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lene-loki · 1 year

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Sweet Salvation

Summary: Even though you already ended your toxic relationship, your abusive Ex-boyfriend still has got ahold on you. Addicted to drugs, he threatens every cent out of you for his criminal machinations. You are only working as a cleaning person for Nelson&Murdock and barely afford to live in your tiny apartement even without your Ex milking your wallet dry. One day you find yourself desperate enough to steal money out of your bosses office after hours.

Plagued with guilt you try to return the money before your boss notices it but Matt Murdock already knows and he's not happy.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Female Reader

Warnings: (I'm sorry if I forget some), angst, it's really dark, drug addiction, abuse (physical and emotional), swear words, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts

A/N: It's not completely proofread yet, so please excuse any mistakes! ❤️

It rumbles in the hallway in front of the door to your apartement and your heart starts to race. Knowing all too well who's coming to visit you this late again. You can hear the clinking of keys, how they find their way to the keyhole while you automatically hold your breath. Fingers clamping painfully around the handles of your handbag, your knuckles turning white from the straining of your skin. The door finally opens and your Ex-boyfriend enters, having you wide-eyed and shaking before he can even say a single word. You aren't just afraid of him. You are totally terrified to the point where every fearful beat of your heart hurts so much inside of you that you would prefer to rip it out of your ribcage yourself.

"Y/N." He rasps menacing, his voice held low while he shuts the door. Trying to swallow you stutter a simple: "Hi."

Your saliva gets stuck from not being able to properly breathe and having your throat drawing itself together. You know why he came. It's the same reason why he visits you since you two were together. He wants money. You didn't know that he is a drug addict and further than knee deep into the criminal scene of Hell's Kitchen until it was too late. You thought breaking up with him would free you from him - but it was only the beginning and now you know the real him. The man he hid from you when you two met and you cursed every day that you have ever been involved with him. You know too much about him and his life and he wouldn't dare letting you off the hook that easily. He knows how to break you and get what he wants. He isn't even saying what he wants anymore, he just expects you to give him the money without any hassle from your side. Of course you would never cause any trouble - you are far too scared and weak to defend yourself from him and you know fully well what happens when you put yourself in his way.

You hesitate, still frozen in fear when he clears his throat impatiently. Shaking, you rummage your wallet out of your handbag and weakly put your entire cash onto his awaiting palm. You watch him as he counts it angrily.

"Fifty Dollars?! Are you serious?!" He roars.

The feeling of choking spreads inside of your throat as every bodily function of yours grows numb.

"I-I don't have more." You tremble, knowing that by the time you can finally leave for work you'll be covered in black and blue bruises.

He lets out a dry laugh, his forehead already covered in sweat again. You know all of the telltale signs when he experiences withdrawal symptoms again and at this state he's the most dangerous to you.

His own fingers are shaking. He probably hadn't had any illegal substances for quite a few hours.

"I need 400! Now!" He growles with emphasis in his voice.

"I don't have more." You repeat, your voice shaking and the absolute opposite to his vigor in tone.

Faster than you can react he wraps his empty hand around your throat. Even though he seems a little unsteady on his feet, you can't manage to get out of his strong grip. All of your fingers are desperately grasping his big hand in an attempt to loosen his grip. His face comes closer, his hand squeezes your throat some more and it's getting harder to breathe. You try to scream but your voice disappears like dust in the wind.

"I want 400 Dollars by midnight. Or else" his voive becomes scarily low, "I crush your pretty little neck." His hand demonstratively squeezes even harder around your throat and you can feel your consciousness walking on a fine line between reality and nightmare.

He isn't making empty threats. You learned the hard way that he means everything he says always a 100 percent.

When he finally lets you go, you stumble backwards, almost completely losing your balance. It's not until he left your apartement that you allow yourself to cry. The shock and the numbness disappearing, leaves you feeling every single emotion you had surpressed just minutes ago.

After you had calmed down enough from your little breakdown, you walk into the bathroom to check on your throat. A big bruise is already forming on your tender skin - impossible to hide. So your only choice left is to wear a turtleneck in the middle of August in case Mr. Nelson is still present in the office. You don't worry about Mr. Murdock since he is blind but sometimes you feel like he sees more than you think.

When you arrive at the law firm the sun had already set.

You step into the office and turn on every light in the room in an attempt to feel a bit more safe.

Just when you think that you're alone, you hear footsteps around the corner. Matt Murdock walks out of his office space and you clutch your hand over your heart, gasping wildly as if a kidnapper just caught you.

"Woah there." Matt smiles softly as he approaches you.

"I-I thought I'm alone." You pant still shaken from your encounter with your Ex-boyfriend.

He frowns and although his eyes are covered from his red lenses you can see his eyebrows furrowing.

"Is everything alright?" He asks so tenderly that suddenly your heart feels like its melting.

You are not used to be cared about. Matt's soft voice and his sudden interest in your well-being is throwing you completely off guard and you stand there speechless.

He tilts his head after another second of silence passes.

You shake your head, hoping to shake some sense into you again before you clear your throat.

"Eh- Yes. Th-Thank you for asking." You stammer your words but mean them sincerely. He shows you a crooked smile, obviously not believing you and you start to wonder how he even knows that something's up with you.

"You sure?" He pushes cautiously, afraid he could scare you off like a freightened deer. You instantly nod before you let out an akward laugh. "You nodded, didn't you?" He grins.

"Yeah." You start to tense from all the akwardness in the air but there's something else too.

You can't quite put your finger on what it is but the longer you look at your boss the more an unknown feeling spreads inside of your belly and strangely in your ribcage right where your heart suddenly looses its control - unable to keep its normal pace. For a moment you think its about to rip open your body from the inside and flee right into Matt's hands.

Your eyes widen and you can't help but to furiously blush at that sudden thought. Your cheeks are burning up and you wonder if you have to call the fire departement to extinguish this heat because you doubt that you get this fire inside you tamed by yourself.

But why are you suddenly feeling this way?

It's not like you notice for the first time just how attractive Matt is and how his voice is as smooth as honey.

"Uhm, I should get to work." You say after another moment of you gawking at your boss.

You try to push away your feelings which are seemingly clouding your sanity. Deep down inside of you, you know that you would never have a chance with such an handsome man like him.

"Oh, yeah, of course!" He says rapidly, scratching his neck with a breathtaking smile plastered on his face. "Then I let you get back to work. See you tomorrow, Miss (Y/L/N)."

"Good Night, Mr. Murdock." You can't help but to beam at him.

He accidently brushes your shoulder as he passes you on his way to the clothing rack. "Sorry." He giggles slightly while you are sure that your heart is by now exceeding every tempo limit on a highway.

You watch him as he puts on his jacket and unfolds his cane. He shows you a last smile as if he knows that you are looking at him before he leaves the office.

Now that you are really alone, the giddy feeling inside of your body caused by Matt slowly disappears and you are left with the suffocating fear of your Ex-boyfriend.

It suddenly dawns on you that you are in no way able to get 400 Dollars until midnight which means he's going to kill you.

Your knees start to shake and you try to distract yourself with your work.

~*~*~*~*~*~

For about an hour you manage to succesfully clean the little kitchen and the reception area. It isn't until you step inside Matt's office space that you get really consumed by very bad thoughts. It is the moment that you notice a glass jar with dollar bills inside on his desk that your fingers start to itch in need to grab that container.

"No, no, no." You tell yourself.

You are not a bad person and you wouldn't do this to Matt.

