror #cws for mind manipulation #hurt/comfort

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lovingxreader · 5 years

Text

Is It Because I’m A Woman

Chapter One: Woman

Rated M

Word Count: 1.8k

WARNING!!!! This chapter includes strong language, mentions of sexual encounters, and abuse

You can read this without having to watch the show!~

A/N: hello everybody! This is my first time writing for the show, I hope everyone enjoys it! Also sorry if it’s a bit rusty It’s been a while since I’ve written something so hopefully it isn’t too cringy. Anyway like and comment and tell me what you think and ENJOY!!!!

Suddenly I was thrusted out of my bed and onto the cold wooden floor. Sitting up I whipped my head around to see who had disturbed my sleep. My foster father stood over me before wrapping his fat fingers around my forearm. He yanked me to my feet before using his free hand to grab a hold of my curly tresses. I yelp as I the familiar sharp pain as he pulled my hair forcing me to look him in the eyes. “What the fuck are you doing sleeping? You ungrateful bitch, there is work to do and you dare to sleep!” He yelled before throwing me to the floor as I landed with a clatter. “Get up and stop being Pitiful and get to work. I’m not housing and feeding you, just for you to be a lazy cow!” He snarled as he left the room slamming the door shut behind him. This was how it’s always been, day after day, morning after morning ever since I was a little girl. As soon as I could walk I was taught how to cook and clean because as my father would say ‘it’s what women should do.’ I became a slave to a man I was suppose to call father. We lived in a fairly large house out on the outskirts of the city within one of the greatest kingdoms on the continent. He owned a store front in the market and a small workshop behind our house where he would work at his forge. When I was but a baby, my foster father found me swaddled down by a river when he was traveling. He took me in, fed me, and treated me as if I had come from his own loins. That was...until my elven ears started to take shape. From then on he treated me as if I was nothing more than some beast. I was taught the art of blacksmithing by the same man that when he realized I could make him coin instead of burnt venison. He made a living from my hard work and burnt hands.

Over time he went from being barely able to forge a spoon to suddenly being one of the best smiths on the continent. He was taking fame from my work and plagiarizing it as his own. Travelers, peasants, and royalty alike would come to the store to buy forged items from my father. When the coin should go to me and the supplies I use, instead it goes to gorging himself with ale and whores in the brothels. Despite the abuse and him using me as his personal cash cow, he would allow small grace moments where he would let me sit outside during the day and let me soak in the warm rays of the sun. The rest of the time I spent inside the lantern lit shop where I forged my creations by the blazing flames.

The workspace where I worked wasn’t drastically messy but definitely could have been cleaner. But even with the clutter, it was organized to a system that allowed me to work swiftly as I could. Once I was in the workshop my father wouldn’t interrupt me as he could hear the pounding of the mallet hitting the hot metal on the anvil. The only window (if you could even call it such) was in the roof which I had caused by accidentally catching it on fire while I was still learning. That same night when I made that mistake he ripped down my blouse, held me down and branded my shoulder with his family crest. Forever I will bear the scar of his family as if I was some cattle. At that point as I laid there in agony with tears streaming from my eyes, I truly lost hope of ever being free.

It was one of the small moments when father was still busy being pleasured down at the whore house early in the morning, that was when I was able to sneak out and explore the city. During the day when it would be buzzing with life, he kept me secret and locked in the workshop. I was walking through the empty streets, the morning mist still hanging low in the air. This particular morning had been a bit chilled so I adorned my dark woolen cloak. With each step I took it brushed against my ankles where the length of my skirt had gotten too short to keep them covered. From under the hood my platinum blonde curls cascaded out like a golden waterfall, it ending at my waist. In the dim rays of the sun slowly rising, the light passing through the mist illuminating my pale skin. With each step I enjoyed the sound of my boots on the cobblestone as I listen to the sound of the quiet city. I stopped for a moment to listen as I hear the sound of horses hooves and what seems like the endless chatter of a man swiftly approaching. Glancing around attempting to find a spot to conceal myself, I dart into a nearby alley between two buildings waiting for the rider to passby. “Can’t we stay for a bit longer Geralt; I’ve heard many ballads of the women from here being Exceptionally beautiful.” the man in colorful clothing with a lute on his back spoke as he walked beside a chestnut colored horse and it’s dark cloaked rider. My eyes widen as I saw him. From his broad shoulders to his enchanting golden eyes, it shook me to my core. His ghostly white hair peeking out from underneath the hood framing his sharp jawline and strong bone structure. I was in awe of him. Suddenly the rider halted his horse and glanced around as if somehow, he could feel me watching him from my hiding spot in the alley. “Do you see something?” The colorful clothed man asked as he looks up at the rider before glancing around himself in a more nervous manner. Then it happened, I caught his gaze. His amber eyes staring into my own crimson ones. I felt so naked as if I was a frightened deer standing before a hungry predator. Breaking from the trance of the rider’s gaze I moved from my hiding spot and bolted away from the two, my feet kicking up dust as I make my way back to the shop and the safety of my forge. As soon as I got to the door of the workshop I try to control my rapid breathing as I wait to hear the sound of horse hooves and footsteps following after me, but there was nothing but my heavy breath. Stepping back into the sanctuary of the shop, I removed my cloak and adorned my smock as I knelt down to start the fire just in time for father to come barging in for his morning degrading.

I was standing by the fire tossing in more enchanted fire salts when father bursts through the door holding a fairly damaged sword. “This one comes first. The ugly bastard of a witcher is paying a pretty coin for your work.” He spoke before he struggled to carry it to my workbench before turning and slamming the door shut behind him. Sighing deeply I wiped my dirty hands onto my apron as I approached the table. The blade indeed was heavily damaged, not only was the tip broken off, there was body damage on the blade and it was stained with what looked like dark blood. The leather straps on the blade’s handle were also worn down from how the owner held their hands on the handle. Picking up the sword I used both hands to lift the heavy weapon placing my hands where this ‘Witcher’ would put theirs. I marveled at the large size of the owners hands were from just the parts that were worn down on the leather. The weight of the sword itself was quite hefty as I held the sword in one hand. Turning on my heels I made a stance before taking a deep breath and attacked the air with a fluid motion as if fighting with a blade was easy. Rolling my shoulders back to stretch them, I set the blade back down and removed the leather straps before separating the blade from the hilt and sitting it within the white embers of the fire.

My arms were heavy and my feet in pain, my father had come into the shop after closing the store to bring me my meal for the day before leaving for his nightly visit to the brothel. This time it was a somewhat moldy loaf of bread. I sat on my stool picking off the pieces of untainted bread to consume. I watched the flames dance as they continued to burn brightly. Looking up I could see the stars through the opening in the roof as I rested my aching feet on a shorter stool. Grabbing a nearby cloth I used it to wipe the black coal and ash from my face. I desperately craved a hot bath as I could feel the gritty texture or dirt on my skin. Standing once again I went over to the fire, using tongs to grab the blade. Once removing it from the fire I brought it over to the anvil. Every time I pulled a piece of metal from the fire, I think of the branding on my shoulder as I try to stay focused to ignore the dull pain of the scar. Grabbing my hammer I began to pound on the searing hot metal, shaping it back to its original form ridding it of its imperfections. Between my constant rhythmic pounding and the roar of the fire I didn’t hear the sound of someone approaching till suddenly the door opened and in walked two men. There I was hammer still raised in the air as I stared at the same colorful man with the lute and the cloaked black rider from the morning. The man with the lute gawked at me with wide eyes and a shocked expression while the other stared plainly at me. I stood frozen in my spot as the one in colorful clothing spoke. “You’re a woman?!”

#the witcher imagines #witcher x reader #x reader #the witcher #fanfiction #the witcher angst #imagines #geralt of rivia imagines #geralt x reader

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ijustwant2write · 5 years

Text

The Other Woman (Part 2)-Jon Snow x Reader

(GIF credit to @joneryswarrior)

Request by @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored

Part 1

Summary: ‘Hi, I was reading The Other Woman-Jon Snow x Reader One Shot again and was wondering if you could write a continuation in which feelings begin to be born by the two and who know up to a fluffy smut that results in a baby and a possible happy ending maybe? (Sorry for my English and I will understand if you do not want to write it)’

Characters: Jon Snow x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: derogatory talk against women, sadness, anger, jealousy, light smut, fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Henry, get back here now! My lady, I am deeply sorry!” a woman fretted as her child ran into my legs, holding onto my dress as he fell backwards.

“It’s alright. He’s only having fun.” I giggled as I bent down, scooping my hands under his arms to stand him up.

He was just the cutest, big, innocent eyes, messy hair and rosy cheeks from running around all day. He smiled at me as he stood, his tiny hands clutching onto mine.

“Thank...you.” he managed to say.

I pushed his long hair out of his eyes, gently pushing him back towards his mother. He stumbled towards her, the woman gratefully smiling at me as she bowed her head. I continued my walk, trying to not think too much about the adorable child. It was heartbreaking to face crowds of families when you didn’t have your own, and knowing you probably never would. I understood a little more about Jon after our deep conversation about his past lover. And although I was happy about him opening up, it made me realise how inexperienced I was compared to him.

He had made love to a woman (god knows how many times), whereas I had never even kissed a man. He had said I was beautiful, but would he find me attractive when he realised how little experience I had? I didn’t want to think of Jon like that, it was my mind playing games on me. However, since we had never spoke of it since, I felt that it would be awkward to bring it up out of no where. How was I supposed to explain all of this? How was I supposed to bring up wanting a child again when nothing came of it the first time?

As we sat with the banner men for our monthly meeting, eating and drinking whilst rejoicing in the peace that we had kept, I felt Jon’s hand ghost over mine before he properly held it. He had never done this before. I found myself staring it in shock, especially when his thumb tenderly stroked the back of my hand. Glancing at the other men, they were too busy getting drunk to notice, not that they would anyway. I looked back to Jon, who was happily smiling, taking small sips of his mead. He finally turned his head to me, his expression not changing. I wanted to say something, ask him about the sudden affection; but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, wanting to relish in the sentiment.

I noticed small differences like this over the coming weeks. He would be with me more often, hold my hands in public, I even found him sleeping closer to me in bed. At first I tried to not let it get to my head, not wanting to fool myself that he was actually caring for me. No one had ever shown this sort of affection towards me, all I had ever done was daydream of experiencing love, or something close to that. So to stop any hurt coming my way, I played it off as a public display, something to keep our peers believing in our alliance.

“You don’t seem too pleased about this trip we’re taking.” I stated as I sat on our bed, removing my shoes.

He too started to take off his heavy clothes.“I’m not pleased that you have to come along. Lord Adley is not a respectable man.”

“How so?”

“He does not care for other people’s things, especially wives.”

“Oh, so now I’m a thing?” I teased him.

He chuckled, walking towards me.“Definitely not. But he won’t see it that way.”

“Jon, I have to come. That’s just the way it is.”

“It will be hard to stay in line around him. I hope he doesn’t offend you.”

I flopped onto my back.“Well if he does I’ll just have to hold my tongue, as women always do.”

He was still stood over me, looking down with a smile.“As will I.”

