#it should be easier to fall asleep at night and harder to go back to sleep in the morning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonstruckme · 3 months ago

Note

hello <333

could you please write something about Remus x fem!reader who walks in on him crying one day? I feel like being a werewolf must take some pretty hard emotional toll on him (and just having to be Remus seems hard in general) and maybe he doesn’t want to show how scared he is, but the reader comforts him anyway 💗

thank you 🙏

Thank you for requesting sweetheart <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 889 words

Remus is quiet about it. You think he must think you’re asleep. You wouldn’t know he was awake, either, if not for the change in his breathing, too controlled and then too fast. A subtle sniffle seals the deal.

You reach for him. He’s facing away from you, but he must hear the whisper of your arm against the sheets, his body going still. You hesitate with your hand a few inches from his shoulder.

“Are you hurting?” you ask.

Another sniffle. “No.” Remus’ voice is croaky. You go the rest of the distance, cupping your hand over his shoulder and moving closer to curl your other arm around his middle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” You kiss his back through the cotton of his t-shirt. It’s riddled with moth holes, a well-loved artifact from his school days. “What’s the matter, lovely?”

“Nothing. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmur. “What is it? Is it…are you nervous?”

Nervous may not be the right word, but you’re hesitant to assign larger ones to the thing your boyfriend takes such pains not to discuss. There’s a full moon tomorrow night. Remus has dealt with full moons every month since he was four. Doesn’t make them any easier.

“Sweetheart…” He sounds tired. He covers your hand on his stomach with his, thumb sweeping back and forth affectionately. “It’s alright.”

You shake your head, nose pressing to his warm skin as your hold tightens on him. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I’m happy to listen. And I don’t think it’s alright.”

Remus’ shoulders bounce once, weakly. When he speaks, his voice has something in it, something that’s not quite a smile but trying to be. “You don’t think so?”

“No. And I certainly wouldn’t if I were in your shoes. It seems…it must be so scary.”

“I’ve been doing it a long time, love.”

“So?”

There’s a pause, and then Remus lets out a breath.

“Yeah,” he capitulates.

You draw your hand gently down his shoulder blade. To his ribs and back up again.

“Sometimes it’s hard to sleep the night before,” he says quietly, the way people talk to God in the dark of their bedrooms at night. “I have more energy than usual, but also it…it makes it harder knowing that in less than twenty-four hours I won’t just be able to get in bed and go to sleep like I can now.”

You kiss his shoulder next to your hand.

“I know I ought to be taking advantage, but it’s like knowing the meal you’re about to have is your last one for a while. You want to try and savor it, but you just can’t savor it enough. It almost feels pointless trying.”

“You’ll sleep again soon,” you promise him. “You don’t have to savor it, lovely, you just have to do what makes you happy for right now. So what do you want tonight? Do you want to try to sleep, or should we just stay up?”

Remus makes a half-amused exhaling sound. “Are you trying to use reverse psychology on me?”

“No.”

“That’s exactly what they tell insomniacs; to try staying up so they fall asleep.”

“Well, if you want to fall asleep, maybe that’ll work.” You turn your head so that your cheek rests against his shoulder. Remus’ hair is long enough that the tip of a strand tickles the end of your nose. “But we could also just stay up and actually stay up.”

“I’m not making you stay awake all night for me.”

“Remus…” There’s a plea in your voice. Remus knows your tones better than anyone; he obliges you, rolling over.

Your arm uncoils from his waist in the process, and you lift both hands to his cheeks. Tears make his skin slippery, your thumbs skipping over the deep and shallow grooves of various scars. Evidence of your twenty-something boyfriend’s life sentence.

“Don’t be silly,” you tell him, hearing the transparent adoration in your own voice. “I’d love to be awake with you.”

Remus’ eyes are shiny dark in the moonlight. “Really?”

You hum. Your eyelids are heavy, yes, but this is a man who went to four different corner stores to find the flavor of ice cream you requested on your period; when you only first started dating, you called Remus in the middle of the night because your car had broken down, and he drove forty minutes to come get you; he once spent an entire afternoon on the phone with your mother learning how to make your favorite dish just because you said you missed it.

“I’ll make tea,” you say, “and there should still be some chocolate in the cupboard, yeah? I’ll go out to replenish our supply in the morning.”

“God,” Remus sighs, putting his forehead to yours. “I really love you. I’m sorry about all this.”

You make a soft, disapproving sound. “About what, honey? You can’t help it.”

“Well, I only hope I haven’t won your pity through tears.”

“Oh, come off it.” You press your lips to his, smiling. Remus hugs you closer, and you roll into his lap, using your leverage to sit the both of you up. “Are you going to put the kettle on, or am I?”

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yourdeepestfathoms · 12 days ago

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The Disaster Expedition and How They Sleep

Gustave

Usually sleeps on his back or side.

If Maelle had a nightmare, he’d let her curl up next to him without a word. Just wordlessly open his arm and rub her back until she drifted off again.

Sometimes falls asleep with his arm still attached (which Lune will usually remove for him).

Always says “Goodnight, team,” even if they’re all passed out already.

Sleeps close to Maelle but never smothers her. If she wants to get closer, she can.

Snores but not obnoxiously. Maelle finds it comforting.

Always ends up cold because he gives everyone else his blankets if they want them. He never complains.

Usually falls asleep first. If he’s not actively being spoken to, he’s gone in five minutes flat. Quiet, warm, dad-asleep.

Classic “dad-who-slept-on-the-couch” energy when he wakes up.

Lune

Sleeps on her back most nights. (“Aren’t you afraid of sleep paralysis??” “No??? Should I be??”)

Usually doesn’t move at all. You’d think she was a corpse.

VERY light sleeper.

Sleeps with her bra on.

Probably has a dream journal lmao

If she has bad dreams, she doesn't mention them. She just gets up and works harder that day.

Pretends her mind quiets at night. It doesn’t. She lies awake more often than she admits, thinking about probabilities and consequences and people she wants to save.

One of the last to fall asleep. If people are still chatting, she can’t go to bed because she’ll get FOMO.

Usually the first to wake up.

Does morning stretches.

Elegant morning ghoul. Moves slow, gracefully.

Nobody is allowed to talk to her until thirty minutes after she wakes up.

Startlingly petty in the morning.

Sciel

SPRAWLS. EVERYWHERE.

Sleeps with her bra off. She does not care. (“What if we’re attacked??” “They’re a distraction.” “FOR THE NEVRONS??”)

SO warm.

Loves snuggling, so she doesn’t mind if someone else (usually Maelle) lays close to her.

Rests easier with people nearby. If they’re separated, she lays awake worrying. The first few nights at the Gestral village, before reuniting with the others, was rough because of this.

After Gustave died, she’s usually the one Maelle goes to sleep with when she’s scared or has had a nightmare.

Talks in her sleep. It’s usually just incomprehensible mumbles.

The ultimate blanket thief. And then kicks them all off because she’s hot.

Once got up to pee, tripped and fell over Monoco, face-planted, and just fell asleep like that.

After long battles, she always sleeps closest to Maelle. Just in case the girl wakes up in a panic. She won’t say it aloud, but she likes being the first one Maelle sees.

Always groggy in the morning.

Maelle

Curls up into a little ball. She can make herself VERY small.

On rare nights when she feels safe and unguarded, she starfishes.

Has frequent nightmares, but she’s (mostly) able to not wake up screaming anymore so she won’t disturb the others.

Sleepwalks. Once woke up in the middle of a river. All she can remember of the dream she was having was being in a burning room, then the fire going out suddenly…

Will instinctively cling in her sleep. Like a little sloth.

Snores softly, but only when she’s really tired. It’s more like a warm, whuffling noise. Like a snuffly piglet.

Clings to the blanket with surprising strength. If she’s shivering, good luck getting it back.

Before the funeral, she slept with Gustave’s arm held against her chest like a stuffed animal. It was a gut-wrenching sight for the others.

Cries in her sleep sometimes.

Also cries herself to sleep sometimes.

Wakes up with HORRIFIC bedhead.

Very quiet in the mornings, even more than usual. Stays bundled up until she’s mentally booted up for the day.

Verso

Sleeps on his side but will also sleep propped up against a tree.

Usually the last to fall asleep.

If someone touches him in his sleep, he’ll wake up swinging—hard. The only exception is Maelle. She can nudge him, and he’ll just blink blearily and grunt.

Snores when he’s REALLY tired. And it is LOUD.

Sleep-frowns.

NOT a morning person AT ALL.

Don’t touch him. Don’t look at him. Maelle is the only one allowed to poke him awake without consequences. Monoco is usually the one who will wake him up.

Monoco

Curls up when he sleeps. Or lays on his back.

Usually sleeps away from the others. Because he once rolled onto Lune and almost crushed her.

Snores like an old dog.

Noco would sleep buried in his mane. After Noco dies, Monoco either cradles his jar or sleeps curled around it protectively.

Doesn’t really dream.

Maelle once bumped into him while sleepwalking, and he just shuffled her back toward her bed like a sheepdog.

If anyone tries to wake him early, he grumbles like a bear.

Shifts very slowly in his sleep. Rolls over like a log. If you hear creaking, it’s him.

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colonelkaboom · 2 months ago

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Does He Know You Call Me When He Sleeps?

Caleb has a lot going on at work, so you've decided to spend some time with him in Skyhaven in hopes of making his days a bit easier to manage. Although you love getting to spend so much time with your best friend, there is another man occupying your mind. And Caleb can't know...

✦ Zayne x Reader x Caleb ✦ Word count: 1.6k

After an exhausting day at work, Caleb came home late seeking your comfort. Seeing his pained expression you pulled him in for a tight hug knowing it would bring him relief. He melted in your arms and muttered a string of thank yous into your hair whilst holding onto your body like it was the only thing keeping him from falling into the abyss.

You started to slowly aid him out of his Colonel uniform. Beginning with his hat before slowly prying him off your body to begin work on the buttons of his jacket. It was getting very late and you questioned if he had eaten. He claimed to have had dinner at work, but was unsure how many hours ago. There was no point in pushing it further as the obvious lack of energy was becoming clearer and clearer. He needed to sleep.

Using all your strength you hauled his large frame onto his bed. His long legs heavily hanging off the side. Still covered by a white t-shirt and trousers you kneeled down and began unlacing his combat boots. You glanced up at him only to find him drifting off to sleep. After gently pulling his boots off you winced at the stench that emerged as you revealed his socks.

“Ugh, Caleb, I’m not touching those.” With his eyes still closed he let out an amused chuckle at your honesty.

“I got it, Pips.” He slowly sat up and his groggy eyes met yours. He had that cute, teasing smile lingering on his lips. The same smile you grew up with. He tugged his trousers off before his back met the soft bed once again. He seemed to be falling asleep instantly. His breathing slowly steadied with deep and controlled puffs. Caleb was always warm, but the sight of his bare legs gave you chills. You draped a blanket over his lower half before turning to leave the room.

“Will you stay with me?” Caleb pleaded. His eyes were barely open but he managed to stretch an arm out in your direction. You smiled and returned to his side, of course you would. You gracefully climbed over his body and nuzzled into his back wrapping and arm over his waist. You had cuddled like this many times before. After a long day there were few things that brought you more comfort than his calming touch. He would never admit it, probably scared it would show too much vulnerability, but he loved being the little spoon when he had rough days. Letting all his guards down to properly relax, because you had his back, literally.

It didn’t take long before he was fully asleep, resting peacefully in your embrace. But there was something you had to do, something that had been on your mind all evening. Someone.

You carefully wiggled out of the bed, making sure not to disturb Caleb, before quietly leaving the room. You peak through the door one last time, making sure your best friend is still fast asleep. His arms are splayed out on the pillows and jaw hanging open. He’d surely start snoring soon. You smile at the beautifully familiar sight before closing the door with a soft click.

Safely in the living room you pick Caleb's jacket off the floor before folding it neatly and placing it on the bench by the entrance. His hat securely resting on top of the folded fabric. The clock on the wall tells you it’s almost 2am. He should be home now.

“Hello?” A calming voice emerges from the other end.

“Hi Zayne.” You smile, thankful he could answer your call. You’d been spending so much time with Caleb in Skyhaven that you’d barely seen Zayne lately. Finding a time where you were both available was hard enough, but having to also make sure Caleb was busy at the same time made it even harder. Late night calls when Caleb was sleeping was the best you could do.

“It’s good to finally hear your voice.” The deep sigh seemed to let out tension that he had held in for too long.

“I miss you, Zayne. I wish I could see you.”

“When will you return to Linkon City? Surely the Hunters Association misses your skills and abilities?”

“I’ve been getting small missions in Skyhaven, Captain Jenna has been very kind allowing me to spend so much time here since Caleb returned. So there is no need to worry, the Hunters Association is still benefiting from my skills and abilities.”

“Oh, I see. I guess I’m the only one missing out then.” You can’t see him, but you can perfectly picture that almost invisible smirk of his.

“Zayne…” You smile, feeling your cheeks starting to burn.

“What I’m trying to say is, I miss you too.”

“How was your day? Any exciting heart surgeries?”

“Yes, a few actually. Although, I find it quite hard to perform my work to the quality I wish when half of my own heart is so far away.”

“Dr. Zayne, if you keep talking like that I’m going to have to find an emergency cardiac surgeon here in Skyhaven.”

“Don’t you dare, silly girl. You know I’m the best in the field, no one else gets to handle that delicate heart of yours.”

You keep talking about everything and nothing for the next hour. Only when you hear him yawn for the third time in five minutes do you feel the need to put your foot down.

“Ok, Zayne, time for bed. I won’t be able to live with myself if I make you late for work in the morning.”

“Have you told him yet?” He suddenly asks.

“What?” You question innocently, but you know what he means.

“Does he know you call me when he sleeps?” Your silence gives him the answer.

“He cares for you in a way I’ve never seen before. Even when we were kids, it seemed like every choice he made was based on what would make you happy and safe. He and I might have lost touch over the years, but I do not like this continuous sneaking behind his back.” There was a short pause before Zayne continued.

“I think it is blatantly obvious to everyone, except you, that his feelings go beyond that of a childhood friend or adopted sibling. I trust you and your judgement, but keeping him in the dark for much longer is not fair to him.” You knew he was right, Zayne was always right.

“I don’t know how to tell him. I fear it might break him, and he is already so fragile. Some days I feel like I’m the only thing keeping him together.”

“I’m not saying you have to tell him today or tomorrow, but you know this can not continue indefinitely. I will remind you of my offer to be there with you when you tell him. Perhaps it could offer him some comfort hearing how serious I am about our relationship.”

“No, that would not be a good idea. He has too many guns at his disposal.” You chuckle, but a part of you fears you might not be joking.

“Alright, we can discuss this further at a later date. If you won’t allow me in the room with you, at least let me help with any necessary preparations. I want to be there for you.” You smile again, feeling like you finally found someone who views you as an equal. Someone you can stand next to rather than be hidden behind.

“Good night, Zayne.”

“Good night, my love.” You savour the last words before reluctantly hanging up.

“Who are you talking to, Pips?” Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest at the sound of Caleb’s stern voice behind you.

Unsure of how much he heard you remain silent.

“It sounded like it must have been someone important.” He slowly walks closer with his arms crossed. The tone of his voice was one you rarely heard directed toward you. It scared you a bit. It was the voice of the Colonel. However, once he got closer, it was clear that the emotion in his purple eyes did not match the facade his voice was trying to build. He looked hurt. Scared. Desperate.

“You were gone for a very long time Caleb. He took care of me when you couldn’t.”

“So this is my fault?” He questions, the tough facade starting to show cracks.

“No, it’s no one's fault. This is a good thing. He makes me happy.”

“He makes you so happy that you lie to sneak in late night phone calls? The Pip-squeak I know doesn’t hide her happiness like that.”

“We didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Tell me now then, who’s been keeping you oh so happy. Do I know who he is?”

“You didn’t hear that part of my conversation?”

“If I did, why would I ask?” It looked like he was bracing for impact.

“Zayne.” You say quietly as you prepare yourself to pick up the pieces of Caleb that are threatening to explode.

He remains silent, but turns his face away from you, attempting to hide. But you saw. His eyes were glossy and the lump in his throat seemed too big for him to swallow as his Adam's apple bobbed a few times.

The man who had never allowed himself to show any sign of weakness in order to remain your most secure haven, was falling apart.

You broke him.

Read more ll Masterlist ll Colonel Kaboom 𓂃🖊

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace caleb #lads fluff #lads fanfic #lads caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #love and deepspace zayne #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #zayne lads #love and deepspace angst #lads angst

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cxrsed-angel · 5 months ago

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epistolae|marcus x fem!reader

summary: After two months of not hearing back from your husband while he's fighting a war, you worry about him and fear that he he may not be coming back to you alive, you re-read his previous letters as an attempt to calm your anxieties.

w.c: 3k

warning: angst, allusion to oral (f!receiving), brief mentions of pregnancy/postpartum, badly translated latin forgive me I stayed up so late using 4 different translators lol

a/n: this is my first time writing for acacius/ non Joel fic and this is also for @jolapeno's dear-uary challenge, my prompt was: A times capsule of letters written at different stages of life, predicting or confronting the future. I hope I did it justice and it makes sense also I made canva letter graphics for fun but I know they're difficult to read the letters are also included in the fic like normally I just wanted to something different and fun. <3

It’s going on two months since you last received a letter from your husband. Weeks of trying your best not to think of the worst, but it gets harder as each day without a letter passes. He usually responds to your letters sooner. It had been almost a month since he'd been away fighting for more land yet again. You wrote to him a few days ago but still haven’t heard anything back, which worries you. For the two years you had been husband and wife, he wrote back consistently, never going more than a few days without a response. The longest it had been was three weeks at most, but now it's going on to next month, and still nothing. Two months have passed since he had left you, and your concern grows that he is injured…or worse. That this may be the time that he does not come back home to you.

You remember the first time he had to leave after you married. It was only a week after the emperors sent him away to fight and conquer more land for them. You leave your bed and go to the desk in your room, where you write your letters to your husband and store the ones he writes to you. You open the drawer, flipping through them to find the first one he sent. At the bottom of the stack, you open the envelope, re-reading it like you've done what seems like hundreds of times. You hold the paper, reading it yet again.

“My carissima uxor, my carissima amor,

I know this will be our first time being separated from each other since we’ve married. I know it must be harder for you. I am used to being away, but I can only imagine how empty our room and our bed must feel for you. But I do not want you to be alone, isolated in my leave, missing me. You should perhaps read new books, maybe garden, or speak with the other ladies. It will be more bearable if you occupy your time by keeping busy. I know it is hard. I will not say that it gets easier, for it does not, but it can be tolerable. I miss you terribly, but I will return home to you shortly. I love you.”

~ M

You hold the letter, remembering how alone you had felt those first few days he had left. You were not from Rome and did not have any family here, and you only spoke to Marcus primarily after your wedding, so when he left, you had no one to talk to. The first day, you did wallow away in bed, isolating yourself. The emperor's palace you resided in felt massive and empty without Acacius walking the halls with you and helping you around. But once you received his letter and took his suggestion, it did help. You started drawing, attending different activities and plays to distract yourself, and it did help some. But you still missed him deeply, especially at night. You miss laying in his arms, feeling his hands caressing you, rubbing your back as you fall asleep. You miss the rare times you would wake up before him and could admire his sleeping form, admire how gorgeous and peaceful he looked while he rested, but he was right that it eventually became more bearable.