He would never forgive you for this. He would most certainly fire you for stealing money from his office - money that his clients probably paid him for his work.

You are depending on this job. You can't risk losing it.

You can already picture yourself homeless and starving.

Shaking your head so hard it hurts you try to focus on cleaning his space. But you just can't.

What choice do you even have?

Either you steal that money and get fired and homeless or you get beaten to death at midnight by your Ex.

You had to decide between pest and cholera.

Your heart is beating painfully hard inside of your chest, adrenaline pumping in an abnormal speed through your veins. Your hands seem to have a mind of their own as they turn up the lid of the jar.

For a moment you pause.

What if this was a trap and Matt left it there on purpose?

But even this concern can't stop you anymore. Carefully you take the money and start to count the bank notes. There are 500 Dollars in your hand. As honest as you could be in this situation you only take 400 Dollars and put the rest back inside the jar.

The guilt already eating you from the inside.

It is already past midnight when your Ex finally comes into your apartement - still having your key even though you begged him multiple times to give it back.

He rushes immediately to your shaking form on the sofa, raging and even more aggressive than he had been a few hours prior.

"I'm waiting, bitch!" He screames at your face after you seemingly struggle with moving a single bone due to your fear.

"Y-Yes." You stutter, jumping from the seating and running to your handbag.

You don't know what it is but suddenly you can't pull out your wallet anymore. He groans behind you, impatiently waiting.

But the immense guilt that you have been feeling this whole evening, makes you second guess if you could really live with disrespecting Matt like that. After all the trust he put in you to go behind his back and do something like this.

You can't do it, even if it means you get killed tonight.

You are already feeling half dead as you turn back around to the furious man standing in your flat.

"I-uhm actually couldn't get the money together." You say surprisingly composed given your current situation.

He let that humorless laugh out again that sends chills down your spine.

Frustrated he rubs his hands over his face as if he's trying to stay calm although he's been raging since he stepped a foot into your living space.

You try to prepare yourself for what's to come as he finally puts his hands away and looks you directly in the eyes.

You can't move a single muscle.

Everything hurts. From your toes to your forehead and everything inbetween.

You can barely hold yourself up as you lean with your entire weight on the sink in the bathroom - gripping the surface as if your life depends on it.

Sobbing loudly you try to take care of your wounds by yourself.

To the bruise on your throat came a few more in addition. Not even a turtleneck could hide that now. It is unsettling obvious what happened to you last night - that your Ex tried to choke you to death but fortunately failed.

But is it really fortunate that you are still alive?

Maybe it would have been better if he killed you. Or is it a twisted game of his to see how much more he can torture you until you break for good?

"You won." You whisper, keeping eye contact with yourself in the mirror. That was the last straw. You can't keep living in fear that he might kill you any day and with the aftermaths of this hurting. The only salvation for you has to be death. At least you can take your life by yourself without pain. You won't give him the satisfaction of dying because of his hands.

But you couldn't peacefully die like this - not with the guilt of the stolen money still tattooed in the back of your mind. You need to sort that out first before you can finally come to rest - forever.

You could manage to make your bruises look somewhat alright. There are only two in your face anyway, he focused mostly on your upper body and neck when he almost succeeded in killing you not too long ago.

The way to Nelson&Murdock is absolute hell.

Wearing a turtleneck and a thick scarf you are close to melting into a puddle in this summer heat. Only after the shock from your other injuries subsided you felt the unbearing pain in your throat. You also noticed before you left how hoarse your voice was and how much it hurt to even breathe. Yeah, you can't do this anymore and you won't.

You sneak into the office before Matt, Foggy and Karen come to work and put the money back in the glass jar on Matt's desk. Then you go back home where your bathtub is already waiting with a bottle of pills to put an end to this misery.

Your stomach starts to flutter in anticipation of what you're about to do at home. You don't care if you're even in the right mind at the moment to plan something like this or if it's the dumbest decision you ever made.

When you enter the building you notice a shadow underneath the door to your work space.

No, this can't be. You start to panick.

They shouldn't be here this early.

With your heart thumping in your chest like a horde of elephants stomping inside of you, you open the door and enter.

Already six pairs of eyes are set on you. All equally suspicious of you.

Matt, Foggy and Karen are standing at Karen's desk, watching you as if they awaited you.

You had no chance to return the money without anyone of them noticing it. That is it.

You are feeling like fainting when Matt suddenly tenses up so hard his shirt begins to strain against his body.

"Miss, (Y/L/N)? I would like to speak to you for a moment." You gulp at how serious his voice becomes compared to last night.

"In my office."

You are close to breaking your own fingers with how hard you are fidgeting them while you are sitting across from Matt.

He sighs when he suddenly takes of his glasses. You have never seen him without them before and you can't help the excited tingle in your stomach when he shows you his beautiful hazel eyes. It feels so intimate to you as if he's sharing a secret with you no one else knows.

Matt's gaze lands on your chin as he probably tries to focus his eyes on yours.

"Miss (Y/L/N)." He sighs again. "It is not easy for me to do this and I want in no way to accuse you of something. But something happened and I need you to be really honest with me." He says calmly, having you gulping down in guilt and shame.

Without moving his eyes from your face, he grabs something from the floor beside him and puts it subsequently on the surface of his desk.

Your eyes start to burn with building tears as you look at the almost completely empty glass jar.

Having to see his uncovered eyes during your inner turmoil somehow makes you feel even more intimidated by him.

"Last night when I left there were 500 Dollars in this jar. Now there is only a single hundread dollar bill left." He is stating matter of fact.

Neither raising nor lowering his voice.

Since you started working for Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson you had conversations with either of them in their offices of course - but none has ever been so serious.

Matt stays silent, patiently waiting for you to answer even though he didn't ask a question. He wants to give you the chance to be honest about what you've done. And this is the moment where you can't keep yourself together anymore.

Sitting there in pain, having not slept the entire night you realize just how much of a mistake you've done.

Before you can get a word over your lips, you start to sob. Embarassed by yourself you try to force yourself to be quiet but it's useless. Shaking, you wipe your tears away from your cheeks while still crying too hard to talk. Matt's facial expression softens a little bit as you cry obvious enough for a blind man to notice despite your best efforts to hide it.

"Miss (Y/N/L)," Matt starts but you interrupt him, sobbing loudly now. "I'm sorry." Your voice breaks, your injured throat hurts too much to bear.

His gaze falls, he doesn't even try to cover up the look of pure disappointement. He trusted you and you abused it.

That hurt even more than all of your bruises combined.

He doesn't speak a single word while you rummage the cash out of your handbag and return it to your boss. Ashamed you press a hand over your mouth, not wanting to let Matt know that you are still crying like a baby that made a mess in its diaper.

His fingers brushes the dollar bills that you put in front of him.

You can't read his expression.

Is he surprised you gave it back?

Did he expect you to keep it?

It is impossible to tell what he's thinking.

But then he finally talks again after all this silence where you've been crying and apolygizing.

"Why?" Is everything that comes out of Matt's mouth, barely above a whisper.

Now it's your turn to lower your head.

You can't tell him what's going on in your private life. He would probably push you into going to the police or sueing your Ex-boyfriend and that would just all make it worse.

Matt sighs yet again as he puts his head into the palm of his hand.

"I don't like to do this, but I have to. And you know it."

Blood starts to dripple inside of your mouth from how hard you bite down on your lip - dreading what he's about to say.

"You are fired."

The words leave his lips ponderously and weak as if he really doesn't want to dismiss you.

