#i really can’t do it anymore i’m just gonna let my body eat itself alive and i’ll see how long i last lmfao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hotwings0203 · 3 years

Note

now we need a part 4 with izuku and bakugo on what happens next to the poor reader 😩✋🏼

Aight imma do a two for one here so MASSIVE BET

Tw:noncon, gangbang

When your hand reaches the doorknob, you know something is off only half a millisecond before another large hand settles itself on your wrist and another one caressing your side.

You freeze immediately at the voices that croon and snarl to you.

“Open the door quietly and we don’t have to make this any more difficult than it’s already gonna be.”

“God, you smell so good. You still haven’t changed your shampoo even after all these weeks huh? I like it.”

Your hand starts to shake and your body starts to sweat as you wildly try to find a way out of this situation. The voices sound eerily familiar, with one being higher and the other more aggressive and raspy, but you don’t dare turn around to locate the faces.

One of them seems to be catching onto your hesitation, because your wrist is crushed underneath a hard grasp and you cry out softly as they growl.

“Open. This. Fucking. Door. Right now.”

It takes a good 15 more seconds to jimmy the lock open, and once you do all three of you go tumbling in.

You whip back around to see both men standing over you, merely watching you with crossed arms and equally perverse leers.

“D-deku? Bakugo? What’s going on?”

Deku practically bounces on the balls of his feet, itching with inappropriate anticipation for what’s to come.

“We wanted to play with you! Are you ready? You can’t fucking ignore me anymore!” His voice is cheery as always but it breaks when he curses, the strains in his vocal cords sticking out while he forces himself from holding back.

Bakugo steps forward.

“Didnt I tell you I was gonna come again for you, you teasing cunt? Didn’t I say to watch your back? Now look at you, sprawled on the floor like rapetoys should be.”

Both men start slowly uncrossing their arms and advance towards you.

“No-no please, why? I didn’t do anything to you! Deku, please!” You blubber as you scuttle backwards, their strides equally as long.

You continue evading them as they play around with you.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words. ‘Deku, please.’ Although, I’d very much rather you moan it for me.” He has the audacity to blush, and then Bakugo interjects.

“You deserve this y’know, so don’t start crying now. We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet.” He spreads his hands and his uncharacteristic grin stretches from ear to ear, his vermillion eyes flashing in the dim light of your dorm.

“Anyone whose stupid enough to not realize how this creep has been sniffin’ your panties for months-hell, maybe even years now should get raped. You’re so fucking stupid, you didn’t realize I was protecting you from him.”

“But now look at you. Alone, afraid, vulnerable…oh, and going to the bedroom. You really are an easy slut, huh?”

Deku’s eyes light up when he realizes you truly are unknowingly backing up into the bedroom, but you realize it too late.

It’s only after Bakugo’s words come out that you try to look for a detour for the lock-induced bathroom, but Deku has a different idea.

Out of pure excitement he laughs and sprints towards you, hands outreached to touch your pretty skin, mouth open with drool softly filling the tile below him and eyes bloodshot with lust.

He looks like a creature from hell, and in the pure terror of watching him come at you like that your plan to detour was thwarted and you mindlessly trip back over your feet onto the bed, scrambling as far away as you can from them to the headboard.

You look to your left and quickly seize your bedside lamp, raising it above your head.

“Domt come any closer you closer perv. God, I shouldve known you were fucked in the head. I kept trying to make excuses for you, I thought you were my friend-“ you break down in sobs as the green haired man continues looking at you like you’re a piece of meat, absentmindedly wiping his hand across his mouth.

“And you,” you point to Bakugo who bares his teeth and smirks madly, “I already knew you were the embodiment of hell, but I thought you had a limit of how low you could stoop. You didn’t protect me from shit, you forced your way inside of me day in and day out.”

“Well now that your useless little monologue is over, Deku, tie her legs to the posts. I swear Y/N, you’re making this way too easy for me. It’s almost boring, I already know what I’m gonna get.” He raises his eyebrows at you while he lets his minion do all the work for him, goosebumps racing up his arm at the sight of you screaming and fighting tooth and nail against your fate.

But at the end of the day, after all your curses and sobs and monologues, you’re no match for either of them, especially Deku, who cooes at you to scream louder while he caresses your face and uses nylon string to secure your wrists to the wooden posts. Your legs are also bound after Bakugo seizes them from kicking, and a gag is placed over your mouth by his hands.

He roughly taps the tape covering your trembling lips and smiles condescendingly down at you.

“You’re doing so well for us, rapemeat. Keep up the good work and try to spread those legs as much as you can.” He chuckles when you scream your lungs out, thrashing as he yanks your knees apart.

“Aw, Kacchan, can’t we take the gag off? I wanted to hear her in my ears,” he pouts and looks glumly at your writhing figure.

“No, how fucked in the head are you? Someones gonna come down if she’s hollering for the whole building to hear. And cut her clothes off, I’m getting impatient.”

It seems like Deku too was at his last fiber of self control as his hands shake equally as much as yours, except for an entirely different reason altogether, the opposite reason of yours in fact.

He fishes in his back pockets for something, and produces a glinting steel knife with a black handle.

You still immediately as his descends his hands to the top of your v-neck shirt, right above your collarbones. His eyes fog up as your satiny smooth skin comes in contact with the blade, the coldness of the steel sending shivers down your spine and making you sob harder.

“Kacchan…did you ever get a taste of her blood? How does she taste?” He lifts his head to look into your tear-streaked eyes, but he addresses his childhood friend.

Bakugo snorts. “Calm down Toga, don’t get too crazy yet. We’ll have some more fun later, right now my dick is about to explode. ‘Need a hole,” he mumbles at the end and finally clambers onto the bed right atop your legs.

You stay absolutely silent as pressure from the knife rips the thin strands of your clothes apart, and Deku takes careful care to ensure you at least have thin red lines running down your stomach if not for actual blood.

“Oh fuckkkk,just look at her. You look good enough to eat…” he looks at you and licks his lips, salivating when you whine and twist at your restraints.

“Yeah yeah, you do whatever the fuck you want. Just choose what you’re gonna stick it in and hurry up.”

The blond looks bored almost as the more eager one whips to the side to face him.

“You mean it Kacchan? I can pick?”

They speak as if you’re not alive, no feelings or humanity involved. All you can do is watch and yell into your makeshift gag as the blond waves him off.

“Go for it. It’s your first time satisfying that sick head of yours, ‘must get boring doing it from behind a screen all the time.”

His slowly turns to face you, a kind leer etched across his features, eyebrows slanted and hand coming up to pull your ripped clothes apart.

You struggle and spit muffled profanities out as he slowly drags the bridge of your bra down, eyes wide open as your nipples pop out and eventually both of your tits bounce out.

He hisses and takes his nails up your stomach to fondle your breast. You can tell Deku’s too excited, too inexperienced from the way he handles them like stress balls. You grunt as his mouth latches onto a pert nipple, suckling and looking up at you as if he were some kind of demonic baby.

Bakugo watches all this with a dark glint in his eyes, absentmindedly palming himself as he watches the show unfold in front of him.

It’s entertaining seeing all of the creep’s hormones spiral out of control from years of pent-up lust. He’s never seen the dork so fired up and hungry, he’s never seen him so brutal with a civilian before, the type of people he used to say he’d protect at all costs.

After he’s done playing with your sore tits, he wasted no time in yanking your sweats off. You don’t even trash around anymore, the only thing you’re capable of in this state of terror and shock is weak moans and little sobs, maybe a writhe or two here and there.

Your panties are also torn off and you howl when the elastic cuts into your skin within the process. Bakugo takes this last stripping as an indication for him to move now. He lifts himself up on his knees and moves around your head while Deku situates himself between your violently twitching legs.

“I’m gonna take the gag out now. If you scream or pull any funny business I’ll plug your pussy and your throat with this knife, got it?” He snatches the weapon from the bed and waves it dangerously close to your face.

You nod frantically and try to turn your head to the side, but he yanks you back into place and decides to have his own fun.

While Izuku hurriedly takes his own shorts off the hothead slowly takes the tape off your mouth, staring down at you with unblinking eyes. The knife which you’re so afraid of is traced around your own squeezed shut eyes, down your cheeks and around your lips.

But the horrified trance on which he keeps you in is broken when Izuku suddenly shoved his entire length inside your dry cavern.

Luckily Bakugo has enough foresight to slam a hand over your howling mouth before the entire building can be woken up, and he glares at the sheepish-looking man down the bed from him.

“Are you a fucking virgin? At least rub her clit or something so she doesn’t go hollering at every thrust you damn nerd!”

The man between your legs winces and rubs the back of his neck, chuckling nervously.

“Oops, sorry, got a little carried away there.”

He doesn’t pull out, he merely thrusts slower, trying to fit his fat dick inside your unwilling cunt.

A string of curses leaves your lips and you grimace as the pain becomes near blinding.

Bakugo looks down at you again, the knife forgotten.

“No teeth either.” Your breaths come out in little frantic pants when his bare cock springs out of his own pants.

He taps the leaking purple tip on your lips and you open hesitantly. There’s no point in resisting anymore, they’ve got you quite literally cornered.

“Wider, slut,” he snarls, and you do-but only because Deku’s paps get more aggressive, causing your mouth to fall open in a long whine.

The blond takes this opportunity to slam his length down your throat, groaning around when he sees your throat swell with his bulge.

You immediately start gagging and trying to pull at your restraints for air, his heavy balls rest right on top of your nose and you feel like you’re going to pass out.

You can barely hear him over Deku’s animalistic grunts and whines. He’s going way too fast, as if he’s possessed by your pussy. It numbs you, taking away some of the pain in a flip side.

But on the other end of your body, you’re desperate for air while a fuzzy ballsack paps against your nose and eyes.

Each sadistic stroke he puts inside of you widens your sore esophagus, bringing bile up sometimes and large amounts of saliva too.

He’s not as loud as Deku, but he’s equally as greedy with your holes.

Your body literally hovers up almost in midair as Bakugo thrusts in and lifts his hips up, taking your upper half along with it and Deku does the same unconsciously, trying to fuck up into your womb.

It’s an exact replica of a perverted spit roast, with both of them catching each other’s rhythm and slamming inside your holes at the same time.

Your clit is suddenly rubbed inexpertly to the point of overstimulation, and the incoming sob forced out of your throat warps into a pained scream.

The vibrations of your scream makes Bakugo cum suddenly with a hoarse groan. He doubled over your body and gnaws at your bouncing tits, licking and teething at them the same way his counterpart did.

The sight of copious amounts of cum being leaked out of your filled mouth propels the green-haired man to whimper and shove himself back in one more time, hitting your cervix and causing both his and your eyes to roll back.

He cums too, but both men keep their semi-hard cocks inside of your aching body.

You don’t know what’s worse, having both of them by your side or both of them inside.

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 7

Sorry this took so long y'all. This chapter was difficult to write. Hannibal invites Theresa for dinner and y/n finally confronts her.

Trigger warning: mentions of suicide, child sex abuse; graphic descriptions of violence; confronting an abuser; body-shaming

The stitches in your cut hadn't even dissolved before Theresa intruded on your life again. Before you stormed out, Hannibal did in fact invite her to dinner. Polite society would rule the invitation null and void after that confrontation, but Theresa felt herself exempt from the laws of politeness. Like Evangelicals or craisins, Theresa loved to insert herself where she was clearly not wanted.

Of course, you were peeved at Hannibal for upholding the invitation when she called. But you could tell he had something planned. He was intrigued by her audacity and wanted to see how far it would take her. You couldn't begrudge him professional curiosity, as you too wondered what the fuck her problem was.

In truth, you saw what he did to your grandma, and you wanted to see him do it to Theresa. You wanted her subject to the same psychological torment that she put you through. And that, you realized, was why he honored that invitation. He wanted to vindicate you. And that was the sexiest damn thing you could possibly imagine.

Theresa showed up alone. That was her first mistake.

"Thank you for having me, Dr. Lecter." Theresa greeted, shedding her long coat and dropping it to the ground. "Will [F/N] be joining us?"

"[F/N] will most certainly be joining us." Hannibal said, his voice hardening. He noticed her coat in a pile on the floor and something in his head clicked.

"I hope I'm not overdressed." Theresa tossed her hair over her shoulders.

She was. And you knew even before she showed up that she'd wear that green evening dress with the plunging neckline. It was the same one she wore to prom. She kept it as a memento all these years to memorialize the day she completely fucked you over.

She was here to make history repeat itself.

"Not all, Ms. [L/N]," Hannibal grinned, glancing at the staircase. "[F/N] is just touching up her makeup.”

“That sounds like [F/N].” Theresa laughed. “She always took the most time getting ready in the morning. And she was always the ugliest. It was quite sad, really.”

Hannibal reminded himself what he had in store for Theresa before letting himself get angry. “If you could join me in the kitchen, I could use a little help with the appetizers.”

Theresa took the bait and followed him through the threshold into the massive kitchen.

“Could I trouble you for some psychological advice, Doctor Lecter?” She said, leaning against the island.

“That depends.” He answered, though the tone of his voice connoted a firm ‘no’. “Are you going to be honest with me?”

Theresa mounted herself on top of the island and crossed her legs. “I’ve just been having quite a bit of trouble in my marriage.”

"Please get off my counter." Hannibal politely demanded. "I just sterilized it this morning."

“My husband just isn’t so excited by me anymore.” She pouted like a child. “He just doesn’t seem interested in... well, any of the things I have to offer him.”

“Have you considered the possibility that you have nothing to offer?” You said. You approached them with purpose, the skirt of your purple dress fluttering behind you. Your favorite pair of strappy heels clacked against the tile and echoed through the room with every step.

“[F/N] makes a valid point.” Hannibal agreed, taking you under his arm. “You’re an abusive narcissist, a serial adulterer, and you’re quite horrible at flirting. I certainly don’t understand what you could possibly have to offer.”

“Nice to see you again, [F/N].” Theresa said, resigned to her defeat. “I didn’t want to say anything at the wedding, but you look like you’ve gained a few pounds.”

You almost laughed. Growing up, Grandma had subjected you to every form of body-shaming known to man. Nothing Theresa could say would have any effect on you.

“Really? Because I’ve never felt better in my life.” You smiled, knowing it to be true. “Hannibal is an amazing cook. You’d probably gain weight too if you were eating so well.”

"Well, I have appearances to keep up." She refuted. "Gideon and I both have very busy schedules. Besides, he finds the kitchen more of a woman's domain."

"Unfortunate for you." Hannibal threw a dish towel over his shoulder and picked up a wine bottle by the neck. He kept his hands busy by pouring three glasses of wine. "That Gideon does not put in the time to keep you well-fed and fulfilled. Might I suggest not molesting children as a remedy?"

You snickered as he handed you a glass. You migrated to the dining table, where the trial was set to take place.

"Did you invite me here just to gang up on me?" Theresa leaned back in her chair. "Because if so, that's really mature."

"Of course not." You said, Hannibal pulling your chair out for you. You placed your napkin in your lap. "Well, maybe a little."

Theresa took a long sip of wine. "You're not going to get an apology if that's what you're after."

"Oh no." You shook your head. "I've stopped expecting basic human decency from you years ago."

"Good." Theresa huffed. "Since that's clearly what you want me to be, that's what I'll be."

"Don't give me that shit." You sighed. "I know what gaslighting is and you're not as good at it as you think."

"Y'know I never asked to be a parent figure to you and Anna." She crossed her arms.

"You may not have asked for it but you sure as hell enjoyed it." You countered, furrowing your brow. "Don't act like you weren't the dictator's right-hand man. You sucked up to grandma and always got preferential treatment."

"I was a kid." She shrugged. "You're really gonna blame me for the shit I did before my skull fully hardened?"

"Well, it exposes a way larger pattern of behavior." You explained. "You're a megalomaniac that wants power without responsibility. So you attach yourself to someone with power, probably another narcissist who's too self-involved to see what a leech you really are. It's what you did with grandma and it's what you're doing with Gideon."

Dressing Theresa down like that gave you a rush. It made you feel alive. But more importantly, it made her look small. It stripped her of her power.

"Well done, Sherlock." Theresa taunted. "But you're forgetting one thing. If I were a megalomaniac, why would I waste my time beating up on you? Some nobody with no power to speak of?"

"Because I'm a living reminder of your past." You narrowed your eyes. "I remind you that you can't just beat everyone into submission."

"Ladies," Hannibal interrupted, holding three bowls. He placed one in front of you, the savory broth enticing your nose. "This is pot-au-feu. It is a simple French stew made from beef, vegetables and potatoes. I added a marrow-bone for extra richness. It's the perfect combination of simplicity and substance."

You couldn't even wait for Hannibal to sit down. You'd been so hungry all day. Smelling the meat slowly braise over the course of the day was torturous. You went straight for the marrow, which was a recent favorite of yours.

Theresa picked the bone up between two fingers and dropped it onto the table, her face wrapped with disgust. "I think I'll pass. I'm not a dog."

"You are not." Hannibal said, spearing a piece of meat on his fork. "I find dogs much better company."

Theresa tented her fingers and glared at Hannibal. "So you're just going to let her rip into me? Aren't you supposed to be the professional here?"

"Don't discount [F/N]'s analysis just because she is a student." Hannibal glared back at her. "From what I know about you, she's dead on."

"Isn't this entire interaction a professional conflict of interest?" Theresa folded her arms. "I don't trust her to analyze me because she hates me."

Hannibal put his utensils down. Anger flashed across his face. "I don't think you quite understand what this interaction is. You are not owed an unbiased psychological profile, especially not from me. You are not my patient. You are [F/N]'s abuser."

Theresa narrowed her eyes and leaned over the table. "So if you understand that, why am I here?"

"You think very highly of your intelligence, Theresa." Hannibal glanced down at his dish. "Perhaps you can figure that one out yourself."

You coughed, narrowly avoiding choking on your food.

"Darling, please pace yourself." Hannibal instructed, though he seemed pleased with how enthusiastically you inhaled your meal. "You're going to make yourself sick if you eat too fast."

"I'm sorry." You said after taking a long sip of water. "I don't know why, I'm just so hungry today."

Hannibal dropped his eyebrows, looking worried. "Did you take your medicine this morning?"

"I think so." You nodded.

Theresa smiled and reached for her phone. The movement caught Hannibal's attention, and he could tell what she was up to right away.

"Theresa, it's very rude to text at the dinner table." He scolded, taking a sip of wine. "Surely, anything you're saying to your grandmother and Anna, you can say to us."

Theresa, too proud to back down, slipped her phone into her purse and met your eyes. "You're pregnant."

"Brilliant fucking deductive reasoning." You rolled your eyes. "A woman gains a little weight and has a healthy appetite? That's the only logical conclusion I would draw."

"Well, aren’t we defensive?" Theresa taunted. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Theresa, stop it." You gritted your teeth, trying not to convey how pissed you were.

"You're going to need to drop out of school to take care of the baby full time." Theresa sneered.

You knew exactly where she was taking this and you wanted more than anything to just disappear. You reached for the wine bottle and refilled your glass. "Shut up, Theresa. Shut the fuck up before you say something you'll regret."

Her face lit up from the satisfaction of finally making you angry. "And someday you'll blow your brains out just like your mother!"

This time, she would regret it. You chucked the empty wine bottle across the table. It hit her directly in the face with a deafening crunch before ricocheting off the table and shattering on the ground.

Theresa brought her finger to her nose, noticing the stream of blood trickling from her nostril. She stood up, stabilizing herself with the back of the chair.

"I didn't think you had it in you." She jabbed before collapsing to the ground.

You went silent, too afraid to look at Hannibal.

"For what it's worth, darling." Hannibal piped up. "I always knew that you did."

#hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #tw violence #tw blood #cult girl #tw csa mention #tw suidice

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harveywritings92 · 4 years

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MHA/BNHA: They get severely injured and you heal them

You're recovery Girl's granddaughter you have a healing quirk called Angel's Glow, which requires skin on skin contact to work, small wounds, bruises and bone fractures are healed in seconds just by placing your hands on the injured area which will glow blue and repair damage, however wounds that are near fatal are different story. In that case, it’s kind of embarrassing, but you treat it how you would hypothermia, stripping down to your panties (or naked) and lay down holding that person close letting your healing aura cover them, of course you've never been in a situation where you've had to do that, pretty much keeping it reserved for your romantic partner, So when you got a call that your boyfriend was severely injured in a fight and his chances of survival aren't looking to good.

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Fatgum/Taishiro:

Reader's age 26.

The last thing Taishiro remembered was fighting this crazy strong villain with an equally strong quirk! So, one can imagine his confusion when the last thing he remembered before blacking out; was fighting as Fatgum and then waking up after who knows how long as Fitgum and in a stranger's bedroom hooked up to a very annoying heart monitor that would not. stop. beeping! Taishiro slowly sat up; with a grimace expecting to feel pain shooting all throughout his body the second he moved, but to his astonishment nothing happened...

He was sure his left leg was broken during that fight! he cautiously wiggled his toes and jerk his left leg around, nothing no pain... in fact he felt great; giddy like he had just eaten an entire buffet of his favorite foods! But how did... His train thought was cut short when he felt an slender arm around his waist.

Taishiro suddenly became hyperaware of the other person, a woman. laying in the bed next to him! His heartrate spiked causing the monitor to start beeping rapidly!

The blond carefully reached over and gently pushed the woman's hair away from her face, the BMI hero felt a wave of relief wash over him upon seeing the calm sleeping face of his girlfriend Y/n starring back at him. But the relief quickly shifted to befuddlement, why was she here? he then noticed their apparent lack clothes, His yellow eyes widened and felt his face burn; Taishiro swallowed hard as he checked under blanket... why were they just wearing boxers and panties?

Spotting a some of his spare clothes in Y/n's closet, Taishiro quietly and carefully got out of the bed; unplugged the Heart monitor before taking it off, and got dressed in his track pants and T-shirt, then careful got Y/n dressed in one of his hoodies before tucking her into bed, Just as Recovery-Girl popped her head in to check on them as she couldn't hear the monitor beeping anymore, and got worried she smiled seeing her *hopefully* soon to-be Grandson-law alive and healthy.

"Oh thank goodness you're awake..."

"Yeah, I jus' woke up. Sorry for intruddin."

"It's nothing to be sorry for, though I'm sure you're confused how you aren't in a coma or dead."

"...What happened to me?"

Recovery-girl gave him the run down after he was put out of commission, Taishiro was in pretty bad shape, the out come was looking grim when Y/n ordered the ambulance be redirected to her private-practice which also doubled as her home, they got got one of her intern's to use their quirk which could burn off his fat, they cleaned his cuts and got him stitched up then the y/ht woman told everyone to go home; save for her grandmother and Kirishima who refused to leave his mentor until he was sure hew was going to be alright.

it was only when he saw Y/n taking her clothes off did the flustered teen ask about those guest rooms, she offered and recovery- Girl lead him out of the room, the y/ht woman slipped into bed next her her unconscious lover and activated her quirk, Tai's whole body was soon surrounded in veil of blue light that slowly started to repair and heal his broken body.

Taishiro smiled gently as he caressed Y/n's cheek making her wince in her sleep. "The poor thing must be exhausted over using her quirk for two days." the pride the tall man had felt to shifted into concern. "two days?!" he croaked he remembered Y/n telling him that her quirk can also transfer her patients pain onto her to the lessen their burdens, and if he was in really bad shape as recovery-girl described... "Is she gonna be okay?" he asked voice cracking, the old nurse frowned knowing that her granddaughter told him about her quirks pain absobtion. "Well, the next couple days won't be very pleasant for her, I may have to keep her sedated." the blond eyes started to burn as he watched Y/n sleeping soundly, vowing stay by her side and to take her on very nice vacation when this was all over, they could both use it.

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Shoto Todoroki:

Reader age 21, Shoto: 19

This poor touch-starved child was so confused and flustered when he woke up in a strange bed, wearing nothing but his boxers and y/n clinging to him very intimately, all while alarm-bells were going off in his head as part on his mind was still in fight or flight mode as he cautiously scanned his girlfriend expecting this to be a dream, and the villain that attacked him to pop-out at any moment...

After a few moments of waiting for the dream to end, Shoto cautiously used his fire to burn himself he winced feeling the pain burn his wrist, then the pain went numb the bi-colored haired man's brows furrowed before seeing the familiar blue aura from [y/wt] woman's quirk reverse the damage on his wrist, Shoto's stomach churred as realized what she had done, he carefully removed himself from the warm embrace of her bed and looked around the room for something to wear before spotting some a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt left out for him, he changed then carefully got his girlfriend dressed into her PJs and her tucked in.

Shoto was the picture of calm as he kept a silent vigil over the [y/hc] woman carefully playing with her hair, but internally he was freaking out! Wondering how long had he been out for? and how long had Y/n been healing him? was she going to be okay?! he grimaced at he saw her wince in her sleep; even a blind man could see she was already suffering from the effects of over using her quirk! "Why would you do something so foolish?" he sighed using his cold half to keep Y/n's forehead cool he felt her temperature spike. "Love makes you do very rash decisions." Shoto jumped to see Recovery-Girl behind him and the dual quirked boy immediate bowed his head to her in forgiveness.

"Don't do that Todoroki, you don't need to apologize."

"But because me Y/n is..."

"It's not you're fault dear, Y/n knew the risks as soon as she heard you were in critical condition."

"How long were we like that?" he asked asked dreading the answer Recovery-Girl frowned as she checked her granddaughter's vitals over. "Four days, I won't lie the next couple days won't be kind to my Granddaughter." She saw Shoto wince knowing the guilt eating at him. "But knowing she has a handsome young man looking after her, should help her make a speedy recovery.~" the room's temperature suddenly spikes as a blush adorned Shoto's cheeks Recovery-Girl giggled jubilantly as she left the room leaving Y/n in Shoto's care.