You flip through the other letters you had received from him, reminiscing, thinking about him. You open another and see the date. It was a little after a year since you've married Acacius. At this point you had gotten more comfortable with your husband being away. You still missed him greatly but had found ways to make it more manageable, and receiving his letter such as this one helped you feel connected and close to him while he was miles away. You remember he had sent the letter was when he had been sent to speak to the general of Galli to prevent sending his men to another war, but he hated it when he was forced to play politician. He sent you countless letters during the duration of this trip. It felt nice to get them more often. It was a little after a year since you've married Acacius. At this point you had gotten more comfortable with your husband being away. You still missed him greatly but had found ways to make it more manageable, and receiving his letter such as this one helped you feel connected and close to him while he was miles away. It eased your mind knowing that he may be miserable, but he was safe and had the luxuries of a bed and a bath provided to him by his accommodations. You pick one envelope from the pile opening it to read.

“Carissima,

I am most miserable here, my accommodations are pleasant but it is not our bed or our room, it lacks your presence. I miss sleeping next to you, having breakfast with you, and seeing your new drawings or paintings of the courtyard. I am forced to play with politics, which is not my strong suit. I have attended meetings during the day, parties at night, and talked with numerous people. I am tired deliciae. But if it prevents another senseless war, then it is worth it. I enjoyed your letters, and reading about your days, and the small drawing of our garden you sent of me was beautiful, a pleasant reminder of home. Your drawing is improving much. I wish you were here with me, little dove, you'd make it much more manageable, fun even. I leave for Rome the day after next and should be home with you soon. Te amor.”

You smile, remembering when he returned from his trip and brought you many gifts from Galli. Necklaces, bracelets, and rings, fragrances, and paintings. You've told him numerous times that he didn't need to bring back so much, but of course, he never listens. You fold the letter inside its envelope and return it to the others. It's late, nearing midnight, and you aren't tired but have nothing else to do to preoccupy yourself, so you decide to lie in bed. You close the desk drawers with the letters in it, then prepare for bed. Changing into a tinner tunic dress to sleep you.

You lay in your bed, the gold silk covering your body as you rest your head against the comfortable pillow filled with soft feathers and covered in white silk, trying to fall asleep. Instead, you toss and turn, looking at the empty side of the bed. You reach out gently, rubbing the empty linens, feeling the absence of your husband. It was, as always, the most challenging at night, lying in the room’s silence and feeling how empty and alone your bed was without him. You close your eyes, praying to the gods that he’ll return soon, healthily, and safely back to you.

The next day, you're cleaning yours and Marcus's chambers, stress cleaning if you’re being honest. You knew that you’re not supposed to clean that you were supposed to let the miad and the help do it, but you couldnt. You didnt want to go out there with the ladies of the court, you could handle their gossping or fake a smile at the insipid conversations about dress colors or who they fucked that week. Cleaning was at least a doable distraction. Scrubbing the floors provides a way of preoccupying your mind. After washing the floors, you move onto your books and Marcus’s papers around the desk. Deciding to organize your books, large piles of books surround you as you sit on the floor, legs crossed, putting the books into groups.

You’re interrupted by a knock on your door. You know it can't be your beloved returning because he would be greeted with a warm and loud welcome back to Rome, along with a party hosted by the emperors which he would have preferred to spead the evening alone with you. Because you knew it wasnt him you couldn’t bother looking up from the books when responding.

“Yes? Come in.” One of the housemaids enters your room while you organize your book selection.

“Mrs. Acacius, you have received a letter from the military.” The second you hear the word military come out of her mouth, you’re standing, stepping over the piles of books, nearly tripping over the pile of books on the floor as you rush to her looking at the letter.

“Yes, um I’ll take it. Thank you very much.” You give her a small smile as she leaves, and you close the door behind her before looking down at the envelope and seeing the familiar Roman Empire seal on it. You slowly rub it, feeling your heart beat out of your chest. You couldn’t wait to see what your husband had written without bothering with a letter opener. Excited at the though that he had finally responded to you. Eagerly you tear the paper with your finger, tossing the envelope onto the floor.

As you open it, unfolding the letter expecting to see the comforting penmanship of your love, but you don't. Instead, you’re greeted with unfamiliar penmanship, its very obviously not Marcus’ handwriting, and your heart sinks, dropping to the pit of your stomach as you grip the paper tighter. You anxiously glaze over the letter, looking at the unknown penmanship, confused. Immediately, you start thinking of what could've happened to him, where he couldn’t write to you himself. Your hand feels clamming and sweating, but you try to calm your breath as best you can, which wasn't much considering it was still rapid. After a few seconds of analyzing the handwriting, you finally read it. Seeing the top of the letter is greeted with your name instead of one of the nicknames Marcus has given you. The sight of your name feels cold, a heartless greeting, unlike the warmth you were used to when receiving Marcus's letter. You feel your stomach starting to twist, but you start reading.

“Ad uxorem Acacius,

This is Tiberius. I am writing to you because your husband wished for me to inform you of his condition. General Acacius fell ill shortly after claiming the land we sought. He has been resting and unable to write at the time. The general also endured a slight wound in battle but is healing well. We leave to return to Rome tomorrow.

General Acacius was too tired, and weak to write, told me to write, that he apologizes for the lack of letters and that he will be home shortly.

Tiberius.”

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you felt a tear drop onto the letter. You re-read it for what feels like a hundred times wishing there was more. Your hands are still shaky as you set the letter on the desk. You take a deep breath before going to your bed to sit. You try to calm your mind and reassure yourself that your worst fears haven’t come true. He was just ill and slightly wounded, but he was still coming home to you. You knew Tiberius was his second in command, and if something had gone seriously wrong, you would’ve been notified. Yet thet didnt ease your worries. You hope he hadn’t pushed himself too far to the point that he had gotten sick. Damn, those emperors and their incessant greed for land to control yet could not retrieve themselves. They can’t even manage the land they have already claimed. Unrest and turmoil fill the streets of Rome and have only worsened since you arrived.

You crumple the paper, tossing it onto the floor before lying back on the bed. You can't help but let the tears fall. A mixture of frustration and worry fills your brain, and you can't hold it in anymore. You stare up at the painted ceiling, wishing he could just appear in bed next to you, wishing you could be there for him, wishing you could see the state he was in. Wishing you could nurse your husband back to health yourself. The letter was vague and undescriptive, and it gave you no details about him at all. How ill was he? How injured was he? How bad was it that he couldn’t have written you himself? What kind of injury was it? A million questions flood your mind as you cry. All you wanted was your husband back in your arms. You missed him so much, and the month worth of emotions you’ve held in had reached the point had finally overfilled and you couldnt hold it in any longer. You turn in the empty bed that suddenly feels to big, and cry into the linens. You let yourself cry for as long as you feel like. It feels like hours of crying holding onto his pillow taking in the faint smell of your husband that lingered on the pillow.

After a few hours, when it felt like you have cried all the tears your body could make you get out of bed. You stand up quietly, deciding to put the books on the floor away, trying your best to do different activities the rest of the day to distract yourself, but you can not. Marcus’ state and health remain on your mind constantly.

Later at night, you quietly look out the window staring as your mind wander, you decided to eat dinner alone tonight instead of joining most of the court in the dining hall, you could’nt stand being near the emperors hearing them cheer, laugh, drink, ignorant and careless to the effects their greed for control and land has. If you were in the dining hall you fear you would have hurled a knife at one of them which would get you killed, so your room was the best option.

After finishing your dinner you, decide to draw yourself a bath, you grab some oils your husband had been gifted over the time of being General. Pouring olive oil, lavender oil, rose oil into the tub before getting into the hot water. The candles lit around the bathroom calmed your as you lean back against the tub closing your eyes. Once again thinking of Marcus, missing him, wishing he was in the tub with you. Your back resting against his his chest, sitting between his legs as he massages you. You open your eyes as if he would appear in front of you in the bath, when they opened. Of course though he doesnt. After your bath you dry yourself off with a towel and blowing out the candles in your bathroom and bedroom, getting to go to bed. You knew it would be hard to fall asleep as it as been for months. You lay in bed in one of your night gowns, sleeping just in your panties felt more comfortable. You close your eyes.

“Please. Please come home, safe, alive. Please Marcus.” You pray a similar prayer you had prayed everynight since he hadnt replied to your letters.

You're deep asleep, clinging onto the pillow, imagining it was your beloved sleeping next to you. The creaking of the big door to your bedroom opens slowly, causing you to stir awake. The noise startled You sit up confused, seeing someone walk in but unable to make them out in the darkness, which scared you. No one ever enters without asking or after you had asked so you were greatly confused. You thought this was it, they had woken you up to tell you that you husband had passed, died out in war. You sigh taking a breath before grabbing your robe that laid on a nearby chaise putting it on as you stand up.

“Hello?” you call out, but immediately, once you see the figure in the shadow, you see a tall, board-framed frame his curls messily above his head, that you know who it is immediately. You can not mistake who it is.

“Carissima…sorry to wake you.” Marcus’s deep raspy voice instantly responds, gaining your attention. You go over to your nightstand stand, lighting a candle. When you turn around, your husband's face is illuminated, his brown eyes evident with exhaustion. You look at him, and he looks sick and weak. You've never seen him look this tired. You go up to him as he grabs your hands, holding them in his larger hands, as tears start to slip down your face, you couldn’t believe he was home but you were also worried about his state and how bad his injuries were.

“They…they told me you were sick? And injured? And I didn’t hear from you for weeks…I-I was so worried. What….what happened? Where are you injured?” you ask, assessing him, trying to find evidence of wounds, bruises, broken limbs, anything. He looks at you, softly kissing your forehead before pulling you against his chest and wrapping his arms around you in a warm, comforting embrace. Your cheek presses against the linens that wears under his armor, taking in his consolingpresence. His arms instantly provide a sense of home and peace you haven't felt since he left.

“I am fine, Carmissisa. It was a simple cold, and my bad knees… it was a small pain, both of them combined did not provide optimal traveling conditions, my love.” He wipes the tears away with his thumb, holding your face softly.

“I missed you, Marcus. When you didn’t write back, I-I thought I lost you.” The tears continue to fall, and he shakes his head before kissing the top of your head and looks at you warmly, reassuring you that he is here and safe.

“I said I’d always return home to you. I promised you and intend to keep that promise dulicissima. I am sorry to have worried you, my love. ” He rubs your waist softly before his hand reaches your chin, pulling your lips onto his. Your eyes close, melting against him. His arms move closer to his chest as his arms move down to your waist. Your heart slows, finally feeling at ease and peace, feeling the familiar sensation of his lips. You lightly flick his bottom lips with your tongue, asking for more, and he obliges, deepening the kiss you press against him wanting to be closer to him, as close as you can be after months of being away from him. You notice him pulling away first, panting slightly, breathing heavily. He gently guiding you backward towards the bed until you feel it on the back of your legs. You get on the bed, laying back, watching Marcus kiss up your thighs, pushing the fabric of your tunic up around your hips.

His hands move up your thighs as he lays in between your legs. His noses presses against your legs as he kisses up your legs, to your thighs, up your hips.

His kisses move up towards your inner thigh, his thumbs ghosting around the fabric of your panties before slowly taking them off his nose presses against your pussy as he presses his lips against it, giving it a kiss as his thumb rubs your inner thigh, drawing a whine out of you.

“Let me show you…how much I missed my wife.”

A Few Years Later…

You’re with your baby girl, Aelia, in the courtyard, playing with her as she lays on her back, wrapped in the linens you had sewn for after her arrival. You see your husband’s beautiful big brown eye in her as she looks up at you. She’s only a few months old, laying on a beautiful purple blanket Marcus had made for her when she was born, giggling and smiling at you as you shake a toy that made a noise she seems to enjoy greatly. You’re interrupted when you notice a guard bringing you a letter. Your name is written in the familiar penmanship of your husband. You pick up your daughter along with the letter and return inside the palace, going back to your room. You set Aelia down in her bassinet before grabbing the letter opener from the desk and opening the letter from your husband who has been away for a few days, eager to hear from him.

“My dulicissima,”

“I am returning to my accommodations after buying the home we saw earlier this year. I know you wish to accompany me, but it is a far journey from Rome, and you should be at home resting with Aelia, recovering postpartum, and relaxing. The meeting with the home’s previous owner went well, and we can move in at the end of the month. I am excited to move into our own home, away from my job, my previous job, I mean. I am not used to being retired, but I am grateful that there will no longer be any more long journeys away from you, fighting pointless wars. When I return, we can start preparing and packing to leave the Emperor’s place and enter a home of our own. I leave for Rome in the morning and look forward to being with you. Kiss Aelia for me, my love. See you both soon.”

~M.

tags: @baronessvonglitter 🖤

#angel writes #jolapenosdearuary #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius angst #marcus acacius oneshot #marcus acacius fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #gladiator 2 fanfiction #marcus acacius x reader

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strawberryflavoredvenum · 4 months ago

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TicciJack fanfic. Light angst but a happy ending

Toby has trouble deciphering what's real sometimes. Jack is concerned for him.

Thank you @reddetur for the prompt! I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I have experienced hallucinations but I'm not schizophrenic. I do not have the experience to give a 100% accurate depiction of schizophrenia. Schizophrenia also isn't just hallucinations. I am studying psychology and mental disorders in college and care very deeply about not making creepypasta into stigmatizing mentally ill people. Sorry if setting a disclaimer seems excessive, I just care about it a lot.

Toby doesn't flinch much at shadows anymore.

There comes a point in someone's life where they see the same thing over and over again and it no longer affects them. Sure, certain hallucinations still get to him. The random touches or sudden loud noises. But not so much these ones. The shadowy figures that creep around in the corner of his vision. They never make any noise or touch him. Once he got used to it, they just became a nuisance. Well.. during the day at least.

The introduction of demons, killers, and paranormal entities into his life has made it a little harder to recognize whether something is real or not. Before everything happened, he could rely on other people's ideas of reality. That is, if he wasn't having an episode. Now that he lived in the mansion he couldn't tell himself that the ghosts, shadow people, insane psycho killers weren't real.

Something that keeps him at ease is the reaction of others. He can always look to the people around him to gage whether he should be worried or not. If no one else is looking at it then he shouldn't either. But that strategy can only go so far. It doesn't help when none of his peers are with him.

But honestly nothing could have prepared him for tonight. It's not like these things sprung up on him or anything. He could feel himself slowly getting worse. His motivation to care for himself plummeted and he became disorganized. Then came the intrusive thoughts and the increased hallucinations. He knew staying up all night wouldn't help but there was no way to fall asleep with everything going on. He was too paranoid and every time he got close to sleep, a loud sound would go off or he would feel like he was falling.

He was downstairs in the kitchen bar preparing his late night guilty pleasure. Four slices of bread with butter. He was looking out to the living room, watching all the figures and random colors dance around. He would be lying if he said he wasn't about to run back upstairs with his bread so the shadow people don't get him. His motions were slower, as if trying not to draw attention to himself. He felt like there was a spotlight on him. He could tell himself that nothing he's seeing was real. That they weren't even approaching him. Just walking around and watching. But nothing was going to convince his subconscious that he wasn't in danger.

He sandwiched the slices together and wrapped them in a paper towel to make transport easier and started walking to the stares when a figure came closer. He flinched but ignored it-That was until it fucking grabbed him. Toby let out a scream slightly too high pitched to be a man's and punched the figure in the jaw. He was met with a solid object that made a grunt and quickly backed up and grabbed their face.

Toby took a moment to step back and catch his breath before flicking the kitchen light on and seeing Jack. He was holding the side of his face and glaring at toby. "Jesus tobes I was just trying to see what you were doing. It's 2 in the fucking morning!" Toby caught his breath and looked a bit sheepishly at Jack. "......I thought you were someone else?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "Who the hell would be down here that you would want to punch?"

Toby looked away. To the discarded slices of bread on the floor. He had dropped them when he sucker punched Jack. "No one in particular." Toby hoped that Jack would drop it. Jack wasn't stupid. Hallucinations are not uncommon in the mansion. He's even had them a time or two during sleepless nights or when missions went on for too long.

He sighed and helped toby pick up the remains of his food. "Out of all things you could have ventured out into the dark to grab, four slices of buttered bread was what you chose?" Jack questioned. Toby looked up at Jack. "Well what were YOU down here for?" Jack shrugged. "To smoke." He said, gesturing towards the front door.

Jack threw the bread away and shook his head. Half a loaf wasted. He returned to toby. Toby didn't look well. He looked tired but his eyes were wide open, looking into the distance. Jack took him by the shoulder and started leading him to his room. "C'mon. You don't need food, you need sleep. Staying up is only making things worse." Toby followed but looked conflicted. "Weren't you going to smoke?" Jack shrugged again. I lost the urge. My jaw hurts too much. He teased lightly. Toby looked away. "I didn't mean to." That was Toby's way of apologizing without actually saying sorry. Jack just nodded and kept walking.

They made it to Toby's cluttered room. It got like that when he let his mental health slip. Jack took it all in but made no reaction that toby could discern. He pushed toby into bed and firmly told him to lay down. Toby raised an eyebrow but was too exhausted to really care. He laid down and sighed.

"so what now?" Toby asked. Jack sat on the side of Toby's bed. "You sleep and I watch over you." Jack's tail had made its way to Toby's hip. The weight of it was comforting in a way. Toby gave a bit of mumbled words salad that Jack pretended to follow and had a few more bad moments before finally falling asleep.

Jack looked around Toby's room. It was hard to gage how Toby's doing sometimes. He never outright said anything. There was a look in his eye that he sometimes had but the biggest indicator of his well-being was his room. With nothing better to do, Jack started sorting through his friends stuff, putting things where they belong and putting his laundry downstairs.

Jack watched over him the rest of the night. He returned to his room just before sunrise so no one else would know he spent the night in Toby's room. Toby woke up sometime that afternoon. His body was sore from sleeping for so long but his head felt a bit less cluttered. It wasn't fixed but it was better than before he slept. He saw his clean room and blushed deeply. He couldn't believe he let Jack see him like that. Jack didn't actually mind Toby's mess at all. He was more concerned with helping his friend(crush).

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just-dreaming-marvel · 2 months ago

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Love That Burns ~ Ending 1 ~ Moving On

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< one-shot: still

Word Count: 3,090ish

Summary: You and Logan grief the loss of your child.

Warning(s) - spoilers: depression, anxiety, doubts, body image issues, talk of stillbirth, talk of child death.

Notes: This will be my final one-shot for Love That Burns. This is a one-shot for my 1st ending of Love That Burns. This takes place after the numbered chapters.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Grief came and went in waves. Especially when it came to the loss of your son. But things were getting better. You and Logan were making sure that the two of you were working through that together.

Now, it had been almost a year since that tragic loss. You were asleep in Logan’s arms. He had already woke up and was just focused on you. Some nights it was harder to go to sleep or stay asleep. Logan had this fear that he would wake up to your heart not beating. He couldn��t go through that again. He knew, despite his healing factor, he would never be able to survive that.

Logan knew that there was a possibility of waking you, but he couldn’t help himself as he began pressing kisses to your face and neck. You began to stir awake.

“Logan?” You rasped.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your skin. “Can’t help myself.”

“Hard night?” He hummed in response, nodding into your neck. “I’m sorry… anything I can do to help?”

“Just let me hold ya.”