You nod your head, not caring if he sees it or not, in agreement since you knew from the moment you took the money that this would be the outcome.

"I will refrain from filing a lawsuit against you because you returned the money and" He takes a deep breath "I trusted you."

The last sentence hits you right in your chest.

It confirms to you that you have lost everything with Matt whatever you thought you had with him.

Trying to compose yourself and not to break down in front of him, you stand up from your chair.

You shouldn't care about losing your job actually. You don't intend to come back anyways but what really destroys you is how you betrayed Matt and have to die knowing that the last time you saw him - felt nothing but disappointement for you.

"I'm sorry." You say for the last time before you exit his office, keeping your head down low so Foggy and Karen can't see your tears which are still streaming down your cheeks.

Back in your apartement you can finally let everything out.

For hours you are lying on the floor, crying and unable to stand up. You just want to die right there on the spot, too weak to even walk to the bathroom where your pills waited for you.

You somehow managed to fall asleep on the floor in exhaustion, waking up hours later in complete darkness and hurting.

It is almost two a.m. when you finally manage to get up on your feet.

The bathroom door is standing open just like you left it. But you can't put your plan into action yet.

Something's still holding you back or maybe you are just a coward.

You don't care about how much your body is hurting, but you need to get out of your apartement. And the time doesn't matter to you as well.

You get dressed in sporting clothes and go for a jog to clear your head. You accept willingly to get mugged - that would really make your day perfect.

But in reality what's really torturing you is how you lost Matt.

What is really crazy considering you never even had Matt to begin with. The truth be told you always had feelings for him - deeper than a normal boss-employee relationship. And now all of that is destroyed.

Crying again you are running through the night driven by all of your emotions, bubbling to the surface after years of surpressing them. This is how you find yourself in front of Matt Murdock's apartement - too high on adrenaline to think straight. Your sanity has long been gone.

You need this.

You can't die with how things went.

Sweating and shaking you start to hammer your first against his door regardless of his neighbours.

It only takes a minute for your former boss to open the door. His eyes are half shut, tired and annoyed he tries to put his unfocused gaze somewhere without falling asleep on his feet.

You get extremely nervous all of a sudden. And then he furrows his eyebrows.

"Miss (Y/L/N)?" He asks irritated. It was always just professional between you two.

You don't even question how he knows it's you.

Pulling all your courage together, you get a step closer to Matt. Hesitatingly, you softly take his head in your hands - wishing he could see the look of admiration you always hold in your eyes for him.

He's not moving, curiously letting you do what you wanted to do since you met him for the first time.

Before the nerve leaves you, you place your lips tenderly on his.

Risking to get pushed away, risking to get your heart broken.

What you didn't expect was for him to return your kiss.

Can he taste all of the unspoken emotions you keep closed up in your heart because the way he puts his hands on your waist feels like an answer.

Overwhelmed from the feeling of his lips moving against yours, you are experiencing feeling you never felt before.

Your heart flutters when you realize that this is what you have been craving.

This feels like what you thought dying would feel like. But now you know what really heals you.

Matt is your sweet, sweet salvation that you want to last for infinity and beyond.

#marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #angst #imagine #charlie cox #daredevil #matt murdock #mcu fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #matthew michael murdock #matthew murdock #hurt #foggy nelson #karen page #abusiveboyfriend

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shammah8 · 9 months

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RHAPSODY OF REALITIES

📅 TUES. 19TH DECEMBER 2023

WORK THE WORD

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Wherefore, my beloved... work out your own salvation with fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12 ).

Pastor Chris Says

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The Word of God is for doing; we're doers of the Word; we work the Word. As long as the Word remains in the pages of your Bible, it won't produce any results for you. But when you meditate on the Word and speak it forth, it comes alive and active.

Think about this: A lady who was diagnosed with breast cancer asked that I prayed for her. But I told her she could put the Word to work; she could use her mouth to cut out the cancerous growth. I explained to her what the mouth is -"stoma" (Greek), the front or edge of a weapon. She was excited and immediately got to work. She spoke consistently to the growth, in faith, over a period.

When I saw her a few months later, she was completely healed; the cancer had dematerialized and she was perfectly normal. She worked the Word. Glory to God! If you're sick, broken or afflicted in your body and you desire to be well, put your faith to work. Work the Word.

All the blessings of God are already packaged and delivered to you in Christ. The Bible says, "...all things are yours" (1 Corinthians 3:21). 2 Peter 1:3 says He's "...given unto us all things that pertain unto life and godliness...." Ephesians 1:3 says He has blessed us with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ.

God already did everything He needed to do for you to have and enjoy a glorious life. But you have the responsibility to put the Word to work in your life. You're the one to ensure all the wonderful blessings of God manifest in your life. Affirm the Word for your healing, prosperity, victory, promotion etc. Declare your prosperity without wavering. Hallelujah!

🗣 C O N F E S S I O N

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I belong to Christ; therefore, I'm the seed of Abraham, graced for greatness and ordained to be fruitful and productive in every good work. My life is for the glory of God and I reign and rule by the Word of God through the power of the Holy Spirit. I launch out today in faith, establishing the blessings and goodness of the Kingdom in my life, in Jesus' Name. Amen.

📖 FURTHER STUDY:

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James 1:22-25; But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.

[23] For if any be a hearer of the word, and not a doer, he is like unto a man beholding his natural face in a glass:

[24] for he beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he was.

[25] But whoso looketh into the perfect law of liberty, and continueth therein, he being not a forgetful hearer, but a doer of the work, this man shall be blessed in his deed.

Jeremiah 1:12 AMPC; Then said the Lord to me, You have seen well, for I am alert and active, watching over My word to perform it.

Isaiah 55:11 AMPC; So shall My word be that goes forth out of My mouth: it shall not return to Me void [without producing any effect, useless], but it shall accomplish that which I please and purpose, and it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years

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Crawl Home to Her

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem BAU Reader

Warnings: Religion is mentioned, slight mention of supposed homophobia, drug use, death and thoughts of dying, kidnapping (it’s Spencer’s POV of Revelations)

Author’s Note: I was listening to Work Song by Hozier and felt like it fits PERFECTLY for what Spencer was going through when he was kidnapped by Tobias. I took some creative liberties, but much of the plot lines up to the show’s episode. I linked the song if anyone wants to listen to it before they read or after, it’s such a beautiful song. Hozier is in my top three artists; his voice is just so beautiful and soulful.

Summary: The only thing that’s keeping Spencer alive is the memories of his Heaven. Maybe someone how a faithless man will escape Death’s grasp on faith alone.

Word Count: around 3.2K

Category: Angst

Crawl Home to Her

When Spencer comes to the first thing he notices is the smell of burning. The stench permeates the air around him, filling his nostrils. The second thing he notices is breathing. Breathing that is not his own. A man stands before him and it takes him a second to piece it all together. The throbbing in his head takes much of his energy. He can feel the blood drip down the back of his neck and cake onto the collar of his work shirt. Strangely, all he could think about is the time his father told him a respectable man never wore a spoiler shirt. Well dad, look at me now, Spencer thinks grimly. He hates that his father occupies his mind even when he’s about to die. He has much more beautiful things to think about than the man who called him a failure.

“They’re gone,” the shadowy figure tells him. Tobias, Spencer thinks. Tobias is the unsub.

“Who are they?,” Spencer asks, his voice must sound as cowardly as he feels. He hopes that Tobias didn’t get Y/N. He can’t live with himself if he let his partner, in more ways than one, get hurt.

