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nereidprinc3ss · 3 months

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be my angel

in which BAU fem!reader was injured on the job, but is refusing painkillers at the hospital. spencer thinks he knows why.

fluff (+a little angst) warnings/tags: established relationship, hospital stuff, reader got beat up by an unsub, discussions of spencer's past addiction, mentions of period cramps, reader ends up being administered some sort of painkiller a/n: another draft i found in my literal hundreds of pages of abandoned wips and fixed up cause it's cute, I hope you like!!!

Spencer is tearing through the hospital. They all keep saying you’re going to be okay, but what does that even mean? Why is nobody telling him anything? He’s not even sure he heard what the orderly at the front desk said, but his feet are carrying him with a strident purpose through the winding white halls, so he has to assume he at least subconsciously knows where he’s going.

Finally he spots Penelope, a beacon in her candy-colored clothing, speaking to a doctor in hushed tones. Penelope sees him approaching and turns away from the doctor, looking harried and exhausted.

“Is she okay? What happened?” Spencer demands, before either of the others can say a word.

“She’s okay,” the doctor assures. “She was beat up pretty bad—concussion, broken ribs, some bruising that looks worse than it is. There was a clean shot through her arm, but—”

His blood runs cold. Nobody told him you were shot. Why had nobody told him you were shot?

“I need to see her.”

The doctor frowns, glancing between the two agents.

“I’m sorry, are you her spouse?”

“Yes. No, not yet, I just—I need to see her, please. Now.”

“Sir, unless she—”

“Just let him see her!” Penelope practically yells. “She wants him here, believe me.”

The doctor clenches her jaw and scribbles something on her clipboard.

“Okay. Maybe you can try to convince her to accept some painkillers.”

Spencer’s frown deepens.

“She’s refusing pain management?”

“We gave her as much ibuprofen as we could, but she refused anything stronger than that. She has to be in a lot of pain right now, and there’s no background of addiction.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Spencer says, already twisting the silver door handle. He has a sneaking suspicion as to why you denied pain treatment, and it makes him feel incredibly guilty. More than he already did, after this entire debacle.

The sight of you, bloodied and bruised and obviously suffering has his heart splintering right down the middle. Whatever meager semblance of a smile he can scrounge up and offer is reflected back to him on you—which only makes him feel worse. As always, you’re putting on a brave face.

“Hey,” Spencer says quietly as he closes the door behind him.

“Hi,” you croak. “How do I look?”

He approaches, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing your hair away from your face.

“How do you feel? The doctor told me you wouldn’t accept pain medication,” he murmurs.

You sniff.

“I feel okay. Did she tell you it’s not as bad as it looks?”

But your voice is so small, so wavery and weak, that he knows you’re lying.

“Sweetheart...”

You’ve been holding it together since the unsub beat you nearly unconscious. You held it together as he ran away, even got a couple shots in before he turned around and returned fire. You held it together while you sat against the dirty truck, bleeding out, not sure if your team was coming, and you held it together in the ambulance, and for the past thirty minutes in this hospital bed. But all it takes is one gentle word from Spencer, with that concerned, solicitous look in his eye, and the floodgates are opening. Tears spring up in your eyes and begin silently falling down your dirtied cheeks.

“It’s okay!” you attempt to reassure him, affecting cheeriness even through the tears. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine!”

He says your name soft and low and he tries his best to keep his tone even though he is liable to burst into tears or start yelling at someone (not you) at any minute.

“I know that’s not true. You have broken ribs and a gunshot wound. I know how badly it hurts to breathe and how it feels every time you move your arm. That is too much damage for over-the-counter anti-inflammatories. You need real analgesics.”

“I don’t,” you whisper. Your teary eyes make his whole body ache. He squeezes your hand—the one that’s not connected to the wounded arm.

“Because of me?” You stare at him blankly, as if you’re shocked he was able to put two and two together. “I promise you don’t need to worry about that.”

You sniffle.

“But what if—what if they give me the drugs and I get all weird and it’s, it’s like... triggering for you, or something?”

“It’s been a really long time since I’ve worried about that. I’d rather see you a little tired and out of it than in extreme pain and trying to pretend you’re not. You getting the pain relief you need in a medical emergency is not going to make me relapse.”

“But I really think I could go without,” you begin, voice already tightening around a cry. “I’ve—I’ve had period cramps that were worse than this.”

Despite himself, he chuckles. Goes back to stroking your hair.

The laughter fades quickly. All the pain you’re in is so evident in your eyes. The dissociative glassiness, the tension around them, the bloodshot quality—he's seen it many times before, and he hates it on you.

“Will you please tell them you’re ready to take something? They won’t give you Dilaudid. It’s too strong. They’ll give you something that I’d have no interest in anyway.”

“Not funny,” you whisper.

He ignores this.

“Will you let me call the doctor back in?”

You take a deep, shuddering breath—or at least, you try to, before you’re loosing a sharp squeak that deteriorates into a little sob. The ribs.

Spencer doesn’t bother asking again, just gets up and begins to walk away as efficiently as his legs will carry him. You need painkillers and he thinks it might be fastest to just fetch the doctor or a nurse from the hallway.

“Wait,” you plead.

He stops. Reminds himself that you need him right now—not his medical opinions. Spencer turns back around and approaches again, crouching by your bedside this time.

“What, honey?”

“I don’t...”

You trail off, overcome by something like fear in the width and shine and nervous dart of your eyes. Spencer knows, everybody at the BAU knows, that showing fear to a serial killer will get you killed that much quicker. During your time alone with the unsub, which is a can of worms Spencer literally cannot psychologically open right now, you had to put on your bravest face. Even while you were being beaten within an inch of your life. Even when you thought you were going to die, alone, and that your team—that Spencer—wasn't coming back for you. Because that’s the kind of thing you have to do to cope when you’re at rock bottom. But you were terrified. Petrified. That doesn’t just go away—and Spencer knows it’ll be bumping against the surface until it finds a way out.

He has to remember that just because you look unafraid and you act unafraid doesn’t mean you aren’t.

“You were so brave,” he manages after he’s sure he can say it without incident, swiping moisture from your cheek. “You did everything exactly right.”

“I know,” you whisper, chin trembling. Spencer knows you, and he knows this kind of trauma well enough to know that you’re thinking, I did everything exactly right, and it wasn’t enough. I did everything exactly right and this is what I have to show for it.

“But nobody needs you to act like it wasn’t hard, okay? You don’t need to pretend like it doesn’t hurt. You were so, so brave, angel. You don’t have to be brave anymore.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, sending a new wash of tears over your tacky cheeks. A few moments pass. You say nothing. He hopes you’re not going to hide away inside yourself like he did.

“Will you please, please, let me get the doctor?”

At least this time you don’t immediately say no.

“Will you come right back?”

“Of course.”

Finally, you nod your hesitant assent, and Spencer presses a careful kiss to your forehead.

A few minutes later, the doctor—who was shocked that Spencer was able to so quickly change your very made-up mind—is back, and so is Spencer. It only takes a moment for them to determine the best course of action for you and soon the fist around his heart is loosening its grip as he watches some of the agony melting from your eyes.

“Better?” he murmurs as the nurse who’d administered the drugs leaves, fanning his thumb over the underside of your wrist. You nod, already appearing sleepy.

“Can you lie down with me?”

He smiles at the way your words slip against each other, simply relieved that you’re able to relax and no longer in extreme pain.

“Hospital beds aren’t rated for two people.”

“Spencer.”

It’s enough for him to climb onto the bed—not that he was ever going to deny you what you wanted to begin with. The fit isn’t exactly perfect—he's a bit too long and combined the two of you are just slightly too wide—but with some finagling it’s comfortable enough. Spencer has slipped his arm underneath you and your head is on his shoulder and he’s so glad to have you in his arms and so grateful that you’re okay he does something almost like praying in his head as he kisses your hair.

“Hey. Ask me about my bruises.”

“Why? Do they still hurt?”

“You should see the other guy.”

It’s dumb and it doesn’t make sense because you didn’t bother waiting for him to actually set the joke up—but he smiles dryly nonetheless.

“Can you please give me... I don’t know, 36 hours before you start making jokes about almost dying?”

“Clock starts now.”

“Thank you.” He feels your lips curve into a half-conscious smile against his neck. It’s a wonderful feeling. “How are your ribs? Breathing feels okay?”

“Mhm. Love breathing.”

“Mhm. And your arm?”

“Like I got shot.”

“Well, that’s pretty much unavoidable. But not as bad as before, right?”

“Right. Spencer?”

“What, my love?”

A little pleased puff of air warms his shoulder. He carefully rubs your hip.

“Will you tell me how brave I was again?”

He takes a silent, very deep breath.

“You were incredibly brave. And smart, too. I’m really proud of you for how you handled that situation. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, but I don’t think anyone could have handled it better. Especially when you chose to stay put by the truck, instead of chase him. I know that wasn’t what you wanted to do, but it was the right choice.”

“I thought you guys maybe weren’t coming,” you murmur, no hint of sadness in your smushed, flat voice—like you’re barely awake. “I waited half an hour and I thought you weren’t gonna find me.”

“Angel, I will always find you. We didn’t stop looking even once, as soon as we noticed you were gone. I’m just sorry I wasn’t with Emily and Rossi when they got to you.”

“’Nelope told me... she told me you got really angry and scary.”

He stares at the ceiling and considers this.

“I could see... how what I was feeling would be interpreted that way. I was pretty angry. But not at Penelope or any of them. I was mostly just scared.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whisper. “And I’m sorry if I made you mad.”

“You did not. I wasn’t mad at you. And it’s not your fault that I got scared. You were just trying to do your job. None of this is your fault.”

“She also said that you said fuck like... three times.”

“Mm... doesn’t sound like me,” he evades. You giggle, and the sound is more a relief than any drug he could take.

“No, seriously, I’m so mad I missed it. I love hearing you swear. Tell me what you said—and you have to cause I’m all messed up so I get whatever I want.”

He sighs in mock annoyance.

“Well, she’s wrong. I only said fuck once. I used fucking as an intensifier twice.”

You hum.

“Sexy.”

“Alright,” Spencer laughs, flushing as he moves his hand to your shoulder. “Go to sleep before I tell them to up your dosage, weirdo.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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Dirty Work 50

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: 50 chapters?!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don't sleep, you just lay in an achy stupour. The sun limns the door as Loki's shadow darkens beneath it. He sat there all night, you could hear him, leaning against it, sighing, sometimes pleading for you to come out.

He groans as the door shifts with him. He exhales and you hear some cracking as he moves. He must be just as stiff as you.

“Pet,” he taps on the wood, “are you over your tantrum?”

His words sting. He speaks to you like a child. You wish he'd leave you alone, let you out, just disappear!

He stands with another long groan and you feel him leaning on the door. He jiggles the handle then hits the wood in frustration. He hisses. Good, you hope it hurts.

Tears spring as you feel guilty just as quickly as that spiteful thought rose. You don't want to hurt anyone. You never have. You just want to be.

“You cannot lock me out forever. I must clean up,” he demands.

You don't argue. You don't mention he has another bathroom. Two even. You don't have the energy.

“Must you persist in this stubbornness?” He snaps.

All he ever has for you is criticism. Just like your father. And you're just the same useless girl.

You don’t answer. You get up, keeping your back to the door. You tell him over and over to leave you alone. It doesn’t work. So you’ll just ignore him.

You go to the tub and crank on the faucet, the water splashing down loudly as you flinch as the sudden gush. You hear a thump on the door but focus on testing the temperature of the water with your fingers. You don’t listen to see if he goes, to you he’s just not there.

You strip off the camisole nightie and step into the tub before it fills. You lay in the burgeoning depths as it slowly rises over you. Goosebumps rise on your body yet the water offers little warmth for you. Even as it steams up to your shoulders.

You sit forward to twist off the tap and lay back with a sigh. You wet your hands and drag them over your forehead, the water trickling down to dampen the bandage across your nose. You don’t know what you’re doing or what to do. You never really did have much of a plan. Life was always just day to day. Survival.

Your lashes close as dampness lingers on them, fueled by a new flow from within. Your tears trickle out and you sniffle. Your mind wanders to a woman you never knew.

Was this what it was like for her? Confusing? Scary? Or did she love your father? Was he different when it was only her?

How can you even begin to know her when you don’t even know yourself? You are not your mother’s daughter. You are no one’s. You are no one.

You don’t languish long in the tub. You drain it and sit shivering on the toilet lid, wrapped in a thick cotton towel. You stare at your hands and think but you’re empty. You can’t live inside your mind, just like you can’t live inside this room.

You stand up and storm towards the door. You stop short and gulp. You won’t let him lock you up. Not any longer. Maybe your mother was a brave woman and maybe you can be too.

You flip back the lock and pull the door open. The bedroom is empty. He’s gone. You deflate. Just as you found a semblance of courage.

You cross to the other door. The handle won’t turn. You expect as much, just like you should’ve expected him to leave before he could hear you.

You back up and peer around. Your eyes narrow on the window and you tilt your head. You can go too.

You rush over to the closet and push the door open. You search through the hanging garments clumsily, hangers whining on the bar. You pull down a plain black blouse and equally simple pants. You dress as you peek over and over at the door. You don’t have shoes but you don’t care. You double up socks and go to the window.

What do you even care about shoes? You don’t have anything.

You hook your fingers into the notches along the bottom of the window and lift. It doesn’t budge. You whimper as your knuckles ache from the effort. You pout at the glass, contemplating the best way to shatter it. Your gaze wanders up to the latch at the top. Oh, it’s locked!

You slide the lock back and try again. It opens. You can barely believe it. A way out, but what comes after. You don’t have to think of that now.

You poke your head out and peek around the green lawn. The birds tweet and the trees sway with the breeze. You stick your arms out next and rest your stomach against the sill. You lift one knee and haul yourself over the ledge, dragging your other leg out awkwardly.

The roof is steep and offers little traction. As you manage to crawl onto the slope, your head spins from the drop just below the eaves. Don’t look down, that’s the first rule right. You search for a safer descent than the vision of yourself plummeting to the ground.