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Touya/Dabi:

Reader age 25 (note you're quirk can't heal his scars (you've tried) you were childhood friends with him, he kidnapped you and keeps you in his safehouse!)

Dabi woke up that morning with a splitting headache, crap how much did he have to drink? he growled taking a sharp breath as his eyes adjusted to his dimly lit bedroom, trying to piece together what happened last night, when he caught something blue in the dim light at first he thought it was his quirk acting up, but then he noticed some of his staples were missing around his stomach...

The it all came flooding back to him one of the Nomus had gotten lose before it could be "trained" and went on a rampage the villains and a couple heroes on the league payroll stropped it, but not without consequences, the beast managed to take a bite out of Dabi's waist, the scarred man somehow managed to make it home... walking through the front door was the last thing he remembered before blacking out, then he felt his stomach drop when he realized that this blue glow wasn't his flames!

Dabi quickly turned the light on above his bed and found a sleeping Y/n hugging his waist her quirk overworking itself trying to fix his scars, which weren't healing because the tissue was to damaged to fix, "You idiot!" he barked getting out of bed, then paused when he felt a rush cold air on his everything, his teal eyes looked down... Yep, naked as the day he was born, he cussed and checked under the thin sheet Y/n had covered them in, same story.

He check her temperature she was freezing! "Tch" Dabi quickly readjusted the sheet around his girlfriend's shivering body then went and put on some black sweat pants, he quickly went to drawers and grabbed a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and put those on his y/ht girlfriend, then grabbed the discarded blanket from off the floor covering the couple.

Dabi used his quirk to boost up his body temp while rubbing Y/n’s arms trying warm her up. the last thing he needed was her getting sick, however he paused his ministrations and checked his burner phone... shit it been 2 days since the incident! He had a lot of messages from the league demanding to know where he was, He should probably get around to telling them he's alive... meh, maybe after Y/n recovered those f-ckers will live.

#boku no hero academia #bnha fanfiction #fatgum x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #dabi x reader #boku no hero x reader #my hero academy fanfiction #Healer! reader

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drmmyrs · 3 years

Text

The Way I Loved You (Poppy x MC) Part 2

I want to make this a slow burn type of fic so I’ll just be giving crumbs for now 😅 I swear tho there’ll be more plot and action in the later parts.

tag list: @whackawriting @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @uselesslesbianfr @baexpoppy @alexroyard @alexlabhont @veenast @cloakanddaggerthings (If you wanna be added or removed or just prefer a certain ship just let me know ❤️)

Read Part 1

Word Count: 1700

Warning: none

"I'm sorry, Ms. Min-Sinclair, we only have one more room available for tonight."

Bea watched as the expression on Poppy's face went from horrified to anger. "Check again, please."

"I'm really sorry, but unfortunately, all our other rooms are already booked since we had several guests come in because of the storm," the receptionist said apologetically.

The look Poppy gave the receptionist must have been pretty damn scary, given that his hand was now visibly shaking.

Poppy's voice was beginning to rise. "Listen to me you–"

Bea clasped her hand around Poppy's wrist and dragged her away from the poor guy before she could make a scene. Kind and sweet Poppy was gone entirely. Instead, standing before her was the self-absorbed, shrieking harpy Bea very much knew and hated.

"Calm down, Poppy. The receptionist was just doing his job."

"Calm down?! There's not a chance in hell that I–"

"You know what? If you want to sleep outside in the storm, go ahead because I certainly won't be stopping you," Bea snapped.

Poppy was seething but didn't say anything else.

"I'll be in our room. Feel free to join me once you actually figure out how to act like an adult."

Without waiting for Poppy's response, Bea made her way to the receptionist to finish the transaction, all the while apologizing for Poppy's behavior. Once she got the key, she went straight to the room.

Bea had hoped there were two beds at least, but the way their luck was going, it only made sense that a single queen-sized bed stood at the center of the room. The room itself was average with bland white walls and a window with a city view that was currently shrouded by heavy rain and mist. It certainly wasn't nearly like her room back in Belvoire, but it wasn't like she had any other choice.

After setting down what little things Bea had brought with her–obviously not expecting to spend the night there, and definitely not with Poppy–Bea collapsed on the bed, exhausted. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Poppy walked in, evidently calmer than before. She stood near the doorway, scanning the entire room with a frown. Bea fully expected her to complain about, well, everything, but she just trodded to the side of the bed and glared at her.

"Move."

Bea moved obediently to the other side of the bed, too exhausted to argue. Poppy gracefully slid into bed and took her phone out.

"Stay at your side of the bed, and don't talk to me."

Bea frowned. "I didn't even–"

Poppy scowled at Bea, and Bea made the gesture of zipping her lips. The only sound that followed was the heavy downpour of rain that reverberated across the room. After an hour, Bea got up from bed and started to walk towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Poppy called out, almost sounding... worried.

Bea raised her eyebrow. "I'll come back if that's what you're worried about."

Poppy rolled her eyes, but Bea could see a slight flush on her cheeks. "As if. Get lost in the storm for all I care."

Bea laughed. "I'm just gonna check out the boutique I saw near the lobby. Don't really wanna sleep in these clothes." Bea hesitated. "Do you... want to come with?"

Without answering, Poppy rose from the bed and strode out of the room. Bea followed soon after, and for someone so short, Poppy sure walked incredibly fast that Bea had a hard time keeping up with her.

"Do you even know where it is?" Bea asked.

Probably realizing she didn't, Poppy slowed down until they were walking alongside each other. When they reached the boutique, Poppy immediately frowned in disgust at the clothing selection.

"Ugh, what even is this?" Poppy remarked, looking at a shirt with an unflattering shade of pink.

"Are you saying you can't pull that off?" Bea challenged.

"No, I'm saying that I have standards. Obviously, something you know nothing about." Poppy made her way through the selection, sneering all the while. "I'm not wearing these."

Bea rolled her eyes. "Get off your high horse. If you want to sleep in your sweaty clothes, at least do me a favor and not, like, sleep next to me."

Poppy let out a scornful laugh. "Oh sweety, I'll still smell better than whatever pigsty your perfume came from. But maybe... I'll just wear nothing then."

Despite herself, an image of Poppy naked sprung to Bea's head, sending heat all over her body. She slightly faced away from Poppy.

Noticing Bea's sudden silence, Poppy curiously looked at her. "My, my, Farmsville, don't tell me you're already imagining me naked," Poppy said with a smirk.

Mustering her most dismissive tone, Bea said, "Please, you're not even that hot." A blatant lie, of course. Poppy is a lot of things, and 'hot' is definitely one of those. Thankfully, Poppy moved on after seeing a dress that, Bea agreed, 'should be burned.'

After a painstakingly long search, Poppy was finally able to find something 'tolerable.' They made their purchases and went back to their room. When they arrived, Poppy was the first to get in the shower, and when she came out, she was wearing a tight-fitting tank top and bike shorts that hugged and accentuated all her curves. The room suddenly got so much hotter as Bea tried her absolute best not to stare at her, and even so, she knew it was a losing battle which is why she jumped to the shower the first chance she got. After showering, Bea realized that in her hurry, she forgot to take her clothes with her. She wrapped a towel and walked out to the bedroom to get her clothes. When her back was turned to Poppy, Bea glanced at a mirror nearby and was surprised to see Poppy staring at her with her mouth parted slightly. But when she casually turned around, Poppy had already averted her gaze.

Later that night, the storm got worse as thunders started to rumble outside. At first, Bea thought it was just a trick of the light, but after a few more claps of thunder, she could see Poppy flinch at every roar with her eyes clenched shut.

Is Poppy... actually scared of thunderstorms?

As if to answer her question, Poppy started to heave heavily, with traces of sweat forming on her forehead. And as much as Bea despised Poppy–or at least that's what she kept telling herself–she actually felt sorry for her. And against her better judgment, Bea reluctantly placed her hand over Poppy's and gave it a soft squeeze. Poppy tensed for a moment at the gesture before she relaxed and gripped Bea's hand tighter. In response, Bea started tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand, and they fell asleep through the thunderstorm, hand-in-hand.

When Bea woke up, most of the storm had already passed, with light to moderate rain falling intermittently. She scanned the room and saw Poppy eating at the desk.

"Your food's getting cold," Poppy said without looking at her.

"You... got me food?"

"I figured since we didn't have dinner yesterday." Poppy turned to face Bea. "Why do you sound so surprised."

Bea furrowed her brows. "Because that's actually nice. And as far as I'm concerned, you're not."

"Well, I don't particularly care about you. And trust me, no one will be happier than me with you gone. But, unfortunately, I do have to keep you alive at least until after the party. Grades and all."

Bea got up and went to the desk to get her food. Poppy got her an English-style breakfast while she was eating... a teensy salad.

Poppy saw Bea looking at her food. "Did you also want a salad?"

"Uh, no. It just doesn't look... filling."

"It's not. But it's not like I have a choice. Their vegetarian selection is awful."

And just when Bea thought Poppy couldn't surprise her anymore.

"Wait, you're... vegetarian?" Bea asked in undisguised surprise.

"Yes." Poppy narrowed her eyes at Bea. "You know, you have to stop assuming you know everything about me. In fact, you know nothing about me."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that."

Bea went back to bed and started to eat her food, her mind going back to the foster home, how Poppy's entire personality changed around the people there. Before, Bea was so convinced that she had Poppy pegged, just a basic bitch who thought too highly of herself with no regard for others at all. But Poppy was right; Bea barely knew her... and she wanted to know more.

"Why?" Bea turned to face Poppy. "Why are you a vegetarian, I mean. If you don't mind me asking."

Poppy made an annoyed expression. "I do mind, actually."

A grin spread on Bea's face. "Oh my god, you totally care about the animals."

When Poppy didn't respond, Bea continued. "First kids and now animals? My, my, Poppy, what will people say if they knew that their favorite she-devil is actually a big softie."

Poppy stopped eating and turned to give Bea a menacing glare. "If you tell anyone about this, you're dead."

After they finished eating, Bea and Poppy started planning for the party the next day. So naturally, more than a few shouts, insults, and curses were thrown around until they finally, finally, agreed on all the details. Since Poppy was the one with all the connections, she had to call for all the services needed. And when her trusty photographer told her he wasn't available, Poppy cursed in frustration.

"The party, it's not just about your GPA, is it. This is really important to you."

Poppy didn't answer and instead went back to make a few more phone calls.

When everything was settled, the storm had fully passed, and it was already safe to drive home. So imagine Bea's surprise when Poppy said that they were staying there for another night.

"I thought you hated this place."

"I do. But I'm not going to drive an hour home just to go back early tomorrow. Besides, we'll get things done much faster if we stay here."

Bea smiled. "Would you like some champagne?"

#poppy #poppy x mc #poppy min sinclair #queen b #choices #playchoices #play choices #my work #my fanfics #my writing

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

innocence - 02

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m still stunned at how many of you are enjoying this story. thank you so so much for your support. much love xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky always woke up at 5AM and waking up at 5 AM was already considered a victory for him - to sleep through the night. Once the digital clock flashed 5 AM in electric red, his eyes were wide open, the sight of constant darkness being the only thing he could see. His routine was precise, as precise as time itself and it barely changed - gym then a dark cup of coffee followed by reading whatever coffee side table book Steve would linger around.

Y/N, unlike him, didn’t have a precise routine. She enjoyed routine but her mornings were always her own time, away from everything. On her free days she would try to wake up by at least 10. After she was fully awake she would turn on the TV in her bedroom and turn on the kettle for a nice tea. She would then lay in bed, surrounded by her blankets and dressed in an oversized cardigan while some random show played.

Bucky’s mornings were always filled with people coming in and out, that was life living in the Avengers headquarters. Some mornings he thought about moving into the apartment in Brooklyn but that would just upset Steve. Heck, he didn’t even know Bucky had bought the apartment, it had been an impulse buy and he would go there every week to check on it. However, Brooklyn wasn’t as close to Y/N’s in SoHo so he guessed he would stay. Y/N’s mornings on the other hand were quiet, too quiet. It was just her, just her in a two bedroom apartment in the middle of wealthy SoHo.

- Morning, Buck. - Steve, like always, walked into the kitchen, coffee mug saying number one dad in hand. He always had this smile that Bucky couldn’t find the words, a smile that was almost glad that he was still alive yet pitiful. The pure look of someone who’s been burdened, a mother to a child’s look, one she didn’t want. - Excited for guarding your first client?

- Feels more like guarding property. - he mumbled over the dark coffee, chugging it all before anymore questions could be asked.

It shouldn’t be a hard day, he thought to himself, mostly looking after her if she decided to go out for anything. He had looked into her profile, she was an easy target. Almost always wearing heels, flowey clothing, things that wouldn’t help her if someone was after her. Anyway, looked like an easy job, easier than saving the world.

Meanwhile, Y/N was laid in the middle of her covers, remote in hand as she skimmed through the channels. Looking around she noticed the loneliness she was in, the empty walls decorated with her own choosing but still empty. No sounds, too quiet.

She rose from the bed, big socks touching the cedar wood floor as she padded up to the kitchen. The agency had had everything decorated and the fridge stocked but as she opened the door she couldn’t find a single thing she wanted to eat. Disappointed, she closed the fridge, leaning against it to look at the rest of the flat. It was quiet, too quiet, filled with the sounds of quiet if that was even a physically possible thing. She let herself slide down the fridge front, sitting on the floor as she thought about what to do. She didn’t have her script yet, or at least more than two pages of it and going outside was the least thing she wanted to do today.

Y/N was about to fall asleep on the ground against her fridge, she heard footsteps. Quickly, she got onto her feet, rushing over to the door so fast she almost slipped. Pushing the peep hole away she put herself on her tippy toes to see if one of the neighbours was home.

- Y/N, are you staring out the peep hole? - the person whose steps belonged too was definitely better than any neighbour. Quickly, she unlocked the door, pushing the metal that held it shut to the wall and opened it to see Bucky in a much more casual attire than before. Red henley with some loose dark jeans looked better in her opinion. - If you hear someone it’s always a terrible idea to use the peep hole. Almost always let’s them know someone’s in.

- Then what are peep holes for? - Bucky playfully rolled his eyes but not before observing what she was wearing. She looked more comfortable. - Do you wanna come in?

- Miss Olson said I am to wait outside your door until you want to leave the apartment.

- What if someone broke my window and took me?

- Trust me, Y/N. I would know and would win that fight.

- You sure you don’t wanna come in? I could cook you some breakfast. Whatever you like. - she had that shine in her eyes, Bucky couldn’t explain it. He just knew it didn’t felt forced but she surely was nervous judging by the pushing of her oversized cardigan’s sleeve to cover her hand. - The agency filled my fridge with so much food I don’t know what to do with it.

- I’m not a breakfast kind of person, Y/N.

- Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. - her small hand came to rest over his wrist, pulling at it so he would go inside. He found it amusing how someone who was much shorter than him, head barely hitting his collarbones, would try to move him. Although, surprising wasn’t the fact that he moved but the fact that she touched him, she touched the Winter Soldier.

Bucky wasn’t a kid anymore, he wasn’t naive and he lacked Steve’s “all good” view of the world so he knew what people thought of him. They thought he had been of use but at the end of the day he had been the Winter Soldier for 70 years. They didn’t dare touch him but her she was inviting him into her home and touching him as if he were an old friend.

Once he got in, he immediately looked at everything. There were fake flowers everywhere in little glass jars, if they were broken and she were trying to escape she would get hurt, too many windows and not a lot of mirrored surfaces, people could look in.

- Would you like some pancakes? French toast? - her voice interrupted his inspection. - My mom was a cook, I can cook pretty much whatever you want. Can’t promise it will be as good as a cook’s but it’ll be edible.

- You really don’t need to feed me, Y/N. - his gaze returned to her apartment, open doors everywhere.

- I just thought ... since you’re going to be around a while we should be friendly with each other. - she looked down at her feet before looking up again, head slightly looking to the side. - I don’t know anyone in here, I didn’t even pick this apartment so I thought I would at least get to know you.

She felt ashamed, heat seemed to radiate from her cheeks to her whole body. Back at the theatre everyone knew each other, they all had show themed hoodies and would say hi whenever they came in and left but things in Hollywood were different. In her first movie she had made friends with only one cast member who still spoke to her but everyone else did their job and returned to their lives without a single hello. She thought that maybe knowing Bucky would make having someone constantly in her life a bit easier but she understood his position.

Bucky himself seemed to read that all on her face and as he did a thought popped into his head “they are gonna eat her alive”.

- Let’s try that French Toast. - she smiled at his answer, once again pulling his hand towards the kitchen. It was spacious for a SoHo flat, with cut edge technology and also a very visible knife set. He would have to tell her to put that somewhere else.

She on the other hand quickly assembled all she needed, placing it on the marble countertop, a happy grin on her face as she started to prepare the meal. It reminded him of memories he had tried to suppress.

- Mum’s a cook, why are you an actress? - those memories were still memories he wasn’t ready to get back and as such he reckoned speaking with her would keep it out.

- I don’t really know how to explain it. - she smiled, pulling a few hair strands behind her ear. - My mum took me to a musical after I didn’t get cast in the nativity play. It was Phantom of the Opera, I just remembered that chandelier rising and crashing and the energy of the performers. There was just ... that was time stopping and rushing at the same time. And the look on the performers faces as they finished a piece, god it was just, I had never seen and I don’t think I have ever seen such passion in someone’s face.

Bucky moved his head ever so slightly, she seemed to be lost in her own memories, a daydream gaze washing over her features. He wondered what it was like to have memories to be proud of.

- I’m sorry, I must sound like a sap. Why do you become a bodyguard?

- I like a challenge.

- That’s what you told me yesterday. - she placed a beautiful set plate in front of him. Beautiful things make beautiful things, that’s what his mother once told him. Maybe she was right.

- What can I say, I’m not that interesting.

- I don’t know if that’s true. - she added a coffee cup to the French Toast, before pulling a chair. - You know, if I’m at home you don’t need to be outside my door, you can come in.

- I wouldn’t want to intrude on your personal space.

- It’s not really my personal space. The agency bought the flat and decorated it themselves so I guess it’s just the space I live in. I don’t really know the city yet so you’re mostly waiting outside for nothing. - she shrugged.

- How long have you been in New York?

- A little over 5 months. I was in California during my last movie and prior to that I was living in Haymarket in London. How long have you been in New York?

- I was born in Brooklyn, about half hour away from here. Lived here my whole life ever since ... at least the part of it I could control.

Bucky waited to see that pity look, the one everyone in the team seemed to give them whenever they looked at him but she didn’t. She merely wrapped her hand around his, caring smile of someone who almost looked proud he existed or proud he was alive. They’re gonna eat her alive, he thought to himself once again.

- Hey, you could show me around. - she suggested, jumping from the high chair onto the floor.

- I don’t hang around SoHo, Y/N.

- Well, you could show me Brooklyn. Isn’t Coney Island in Brooklyn?

- You wanna go to Coney Island? - he chuckled. - I don’t think your agency would enjoy that. Too public.

- They don’t need to know. - she smirked playfully. - If you don’t tell them they won’t know.

- You’re a celebrity, trust me you’ll be noticed.

- You said on your CV you were good at blending and disappearing into a crowd. Please, I’ll get you whatever you want in Coney Island.

- Whatever I want? - he furrowed his eyebrows at her and she nodded. - Alright, Y/N.

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @nsfwsebbie @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @tonystankschild @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverrated @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess

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fangirl-creates · 4 years

Text

ZERO OVER YONDER (FULL FIC)

(Likes and Reblogs are appreciated!)

1 - Banjo Pluck

“Look, all I’m saying is—would it kill Rippen to just have a little chill once in a while?” The red-headed boy vented to his friends as they walked to the movie theater.

“Penn, Rippen is Rippen. Of course he’s still gonna be rude to you when we’re not saving the Multiverse.” Sashi commented, wanting desperately to hear the end of these complaints spilling out of Penn’s mouth.

“Well yeah, obviously. But today, there was just no end to it! Like even when I was eating lunch, BAM! There he was!” He folded his arms, his face turning about as red as his hair at this point.

Rippen had definitely been more annoying than usual today. The reason? Probably having a bad day and picking on Penn was the only thing that would bring him ‘joy’...if you’d even call it that. And even though Penn had learned to ignore Rippen during times like these, today was one of those ‘impatient’ days for Penn Zero—considering the fact he had stayed up till 3am last night on a count of The Chinchilla bothering him again.

“Don’t worry about it, dude.” Boone put his arm around his friend, patting his back. “I’m sure beating Rippen again will put you in a good mood. Think of it as a way to get back at him.”

“Yeah!” Sashi chimed in. “I’ll even let you kick him in the face this time.” She smiled.

Penn felt a little better, the red from his face fading away. “Thanks, guys.”

The trio stepped onto their usual spots on the zap platform, Penn cracking his knuckles.

“I’m really gonna let him have it today.” He grinned between his teeth.

“Violence must wait till tomorrow!” Phyllis called from her spot on the balcony.

Penn titled his head. “...I don’t understand.”

“You will see.” She pulled the lever, the trio levitating as they were forced into the portal. “GOOD LUCK!”

After the brilliant blue flash, Penn opened his eyes. Space. He saw Space. Below him was the material of some kind of smaller planet he stood on—“Purple-colored dirt” in his Earth vocabulary. But that wasn’t the thing that surprised him...it was the body he was in. It was weirdly insulating, like a very thick fur coat—that’s when he realized he was covered in it. Orange fur coated him from head to toe. The only articles of clothing he was actually wearing were white socks and some slightly worn blue sneakers. He felt..uncomfortable.

“Penn?” Sashi’s voice made itself known.

Penn looked up, a bit surprised she was taller than him now. “Sashi! You’re a—uh….” He studied his friend’s new look. She was blue with a pink mane—yet her body itself was a cross between a horse and a dinosaur. He shrugged it off. “Never mind.” He looked around for the Wiseman. “Where’s Boone?”

“Right here!” A confident voice called, Penn searching for the source.

“Boone? Where are-” He noticed Sashi pointing above his head, to which he realized he was wearing a hat as well. He took it off to find the rather large green hat staring back at him. “Oh.”

“Oh yeah. I definitely feel like a wiseman now…”

“Cause you were on my head and you feel like you can give me knowledge that way.” Penn raised a brow.

Boone did what was an attempted shrug. “Who knows...maybe I’m magic.”

Penn rolled his eyes, placing Boone back on his head. “Okay Sash, check the specs.”

Sashi pressed the side of her glasses, which were now a dark purple to complement the colors of her new form. The holographic image showed up in front of them. “You are a wandering Do-Gooder, and I am your trusty steed and best friend.”

“What about me?” Boone asked, feeling a little left out.

“You’re his hat.” ….She didn’t add anything else.

“Well, I still think I might be magic.” He looked away. “You two just don’t know it yet.”

Sashi rolled her eyes. “Annnnyway, the evil Lord Hater is planning to conquer another innocent planet with his army of Watchdogs. It’s up to us to stop him before he manages to leave the planet successful.” Normally, this was the part where the hologram would disappear, but it lingered.

“All right! Sounds easy enough.” Penn pounded his fists together. “I’ll admit, this body is a little on the weaker side, but I can still give Rippen a good fi-”

“Actually, you can’t use violence at all. I’m the one who can fight them. You stop bad guys by...being nice.” Now the hologram was gone.

Penn suddenly understood what Phyllis meant earlier...and he hated it. “I...I can’t fight him?! Seriously??” His face was turning red again, yet it was hard to tell with the orange fur. “So not only does Rippen get away with all the stuff he did to me today, but now I can’t even GET HIM BACK?!”

“No one said you can’t get him back—you just can’t beat him up.” Sashi folded her arms.

“...Can I at least punch him?”

“No. You’ll ruin the hero’s image.”

Penn covered his face with hands, a muffled scream. He then took a deep breath, calming himself. Thankfully for him, this body seemed to have a very calm mindset...that, and really cheerful one. “Okay...okay, I’ll do my best…for the sake of the mission, and because I don’t want to accidentally break something.” He hopped onto the saddle on Sashi’s back.

“Good choice.” Sashi nodded. “Now how do we get out of here?”

“Don’t look at me—what the??” A small bottle fell onto the ground. Upon closer inspection, it looked like a container for bubble blowing, but it read ‘Orbble juice’, with instructions on the back. Penn shrugged and pulled the wand out, blowing as a large air-tight bubble formed around them, lifting them off the ground. “Now we’re talking!” He yelled out into the bubble, cheerfully. “HEIGH-HO, SYLVIA!”

Sashi and Boone both looked at him.

Penn blinked, not sure what came over him. “S-Sashi...I meant Sashi. Oh, that was weird.”

Thankfully, it was quickly forgotten by the trio, heading on their way to their next destination…

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

2 - A Hero’s Image

Rippen looked at himself in the mirror. In all his years as a Part-Time Villain, he had only been a skeleton once. And even then, it was only for a couple minutes. The complete lack of skin made him feel...exposed. But at the same time, the bone seemed hard as nails, so there was that.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted, however, by the rambles of his cheerful minion—who was in the body of a Commander with the exact opposite personality. But that didn’t affect Larry in the slightest. “Isn’t this eyeball head weird? I mean I’m talking, but there’s no mouth! How crazy is that?” He laughed. “How do people even know when I’m speaking?”

Rippen rolled his eyes. “Your pupil moves, Larry.”

Larry looked in the mirror, expressing a smile as much as a watchdog could to the best of their abilities. “Heh, it’s kinda funny how it bounces like that.”

“Can we get on with it, then?” He was having an exceptionally good day...as far as Rippen’s standards go. And he didn’t want this good mood to go to waste.

“Right, right...sorry.” He laughed softly, pressing the side of his glasses, which were now yellow and only one square instead of two. “Okay, you are the evil Lord Hater and I am your Second in Command. Our Mission is to conquer another poor innocent planet before Penn stops you with-” Larry paused, unsure he was reading this right.

“With what? Come on, spit it out.” Rippen pestered.