“It’s just me know,” Tobias answers, in such a way that it’s almost obvious.

“Who...Who are you?” Spencer croaks. The lightbulb hanging above his head taunts him. He has the lightbulb, but where’s the ideas? Where are the answers? Where is the light of safety?

“I’m Raphael,” Tobias says, standing to his full height, towering over a trembling Spencer.

Raphael... The angel...Spencer’s mind turns but is halted by the horrible smell coming from his side. It invades his mind and nothing seems to make sense.

“What’s that smell?” he asks.

“They’re burning fish hearts and livers. Keeps away the devil,” Tobias or Raphael answers, Spencer is not too sure who he’s even talking to at this point.

“They say you can see inside men’s minds,”

“That’s not true, I-I study human behavior-” Spencer reasons, but is cut off by Tobias/Raphael’s passive shushing.

“I’m not interested in the arguments of men,” Raphael tells him. He turns around to rummage in his pocket for something that Spencer can’t make out in the dim light of the shed. Between the lightbulb blinding him and the stench of the liver burning, Spencer’s senses are overloading themselves. Focus, Spencer, focus, he begs of himself.

Don’t let him win. Don’t let him win.

Tobias pulls out a revolver and a bullet. He toys the bullet in Spencer’s face, asking him “Do you know what this is?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe.

“It’s God’s will,” Tobias says rationally.

The cocks the gun and aims it towards Spencer’s head. If he pulls the trigger he’d shoot him straight in his head. Staring down death, all Spencer can think about is him suggesting that they split up. He was the one who left Y/N, he’s the one that’s responsible.

“You don’t have to do this,” Spencer tries to reason.

“I’m just an instrument of God. This is your salvation, this is time to repent for your sins,” Tobias says, pulling a chair to sit next time. It’s strange, Spencer thinks, Tobias is not that much older than he is. This job has forced Spencer to think of the countless paths that he could have gone down. Part of him thinks that could have easily been on the other side, the angry part of him, the broken and sad part of him.

“Tell me your sins, and may God forgive you,” Tobias says, his voice almost as fearful as Spencer feels.

Spencer closes his eyes, trying to think of all the things he’s done wrong in his life. All the people he’s hurt or the mistakes that he’s made. But at this moment there’s nothing running through his mind by the thought of Y/N. The way she’d hold him after a case or the way that she’d listen to him with light in her eye’s. It’s nice to have someone who cares, Spencer thinks. Or at least it was.

“I’m a good man, Tobias, I’m a good man. Like you, we catch the bad guys, Tobias--we are the same. We catch the sinners.” Spencer professes, trying anything to get out of here alive. He’d do anything to get back to Y/N. To get back in her warm embrace.

“We all have our sins, including you. You just need sometime to sort them out,” Tobias says, and like that he’s gone with the wind.

***

It’s early morning when Spencer wakes up, the sun bleeds through the cracks of the wood panel door. His clothes are caked in his blood and dirt. His hair is stringy and the blood from his ear clogs his hearing. But he’s alive, he's still here, breathing the same air as Y/N. Somehow that’s enough to keep him hoping that she’d find him- save him.

The door opens with a sudden slam, Tobias walks in carrying a load of logs. There’s something different about him. Spencer thinks that there’s an air of arrogance, an air of superiority in his walk.

“What are you staring at, boy?” Tobias- or at least the man who looks like Tobias Hankel asks.

“You’re not Raphael?” Spencer reasons.

Tobias throws the pile of logs into the box on the floor of the shed. He stands up to his full height, but there’s something that’s taller about him than last night. There’s something more intimating about the man standing before Spencer.

“Do I look like Raphael to you?” Tobias asks, the sneer so apparent.

Spencer decides to ignore that, answering this person, whoever he is, is not in his best interest.

“Thank you for burning these, for keeping us safe,” Spencer says, trying to get on his good side for his sake, so he can go back to Y/N.

Y/N. If Spencer can just close off his mind and focus on her, he’d be okay. He’d get through this. If he can just close his eyes he can just feel her touch or taste her lips against his. If her kisses make him a sinner then crucify him. Least he’d die a happy man, with the promise of tomorrow with her endless love.

“Don’t try to trick me, you’re are filthy liar, you’re a disgusting sinner,”

God, Spencer thinks, waits until he hears that he’s from Vegas and fell in love with a man. Spencer focuses on breathing, not the itch from being dirty with his own blood or not the thought of impending death.

“It will be over if you confess, boy. Confess your sins!” Tobias yells.

“I’m not a sinner,” Spencer says, almost defiantly. There’s a surge of strength in Spencer, and he swears that the small memories of Y/N makes him a stronger person.

“We are all sinners”

“The Lord spoke unto Moses saying, ‘speak unto all the congregation of the children of the lord’ and say unto them, ye shall be holy, for I, the lord your god, am holy,” Spencer quotes, the fear somehow seeping back into his voice.

“You know Leviticus,” Tobias says, almost surprised. Yes, Spencer thinks, even heathens can quote the Bible.

“I know every word of the Bible, I can quote it for you?” Spencer pleads.

“Even the Devil can read,” Tobias tells him.

Spencer’s wound bleeds down his neck, the throbbing almost pounds to the beat of his heart.

“It’s time to confess, Spencer Reid,” Tobias whispers, leaning into Spencer.

“I’m a good man, Tobias. I finally found someone who puts back the pieces. I found someone who loves me, and I can’t leave her like this. I can’t do that to her.” Spencer confesses.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs,” Tobias quotes, and as he does his face seems to drift off. It’s like he's there with Spencer, but not there at the same time.

“First Corinthians, Verse 13,” Spencer recites.

“Hmm, so your parents did raise a believer,” Tobias reckons.

More or less, Spencer thinks. He might not believe in God the Almighty, some entity in the clouds watching over him, but he does believe in love and maybe even an afterlife. He has to believe in an afterlife, because if he doesn’t he’d fail to give Y/N forever.

“Yes,” Spencer says, settling on playing the part of a righteous believer.

“Yes, my parents read me the Bible. They are good people too,” Spencer tells him.

Spencer’s not really sure what happens next, but the blow to his head makes the world go black and the sweet memories of Y/N fade into the distance.

***

A cool rag presses against Spencer’s head, where he figures where “Tobias” hit him, or whoever was there with him.

Dissociative Identity Disorder. DID. DSM-5. 300.14 (F44.81). Tobias has three personalities, Spencer thinks. He remembers the day vidily. Reading about DID with Ethan, they sat on the lawn of the park near school. His memories are distrubed by a very confused looking Tobias, who hold bandages and a wet rag.

“What’s your name?” Spencer asks, hoping that whoever was there last night is gone.

“Tobias,” he says, almost meekly. Spencer recognizes something in that, somewhere deep inside him, he recognizes the fear that Tobias wears like a shield. The man here last night must have been his father...

“Who was here last night?”

“My father, Charles,” Tobias says. “I’m sorry if he hurt you.”

Tobias turns to reach in his bag, he brings out a vial of clear liquid, a needle and a long piece of cloth. He ties the long piece of cloth around Spencer’s arm, who with a sudden realization fights to get away from Tobias.

“NO! Please, NO!” Spencer yells, trying his hardest to fend off the inevitable.

“It helps, Spencer. I’m trying to save you from him! It’s gonna help, it helped me,” Tobias tells him, continuing to tie the fabric in a tight knot above Spencer’s elbow.