Just along the far side of the house, just at the corner, the ivy lines a faded trellis. You can try to ladder down on that and if not, you’ll turn back and act like nothing happened at all. No, there’s no going back. Just go.

You move carefully, turning to face the house. Your fingers grip beneath the bricks as you place your feet against the shingles, little grip through the socks. That was a bad idea.

As you inch along, flush to the roof, wriggling bit by bit, you hear the low hum of an engine. You don’t think much of it, it’s probably just a passerby. You focus on your own flight. You won’t have a car, just your feet. How far can you get?

The sudden ring of the gate frightens you. You jerk and nearly lose your bearing. You whimper and slide down to the eaves. The metal trough is tenuous as best as you feel your weight testing the bolts. Your heart pounds in your ears.

The bell rings again but you don’t let it faze you again. You’re nearly there, just a little further.

“What on earth–” Loki’s voice makes you flinch.

The eaves creak and tremble under you as you curl your fingers over the shingles. You glance over fearfully, surprised by your discovery and all too aware of your treacherous escape. Loki’s nostrils flare as he glares out the window at you.

“Get back here! Are you mad, you’re going to get–”

The gate bell once more pierces the air and a sudden crack sounds from behind you. You slip down the shingles with a yelp, grasping at the roof as your feet meet only air. Your catch yourself on the edge, just barely, and whine as you dangle over the grass.

“Gods!” Loki blusters as you hang perilously.

Your heartbeat blocks out the noises all around you. The birds’ songs fade and the rippling leaves quiet. It’s only you and the horrid drop below. Don’t look down, you repeat. You’ve seen the movies, that’s the worst mistake you can make.

“Pet, don’t panic,” Loki clambers down the front steps as he calls to you, “just hang on. I have you, darling.”

You squeak as your arms burn and your fingers throb. You’re not that strong. You don’t think you can hold yourself. You hear him running as a car door shuts.

“Hello?” Frigga’s voice carries over the lawn, “is everything alr–” She gasps, “oh, dear, what is going on? Loki, let me in.”

“Mother, one thing at a time,” Loki’s voice fades away as you hear him running.

“Oh my,” Frigga remarks, “dear, you just want to hold on. Try not to move too much, you’ll lose your grip.”

You close your eyes and focus on just that. Her advice is little help but you don’t even have the ability to tell her that. You’re terrified and weak. You feel your fingers about to give. You wrestle with your own mind, it would be easier to just let go and let what happens happen.

“Here, here,” Loki hollers as a metal rattle accompanies him.

Your eyes stay sealed as you fear even a glimpse of your ground. You whimper and whine, eyes once more wet and leaking. Something hits the roof not far from you and you hear a strange tempo, steady but harried. A hand closes around your wrist.

“He’s got you, honey,” Frigga shouts from the gate.

You don’t react. Loki grunts and his arm wraps around your back. You let your eyes open just a crack and look over at him. He urges you to him as he leans over the side of a ladder.

“Get your foot here,” he directs you to the rung above his own feet, “come, darling, come, I’ve got you.”

You follow his direction. Your adrenaline swells over and leaves you hollow. He gets you onto the ladder, just in front of him, and he takes a step down. You cling to the rungs as he continues until he’s stood on the grass.

“Go on, I’ve got a hold on the ladder,” he assures you.

You push your foot back and shakily dip it down. You put it on the next step before you dare to move the other. Your descent is slow and shaky. He helps you onto solid ground with his hands on your hips.

As you pull away and face him, you find his expression pinched. You push your lips out and mop up your tears, “I’m sorry, I–”

“Not now, I must deal with my mother first,” he hisses.

You wince and nod, pressing your tight fists to your cheeks. He gives you a long look and he rolls his shoulders. “Straighten yourself up, pet. Do you want her to see you in such a state?”

You shake your head and heave. He spins on his heel and marches away. You swipe away the last of your tears and swallow your sobs. You follow him, jittering as your legs move at a staggered pace. It’s almost as if they aren’t your own.

“Mother, you weren’t invited,” Loki accuses, “and we are not currently receiving guests.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What is going on here? Why was she hanging from the roof like a cat on a clothesline, Loki?”

“It is my concern, I don’t need you sticking your nose in–”

“Don’t speak to me as such, I am your mother,” her tone sharpens as you wobble towards them, “now you let me in, that poor thing must be frightened and you’re not even comforting her.”

“She is not yours to worry about,” he rebuffs.

“Nonsense, you left so fast, you didn’t let us the chance–”

“Go,” he snarls.

“Loki,” you babble as your legs fold, your sight splotchy and off kilter. As you crumble into the gravel he turns. He rushes towards you as you hold yourself up on your hands, slumping over the drive.

“Pet, it’s alright, I’ve got you,” he hooks his arm around you, “you should go inside.”

“Please… I don’t feel good,” you utter.

“Let me in, son,” Frigga demands urgently, “I can help her.”

“Just like you helped her before–”

“You know we had no idea,” she barks, more viciously than you could ever imagine her sounding.

“Loki, please,” you lean into him and tilt your head up, it lolls dangerously on your neck, “please, let her in.”

He considers you, his features drawn but no longer in anger. You see the fear he’s been holding onto. You reach to touch his shoulder and wilt into him.

“Please, I’ll stay,” you sniffle, “if you let her in. I won’t try to run again.”

He sucks in a breath and looks over his shoulder. He huffs and turns back to you. He scoops you off the ground and stands with a grunt.

“Mother, I trust you can wait until I get her somewhere safe?”

“Not long or I shall knock this gate down,” she sneers, “but perhaps I’ll let him take the wheel. Your father won’t hesitate.”

“Father…” Loki echoes.

“Oh, he’s here too, I told him to stay in the car thinking I might talk some sense into you,” she bites out, “imagine if I told him what I’ve walked up upon.”

“Let me get her inside,” Loki says tersely.

He carries you towards the house. You drone and sink into his arms. You don’t know what you were thinking. You don’t know what came over you. You need sleep, your temples are like drums; boom, boom, boom.

“I’m tired,” your murmur.

“I know, pet, I know,” he brings you up the steps and through the front door. As he comes to the stairs, you reach out and grab the banister, latching on with all your strength. He stops.

“Please, don’t,” you bat your eyes and pout at him, a glisten in your vision, “don’t lock me away or I’ll jump next time.”

He waves and his throat tightens, “don’t talk like that.”

“It’s the truth,” you eke out. “I only… I only ever wanted to see the garden, you know?”

He lowers his eyes guiltily and frowns. He backs away from the stairs and instead, carries you into the den. He lays you on the sofa and puts a pillow behind your head. You relax, happy to at least be out of the room. Still, your prison remains.

“We will talk later but first, my parents,” he strokes your forehead before he stands straight.

“I could make tea,” you offer and try to sit up.

“You will not move,” he points a long finger at you, “not one inch. Do you want tea?”

You look at him. Is he really asking?

“Yes,” you squeak.

He nods, “very well, you will have tea. Stay,” he wags his finger again, “first, I will fetch my mother and father, then tea.”

You try to smile, “thank you.”

“Hm, curse the hour,” he sneers under his breath, “I could do with something a bit stronger.”

He leaves you with that remark, striding out rigidly as his fingers twiddle at his side. You feel the same dread as him about your guest. You’re in no state to receive them, and in less to be reminded of the last time you met.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #avengers #thor #mcu #marvel

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kingsnake101 · 4 months

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For the WIP game, Goth Four has me intrigued :))

SO this one begins with Time, Sky, Legend, and Wind getting captured by dark link. This is another one that I think can mostly speak for itself, so I'm gonna put what I have under the cut. Also I've never played any of Legend's games so I kinda just made up a magic item :/ sorry diehard legend fans

“Maybe if you pace long enough, it'll wear a hole through the floor and we can escape,” Wind commented, receiving a sharp glare from Legend.

Wind was leaning against Sky, who fiddled with his tunic anxiously. Time sat cross-legged on the other side of the cell, face creased in thought. Legend, meanwhile, resumed his pacing.

The walls were dark and cold, the smell of old stone bricks and dark magic permeated the space. It was humiliating, really, that they were captured so easily. It looked like any other shadow portal, why would he have assumed it would teleport them to some creepy dungeon?

Wind looked like he was about to say something, but was interrupted by a cool wind breezing through the cell.

“The hell…” Legend thought to himself, stopping to stare at the small magical tornado that had begun to form on the other side of the bars. It reeked of dark magic.

That seemed to snap Time out of his trance, the older hero rising to his feet and glaring at the disturbance. Legend shivered. He had seen a lot of things in his time, but damn if that wasn't a terrifying look.

The wind picked up, yanking his hair as it swirled around the small room. If Legend squinted, he thought he could see a small figure within the whirlwind.

Shiny black boots emerged from the storm, steps tapping gracefully on the stone floor. A silhouette appeared, form whipping around with the wind. Finally, the figure stepped forwards, backlit by the only light in the room, a single candle behind them. They looked… oddly familiar.

And then, with a snap of their fingers, the wind halted and torches flared to life. There, finally illuminated, stood a goth copy of their smith. His skin was an ashy gray, red eyes framed by dark purple hair. His tunic was similar to Four’s, if Four had an emo phase and dyed everything black. Dark, glittery eyeshadow shone on his face, pairing nicely with lipstick so black it seemed to absorb light. He stood in a dramatic pose with his back straight, not a single hair or thread out of place. A sly grin pulled at his face.

“Greetings, heroes,” dark-Four sneered, leaning forward into a mocking bow. “It’s a pleasure,” he purred, a black forked tongue flicking past sharp teeth as he spoke.

“What do you want with us?” Legend spat, sneering as he stepped up to the bars.

“Well, it wouldn't be any fun if I just told you, now would it?” Dark-Four grinned, a black claw tapping at his chin thoughtfully. A silver ring was wrapped around his finger, a delicate chain connecting it to a matching wristband. Legend swore that it wasn't there earlier. “No, I think I'll leave you guessing. I'm just here to have some fun before Dark Link rips you to shreds,” the grin widened, all the more sinister. Legend swore he could feel Time’s protective, angry aura increase. He didn't miss how the dark refused to look at their oldest member.

Legend heard shuffling behind him, and looked over to see Sky walking up to the bars. A tremor ran down Legend's spine. The skylian’s gentle features contorted into something sharp, something dangerous.

“I suppose they call him ‘godkiller’ for a reason,” Legend assumed, almost feeling guilty for the dark on the other end of that glare. Almost.

A flicker of fear and uncertainty flashed across Dark-Four’s face, before he steeled it back into a lopsided grin. Before Sky could open his mouth to speak, the dark cut him off.

“Don't worry, the prick upstairs specifically told me not to lay a finger on you,” The dark clarified, rolling his eyes. “What he didn't mention, however, were your things.”

Legend's scowl deepened. If that asshole even thought about touching his stuff he would-

Legend's worst fears were confirmed when his own pack rose up through a puddle of dark magic on the floor. The shadow saw his reaction and grinned.

“Ooh, sorry, does this bother you, Pinky?” He mocked, carefully flipping open Legend's bag and peered inside.

“I swear to Hylia, if you even think-” Legend's rant was cut off by some sort of dark magic gag slapping onto his face. He growled in frustration, which only seemed to make the dark smile more.

“If any more of you have any words to say on the subject, I have plenty more,” he warned, dark magic swirling around his fingertips.

Wind, unfortunately, seemed to take this as a challenge rather than a threat. “You bet I do, you slimy bottom feeder son of a-” Wind half grinned, half sneered, before a similar gag slapped onto his face.

“Anyhow, let's see what the so-called ‘Hero of Legend’ has in here~” the dark drawled, rooting through Legend's bag. Legend cursed at him through the gag. He ignored him.

The dark pulled out a familiar wooden box, shaking it slightly to hear metal bouncing against itself. The box was opened, and his eyes widened in glee. Legend cursed his luck. Out of all the things he could have grabbed, why did it have to be the box full of magic rings?

The dark began carefully picking through the rings, lifting a few up for inspection. He lifted up a particularly gaudy one, before looking Legend in the eye and grinning. Legend recognized that ring. It was one he rarely used, due to its headache-causing abilities and moral implications.

“I must say that I am impressed, Hero of Legend,” the dark smirked at him, holding the ring of mind reading in one hand and the box of rings in the other. “I really thought the most experienced savior of Hyrule would have better fashion taste.”

And if that didn't catch legend off guard.

“These are hideous! Why would you ever carry these around! Half of these clash, and the other half are eyesores,” he scoffed, holding the ring of mind reading like it personally offended him.

“Wait, can he not sense the magic? How?” Legend gawked internally, although he kept his face a mask of anger.

“Here, you can have this one. My eyes can only take so much,” he complained, dramatically shielding his eyes before flicking the ring into the cell. Legend practically dove to catch it. How a reflection of Four could be so stupid, he had no idea. Legend slipped it on.

A swarm of thoughts rushed over him, and Legend internally grimaced. Wind was still spewing some awfully creative insults, Sky was angry and worried, and somehow, the old man was just as unreadable as before.

Legend took a deep breath, focusing on the individual in front of him. He leaned away from the angry thoughts of his comrades and towards the smug cadence of Four’s doppelganger.

“Poor fools. They'll never find the exit, I can barely find it even though I know that it's behind a false wall at the end of the hallway. And even then, they'll never get past the guards watching their stuff. Sure, they tend to fall asleep after dinner at around 8 o’ clock, but the heroes don't know that. They also have no idea that Dark Link and I are constantly doing patrols, except for tonight because Dark is going to look for the other heroes and I'm leaving so I can have a spa day. I bet they don't even know that my Link likes to secretly sew lockpicks into his friend’s clothes. Fools. They'll never escape. Muahahahahahahahaha-”

Legend discreetly slid the ring off his finger. He was already getting a headache, and the maniacal laughter was like a stake being driven into his skull. Besides, he has already gotten plenty of information.