After an hours ride away from Winterfell, we arrived at Lord Adley’s castle, although small it bared a striking image; the walls were dark, though there were new bricks filling in where the wall had crumbled...or been attacked. There were more men than women here, though his guards and soldiers held no poise; they were slouched, leaning up against walls, slumping in chairs. As we entered the hall with some of our own banner men, instead of them rising in respect, they took their time to stand, seeming smug about it. Jon’s jaw clenched, sharing a glance with our own men as we continued to walk forwards. Lord Adley sat proudly in his chair, opening his arms out as he spoke.

“Welcome Lord and Lady Snow!” he bellowed, his voice gruff and deep.“My, what a pleasure it is to see you again. How long has it been? Two years?”

“Thank you for having us here. And yes, it has been quite a while.” Jon politely replies.

“My, my, Lady Snow, you are even more beautiful than when I last saw you. Surprised this one has been able to keep his trousers on around you.”

His men roared into laughter, clutching at their fat bellies and wheezing. My face remained neutral, deciding not to reply, even when they calmed themselves. It seemed that it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because he carried on talking.

“So, we shall have our meeting, discuss these matters, and that will be all. But I do believe it would be a good idea to have your wife there. Not for her opinion obviously! I couldn’t imagine anything funnier! No, no, she’s just nice to look at.”

It was plain to see that Jon was desperately trying to contain his anger.“With all due respect, I do think that-”

“Come on! Let’s get on with it!”

I held into Jon’s arm, making him look at me. He huffed as Lord Adley’s heavy footsteps bounded towards us, coming between us. I tried to not recoil as he wrapped his arms around us. He was a mad man, not caring what others thought, he was always right. And I saw more of this throughout the meeting. He wanted me to sit right next to him, but Jon got between us before he had the chance. Before Adley could protest, Jon warned him that I was still his wife, and that respect was supposed to be on both ends. He reluctantly agreed, though the fury was in his eyes.

I couldn’t help but watch Jon intently, noticing more and more things he was going for me. He continued to hold my hand, leaning slightly in front of me to block the view of those gawking. If it weren’t for Jon, I wouldn’t feel safe, these men were unpredictable, you just never knew what their reaction or action would be. Luckily, Adley didn’t want to talk for long, and the gathering was wrapped up sooner than we thought, all problems or worries now resolved. Jon couldn’t drag me out of there fast enough if he tried, stern and silent as we rode through the evening. It put me slightly on edge, hoping that his bad mood was down to Adley and his men, and that I hadn’t unintentionally done anything.

“Jon, you can relax now, you don’t need to be so tense.” I told him as I slipped into bed.

He was slumped in a chair, deep in thought, half dressed.“How can men be like that? They knew you were my wife yet they disrespected that notion.”

“Because they couldn’t give two shits about respect or nobility. That’s the way it’s been with them and it always will be.”

“Did you feel uncomfortable?”

I decided to answer, knowing he would see through me anyway.“Yes, but I felt safe with you there.”

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“Thank you Jon, I’m lucky to have such a respectful and caring man such as you. Imagine if I had been forced to marry one of them. Or even Adley!”

Jon stood from the chair, and we held eye contact as he climbed onto the bed, laying by my legs as he placed a hand on it.“Do you ever think of what might have happened if you didn’t marry me?”

“I used to. Though everyone does, I’m sure you did. But I was lucky with you as a choice, you’ve never done me wrong. I just had such a picture in my head of love, and all the experiences that came with it; that’s why I was angry with you. But then that wasn’t fair, because I was then pressuring you.”

He sat up, inching closer to me.“(Y/N), I know it has taken time, but I feel like we have grown closer. You’re my wife, and I should treat you as such, not because I have to, but because I want to.”

His face was so close to mine, I could feel his breath on mine. I had never been so close to a man like this before, and suddenly my heart was racing. Jon’s beautiful eyes were soft, not afraid to look right into mine, though mine were wide and scared. It was agony as he kept on leaning in, until he kissed me. Though awkward at first, I easily melted into it, especially when his hand clutched onto the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair. We flowed together, hands roaming, his gentle and conservative, mine nervous and shaking. My mind was yelling that this was different, it was scary, pull away now before something happens that you can’t control, but my heart easily out shouted it, wanting to experience this new feeling feeling building in my stomach.

“Don’t be scared.” Jon whispered.

“I’m not.” I lied.

“If there’s anything you don’t want to do, tell me. I’ll respect your wishes.”

I nodded, taking a shaky breath as he laid me down. I had never put much thought into how this would actually feel, or how I would feel about the person I was doing it with. However, this somehow felt right, even though I had never done this before. Jon was the right man, he was my husband, not a regret.

For two people who said that they had no love for each other, who were forced into this marriage, the sex was filled with passion, or at least I thought so. Jon had been so gentle, so kind, so loving; I had been overwhelmed by all the new sensations, both physically and mentally. Though there was a completely new experience I was about to face, and I wasn’t sure how Jon would feel.

Just like those few weeks ago (and quite a few times after that), Jon was holding me in his arms as we lay don in bed, and I felt those same nerves I did the first time. Rolling over to face him, I almost leapt onto him after seeing the look in his eyes.

“Jon,” my voice was quiet,“I have to tell you something.”

He waited for me to carry on.

I took his hand, placing it on my belly.“There’s no easier way of saying this than...well I saw the maester today and he has confirmed that...I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widened, lighting up at the same time, a gasp escaping his lips as he smiled.“W-what? We....we’re going to have a child?”

Tears rolled down my cheeks quickly, relieved that he was happy.“Yes. After all that time nagging you.”

We laughed, kissing as we cried.“I’m so happy. I cannot believe I am having a child.”

“You deserve family Jon, you deserve so much more than you think.”

“And I have everything now, right in front of me, in my arms.”

#jon snow #jon snow imagine #jon snow imagines #jon snow one shot #jon snow x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones one shot #game of thrones x reader

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cowboyshit · 5 years

Text

La Princesse (Part Two)

I ahhh! here’s part two! I thought it would only be two parts, but I think it’s going to eventually go into a third part. no smut happens yet (sorry!), but I did decide to make jungle boy the foc’s best friend and might have hinted at a potential oc love interest for him IF I ever get the courage up to write a fic for him askjfkdfllsj hopefully I didn’t butcher any of the characters too much here!!!

Previously: part one

Ship: Chris Jericho x Sarah Rose (plus-sized FOC)

Summary: It’s been one week since Chris Jericho singled Sarah out at an AEW company party and asked if she’d let him be her sugar daddy. One week. That was all the time he gave her to make up her mind. The more days pass, the more Sarah realizes she kind of really wants to say yes.. and when she does, she gets a small taste of just what Chris Jericho has in mind for her...

Rating: Mature (sexual talk / sugar daddy/sugar baby stuff)

Warnings: sugar daddy kink stuff, mainly dirty talk

Length: 4,991 words

Available below the cut

“Are you kidding me?!” Her voice echoed around the empty, one-room studio apartment, yelled in irritated agony from her cramped adjacent bathroom. “That’s the second time this month the hot water has gone out,” she muttered as she stumbled out of her bathroom with a large towel wrapped and secured around her, searching for where she’d set her phone. Her large calico cat stretched and mewed softly from where it’d been lounging on the bed. When she glanced over, she noticed her phone was lying by the cat’s side.

“Thanks Vixen,” she said, as if her cat had told her where her phone was and reached to grab it before dialing her landlord.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

No answer.

Suppressing a frustrated sigh, she kept her voice as level and calm as possible when the answering machine clicked over. “Hi Blake, it’s Ashley. The hot water is out again. I’ll be leaving out of town today, back Thursday evening, so if we could get someone to come look at it before I get home, that’d be fantastic. Thank you!” Ending the call, she groaned in irritation and sighed through her nose to settle her frayed nerves. Getting upset about it wasn’t going to solve her problems and she had places to be. Ice cold shower it was.

It’d been six days since Chris Jericho had cornered her at the company party and propositioned her to be her sugar daddy. Every day since, when she came face-to-face with areas of her life that were less-than-ideal and would be easily fixed with money, his deal sounded better and better. When she browsed social media and inevitably came across a post about him, she’d pause and eventually catch herself staring at him for a little too long. All in all, the closer Wednesday drew, the more she began to realize she was considering accepting his offer.

She assumed he was only going to have her as his arm candy behind-the-scenes and couldn’t see him wanting to parade her out every time he had a show. She’d been a bigger sized girl her entire life, bullied in school, bullied at home, and shunned from social events just because she wasn’t the “ideal size” by society’s skewed, incorrect standards. Sure, the world was changing, growing, a body positive movement was on the rise, but there were still leaps and bounds to make. She’d only just begun to respect her body herself and still stumbled from time to time, catching old, hurtful thoughts returning, but she supposed it was all a learning process. All that aside, this was Chris Jericho. He wouldn’t want a fat girl on his arm as a sign of status, right? This would probably just be a fun, private thing.

Her heart sunk a little bit and she took a breath to steel herself against the disappointment. Shaking her head, she glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror and rolled her eyes.

“You’re letting old insecurities get the best of you,” she reminded herself. Besides, the point wasn’t whether or not he wanted to show her off. The point was that Chris Jericho confessed not only that he’d been watching her behind the scenes and not only that he thought she was beautiful, but that he wanted her. He wanted to shower her in gifts his wealth and status could bring. He wanted to spoil her. All he asked in return was her dutiful obedience and her returned affections. Which wasn’t a downside in the slightest, considering she was attracted to him.

She looked around her small studio apartment and met the green-yellow eyes of her cat, who softly meowed at her. “We wouldn’t be heartbroken to leave this place behind, would we baby?” She asked as she moved to scoop her kitty up into her arms and scratched her affectionately behind the ears and under her chin. “I’ll be back Thursday night,” she pressed a sweet kiss on her forehead, “you be good for the sitter.”

Goodbyes given, dressed and showered, she gathered her small carry-on and caught a rideshare to the airport. Having to fly practically every week got her used to the hassle quickly, making most airports less intimidating than they’d originally seemed. Plus, since her best friend lived nearby, she often got lucky enough to fly to the shows along with him.

“Sarah! Hey!” Right on cue, a soft, warm male voice beckoned, raising just loud enough for her to catch it above the background chatter of the airport terminal.

“Jack!” She grinned as she caught sight of the slender, fit young athlete with the luscious, long tumble of soft, curly hair. Jungle Boy Jack Perry was a few years younger than she was and the two had become surprisingly quick friends. Surprising on Sarah’s part because she hadn’t expected to consider herself friends with any of the talent on the roster. Jungle Boy was humble though, and down to earth. Sweet, and caring. She appreciated his friendship more than ever as well as his advice whenever she was faced with a problem in her life.

She hadn’t told him about Jericho’s offer yet… she didn’t think he’d be so interested in the idea as she was. Not that she and Jungle Boy were anything romantic – they’d probably both laugh at anyone who suggested it – but because he didn’t trust Chris Jericho as far as he could throw him, and he wouldn’t want Sarah getting mixed up with the likes of the Inner Circle.

“Always love it when we get the same flight,” he said after a quick hug, then raised an eyebrow pointedly at the ticket in her hand. “I’ll like it even better if you tell me you’re sitting with me.”