“Please! I don't want it!” Spencer pleads as the room folds in one him, the darkness is not welcoming, it's suffocating. It’s sucking the life out of him and he can’t escape it’s clutches.

***

There’s another person in this shed, Spencer thinks. He tries to strain his eyes to make out who it is. It’s not Tobias, the shadow is too short for him.

Y/N.

She’s wearing a dress, the blue dress that she wore on their first date. He loves that dress on her. He’s sure he’d love any dress or anything she’d put on to wear for their first date, because well, it’s their first date.

“Spencer,” her voice is even more comforting than usual. It’s syrupy sweet and he feels like he’d get a toothache just from listening.

“Sweet Spencer, you need to come home to me, okay? Come home to me baby.”

He tries to call out to her, but it’s futile. She's a ghost, but she looked so real. Maybe he’s the ghost and his eternal damnation is to haunt her. He’s able to see her, but never able to get close enough to feel the way her hands caress his checks or the way her eyes light up at his touches.

The spooky beauty of his girlfriend is whisked away with the familiar shoots of two tall, skinny figures. His parents. His father sits there on the table with a sneer on his face. His mother has this faraway look on her face. Spencer’s twelve again, listening to his father yell and slam the bedroom door as he rushes out the door, never looking back.

The shadowy figures are gone as soon as they came and are nothing but a reminder to Spencer that he’s not worthy of love. He feels guilty. He really does, but the needle going into his vein brings back Y/N and for now he wants nothing more, but to see her, even if it’s not real.

***

Spencer’s not sure if he craves the clear liquid in the vial because he gets to see Y/N or if he craves to see Y/N because gets to the liquid coursing through his veins, the slightest reminder that he’s alive.

He’s alone in the shed, but there’s a bright green light blinking. A computer, he wonders. Is this the way from the Ninth Circle of Hell? Is this his way home, his way to Y/N?

His thoughts of home and of their warm bed are interrupted by who he can only assume is Raphael, enough time has passed for him to be rising to the surface. Part of him misses Tobias, they’d probably would have been friends growing up. Two outcasts raised by a parent who meant well, but did do irreparable harm in the end.

“It’s time to choose,” Raphael announces. He points to the computer screen, which lights up. Spencer can only assume that his face is being streamed across the internet. Garcia, and probably the entire team are watching this, watching him at his lowest moment. He swore that he’d never show Y/N himself like this, even though he knows that she’ll love him still.

“Choose a member of your team to die. You are all sinners in the end, but it’s time for you to choose who dies.” Raphael tells him, his voice booming, a stark difference from the nervous murmurs of Tobias.

“No,” Spencer shouts. “Kill me, kill me instead!”

“Choose or they all die!” Raphael yells.

Think, Spencer. Think. He looks around at the shed, trying to think of an out. His eyes latch on to the shovel sitting in the corner of the room. That’s new, he realizes. A cemetery, a grave...

“I choose Y/N,” Spencer says, not truly believing what he’s saying, but praying that she gets the message.

“Why?” Raphael asks.

“She’s prideful and careless,” Spencer reasons, trying his hardest to appear nonchalant.

“Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before the fall,” Raphael quotes.

“Yes, John 14:27,” Spencer says. And with that his fate and Y/N is sealed. It’s funny in a twisted way, he always knows that his fate would be forever linked to hers, but not just in this way.

“Come on, boy. Get up,” Raphael orders him.

Spencer makes it to his feet and the pair make their way into the night.

***

Spencer’s not sure how far he’s walked, but his feet are numb and he can’t feel anything in his arm. The inside of his arm is littered with marks, a constant reminder of the cravings he’s feeling. No, he tells himself. What he craves is Y/N. He makes his way up the rocky terrain of the cemetery, hoping that she’s on her way to rescue him, hoping that she’s there to wash away the dirt and kiss his scars.

Raphael is at his side, pulling him along. It's a strange similarity to Dante and Virgil and their journey to the depths of Hell. Maybe in this scenario Spencer isn’t Dante, maybe he’s Beatrice waiting for his Dante to rescue him.

“Please, I need rest. I’m exhausted,” Spencer tries to argue, but it’s no use. Raphael’s grip on his arm only tightens.

“Keep moving,”

They arrive at the cemetery. Spencer is not ready to die. He’s not ready to die and leave Y/N. He wishes he really did believe in God because maybe, maybe he wouldn’t be as scared as he is right now.

“Dig,” Raphael tells him, tossing the shovel on the ground at Spencer’s feet.

As if he’s shaking Death’s hand, Spencer reaches down for the shovel and starts to dig. Each deposit in the mountain of dirt is a cry for help. Each time he cracks his neck in pain or rubs his hands in exhaustion is a goodbye kiss for Y/N.

Spencer stands to his full height. He’s nearly as tall as Tobias, somehow he still feels like a child.

He suspects that Tobias feels the same way. Maybe one day Spencer will come to regret his choice. Maybe one day Spencer will be grateful that he reached into the very depths of his strength to fight to the very end.

“Tell Tobias I’m sorry,” Spencer says, the tears flooding his eyes.

Spencer bangs the back of the shovel against Tobias’s head. His limp body falls to the ground and suddenly he’s terrified that Tobias is somehow still alive. Spencer scrambles for the gun and pulls the trigger. He’s not even sure how many shots he fires but the body is punctured with bloody holes. Spencer, clutches are Tobias’s lifeless body. As if he can squeeze him back to life.

He thinks he’s imagining it. He thinks that he’s on the brink of death. There’s a light, a soft yellow light beckoning him home. A voice calls out to him, clear and strong, it’s drawing him in and Spencer is crawling from his own grave to the voice that he could recognize anywhere. He’s teetering between Heaven and Hell. Y/N’s voice and light tether him home.

“Spencer!” she calls. Finally, he thinks. Finally, she’s close; he lets himself believe he’s safe.

“I’m here!” he shouts, surprised at the force of his voice.

“Oh Spencer,” she says, running to him.

She falls to the ground next to him. Spencer is scared that she’s not real, that it’s the drugs in his system again making him believe that she’s nothing but a cruel figment of his mind.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I knew you’d find me. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean it,” Spencer cries, his face tucked into the crook of her neck.

“Shhh, baby. I’d find you anywhere. Hmm, let’s get you out of here. You are safe now Spencer,” she tells him softly.

Spencer may not be a man who believes in God but he has to believe in Heaven, because Heaven is holding him in her arms.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader angst #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #mgg

248 notes · View notes

dilucbabe · 3 years

Text

filthy

pairing: overhaul x fem!reader rating: m themes: priest kink, dubcon/noncon, emotional manipulation, spit kink, explicit sexual content, degradation, misogyny word count: 1.75k ao3 - request

His gloved fingers glide over your own, a smile adorning his lips. Funny, how such a simple gesture can mean so much to someone like Kai. It’s obviously no secret how uncomfortable he is with people showing their entitlement in thinking they’re allowed to come near his vicinity - to rub their filthy hands over him as if he merely stood on display. But it wasn’t just about the audacity that they showed with their thoughtless actions, far more, it was about the control that they took from him.

Kai is a man of action, a man of God. Someone who shows action and takes fate into his own hand, pulling it if needed. Not someone who lets things happen to him. He isn’t weak like that and he’d rather die than become so pathetic. His mission in life is to shield the weak ones from temptation and sin, to guide them to the right path, even if it means becoming forceful. Some might call him cruel, but truth be told, the perception of others is as important as the non-existent dirt under his fingernails. The only thing that truly matters that he obeyed the Allmighty, the church.