“Well, it seems our time must come to an end. It was an honor to meet you, truly. Hopefully I get to see you again before Dark rips you apart,” he sneered, bowing again. “I bid you adieu,” with one last dramatic twirl, he sunk into the shadows once more.

As soon as the shadow was gone, Legend turned his attention to Wind. “What? What's that look for?” Wind questioned, scooching away from Legend. It seems the gag had disappeared when the shadow did.

“Give me your tunic,” Legend demanded, holding out his hand.

Wind curled back, clutching his hand protectively to his chest. “No way! Ayrll gave this to me!” Wind huffed, scooting back.

Sky leaned forward, trying to seperate the two heroes somewhat. “Do you want mine?” he offered.

Legend nodded, scooting over to Sky. He ran his fingers along the hem, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Sky eyed him with confusion, but didn't comment. He found what he was looking for in the seam, right before the hem of the shirt. It seemed like a small piece of fabric had been added, with a wide stitch that could easily tear away with the help of the lockpicks inside. Legend made quick work of it.

“Wait, what? How did you know that was there?” Wind questioned, leaning forward. Sky picked at his tunic with confusion.

Legend stood up, wincing when his joints protested. He brushed himself off before making his way to the cell door. “I remembered that the smithy likes to hide lockpicks in our clothes,” Legend explained as he fiddled with the lock. He decided not to mention the whole mind-reading thing. Maybe another day. The door swung open with a soft click.

#lu shadow #lu legend #lu time #lu wind #lu sky #linked universe #linked universe fanfiction #tw kidnapping #tw hot topic #lu fanfic #lu crackfic #lu four

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alienoresimagines · 2 months

Note

“I was made to protect you” please!

These all sounds interesting. I love how poetic your wip titles are ☺️

Aw thank you ❤️ Gotta make the most of the 130k minutes spent on spotify to find good lyrics, even though this one in particulat isn't from a song 😂

@rambleonwaywardson and @coastiewife465 also asked about 'I was made to protect you' ❤️

So this is the Bodyguard AU (and royalty AU? Maybe) I briefly mentioned to @soliloquy-dawn with Prince!John and Bodyguard!Gale

It's on the backburner for now because I haven't figured out exactly what I want from it beside a general idea and tropes but!

Think of The Witcher kind of vibes. John is the Crown Prince of a kingdom who has a 'regular' army and a small amount of 'superhuman soldiers', which are often used as Royal Guards. Those few soldiers were trained since they were extremely young to the art of war, protecting and weapons, also having their senses heightened by quite gruesome magic. Since many children die in their training, parents who send their children there receive quite a lot of financial compensation. And Gale's father... well he needs money to pay off his debts and bet, and a kid is only a void for that money so here goes Gale. And of course, poor Gale overworks himself, thinking if he works hard enough he'll be allowed to go home but he works so well that higher ups decide to put him through further trials and train him even harder to be the designated Crown Prince's -so the future King- bodyguard. Quite literally "made to protect you".

Cut to a slow burn of John trying to make this stoic, ice cold of a man to crack a smile, then drama as John learns the truth of Gale's upbringing and feels guilty for it, Gale somehow visiting his hometown and realising the money his father got from him was used for bets and further endebted his parents, making his sacrifice useless, a healthy dose of hurt/comfort because what is a Bodyguard AU without one of them (or both) getting hurt, and Gale learning to be vulnerable 🥹 and to have feelings 🥹 and be loved for who he is, not just what he can do 🥹 also smut!!! John showing Gale what pleasure is lmao and being in awe at the way Gale can be such a sweetheart beneath his armor and the TRUST, the PINING, the LOYALTY

I should probably sit down and think of an actual plot but this is what I have so far 😅

Also the title is from the allegiance oath of Mattias in Six Of Crows "I was made to protect you, Only in death will I be kept from this oath" which I find so so perfect but it may be just a working title for now 🤔

If you have any thoughts or ideas for this, I'm all ears 🤗❤️

#clegan #buck x bucky #ali's wips #asks #joeyalohadream #mota

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dandelionprints · 2 years

Text

More Than Enough

(Tommy Shelby One Shot)

As some of you will know if you’ve seen any of my posts, I’ve not had any motivation to write and have really felt my inspiration dwindling on a daily basis. I had a little bit of that motivation come back to me this evening so I thought I’d use it to write this short one shot. It was quite hard to write as I feel like my self belief is at a low right now so I was questioning myself a lot when writing it but fuck it, I’ve finally completed a WIP after weeks of not writing, I hope you enjoy!

Day had slowly turned into night in what had felt like only a matter of minutes in your bedroom, the only light now coming from the fireplace and a lamp that was lit on your desk. The comfort of the fire warmed you as the air grew cold.

Piles of invitations were laid upon the wooden surface with various addresses to the wealthiest people within England and Scotland. This charity ball had better get you a lot of fucking money after all the time you’d put into it, not to mention the cramp that was now very apparent in your fingers.

“Come to bed love, it’s getting late”, Tommy whispered against your shoulder before moving the strap of your nightie to the side and gently laying a kiss on your bare skin.

“I will my love, I’ve just got a few…”, you began, getting cut off swiftly by an exasperated sigh from your husband that caught you off guard.

“Y/N, you’ve been at this for hours, you need to get some rest. I would also like to spend some time with my wife. Please, come to bed”

You turned to look at him standing there in just his boxer shorts, a look of pleading in his expression. Those eyes of blue almost boring right through you, making you melt like they had the first day you’d made contact with them.

You sighed feeling guilty, “I know, Tom. But if I don’t do it then who the fuck will? They’re meant to be delivered to everyone tomorrow and I feel like if they’re not perfect then I’ll be judged even more than I already am”

A wave of insecurity swept over you unexpectedly. Fuck you hated that feeling, never feeling like the life you’d married into was something you deserved. The money, the big house, the handsome gangster husband. None of it.

“Who do you think is judging you, the people invited?”, his eyebrow raised as he took a step toward you, kneeling at your side, “don’t take any notice of what they say, they’re all twats in expensive suits”

You nodded your head and averted his gaze, instead choosing to pick a spot on the floor to focus on.

“I know what they say, Tom. ‘What’s a girl like that doing with a man like him? A former peasant girl who used to have to beg for scraps on the street? She’s probably only with him for the money! Oh, and the maids too, they do everything for her’”

“Who have you heard say that? You tell me and I’ll send Arthur round to have a chat with them, no one talks about my wife like that!”

He stood with his fists balled at his sides, his knuckles white from the tension. Grabbing his arm you pulled yourself up and squeezed him gently, his muscles tight under your grip.

“No! Please don’t, it’s not a big deal”, you used your free hand to bring his face towards yours, “All I’m saying is I’m well aware that they don’t think highly of me. I just want to show them I’m no longer that peasant girl who had to beg for food and money, that I’m capable of organising a charity event and doing as much for it on my own as I can without the help of staff or other influences. I want them to know I work hard, Tom”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off you the whole time you’d been speaking, too fixated on every word you were saying. He brought his hands up to either side of your face and cupped your cheeks.

“You work harder than any of those fuckers that are invited, the only reason they’re on the guest list is cause they have money, and lots of it. They don’t have a clue what shit you went through to end up on the streets or how we met, which if I remember rightly wasn’t when you were still having to sleep in the gutters. They don’t know fuck all about anything, none of them do”, he said, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.

Bringing your hands up you held onto either one of his wrists, your thumb on the back of his hand.

“I know love, I just want to show I’m enough. Enough to be deserving of this life we’ve built. Enough to be with you when there are so many other beautiful women out there who would drop their knickers for you with just a snap of your fingers”

He chuckled then before his expression turned soft, moving his face closer to yours, hands still cupping your cheeks.

“Darling, you’re more than enough. You always have been”

His lips connected with yours in a soft swoop, holding themselves there for a while before curving up into a smile.

You smiled back feeling a rush of warmth in your chest, the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach making themselves known.

“Now c’mon, bed”

This time you didn’t have a choice in the matter as he swiftly swept you up into his arms and carried you towards the bed. You giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours, the signature smell of whiskey and cigarettes moving to your nose.

Placing you down onto the bed he knelt over you and kissed you again, this time with more passion.

“I think it’s time I show you just how wrong those people are, how it’s really me who is unworthy to be with you, Mrs. Shelby”

The firelight continued to flicker, casting shadows around the room, the plans of finishing the invitations now well and truly gone.

Right here in this very moment, in your big expensive house, on the expensive Egyptian cotton bedding beneath you on your expensive four poster bed, the only thing that mattered was that the love of your life truly believed that you had always been enough, no matter what.

————

Tagged: @peakypoet @moral-terpitude @lyarr24 @cillmequick @mrkdvidal1989 @shelbydelrey @alasya16 @tommystargirl @elenavampire21 @adaydreamaway08 @slaypussypop-21 (unable to tag) @bluesongbird @zablife @cljordan-imperium @look-at-the-soul @rangerelik

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinders #cillian murphy

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normspellsman · 2 years

Text

To Be Forgiven

part one | part two | part three | part four (wip)

pairing: ao’nung x fem!sully!reader, bff!tsireya x bff!reader, & mentions of lo’ak x tsireya

genre: angst (lo’ak still hasn’t apologized yet), comfort (from tsireya to reader), & fluff

word count: 4k+

warning(s): mentions of lo’ak & ao’nung physically fighting, mentions of lo’ak being a douche to reader, neteyam + tsireya beating (not literally disappointing i know) some sense into lo’ak, cursing, reader thinking lo’ak was right about her (ifykyk – read part one if you don’t), mentions of blood + injury, lo’ak in deep shit that he won’t be able to get out of, slight mention of lo’ak having self loathing thoughts, lo’ak feeling guilty for what he said, & mentions of ao’nung defending your ‘honor’

taglist: @aonungsmate @optimisticblazetrash @dearstell

word bank: eywa / great mother — goddess deity that the na’vi believe in, tsmuke(s) — sister(s), irayo — thank you; thanks, skxawng — moron; idiot, ilu — aquatic creature residing on awa’atlu used for riding + hunting, & txe’lan — heart

note: so i lied, this series is probably going to be three or more parts 🫣. enjoy tho! <3 we stan tsireya in this fic frfr

He was fucked. Lo’ak was royally screwed.

He knew the minute that those degrading words came out of his mouth that he was severely fucked.

He could say he didn’t mean it in the moment, but he did. He knew he did. And that’s why he knew he was going to get a new one ripped into him by his older brother and girlfriend once they found out, but not before Ao’nung nearly beat him to a darker shade of blue and purple.

Both Lo’ak and Ao’nung had left your secret hideout with multiple bruises and blood running down their noses. The boys had shown each other the extent of their frustrations towards one another, yet again. But this time, it was over you.

The two boys walked home silently and limping, washing themselves off in the sea before making their way into their separate marui pods.

Lo’ak had prayed to Eywa that none of your siblings were awake by the time he arrived at the pod, but alas, it seems as if the world is not on his side, once again.

“What the fuck happened to you?” A groggy voice asked, making Lo’ak stop in his tracks and wince at getting caught.

Yep. He was going to get his ass handed back to the Great Mother tonight. He could only pray for a safe return into the deities arms as he turned towards his older brother.

The familiar scowl Lo’ak always saw on Neteyam had painted itself on to his face, eyes narrowing at the various injuries on his skin.

“What did you do?” Neteyam harshly whispered out, striding towards his idiotic younger brother, pulling on the boys ear as he guided him towards one corner of the marui where they kept all healing essentials and forced him to sit down, tsking at him as he did so.

Lo’ak yelped in pain once his older brothers slim fingers pinched the soft skin of his sensitive ear, leaning into the grasp in hopes of easing the pain by a fraction. He rubbed the spot his brother was pinching once he was pushed into his bottom side to sit, pouting at Neteyam’s roughness.

“It’s nearly sunrise and you manage to get yourself into trouble, again!” The elder hissed out, mumbling to himself about how careless and utterly idiotic his younger brother was, shaking his head at his whispers. Always taking care of this skxawng, he thinks, annoyance settling itself in his chest.

Lo’ak decides not to say anything, knowing that if he were to open his mouth and speak, he wouldn’t stop and end up confessing to his crimes due to guilt. He didn’t want to die just yet. He needed time to figure out how he was going to make it up to you and get you to forgive him for the stupid words he spat at you in anger.

Being twins had come with its advantages and disadvantages. Firstly, it was a rarity amongst the Na’vi that it was considered a myth or even a sacred omen, many praising Lo’ak and you after your births and even during the day as you two grew older. Much lore surrounded twins within the Na’vi culture, most of it being just that, lore and myths, little truth behind any of it. So due to this, the Omatikaya practically worshipped the ground the both of you walked on when you were younger, receiving many gifts and prayers to Eywa as a token of their gratitude for gracing them with your presence. But all of this was put to a stop by your Grandmother, Mo’at, once she realized this. She didn’t want all the attention to go to your heads, especially your brothers. Secondly, the both of you were so in tune with each other’s emotion that it was freaky to see you finish each other’s sentences, give the other needed comfort, and see you move together in sync. This proved to be advantageous during training or scouting, one of you following the other and tag teaming whatever came your way. And thirdly, you were the eldest twin, the first born. So you always held it over Lo’ak’s head whenever granted the chance, annoying the boy to no end.

Lo’ak loved you dearly. So much that it was often hard to express or put into words. You were his other half. The other part of his soul. So he knew just how much his words had impacted you. He could feel it. Feel the cold, bitterness of sadness rest atop his chest, right where his heart laid. He felt so guilty. He just wanted to take back the words he said, but he knew it wasn’t possible. He was going to have to work for your forgiveness.

“Sit still and be quiet,” Neteyam mumbled as he sat in front of his younger brother and dipped his fingers into the cream white healing paste Kiri had made a couple days back, lathering it onto Lo’ak bruises and open wounds.

Lo’ak bit back his tongue in pain, wanting to hiss out at the coldness of the paste and the rough application of it. He could tell that Neteyam wasn’t very happy with him. And he was going to be absolutely livid once he found out the truth behind his wounds.