Sarah looked at her ticket and read her seat number aloud.

A grin lit up Jungle Boy’s gentle, youthful face. “Perfect! I’m next to you and Marko’s next to me. We’ve got the row. Come on, we’re waiting over here.”

Jungle Boy reached with his long arms, fingers scooping the handle of her carry on and tugging it out of her grasp before she could say a word. He led her toward the waiting area in front of the gate which was still only half-crowded and sure to gain numbers the closer that loading time came. Marko glanced up from his phone as they neared, his voluminous mane of curly hair barely contained by the baseball cap he wore backwards on his head. His grin picked up bright, showing all his teeth, and Sarah found it infectious as always, smiling back.

“Sarah! It’s been forever!”

“It’s only been a week, Marko,” she said with a laugh as she lowered to the seat beside him.

“Oh yeah!” He laughed and went back to typing on his phone.

Immediately, naturally, Sarah cheated her body toward Jungle Boy as he turned toward her. They started talking, mostly about their day since they texted or talked on the phone or met up and hung out occasionally throughout the week. When she’d first started in AEW as backstage personnel she’d felt completely out of her element and sure someone was going to point a finger in her face and tell her she didn’t belong, but Jungle Boy never did that. When she confessed to him that she had pipe dreams about being a wrestler, he’d been encouraging.

And still was. She hadn’t taken the jump yet to try and pursue that avenue, even though she was lucky to have so many chances at her fingertips. Jungle Boy didn’t press, but he constantly reminded her of how important it was to follow your dreams, no matter what.

They were called for boarding and as they shuffled through the loading ramp to the airplane, Marko elbowed Jungle Boy in the ribs and jerked his head toward her. Sarah caught it out of the corner of her eye, but it was clear she wasn’t supposed to. They were exchanging looks, communicating without talking, Jungle Boy frowning and shaking his head as he motioned for Marko to stop, and Marko nodding encouragingly and lifting his brows higher.

“Uh, guys? What sort of super-secret meeting are you two having?”

Jungle Boy jumped a little in place at having been caught and a sheepish expression crossed his sweet face as he looked at her and then down at the ground, readjusting his grip on the handle of his rolling carry-on. Marko, on the other hand, didn’t look too upset at having been caught. His blue eyes jumped between them, back and forth and back and forth, and he raised an elbow and jabbed Jungle Boy again.

“Someone’s got to talk, otherwise this is going to be a long plane ride,” she said as they shifted closer to loading.

“Let’s talk after,” Jungle Boy suggested, his deep voice ever calm, but when Sarah met his eyes she saw something that gave her pause. Worry twisted in her belly. Jungle Boy said nothing, but reached between them and gently wrapped his long, artful fingers around hers. He gave a comforting squeeze and separated their hands.

The flight was only a couple hours, but Sarah spent the entirety of it wondering what on earth Jungle Boy wanted to say to her. And why did Marko know? Was Jungle Boy… into her beyond their friendship? Never in a million years would she have the thought that he could want their relationship to be romantic, and nearly laughed the thought off. But you never thought Chris Jericho would look twice at you, did you? Sarah frowned and pretended to be interested in the in-flight film, but she hadn’t been able to pay attention to it the entire time and still couldn’t, too caught up in the thoughts running through her mind.

She hoped that wasn’t it. It wasn’t any fault of his, he was handsome and sweet and charming… but he wasn’t her type.

They shared a ride to the hotel and had just checked in when Marko noticed a fellow roster-member loitering in the lobby. “Sammy!” He shouted, grin spreading with imp-like delight over his face as he ducked through the crowd, quick, and went for the phone Sammy Guevara was using to record his YouTube vlog with. Sammy shouted as Marko snatched it out of his hands, and the shenanigans were on. The two sped off into the crowd, chasing one another, and Sarah grinned and shook her head. Boys.

After realizing their rooms were near one another’s, Sarah and Jungle Boy started for the elevators. He still hadn’t started talking and she was too nervous about it to prompt him. The tension between them on the elevator was thick enough to cut with a knife. They’d never been like this before… Sarah was worried. Maybe she should be the one to start, to rip the band aid off and just get it all out in the open. The doors opened, and they stepped calmly out into the hallway, beginning to walk toward their rooms. Hers came up first and they came to a stop. Sarah drew in a heavy breath and turned toward Jungle Boy.

“Why were you with Jericho?” He said it softly, but it was loud enough. Sarah stared, still open-mouthed, and slowly closed her lips. Jungle Boy’s brows dipped, and his eyes lifted to her face. He looked… concerned. Not angry. Not jealous. Worried.

“When?” She said like an idiot, her brain still scrambling through the fact that Jungle Boy had seen her with Jericho when he proposed the idea she be his sugar baby. How much had he seen? Had he seen Jericho tilt the glass and gently pour expensive champagne past her lips? Had he seen Jericho pull her in close as he leaned forward and leave a sweet, lingering kiss against them?

“At the party. Last week.” He said it calmly, but with a rising edge to his tone. Don’t play dumb and innocent with me, Sarah Rose. I know you too well.

“Oh...I…” her face was getting hot. Damnit! She was always so susceptible to blushing, and remembering that intimate, shared moment with Jericho struck energy in her veins and made her heartbeat quicken.

“Look, Sarah…” Jungle Boy started, one hand on his luggage, the other pinching the slender dip of his hip, “I care about you, okay? I’m not going to sit here and tell you who to talk to and who not to talk to, but Jericho…” he trailed off for a minute in thought and shook his head, brow pinching in as his dark, worried eyes returned to hers. “I just don’t think he’s a good person. I don’t think he’d really care about you.” Her initial worry about not telling him for that very reason (that he mistrusted Jericho) had been right. He and Jericho had their own slowly-brewing rivalry, after all.

Still, his concern touched her. Would it be different if he knew the truth?

“Jack…” she glanced around and knew they might run into another familiar face or be overheard. “Come on,” she jerked her chin toward her hotel door and pulled the keycard free, swiping and unlocking it. They walked in and she set her bag by the bed before lowering to sit on its edge. Jungle Boy leaned on the entertainment center in front of her, arms crossed over his slim but muscular chest.

“Chris Jericho isn’t going to be my boyfriend.”

He looked a little relieved but could read her and knew by her tone and expression that there was more coming.

“He… look, this is probably going to sound crazy, okay, but… hear me out. He asked me if he could be my sugar daddy.”

Jungle Boy’s brows shot up, wrinkling his forehead, and then fell and pinched hard inward.

“I know, I know. I couldn’t believe it either. I mean,” she frowned and glanced down her front, seeing her belly protruding with how she sat. “I’m not exactly sugar baby material for Chris freaking Jericho, you know?” She laughed, intending it to come across as a joke. A natural defense mechanism. Make the joke about yourself before someone can make it about you. She still hadn’t quite outgrown that gut reaction, even in Jungle Boy’s presence, who constantly chided her any time she said anything negative about herself. Even now, amid this new revelation, her self-deprecating comment had a stern frown from him thrown briefly her way.

“I haven’t given him an answer yet.” She said.

“And when you do? What are you going to say?”

She hesitated, gently pinching her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought. But it wasn’t her answer she was thinking so hard about. She was worried what Jungle Boy was going to say and how he was going to look at her if she told the truth.

“I think…” she forced herself to meet his eyes. “I think I might say yes? I know it’s crazy, but I could really use the financial help, and… you know me well enough by now to know I like my men to be older. I dunno… it might be fun to just live a little, and I’ve never really been anyone’s first choice, romantically, especially not someone as in the celebrity spotlight as him. It makes me feel…” she was bright red, but forced the word out, “sexy. It’s not like we’re going to fall in love or anything serious. It just makes me feel good that I have a multimillionaire who wants to spoil me and give me pretty things and have some fun with. I’ve never had anything like that before, you know?”

Sarah trailed off, quiet, and swore she could hear the heavy beats of her heart as she waited for what he was going to say. He sighed a long, low breath and reached up, pushing his long, thick curls out of his face.

“I get it… kind of. I mean, I don’t, but I’m… trying to.” He looked at her and she saw the confliction written clear as day across her face. “Just… promise me if it starts to go sour or he isn’t treating you fair, you aren’t going to keep it from me? Just… be safe, Rose. That’s all I’m saying.” She could tell he didn’t like it, not one bit, but what could she expect? He already told her he didn’t like Jericho, so she couldn’t think he’d suddenly get over it and cheer for her. But… it meant something that his only worry remained for her. That he wasn’t going to tell her what to do or what not to do, even if he didn’t like it himself. He just wanted her to be safe.

Sarah smiled, standing from the bed and walking over to him. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest. He sighed the tension from his body after a lingering second, then reached with his long arms to gently wrap around her and hold her against him.

“I’ll be safe.” She promised and felt a little giddy. Saying it all out loud somehow made it more real. Like it wasn’t some fantasy in her mind. It was concrete. Factual. Tomorrow she’d be one-on-one with Chris Jericho, telling him she wanted to be his sugar baby and he, her sugar daddy.

“Alright,” he said, his chest rumbling gently with that smooth, low voice of his. His arms squeezed a little harder for a second, then released their tension. They stepped apart but remained close. “And if he ever hurts you, Sarah, or tries to make you do something you don’t want to…” something crept in the underbelly of his voice – the hero’s tone – and he pulled her back, so his eyes could squarely meet hers, “you’re not going to keep it from me. Me, Luchasaurus, and Marko… we’ll always have your back.”

Sarah doubted a man who was ready to spoil her was going to cause her harm, but she reminded herself Jungle Boy saw someone far different than she did when he looked at the likes of Chris Jericho. The fact that he wasn’t making her feel bad for considering going for it and only making sure that she knew she had an out if things went sideways was what was most important. So, Sarah held her tongue and didn’t argue or try and point out that Jericho could be different than what he thought he knew. She smiled and reached for his hand, giving it a little squeeze.

“Thank you, Jack. I don’t know what I used to do without you.”

His grin pushed higher into one side of his cheek than the other.

“Hey, by the way,” she kept her tone lofty as she released his hand and turned to start unpacking her suitcase, “I heard Valentina was going to be at the show tonight.”

There was a small stumble behind her, and Sarah bit down on her smile to keep it from spreading as she glanced over at him. He tried to play cool, but she had always had a feeling he liked the little spit-fire independent wrestler. Valentina hadn’t been signed to the AEW roster yet, but word was tonight was her try-out with the audience. She’d have a match that’d air on Dark next week and they’d see how receptive everyone was to her. Sarah had a feeling she was going to have an AEW contract in front of her before long… and it’d be fun to tease Jungle Boy about how bashful and tongue-tied he got around her.

“Just thought you’d like to know.” Sarah said with obviously feigned innocence in her voice and grinned over at Jungle Boy, who frowned and tried his very best to pretend he wasn’t personally interested.

“Oh, uh, that’s good for her…” His voice trailed, and he frowned and nodded. “I’m sure she’ll do well.” He was doing his best, but Sarah was struggling to fight the smile from spreading across her face, clearly seeing how affected he was by just a mention of her. Sarah couldn’t believe she’d actually been afraid his feelings had gone romantic for her.