“Um...friendship.”

Rippen blinked, a bit stunned by what Larry just said. “Maybe it's the lack of ears that makes it hard for me to hear you, but did you say…‘Friendship’?”

“Yep. He’s supposed to be nice to you.” Larry nodded.

Rippen was silent for a moment, then he burst out laughing. “Penn Zero’s forced to be nice to me!” He laughed again. “If we’re lucky, he’ll break under the pressure, completely ruining the hero’s image! And then I can finally become a Full-Time Villain!” When he laughed a third time, however, green lighting shot from his fingertips as he made a ‘rock n roll’ gesture with both of his hands.

Larry narrowly avoided it, but some watchdogs down the hall weren’t so lucky; loud yelps followed by groaning were heard after getting zapped.

“Wait..what just happened?” Rippen looked at the gesture he was making, a bit confused.

“Oh yeah, you got cool lightning powers! I forgot to tell you that…” Larry attempted a smile again.

For once in his life, Rippen was filled with the absolute confidence that this time...this time, he could not only win...but finally annihilate Penn Zero. He laughed one more time, green lighting sparking around him. “This is it, Larry! Victory is finally at hand!”

Friendship...of all the things. He had been nice to Rippen before, sure, but that was often out of pity...or on rare occasions, when he genuinely felt sorry for him. But this was the first time he was forced to do it. And that fact made him upset. Heck, even the phrase ‘Kill em with Kindness’ was starting to sound not understandable anymore. He glanced at Sashi. “Soooo, this whole ‘friendship’ thing…”

Sashi’s eyes met his, despite being focused on the destination.

“Is he like...allergic to it or something? Is he gonna melt if I hug him??”

“No. You’re just being nice to him...for the 100th time.” She mumbled under her breath.

“I know, I know...it’s just...what’s the point of being nice to your enemy if they’re just gonna continue to do you harm? How is this furball even still alive after constantly clashing with this guy?”

It Never hurts to Help. A little voice said in the back of his mind.

Penn blinked. “Boone, did you say something?” He glanced up.

“Uhh no?”

He scratched his head, thinking. If he was really gonna do this, he was gonna do it right. But how?

As if on cue, Boone jumped up, a Banjo seemingly appearing out of nowhere, landing in Penn’s hands. He stared at it. “Uhhh Boone...where did this come from?” He looked up.

Boone just gasped in response. “I AM magic!!” He said triumphantly.

Penn rolled his eyes, holding the banjo awkwardly. When it came to music, Penn considered himself more of a singer than anything else. But Instruments were not his strong suit...still, this Banjo didn’t look unimportant. He held it the right way, his fingers dancing along the frets. And then, as if on command…he started playing. It wasn’t a specific song or anything too complex, just a simple melody that made his friends smile as he continued. It was so strange...he had never played the banjo before, and here he was; playing it like he’d had years of practice. He was so lost in song, that he didn’t realize he was moving around while he did so. Luckily, they had found their destination before Rippen did, so Sashi was able to land on the ground, giving Penn freedom to do...whatever he was doing.

Sashi was amused by this. She had seen Penn dance before, but this was nothing like how he normally did it. This kind of dancing was silly, almost...cartoonish. What was even funnier was that not only did he dance in tune to the music, but he sang along to it as well. Well...more like sing-talking gibberish. Regardless, he seemed really into it. In fact, he got faster with each ‘verse’. It got to a point where he was strumming so fast, one would think the banjo was going to catch fire.

Penn’s chest went up and down as he breathed heavily, stopping finally. The sound of Sashi clapping caught his attention and he immediately realized what was going on. “O-Oh...yeah I didn’t mean to do any of that….” He blushed.

“It was cute.” Sashi commented. “But, you know, like in a funny kind of way.”

“Yeah, But not so good for me…” Boone managed, feeling a bit dizzy from Penn’s rapid dancing and spinning.

Penn cringed. “Ohh oh no. Do you need a minute? Do hats even get sick??” He thought about it for a second. Unfortunately, his thoughts were interrupted by a loud THUD.

All three turned to see a giant Skull Ship land on the planet’s surface. It opened its mouth, a large tongue landing down as watchdogs began to march in formation, chanting ‘Hate’s Great, Best Villain!’ as they did.

Penn watched, standing proudly as he held the banjo close. “Alright…” He took a deep breath. “Time to go to work.”

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

3 - Never Hurts to Help

It didn’t take long for Rippen to get the Watchdogs out, the inhabitants of the planet already running away in fear. The Do-Gooders were behind a rather large rock. Not the best hiding spot, but a good temporary one.

“Okay, Sash. That’s your cue.”

Sashi cracked her knuckles, but glanced at her friends before she ran off. “I know you can do this, PZ.” Then she was gone—charging into a group of Watchdogs.

Penn watched, taking a deep breath.

“So what are you gonna do?” Boone asked.

Penn hesitated. “Honestly, I have no idea.” He remembered what Sashi had said earlier...No one said you couldn’t get back at Rippen—you just can’t beat him up. Penn remembered how annoying Rippen was earlier...and for some reason, the mindset of this body seemed to know exactly how to annoy him back. A smirk appeared on his face as he ran to find his enemy.

Rippen was having the time of his life, blasting back at forth. What felt even better was that the creatures feared him the closer he got. He didn’t even care Sashi was punching the Watchdogs left and right—as long as he got his reward, he didn’t care what else went wrong.

“Havin’ fun, Rippen?”

And there it was.

Rippen turned to face the orange ball of fur, a cackle at how tall he was compared to the do-gooder. “Well, Well, Well! If it isn’t Penn Zero!” He raised his hands, pointing them at him as green lighting charged between his fingers—the soft glow illuminating on everyone close enough to see. “I know all about this little requirement of your’s to not hurt me-! So now I only have one thing to say to you—!”

Penn’s heart pounded in his chest. Best case scenario, the plan worked. Worst case scenario, Rippen blasts him into the next dimension.

“—Are you ready to meet your demise?”

Penn cleared his throat, standing casually. “Actually, Rippen ol’ Buddy, I’ve got a question for you.” He sounded so calm despite the fear inside of him.

Rippen raised part of his brow, staring down at his enemy. This day had been going so well for him. And if he destroyed him without hearing the question at all, it would haunt him forever. Rippen shrugged, not letting his guard down. “You know what? Ask away!”

Penn breathed a small sigh of relief, taking a step back. “Well I was just thinking...you must be hungry after this...invasion thing.”

Though he didn’t want to admit it, Rippen was starving. He didn’t understand why, but this body had the need to consume every junk food imaginable. And everything it craved, Rippen had never touched in his life. He made a slightly annoyed face at Penn. “Why would it matter to you?”

“Oh no reason…” He pulled out two sandwiches from behind his back. “Just that...uh..got some sandwiches here. Hate for them to go to waste…” He mocked, waving the scent around Rippen’s nonexistent nose. “Truly...truly a shame.”

Rippen’s stomach made probably one of the loudest sounds a stomach was capable of making—strange, considering Skeletons didn’t even have stomachs. He tried to keep his eyes off the two sandwiches, but it was impossible. “Ugh! Just give them to me—!” He tried to reach, but Penn jumped back.

“What’s that? You do want these?” He grinned. “Well, would you prefer—” He threw the first sandwich at Rippen’s face. “Mustard-?” He jumped over Rippen, throwing the other sandwich on his face when he turned around. “-or Mayo?!” He laughed, landing on his feet.

Rippen angrily wiped the sandwiches from his face, staring at Penn with a piercing glare.

Instead of a rude gesture, Penn stuck out his tongue in a playful manner, his legs speeding up. “Come and get me!” And he was gone.

Rippen didn’t know why, but every voice in the back of his head screamed ‘GET HIM!’ no matter what. And that’s exactly what he did. He ran, screaming at the top of his...lungs? Whatever skeletons have.

Penn pulled out the banjo as he ran, turning around as he was now jogging backwards. “How about a little chase music?” He smiled, strumming rather fast. The music seemed to be annoying Rippen even more, which meant it was working.

Meanwhile, Sashi had already beaten up all the Watchdogs while Rippen was distracted. Larry was too busy watching Rippen chase Penn around to notice. Something about it made him want to sigh. He was...disappointed in Rippen?? He shivered, hoping he’d never get that feeling again.

At this point, Rippen was exhausted. He clawed at the ground, now laying on his stomach. Penn, however, didn’t feel tired at all. He felt as though he could run a marathon in seconds. Eventually, he stopped running and walked right over to Rippen, bending down so they were at eye level once more. He put his hands behind his back, a smug look on his face.

“You uh..you doing okay?” He raised a brow.

Rippen wheezed, trying to stand. “W...Watchdogs! Get him—!” It wasn’t until he yelled that when he realized they were all defeated, Sashi standing there triumphantly. “NOOO! I WAS SO CLOSE!!” He wheezed again, his face lightly hitting the ground.

Penn felt a little bad for him. He wasn’t sure why the feeling was so sudden, but he didn’t question it. “Look, you seem pretty exhausted, so I’ll just leave this here for you.” He placed one of the mustard sandwiches and a bottle of a soda labeled ‘Thunder Blazz’ in bright yellow bubble letters on the side.

Rippen stared at the food, standing up as he wolfed down the sandwich. He glared at Penn, pointing at him. “This doesn’t make us friends!” He spoke between bites.

Penn made a face. “I uh...I never said that.”

Rippen blinked, shaking his head. “Oh never mind!” He grabbed the soda and angrily trudged back to the skull ship, Larry patting him on the back as they headed inside.

The inhabitants cheered once the skull ship took off, Sashi running to greet her friends. “You did it, Penn!”

“Yeah!” Boone chimed in. “I’m not exactly sure what you did...but you did it!”

Penn’s eyes watched the skull ship fade from view. Why did Rippen retreat? And why did he think he was trying to be his friend? Even with all these questions, Penn still couldn’t help but feel good about himself…

With another blue flash, the trio was pulled back to the movie theater, landing safety back onto their original spots. Penn looked at himself, no longer feeling uncomfortable, but a bit disappointed the cheerful feeling was gone. “That was probably one of the strangest missions ever...but in a good way.” He managed.

“Yeah, wonder what was up with Rippen after we won…” Sashi added, hand on her chin.

“Sometimes,” Phyills started, coming back down from the balcony. “Enemy is just a friend you haven’t made yet.” She looked at Penn. “Remember that, Penn Zero.”

Penn put his hands in his pockets, a smile. “I will.”

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

4 - Epilogue

Later that evening, the space duo set up camp for the night. Sylvia was still trying to process exactly what happened earlier. Her fists were sore from punching Watchdogs, when she hadn’t even done that today? Or had she??

Wander, on the other hand, seemed to be in a particularly good mood. Normally, that wasn’t a surprise in Wander’s case, but it definitely was after the events of today.

“I swear,” Sylvia put some wood on the fire, the flames grasping onto it. “My head’s buzzing like a swarm of bees. The whole thing was so weird…” She sat down next to her friend, who was casually resting, playing a happy tune on his banjo. “How are you keeping it all together, buddy? Doesn’t your head hurt?” She asked, concerningly.

The Nomad looked up at her, smiling. “Because I helped someone.”

Sylvia blinked. “So...you remember what happened today?”

“Nope.” He cheerfully responded.

“...then..how do you know if you helped someone or not??”

“Just a hunch.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes, playfully, rustling his fur. “Okay, buddy…”

Deep within the stars, they saw the skull ship pass by, the voice of Lord Hater screaming into the night sky…

“I CAN’T BELIEVE I ACTUALLY ATE ONE OF WANDER’S STUPID SANDWICHES!!”

Wander chuckled, yawning as he got into his normal sleeping spot. “Yep, not a bad day…”

Sylvia still couldn’t remember what happened, but regardless of that, she was happy Wander still got to help out someone. And in the end, that was all that matters...

END

#penn zero part time hero #wander over yonder #crossover fanfiction #fanfic #pzpth #save woy #woy watchdogs

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whalesfallmoved · 4 years

Text

soft descent

Wedding vows for the dead. Neither of you ever had a chance.

chargestep. rated m. twisted memories and revenge and nightmares of all kinds and ricardo ortega, starring as sidestep’s poorly repressed self-doubt, in a manner of speaking.

or, sidestep sees nothing clearly, and her head has never been a pleasant place to be.

warnings: implications of suicide, slight body horror, violence, injury. hurt, without comfort, because of course.

ao3 link.

——

“Oof, that’s going to leave a mark.”

You’re standing next to the window in the dark the sun blistering overhead and the glass shattered underfoot. He’s looking down. You’re looking at him. It’s always been like that. When you look down you’ll see— no. You’re not going to look down. You’re going to look at him.

“It didn’t feel great.”

He smiles and it’s broken, one hand on the windowsill, one hand on his gut where Catastrofiend’s goodbye kiss drips slowly, wetly, a splash of violence against the cobalt blue skinsuit, Ranger-proud. You want to say you should get that looked at but it wouldn’t do any good, he’s already gotten blood all over the carpet.

Soft laugh and when he licks his lips you can see a hint of red, waiting to get coughed up, waiting to get expelled, the body killing itself to save itself—you remember the way it stuck between your fingers, the delirium—beg, the monster-thing demanded, and he laughed then too.

You look down at your hands. The way they curl up, clinging to air.

Are you bleeding? You must be.

“Yeah, I know all about that.”

“No,” you shake your head and your spine pops, “you don’t.”

“What, are we comparing jumps now?”

“Are we?” wouldn’t that be something. He never talked about this before, why start now? Trying to get you to forgive him? You won’t.

“It was a longer drop.”

“And there were people there to help you.”

“Depends on your definition of help.” Head jerk to the side, beckoning you to look, look down, look at them, look at you. “Technically, they helped you too.”

Bite down, taste blood and bile. Have you started choking yet down there? You remember the way it sluiced up your throat, the way you could feel the crack and splinter of your ribcage. His brows furrow a little and maybe he feels bad. You hope so. You hope it’s twisting him up inside.

“Wish they’d helped me to the morgue.”

Exhale, ragged and wet and torn.

“Yeah, those contracts are a bitch, huh? Nothing like a blood debt.”

“What, you want me to feel bad for you?” You taunt, vision hazy bones aching— pulse in your ribs, they must have picked you up by now, isn’t that nice. He’s still looking down, waiting for something to happen. “Poor Ricardo. The US government branded on his ass till the day he dies. Join the fucking club.”

“Hey—” he hisses, flashing his eyes to you finally, “you could pretend to sympathize.”

“I’m so sorry you have posters and trading cards and get invited to award ceremonies and—”

“Oh, I knew I have trading cards, but how did you know I have trading cards,” a wink, sly, charming and wrong, like a bone splitting the skin. “Collecting them, aren’t you?”

“You wish.”

You want to throw up. His neck is bruised.

He sighs, knocks his fist against the window. You both flinch. “They’re gonna keep you going till you’ve got nothing left to give, you know.”

And this time it’s your turn to laugh, bitter and cruel and serrated. You want to twist the knife in his gut you want to rake your nails down his skin, it’s the least- it’s the least you can do, god you are so angry you shake, but you’ve always been good at staying still. Hold your breath, don’t scream, fuck that hurts, and now he’s looking at you full on. “I’m already out. No thanks to you.”

Maybe he sees the way your hands are starting to twitch. The smile softens and you want to kiss-bite-punch it bruise blue to match his stupid fucking suit.

“Are you?”

Are.

You?

I am.

Am I?

A snake in your throat curling up ready to snap bite. Your lips twist, scene hazy at the edges, and when you get your hands around his neck (oh those are the bruises, they look like your hands) you’ll both be sorry—“fuck off.”

Magic words.

Ortega shrugs, pushes the window open like it doesn’t matter, like it didn’t matter, like he can just do that; he always had to make it about himself, can’t even leave you your death, can’t even leave you your place at the window.

You want to shove him away from it.

You want to shove him through it.

“If you insist.”

Close your eyes.

One.

Two.

Three.

—

Dr. Mortum does not smile, not until Angel flashes her a wicked grin and a bag of cash and a promise of more where that came from if— if— if—

She flips through the schematics, eyes brightening—the loose design, the necessities, the ideas—oh, you are going to do such great things together.

“It can be done, I assure you.”

“Excellent. My employer wants nothing but the best.”

—

The sound of waves takes the edge off the thump of a corpse hitting the ground, but you aren’t ready for it—you aren’t ready for the scent of rotting meat, rancid and cloying under the Los Diablos sun.

You open your eyes and when you look down, a dead girl is mangled, half gone. You think— she almost looks like your target.

Huh.

“That’s a bad idea, you know.”

Voice soft prying you know it and you groan, twist, turn, the sand uneven and blood-splattered.

He’s got that loose hold, hip jutted on a rock arms crossed, too casual for the teething gore surrounding them. Suit torn and eaten at, blood drip-drip-dripping down his arm where the skin is all gone, you keep waiting for them to crawl through the sand and eat you both alive. Maybe you won’t save him this time.

“Which one?” You ask, and when you look down you’re in the old suit, fitted like an infected wound. You yank at the collar, touch your cheek, your face— you’d covered your face here, hadn’t you? Yes.

He smiles. Shakes his head.

He hadn’t let them touch you, even when you collapsed, even when they wanted to help.

Not that it matters. None of it matters anymore.

“So you do care about my opinion?”

“No,” you murmur, choking down a gag—dead meat, food for the nanovores, food for the flies, “but that’s never stopped you before.”

“True,” he winks, running through the motions; what you remember, what you want to forget. Oh god you want to forget. You want to peel back this body and dig into the marrow and pull, pull, pull until the memories unravel in streams of violent orange.

He pushes off the rock, kicks his long legs out and walks too easily for a man that almost got eaten alive five minutes ago. “Walk with me?” He asks the way you don’t ask, you order, and throws his wounded arm over your shoulder, locking you hip to hip, no way out.

You sink under the weight, slotted to his side like a mismatched puzzle piece. Nothing about you fits, disjointed, dislocated. You’ve been shaped wrong for a long time now. They didn’t put all the parts back right. A doll unstitched and gutted for parts, but they didn’t— did they recycle you? Just medical waste and scars.

“You take me to the nicest places,” you say because it’s the only thing you can say when the sky looks like God wrapped his big meaty fist around it so tightly till it swelled and pinkened.

Black clouds on the skyline. Here they come. Don’t they know how strong you are now? How many webs you can weave? You crack your knuckles and almost smile.

Then you see: Tía Elena crosses herself in the background. She shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe. Why haven’t they evacuated all the civilians?

“Well, you never let me take you anywhere else,” he huffs, ignoring his mother as they walk on by, and that’s not— that’s not right?

It— no. You don’t want to be here. You can’t do that to him, not even now.

—

Fuck that’s good you’re invincible. The reckoning day is coming and when it does you’ll watch out for this one, you’ll remember her, how it felt to sit in her skin and move under it, but she can’t stop you. None of them can stop you now.

You smile and it’s sharp and cruel and silver. You almost almost almost want him to show up but the victory wouldn’t be quite as sweet, and you don’t really want to take a lightning bolt to the chest. Even if it wouldn’t slow you down, it’d still fucking hurt.

But it doesn’t matter. When you drive your foot into the golden boy’s chest you can feel his ribs crack a little bit and that’s even better. You’ll be riding the high of that for weeks after this. He’s a kicked puppy and you want— you want to kick him again, but there’s no time for that, no time for anything.

You wonder if Steel recognizes the grin right before you drop her like a body bag.

—

Gasp—jump spin dodge—near miss, fuck—Ortega laughed at the start but he’s not laughing anymore, smoke on the air, electricity crackling over his skin.

Fire off at its head one two, one miss, one hit. Head jerks, twists.

The thing-beast groans— don’t look at me i’m not here don’t look— “yOu...” guttural ugly it sees you, it sees you.

Run run run don’t touch me— “Noa!” He shouts and you stop drop and roll just in time for a blade to swing down, headsman’s axe, grazing the suit but not quite touching. Space where your body was empty, and it howls rage-snap.

“Mother— fucker!”

This. This you remember.

You remember the way its mind shucked the skin off your bones, all slick-blood drip drip drip. Gory, wrong, wound over wire, dirty fingernails scraping on the myelin, eating eating down down down— you remember: if you let it in it’ll kill you, cut your throat on its twisty edge thoughts as quick as a knife in hand.

You remember the images in your head— its plans, its ideas, the ways it was going to ply and split him down the middle like a rotten fruit. You couldn’t look at him for weeks. Almost. He was almost.

Almost.

Blink and the scene changes, and backup’s arrived, and you’re holding onto him, your mind pressed up against ITS just enough to make you both disappear. You threw up again and again afterward, but you still couldn’t forget, oil-slick.

not here we’re not here don’tlookatus

Then: you covered the wound with your own hands.

Now: you tilt your head to the side, pet his hair. It still doesn’t hurt as bad as the final impact, hitting the ground, or what came next. Suck it up.

“I told you,” he slurs, eyes half-mast, must be hazy from the blood loss. The human body can only take so much, even with the cutting edge mods. “I know all about that.”

“You don’t know anything. You don’t know anything at all.”

Hand over wound, you push down and he groans. You might as well save him again. You still haven’t had that showdown, and you’re gunning for a win. A dozen to one then, but you’ve gotten better, faster, smarter, your body catching up with your thoughts, and he doesn’t think at all. Doesn’t even matter if he did, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

“C’mon, Noa,” that’s not your name, that’s the name he gave you—your name is a mouthful, he’d grinned and you’d rolled your eyes and flushed, but now it sticks like a stove burn—numbers and names and Noa, Noa, no one else has ever gotten close enough to name you— fuck you. “Throw me a bone here.”

“No.”

“Fine.” he gasps, chokes, but the words still spill loose, “but you can’t hate me for what you didn’t tell me.” He says, sounding so fucking reasonable while he’s bleeding out on your lap, and now you definitely have to save him, now you definitely have to make sure he lives, just so you can level him for that alone. Just wait, a feeling builds up in your chest, his day is coming and it’s coming fast.

“Don’t tell me what I can’t hate you for.” You want to snarl, a fighting dog, a dog fit for the ring, but it comes out weak, threadbare, and you hate the way your hands shake, the way your throat hardens up and each word is estranged from your mouth.

“At least give me a chance to prove you wrong.”

“Why?” Is that your voice? Small and weak, a child learning to make a fist, thumb tucked in. But you were never a child. You were never small.

“You know me,” he punches out a laugh and it breaks like a sob, “I love a challenge.”

“This isn’t a challenge, Ricardo. There’s just nothing left.”

—

He.

“November?”

He is.

“I thought you were dead—”

Older. Different. That feels wrong, wrong. He should be the same he can’t have changed that much. Fuck that moustache is ridiculous. He looks so heavy with grief, or is that just you, reflected back? A labyrinth of static.

It’s all blurry and too much, not enough, but maybe— for a moment— for a moment everything shatters, fingers under a suture, and maybe— it’s just a flash of his eyes, real and in front of you and not blurred by a late night show or security footage fight you only watched to make sure he still leads with his left sucker punch with his right and maybe—

“Are you still a telepath?”

You say yes and feel like a fool and you tell him a dash of the truth and you feel like a wound and you can’t hate me for what you didn’t tell me.

Your hands are shaking. You make a fist.

He wants— he wants something.

A raw crack down your spine and you smile and it feels wrong. Maybe it looks wrong. He won’t stop watching you like you’ll disappear if he blinks more than once, if he looks away, and maybe you will. Maybe you’re just ash and graveyard dirt held together with sutures and wire.

You want to crawl through the floor to someplace small and dark and cold where no one will ever find you again.

You tell him just enough, just enough to keep on hating him.

It’ll be easier that way.

—

Rewind.

“That’s a bad idea, you know.” He cackles as you thrust out a punch—miss—and dodge his return, feet sliding on the mat. You can’t believe you let him talk you into this, a friendly spar on Ranger soil.

“Which one?” Thrust dodge lock your ankle around his own, slipping up letting you get close like that, rookie mistake— twist of your hip— throw! and the satisfying slap of skin on the mat, his skin, his body hitting the ground, but he holds hard and pulls you down with him (if you go i go) and you land— oof! breathless and grinning and on top, finally, finally.

Fingers lock and you shift, thighs on either side, pin him down, his emitters humming biting pinching but you got him, and you aren’t letting go. A shiver skip-dances down your spine, static-charged.

“I win,” you growl, a winner’s grin biting into your cheeks, free and loose (where’s your mask?)

He squeezes your hand, sends a low-grade jolt up your palms sharp, just to see what you’ll do, jellyfish stings, and you squeeze back harder, lean down till you can feel his breath hot on your lips. You never got this close before, he’s so solid beneath you.

Ricardo, grinning back, a halo of black curls fanned out, sticking to his brow all slick with sweat, “what is that, a dozen to one?”

“Shut up,” he can’t take this from you, not yet, “don’t be a sore loser.”

“Actually, I’m enjoying myself quite a bit right now. I should let you win more often.”

“Fuck you,” but it tears out a laugh far too sweet for your mouth. You feel segmented and gentle, like a scorpion smashed on a rock left out to rot in the sun. Maybe he’ll take you home, run his fingers through your matted hair and not mind the stingers or the venom. You weren’t made for a laughter light like this, and if there was ever a time you could be it’s long gone now, but you still want him to touch you, a want like a scar healed wrong.

“Buy me dinner first— ah!” You let go just to crack your palm against the top of his head, anything to wipe that smug edge off, and— “okay, fine, I’ll buy dinner,” but this time when your hand comes down he catches it, brings it to his lips, soft on your palm— oh god, oh god it hurts.

“And then what?” You dare, you gasp, you’ve never been that bold—couldn’t afford boldness, always a coward at heart and that’s how he always won, but for a moment you let your fingers curl along his cheekbone. His eyes slide closed, kissing still—dart of tongue, tracing the line of your palm. How long is my life? How many children will I have? What do the cracks in the skin say? Maybe his mouth can divine something human in the shape of your hand, even if the lines there aren’t really yours, just a thing they gave you to play pretend.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, still not giving you his gaze, a pained crush to his brow, “you did ask me to take you somewhere nice.”