“Father?”, your voice is laced with sleep, eyes not yet open and Kai feels his heart stir at the sight alone. “Hmm, did something happen?” The innocence in the statement alone feels like pure gasoline to the flame that is his desire for you. Funny, how such a simple gesture can drive a man like Kai Chisaki to the brink of madness.

You’d come to the monastery on a rainy night, wet hair clinging to your frightened little face as you begged with utmost sincerity, “Please, father. I have nowhere to go. I- I need your guidance.”

You had practically breathed your plea, hands desperately clawing at your coat, the wet fabric doing nothing to shield you from the cold. If he were a different man, he would have felt his demeanour melt away, but he had remained strong. “Guidance, child?”

You cast your gaze away from him, shame bringing a pretty glow to your cheeks. “I’m a horrible woman. I-“, your bottom lip quivered, looking up at you with such over the top sorrow, it almost seemed comical. Almost. “I have seduced men without meaning to. I really didn’t, you have to believe me! Satan himself must reside within me!”

“First and foremost”, he had remained firm in his stance, albeit a bit more tense, though he couldn’t quite tell why. “There is nothing I have to do, aside from serving our Lord in Heaven. Not aid you, nor believe you.”

A high pitched squeal slipped past your chapped lips, clasping your hand over your mouth as though you had spoken out of turn. “I- Please-!”

“Still, you are in luck that God wouldn’t let me permit to turn my back on a poor sinner, so accepting of their own sins.”

It was, for the lack of a better word for it, thrilling to hear you beg like that, he remembers. It still is. Desperation and fear for condemnation – for punishment – has always been a big motivator for Kai. Instilling fear of what is good and righteous had always seemed like his one true calling, planting a seed of shame and guilt within people’s minds, to infest it and exorcise all evil from their very souls. A most gratifying experience he thanks the Lord every night in prayer.

Yet when it comes to you, he feels something stir inside of him. Maybe it is something akin to excitement, maybe it was hunger, maybe mere curiosity. Whatever it may be, he knows that it can only mean evil. What else could it be? You yourself have admitted upon being corrupted by the Devil, so he is but a man standing in the face of corruption.

Kai feels his pulse quicken, your legs spread open as though you are simply begging for him to be defiled by you. And who knows? Maybe you are. It wouldn’t be the first time, he’d caught your eyes taking his form with heaving bosom and wide eyes. Revolting slut that you are.

“Father?” He can see you trembling and he can feel himself swell with something akin to pride.

A cold smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, tugs at the corners of his lips, his hands now on your thighs, holding them in place. Even through his gloves, he can tell how warm you are to the touch – a temptation, if there ever was one. Though you might look the innocent maiden, he can see for what you truly are and maybe his purpose was to punish you for it, to set you right. Indeed, filling your hole with his seed might even cleanse you from all the filth of your very core.

God is on his side, he’s certain of it. He’d forgive his obedient servant’s sin if it meant saving a soul from the eternal flames of Satan. There simply is no other way.

Your eyes widen, any trace of exhaustion wiped clean from your face. “Please, no… I don’t want to-“

“Hush”, his fingers dig deep into your flesh, the promise of bruises blooming on your skin, making his cock stir. “You know that lying is a sin, don’t you? Let alone to a man of faith.”

Tears threaten to spill down your cheeks at any moment, hands desperately clawing at the covers Kai’s sitting on, trying to cover yourself, to no avail. “P- Please…”

“I didn’t ask you to beg. I asked you a question and I expect an answer.” He’s wedging himself between your legs now, knees pressing them apart, while his hands easily get a hold of your wrists, holding them in place. How come your words express such dread, when your body is so easy – so willing – to get overpowered by him? Even if you don’t quite realize it yourself, your mind is clouded with lies and sin. “Let’s try this again”, he pauses. “You’re aware that lying to a man of faith in considered a sin, yes?”

A slow nod. “Yes, father.”

“And although you should know better, you still actively choose to disobey the word from our Lord, yes?”

“It’s not a lie!” Even though your whole body is violently trembling with pitiful sobs, Kai can’t quite help it, but be in awe of your form. You make such a perfect victim, he’s sure, any artist would compare you to the likes of Mary and Joan d’Arc – suffering for the greater good. Although, of course, he knows you better than to fall prey to your manipulation.

Pressing your balled up fists against his cock, he snarls in pure disdain, “Don’t play coy with me. Do you think I’m blind to your lust? Do you think yourself a victim to the attention of men you so desperately seek out?”

You flinch upon contact, though Kai notes, how you momentarily halt your wails, a faint squeal escaping you. He wonders, is that still part of the act that you’re trying to keep up or if you’re rightfully in stunned at the size of him. He grows harder just thinking about burying himself to the hilt inside your vile cunt. “N- no! Father, I never meant to- to-“

“For me to notice?”, he snaps and by the shock written all across your features he knows that he’s right. “You perverted whore.”

“It was never my intention to seduce you! I’m not lying! I swear, the Lord is my witness, I-“

Thwack. The sting on your cheek is relentless, but it’s a necessary evil. You have to learn how to behave, that there are consequences to your misdeeds, even if he has to beat it into you. “How dare you use the Lord’s name to spout all this nonsense”, it’s no question, but a statement. “I have no patience for whores with silver tongues.”

Kai leans over you, holding your wrists over your head, relishing in the sight of you being completely at his mercy. Your meek hiccups did nothing but spur him on even further, solidifying his decision in cleansing you free. “I’m so- sorry. You were so kind to me and took me under your wing when I needed help and- and I just…”

You squirm under his ever so watchful eyes. “Filthy thing”, his fingers enclose around your jaw, fingers forcing your lips to pucker open and spits. “To think giving you shelter would be enough was foolish of me, but we know better now, don’t we? You’re in need of drastic measures and it is me who has to whip you into shape. But fear not, I will not falter to bring you to the light side. I’ll fuck the virtue into you if I need to.”

It all happens so fast, you can barely keep up. One moment he hikes up the skirt of your frilly, little nightgown, chilly air hitting your exposed skin, the next he’s pumping his leaking cock right in front of your pussy lips. You try with all your strength – which admittedly, isn’t a lot – to get away from him, but he’s a strong man. And you should already know, shouldn’t you? Haven’t you spent night and night again, admiring his physique when he so graciously read the bible for you? Haven’t you fantasized about those very arms holding your naked body against his as he’d plunge into you in rapid speed? He’s right, you muse, you’re nothing but a common slut.

“God forgive me”, he groans and gets to work.

Funny, how such innocent glances can lead to such thorough punishment. Or was it redemption at last? You can’t tell anymore – too lost in the feelings of his palm, striking your thighs, face, tits; his hips clashing into your own with such force, it’s hard not to wince from pain; his stern look casting down at you and promising both salvation and damnation. Filthy thing, you repeat in your head, filthy, filthy, filthy. You should be grateful a man of God deems you worthy of his attention, let alone his cock.

Your insides are burning and your lungs feel like they might give out any minute, too exhausted from all the sobbing and crying, but Kai stays relentless. “Father, please”, you plead.

His response is sinister, but you know, a filthy thing like you deserves it. “Patience is a virtue”, he pants. “But what would you know about virtue?”

And he’s right.