“Yeah,” she agreed, calming her grin as best she could. “Good for her.”

*****

“There you are.”

Everything inside her body seized and twisted tight. Butterflies in her stomach. The voice had come from behind her, and she’d been bent, reaching to fix where the cords had been taped to the ground. A glance over her shoulder at him as she stood showed Jericho with his head tilted, eyes peering over his sunglasses as he appreciated her large ass bent toward him. On the shoulder of his flashy, sequined suit jacket he held the beautiful AEW World Champion belt. For a second her eyes were stuck on it and the way it glittered like stars, even under the unflattering fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

Then she looked at him. She’d turned to face him and felt entirely underdressed for the moment in her company t-shirt, a pair of worn jeans, and tennis shoes. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she hadn’t bothered wearing make-up. Sometimes she needed to run around backstage or jump in and help move something heavy, and she could work up a sweat. Her job didn’t require her to look glamorous, though she’d thought about it that night, knowing Jericho would be coming to her before the show.

Damnit… she should have put some on. What if he changed his mind?

In contrast to her, Jericho was ready for the spotlight as ever. His long blond and peppered white hair was tied neatly back, not a strand out of place. He must’ve shaved before coming to the convention center, because his face was smooth, without even a hint of a five o’clock shadow. He had on a sequined black suit jacket, no shirt underneath, and it gave a peek of his aged, but sturdy, strong chest underneath. Sarah swallowed her nerves down and met his eyes as he slowly pulled the sunglasses off his face.

Jericho leaned in and, gripping her gently on the elbow, turned her this way and that so he could lay a sweet, fondly lingering kiss to either side of her cheeks. Sarah could feel how warm her cheeks had gotten when he moved back and saw the way his grin deepened as he noticed it too. She was blushing beneath his stare, her heart beating quickly beneath his all-knowing stare. He knew how much he affected her, and he seemed to like it.

“Did you consider my offer, baby girl?” He reached lazily and brushed a strand of her hair back over her shoulder. His eyes met hers.

This was it. Sarah was going to tell Chris Jericho she wanted to be his sugar baby.

“Yes,” she squeaked and cleared her throat, floundering shyly beneath his steady, amused stare.

“And?” His pupils jumped, studying her. Was he… actually nervous she’d say no? Was Chris Jericho worried that she wouldn’t want him?

“I… want to.” She whispered it, couldn’t say it too loud, but she managed to push the words out somehow.

A smile spread over his face as he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. It was that same celebratory grin he wore whenever the world was turning in his favor; when thousands upon thousands of people chanted the phrases he spoke. “Ohhh princess,” he chuckled breathy in a lower tone, licking his lips and letting his eyes drop purposely slow down every round curve of her body. He leaned in, careful not to bump her into the world championship belt, and lowered his mouth softly against hers. Sarah found herself naturally pressing up on her toes so she could deepen their kiss, pursing her lips. Jericho pushed his tongue along hers and groaned as he did. The sound of it rumbling in his throat tightened the muscles in her lower abdomen and made her shift her weight, pressing and squishing the fat of her thighs together.

“Heh,” he pulled away slowly and stared down at her. His fingers slipped up and down the back of her arm, raising goosebumps where he touched. As if unable to keep himself from her, Jericho leaned in again, one hand steadying the belt and keeping it on his shoulder as he pressed his nose into her hair and littered quick, soft teasing kisses warmly on the sensitive skin of her neck. He spoke low, whispering promises as his free hand pinched into the fat over her hip. “Mmm baby… daddy can’t wait to spoil you… I’m going to buy you the world.”

“God…” she whimpered, eyes wanting to roll. Her fingers bent at her sides, desperate to touch him, to grab him and pull her hard against her. She refrained, but just barely. This was pornographic perfection and they hadn’t even done anything yet. It had to be some sort of dream or something, because real life couldn’t be like this.

“You can just call me daddy, princess. No need to call me a god.” He said as he pulled away from her, mouth spread in that trademark conceited grin of his. It was the one that said he knew exactly what a shit he was being. It was the one that said he knew he could get away with being a shit because he was who he was. “Now,” he said, straightening and shifting the weight of the belt more comfortable on his shoulder. He wore the strap with such comfortability, like an extension of his arm. A piece of himself. “We need to get you to wardrobe and make-up. Come on.”

Jericho turned, hand settling on her arm, fingers gently pinching her arm. He guided her alongside him and didn’t break stride, even when her confusion caused her to stumble a bit.

“Wait- Wardrobe? Make-up? Why?”

“Baby,” Jericho tilted his head and glanced down at her, sunglasses still pushed up into his hair so his blue eyes could be hers. “You’ve got new status now and daddy wants to make sure the whole world knows it. You can’t come out with me and the Inner Circle in your company clothes.”

“C-come out with you? Like… on live… television?”

“Princess,” he laughed gently, not mocking, “if you really don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do - hey-” he reached out and stopped her in the hallway, turning to face her. “I need you to understand sweetheart… anything that makes you uncomfortable, you need to tell me, okay? I want to show you off, but if you don’t like that, you don’t have to.”

Sarah barely felt like she could breathe for a minute, touched by the concern written sincere across his face. She hadn’t… expected that. But then again, he was so good to those who were closest to him, should she be so surprised? She was, essentially, a part of Jericho’s Inner Circle now, and she saw how much he touted the greatness he saw in every member of his faction.

“I… want to.” She decided, nodding and looking up at him, nervous but excited smile pushing into her soft, round cheeks.

He lit up with what appeared to be genuine happiness, and Sarah’s heart lifted. She had a feeling being his sugar baby wasn’t going to be hard at all, because she genuinely enjoyed doing things that made him happy. She liked to think of herself as the one person Chris Jericho wanted enough and cared for enough that it’d keep his eyes and make him want to spend what he earned on her. Only the best for a man like Chris Jericho, and he wanted her.

“Then come on princess, let’s get a taste of all the ways daddy is going to spoil you.” He said, playfully slipping his fingers down the large curve of her ass and pinching into the ample fat there. She squeaked in surprise and jumped a little, making him laugh and smacked his palm against it. The clap bounced around the narrow cement walls of the hallway as he rubbed his hand gently over where it’d stung. His fingers curled and squeezed into the fat and then released, finally pulling away.

“Daddy’s going to have so much fun with you,” he said with a chuckle, “I’m having trouble keeping my hands off you”

She ducked her head, cheeks warming again, and laughed. Her dazed gaze reached his handsome profile. “I can’t wait until you don’t have to keep them off me, daddy.” She managed to say it, though it took a second longer than a natural flow to a conversation. He didn’t seem to mind the hesitation, eyes jerking to her face and smile twitching over his lips. To hear her call him daddy seemed to have an instant effect, a damn near magnetized pull.

“This is going to be the longest show of my whole damn career, isn’t it?” He asked as they neared the doorway with the printed paper sign slipped in a clear plastic sheet protector that read: WARDROBE. He reached for the door handle and ran his eyes shamelessly again up and down her curved figure. “All I’m going to be thinking about tonight is all the ways I’m going to get you to say, ‘thank you daddy’ afterwards and how many times I’m going to get you to say it.”

She couldn’t find sense to respond - she was breathless, dizzy, mind running wild with all the dirty thoughts he must have in mind and how badly she wanted him - he winked and pushed the door handle open, holding it for her before he nodded for her to step inside. “Come on princess, let’s get you ready. Daddy wants to show his sugar baby off to the whole damn world.”

#chris jericho #chris jericho fanfiction #aew fanfiction #wrestling fanfiction #fanfiction #mine: fanfiction #my fics: chris jericho

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eerythingisshaka · 5 years

Text

Will the Bell Ring? Pt. 6

[Erik Killmonger x Black!OC]

Word Count: 6.7K

A/N: I am now inspired to write again because a tweet said that Disney+ had hella issues on the date it dropped and 10 million people still stuck around to watch it. I’m taking that same energy with me.

“Mara, I won’t ask you again.” Erik says sternly. Kimara looks around casually, glad that they are at least located in a public place...though he still doesn’t seem to care.

“MARA!” Erik barks.

“Don’t cause a scene! Damn, you have absolutely no common sense!” She hisses as an elderly white couple looks away and walks faster down the path. A breeze starts to pick up in the air, causing the treetops to dance in the distance.

“Really? All I got is common sense when I hear you tryna pull a fast one on me. And to bring someone I respect in on this, that’s fuckin low!”

Kimara adjusts her seating on the bench as the metal digs into you thigh meat. “Respect?? Oh please, you were just knocking him on some petty shit last week! And I didn’t mean to! Ok? I’m sorry!”

“For what? I need specifics, lay out the entire situation for all the other nosy white folks walkin round the park today. They wanna see someone act a fool, I’ll give it to them if you keep pussy footin around.” Erik leans back on the bench, spreading his chest wide with pride as he stares her down. She can’t stand him.

Kimara lets out a sigh, laying one hand on his inner thigh for extra focus. “I am sorry...for putting you through so much pain and agony. I know how much the relationship means to and I shouldn’t have put it in danger by getting myself involved without talking to you first. And even then, I should’ve known better. I couldn’t even enjoy it without thinking about you and what you would think. So...never again. I promise.”

Erik scratches his chin, bouncing his leg before dipping his head down to look at Kimara over his fake gold rimmed eyeglasses with matronly contempt. “Long as you learnt never to watch Euphoria without me, we good.”

Kimara squeezes his leg, letting out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God. You really bout to cut me over Fez and Rue huh?”

Erik sits up, clapping his hands together. “They are the true OTP if I ever seen one. They ain’t even gotta be intimate or whatever, just the fact that someone been through her journey and is now doing everything to help clean her up while the forces of small white town bullshit enable her is...poetry dawg.” Erik leans back shaking his head in awe.

“Babe, you are sappier than a maple tree in the summertime.” Kimara shakes her head, the loveliness of their conversation filling her head like a delicious fog she didn’t want to ever see the end of, but Erik’s lunch break was almost up.

Erik kisses her softly, making Kimara wipe the transfer of her gloss off his lips.

“Uh uh! Don’t worry bout all that baby. If that shit makes your lips as good as I like, I could use some too.”

“You so stupid!” Kimara cackles as they both get off their bench and walk side by side: his hand on her hip, her arms locked around his waist with one ear to his chest.

“This was nice.” Erik says distantly, more to himself than to her.

Kimara cranes her face toward his. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah, just to not think about any of the bullshit we’ve had to deal with, enjoy God’s creations out here in the gentrified park. I feel like a damn retiree with stock and bonds and 401K real fat.”

Kimara settles in step with him again. “But you have all those things…”

“But I ain’t retired! White America don’t want a nigga to retire. Swear everything would go belly up if Black folks could live off of the fruits meant for them. They’d burn the whole damn thing down before that would happen.”

Kimara rubs his back to settle him. “Peaceful thoughts, remember?”

