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spookyspecterino · 2 years ago

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Unconditional

John Seed x !GN Reader

Warnings: Mild NSFW, some very light angst (but with a happy ending), language, John and the deputy obviously being in love with one another.

Word Count: 4.7K

John is caught off-guard by a surprise visit from the deputy and they confess something he wasn't expecting. Will this be a turning point for him?

A/N: You cannot tell me John Seed isn't a soft boy deep down. I refuse to believe otherwise. I will throw hands over this.

John Seed is a monster of the worst kind—one that parades around wearing human flesh and a handsome face. The kind that knows how attractive he is, so he uses it to his advantage, lures in his unsuspecting prey with kind eyes and a charming smile. Because to them, he looks normal—handsome as a devil and sweet, but he wears a well-made mask that’s been perfected throughout his life. All the while, underneath the surface, evil writhes and boils—twisting and turning in him like a restless beast.

He's aware of this too. Aware of the sinful desires that lurk just beneath his skin—the barely controlled urges that seem to grow day after day with no relent in sight. And his hands. Oh, the horrors they have committed—that they have yet to commit. John believes he gave up that life long ago, but the lingering tendencies and habits rear their ugly heads and plunge him back into a drowning despair.

John wants to be good—for Joseph, to make his brother proud, to make him happy. Everything he does is for Joseph—for his brother’s love. Every atonement, while albeit satisfying for John, has been, ultimately, for Joseph. His approval, his attention, his praise, his love is what John wishes for.

The constant battle for control over his sins run him ragged. Control slips from his grasp as his desires grow, as urges become stronger. Undoubtedly, Joseph sees this in John. He sees everything—he is The Father. Which is why his love requires John to be good, to suppress, and to maintain control. In the wake of these requirements, John is left feeling insufficient, no matter how hard he tries.

As John sits on his bed in the Seed Ranch, leaning over with elbows on his knees and his hands folded into prayer, he asks God to guide him; to give him something that will aid this internal battle that rages ever on and lead him to salvation.

A piercing beep, accompanied by a static filled voice from the radio on his hip cuts through his brooding thoughts and prayers, “Sir, the deputy has been seen crossing the river into the Holland Valley. Looks like they were coming from Herald Jacob’s region. Should we pursue?”

Teeth grind and gnash against one another as his wrath flares to life, but it’s quickly replaced by another sin that’s carved into him. John very slowly unhooks the radio from his hip, keeping particular attention to his grasp. He’s broken quite a few before.

“Yes, I want eyes on them from the air. Engage with bliss bullets when they’re far enough from the river that they can’t double back. I want them alive.” His speeding pulse grows louder as he speaks through gritted teeth “Do not fail me—or I will have you in for confession again, Captain.”

Quickly, he clicks the radio to another frequency, one that’s reserved and most of the time silent, except for special occasions such as these. His previous sulking now completely forgotten—breathing heavily, mind racing, he waits eagerly, finger hovering over the button. This was one of the parts he looked forward to most; the beginning of their cat and mouse game. The anticipation vibrates through his entire being as he imagines seeing his deputy again. The chance for Joseph’s love, lies with them.

Other radios on his dresser nearby chatter and squawk, but John isn’t listening. He remains sitting on the edge of his bed, bent over, almost cradling his radio, finger still hovering, waiting—

The speakers beep, and an angry voice crackles through the receiver “John fucking Seed—“

A sin-filled grin tears its way across his face.

“—I swear to Christ, get your planes off my ass or so help me God I will shoot them out of the sky!”

He notices his deputy sounds out of breath, which only serves to delight him. Slowly standing from his bed, he takes his time to respond—knowing full well that pisses them off even more. He has the advantage and he revels in it.

Drawing out his words as if he’s already won, “Well, well. If it isn’t the deputy, how nice of you to visit.”

“I’m warning you John!” the loud roar of a plane is heard in the background just as they end the message and it fills John with a sort of giddiness.

His grin seeps into his tone, giving away how positively beaming he is “What brings you to Holland Valley, my dear?”

There’s a dripping sarcasm to their voice “You know I can’t stay away for long.”

A twisted feeling of warmth creeps through his chest, he decides to respond in kind “It’s always a pleasure.”

“It’s not exactly pleasurable for me—” Their message cuts off with the sound of gunfire, but resumes after a few seconds “—with these fuckin’ planes shooting at me!”

“Deputy…” he lightly scolds “You should know that this is customary for your visits. Especially after last time.” Memories of how furious he had been after the deputy had blown up three of his silos plays back in his mind, but the anger had long since disappeared, replaced with his desire to see them again “No, I’m afraid that you’ll have to be closely watched from now on.”

“Hmm, still sore about that, John?”

He clenched his jaw, hearing them rub his loss in was a sure-fire way to bring back that spark of anger “I have moved past it, but you’re on thin ice.”

“Well, you know me. What better way to display my wrath than blowing up my favorite rival’s stuff?”

John did his best not to get hung up on the ‘favorite rival’ bit, no doubt it’s what they wanted him to focus on “Oh, I do know you, deputy. After your atonement, I’ll know you even better.”

“As much as I look forward to that—you’ll have to catch me first.” They were absolutely grinning as they spoke and John felt himself matching it.

An idea suddenly raced through John’s head and he voiced it without thinking it through fully, more interested in hearing their reaction, “This would be a lot easier if you cooperated…Why don’t you make this easier on yourself and come to me? It would save us both so much trouble.”

“Ah, but I like trouble, John.”

“My pilots will not stop following you, day or night. Eventually, you’ll get tired—you might be getting to that point already. If you come here, you can avoid the nasty business of getting shot and dragged to me.” he smirked, leaning on his dresser and imagining that the deputy was in front of him now “Do you understand? No matter what, you and I will be seeing each other soon.”

“Uh huh, you might have a point, but where—fuck!“ the sound of heavy gunfire cuts them off momentarily, but they’re back after a few long, pounding heartbeats “—Where might you be right now? Bunker? Or that snazzy ranch?” There’s a breathless laugh from their end “I’ll tell you right now, you’re not trapping me in that goddamn bunker again!”

“As luck would have it, I’m at my ranch—“

“Oh ho! John Seed are you asking me to come over? How scandalous!” the grin in the deputy’s voice is audible as they tease him “What would Joseph say?”

At the mention of Joseph, John becomes irritated. Automatic feelings of anxiety—the nauseating fear of letting his brother down—claws its way to the forefront of his mind, ruining the superiority he felt.

Without meaning to, his rising feelings give an edge to his reply “This is about your atonement!”

Of course, they’re quick to pick up on it “Uh oh, touchy subject, my sincerest apologies! What did he do now? Give you a lecture about how to do your job again or—“

“Deputy!” he growled through gritted teeth “Meet me at my ranch—if you can decide to act civil.”

Their immediate response of hysterical laughter, heard even over sporadic gunfire, made John’s face heat up to a bright red.

“Me? I’m not the one who has trouble acting civil! And even so, hypothetically, if I’m gonna come pay you a visit, I need some assurances.”

“Such as…?”

“Obviously no guns—and no guards… no crazy, shirtless henchmen waiting to knock me out… no knives, no tattoo needles, no—“

“—Ok, ok. I understand.”

“And there will be no tying me up in a chair this time! I mean it. You’ll have to play nice.”

John couldn’t help it as sin burned in him, he would pray for forgiveness later, but right now, he was focused on their game. Lord knows, the deputy is his weakness. John moved the radio close to his mouth, adding to his challenging tone “And what happens if I don’t play nice?”

There was a moment of silence from the other end, was the deputy simply running again or were they contemplating an answer?

Their reply mirrored his challenge, sending pleasant shivers up his spine “You don’t want to find out, John Seed.”

“Oh, but I do, Deputy. I really, really do.”

More silence. Longer this time.

Then, a low chuckle through the speakers, and John realized they didn’t sound out of breath anymore. There was no background noise of crashing through underbrush or gunfire either. It was eerily quiet, giving their words an even stronger sense of tension.

“Are you indulging me and my sin of wrath?”

John began to tremble, jittery from excitement, but his voice held firm “I am…”

“Hm. You’re playing a dangerous game, John… I have other sins—maybe you would have a better time if you were to indulge those instead?”

John suddenly found himself breathless, almost panting “What sins would those be?”

When he was met with silence again he felt gnawing impatience and disappointment eat at him. It struck him hard as the seconds ticked on, turning into minutes, hard enough that he was about to click on the radio again and ask—

“It starts with an ‘L’, I’m sure it’s been carved into you somewhere.”

John whirled around to see his deputy standing on the balcony outside that connected to his room, the evening rays of gold lit them from behind, giving them a halo of light. And, not for the first time, John was suddenly hyper aware of just how beautiful the deputy is. Dirt and grass stained their jacket and pants, cuts and rips littered every article of their clothing, their hair looked tousled and wild, but all those imperfections only served to fiercely compliment them.

John struggled to find something to say, shaken and caught off guard by their sudden presence. He hadn’t really believed they would show up here. The deputy simply smiled and strode into his bedroom as if they owned it, closing the glass paned double doors behind them with a soft click. And that was another thing; their absolute, resounding confidence. His ranch was one of the most fortified places in Hope County, and they just walked right into his room with a big smile. It was enough to make his knees weak.

“Hello John. Oh, no need to worry, we agreed to be civil for this visit, remember?” They tilted their head surveying his room casually “But next time—next time I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

John’s voice came out as nothing more than a breath “Deputy…”

Their eyes, glowing with the reflection of the sun, shifted to meet his, and he felt as if an angel from heaven itself was present.

“Did I frighten you?” their question was soft as they began to take careful, slow steps toward John.

“You simply startled me…I didn’t believe you would actually come.” John whispered again. What was wrong with him, why couldn’t he speak normally?

“Ah, so I surprised you?” their eyes flashed an emotion that was too quick to decipher as they took another step, closing the distance to within 10 paces.

“Yes. I would say that—”

“—Now, you can image my surprise every time a plane shows up over my head and tries to shoot me, even when I haven’t been in the valley for 15 minutes.”

His words come out smoothly as he works to regain his composure “That doesn’t sound nearly as pleasant as this has been, Deputy.”

They turn their head away, trying to hide a smile, but John sees it anyway. It’s contagious and he finds himself smiling too. Strong desire rises in him, but it’s not the usual, sinful feeling. He wanted to see that smile more often, to make his deputy smile like that for him and him alone. Briefly, fantasies of falling asleep to that smile and waking to see it every morning warmed his entire body. But with a blink he banished them, it was fanciful thinking that would only lead to trouble.

He feels a question roll off his tongue without even meaning to ask, “Why did you come?” He could hardly believe it came from him, was his body working on its own now, separate from his mind?

Those beautiful eyes blinked, and John could see they didn’t know, or at least they didn’t have a ready answer “Well, first off—you asked me to. So, not to avoid your question, but, why did you invite me?”

Now it was his turn to search for an answer, when he asked them to come to his ranch it was truly a decision he had made in the moment. Another involuntary act, probably not the last. Now, he was left floundering for words as his deputy took a step toward him, “I…I would say it’s for your atonement…”

“Ah, but I told you—you’d have to play nice this time…” They studied him closely, “So, saying that would be a lie…”

“Yes.” John breathed out, shivers racing down his back at the way the deputy’s smile stretched across their face as he said the word they both wanted to hear.

“Hm…please, go on, John...”

“I suppose… I just wanted to see you.” When their brows began to lift John cleared his throat, trying to downplay his words, ”—I was told you were coming from Jacob’s region. I simply wanted to ensure that brute hadn’t maimed you to the point that there was nothing left.”

“How sweet, but don’t you worry about me and that old grump, we had our fun.” When the deputy saw John’s expression darken at their words, their eyes gleamed “Aw, please don’t be jealous, John… the fun you and I have—your brother couldn’t even get close to it.”

He hated the part of him that felt proud of that—hated how the feeling of jealousy ebbed at the honey-like sound of their words—and he hated how desperate he was for them to continue.

As if reading his mind, they did. “Truth be told, I wanted to see you too.” A grin flashed at him “But I don’t have any kind of excuse as to why. We’ll just chalk it up to desire.”

John felt his knees begin to go weak and his voice trembled ever so slightly “Is this the start of a confession I hear?”

They took another step toward him, closing the distance to just out of arm’s reach “Mmm, you would love that, wouldn’t you?”

He felt as if his world was spinning as he fell victim to his deputy’s spell “…I would.”

They gave him a brilliant smile, making John’s heart flutter like a teenager, “Well then, as a reward for playing nice, I’ll give you a little confession… do you want that, Baptist?”

He was putty in their hands now “Yes.”

They laughed, a sound John wished he could hear a thousand times more, “I have desire, John, except it’s not what you’d expect…” their eyes scanned his face, studying it for any kind of reaction as they took another step toward him, “It’s more…pure of heart…”

“…I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t either, for a while. I thought I was crazy.” They very carefully reached a hand up to John’s chest, glancing down and back up to his eyes, as if asking permission.

To his own surprise he felt himself move into their touch, pressing into their calloused, warm hand. A spark of surprise flashed through their expression but was replaced with something else that John couldn’t identify. He felt them trace along his SLOTH scar with a featherlight touch, raising goosebumps on his arms.

Continuing, with a sigh, “I want to show you what it’s like to be loved—and not the kind that Joseph gives you…” they smirk, wrinkling their nose a little “I mean, not like the sibling kind of love—hopefully you know what I mean, I don’t want to clarify—"

John was already shaking his head in disbelief “I still don’t understand.”

“Do I really have to explain? I think it’s pretty clear—"

John placed a firm hand over theirs on his chest, “Deputy, I don’t understand why you would want to show me what it’s like to be loved…”

“Oh…well,” they blinked once or twice to focus themselves “I see how Joseph uses his love as a reward. It’s terribly unfair to you, after…” their voice gently trails off “…everything…”

The deputy no doubt felt John’s pulse hammering in his chest now, a flurry of different emotions confuses him, and he’s left speechless, staring down at the deputy. He feels them start to rub small circles on his chest under his own hand, still pressed into theirs.

His voice is a rasp, the words are painful to say “What would you know…”

“Oh John, I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through—and I don’t know what that’s like…but I have seen the way Joseph treats you; I have heard the things he says to you—and noticed the effects.” Their other hand comes up to hold the side of his neck, and he sighs a little at the warmth. The deputy’s eyes plead with him “He commands you to love others, but the only example you have to go off of is his own twisted version.”

John’s posture begins to sag under weight of their words. Deep in the back of his mind, he feels truth to this. His eyes close very slowly, suddenly exhausted.

The deputy’s thumb grazes against his jaw, soft breath caresses his lips “If you really had Joseph’s love and returned it…would he have to even ask you to devote your life to him?”

The hand on his chest slides up to hold the other side of his jaw, scratching along his beard, “You need someone…let me be that person for you.” When he doesn’t answer, letting his head droop forward, his nose slides against theirs and he can feel the ghostly touch of their lips on his “Please… let me in. Let me love you, John.” There’s a soft chuckle, a whisp of air against his mouth “All you have to say is yes.”

A light groan escaped from him, and irony twisted his lips into a lopsided smile. Cracking his eyes open just enough to look down at them, “I am not a good man…”

“Real love is unconditional. You take a person as they are—”

John closed the distance, pressing his mouth to the deputy’s, cutting off their sentence and swallowing the rest of their words as his lips mold to theirs. There was a sigh of relief from them as their arms wrapped around his neck, pulling their bodies together. His hands found their side and he gripped them fiercely, fingers digging into the fabric of their deputy uniform.

God how he wanted this.

All those sinful desires that were John’s constant companion were not present now. The urges that clawed at him day and night, vanished. Fears of not being good enough, not being able to make Joseph happy—had melted away. Replaced by something warm and whole.

Images of what very well could happen, flashed behind John’s closed eyes. Dancing together under a brilliant, star-filled night as fireflies lit the air around them—holding them in his arms on the bedroom floor as they watched rain fall outside on the balcony—laying his head in their lap on cool summer evenings, listening to the crickets’ chirp outside as he dozes off.

Yes. That’s what he wants.