“Always.”

~~~

“I want to check in with you, Howlett,” Scott said, catching Logan in the hallway.

“What is there to check in about?” Logan questioned, confused.

“Your wife. Y/N hasn’t been on a mission since the pregnancy. Do you feel like she’s alright to be put back on the roster?”

Logan took in a sharp breath. Personally, he would never let you on a mission again. That had little to nothing to do with the pregnancy, but his overwhelming need to protect you. He thought to how you were doing. Yes, he could still see the pain dwindle in your eyes at times, especially when you saw Jean and Scott with Rachel. But it was getting better. You were getting better. Despite that, everything in him was screaming at him to say no. To tell Scott that you weren’t ready yet. So that’s exactly what he did.

“No,” Logan’s response was firm, with no room for argument. “Y/N’s not ready to be put back on the roster.”

Scott gave Logan a questioning look, but didn’t press it. “Okay. I’ll still have her benched then. But I’m not telling her.”

“I can handle it.”

Could he? You would either be grateful that Logan had said that answer, or extremely pissed off. And he would have to wait a few hours to even find out. You were busy teaching a class.

“Okay, then I have a second question,” Scott continued. “You haven’t been on a mission since the pregnancy either. Are you ready? Or is this a question I should be asking Y/N?”

Logan took another moment to think. He felt ready. In fact, he was spending way too much time training, just trying to get all these pent up emotions out of him. Logan talked to you about how he was feeling, so you knew. Maybe going on the occasional mission would help him to heal.

“I’m ready,” Logan answered. “I don’t want little missions though. Only when the whole team is needed. I’m still needed here. With Y/N.”

“Understood.”

~~~

After class, you found yourself in the woods, far in the back of the property. You had a little fire pit made of lava rock that Logan built for you years ago. The quiet place had become more sacred since you buried Jimmy out here. You lit the fire with a slight movement of your fingers and sat yourself down against one of the big trees. You just needed a moment to breathe, just by yourself. There were harder days and easier days when it came to the loss of your son and the multiple timelines in your head. Today seemed to be a harder one.

Closing your eyes, you let yourself fall asleep and dream of previous memories and raising your son. At first, the dream was positive, light and bubbly. And then it quickly took a dark turn, ensnaring you in it’s dark tentacles, preventing you from waking up and seeing the sparks fly off you and onto the trees.

~~~

“Has anyone seen my wife?” Logan asked.

Logan had gone to your classroom once he was done for the day, only to find it empty. He then searched the lower level and your shared bedroom before heading to the kitchen, where most of the adults were.

“Last time I saw her, she was in her classroom,” Ororo answered.

“She’s not in there,” stated Logan. “I can’t find her anywhere.”

“Bobby! Storm! Bobby!” Rogue shouted as she rushed into the room. “Has anyone seen Bobby?! Or Storm?!”

“What’s going on, kid?”

“There’s a fire at the far end of the—“

Logan didn’t wait until Rogue was finished before be had bursted out of the back door and was sprinting to the back of the property. There were flames licking the tops of the trees and black smoke rising. Ororo had summoned rain clouds and it began raining over the fire.

“Y/N!” Logan yelled. “Sweetheart!” His paced quickened when he saw you slumped against the tree. “Y/N!” He was by your side in an instant, ignoring the flames surging around. “Hey, princess, wake up for me.” His hands came up to cup your heated face. Logan grounded his teeth at the burning pain but didn’t let up. You gasped, lurching forward as your eyes frantically searched around. “Hey, hey, hey. Focus on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” Your eyes more more focused on the smoke, flames, and rain around you while tears started down your face. “Princess, please. Look at me. Focus on me.” Your eyes finally snapped to his. “There’s my girl.”

“I—I’m s-s-sorry…” you stuttered, heaving breaths.

“It’s okay, princess. Everything’s okay. Storm’s puttin’ out the fires. No one else got hurt.”

Your heart dropped. “Someone got hurt?”

“Just you, sweetheart. Come on.”

Logan lifted you up before you could say anything else. Your arms weakly wrapped around his neck as you melted into his hold. Everyone who had gathered around watched silently as Logan carried you back to the mansion. Logan’s senses focused in on your irregularly beating heart, trying to calm his own frantic worries. He took you back to your bedroom and set you down on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered as he pulled away.

He shook his head. “No, princess. Don’t apologize.”

“My mind took control. I couldn’t—“

“Sssshhhh.” He sat down and held you. “It’s okay… It’s okay.”

Logan held you while you cried until you fell back asleep. Once he was sure you were completely out of it, Logan slipped out and headed down to Charles’ office. Charles was still in there, sitting near the window, staring at the grounds that you had burnt down.

“Professor?” Logan said as he entered.

“Come in, Logan,” Charles urged. “Let’s have a chat.”

Logan sighed as he shut the door and went over to sit beside Charles. He rested his arms against his knees and leaned forward, hands clasped together. The two men sat in silence for a few minutes.

“I thought she was gettin’ better,” Logan admitted quietly. “I thought… It’s been a year.”

“A loss like the one you two shared isn’t a simple fix, Logan,” Charles responded.

“I think… I think I need to take her away.”

“If you take her away now, Logan, she’ll never come back.”

“Then tell me what to do, Charles. Tell me how to fix this.”

Charles sighed, thinking for a moment. “Maybe you take her away, but not too far. The opposite end of the property has a small one room cabin. Where the two of you can still be a part of everything around here, but have more of your privacy.”

“But what else can I do? She’s my wife. I want to— I need to fix this.”

“This isn’t a fight you can charge into, Logan. This is a long uphill climb that will never end. It will get easier with time. But a grief like this stays with you forever. Though… I did have a small mission that I was going to send you two on before the events of today.”

“Y/N is in no place for a mission.”

“Maybe it’s just what she needs. It’s a simple mission. I’ve been in contact with a young mutant located in Mexico. I want her retrieved and brought back here.”

“You know a mission like that is never as simple as it sounds.”

“Back up will be on standby.”

“She’s not ready.”

“Have you asked her? Maybe it will be the thing that will make her start to feel normal again. Talk to her in the morning.” Charles wheeled back and turned around, stopping before he headed out. “You can’t make every decision for her, Logan. Even right now. Even if you mean well.” Then he rolled out, leaving Logan to his thoughts.

~~~

You woke up cuddled into Logan. His arms were firmly around you. Glancing up at him, you were met with his eyes already staring at you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he muttered, leaning down and kissing the top of your head.

“Hey,” you hummed. “Did you sleep?”

“No.” Logan pulled you on top of him, securing you tightly to him with a sigh. “You scared me out there.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, princess, I know.” Silence enveloped you both for a long while before Logan spoke up again. “I don’t think we’re doing as good as we think we are.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Scott asked if I felt you were ready for missions before the fire started.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him no. I don’t think you’re ready and I think today proved it.”

You pushed your up so that you could look down at Logan. “And what if I feel differently?”

“Honey—“

“No. What if I feel like it could help me get some of this grief out in a different way? Did you seriously make a decision for me without talking it through together?”

“I am just trying to keep you safe. I’m worried and I know that your emotions can control your powers and I don’t— I cannot lose you, darlin’. It would seriously kill me.” He took your hands, carefully holding them in his large, rough ones. He sighed. “Charles also mentioned a mission. A small one. A young mutant that needs to be retrieved from Mexico. Charles says that people will be on standby if something goes wrong.”

“And you said no?”

“I said you weren’t ready.”

You pulled your hands free from his grip and got off the bed. You paced back and forth along the side of the bed. “You can’t— I thought that we were passed making decisions for each other.”

“Sweetheart, you have to understand, I don’t know what else to do. I can’t attack this grief like I would anything else battling against you. This is something I’ve never experienced before, for my self or someone that I love. So making decisions is they one thing I can do.”

“No, making decisions together is the thing that we can do to help us through this. Together is the key word.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you, princess. You gotta know that.”

“I know. But it still did.” You stopped pacing and stood at the other end of the bed. “I’m going on that mission. Tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll tell Charles and Scott and we’ll head out—“

“Alone.”

Logan shook his head. “Not a chance, honey. You know that doesn’t fly with me. We do this together.”

“You benched me, I’m benching you now.”

He stood up and reached for you but you pulled back. “Can we not do this, sweetheart? Let’s sleep on it. Please. Come back to bed.”

“No,” you crossed your arms over your chest, almost pouting like a child. You stepped back, hitting against the bedroom door.

“I’ll sleep in the chair or on the floor. Just, please, come back to bed, princess. We can deal with this in the morning.”

“Will we deal with it? Or will you just tell me how I’m going to deal with it?”

Logan sighed, taking another careful step toward you. “I didn’t mean hurt you in making those decisions.”

“Well, you did.”

“I know. I know. And I know that I will have to work for your forgiveness. But can we go to bed and revisit everything in the morning? Please, sweetheart.”

“You’ll sleep in the chair?”

“If that’s what you want.”

You sighed, shoulder shagging. “No… it’s not what I want.”

Logan stepped closer, slowly wrapping his arms around you. You leaned into him, not hugging back. The two of you stood like that for a still tense silent moment.

“Logan,” you whispered against his chest. “Take me to bed and hold me.”

“Anything, sweetheart… anything.”

~~~

The next morning, Logan’s arms were still wrapped around you. The two of you laid there, both awake but let the silence swirl between you.

“I need to go on that mission,” you finally whispered. “With or without you.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me, princess,” Logan mumbled. “Ever… We do this together.”

~~~

Despite his hatred for flying, Logan still insisted on flying you both to the mission in Mexico. The two of you landed on top of a building near the facility. Logan scanned the area from the rooftop, focusing on the facility that you were supposed to infiltrate. You noticed the moment Logan tensed, shoulders tight, nostrils twitching.

“You smell anything?” You asked.

“Metal. Chemicals. Blood,” Logan murmured. “But there’s somethin’ else… somethin’ weird. Familiar.”

You exchanged an uneasy look before the two of you began approaching the facility. You moved in sync— quiet, fast, efficient. The place looked abandoned, but you both knew better than to trust appearances.

Inside, the halls were narrow and sterile. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sickly glow on rusted lab equipment and locked doors.

“Kid’s in there,” Logan muttered, sniffing the air near a sealed chamber.

He slid his claws out and sliced through the control panel. The door hissed open. Both of you stepped inside cautiously. In the center of the room sat a small girl— maybe eleven, maybe twelve. She was crouched, wild-eyed, her dark hair tangled, fists clenched at her sides. She wore a hospital gown stained with blood. Her knuckles were split open. Then you saw them. Two gleaming claws, slowly extending from her clenched fists. You froze.

“Logan…” you gasped.

“I see it,” he responded.

The girl didn’t move. She just watched. Her eyes flicked between you both like she was deciding what to do with the two of you.

“Hey,” you called softly, crouching down to her eye level. “It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.”

No response. Just breathing— sharp and shallow.

“She’s got claws,” Logan said slowly, his tone unreadable. “Like me.”

“Could just be a coincidence,” you tried to explain it off. “Some kind of… replication experiment?”

Logan didn’t answer. His jaw clenched tighter as he stared at the girl. You turned your focus back onto the girl, stepping forward slightly.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” You asked.

She hesitated. “Laura,” she rasped.

“Do you know where you are? What they were doing here?”

“Tests. Training. Fighting.”

You took a slow breath. “Okay. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

The only movement Laura made was the claws sliding out of her feet. Logan stepped in front of you.

“We’re not the enemy, kid,” he told her, voice hard.

Laura’s gaze snapped to him. She sniffed— subtle but purposeful. Her head tilted. “You smell like me,” she noted quietly.

“What?” Logan’s brow furrowed as he questioned.

“You smell the same… but older.”

You and Logan exchanged a loaded look.

“She could be a clone,” you suggested, not biding the unease in your voice.

“Or somethin’ worse,” muttered Logan. “They’ve tried before.”

Just then, the alarm blared overhead. Red lights pulsed. Doors slammed shut in the distance.

“They’re coming,” Laura said flatly.

“Time to move!” Logan growled, stepping forward.

Laura didn’t resist as he grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the exit. The three of you ran through the facility. Gunfire began to ring out from the far side of the hallway. You threw up a wall of fire and turned to Logan, your eyes flowing faintly with your powers in a way they hadn’t in a while.

“You get her to the jet,” you told him. “I’ve got this.”

“No, sweetheart—“

“Logan. Trust me.”

He stared at you for a beat longer, reading in between the lines. He sighed, nodding. “I’ll get her to the jet. But if I have to come back in here for you, you are never leaving the mansion again.”

You gave him a smirk. “I’ll be right behind you.”

You turned back, enforcing your fire wall. Logan watched you for a second more before pulling Laura along with him. You let your emotions bleed into your flames. The grief. The sadness. The hope. The purpose. You weren’t broken. You were just… healing. The long way round. And maybe helping someone else was the first step back to helping yourself.

~~~

Outside, Logan strapped Laura into a seat before his focus turned back to the facility. He hated not being by your side, but he also knew—deep down—that you needed this moment. To fight. To protect. To reclaim something of yourself. And when you finally appeared through the smoke, walking calmly, power humming just beneath your skin, Logan’s breath caught in his throat. You met his gaze and for the first time since you lost your little boy, there was peace in your eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, quickly meeting you at the bottom of the jet.

You nodded. “Yeah… I am.”

He opened his arms without hesitation, and you stepped into them, finally allowing yourself to relax.

“Let’s go home,” you whispered.

~~~

The jet touched down back at the mansion just before sunset. Laura hadn’t said a word since Mexico. She sat quiet, her eyes darting with practice wariness. Jean and Hank were already waiting in the hangar when you lowered the jet steps.

“She’s injured,” Jean stated, already stepping towards Laura, calm and careful.

“She’s not gonna let you touch her,” Logan warned. “She’s… defensive.”

Laura glared at Jean but didn’t resist as the redhead knelt down in front of her.

“You’re safe now, alright?” Jean said softly. “No more tests. No more needles. Just a few scans so we can make sure you’re okay.”

Laura eyed her suspiciously before look at you. You gave her an encouraging nod and a smile. Then Laura looked back at Jean with a nod.

“We’ll take her from here,” Hank said.

You and Logan watched them lead Laura further into the lower levels.

The moment they disappeared, Logan huffed. “Charles knew.”

“He always knows,” you sighed.

Logan stormed inside without another word, you following close behind. His boots thudded against the polished floors as you made your way toward Charles’ office. He was already there, of course, sitting near the window as if he’d been waiting.

“Logan, Y/N,” he greeted calmly.

Logan didn’t hesitate. “What the hell did they do?”

“They created her using your genetic material.”

You inhaled sharply. “They cloned him?” You kept still as Logan began pacing liking a caged animal.

“Not a direct clone. It’s more complicated than that. Her genome was engineered using Logan’s DNA, yes. But the result is… different. Laura has two X chromosomes. They spliced up the genetic code with a donor egg to stabilize the process. She wasn’t grown in a tank— she was born, raised in a lab.”

“So… she’s… his daughter?”

“In everyday that matters? Yes.”

Logan’s hands were curled into fists, claws threatened to poke out. “You knew this!” He exclaimed. “You sent us there knowing who she was!”

“I suspected. But it had to be you two who saw her first. If I’d told you everything, you wouldn’t have gone.”

“You’re damn right I wouldn’t have! They made a weapon outta me. Again! And now she’s just a kid with my blood and their scars.”

“Logan,” your voice called out to him through the haze of his anger. He spun to face you. “She’s… your daughter.”

“No. No.” He shook his head. “I… We… We were supposed to have a kid. Together. A mix of the two of us. This… This is… She’s an experiment. She’s—“

“Your daughter. And you are not going to push her aside.”

“But—“

“Logan,” you reached out and took a hold of his hands. “This… This may be our chance. I know it’s strange and it’s not the same. But… I think that this is the universe granting us what we want.”

“I sent the two of you on that mission for a reason,” Charles added.

Logan focused on you, eyes scanning yours to make sure you were okay. All he saw was hope staring back at him. He sighed, tension slipping from his shoulders.

“We can do this,” you told him softly, stepping closer. “Together. Like… like we’ve been meaning to. Okay?”

“I saw it in her, she’s got my rage,” Logan mumbled. “You prepared for that?”

“I’ve dealt with your rage in every lifetime. I think I can handle a mini you. You think you can handle two women in your life?”

“If one of them is you, then yes.” He wrapped his arms around you. “So, we really doin’ this?”

“Yes.”

“Together?”

“Always.”

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luimagines · 1 year ago

Text

You Call to Him in Your Sleep Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1

Part two will include Twilight, Four and Legend

Content under the cut!

Twilight

Twilight had taken the form of Wolfie on an impulse on one of your worse nights. You had specifically waited for everyone to fall asleep before you let your cry a a little ways away from the group.

You had calmed down someone when Woflie had entered your vision, latching onto the creature like a lifeline. You silently cried into his fur, pulling on in when you felt as if he wasn’t close enough and wiping your tears on the same fur when it occurred to you to do so.

He didn’t mind, it wasn’t forever.

When you had exhausted yourself, he stayed near and allowed himself to be your cuddle buddy for the night.

He didn’t know you talk in your sleep.

“I don’t want...”

“No... You jump.”

“...ehehe....”

“Monkey.”

He had no idea what you could be dreaming about to make you talk in your sleep. Twilight wasn’t sure if he should find it amusing or not. On one hand, yes, it was absolutely nonsense. On the other hand, it was making it harder for him to sleep considering you were talking right into his ear.

Twilight huffed and sighed, trying to get comfortable on the forest floor. He’ll just have to resign to his fate. He’s not sleeping tonight. Maybe he can hop on Epona and have one of the boys pull her along as he power naps.

“Link.”

His ears perk up and he turns to face you.

No, you’re still sleeping. After a beat passes, he lays back down on the ground. It’s fine. Besides, it could be any one of them. There’s literally nine of them. IT would be silly to think that you would be calling him specifically-

“Twilight please!”

You’re pouting.

His tail does not start wagging behind him. It doesn’t, he swears it.

The look on your face doesn’t help you in the slightest. He knows that look. You look only marginally annoyed. If you had been awake, Twilight thinks that you’d be doing the equivalent of puppy eyes. And you only use your puppy eyes on his when he’s teasing you.

He didn’t think he’d tease you even your dreams. The thought makes him laugh.

Maybe he should go easier on your for the next few days. You can’t seem to get a break from him even when you sleep. Poor thing.

He lays back down with higher spirit. Cute.

Or he could keep teasing you when you wake up again. Serves you right for keeping him up all night with your talking. Fair is fair after all.

Twilight finally manages to sleep for a little bit. It’s... actually quite nice being in your arms like this.

Four

Four didn’t want to sound creepy but he liked watching you sleep. You were so peaceful. If he looked hard enough, he’d swear you were smiling.

There was a single blade of wayward grass on your face that he took great pains to move away without waking you up.

You moved.

He froze.

You didn’t seem to notice that he was incredibly close to you or that you had anything on your face to begin with. You rolled over from your side to your back and let out a soft sigh.

Four sighed without and leaned back, taking the blade of grass as he went.

“Sorry.” He says under his breath for disturbing your peaceful rest. “I didn’t meant to do that.”

“...Link...” You sigh and your face twists into something negative. Four can’t tell if it’s worry or annoyance.

Either way, he flinches and slowly turns back to you as he tosses the blade of grass over his shoulder. “Yes? What is it, Sweetheart?”

The pet name drops from his lips before he can stop himself. It’s the second time he can feel his heart plummet through the crust of the earth in the past thirty seconds.

You don’t seem to react to his reply, still sleeping soundly.

It’s a relief because Four wasn’t sure how he was going to explain the very endeared tone that he just used on you. He needs to better grip on himself. Maybe he should go clean up and polish the group’s weapons three times over. That should be enough to ground him back into reality, right?