Erik’s chest expands and caves. “Aight. But real life is literally around the corner, so as much as I would like to have you in my office, I got shit to take care of.” Erik takes her chin and lifts her face up to his. “My Mara, My Mara…”

“...I’ll never be farther.” Kimara says with only slight embarrassment beause their little saying is so damn cute. Erik used to do cute rhymes with her name around the quad whenever she got down on herself or he thought he had her on the ropes to giving in to him. Rarely worked, but constantly appreciated. “I gotta go get some extra stuff for our dinner party later this week, so hopefully I won’t be too long at the studio. We got a new artist laying down a demo that should be pretty fire.”

Erik puts a fist to his mouth excitedly. “Oh worm? Finally my lady finna be the new M-M-M-Maybach Music!”

Kimara rolls her eyes. “I’ll be more than that! I got about two songs on there I’m getting writing credit for. I may wind up on the radio and you don’t even know it. But you’ll know them checks!”

Erik couldn’t smile harder if he had hooks in his mouth. “Your passion got you going off! Nothing wrong with it either, you deserve it. It’s been a long time coming.”

“It has. So, go on so I can make this deal happen.”

They locked fingers until distance forced them to break their grip. Erik waves off Kimara as she saunters up the path to the main road. His chest swelled with pride over his lady, she’s always been one of a kind. Her happiness is his happiness, without question. As he walked away, across the exquisitely decorated post modern/art deco lobby, to the elevator to the 33rd floor to his office, a cloud of dread weighed back on him that only got better with the help of Alaina. If she wasn’t his partner on this revamp project with Boeing, he’d be shitting himself on a regular.

Erik walks by a conference room, stopping short of turning the corner of the glass walls. He opens the door and peeks inside to see his friend hunched over a laptop, jumping slightly in her seat as he came across the room towards her.

“Damn, Erik! Why do your big ass feet step so lightly? Almost gave me a heart attack!” She breathed out a ragged sigh of relief.

Erik pulls out a chair to sit down, chuckling at her expense. “My bad, I just had to come in when I seen you slaving away in here. Figured you could use a distraction.”

Alaina smooths her hair back in her bun, her nude colored mouth in a tight, closed smile.

“I WISH you were a distraction for me, but unfortunately this involves the both of us. While you were on break, Asshole and Son recommend we draft a final proposal for the FAA to approve.”

Erik sat shocked. “What? Fuck, I mean that’s fucking crazy but kind of exciting too, right?”

She wags her finger. “Don’t forget we are only the field niggas round here. It sounds like an honor but in the end I am sure little Leave it to Beaver will be taking all the credit his daddy can send his way in order to keep the big wigs in good graces within the family.”

Erik taps his fingers on the deep wooden table, thinking. Would they really double cross him that far? Bringing him in on a project to mentor the bosses son only to pull the rug up under him and make him look like player two?

“That’s so damn white, sounds right.” Erik sighs in somewhat disbelief.

Alaina shrugs. “Told you. And until I hear it from him otherwise, that’s what I’m going to assume.” Alaina sighs and stretches her shoulders before going back in on the keyboard.

Erik furrows his brow. “If that’s it, then why are you still working on it? Don’t you wanna pack up and move on? You were brought here special for this, your time is wasted the most.”

Alaina’s eyes cast a ‘nigga please’ gaze on Erik. “Mr. Future Baby Fava, I think our time has been equally wasted. But guess what isn’t cut for my time here? My pay: which is double what I make at my primary while I’m here so…” She slowly leans over to grab Erik’s wrist. “...until I hear the fat white man sing, we’re gonna work on this project for as long as we can to milk that cow til it lays a golden goose egg and rolls the tortoise to the finish line!”

Erik scoffs. Alaina’s antics are half the reason Erik can’t quite distance himself from her. She has a liveliness that he’s kind of missed lately. “Man, you a trip and a fifth. But I like your style. Might as well get it done then.”

“Oh fuck that, I’m done for the day.” Alaina crisply closes her laptop, packin it under her arm and grabbing her case with the other.

“Whatchu mean? I thought you said-”

“I worked through my lunch, like a boss ass bitch does. You gotta work yours off, so Imma leave you to it. Call me if you bleeding out your ears from stress: no less than that.”

Erik rolls his eyes as he gets up and watches her walk away. The woman is working his last good nerve on purpose, but he likes it. The job isn’t as boring or predictable with her around. Now he just has to show her who the superstar has been all this time. If he works hard at this, it won’t be for these fat cats, it’s gonna be a bonafide competition and he ain’t scared to fight a girl.

—

At the studio, Kimara finishes up a session with a local up and coming artist named Delilah. Sweet girl, comes across very introverted until a mic is in front of her. Kimara appreciated her vibes and talent, baby girl is on trend so long as she stays cute she is bound to be noticed. Kimara ends their session a little early, wishing her well when it was time to wrap.

Kimara felt like the studio was her second home most of the time but today she had to get to her real home REAL quick to get dinner prepared. Tonight is the double dinner date with T’Challa and his boo of the moment. She kept trying to get ahold of Erik for help with ingredients but he kept leaving her on read.

Rick, the studio owner caught Kimara before she was able to get out the door.

“Hey Rick I know I cut things early, but I don’t have a lot of time unfortunately. I have dinner to take care of tonight with some friends that is so damn important, you wouldn’t believe.”

Rick smiles a large proud papa smile. “Oh I won’t keep you, but this news might. Remember Peter Gafflin? Legendary alternative rock/country artist extraordinaire who really love you last time y’all were in the booth together.”

Kimara couldn’t forget that man from their last session. She hadn’t been exalted for her talent that highly since Petey Pablo came in that one time and promised her name would be on a Freek A Leek remix.

“Yeah, what about him?” She asks.

Rick could not help his smile to save his life. “He called me up earlier today, saying he is planning to go on the road soon.”

“Yeah, yeah. That happens often when you drop a new album.” Kimara says impatiently.

“Right. So he was thinking that you would hopefully be available to join him for some shows on his North American leg of the tour.”

Kimara stood there like the Men In Black just wiped her memory. “Are-are you serious? When? How? What would I do??”

“He wants you to SING for him like you did that day, background vocals and he thought a duet portion would be nice too. You know the song ‘Boys Aren’t Born on Tuesdays?’”

Kimara clutches her chest. “Oh my God, that song is so rich. And he wants ME to sing it with him?”

“Uh huh!’ Rick slaps her arm in congratulations, but Kimara could barely feel anymore.

“In front of thousands. Across America...oh my God!”

Rick and Kimara hug excitedly, so much so that Rick has to wipe his eyes a little. “So is that a yes?”

Kimara stopped cheering to finally think a little. “I mean, I don’t know. If this was any other time I would say yes, but...I have some obligation here. I’m deep into trying to start a family and settle a little.”

Rick makes a face of pity. “I understand, I know. And I hope you do get that. Just…”

“Just…” Kimara parrots.

“...it’s Peter Gafflin.”

“It is Peter Gafflin.” Kimara says disheartened. She had been waiting for years to get something off the ground with a top tier artist, but the universe had a funny way of timing.

“Did I mention how much pay is?” Rick muses.

Kimara fans herself with a newspaper as she watches the rolls baking in the oven. She is so thankful to have gotten dessert from the bakery, because she was over it with cooking. She checks her phone for the time: ten minutes til 7. Her notifications show nothing from Erik yet, though she texted him twice today reminding his to not forget them hosting T’Challa and his girl. Twice, Erik texted that he’s got her, but that was five hours ago, now who knows what the hell he is up to. It would be perfect to bring up her good news with him in front of T’Challa and his date, while he smiles up at her with a hand inconspicuous and possessively on her behind...

But the light and fluffy feelings for the evening were quickly dwindling. Before she could send a last threatening text to convince him to bring his ass, the doorbell sounds at the last sentence. Kimara curses out loud, grabbing her oven mitt to take out the rolls that are a perfect golden brown. She dabs her brow with a spare dinner napkin before clopping her way to the door.

Opening it with a flourish, Kimara opens her arms in excitement.

“You made it!” She says with a cheery song.

T’Challa looks at her fondly, his mouth slowly curling into a smile. Kimara warms up to seeing her friend at her doorway.

“I was going to say it has been too long, but time moves backward for you. You look beautiful.”

Kimara places a hand on her hip for emphasis, trying to withhold her joy in his compliment in the worst way. “Oh please, it hasn’t been that long. You cleaned up good too.”

Kimara always enjoyed the way T’Challa dresses like royalty without even meaning too, choosing pieces that elongate his lean body, squaring his wide shoulders to create a proud presence.

T’Challa places a hand to his date’s lower back. “Iman has been looking forward to this night all week.”

A smiling Iman holds out a bottle of Proseco. “T has told me so much about you and your husband. You all seem to be a pretty tight family.”

Kimara takes the chilled bottle and leads them inside. “Oh yes. We have all known each other for so long, I can’t imagine not having known them.”

Placing the bottle on the table, Kimara claps her hands anxiously. “So I have prepared us a nice little salad and a pork...uh...pasta ” Kimara’s mind goes blank trying to remember what it’s called, she had only Googled the recipe that day. Tapping her foot, fidgeting, Kimara gives up. “Hell, some type of pork and spaghetti with peppers and shit. It’s got cheese too, it’s good. LEGGO!”

T’Challa and Iman chuckle as they head to the dining room. “Well whatever it is it smells great! I know your man must be fat and happy living with you.” Iman gushes, pulling out her chair to sit at the table.

Kimara shakes her head humbly as the unwraps the foil on the proseco. “Lucky for me, he is pretty active at the same time so it sticks in the right places. If only he could actually BE in the right places when we schedule things that way. Oh shit, lemme find a cork opener.”

Kimara rushes into the kitchen slamming drawer after drawer looking for the elusive corkscrew. She slams the bottle down a little too hard in frustration and hears the vibration of her phone on the counter next to her.

“Do you need assistance, Kimara?” T’Challa’s steady, gentle voice says behind her. She turns to see his concerned face looking down at her, hands firmly planted behind him respectfully.

Kimara waves her hand in frustration. “Aht aht! It’s fine, don’t leave Iman alone in there!”

“She is fine. Are you?” He asks quietly while opening a cabinet above the sink.

Kimara opens her phone to look at her notification. “Been better. Rather not talk while I’m supposed to be entertaining you guys.”

“But-”

Kimara puts her phone down hard. “RAGU! It was a pork ragu! With basil fettuccine, ugh! DUH!” Kimara turns to see T’Challa holding the corkscrew in his hand.

T’Challa continues, ignoring her topic change. “You should let me know if he isn’t being good to you.”

Kimara takes the corkscrew in one hand, bottle in the other trying to maintain her blood from boiling. “No I don’t. I would discuss that with my husband.”

“And he is where?” T’Challa asks calmly as Kimara walks past him and back to the table.

“God, what a help your beau is, we can finally have a much needed sip sip, eh?” Kimara exclaims a little too happily, sitting at the table as she drills the corkscrew in.

T’Challa opens the glass serving dish to examine dinner. “This smells very good, I will fix a plate for you, Iman.”

“No! I should serve you, Mr. King! Move your hand from that spoon.” Iman gets up, swinging her hips happily from side to side, digging the serving spoon into the delicious mix of sauce, noodles, and meat.

T’Challa gives a shy smile. “I appreciate it greatly, thank you.”

Kimara jerks the corkscrew out of the bottle too hard, knocking the handle against the table, causing T’Challa and Iman to look at her with shock.