He wished sunrise never came.

———

When you left Lo’ak and Ao’nung to their own devices last night, you made way to another spot of yours that only you, your sisters, and Tsireya knew about. The four of you often came to it to have some girl time and gossip about whatever was going on in either of your lives or just to be in each other's presence and braid another’s hair. It was a bit of a ways away, so you called upon your ilu to take you there.

Once you reached the seemingly tiny island, you noticed another body sitting in the sand, fiddling with something in their hands.

You’d come to quickly realize that it was Tsireya who was on the island, finishing up the bracelet she had promised to make Tuk just last night.

“Hey,” she softly said, turning her head around slightly to glance at your figure, sensing your presence behind her.

You shot a small smile towards the girl before sitting down next to her, bringing your legs close to your chest as you sighed out the breath you seemed to be holding in ever since you left Lo’ak and Ao’nung.

“What’s wrong?” Tsireya asked, concern laced in her voice and evident on her face.

The Metkayina girl had a knack of knowing if something was wrong with you, creeping you out a bit when you first started to get to know her. It was how she found out you and her brother were seeing each other. She practically pried it out of you, squealing in delight once she got you to utter the confirming words, hugging you and excitedly exclaiming that you were going to be tsmukes and how she was glad you were going to be the one.

Tsireya’s question brought a frown to your face, water beginning to pool at your waterlines. Eywa, how you did not want to cry in front of your best friend and boyfriend's sister.

“It is fine if you do not want to tell me, tsmuke,” she reassured, putting one of her four fingered hands onto your back, softly rubbing it up and down in comfort, “I will be here whenever you are ready to say it.”.

Her words were the tipping point and you found yourself sobbing into the sweet girls arms, wrapping around your shaking form as she tried to comfort you the best she could.

“Was it my brother?” She asks, her tone serious and flat. If it was, she wasn’t going to hesitate to smack some sense into her brother. You’re one of her dearest friends and she’d hate to see her skxawng of a brother be one of the reasons you cried.

You shook your head at her question, swallowing down another sob that tried to crawl its way up your throat.

You could only imagine what your brother and beloved were doing to each other in the dark of your hidden spot. Punches were definitely being thrown and insults were most likely being shouted at one another. You felt bad for leaving but at the same time, you needed to leave. To get away from your brother and his angry gaze and hurtful words. You needed time to think and process.

“It was mine,” you reply, reluctantly pulling yourself out of Tsireya’s comforting embrace. If you didn’t, you knew you’d only further continue to sob into her arms and barely get any words out in an attempt to answer any of the questions she asked you.

Tsireya frowned at your words, beginning to worry about what he did to make you this upset.

She knew the kind of relationship and connection the two of you had. That’s what she loved about the both of you. You always followed each other around like lost puppies and rarely ever fought, only arguing over stupid things like who got the last yovo fruit or whose turn it was for Tsireya to teach. So seeing you this distraught over something your twin brother did, had the girl extremely worried.

“What did he do?” She questioned, pointed ears tipping towards your frame in anticipation to hear your answer.

You explained to her what happened. How you and Ao’nung were spending time together. How Lo’ak managed to stumble upon Ao’nung feverishly kissing your neck. And the kinds of words Lo’ak spat at you and how they made you feel.

To say the least, Tsireya was pissed at her moron boyfriend.

“I hope Ao’nung beats the shit out of him,” she mumbled, tone angry and harsh as it came out.

You managed to chuckle at her response, stopping your crying momentarily. Tsireya joined you in your short chuckle, giggling to herself.

“I’m serious though, (Y/N). I hope he beats some sense into him,” she added, bringing you into a hug, gently stroking your braided hair. “He shouldn’t have said those words to you. There’s no excuse. There’s no truth behind it, my tsmuke. You are not what he says you are for seeing my brother,” she finished.

You only hum in response. Your head couldn’t help but think that a part of his words were true. Why were you seeing someone that was known for bullying you and your siblings? Why did you feel for him the way you did? Was it because you were what Lo’ak said you were?

Tsireya’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as she laid both of her hands gently onto your damp cheeks, making you look at her as she spoke, “I am serious. You are not a slut for seeing Ao’nung. Yes he may have done some questionable things in the past that aren't excusable. But you have made him a better person. You changed him for the better,”.

Her words bring another wave of tears to your eyes as they run down your nearly raw cheeks. Her words make you feel a bit better about what Lo’ak said prior.

You smiled at your friend before bringing your forehead to hers, both of them resting against each other.

“Irayo,” you replied, truly thankful to have someone like Tsireya in your life.

“Anytime, tsmuke,” she answered back, her dimpled smile spreading across her lips as she did so.

———

“You stupid, stupid boy!” A familiar voice yelled out from outside of the Sullys marui pod.

Lo’ak froze.

Shit, he thought, I’m going to die by the hands of my girlfriend. Fuck.

The teen boy stood still in his tracks, dreading the moment he’d have to turn around.

It was barely sunrise and Tsireya was already out for blood. His specifically.

“Hello, my love,” Lo’ak tried to milk out, hoping she’d melt at the nickname he gave her early on within their relationship.

But all she did was scoff, “Seriously, my love? How dense do you think I am, Lo’ak?”.

To be frank, Lo’ak had a feeling that you’d tell Tsireya about what happened or Ao’nung would, making his stomach twist in anxiety at the thought. He was right though. You told Tsireya of the events that occurred only hours prior and now he was going to feel the wrath of your best friend and his girlfriend.

“Look, Reya, I can explain,” he tried to rush out, pleading with her to at least listen to what he has to say. But she was having none of it.

“No, Lo’ak. You will not. Did you know your sister cried in my arms until sunrise?” She spat, anger clearly evident in her tone and body language, wide tail swishing to and fro behind her.

Lo’ak swore he saw his life flash before his eyes at his lover's harsh tone and deadly glare directed towards him. Tsireya was never the one to resort to violence or anger, believing that killing them with kindness worked best. So seeing her practically growling at him and very much angry made him want to crawl into a ball and cry.

“Oh, right. You wouldn’t know because you were the reason she was crying in the first place!” The girl continued, more angry at her boyfriend's attempt at trying to get her to hear him out.

She knew that what he said was completely wrong. No brother should ever call their sister that, no matter how angry. Ao’nung would never, had never. At this moment, Tsireya found herself thanking the Great Mother for giving her a brother like Ao’nung. One who treated her with respect and would never spit out degrading words like that to her.

The poor girl was shaking in anger, an emotion she rarely ever felt or expressed.

Before Lo’ak could utter another word, another voice chimed into their conversation.

“Trouble in paradise you two?” Neteyam asked, a playful smirk etched into his lips as he leaned against one of the many open arch ways of his family’s marui.

Neteyam had been rousing from his slumber when he heard Tsireya’s loud hissing, curious as to what was the cause of it. He’d say he’s not surprised that it was directed at his younger brother. Lo’ak had a tendency to cause that kind of reaction from people wherever he went.

The younger brother groaned out in annoyance, not wanting his brother to get into the middle of his and Tsireya’s conversation.

“I’m glad you’re here, Neteyam. Maybe your presence will smack some sense into your brothers thick skull,” Tsireya spat out, never taking her glaring gaze off of Lo’ak.

The smirk on Neteyam’s lips fell, his usual frown overtaking it. “What do you mean? What did you do, Lo’ak?” He asked, now standing upright, full attention on his brother.

Lo’ak ears drew back to press up against his head and his tail curled itself between his legs, a telltale sign that he fucked up big time.

“I…I caught (Y/N) with Ao’nung last night,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for Neteyam to hear.

Neteyam had a sneaking suspicion that you and the Metkayina boy were seeing each other behind their backs. Sure the realization hurt but it was your love life and if you weren’t ready to tell your family that you were seeing someone, then it’s your choice. It’s not like you were a child who couldn’t comprehend consequences or make your own choices. You were a woman and were allowed to make whatever decision you thought fit for yourself.

The older boy blankly stared at the younger, not seeing a problem in what he just said.

It was then that Lo’ak realized Neteyam knew about your relationship and that Tsireya most likely did as well. A new sense of anger crawling its way up his stomach. Why couldn’t you tell him? Why did they know and he didn’t?

“And…” Tsireya urged him on, losing her patience with the Omatikaya boy.

“And…” Lo’ak continued, avoiding eye contact with both teens and looking down at the soft sand beneath his feet, “I called her some…things as a result.”.

“Things?!” Tsireya scoffed, clearly over her boyfriend's tiptoeing over the actual truth, “You called her a slut, Lo’ak. For seeing my brother.”.

The growl that left Neteyam’s throat made Lo’ak shrink in on himself in cowardice, still refusing to meet his brother's gaze.

“You skxawng!” He shouted, pushing at Lo’ak’s shoulder, making him stagger back, “You’re an imbecile! Why would you call her that?”.

Lo’ak growled back at his brother in retaliation, anger getting the best of him.

“I was angry! I wasn’t thinking straight,” he hissed out, fists clenched into balls by his side.

Neteyam scoffed, “Clearly. You never do, Lo’ak! All you do is talk but never think. Look at where thats gotten you now!”.

Lo’ak wanted to pounce on his brother and punch him in the face, repeatedly. But he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere, especially after last night. It wouldn’t solve that sadness you felt nor the anger he harbored. So, he just bit his tongue in hopes that the pain would distract him from his impulsive thoughts to bury his fist into his older brothers face.

“You really hurt her, Lo’ak,” Tsireya spoke out, voice becoming soft again as some of the anger dissipated over the course of their conversation. She was still mad at him but it started to seem like Lo’ak was beginning to finally understand the weight of his words.

“She cried so hard in my arms that she fell asleep. I had Rotxo help me carry her to my marui so she could sleep peacefully,” she continued, catching Lo’ak’s eyes shift from the sandy floor to her, concern creeping on to his features, “She told me how sad your words made her feel. How she thought they were true.”.

That made Lo’ak’s heart break into a million different pieces. You thought that you were a slut? That he truly meant his words? Oh, Eywa. He really did fuck up.

“We know that you didn’t mean it. She knows. But, Lo’ak, your words have an impact on people and they made a significant one on (Y/N) last night,” Tsireya adds on, gently approaching Lo’ak as she took one of his hands into hers and put the other on his cheek, making him look at her, “You need to make it up to her. You need to tell her that there was no truth behind your words and that you were a skxawng for saying them. She needs to hear your apologies from you.”.

The anger Lo’ak once felt disappeared, guilt replacing it.

He was so stupid. Such an awful brother. He should’ve never said those things to you. He should’ve walked away from you and Ao’nung to collect his thoughts instead of insulting you and beating your boyfriend. He felt terrible. But he deserved it. He should feel terrible for all the pain he caused you with his words.

How was he going to make it up to you?

———

You awoke to a body shifting behind you, bringing you closer to their chest as their arms gripped you tighter.

“Morning, yawne,” a deep and familiar voice groggily said.

You smiled at the voice, immediately recognizing that it was your boyfriend who had you in his arms, just like last night.

“Morning, Ao’nung,” you whispered back, getting comfortable in your boyfriend's warm embrace.

Ao’nung never failed at lifting up your mood and making you feel better. It was his speciality. Just one look at his adorably stupid face and everything in life seemed so much better, more brighter.

The boy had only gotten back from his fiasco with Lo’ak when he realized you were fast asleep in his bed, laying on your side as you brought up the thin sheet he always slept with to your chin. His sister had explained to him why you were in there, feeling even more anger towards your twin. He hated seeing you like this. He wished he could take all your pain and awful thoughts away and transfer them to himself so you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

“I love you, Ma (Y/N),” Ao’nung mumbled against your skin, burying his face into the space between your shoulder and neck.

You giggled at the tickle of breath against your skin, recoiling a bit from the sensation. You turned around to face your lover to combat the ticklish sensation, coming face to face with Ao’nung.

Your eyes widened and jaw dropped when you saw the state of his face.

Ao’nung saw the grimace on your face and gently took your hands in his and kissed each knuckle. He knew fighting with your brother wasn’t the smartest idea and would most definitely end up with him receiving a few scowls from you in return.

“Did Lo’ak do this?” You softly questioned, afraid to speak too loudly in fear that it would bring unwanted attention from his parents.

They had been proud of their only son for no longer picking fights with Toruk Makto’s son and you didn’t want to ruin that by yelling at or reprimanding him for it. You suppose this situation wouldn’t count though. He had defended you against your brother, basically fighting for your honor. It was different.

Ao’nung only hummed in response, placing your palms against his warm and bruised cheeks.

Tsireya had seen to his injuries when he came limping into the marui. She and Rotxo had just gotten you situated into bed when he arrived. She scowled at him for fighting with Lo’ak, but praised him for defending you. She was proud of her brother for being a good partner but was disappointed at hers for saying such cruel words to you.

Your heart broke at his confirmation, though it didn’t come as a surprise. You knew what was going to happen if you left the two boys to deal with the situation themselves but you couldn’t bring yourself to stay there any longer. You needed some space from your brother.

You opened your mouth to apologize, feeling guilty for leaving Ao’nung to handle your twin by himself but he stopped you before you could, placing a soft kiss against your lips.

“It is not you who needs to apologize, my txe’lan” he says, reading you like a book, “It is your skxawng of a brother who needs to.”.

You chuckled lightly at his words, bringing your lover closer into your frame as your hands continued to rest against his cheeks.

“He’s stubborn,” you reply, slightly doubting your brothers ability to apologize first.

For a majority of your shared childhood with Lo’ak, he rarely apologized for his actions. You could count on one hand the amount of times he’s genuinely apologized to you. All of the forced and half assed ones don’t count in your book.

“He’ll come around. He has to,” Ao’nung retorted, resting his forehead against yours.

Although he too doubted Lo’ak ability to apologize first, you were just as stubborn, if not more, than your twin. He knew you’d do any and everything in your ability to ignore Lo’ak until he came to his senses and gave you a genuine apology he actually meant. That’s another thing he loved about you. You refused to have anyone walk over you, including family.