“Did I?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“Liar. I never asked you to do anything.”

He smiles right on your skin, like a knife sliding under your gut—girl/deer, splayed out on the slaughterhouse floor of his kindness. The world hazes at the edges, curling up set aflame.

Somewhere nice. Too bad it can’t last.

Finally. Finally he looks at you. Sees you. How long has it been since someone hasn’t stared through?

“No, you didn’t. I wish you would have.”

—

Choking hard gasp and the phone screams or maybe you do. Your teeth throb.

The room is heavy dark save for the corners of curtained sunlight peeking through, the air scented thickly of cheap candles and candy wrappers. The sheets are sweat-slick and you can smell your own skin, the rawness of sleep on it. Musky. Unsterilized.

The fabric sticks and itches. Fingers under the hem, you toss the sweater aside, hear it thump damply against a wall.

Breathe. Hand to chest and yes, that’s your heart, rocking in your rib cage, slowing down. You breathe with in—ten—tion.

One.

Two.

Three.

Okay, you’re okay. You can do this. You can still do this.

—

“I don’t want to do this here.”

He holds out a plate of food, tilts his head to the side, the corners of his mouth twitching up. Pushes the plate into your hands, and you take it—just hold out something to someone and nine times out of ten they’ll take it without thinking, asking only after they’ve agreed to carry the burden.

Silly you, you never had a choice.

His apartment is soft and safe around the edges, and your heart gets sticky in your chest. You think maybe those are your books on his shelf, the ones you lost after—

“What’s wrong with here?” He shrugs, brushing past toward the table, beckoning you to follow with a grin and a nudge.

“I like it here.” You answer honestly, for once, and he beams, a light bright enough to burn.

“I know.”

“So why are you ruining it?”

“Ruining it?” Hurt. Smile gone.

“Take me somewhere else. Anywhere else.” Somewhere cruel and sharp as a scalpel to the throat. Psychopather or Overlord or the dilapidated construction ruin you jumped out of at the second story and broke your wrist because you made a deal— you agreed to a dare— race you to the bottom down the stairs— if you lose you have to answer my questions— and god, you didn’t want to answer anything, anything at all, and he’d screamed your name, cursed you out, told you don’t be an idiot what if you broke your neck and flinched when you snapped I was just following your lead.

“I can’t,” he shakes his head and you have to sit down, set the plate on the table before you drop it, wouldn’t want to break the fine china. Did his mother give him this? You think so; he’d taken such care, stacking each plate freshly hand washed before putting them away.

“Liar.”

“Not this time,” a loaded smile, a loaded gun, his fork twirls around on his plate. Shadow of a wrist and a vague gesture to the seams of the scenery. “This is all you. Your shape. What you made. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Then I’m not staying.”

Shrug again. Why won’t he do anything else? A looped tape, a slight glitch. Something’s wrong.

You’re wrong, maybe.

“Not even for dinner?”

You stand up. Pace. There are plans— things to be done— finishing touches— you can’t stay here. You can’t.

“What do you want, Noa?” He asks, so softly, so gently, it would be kinder if he killed you there, but you know he won’t; it’ll take a lot more than bad table manners to push him to that, but maybe you can do it. Maybe you can get him a little ruthless, even more desperate. You’ve seen it before, in flashes, coiling green under his skin. Won’t it be funny if he breaks before you do? No blood on your hands, not yet. What a record. Fitting, almost.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Why?”

“Hard to work on an empty stomach,” he shrugs again, fuck, stop doing that. Bare feet silent on the carpet and you find yourself back at the table, back in the chair, sitting across from him and there’s nowhere to go—

Blink.

Sterile antiseptic white walls and doctors— in your apartment— your neighbor? Yes, that’s your neighbor he accused you of staring once, the fuck are you lookin’ at? And you weren’t staring, at least not like that, but it took a soft nudge of don’t look at me for him to go all the same. Strange. You didn’t think a doctor would live here. It’s a bad side of town, but it’s good for sidestepping.

You think: I am going to wake up now.

Wait. No. You say this out loud. It comes through with the wet ache of drowning.

No. Wait. Your words roll back down your throat—you didn’t say it. You didn’t say anything at all. You never have.

All the words roll in but they’re not yours you’re fit to burst.

It must be nice being able to speak.

Not here.

Maybe that’s what it is to be human.

Get real, you think because you stick your fingers in a few skulls and cut your teeth on some gray matter while someone thinks about love you know what being human is?

I could. I could know.

They gave you a tongue and mouth and lips but you can’t kiss and you can’t make words, you can only patch together the syntax, call it real, call it human—but when you speak it’s always going to be with someone else’s voice, strangled out.

The walls are whiter now and the lights slice your skin like a hot knife through butter. It isn’t a cliff but a door you’ve already walked through and the ocean inside the warehouse inside the apartment is now a table with handcuffs. His table. Her table. You jerk your wrists and the metal clanks hard and fuck no not here not here please take me back i’m sorry i want to go back—

(he’s coming to get you)

(he wouldn’t leave you here)

(no time for the dramatics ricardo just get the door let’s blow this popsicle stand)

She smiles at you from across that metal table (wait) and tells you that you are never going to die (stop) because to die you have to be alive (i am i am i?) and you should know better by now we are going to do such great things together (please)

aren’t we,

aren’t we.

aren’t i?

wake up now- i want to— please.

—

You’re alone in the dark, the armor fits perfectly, and that’s all that matters.

(when you become a casualty revoked from the grave get ready a revenant coming back to eat them alive oh oh oh just you wait)

You think you’ll keep the name.

(sidestep and charge reunited again you can see the headlines now and fuck you can’t wait to see the look on his face you were always a pair maybe he’ll stop you wouldn’t that be something)

You don’t sleep.

—

He doesn’t stop you.

—

“Noa?”

“Yes?”

“You are... fine, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’d tell me if something was wrong?”

“Of course I would.”

—

Your dreams are filmy, cracked wombs of (not not not) memories and gummy tissue. Press on it too hard and it moves back just the same but with a muscle deep ache. At least you know it’s a dream this time, and when you go up the stairs and find him there, you don’t hiss or spit or curse. You’ve done enough of that. He’ll carry the scars to prove it.

He’s looking out the window. He’s looking at you.

No, he’s looking at you. You flinch and you don’t know why.

“Really? Even here?”

“What?”

“Take the mask off at least. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen your pretty face.”

You reach up and your fingers find hard armor, not supple skinsuit. When you look back his face is different, older, not the poster-ready Marshal but aged, aching, and you ache with it, bone-deep.

You’re so tired. You wonder if he is too.

The helmet comes off. Drops with a thump.

You go to the window. After all, there’s nowhere else left, and he asked so nicely.

“What do we do now?” You ask, so softly. Still can’t look outside. Still don’t want to see what he sees. Better to watch him watch you. Now that you’re on the other side of things, you prefer it when you’re the one doing the bleeding—what a thing.

“I don’t know,” a laugh a sob or something in between, he crosses his arms and turns away, turns toward you. “Did you ever figure out what you want?”

“Yeah.”

You blink and he’s himself again, younger, more angular, a grin fit for the big screen on his handsome, handsome face. It’s easier to talk to him like this, the way you remember, the way it should be. Time didn’t move while you were gone, and you’re the only one still snapped in half.

A pause. Are you smiling now? It must be a sad little thing though, because his eyes soften up and a frown mars his forehead.

“I want to watch you grow old.”

“What, so you can keep on teasing me? That never stopped you before.”

“Shut up, I’m not done yet.” you whisper, stepping forward, stepping up to the cliff’s edge.

“I want to watch you grow old,” reaching for his hand, and he lets you have them both, cradled so carefully—and your gloves are black and armored and insulated, but not the most protected part of your body. Could he kill you with a surge? Maybe. “And I want to watch you die in a bed. Your bed.”

“A little morbid,” he murmurs but you’ve got to keep going, you’ve got to get it out, because once it’s out you’ll never have to look at it again. “But I guess that tracks.”

Turn over his hands, you thumb at his emitters. Hint of a spark, and you laugh and now it’s sob, now it’s a wound. You won’t look at him. “I want to watch the arthritis take your hands and I want to take you away from this fucking city and we’ll both be so bored out of our minds, we’ll start inventing problems just to fix them.”

“Careful, Noa,” hands turn over, running up your armored wrists, grasping at your forearms. “That almost sounds like a happy ending.”

Wedding vows for the dead. Neither of you ever had a chance. You don’t have one now.

“And we can’t have that.”

You look up. The sun’s on his face now, turning his eyes a shade of deep whiskey, and that’s how you want to remember him; alive under the sun, smile lines just forming, his nose a bit crooked from getting punched one too many times. You’ll be on the ground in a moment.

“No,” he agrees, grasping at your elbows now, pulling you close, and you cling to his in turn. “We can’t.” Flash and grin, and there he is, just like you remember. Challenging, challenger. No chance, and neither of you know when to quit. “Want to up the stakes a bit?”

“Always.”

You let go first. Of course. You turn to the window. You open it.

“Whoever falls fastest wins.”

“And what do I get when I win?” When, not if.

“A quick and painless death.”

“Fuck,” you breathe. “That’s a hell of a thing. How do I know you won’t cheat?”

“You don’t,” he winks, steps back, head tilt toward the window. Mirrored. You’ve got one hand on the windowsill and one hand curled around your gut, where he sunk that barb between the plates before you cracked his skull on the ground before all of Los Diablos. “You never do. Isn’t that part of the fun?”

You take your place at the window, you set your shoulders, look down. What’s he been looking at all this time?

Long way down, and you wait to see her; you, in soft skinsuit, teal and black and bloody and broken, but she isn’t there.

Just an ambulance, an end repeating itself.

“Person who falls the fastest, huh?”

“And hits the ground hardest.”

You climb up, clench your jaw.

It always ends like this.

“You’re on.”

#chargestep #fhr #mywriting #okay-- I have not slept. and that is indeed a problem. and this should probably get more than a cursory glance-over. alas.#there's running themes in here somewhere- I swear- but until then I'm going to sleep #ricardo strictly through noa's twisted memories and flawed perceptions and rage up until she finds him again - because yeah #(is it ortega? good question. she doesn't know either. but your (not) lover-slash-rival haunting your memories and dreams.. mhm.)

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dykeninthdoctor · 3 years

Text

let’s talk about c!wilbur and taste by sleeping at last, aka ava talks about his favorite song + character for a couple thousand words

to preface this, i’ll say this. this is almost where i want c!wilbur to go, rather than where he is now, but it is all based in where he is now, and everything we have seen so far. this is where i hope, and trust in cc!wilbur, that his character will go.

(after the cut, everything is /rp /dsmp unless otherwise specified)

i am alive. i am awake. i am aware of what light tastes like. the curtains drawn, the table set; i want to be. i want to be at my best.

“i am alive. i am awake.” guys,,,guys. he’s alive! one of the things i have noticed thee most about revivedbur’s most recent scenes is that...he’s alive! like. he’s just. he’s happy to be alive. he wants to watch the sunrise and relish in the feeling of rain against his skin, or at least that’s where he needs to get to. he needs to simply live.

“i am aware of what light tastes like.” this is very much along the same lines as to what i just said, but it also comes down to healing. light, in taste, represents healing, and love, and wilbur needs to learn the taste of love again.

when it comes to “the curtains drawn,” in the context of wilbur, i think of a theatre. he has always played a character. his clothes are not his clothes, they are a costume, and his face is not his own, it is a mask for his acted emotions to dance across, and his life is not his own, it is a three-act play in which he is the villain; he is the character that he thinks others want him to be. the best line i’ve ever read to sum this up is from the lumineers’ cleopatra, and that’s “but i've read this script and the costume fits, so i'll play my part.” with taste, the curtains are drawn. to me this means they are closed, and wilbur has finally burned the script he’s been following for his life, he is free of the narrative and he has stepped off the stage.

and with “the table set,” i just. tables are symbolic of family, often, and of union, where you come together, and i hope that that is in wilbur’s future. i want to see him bake with niki, and i want to see him eat dinner with phil, and i want to see him throw an apple to tommy before tommy even needs to ask for food. and i want him to feed himself, in love and in healing and in nourishment of this newly-revived body he has now.

“i want to be.” guys. GUYS. i’m going to go insane. he wants to be. he wants to exist. he does not want to act anymore, he does not want to play a part, he wants to be. please, please, please, c!wilbur, get to this point. please.

AND THEN. “i want to be at my best.” NOT ONLY DOES HE WANT TO BE. HE WANTS TO BE AT HIS BEST. AND YET IT IS A PROGRESSION. FIRST HE MUST LEARN TO BE. THEN HE MUST LEARN TO BE BETTER. BUT FIRST, HE MUST SHED THE COSTUME, SHED THE PART, AND BE. ONLY THEN CAN HE BE BETTER. i’m gonna chew drywall.

okay. next verse here we go:

it’s bittersweet, it’s poetry. a careful pruning of my dead leaves. it’s holy ground, a treasure chest. i’m on my knees and only scratch the surface.

okayyyyokayokayokay. “it’s bittersweet, it’s poetry. a careful pruning of my dead leaves.“ it’s bittersweet! it’s bittersweet!!! healing is always bittersweet. it hurts, to let pieces of yourself go in order to grow, but it is necessary, and sometimes things aren’t perfect, but it’s poetry! it is poetry as well. it’s beautiful, because you’re healing. it’s a careful pruning of his dead leaves! for things to grow, the death must be removed, and so too must wilbur clear the relics of his past that remain in his mind. he is so attached to the past, in many ways, and he needs to move on, he needs to prune his dead leaves.

“it’s holy ground, a treasure chest.” sleeping at last is amazing at framing humans as sacred beings. the holy ground is wilbur himself, his own mind, his own body, that he needs to learn to take care of again. he is worthy of love, full of things that prove himself so, and he needs to learn that too.

and then! “i’m on my knees and only scratch the surface.” he is only beginning to heal! he is only at the surface of this ground that he has broken in beginning his healing process, and there is so much more to come. i think the visual of this line is really interesting too, when you pair it with wilbur’s limbo being somewhere where he clawed at the walls as a plea for escape. and rather than it be that, he is now digging into himself, breaking down his mental walls, in order to heal, something we know he needs when we look at eight and learn that he needs to let people in to be able to heal, and the only way he can do that is to let down his walls. another neat thing about this! is that during “a deck of cards with a green smile on them,” when wilbur begins building the walls to their new hq, he is literally building walls dividing himself and tommy. physical storytelling my beloved :]

okay!! chorus time :D

like fists unraveling, like glass unshattering. we’re breaking all the rules, we’re breaking bread again. we’re swallowing light ’til we’re fixed from the inside

okay so this entire verse is about healing, and the different layers to it, the different things you need to do to heal. first, it’s “fists unraveling,” it’s letting go of your anger, it’s letting go of the past, and it’s unlearning everything you have learned up to this point, because you do not need to be angry anymore, not at the world, because it isn’t necessary to healing. this is also, in some ways, less of c!wilbur and more of his loved ones’, niki being the one who first comes to mind. wilbur’s loved ones need to unlearn their anger towards him, and wilbur needs to learn to let go. the visual aspect of that as well, contributes to letting go; when your fists unravel, you are releasing what you have been holding onto for so long.

and then we come to “glass unshattering.” this line is so interesting, ryan o’neal’s lyricism my beloved. it’s not glass being put back together, it is glass unshattering, the very inverse of glass breaking, as if the actions are being undone, not simply pieced back together but undone. and in the context of wilbur, he not only needs to make up for what he has done to hurt others, he needs to prove he will not do them again, because he can’t undo those actions! he did them and he cannot change that! but he can undo it in the future, by not doing it again. it’s a fun line to interpret especially because glass...can’t unshatter. it’s an impossible action. he cannot undo what he has done but he can prove he’ll never do it again.

and thennnnn we’ve got “we’re breaking all the rules.” guysssss, remember what i said about c!wilbur needing to step off the stage to begin healing? not only that, he needs to directly go against the script that he’s written. he needs to break the rules of the confines he’s trapped himself in. he is not a villain, he is a person, and he needs to tear up his script.

“we’re breaking bread again.” OKAY. OKAY SO. SO. i’m a big bread person. bread is everything to me. bread is love!! food itself is just. pure love!!! one of the purest forms of love you can get!! someone has made that for you and it is imbued with love!! they said here this is a piece of me for you to consume!! a piece of my love, for you to have inside of you!! this is a good compilation post to sum up how i feel about bread, but when you bring wilbur into it? again, it goes back to the symbolism of the table, and how he just. needs to heal his relationships. it’s “we’re” baking bread, it’s togetherness and it’s family and it’s consuming a food that represents love, together. he needs to break bread with his loved ones. (i would also love to see him bake with niki. might expand on this one.)

and then we go from that line to “we’re swallowing light ’til we’re fixed from the inside.” like i said, food is something that someone has made and they have said ‘this is a piece of my love for you to have inside you.’ love is light, and love is food, so food is light, and swallowing light? it’s swallowing love, it’s swallowing the purest forms of love you can get and it is stitching you back together from inside. wilbur needs that.

out of the woods, out of the dark, i’m well aware of the shadows in my heart. i want to feel tectonic shifts. i want to be. i want to be astonished. i want to be astonished. so i propose a toast:

"out of the woods, out of the dark.” wilbur has been trapped in his own mind for so long, quite literally with his limbo taken into account, and more metaphorically with his own mental spirals that he, so far, has been unable to break out of, but in the process of healing he will achieve that. out of the woods tends to mean out of the worst of it, and i think the wilbur we see genuinely already might be. he will escape the darkness of his own mind, he has escaped his own limbo, his personal hell, and he’s out of the worst of it. he has a long way to go, but he’s out of the woods.

with “i’m well aware of the shadows in my heart” it’s so wilbur it aches. it’s like. wilbur’s mind, and mental state, is so very complicated, and he is not aware of the impact he has on others, not entirely, but he also is, because he accepts the role of villain wholeheartedly because he thinks that’s what he deserves from the shadows in his heart, but i think in doing so, he still doesn’t realize what it means for his loved ones. it’s just. he’s so complicated. he knows of his own “evilness,” his shadows, but he doesn’t know of his hurt and pain and trauma because that’s buried even deeper than these created shadows, they are the real shadows, and for him to heal, he needs to become aware of those.

“i want to feel tectonic shifts” goes hand in hand with “this is my sunrise.” he wants to experience the world around him again, to be alive, to feel the earth under himself and the wind against his face. he’s alive and he wants to feel it. and shifts, internally, he wants to feel those too!! he wants to grow.

“i want to be,” i’ve already talked about, and this time it’s paired with “i want to be astonished.” not only does he want to be, to exist, to be at his best, he wants to! experience life! with all the awe he once felt! wilbur at his core is so very loving, and he wants to feel that for the world again. and it’s repeated twice! awe can come, not only for the world, but for the people he loves.

which leads into, “so i propose a toast:” this line goes directly into the chorus, and it’s so specific. a toast is an acknowledgement, a celebration, something i imagine that wilbur used when they won their independence, or before the election, or even in pogtopia, the night before they went into battle. and this time, it’s a celebration of simply. life. of healing. of mending. ryan o’neal, the songwriter (aka sleeping at last himself) said that “Because food builds and rebuilds our bodies, I liked the idea of raising a glass to healing broken relationships, and trying to be at our best. There’s so much vulnerability required to rebuild a relationship, and to just try harder...” this is what the toast is to.

chorus again:

to fists unraveling, to glass unshattering. to breaking all the rules, to breaking bread again. we’re swallowing light, we’re swallowing our pride. we’re raising our glass ’til we’re fixed from the inside. ’til we’re fixed from the inside.

and then the bridge:

we’re nothing less than a work in progress, sacred text on post it notes. we only speak of a world in pieces, let’s make a map of what matters most, where every fracture is a running river leading us back to our golden coasts. here’s to showing up:

these are my Favorite lines of the whole song so. aaaa

we start off with “we’re nothing less than a work in progress” which is. everything c!wilbur needs to learn. he plays his roles, he acts the part, but he doesn’t understand that he’s allowed to be imperfect, that he’s allowed to continue to grow. wilbur is stagnant, in a way, that while he moves from “role” to “role,” first the idealistic general and then the quietly-traumatized president, and finally the unhinged villain, he doesn’t let himself just be. a person, he doesn’t let himself be in progress! and additionally, since it’s a “we,” he needs to learn that other people are not stagnant either. tommy is not the same as he once was, no one is the same as they once were, as everyone is in progress, and wilbur needs to learn both of those things.

AND THEN. “sacred text on post it notes.” GUYS. HUMANS ARE SACRED. THEY'RE SACRED! but they are also messy and imperfect and so, so, fallible, they are post-it notes with scrawled handwriting scattered across the wall that is their life, and sometimes post-it notes will fall off, and sometimes they will be written in pen rather than pencil, and sometimes they are written so messily they cannot be understood, but they are sacred and they are messy and those things coexist and god does ex-gifted kid c!wilbur need to learn this.

“we only speak of a world in pieces.” this is Such a cool line when you consider that the dream smp is made up of complicated perspectives that only the audience is privy to, and the characters are so limited! their world is literally spoken in pieces, especially with the lack of communication. it’s a neat line in meta form, and when applied to wilbur, i think it’s part of the same mentality. it is “we,” and he needs to learn to not only speak of this world with himself, but with others, in order to “make a map of what matters most.” he cannot rely on only the pieces he has, and he must speak with others to glean the pieces that are just as important. map making in itself is a neat metaphor, it tends to mean a direction one could take, or getting more of a full picture in that you’re seeing the whole world (or whatever the map has been made of), rather than just what’s in front of you. in order to make this map, wilbur needs to talk, and begin to understand what does matter, because his concept of that, right now, is skewed.

“where every fracture is running river leading us back to our golden coasts” is soo vivid, and to me it like. it feels so much like l’manburg. l’manburg was their golden coast. and l’manburg is gone, but its people aren’t, and l’manburg was always about the people. and now, these people are all broken, they are fractured, but they are healing, and in their healing, those dynamic rivers, they will find their ways back to each other, and l’manburg, its spirit, will live in them again.

the transition into the chorus this time, is no longer a toast, not explicitly, but it is an acknowledgment “to showing up” and c!wilbur needs to show up to therapy. but also, showing up simply means being present, not only for others, but for yourself, and it is one of the first steps to healing, so, in a way, this is a very non-linear song about c!wilbur’s journey.

then there’s the chorus again:

and that’s it! if you made it this far, i’m kissing you in the forehead. thank you so much for reading, c!wilbur enthusiasts i’m holding your hands.

#c!wilbur #wilbur soot analysis #dsmp #wilbur soot #c!wilbur soot #i have been working on this for the past two days this is why like zero other posts have been rb'd #good lord my brain hurts #aven.txt

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obxcunt · 4 years

Text

Love bites || (7)

pairing: jj maybank x reader [eventually] || rafe cameron x reader

warnings: cursing, typos, violence, angst.

summary: it was supposed to be a good summer for you, the last one in the obx before going to college, the last one with your friends and family. Unfortunately, a sudden and mysterious death is about to completely change your life, pushing you directly into a brand new world and into a very sexy vampire’s arms.

A/N: I LOVED WRITING THIS PART! HAVE FUN READING IT! LOVE YOU GUYS!

part six || masterlist || part eight

“Shut up, JJ!” You screamed, entering the Chateau. “What’s going on?” Kiara asked, looking at her friends with confusion. “What happened guys?” She added. “He’s just being dramatic, again.” You said, crossing your arms. “Right—” He laughed nervously, walking up to you. “Her boyfriend—” You groaned, rubbing your face. “He’s not my boyfriend!” You snapped, face to face with the blond vampire. “We have more important things to talk about guys.” Kiara said, sensing the tension growing between you two. “Exactly! Ward thinks you’re suspicious, we need to do something about it.” You continued. “You might be in danger right now.” He shook his head. “You’re constantly defending him, are you in love with this asshole or something?” JJ asked, the question making you sigh. “He’s my friend! This is not about love or anything. We’ve been friends for years, JJ!” He clenched his jaw. “Tell me, are you jealous?” He laughed nervously, raising his hands. “You think—” He scoffed. “I’m not jealous, only worried.” You frowned. “You’re too attached to him, you could betray us.” Your eyes widened, your hand automatically raising itself to move against his cheek: the action releasing a loud sound. “Y/N!” Kiara gasped, jaw dropping. “I— Fuck you, JJ.” You murmured to him, ignoring his blank expression. “Guys, calm down!” Kiara said, watching you walk away from them. “Wha— Wait!” He shouted, following you to the front door. “Where are you going?” You opened the door without looking at him. “Far away from you.”

It’s been three days since you left: which already felt like an eternity to him. He wasn’t expecting it: the emptiness, the guilt, the craving and the pain. Obviously, everyone knew it, everyone could feel his distress every day and night, because his happiness disappeared at the same time as you did that night.

“... Too dangerous.” Marcus said to Kiara, giving the brunette another book of spells. “Hey, what’s going on with him?” He whispered to her, glancing at the lonely boy on the hallway. “Did something happened?”

“She, happened.” Kiara smirked, focusing on the book. “He pretends to be okay, but—” She sighed, briefly glancing at JJ. “It seems like his life isn’t the only thing he lost last year, his balls are missing too.”

“Fuck off, Kiara.” Marcus chuckled at the kids. “I’m right here, which means i can hear you guys.” JJ added, sighing as he stood up to join them in the messy office.

“Oh shit, really?” Kiara asked, pretending to be surprised, closing the book with one hand. “Might as well remind you that you’re an idiot then.” He rolled his eyes. “You should’ve said the truth, JJ.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said, shrugging his shoulders and swallowing hard his own lie. The brunette’s jaw dropped, and she threw the old book at him. “Hey! What the fuck?” He asked, moving out of the way.