As the deputy’s fingers curl through his hair, John moans softly and wraps his arms around the small of their back, leaning down over them as his lips hungrily devour theirs. He needed this—the lightweight feeling of freedom from sin, from his doubts and insecurities. Is this what the deputy meant? Is this what they wanted to show him?

John wasn’t sure. Caught up in the moment, he had trouble trying to hold onto any coherent thoughts as they opened their mouth and allowed his tongue to graze against theirs. The soft moan they made sent sparks of electricity buzzing through him. John couldn’t help but moan himself when he felt their thigh rub against his hardening erection.

Whether on purpose or not, it spurred him into action. John broke the kiss to bend down and pick the deputy—his deputy up, wrapping their legs around him and holding them tight under the thighs. He resumed kissing them—their hands coming up to grab his face and pull it to theirs, as he moved backward. Spinning around, he pushed them into the wooden wall with a thump.

They both moaned as their hips grinded into each other up against the wall. John felt feelings of giddiness begin to rise in him at the realization that this was really happening. Moving his lips to their neck he nipped and sucked at the skin, leaving purple and red marks all the way down to their shoulder. Fingers tugged hard at his hair and he let out another moan, louder this time.

As his deputy grinded their hips down on his, he growled into their ear between kisses “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted this—how long I’ve waited.”

There was a breathy laugh as their forehead leaned down to rest against his temple “I think I do, John.”

He bit down on their shoulder as they bucked their hips against him, his breath was coming out in ragged pants now, “God, you drive me wild.”

Faintly, John registered one of his radios on his dresser beep and a voice chatter through it, but his heavy breathing and the motion of his hips grinding into his deputy quickly took over any thoughts he had. One of his hands snaked down their leg, gripping and clawing at the fabric.

Hands tugged on his hair “John… your radio…I think…oh.”

He was working at the belt of their pants and had slipped a hand down inside, groaning as he slid against them and felt their warmth. Hearing their words cut off by a loud moan made him grin devilishly, “Hm? What was that, my dear?”

Their words came out between gasps as his fingers began to work them over “Your—ah…radio…”

John chuckled darkly, pressing open-mouthed kisses along their collar bones “It’s not important…not compared to you.”

They laughed softly, pressing their parted lips into his hair as they fought for breath, rubbing themselves into his hand “That’s sweet…but it sounds like Jos—”

A very familiar voice called for him downstairs “John?”

Both of them froze, ice creeping into John’s veins at the sound of Joseph’s voice. The wooden stairs on the way up to the second floor creaked ominously.

“Fuck!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

His deputy unhooked their legs from around him and dropped softly on their feet, scrambling to redo their belt. John ran a hand through his hair a few times, flattening it back into shape and tried his best to un-ruffle his clothes.

He felt strong hands bring his head down and lips crash into his, gentle words brushed against his mouth “Remember what I said,” and then his deputy was gone. Speeding through the double doors and flying over the balcony into the cool evening with one agile leap, taking his heart along with them.

The doors to his room opened and John spun around to see his brother Joseph walking through, a frown twisting his features. Even though the evening light was dim, the sun dipping almost completely under the horizon, he still wore those yellow aviators.

It unnerved the hell out of John.

Reaching back to a different time, he conjured up his best lawyer etiquette. Applying that practiced façade he would use if he was ever caught off-guard in a courtroom.

“Joseph!” he greeted warmly with a smile, sinking into the act like he would an old armchair, “I apologize, it seems that you’ve caught me by surprise.”

His brother walked slowly into the room, scanning it with a quick glance. John saw the suspicion behind the action and it stung a little, obscured blue eyes fell on him “That wasn’t my intention. I wanted to stop by and check in on you. I called on the radio—several times…” he glanced to the dresser where it sat “…but you didn’t answer.”

“Ah,” John feigned a look of dismay, he opted not to outright lie to his brother, sticking as close to the truth as he could “I was deep in prayer, asking for The Lord’s guidance.”

Joseph’s stance seemed to soften a little “In regards to what?”

With a sigh, John turned to look out at the balcony “The Deputy… they’re…” his voice trailed off as memories played through his mind, the feeling of their skin on his lips, the sound of their moans.

There was a soft “Ah,” from Joseph, taking John’s silence as an implication that he may be struggling. Joseph joined him, standing next to his little brother and looking out “You are working diligently in your effort to catch them, have faith that you will succeed, if you learn to—”

“—if I learn to control myself and let love into my heart. Yes, I believe I’m starting to understand.”

“Good” Joseph sounded genuinely pleased and it warmed John. He couldn’t help but glance at his brother from the corner of his eye. Joseph was stoic, standing next to him with the poise of a leader. As John looks at his brother, he can’t help but sense that something is different, there’s a feeling of change.

…would he have to even ask you to devote your life to him?

His deputy’s words rang in his head like church bells. They were right.

They stood in silence for some time, watching the last of the light disappear behind the mountains. When the stars dotted the night sky Joseph sighed, “Well, I don’t want to disturb your prayers any longer—I’m sorry for intruding.”

John turned to his older brother, that feeling of change and the knowledge that nothing will be the same again, threatens to overwhelm him—but he finishes his act with grace “It wasn’t a problem, Joseph. Thank you for stopping by.”

Joseph offered him a smile, and gently pulled John’s head to his, leaning their foreheads together. Something was lingering in John, bittersweet and aching as he watched Joseph leave. What that feeling was caused by, he didn’t know. He’d have to think it over some more, maybe talk to his deputy about it.

As Joseph’s car disappeared down the dirt trail leading away from The Seed Ranch, John’s racing thoughts calmed, focused on one thing. Speedily walking over to his dresser, he grabbed two radios, clipping one to his waist and holding the other.

Triple checking the frequency was correct, he brought it to his lips with a wry grin—this was his favorite part of their game “Deputy…”

Their beaming response was quicker than any previous “John Seed…”

“Where have you run off to, my dear?”

“Hah, gonna send planes out to come get me, John? I thought we were past that.”

“Oh, we are darling, I’ll be coming for you myself this time.”

“Ahh…isn’t that flattering. Well, as luck would have it, I’m at my cabin right now.”

He was already grabbing his coat “Stay right there—I’ll see you soon, Deputy.”

#john seed x reader #John Seed x Deputy #John Seed #Seed family #far cry 5

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years ago

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Draw your swords, pt. 6

Summary: Losing someone can make you realize what was already there and the Darkling is about to find that out the hard way.

Warnings: angst, violence, swearing, bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five

=================================

Five days have passed and the Darkling had never stopped looking for his wife. His men never saw him rest, sleep was simply never on his agenda. He barely ate at all, merely giving time for the rest of them to gather their strength.

He was restless, constantly questioning how this could have happened. No matter how he looked at it, the Darkling felt guilt consuming him. Without his rage, he worried the guilt would have paralyzed him. Had he not went on a pointless hunt for something that’s likely a tale, she would have been right by his side, antagonizing him.

It’s been hundreds of years since he felt this way, as if his heartstrings are being pulled by someone other than himself. In this search for Y/N, he realized she is consuming. After all, she might have been right – a part of him may actually care for her. He cursed that part of himself over and over again as result.

They’ve tracked her toward Fjerdan borders. Every now and then, they would find bodies on the road, their throat cut or stabbed right through the heart. Sometimes, he found them alive still. He never refrained from calling on his shadows, trying to draw useful information to close in on their whereabouts.

Y/N never saw him use his shadows before. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d disapprove of the means he’s using to find her. After all, she called him a demon on their wedding night. She would never accept him as he is, he had no doubt about that.

Did she want to be found by him?

The first body they found, the Darkling smiled. He didn’t question it was her hands who have taken the man’s life. There was no concrete proof, but he was certain of it. Every body found felt like her own version of breadcrumbs.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled heavily. If she managed to set herself free so many times to leave what was now five dead men behind, he couldn’t help but worry for her safety. What was the price of each crumb she left?

It wasn’t just the exposure to snow he worried about – and he did worry as she got cold too quickly and he was the one to warm her up before. Who’d warm her up now?

The darkness of the forest gave him cause to worry too – she may have tried to hide it, but he knew she was afraid of the dark. He realized it when her breathing turned shallow and fast their first night together just as she extinguished the candlelight. The next night, he left his candle to burn long into the night.

Something stirred inside him, a beast has awakened. Despite the war his heart and mind waged, he wondered if he’s his own worst enemy. Maybe it was time to let someone in. For too long, he had been alone in the shadows of his past lives.

Why is he repeating the same mistakes?

How can he be afraid when he married a woman who never blinks in the face of danger?

His heart was ice and stone until she came and now the ice has started to melt. All he’s done is hurt and destroy, but he wanted out of the loneliness that clings to him.

She was right, as hard as it is to admit it. He’s a demon, a devil that walks the earth and he cares. Because of her he hopes he might love again and he can’t let anyone take that from him – hope is the only thing stronger than fear. And when a devil falls in love and discovers hope, it’s the most hauntingly beautiful sight. They should fear him as he will go to the depths of hell to protect her.

While his eyes may have been closed, his heart jumped as a bright flash forced him to open them again.

He was never given a chance to be soft. His hands had to be bloody, to have people fear him. Only when they feared him, they wouldn’t hurt him. Now was the time to show them just why they fear him.

“Where?” He growled out, looking to Ivan and Fedyor who were looking at the sky.

“East”, Fedyor replied hastily, ready to follow Kirigan who set off in said direction without a second thought. He didn’t order anyone to follow, but they did.

Ivan and Fedyor walked two steps behind their general, alert as the flash had awakened them from a deep slumber. They weren’t the only ones shaken, unsure what they’re walking into but none showed fear as their general lead them straight to the source. Their loyalty, their belief in general Kirigan runs deep.

Except for David. He was afraid. He didn’t want to be in that forest and he didn’t want to be in danger, but he trusted Kirigan. Besides, Y/N was nice and Genya seemed to like her. So he came along too.

Kirigan walked in strides, the snow didn’t slow him down. His hands formed fists, his face twisted in anger, but his heart pounded in his chest as he had no inkling what he might find. All he knew was that he had to get there, fast.

As if made of darkness itself, the Darkling emerged on what looked like a battlefield. The trees surrounded a small clearing covered in snow that melted under the spilled blood – still warm as it poured from the dead surrounding her.

She’s on her knees, two Fjerdans chaining her up as if she’s a wild animal.

“You think you’re scary, huh?” She spat at the Fjerdan’s feet – a crimson liquid, Darkling realized. She’s bleeding.

“That’s adorable”, she chuckled maniacally as she held her fierce gaze on the Fjerdan stood before her. They pulled her left hand behind her back and her right hand in front as they tightened the chains that were secured over rope that laid just beneath.

Darkling’s blood boiled. It is fear that brings rage, that hot burning anger that seeks to harm. Once again, he was afraid, not of her but for her.

Four more Fjerdans came from behind the trees, all covered in blood. “Fucking bitch”, one of them kicked her in the ribs and he couldn’t take anymore. He could kill them easily for what they’ve done – he’s killed every one of them he ran into in the past five days without even blinking, regardless if they were involved in her disappearance or not.

“Mister, I’ve seen scary and you don’t have his handsome smile.”

Licking his lips, the Darkling nearly smiles at her remark. There’s no possible way she means anyone else but him. Looking at his Grisha, he found them nearly all in position. They would attack in a minute, swiftly and deadly.

Yet in a moment of carelessness, he missed the Fjerdans realization they’re being watched. Too quickly, more of them appeared. The pitiful human managed to land a few consecutive blows to Darkling’s face before drawing a dagger.

Angry, dark eyes showed the Fjerdan that the Darkling’s brain is in a different mode, that he has switched gears from empathy he had for his wife to cold emotional indifference. Never once has he directed this mode in Y/N’s direction, yet it emerged when he sensed a threat to her life, letting out a part of him that was full on protective.

Grunting, the Darkling’s eyes narrowed at the human who dared to sink the blade into his heart. Despite his immortality, he could still hurt. The pain of a stab wound felt just as it would if here as fragile as the human before him.

But he’s not human at all.

Connecting his hands, the Darkling lifts his head as he summons the darkness that spills from every corner of the forest. “Foolish”, he sneers, “Attacking me in the dark?” The Darkling smirked, walking past the petrified Fjerdan, allowing his shadows to administer a thousand cuts for his transgression.

As he walked toward the middle of the circle, his shadows followed, aiding his Grisha in taking the rest of the Fjerdans so quickly that Y/N gasped.

Looking around in shock, she found Kirigan kneeling beside her.

“You have a knife”, she coughed into her shoulder, “A knife in your chest.”

“I promised”, he gasped for breath as he pulled the knife from his chest. “That I would protect you and I intend to keep the damn promise.”

On the brink of tears, her lips quivered before she laughed. “I thought you’d let them kill me.” Better to laugh than cry, she thought.

Frowning, he shook his head. “That would be too easy”, he waved David over who stood at the tree line, wide eyed. “If anyone’s going to kill you, it should be me.”

Even with tears blurring her vision, she giggled at his stupid remark. She had tried so hard to free herself.

It wasn’t the first time she had been captured by enemies, she knew what to do. But there were so many of them. Each time she freed herself, they would descend upon her. She managed to run, twice, each time they dragged her back kicking and screaming.

Despite his words, Y/N didn’t believe Kirigan would come for her. She had to be her own hero and she tried. In the end, she used everything at her disposal – everything.

Feeling the chains drop, Y/N glances at David, “Thank you.” The ropes were cut as well, but she didn’t move. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if she could stand on her own and asking for help would wound her. Rubbing her bruised wrists, she reluctantly looked at Kirigan.

“Here”, Kirigan offered his hands. Truth be told, he wanted to carry her, but he knew her pride wouldn’t allow it.

Hissing, she forced herself up despite Kirigan’s offer. “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

He’d have asked her again because she trembled when the wind blew. Her hair was matted with blood, her face red and not from blushing. He could see the damage they’ve done more clearly now as she bent to take a deep breath as if the simple act of breathing hurt her.

Staring at her, he nodded despite his better judgment. Her breathing was ragged, dragging her feet as she walked. She felt his eyes on her, it unnerved her. All she could do is hope her legs don’t give out, but it felt as if they would betray her any moment now.

“Go and make camp ahead”, he ordered his Grisha to speed up as he realized her stubbornness would kill her. Stepping before her, he wrapped an arm around her waist. There would be no asking her for permission this time, he’ll not allow her to deny his help. Hoisting her up in his arm, he held his breath as she cried out in pain.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

How could he not bring any healers? How could he have been so stupid?

Groaning, she sent him a stern glare yet found no anger in his. His eyes are like the ocean - they have the potential to destroy, yet when the waves reach the shore, they dissipate, leaving soft designs in the sand as a gentle reminder of its presence.

Leaning into his embrace, Y/N let out a gentle sigh of resignation. She’s been caught in the riptide and for once, she doesn’t want to fight it.

“I really thought I’d die”, she admits reluctantly.

Feeling him stiffen as he held her in his arms, Y/N frowned. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that, or anything at all. This isn’t what they do, they don’t bare their hearts open.

“And when I faced death”, she continued regardless. Tilting her head to look up at him, she let out a shuddered exhale. A shy smile adorned her lips as their eyes shared a gaze so tender, an outsider would believe them to be in love.

“I thought how silly it is that I don’t know your first name.”

Snorting, Kirigan raised his eyebrows, “Really?”

“Yes”, she breathes out.

Looking at her now, the Darkling couldn’t believe this is his wife. The woman who infuriates him so often seemed so small, so fragile in his arms. Her gaze held remains of the horrors she was cast into and yet he never saw her as earnest before.

“I married you and I don’t even know your name.”

Licking his lips, he stops. Truth be told, no one actually knows his name. His name was long forgotten, a piece of his soul he had left behind in the fold. He promised himself he’d never utter it while he lives. He had promised he would never be that man again.

Unfortunately for him, he seems to be breaking his promises lately.

He promised her he’d protect her and he failed, just as he promised himself he’d never care for her and yet he does.