“Four.” You say pointedly and Four feels his heart stop in his chest. He snaps his attention back to you but you don’t have your eyes open. You’re still sleeping.

Four puts his hand over his heart and falls backwards. His other hand lands on his head band and brushes his bangs away from his face.

Well this is an interesting development.

You’re dreaming about him. Four watches you with more interest than he cares to admit. Are you going to say something else? Is he going to get a hint to what you’re thinking about? Is it nice? He hopes his nice. But that look on your face is rather concerning. Is a nightmare? Should he wake you up?

“Stop.” You say and Four feels likes he’s been smacked.

..Did you just-....Can you read minds?

Feeling sheepish, Four responds anyway. “Sorry.”

You don’t reply. Because you’re still asleep.

Embarrassed, Four stands and power walks away from you and where you rest. Someone else can take the watch now. There’s no need for him to stay and embarrass himself to only his shadow. He already knows how that’s going to end up the second he’s truly alone.

He wakes up the next Link and promptly, throws himself into his bed roll.

Best not to think about it.

Legend

He was so tired. He felt dead on his feet.

You were no different than he was. As soon as the group was called to a halt to set up camp, you had taken off your hood, wrapped it up and fell to the ground. Out. Just like that. You didn’t bother eating any dinner. You were instantly unconscious.

Legend took a minute or two to envy your ability to just do that. Before got onto his very sore feet and helped the rest of the exhausted group to set up a somewhat decent camp.

The meal Wild made was simple and quick to the point. Legend thinks that it might have been missing some salt but given the way most of them inhaled their food, he doubts that it was worth pointing out.

He sets up his bed roll, thanking the stars that he’s not on first watch and looks over to you.

You had virtually dropped where you stood, and were thus a little further away than anyway.

Something pulls at Legend’s heart strings. He can’t just leave you there.

Yes he can.

You puts his pillow down where he’s more or less certain where his head will be and moves his blanket. Legend looks back to you.

He can’t.

With a dramatic groan loud enough to wake the others, he meanders back over to you and pokes you with his foot. No response.

“Great.” Legend groans again. He drops to shake you a little bit but you only grumble.

“Wake up.”

“Nrmm...”

“Hey.”

“Shhh...”

Legend says your name dramatically.

“Link.”

Legend stares at you for a minute before poking you again. If you’re awake then you’re doing a somewhat decent job of not moving. If you’re sleeping, you’re awfully aware of what happening right now.

You don’t move.

He pokes you again.

“Legen’.... no... stop..”

He growls. “So you do know it’s me.”

He drops to his knees and shakes your shoulders a little rougher than intended. To his shock, you still don’t respond as intended and only vaguely brush him off.

His eyes narrow but you don’t show any signs of acknowledgment whatsoever.

Legend pouts and stands. He already knows he’s not strong enough to pick you up.

He’s going to bed.

Part 3

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #lu x reader

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mullermilkshake · 17 days ago

Text

One case after another

Part 2 <- Part 3 -> Part 4

Satoru Gojo just needs a little sleep.

Summary - You are just an author wanting to put your writing out there and carry on with your life, but when two people end up murdered, things you write about seem to be more real than just pure fiction.

<<< Detective!Satoru Gojo >>>

Tags - DDDNE, Detective!Gojo, Smoking, Grahphic depictions of blood/gore and murder, body horror, decomposition, Shoko my bby, Ino my bby

<<< Master list >>>

Credit to - @404UND_ Twitter ☆ (Geto) - @maronjapan9a (Satoru)

“Gojo…”

“Wake up man…”

“Jesus christ- Wake up!”

Satoru Gojo shot up from his desk and banged his head on the overhanging desk lamp. “Fuck!”

Takuma Ino perched himself on his desk as Satoru rubbed the stale sleep from his eyes. “You slept here again? You should really go home and shower. It’s kind of sad.”

Satoru groaned and did his best to sit up straight and stretch as best as he could. “Yeah, I had to finalise the details of this case I just closed. I figured it was just easier to sleep here so I could speak with Nanami and go home early.”

He’d worked tirelessly over the last week, all he wanted was a little bit of paid time off and he was sure Nanami would give it to him.

Ino adjusted his position and looked away from him, his hand rested over his tack vest. “Yeah… About that.”

“Give me some good news, man. I’m too tired for this shit in the morning.” He slumped his head back on top of his folded arms.

The overhead light was too bright, the stagnant office air far too stuffy and Ino’s voice a pitch too loud. Satoru hadn’t had a solid night's sleep in two weeks and now there was something else?

“I came to wake you because there’s something Nanami asked me to ask you to go see.”

“So instead of coming to get me himself, he sends his lackey to do it for him?” Kento Nanami would be the death of him if he sent him on any more errands before a hot shower.

“It’s important. An odd homicide… you’re favourite.” He sang that last part.

And odd cases were his favourite. There was a reason Satoru’s record of arrests was perfect. Because he could see parts of a crime scene that no one else could. Sort of like a sixth sense.

He tried to ignore Ino and fall back asleep. “Not today.”

“C’mon, Nanami gave the all clear for me to come with you. We never get to partner up anymore. I heard it's particularly gruesome too. That’s like a candy shop for you.”

Satoru didn’t move.

“Let’s go!” He was shaking him now. Idiot. “We have to go before the regular beats leave their dirty paws all over the crime scene. C’mon!”

“Fine.” Satoru got up and narrowly avoided his head on the lamp again. “Fine. One scene and I’m off to bed, I just want a few hours that aren’t sitting up at my desk.”

He needed to buy a fancy new chair for his office and not that god awful sofa. Harder than rocks and smaller than a cardboard box. But first he needed his own office.

Shit. What he would have done for his own office not to get bothered by Ino day in, day out.

“Awesome, just like old times eh?”

Way back, when Satoru belonged to part of a specialist unit. Now he was somewhat of a rogue. He performed better on his own, that way no one could slow him down and he wouldn’t need to watch out for others. It was better that way in his specialist field that he stayed on his own.

“Yeah.” But he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it from time to time. “Anything we should know goin’ in?”

Ino kept his pace and shook his head with a quick withdrawal. “Nothing. Shoko said it would be better if we saw it when we got there.”

Wasn’t she the one for puzzles this early in the morning? “Where is it?”

They made it to the elevator and took it all the way down to the ground floor. “Some place over the other side of town, up near the lanes.”

“That narrows it down.” Satoru rifled through the pockets of his jacket and pulled out his cigarettes and put one to his lips.

He hated the taste, the horrid smell it left lingering on his clothes, but it was the only thing that seemed to help clear his mind. His mind could read a crime scene thoroughly from top to bottom in minutes. His clear mind could do it easily in under a minute. Less if he really wanted to show off.

“She requested you by name if that is anything to go by.”

Satoru and Shoko had not been in the same room for the better part of a year, she had pursued a career in forensic pathology, and one would think they would have crossed paths more being in their respective fields. Most of the time she was already gone when Satoru got there.

Life just went on and things got in the way. Part of him looked forward to seeing an old friend. The other half was intrigued by the fact she would still be there waiting for him.

Gruesome. What an interesting word. “Did Shoko say that it was gruesome? Or did Nanami?”

“Shoko did.”

That meant something entirely in comparison to Nanami. If the forensic pathologist was using a descriptor such as that for the scene, then it would have been more than just bloody. Satoru went into the scene with a mind to prepare for something worse than the town had seen for some time.

And of course, he was right on it.

A large house off of the lanes, big and obvious enough that the occupant wanted to hide in the trees totally oblivious to the house with more money than they knew what to do with, stuck out like a sore thumb against the greenery.

A house with a dead body inside.

“Holy shit.” Ino’s mouth dropped.

Satoru was already reading the place as he stepped in and saw what Shoko was talking about.

No mud tracks.

Dust lines are non existent

She’s still fully clothed.

“I need everybody out for the time being.” Satoru pulled out a pair of gloves from the little pack in his jacket pocket.

Shoko was right over by the body taking photographs, the flash filling up the entire corner of the far east wall. Everybody, besides two people slowly filtered out of the room, slower than Satoru would have liked, trudging and dragging their feet past him with looks full of ruffled feathers and annoyance.

“Always need to command a room, right Gojo?” Shoko had her back to him. She held the camera out to one of the other men and they promptly left with it in hand.

“You know me. I prefer being one of the only guys in the room.”

“A big headed one at that.” It was like they had picked up where they left off.

“Maybe. But you did call for me . It kinda gives me the right to have a big head, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, something I’m starting to regret.”

The body was an odd one, and it continued growing in that oddity the closer Satoru got to it. But, it truly was gruesome.

Shoko finally faced him, leaning against the wall in ther white overalls and mask, a tilted head in amusement. “So… What do you think?”

“Well, whoever it was, was already inside, they didn’t break in. This was for control, not for sexual gratification and they cleaned up afterwards. You’ll need ultraviolet light to look for evidence, but I doubt you’ll find anything.”

“Cleaned up?” Ino came up alongside him and knelt down. “There’s no signs of wiped blood smears and I don’t smell any cleaning products.”

“There’s no dust lines. It would have taken time to clean up, but they cleaned up all of the surfaces too so it stopped the dust in the room from being disturbed. Dust can gather very quickly, especially in a room with so much stuff in it.”

The room was packed out with carpets, ornate sofa throws and pillows, the entire place was a dust factory, yet there wasn’t any signs of dust anywhere, except from the slither of sunlight poking through the closed curtain.

The killer used the large open floor length windows to funnel the smell and pungent chemicals out to nullify that theory. Quite clever.

“What about her?” Shoko nodded to the body.

The body was posed, like a doll, sat up along the chaise lounge in a seductive pose to inhibit a reaction from officers that this was for sexual gratification. But it was not.

There was no bruising about the neck, eyes or mouth meaning she didn’t die from asphyxiation, but rather the large gaping hole in her chest. Even an idiot would have been able to figure that one out.

It was the fact that her body was still entirely dressed.

This had been thought through far more than most scenes Satoru had stepped foot into. The most riveting part being her eyes were missing and stuffed full of organic matter. Like leaves? Grass clippings?

So was her mouth, like they were put there to keep her quiet. Upon further inspection, Satoru noticed no bruising or creasing on the matter which could indicate that it was all put there after she died.

Though there were blood drips down her cheeks when her eyes were removed, the killer made a conscious choice not to clean them up like the rest of her body, which by now, looked spotless.

“Who the hell does something like this? Shoko, do we know who lives at this address?” Ino got back up and approached her, pulling out his little notebook.

Satoru didn’t need a notebook. His mind was his notebook.

“Yeah, It’s-” Satoru faded them out and concentrated.

This was a well integrated woman. Popular. Well received. By the awards nearest to the kitchen, she was an accomplished author. Dark fiction going by the scripture on the bottom, the many lined photographs hanging on the walls and over various surfaces containing mostly dogs and friends.

Well received but not fully accepted going by the document stuck to the refrigerator with the wine bottle magnet. A messy divorce? Or a business deal? He wasn’t sure.

It was clear there was a party last night based off of the overflowing trash can full of red wine bottles and soft cheeses left out on the counter top.

Satoru looked further, still remaining by the body but observing everywhere else but the body. Confetti under the sofa and parts clung to the longer fibres on the shag carpet.

“Any news of the party last night? Were there any complaints; has anyone started to contact those who were here?”

“A party? Uh,” Ino rifled through a booklet Shoko had given him. “There was a party the night before, around thirty people came… they were celebrating something… uh.. They came from somewhere, but we’re still actively getting information.”

The night before? “Good. Have them question everyone and send the minutes of each call to my desk.” Satoru stood up and moved away from the body.

There was not one hint of bleach or cleaner in the wood, not even the fabrics. Satoru smelt everything. Unless, she was brought here after death, but it could not have been far.

“Has anyone checked the surrounding area for blood splatter?”

Shoko nodded. “They got nothing, even the cadaver dog turned up empty.”

That didn’t sound right. “Time of death?”

“I put it around midnight the night before, to two o’clock yesterday morning.”

A two hour time window.

How did no one see if there was a party

Satoru doubted whoever was still here either with the barrage of police vehicles at the bottom of the hill lighting the whole driveway like a christmas tree.

“Someone local maybe. If they didn’t kill her and bring her here, how the hell did he not get caught by the others?”

Ino shrugged his shoulders and wandered into the kitchen, pulling away the document papers in his gloved hand. “Maybe they were drunk, thought she was asleep or something. What makes you think he did it where there were people present?”

No. No, that wasn’t right. “Whoever this was, had to sit and hold her like this until rigour mortis set in so the body held its shape.”

Shoko seemed to agree. “Rigour mortis is precise enough. If she died at midnight at the earliest, whoever killed her would have needed to sit there with her for at least six hours, then clean the entire place, leave no smell and get out without being caught by anyone who came knocking the next day. But by now, rigour mortis would have softened her up.”

But there was still no smell which led Satoru to believe that there might have been some sort of embalming solution inside her.

“Oh that’s right.” It seemed Ino was on the same page too. “Rigour mortis disappears twenty four hours after death. So maybe the time of death is wrong and she was killed last night. So when she softens up, we’ll know when she died definitively and piece together the timeline…”

“The estimated time of death isn’t wrong. Whoever did this had plenty of time to get everything cleaned. They mustn’t have been disturbed.”

If the killer did all that, then Satoru needed to find out when everyone left the house, but as of right now, “Everyone who attended this party is a suspect. We need information on all of them.”

“Sounds good; see I missed this… us guys all together again solving crimes.”

Satoru leaned against the wall and thought hard. What even was the motive? There was always a motive, always a reason despite the most depraved crimes.

Ino took himself off to the next room as his phone rang. It was probably Nanami giving him some other boring job to do, though Satoru would class this as an interesting day. Well worth the lack of sleep.

His head was still clear. The most important part.

“So how you been holding up, Shoko-”

“Uh, Gojo?” Ino popped his head round the corner.

“God you can really read the room, idiot.” Shoko climbed to her feet and adjusted her overalls.

“What is it?”

“There’s another case, you should really take this.”

Good grief. Now Nanami was dropping stuff on Satoru’s lap as well? “I’m good, thanks.”

“It’s a hit and run.”

“That’s not my area.” Satoru waved him off, his tiredness setting in. “Tell Nanami to get someone else to study tyre tracks and skid marks.”

“You’re gonna want to take this. Shoko you too… It’s just down the road aways, we could walk there actually.”

Jesus christ. “One more,” Satoru raised his voice so he knew Nanami could hear him over the phone line. “Then I’m taking paid time off or you’ll run my ass into the ground!”

“Uh… Yes sir; yes- yes I’ll tell him…. Gojo, he wants a report on his desk after this too, then he said you can negotiate paid time off. A-and he said stop sleeping in your office, you know how he feels about overtime.”

That was laughable. “My whole life is overtime, man. Let’s get this over with then.”

By the time they had reached the next crime scene, Satoru had smoked two more cigarettes. Shoko swiped the smoke wisps away and upturned her lip. “God those are so strong, why do you smoke those?”

“You smoke too, or have you tried giving up again?” Ten months went by quickly.

“I do, but those aren’t menthol, why don’t you smoke menthol?”

Satoru shrugged with no care and stubbed the end out on the floor. “I don’t like the taste of these ones, let alone that minty crap.”

“Guys? Doesn't this look similar to someone we know?”

Satoru looked near the side of the road along the lane where a body was. An outdoor crime scene yielded different results to those indoors. The environment could wash things away, indirectly hide evidence and just be a bastard to work with, even with Satoru’s eyes on the case.

A crime scene was never a two dimensional affair. There were the walls and ceilings to work with, but outside with the elements, it was genuinely more case by case.

This body. This defied all two dimensional logic. “I wonder how our friend got all the way up in that tree there.”

It was as though he was hovering with his head all caved in like that, the only way really from this distance Satoru knew who he was looking at, was by the way his genitals blew about in the breeze through the trees, his broad frame held up by nature.

The tree was embracing the body, sort of placed like a crucifixion, but it wasn’t what stumped him that drew him closer, that he didn't even study the heavily leaf ladened floor at his feet.

Red roses, stuffed into his mouth and his side where a large portion of his waist should have been, where observing now, was in a pile on the floor along with his intestines like a long dodgy balloon string.

“Yummy…” Shoko’s humour was ever present. “Better get the camera out.”

This bared a striking resemblance to the woman in that house not half a mile away. Now, Satoru could not say at all if they were linked, not definitively until the forensics came back, and there was more readily available information to him.

Hang on… “Why was this called in as a hit and run?”

“They found blood splatters off on the road and linked it here.”

So the man was hit by a car, then dragged all the way through the woods and strung up like a decorative christmas turkey. Two in one murder, or a planned calculated move.

Curious.

Calculated. Or maybe it was last minute and rushed? No, not rushed for the time it would have taken to put him up there.

“There could be two killers?” Ino sat on the same page, flicking through his little notebook and turned to Satoru with a small subtle glint in his eye.

“Go on.”

“If the rigour mortis is anything to go by, then whoever did the lady in the house would have time. It could be the same person a day apart, but I’m thinking there's two people, because, how else would someone get that guy up there, he’s easily… what, two hundred pounds, two fifty soaking wet is my guess.”

Maybe Satoru had actually rubbed off on him all this time. “What if this guy was done after the woman on the same morning? It’s still tight. If there was a party not half a mile that way, then he’d have to avoid the cars coming down the lane. So If I was going to kill two people at the same time, I'd do it in the early morning when most people are asleep.”

Shoko disagreed. “I’m certain that this guy was done last night. Much later after that woman.”

As soon as they found out the time when the autopsies were finished, then it would spell things much clearer.

“I’ll put a rush on the call backs or something to get a basic timeframe.” Ino then rushed off to speak with another officer along with the big old smile on his face.

“What do you make of this, Shoko?” Satoru’s arms were folded, bored now that the initial shock had worn off.

“It reminds me of something, but I can’t put my finger on it.” Her little tool kit was out, dusting the man's toes for prints. “I’ll remember after the autopsies I think.”

“How so?”

It was like she was stuck for words. “I’m not sure. Back at the house, she sort of looked like a doll. That’s the only way I could describe it, her skin was way too smooth for how her decomposition record is.”

“A doll?” His eyes wandered up to the body above him. He sure didn’t look like a doll, but the roses were a nice touch.

“Yeah, like I’ve read it somewhere, in an article or something.” Carefully folding the clear plastic over itself, she tucked it into her little belt and pulled out a pair of long needle nose tweezers.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” It was time he left back to the station for that report.

“One last thing before you go…” She yanked her glove off, rummaged through a pocket of her overalls and presented Satoru with a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke menthol for goodness sake, it might save your life. And get some sleep, you look like shit.”

And here he thought it was going to be work related. “Thanks for being such a considerate friend, Shoko. Don’t be a stranger now. Let’s go out for dinner sometime after all this blows over, I get the feeling we’re goin’ to see a lot of each other.”

“You’re buying though.”

“Don’t I always?” He grinned at her and left after she turned her head back towards her work.

Ino was already waiting at the car for him and upon leaving and reaching the station, Satoru came to the conclusion that it was two different people. He just wasn’t sure whether they were linked and knew each other.

Or there was a possibility, albeit rare and exceptional, that there were two separate and completely unlinked murderers in the immediate area who knew nothing about the other.

The latter didn’t seem too likely.

Still, he wouldn’t jump to conclusions until the facts were all put in front of him. And just like that, some of them were. A sheet of paper with the minutes of one of the phone calls made to the attendees from the party that night.

“Seems like she was definitely popular.” It took the interviewee ten whole minutes to calm down before continuing the phone call after learning of the woman’s death.