“Pop goes the weasel, right?” Kimara giggles as she pours a third of the bottle into her glass, half an inch from the brim. She takes ahold of her glass, taking a few hearty gulps.

“So! Tell me how are things with you all, still in the honeymoon phase?”

Iman finishes off her plate, settling in to eat. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. Me and T are still kinda getting to know each other still, so I think honeymoon phase is a little too soon to call,” she says as she nervously scratches the back of her head as T’Challa just keeps on eating.

Kimara starts to feel warm, keeping mental note that the fucking must’ve halted between them. “Well there’s no need to rush at all. Relationships are so much damn work, it must be nice to cuddle up to a stranger every so often.”

Iman offers some wine to T’Challa who declines. “Have things been going well at the studio? Recording?”

“Oh yeah, more than recording actually. Sure, I just wish that I had the gumption to pull the trigger on doing some of my own shit. I got a lot of praise from artist and even the owner of the studio; I’ve known him a long time. But when it all comes down to it I just wonder what’s the point. That’s all gonna change soon though, no worries about me!”

Iman pouts with sympathy. “What do you mean?! You are a damn good looking lady and to have talent enough that people brag about, you gotta do something with it while you’re young and able!”

“I know I’m young and able. Well, I’m trying to start a family while I’m still young and able too.” Kimara mumbles, slumping in her chair.

“Oh! You are? Congratulations! From what little I remember from the night I met T, he seemed like a handsome guy with a good head on him. If he hadn’t brought us home, we may not be seeing each other now.” Iman’s hand disappear under the table to presumably T’Challa’s thigh, who looks over at her with kind eyes. “And that reminds me of your story. So T here got you and your husband together. What are the details on that?”

Kimara is two sips from the bottom of her glass. “Ohhh, that’s not dinner conversation unfortunately.”

Iman makes eyes at her. “Oooh, that scandalous huh? We all adults here, but I understand. Me and T weren’t very biblical our first night meeting so, hey.”

T’Challa wags a finger. “It’s not that, don’t be crass.”

Iman tuts at him. “I’m just being friendly, what’s the issue.”

“It’s a personal story. It should wait until Erik is here at least.” T’Challa offers.

Kimara puts her glass down, plate still empty or any dinner. “I don’t wanna bring that nigga up here anymore tonight, aight?”

Iman freezes mid bite as T’Challa sits up in his chair. “Kimara, please-”

“Uh uh! I’m in my house, I say what I want, I won’t be talked down to. Iman?”

Iman is still frozen.

T’Challa speaks up. “I’m just saying-”

“I’m talking! Iman? My husband and I have been trying to have a baby for months now, fucking like rabbits and I have yet to get pregnant. It’s gotten so I think he;s getting tired of fucking with me and now he is out ‘working late’. Now, he loves me because we have been through a lot to get to the point of being a married couple and he has had to prove himself loyal to me after...a lot of bullshit. But I ain’t got it in me to discuss play the Newlywed Game with you cuz hell if I know what my husband is up to anymore.”

T’Challa gets up from his chair abruptly, scraping the chair across the floor, stomping towards the kitchen.

Kimara starts to laugh out loud. “Oh shit, I think he’s pissed! Ohh, let me see what this is about…”

Iman sits up anxiously. “Do you need help?”

“No, no! I got him, he’s very reserved with his frustrations, so I can deal.” Kimara stomps into the kitchen. “Now what is up with you??”

T’Challa takes a towel off of a rack, folding it twice. “Did you need to unload on her like that?”

Kimara leans on the counter. “Sure, woman to woman. She seems to appreciate it.”

T’Challa opens the oven door, a plume of smoke billows out.

“Fuck! Oh noooo, my rolls!” Kimara exclaims, running to a window to open and fan out the smoke.

T’Challa puts the baking sheet to the sink. “I was trying to tell you I smell smoke.” He tossed the towel down making the sheet clang.

Kimara fans her face, coughing. “Oh, shit. I just forgot.”

“Mhm. You forgot your head this evening that’s certain.”

“What do you mean by that, T??” Kimara asks mockingly.

T’Challa glares at her. “If things weren’t going good, we could’ve rescheduled.”

“It’s funny you think I plan for my life to fall apart, cuz that is how it works right?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No, no one means to hurt my feelings or make me feel like shit until it happens. You want me to be the perfect host. Erik wants me to be a good wife and mother when I can’t even get a bun in the ov-” Kimara stops short of the sentence. T’Challa hangs onto silence waiting for her to finish.

“T’Challa, what if this is all a sign? I burnt the rolls in the oven...because I can’t keep a bun in the oven? Like pregnancy? I can’t bake anything!!” Kimara wails as she covers her mouth crying. T’Challa goes over to her but stops short as Iman enters the kitchen.

“Hey, if everything is under control, I might head out.”

T’Challa looks back at Kimara then Iman. “Well, let me call you a ride.”

“Already did. Kimara, dinner really was good, I’m sorry to leave so soon.”

Kimara has her back turned, wiping her face before facing her. “Thank you for coming. You’re as nice as I heard.”

“I will walk you out then.” T’Challa offers as they leave Kimara in the kitchen. Her phone begins to ring, as she picks it up to find Erik’s name glowing on the screen. All she can do is silence it, she was in no mood to talk, otherwise she might have to make a Lemonade album about it.

Kimara goes back to her dining room table, sitting down to the bottle of wine. T’Challa comes back in, closing the front door behind him.

“Eh, eh. Put that down. Eat something instead.”

Kimara groans as she swallows one more gulp from the bottle before getting it snatched from her hand.

“I’m not feeling your vibes T’Challa, honest.”

“Vibes? Do you hear yourself talking?”

“Yeah I do. That’s all I ever hear is my damn self.”

“You are not supposed to be drinking while planning a family, aren’t you?” T’Challa asks softly, sitting next to her.

Kimara sighs deeply. “I’ve done everything right. All I’m supposed to do is carry, I can’t even get there. God, I would kill for even a miscarriage, just to know that I didn’t completely fuck up my reproductive system!”

“STOP IT!” T’Challa’s voice booms between them, reverberating off the walls. Kimara sits upright, looking away from T’Challa’s face. His energy calms as he leans a little further towards her.

“You do not deserve to beat yourself up like this. Do you realize how far you’ve come in life from when I first met you to now? There is no one as smart or witty or brilliant as you that I can also put faith in as a friend.”

Kimara fidgets with her fingers. “Good thing Iman isn’t here to hear that.”

T’Challa sits back, taking a swallow of wine from the bottle himself. “I won’t edit my statement, but she is a nice girl.”

“I still like Nakia better.” Kimara says matter of factly.

T’Challa bristles at the name, looking into the distance. “Yes, I guess she is my kryptonite, however too flighty.”

They sit in silence for a beat.

“What about that night? What did it mean?” Kimara asks.

T’Challa’s brow furrows. “Which do you…”

“A few weeks ago? My car?” Kimara rubs her face roughly. “Ughh, I hope it’s not the wine talking but I swear there was a moment that felt like...a thing. Am I wrong?”

T’Challa does something he does not always do: he begins to stutter. It’s slow, without the skip, but a stutter nonetheless.

“I...Well...hmm,” He says before his mouth motions wordlessly.

“...T?” Kimara asks teasingly. “It’s ok!”

He looks her in her eyes intensely, like she just cursed him out. “Huh?”

Kimara shrugs. “We didn’t do anything so it’s ok. Don’t sweat. That’s why I’m glad we are friends cuz I know nothing bad happens when you’re around. No craziness, drama, you just bring me back down to earth with a good talk. It was just a moment. Gotta remember that.” Kimara pats his knee and gets up.

“Wait, so were you thinking of me in a way that night?”

Kimara sees a light flash across the curtains of her window. “Well, look at this. Daddy’s home.” Kimara comes back to the table to pick up plates. “T’Challa go ahead and have a good night. You don’t wanna be here when I’m throwing dishes into the sink until Erik comes in and has the nerve to ask what the fuck is wrong with me. When the whole nigga nerve of it all is that he would have the gall to think I’m wrong to begin with!”

T’Challa waves his hands heading for the door. “I am already gone.”

The early morning sun is extra bright as erik drives himself and Kimara to see their regular fertility specialist Dr. Tracy.

“I’m glad she was able to see us today.” Erik says.

“Are you?” Kimara asks while scrolling through her phone.

Erik scratches himself. “Ion know, I just…”

“What?”

“I mean...if we do this it’s like cool, we finna get a baby off top-”

Kimara tuts at him. “No! She said that it still isn’t guaranteed. We are good candidates but not to expect success right away.”

Erik lets out a groan. “Right, right. Can’t no shit come easy for me.”

Kimara looks at his profile as he drives, catching Erik looking out the corner of his eye. “What you lookin at me like that for?”

Kimara crosses her arms. “I’m just trying to figure out what to title your sob story in all of this. ‘I do what I want and when it don’t go like I plan I pout?’ Or ‘Fuck everything and everyone, I’m going through it but don’t ask me what’s wrong?’”

“Damn Mara! The fuck you gotta go there for? The minute I try and share something with you, you bite my fucking head off!”

“Watch yourself cursing at me! I ain’t in the mood for it, and I ain’t letting it fly like that today, ok? I don’t need this much excitement before an appointment.”

“Then don’t go nuts on me like you some damn comedian, roasting my ass. I’m here ain’t I?”

“Do you not wanna be?!” Kimara shrieks.

Erik goes silent, turning on the click of his turn signal. The tension in the car is sky high and although Erik doesn’t mind a fight, he knew not to act a fool in front of these doctors in this side of town.

Kimara leads inside to check in with the receptionist. As they sit in the lobby, Erik is glued to his phone the entire waiting period, fingers texting furiously.

“Why ain’t you holding my hand?” Kimara asks. “You always hold it while we wait.”

Erik looks over quickly and leans back offering out his hand. “My bad.” While the other continues to work double time on his screen.

“Who is...Alan?”

Erik jerks his phone back. “It’s not Alan.”

Kimara drops his hand. “Than who is it?”

“Work.” He says curtly, flipping to his Instagram instead.

“Is something wrong with the project you’re working on? Is Alan the one helping you?”

“Yes and no.” Erik says.

“Wait. It is wrong and Alan isn’t helping?”

“It’s not Alan!” Erik bellows before coughing to cover his outburst.

“Kimara?” Dr. Tracy says brightly with a smile, waving them back. Kimara smiles tightly back.

In her office, Dr. Tracy goes over the procedures and preparations for IVF, with all of the medical jargon, followed by some generous simplified explanation. It all sounded complicated and expensive but Kimara was grateful to hear about everything that could make her miracle possible.

“And Erik, you can be an awesome support by making sure to watch your alcohol intake, exercise, eat healthy, and avoid any environmental pollutants.”

“I was bout to watch that Chernobyl show; is that off the table now?” Erik asks.

“Erik, you ain’t got time for shit else, quit playing.” Kimara says with a little bark in her voice.

Erik laughs in a menacing tone. “Ok.”

Dr. Tracy looks between them nervously. “...we also provide counseling to couples during the process, as it can be difficult.”