#bnha smut #mha smut #overhaul x reader #kai chisaki x reader #dark fic

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bruhstories · 3 years

Text

Bloodlust

Summary: You were a rookie Jashinist with a dark secret, he was a demented shinobi with a desire to slaughter anything and everything for his god. Pairing: Hidan x Fem!Reader (canon verse) Warnings & Content: dark content - minors dni, language, blood kink, kidnapping, murder, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, knives, human sacrifice, cult-like behaviour, religious fanatism, Reader and Hidan are... insane, slight gore. Word Count: 2.8 k

A/N: Read those tags carefully. Hidan's not exactly a warm and fuzzy character.

"Please, let me go... I won't tell anyone." You peeled your lips open, dry from all the crying and lack of hydration, hairs stuck to your sweaty forehead.

"Let you go? But... you came here willingly." He sneered, flashing you his teeth.

He was right. You joined the Jashinists thinking they were a liberal religion, preaching freedom and anarchy, but you did not expect sadism and human sacrifices. And you didn't expect to fall in love with Hidan — the most vile man you've ever encountered. Not that he knew that, anyway. He couldn't possibly fathom the idea that a sweet thing like you could love a man like him. But you weren't a saint.

"T-then why are you doing this to m-me?" You breathed, the ropes around your wrists cutting the blood circulation in your hands.

Hidan clicked his tongue and placed his scythe on the floor. "Because I can." He picked up a knife — no, a kunai. "And because you wanted to run away."

Ah, there it was. You decided to leave this cult when Hidan prompted you to kill some poor ninja he'd kidnapped a few days ago. You refused, expecting to be left alone, and now you were the sacrifice.

"I t-told you, I- I only kill those who deserve it."

"Everyone deserves it, Y/N. Especially traitors." Hidan traced the blade over your exposed abdomen, goosebumps dotting your skin and you were ashamed to admit that it made you feel... something.

"So, you're just g-going to kill m-me?"

"Don't be sad. You'll make a fine fucking sacrifice for Jashin."

"Please, Hidan, give m-me another c-chance." Tears pooled at your eyes. Death was not on your list, not now, and especially not at his hands.

"You know we don't give second chances." The blade was now between your tits, the tip slowly poking into your skin. Crimson droplets seeped from the fresh wound. It stung like a bitch, and it made you whimper, but the heat in your cunt signalled your arousal.

"You d-don't, but Jashin does." You whispered, and Hidan was completely taken aback.

"Excuse you?"

"Every t-time you failed to kill someone, hengave you another c-chance." You spat at him. "What m-makes you think he won't g-give me one?"

Confused wouldn't even begin to describe what he felt. Hidan blinked slowly, trying to comprehend the question before he dropped the kunai and left without a word.

You didn't know exactly how much time passed since he left. By this point you couldn't feel your fingers and the room began to spin, head dizzy from exhaustion. The door swung open and you shot your head up, startled by the sudden intrusion. Hidan walked in with a terrifying look on his face and bent down to grab the blade. He slashed the first rope and your hand fell limp by your hip.

"You're lucky he's a benevolent god." He slashed the second rope and your knees hit the cold, hard floor. Fear, happiness and anxiety coiled in your stomach, surprised that you have, indeed, been given a second chance.

"You talked to him?" You shook your wrists to get the blood flowing, eyes finding his.

"Yes, and surprisingly he likes you. Says you have potential." His voice went up an octave when uttering the last word in what seemed to be sarcasm.

Still on the floor, you arched a brow. "Do you doubt his judgement?" You suspected it was a mistake to ask that question, because in a split second Hidan yanked your hair and pulled your head back to look at him upside-down.

"I'll die before I doubt the good lord. Who I doubt is you." He pierced your soul with his sangria eyes, chills running down your spine, stopping in-between your thighs. You hated the effect he had over you, you hated that he was so oblivious to your hints, only focused on Jashin. Always Jashin.

Granted, Jashin did offer Hidan immortality, which was something you could only dream of. You were a pathetic civilian with a knack for medical jutsu, but never properly trained. He was a full-fledged shinobi who could snap your neck like a twig if he wanted to. And he wanted to.

But, the word of Jashin was law for Hidan. As much as he wanted to sacrifice you to his beloved god, he had to refrain himself, fearing punishment for his sins. And as much as he hated to admit it, you shared and valued the same goals of Jashinism — to a certain extent. You were down to slaughter people, but only those who deserved it, and apparently to Jashin that was enough. But not to Hidan. Never to Hidan.

"Jashin says I have potential, it's not up to you to talk back." You mustered up some courage after your wounds healed. That medical jutsu thing you practised for self-healing really came in handy when Hidan had violent outbursts and Kakuzu wasn't there to put him in his place. Shame you didn't know how to use it to heal others.

"Listen here, you little bitch, just because you've been pardoned now doesn't mean I'll hesitate to stab your tits when you disobey the lord." He let go of your hair and you leaned forward, palms on the floor to stop you from falling. "Besides, you're gonna have to prove yourself. Again."

You knew exactly what he meant. You had to kill. And Hidan wasn't one to let you off the hook — you'd have to kill someone innocent, and the idea of performing such a sacrifice made your stomach churn, it made you want to throw up, because you knew you'd enjoy it. Murdering someone deserving felt like a chore, like something natural. But the thought of killing someone undeserving made your heart flutter, your cunt burn and your head hazy with a high so addictive, no drug in the world could compare to it.

"Don't make me kill someone, please."

"Oh, spare me of your holier-than-thou bullshit. You either kill or be killed, Y/N. Now let's get to fucking work." Hidan bruised your arm in the process of 'helping' you up, unaware of the pleasant surprise that lurked within you. Because if he knew the real you, he'd probably question his own sanity — and that's something he'd never done. The real you was obscene, twisted and demented, long before you discovered Jashinism, but you tried to bury that part of you deep down. You seemingly succeeded, focusing your bloodlust on anarchy and overthrowing the Tsuchikage with a group of punk teenagers from your village, Iwagakure.

Until you met Hidan.

"I really don't want to do this." You pleaded with the silver-haired man, hands trembling and eyes watery.

"Kill him, Y/N." Hidan rolled his eyes, the blades of his scythe pressing into your back as you pressed your kunai into the victim's neck. "Kill him or I kill you."

"Alright, alright, I'll do it. But give me some space."

"Tch, pretentious bitch." He stepped aside, watching you carefully.

"More space." You demanded and he took another step back with an impatient look on his face.

"There's only one exit to this cave. If you think, for a fucking second, that you walk out of here alive you're wrong. Unless you kill him." Hidan licked his lips. "Jashin demands a sacrifice. Now."

You looked down at the symbol drawn with the victim's blood, then back at the man in front of you. His eyes were wide open and filled with tears, arms chained to then wall of the cave. He frantically shook his head, saliva dripping from his gag as he prayed for salvation.

"I'm so sorry." You spoke — not sorry for the victim, but for yourself and what you'd become after this day. Slender fingers lifted his chin upwards and with one swift movement, you slit open the skin, blood gushing out, spraying your face, neck and cleavage. "Fuck..." You moaned, the hot crimson liquid dripping down your chin.

"See, it wasn't so bad." Hidan elbowed you but you didn't move, instead, you gripped the blade handle tightly and drove it into the victim's abdomen, more blood spluttering on you when you removed it. "Oh, you want more?" The rogue shinobi quirked a brow, content with your choice. Adrenaline and arousal rushed through your veins and you dropped the kunai, the clanging echoing in the cave.

"Hidan..." You trailed off, tentatively unzipping your black cloak. "I want you to fuck me."