“Yeah, well liked and everything. Apparently she attended an event that night. An author’s ball thing- I dunno. And they all left after to go to hers.”

“An event…” Satoru studied the words in front of him.

[All of us came from that event to celebrate the nominees and those who won awards… Oh my god. Oh my god.]

[Did everyone who was invited go?]

[Well… Some people weren’t invited. But I don’t know if they came anyway, we all got really drunk, we were celebrating. Oh god… I don’t even know where she went off too most of the time, we were all having such a good time. Oh my god! (Sobbing.) This is horrible…]

“So she wasn’t sure who came then?” It sounded utterly simple what the next move was. “Ino, get me a full roster of everyone who attended that event, staff, cooks, valet and an entire guest list… Also see if there’s anywhere nearby that might have security cameras we can check for that hit and run and try to identify him.”

“Sure thing.”

Someone in that list would be one of the two people they were looking for, in a rare circumstance, the only person they were looking for. And that footage, if it existed, was paramount, even if it was just a few minute little pixels in the corner, anything was better than nothing.

And when Satoru picked up a scent that made his intuition go haywire, he wouldn’t stop until he caught whatever was giving it off.

Because Satoru couldn’t leave well enough alone and strove to deliver justice to keep his record perfect. No one was going to escape him.

Though he hoped he could escape the station without giving that stupid report to Nanami.

He didn’t bet on it though.

Part 2 <- Part 3 -> Part 4

If you would liked to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗

Tags - @nanamineedstherapy @winter-soldier-101 @bubera974 @miyababbby @inthedarkshadows000

@hallahella @kentoslvr @jxvajxy @vertigoswan @getoe1s

DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

The oc side characters and advanced plot is my own work. A gift for @vampir-queen and original idea for this fic is their's. Cross posted from my AO3

Also please don’t post any of my work, thank you!

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #minors dni #shoko ieiri #ino takuma #gojo jjk #jujutsu gojo #jjk fic #detective satoru gojo #detective gojo #Spotify

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lachencha · 8 months ago

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Dreaming of You: Mouthwashing Anya x Reader

erm…this is like my first time posting on Tumblr in a while…hope you guys like it >.<

no warnings, if there’s a warning i should add, please let me know >.<

i also posted this on ao3

please enjoy!

Late at night when all the world is sleeping, I stay up and think of you.

It's a cool autumn night, the wind outside whistling through the trees, accompanied by the leaves dancing through the air. Usually, you'd be excited about fall, it's your favorite season of the year, no more heatwaves, no more swarms of bugs, and you love watching the orange leaves drifting gracefully on the ground. But how can you enjoy the fall when your girlfriend is away? You've grown so accustomed to spending your evenings cuddled up on the couch, sipping hot chocolate while watching the reality shows Anya insists on watching. So used to snuggle up to Anya, her warmth helping you bear through the chilly nights. So used to dozing off in minutes, your eyelids growing heavier with each gentle strokes of her fingers on your hair. But now, without her, you find falling asleep a lot harder, a lot lonelier, and you find yourself trapped with your own gloom.

And I wish on a star, that somewhere you are, thinking of me too.

You gaze out your window, and look up at the sky. It's not easy to see the stars with the city lights, but some manage to shine through. You wonder which one Anya is near, wonder if she's eating well, wonder if she's studying the nursing books the same way she does here. But most importantly, you wonder if the time is weighing on her as much as it is on you. Does her heart ache the same way as yours? It's not her first trip, but you can never grow accustomed to the months without her, without hearing her voice, without her kisses, without her embraces. It never gets easier, and each trips feels harder than the last. You chuckle to yourself, realizing that Anya left you like a spoiled child, leaving you accustomed to her kisses and affection, leaving you wanting more and more, but now that she's away, you're left alone feeling bitter. All that's left for you is to throw a tantrum.

You sigh, pulling the blanket closer to your chin, drawing your knees to your chest, trying to block out the emptiness that fills the room. The wind outside continues to whistle, the trees' rustling almost soothing. Your eyes flutter shut, heavy from the weight of longing, and before you know it, the familiar warmth of Anya's embrace seems to envelop you.

You're on the couch again, just like every other night, the TV softly playing in the background as you lean against her. Her fingers are stroking gently through your hair, and you sigh, your body easing with every stroke. You feel safe, warm, at peace. You're watching the same reality show, and Anya is watching intently like she always does, her eyes glued to the screen. She's here. She's not on that damn spaceship millions of miles away. She's here with you.

But then you open your eyes... and the room is empty. The cold air rushes in, and the only sound is the rustling of the leaves outside.

You blink, the world around you slipping in and out of focus, the line between dream and reality blurring as you begin to wake up. The stars outside the window seem closer now, brighter, and you wonder if Anya is looking at the same ones. You imagine her voice, soft and familiar, calling your name. It was a dream, you know it was, but it felt so real—her presence, her warmth, her touch. The ache of missing her is sharp, but in this moment, it's comforting, like a memory you don't want to let go of.

And a small, steady hope rises in your chest.

She'll be back soon.

You whisper the words to yourself, it's a quiet promise, a soft reassurance. It's not the same as holding her in your arms, but it's something to hold onto—a reminder that the distance between you is only temporary. You know that when she does come back, things will feel right again, like they always do. And though you may have to bear the loneliness for a little while longer, it won't last forever.

You close your eyes again, letting the thought of her warmth fill you, pulling the blanket tighter around you. For now, it's enough. Just knowing she'll be back soon.

And when she does, the autumn nights will feel like home again.

Cause I'm dreaming of you tonight.

#mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #anya x reader #mouthwashing anya x reader

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magicaldice · 17 days ago

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Synopsis: Y/n goes to a party with her bestfriend without telling her toxic boyfriend. She unexpectedly meets Chris sturniolo & things start to unravel overtime.

⚠︎ : read at your own leisure.

any feedback, likes, comments or shares, are appreciated!

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 part 6 pt 7 pt 8 pt 9

pt 10

After Chris had stayed the night at my house I felt a feeling that was unfamiliar. I couldn't decipher what exactly what I was feeling but it was close to guilt.

Katie had seen Chris leave the house in the morning. She had gave me a "what the hell" kind of look but never said anything. I didn't want her to make it a big thing, and she didn't.

It's been 4 days since he stayed the night. 4 days of confusing mixed emotions. 4 days of my thoughts weighing heavy, suffocating my heart. 4 days thinking to the point of exhaustion.

Jackson had been over 3 days in a row, which is very unusual. He usually only would come over for sex and leave. Or whenever we did hangout, it was never 3 days in a row.

I shouldn't mind, afterall Jackson was my boyfriend. The thing was, Jackson and I being around each other so much the last 3 days has made things harder. I wasn't able to text or hangout with Chris at all. The main reason being Jackson didn't know I was friends with Chris in the first place.

He would kill me if he knew I was friends with a man, let alone have sleepovers with Chris. I wasn't trying to keep it a secret, but I also wasn't trying to tell Jackson either.

I told myself if Jackson was to be cool with me being friends with another man I would of told him by now. But honestly I don't even think that's the truth anymore.

I had so many thoughts swarming my mind any time I was alone. And 9 times out of 10 they were about Chris.

Chris made me feel something I never felt before. He somehow made it easier for me to be comfortable in my own skin. He had made me feel safe to be myself. And I couldnt stand it.

And what I mean by that is I hate that he has made those things possible for me because now, I wanted to spend every minute I had available with him. And I couldn't now that Jackson and I have hungout with each other 3 days in a row.

Jackson's currently in the shower. He brought me back to his place and said he was going to take a shower before we lay down. Jackson was acting weird these past 3 days. More clingy than usual.

But while he was in the shower I had checked my notifications.

from chris: I miss u. tell your boyfriend to go bother someone else so I can come pick u up

to chris: u know I cant do that. miss u 2.

from chris: yea yea I know. lmk when u can hang

I put my phone on dnd. Jackson walks into the room, towel wrapped around his waist. "Who you texting" he asks. "What? No one" I lied, a little too quickly. It was hard to be present with Jackson when the only thing my mind would let me think about was Chris.

"Come here. Wanna see you underneath me" Jackson said, letting the towel fall from his waist. My stomach turns. Should of knew this was coming.

Chris's POV:

I hated the way she made me feel. She made me feel things I hadn't felt in so long. I felt cared for and thinking about it always made my stomach turn.

But at the same time she had made me feel jealous. I know it was never intentional, but the jealousy still existed in my heart. I hated her boyfriend. I hated how he was the one who got to call her "mine".

This wasn't about infatuation, possessiveness or fucking attraction anymore. This was deeper than that now. And I hated the way it made me feel so indecisive. Every bone in my body told me to let her be, just let her go and move on with my life.

Every inch of my body wanted me to run away again, run from my feelings, run from her. But I wouldn't let myself. I couldn't.

It's been 4 days since I spent the night at her house. 4 days since getting to spend time with her. 4 days since having an actual conversation. 4 days since I held her as she fell asleep in my arms.

She's been with Jackson for the last 3 days and I hated every second of it. How she wasn't able to hangout with me, or even text.

I couldn't keep my mind off her even if I tried. I hated it. I didn't know what to do anymore. How much longer I could keep it a secret. How much longer I could pretend like I didn't have feelings for her.

A part of me wanted to tell her. A part of me thought she could possibly already know. I felt like every time we hungout I got worse at hiding how I actually felt.

The sleepovers. The eyes that lingered too long. The most obvious excuses just to have some sort of physical contact. The compliments. It was getting more intense and harder for me to hide it.

Y/n has a boyfriend. And I know she wouldn't cheat but deep down I hoped she would. And as bad as that sounds I didn't give a fuck. I wanted her, I needed her.

Y/n's POV:

I'm finally at my house after spending the last 3 days with Jackson. I felt like I could breathe again. I sit on my bed debating if I should text Chris or not. I wanted to but at the same time maybe I shouldn't.

To be completely truthful, I'm almost scared to hangout with Chris now. After the constant thinking of him, constant confusing feelings I've felt over the last couple days.

I feel like I've been so caught up with Chris recently that I have been so distant with Jackson. Despite being with Jackson for the last 3 days I wasn't able to actually focus on him.

I felt disconnected from Jackson and that put fear in my heart. Jackson has been my boyfriend for a year, losing him sounds awful.

And yeah Jackson isn't perfect but he's been there ya know. He's shown me love in his own way.

After spending some time thinking I decided to facetime Jackson.

The call had gone terrible. He didn't answer the first time I called but the second time I called he picked up the phone irritated to say the least.

He had been in the middle of an "important" video game match.

I had went to Katie's room to maybe talk to her about how I feel but she wasn't there. Which isn't a surprise, she's barely ever home anymore.

A couple hours pass

I texted Chris, even though I probably needed to distant myself from him. And he had answered right away.

He came and picked me up and as soon as I got around him, I felt like a living person again.

We got to his house and Madi and Matt were sitting in the living room. We had all hungout together for awhile before Madi and Matt went to their bedroom.

Chris had grabbed my hand and led me to his bedroom, like it was a routine we had subconsciously made. We sat on the bed talking for awhile.

"I don't know, Jackson being extra clingy for 3 days straight is just surprising. It felt weird" I said to Chris, who was rolling a blunt next to me. "Why did it feel weird?" Chris asked, his eyes focused on blunt. "I don't know. I guess he just never wants to hangout multiple days in a row" I responded.

"I hate your boyfriend" Chris blurts out, his eyes still focused on rolling the blunt. I don't respond.

He lit the blunt and I watched as he inhaled the smoke. We passed the blunt back and forth, letting the thc mellow us out.

"You look good" Chris says out of the blue, his eyes now glossed over. I smiled before hitting the blunt.

After we finish the blunt we both sprawled out on his bed, laying down and staring at the ceiling.

"I missed you" he said. "I missed you too" I respond. "You should just live here" he said as if that was something totally casual to say. "Chris" I look over at him. "I know I just hate when your not with me" he says, his eyes still staring at the ceiling above us.

My stomach twisted at his words. I let out a deep breath. It's gotta be the weed that's making him talk like this I tell myself.

"We should order food" I say trying to subtly change the subject. Chris sits up on the bed and looks at me. I sit up off the bed and face him.

Without saying anything Chris grabs onto my body, placing me on top of his lap. I'm taken back by his actions, now straddled on his lap. "Chris" I said quietly, staring into his eyes with perplexity. "Yeah?" he says.

I want to speak, I want to ask why he just placed me on his lap. I want to tell him that having me on his lap isn't a good idea. I wanted to tell him that Jackson would kill me if he saw me straddled on him. But all of my thoughts go silent when I feel his hand rub against my lower back.

The physical contact with Chris is too much. It's so overpowering, and my body heats up quickly. "Chris" I said once again, trying to form a coherent thought. "Yeah?' he repeats.

I don't respond, because I don't know how at the moment. "You okay?" he asks. I nod my head. Chris places both his hands on my hips. "You're so beautiful you know that?" he says. My breath is shaky and my heart is racing. keep it together y/n.

His eyes are locked on mine, glossed over and seeping with heavy emotions. "I don't think I should be on you like this" I said quietly. He doesn't respond, his hands just grip onto my hips gently.

Our faces are inches apart and the tension between us is close to overwhelming. "You can get off of me if you want" he said softly. I hated this so much. Because I should want to get off of him. And as much as I should, I don't get off. The feeling of desire taking over my body and thoughts.

Chris is staring at me, in a way that says he wants to touch me in ways he shouldn't. "You shouldn't be looking at me like that" I said quietly. I watch as he smiles innocently, masking the intense desire that lays beneath.

"You can get off of me if you want" he repeats. "I don't want to" I said quickly. He stares into my eyes, like he's searching for something. Analyzing my face as his hands start to run all over my lower body. "I want to make you feel good" he said, barely above a whisper.

My heart is thumping against my chest. "Were friends Chris" I said trying so hard to keep my composure. "Mhm" he hummed. "Let me make you feel good, as your friend yeah?" he purred. His hands stop moving and he stares into my eyes once again.

I knew this was wrong. I knew I was supposed to be a good person and get off of his Chris's lap. I knew I wasn't supposed to be looking at him the way I was. I knew I needed to tell Chris that this was wrong and that I couldn't be this intimate with him.

But no matter how hard I tried convincing myself to get off of his lap I couldn't get myself to. Instead I was in a trance by his touch. The way he had gripped onto my lower body had me melting and I couldn't talk myself out of it.

"Were friends" I repeated, breath shaky. "Friends can kiss sometimes right?" he coaxed before brushing my bottom lip with his thumb. And without thinking I leaned in, and that's when everything I had tried suppressing came back to life.

His lips pressed against mine, our mouths in sync with one another. The feeling of desire, the feeling of need had crashed upon me. The kisses weren't rushed, they were needy but slow.

Every confused feeling I had felt these past few days were no longer confusing .They were very clear in this very moment.

With my lips repeatedly pressing against his, my body had felt on fire. I felt alive, adrenaline pumping through my veins. His hand runs through my hair gently as he lowers his kisses down to my jaw. My heart beats faster than ever as he kisses the sweet spot on my neck.

I was so caught up in the moment that when my phone started ringing it had startled me.

My body freezes and Chris stops kissing my neck. I grab my phone and see Katie's name on the caller ID. I immediately get off Chris's lap and answer.

"Hello" I say into the phone, trying to steady my breath. "Hey where you at?" she asked. I look over at Chris who is refusing to make eye contact with me. "At a friend's house why?" I responded.

"Oh okay was just gonna ask if you were gonna be home tonight" she said. "Yeah. Yeah I'll be there".

After a few more words and exchanging goodbyes I had hung up the phone. I look over at Chris who is staring at the floor. "Im sorry" he said. "I need to leave" I said.

"No don't leave" he said grabbing my arm quickly. "I have a boyfriend Chris. And I love him. I need to go" I said. Chris lets go of my arm and I walk out to the living room, put my shoes on and head out the door.

I wait outside after calling Katie back to come pick me up.

What the fuck did I just do?

taglist:

@overlygoin @riggysworld @mattstromboli @nessaisabelartemas333 @sturniolobananas1 @xoxbunni

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mrsevans90 · 1 year ago

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Puppy Love

Captain Syverson x OFC Emma Miller Part 10

Summary: Austin Syverson has returned to Texas after retiring from the military and starts his own contracting business. Syverson is used to being alone and thinks he prefers it that way. While at work he stumbles upon an injured and abused puppy. When he meets the new veterinarian in town, Emma Miller, he is immediately smitten with her. It turns out Emma has some baggage of her own. Will they be able to make it work? Or is it just a case of fleeting puppy love?

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Emma Miller

Warnings: smut (oral/m receiving), talks of period intercourse, detailed PTSD flashback, graphic death of character discussed, self-deprecating talk, language

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own.

This story is not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading!

Author's Note: This is a heavy chapter--- Big time PTSD flashback so consider yourself warned! Also, I purposely chose to not use characters in the flashback from the movie Sand Castle. I just didn’t want to kill off anyone’s fave character, so we are going to pretend this flashback was another mission from another deployment right before Sy retired not related to the movie. It was just easier for my conscious to write it that way.

Part 9

All night long I have nightmares about the war. I wake and try to reset myself like the therapist taught me with deep breathing, water, change of environment, etc.; but nothing is working. I maybe only get about 2 hours of sleep total and I’m exhausted. I still go on my run to try and exhaust myself even more so that maybe tonight I will pass out into a dreamless sleep. I try to fake enthusiasm for whatever Nana is rambling on about in her phone call to me on the way to work but I’m sure she can tell that I’m starting to spiral. Alex can tell that today is one of those days so he asks me if I’m good and when I grunt at him he keeps his distance. God, I’m an ass but I’m obviously not good and I just can’t talk to him about it. Nobody really understands except the boys that I was with when it happened and several of them are dead now. I’m supposed to be their leader and I feel like I should have my shit together. My nightmares continue to worsen throughout the week and I feel like I overcompensate by working harder or exerting myself in more difficult physical pursuits in hopes of tiring my body and my brain out. I forced myself to run four additional miles on Friday even though my leg quickly protested. I focused on pushing through the pain and ended up having to ice my leg after work.

Friday evening finally rolls around, and Emma shows up at the house as planned with a little overnight bag in tow and homemade banana pudding. I’m cooking us some chicken and veggies out back on the grill when she arrives and I feel like I calm a bit just being in her presence. She still looks absolutely adorable as she shows up wearing comfortable clothes-a tank top and soft shorts. I love that she’s feeling relaxed enough with me to just be her most authentic self. After we eat, I fill my belly up with her decadent dessert and I swear I see stars. She’s quite the chef; as if she needed any more of a direct line to my belly or my heart. Assuming she’s still on her period, I ask her if she’s feeling alright and she nods but doesn’t offer more. I suggest we get in bed and watch a movie and she gleefully agreed. We get all cozied up in bed and she chooses a rom-com to put on. Not my first choice, but I’ll do anything to make her smile like that. It’s nice having someone other than myself warm my bed. We fall asleep easily tangled in each other and I’m relieved that I have no nightmares. Maybe Emma is the cure to my nightmares? Or did I really succeed in tiring myself out enough that I slept too hard to dream. Either way, I’m not complaining.