“Aleksander”, he mutters, still unsure if it’s the right decision. He placed one of his greatest secrets in the hands of a woman who’d see his world burn. He gave her power she never should possess and yet he’s not afraid. No one could make him fear anything after the ordeal he was put through since she decided to tear down his defenses.

Smiling softly, she closed her eyes. Resting her head on his shoulder she felt satisfied. It may be small, but finding out his name felt like a victory. She was born to play this game, it was her destiny. He is her destiny.

Waking up, she found herself wrapped in several blankets inside a tent. Grunting, she struggled to sit up on her own. It seemed to be dark still, but she had a blue light lantern lit inside. She may not know who left it there, but Y/N was thankful. Despite her fear of dark, she found it odd she did not fear Aleksander’s darkness at all.

When his shadows nearly encased her in the clearing, she didn’t fret or worry. She smiled.

As contradictory as it may seem, she wished he was with her now. Her entire body ached and still, she was more bothered by the empty spot beside her. Shaking her head, she bites her lower lip. Would it be so bad if she showed a sliver of vulnerability for a single night? Would making a small concession such as this truly take away her power?

Before she has a chance to change her mind, she’s already outside of her tent. The cold chilled her to the bone, biting every inch of exposed skin. Teeth chattering, she looked to the tent next to hers as it was the only one so close – seemingly intentional.

Trying to open it in the cold seemed impossible as her fingers shook violently. Feeling faint, she wondered why she couldn’t just stay in her own tent for the night. Surely it would have been a better idea than to admit she’s scared to be alone.

A warm liquid trickled down her lip and she nearly laughed at her own idiocy. The darkness and cold and her own injuries have all been fairly good reasons for her to just sleep and try to recover and she still tried to find her husband who showed so much disdain for her in the past.

Just as she was about to give up, a familiar head of hair peaked through.

Shivering, she wipes the liquid from under her nose with the back of her hand. Looking at it, she realizes it’s blood. There’s a slightly dazed look in her eyes, the blood loss suffered over the past days leaving its mark.

Looking up at Kirigan, her lips tremble and she sways slightly as her legs threaten to give out. “I didn’t know who else to go to”, she mumbles meekly before collapsing into Kirigan’s arms.

No…Aleksander’s arms.

Pulling her inside, he wrapped her in his arms as she shivered. Covering her with blankets didn’t seem to help either, but he had confidence it would soon enough.

She closed her eyes, clinging to him and selfishly, he smiled. It brought back memories of the night she climbed atop of him to warm up, he assumed. She didn’t know he was awake then, but she did now. She trusted him enough to seek warmth and as her shivers stopped slowly. That’s when the Darkling realized he would never deny her anything she asked of him.

“Fuck”, he whispers under his breath and her eyes open.

He looked at her in a haunted way, a shadow of a bruise marred his jaw and she reached up to touch it, her chest aching when he nuzzled into her palm. They have never been quite as tender with one another, never so intimate. It felt surprisingly nice.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She asked, feeling so emotionally raw. Physical pain and lingering fear of impending death must have weakened her for a short while. Surely, she can allow herself a few moments of humanity?

He caught her wrist and pulled her hand down to press flat over his heart. “Here.”

Drawing a shuddered breath, her eyebrows knitted in worry. That’s where the knife was, she remembered with guilt. He could have died for her. Hating him requires too much energy; one she had little to spare. For the night, he can just be her husband and she will just be his wife. What harm can it do?

“Why did you come for me? Didn’t you say you wouldn’t fight for me?” Her confidence wavered as he sighed, brushing his fingers along her cheek. Not only did he come for her, but he murdered men for her.

Blinking slow, half in a daze as a low-grade fever began to grip her too, she had no more strength to deny how beautiful he is or how disarming his charm is. He may never love her, but she could…she could love him. If she ever fell for him, she knew she’d never be able to unlove him. She wouldn’t want to and that…that felt oddly comforting. For once, she was too tired to listen to her mind that preferred to set the world on fire rather than care for him.

As her eyes closed and her face relaxed, he stayed awake. He didn’t understand it, but he embraced the warm feeling spreading in his chest as she fell asleep.

“I’d burn this world for you.”

=============================

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06 @whatthefluffrichard

PART 7

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #shadown and bone #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #aleksander x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander kirigan #general kirigan x reader

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hannie-dul-set · 3 years ago

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PAIRING. huang renjun x fem! reader. GENRE. high school! au, suggestive. WARNINGS. attempted murder, mentions of blood and self injury, veryy descriptive kissing, mc has a few screws lost, swearing, depictions of unstable behavior. WORD COUNT. 1.8k GENRAL TAGLIST. @danishmiilk @wownajaemin @leejunini @astroboy-lele @unknown5tar @yunoyeol @w0nni3wrld @charm-art @bat-shark-repellant @keemburley @deliciouslyyellow (pls dm me to be added/removed!)

NOTE. ah yes, the only two genres: murder and making out. inspired by the dream i mentioned earlier. different events, but same vibe HAHA. disclaimer that no matter how much you hate your academic rival, never ever turn to attempted murder! thank you and enjoy

huang renjun— with all his picture perfect smiles, prim and proper tucked in shirts, a pretty face enough to have you on your knees, and with a perfect gpa to top it all off— was someone you wanted.

wanted six feet under the ground.

“hey, congrats!”

speak of the fucking devil.

“you always do really well,” huang renjun towers over you in front of your desk as you sit down. you look up from the wrinkled certificate that have the abhorrent words second honorable mention printed on it's scented surface, only to face his fucking face instead. he beams at you with a smile. you feel convulsions wringing inside your throat. “congratulations again.”

you don't miss the first honor certificate tucked between his books in a measly attempt of concealment. it takes everything in your power to force out something of a smile.

“thanks. you too.”

with that, he quickly scurries away into his seat next to yours with red ears.

your first period teacher enters, beginning class with a greeting, but your mind is elsewhere.

it’s only midterms, you breathe out through your nose, hugging your arms above your desk while sketching out a study plan for the rest of the semester in your head. there’s enough time before graduation. the hold you had on yourself gradually becomes tighter.

still, you know that even if you worked yourself day and night until you bled cold and crimson, huang renjun would still be one step ahead. you bite down your lip, peeling off the dry skin with a sourness writhing in your gut, digging your fingers deeper into your arms. if only he were gone. you leer at the boy diligently taking his notes beside you. if only he were gone gone gone gone—

your eyes widen, ignoring the blood staining your nails.

if only he were gone.

after class, you walk up to his desk and asked if he wanted to work on the physics homework at his place tomorrow. he says yes with starry eyes in a heartbeat.

the next day, renjun couldn’t wait for the final bell to ring. you, too, couldn’t remain in your seat— albeit for a different reason. so when the ringing occurs, the both of you don’t waste a second in finally heading out of the campus.

it’s a silent walk to his place, a standard suburban neighborhood, the sky slowly turning orange in the background. every time you turn your head to look at him, he looks back with a small smile, and you can’t help your hands from twitching at your sides.

renjun unlocks the door and meekly welcomed you inside.

“you can leave your shoes here,” he says, digging his keys into the back pocket of his school slacks with dangling noises. you look at him, smiling, and with a soft hum you leave your school shoes next to his, trailing behind him into the living room.

looking around, you ask him. “are your parents home?” there was an opening that leads to the kitchen, glass doors showing the backyard. the stairs that lead to the second floor are made of sleek, dark oak. it’s a modern interior. they have a fireplace inside.

“no,” he breathes out, wetting his dry throat with a swallow before turning back to face you. “they’re out on business. i don’t think they’ll be home until the weekend.”

the both of you stop right in front of the staircase.

“i see.”

he quickly muffles a cough and leads you up to his room.

the inside of renjun’s room is neat— organized books on the shelf and sheets neatly pressed. There’s a set of candles beside his bed. you hold back a scoff. as expected from the top student.

your eyes flit over from the window above his bed to look at him, instead.

“you don’t have to be so nervous around me, you know,” you muse, dropping down your bag to join him on the floor. worksheets littered with numbers and constants, gravity and acceleration, all scatter on the floor. they blow with the wind knowing that they wouldn’t even be filled in, anyway.

“sorry,” renjun sputters out, loosening his striped necktie with two fingers. his vision is kept trained on the wall behind you. “i’m not— i’m not doing it on purpose.”

you adjust your legs on the floor, skirt riding. “is there a reason?”

“a reason?” he gulped.

“why you can’t look me in the eye.”

renjun thinks he sees the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

“i’ll— i’ll go open the window, it’s a little hot in here, isn’t it?” scrambling to his feet, his knees sink into the navy sheets of his bed, reaching for the window in a nervous flurry to let the air in. “the news said that the temperature’s slowly gonna start rising but i didn’t think it would be—”

he bumps into you when he turned back.

there’s a click from behind him.

the wind stopped coming in.

“it’s not really that hot.”

the way your breath fanned against his lips makes his head spin in circles.

you have an arm out against the glass, your sleeve’s fabric grazing his tempered cheek when you went to shut the window down. renjun feels a ghost in the air where there’s a space in between you. “i— i guess you’re right,” he says, clearing his throat. “i never expected that you’d ask to work together.”

there’s syrup at the end of your sentence. “you seemed pretty happy when i did, though.”

he isn’t sure if it’s just him or if you’re slowly getting closer. “well, that’s— that’s because i—”

“you don’t have to say it.”

your voice digs deep into his bones like chains of velvet. he can feel your chest pressing against him now, crushing the sense of rationality that he was bestowed with from birth and is replaced with a warm lush of rabid, violent waters gushing into bit of him stomach,

it comes off a whisper yet it sends him reeling.

“i know.”

renjun swallows. hard. but he’s afraid you’d hear the manifestations of a tempered restlessness that had managed to crawl its way up to the tips of his fingers— which found themselves resting onto the curve of your back. stray strands of his swair sweeps above his eyes, obscuring the closeness of your face, and he wants to ask how. how did you know that he likes you.

he never got to.

the question doesn’t even get to resurface after the first hit of your cherry flavored chapstick, his bottom lip caught in between yours, teeth grinding against the plush, pink skin. the second hit has his decorum slowly peeling away from his skin when his tongue traces over yours in a hot mess of delirium, when you settle between his legs, a coarse groan vibrating in his throat. the third has him forgetting his own name.

his eyes are hazy when you pull back with a rough smacking of the mouth. with a short-winded voice, you ask him.

“do you mind if i make a call?”

renjun looks at you in a fit of breathlessness.

an airy laugh leaves your lips that he can’t stop staring at. you press a kiss on his nose. “my parents need to know that i won’t be going home tonight.”

dazed, he answers. “y-yeah, sure.”

he blinks a few times before letting you go.

“take your time.”

you send him a smile before fishing your backpack from the floor and leaving the room.

just like that, a switch was flipped.

upon closing the door, you quickly twist the knob, locking it with the keys that you’d snatched from him earlier. it’s convenient that he has each one labelled— a belated thank you to your school’s ever organized golden boy who never fails to make you sick in the stomach.

at each wall you pass, you make sure to seal the windows shut and have all the doors closed. the contents of your bag make steady pangs against your back as you shuttled down the stairs. you lock the back door shut, close all the windows, turn on all the lights, and throw a match into their fireplace, waiting for the fire to come to full bloom. all that’s left is the kitchen.

there’s no time wasted in turning everything on— the microwave, oven, and the stove until you can't crank them any further. embers fly into the air. it’s getting hotter. you duck down to the compartment under the stove to reveal a white painted propane tank, taking out a cordless soldering iron to seal the safety relief valve close. you place a rag over the opening valve and twist it halfway through. a hissing sound whizzes through the air.

with that, you leave through the front door, locking it for good measure. his keys disappear into the bush nearest to their porch.

it’s only a matter of time until huang renjun ceases to be a pest anymore. if not for good, then at least lethally injured.

you head home to finish your physics worksheets that were due tomorrow.

for the first time in god knows how long, you wake up and head to school with a well rested air.

you take your things out of your backpack, humming a soft tune right before the bell rings for your first class. your other seatmate— donghyuck— notices your unusual cheery demeanor, and inquires about its oddities. you simply answer him with an allusion to finally being free. he laughs it off and turns his head to the chalkboard.

five minutes before eight. the doors creak open. you’re ready to stand and greet your teacher until you realize that it isn’t her.

it’s not.

something nauseating knocks into your lungs and stifles your throat, eyes wide and stinging. it squeezes your neck with poison prickling the surface.

huang renjun enters the classroom with his usual nods and smiles to everyone he passes.

“holy shit, dude. you look like hell.”

“i didn’t get any sleep last night,” he laughs, lightheartedly. “guess i’ll have to sleep through recess.”

your teeth grind against your lips, supple skin turning redder at each nip. your nails leave scratches on the desk as you rattle in your seat, thinking, thinking, panicking. each breath feels like choking on pulverized copper in sulfuric air. there’s a ringing in your ears and you hear nothing except your own voice screaming why is he here why is he here why is he here?

he doesn’t go to his desk. he’s standing right in front of you.

“you look well.”

it sears your fingerprints off your skin.

you don’t answer, don’t even look at him. he breaks into a small smile and leans forward, one hand pressed against your desk and the other reaching for a lock of your hair as he nears and nears and nears. “there’s something here,” he says.

there isn’t.

“you left my window unlocked, baby.”

his hot breath hits your cold cheek, tucking a strand behind with a smile. to everyone else, it would look sweet— heart fluttering. to you it was a death sentence. renjun breathes out a contained chuckle into your ear before letting his hand fall on your shoulder, a tight grip at the last second.

“better luck next time.”

#NCT-WRITERS #cznnet #neowritingsnet #kpopscape #huang renjun x reader #renjun x reader #huang renjun x you #renjun x you #nct x reader #nct x you #huang renjun scenarios #renjun scenarios #nct scenarios #huang renjun smut #nct smut

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wistfulcynic · 3 years ago

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till we be dead ourselves

I saw a thing today that made me a bit cross and reminded me of how unsatisfying I've always found the Brothers Jones reunion in the underworld. This is the result. It's not anti-Liam but it does change him quite a lot from canon, so if that's not your jam you may want to skip this one.

Basically, this is the Brothers Jones I would have liked to see.

Also, at least part of the inspiration came from chatting with @thesschesthair and @winterbythesea about alternative POVs on our OTP. So here, guys, have a Liam. Beware, there are feels.

SUMMARY: Liam Jones has been waiting for his brother for three hundred years. When he finally arrives, he's not as Liam remembers. Some not-typical or particularly respectful of canon Brothers-Jones-in-the-underworld feels, plus a dash of Captain Swan.

words: 2025 rating: T tags: not canon compliant, underworld AU, brothers jones. Major characters are already dead.

on AO3

till we be dead ourselves:

He’s been waiting a long time for this. Three hundred years.

Well, two hundred ninety-three years and eighty-six days, to be precise. He knows because he looked it up. He had to. It’s not easy keeping track of time here; some seconds tick so slowly they’re torture while years can pass in the blink of an eye.

Years, such as they are. There aren’t really years in this place, or truly ‘time’ at all. There’s not really anything. This is nothingness, a void, a repository for whatever souls are made of, and different to each one. They’re trapped here, these souls, until they finish whatever business still remains for them, and over the centuries he’s seen so many come and go—some sorrowfully confused by what they need to do, others firmly certain.

As for Liam Jones, he’s always known why he’s here. His unfinished business is Killian.

On the day Killian arrives Liam can barely contain his excitement. Not just because he may finally be free of this place but because he longs to see his little brother again. He’s missed Killian, and also he’s keen to know what the devil took him so long. How is it possible that his brother’s life stretched on for over three hundred years?

He walks quickly through the town—an odd little town, unlike any he encountered while alive. His afterlife has manifested it for only a few years. Before that it was ships and ports and then it was jungle. Ships and jungle, jungle and ships for so very, very long. He’s come to realise that his afterlife reflects what his brother does Above, though what precisely that consisted of he is not privileged to know. He’s hoping Killian will tell him.

He knocks on the door of a large, blue house and waits, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. When it opens he turns with a smile that freezes on his face.