“Exactly, JJ!” She shouted. “What the fuck?” She asked back, crossing her arms. “We all know, don’t lie it’s unnecessary.” Marcus remained silent, looking at the them with confusion.

“Alright!” JJ said. “And how, huh?” He asked, looking straight at her. “It’s too late! I can’t do it anymore, she hates me.” Kiara rolled her eyes: dramatic, she thought. “I don’t even know what to say or where to start. I’ve been in love with this girl since high-school, i’ve been thinking about her for years, i’ve been working at Topper’s every summers just to see her.” He looked exhausted, frustrated by his own emotions.

Kiara’s features softened at his honesty. “It’s never too late.” She said, trying to reassure him. “I saw it, JJ! It’s meant to be.” The blond laughed, not convinced. “She likes you, it’s an evidence.” She sighed. “And—”

“It’s too late for me.” He said sadly. “Because at the end of the day, she’s still a mortal Kook.” Marcus pursed his lips together in sad smile. “And, i’m a vampire.”

“JJ...” Kiara murmured, approaching him.

He turned around, hearing the familiar ringtone of his phone from the living room. He left the office, ignoring them both as they kept shouting his name. He shook his head, clenching his fists on the way to the couch, grabbing the cellphone rapidly. And suddenly, a smile appeared on his tired face at the sight of your name on his screen.

He licked his lips, shaking. “I— Hey!” He said with excitement, running a hand through his hair. “I mean— What’s going on, Y/N?”

“Hey.” He couldn’t believe it, smiling at the sound of your voice. “Tell me, isn’t it a bit late?” He frowned, looking at the dark hallway. “If you came here to apologize, you’re three days late, JJ.” You laughed alone, the blond remaining confused.

“Wha— What are you talking about?” He asked, walking back to the office. “I’m at the Chateau with Marcus and Kiara, we are working on the Ward situation.” They both looked at him with confusion. “What’s going on, Y/N?”

“Shit.” You murmured, going down the stairs. “I— I thought it was you!” You walked to the front door, making sure it’s locked. “There’s someone in front my house.”

Marcus frowned, nodding at JJ. “Wait, what?” The blond asked in worry. “Stay away from the doors and windows, Y/N!” He rubbed his face. “You’re safe, don’t worry, he can’t enter the house but—”

“My parents, they’re both gone.” You interrupted, walking around the house. “I’m home alone, JJ.”

“Calm down, Y/N.” He said, walking out the office, followed by Marcus and Kiara. “I’m on my way, don’t worry.” He hung up, looking for his keys.

“What’s going on, JJ?” The witch asked. “Is she okay? What happened?” He ignored her, searching everywhere. “Hey!”

“He’s at her house!” He shouted at her, pulling on his blond lock as he looked around. “We need to kill him, we need to do something.” He finally found the keys. “I need you guys, i can’t do this on my own.”

———————————————————————

“What the—” You murmured, hearing a loud noise from downstairs. You swallowed hard, opening the bedroom door, walking to the stairs: noticing the front door wide open. “No, no, no, no.” You cried, walking down the stairs in a rush to close it. “Shit.” You turned around, driven by paranoia.

A loud silence occupied the empty house, the cold atmosphere and fear eating you alive. You didn’t know what to do, cursing yourself as you remembered forgetting your phone on your bed.

You needed to tell JJ, you needed him here. “Dumb bitch.” You whispered, running back upstairs, panting through the panic. “Wait, what?” You asked, not finding it. “No, what the fuck—”

Another noise interrupted you, a scream escaping your trembling lips: which made the intruder smile to himself. You walked down the stairs in a rush, determined to leave the house since it wasn’t even safe here anymore. Unfortunately, as soon as you tried to open the front door: someone grabbed your waist, turning you around to slam you against the door as you screamed loudly.

There he was, the monster who killed Kelce a few days ago, the one who’s been chasing you ever since. The brown-haired boy around your age smiled, his dark eyes searching for yours. “You’re not going anywhere, my dear friend.” He looked different, the dead side showing up through his cold features. “The party just started.” He added with sinister smile, making you cry. “Shhh, shhh, shhh.” He murmured playfully, caressing your cheek with his dirty hand, your body shaking against the wooden door. “It’s okay—“

“Don’t touch me!” You cried, placing both hands on his chest as you tried to push him away. “Please— You killed my friend!” He chuckled, choking you lightly. “Stop— They’re gonna kill you too.”

“I’ll make sure you’ll die first.” He replied calmly, tightening his grip. “But we’re gonna play a little bit together.” You sobbed in silent, searching for a solution in your head. “Even though, it’s not okay to play with our food.”

“Why— Why are you doing this?” You asked, trying to gain more time by distracting him. “Please— Let me go.”

“It’s natural!” He exclaimed with enthusiasm, smiling awkwardly. “Damn, look at you…” He examined the veins in your neck, then your face attentively. “You’re beautiful, probably delicious as well.” He removed his hand from your throat, laughing as you started coughing. “I’ve been waiting for this moment—“ He paused, hearing something outside. “Shit—“

You noticed the concern on his face, the opportunity to escape as the tall man took a step back. “Fuck you!” You shouted, punching him across the face with all the strength you had before running towards the kitchen, whining in pain as you couldn’t feel your hand anymore.

“You’re gonna regret it!” He yelled from behind as you pulled out one knife, turning around and stabbing him in the stomach in a second. “Fucking bitch—“ He laughed at the action, noticing the blood on your hands and the disgust expression on your face. He pulled it out himself, throwing it away. “You’re gonna need way more than that.”

You remained silent in shock. “I’m— I’m sorry.” You mumbled automatically as JJ screamed your named from outside. You glanced at the hallway in panic, wanting to answer but as soon as the intruder turned around you panicked. “Don’t hurt him!” You added, grabbing his arm. “Don’t—”

He instantly pushed you away, straight against the counter, the impact making you whine in pain. His hand move to the back of your head, to pull on your hair. “You need to shut that pretty mouth.” He added, before roughly slamming your head against the wall.

———————————————————————

“Shit!” JJ yelled. “She’s not answering anymore!” Marcus was driving fast, the brunette witch sitting in the back and trying to calm him down. “If something happened to her—”

“Don’t say that!” Kiara said, the crew arriving in the quiet street. “She’s in the house, which means she’s safe! Maybe— Maybe she fell asleep or something.” She said, not very convinced by her own words.

“I— I can’t.” He said, clenching his jaw. “I can’t loose her, especially like this—” He hit the seat with a clenched fist. “I promised her—”

“You need to calm down, kid!” Marcus told him, focusing on the road. “I know it’s hard, but—” The blond boy couldn’t wait anymore, jumping off the car as they approached the house. “JJ!” He shouted, stopping instantly.

JJ ran towards the house, knocking on the front door like a maniac, shouting your name hopelessly. He tried to calm down, focusing on the sounds surrounding him: sighing in relief as soon as he heard your voice. Unfortunately, the joy left instantly as he heard the other man’s voice and the fear in yours emerging as your heartbeat increased.

Kiara and Marcus parked in the driveway, both running to the front porch, approaching JJ. “What’s wrong with you?” The older vampire asked. “Wha—“ He paused, looking at the door, sensing the other vampire’s presence. “He’s inside the house.”

“Wait, what?” Kiara asked. “Okay, let me—” She tried to enter, opening the front door, but Marcus and JJ both pushed her back.

“It’s too dangerous, you’re gonna get killed!” Marcus said. “It’s time to use your powers, i’m sure there is a spell for this.” Kiara frowned, unprepared. “I know it’s very stressful for you but—”

“I’m begging you!” JJ shouted, losing his mind. “She’s in danger, please do something. We need to enter this house before—” He paused, suddenly losing the ability to hear your voice and heartbeat. “I— I can’t hear her anymore.”

“I’ll go to the back!” Marcus said, disappearing instantly.

Kiara sighed. “Let me try something.” She said, pushing the blond out of her way. “I need you to stay calm, i need to concentrate.” She started murmuring inaudible words, breathing in and out.

“Kiara…” JJ murmured, looking at the inside of the house with clenched fists. This was a real torture for him, the worst scenarios popping up in his mind. “Kiara!”

“It’s done!” She shouted back, opening her eyes. “It’s— I think it’s done, you should be able to—” He didn’t let her finish, entering the house. “Be careful!”

———————————————————————

“...Be careful!” The intruder smirked to himself, looking at your unconscious body laying on the kitchen’s floor before exiting the house by using the back-door.

JJ smelled something that worried him even more as he walked in: blood. He ran towards the kitchen, kneeling down next to you as soon as he saw you, feeling like crying at the terrible scene. He pulled you closer, taking you in his arms and grimacing at the sight of your bloody nose. He caressed your cheek, calling your name again and again.

“Kiara!” He yelled. “Please— Wake up, Y/N.” He repeated again, holding you tight. “Why— I can’t hear her heartbeat!” He almost cried as the witch walked in. “Fuck—” He used his thumb to wipe the blood under your nostrils.

Kiara sat down next to you two, grabbing your wrist. “Wait.” She said, trying to concentrate to find your heartbeat. “She—“ JJ was panting, filled with anger and sadness as he held you close to his own heart. “She’s alive.” Kiara murmured, smiling in relief. “She’s alive, JJ.”

The blond boy closed his eyes, tears emerging from the corners as you coughed and blinked a few times. The brunette couldn’t stop smiling, catching your gaze as you opened your eyes slowly.

“Kie—” You paused, confused and coughing again. You blinked, moving one hand to JJ’s arm, smiling at him. “I—” Kiara stood up and left, wondering where Marcus was. “Hey…” You murmured, looking straight at him as kept holding you.

“Hey…” He said with a weak smile, almost breaking down. He pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, repulsing the urge to cry as he kissed your skin. “Don’t— You scared the shit out of me, Y/N.” You chuckled, your hand moving to his cheek. “I’m sorry for the other night.” He added, pulling away to look at you.

“Me too.” You admitted, still feeling guilty for slapping him and running away. “I—“ He didn’t let you finish, pulling you into a tight hug, making you whine. “JJ— I can’t breath.” You laughed against his neck, his hand resting behind your head. “Are you— Are you crying?” You asked, hearing him snif.

“Never.” He said, holding back the tears. “Shut up, Y/N.” He added, hearing your giggles. “Fuck— I thought you were—“ You pulled away, resting your head against his chest, surprised to hear his own heart beating so fast.

“I’m okay, JJ.” You said, your body relaxing against him. “I’m okay…” You sighed peacefully, cuddling him in the silent kitchen, every dark thoughts and fears magically disappearing.

———————————————————————

tag-list: @prejudic3-deactivated20201112 @thestorysofargone @ifilwtmfc @callmeimpetuous @katiaw2 @iccyyyybitch @agirlwholovescoffee @hvrcruxes @mayybankz @magicwithaknife @obxmxybxnk @lus-shh @bibliophilewednesday @k-k0129 @acvross-the-universe @thestorysofargone (tumblr won’t let me tag some of u guys!)

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wellthatjusthappend · 3 years

Note

hey do you think you can write something where Dick is touch starved bc the members of the batfamily are not that into giving or receiving comforting touch like hugs so he's feeling awful and acting kind of distant with the other bats bc he doesn't really want to bug them by asking for a hug and it's Jason that notices something is wrong and ends up giving it to him

Dick being touch starved is my jam. Especially when I get to give him what he needs.

Man, this prompt got away from me a little, I meant to do a small fill but, well, now you can read it here or on Ao3.

“What the hell is going on with Dickhead?” Jason grumbled. He’d totally cashed Jason’s case recently, and nearly bit off Jason’s head when he made a sarcastic quip.

Usually, that meant that something had happened, but Jason had dug around after hadn’t found anything other than a slow and steady escalation of violence the last several weeks. Seemingly from no cause.

There had to be something Jason was missing. Not that he cared or anything, but if Golden Boy was falling off the edge he needed to get ready. Or maybe he was just being nosy. Both were Bruce approved approaches.

Jason frowned as on screen Dick let several punches land that he could have avoided and choose to punch back rather than use his sticks.

“Ah, Dick is fasting again?” hummed Kori, coming to curl up next to Jason like a cat, her hair winding and winding itself around them in a way that still a little uncanny as it was soothing.

“Fasting?” Jason asked with a frown, “Like, skipping meals and stuff?”

“From love,” Kori corrected him, “and from touch. He needs it like food, but sometimes he chooses to deprive himself of both for long periods of time. He would get like this from time to time as a Titian. Quick to pick a fight and extra physical when he did… violence is the only touch he allows himself during this time, so he seeks it out constantly.”

That… tracked.

“Yeah… Bruce would have us believe that none of us needed things like that,” Jason murmured, watching Dick wrestle another small time crook to the ground and punching him repeatedly.

“But you know better now, don’t you?”

Sometimes. But other times… Jason could sympathize with Dick’s plight a little too easily, and physical touch wasn’t even his love language.

“How’d you used to get him to snap out of it?” Jason asked.

“Make love to him all night long,” Kori replied, her eyes going distant.

“Ah.” Jason knew he was flushing a bit.

“Or, sometimes Wally or the others would insist on a movie night and coax him into a spot close between everyone’s bodies,” Kori said, a faint, sad smile on her face.

That was probably no little feat when Dick was hellbent on acting like a mini Bruce.

“Sounds nice,” he said, rather than unload all the mean and bitter commentary in his head. It wasn’t like he had someone to do that for him back then.

“This is nice too,” Kori rested her head on his shoulder, “with you and Roy.”

“...Yeah. It is.”

*****

Jason couldn’t stop thinking about it as the week went on. How he ever ended up with nonviolent touch in his life and Dick didn’t, Jason didn’t know.

Maybe that was why he was outside Dick’s doorstep now.

“What?” Dick answered his door. He looked terrible; dark shadows under his eyes, his skin a little pasty.

“No hello? I’m hurt Dickiebird.”

“Hello. What are you doing here?” Dick said, already looking annoyed.

Jason wished he knew.

“Brought over some extra food. You look like you haven’t had anything but takeout in a while, so…. You want it?” Jason held up the bag to show him.

“You brought food,” Dick stated, looking suspicious, “Why?”

“I just said I made extra, keep up Dickhead,” Jason shot back.

He was no good at this. He should have just bothered Wally into visiting. Someone who could get away with a casual hug.

Jason was not much of a hugger, casual or otherwise. He wasn’t too touchy-feely in general and he didn’t know why he was there… but since he was there he wasn’t going to be driven away so easily.

“Did Bruce send you here?” Dick demanded.

“Bold of you to think Bruce can make me do anything,” Jason retorted.

Dick seemed to accept that. As he should.

“Fine, whatever, just… you didn’t drug it, right?” Dick asked as he moved out of the way and let Jason inside.

“Who the fuck do you think I am, Alfred? If I was gonna drug you, I would slip it into your delivery, not some home cooked meal,” Jason scoffed.

It was really messy. It made Jason’s fingers itch for some cleaning supplies, but that wasn’t why he was there.

“Home cooked?” Dick’s eyebrows raised curiously.

“Curry,” Jason said, pulling out the containers from the bag in the little spot on the table not covered in case files, “I always thought it tasted better the day after anyway.”

“Did you make this?” Dick hesitantly came over, curiosity seeming to win out over defensive aggression.

“Who else would have?” Jason rolled his eyes, “here, heat this up will you?”

He passed over a container of rice. Their fingers brushed and Dick’s hand spasmed for a moment.

Jason didn’t comment. He knew what that was like. Going so long without any kind of touch that the slightest brush of skin felt like getting electrocuted.

“Why me?” Dick asked, hurriedly turning his back to him and fiddling with the microwave.

Because you need it.

“Oh, you know, if your ass gets any skinnier, the community will collapse on itself. Can’t have that,” Jason said breezily instead.

“What a saint.”

“Right? They should put me up in the little chapel on 5th St. I’ve already died and everything, I’m totally qualified,” Jason said, then changed the subject, “You have a toaster oven?”

“Why would I have a toaster oven?” Dick grumbled.

“Because they’re damn useful? Never mind, I’ll just use the oven,” Jason said, nudging Dick out of the way so he could reach the nobs. It wouldn’t need too much, it was just to lightly heat the naan.

“Are you eating here too?” Dick asked hesitantly.

“Might as well, it’s dinner time,” Jason shrugged.

Dick didn’t say anything to that. This time when Jason passed him the next container to heat, he didn’t flinch when their hands met, but he pulled away much more hesitantly.

This part felt a little unnatural for Jason, because he… didn’t really let people touch him who weren’t super close to him. And he and Dick- they just weren’t. It wasn’t bad, per-say, just decidedly uncomfortable.

He wasn’t planning to let that show though.

Jason bullied Dick into bantering with him as they prepped the rest of the food, all the while finding reasons to brush up against him. Let their hips touch when he checked the heat on the food, a hand on Dick’s arm to move him out of the way to open the oven, steading his hands as he stacked plates and utensils into his arms.

Dick was mostly past the shockieness and onto the needy phase by the time they got to actually eating the food. It felt a little manipulative to sit down right next to him on the couch while they ate so their legs and arms could casually brush every now and then.

The nice thing was that Jason didn’t have to initiate anymore. Now that Dick had figured out that he wasn’t going to be pushed away and that Jason was pretending not to notice, he was pressing close with every possible excuse. As he did, he chattered away about this and that, a slight nervous jiggle of his leg.

It was strange, like watching someone slowly come alive again. Like a dry plant perking up at the first taste of water. Jason wanted to somehow give him even more, but he didn’t know how. So he just stayed close.

Dick didn’t ask him to leave when they finished their food, so he didn’t.

Jason turned on the TV.

It was funny, Dick’s commentary slowly started to die down as his eyes started to drupe.

“Maybe I really should have drugged you food, when’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?” Jason noted, reaching over to touch his forehead. He was a little warm, but not too bad.

“When’s the last time you did?” Dick shot back, but his eyes dropped closed under his hand and he didn’t push him away.

It felt a little too intimate for Jason though, so he pulled away. Dick swayed forward a little when he moved, like a part of him want to chase his touch.

He probably did.

Jason looked away and shrugged, trying to remember what they had been talking about. Sleep. Right.

“I actually do these days, Roy or Kori kick my butt if I don’t,” he said.

“They take good care of you,” Dick said softly.

“They do,” Jason agreed, his chest feeling a little warm at the thought.

“Good,” Dick said, his expression distant as he turned back to the TV.

Jason wondered if he missed them, but didn’t ask. Dick couldn’t have burned those bridges any better if he’d tried.

They watched TV silently for a while, Dick’s finger tracing patterns on his own leg, back and forth and back and forth.

Jason felt an impulse to grab his hand, but pushed it down. That wasn’t them. Roy and Kori must have been rubbing off on him.

When Dick’s motions stopped, Jason glanced over and snickered when he found that he had dozed off. When he started to tip, Jason raised his arm so he would settle against his side instead of tipping forward and jerking awake.

He didn’t know why he did it- since it effectively trapped him for however long Dick was asleep- and he told himself that it was because Dick needed the sleep, which he did, but-

Dick made a soft little sound as he positively melted against him, even in sleep. It was such a fragile thing, so relieved, just on the edge of broken… it made Jason’s chest ache.

He let him sleep.

Jason might not be able to bury him in a pile of close friends or make love to him all night or whatever, but… he could do this.

He hesitantly carded his fingers through Dick’s hair and watched him lean into the touch desperately, lips parting in a content sigh.

Maybe for this, Jason could be enough.

#touch starved #dick grayson #jason todd #background joyfire if you squint #this could be the start of something #story requests #story prompts #my writing #Anonymous

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princess-of-riviaa · 4 years

Text

Primal

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: You don’t know why August being rough with you feeds your arousal as much as it does, but it’s become something you crave. Just as he craves to punish you.

Author’s Note: This fun little oneshot was inspired by this post, so thank you @honeychicanawrites and your lovely anon!

Warning(s): predator/prey vibes, oral (m receiving), rough sex, punishment, overstimulation, denied orgasm, creampie, mean dom! August

Word Count: 2,091

You don’t bother to see if the door shut all the way before you’re running across the living room, fast enough to stay out of reach but slow enough to tempt him closer. August is hot on your heels. He grows angrier with every step you take away from him. It probably doesn’t help that you’re dolled up in his favorite lingerie set of yours and he’s already hard and aching. Just the sight of you in all that lace, the pink shade of the outfit making you look like an innocent girl, made him hard in his pants. This chase only adds fuel to his fire. He might be pissed beyond hell right now and you might be scared to your stomach, but beneath all of that is untameable, primal arousal.

You get to the top of the stairs just as August catches you, his hands digging into your sides tight enough that you can’t escape. You shriek and lose your balance. Every muscle in your body tenses--only for you to fall into August’s chest. His arms wrap around you, protecting you, and you remember why this chase is so thrilling: because at the end of the day, he’s your protector. You’re always safe with him, even if you do have a habit of breaking the rules on occasion.

You gasp at the realization that you’ve been caught, that this thrilling game of cat-and-mouse is now over. August growls, all of his frustration catching up with him. He drags you by the neck into your shared bedroom. When you’re released, you dart away from him again. He’s already locked the door, though, and you’re trapped.

He looks at you like you’re his prey.

Like he’s going to eat you alive. Like he’s going to make it hurt.

And you know, just like he does, that you’re going to enjoy every painful second of it.

“Do you think this is funny?” August growls, spitting the last word with enough emphasis that you jump.

A dangerous, aroused light makes your eyes widen. You know he can see it by the way he practically snarls at you.

“Get over here!” he commands.

You gasp, partially due to fear and partially due to the arousal now dripping between your legs at the dominance in his tone. You comply and move over to him in a few quick steps. Heat radiates off him. He’s really angry, you realize. You’re going to get it tonight. Will you even be able to walk after he’s done with you? Any humor you still felt disappears when you get close enough to see the darkness in his eyes.

“Get on your fucking knees,” he spits.

Even if you were going to comply, you don’t have the chance. He brings his hand to your head and shoves you to the ground until you fall in front of him, your face inches from the outrageous bulge in his pants. Heat spreads to your breasts and pussy at the sight of him already hard for you.

August jerks his pants down, enraged and impatient. He curses under his breath as he pulls his pants and boxers down low enough for his cock to bounce out. He doesn’t have to tell you what he wants from you. You wrap a small hand around his shaft as you bring your mouth to the tip and begin to suck.

“You listen to me,” he growls as you put your mouth to work. “You don’t run from me. Especially not right after you tease me with a fucking strip tease and show me what you’ve been wearing under those clothes all day! If I tell you to come, you come. You. Don’t. Fucking. Run.” He grunts out the last words as he begins to fuck your face. You let your jaw go limp and do your best to listen to his words as his hand yanks on your hair and you gag on his cock. “That’s right, take every--fucking--inch. You’re gonna take everything I have to give you, because I have to put up with everything you give me.”

You gag again. Tears run down your face, mixing with your drool and his pre-cum dripping out of your open mouth. His cock brushes the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s all you can do to remember how to breathe. And all the while, your legs are shaking and tensing together, growing more desperate with every thrust of his cock.

You don’t know why August being rough with you feeds your arousal as much as it does, but it’s become something you crave. Just as he craves to punish you. Maybe there’s something wrong with both of you. You can’t bring yourself to care, though, not when living in the darkness feels this good.

“Oh, is it getting hard to breathe, baby?” he coos, but his sympathy is fake and taunting. “Well that’s too fucking bad! Good girls get to breathe, but good girls don’t run from their Sir.”

Fuck, why is he so arousing when he yells?

You can tell he’s close because he suddenly stops himself just as his cock begins to twitch, ready to release his seed inside of you. But August prefers to cum deep inside of your pussy, so he holds himself back.

“Get on the bed,” he orders. “On your knees, ass up. Naked. You know the drill.”

You do, since this is his favorite position to take you in. You’re aroused enough to not give him a hard time anymore and run right over to the bed, undressing as you go. You’ll be a good girl if it means him fucking you sooner rather than later. He must be taking in the sight of you because it’s a long time before you feel his hands on you.

“I’m going to spank you on the count of three,” August warns from right behind you. “One--”

Slap! The pain shoots up your spine and makes your skin burn, but a second later the pain registers as pleasure and you find yourself gasping as you bury your face into the bedsheets and stick your ass further out, silently asking for more. Your breath comes out shakily, thrown off by his trick.

“You didn’t actually think I was going to give you a warning?” August laughs. It’s cruel but makes a shiver run down your spine all the same. You want his hands on you again. “No, I’d much rather leave you--”

Slap!

“--blindsided.”

He spanks you again. Your ass is already stinging so deliciously. The harsh touch of his hand brings tears to your eyes while also making you drip even more.

“Always such a whore for me,” August says. Though his words are harsh, his tone has thawed. He’s no longer spitting and yelling at you. His voice holds a hint of warmth to it. Strange how his soft side only reveals itself after he’s displayed such violence. “My little masochist.”

My big sadist, you think back. He loves doing this to you as much as you love taking it. It’s why you two work so well, why the sex is still so addicting after months of being together.

You hear metal against metal and you bite your lip when you realize he’s unbuckling his belt. There’s something so erotic about that sound… no matter how many times you’ve done this with him, when you hear him undo his pants, you feel as giddy and nervous as a virgin. It’s addicting. He’s addicting.

“Look at my slut--already shaking for me and I haven’t even begun to touch you.” He laughs to himself, the sound coming from deep in his chest, and it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Sir,” you sigh before you can stop yourself. You need him inside of you now; you’re past the point of waiting like a good girl. Your walls are tired of clenching around nothing.

August knows how wound up you are. That’s precisely why he decides to continue his teasing. He closes the distance between your naked bodies and your entire body tenses and shakes with pleasure when you feel the tip of his cock move between your folds. You let out a shaky moan as he soaks up your arousal and brushes his tip against your clit.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” August asks.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, too weak to control your words anymore.