Saturday morning. I wake up at my usual time and smile to myself at finally getting a decent night of sleep. I lay in bed watching my girl dream before I decide to get up and go for a run. If it’s the exercise that helped me sleep last night, I’m not going to miss the opportunity to do it again. I leave a little note on Emma’s nightstand and decide to only run two miles today so I don’t fuck up my leg more than I probably already have. When I get back home, Emma is still a mess of hair and sheets and I can tell that she never missed me. Her hair is halfway across her face, one of her breasts is almost spilling out of her twisted tank top, and the covers are tangled all in her legs which brings a smile to my face. For someone so effortlessly beautiful, she’s kind of a mess when she sleeps and I can’t help but find that to be one of the most endearing things ever. I attempt to take a quick shower and am surprised when ice cold hands wrap around my stomach as my eyes are closed under the spray of the water and I jump like a cat.

“Damn woman! Your hands are ice cubes.” I say as she laughs uncontrollably.

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She says as she hugs me from behind.

“I woke up and heard the shower running so I figured you wouldn’t mind if I joined you.”

“Always, join me Sugar. My favorite showers are the ones with you.” I tell her as I turn around to see her. She’s got her beautiful hair tied up in a bun on top of her head and I shift her so that the water runs down her body to warm her up. I spy her adjust the temperature higher and I can’t help myself.

“What is it with women taking showers equivalent to the heat of lava?” She smiles.

“We are colder than you are. Gotta warm up somehow.” She presses a sweet kiss to my lips before turning around and washing her body. I can’t help but stand there like a creep watching her but I’ll never turn down an opportunity to see her wet and soapy.

“I hope you don’t mind that I hijacked your shower.” She smiled sweetly.

“Darlin’, I was done anyway. Now I’m just here for the show.” I arch my eyebrow at her as she spies my obvious erection.

“Let me help you.” She seductively suggests.

“I can help us both.” I offer but she shakes her head.

“Still on my period.” She replies without making eye contact.

“So?”

“We can’t have sex when I’m on my period!” She looks completely shocked.

“Says who? You know, sex actually helps relieves cramps.”

“But..I might get blood on your…”

“Dick? What’s your point?”

“Isn’t that gross?”

“Sugar, I told ya, I’m a man. A little blood isn’t going to scare me off. Now if you’re not interested because you don’t feel well or you just don’t want too, I have no problem with that. But, if you’re not interested because you think I’m going to be grossed out or something, I promise I won’t be. You can have me anytime you want, Sweetness. There’s no pressure either way. If you’re uncomfortable with it, I won’t mention it again.”

“Maybe give me some time to come around to the idea of it. I’ve never really considered it as an option.”

“Sure thing, babygirl.”

“You are something else, Bear. You mean it when you said I can have you anytime I want?”

“Mmhmm.” I say as her fingertips trail down my abdomen and she wraps her hand around my throbbing cock.

“Can I taste you?”

“Always, but don’t feel like you have too. I’ll be alright if not.”

“I want too.” She says before pushing me towards the shower bench and taking me in her mouth. In no time at all, I’m coming down her throat after receiving one of the best blowjobs of my life. She has my legs trembling from the stimulation and I can’t help but caress her cheek and kiss her gently when I come back to reality.

“my EmKay.” I whisper as I kiss her tenderly.

“Your EmKay?” She asks.

“Mmhmm.”

“Funny, I don’t remember being asked to be yours.” She haughtily replies.

“Ya’ ain’t going to make this easy on me, are ya?” Shit, what am I doing. I should have thought this through. She shouldn't want to be with me. The unreal blowjob has me not thinking clearly.

“Now why would I do that?” She retorts with a smile. I palm her cheek so that she’s looking right at me.

“Will you be my woman?” I ask seriously. Fuck it. Why not?

“Only if you’re my man.”

“Well, I’ve been told that I’m a bear, but I’ll be your man too.” I joke before pressing my lips against Emma’s in a feverish kiss.

As the water gets cold, we finally climb out and get dressed for the day. I decide to take Emma out for breakfast at the diner in town before we go in search of furniture for her guest bedroom. Her parents are arriving next weekend and it was adorable when she shyly asked me if I’d be willing to meet them. I assured her that I’d be happy too and to just let me know when.

We spend a few hours at the furniture store where Emma purchases a matching bedroom set before going to a mattress store and trying out all of the mattresses to determine which would be a good purchase for her guest bedroom. They are able to deliver it same day which is nice so we pick a time for it to arrive that afternoon. We then head to a department store so she can pick out curtains, bed linens, and other odds and ends that I’m told a room requires like lamps and decorations. Being a single man for the majority of my adulthood that was mostly away in the military, I didn’t realize how much work women put into buying all of this shit. Why does she need the guest bath towels to match the hand towel in the bathroom? Or all of the little knick-knack items she bought to go on the dresser? I’m even more confused when she was discussing bed trains? No bed skirts. I’ve slept on friends couches without even a blanket but she’s really rolling out the red carpet for her parents. It’s a bit concerning if they are expecting all of this from their daughter who has lived here for under two months. Maybe they don’t expect it and she’s just trying to show them that she’s a capable adult who plans on settling here. I watch as she spends a small fortune trying to get everything in order for their visit. It’s obvious that she values their opinions. What if they don’t like me? I’m certainly different from the preppy type of guy that they’re used to seeing her with. I’m kind of rough around the edges and although I think I’m pretty smart, I certainly don’t hold advanced degrees. I’m broken from my thoughts when Emma asks my opinion about curtains. It’s sweet that she wants my opinion but I’m a fish out of water when it comes to decorating.

We load up all of the stuff and head back to Emma’s house where I get started hanging curtains as we wait on the furniture and mattress delivery. Emma orders us pizza and we munch on pizza and beer for a while. I’m regretting all of my additional workouts after I finally get the bed put together and the mattress put on it. Emma tried to help but she’s so little I didn’t want her to hurt herself so I ended up just man-handling it myself. She had washed the new bedding and put everything together before we took a look at it and she dove across the top of the bed. Emma patted the space beside her and I laid down next to her on top of the comforter.

“I’m fucking exhausted and I didn’t even lift the heavy stuff.” She exhaled.

“I didn’t realize it was so much work to put together a bedroom. You sure know what you’re doing though.”

“Thank you. I just pick what I like. I couldn’t have done it all without you though, so thank you, baby. I can’t wait to have them visit and see that I’ve got my shit together here. That I’m not some dumb kid who needs rescuing. I’m able to handle myself.” Ahh, so I was right about that. It’s about proving herself to her parents.

“I think they’ll be impressed, Sugar. I know I am.” I smile at her before yawning.

She kisses my lips before scratching my beard gently.

“Can we go back to yours, shower and then go to sleep? I’m dead on my feet.” She asks as she stands up and fluffs the new pillows. Why are there like 5 pillows that will just get thrown on the floor? Seems wasteful.

“You still want to come back to mine with me?”

She nods. “I want to be with you and the pups. Since they are at yours, it wouldn’t make sense to get them and come back here. I always sleep really good with you…Unless you’re too tired for a sleep over.” She says sheepishly and I wrap my arms around her.

“Nothing could be better than having my girl in my bed with me.” I tell her because I’m beginning to believe it’s the truth. “Let’s go.”

We turn out all of the lights and lock up before heading back to mine. Emma’s car is still parked out front from where she left it and it makes me happy that she wants to be here with me. There’s a summer storm approaching and the wind has picked up which has Emma’s hair twirling in the breeze. I pull the patio cushions inside when I let the dogs out to do their business. After a quick shower because we are both too tired to do anything but clean ourselves, we do our nighttime routines before climbing into bed. Emma snuggles next to me with her head on my chest and I’m confident that it’s going to be a good night as we drift off to sleep.

It’s hot, but more than just hot. It’s sweltering. I can feel the sweat rolling down my chest and my back. It’s the type of unbearable heat that has your clothes sticking to your skin the instant you walk out of the mess hall. Then you add your gear, and the added weight from your gear plus your sweat soaked clothes is a certain feeling that I’ll never forget. I smell the smoke of an explosion further in the distance. We have our orders and it’s my job to lead our special forces team in to execute our orders exactly like planned. The problem with that is that most things never go as planned. It would be easy for this to be a cookie cutter mission where we get in and out and go back to base and fuck around for the rest of the afternoon. No, this will require me thinking on my feet at every turn. It’s what I’m trained for, hell, I’m the best which is why I’m the captain. I’ve got seven men with me whose lives rely on me assessing our situation and giving correct orders. They are sons, husbands, fathers, brothers, and friends who have people waiting on them at home. Each order I give is weighted by the knowledge that I’m responsible for them. We’re crouched in different positions behind the old dilapidated building that the informant said our guy would be in. The sun is glaring across our faces but we’re in the best position we could be in for this mission. We’ve been after this specific hostile for months and never been this close to him before. We can hear men inside the building, yelling in Arabic and moving around so we must remain completely silent. If we can hear them, they could hear us. We are ghosts that can’t be seen or heard but must work as a team for this to go smoothly. If one person spots us, it will turn into a close-range gun fight that I can’t imagine we will all win. I inhale deeply and even though there is dust on every inch of myself and the ground, I try to focus my thoughts.

As I am about to give orders to direct my guys to move on to the next step of our plan, I hear the tell-tale whistle of a bullet zipping through the air. I swivel to the left with my gun and look for the insurgent. I can’t see anyone but the bullet buries itself in the left shoulder of Waites across the way from me. We were fucking set up. I swing my gun back around and that’s when it happens, I hear the bullet and feel it explode into my lower left thigh at the same time blood spews from my friend, Goodwin’s head who had crouched beside me when I stood to look for the shooter. My leg gives out and I instantly drop down into the dirt to where I’m level with Goodwin’s face and it’s obvious, he was killed instantly. His eyes are still opened and he has a massive wound to the head. Anthony. Fuck. His girlfriend is expecting a baby girl in a few months. My leg is burning from the inside out but my adrenaline spike helps me ignore the pain and I grab my gun and instantly start shooting towards the rooftop where I believe the sniper might be. I hear Brown screaming before I realize he’s got Waites against the building and is yelling into the radio for help. I watch as insurgents start coming out of the building we were casing and I start taking them out. Lowell goes down. Setas is either hurt or attempting to provide aid to Lowell. I can’t tell but I never stop shooting. Ramirez is also trying to find the source of the ambush with his own gun. Bullets are flying, many from my own gun as I empty the clip into the only building the sniper could have been on, Browns pleas for backup, along with Waites heavy gurgling breaths fill my ears. I feel a hand on my arm and flinch.

“Austin! Captain…Captain Syverson. Look at me.” Two hands on either side of my face help me focus in. “St..Stand down. You are safe, the threat has been eliminated. Your superiors have given orders to return to base for further instruction. Do you understand?”

I blink against the water that’s dripping down my face. Emma?

“My men. The injured men in my unit. Where?”

“They are at base getting medical. Captain, I need you to confirm that you understand me.”

I blink and then nod slowly. “Roger that.” I mutter distractedly. I look around. I’m in the backyard of my house, leaning against the brick exterior in my underwear. I have my pistol tucked in the back of the waistband of my boxers and I’m wearing the boots I leave by the back door. In my hands I’m clutching my old hunting rifle that I keep on the top shelf of my closet. Shit. I’ve done it again. I’ve had a PTSD nightmare, but this is so much worse because Emma is here to witness it. I look over at her. She’s crouching on her knees in front of me wearing nothing but my water-soaked t-shirt and panties while she’s barefoot in the mud. Water is dripping from the ends of her hair from the rain that’s pouring down on us. She looks terrified and concerned.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” My throat aches either from unshed tears or maybe I was yelling earlier.

“Austin, baby, are you back?”

I nod. “Emma, I’m so sorry.” I mutter as tears mix with the rain that drips down my face. This is what I was afraid would happen if I got close to her. If I let her in. I would relax and then my past would quite literally present itself.

“Baby, don’t be. You’re okay, we’re okay.” She tells me as she reaches towards my face that’s now aimed at the ground.

“Aika?”

“I left her inside. I know you said she could help but I wasn’t able to tell if your rifle was loaded and I didn’t want her startling you and there being an accident.”

Jesus. She was afraid I’d shoot my own dog, because she’s right, I was nowhere near my right mind. Here we are over six months since my last flashback yet this was the most involved PTSD episode I’ve ever had. Thank fuck I keep my ammunition locked and separate from my guns for situations like this.

She stands and reaches to help me up but I can’t let her help me stand. My leg feels as though it has been shot just yesterday but that could be a result of me crouching on my knees in freezing rain outside in the middle of the night, not just the psychological pain from my flashback.

“Come on baby.” She takes the rifle from my hand and I don’t protest. I follow her silently back to the house. The air conditioning on our soaked skin has both of our bodies covered in goose bumps. Aika bounds to me whining and crying and I sit down in a chair from the table and run my hands through her thick fur. I bury my face into her back and focus on breathing. My palm clutches my leg that’s radiating phantom pain from where I got shot. Emma appears next to me with a towel but hesitates.

“Can I help you clean up a bit?” She gestures with the towel.

I nod and she leans down and starts wiping the mud off of my legs.

“Sugar, I…”

“Baby, nothing needs to be said. I’m okay, and you are going to be. Would you take a warm shower with me?” I look at her and want to just burst into tears. How is she so kind and understanding after what I just did? After what I could have done?

“Please?” She urges and I nod. I follow her to the master bathroom and watch as she turns the water on. Aika stays close and sits down behind me in the bathroom floor. I have no idea what time it is in the night or early morning or how long she’s been awake dealing with me. Emma pulls out two fresh towels for us and then whips the sodden shirt off of her torso before removing her panties. She looks at me and then slowly and gently eases my soaked boxer briefs down my legs before taking my hand and pulling for me to get in the shower. Once I step in, steam surrounds me and I take a deep breath. I’m exhausted, flashbacks always take the energy out of me and it’s not like I’ve been sleeping great this past week. Emma begins lathering a wash cloth with soap and gently starts cleaning me. I stand there perfectly still and let her do what she wants as I attempt to think of anything that I could say to make this situation better. I’m aching with embarrassment. Once she washes me, she quickly washes herself before turning around and caressing her hand on my cheek. She leans down and picks up my wrists that were laying limp by my sides and wraps them around her waist before putting her own around my neck. My eyes are aimed down focusing on the suds swirling around the shower drain.

“Baby, look at me.” She says with the sincerest and worried look on her face and that’s when my resolve breaks. I bury my face into her neck as the hot tears stream from my eyes. I can’t seem to stop them and I ache when I hear myself let out a sob that sounds so painful and broken even to my own ears. Emma tightens her arms around me and guides me back to the bench that we once used for a much different form of intimacy. Emma curls herself around me and holds me tightly while I fully break down. Once my breath starts to come easier, I carefully pull my head from her shoulder and try to clean my face up.

“Let’s dry off and lay down.” She says as she turns off the water and starts toweling me off. I gently take the towel from her, not wanting to be babied but not wanting to seem ungrateful. Once we dry off, Emma hands me some boxers and she tosses on a dry shirt and panties on before we sit on the bed. It’s silent and I feel like I have to say something.

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you must be thinkin’ but I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I woke you, scared you and I’m sorry I’m so fucked up. I completely understand if this is the last time I see you.” I say quietly and she looks shocked.

“Austin, I’m not going anywhere. This is what relationships are about. Holding each other through the good and bad. I’m not scared and you’re not fucked up. You’re haunted and although I don’t know the details of it, I want to help you through it. Even if you don’t want my help, I’m not leaving you.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I should be better. I survived, Damnit! I shouldn’t have any problems. Goodwin, Lowell, Waites, they are the ones who died. I just got shot in my stupid fucking leg after leading them to their deaths!” I sob.

“You are allowed to have problems. Their deaths are hard on you but you are not responsible for it. I don’t know what happened, but I know it’s not your fault.”

“The informant set us up, we were ambushed. Goodwin, God. Goodwin got shot right in front of me. I watched the life drain from his eyes. He has a little girl that he’s never met. If I had questioned the mission from my superiors or done more digging on the informant, they would all be alive right now. I had to look at their family members at their funerals and I’ll never forget the grief from their loved ones. Goodwin’s pregnant girlfriend, Lowell’s widow, Waites’ mom. I still see them sobbing over their caskets in my mind. I didn’t deserve to live when they didn’t get too.” I finally say out loud. I take deep breaths attempting to calm my body from going into another spiral.

“Bear.” Emma reaches for me.

“It’s been years and I still get like this. Hell, it might be getting worse. I don’t think this is something I’ll just get over. I’m too fucked up, Emma. You deserve someone who doesn’t have these types of demons.” My eyes blink heavily.

“You are not fucked up. I deserve you because you treat me better than I’ve ever been treated before.” My eyes droop and I know it’s a result of the flashback. When I have them, my body goes through the trauma all over again so when the adrenaline finally stops coursing through my body, I basically crash.

“Love, you look exhausted. Can you try to sleep for me?” She asks and gently pushes for me to lay down. My head is resting between her breasts as she lays back on her back. We’ve never laid like this before but it’s comforting.

“I’m right here, I’m not leaving. Aika’s here and so is Mills.” She tells me while caressing my head but my eyes are already closed, too heavy to fight staying open longer. I wrap my arm around her waist and within moments, I’m deeply asleep soothed by the steady rhythm of Emma’s heartbeat as she caresses my scalp.

Part 11

Taglist: @shellyshellshell, @henryownsme, @caramariehurst, @beck07990, @mollymal, @kingliam2019, @syversonswife, @identity2212, @starfirewildheart, @hannah9921, @wa-ni, @kneelforloki, @cutedoxie, @enchantedbytomandhenry, @foxyjwls007, @geralts-yenn, @courtlynwriter, @corrie1013, @squeezyvalkyrie, @summersong69, @livisss, @mayloma, @uunotheangel, @warriormirkwood

#henry cavill characters #captain syverson #captain sy #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fic #captain syverson smut #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #captain syverson fluff

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si1verghosts · 1 year ago

Text

you and me found love (lost under the shade)

re4r leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.3k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking, smoking, sex | tw: illusions to suicidal thoughts; author's general preoccupation with death and dying

read on ao3

title: falling asleep on a stranger by pierce the veil | art: taft bridge under the rain [#127] by carmonamedina

a/n: i honestly don't know if i am doing this whole tagging thing right idk how to tag on here so sorry if i missed anything.... anyways, this is the first thing i've managed to finish in months - i did not imagine the first leon fic i'd actually post would be reader insert but here we are!! i hope u enjoy :D

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

i do not own leon, yadda yadda, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chat bot and/or writing generator.

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"I can't be what you want," Leon had said, voice even. "Maybe you should try to find someone else; someone who can… be around."

Someone who can give you a straight answer. Someone who doesn't come home bloodied and bruised and can't tell you why. Someone who doesn't make you feel like it's all just a lie.

You had never heeded any of Leon's suggestions before - "You should go," he had whispered after that first night, and the second, and the third - but you wish you had; so you give it a shot now.

You let your friend set you up with the guy in accounting at her job she had been telling you about for months. "And get this - he always wears a tie bar! He just seems so put together," she had raved to you over drinks the weekend prior.

Accounting, tie bar, put together. Nice, neat, safe.

You had shrugged, "give him my number."

He's waiting for you outside the bar when you arrive, jogs over when he notices you approaching, holding his umbrella out over you. It's unnecessary - the cold precipitation is hardly a mist, barely coating the strands of your hair. "You look beautiful," he smiles. It feels rehearsed, platitudinous. You thank him, letting him guide you inside.

His hand brushes your arm as he helps you out of your jacket, skin soft. You pull away with the shock of it, covering with a small wave of beckoning. He falls in behind you as you traverse the familiar path through the room to your usual spot, settling in before he can manage to make a show out of pulling out your chair.