The man framed in the doorway is his brother, unmistakably him, yet Liam finds he’s not prepared for how much Killian has changed. He feels foolish for being taken so by surprise; of course Killian is not what he remembers. He’s not still the eager young lieutenant he was when Liam died, obviously not. He couldn’t be.

But the man before him is… hard. Jaw set and eyes cold, with an aura of both danger and command. A man not to be trifled with. His face is still youngish—mid-thirties, perhaps—but his eyes are ancient. Tired and bitter and heavy with the weight of ages, and abruptly Liam feels very, very young.

“K-killian?” he ventures.

Killian’s brow wrinkles in confusion that lasts an uncomfortable beat or two, and then it clears. His eyes widen. “Liam,” he breathes. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, brother.” Liam attempts a smile again. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Bloody hell.”

Killian pulls him into a hug which he returns warmly, though the sound of curse words on his brother’s lips has stunned him. He smells of leather, and of the sea. And rum. Liam blinks through a fresh wave of astonishment. Killian has been drinking. Drinking rum.

Killian pulls back from the hug but keeps his hand on Liam’s shoulder. His eyes are crinkled by a smile that Liam can’t help noticing barely touches the depth of sadness in them. “It’s good to see you, brother,” he says.

“You’ve changed,” Liam blurts, then curses his impulsive tongue when the smile fades from his brother’s face.

“Aye,” Killian says. “It’s been some time.”

“Three hundred years, give or take,” Liam agrees. “How? How was it that long?”

“Perhaps you’d better come in, Liam,” Killian says. He steps back and holds the door. “We’ve rather a lot to discuss.”

Liam spends that first night in his brother’s house. Killian seems at a bit of a loss for what to do with himself in all the space and curiously reluctant to speak of why his afterlife has manifested such a dwelling just for him. Of course the dead don’t truly sleep, but Liam passes the night deep in thought, still in shock over what he’s learned about life his brother led.

Killian is Captain Hook. A pirate. A man whose name Liam has heard in hushed whispers on the lips of many a soul who’s passed through this place. None of those whispers spoke of anything good.

He cannot reconcile his little brother, even three hundred years of bitter loss and violent struggle later, as the cruel and vengeful villain of those tales. He cannot. It’s simply not possible.

“Much of what they recounted was likely exaggerated,” Killian said wryly, “or hearsay. But I’ve done much I’m not proud of, Liam. I killed men without a second thought. I plundered lands across the realms. I have not led a good life.”

“Then why are you here?” Liam demanded. “If you were as bad as all that, you wouldn’t end up in limbo.”

“Perhaps I may have done enough in the past few years to warrant a chance at redemption,” Killian reflected. “I suppose we’ll see.”

“And do you know what your unfinished business is?”

Killian swallowed visibly, then nodded. “I believe I do.”

Over the next week Liam keeps an eye on his brother. It’s not that he’s concerned—well, yes, it is that he’s concerned. There’s a restless energy to Killian that makes Liam uneasy, worried that he might do something rash. So he watches, from a distance, as Killian sets about finishing his business. He watches his brother seek out many of the men who bore the tales about him, those who still remain at least. He sees the fear in those men’s faces, and the anger. Sometimes he hears their voices, raised and vicious. It pains him to witness these things—not least the shame on Killian’s face—but he forces himself not to interfere.

His brother is not a man to be trifled with.

One day he observes Killian deep in conversation with a woman, dark-haired and statuesque. They stand close together in the manner of those who’ve shared a deep intimacy, and even from a distance he can see that they are crying. Killian pulls the woman into his arms where she weeps into his shoulder, and before they part he presses his lips to hers.

It’s farewell.

With every interaction Killian’s burden lessens, though he remains weighed down by things Liam can barely fathom. Each night they meet at the blue house, where they sit together and talk. They have three hundred years of catching up to do. As they talk Killian drinks, and Liam has begun to as well. He senses his brother could use company in more than conversation, and it’s not like alcohol can harm the dead. It doesn’t do them much good either, but the phantom rum seems to soothe Killian, and loosen his tongue.

Though not enough, Liam comes to realise, for Killian to speak of why he’s really here.

Her arrival sparks an uproar such as Liam has never experienced, even in all the time he’s passed in this place. She shouldn’t be here. She can’t be here. It’s not possible.

Yet here she is.

Word of it spreads like wildfire; Liam is polishing glasses at the bar where he inexplicably works when it reaches his ears.

“They say she’s alive,” says one of the regulars, in hushed tones. “Alive, and here.”

“That’s impossible,” Liam scoffs. “None of the living can come here. And even if they could why would they want to?”

“She’s here to rescue someone,” the regular replies. “Her true love. That makes it possible, or so they say.”

“And the man died in sacrifice,” another adds. “Huge sacrifice, before his time.”

Before his time, Liam thinks. That should rule Killian out. Yet he can’t shake this feeling, this creeping suspicion born of Killian’s refusal to discuss how he died, or how he lived these past few years. There’s a reason this town is his afterlife, and Liam’s too. There’s a reason he’s alone in that big house.

He sets the glass down, and the rag. “I have to go,” he says.

It couldn’t be more obvious that the woman doesn’t belong. She’s visibly, ostentatiously alive, so full of life she glows. It draws the souls—ghoulishly, Liam thinks—but none dare approach too closely. The woman looks as though if anyone could kill a soul that’s already dead, it’s her.

She heads down Main Street and Liam follows. Past the diner and the library, around the corner and up the street where Killian lives. A tight knot forms in Liam’s chest as she walks up to the blue house then stops, with her hand on the gate.

The door flies open and Killian appears on the porch. He stares at the woman, who offers him a smile that strikes Liam as far too tremulous for her take-no-prisoners demeanour.

“Swan,” Killian chokes. His voice sounds broken. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to save you,” the woman replies. She opens the gate and takes a few steps forward. Killian stumbles off the porch to close the distance between them.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he says. “You shouldn’t be here, not here. Not you.”

“I had to, Killian!” She looks up at him imploringly. “You shouldn’t have died like that. You shouldn’t have had to make that choice.”

She takes his hand and laces their fingers tighter. Killian’s breath catches. “Come back with me, Killian. Come home.”

“I can’t,” he whispers.

“You can. I know a way.” Her voice drops as she steps closer, but Liam can still hear her words. “Don’t try to make me live the rest of my life without you, Killian Jones,” she says. “I won’t do it.”

“Swan—”

“I won’t do it,” she repeats. “I love you.”

Liam can see the moment Killian breaks. He snatches the woman into his arms, holds her tightly as she clings to him and magic twines palpably around them. This is not what he had with the brunette, Liam realises. That was love, yes, and intimacy. It was grief, deep and terrible but of a normal sort.

This is agony. This is two souls that should never have been parted and the connection that still binds them, so powerful it can draw a living woman into the land of the dead.

No wonder Killian couldn’t speak of her, Liam thinks, or of the circumstances of his death. The pain must have been too great.

Liam’s been dead so long he’s forgotten how sensitive a subject it can be.

The man died in sacrifice, he recalls. Huge sacrifice, before his time.

He died for her. And now she’s here to bring him back.

“This feels too soon,” Killian says, as he hugs Liam tight. “I only just found you again.” He pulls back and gives his brother a shrewd look. “And I sense that when I’m here again, you no longer will be.”

“No,” Liam agrees. His business is finished now. And Killian’s not coming back, not to this place. Not if Emma Swan has anything to say about it. The next time Killian Jones dies it will be with his life’s purpose fully met.

He’s glad they had this time, though, and not just because he needed it to move on. He’s glad he got to know his brother as a man, a flawed and troubled one, yes, but one who has goodness at his core and is finally where he needs to be. It only took three hundred years for him to get there.

He’s also glad Killian is still shorter than he is, for all that Liam appears ten years younger than his brother now. He’s glad because he can still wrap his arm around Killian’s neck and ruffle his hair. He does so now, though Killian’s indignant “Oi!” of protest twists his heart. He sounds so like his younger self, that boy Liam spent centuries waiting for and will never see again.

“I love you, little brother,” he whispers.

Killian swallows hard, and nods. “I love you too.”

#cs ff #cs ff au #underworld au #brothers jones #not canon compliant #or especially respectful of it #alternative version of Liam #killian pretty much as is #here there be feels #my own version of the underworld #not quite a ficlet #till we be dead ourselves #profdanglaisstuff

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sockablock · 4 years ago

Text

(TW for panic attacks and discussions about trauma)

— — —

The thing is, Beau's friends are shit fighters.

To be clear—she's not saying that they're bad at fighting, gods know Veth's a force of nature with her crossbow and all of the spell-slingers can kill with a word—it's just that when it comes to fighting, actual fighting, that down-and-dirty fist-on-flesh shit, her friends suck. Most of 'em just run, or they’d sweet-talk a surrender, or go back to slinging spells.

Beau would never admit she misses the Soul, but at least those people knew how to block. At least Dairon would make her work for it, wouldn't tell her to please, gods, Beau, stop punching me, I give!

Fjord's better these days, but not good enough.

Which is why, on their third morning back in Nicodranas, when Beau opens the door to see Yasha looking restless, she knows exactly what's up.

"Should I get my staff?"

Yasha shrugs. She usually does.

"I'll grab it. Down in five."

Beau considers grabbing some toast too, but she remembers how antsy Yasha seemed and figures she should try to avoid puking in Marion’s yard.

Yasha is stretching when she gets there. The gate swings behind her with a gentle clunk, and she kicks her shoes off, curls her toes in the grass. The sun is barely broken above rooftops and towers, and the first chime of church bells ring out overhead.

Beau yawns a little, but it’s just for flavor. Mind games. She’s not actually sleepy.

“We do not have to—”

She quickly waves her hand. “It’ll wake me up. You know, get the blood pumping.”

Yasha smiles a little at that. It’s always such a small one, but it’s getting to be familiar.

“I got up early. I couldn’t sleep. Er...sorry.”

Beau doubles her effort to be dismissive. “Don’t apologize to me, Yasha. C’mon. You think I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to?”

This seems to be a winning argument. Yasha nods, like she can’t imagine Beau doing anything she doesn’t want.

Maybe it’s the crisp ocean breeze, maybe it’s the way they circle each other in the yard. Maybe it’s the fresh brush of gauze on her fists.

Beau wants to win.

She dives in, pulls low, uses her quick movement to catch Yasha off-guard and get in as closely as she can. Yasha’s tall, broad, strong as an ox, and even holding back, she could wind Beau with a punch. She presses even closer, limiting Yasha’s motions, sweeps out a leg and cuts up when Yasha moves. The two of them duck and weave and push, neither allowing the other an inch, fists flying, blows being blocked and sweat beginning to pour down their backs. Beau lands a hit that leaves Yasha grunting, then stumbles when a wild haymaker knocks her back. It’s clear that Yasha was never taught any form, just scraped it all together by surviving on the moors and her chaotic movement, high endurance, and reckless confidence just make her deadlier.

Beau tries to close in again, but a lucky kick forces her a pace too far. Her knuckles are bruising in that numb, seething way, and so she darts to the side, grabs her staff, vaults up and then arcs her foot to Yasha’s face—

The dance starts again, this time hardwood hitting forearms and on anyone else, Beau might even feel guilty about it. But Yasha barely seems to register the thwack, her teeth bared in a sideways grin, her eyes hard and excited and alive. Beau’s probably wearing the same expression. She hears herself laughing, and knows that she is. Up-swing, down-swing, slide left, throw a punch, block one, dart back, duck and then—

Yasha’s fist catches her right in the gut, sends Beau lurching flat into the dirt. She chokes her own breath, coughs up dust, barely gets an elbow up with Yasha leaning over her, blotting out the sun, raising Beau’s staff for a finishing strike—

Halts.

It’s like watching a tower fall. Yasha staggers back. She drops the staff. She lifts her hands and stares at her palms and Beau hears a mangled breath. Her knees give. She collapses on herself.

Beau scrambles up, aching limbs forgotten.

“Yasha?” she says. “Yasha? Are you—is—what’s wrong?”

Yasha sucks in more air, but that just seems to make things worse. Her shoulders tremble and her lungs sound ragged.

“Aw, shit,” says Beau, “I mean—fuck—uh—”

She half-runs, half-crawls, ‘til she’s at Yasha’s side. She wants to put her hand on Yasha’s arm, thinks better of it, panics a little more. She wishes she were Jester. She wishes she were Cad. They’d know what to do, they’d be better at this than her, anyone, hell, Marius would be better at this than her—

But it’s her, and everyone’s still in the house, so she shakes her head and stamps the fear down.

“Yasha, I...aw, fuck, I’m—I’m here, it’s okay, nothing’s wrong—” clearly something is wrong, idiot, “—I mean, um, you’re safe here, okay? It’ll be alright. I’m here, and I’ll stay if that’s what you want, okay? I won’t go anywhere, if you don’t want. Uh...can you shake your head if you want me to go? Is that...possible, can you—”

A frantic shake.

“Oh good, okay, thank fuck, then I’m here. I’m right here, Yash. I’m not going anywhere.” She tries to pitch her voice calm, takes deep, long breaths, and continues to murmur as reassuringly as she can until after...seconds? Minutes? Yasha’s trembling slows.

There’s a pause. Yasha inhales and lets it go. It’s shaky, but apparently good enough because finally, eventually, she turns and looks back at Beau.

“I’m...okay. I am okay.”

Beau sinks back into the grass. Then she lies down. “Oh, cool. I’m, uh, glad.”

“I’m so—”

She holds up a hand. “Nope. C’mon.” She pats the ground beside her.

“Er...what?”

She pats it again, emphatic. “Lie down. C’mon. I think we’ve earned a break.”

She stares up at the sky while Yasha shifts around, and eventually there’s a gentle thud as she lies down. Seagulls cry in the distance and clouds drift slowly past their heads.

Beau swears, but mentally. A private thing.

“So, uh...do we...want to talk about it, or...?”

Yasha is quiet for a moment. That’s not surprising. Then:

“It...reminded me of when I killed you.”

“What? Oh—”

“Almost killed you,” Yasha amended. “Both times.”

“Right,” says Beau. “That’s...right.”

She thinks about saying—almost. You only almost killed me, so really it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. And you kill people all the time anyway, right?

She blinks. “Wait, you kill people all the time, Yasha. Is it always that bad? Shit, does it always...does it always make you feel like this? Only...I don’t think I’ve ever seen you...break like that...”

She regrets the words immediately. Stupid, Beau, that’s a stupid thing to say.

But Yasha answers the question earnestly. “It’s usually different,” she says to the sky. “It usually...doesn’t matter. Er...no, not that it doesn’t matter, it just...”

“Doesn’t matter,” Beau sighs. “No, I...sort of get it. Man, that might be fucked up. Of us.”

Yasha shrugs, which rustles the grass. “It’s how it has always been for me. That is just what life is like.”

“I’m sure Jester would disagree.”

“Jester is...nice. I am not. I...have hurt a lot of people. And not just people who were fighting me, or trying to hurt me, but people who were innocent, who did not need not to be hurt, people who care about me, and, and people who I...”

She trails off. Beau can’t see her face, but right now, selfishly, she is glad for it. She feels anger bubbling up in her stomach.

“You were being controlled,” she says fiercely. “You didn’t do it. Someone made you do it.”

“But...part of that...part of it was still me. Since...since you all freed me, I...I remember parts of it. I remember doing it. Those were my hands.”

Beau can practically hear Yasha’s fist tighten. She definitely feels it when Yasha hits the ground.

“If I was better, or if I was stronger, if I had broken free faster, none of that would have happened, I could have stopped him sooner—”

This time, Beau doesn’t hold back. They’re lying down, so it’s incredibly awkward, but the first thing she can think of is to grab Yasha’s hand.

She sits up, and waves it over Yasha’s face.

“But you didn’t,” she says, then falters, then wants to smack herself. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is...” Then she stops. “No, you know what? Fuck it. You didn’t break out faster. And that’s because it was a miracle you managed it in the first place. Yasha, you were being controlled by a devil. You were being controlled by the Chained Oblivion. The fact that you were even a person the first time we met—and you were a person, you were funny, you charged me money to, to, well, you charged me five gold, remember that?”