“I wouldn’t mind it, but he wouldn’t be able to make it.” Kimara says.

“Oh you speak for me now?”

Kimara shrugs. “If you ain’t there, how else can things go forward?”

Erik sputters in disbelief. “I won’t be getting like this in front of the damn doctor. Thanks, doc. I got the prescription and shit, let’s go.” Erik keeps talking under his breath as he leaves the office. Kimara gets up to leave

“Is everything ok between you two?” Dr. Tracy asks.

Kimara hesitates before saying it’s fine, nothing more than a couples spat. Erik may have been right about needing to change doctors. At least a new one wouldn’t know when things were wrong. This would just look like a normal interaction to fresh eyes.

Back at their house, Erik is reading the instructions for her shots.

“Says this supposed to help in producing eggs for you. Still gonna take a while though.”

Kimara sits silent watching her shows.

“Remember to mark down when you got your period last. Supposed to start doing these on your next cycle.”

Silence.

Erik folds the instructions up, standing from the dining room table. He comes up behind the couch, leaning next to Kimara’s ear.

“Nassau is this weekend, you know?” SIlence. “You picked us a real good spot to make our own magic down there. I think we need it.”

“WE need a lot more than a trip to an island. Erik, you still ain’t said sorry for a damn thing you said to me today.”

Erik scooches to one side of Kimara to face her. “What should I apologize for?”

“Embarrassing me? Not telling me about what’s going on with you and also not asking how things are with me? Being secretive and mean to me?” Kimara’s eyes begin to well up. “You ain’t talked to me without walking off mad in so long, I don’t wanna get used to it Erik! You didn’t used to do that!” Erik hooks one leg followed by the other over the back of the couch to sit next to Kimara, holding her hands tight.

“It makes me think about before you left for that damn military out the blue. You snapped on me back then too. You tryna go somewhere else again?”

“Hell no! That life is behind me, I got nothing but you and work to get through now.”

“So I’m a damn task?” Kimara mopes.

“No! Look: I don’t mean to say anything to make you think you boring because you’re not. You’re the most exciting thing in my life, and I love having you with me. Every time I’m reminded you’re my wife, I’m thinking how we should be on our damn tenth wedding anniversary instead of third. But I’m done and thankfully you’re not.”

“Then why are you doing me like this?”

“I-I don’t wanna force shit on you more than you can handle. I got things happening at my job right now that could make you think the worst, but I promise it’s not. And you don’t need that pressure right now.”

“Neither do you!”

“I can handle it. You focus on your dreams at the studio, and getting ready to host the biggest headed baby your womb will ever know.”

Kimara snorts thinking about this, looking down instinctively. Erik takes one side of her face in his hand.

“I wanna be more open but I don’t wanna cost you anything too. So until shit blows over, just know I got this. Be patient with me, and I promise to be more patient too.”

Kimara pulls Erik to her for a longing kiss, rubbing his face for comfort. She could feel he cares, but there was still so much gnawing in her mind, she just wasn’t ready to discuss. But there was one thing.

“One more thing though, before I call it forgiven and get to packing for the trip.”

“You still ain’t packed?”

“I’m asking the questions! Who is Alan?”

Erk sighs, dipping his head down before looking her in the face to answer. “Alaina.

“He’s a what?”

“Huh? No, Alaina. The name was Alaina not Alan.”

Kimara’s face draws up inquisitively. “And...she is?”

“My partner for the project I’m working on. They recruited her from another region and-”

“That’s who you spent the night with instead of dinner with T’Challa and me and his girl?” Kimara asks.

“I came home! Don’t make it sound like that, it was a late night. Ole dude I work for keeps piling shit on me and deadlines-”

Kimara waves her hands in front of him. “It’s fine.”

“Huh?”

“It’s ok!” Kimara smiles. “Seriously, I trust you. You said works been beating your ass, and I know you wouldn’t be looking all sour if you were getting some ass on the side, so I think I can trust you aren’t cheating.”

Erik stared at her speechless before nodding and agreeing.

“Plus, we tryna have a baby and I know you wouldn’t mix shit up with her when all that seed is mine, like that would be wasteful.”

Erik growls in his chest, leaning over her, nose to nose. “Say that again.”

Kimara holds back her smile, rubbing his chest. “Your seeeed is miiiine. Don’t waste it.” Kimara bites his lip at the end of ‘it’, catching him of guard, but not enough to lay her out legs spread quicker than she could blink.

“Wait wait, Erik. I can’t!” Kimara says, half giggling.

“Whatchu mean?? You playing with a dog and get afraid when you get the bark? Quit playing and get them draws off.” Erik pulls at her bottoms.

“No! Wait! I mean it, I’m cramping and shit. I don’t want nothing near my pussy right now.”

Erik moans out loud in frustration, plopping backwards on the couch, erection pushing at his sweatpants.

Kimara lowkey loved making him wait, period or not. It’s nice to see he still wants her, and no one else has his attention to fix his rather big problem throbbing in his pants.

“Erik? You never told me what you think about the tour.”

Erik exhales loudly. “Good idea, that’s finna kill my hard on real quick.”

“Erik!”

He sits up, pushing down on himself. “Mara, I want you to get your hustle goin, I know you been singin since way way way back.”

“Hold up, it ain’t been that long, makin me feel old.”

Erik bops her with his shoulder. “You know you been my Suga Mama.”

“Two months older Erik. Dassit!”

Erik looks at the floor, rubbing her knee. “I just don’t understand why you think it’s best to leave now. What Imma do without you for two months?”

“Whatever you been doin get home late at night.” Kimara says flatly.

“The project is almost finished, do I don’t know where that attitude came from.”

Kimara sits silent, not up for a fight, especially in her hormonal state.

Erik stares at her, testing her. He knows she wants to say more, she always does. “I got two more weeks on this, and it’s done. My workload is gonna be lighter, more boring, and I promise my time will be yours, but now you wanna leave, so.”

“But you understand why right? It doesn’t sound like you do. I don’t wanna leave you alone or stop trying, but...this is my dream!”

“Having a family is too right? That’s why all our time and money been revolving around everything related to that for almost a whole damn year. It’s fucking flaky.” Erik shoots back.

“Erik, you got to do what you wanted, right? This ain’t new with you! When you want something, you go for it, fuck anybody that gives a shit, it’s yours. I’m tired of being in the shadow of your shit, cleaning things up so you can have your peace. This is mine.”

“The fuck is you talkin about?? Is your PMS going retrograde or some shit?” Erik speaks over her in an agitated tone. Nothing Kimara said made sense anymore to him.

Kimara gets up, waving him off. “Eat my ass Erik, I said what I fucking had to say and I mean that shit.”

Masterlist

Ragtag

@chaneajoyyy @sarcastic-sunshines @muse-of-mbaku@dameshaemonique @fonville-designs@destinio1@bakarisange l@wakanda-inspired @klaine15689 @savageiz @nickidub718 @yoyolovesbucky @alexundefined @forbeautyandlife @bakarisangel

#shakafic #black panther fic

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everythingoesnk · 5 years

Text

Once in Rockfield Farm (5/5)

summary; whatever man i just hope u go easy on me and that u enjoy it. thanks to those who read every chapter or sent me beautiful slash encouraging messages saying the story was good, i appreciate it a lot :( i just wish you don’t cringe 2 much

word count; 3 197

warnings; my inability to write good endings

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

********

Ricky Nelson’s divine and comforting voice filled Roger’s Alfa Romeo.

He had it repaired, that’s why you hadn’t been introduced to it yet.

Gazing out the window wasn’t an option, since the weather was foggy and the eternal repetitive picture of trees and empty road wasn’t really entertaining you no more.

As an alternative, you were recollecting flashbacks from your graduation ceremony.

Everything’d been absolutely perfect except for the evident.

The tension between Mary and Roger was palpable, detestably and boringly palpable. None of them told you how the argument went, and you were late to be able to hear anything. Both screaming over each other didn’t contribute to the cause. Mary did him dirty and Roger didn’t make an effort to control his hysteria. Before attempting to sow any peace, they needed time for things to cool down. You could understand both parts and weren't about to take any side.

Everyone, including you, had been wrong at one point.

But forgetting about Mary for a moment, you still had a pending conversation with Roger. And you owned him an apology as well.

The things he said to you at home before the ceremony, even when you were given your diploma, stuck with you. Mind split in two, one side was present in the event and the other replaying Roger’s words claiming that you were ‘stupid’ because you didn’t notice that he cared about you.

Clutching your knees to your chest, you breathed in deeply looking straight ahead.

Roger didn’t speak, and you sighed louder. And louder. Until he laughed a very cute laugh.

“I thought I made it clear the first time,” you said, “I hate not knowing where I’m going”

Roger rolled his window down and rested the arm there. A faint wind messed with his locks.

He didn’t turn to look at you before answering.

“It makes it more enjoyable to me”

“Is it far?”

“It isn’t”

Driving with one hand, Roger switched off the radio.

He didn’t look like he wanted to converse or have anything distract him, hiding the mirrors of his soul behind aviator sunglasses. You could tell he was nervous, making you wonder what was so nerve-racking that wouldn’t let Roger be his talkative and joyful self.

“Fine” you shrugged. “But before we get there I want to tell you something”

He nodded, as if inviting you to go on.

“I talked to Brian about the whole thing long before it blew up. I complained about you supposedly fucking those girls to provoke me, which we all know now it was the ultimate purpose, even if you didn’t shag any in the end. Well,” you sighed, “I’ve been a bitch as well”

Roger locked his eyes on yours instantaneously. You quickly put your head down and clasped your hands together.

His eyes went back to the road.

“I complained about you jumping to conclusions when I literally have no right to condemn it because I did the exact same thing. For weeks I avoided talking to you instead of getting things straight”

You glanced at him without really lifting your head up yet: his hands were gripping firmly the steering wheel.

Blood rushing to your face, you contemplated his profile.

You loved his nose and how it wiggled when he spoke or was deep in thought like it had a life of its own. You loved his chin, his lips, his eyebrows, his ears and his hair. You loved everything. And he was a jerk if he truly believed you didn’t notice he cared about you.

You were hurt that you hurt him for ignoring his feelings to focus on yours not getting brutally broken. That was some fucked up fat shit. You just couldn’t believe he was still somehow interested in you at that point.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, “I hope you can forgive me, I really do”

“We’re here”

He killed the engine, remained motionless for about fifteen seconds and hopped out of the car.

Blowing out your cheeks as soon as he exited the vehicle felt good. Only a little.

Was it something you said what bothered him? Angered him even? What could that something possibly be? You’d been polite, picking the words with care. Did you hit rock bottom, or was there further to fall? Was he going to tell you he did forgive you but that you should leave it like that? That your relationship was wounded to death? Yeah, we’re cool. ‘t was nice meeting you, have a nice flight to America. But don’t contact me again.

Roger threw open the front seat passenger door and held out his hand for you.

Feeling dizzy you took his hand, and he pulled you towards him.

Only to crash his lips into yours after your chest bumped against his.

Putting his hands on your lower back to steady you both, he worked his lips against your mouth in desperation and agony.

His forehead puckered, it looked like if it were hurting him kissing you.