“I hope so,” you sadly replied, a small frown painted onto your lips.

Your response made Ao’nung copy your frown, feeling guilty for the kind of brother you had. Albeit Lo’ak not meaning his words and being careless with them and his actions, they still had an impact on those around him. He just hopes that he comes to his senses sooner rather than later.

“Wanna go for a swim?” Ao’nung questions, trying to lift up your saddened mood.

Swimming and exploring with Ao’nung is something you always enjoyed, finding peace in his presence and joy in doing something relatively new, even if you’ve been on Awa’atlu for months now. So you nodded at his question, happily pulling your boyfriend up to his feet and out towards the beach.

No matter what, you knew that Ao’nung would do everything in his ability to make you happy for as long as you were together. And you hoped that even with this small bump in your long, adventurous road together, that it would be forever.

If only Lo’ak could see that. If only he understood.

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musings-of-a-rose · 5 months

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Jump Then Fall - Part 3

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc “Vanessa Morales”

Word Count: 3600+

Rating: M for mature - 18+ only!

Warnings: Please be aware there is an 11 year age gap. Mature themes and some canon mentioned. Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: When the story starts, Vanessa is 19 and Javier is 30.

**Shoutout to @VaneMando15 for listening and bouncing ideas from me, and for her guidance with being a Latina herself. Without her, this wouldn’t even be a thing, just another line on my WIP spreadsheet. And also to my husband, who is also Latino and answered any questions I had (along with taking me to Colombia back in 2014). And to @wyn-n-tonic, who listened to my rambles and insecurities about writing an oc in first person.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

Jump Then Fall Masterlist

General Masterlist

Javier Peña Masterlist

<<Part 2<<

He's coming back. Chucho is bringing Javier back after 6 years. What do I say? How do I tell him he has a son who is already 6 years old? Will he even remember me? Will he want to be a part of mine and Alex's life or will he turn and run?

My mind spirals as I finish drying the last few pans before putting them away. I head upstairs, my brain going through a million different scenarios before I take a quick glance in the mirror. I smooth down my hair and put on a new outfit, a simple summer dress that goes down to my knees, and end up randomly tidying and cleaning the house, never settling on one spot.

I knew this day would come. I guess I just never thought about it specifically. 6 years ago, I was so sure of my choice not to tell him, that I wouldn't want him distracted in Colombia but I wouldn't want him to come home and resent us for forcing his choice. But a part of me, ok a large part of me, feels guilty for not giving him the choice.

I hear Chucho's truck pull up outside and my heart starts beating faster. The truck doors slam and muted voices make their way to the front door. I pick up the book on the counter in front of me and open it, my eyes not taking in a word but I didn't want to look like I was waiting around for them. For him.

"...'m fine. You don't have to b-baby me."

"I'm just trying to make sure you don't vomit on the clean floors."

He's drunk. I can tell by the way his words are slurred, his feet thunking across the wood floors in a sporadic pattern. Before I can move, he stumbles through the kitchen doorway, his eyes taking a few moments to focus on me.

"Who are you?"

My hearts sinks a little. I would've been surprised if he remembered me, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt.

"Vanessa."

He steps closer to me, his eyes scanning my body before settling on mine.

"Are you fucking my dad?"

"Uh, no. I-"

"Ok, Javi. Time for bed. Vanessa will be here later for you to question," Chucho claps his hands on Javier's shoulders and guides him towards the doorway.

"Ok, ok. I have more questions later, Vanessssssa."

I give him a little wave as he disappears through the doorway. Chucho struggles to get him up the stairs, but eventually the sounds of them arguing disappear and I'm left alone for the moment. I turn around, gripping the counter with both of my hands and take several deep breaths.

He doesn't remember me. Or maybe it's because he's drunk? How do I handle it now?

His eyes, though filled with the drink, held a lot of anger and regret. He's hurting. I can't imagine what he's seen or had to do in persuit of Escobar. Chucho walks back in, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Sorry about him. He doesn't usually get drunk like that."

I wave my hand. "It's fine. I imagine he's been through a lot."

"Still, it's not an excuse to act like an asshole...he's going to be out for a bit but I'm thinking hamburgers for dinner? Something greasy to help that hangover he's going to have."

"Sounds good."

Chucho studies me for a moment. "How are you?"

That's a good question. "I...I'm not entirely sure."

"You need to tell him."

I nod. "Of course. But I can't tell him when he's drunk."

He chuckles. "No, I suppose not. But soon, ok?"

I give him a small smile before moving to get out the ingredients to bake some hamburger buns. Chucho moves to the living room, the tv turning on a moment later. He flips the channel and the news report echoes through the doorway to me.

"Breaking news! Pablo Escobar has just been killed. This is live footage of the rooftop where he was killed by DEA agent Steve Murphy..."

I step into the living room, watching the live broadcast of the rooftops where the outline of a dead man lays splaid on the tiles, other men in tach vests surrounding him. A blonde man high fives someone as the news anchor continues their report. But then it dawns on me.

Javier is not there, finally catching Escobar after 6 years of chasing him. He's here. No wonder he's drunk. What happened?

"Why is Javier here, Chucho?"

He's quiet a moment. "I don't know."

I return to the kitchen, mixing the dough before forming the buns. I can't imagine working for 6 years trying to catch one of the most elusive men, only to be forced away at the very end, not even being allowed to be there for his capture. I'd lose my mind too. I know I need to tell him about Alex, but I also need to give him a moment with this.

But how long of a moment?

-------

It takes 3 days for Javier to come out of a drunken stupor. I hear his bedroom door open as he stumbles down the hall with a groan, the bathroom door closing behind him. I hear a slam from the bathroom, sounding like the toilet lid. I wipe my hands on my apron and head upstairs, hesitating for a moment outside of the bathroom door. I knock very gently.

"Javier? Are you alright?"

A grunt followed by another violent heaving sound answers me. I turn the handle, slowly pushing the door open as the heaving subsides. Javier slumps against the side of the bathtub, his hand moving around to find the handle to flush the toilet. His hair is rumpled, his eyes mostly closed, clad only in a pair of sweatpants. I walk over to the toilet and close the lid, flushing the toilet for him. His hand drops to his lap and he takes a couple of deep breaths.

"Thanks."

"Of course. Do you want help up?"

He cracks his eyes open and looks at me. "You're not my dad."

"That I am not."

He lifts his head, opening his eyes a little more before hissing and closing them, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "The fucking light is going to kill me."

"Well I can't do anything about the light coming in this window. But let's get you back to your room in bed. You'll feel better."

I wait a few moments while he gathers himself, extending my hand to help him up. He squints at me and I roll my eyes.

"Just take my hand. I'm stronger than I look."

He takes it and I have to hold back a gasp as his large hands engulf my small ones, the warmth from the contact sparking all sorts of thoughts and memories. I pull him to his feet and he leans on me as I help him back to his room, pulling back the sheets as he slides in. I pull all of his curtains firmly shut, only using the light from the hallway to see around. Javier settles into bed, groaning a little as he puts his hand on his stomach.

"I'll bring you some water and pain meds."

"Oh you don't have-"

"That wasn't a question."

I head back downstairs, getting a glass of water. I stop by the bathroom again, opening the medicine cabinet and getting out some pain meds. I also pull out the bottle of activated charcoal tablets that Chucho handed me shortly after Javier came home. He said they suck to choke down but they'd really help the hangover. I carry everything to his room, shaking out the right amount of charcoal tablets. Javier sits up with another groan, taking the pills and the glass of water.

"This isn't aspirin."

"No. It's activated charcoal. Chucho said it will really help your hangover. You can't take it with any meds though as it'll just absorb those."

"I'll just take the aspirin."

"I really think you need to take the charcoal."

He looks up at me. "I don't even know who you are why the fuck would I listen to you?"

"Because I just carried your stubborn self all the way from the bathroom after you puked your guts out. I'm just trying to help. Take the damn pills."

He studies me through squinted eyes. "Yes ma'am." He chokes down the pills and makes a disgusted face before drinking several sips of water. "Those taste terrible."

"I never claimed they tasted good. So let those do their work and get some rest. When you're ready, come downstairs and I'll make you something to eat."

He looks at me again, his eyebrows slightly furrowed together in concentration. "No really, who are you?"

"Vanessa. Now get some rest."

He lays back and I pull the blanket up, giving him a small smile when I catch him looking at me. I leave the room and head back downstairs, finishing up some of the lesson planning I was doing for the upcoming semester.

A few hours later, Javier comes downstairs, this time with a shirt. Although he only has the bottom 3 buttons done up. I'm not sure why he even bothered with a shirt. Not that I'm complaining. He stands there awkwardly, like he doesn't know what to do.

"Feeling better?" I ask, turning to face him from my stool at the kitchen island.

"Yeah. Those charcoal things worked really well."

"Good. I've never been hungover so I wasn't sure, but I figured Chucho knew what he was talking about. Are you hungry?"

"I uh...I'm not sure," his hand goes to his stomach, his face souring slightly.

I head over to the slow cooker on the counter. "I made some chicken noodle soup. If anything, you can sip on the broth?" I look over at him, his head cocked to the side, watching me.

"Javier?"

"What? Oh soup. Yeah. Sure."

I ladle him a bowl and grab some saltines and set them on a little plate next to his bowl and set it in front of him. I also set down a glass filled with cloudy looking water.

"Coconut water?" Javier asks skeptically.

I shrug. "My mom always gave it to me during and after a cold. Said it gave me back nutrients. I figure alcohol probably takes a fair amount of nutrients from you. So it should help."

"Hhmm. Guess we'll find out." He takes a tentative sip from the cup, licking his lips a little after. "Hey that's sitting alright."

I give him a small smile. "Good."

Before I can move, he grabs my arm and gives it a little squeeze, sending jolts of electricity through me. "Thank you."

"Y-you're welcome."

I sit and pull my planner and books to me, resuming my task of lesson planning. I can feel his eyes on me, like he's studying me. I wish he would find something else more interesting.

"What are you doing?"

I don't look up. "Lesson planning for this upcoming semester."

He takes a slurp of his soup and swallows it. "Teacher? Holy shit this soup is amazing."

I look up at him as he takes another bite, his eyes closing for a moment as he savors the soup.

"Yeah. I'm teaching 2nd grade this year."

"Sounds fun. Seriously, what did you do to this soup?"

"My mom taught me how to cook," My eyes sting and my heart hurts thinking of those memories.

"Well, she did a damn good job."

"Sometimes she got it right."

He looks up at me. "Oh. I'm sorry I touched a nerve."

I wave my hand. "It's ok. I've come to terms with it."

He sets his spoon down, all of his focus on me. His gaze is intense, that little furrow between his brow is back. "You look-"

"Good you're awake, puto. Put some pants on and come help me." Chucho walks in the back door, stomping his boots on the mat outside before stepping in.

"I don't know if I-"

"Come on, son. No more babying I gave you time. Now I need your young bones."

"You sound like a bruja." (witch). But Javier pushes back from the island and starts to grab his plate.

"Don't worry about it, I got it." I stand, leaning over to take the bowl and plate, noticing that he'd eaten all of it. "I have more if you want some."

His dark eyes bore into mine, fanning a flame inside of me. "I want whatever you give me, Vanessa."

SMACK! Chucho slaps Javier on the back of his head.

"What the fuck?"

"Stop flirting and come help me before these chickens run halfway to Mexico."

-------

Chucho and Javier are gone for a few more hours and return just as the sun is setting. I hang up the phone, having had my nightly call with Alex, who is having a blast at science camp. The men kick off their work boots and coats, trudging upstairs to shower.

"Dinner will be ready soon so don't take long!" I yell after them.

Chucho devours the steak I'd made him while Javier opts to have another couple bowls of soup. Before long, Chucho leans back, slapping his stomach.

"Well, I am tired. Gonna get an early sleep. Vanessa? Delicious, as usual. Night, everyone."

"Good night, Chucho."

While he heads upstairs, I start to clean up, Javier immediately moving to help me. I shake my head.

"Nope. I got this."

"I can help."

"Really, it's ok."

"Are you always this stubborn?

"Are you?"

He looks at me before he smirks, but then it's gone just as fast. Man am I fucked.

"I can dry?"

"I appreciate the offer, but really. I'm ok."

"Does washing the dishes relax you or something?"

I know he said it in jest, but now that I think about it, it kind of does. The warm, soapy water calms me down. Gives me space to think.

"Yeah sort of."

He puts his hands up. "Say no more. I don't want to intrude." Did he just wink at me? Javier heads from the kitchen and I hear the front door open, the screen door slapping closed behind him.

After I'm done with the dishes, I dry my hands, thinking. I grab another glass of coconut water and head towards the front door, hesitating for several moments before pushing open the screen. Javier sits on the swing bench, facing out to look over the front half of the farm, a cigarette lit and in between his fingers. He takes a long drag, his lips rounding to blow out the smoke.

"I thought you should hydrate again." I hold up the glass and he turns to look at me, his eyes coming back into focus. He beckons me to him and I walk up, handing him the glass.

"That's a nasty habit, you know," I nod towards the cigarette in his hand.

He shrugs. "You have your relaxing activity, and I have mine." Still, he leans forward and puts it out on the tray he'd set on the arm of the bench. "Come. Sit."

I take a breath and sit, our thighs nearly touching. The air feels electrified, like it's waiting for something to happen. We sit like this for a while, staring out at the cows grazing in the front fields, Javier lightly rocking the swing as he rolls his foot back and forth.

"Thank you for...everything. Taking care of me and..everything." He turns his head to look at me in the light coming in through the windows from the house.

"It's not a problem. Anyone would do it."

He snorts. "Not for me."

"And why not?"

He pauses a moment. "I'm not a good guy."

"Well I know that's not true. You're a great man, Javier." I place my hand on his forearm without thinking, and squeeze. He looks down at where I touch him, placing his hand over mine before looking at me.

"I'm really not. I just..." He trails off, his eyes sweeping over my face. "You...you look familiar. It's been killing me for days."