“Say it,” he demands. “I want to hear how desperate you are for me.”

“I want you to fuck me, sir,” you whimper.

“Ask nicely.”

He’s enjoying every goddamn second of this. You hate him for it as much as you love it.

“Please, sir,” you get out. “P-please fuck me. I want you to ruin me.”

His mouth is at your ear a second later. His breath tickles your earlobe and makes a shiver snake down your spine. “I ruined you long ago, little one.” He shoves his cock deep inside of you as he says the words. You cry out before he can even finish speaking, and then he’s thrusting in and out of you at a pace that makes your eyes roll back and your body go limp beneath him.

This is what you live for--the thickness of his cock between your walls; the tight grip of his hands on your hips; the deep, arousing grunts that fall from him with every movement. This is what makes the games you play with him worth it.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs you back until you’re pressed against his chest. The hand that was in your hair now moves to squeeze your neck. Your arousal peaks as you lose the ability to breathe. Your walls tighten around him and your body tenses--

“Don’t cum,” he orders, his words tickling your ear. “Don’t fucking cum until I give you permission to.”

You do your best to push back from the edge, to keep your climax at bay, but you only have so much willpower, and that willpower drastically decreases when he’s fucking you like this.

“Please, sir!” you exclaim, your voice nothing more than a whisper as he continues to choke you. Your orgasm is so close you can taste it, but you know that you’ll regret coming without his permission. He can make it as painful for you as he wants. No amount of begging or tears will make him break; in fact, that only seems to spur him on.

It has the same effect now.

“You wanna cum?” he grunts. “Wanna cum around my cock like the little whore you are?”

You’re reduced to nodding, unable to speak.

“That’s too fucking bad.” Are you going crazy, or are his thrusts getting harder? Faster? “Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

You release a sob. Your body shakes with overstimulation and the realization that he’s not going to let you cum tonight makes you tear up.

“Now I’m gonna keep using you like a fucktoy,” he says, and by now you know that he’s definitely increased his pace, “and I’m gonna cum deep inside that tight cunt of yours, and you’re not gonna let a drop of it fall out.”

Your response is a mere whimper.

He thrusts into you four, five, six more times--and then his seed gushes inside of you, the warmth of it hitting your walls and making you even more desperate. He cries out as he fills you with his seed. The sound is so amazing, so outrageously hot, that for a second you don’t care that you’re being punished. You’re just grateful to hear the sounds of his pleasure.

August pulls out of you too soon. You fall limp on the bed, weak and exhausted and desperate to keep his cum inside of you so as not to disobey him. When you glance back at him, August is heading for the door.

“W-where are you going?” you whimper.

He pauses and looks back at you, taking a second to admire your naked body. “I’ll be back soon. You need time to sit and think. By the time I come back, I hope you’ll remember why you don’t disobey me. For your sake.” There must be a look of wild fear in your eyes because he adds, “If you’re good for me, I’ll let you cum. But if you let a single drop of my seed fall out, it’s another round of punishment.”

The door shuts behind him and you’re left alone to wither in your own regret.

***

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#august walker #august walker imagine #august walker smut #august walker daddy #august walker mission impossible #henry cavill #henry cavill smut

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square-blunt · 3 years

Text

You're in my heart, in my heart, in my head.

chapter two fucking finally. take it. fucking take it.

TW- MCD (major character death), suicide, like the fic ends in suicide and it's not good. Angst. there is so much angst-

WC: 2034 Ao3: :) First chapter: :)

Jimmy didn’t tear his eyes away from Scott once.

After they got ripped apart, all the neurons in his body were screaming at him to stop struggling and to go limp- he could feel the muscle in his back ripping apart but he had to. He didn’t feel the physical pain. But his heart was hammering so hard and he was screaming much louder than he thought was possible- screaming to Scott, praying and hoping that he could hear him over Joey- and maybe he did.

Because Scott never stopped looking at him.

And then, Scott smiled at him.

It was sweet, and weak, and it was tired. It should have been full of life, but instead- Scott used all his energy to give Jimmy that smile. It was sickeningly comforting- Scott, who was about to be sacrificed, about to have a knife through his heart- was comforting him, and Jimmy couldn’t sob any louder. He knows his screams and sobs and pleas won’t do anything to stop the inevitable. But with a sound that Jimmy will never be able to get out of his head, the inevitable comes to fruition. As the knife falls, Jimmy does too. The hooks that held onto his back retract and Jimmy crashes to the ground, rocks cutting into his hands. Part of him is grateful that he fell when he did. Whatever higher power was looking out for him must not have wanted him to see the knife going into Scott’s chest.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t imagine it.

As soon as he hits the ground he looks back up, just in time for Joey and Xornoth to disappear into smoke, and for the obsidian altar to crumble into dust- and Scott's body to roll off. Jimmy catches sight of Scott's limp hand and he turns away, holding his side, trying not to throw up.

He focuses on that.

Trying to keep the contents of his stomach down, swallowing thickly, he focuses on the burn of his head, his throat, and his heart.

His heart hurts.

It hurts more than any weapon could ever come close to inflicting.

After looking at Scott for so long, promising himself that he'd never look away, it's funny that now he physically can't bear to look up.

It's because Scott was alive then.

And now he, and possibly everyone else, is dead.

But he can't stop himself from crawling, very painfully, over to Scott. Only then does he notice how much blood there is. His, Scott's, it doesn’t matter- or it did.

Because Scott's blood should have stayed in his body.

Why didn't Jimmy speak up?

Xornoth had told Jimmy everything.

Their plan, why they were doing it- how they knew it was going to work.

They told Jimmy about a past life- a past three lives to be exact. And Jimmy remembered. It was like Xornoth had a key that finally gave Jimmy what he knew he was missing. And of course, he had fallen in love with Scott.

Of course, it was Scott.

Of course, it was Scott who came to his rescue. Everything else was a blur, of pain and hurt, but the kiss. Jimmy knew he had to. He had to let Scott know that he knew- that he remembered.

It was worth every second.

And even now he can feel the phantom of Scott's lips on his own, Scott's hair between his fingers, he can feel it more than the dull throbbing of his heart and his back. Physical pain couldn't reach him, his mind was already too busy imploding on itself to register anything else.

He feels the phantom of Scott's warm hand in his own.

He reaches out and takes his cold, real hand again.

Jimmy brushes away the dust and the blood, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles, and he stops at the ring finger. There's a simple silver band.

Jimmy spawned into Empires with a matching gold ring.

Only now does he know why.

He gently slips the ring off Scott's finger. He knows he shouldn't, but if it's all he can have of Scott- he's gonna take whatever he can get.

He moves up, noticing the detail on the sleeve of Scott's shirt. He wasn't wearing anything fancy, but he was still the most beautiful living thing Jimmy had ever seen. Scott had been wearing a sky blue t-shirt and brown pants- one could die in a more regal manner, but Scott still looked more amazing than any star in the night, any bird in the air… any flower in the field.

"It felt right," Jimmy says, voice unrecognizable even to himself. It only makes him cry more. Scott was his everything- Scott completed him. And Jimmy doesn't know who he is without Scott. He knew he was one half of a whole but didn’t know whose half, and now he has to live as a half without his other.

His communicator buzzes.

He doesn't care.

It's probably a death message.

He hopes Xornoth won't torture his family the way they did his lover.

He knows they probably did.

It buzzes again.

He grips Scott's hand tighter, maybe if he squeezes hard enough, it'll squeeze back.

Please, please, squeeze back.

Jimmy takes a deep breath.

At least Scott's eyes are closed.

His communicator buzzes again.

He still doesn't care.

He thought he'd be more distraught.

Looking down at Scott, his perfect, sleeping face, he thought he’d be screaming at the skies, clawing at his heart- trying to scratch the pain away, but he’s not. He should be mad, he should be trying to find Joey, at least, and hurt him as much as he had been hurt, but he’s not. He should have tried to swap back, but he knew his life wasn’t the end goal. He should be crying, letting the tears wash away all of the dust and dirt and blood but he’s not. He’s not doing any of it.

His communicator buzzes.

He’s holding Scott’s hand.

He’s holding Scott’s face.

He’s kissing his forehead.

He’s smoothing out his hair.

His communicator buzzes.

He notices Scott’s necklace, and that’s when he cries.

It’s a gold poppy flower- crudely made, rushed, unpolished, it was something Jimmy made. Jimmy himself was crudely made, rushed, and unpolished, so it makes sense that anything he made would be too.

His communicator buzzes.

He had given it to Scott a few hours before they arrived on the battlefield and Scott spent the next minutes staring at it while Jimmy got some things together.

Jimmy spent those minutes staring at him.

And then he died and lost everything.

Scott’s his everything.

And he’s lost it again.

His communicator buzzes.

He cradles Scott's head in his lap, staring down into his face.

He closes his eyes.

The ground under him changes. Rocks stop digging into his knees, and instead, there's soft wool. The smell of dirt and blood is replaced with clean linen and firewood.

What's worse, he can't feel Scott in his hands anymore.

Jimmy's eyes snap open.

His communicator buzzes one last time.

He's kneeling on cyan and yellow carpet, this must be somewhere in Rivendell. But it feels suffocating. It feels wrong.

Jimmy looks up and sees why.

Outside the windows the sky is red- this really is the end of the world. But the elephant in the room is that Xornoth is standing right in front of him. One of the last living things on this planet. Jimmy doesn't give them the victory of meeting their gaze.

"Codfather, Solidarity, sweet swamp boy- you hold many titles, don't you, Jimmy?" Xornoth says, manic glee in their voice. It makes Jimmy want to throw up.

"Just kill me. Please." Jimmy whispers, pain raw in his voice.

"No. I won't kill you, and you can blame your beloved Scott. The whole "can’t hurt you" condition in his heroic sacrifice doesn't feel heroic now, does it?" Xornoth looms over him, a shit-eating sneer of terrifying joy on their face. “Besides, why would I kill you? You were the key to the lock, the final piece to the puzzle, the gear that made this entire plan work- I should be thanking you. None of this could have happened if you weren’t there. He would still be alive if it weren’t for you- they all are dead because of you. Thank you, Jimmy. You seem to be often thanked for causing things that you stand against in the end. But that’s the way of life, is it not? People taking advantage of you for one reason or another, and then rubbing it in your face when they use you to get what they want. But don’t worry, no one will ever be able to use you again. Isn’t that what you wanted? You were pushed around by everyone, and now both you and I are free.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Jimmy says, maybe if he pisses them off enough they’ll just kill him anyway.

“No, you’re not. I am powerful, you are pitiful. I am armageddon, you are a disappointment. If death is theater, then I am Shakespeare, and you are a prop, a pawn. You were meant as something to be used. I was trying to offer a hand because as much as you hate yourself for it, you were the only reason why this plan worked. But if you insist on continuing to pretend that you have even a sliver of honor left then I will leave you to rot. But I promised not to lay a hand on you. In hindsight, not being able to kill you might have actually been a bad thing. See my plan was, Jimmy, I was going to kill you after all this, but your death would be instant and painless, but it seems that Scott has fucked something else over for everyone else. I was going to show you mercy, I wouldn’t torture you with a long and painful death or make you watch as- well, I guess I already did that, huh.” And they laughed . They laughed and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the crumbling world. They laughed at Jimmy, at his pain, it echoed off the walls of the dying church, sucking the last good out of the air to fuel the hysteric voice of insane victory.

Jimmy’s hope was flooding out with it.

Xornoth snaps their fingers, still laughing, and the world around Jimmy changes again, soft carpet to hardwood floors, still air to blistering wind- he's in his alliance tower.

He takes the heads down without looking at them, he can't bear to look.

He goes straight down the tower without looking.

It's a good thing he didn't.

He would have seen the bodies of everyone- ally and enemy- swinging from the rafters.

At the bottom of the ladder, he finds a rope of his own.

He doesn't even question it.

He silently finds a nearby tree and gets to work.

The Empire is deathly quiet- even the wind has died out.

He feels eyes. They're watching him. It feels familiar- watching a final soul end it all after everyone he knows is long gone.

He finishes the knot, throws the other end up and over the tree to tie it off.

He decides to build his own gallows as well.

Three blocks should be tall enough.

He puts the noose over his head like a medal- a winner's medal. That's what he was.

He won.

He takes the step.

And he's back in Scott's arms.

Finally.

#gremfics #empires #empires smp #flower husbands #flower husbands angst #suicide tw #scott smajor #he's fucking dead everybody dead #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #solidarity gaming #sweet swamp boy #i hate writing

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womanoflettersinthebunker · 4 years

Text

When Sam had first woken up, the biggest surprise was that he did, in fact, wake up. In his own bed too.

He tried to think back to the last thing he could remember. The burning light of the Trials coursing through him. The crackling sounds that could only be his bones breaking, ribs being thrust open from the heat that was inside of him. Cranial fluid evaporating and every single last part of him on the edge of destruction.

But then… He woke up.

Except… Not really.

He was awake, that wasn’t the question. He slowly sat up and moved, looking down at his hands and arms that he distinctly remembered had been glowing with the Grace and Power of Heaven.

There was nothing there now, just his arms. A little thinner than what was normal but still muscular, still his, still normal looking.

Not burned, not burning, whole and complete.

In fact, his whole body felt better than it had in… In ages. Even before doing the Trials, during his time with Amelia, his body hadn’t been anywhere near perfect condition. He still went to bed in pain most nights and after starting the Trials?

Pain killers had become a staple in his routine. And even then there were times that he hadn’t been able to sleep. Wouldn’t be able to move, to get out of bed. Sometimes, even just breathing hurt.

But now… Now, it felt… Different. Better in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time. As if every breath he took was labored down, no longer feeling like if he breathed too deeply, he’d break. Even his heart was-

His heart was skipping a beat.

He blinked and then frowned, bringing his hand up to touch his chest. His arm actually did feel a bit strange, now that he focused on it, a bit heavier to bring up. It took him a moment but then he focused on his heartbeat and tried to listen.

His heart rate had always been steady, perfectly regular. Lately, it had been a bit rough, a bit strained, but it had never skipped a beat like it was doing right now. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe in deeply, snapping them open when he realized that he couldn’t.

He was breathing, it was even and level. His chest was expanding and decompressing with each inhale and exhale, respectively. He could feel the air, could smell it with the slight hint of what could only be chicken soup.

Except… He shouldn’t be able to smell that either. His room was far away enough from the kitchen, as all the bedrooms were, that neither noises or smells would travel.

He tried to take another deep breath.

His breathing remained even. In, out- inhale, exhale.

He looked down at his hands again. They were steady, certain. Everything about him was steady, stable, firm.

Too steady. Too stable. Too firm.

He threw the covers back and moved to get out of the bed, feeling like… Like there was something different.

Something wrong.

Swallowing hard, he looked himself over again to ensure himself that he was, in fact, himself. He brought his hands up to touch his face, pulling on his hair slightly. Standing up, he shook for a moment, legs bending slightly as he tried to walk forward.

He didn’t make it that far before his door opened. He looked up and was immediately met with a bone deep relief that made him sag slightly as his brother came over to him and wrapped his arms around him tightly.

“Thank god, Sammy.” he whispered, one hand cupping the back of his head. “You’re okay.”

Sam hugged back instinctively, relishing the warmth from his brother, even with the slight chill that seemed to cling to him for some reason, as well as feeling as if Dean had lost weight but when he pulled back to look at him, he looked the same.

“Dean…” Sam said slowly, realizing that something was deeply, deeply wrong. “What did you do?”

_______________________________________________________

It was a spell Dean explained over lunch, or dinner or whatever meal it was. It was hot and it was good and he could eat it without throwing up.

That is, he could eat it without throwing up because Dean was eating it without throwing up.

Sam had been dying, back at the church. He hadn’t been wrong, he had been burning from the inside out. Dean had carried him out of the church, collapsed right next to the impala, and in the end, all he could do was bring Sam to the closest hospital and hope that the doctors didn’t ask too many questions.

But even then, there was nothing that could be done. The Trials had done their part, had anointed him and baptised him in fire, because what other way for a Winchester to be purified than with fire? As a result, his insides were burnt along with everything else that could be. The fact that he had lasted as long as he did was nothing short of a miracle.

But they didn’t have a second miracle and Sam had been fading fast.

So, Dean had called Kevin back at the bunker, barely able to console the kid to focus on the task at hand. Apparently, whatever had happened before with the meteor shower- the Angels falling, Dean had told him- had put the bunker on lockdown, making it impossible to get out.

But the call had managed to get through and Dean had put Kevin to work immediately, barely even taking the time to explain everything else because nothing else was important.

Just find a way to save Sam, Dean had told him. And hurry.

So, Kevin dove deep into the books and even the Angel Tablet, trying to find something as fast as he could, with Sam's health declining by the minute and the doctors gently urging Dean to be ready to let him go, perhaps get last rites or for him to see a grief counselor.

Dean had ignored them all, just staying beside his brother, thin hand clasped between two of his own, as he desperately waited for Kevin to call with something, anything.

And when Dean had been serious enough to start to contemplate some other sort of supernatural method, like praying to the angels for help or, Impala forbid, a demon to work out a deal with- he did, after all, have Crowley stashed in his trunk, Kevin had called him.

It was dangerous, it was ludicrous, it was the single most dim-witted possible thing that could be done in this kind of situation.

It sounded exactly like the Winchester way.

It was a bond, a soul bond and a physical bond, only to be done at the very last possible minute when there was no other way. It took two people and essentially bound one to the other in the most intimate of ways.

Sam was dying, his body no longer able to house his soul anymore, due to the severance of the connection between the two. It was what allowed the reaper to be able to take the soul to the afterlife.

Unless there was something to anchor the soul to Earth and give it a new connection. Bind the body to some other living thing so that it could have something else to copy and repeat until it could heal enough to properly house its own soul again.

And there was no other living being that Dean would trust with Sam's very soul and body than himself. No one else would keep him as safe, would be as willing to do so.

So, in the end, Sam's soul was bonded to Dean's soul, the new anchor that kept him on Earth and prevented any reaper, though Dean thought that maybe he had heard Death himself whispering in his ear, from taking Sam's soul away.

And his body was bound to Dean's body, copying the internal motions that Dean did.

Sam tried to breathe in deeply again, and couldn’t.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Sam copied him, unable to resist it. When Dean held his breath, so did Sam. When Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek, still holding his breath, Sam felt the echo of teeth against skin, prodding his own tongue at the side of his cheek as if he could feel the ghost of the indents on them.

Dean breathed out and so did Sam; he- they- had started feeling lightheaded from not breathing.

“So, basically, what my body does, you’re gonna copy,” Dean told him. “So I’m breathing for two, heart beating for two." He gestured to the food that was getting cold. “And technically, eating for two.”

Because Sam's body by itself couldn't digest anything.

He took a piece of bread and dipped it into the soup, biting into it. He couldn’t taste it. He couldn’t even feel that it was in his mouth. When he tried to swallow, he couldn’t, like there was some sort of force not letting it past his throat. He gagged and coughed the bread into his hand, putting it in his napkin.

Dean did the same, grabbed the bread and dunked it into the soup, biting into it. Sam could feel a hint of the wetness hitting his, their, chin. Could feel the taste like an aftertaste, could feel the slight warmth of the soup. He moved quickly to do the same, Dean waiting to move or swallow, and this time he could taste the bread clear as anything, could feel the soup traveling down his throat, into his stomach.

“How the hell are we going to live like this?” Sam asked, looking up at his brother. “What else is going to happen?”

Dean looked uncomfortable, unable to look at Sam's eyes. “I don’t know.” he admitted. “But whatever it is, it's better than the alternative.”

“Is it?” Sam couldn’t help but ask. Usually, at this point, his hands would start to shake or his breathing would become ragged. This time nothing happened. “Or are you just saying that because you’re not the one that’s hooked up to your brother like a makeshift puppet?”

“You can still move around and do whatever you want Sam," Dean told him. “I’m just gonna be the one that keeps your body alive and functioning.”

“And what if I wanted to die?” Sam prodded, stopping when he felt his- their- hearts beating faster. His hand came up to touch his chest again, feeling the irregular beat. “Is that you?”

Dean grimaced, hand swiping over his mouth as he looked away. “Yeah.” he muttered. “It's me.”

Sam kept his hand on his chest, feeling the heartbeat slowly start to normalize, but still with that same skipped beat. “Why is your heart skipping like this?”

“Been like that for years.” Dean said with a shrug. “Way before Hell even, can’t remember why but I’m used to it.”

“Should get it checked out.” he muttered, looking over at the food again. Their stomachs growled and Dean immediately picked his spoon up, slowly eating the soup, pausing to let Sam do the same and copy his movements.

They ate in silence, simultaneously in every motion. It was maddening to Sam, he kept expecting his fingers to start twitching, tapping against the table or the side of his chair like he liked to do, but they laid there flat on the table instead, curled around the spoon unmovingly.

Where did this end? He could move around, like he had gotten out of bed before, and he could stop eating despite Dean continuing.

He tried to do so, stopped eating despite his brother doing so, Dean raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t say anything, swallowing his mouthful.

He could still feel the echo of the warmth of the soup, thick and filling, slide down his throat and into his stomach. Only he could also feel the slight pain of not actually having anything there, his body was digesting food that wasn’t really there.

He picked up his spoon again and started to eat, copying his brother.

Once they were done Sam pushed the bowl away from him, Dean didn’t, all he did was lean back. But it was something they didn’t do in unison, that meant that he could in fact move without Dean dictating him how to.

Except that...he could feel the back of the chair that Dean was sitting in, while his own back was away from the seat. His spine curved as if he was accommodating the chair and he scowled, looking up at his brother.

“Show me the spell.” he demanded.

___________________________________________________

It hadn’t been a lie, it was the single most brainless thing he had ever seen and he had a feeling he’d never see something as stupidly foolish at this.

It made him wish that Bobby was still around to just...smack them on the head sometimes. At least then they’d admit that what they were doing was pure, plain, Winchester stupidity.

He sat down to start reading the half notes and translations from the papers Kevin had left. It was a mess of writings and scribblings, most of which he couldn’t really make out.

He settled in for a long night and pulled a fresh piece of paper to him, snagging a pen as well as he got to work.

He was starting to get light headed, enough that his vision was starting to dim.

He rubbed at his eyes and tried to focus on the rest of the translation, sounding out the words inside of his head to try to figure them out despite how they were starting to swim across the pages.

He stopped and put the papers down, rubbing at his eyes once more and squinting at the words. A heat curled around his cheeks and his limbs started to feel heavy, heavier, than before as if he was-

Sam's eyes widened and he quickly got up, pushing the chair back with the force of his sudden movement. He moved as fast as he could, wanting to see if his hypothesis was true.

He skidded slightly, bringing his arms up to block himself as he almost ran into the wall, feet stumbling as he tried to remain upright before he finally found his brother, sitting on the kitchen floor with at least three, that he could see, empty bottles of beer around him and a fourth in his hand.

Dean jumped slightly and whirled around to face him, standing up a bit unstably. Sam closed his eyes as he felt the world spin around him for a moment and then reopened them to glare at his brother.

“I’m getting drunk.” he accused him, watching the surprise and then slight guilt flash over Dean's face. His words were slurred slightly, he couldn’t remember the last time he had actually been drunk. “And I’m trying to do work.”

“So what, I can’t drink now that we’re like this?” Dean complained, despite quickly going to the cabinet and pulling out a loaf of bread. He ripped pieces off and started to eat them, Sam's mouth filled with saliva and his throat constricted as if he was swallowing them. Dean went to him and gave him a slice, letting the both of them eat in time. “Next thing you’ll tell me is no more sex.”

“And how exactly do you think sex is going to work like this?” Sam demanded, trying to swallow and gagging, waiting for Dean to swallow so he could do it. “It was bad enough that I had to listen when I was a teenager, I’m not going to be feeling it like a ghost.”

“Oh it wasn’t that bad when you were a teen.” Dean waved his concerns away. “I always made sure you were asleep.”

Sam just threw him a dry look. “And yet I still get half a boner whenever I hear the words, ‘Don’t worry, he’s asleep,’” he mimicked, throwing the rest of the bread in his hand at Deans head.

Dean rolled his eyes but tossed his remainder onto the counter. “Fine, you sobering up there Mother Theresa?”

Sam wondered for a moment if he punched Dean, would he feel it too and was weighing the cons and pros regarding both.

“I’ve been reading more about the spell.” he said instead. “And I’m gonna be honest Dean, we’re lucky it worked at all. You had two of the five ingredients, you used an EKG instead of a neurotransmitter, and even one of those ingredients expired last year.” he shook his head. “This never should’ve worked.”

“Ah but it did.” Dean said wagging his finger and slowly collecting the empty beer bottles, throwing them over his shoulder and straight into the trash can. “And your welcome.”

Sam just stared at him. “We didn’t finish talking about that,” he told him. “About me being okay with it.”

Their hearts started to beat faster once more, it seemed to be a natural reaction for Dean at this point when bringing something like this up.

“No, we’re done.” Dean told him. “Because you agreed to stop the Trials and I saved your life so that means, we’re done talking about it.”

“No we’re not.” Sam said, turning so that he could watch Dean. Their palms were starting to sweat and twitch. “Dean.”

“I don’t give a damn Sam. I meant what I said in that church.” Dean said, not looking at him. “I don’t give a single damn if it means all the Hells gates are cracked open, I don’t care if everyone in the world is possessed right now. I don’t care. Because if it means having you dead?” he could feel the tremor pass through Deans body, slight but there, no external hint of it. “Then I’d let it all burn.”

Without waiting for Sam to say anything else to that, what could he even possibly say, Dean left the room, leaving Sam behind with a heart that was beating too fast in their chest and the taste of bread in their mouth.