Same table, different seat; back against the wall - it's a whole new perspective. No longer focused solely on the person across from you, it's as if the whole world falls into your line of sight. It suddenly makes sense why you always found it so difficult to hold on to Leon's attention.

He slinks away to acquire your requested vodka soda from the bar. You pick at your nails until your fingers shake, shifting to look out the windows. The rain has picked up, pelting the glass and obscuring the view. You long for your car and the pack of menthols tucked away in the glove box, nobody to quit for now.

He returns with your drinks, water for himself - "trying to cut back on carbs, you know? I've been making real progress with my lifts lately."

"That's great," you smile.

He leans in, beginning to chatter away excitedly about weights and protein and bicycles and Wall Street. His cologne reeks of business school, of polo shirts and white picket fences and 2.5 kids. You hope you are nodding at all the right moments. His tie bar catches the light of the Budweiser sign hanging behind you, silver glinting red, as if informing you you aren't.

It's hard, much harder than it reasonably should be but you've forgotten how to do this. Leon and you hardly spoke; the silence was easier - until it grew violent from your overreliance.

You catch the ring of the doorbell over the drone of his voice, a familiar shape of blonde hair and brown leather entering your peripheral vision. You turn, a sick sense of satisfaction slithering up your spine.

Shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his pockets, he shakes off the water droplets clinging to his hair like a dog. He picks his head up, blue eyes and dark circles meet your gaze almost immediately.

You raise a brow, I took your advice; happy?

He spins around, setting the bell off again as he slips out the door.

"I'm sorry," you interrupt your date, who had been entertaining himself, seemingly never even recognizing your shift in attention. "I'll be right back."

You are out the door a second later, shoving your arms back into the coat you thankfully remembered to grab, shielding your skin from the rain clouding your vision. Blinking away the droplets from your lashes, you spot Leon making his way down the sidewalk and take off after him, catching up as he nears the corner.

You call to him, voice near enough to stop him, but only for a moment. "Go back inside," he throws over his shoulder, continuing forward.

You want to reach out and grab him, make him turn to look at you, but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Your touch is sure to set him off like a slingshot.

Steeling yourself, you dart around him, blocking his path. You find yourself in front of him without any idea of what to say. You gape at him stupidly, chest heaving from the exertion of chasing him down; maybe you should've asked what's-his-name for a good gym recommendation before you ran off.

Leon entertains you for a moment before he huffs, eyes narrowing, "what are you doing?"

It's an excellent question - one you had never bothered to stop and ask yourself.

What are you doing?

Why did you agree to go for drinks? Why had you put on the dress Leon had carefully unzipped and let pool around your ankles just a few weeks ago? Why had you asked Mr. Tie Bar to meet you at the bar you knew Leon always popped into after work?

Fuck.

You swallow harshly, "trying."

"Trying?" Leon reiterates, almost laughing. "And what is it that you are trying?"

Normal. To get over you. To make you mad. Honesty. To make you look at me. To make you want me like I want you. Safety. To hurt you. To get you to say something, anything. Trust. To get you to make me stay. To get you to stay.

You feel yourself frown, the familiar pressure of tears building behind your nose. You try to swallow the feeling but it just mixes with the venom stuck in your throat, bubbling back up after mutating into a bitter twinge of anger. "What the hell does it look like, Leon? You told me to try to find someone else - that's what I'm trying."

He rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms. "Well, it doesn't really seem to be working out, does it?"

"It was going great, actually." You smile, hoping it's not as hollow as you feel.

"Oh, yeah?" He cocks a brow, lips pulling into a sly smirk. "Then why are you out here with me?

"You," you huff, at a loss. His words seem to be coming easier than ever while you choke on every one. You shrug, "You looked upset when you left."

"And I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted, right?" His smirk stretches into an acetous grin. "Came to relish in the tears, huh? Sorry to disappoint." He moves to brush by you, but you plant yourself in his path once again.

"I can't believe-" you start, but stop short. Because you can believe he'd think of you that way - you'd never given him a reason to think otherwise.

You think back to the silence that had made its home between the two of you, realizing you had used it as a confidant, letting it absorb everything you should've given to Leon instead.

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you are doing." Your voice comes out as small as you feel under the weight of Leon's gaze. It's ironic - all this time you just wanted him to look at you, and now you wish he'd turn his eyes anywhere else.

He snorts, short and irascibly, "I don't need you worrying about me."

"I know you don't, Leon," you throw your hands out, rainwater flicking off your skin with your exasperation. "You've made that very clear. But I can't help it - I'm going to anyways."

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?" You half-yell, half-whine. You cringe at the sound, feeling slightly delirious; freezing cold and nearly begging him to let you care.

"Because you can do better." His voice is even once again, feelings stacked neatly away and locked up tight.

"You don't get to decide that for me," you spit, ears ringing with the echo of your too-loud voice.

"Yeah," he nods. "I do."

He steps around you again, intending to disappear down the side street. But this time you grab him, fingers latching onto the slippery leather of his jacket, his arm as tense as a bowstring under your grip.

"Let me go," he requests without turning to look at you, voice still even, even, even. It's a courtesy, he could easily pull free - but you are sick of his kindness, his courtesies; that's how you ended up here. You don't want them anymore.

"Make me."

"Let me go," he repeats, slower and thicker.

"No." If you want me gone, you'll have to force me. You don't say it, but you know he got the message when his shoulders slump, fight draining out of him all at once.

With the thrill of victory that ripples through you, you make the mistake of loosening your hold on his jacket. He seizes the opportunity, twisting your arm and grabbing you by the bicep, pulling you close. He is running hot despite the chill of the rain, you have to force yourself not to relax into his heat.

A moment passes, and then another. Neither of you move. The precipitation falls in sheets around you. You can't bring yourself to care.

Your gaze slides from his chest to his neck to his jaw, backtracking the path of a stray raindrop. You chance a glance at his eyes, finding they are already on you, steely blue shimmering with the light of the streetlamp behind you.

You love him.

You wish the ground would crack open, allowing you to freefall straight down to hell. You imagine that would feel better - less painful - than this.

You love him, and your skin burns with the feeling of it. You want to throw up. You want to kiss him. You want to pound your fists against his chest, curse him for doing this to you.

You settle for allowing a sob to escape your throat.

He releases you from his hold instantly at the sound. You scramble to grip his jacket to keep yourself upright - it's pitiful, the teeth of the zipper biting into the skin of your hands. The sharp pain comes as a tether, gifting you the space to ground yourself, to shove the tears back down.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tight and clipped. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," you cut him off, voice rough, grating. "It wasn't. You didn't hurt me."

"Okay," he mutters.

You laugh. You love him and you can't help but laugh, sinking into the insanity of it.

You feel him start to stiffen again, unsure. The feeling of his discomfort building under your fingers forces you back into yourself, realizing where you are, that you've been causing a scene on the corner down the block from his apartment.

You release him, but you don't step away, tilting your head just enough to take in the sight of him - parted lips and a handful of freckles, blonde hair tinted green by the neon sign over the entrance of the convenience store a few feet away.

"I'm sorry," you croak out, drifting back; wishing the rain would melt you down, suck you into the storm drain. That's the only thing that could pull you from him, you think; swirling down the gutters with the cigarette butts and the fallen cherry blossoms until you're laid to rest at the bottom of the Potomac.

His nose twitches. "For what?"

That I can't find someone else, can't force myself away from you.

That I love you, but can't tell you.

"For," you throw your hands out, weaker than before. "All of it."

He nods, "It's okay."

You don't want it to be, but you suddenly feel exhausted. Too tired to fight, to pull any more truths from him.

"Take me home?" You request, you plead.

He nods again, holding his hand out to you. "Yeah."

You intertwine your fingers with his own, the roughness of his callouses and scars soothing in their familiarity.

The walk to his place is short. You don't bother trying to shake off the water before entering, leaving a trail of raindrops up the stairwell, down the hall, through his front door, across his apartment to the tiled floor of his bathroom.

He reaches into the shower, cranking the hot water, allowing the stream to heat up as he helps you out of your wet clothes. He removes the drenched fabric piece by piece - jacket first, then your dress, unzipping it with even more care than the previous time. It doesn't slip off with the same ease, but his gentle fingers pull it from your skin until it falls away. He crouches to undo your shoes, allowing you to step out of them before reaching up and rolling your nylons, guiding them down your legs.

He moves to do the same with your underwear, fingers resting on the waistband as he glances up to you, silently asking your permission even though he already has it, always will. There's no heat behind his actions, but the tenderness sears your skin all the same. You nod, a low ache settling into the center of your chest as he slides them off you before standing. You unclasp your bra; he doesn't comment on the matching set.

The steam of the boiling shower envelops you as you undress him in turn. You struggle with his belt buckle, stiff fingers uncooperative. He takes over and you drop to your knees to untie the laces of his boots, finding them mercifully secured with single-knots. You make quick work of them and he reaches down to help you up, moving you out of the way before he kicks them off.

You assist him in pulling his shirt over his head, peeling the cotton away from his skin. You unbutton his jeans as he removes the clips from your hair, wet strands falling limply in front of your eyes.

"Go ahead and get in, I'll go throw this stuff in the wash." His voice is mellifluous, sickeningly soft.

It makes you feel like a kid, incompetent and helpless. You hate him for it. You hate yourself for twisting his kindness into something dark and disgusting.

"I can help," you offer, because that's all you can do; already leaning down to collect your things. "You have to hang the jacket, it's-"

"Wool. I know," his hand brushes your back lightly, "it's okay. I'll be right back."

You straighten up, allowing him to guide you across the bathroom and help you into the tub. You slowly ease your way under the hot stream as he slides the shower curtain closed.

You watch the shape of him through the cloudy plastic, shucking off his jeans and pulling off his socks. The sobs you had just barely choked down twice before make another escape attempt, clawing at your throat as you watch his shadow collect your clothes and move down the hall.

You shut your eyes against the sudden emptiness of the room, against the tears and the silence and the panic; against the loathing and inferiority. You take the coward's way out, turning away from it all to hold your face up to the showerhead.

He returns quickly, rustling around for a moment before slipping into the tub behind you. His presence awards you the bravery you needed to crack open your eyes, to clear your throat. "You're wrong, you know."

Exhaustion overshadows his amusement as he hums in question, "about what?"

Picking your hand up, you reach out slowly to slide your fingers along his collarbone, circle the puckered scar on his shoulder. "That I can find someone better."

He scoffs, dropping his head, hair fluttering down to obscure his face.

You move your hand to his neck, thumbing his jaw. "If anything, it's me who doesn't deserve you, Leon."

He shakes his head, but you ignore the action, continuing before he can protest. "Nobody can take care of me like you do - not even myself. I'm sorry" - for needing you, for burdening you; for loving you even though I'm unworthy of it - "for pushing you. I understand there are things you can't share, but I want whatever you can."

You sigh, shifting your hand at his neck to pull him to you; he follows you easily, achingly. "Even if it's just this."

He nods minutely, hooking his arms over your hips and resting his forehead on yours. Answer delivered on a breath that floats across your lips, "alright."

You remain in his arms, his agreement echoing in your mind in time with the beat of your heart in your chest. Seconds morph into minutes, only moving when the water begins to grow cold.

You wash first, your shampoo and conditioner still on the rack next to his own. Leaving him under the stream, you make your way to his room after wrapping yourself in one of the towels he'd brought into the bathroom.

Home. You had asked him to take you home and he brought you here, despite your own place being just a few blocks further in the opposite direction of his from the corner you had been on. But his assumption was right; this - he - was home to you.

The emptiness of his apartment was unsettling at first, but it quickly grew comforting - no regrets staining the carpet; no photos on the dresser of you as a girl you don't remember being. Here you could be untethered from the past you didn't want; white walls graciously offering a clean slate, even if you didn't deserve it, didn't earn it.

There is a shirt of his waiting on the bed for you, a pair of your pajama pants in the drawer next to his. Your stomach turns at the sight - no wonder he had tried to push you away; you had subconsciously settled into his space, his closet and his bed.

Your mug in the sink, your pills behind the mirror - the reckless domesticity of it all is startling, terrifying. He had given you an inch and you had taken a mile, too eager for the chance to be something new.

You pull on the clothes, making your way towards the balcony, a wave of nausea rolling through you under the soft cotton. Outside, it's still raining, translucent ropes sluicing off the overhang of the roof.

You almost immediately regret stepping outside, feeling as if it's a betrayal of the care Leon took to get you warm; but you needed it. The chill of the air forces your thoughts to line up, to wait to be addressed one by one.

His hand leading you home, your wool coat hung to dry, his shirt waiting on the bed for you to occupy - each act a silent invitation; the realization stirs inside you, grips your collarbones from the inside.

Could it be…?

You should ask him, but you've asked for more than enough tonight.

He slides open the glass door, sweatpants low on his hips; the lamp on his nightstand illuminates him from behind, feathering out all his sharp edges. Maybe it's not love; maybe it's just lust, desire - a need so great it's all-consuming. You have no point of comparison to use as a frame of reference, to assist in finding the distinction.

"I was away for a few days, there's not much in the fridge. Is ramen alright or do you want to order something?" He asks and it's love, you are suddenly sure of it.

You turn; the sight of Leon in the buttery glow of the bedroom acting as a beacon, guiding you through the terror. "Ramen is fine."

#(writing)#leon kennedy #leon s. kennedy #resident evil 4 #leon resident evil #resident evil 4 remake #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy x you #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #geez how many variations of the leon x reader tag is there...#i do not think i got them all but this is More than enough

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xxnghtclls · 2 years ago

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Permission

Chapter 24

(Chapter 23; Chapter 25)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags!

Your Place

Sukuna starts to walk inside, you hesitate, but a fresh breeze hitting your back urges you to get going. The door closes behind you and you find yourself walking down the dark stairs. Soon the cold stone is illuminated by Uraumes candle. Following Sukuna, you quietly make your way through the dark corridors.

It’s silent.

No one seems to be outside of their quarters. After a few minutes, you arrive in the hallway, that you used to clean every single day. A weird weight falls upon your heart, as you go around the corner and see the door to your very own quarters. You come to a halt in front of it and watch Sukuna go further in the direction of his own. Uraume stops right next to you and bows their head.

“Welcome back and good night, y/n.” they say before they leave.

“Good night.” you whisper, bowing your head as well, before you turn your gaze back to Sukuna, meeting his eyes for a brief second, before he disappears behind the corner.

Trembling, your hand opens the door to your room.

A candle flickers next to your futon, some rice cakes are placed there as well. It’s tidy and warm in here. A new kimono and a yukata to sleep in is neatly placed on the covers. The lump in your throat is steadily growing, your mind trying hard not to let the tears flow. You sigh and gently place the stags fur next to the futon, as well as the dagger. Going to the bowl of water that’s sitting in the corner of your room, you clean yourself up with a piece of soap and after patting yourself dry with a fresh drying cloth, you change into the yukata and place the kimono aside. You lay down.

Uncomfortable.

You blow out the candle, before your eyes fall upon Sukuna’s kimono. A trembling exhale escapes your lips, before you reach for it. You look at it, stroke your thumb over the soft fabric, thinking about all what happened. Slowly, you put the kimono against your chest. Gently at first, but the heartache pulls at it. Unconsciously, you press it harder and harder against your chest, before you raise the fabric and press your face into it, hoping you would smell him on there. You do, next to your own smell and dirt and you’re not sure if it makes this situation any easier.

This situation.

This situation meaning just to be in a different room than him. It’s hard for you and you wonder if he feels the same. You hope he does.

He must be. He cursed me after all.

Lips trembling, you sniff into his clothes, as you allow to let your tears flow. Finally your heart accepted its truth and now you’re here without him.

What if I told him?

Would it be different now?

You sob and sob, hoping crying would make you tired enough to fall asleep, would make it easier without having him right next to you.

It doesn’t.

You ponder, thinking about if you should just go over to him. Getting up, you walk around in your room, the ache in your heart being almost unbearable. You look out the window into the night sky.

Sniff.

Your nose is swollen up, breathing is harder than it already is. The stars seem calm and the insects are playing their song, it must be rather late by now. Anxiety grips you by the throat, your heart rate increases and you keep walking back and forth, lay down, get up again, sit down again. You tell yourself to keep it together, since he’s not far away from you, just around the corner.

But he’s not here.

With me.

After two more hours of staring into the darkness, you get up, roll up the fur and tug it under your left arm.

Fuck it.

You open your door quietly, before tiptoeing around the corner to his quarters. The last time you did this, he was fucking someone else. You listen…

and to your relief, it’s silent. No moans and breathing. You shake your head, trying to forget what you witnessed here and raise your hand to knock. With a pounding heart, you hesitate.

What if he wants to be left alone?

Minutes pass without you being able to move.

He was already patient enough…

But I need him.

My heart.

Suddenly the door in front of you slides open, catching you off guard. Sukuna stands in the frame, still wearing his ripped kimono on his waist, as his eyes squint softly. Stern, red orbs piercing into yours. Your hand still risen to knock, your swollen eyes opened wide in shock, not sure what to do or say.

It’s not easy for you to read his gaze, if he expected you to be right here in front of his door or not, if he’s relieved to see you or not.

You swallow.

“I-I’m sorry, my King.” you whisper, as you avert your gaze and turn around, ready to walk back into your room.

“Come.” he quietly says. His words make you freeze in your spot, heart aching even more. A moment passes, before you turn around slowly, not daring to look at his face, while you walk past his figure into his quarters.

It looks exactly like you remember. The door to the gardens opened up, a small fire flickering in the corner of his room. The sheets neatly placed upon his bed, he didn’t even sit down on them. You wonder what he did while you were fighting with yourself these past hours, if he was as restless as you. Making your way to his bed, you roll out the fur on the floor right next to it, in front of his armchair and fireplace. The sound of his kiseru hits your ears, as he takes a puff. The smell of tobacco creeps into your nose, while you lay down on the fur, facing the fireplace and close your eyes.

You listen to him walking around in his room, smoking his pipe, standing in the door to the gardens.

Maybe he’s lost in thought.

Not allowing to let sleep swallow you, you keep listening to him and you feel, that having him near you, gives you so much comfort. Your heart calms down. His bare feet tap across the floor right next to you, before you hear him sitting down in his armchair. You squint your eyes open, see his feet resting near you.

“Permission to touch you, my King.” you whisper. Old words, that you almost forgot. He doesn’t respond verbally, just gently slides his right foot closer to you. The fingers of your right hand, so small in comparison to his feet, softly touch his instep, moving up, before feeling the tattooed ring on his ankle. Your thumb draws circles over his warm skin, feel him, before you let your hand slide down and place the back of your hand against the side of his foot.

Then you let sleep wash itself over you, feeling his warmth against the back of your hand.

You wake up, unusually comfortable. With the fireplace crackling in front of you, you almost forgot, that you aren’t in the woods anymore. You open your eyes. Sukuna still sits in the armchair right next to you, your hand still leaning against his foot. Looking up, you see him having his face resting on his right fist, all of his eyes closed and you wonder if he’s actually sleeping this time. His remaining hands are resting on his lap. So calm and peaceful he looks, while his chest gently moves up and down. Breathing. Even the air that softly escapes his nostrils is audible.

Adorable.

It’s probably best if you leave soon, before someone comes in and sees you. Quietly you get up. Standing right in front of the calm beast, you lean forward, your face inches from his, watching his beautiful calm face. Your heart flutters, breath stumbles, eyes longing.

I love you.

“Say it.”

He opens his eyes, as if he heard your thoughts. Your eyes widen, shock spreads in your gut, cheeks burning red.