Well. Now is the time. For this confession, at least.

"That's because we know each other."

His brow furrows slightly. "I had a feeling. From where?"

It still hurts a little that he doesn't remember, even though I know it's a trauma response. Memory loss and PTSD can often go hand in hand.

"You...you gave me a rose, once."

Recognition immediately ripples over his face, his eyes widening, his eyebrows raising a little as he shifts his body to face me.

"Vanessa? From the bar? Right before I left for Colombia?"

I smile nervously. "That's me."

"Summer of new things Vanessa?"

I nod. "Yup. Me."

His eyes are twinkling now, a small smile creeping up his face. "Holy shit! I never thought I'd see you again. It was so hard to walk away from you that morning. The only thing that did it was the fact that the DEA would come down on me hard for missing that flight." His eyes soften the longer he looks in mine and for a moment, we're both transported back to that night, the night he opened up my world.

"H-how are you?" He's hesitant, but his eyes are wide and curious.

"Not bad."

"How did you end up here? I thought you were going back to-" he waves his hand around trying to think. "Austin?"

"Corpus Christi."

He snaps his fingers. "That was it."

Do I tell him about Alex? About being a father? Something inside me tells me to wait. To only surprise Javier with one thing at a time. He's been through so much and the last thing I want to do is pile more on top of that.

"It's a long story but I...got pregnant and my parents..well, they didn't approve. Out of wedlock. Anyway, they kicked me out and I uh, ended up here. Chucho I guess took pity on me and gave me a place to stay. I offered to cook and clean for him which of course he argued against, but," I shrug. "And so I stayed. He demanded I return to college and get my teaching degree I had been working on and he babysat Alex while I did. I owe him so much. My life, basically. I don't know how I'll be able to repay him."

His eyes grew serious. "You're parents kicked you out pregnant?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"That's fucked. Sorry, but it is."

I shrug. "They were the kind of parents that would scrub my mouth out with soap and make me repeat scripture if I had nail polish on so I guess I'm not surprised. I've made peace with it."

"Still. I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Thanks."

We sit in silence for another few moments, one weight on my chest lifted but a very heavy one still remaining.

"The dad didn't help?"

Here's your chance, Vanessa. You can tell him now, despite everything. Tell him. TELL. HIM.

"He...He had other things to do."

Javier scoffs. "What an asshole."

I shake my head vehemently. "No, it's not..they were very important."

"More important than knocking up a young woman?"

"I think so."

"I'm sure."

I turn to face him more directly. "What if it was yo-"

RING RING! RING RING!

The phone cuts through our conversation, forcing an ending that I wasn't ready for. Javier attempts to stand but I put my hand out.

"It might be Alex. I've got it."

I feel his eyes on me as I go inside, answering the phone quickly. It wasn't Alex but some automated political message and I grunt, hanging up the phone in frustration. I should go back outside and explain everything to him, confess it all, but I don't. I do peak my head back outside and call his name, momentarily flustered when he looks at me.

"It was some political something."

"I fucking hate those."

"I'm going upstairs. Drink that coconut water." I point to the untouched glass in his hand and he holds it up towards me.

"Yes, ma'am."

-------

>>Chapter 4>>

General Taglist:

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nyxronomicon · 4 months

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🍉 sponsor a fic for gaza 🍉

hey y'all! I decided to offer some of my favorite WIPs up for sponsorship as part of the @ficsforgaza campaign.

🔞 these fics and my blog are all 18+ and include smut and dark themes. minors DNI 🔞

to sponsor a fic, you can make a donation to the vetted charity of your choice. then, send a screenshot to me (feel free to block out personal info! I just need the amount and the charity visible) and let me know which fic you'd like it to go towards!

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for every $1 donated, I will add 100 words to the sponsored fic. for donations $5 or more, I can incorporate a kink of your choice into the fic (see my list of preferred kinks on my pinned).

salvation | suguru geto x f!reader (series masterlist)

Nearly a year and a half after your divorce, Suguru Geto still texts you. You stopped responding after he told you the ridiculous lie that he was a priest a year ago. When he sends a picture of himself in his priest robes, you feel a little guilty about ignoring him all this time. cw: dub-con (coersion), manipulation, others listed on the series masterlist. (sponsorship going towards the final two chapters of the series) words sponsored: 0/4000

thank you for the venom | toji fushiguro x f!reader

years of cheating and verbal abuse pushes you to murder your rich husband, satoru gojo. finishing a lovely dinner with him slumped over the table, you're surprised when toji shows up in your dining room to assassinate him, only to find him dead already. He offers to clean up your mess, but not for free. cw: reader kills her husband (poison), knife play (no cutting just a bit of danger), manhandling, toji physically restrains reader, other cw tbd words written: 1.1k of 2k-ish words sponsored: 1000/1000 🎉🎉

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you've been endeavor's secretary for years, and even though he's recently been named number one pro hero after all might's retirement, it seems his life is falling apart. though you've mutually pined for each other over the years, it never went anywhere. that is, until you accidentally mention that enji has always been your number one hero. cw: implied age difference, porn w plot, angst, power dynamic (enji's your boss lol), size (emphasis on him being large lol), other cw tbd words written: 1.5k of 2.5-3k words sponsored: 500/1500

blissful nightmare | death meme!Gallagher x f!reader

au based on the idea that gallagher transforms into the death meme werewolf-style. you talk your favorite bartender, gallagher, into taking you deeper into the dreamscape. the veil keeping gallagher in his human form becomes harder for him to control the deeper he goes, but his lust for you has him diving into that abyss after you. cw: monsterfucking, horror themes, rough sex, claws, heat cycle will be a revised and lengthened version of this words sponsored: 500/2000

fushiguro step.cest au | step.dad!toji / step.bro!megumi x f!reader

for this one I'm doing something a little different. here's the au so far: step.dad!toji | step.bro!megumi toji can't keep his hands off you (obviously) even in public. even in front of his son, though he tries to be discreet he's rarely successful. and of course, there are always consequences when you mess with megumi... cw: step.cest!!, megumi is ROUGH, cucking, maybe public/risky location, brat taming (from megumi), other cw tbd I'm allowing a vote per dollar spent on how many words I will use on each character's respective sex scenes, to a 2k total word max. If you'd like to sponsor this one, please let me know how you'd like to distribute your votes! words for megumi: 500 words for toji: 500 total words sponsored: 1000/2000

I have many WIPs so it's likely as I finish these I may swap in others. if you've seen me talking about a WIP you may be interested in sponsoring, let me know! I'm happy to open up other WIPs in the interest of supporting Palestine!!

posts about this (not the completed fics) will be tagged #nyx writes for gaza

#truly just a collection of the fics i want to write the most lol #nyx writes for gaza #sorry for censoring the step.cest like that but i don't want filters to catch it in this case lol. i will not do it again #in the future they will be tagged as usual!#fics for gaza

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facewithoutheart · 2 months

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Ten Questions for Writers

Thanks for the tags @shrekgogurt, @artsyunderstudy, @youarenevertooold, & @roomwithanopenfire I’m enjoying all this navel-gazing a whole bunch actually & I’ve done this before but it’s been awhile… sooo

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 169 (niiiice)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? ~950k (yikes) although some of that is Birthday Man and collabs with people from WIP fest. Don’t ask me to do the math tho; that’s mean.

3. What fandoms do you write for? I’ve written for HP, Check Please, and RWRB although right now I’m mostly a CO writer with a toe dipping into 9-1-1. I have one Captain America fic posted and some WIPs I don’t know if I’ll finish. Nobody look at that AFTG fic; it’s pure crack.

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Whoo boy do I have thoughts here. I want to be the kind of writer who replies to comments and I harbor so much guilt that I’m not; I know I miss out on opportunities to connect with readers, and I genuinely appreciate comments so much; I hoard them in my inbox like a greedy lil affirmation dragon. I write to engage and connect. So, like, I know I should but at the same time I hate forcing interactions. I like them to spawn organically. I keep my circle small because I get really emotionally overwhelmed and then I feel guilty when I can’t give people what they deserve. And I’ve also never been comfortable with compliments or gratitude, I don’t trust them. So here’s a bulk of emotional trauma no one asked for to say: I don’t reply to comments as often as I feel I should and I’m trying to release the guilt I feel about this while also recognizing that not commenting probably has a direct negative affect on my ability to meet my goal of connecting through writing and at the same time my mental health probably couldn’t withstand the pressure I would need to place on it to get to where I’m replying to comments regularly. Hi I’m a mess who’s trying to love herself and often falls short of that goal; aren’t we all?

5. Have you ever had a fic stolen? No.

6. Have you ever co-written a fic before? So many actually! I didn’t think I’d ever get to a place where I trust someone else to the level this would take but I’ve been really lucky to work with some amazing writers even if not all of those works went anywhere. I actually don’t even think I could realistically tag all the people I’ve collabed with bc I’m afraid I’ll miss someone and isn’t that amazing? Personal growth; we love to see her.

7. What’s your all-time favorite ship? Oh man. I want to just be lame and say it’s me and Mr. Face 🤣 I shipped us when no one else did. Um! Snowbaz is always going to have a special place in my heart, but I’m really leaning into Buddie right now because of age and wanting to explore people in their 30’s still figuring out their lives while battling PTSD and late-in-life sexuality realizations. For, um. Reasons.

8. What are your writing strengths? I do like my dialogue a lot; dialogue is often where I start my scenes and I develop from there. I think I’ve done a good job of honing my ability to vary action/dialogue/internality a lot. I also think I keep people engaged or maybe I just keep myself engaged which is good enough for me. Sometimes I’m funny although sadly not as much recently.

9. What are your writing weaknesses? I struggle with remembering to add in physical descriptors. (Like oh shit have I ever mentioned this character has eyes?) Logistics are a frequent source of pain. (Wait, where were their hands?) I think my plots are kind of basic and boring; I don’t come up with really vivid and detailed concepts. I use the wrong words for things. I really hate detailing out backstory. I have to reread my fics a million times to maintain character consistency. Etc.

10. First fandom you wrote for? Hey Arnold. I wish I could find those fics; I bet they suck.

Tagging 10 peeps @sillyunicorn @mostlymaudlin @martsonmars @bookish-bogwitch @cutestkilla @ivelovedhimthroughworse @thewholelemon @palimpsessed @aristocratic-otter & @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

#writing #behind the writing #navel-gazing #fanfix #ten questions tag game

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soldieronbarnes · 5 months

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ALRIGHT FOLKS, as I'm getting started on my Obikin BB fic, here's a snippet of another fic I considered for the fest but decided it would be too long; it's a WIP you've seen me mention before and that I hope to actually write and complete one day (the one where Nabooian culture has the fucked up tradition of lending one's spouse to esteemed guests --- Anakin is the spouse, Obi-Wan the guest)

“You think you’re doing me a kindness? That, by refusing to touch me, you’re saving me?”

Obi-Wan blinks, taken aback. Before, Anakin had seemed — fearful and shy, perhaps. Now, the Force brims with bitterness and anger around him.

“I’m not sure I would call it a kindness,” Obi-Wan hazards cautiously, despite his confusion. He’d expected the Force to bloom with sweet, if anxious, relief. Surely it is — basic decency. Surely this boy must have known guests who refused the offer, who were equally appalled by these archaic practices, and less beholden to appealing to his husband’s sense of pride, to stroking Palpatine’s ego, to flattering him until he let himself be moved whichever which way than Obi-Wan is.

“It isn’t.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t understand.

“I don’t understand,” he admits. “I don’t believe you want me to touch you.”

“It doesn’t matter!” The boy explodes. “It never matters! He’ll know, you see, he always does, and this is — this is a punishment.” He buries his face in his hand, and he might be crying and —

Obi-Wan is so in over his head.

“I was led to believe that in Nabooian culture — in its very traditional, almost antiquated culture, that is – that it is seen as a great privilege to, ah —” he stumbles. “Well. That the husband sees it as something to take pride in, a generosity upon his guest, not — not —”

“It is,” Anakin sniffs. “It’s a mark of hospitality, and plenty of people here still follow this tradition; Hells, plenty of wives enjoy and support it, Nabooians aren’t exactly monogamous, but — but I’m —”

Anakin swallows heavily, squares his shoulders, and when he lifts his head, his expression is resigned. Only a slight redness around his eyes betrays his feelings; when he continues, it’s very matter of fact.

“I displeased him, earlier. Knowingly. I shouldn’t have, I should’ve known better, but I — I didn’t think. I relied too much on him liking you, liking the Jedi, thinking that you were important, so that he would not want to offend you. I didn’t think he’d — but it’s perfect, you see. I get my punishment, and you get taken down a peg. And by tomorrow, you’ll feel so guilty about breaking your vows that you’ll grant him more in the negotiations than you planned to, and he’ll have won, again.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t even know where to begin: The allusion to frequent spousal abuse? The delicate nature of negotiations? The accusation that he would be swayed by bribes offered, especially ones as crude as this one? Correcting the boy on the notion that Jedi take vows of celibacy?

“I beg your pardon,” he says. Better to focus on the most pressing issue. The others are probably best shoved aside until he has time and peace of mind for a solid, lengthy meditation session. “But I don’t think I understand why you dismiss my solution so easily. You’re welcome to spend the night, of course, even though I won’t touch you, and that should be enough to do away with any suspicions your husband might have.”

Anakin only glares at him. “I told you,” he spits, “I told you, he’ll know. He always does. Your squeamishness won’t be an excuse — it’s not about what you do, it’s about me. I didn’t do as he told me to, and he sent me to be fucked by you, knowing how much I hate it every time he makes me do it.” He turns, then, looking Obi-Wan straight in the eyes, his blue eyes burning like kyber on Ilum — except there’s none of the peace, none of the anticipation. Only hurt. “What do you think he’ll do to me, if I go back to him without doing as I was told, when he’s already angry with me?”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth, and then closes it with an audible click.