Yasha blinks. Her wrist is slack in Beau’s grip.

“I...do, yes, I remember that.”

“Right. The fact that you were a person then meant that they couldn’t keep their claws in you. Because you were strong. You were better. Better than everything they tried to make you. You kept breaking free.”

Yasha does not try to squirm away, only stays there.

“But...I needed help every time that I did escape. I never managed it on my own. First it was...it was Kord, and then you all—”

“Of course!” Beau throws her other arm into the air. “Who the fuck could do it on their own?! All that means is that when you had a chance, the second you had a chance, you were outta there. In your heart, you knew what was right. You knew it, and held onto it, even when I’m sure it would’ve been so easy to stay there, to stay in that hell and just go through the motions and lose yourself in...in grief, and loss and...and all that. But you didn’t. And now look at you.”

She cracks a goofy smile, all desperation to make what she’s trying to say heard.

“You’re an angel, Yasha. Remember?”

Yasha slowly sits up too. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, black turning white, with little blades of grass.

Beau is made painfully aware of the fact that she’s still holding Yasha’s hand. She lets go. Then she swears again, and hopes that Yasha doesn’t think it’s because of anything s—

“I am, aren’t I?”

Her gaze shoots up and Yasha's wearing a goofy smile too. Small, a bit nervous, but real and warm.

It’s getting to be familiar.

Beau snorts. She snorts so loud that it might dislodge something in her chest. She hits Yasha gently on the arm.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t, uh, don’t let it go to your head.”

She can see Yasha nodding in the corner of her eye.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Then, after a brief battle over whether or not to bring it up, “I don’t...I don’t...for the record, I’m not mad about you stabbing me. Or whatever.”

Yasha looks stricken, and Beau regrets it instantly. “Shit, should I not have reminded you of—”

“No,” Yasha sighs, and her face softens. “No. I am...glad that you are not mad at me.”

“Should we, like...go to a cleric about this?” Beau asks. “Is this going to be something that happens in, like...fights? Because if it does, it might put you in danger. Also, it’s...it probably sucks for you. Right?”

Fjord would probably have something to say about the way she’s handling this conversation. He’s not here now.

“I...don’t know,” Yasha says eventually. “It hasn’t happened before. It was only...just now. And...just with you. It...hurting you reminded me of being controlled. It...brought me back to all the times that my mind was not my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Beau says, because she’s not sure what else to say.

“No,” says Yasha. Beau looks up, surprised by the weight in her words. “If I am not allowed to be sorry to you, you cannot be sorry to me.”

“Ah,” says Beau. She feels a grin pulling. “In that case...I’m not sorry.”

Yasha nods, like this is sacred, and Beau can’t help but snort again.

“C’mon,” she says. “We can...work this shit out later. Or start to. With a cleric if you want, or not, if you don’t. But I just got my ass kicked, and I’m thirsty. What do you say to some drinks? I think there’s juice. Do you like juice?”

She stands up, and sticks out a hand.

Yasha takes it.

“Okay. I like juice.”

— — —

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

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stygianflood · 4 years ago

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Hideaway (Ethan x F!MC)

Summary: As promised, a very canon-divergent version of Ethan’s... dark mood. 3.8; Ethan’s PoV

Words, rating, genre, trope- 1.5k, General, Fluff (but the tone is angsty); hurt/comfort

A/N- It bothered me that Ethan’s demand for consolation was an either-this-or-nothing sort of scenario, when we know the real Ethan Ramsey would never! In this universe Ethan just leaves refusing MC’s offer to help. Much like Book 1 ❤ Also, I really tried to make sense of whatever PB is making Harper do. And there might be an Easter egg near the end.

The amber liquid sloshes down his throat, trickling into the more labyrinthine crevices of his mind, sharp and biting. Somewhere in a sky not veiled by the havoc of civilisation, a forlorn sun pours itself in a steady drip.

For each of the last fifteen minutes, his finger has been teetering on the brink of a call he knows he’ll make.

I don’t need you to follow me, Aparna. I knew there could be consequences.

I made my bed... The least I can do is lie in it.

She stood before him, under the lurid new lights of the revamped atrium. Face contorted in worry, and something else he is no longer a stranger to.

That doesn’t mean you have to weather them alone.

I care about you. Talk to me.

And she looked no older than she did in her first year.

In those days the atrium housed the trees planted in his intern year, and some even older. And Aparna had implored him to stay. Because the patients needed him. Because she needed him.

Ethan was not brave enough to admit he needed her more than she would ever need him. That part of them remains pitifully unaltered.

This time however, it’s different from letting her in. It’s about beating the devil at his own game. Wrestling his slippery self on a rock face.

He wonders what it’s like on the other side of the tunnel. The darker side that the likes of Bloom inhabit. The one that doesn’t have its throat slit by the glare of street lights. More importantly, how do the likes of Dr. Ramsey beat him at his own game and remain unscathed.

He’s being reckless. Dangerously so. But whatever else he might tell himself, he is lonely too.

Cloistered in an apartment that never felt emptier, he can almost hear her terrible joke on fingers of scotch. When did the notoriously single Ethan Ramsey become this dependent he wonders.

After four arduously long rings, he almost disconnects the call.

‘Ethan?’

‘Hey.’

The silence stretches into a long and restless twilight across his windows, and he thinks he ought to ask about her day. She beats him to it.

‘Do you want me to come over?’

‘That… That would be nice.’

She definitely rolls her eyes on the other side of the line.

***

‘Do you ever wish you’d settled for someone… less complicated?’ He avoids her eyes fixing his own on the ceiling.

The fingers massaging his forehead stall for the briefest quarter of a second before resuming. The slight shift finds his head even more snugly settled in her lap.

He feels stifled by an all-consuming sense of helplessness. And it’s different from the trickiest diagnoses when he knows he’s giving his all and failing. It is a plethora of all that is wrong with the system. The one he has been pitted against all his life, and mostly managed to thwart.

Ethan Ramsey never settles for half-measures. Not when he can help it. And with Bloom, he cannot.

Not unless he tips the scales in his favour. And it has taken the last morsel of his sanity to plot it.

No loose ends. Or second footprints for that matter. One more ethics hearing and her career would end before it began, and Naveen himself could do nothing about it.

Yet here he is. The irony of it biting, as the one person he needs to protect by all means is the one being implicated. If Harper, one of the most level-headed people he knows-

‘Besides the fact that I’m nowhere close to being settled?’ Aparna interrupts his thoughts from somewhere above him.

Oh.

‘Sorry, I didn't mean-’

Of course she is grinning. Annoyingly smug and utterly distracting.

He could kiss her senseless and wipe the smirk off those lips. Make her moan right here on the couch.

He almost does.

‘Did you wish you weren’t involved with someone whose medical license was about to be revoked?’ She asks.

Her fingers rove about his temple, right where he has recently seen specks of silver. And he awaits a joke about his age that never comes.

‘Ethan…’

God, he hopes he doesn’t look that miserable.

‘I need you to know I’d go anywhere with you. And I mean that-’ She holds his chin to turn his face. ‘I mean that in every sense of the word. Thought you’d know by now.’

She looks strangely composed.

It could be the immensity of her proclamation. Or the ease with which it has rolled off her tongue. But it alarms him. Not because he isn’t ready, because make no mistake he is. It alarms him because she is doing it again.

In that moment all of his life could flicker past him like the tedious crackle of an old television set, and he’d still be enraptured by the unwavering intent in her eyes.

And she looks no older than she did in her first year.

He raises a hand grazing the softness of her neck. Her cheek. And the corner of her parted lips.

Come here is all he manages before drawing her face to his own.

He only vaguely remembers the drive back home when he wanted to be in control of his life. He has never felt more disarmed. Or more- he discerns the lump in his throat- in love.

Beads of crimson settle on the horizon, and in the abandoned dregs of his whisky. The natural order of things calls for day and night. Much in the same way it summons droughts and downpour.

And as for him, he’d come undone for her again and again.

***

The stillness of the air is riddled by his own ragged breaths mingling with hers. And the deluge in his mind almost subsides.

‘Glad that I stayed?’ She props herself on her elbows and lazily smiles down at him.

‘Always.’

She peppers the column of his neck with a final drizzle of kisses before burying one languid hand in his hair and settling against him. Just as the silence is splintered by the buzz on his coffee table.

Thankfully it’s not her pager. Just her phone. And her fingers resume their stroking of his hair.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Pleasantly spent.’ It’s his first genuine smile in hours. ‘But really, several things at once.

‘And I’ll talk to Harper as soon as I can.’

‘I appreciate that, but… I think we need to talk to each other,’ She says. ‘For the team, but also for ourselves.

‘I need to be able to forgive her. Not today perhaps. But I need to do it.’

He agrees. But he is baffled that Harper should accuse her now. Especially when she was willing to wait for evidence when Aparna had actually breached ethics as an intern.

Is it his tactlessness he wonders, as she loops his arm around herself. Speaking over her inputs, denying the credibility she has earned in the team by sheer hard work.

Creating the impression that she’s still just an intern with history.

As her breath cools the sheen of sweat on his chest, he instinctively gathers her even closer. And not for the first time that evening, he feels he doesn’t deserve her.

Damage control, the interminable mutterings in his mind suggest. He needs to ensure Harper has not spoken to anyone outside the team. And Tobias has not prattled. Perhaps give Naveen a heads up.

‘Check that,’ He remarks as her phone buzzes again. ‘It could be work.’

But just as he is about to disentangle himself to make the calls, he sees them.

Just wanted to check on you.

Hope you’re not beeting yourself up over it.

Not a saved contact on her phone he realises. But it’s familiar. A little too familiar. He decides against asking.

She shakes her head with a faint half-smile before replacing the phone and curling up to him. She loops an arm about his chest as he strokes rehearsed patterns on her back.

It’s minutes before they startle the peace.

‘Thank you for being here tonight, Apu,’ He almost whispers. ‘For helping me work through this.'

‘I meant what I said, Ethan,’ She says. ‘I’ll always be there for you.

‘Even when I don’t agree with you.’

And it’s there again. That frightfully alarming calm on her face every time she promises to leap.

When he takes her bottom lip between his teeth, it’s with the ardour of a disciple who did not just invoke her minutes ago, or this morning, or into the wee hours of the night before.

‘And I hope,’ He manages breathlessly. ‘I hope I never take that... Take you for granted.’

She doesn’t respond. Except for the immutable glimmer in her eyes. And he knows.

He decides he will call Naveen and Harper once she’s asleep. He’ll not unsettle her. Not when it might never happen.

‘What happens when we go back out there?’

If he only knew.

‘Let’s get you to bed.’ He smiles, lacing his fingers with hers.

His life has long stopped being the neatly stacked manila folders he’d once sorted it into. For all he knows, it could be dipped and bent in all directions tomorrow.

But he also knows she will be right there on the promontory with him.

Thank you all for reading this! A special shout-out to @starrystarrytrouble because I had the inspiration to write after ages solely because of our chat ❤

Let me know if you’d want to be added or removed.

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #harper emery #tobias carrick #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #openheartfanfics #cac2021 #choices monthly challenge

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thevagabondexpress · 1 year ago

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some closing thoughts on delusions (and terrible fictions) (my genderbent tlh rewrite)

Whoo. This has been a long ride. A very long ride indeed.

When I started writing this back in June of 2021 (a couple years ago now), I hadn't realized I was genderfluid yet, neither had I realized that the only consistency in my experience of gender would be a never-ending byronic crisis about it. I brood about my gender like James Herondale broods about being damned and I am proud enough of this to make no apologies.

But I was very much aware that I was in the middle of an existential gender crisis and that meant I had gender thoughts very much in the forefront of my mind when I read Chain of Gold and Chain of Iron for the first time. So of course, it stuck out to me that the 'fake marriage' plot was really gender-specific and would not have worked (certainly not the same way as it was set up in canon) if Cordelia had been, say, Claude.

So, of course, I saw a challenge. I had to figure out how to make these books work if the characters' genders were swapped around. Then I stumbled across a) Cassandra Jean's genderbent Mortal Instruments art, and b) someone else writing fanfic about it, and that was the catalyst I needed. And because it's been my favorite series, I chose to start with TLH.

I gave up on Great Expectations. I knew the books are a pseudo-retelling of it and I didn't have the time and energy to read the story, besides which I knew it would come out very differently. So d&tf's inspirations are instead a hash of We Have Always Lived In The Castle, Hans Christian Anderson's The Snow Queen, and a Radiohead song, among others.

I chose not to wait for Chain of Thorns. I said, to heck with it, I've been watching these genderbent characters disperse in very different directions from their canon counterparts and while some of that (the existence of Fields, Felice's survival) was my deliberate fault, a lot of it was simply me listening to the story and taking it where it felt like it should naturally go. So, before we even had an official ChoT summary, I threw my hands up and decided to just write my own take on a final installment. Looking at what became of Chain of Thorns, thank goodness I did. There's so much about ChoT that would not have worked with the characters I had and the directions I was pushing them in.

This is not, by far, my best writing. It's messy, it's sloppy, there are things I could've done a lot better and different decisions I could've made and I could've done better worldbuilding and used the historical realism of a genderbent rewrite concept to push it even further away from the original TLH. I may go back and edit/rewrite someday, but not now. For now, let's just sit here and consider that I actually saw this through.

I may do more TSC Genderbent Editions if people want them. TID also has a very gender-specific plot that could be fun to wrangle, and while TMI doesn't in the same way, I've come to realize this series is also serving a fantasy for women who like shorter men so I may have to do it for that reason alone.

So I dunno, let me know if you want more of these rewrites (or additional/ongoing content for Judith + Claude, Michelle + Fields, Jackie + Lou, Alice + Tracey, Christa + the deep blue sea, etc.) because you bet I will listen.

#delusions (and terrible fictions)#restless devil's rag #madman's blues #requiem for a shared delusion #genderbent tlh rewrite #i had so many great book titles in this series honestly #they're all themed after music if you can't tell #for no other reason than that i thought it sounded cool

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sombrasaiyan · 3 years ago

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Surviving the Android | lapimai

suicidal thoughts, stalking

summary: Mai is born into a world of plague and loss ruled by ruthless android twins. She catches the attention of Android Seventeen and is soon captured by him.

shipping: android seventeen x mai

Sometimes, Mai wishes she was never born into such a cruel world like this. Hell, she's thought about killing herself daily, but once she officially became a soldier under Trunks Briefs she forced that mindset away. So now, she lives everyday in fear, but fights for those she wants to protect for their eventual freedom. The train station was a place she called home as she found herself snuggled up in a bundle of blankets. She was fairly well acquainted with Trunks, but he would spend his nights with his mom back at their house that was rotting away.

Some hours passed as almost everyone who camped out in the train station were asleep. Only in their sleep were they able to escape the reality they were born into. Mai however, with the curse of insomnia couldn't fall asleep. Her mind was always restless of the endless possibilities of the world and if there was a likely scenario for salvation.

Taking a walk would ease her troubled mind as she threw the blankets off of her and gathered herself up from where she slept on a dingy old mattress. Pulling a long coat over her body, she didn't bother grabbing her beanie as she quietly made her way outside. The cold night air bites as she shivers, walking ways away from the train station.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The twin androids had finished demolishing a building where poor helpless people were taking shelter. A national broadcast was played throughout the town, declaring that the building was the absolute safest from any sorts of evil, since it was low profile. Unfortunately for them, the androids just so happened to be listening in on the broadcasts when they were storming through houses.

Now the androids sat on top of piles of cars, the two having a stack the cars game competition amongst each other and they didn't even care that people were in these cars.

"We should raid another mall, Seventeen." Says the blonde android as she stares at the tears on her clothes. This was a new outfit too, and while she was chasing down some humans, some of them tore at her clothes in hopes she would stop. "This outfit is already in rags and I don't want to wear them anymore."

"What about the rest of the clothes you got the other day? Surely you have outfits to wear." Her brother responds as he flips a few of strands of hair that had fallen toward his face.

"I left them in another city Seventeen," Eighteen says lowly, shaking her head as she jumps off the car. "Forget it, I'm going to go raid a mall by myself." She wasn't necessarily in the mood to have her brother complain the whole time.