_________________________________________________________

They managed, somehow and barely. Sam kept trying to figure out the rest of the spell and all that it entailed while Dean kept the both of them alive. Three times a day they ate together, they didn’t have any other choice really since it had to be in time, and on the second day Sam had put his foot down and demanded that Dean add vegetables as well to their meals.

He could only stomach, figuratively, so much meat and soups, even those had meat in them of some kind; at times more like a mild chilli than soup.

Dean quit drinking completely for the time being, complaining about it all the while but Sam also felt how their upper right abdomen was starting to feel a bit better and not so pinched all the time.

It was those little bits and pieces of them that he had to get used to and to be honest, Sam missed his own small parts. He missed having his own heartbeat, being in control of his own breathing. Even when he tried to do yoga or some sort of exercise he couldn’t actually feel as if he was doing anything and nothing ached pleasantly like it was supposed to after doing so.

But he felt it when Dean pulled a Charley horse in the middle of the night, his lower leg locked in pain as he desperately tried to massage it out to no avail until Dean managed to relax and do something about it.

He didn’t miss feeling so cold all the time though, that was something that constantly lingered, especially after his memories from Hell came back full throttle, so there were some benefits to this he supposed. Not to mention the scratchy and almost painful feeling in his throat whenever he spoke too loudly or raised his voice.

He did miss, however, being able to use the bathroom on his own time. That was a conversation that neither of them were willing to have or even entertain.

“How long are we going to be like this?” Sam asked the night that Dean got a migraine that he refused to do anything about. He flinched back and turned the rest of the lights on, letting the light from their computer screens show the way in the room instead. “And for the love of god take something already.”

“We’re gonna be like this until your body heals or we find a spell to heal your body.” Dean told him, grumbling and internally flinching as he got up and went to the first aid kit they kept in every room. He dry swallowed two painkillers, Sam's tongue curled at the chalky taste they left behind. “Until then just deal.”

They started to leave the bunker a bit more, get back into the world. It was nice to walk around and feel the sun, or rather have Dean feel the sun in the leather jacket he refused to take off and thereby making the both of them sweat, and just breathe in the fresh air.

He noted that whenever Dean breathed in a bit too deep there almost seemed to be some sort of pain in their left side and he made a mental note to check on that once things were back to normal.

There were a lot of things he had to check on his brother once they were back to the way they were, too many small medical issues that couldn’t and shouldn’t be ignored like the way that he’s been doing.

Or maybe he should bring it up while they were connected like this, guilt trip him into actually doing something about it if it meant that it was causing him pain.

In an attempt to get back into the swing of things, Dean found them a run of the mill hunt, textbook case of a ghost lingering in their old house refusing to move on. They donned their suits and went to work. When it was time for lunch Sam went to the register himself and ordered two extra large salads, adding as many free addons as possible and keeping it to a simple olive oil and lemon dressing.

The look on Dean's face was downright murderous when Sam brought it to him, complete with a whey protein smoothie. He just smirked at him and sat down, waiting for Dean to take the first bite.

“Already paid for.” he said when Dean glanced at the register. “And they don’t take back food.”

Dean's upper lip curled in disgust as he picked up his fork and stabbed the lettuce, Sam forked some as well, watching as Dean slowly brought it up to his mouth. Smiling Sam ate along with Dean, feeling the anger and the hatred in each bite as Dean masticated every bite furiously until the salad was gone and the smoothie was drunk.

And later on when their stomachs were cramping in pain Dean smirked right back at him.

“Your stomach is so messed up that a little bit of salad did this?” Sam demanded, resisting the urge to throw something at him, he still had no idea if it would do something to him as well. “I’m putting you on a cleanse.”

“My liver is cleanse enough, now let's burn this sucker.” Dean said, tossing the salt canister to him.

It turned out that it wasn’t just a ghost haunting its old house. It was two ghosts in one, twins that refused to move on. Twins that no one had realized were there, with their bodies hidden in the floorboards, their bones so intertwined with one another's that Sam couldn’t tell where one sibling started and the other ended.

They were both used to being thrown around by ghosts, used to the bone chilling cold that seeped into them when the ghosts would try to grab them, they had iron in their jacket for that exact reason, to grab it and use against the ghosts.

Sam had been trying to figure out this part of them for a while now, had tried to see if it actually meant something between this bond of theirs. He just wasn’t willing to hurt Dean to find out if it was the truth.

So when the ghost had grabbed Dean and threw him against the rotting wooden staircase, breaking the banister as Sam had been trying to break open the floorboards to get to the bodies, Sam was the one that shouted in sudden pain as he fell to his side, feeling the broken pieces of the staircase digging into his side as the whole back of his body erupted in pain.

Gritting his teeth he forced himself up, standing on shaking legs. He could feel their teeth tightly clenched together and the way their legs shook unsteadily. He looked at his brother, already feeling the bruise that was going to bother them for the next few days at least.

“Sam! Finish it!” Dean shouted at him, grabbing the shotgun and shooting at one of the twins that materialized in front of him. “Now!”

Sam turned back to his task at hand, reaching out and pulling the rest of the boards away to give him enough room to work. He grabbed at the salt and gas, pouring both in liberally as he reached into his pocket to grab his lighter.

Before blood shot out of his mouth and he fell to his knees, sharp and overwhelming pain in his side.

He didn’t bother to look down at himself, he turned as best as he could to look at his brother.

Who had a steel beam in his lower side, the shotgun thrown to the ground, with one of the ghosts holding him down onto the ground as the other raised another beam.

Sam acted on instinct, grabbing the lighter and flicking it open and lit with his wrist before throwing it into the bones, watching with intense satisfaction as the ghost lit up in flames, screaming as the beam fell helplessly to the ground and Dean was let go.

His vision was blackening over and he tried to fight it, stumbling as he slowly stood up. His hand went to his side, pressing against the open wound there. He could feel their stomach lurch and contract, almost throwing up from the pain. His eyes clouded over slightly as he finally reached his brother, reaching out to hold his hand out to him to help him stand up.

When Dean stood up it must’ve agitated the wound because a fresh wave of pain went over him and he, they, couldn’t breathe for a moment. He could feel Dean grit his teeth in an echo and could practically feel his brother pushing back against the darkness that threatened to consume them.

Sam pulled his jacket off and bundled it up, pressing it against the wound on Dean's side, he could feel the same sensation on his own side and pressed harder. He wrapped an arm around Deans shoulder to help guide him out of the house and back to the impala. “C’mon, let's just get to the motel.” he mumbled.

It was a hassle and a half to not only get to the impala, but get out and into the room with the both of them remaining conscious. Each movement reminded the both of them how badly wounded they were, as well as every dip and pothole they felt on the road was another sharp blast of pain.

“We can’t do this again.” Sam managed to get out, gripping the steering wheel tightly as Dean took care not to bleed on the seats. “We can’t hunt anymore while we’re like this. It's too risky.”

“Could figure it out, or you could move fast enough so that the ghost doesn’t get one over on me.” Dean gritted out, shifting the jacket, he was going to have to throw it out at this point, to a drier area to press against him. “Sure were taking your time there Sammy.”

“Bite me.” Sam quipped at him, not even in the slightest mood to deal with this. He parked haphazardly and got out of the car, vision swimming once more as he tried to move his legs fast enough to get to his brother's side.

Dean was telling him something but by the tone of his voice Sam could already tell that he was complaining about nothing important, it also meant that he was going to be okay as well as the fact that the pain was already fading to the back of their mind at this point. They carried one another to the motel room and Sam carefully placed him on the bed closest to the door before grabbing the first aid kit from their bag.

“What? No antiseptic? No pain killer?” Dean asked, nodding meaningfully at the bottle of whiskey in the bag right next to the first aid kit.

“I’m already dealing with blood loss and an extra pocket in my side.” Sam told him as he threaded the needle and grabbed the lighter, watching the metal heat up. “You want to add alcohol to that?”

“We’ve done it worse.” Dean reminded him. “We’ve done it in a lot worse conditions.”

“Doesn’t make it any better, now shut up.” Sam said as he knelt down and took a deep breath. He paused for a moment, grabbing a roll of gauze and shoving it between his teeth, he could see a long piece of something, wooden or silver or made of jello he wasn’t sure, but it was in there and had to be removed. He didn’t let himself think, just reached in and yanked it out, the both of them locking up at the pain.

Forcing himself to stay focused, he started to sow up the mess, it was thick and deep enough to cause severe blood loss but thin enough that he could use regular stitches to cover it up. It laid over Deans side down to his inner thigh, ripping his jeans.

“What the hell, she couldn’t buy you dinner first?” Sam couldn’t help but mutter as he stood up and tugged. “You gotta get these off.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, smirking suggestively. “Aww Sammy, you know I’d always put out for you.”

If it didn’t mean hurting himself further, and now they had proof that it did, Sam would’ve hit him.

“Unless you want to do it yourself, get your pants off.” he said unamused. “Or I’m going to go take a shower and go to bed.”

Dean rolled his eyes, grumbling as he shifted enough on the bed so that he didn’t have to stand up to shove his jeans down. “Fine, fine. Have at it.”

Sam shook his head as he knelt down once more, rummaging through the first aid kit to grab the alcohol pads and bandages. He squinted at the wound once more before shaking his head, he didn’t need stitches after all, it was just a lot of blood but not deep at all around his thigh.

“This is gonna sting.” Sam warned him as he cleaned the wound, uncaring of how he had to turn his wrist to do so. He could feel the sting in his own thigh, feeling where the wound was deepest. He moved his hand slightly closer to the inside of Deans thigh, knowing that there was another part-

He could feel blood slowly pulsating between his legs.

Sam paused for a moment, freezing really, before restarting, keeping one hand pressed to the wound as he rummaged for bandages. He could feel the heat coursing from Deans thigh, and he could feel how the blood was steadily making its way downward.

There was no way to ignore it, all he could do was just not mention it and focus on patching his brother up.

His hands were shaking, he noted, staring at the slightly quivering fingers. He pressed the bandages and gauze to the wound, carefully wrapping it.

He quickly did the rest of Dean's side, it was a bit challenging because both his hands and body were shaking now, a miniscule hint of the tremors, and then hesitated, not wrapped his hand around the inside of Dean's thigh once more.

“Sammy?” He could hear his brother say slowly. “What’re you doing?”

This could just be a physical reaction, Dean was a sexual creature and he hadn’t really been with anyone in ages. With helping him deal with the Trials and now taking Sam's request rather seriously, he was pent up. And judging by the way he could feel his own cock twitch he knew that Dean hadn’t been taking care of himself alone either.

Except...his hand was still moving.

And he’s not going to lie.

It's been a while for him too.

He was shaking, a corner of his mind told him, he was shaking and his heart was beating faster, almost as if it was about to leap out of his chest.

His hand moved until he could slide it past his boxers, stopping just above his pelvis region. He could feel all those sensations, could feel the sensation of skin on skin, the heat of someone elses touch.

He just wished that he could feel it himself too.

He looked up, Dean was staring down at him with wide, blown eyes, lips parted slightly. Hunger gripped him so tight that he could barely breathe and he moved his hand down further, finally gripping Deans cock.

He wasn’t sure who moaned first, him or Dean, but the sensation felt amazing, deep warmth spreading through his lower back and tailbone. He reached out and tugged Deans boxers off completely, his own lips parted at the sight of his brother's cock, hand moving slowly over the heated flesh.

He couldn’t really feel it in his hand, but it felt like there was a hand around his own cock. He paused his movements long enough to pull his own jeans and boxers down, stroking Dean; and feeling like he was doing it through layers and layers of clothes, when Dean reached down and wrapped his own hand around Sam's cock, looking up at him questioningly.

Sam shook his head, he could feel it in his hand, could properly feel like there was a cock in his hand, but the only part he felt was when he moved his hand over Dean's cock and not when Dean moved his hand.

Didn’t matter, apparently this bond made him bleed when Dean did, he was sure that he would come when Dean did as well.

He moved to sit on Dean's lap, getting a bit more comfortable for the both of them, hands moving together, he could tell from Dean's arm movement, and when he felt the crushing sensation of pure something coursing through him, he looked up to see Dean staring at him so adoringly.

Sam couldn’t help it, he leaned in and kissed him. It felt like he was kissing him through a pillow, and could feel something on his lips that he realistically knew was his own, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing else mattered, just this.

He could feel Dean getting close, could feel the way his legs were starting to shake, as his orgasm neared. Their whole body tensed for a single moment and then with a mutual one groan the pleasure spiked, spreading through them like thick molasses as they tried to ride it out, hands still moving.

He had enough of a mind to not fall onto his brother, turning so that he could fall onto his side on the bed instead, wiping his hand on the sheets before doing the same to the rest of him. He curled in closer to his brothers side, listening to their breathing even out together.

“You ever thought about doing this? Before I mean?” Dean asked him, voice already sounding like he was seconds away from falling asleep.

Sam curled in closer to him, enjoying how the warmth and feel spread through him, he was a tactile creature too. Thinking for a moment he finally truthfully said, “No, not really. Not until now.”

“Not until now?” Dean sounded slightly more awake.

Sam shook his head, despite knowing that Dean wouldn’t see him in the dark. “Never really thought about...us like that.” he said. “But I am now and...I’m okay with it.”

He closed his eyes and laid back down, frowning when he couldn’t feel Dean doing the same. “Dean?” he called, opening his eyes. “You okay?”

It took Dean a moment to reply. “Yeah.” he said hollowly. He slowly laid back down on the bed, turning onto his side so that his back was to Sam. “Fine.”

Their heart was beating erratically, worse than five minutes ago when they were both jerking each other off. Their chest felt tight, almost like they couldn’t get enough air in. His stomach was twisted and the urge to throw up was unmistakable.

“Dean?” His voice was quiet, soft. He reached out to touch his brothers back, feeling just how hard he flinched when he pulled away.

“Don’t.” Dean said. “Just...sleep. Go to sleep.”

“I can’t if you can’t.” he wanted to say. But whatever it was, Dean needed this out, needed this much privacy.

It was the least he could do.

So, he turned onto his own side, facing away from Dean, and closed his eyes.

Neither of them slept that night.

Driving back to the bunker was a quiet affair. Sam had offered to look at his brother's bandages but Dean just silently went to the bathroom and took care of it himself, he could feel the bandages pull at his skin and the slight sting as Dean cleaned it out and rebandaged.

Neither of them spoke after that, grabbing a quick breakfast at the closest diner, Dean didn’t eat so therefore Sam couldn’t either, and got back to the road. Not even the radio was playing. Sam glanced down at his hands on his lap, the knuckles were completely white and throbbing slightly, he looked at Dean's hands; they were curled as tight as possible around the steering wheel.

Each time their heart beat in his chest it hurt, each breath they took hurt, everything was hurting and none of it made sense.

“Dean?” he said, his voice low. Their heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Dean said curtly, staring straight ahead on the road. “We just gotta home and get rid of this bond already.”

Sam glanced down at his body, patting along his chest. “You really think my bodys healed enough?”

“No, we’re going to work nonstop until we find the healing spell and then we’re unbinding.” Dean told him. “This can’t go on.”

Sam turned so that he could look at him properly, forehead furrowing. “Dean, what’s going on?” he asked once more. “Talk to me.”

“What the hell do you think is going on?” Dean exploded at him. “I’m talking about what happened last night!”

Oh. That. Sam thought back to last night, the technical mutual handjobs, the slamming force of their orgasm, the literal bone deep relief that he felt spreading inside of Dean, the way it made their heart flutter slightly.

And then, minutes later, the way Dean had withdrew from him, turning away from him completely.

“I mean...it was kinda awkward, my dick can’t really work unless yours is in the game.” Sam said, glancing down at his lap. “But cause you came, I did too.”

“What the hell are you-that’s not what I’m talking about Sam!” Dean exclaimed, hitting the dashboard with a balled up fist. He jerked the car to the side of the road and parked them there, whirling in his seat to look at him. “I’m talking about the fact that you didn’t want to do it!”

Sam just stared at his brother for a moment. “Dean, I’m the one that made the first move.” he reminded him. “I touched you.”

“Because I wanted you to.” Dean said bitterly. “Because I wanted you to touch me and do that, it was all me and you just…” he shook his head, deflating in his seat. “Sam, I’ve wanted that for a very long time.” he finally admitted in a small voice. “And yeah I get it, it's sick, and it's wrong. I know. Just...and last night...I should’ve stopped you. I should’ve done the right thing.”

“Dean, I’m still the one that did it first.” Sam repeated, feeling as if he was about to throw up when a thought occurred to him. “You said you’ve wanted it for a long time. How long?”

Dean looked pained at the question. “Sam,:

“How long Dean?”

He could feel Dean swallow. “I don’t know.” he whispered. “For as long as I can remember.” he closed his eyes and Sam could feel something curl in his stomach, shame and guilt. “But it's like you said Sammy, you didn’t want it until last night.” he gave a humorless laugh, devoid of any sort of emotion. “So that means that it's all me, I’m the one making you feel like this. I’m the one that’s-”

Whatever else Dean was going to say, all the self hatred that Sam could feel coursing through him, he had enough. He leaned over the rest of the way and kissed him to shut him up. It felt the same as last night, like he was being touched through something else; like a blanket covering or even through cellophane. Either way he pressed closer, arms coming up to wrap around his brother as they kissed.

Their heart was beating rapidly to the point of pain and for a moment, Dean relaxed into the kiss before he wretched himself away, eyes wide. Sam watched him, feeling the way that he could barely breathe.

“What the hell...why’d you…” Dean tried to talk, tried to get out.

“You definitely didn’t want me to kiss you then, but I wanted to.” Sam said simply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dean, when I said that I never thought about this,” he gestured between them. “Before last night...it didn’t mean that you were influencing me or whatever the hell you think it is.” he reached out to take Dean's hand, sliding his fingers over it, feeling the echoing of the sensation on his own hand. “What I meant was...I never thought about it, because it made too much sense.”

He watched how his fingers curled around Deans, they settled there like a lock and key. “I never thought about this, because I never thought I’d have to. Because you’re always there and with me and just...it became a lot more evident. It just became another step that I didn’t realize that I wanted to take. I mean,” he laughed softly. “The way we live, the way we’ve always lived, together. In each other's pockets. Never really liking anyone else that was in our lives no matter who they were. It's all there man, it's all you and me. Together.``

“Sam,” Dean whispered, clutching at his brother's hand. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, this isn’t you, it's me.”

“If you really think that, then let's get back to the bunker and get rid of this bond.” Sam said simply. “Get rid of it right now, healing spell be damned.”

Dean had been shaking his head before Sam had even finished. “No, you’re not strong enough to be on your own yet.”

“So our option is either get rid of the bond so I can prove to you that this is my choice.” Sam told him. “Or you can just believe me.”

“I can’t Sammy.” he whispered. “I just...I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“You’re not.” Sam informed him firmly. “So what are you going to do? Not touch me at all? We’re connected Dean, I can feel you.” he placed his hand over his heart, feeling just how it was beating erratically. “This is killing you.”

Dean closed his eyes, shaking his head and letting them snap open when Sam leaned in to kiss him again, pulling away. “Sam stop.”

“No.” Sam told him, trying to lean in again. “You still don’t want me to kiss you right now, it's making your stomach turn because of everything, but I want to kiss you.”

Dean wretched free and grabbed at Sam, gripping his wrists firmly and pushing him back into the passenger seat. “Stop.” he instructed.

Sam glowered at him but stayed in his seat. “I want this.” he repeated, settling back and nodding at the road ahead of them. “So we’re going to get back and we’re getting rid of this bond so I can actually show you how much I want this because dude,” he glanced meaningfully at Dean's lap. “Your refractory time is horrible.”

Dean just stared at Sam in horror and slightly affronted. “My refractory time is perfect,” he protested.

Sam snorted. “Yeah sure, when we get rid of this bond, I’ll show you a real refractory period.”

Dean stared at him and started the car again, guiding them back onto the road. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” he told him.

“Guess we’ll find out when we get back.”

Turns out, he was right in the middle of being healed enough and not healed enough. His body was strong enough to house his soul again but he was also in no shape whatsoever to be moving around or doing anything. The pain came fast and hard, and the loss of actually being bonded to his brother made him almost feel like a limb was missing.

Mostly, he slept. He slept in his bed, waking up to stumble to the bathroom, on his own time thank you very much, and back to bed. Somewhere it between Dean would either feed him or have an iv pressed into his arm.

It took at least a week and a half of that before Sam felt strong enough to walk to the kitchen, he had to immediately sit in the chair but it was something. He watched his brother pitter patter around the kitchen, making food and coffee and whatever else he could, avoiding both Sam and the topic on both of their minds.

“Dean,” Sam said, watching his brother tense up. He was flinching on the inside, he recognized it now. Slowly Dean looked up at him and without saying a word, Sam lifted the book off of the table and let it fall to the ground. “Mind getting that for me?”

He could hear Dean let out a frustrated breath but his brother complied, walking over and bending down to pick up the book. While he was still kneeling Sam reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, on instinct Dean looked up at him.

And Sam leaned in to kiss him once more.

It felt better, a thousand times better than the last one. This one he could actually feel, could feel how soft they were, how chapped they were. Could taste his brother, something he didn’t even realize he knew how to explain, clear as anything. His brother's skin was warm under his hand and everything was alright and alive in sensations.

When he couldn’t breathe anymore Sam pulled away, just staring down at Dean who looked back up at him stunned.

“Still want to kiss you,” he said simply. “Believe me now?”

He could see Dean chewing on his lip as he slowly stood up, not looking away. “You sure?” he whispered.

Sam nodded, tilting his head to look at him. “It's all me now.” he told him. “And I still want to.”

A mixture of emotions rapidly flashed over Dean's face, too fast for him to even be able to read them, but it didn’t matter. Because Dean leaned down and kissed him, kissed him desperately, furiously, gripping at him tightly and yet gentle enough that he didn’t hurt him.

It felt like finally coming home.

#writing #My writing #supernatural #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn xmas #365 #1/365 #2021 Days of Writing #Sam Winchester #sam and dean #samanddean #Sam/Dean #dean winchester #s9 fixit

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tomhardysteeth · 4 years

Text

Tattooed

[ao3] Eddie Brock/Venom 5.9k words

Eddie.

“Hmm.”

Tell me what this is.

Eddie shifts in bed and blinks himself awake with a groan. Venom is at his right hip, tendrils like small streams of water passing curiously over his skin. Eddie used to wear pajama pants and a t-shirt to bed each night, but his temperature runs hot with Venom inside him so he started wearing just a pair of gym shorts instead, and now he’s regretting it.

“Venom. I’ve told you this. Stop waking me up for stupid shit.”

The tendrils press insistently into Eddie’s skin, which tickles a little bit. You slept long enough.

“That’s not the—what are you even doing?” Eddie props himself up on his elbows and looks down at where Venom is pressing into the tattoo on his abdomen. “Oh. It’s a, uh—I got it after I proposed to Anne. It says ‘til I die AW,’ which, you know, in hindsight, is, uh…”

A long silence passes before Venom says, What do you mean you “got it”?

“What—what do you mean what do I mean? It’s a tattoo.”

Venom spreads out over his body, crawling itself up over the tattoos on his sides, chest, arms and back. Are these also called “tattoos”?

“Can’t you read my mind, man? You’ve been inside me for several weeks, you’ve gotta know what a goddamn tattoo is by now.”

That is not how it works. Explain to me what a tattoo is.

Eddie groans in frustration. He sits up on the side of the bed and grabs his phone from the nightstand, checking and deleting emails like he compulsively does each morning. He is going to lunch with Anne today, but other than that, his schedule is free.

Eddie.

“Look, I’ve actually been thinking about getting another one, so, uh, maybe I’ll make an appointment and then you can see—”

Anne’s skin is not like this. Do only some people wear tattoos as part of their bodies?

“Um, hmm. Well, yeah, only some people have them. But they’re permanent. Once you add them to your skin, they stay there.” Eddie stands up and stretches his back out before heading into the bathroom for a shower.

He can feel Venom still exploring his tattoos, the symbiote moving its liquidy strands in such a meticulous way like it’s tracing each tableau: the wolf on his left forearm, the numbers near his right clavicle, the corvid over his left pec, and so on until Eddie is so mesmerized by the feeling that he spends several minutes in the shower just standing completely still as cold water pours over him.

Venom nudges him out of his trance, merging itself with the muscles of Eddie’s legs to get him to move and sending hunger signals to his brain.

“Hey, no taking over without my permission, how many times do I have to tell you?” Eddie says, annoyed as he awkwardly jerks his legs in a fruitless attempt to regain control.

This is our body, Eddie.

“No. No, there’s my body and there’s your body, and whichever one of us is driving is the one in control.” Eddie stops and tries to work out what he means. “That’s me most of the time, in control.”

A tickle runs through Eddie’s whole body, which means that Venom is laughing. Even so, it cedes leg muscle control back to Eddie, allowing him to get dressed before going to the kitchen.

I keep you alive. If I left your body, you would die very quickly.

“Yeah, well, so would you, so I’m not sure what your point is.”

Venom pulls part of its body out of Eddie and floats its head directly in front of his face. The first few times it did this, Eddie felt terrified and found Venom repulsive. Now, he feels a begrudging fondness for it. He thinks it probably has to do with the kiss they shared in the woods, but in general he tries not to think too hard about that.

You do not know the things I do for you, Eddie, Venom says, slowly.

Eddie blinks. “OK. Uh, I don’t really—don’t give me more information than that, please.”

Venom just smiles with all its teeth in response, then it turns toward the fridge and coaxes Eddie into making a heinous breakfast.

Eddie tries to get some writing done before his lunch with Anne, but Venom is more active than usual as it continues its ministrations of his tattoos, so Eddie impulsively calls the artist he always goes to, Marie, and asks her if she can fit him in by the end of the week. She tells him he can come in later that afternoon if he wants, since she had a last-minute cancellation. Eddie has been going to her for years, so she has several of his designs ready and waiting.

Eddie meets Anne at an Indian restaurant across town, one of their favorite date-night joints when they were still together, and the only difference now is that they don’t sit on the same side of the booth anymore.