“I promise you, it’ll be much worse than this,” Anakin continues. “You’re not ugly, and I don’t think you want to hurt me. That’s leagues better than I usually get. So if you want to save me,” he says, every word dripping with derision, ”you need to get over your religious guilt.”

#obikin #my writing

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months

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𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as violence, blood, mentions of cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your suspicions lead to a discovery you'll never forget. (Part of the Illuminate AU)

Characters: James Conrad

Note: This is our last installment for October. I had a lot of fun with this and I hope you did too. Let me know what you think about me possibly opening drabble reqs/imagines as little continuations of these fics.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Be careful,” you gird as James grabs his suitcase, his black wool coat buttoned up under his grey scarf, “the roads are awful. Are you sure you can’t delay?”

You cross your arms and shiver as the frigid winter seeps in around the front door behind him. He gives a mournful shake of his head. He looks gaunt and ashen, a feat for someone with his bone structure. He makes himself smile and steps towards you, cradling the back of your head as he draws you close to kiss your forehead.

You close your eyes and tilt your head up, claiming a kiss on the mouth too. He pulls you close, embracing you tightly. You feel him tense before he lets you go. Your anxiety heightens as you retract and look him up and down.

It isn’t unusual for him to travel for work, you knew that when accepted the job, and you can’t complain for the profit of his efforts. Yet, the last few times, you’ve had this uneasy feeling. A little voice that keeps whispering to you that something is amiss. There’s something you’re not being told.

“I will,” he avows, “love you.”

“Love you too,” you echo on impulse. You mean it but that doubt nips inside of you.

“I’ll call…” he says, “please, don’t worry too much about me.”

“I always worry,” now that is true.

“Stay in tonight,” he says as he tucks his gloves into his pocket and hooks his finger through his keys, “it’s cold.”

“Trust me, I won’t be out,” you scoff, “bye babe.”

“Bye,” he says reticently, unable to restrain a twiddle in his fingers.

He faces the door and lets himself out. You follow behind him as he pulls the door shut and you push on it to make sure it catches. You hover your hand on the lock and watch him through the slender pane of glass set into the door. He looks back as he gets to the car, raising his hand in a half-hearted wave.

He could cancel, couldn’t he? Say the weather was too much, the roads icy. He should be able to and he hardly seems eager to go. Or perhaps, only guilty…

You can’t wait another month for your answer. You back away from the door without locking it and take out your phone. You pull up the app and see the little dot in your driveway, backing out slowly. You shouldn’t have done it, you shouldn’t have slipped the tag in his bag, but you know you won’t sleep either way.

You’ll wait ten minutes before you leave. You slide open the closet and pull out your jacket and boots. You’ll have to keep your distance, try not to catch up. If he gets to the interstate, you’ll turn back. You’ll know then if he’s lying or not.

🌕

The sky darkens quickly. With your headlights off, it's even more umbrous. A full moon is expected and would help illuminate the road if it even deigns to emerge from behind the clouds.

You follow the dot on your phone, driving slowly to keep a safe distance, to not be seen. Your husband's care turns away from the interstate and your dread mounts. He doesn't head for the country roads either.

It's only as you take the next turn and hit gravel that you realise exactly where you are. You're headed into the industrial district. What a choice for a hookup. You're convinced now.

You dim the screen of your phone as the dot of the airtag blinks closer and closer in the app. You steer slowly over the stony lot past one of the block factories and past an inactive smokestack. You stop just as you spot the idling tail lights of James’ car.

You shut off your engine and watch as he does the same. You watch him through the darkness, the pillow clouds of the winter’s night casting him in ominous shadows. He gets out, his tall silhouette slightly hunched as he nearly staggers forward. He shakes his head as if he’s dizzy.

He nears the large building before him, soft light radiating around the crack of the large metal door. You note that he doesn’t bring his bag from the back seat. You already know this isn’t business, but that’s all the proof you need to sink into your despair.

You watch as the tall metal door slides back from within and he dips his head as he’s greeted by another figure within. You see only her outline. Her. You shudder and tear your gaze away, staring at the stone on your finger. You hear the heavy shift of the door as it rolls shut, clanging as it’s locked from the other side.

Fuck. What now? You know what he’s been up to but you don’t have a plan beyond that. Do you drive home and cry into a glass of wine? Do you get out and confront him? Tell him not to come back.

Suddenly, the world brightens around you as the layers of clouds recede and reveal the full face of the moon. The silver light beams down and shines on James’ car and the front of the dingy white industrial building.

Your eyes sting as you find yourself paralysed. Go back or forward. You don’t know what way to go.

A starling growl rips through the whistling wind and jars you. You look around, horrified by the noise, something eerie you can’t place. A wolf? Around here? You grip the wheel tight as your eyes return to the dented facade of the abandoned factory.

Your inaction, your indecision holds you there. Deep down, you didn’t want to believe. You couldn’t. You love James so much that maybe you can get through this.

Your hopeless thoughts are interrupted by the sudden shatter of glass. Shocked, you look up to the rain of shards as they fall from the second story of the building. A dark shape plummets from the height and heaps onto the ground, twitching. Oh god, it can’t be!

You lean forward, trying to see if the figure is still moving. Is it a person? Is it him? That fear submerges you and cuts through your hurt and anger. You get out without another doubt, leaving the car door open and you race towards the puffing body on the ground.

As you near, you slow, stopping just a few feet away as you realise it can’t possibly be your husband. It isn’t even human. The… creature raises its head, sniffing with its long snout as it bears its teeth with a ravenous snarl. Its silver eyes meet yours as you stumble back in terror.

What is that?

You shriek as it plants its feet and rises. You step backwards, twisting on your heel as you hurl yourself back towards your car. You run without looking back, hearing that thing pursuing you with its gritty breaths and crashing paws. No, no, no!

You pant as your shoulder hits the door of your car. You barely keep it from closing full and pull it back. As you do, you feel a fiery rip through your flesh, right down the back of your leg, ripping through your muscle. You kick back and launch yourself into the front seat.

You turn and pull the door shut, catching the wolfish monster’s head between it and the metal frame. You cling to the door as it snaps its jaw at you, growling and slobbering your leg throbs hotly. You shift the door and inch and pull it shut, slamming it against the beast's neck. It yelps and as it recoils and you let up enough for it to reel back in the dirt.

You quickly lock the doors and the windows and face the wheel. Your leg is almost impossible to control as it shakes, slick with blood as it seeps through your jeans. You’re dizzy as you feel your strength draining fast.

You won’t make it far if you don’t stem the flow. Fast! The beast hops onto your hood, its claws denting it as it hammers on the metal. You take your scarf from around your neck and tie it above your knee, tight, then tear away the dangling patch of your jeans to wrap the gash down your calf.

You shake as you sit back and turn the keys in the slot. You feel the fire radiating up your thigh, like your veins are filling with acid. The creature bends back the corner of your hood and the rumble of your engine dies as it buries its dagger-like claws into it. Fuck!

The monster turns its silver irises back on you, breath puffing as it watches you through the windshield. It spins and raises its paws, bringing them down on the glass, sending a spider web of cracks through it. It rears back again but before it can bring down the shattering hit, a blur swipes it off the front of the car.

You hear snarling and snapping. You squint as the edges of your vision blur. You’re losing too much blood. You can feel the world fading from you.

You glance over as another lupine creature tangles with the first. They’re fighting, rolling in the dirt and snow, thrashing and biting. Your head lolls back against the seat and your gaze wanders over to the building as you resign yourself to the weakness dragging your eyelids down.

In your final moments, worry bubbles over and pangs in your chest. That beast. James was inside, had it hurt him too? Is he still alive?

🌕

The world pulses around you, just on the other side of your unconscious. Blustering gales pound against metal, sweeping through and glossing over your raw cheeks. The rest of you is enshrined in ice, the dull hum of hot air blowing from something electric.

Your nose is dry and your lips are crackly, your body bound in achy knots. Your leg is emblazoned in fire as you quake, the frigid cold invading your very person. You cling to the blanket cocooned around you, groaning as your eyelids slowly lift.

There’s something musty in the air, a smell that makes your stomach churn. And your dry tongue is stained with the residue of something vile, metallic and visceral. You swallow and cough, rattling as you’re certain the pungent scent of blood is your own.

Visions of your wolfish attacker return to you and have you whining. Is this death? Purgatory perhaps. The high ceilings and iron rafters watching over you, a moon wrought in similar material hanging at one end of large space, with hands that tick like a clock, the words waxing and waning twisted on each side of the frame.

You cough again, a hoarse deep crackle that catches in your throat. You hear something, the soft clang of metal under rubber, soles nearing you as a shadow looms along your peripheral. A hush that hisses before a stolid heat spreads across your forehead.

“Shhhhh, honey,” James’ voice comforts you as it drawls like syrup, “don’t move, alright?”

He comes around the other side of the couch you lay on, his features narrowing in and out of focus. He drags close a chair and sits near you, taking your hand in his, doting on it as he kisses your knuckles. He tilts his head to press his brow to your fingers, as if praying.

“I’m sorry,” he utters, “I tried…”

“James,” you croak, “what…”

“I think… I don't think I was too late,” he doesn’t raise his head, “but I don’t know if it was the right thing.”

“Please,” you rasp.

“The moon wasn’t gone yet, it wasn’t…” He murmurs, “I wasn’t too late…”

You don’t understand his ramblings. He rocks as he clings to your hands, raising his head as his eyes glisten. He watches you, terrified and ashen. He leans in and stands slightly to place a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he cradles your cheek, “this is what I never wanted…”

“You…” you close your eyes and remember, “lied?”

“I had to,” he says, “to protect you. To try– if you knew what I am–” he stops himself. He shifts, the chair legs scraping, and you feel the blanket tug up your legs. You shiver as he moves your legs. He unwraps it from the fabric rolled around it. He lets his thumb trace up the scabbed skin and lets out another shaky breath, “it worked…”

“What is going on?” You hiss and snap your eyes open, whimpering as you try to rip your leg away from his touch.

“Oh, no,” he pulls back and puts his head in his hands, “oh, sweetheart, I don’t know… I never wanted you to hate me–”

You wince as metal rumbles, clattering loudly behind him, revealing a grey winter morning and letting in a virulent gust. James stands, nearly toppling the chair, and faces the new arrival. He squares his shoulder, a formidable man even without his posturing.

“You!” He snarls, “shut the damn door!”

“Huh?” The female responds with a grunt, “good morning to you too–”

“You fucking idiot!” He storms towards her just as she slides the door shut, the echo of it hitting the frame rattles you. And his timbre. You've never heard him so angry, or even speak like that. “You— You—”

You see the woman, a blond much shorter than him, but unintimidated by his advance. Her blonde hair is tinged scarlet at the ends, something red caked down her chest, shamelessly peeking out from beneath her shredded attire. She puts her hands on her hips as she faces him boldly.

“What?” She challenges, eyes wandering to you, “oh… who’s this, Conrad?”

He sneers and steps into her line of sight, “my wife. Who you scratched–”

“I… I did?” She scoffs.

“Fuck off, Yelena,” he shoves her, “don’t play fucking stupid with me.”

“Oh, you want to be a bitch?” She retorts, “what happened to pack rules. We don’t touch each other.”

“You were going to kill her–” Your head spins at their conversation. What are they talking about?

“She shouldn’t have been here!”

You hug the blanket as your teeth chatter. Kill you? Flashes of dark fur, the grind of bending metal, the hiss of the engine as it dies, and the beastly silver eyes. No, it can’t be.

“What are you?” You whisper.

Their argument quiets and the both turn to you, faces shadowed with guilt. The woman, Yelena, he called her, glances at him from the corner of her eyes. His shoulders drop and he hangs his head.

“She is still alive,” she comments. “Maybe I didn’t cut very deep.”

“Deep enough,” he shakes his head, “I had to…” he can’t finish the sentence. She frowns and pats his back, “you saved her life. You did what you had to and…” she smirks, “it isn’t so bad.”

“Speak for yourself,” he growls and shrugs her off.

He crosses to you again and resumes his seat. You watch him, speechless with confusing. You put your hands to the stiff cushion under you and push yourself up. You grunt at the effort it takes and your eyes find the ripple gash along the back of your leg. You stare at the crackly brown scabbing.

“How long…” you wonder.

“Ten hours. Look, I’ll explain but–”

Ten hours. A cute that serious couldn't heal that quickly. That's impossible.

The large door rolls open again. He cringes and his forehead lines with frustration at the interruption. You strain to see past him as a couple enters, the man striding nonchalantly, buck naked as a woman follows wrapped in a plaid blanket. She’s disheveled as he brazenly taps her ass, urging her ahead of him before he slides the door shut with an effortless nudge.

“Of course, Jesus,” James looks back over his shoulder, “Kraven, put something on. The fuck. What happened to not drawing attention?”

“Mm, it’s nice out,” the other man, Kraven grins, curling his arm around the woman who seems less than comforted by his embrace. She looks exhausted. “Oh, and who is this? So worried for me bringing back stragglers?”

James rolls his eyes and looks back to you. He’s quiet as he gives you a helpless expression. He stands and leans over you, keeping his voice low, “I’ll explain when it’s not chaos.”

He tries to press a kiss to your forehead but you turn your head so he can only peck your temple. Explain what? Who are these people? Where is she? The woman who must’ve drawn him into all this.

James crosses the room and snatches up another blanket, throwing it at the naked man. “A bit of decency.”

“Hey, this is my home,” Kraven snips.

The woman grabs the blanket as it drapes from his shoulder and she puts it around his waist, knotting it at the top. He lets her, unbothered entirely. He bends his head side to side, cracking the tension from it.

“Where’s the fucking coffee?”

“Language,” James warns as he looms before you.

“Kettle’s boiling,” an unfamiliar voice squeaks and another woman appears from the edge of the room. You have no idea where she came from.

Your head is pounding from the building wall of sounds around you. You hear the kettles now, heating up slowly, and the blasting blow of the electric heater, the wailing winds, the pulsing of heartbeats all around you. You cover your ears and cry out, “be quiet!”

“Ah, I see, a new friend,” Kraven muses.