"Good, you know me. I'll be here." Seventeen says, grinning to himself as he watches his sister take flight. After a few minutes of just relaxing, Seventeen jumps off the car and proceeds to take a leisurely stroll. No humans were nearby so there goes his first attempt of having fun. Then again, he was walking, not flying. He chuckles to himself at the silly ordeal and then starts to fly. Still no humans were around. He could choose to blow up houses one by one, but what was the point in that? They'll just die in their sleep and he wouldn't be able to hear their screams of agony.

As if he was being heard by the devil downstairs, his bright blue eyes look down at the sight of a walking spec. One lonely spec that had nowhere else to go, possibly searching for one of her missing family members. Poor girl, sheltered from the cruel world that belonged to the androids. Perhaps this was going to be the first time she ever met them, and Seventeen was going to make sure that his existence left an everlasting impact on her until she took her last breath.

He starts to watch her from the roof of a building. Long black hair, and dark obsidian orbs for eyes. A long ugly teal coat covers her body as the clothing she wore underneath wasn't any better. She was dressed up like a true soldier, some of which attempted to gun down the androids. "A cute soldier." Seventeen says out loud, then walking back into the shadows of the night.

What was Mai thinking when she thought of taking this so called walk? Where the hell was she even going? Answers Mai didn't have whatsoever. She was just winging it at this point with a mental health that was deteriorating along with the rest of the world. She didn't really care what happened to her at this point.

She was going to wish she never thought that in the first place.

The more she aimlessly walked through this ghost town, the more she felt an eerie feeling shroud her body. It was like feeling a thousand thorns prick her skin all at once, and before she knew it, there in front of her stood one of the androids. She's never crossed paths with either one of them, only hearing the horrific stories of them from the radios and television. And now here one of them stood, medium length black hair, wicked icy blue eyes staring her down with a grin etched on his lips.

For a few moments she just stood there, unable to convey a single emotion in her face. What can she do in a situation like this? Run? He'd catch up to her quickly and begin murdering her. She couldn't fly like Trunks and damn how she wished he was here right now. The worst part of all of this was that she was able to do absolutely nothing. Her chances of surviving him were zero.

"How have you not attempted to run away yet? Fragile girl."

Mai swallowed. Of course, she knew the answer to that question and so should he. Unless he wanted to be entertained by her answer. His footsteps draw closer as she forces herself to look down at her boots. "Because, I'm powerless. Running away won't do anything. You'll still catch up very easily and kill me," The moment she looks up, he was very close to her, in fact right in front of her. He kept that same wicked grin on his face as he stares at her, trying to decipher the emotions in her face. Only there was none. And out of the craziest things the android has seen, she was now smiling. Smiling with widened eyes. "And you'd be doing me a favor! So go ahead and do it, I've been wanting to die."

Seventeen tilts his head, it was getting extremely difficult to read her. Was she bluffing, or was she being serious? And if so, what the hell did a human have to go through to wish death upon themselves? She certainly hasn't gone through him, Seventeen would've remembered a face like hers. He starts to howl out in laughter, shaking his head before taking a deep breath. "What kind of fucked up stuff did you go through for a pretty head like yours to think like that?"

"Lots of stuff," Mai replies as a matter of factly, "So just go ahead and do it. I want to be dead anyways, us meeting is fate."

Seventeen stares at her as she continues to stare back with that crazy smile. He stares back with his own, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath. What he was about to say next, he never imagined he'd say in a thousand years. "I'm afraid, I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to take you as mine. I'll make you want to live." He declares.

And before Mai could say anything or attempt to flee, her whole world turned black.

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When Mai woke up again, she was on a soft and comfortable mattress. This bed was the best bed she has ever slept on in years. Confusion flooded her above everything else as she sat up in the bed, trying to look around in the darkness. She couldn't remember how she even got back in bed, even if she came back to the train station.

And then, it hits her like a truck.

Mai was kidnapped by the android known as Android Seventeen.

Panick flooded her very being as she tore the bed sheets off of her and proceeded to look around the bedroom by patting everywhere, trying to make out where any possible furniture was without making noise.

The door finally swung open as Mai in panic drops down to the floor, sitting a few feet away from the bed. Golden light illuminates from outside as she makes out the body of the android.

He grins in amusement as he stares at the human girl sitting there, frightened and shaken up.

"You're awake," Seventeen approaches her. "That's good."

"Why am I here?!" She demands.

"Good question, why are you here? Your brain is probably still trying to comprehend our first meeting, but like I said. I plan to make you mine and make you want to live." Seventeen says this as Mai slowly gets up and edges close to the bed.

"Why me? I'm just an ordinary girl." She declares. "I'm nobody."

Seventeen laughs. She was such a bad liar. "You're not just some ordinary girl. You're Mai. Your one of the top soldiers in Trunk's squad. You're known as one of the bravest people who would sacrifice their lives for a commoner."

Mai froze from where she stood. How could he have possibly known her existence? She was ordinary, so the chances of him knowing her are slim. Unless . . . He had been stalking her for a while now.

"How the hell do you know all that? The radio broadcasts don't go about talking big about people who risk their lives! And I know you don't let a human talk to you for more than ten seconds!" Mai bit back.

Seventeen shrugs. "Like I said, I know you're not some ordinary girl. I've been following you for a while, getting to know you from afar."

Mai just continued to stare at him, portraying no emotion now, since she didn't want to be laughed at. Only one word can escape her mouth. "Bullshit."

Seventeen starts to move closer to her, pressing her down the bed as he grins down at her. He finally had her all to himself, and he never intended on letting go.

author’s note: soooo, I lost all inspiration and thought process for this?? And I kind of already want to move on to more one shots so you guys can indulge in some more one shots.

Also, thank you guys for 10+ followers. ❤️ I’m already growing and have you guys to thank.

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lykegenia · 3 years ago

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Teen And Up Audiences F/M, Gen DOTA: Dragon's Blood (Cartoon) Davion/Mirana, Mirana & Luna, Davion & Slyrak Post-Season One, Introspection, Angst, Late Night Conversations, Uneasy Allies

With the fall of night, the sounds around the small hut faded, the groans of the injured overtaken by sleep and the snores of the healer coming from the loft room above. Crickets whirred and an owl shrieked as moonlight poured its way through the small windows onto the baked clay floor, the air thick with the scent of the herbs drying in the rafters, masking the stench of battle, but poorly. Mirana sat in the shadow furthest from the door with her arms pulled around her knees, as if she were a child hoping to hide from the world. Amazing, really, how little she had changed from the scared young girl who staggered into the border of the Nightsilver Woods so long ago, looking for refuge and purpose both. And now…

Beside her on a straw pallet, Luna slept. She had succumbed to the draught the healer poured past her lips once the worst of her injuries were cleaned and stitched, the better to wait for time to do its work, and since the buzz of Mirana’s thoughts kept her restless, she kept watch as well. There wasn’t much else she could do. She had hoped to return peace to the world beyond the Woods, and instead she was met with ruin. She couldn’t feel the Goddess. The lack was not like a power withheld but like a power no longer there, a well run dry. When she had tried to call on it and found nothing in answer, it had terrified her.

And things had gone wrong so quickly. The hatred written in the faces of the elves who surrounded them, the black gleam of blood in the firelight, the screams – the blame for all of it could be laid at her feet. First she had lost the lotuses, and then she had trusted the word of the man the Oracle rightly called a devil.

Her fingers curled tighter about her arms, digging into her flesh. He had wanted this blood. Or perhaps, like the truce he brokered between her and Fymryn, the destruction of the Dark Moon Order was only a means to some other end.

Less than a hundred of Selemene’s soldiers had made it out of Coedwig, most of them carrying injuries. More had died on the road. Only a stroke of luck had let them find this refuge, though it would not be one for long; of all the stories of the Coriel’tauvi it was their lack of mercy that ran through them like a river, and any good wolf will follow a trail of blood. They would have to leave before it caught up with them.

As her thoughts wandered, the light slowly turned through the room. After days of travel her clothes sat stiff against her skin, itchy and sour-smelling, her hair tied back from her face by a ragged strip of cloth to keep it from dipping into the blood like a brush into a paint pot. How strange to think war had once been expected of her. She had been tutored in strategy and the management of troops, had been told it was her destiny, until that life had been taken from her. Perhaps destiny was truly a beast that never left off its stalking. It only waited for an opportunity.

A groan of pain tore her from her thoughts, drawing her attention to the patch of darkness where Luna stirred, coughing as she tried to sit up.

“Lie still,” she ordered gently, laying a hand on the captain’s shoulder. “We only just stopped your bleeding.”

“Where am I?”

Mirana paused as she uncorked the waterskin at her belt. “Safe, for now. Drink.”

“The soldiers –” The captain tried to lift herself up again, and even in the darkness Mirana saw the flinch as the movement pulled at the wounds.

“Those that made it,” she said. “They’re recovering, and once you’re rested they’ll be ready to continue on towards home. There’s been no word from the other battalions.”

“Then whatever has blocked the Goddess’ power must be affecting them as well. Have we heard nothing from Her?”

“Nothing.”

For a moment, Mirana allowed herself to be distracted helping Luna find a comfortable position against the wall so she could drink without straining her injuries, but a frown knotted her brows nonetheless. Every hour without Selemene’s guidance dwindled any hopes for peace with the Enclaves. The sooner they made it back to the Nightsilver Woods to find out what had happened, the better.

When she brought her gaze once more to Luna’s, the captain had turned away, instead watching the soft rise and fall of Sagan’s white flanks where he slept curled up in the doorway.

“I’m sorry about Nova.”

Luna’s expression twisted into a sneer. “We can mourn our dead later, if we survive.” But the tension bled out of her, and her head fell back against the wooden wall with a faint thud. “What happened? The elf who cut me down, she moved like a shadow.”

Mirana sighed. “She’s the one who stole the lotuses.”

“Then I’ll see her head on a spike for all the trouble she’s caused.”

“What good will that do?” she asked, even as part of her wished to go back to the simplicity of knowing which side to choose. “The Coriel’tauvi attacked us out of that same need for vengeance and look where it got us. Even if you were fit, you likely wouldn’t find her, and you are needed elsewhere. Would you abandon our Goddess for that?”

“Of course not, but –” The captain groaned, her hand rising to cover her eyes. “I was ready to end it. I would have gone in peace.”

“I know.”

Silence fell between them, more deeply than before, and the noise of crickets crowded into the space left behind.

“It doesn’t explain how we escaped,” Luna said at last. “We were surrounded.”

Mirana’s heart squeezed. “It was…”

She had been trying not to think about Davion. Her last sight of him above the battlefield, winged and scaled and roaring, still made her stomach roil all these days later. He should have left. She knew why he came back – it compounded her failure. Worse than that sight of him, however, was the creeping fear that he had fallen. If Slyrak had been loosed they would have seen the flames, and surely if he had been able, he would have followed them, to see she was alright –

“Princess?”

She tried for a reassuring smile. “Sometimes you just get lucky. You should sleep, I’ll wake you in the morning.”

With one last calculating look, the captain acquiesced, shuffling back down under the meagre blanket and into the healing slumber that would take her until dawn. It left Mirana in the whirl of her own thoughts – her failures – with no distractions but the empty caress of moonlight against her face.

#dota #dota 2 #dota:db #dota dragon's blood #princess mirana #mirana #davion the dragon knight #davion #davion x mirana #mirana x davion #miravion #luna the moon rider

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infinites-chaser · 3 years ago

Text

all the lights that lead us there (are blinding)

| mlqc | shaw |

vague spoilers for ch.20+ content

he can't stay still. not really. his mind's always crackling with something some staticky noise that won't ever go— he tries to ignore it, lose himself in his music, his graffiti, his boarding, the play of electricity across his fingers late at night.

It starts like this: he's on the 330 bus at a hellishly early hour, listening to oasis's wonderwall (though he'll never admit it), the volume on his mp3 player turned up as loud as it can possibly go. just him, liam gallagher crooning in his ears, skateboard under his arm, the bass and drums thrumming through his veins like thunder.

correction: it's just him, the quaking wheels of the bus, and the girl who just got on— she's petite, delicate-looking, the kind of person he guesses is into pastels and flowers and gives people like him judgemental stares when they don't think he's looking. but when he stares at her, she stares back and for a second, it almost looks like the world could begin or end in her wide brown eyes. and maybe he wants it to.

(somehow, she seems familiar.)

he looks away first. static crackles around maybe you're gonna be the one who saves me.

and it's stupid but—

he's on the same bus every day. maybe he looks for her whenever he gets on. maybe he never sees her.

he cycles through the rest of what's the story morning glory. stops listening to oasis. vows to go back to something his bandmates wouldn't laugh at him for.

he's waiting for the bus again, same route, same time, same driver, blasting green day as loud as it'll go.

he closes his eyes. leans his head back against the sun-flecked window, cradles his skateboard close.

the bus rattles, coughs exhaust, then jerks to a stop. the doors woosh open, woosh shut.

footsteps tap light on the linoleum floor, come to a stop close to him. he doesn't move. then static fizzles and pops loud in his ears, billie joe armstrong's voice stutters, jarring, discordant, wrong

he opens his eyes, and it's her.

her and her wide eyes.

the bus jolts, his skateboard slides, and he catches it before too much damage can be done, but she levels that stare at him, bleeding-hearted dreamer's stare, looking like she wants to save the world, bring all the sinners to justice, his skateboard too, and for a moment he forgets himself.

he makes it rain for her.

gives her the umbrella on a whim.

maybe he wants her to save the world,

maybe he wants her she to save him,

he thinks she could. he thinks she will.

she does.

only, she's as self-sacrificing as he's selfish: didn't think you were a saint, he thinks to himself, the world ending, starting anew around him, time loops bending, universes shifting, floating in and out of focus.

he closes his eyes against every universe's, every timeline's final scene: her body limp as a rag doll's, her blood spreading dark and heavy across the war torn warehouse floor.

didn't think you were a hero, either.

the world's wrong, after. he thinks (stupidly, irrationally, immature, caring in a way he hasn't been in a long, long time) that he should've done more— all he's done is give her an umbrella. for rain and a storm he'd caused. it should've been him, at the end of it all.

though in a world where he's certain he's the only one who remembers her, he isn't really sure if she remembers him.

she doesn’t quite. then she does.

didn't think you looked a hero, he says, one late night over STF documents. her hands stiffen around her pen, her eyes narrow, glitter hard and bright to match it.

what do I look like, then, she asks, voice too-soft, too-calm

he falters. they have a balance, normally. he pushes. she pushes back. this time, he knows: he's gone too far.

what do I look like, she repeats, and her voice is still hard, her eyes still glittering, but there's an undercurrent to the ice, something thinning it, making her hardness fragile,

a savior, he says, near instinctively, and pretends not to notice when she nods, looks back down at her pen, and a tear slides down her cheek, splatters dark against the paper's white.

they come together, in fits and starts:

a warning text she ignores.

an insult. then another.

then, slowly, finally. an uneasy partnership.

it starts like this:

he takes her hand, pulls her onto the stage with him. it's hard to tell with the club's flickering lights. but he thinks she's blushing. it's cute. he's not afraid to admit it. he tries to tell her as much, but it's lost between the pounding of the speakers and the roar of the crowd. he settles for another devil-may-care smile.

what's your favorite song?

what?