Anne greets Eddie with a hug and comments on how warm he feels.

“You say that every time,” Eddie replies with a small laugh as they break apart. He removes his leather jacket before taking a seat.

“Well, you’re just always feverishly warm. I don’t know how it doesn’t bother you,” she says as she sits across from him.

“I mean, it does bother me sometimes. I only take cold showers now. And I sleep mostly naked.”

Anne raises her eyebrows at him. “Mr. I-have-to-shower-and-change-into-PJs-immediately-after-sex sleeps naked now?”

He smiles at her. “Yeah, alright, I deserved that.”

A server comes by to take their drink order. Anne makes a face when Eddie orders water.

“You never drink water.”

Now he’s the one making a face. “That’s not true. I used to drink water, uh, sometimes.”

“So what else is he making you do besides drink water?”

Eddie shifts in the booth. “Nothing. He’s just, um, mostly just irritating.”

Venom rumbles and slithers uncomfortably inside Eddie, clearly angry with his assessment.

“He’s been asking me about my tattoos today. He definitely doesn’t understand what they are.”

Anne laughs. “Does that happen a lot, him not understanding something basic?”

The server returns with their drinks and asks if they are ready to order, and just as Eddie is about to say no, Anne orders for both of them.

Eddie pouts at her.

“What?” she asks after the server walks away. “We’ve been here a million times, I know what you like.”

She doesn’t know what we like.

“Yeah, uh, you know Vee’s appetite is a little different.” Eddie clears his throat. “Which means, um, my appetite’s a little different, too. It’s OK, I’ll just have to order more food. We eat a lot.”

“Are you sure you’re OK, Eddie?” She drops her voice to a whisper and leans across the table. “He’s not torturing you or anything, is he?”

Eddie imitates her, leaning across the table and narrowing his eyes as he says, “He’s inside me, Annie, so getting closer to me and whispering doesn’t mean he can’t hear you.”

Anne bats playfully at Eddie’s shoulder before leaning back again. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe, that’s all.”

Venom moves and twists its tendrils through Eddie’s body, coming closer to the surface of his skin before burrowing back down into Eddie’s muscles. It was an annoying sensation the first few times Venom did it, but now Eddie thinks of it like a cat repositioning on his lap—which, to be fair, was also annoying when Mr. Belvedere deemed Eddie worthy enough to sit on, but even so, thinking of Venom like a pet makes the alien seem like less of a nuisance.

“Yeah, Annie, I’m safe,” Eddie responds softly. “We’re still, uh, just trying to figure out living together. It’s annoying, sometimes, but we’re working on it.”

“Is ‘living together’ the right term for it, though? You’re just...together. It’s kind of a big commitment, if you think about it.”

Eddie laughs and scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, which is why I don’t really think about it. But, you know, I don’t really have that much of a choice. If he leaves, I die.”

Venom moves in a way that feels like it is tightening inside Eddie, like all of its strands are taut, which Eddie’s body responds to antagonistically: he relaxes.

“OK, so if you knew you wouldn’t die if he left, would you want him to leave?”

Venom simmers, angry.

“No,” Eddie answers honestly. “I mean, there are definitely things I would change, but…”

“You like the power.”

Eddie looks around, irrationally embarrassed that someone might overhear them. He nods shyly then takes a drink of water.

“Oh, Eddie, you’re so predictable.”

“What?”

“You don’t like having your own power, you just like taking it from other people. Or, in this case, an alien.”

He leans back in his chair and defensively crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his armpits. “What are you talking about?”

“Your career. And now this.” She shrugs. “I just hope you sort it all out with Venom, is all. You’re irritable, like you were the first couple weeks after you moved in with me. Remember that?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Yes, I remember because you won’t let me forget. This is different though. I’m not—um, I’m not in a relationship with Venom.”

“Aren’t you though?”

Yes.

Eddie swallows. “Not—it’s not—I can’t think of it that way, it’s too weird.”

“Yeah, probably. But it’s something you're gonna have to deal with eventually.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Eddie changes the subject after that, asking Anne about her work and about Dan. When their food arrives, Eddie immediately orders another entree and an appetizer and tries not to feel embarrassed about it. He could actually eat way more than that, but he won’t in front of Anne. Venom complains in his head, insists their bodies are still hungry, swirls its strands frantically around Eddie’s midsection to make its point, but Eddie just sets his jaw and ignores it.

When Eddie tells Anne at the end of lunch that he has an appointment to get a tattoo, Anne just laughs and says, “Still the same old Eddie.” She pays for the meal, Eddie leaves a cash tip, and they walk out to his bike together.

Feeling relaxed and brave, Eddie gives Anne a kiss on the temple as they hug goodbye. She doesn’t acknowledge it.

On the drive over to the tattoo shop, Venom asks, How long will it take to win her back?

Eddie hates when Venom talks to him when he’s driving because although Venom can hear his voice no matter what volume he speaks, he can’t hear himself over the sound of the engine and the wind. “I told you, it’s not happening.”

But we like her.

“I know we like her, but she’s with Dan and you and I are, uh, kind of fucked up.”

I don’t understand.

Eddie sighs. “Anne’s right. Like it or not, you and I are together—a package deal, so the chances of me having any kind of human relationship with anyone is just out of the question.” Realizing how depressing that is, Eddie tacks on, "Right now."

But Anne likes us. I think she would like being with both of us.

Eddie doesn’t respond. Surprisingly, Venom doesn’t push the issue.

At the tattoo shop, Eddie is greeted by one of the artists, Solomon, with little more than a curt nod and a waiver slapped down on the counter, which Eddie signs without reading. He then takes a seat out front to wait for Marie.

Your pulse has quickened. You’re beginning to sweat.

“Yeah, well, that’s because the guy that just helped us is my ex, and it did not end well,” Eddie whispers through gritted teeth.

Oh, like Anne?

“Stop playing dumb, you know what an ex is.”

Eddie watches as Sol greets another client. Despite having dated nearly a decade ago when Eddie was only in San Francisco for a six-month temporary gig, Sol still acts like it was just yesterday that Eddie chickened out on their relationship and told him he had to get back to his “real life” in New York. Not his best choice of words.

Sol looks bigger every time Eddie comes to the shop. He is older than Eddie, has to be in his 50s by now, but he clearly still lifts as evidenced by the broad muscles of his back and the thickness of his tattooed biceps. His muscled chest tapers into a soft torso, his belly significantly more pronounced than when they dated. His beard looks thicker, too, a few fuzzy gray hairs mixed in with the black, and he is bald—has always been bald—and richly dark-skinned and six inches taller than Eddie.

You are still attracted to him.

Eddie clenches his fist against his thigh. “He’s still attractive.”

You are attracted to Anne, too. But Solomon looks very different from Anne.

“I don’t know if now is the best time for me to explain race and gender and sexuality to you.”

Anne is small, so I assumed you preferred someone smaller than you. But Solomon is—

Eddie ignores the rest of Venom’s sentence as Marie comes out of the back office and waves Eddie over to her workstation. Marie is rail thin and only ever wears baggy tank tops and baggy ripped jeans, and nearly every inch of visible skin is covered in colorful tattoos.

“Did you pierce more of your face since the last time I was here?” Eddie teases as he takes a seat.

She swivels toward him on her stool. She has piercings everywhere: eyebrows, nose, lip, tongue, all over her ears, and a barbell through her sternum. “I’m sure I have, since you haven’t been here in forever, buddy. I was wondering what the hell happened to you.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve been going through some stuff, you know how it is.”

She pulls her long black hair up into a bun on top of her head then grabs a stack of drawings off a table as she says, “My aunt told me you ate a dude in her store.”

Venom vibrates through Eddie’s entire body.

“You know no matter how many times you tell me, I’m never gonna remember you’re Mrs. Chen’s niece.”

Marie holds out three drawings for Eddie to pick.

“Ah fuck, they’re gorgeous, Marie,” he says as he leans forward to get a better look. He points to the one in the middle, a partial skeleton of a rib cage and pelvis held together by nuts and bolts. “Let’s put that one on my left side.”

“You got it, bud.”

As Marie prepares everything, she says casually, “So you gonna tell me about the dude you ate, or?”

“Oh right, um, I have a parasite.”

Venom constricts inside Eddie, making the muscles in his arms and legs jump.

“It’s, like, an alien,” Eddie continues lamely.

Marie’s face doesn’t change. “Take your shirt off. So, can I see it? The alien? My aunt said it’s gnarly.”

Eddie pulls at the hem of his shirt and asks, “Do I have to take it all the way off?”

“Aww, poor little Eddie doesn’t wanna expose his cute body when his ex is right over there.”

I like her. I’m going to say hi to her.

“No, Vee, wait—”

It always feels like Eddie’s face is being sucked into a vacuum when Venom takes it over.

Hi, Marie. Eddie and I are Venom.

Marie blinks. “OK, so. I think I understand why you ate a guy.”

Venom sticks its tongue out then relinquishes control back to Eddie.

“Goddamn it, I hate when he does that shit,” Eddie says with a nervous laugh, looking around the shop to make sure nobody noticed anything.

“You, like, straight up have an alien inside you, bud,” Marie says. “But for real, take your shirt off.”

Eddie complies, then turns over to his side so Marie can get started. She presses her gloved fingers against his skin and asks exactly where he wants it, how big he wants it, then she cleans the area.

Venom stirs inside him, concentrating much of its mass in Eddie’s rib cage, where Marie is touching. What is she going to do to us?

“You’ll see, buddy, just be patient,” Eddie replies.

“Who you talking to, Eddie? Your alien?”

“Yeah, he talks to me. Constantly.”

Marie stands. “Ooh, sounds like that’s annoying. I’ll be right back.”

You think I am annoying.

“Yeah, we’ve established that already.” Eddie flips over to his back and crosses his arms over his bare chest. He has no qualms about his body, usually, but he does not like feeling exposed around an ex.

I don’t think you are annoying. I still think you’re a loser, but I like you.

“Can you just—can we put a lid on this until we get home, please?”

Venom’s tendrils bury deeper inside Eddie before going still, which Eddie interprets as Venom doing its best to leave him alone.

Marie returns a moment later with a stencil, and Eddie turns back to his side without having to be asked. With the stencil in place, Marie leads Eddie over to the full-length mirror.

As Eddie looks at himself to make sure he likes the placement, he spots Sol in the mirror, managing equipment at his own workstation across the room and stealing a glance at Eddie. Eddie flushes, but not with embarrassment. More like pride.

We can eat him if you’d like.

“No, Vee, we really can’t.”

He is looking at us. Do you think he still wants to be with you, Eddie?

“Why are you so nosy? Seriously?” To Marie, he says, “Looks perfect. Sorry I’m talking to myself.”

“What’s he talking to you about?” Marie asks as they walk back to her workstation.

“Sol.”

“Oh, that’s awkward.” Marie sits on her stool and puts on new gloves. “If he’s in there with you all the time, how the hell are you supposed to have any privacy?”

“I don’t.”

Eddie, what is that? Why does she have needles?

“Calm down, buddy,” Eddie placates even as he feels Venom’s tendrils pull as taut as strings of a guitar inside his body. “This is what getting a tattoo is like, and we trust her.”

Marie laughs.

She is going to hurt you.

“It’s OK.” Eddie’s entire body is rigid. “Can you please—loosen up a bit, Vee.”

It takes a moment for Eddie’s muscles to relax.

At the sound of the tattoo machine, Venom stirs but does not constrict again.

“You ready?” Marie asks sweetly, machine poised over Eddie’s rib cage.

“Yep.”

At the press of the needle, Venom turns to liquid inside Eddie, concentrating into a single point and numbing his side completely.

“Hey, hey, hey, no,” Eddie says.

Marie immediately stops. “What, what’s wrong?”

“Sorry, not you. Hold on a second.” Eddie flips to his back and looks down at himself. “The pain is OK. Don’t try to heal me.”

But it hurts you. She’s hurting you.

“I know that, but sometimes pain is...good. Just—hang out until she’s done.”

Marie doesn’t say anything, just waits for Eddie to give her the go ahead. She looks a little apprehensive as she presses the needle back to his skin.

After a few minutes, probably less than five, Venom swirls watery soft around Eddie’s ribs again, soothing the burned skin.

“Goddamn it, you’re doing it again.”

Marie stops. “Thank god I know about the alien, or else this would be a very strange experience for me.”

I don’t like feeling your body get hurt. I like your body.

Eddie sits up, groans, scrubs a hand down his face. “Venom. I am fine. Look at my body. This is how I got all the rest of the tattoos you love so much, by going through this pain. It’s not permanent, and it’s not even that bad. Please stop trying to fix it.”

Venom is quiet for a moment before saying, But why would you want to be in pain when I can fix it for you?

“I like this pain. I want to feel it. I’ll tell you what, if it gets to be too much, I’ll let you fix it. Deal?”

Fine.

Eddie lies back down on his side.

“My god, Eddie, what the shit?” Marie asks.

“He should be OK now, you can go ahead,” Eddie replies.

Marie clears her throat and tentatively presses the needle against Eddie’s skin. The pain is a single small point, constantly moving, burning, tickling, unlike any other type of pain imaginable. Eddie relaxes into it.

“So, the alien likes your tattoos, huh?” Marie asks after a few minutes of silence.

“Yeah. He likes pretty much everything about me.”

“Well, that sounds totally healthy and normal.”

Venom moves the bulk of itself into Eddie’s shoulders and neck and settles there. I can feel that you enjoy this pain. I think I understand.

“Anne said he and I are in a relationship,” Eddie says quietly.

“Gross, dude. He’s an alien living inside you, you can’t be in a relationship.”

“I mean, I get what you’re saying, but it’s not like I can be in a relationship with anybody else either. Kind of hard to be intimate with another human being when an alien is always talking inside my head and moving around inside my body.”

You don’t want to be in a relationship with anybody but Anne, though, and Anne understands us.

“Huh,” Marie says. “That kind of sucks, buddy.”

I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to tell you this today.

“Hmm?”

We should talk to Anne.

“He’s talking to you now, isn’t he? You’re not listening to anything I’m saying.” Marie stops the machine and wipes the wound. “What about sex? Like, if you tried to have sex with someone, would he pop out your face and get in on the action?”

That might be fun. We could try that.

Eddie’s heart drops to his stomach. “Um, let’s not—can we not talk about that right now.”

“Oh my god, are you talking to me or to him? What did he say?” Marie asks.

“Nothing.” Eddie laughs nervously. “And I’m not discussing sex with you, Marie, you’re, like, 20 years younger than me.”

“You dork, it’s not like you’re my dad.”

Does sex make you uncomfortable, Eddie?

Eddie buries his face in the crook of his elbow. His body wants to squirm, to escape this situation, but he has to remain perfectly still on his side.

Venom doesn’t say anything else to him, but it spreads itself evenly across Eddie’s body and holds him in place, immediately turning Eddie’s embarrassment into a quiet calm.

The tattoo takes another two hours for Marie to finish. It’s not very big, just about the same size as the Buddha up and to the right of it, but it is intricate and beautiful in a way that makes Eddie stare at it in the mirror for a solid minute and a half before Marie asks if he likes it or not.

“It’s gorgeous, Marie, thank you,” he says softly.

Marie pulls out her phone and presses a hand to Eddie’s side to make him turn toward her so she can snap a picture. Venom moves swiftly against the touch, pressing through Eddie’s muscle tissue and pushing out through the surface of his skin exactly where Marie’s hand is.

“Oh geez, what’s that?” Marie asks as she snatches her hand back.

“I don’t know, he’s never done that before. Vee, what’s the deal?” Eddie touches the spot where Venom still lingers.

Just testing something out.

“OK,” Eddie says, annoyed. “You’ve got to communicate with me, buddy, you can’t just randomly touch people.”

Venom rumbles through Eddie’s entire body in a long-suffering sigh.

“Why does he want to touch me anyway?” Marie asks.

She’s been touching us for hours, I was curious.

“He was, uh, curious,” Eddie repeats.

“About what?”

Venom rumbles again.

“I don’t know! I don’t know, Marie, he’s an alien.” Eddie glances around the shop and catches Sol’s eye before Sol quickly looks away. “Can we just—how much do I owe you?”

Marie doesn’t ask any other questions about Venom even though Eddie can tell she wants to, and she doesn’t say anything when he leaves her a much bigger tip than usual, but she does roll her eyes as she takes the cash. Eddie heads quickly out of the shop and is standing by his bike about to strap his helmet on when a familiar voice calls his name.

“Oh, hey, Sol,” Eddie says sheepishly, moving his helmet to his right hip and avoiding eye contact as Solomon walks up to him.

Stand up straight, Eddie. You look weak.

“Seems like Marie was giving you a hard time,” Sol replies, his voice deep and smooth. “You doing OK, Ed?”

Eddie scratches the back of his head. Stop fidgeting. “Yeah, I’m alright. You?”

“Your phone number the same?”

Stop moving.

“What?”

Sol tilts his chin down, making himself slightly more eye-level with Eddie. “I still have your number, if it’s the same. I’d like to use it.”

Eddie involuntarily laughs like an idiot. “OK, um, yeah, it’s the same. But, uh—”

“Good. See you later, Ed,” Sol says as he walks back into the shop.

Why did you let him talk over you? Why didn’t you stand up taller?

Eddie feels heat creeping up his neck, into his ears, as he recalls his and Sol’s relationship: there was rope sometimes, and Sol teasing Eddie about being a brat, and Sol always being the one in control even when they were out in public together, and Eddie enjoyed every bit of it.

Although Eddie is pretty sure Venom can see his memories when they flare so vividly, he still says out loud, “I didn’t wanna stand up taller. Not with him.”

You are a loser.

“Nah, this is different,” Eddie replies as he gets on his bike. “Sometimes it’s a choice to let someone else have, uh, control. Willingly giving up your own control, you know, that kind of thing.”

Like willingly feeling pain when getting a tattoo.

“Yeah, actually, kind of,” Eddie shouts over the roar of his bike as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto a main road.

Or willingly letting me take over your body.

Eddie grips the handlebars tighter and doesn’t respond.

He stops by Mrs. Chen’s before going home, letting Venom pick out whatever it wants (two bags of frozen tater tots, a gallon of chocolate milk, three different kinds of chocolate candy and a family-sized bag of salt and vinegar chips) and enjoying Mrs. Chen’s reaction when Eddie shows her his new tattoo.

“My niece is very talented, but I still think most of your tattoos are silly.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Chen.”

Back at their apartment, Eddie sits on the couch and reads the news on his phone while Venom eats all the food with its head and two arms protruding out of Eddie’s right side. Venom shares the chips and one of the candy bars with Eddie.

Eddie.

“Yeah, buddy.”

Your side hurts.

“Well, yeah, it’s gonna hurt for a while. Tattoos are like burns.”

Venom recedes back into Eddie’s body and slithers to his left side, swirling several small tendrils around the new tattoo. Is it still the good pain?

Eddie thinks about it for a moment before answering, “No, actually, it sucks.”

Venom soothes the pain immediately. Eddie closes his eyes and drops his head back against the couch; he didn’t realize just how much his side had been hurting. He reaches his hand down to cup his rib cage, and Venom responds by pulling tendrils out of his skin and lacing them with Eddie’s fingers, directly over the new tattoo.

“What are you doing, buddy?” Eddie asks even as he squeezes Venom’s inhuman fingers.

Marie called you ‘buddy,’ and now you’re calling me ‘buddy.’ It’s annoying.

“Oh good, something annoys you. Now I’m not the only one in this relationship that’s annoyed.”

Relationship.

Eddie clears his throat but still keeps his fingers tightly wound with Venom’s. “You know what I mean.”

Internally, Venom pulses near Eddie’s rib cage like a deep pressure concentrated against his bones. I think I can recreate the pain of getting a tattoo.

“What?”

You like the pain of the needle marking your skin. I can imitate it.

Eddie feels tense, his body rigid. “But—but why?”

Why not?

Eddie blinks. He can’t come up with a reason why not. He lets his fingers slip out of Venom’s grasp as Venom narrows one of its tendrils into an impossibly small point and presses Eddie’s side, gently at first and then speeding up as Eddie relaxes against the couch cushions.

“What the fuck, Vee, that’s so weird,” Eddie says on an exhale.

You enjoy it.

“Yeah. It’s weird as shit, but yeah, I do.”

Maybe we would be less annoyed with each other if we did more things that we enjoyed.

“Hey, I basically let you do whatever you want.”

Venom stops poking him. I’d like to eat more people.

“Oh yeah? Well, I’d like to have some privacy every now and then.”

Privacy? What do you need privacy for?

“I don’t know, like maybe if I had someone over and wanted them to spend the night.”

Venom moves up Eddie’s chest and wraps the bulk of itself around Eddie’s shoulders. You want to have sex.

Eddie runs a hand down his face then settles both his hands on his knees. “Yeah, well, a man has needs, and my needs aren’t exactly being met right now, so.”

Venom creeps up Eddie’s neck. I can help meet your needs, Eddie.

“I don’t know if—I’m not sure that’s a good—you know, I just—”

You want this. We can do whatever we want, Eddie. What’s stopping you?

“Well, um, for starters, you’re an alien. I don’t even know how we would…”

Venom materializes in front of Eddie, massive and solid, deeply black and muscled with a nearly fully-formed body connected to Eddie directly at his hips. It places one hand on Eddie’s side, near the tattoo, and its other on his shoulder. This body is close to what you humans look and feel like.

“No, um, not really, Vee.” Eddie puts his hands on the couch, not daring to touch Venom even though it is taking up so much space in Eddie’s lap that it feels against instinct not to put his hands near where its hips would be if it had them. “Do you even know or, like, understand what sex is? Is it something that you want?”

Venom grins and then sticks its tongue out, moving it slowly from one side of its mouth to the other. Yes. And yes.

“What? For real?”

Definitely for real.

Eddie sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and looks up and down Venom’s body, considering. “When you kissed me in the woods—”

Yes, I wanted to. Venom moves its head forward, its sharp teeth an inch from Eddie’s face. I want to now.

Heart hammering in his chest, Eddie relents and puts his hands on Venom’s sides. They almost feel like hips, but Venom’s body is more like liquid and string than muscle and bone. Eddie digs his fingers in. He tilts his chin up tentatively, presses his nose against Venom’s face before pulling back, looking at the alien curiously, then he turns his head to the side and slots his mouth against Venom’s.

Eddie tries to move his lips like a normal kiss, but Venom’s tongue fills his entire mouth, and it somehow suctions Eddie’s mouth against its own, and it’s too much, not enough, and Eddie’s arousal stirs in him so quickly that he would laugh if he could. The most he can do is make strained noises in the back of his throat.

After a minute or so, Eddie loses all sense of control and begins bucking his hips up, but there is nothing for him to buck against since their bodies are too intertwined in his lap. So he scrambles for one of Venom’s hands while simultaneously undoing his fly, and Venom gets the gist and wraps its weird malleable fingers around Eddie’s cock without breaking their kiss.

Venom’s hand morphs around Eddie’s cock, stretching and folding and weaving threads together until it feels like Eddie is actually fucking into a hole—not quite human, so not possible to define as any type of genitalia—and while Eddie thrusts his hips up, Venom constricts and relaxes around his cock in a steady rhythm all while continuing to fuck its tongue down Eddie’s throat. Then, impossibly, tendrils are everywhere, snaking around Eddie’s balls, caressing his skin, kissing his nipples, pushing into his ass—Eddie comes early.

Venom unwinds itself from around Eddie’s cock and releases his mouth. Eddie takes a deep breath, choking a bit as he realizes just how far down his throat Venom’s tongue was. Venom rumbles a laugh, licks Eddie’s face, then noses at his jaw as it fuses its mass against Eddie’s skin like a moving blanket. There is a feminine quality to Venom’s movements, which Eddie struggles to rationalize with his skewed view of the alien as a hulking beast that rips and bites people’s heads off. He decides it’s time to stop assigning gender-specific qualities to his alien.

I liked that.

Eddie tangles his hand in the tendrils of Venom’s neck. “Yeah, me too. Fuck.”

Is this the part where you freak out?

“Uh yeah, I guess I should. Fuck. That just, um, it felt really fucking good. Really good.” Eddie tries to bring Venom’s face toward him for another kiss, but Venom resists.

So if you’re not going to freak out, then we should talk.

“What? Why?”

That’s what we are supposed to do. Our relationship has been nebulous and undefined, and it has made you irritable and difficult to live with.

“Hey, you never said I was difficult to live with,” Eddie replies, feeling irrationally hurt.

I’m saying it now.

“OK. Fine.” Eddie tries to remember when he had to have this exact same conversation with Anne two weeks after he moved in with her. He thinks she may have approached him in a similar way, after sex, curled up close to him and soothing him with her touch. “It’s difficult for me to adjust to having you inside me, not because I don’t—it’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just that it’s, uh, different. You’re a fucking alien. There’s no human experience that could’ve prepared me for…” He points between their connected bodies. “This.”

I was not prepared either, Eddie.

“What do you mean?”

Venom kisses him. I did not expect to like you this much.

Eddie automatically smiles, then tries to downplay it by rolling his eyes. “OK. So. A relationship then? Do you even know what that entails?”

I hope it entails a lot more sex.

Eddie laughs. “Yeah. But it’s also, I don’t know, taking care of each other and—”

We already take care of each other.

“—And communicating our feelings, and spending time together.”

We spend all of our time together.

“Yeah. Um. I’m not sure you’re really understanding what I’m saying, and I’m pretty bad at this, too, so it’s probably gonna be different than, like, my relationship with Anne.”

Venom grins wide, showing every one of its teeth. Good. She can help us.

[read the rest on ao3]

#venom #symbrock #eddie brock x venom #venom fanfic #literally how do i tag stuff lm ao #whatever man if you see it you see it if you don't you don't!#my fics #sciapod #tattooed fic

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