“His wife,” Yelena explains.

“Another?” The quiet woman who drifts like a ghost adds.

“What happened to not shitting where you eat?” Yelena snips, “am I the only one who doesn’t bring their scraps home?”

“What scraps?” A voice comes from above and you peer up at a dark-haired man watching from the second level.

“Ah, don’t start, thrall-fucker,” Yelena sneers up at the man. The woman who stands near the shaking kettle looks away guiltily as the couple wrapped in blankets peek at her. Yelena chuckles, “oh, you didn’t know?”

“Quietttttttt,” another voice adds to the chaos as a tall blonde man appears at the top of the stairs, “she is sleeping.”

“Mm, and his precious little doll,” Yelena mumbles as she blows a raspberry. “When did you all get so goddamn cheesy?”

The kettle suddenly whistles, carving a cavern in your skull. You cover your ears and writhes, screaming again. Everything needs to stop!

“Enough!” James hollers, “Belova, Kemp, Kraven, Warlock, here. The rest, go!”

The room stills. The exchanges of looks, some amused, others skeptical, a few frightened. The woman in the blanket moves first as the man taps her arm, then the woman near the kettle follows her up the stairs as the tall blond descends past them and the dark-haired man above makes his way down without urgency.

Several doors above close as you look at those who remain. Yelena, that man Kraven, and the two other men. James turns to you, “Yelena, make my wife a coffee as I sort this out.”

“Is she dying?” The dark-haired man in wooly sweater asks. The other smells the air and his narrow eyes focus on you.

“She’s turning,” the blond declares.

“She is my wife,” James puts his hand up, “alright, so let me goddamn explain this to her.”

A few shrugs but no real response. Yelena pours the water that sounds like a tidal wave to you. James stands behind the armchair as he watches you.

“Look, this isn’t easy so I will be entirely clear. That… wolf you saw last night was Yelena, that woman there. And the other, if you recall, that…” his throat bobs, “was me. And these others, Kraven,” he gestures to the bare-chested man, “Adam,” the tall blond, “and Steve,” the man with the dark swoop of hair, “are the same. All cursed. Like me and now, you.”

“What–”

“I had to… you would die if I didn’t–”

You look at the ceiling, searching as your heart flutters. You don’t understand. It’s somehow not as bad yet worse than what you feared. He’s not cheating but he lied to you all the same. And now… if he had just told you, you wouldn’t have come. But would you have believed him?

Your eyes fall upon the metal-moon hung on the wall, the long arms marking the phases of the moon. Last night was a full moon…

“You’re…”

“A monster,” James confirms, “I’m very sorry. I couldn’t tell you. Maybe I should’ve tried…” he sighs and sits again, taking your hand, “I won’t ask forgiveness, it is entirely selfish to put this on you, but you will not be alone. Or judged. We only do what we must to survive.”

“What you must… you…”

“There are simple rules. When the moon is full, you’ll change. You can’t stop it but you must heed it. If you do not feed by sunrise,” he pauses and takes a breath. Yelena approaches with a mug and you take it dumbly, unsure what else to do, “then you die. It’s us or them.”

Your eyes gloss and you shake your head. What does that mean? You know, but…

“Last night…” you eke out.

“It wasn’t much,” he squeezes your free hand, “enough to keep you alive. With me.”

He has the sense to look mortified. You wiggle your hand free and turn your head. You can’t look at him. It’s not just what he’s done to you, but the thought of what he’s done to others, and what he’ll continue to do. What he wants you to do. What you have to do.

You swallow and stare at the black depths of your coffee. You feel your audience watching you. These beasts.

“I want to go home,” you murmur.

“Alright, I’ll take you…” he agrees softly.

“Now,” you demand, “away from these monsters.”

“Ha, you’re one of us–” Kraven begins.

“Shut up,” Adam barks at him, “James, we understand. Take her home. You are always welcome for the moon.”

“Wow, dinner and a show,” Steve snickers, “pretty good night if you ask me.”

Their casual attitudes are callous in your ears. Is this what you’ll become? Apathetic? Inhuman?

Last night, you were ready to do anything to keep your husband. You were even going to forgive him for straying from your marriage. But this, you don’t know if you can ever get past this.

#james conrad #dark james conrad #dark!james conrad #james conrad x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #illuminate #series #au #werewolf au #kong: skull island

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anisecandy · 1 month

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Ughhh, today I spent the entire day thinking about spidervenom…!

I unfortunately have too many wips to work on anything with them now (plus, this week was full of Bad Days™ for me…), but I thought I might share a wip that has been gathering dust in my folder for a loooooong time now! The title is “5 times when Peter and Eddie didn’t kiss (and one time they held hands)” and it’s based on this idea that with the reality being rewritten so that Peter technically never married MJ (“One more day” was the name of that storyline in the comics…??) he instead has space to develop feelings toward Venom and this is a bunch of moments, mostly following the canon events, depicting their shifting relationship with each other.

Their first kiss wasn't, technically, a kiss. A tease, maybe. Definitely a joke. But a kiss...? Peter wasn't sure if he counted it (Eddie did, though). Simply speaking, he went too far with his comedy routine this time, got too caught up in his banter and mock-flirting. Laughing at the Symbiote's infatuation with him, not treating it as something serious, using it as the butt of the jokes. "You need to get over me, this is getting seriously embarrassing" and such and so on.

And obviously, the never dying "Alright, let's kiss and make up!", Once he webbed them up, after sending them crashing through a wall. It wasn’t a kiss, really. He had a mask on, after all. Venom's maw was sealed shut with the webbing as well. It wasn't a kiss.

Until it almost was, because when he leaned away, blank white eyes were wide with bewilderment, and the monster in front of him grew still and silent. He laughed awkwardly, breath tripping over his throat. "Aw, look at you getting flustered over a little smooch!", he quipped, eager to get away. Snap of a wrist and he was gone, not a single glance back left. He remembered feeling angry at Venom for making it weird and at himself, for feeling angry at all. It was stupid, almost as stupid, as feeling guilty over it.

There was no reason for telling this to MJ, right? She wouldn't want to hear about his heroic escapades anyway. Especially not if they involved Venom, even if they would be presented as a punchline, a pathetic loser, wincing in ridiculously parodied expression of disgust. Because it could have been disgust. Venom’s face was covered and their eyes weren’t exactly the most easy to read. Common sense prompted they were repulsed by the very idea of their “arch-nemesis” kissing them, even presented as a harmless joke. That’s why, there was no need to mention this to MJ. Telling her would mean agreeing with the insane thought that there was anything important to tell. And there was not. There was no reason to feel guilty.

Because this wasn’t a kiss.

There was another time, though, that could have been a kiss. Should have been, maybe. Anyway, that was what Peter thought now, looking back. It was a kiss he never got, but, at the moment, needed. Only at the moment, he would have regretted it so much afterwards.

That’s why Eddie was glad of the absence in its place. It would have added so much more wrongness to a memory already filled with a sense of misplacement and dissonance. Because, well, they really were out of place at Peter’s flat. He knew it, and Peter knew it, and the Symbiote knew it, maybe the most painfully of either of them. But there was nowhere else they could go, they needed a shelter and an ally. And Peter wasn’t really the type of person who would close doors in the face of the wounded and vulnerable. Even if the wounded in question tried to eat him a few times in the past and was now ruining his carpet with green drool. Which didn’t mean he was going to take it without complaining a little. Or a lot.

“Great, just great, whenever I think my bad luck finally achieved its peak, it’s ‘Surprise! Think again!’,” he wailed to himself, as he helped them to the couch. “To go from sharing an apartment with the most beautiful woman a guy could ever imagine dating, to hosting a slimy monstrosity - that has to be a new record of misery reached in a week!”

“A girl has left you? That’s what you’re worrying about?” Eddie snarled at him, his anger equally fueled by the necessity of relying on their foe and the needles of jealousy bleeding through the bond. “Carnage is out there, changing this god forsaken city in his own butchershop and you cry after a girl?!”

“First of all, I wouldn't say ‘left’ is exactly the right word to describe it,” he huffed. “We needed a break, that’s all. Happens sometimes in relationships, not that you would know anything about that.”

They rolled their eyes. The very idea that Peter could have anything worth competing with a shadow of their symbiosis was vastly ridiculous.

“We don’t care about your private life, Parker”, Eddie said, as they tried to settle on the couch in a position that would do the least damage to their bruised ribs. “Only whether or not you’ll join us once we recover our strength. Why, afterward, you can return to crying your eyes out, be our guest.”

Seeing Peter from this close felt weird, especially, since he appeared to indeed cry his eyes out barely seconds ago. Something squeezed Eddie’s heart at the notion, his Other, he assumed, must have curled around it, disturbed by proximity. He wanted Peter to just leave them alone, shut up, and let them sleep. This small room will surely be uncomfortable enough even without his presence around.

“And what if I won’t?” Peter’s voice was bitter, though there was no sense of intention in it, that is, one beyond getting on Venom’s nerves. “Maybe MJ is right, maybe I should sit this one out. Have some ‘me time’. Catch up with tv series. Bake cupcakes. Maybe I don’t want to, I don’t know, have my life ruined over and over again, because some freaks decided to go on a rampage!”

Before he could react, they grabbed him by his collar, tugging close, to shoot with a look of utter resentment.

“Listen chucklehead,” a low growl vibrated through their whole torso, settling on Peter’s face like icy dew, “Joke like this once more, and we’ll eat your spleen, got it?”

Words were followed by a curse, as they grabbed on their wound, bothered by the sudden movement.

“Well, if aren’t you mister persuasive, where did you learn such diplomatic demeanor-?” Peter tried barking back, supporting himself over the couch’s back. But the last part of the sentence stumbled over his throat and ended in a whine. From the few inches that separated them, they could see the threat of tears glistening in his eyes. Before they could fall out, he ran a hand over his face, covering the glimpse of emotions with irritation. “What did you even do to yourself? Should you bandage those or something?”

That felt terribly inadequate.

All of this felt unnatural to them, all of them. Not the banter, spite and anger, of course not. But everything accompanying them was off by a mile. No masks to hide faces, no punches and jaws clenching to tear limbs. This… this was too normal, too everyday-ish, too vulnerable for both of them.

“My Other should be able to close it up overnight,” Eddie mumbled. “It looks worse than it feels. Nonetheless, we still request your assistance.”

“I know, I know…” Peter sighed, bending closer, to get a better look at his chest. “What a wonderful profession heroism is, at first it was the papers, then the common people, but now even my villains are giving me lectures…”

The moment was laced with alarm, and surprise, and wrongness, so much wrongness. They weren’t used to being this close to each other, not without a clawed hand safely locked on the neck, or webbing fastening said claws to a wall. Peter looked up and the longer they were caught in the misplacement of it all, the worse it got. Because Eddie could feel his Other flowing close to the skin, almost pushing at it, conflicted between its hatred for Peter and yearning to be closer. Because Peter could feel the warmth of Eddie’s body and he felt so painfully human at the moment, beaten up and a bit upset, with just a splinter of fear dug in the pupils.

Eddie licked his lips.

Peter swallowed down.

And he was so lonely right now, so helpless and freshly torn open, so well aware that once tomorrow he would leave to fight, because of course he would, he would return bruised and bleeding, maybe won’t return at all, and…

Peter leaned in.

Just when Eddie leaned away.

Peter went to the kitchen right after, jumping up from the couch with energetic babble about having to change his bandages and how Eddie is not allowed to touch anything and how if he catches him messing up his books then, well, Peter might not be able to eat his spleen, but he’s creative enough to come up with something else.

The moment passed and it was for the best.

After that, they didn’t really work together for a while. Well, there was that one time in the court. But aside from that, Peter and Venom mostly were on their own ways, only occasionally clashing. And then, Eddie and his Other were both on their own ways too. He didn’t really monitor what was happening to him afterward. Partly because his own life was, as usual, in shambles. Partly because seeing Eddie like that, sick and broken, stripped of the anger to hide behind…

He tried to do better and that was all that mattered, really.

But then Anti-Venom appared. And surely enough, he was still trying. That was one thing Peter had to give to him. He also brought to mind a vision of a healing injury, with bones fused all wrong, festering. It was as if Eddie finally took a step back from one kind of madness, after which he jumped head first into one just as deep and unhealthy, just neatly tweaked here and there.

This kiss would have been the most feverish one. As well as the one Peter was the most grateful that it never came to happen.

The whole experience screamed “fever”, honestly. Oozed illness.What made it worse, was that it did make sense for Eddie to act this way. To swing back, so hard, from one direction to another. Who else, if not Eddie, would have come up with an idea that the best course of action to convince Peter that he’s all better now, “on the side of angels” and not crazy at all, would be to kidnap him? What he didn’t expect was the talk about friendship, along with the overfamiliarity. Then again, there was always this tension between them, wasn’t it? Flirting in the background of a deadly battle.

And that was what he was doing then too. Old habits die a slow and painful death, only to be zombified back to life, don't they?

“What would you think of me, if I’d let you take my mask off on a first date?”, he quipped, to Eddie’s dismay, as he struggled to peel the cloth anywhere above his mouth.

“You act like I’m Electro or Sandman. I’m on your side now!”, he huffed.

One of his claws strayed from its place, lingering for a moment over Peter’s lips, leaving his body frozen dead.

Oh no, he wouldn’t, blinked in his head before the monster in front of him hesitantly crouched down. Orange eyes were unreadable, and yet, there was an air of uncertainty, something just a step away from… what exactly? Peter refused to pinpoint.

Before, though, he even began to figure out what in the hell he would tell Carlie, Eddie backed down.

“...I get it.” His voice, although still changed by the slime covering him, got a softer quality now, with a tingle that paired with anybody else could pass for embarrassment. “I need to earn your trust. And I will.”

Later, he thought that perhaps this time it was Eddie who really needed that particular kiss. But he couldn’t have given it to him. He just couldn’t.

Right?

#spidervenom #spideyvenom #venom #eddie brock #peter parker #spider man #fanfic #my writing #wip

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