I said, your favorite song!

you told me you'd tell me information. important information! that's why I came!

your favorite song, he repeats for a third time, even louder. maybe it'd be annoying if it were anyone else, but he'll say it again: she's cute with that pout.

then, hastily, as her pout deepens:

it's important information! in exchange, you'll learn how good my band is.

she snorts.

play anything, she says, and he finds his fingers straying over the strings of his bass to pluck out the opening notes of wonderwall. he doesn't dare look up to watch her expression 'til the chorus hits.

she sings along.

she looks happy. wistful happy. and maybe her smile's a little sad, and there's a glisten in her eyes when they lift to meet his, but the smile's for him, the way her gaze lingers is proof, and he'll take any smile he can get from her, no matter how sad.

oasis, huh, he says after. I knew it. your taste in music sucks.

she scoffs and reaches a hand up to knuckle his sweaty forehead, hard. he lets her. he'll take this, too.

later, he stretches a hand out, catches a raindrop, surveys it, then shrugs, half to himself. sure, it's cool to roll up to people like yeah I can cause storms (not to mention it's a hell of a handy evol in a fight) but maybe he's being stupid because when he sees her sad smile he wishes his evol could clear the clouds and bring her sunshine back instead.

he does the next best thing: he teases her. and maybe it makes her huff and pout more times than not, but it makes him happier which is really half the battle. and he's sure that behind some of those scoffs are smiles.

between their trading of barbs (always dry, quippy, light, never meant to hurt) she just goes quiet. he doesn't like quiet. he's not used to it, and from the look in her eyes when she gets that way, he can tell she doesn't like it either.

you can talk about it, you know, he says one time, and she freezes, blank stare instantly shifting to a deer-in-headlights look, then annoyance.

talk about what?

(atta girl, he thinks. sure it's defensive, but nothing scares him more than when she's just— nothing. lifeless. trapped in the past of a time worlds away.)

he scoffs.

your terrible taste in music? i meant— before

(and they both know what 'before' is without him having to say it aloud, saying it feels like it'd make it all the more real, it'd be wrong)

her eyes are wide again.

before? she says, and he feels it stretching between them, that distance, the void, the reminder that she and him, they don't have a before, only a now, maybe an after.

we need to talk about your taste in music, too, though. urgently, he adds quickly, musters a grin. waits for the scoff, the eye roll to come.

it doesn't. instead, she reaches up to ruffle his hair with a cheeky smile before he can react.

you're a good boy, after all, aren't you, hm?

he scowls. he goes to grab her hand, wind her fingers through his, but realizes what he's about to do seconds before his fingers brush hers— he changes trajectory, attends to his mussed hair. (there's an art to the rebel hairdo. clearly she doesn't know it.)

and he would retort, but she's still looking at him, and her smile's gone all soft, not in a sad way, but in a way that just. does things to his heart,

so when she says 'thank you,' all he can say back is 'you're welcome,' and if he sounds more sincere than he's ever before, she doesn't notice, but he is.

he's not sure when their relationship— reluctant alliance, friendship, more shifts, but it does, it evolves, it jumps— two steps forward, sparks fly, and they're back in the same place as before. same, he says, as if lightning could ever strike the same spot twice (he knows it does, he's not stupid, not like she is, eyes so bleeding heart wide they could swallow the world in her idealism, her kindness, they could and they will, after all, they've already swallowed him, remade him whole).

his days are filled with her, his nights, too. all the restless hours the clock strikes and neither of them wants to be alone,

bus rides at strange hours and electric eye contact across a crowded club after dark (he's tuning his guitar, about to take the stage, she's sitting alone at the end of the bar, two shots away from drunk) neon lights and drive-throughs before the dawn for hangover fast food, a tired employee's voice crackling through the speaker as he tries to give the order of the whole minivan— most nights it's him and the rest of his band, but once it's just him and her, sunrise after a sleepless night at the top of an empty parking garage, he gives her a can of spray paint and pretends to drive away while she runs after the banged-up van and tries to tag him, the studio and snacks and out-of-character honesty after waking up from nightmares

(it catches him by surprise, even as her brows curve up in surprise, too. the you can stay as long as you want, even though what he means is you can stay forever.)

she's sprawled clumsy across the faded cushions of his couch, halfway to dreamland, when he catches himself reaching to brush the hair from her eyes, thumb tracing tender over the edge of her cheek.

she murmurs something under his touch, soft, indistinct, and his heart's responding murmurs give his voice to a near-unconscious reply,

maybe, he whispers, you're gonna be the one who saves me,

he's about to leave her be when her finger catches round his pinky, holds his hand close,

save me? you already have, she says,

shut up, he says back, you're drunk.

her eyes blink open, spark bright when they lift to meet his and he's falling, he's already gone, about to make another mistake to add to the many or the one right choice in his life

not drunk, she mutters, and her eyes shutter closed.

he swallows.

I know, he replies. her brow furrows.

he waits a second, a second longer, but her eyes stay closed this time. her breathing evens in the silence. the worry smooths out from between her eyes. she looks peaceful for once,

for once, he could almost imagine her happy. imagine them happy. the thought gives him courage again, to linger at her side. to lean in. to press his lips to the back of her hand.

makes it a promise, an oath sworn by someone who'd never once wanted to be loyal to anyone but himself,

someone who'd decided that there's someone he's willing to follow.

someone he wants to have. to hold.

(all the world's adventures and he wants to be hers.)

#me: i am takinf a break from mlqc #also me: turns on wonderwall. sHAW BRAIN GO BRR #mlqc #mlqc shaw #val writes #this is so non linear and i have graduated to the postmodern school of no quotation marks we die in italics #the truth is it's like this. bc i started last summer and gave up but. today was a shaw day and i said screw it ITS getting. finished.#bUT IT IS intended to be. VIBES. and vibes only #the vibe here is. shaw being a soft bastard who listens to wonderwall that's it #this is not coherent and neither am i but.#here we are anyway

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little-wicked10 · 4 years ago

Text

Fragile (Unamed OFC x Negan)

Summary: It’s not everyday the devil meets a woman he wants to be gentle for.

Warnings: SMUT!!!, cursing, mentions of smut, mentions of sexual assault

Her life before the sanctuary she wants to forget. It was a time when she was more afraid of the group she was with more than the walkers. The Saviors had found her hidden away in the back of a truck, terrified, and shaking like a leaf. When Simon lent out a hand to help her out of the truck, she cowered. None of the men that had taken over the small camp could understand why she feared such a small gesture, but she did. The men in her group assaulted her. There was never a night when she was safe from their rough and invading touches. Dirty and drunk words would be slurred in her face as they roughly pawed at her body.

There were nights where she had wished they would rape her and leave her for dead; to finally get it over with and let her die. Life wasn't worth living anymore when you had been violated in both mind and body. She'd begged them once to end her suffering, but her pleas were only met with laughter and the explanation that she wasn't worth the energy it would take to take their belts off. She had lost hope after that, even after she was being rescued there was still no hope left in her body that she'd would ever feel whole again.

This fragile girl caught the attention of the leader of the Sanctuary upon arrival. Her natural beauty is what he noticed second about this young woman. She feared that caught his attention. An aura of something dark lingered around her. For him, it's easy to write it off as a fragile mind traumatized by the new world order, but how he would come to be so wrong.

When a man in a leather jacket gave her the option to marry him or work for points, she didn't know what to do. Negan wanted her to be a wife. Besides her being smoking hot, he knew she wouldn't be able to work for points with her veering away from men so easily.

"Listen, honey. I'm gonna be straight with ya. There isn't a job in this place that you could do to earn enough points to feed yourself. That makes you a target to some not-so-friendly guys that are walking around with a constant hard-on," he blatantly admitted as he sat behind a metal table. Her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip, most likely about to bleed from the nervous habit.

"Now I don't tolerate rape or mistreating women in my Sanctuary. With you, I'd rather not run the risk. Here's my offer. Marry me, and you will never have to worry about any man rubbing up on ya that you don't want to," he bargained.

She looked at him with fearful eyes, "B-but that means that you can…."

He quickly cut her off, "I don't touch a woman that doesn't wanna be touched. If you marry me, you can lounge around all the livelong day. I'd just have you around to look at somethin' pretty, but don't tell anyone else that."

"W-why are you o-offering me this?" her voice unintentionally shook.

Negan looked at the woman head to toe, carefully overseeing her entire demeanor before speaking, "Because I know you've seen shit. I don't like seein' pretty girls like yourself scrounging around for points. I keep women safe in this joint."

After that meeting, they never spoke again. She agreed, and her life began as Negan's new wife.

—

It had been months, and Negan kept his promise. She never saw him unless he was picking a wife for the night or showcasing his harem to some recruits. No one knew of the traumas she had faced except her. She had no friends and kept to herself. The other wives spoke ill of her, but she didn't care for their catty nature or false accusations. The depression and anxiety that rattled in her mind kept her isolated, but it didn't keep her from observing her so-called husband.

Any time she's around him, she watched him. How he carried himself with such self-confidence and dirty humor. His over the top personality was frightening and intriguing to her all at once. Negan came off as an asshole, but it often became overshadowed by the memory of his words he'd said to her on their first meeting.

'I keep women safe in this joint.'

As far as she'd seen, he stood true to his word. She'd heard the stories from the other wives of Negan's cruel punishment for those that been caught in the act of hurting women. Information that should've frightened her, gave her a strange feeling. A feeling that hadn't been felt in some time. Safe.

—

On a particular night walking through the halls of the sanctuary, she'd heard something strange. Ragged breaths. She knew that sound and listening to it made her want to run away and hide. She about turned away when the sound of a familiar voice growling a very familiar cuss word pierced the breathing. It was Negan's voice. Logic told her to get the hell out of there, but curiosity began to lead her feet towards the door.

She's crazy for wanting to see what's happening, who he's with, what he's doing even though it frightened her to no end to see such intimacy. The door was cracked open with dim light pouring out into the hallway. Upon peeking in, she could see clothes scattered everywhere: heels, a black dress, dark jeans, and a leather jacket; a symbol of power throughout the surrounding areas.

Her eyes fall upon a scene unlike any she's seen. A woman, who she thinks was named Sherry, kneeled and bent over a couch with Negan behind her thrusting deep and powerful. Her nerves appeared and she gnawed on her bottom lip, brain processing exactly what was happening. Never before had she seen Negan like this. He's so…powerful and dominating. It frightened her at the same time that she almost wished that was her.

The dirtiest and filthiest words poured from Negan's mouth as he yanked Sherry's hair back, his mouth pressed against her ear. The anxiety began to creep its way into her body, but she couldn't bear to look away from the spectacle that was Negan having sex with one of his wives. For how much Sherry said she despised Negan, she seemed to love this side of him. The truth became clear: saving Dwight wasn't the only reason Sherry married Negan. The wives often talked about Negan's ferocious appetites for sex. A lot of how he fucked not made love to his wives, but she didn't believe it until now.

"Fuck! Take daddy's cock, baby!" Negan growled.

Sherry responded with a moan.

Negan knew she was watching. He'd seen her figure appear in the cracked door and decided to put on a little show for the wife he hadn't touched. He planned to show her what she was missing out on. Negan let loose the dirtiest things he could think of before he finally let it be known he knew she was there. Negan made eye contact with her and continued to fuck the brains out of Sherry. It didn't register with her that they were staring into each other's eyes until ten seconds later. The ego boost he felt in the moment made a smirk adorn his face and throw a devious wink her way before going back to work.

After that wink, she quickly ran away back to her room. So many feelings and emotions filled her being at what she'd just seen. Flashes of memories mixed with images of Negan fucking Sherry swirled in her head. Confusion plagued her the rest of the night causing her to be restless. She was afraid to sleep. Afraid that what she'd seen would trigger nightmares. Afraid to stay awake for fear of still hearing Negan's moans and them turning into the men's she despised. The last thing she wanted was for Negan to be like those men. Logic told her he wasn't, but the irrationality of her anxieties told her he could be. By the time the sun had risen through her window, she'd come to a conclusion: She did want Negan. She's just afraid of what might happen if she gives in.

—

"Well, my little peepin' tom, did you enjoy the show last night?" A deep voice whispered in her ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she whipped around, and her husband stood before her with a mischievous smirk on his face and his hands clasped behind his back. A blush of embarrassment spread from her face down her neck.

Her stammering words trying to find an explanation were halted by his words, "Come with me. We need to have a talk, dear wife."

All the wives in the room watched with utter shock as Negan led her out of the parlor. He'd never chosen her since she'd arrived. She'd most likely be interrogated by them when she got back….if she came back. The silence was almost unbearable the entire walk to Negan's room. He kept a chirper and amusing atmosphere, but stories had warned her that, that mood could change very quickly. She didn't know how Negan felt about her invading his private time with one of his wives, especially his favorite.

Negan opened the door to his room for her before walking in after her and shutting it, silently turning the lock. "Now what do you have to say for yourself, little missy? Sneakin' around late at night and spyin' on me havin' an intimate moment with one of my wives," his voice was unusually amused. She began to shake, unable to conjure up why she'd peeked in on him with Sherry. Negan watched as she stared down at her feet and bit her lower lip. He took note of her shaking hands clasped together and the tears threatening to pour down her cheeks.

"Hey now. No cryin'," he came closer to her and placed her chin between his thumb and pointer finger so she'd look him in the eye, "I just wanna know what you were doin', baby. I ain't gonna punish ya."

Hazel eyes stared into her soul. Confused feelings made her more afraid. She calmed down knowing he wasn't going to punish her for eavesdropping, but there was still the underlying feeling that something else was about to happen.

"Because I think…you want a little freaky deeky. Am I right?" he assumed.

Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out, just stuttering.

"I think I'm right. That lil' pussy get wet last night seeing me go buck wild on Sherry?" he was unaware of the dangerous waters he was treading with her, "You want daddy to take care of it?"

She hadn't noticed he'd backed her up against the door until her back hit the hardwood. One of his hands began to wander with much dominance and aggression that was all too familiar in a terrible way. Pure, unadulterated fear gripped her being, making her lock up against him. His smile suddenly wasn't charming, it was terrifying. Memories flashed in her head. Their voices, their disgusting breath, their touches. It was becoming too much.

"P-please…d-don't," was all she could manage to say.

Negan froze, hand disappearing from her body in an instant. The gravity of her tears had a new meaning. Before, he thought they were tears of fear that she might be in trouble, but he realized they were tears of trauma. He moved away from her body slightly, giving her room to breathe. She released a shaky breath.

"What did those men do to you, sweetheart?" He finally asked.

Silence.

"Tell me," he demanded.

This was the first time someone had asked her, or cared enough to ask, what happened. She didn't believe that he cared, but the worry on his features told her otherwise. "They touched me. Said awful things to me. Made me suffer," she whispered. There was suddenly relief in her chest. Not much of one. It was slight. As if speaking it into reality, to someone that cared, began her journey to healing. She felt like she could finally speak. Now was her chance to say everything. She didn't want to lose the momentum she felt. Negan suddenly felt like a huge piece of shit. He should have known better.

"Negan,…I know I'm not exactly…whole, but you make me feel safe. You don't want anything from me. You don't want to force yourself on me. Y-you care, in your own way, for my well-being," she admitted, "Which is why…I do want you, but you probably won't want me because I can't give you what you want."

"And what do I want, sweetheart?" he asked, a bit stunned with her confidence to admit all of this.

Her blush made him want to smile, "What you had done with Sherry. I don't want that. I'm terrified of doing stuff like that. The girls say that you don't…do slow. That you just fuck."

Negan rolled his eyes at the mention of the dumb idle talk of his wives, but there was some truth. He hadn't taken it slow with anyone in a long time. A violent world made a man want the same in bed. Negan sighed before taking a good look at her. He could tell the words were genuine. Not ones she managed to conjure up to tell him no.

"I want you to touch me, but....not like they did," she added.

He'd be damned if that little statement didn't warm his heart and tickle his balls all at once.

"Are you sure, darlin'? You know I ain't about forcing women to do what they don't wanna do," he stated very clearly.

"Yes. I'm sure. You'll just have to be patient with me," she said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Negan chuckles a bit, "I'm the one you're gonna have to be patient with. I ain't use to this whole slow thing."

"You mean....you're gonna try?" her voice was small but hopeful.

"I will do my very best, doll," he reassures.

Once again, her teeth found purchase of her bottom lip as she waited for something to happen. Negan had to reassess his approach. His previous one wasn't the way to go with her. He swallowed the lump in his throat and quietly approached her again. His rough calloused hand gently stroked her cheek before traveling very slowly down her body to secure itself on her hip. The rise and fall of her chest told him she's nervous, but her reassuring nod and slightly shaking hands coming to rest on his shoulders told him that she's ok with what was happening.