Why do I keep believing he is sleeping???

“W-What?” you stutter.

“Your mind keeps knocking at mine when you look at me like that.” he grumbles.

Shit.

Your lips tremble for words.

“I-I was about to thank you for letting me spending the night here.”

He eyes your face, cocking his eyebrow.

“Quietly.” you add.

“Lie.”

“Well, I didn’t want to wake you.” your face burns red, before you quickly turn around to gather the fur. “I’m sorry, my King.” you mumble, bowing your head to him, before stumbling to his door.

“I didn’t allow you to leave yet.” he grumbles, as you reach out to slide it open.

“I don’t want to bother you.” you lie, without turning back to him.

“You’re a terrible liar. You were the one standing in front of my door last night.”

Just let me go before someone else comes in!

You sigh and turn back to him.

“Yet, you were the one opening said door, before I even had the chance to knock.” you walk back up to him, leaning in. “Perhaps you were the one who wanted to come and knock on my door.” you tease in a whisper, smirking at him.

His lip twitches, before his lips curl into a smirk. Your breath hitches, smirk fading.

Was he?

He nudges his nose against yours and opens his mouth to say something, as suddenly…

Knock.

Fuck!

Your eyes widen and your heart feels like its about to stop. Bowing your head, you step aside, pushing your back against the wall. The door slides open.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

Your heart is pounding in your throat, while you listen to someone stepping into the room.

“Master Sukuna.” Uraumes voice rings through your ear. It relieves you, sort of. You exhale, having not noticed that you held your breath. They walk a few steps into the room. In the corner of your eye, you see Sukuna placing his head back on his hand, eyeing Uraume, as they make their way into the room.

“Your presence is requested for a hearing. Do you accept?” they ask politely. Sukuna ponders, taps three times on this armrest, before he nods.

“As you wish, Master Sukuna. The throne is ready for your arrival.” they bow their head, before heading out again.

You notice how business is carried on like nothing ever happened, as if he wasn’t gone at all. The door slides shut.

Silence.

“They’re waiting for you already.” you mumble. “I should go.”

“You’re coming with me.” he orders, making your heart drop. “Get dressed.”

You sigh and look up to him. A short exchange of glances and without any more words, you go to his door, slide it open and leave his room.

Going into your room, you place the fur next to your futon, not even bothering to roll it out yet, before you turn to the neatly folded new kimono. Again it looks similar to his, white fabric, same obi, same dark blue edges. Deep red and black ornaments decorate the sleeves and hem.

He really is persistent.

You take a deep breath before putting it on. Patting the fabric smooth, you conclude it really does look good on you, his trademarks look good on you. It’s pretty and at least you don’t feel cold anymore. Remembering last night, the way he looked at you when you were standing in front of his door, you wonder if his heart was longing for you the same way your heart did for him.

Was he really about to knock on my door last night?

Knock.

Especially hard, frequent knocks on your door make you jump. You open the door and see Sukuna waiting for you outside. His side is facing you, as he eyes you from over his shoulder, nails tapping on the tattooed rings on his biceps, while his arms are crossed in front of his torso. He looks freshened up, his hair put in place. He wears his black hakama, the fabric hanging low on his waist. He’s looking like a warrior, like a King.

He looks… hot.

You swallow and try to regain control over your face again, while your clit throbs in the same beat as your heart does, before you lower your head and walk out of your door.

Both of you make your way to the throne room, passing not one of the other girls, since all of them are probably already there. Your heart rate goes up, the need to flee knocks at your mind, but you suppress it.

For him.

Your feet stop in front of the door, your nervous breathing is audible. Standing to his right, you feel him turning his head to look at you. You look back up to him, only to see the stern look on his face, his mind probably telling you to keep your shit together... or at least you hope he would have this kind of encouraging words for you.

The door opens.

A short peek to the inside tells you, that all the girls are gathered there, exactly like the last times. Sitting and standing all over the huge pile of bones that make up his throne. The bitch is sitting on the left side next to his throne, just like the last time you were there. The new girl is standing on the right side.

…on my place.

Your heart keeps pounding, your stomach churns, before you lower your head back down. Sukuna starts walking and after taking a deep breath, you follow him. It’s silent, only the tapping of your feet are audible. The air is thick and you feel like a thousand eyes are piercing into you, while you follow Sukuna and climb the stairs to his throne. Climbing the stairs feels like an eternity and you don’t know what will happen up there.

I’m scared.

Arriving at the top, the girl looks at Sukuna with her bright eyes, visibly happy to see him again.

“My King!“ she squeals, as Sukuna comes to a halt in front of her, looking down on her.

“Forgot your manners?” his voice smooth, but intimidating. Standing behind him, you can’t see the look on his face, but judging by her fading smile and widening eyes, he must’ve given her a reason to fear him. An unexpected swing of his right hand in front of her face and suddenly blood starts squirting out of her eyelids. Everyone winces at his actions and you gasp in shock, as high pitched screams of agony and pain echo through the hall, while she falls to her knees and cries, holding her face in her hands, while blood keeps flowing down between her fingers.

“Stupid bitch.” he murmurs, while he sits down, smearing away some blood that hit his face, before licking it off his thumb. Two of nearby standing girls are quick to help the now blinded girl and carry her past you down the stairs.

“Shut her mouth and keep her in here. She may keep listening.” he says in an annoyed tone, placing his head on his upper left hand, his eyes shortly meeting yours. You avert your gaze again and climb the last three steps. Before you arrive at your spot, you catch the bitch looking into your direction. She squints her eyes at you, before you avert your gaze and kneel down next to Sukunas left knee.

Feeling the warmth of his leg right next to you, you try to wrap your head around what just happened.

Was he pissed at her for looking and speaking without permission or w as he pissed she stood in my place?

Whatever it was, he secured your place at his side and it makes you proud and you gather the confidence to raise your head a little bit. No matter how brutal and bloody it was, the constant sobbing of the girl, quietly echoing through the halls, kind of sounds like… music to you.

The door opens another time and you hear footsteps coming in. Multiple. It’s the man who was there at the last hearing, begging for support. You notice, that this time he’s accompanied by two other men. As soon as you recognise him, you shift on your knees, slowly turn around, so that your back is facing them. You rest your face against Sukunas thigh, looking up to him with a longing gaze in your eyes. He looks back at you, squints his eyes, before his upper pair of eyes focus on the men down there. The bottom pair of eyes keep looking at you, as you gently rub your face along the fabric of his hakama.

“King Sukuna!” the man starts behind your back. “Again I am coming to you to ask for your support. The circumstances have changed…”

His voice liquifies in your head, as you start to concentrate on your King and your King only. Not listening to any of that insects bullshit, not listening to any words and your mind starts to wander off. You stare at Sukunas face, deep into his eyes, watch him react to what the man has to say. Once in a while Sukuna will look at you with all of his four eyes, pupils growing each time, before turning his attention back to the man. Well. At least half of it. His bottom pair of eyes keep staring back at you. When he looks back at you, there’s this feeling again. The way your eyes act like nothing in this world exists, except the two of you. The way they act like lovers… and you wonder if in a way you already are. Wonder, if he can be yours, even if he doesn’t admit to it. Wonder, if this curse of tying himself to you, can be compared to a kind of love… his love. The way he slit those girls eyes for just a happy stare, when he never even scratched you for looking at him without gaining permission. The way you are allowed to drown in his eyes right now, while everyone else has to keep their head down.

How can he be not already yours?

Mine.

You lean more against his thigh, close your eyes, the atmosphere around you being a blur. Once or twice you perceive Sukunas voice, talking to the men. A chuckle here and there. The colour of his voice grew so much on you. A warm feeling spreads in your guts every time you hear it. You could hear him talk day and night, his words, his humming, his grumbling. It kind of feels like home to you.

Him standing up for your place earlier, cutting that girls eyes, the pride he awoke in you, you want to give that back to him. Not giving a shit about who might see you doing this and who not.

At least right now.

You want him.

Placing a kiss on his clothed thigh, you regain his full attention. He raises his bottom left hand and puts it on the side of your face, stroking his thumb against your lips until you part them. You give his thumb a single lick, before wrapping your lips around it, gently sucking and licking the sensitive skin. His breath deepens, his brow twitches, almost furrows at your actions, while his lips softly part. Slowly the mans muted voice reaches your ears.

“Thank you, King Sukuna-”

“Get out.” he quietly orders, without breaking his eye contact with you. Obeying their King, everyone around you gets up and starts to leave. He retreats his thumb from your mouth and while everyone is leaving, you notice that the muffled sound of the sobbing girl is moving to the entrance to the hall. You conclude that other girls are probably helping her to leave the hall. Sukuna also notices and looks into their direction, flaring his eyes.

“I told you to keep her in here! She may keep listening.“

#permission #permission chapters #true form sukuna #sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #true form sukuna smut #fanfiction #slowburn #sukuna x reader #true form sukuna x reader #true form sukuna x you #sukuna x you

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cramberry24 · 1 month ago

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I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

Update day! I had a blast writing this chapter, for better or worse lol

Chapter 23: I Am the Righteous Hand of God, And I Am the Devil That You Forgot

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, no beta we die like, well you know, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Non-Consensual Touching, Attempted Sexual Assault, Angst with a Happy Ending, there is a happy ending i promise, Protective William Pierson

Summary: February melts into March. With the Germans falling back easier than anticipated and the Rhine quickly approaching, Pierson and Eve must deal with the aftermath of recent events. Luckily, Eve isn't as alone as she thinks she is.

Tidbit from the beginning of the chapter as usual, full chapter on ao3 linked in title above!

Eve keeps her breathing slow and steady as she methodically pulls slivers of glass out of her hand. The pain barely registers, just a low throb as her knuckles ache. In hindsight, maybe the impromptu haircut hadn’t been the best decision, but how was she to know there’d be a ghost in the mirror?

The nightmare was…bad. She’s pretty sure the part of her brain in charge of dreams and nightmares is holding the memories of That Night hostage because everytime she manages to fall asleep, she’s plagued by hazy, murky visions of things she can’t remember in the daylight. It’s a bit funny, because before then it had actually been almost two months of no nightmares, no dreams at all, and now she can’t go five minutes without jerking awake with a gasp.

This morning it had been waking to fingers yanking her hair, carving bruises into her hips. Shuttering gasps, nearly slicing the palm of her hand open when she dug through her pack for her scissors. Chopping and hacking at the unruly locks, nicking her scalp only once in the madness. It’s uneven, some parts cut down to her scalp, other tufts still a bit longer. Greasy, limp orange hair littering the stained porcelain sink. When she had finished and her vision had finally cleared out of panic-induced haze, she had looked up into the mirror.

The dead woman from Paris had been looking back at her.

Buzzed scalp, caved in skull, blood covering half her face. Pale blue eye, dead as anything and staring right through her. Bruises in the shapes of handprints decorating her pale skin.

The scream had built up in her throat, hit a blockade right behind her tongue, and her fist was smashing into the glass in the next second, shattered shards raining down around her, embedding into her skin.

So here she is, sitting on her bed and pulling the last sliver out. She’s already run it through the water, cleaned it as best she can, so she pulls out a bandage and takes her time wrapping it tightly around her hand. It’s harder than it should be since she has to use her nondominant hand, but she just goes slow.

Thuds creak against wooden floorboards and Eve’s eyes lazily slide to the doorway, her shoulders slumping. Pretending to be fine was a lot easier before she had someone checking in on her every five goddamn minutes.

Her haircut must be extraordinarily bad because Pierson just freezes in the doorway, staring, and he doesn’t even notice her bleeding hand for a few seconds. When he does, his shoulders tense and he bites out a curse, sitting heavily next to her on her bed and holding out a hand for the bandage. It’s slipped and gotten loose - she really isn’t good at using her left hand, and it doesn’t help that it won’t stop shaking. Sighing, she hands over the roll and he pulls her bleeding hand into his lap, starting to wrap it. He’s a lot faster than she is.

“What happened?” he grunts out.

“There was a ghost in the mirror.”

It’s a testament to how long Pierson’s known her that he doesn’t even bat an eye at her answer. He just exhales slowly, tightening the bandage, crisscrossing over her palm, across her knuckles.

“I thought you said you can’t fight ghosts,” he says after a few seconds. She blinks, tries to remember when she would’ve said that. Places the memory.

“Well, no, but…I mean, if the ghost’s within punching distance, I’m hitting and then running, everything else is just straight up flight.”

“But punching it won’t do anything.”

“Well, apparently punching it gets glass in my hand, so I wouldn’t say it won’t do anything.”

Pierson’s brown eyes flick up to meet her tired blue ones, unamused. Really, she’s surprised he kept up the ghost conversation as long as he did. It…it reminds her of before. Before a lot of things.

“Does the ghost punching have anything to do with…all that?”

He gestures vaguely to her hair before returning to the bandage, starting to pin it down.

“It’s not that bad.”

He scoffs, unimpressed. “Evelyn.”

She parrots his tone. “William.”

His eyes widen so fast with surprise that for a second, she doubts that she said the right name, backpedaling in her mind. No, no, his first name is definitely William. Sure, she’s never called him that before, but he also never used to call her Evelyn so frequently.

Pierson’s eyes narrow. She mimics his expression.

“What? You can call me Evelyn but I can’t call you William? That’s awfully hypocritical of you.”

“Stop changing the subject,” he grunts out, releasing her hand. “Your hair.”

“Okay, yeah, it’s bad.”

“Bad?” The man sucks in a breath between his teeth. Eve scowls.

“Fuck you.”

“It’s…it just needs some work.”

Eve gestures toward the tiny bathroom attached to her room. The splintered mirror waits in there, a fist-sized hole in the center of it.

“Unfortunately, I’ve used up all my mirrors,” she says dryly. “Going in blind is not going to make it any better, I fear.”

Pierson rubs a hand over his face, eyes glancing around the room before landing on the nearby side table. Specifically, the scissors there. Eve squints at him.

“Don’t you touch my hair.”

“Evelyn, it’s bad. I don’t think a single person out there would take you seriously. It looks worse than when that private in Sicily tried to give himself a mohawk.”

Eve winces. Oh. Then it must be really bad because that haircut was horrendous. She slumps with a sigh, dragging herself off the bed and sitting cross-legged in front of Pierson with her back to him. She picks at the bandage while he tries to fix the mess she made of her head.

“Why’d you cut it?”

She scowls at his question. Part of her wants to snap back and tell him to shut up. Both of them are trying to figure out where they stand with each other now after that whole mess, after she went and broke down and sobbed like a baby in front of him. Her skin buzzes with embarrassment and shame.

“It was getting too long,” she answers curtly.

“Bullshit.”

“You know I cut it short for a reason -“

“I also know you’ve been growing it out on purpose for the last few months.”

He’s right. She had been pretty consistent with keeping her hair at the same short length for the first few months in Europe. When had she stopped trimming it? Sometime around when the weather started changing, and she had used the temperature dropping as an excuse. Really, though, part of it had been just plain missing having long hair, and part of it had been catching Robbie staring at her hair whenever her helmet was off, the way his fingers slid through her locks when he held her close, the offhand question he had asked once about whether the orange got lighter or darker when her hair was longer.

She doesn’t like when people fixate on her hair, but there had been something about Robbie and his looks and touches and questions that had her wanting her long hair back as soon as possible, just so he would get that look on his face again, so he would reach out to tuck a lock behind her ear.

But Robbie’s gone, and she just destroyed whatever progress she’s made on her hair growth from the past few months.

“I had a nightmare.”

Her hands still at her words. She inhales sharply, surprised she actually said them out loud. Pierson doesn’t say anything right away, still just quietly snipping and trimming awkwardly at her hair. Her neck itches as the tiny hairs congregate along her collar. His hands ghost across the twisted scar tissue along the back of her head, from the airbase, and she twists her head the other direction, her stomach flipping at just the thought.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Pierson doesn’t respond, but Eve can picture him clenching his jaw and scowling. She hasn’t wanted to talk about anything since That Night, and it’s led to quite a few snippy arguments.

“You can’t just pretend that nothing happened!”

“Nothing did happen -“

“Bullshit, Evelyn -“

“I’m fucking fine, nothing even really happened, we’ll just move the fuck on -“

“Move on? Oh, sure, just move on, be unbothered as hell, just like how you moved on from Nora’s death, right? Because that sure as shit isn’t still fucking you up -“

“I don’t even know why you’re bringing her up, you never even liked her -!”

They had settled on a very tentative and shaky agreement. Pierson won’t push Eve to talk, but on the condition that she goes to him if things get too much, and Pierson’s only allowed to physically attack Somerset if he tries to touch her again. They had spent that whole first day After arguing about going back to the platoon, about Somerset. Eve can handle this - she has to, she has a job to do, she has to find Robbie, she’s never quit anything in her life and she’s not about to start now - but she had been worried Pierson would jump him on sight, get himself booted from the platoon in five seconds flat. He had refused to budge about completely moving on, hence the addendum - if Somerset tries anything, touches her in any way she doesn’t want, Pierson has free rein to pummel him.

He probably considers hacking off her hair and attacking a mirror as “things getting too much”, Eve muses. Maybe he does have a point, but still. She can’t even remember what happened to her That Night, so why would she want to talk about it?

“It was just a bad nightmare,” she mumbles.

“A nightmare that made you put your hand through a mirror.”

His hand squeezes her shoulder - done - and she pushes to her feet, grabbing a rag and heading to the sink. She wets it and rubs it across the back of her neck, brushing away the cut hairs, relieving the damn itchiness. She catches a glimpse of her distorted reflection in the remains of the mirror. Her hair isn’t exactly buzzed, but it’s pretty short. She looks away. She still sees that damn dead woman in her reflection.

“I told you,” Eve forces out, stepping back out of the bathroom. “I didn’t punch the mirror because of a nightmare, there was a ghost.”

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Pierson mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“If you ever leave the army, don’t become a barber. This is kind of shit.”

He flips her off.

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” he mutters.

“No one’s making you be here. You can go fuck right off.”

Please don’t.

Eve crosses her arms and waits, eyes downcast, teeth grinding together. There’s still a lot between them they haven’t touched upon yet - namely the Christmas fight - and Eve doesn’t like the unknown. Are they friends again? Or is this just some sort of pity thing because he feels bad about what happened and he’s the only one around to clean up her mess?

She’s scared to find out the answer.

“Evelyn -“

She doesn’t get to find out what he’s going to say, a knock on the wall in the hallway announcing another presence. OK pokes his head through the doorway, glancing first at Pierson and then at Eve.

“Cap’n Summers wants to see you,” the teen says.

Pierson scowls, tensing.

“Why?” Eve asks, though there’s really no use in it. What would OK know?

“Think we’re movin’ out,” OK says with a shrug. “Might do a last patrol before we leave, I dunno.”

He frowns, squinting hard at her. “Did ya cut your hair?”

“Thank you, OK, you can go now,” Eve says, fighting her own scowl.

The teen vanishes in the next second without another word. Eve sighs, dragging a hand down her face as she moves to collect her rifle and helmet.

“You comin’?” she asks, glancing at Pierson as he stands. He gives her a look.

“What do you think?” he retorts.

“I think you’re stupid,” she whispers under her breath. His boot sticks out as she passes by and she stumbles as she tries to avoid it, glaring at him. He ignores her look, acting as if he did nothing as he follows her out.

#i am king #cod ww2 #cod wwii #cod fanfic #cramberry's compositions #robert zussman/ofc #i dont like that we are approaching the end of this fic #i say as if there arent a bunch more chapters left #but still #throwing daniels back into this next chapter is going to be so funny

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