It only hurt him that he couldn't have done this sooner.

Heart hammering against his ribs, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this happy and complete.

It was impossible, this much love.

You could feel your skeleton melting. It was getting harder to not fall on your knees. They felt weak, incapable of bearing with your weight right now.

The kiss started being kind of a mess, Roger fast and you trying to catch up with his clumsy rhythm out of eagerness. Your tongue pushed her way into his mouth, and he moved one hand to the back of your neck, holding your head in place.

The roughness made you grunt.

Butterflies swarming hysterically in your stomach and fireworks going off in his chest, you cupped his face in your hands, not planning on breaking the kiss for a while.

He took a few steps forward and soon your back made contact with his car.

You were drowning in euphoria.

Roger set his palms down flat on your sides.

“Roger—“

He ran his thumb over your lip, glanced at you for a brief couple of seconds in which you discovered how much his pupils had dilated -yours must’ve looked identical-.

The tip of your noses touching, he grinned and kissed you again.

Pink cheeks, pulse uncontrollable, arms embracing each other as if your bodies were what could save you from falling apart. That's all you were.

Tilting your head a little you stroked his cheek. He smiled at that.

You didn't miss the gesture and instantly opened your eyes even though you were still kissing, and smiled too closing them again.

Because of the lack of air that was threatening to make your lungs explode, you gradually began to separate. Treading your fingers down his chest, you wrapped them around his rainbow suspenders and sighed contently.

Roger took his time to open his eyes once the kiss finished, totally lulled by the hundreds of millions of sensations his mind and body were putting him through.

Awkwardness washing over your face due to the intimate moment you two just shared in the middle of a random street, you looked over his shoulder so you wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Roger laughed breathlessly and pressed his forehead against yours. You giggled a bit as well, and swallowed the urge to shake your head in disbelief that it finally happened.

He slung an arm around your waist.

“I like you, (Y/N)”

You held your breath.

“I forgive you”

You nodded and told yourself not to cry. Ignoring how much you wanted to.

“Ay,” he said, looking into your eyes and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You smiled big at his exclamation: he must’ve grown so used to hearing you say it that it slipped out of his own mouth, “now it’s when you confess you like me too”

You cackled and rolled your eyes playfully.

“Oh really,” you teased in a whisper. But soon you waved the sarcasm off, this was what you were dying to tell him. It was now. You had to do it, “I like you too, Rog”

He pecked you on the lips, a huge pleasing look on his face.

“God…,” you breathed, the realization hitting you like a tsunami, “it’s all so… I’m so…”

You were mad you couldn’t find the right words.

The corners of Roger’s mouth quirked up.

He flashed you a bright smile, recognizing the signs of everything being a blur himself too even being in the moment yet.

“Me too, sweetheart”

You couldn’t resist it, and went straight to wrap your arms around him in a loving whole-hearted hug.

With your cheek brushing against his cheek you hoped this wasn’t all a dream.

It made you hold him tighter, with a beaming smile that could blind the blind, when you knew this was nothing but real.

“Love,” Roger spoke, not pulling away, “we should go now. We’ll have plenty of time to snuggle”

“Just one more second” you wished into existence.

Gently stroking your back, he took a deep breath and exhaled, relaxing into the hug.

More than one second passed by when you agreed it was a reasonable time to let Roger go.

His smile broke into a giggle at you pouting.

“Hold my hand” he said softly.

Resting your chin on his shoulder as you two walked into the building, his thumb caressing your palm, it then hit you that you were in the EMI Record offices yet again.

You raised an eyebrow. Roger watched you.

There were many more commuting people around this time. None of them seemed to pay any attention to none of you, concentrated on their obligations. The place was loud.

Roger didn’t like too many questions, so, for once, you just shrugged.

“You lead”

Once inside the elevator, Roger cracked his knuckles, looking as if he were being escorted to the death row. The four walls of the elevator were suffocating him. Nothing of his earlier behaviour back on the street could be seen, it was like he turned into a different person.

“You alright?”

He pinched his nose.

“After what just happened, I don’t want you to be mad at me”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Why would I be mad at you for?”

He didn’t answer.

“Roger, what—“

The doors opened and a huge group of people stepped into the space. You rolled your eyes and walked closer to Roger’s side.

Seriously, he always seemed to have something up his sleeve.

Tapping your fingers against your lips you couldn’t think of anything he could’ve done to make you angry. He was probably just exaggerating. Although you still didn’t quite get why you were there.

Bouncing on your feet, you stopped when the doors opened again.

13th floor.

You arched an eyebrow. That was were Foster’s office was, if you remembered correctly.

Smoking a cigarette next to Forster's -opened- door, was Paul Prenter. You knew that man. He came from time to time to talk to the boys about Opera, to know if they needed something and to get information about the album's progress in general. However, you noticed that when he paid them a visit, he only acknowledged and cared about Freddie.

He liked him, everybody knew.

You didn’t treat Paul like he were a ballbuster like Roger and Brian did. John, Mary and you weren't comfortable with his presence either but kept it to yourselves.

“Paul?” Roger asked, confused.

“Rheid contacted me” Paul explained.

Paul looked at you, then at Roger, and then at your hands held together.

“They’re waiting inside. We better come in—“

“We? As we?” Roger pointed at you three. “We are going, you stay out of this”

“Rheid told me—“

Roger dragged you inside the office and closed the door in his face.

Deep in conversation as they were, everyone in the room snapped their heads at the two of you. When you raised your head, it was Rheid who you saw first.

“Roger, (Y/N)” he welcomed with a nod. “Please, take a sit (Y/N)”

Were you blind or did he just point to the chair right in front of the desk? Not like you were the protagonist.

You shook your head and eyed Roger. He was looking at Foster.

Miami was also in the room, you spotted him next to the big window. He waved at you and you smiled a little. Miami was a good person. You liked him. You liked him very much. You felt a bit more comfortable now that you knew he was there.

“Go ahead, (Y/N), sit” Foster insisted. “I’ve got little time and would like to discuss and go over the contract as quickly as possible”

Roger put his hand on your shoulder, and for some reason that made you shiver. He nodded at you to sit down and stood behind you, hands on the back of the chair, suddenly finding the room very hot.

Eyes exploring the room, you were beginning to feel giddy because of the secrecy thick in the air.

Contract?

Foster looked at you in the eye.

“What’s that face, woman? You’re a lucky one”

You turned on your seat to stare at Roger. You caught a glimpse of what seemed to be… fear? No, it couldn't. Fear of what?

Rheid, hooking two glasses in one hand and grasping a bottle in the other, made his way to you but stopped after studying your conduct.

“You didn’t tell her?” Rheid interrupted, wide-eyed, reflecting on yours and Roger’s attitude.

Foster was growing impatient. He slammed the contract down on the table.

“(Y/N),” Roger began, voice weak, so weak you weren’t sure you would understand him if he weren’t to raise it up a bit, “remember when you wandered off with Brian with the bikes? That day Freddie and John were out to town, and I was left alone”

“I do” your heart kicked ferociously.

“I know singing is your passion. Not singing, writing songs it is. Well, performing, so I guess that both. Both, both” he cursed under his breath for stumbling. “You said nothing was holding you back from going to America”

Afraid of what his actions might cause, he gulped the bulge in his throat before daring to lay his eyes on yours.

“Maybe there is something”

Your nails were digging into your palms.

Roger scratched his eyebrow. He felt like if he’d open his mouth his heart would fly out of it and land on your feet. He shut his eyes with a racing heart as he revealed what brought you there.

"I sent Foster a tape of All Too Well I found on the studio that day”

“Pardon?”

You didn't even finish registering what Roger'd done before the word came out of your mouth.

Stomach in a knot, Roger forced himself to look down at you, to meet your gaze.

He was mildly surprised by your reaction, expression spoiling how you precisely weren't overjoyed nor ecstatic about the news. But he knew this could be one of the outcomes.

You sprang to your feet, redness in your cheeks, forehead and neck, and said a small ‘Mind us a minute’ before turning on your heels and demanding Roger with a look to exit the office. You didn’t miss how a thin layer of light pink rose to his cheeks.

Miami's face wasn't saying much, but he didn't look away when you cast him a glance.

Clasping your hands behind your head, heart about to crash due to its rate mightly increasing, you closed your eyes. And it felt like you could hear and see your heart pumping blood.

Roger leaned against the hallway wall, looking at his shoes.

Fallen into a long lapse, Roger waited. He waited for you to speak first, but you didn’t. You just mirrored his posture, standing right across from him, hands covering your face.

“Say something, (Y/N)”

You hesitated to do, and your voice came out as a dark painful crack.

“I’m thinking of Todd”

Roger’s eyebrows knitted in doubt.

“That’s my grandfather’s name”

Unsure if you were gonna ask him to stop, he pushed himself off the wall and stood closer to you. You didn’t tell him to fuck off like you wanted to at first, but still were trying to figure out what to do with the information you’d been delivered.

Your heart plunged when he affectionately bumped his shoulder against yours.

Roger’s mouth opened slightly when he saw that your eyes were liquid with soon-to-be-released teardrops.

“What would Todd tell you if he was here now?”

You gave a sniff, wiped your eyes with the heel of your palm and grinned, latching onto the picture you visualized of your grandfather rolling his eyes, instructing you to get the shit done.

“To stop being a crybaby and to follow my dreams”

“Your dreams are just a signing away”

Roger caressed your nose with his. He was speaking in an undertone, careful not to disturb you.

“Are you mad at me for sending them the tape?”

You puffed your cheeks and let the air out thoughtfully.

Am I?

“You have to know this wasn’t the initial plan, I need to get this across. I just wanted them to hear it, so when they called to ask me who’s the talent I could tell you that your work has potential. Much more potential than you think. But they, well, you see, are interested”

Roger continued, seeing that you were still having a draining mental battle with yourself.

“We’ll take care of you. Miami and I. And Freddie, Brian and John. Everyone. If you accept, you could come to Japan with us and work on your debut album meanwhile”

“It’s… tempting”

Roger nodded and brought your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

“You’ve got the last say, love”

With incredible patience and self-control, he focused on perfectly fitting his lips onto yours.

It felt so right and perfect to savour him.

Beyond immersed on the many opportunities that your destiny portended if you signed that paper, you didn’t even realize you were saying the following words until you were done reciting them.

“Thank you for believing in me”

And you knew the meaning behind Roger’s words was way deeper, referring to everything you’ve gone through. For believing that he didn’t do anything with those women and for not taking for granted that he wouldn’t be able to sustain a formal relationship.

Because you were a thing now, weren’t you?

Flashing a pair of crinkling eyes, happy that your future was now shining bright next to the man who made it possible that you could make yours’ and Todd’s dreams come true, you shoved your face in his neck, attaching him to you with your still tremulous arms.

Were you scared? Yes. But you had him, and that’s all you needed to know to feel strong enough to take such important plunge.

Engulfed in a wave of hope and gratitude, you let him hold you.

Todd would’ve loved Roger, and you were determined to not let any of these men down.

********

tagging; @sweetdaisys @multifics @incorrcctqueen @namelesslosers @benders-diamond-earring @mercurycrowley @ixchel-9275

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