Negan grasped both his hands on her hips and gently brought her against his chest. Small arms wrapped around his neck, their lips an inch apart now. His breath tickled her cheeks until finally, chapped lips met soft ones in a very cautious and gentle kiss. A spark ignited in her body upon feeling his kiss and his hard body pressed against hers. It was one that she hasn't felt for some time. She assumed it had been extinguished long ago.

One of his hands came up and pressed against her lower back to bring her body flush against his. The other threaded into her hair, not daring pull a strand until he hears some sort of approval. Negan was used to taking control and being rewarded with very satisfied women, but in this small woman's case, he was going in blind. For the first time in a while, Negan was hesitant in his actions.

"You can move a little faster. If you want," she whispered.

Negan smirked against her lips, "Don't wanna go too fast for ya, honey."

She nodded, small voice approving a slightly faster pace. The sudden courage surprised even herself. Negan took the advice and carefully picked her up, making her wrap her legs around his waist so he could walk towards the bed. His boots thumped against the wood floor until he finally stopped at the foot of the bed, gently setting her down.

The innocent and fearful look in her eyes made him want to go beat those soulless sons of bitches that hurt her. They'd hurt her to the point that a mother fucker like him made her feel safe. It didn't feel right for this to be real, but it was. Negan was brought out of his trance when he noticed she'd taken her shoes off and was starting to unzip her dress. A large hand around her wrist made her stop and become fearful that she'd done something wrong. "Let me do that," he ordered. A silent nod was his only reply before he slowly got down on his knees. She felt his callused hand take her right leg, slowly going up her calf before letting his lips follow the path he'd just made.

Goosebumps appeared on her skin as his salt and pepper scruff scratched against her skin. Negan's other hand gently pushed against her abdomen, signaling her to lay down. Following his silent instruction, she gently laid back and let him do as he wished. A terrifying thought she quickly chased away with focusing on the feeling of his lips that were now on the inside of her thigh. As he alternated to kissing her other thigh, his hands began to push the skirt of her dress up. Sudden warm breath against her covered center made her shiver, and Negan smirked with approval.

'Such a slut for us, aren't you?!?'

Muscles tensed and tears pricked in her eyes, trying to close her legs at the memory. With Negan stuck between them, it wasn't possible. "P-please don't do that," she shook as her words trembled, "T-they use to bite me. M-make me b-bleed and hurt." Negan contained his growl of anger. How could someone treat a woman like this? The gentle call of her name made her look at him.

"Darlin', I'm not gonna do that. I promise it'll feel good," he reassured. Her white-knuckling the sheets told him she didn't believe him.

"Trust me," he whispered, slowly running his hands up and down her legs. Her grip relaxing on the sheets gave him the go-ahead. Negan knew he wasn't the most patient man in the world, but he didn't expect every ounce of it to disappear once he took her panties off. The sight of her glistening and spread out for him sent a primal hunger straight to his mouth and dick.

"Good God, woman," he groaned, "I've seen a lot of good pussy in my day, but this takes the cake."

He noticed her cringe a bit, and he silently cursed himself. Bad Negan.

To rectify his mistake, Negan gave her center a kitten lick. Hot damn did she taste divine. He did it again on the outer part of her clit, and she gasped as he growled at the taste. How he would love to dive in and just make her cum over and over again. His patience was wearing thin, but he didn't want to hurt her so he took her hands in his.

"Darlin'," he took her hands in his before urging her to grab onto his slicked-back locks, "You got control. Yank me around if ya like."

She looked a bit confused but rolled with it as his tongue made full contact with her center. She cried out at the foreign yet pleasurable sensation that came from his slow and painstaking devouring of her sticky sweet pussy.

His moan vibrated against her and added to the pleasure. Her whimpers, moans, and mewls motivated him to keep going. He hadn't noticed he'd sped up to a pace that frightened her until she hissed and tugged at his hair. He pulled back a bit but went ahead with his idea of teasing her leaking entrance with a finger. The feel of her hips at first moving away from his impending intrusion made him reassure her that he would take care of her. The reassurance made her relax against him, legs opening slightly to allow him more room to work. When he finally penetrated her with his middle finger, he cussed out loud at how her walls gripped him tightly.

"Christ, baby," he groaned, taking a breather himself to keep from just standing up and fucking her brains out.

She knew she was asking a lot of him to do this for her, to quiet the beast in him and try something different. Her walls burned at first when he began to finger her, but his mouth lapped at her clit and suddenly the whole thing felt amazing. Whines and whimpers escaped her lips that were better than any pornstar Negan had ever heard. He roughly shoved a second finger in her with great ferocity. The great pain Negan felt in his scalp told him his action was not welcomed.

Unfortunately, the pain mixed with the taste of her on his tongue only made his jeans more uncomfortable than they already were and increased the desire to do what HE wanted. Her whimpers of pain were what made him slap himself mentally. "Gotta bear with me, doll. I'm really tryin'," he grunted out, hooking his fingers up suddenly and coming into contact with her g-spot. The fingers locked his in hair suddenly went flying to grasp the sheets as her back and hips arched. Negan's chuckle was heard over her panting.

He stood up, fingers still locked in her, and leaned over her, "Never had a man find that spot, baby? Tell me, how's it feel?"

A strained moan was the response he got, her mind too focused on trying to comprehend the amount of pleasure-pain she was feeling. The pad of his fingers started to slowly stroke her little spot, and her legs began to shake as she grabbed a tight hold of the lapel of his leather jacket.

When his hand began to speed up, her small fingers wrapped around his wrist, "E-easy. P-please."

Negan nodded, "Alright, alright."

He could feel her walls fluttering around his fingers, but she wasn't quite there yet. With the lick of his bottom lip, Negan pressed his thumb against her clit, and the reaction was instantaneous. Her whole body shook as she nearly screamed, both hands grabbing a tight hold of him and legs closing around his hand to keep him from leaving her depths. Stars exploded behind her eyes and tremors racked her body. Never in her wildest dreams did she think that she'd ever feel something so...amazing. What helped her come back to earth was the feeling of Negan's lips delicately kissing along her face and neck.

"C'mon back, doll," he whispered, lightly (very lightly) nibbling on her ear lobe.

Her body went slack against his and released his hand so he could gently remove his fingers from her quivering pussy. Normally, he'd let his women suck his fingers clean while he praised them with all matters of dirty and filthy words, but he opted to get another taste of her sweet honey. The taste made him groan in satisfaction.

Negan felt her warm hands trail down his chest and then under his shirt, "Wanna feel you."

There was no response. He stood up, his warmth leaving the side of her body he was laid against and began to take his clothes off. When he had pulled his shirt off, she sat up. Her post-orgasm look was one he'd file away in his brain for a later jerk off session. Hands explored his chest. She lightly touched his faded tattoos, going over all his muscles before allowing her hands to go around his waist and feel his tense back muscles. Her lips connected with his neck and her fingers delicately traced the muscles, a way of trying to calm down the beast that made his chest rise and fall rapidly. Negan took this opportunity to unzip her black dress, making her pull away from his body so he could pull it over her head and off.

"Goddamn," Negan bit into his lip as he felt his hands, and dick, twitch at the sight of her completely naked before him.

She instantly hid her body from his hungry eyes.

Negan took her hands and removed them, "Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of, baby. You got a super hot body!"

His cheeky remark made her giggle slightly.

"There's a smile. You know you don't gotta do this if you don't wanna, darlin'. I'd understand," he reassured.

She shook her head, "I want this. I want you."

Even though she was frightened, the idea of Negan claiming her in the most intimate way possible made her feel so much different than before she had walked into this room. The fear was slowly being replaced with a warmer feeling. A feeling of safety and wholeness. Being in this room, with him, in this fortress made her feel safer than she had in a long time. Negan directed her to travel farther up the bed and lay down. As she did, she watched him crawl his way from the bottom of the bed to hovering over her body, jeans completely abandoned on the floor. When she looked down at his manhood, she gulped.

He must have heard it because he chuckled, "I know what you're thinking. Yes, it'll fit. No, I haven't torn a woman in half…yet."

She giggled but still felt nervous. Negan leaned down and kissed her gently, trying to distract her from her thoughts. Her fingers wove into his thick locks as one of his hands brought her leg to meet his hip. His dick laid against her womanhood. The animalistic groan that left his chest was downright sinful. The feeling of her warm wet center against his throbbing dick was heavenly. The rut of his hips against hers made her whimper. Negan wanted to ram himself home and fuck her into oblivion. He knew he could make her cum over and over again, but that would earn him a one-way ticket to the dog house. He'd feel like shit if he treated her like some piece of ass.

This one was different. Negan didn't know why. Never in all his days did someone so fragile and delicate come to him for safety. This was the first woman in a very, very, VERY long time that made him want to change, even if it was for the night. When she gripped his dick in her hand and placed it at her entrance, Negan nearly lost his cool. He growled, but stopped his hips from ramming at full force.

“Gotta warn a guy, doll, before you go around grabbin’ dicks,” he chuckled.

She blushed and released him.

“Gonna take this slow now,” he said.

She nodded and let him take the lead once again. Negan wasn’t a religious man, but he prayed he’d still have a shred of control when he got inside her. The moment of truth...grasping his dick, he started to push in. Her whimpers were accompanied by her legs tightening around him. He knew she was tight but not this tight. Negan’s grunts and groans were directly in her ear as he pushed in more and more. The sudden clench of her inner muscles and cry of pain made him come to a staggering and breathless halt. He was definitely gonna lose control.

“Baby, you wanna be on top? I don’t wanna hurt you, and I’ll lose my grip if I keep goin’ like we are,” Negan grunted.

The idea made her nervous, “I don’t know.”

Maybe she was asking too much of him?

“I’ll help you out,” Negan started to shift, pulling out of her gently and laying on his back before putting her over his lap.

She seemed a bit awkward as she was hovered over him. His hands gently ran up her body and back down to her hips, a comforting reassurance that everything would be fine. Negan took the time to help her ease down on to him. He held his dick still as she took her time to slowly push him inside of her. Her face contorted in pain as his tip stretched her open.

She went a little bit further down onto his dick before stoping and whining in pain. “Hey. Just breathe,” Negan encouraged, he himself having trouble continuing with his tip being squeezed in a death grip, “You take what you can, baby. Hell, I’d be fine with just watching you fuck yourself on my tip if that’s all you want.” She could tell he was trying to lighten the mood and help ease her mind. She knew she needed to relax.

With the way her body was so tense, it was going to hurt even worse. Her body craved for more of his touch while feared it all at once. Negan was surprised when he watched her start to take more of him, her inner muscles a little more relaxed. He moaned as her very tight warm walls encompassed him more and more. The grip on her hips was definitely going to leave bruises.

“Breathe, beautiful,” Negan urged as she continued to let herself be stretched. The urge to rush herself for fear of upsetting Negan plagued a part of her thoughts, but she pushed past it when suddenly he bottomed out inside her. Never in her entire life had she felt so stretched and so full.

Negan’s head fell back and he tightened his grip on her hips, “Oh my….fuuuck!” She was tight. She was tighter than most of the women he’s been with. How long had it been since this woman had sex? Or, had she even had sex before? He looked back at her face and could tell she was struggling with the feeling she was feeling. “Am…am I hurting you?” She stuttered. Negan let out a breathy chuckle, “Hell nah, baby. You’re just so tight around my god damn dick.”

She let out a curt giggle, placing her hands on his abdomen and trying to find some relief to the pressure she felt. Negan reacted quickly by letting his fingers work wonders on her sensitive clit. Her hips bucked making her cry out. Her over sensitivity from her first orgasm and the overwhelming feeling of being full had her arching her back. “There ya go, baby. Negan’s gotcha. Just take your time,” he kept reassuring her.

It didn’t take long for his fingers to coax her into moving, her body seeking out the pleasure it was craving. Negan could hear her holding in moans and small whimpers as her body began to find a rhythm. This little woman was doing wonders to his body. HIs dick was trapped in the warmest, tightest, wettest hug, and his eyes couldn’t stop looking at the little minx in his lap. It was better than porn. Pressing his rough thumb more into her clit made her whimper out and arch her back once again.

“Am I makin’ ya feel good, sweetheart?” his eyes dark with lust.

She nodded.

“Nuh uh. Use your words. I gotta hear ya,” he encouraged.

“Yes, Negan, yes!” she moaned while biting her bottom lip.

Suddenly she felt an overwhelming feeling. It was so intense and unfamiliar that she stopped her movements. Negan saw her fall from the precipice of probably the best orgasm she’s had and took action. “Oh hell no,” Negan suddenly flipped her over and gently hovered over her, “Baby, I’m about to give her the best pleasure you’ve ever felt.” Her eyes were a little fearful but it was quickly drowned out when she saw the genuine look in his eyes. She trusted him.

Negan took it as the go ahead and began thrusting into her, quickly bringing her back to the edge of bliss. Just as he expected, her body began to writhe against his to get away but he held her stead fast in place. “I-it’s too much!” she cried. Negan gently shushed her as he continued his thrusts and then quickly moved his fingers down and rubbed her clit.

It was as if the earth shattered for a moment. Legs shook, nails clawed into his back, and eyes rolled into the back of her head as the most mind blowing orgasm washed over her. Negan couldn’t hold it any longer and let himself drown in the pleasure and release into her. The feel of her nails dug into the skin and muscles of his back mixed with her quivering walls was all he could take. A shiver ran through him as the last of his seed was in her and he became spent.

When he had finally caught his breath a bit, he began to check on her. Her eyes were closed and her chest was heaving. She wasn’t quite back to earth yet. “You ok, darlin’?” he asked.

“Y-yeah,” she panted.

“Glad I didn’t lose ya,” he chuckled.

She attempted to chuckle but it came out as more panting.

He took his time pulling out of her overly sensitive walls and took it upon himself to get a warm rag and a glass of water for his spent wife. Returning from the bathroom, he found her still laid in the position he left her. Setting the glass aside, he gently placed the cloth against her center, but she quickly jerked, clearly too sensitive. He continued his task at cleaning up the mess he made of her and placing her under the covers.

It was rare that Negan was at a loss for words, but he found himself unable to say anything. The moment they had just shared was absolutely something else entirely. Slipping into his own bed beside her felt strange. He felt as if he should have said something, but what should he say? On the other side of the bed, she was having the same dilemma. Her brain was a bit fuzzy at the moment, but she’d never been in this position before. She was so use to being used. Her brain was having a hard time comprehending whether what just happened was good or not.

It felt better than good. Nothing in a very long time had felt even close to that. Then why was she scared that this was bad? She had let him have his way with her, be inside her. She had lain with him intimately, an act she had once swore to herself she’d never do. That there was no one in the world she could trust enough to be that intimate with, and yet here she was. Her thoughts were interrupted by a pair of arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. Her body was too weak to protest or even tense against Negan as he cuddled her. She felt his fingers delicately moved her messy hair aside to lay a sweet kiss on her temple.

“I hope this is ok,” he whispered.

She smiled a little, “It’s ok. I like cuddling.”

He smiled and kissed her again.

“Negan,” she whispered.

“Hm?” He answered, sleepiness beginning to take hold of him.

“Put a hickey on me,” she suddenly said.

Negan went a bit stiff and looked at her. Did she really just ask him to do that?

“Please,” she opened her neck to him more, “So people know not to touch me.”

Her pleading voice touched his heart strings. She wanted everyone to know what they had done. She wanted them know what they couldn’t do to her, that he was the only one with the privilege to do anything like this to her. He obliged. His mouth lightly fell upon her neck, delicately kissing his before latching his mouth onto the skin. She hissed and wound her fingers into his hair as his teeth nipped at her flesh. The slight pain of his mouth mixed with his scruff was a feeling she needed to remember for if they ever did this again.

After a few moments, Negan pulled away to see a large hickey in the shape of his mouth appearing on her neck. His mark was on her physically. It wasn’t permanent, but it was sure to be there for some time. Her fingers released his hair and touched her wet skin where the bruise was forming. Once she was finished inspecting her skin, she turned and nuzzled into his chest, fingers lightly playing with his chest hair.

Trapped in an embrace, the two lovers fell asleep with a strange warm and hopeful feeling washing over them both.

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