The silver-haired man watched you smear the blood over your exposed tits, his cock twitching in his pants. Finally, he realised just how beautiful you truly were, the pure ecstasy on your face igniting a flame in his core.

"Here?" He asked, somewhat surprised by your request.

"Yes, please." You turned around to face him, and the look on his face told you just how impressed he was.

"Now aren't you just so full of surprises? And here I thought you were just some goodie two-shoes who refused to harm people." Hidan removed his Akatsuki cloak, letting it fall to the ground, allowing you to see just how hard he was. You bit on your lower lip, the metallic taste was pure bliss in your mouth. "You filthy, disgusting whore." He sneered, his lips crushing yours in a shameful, euphoric kiss. The moment his tongue touched the blood in your mouth, his skin began to darken, his body linking with the victim's, meaning he hasn't died yet.

"Isn't he going to feel everything?" You pulled back from the kiss, but your voice wasn't in any way concerned about the man chained to the wall.

"Oh, he's going to feel it, alright." Hidan laughed, his hand pushing your head as you lowered yourself down your knees. Fingers tugged at the waistband of his pants and you pulled down both of the layers, his cock slapping your face. "Suck."

You obediently parted your lips, taking the velvety tip into your mouth, tongue swirling around it before you moved to his shaft. Hidan threw his head back, his fingers tangling in your hair as you bobbed your head back and forth, your moans music to his ears. The gurgling sounds coming from the victim told you that he, indeed, felt everything Hidan felt and your twisted mind enjoyed it so fucking much. You picked up the pace, earning grunts and growls from the rogue shinobi before he held your head in place, stuffing your mouth and throat with his thick cock until you dug your fingers in his thigh, desperately trying to breathe.

"Jashin was right to give you a second chance." Hidan released you and you gasped for air. "You're his gift for me."

The blood on your body dried out, but you were just as beautiful. You leaned on your back, spreading your legs for him. It was a smart decision not to wear anything underneath your cloak. The silver-haired man kneeled between your thighs, his hands bruising your skin with rough touches before he found your dripping cunt.

"Shit, Y/N, you're soaking wet." He shoved two fingers between your folds, curling them upwards. You squirmed and moaned, desperate for something bigger.

"S-skip the foreplay and fuck m-me!" You begged but Hidan wasn't one to listen. He thrusted his fingers in and out of you, enjoying the way you thrashed and moaned his name, enjoying the way you arched your back with every movement.

"You're so beautiful." He confessed and you were caught off guard. It was the first time he ever said something nice to you, let alone compliment you. "You really are a sight for sore fucking eyes." Hidan removed his fingers but before you could say anything, he shoved them in your mouth. "Don't you taste like a needy slut?"

You nodded with lidded eyes, cheeks hollowed as you sucked the slick off of fingers. Hidan hovered over you, his cock grazing over your slit and aching clit, then kissed you with so much force and passion you almost couldn't breathe.

"Fuck, you taste good." He grabbed his shaft and pushed the tip painstakingly slowly between your folds. Oh, he was so much bigger than you expected, but you quickly got accustomed to his girth, mouth agape and eyes rolled back in pleasure.

"Shit- Hidan!" You bucked your hips, legs wrapping around his waist as he wrapped his calloused fingertips around your neck.

"Jashin damn it, you are so tight. You're not a fucking virgin, are you?"

You shook your head, fingernails digging into his back and the victim gurgled again. Hidan released the grip from your neck, instead holding you by the hips and frenziedly pulling you onto his cock. It was sinful, degrading and demented, and his brutal, animalistic thrusts only turned you on more. The sound of skin against skin, growls and moans echoed in the cave, and soon enough Hidan's bone-like markings faded. You didn't care, he was still buried into your cunt, but the thrill of having your pussy obliterated next to a dying man dissipated, replaced by the pure lust Hidan radiated.

"Fuck, I'm-"

"No, you're not. Not until I fucking allow it." The silver-haired man pulled out and you cried, literal tears pooling at your eyes as you were on the brink of an orgasm. "You've been a bad, bad, girl, denying Jashin, denying slaughter, denying me." He gave your cunt a firm slap which vibrated through your entire body, ending with a whimper.

"Y-you have n-no idea how m-much I want you, Hidan." You squeezed your thighs together for a crumb or friction, but he forcefully pushed your knees to the sides.

"Then you should listen. See what a good job you've done today?" He tilted his head to the chained corpse.

"You d-don't understand... I've g-got an insatiable bloodlust." You admitted, but you knew he'd only be more intrigued.

"That's exactly why you've been drawn to Jashinism." Hidan flipped you over, and you were down on all fours. He pushed his cock back in you with one deep thrust, earning another moan out of you. "Embrace it, Y/N. You and I can do great things together, for him."

"But it's wrong." You whispered and you could feel his arm slithering around your neck, pulling you closer to him.

"And who told you that? Society? Your parents? Nah, I'll be your daddy from now on." His fat cock brushed against your cervix, your silken walls clenching around it as he fucked you harder. "You wanna come, don't you?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Yes, what?" Hidan tightened the grip, your back against his chest.

"Yes, daddy! Please, I want it, I want it!" You whimpered.

"And are you going to give Jashin everything he wants?"

It was decided — Hidan stripped you of any speck of humanity or rationality you had left in you. You loved him, after all, and he loved Jashin.

"Yes, I will! Jashin can have anything he wants as long as I have you."

"Good girl." He kissed your head before releasing your neck, hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. "Nowyou can come."

Your cunt was aching for release, and you mustered enough strength to rub your clit in messy, circular motions. Soon enough, you felt it coming — the rush of adrenaline as Hidan fucked into you, fingers pinching your sore nipples. You came on his cock with a soft moan and with one final, violent thrust he fills you up, cum dripping from your sloppy cunt as he pulls out. You rolled on your back, propping yourself on your elbows and Hidan froze, the sight of your used and abused pussy hypnotising him.

"Like what you see?" You grinned, fingers tentatively grazing over your slit, dipping between your folds before you brought them to your mouth to taste his seed.

"Shit, I think I'm in love." His sangria eyes bore into yours and your heart fluttered. You knew he was an asshole, and he probably only said it in the heat of the moment, but you were satisfied with what you got.

"What about him?"

"Meh, Kakuzu will take care of the mess. I wanna take a fucking bath." Hidan picked his red and black cloak up from the floor before getting up. "And I'm starving."

You pursed your lips and lowered your gaze. So much for being in love with you.

"You coming to the hot springs?"

"Me?"

"As much as I adore seeing you covered in blood, that shit's dry and crusty." He threw you your cloak.

"You wanna take a bath... with me?"

"Yes? The fuck are you acting so surprised? I just said I'm in love with you but you're surprised I wanna take a bath with you?"

"You know what, stop talking." You rolled your eyes and got up.

"I think the fuck not."

"Fuck's sake, Hidan, let's go."

"Fuckin' crazy bitch."

#hidan #naruto fic #hidan x reader #hidan x y/n #hidan x you #hidan smut #naruto smut #tw. blood #tw. knives #tw. murder

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Summary: You and Dean get stranded during the biggest snow story the North East part of America has ever seen and Dean has a pretty great way of warming the two of you up.

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo

Square Field: Getting Snowed In

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2058

Warnings: Smut, unprotected smut, oral (female receiving), soft smut, language (I’m sure it’s in there somewhere because it’s me), drinking, cuddling. I think that’s about it.

A/N: This fic was Beta’d by the lovely @deanwanddamons! Thanks again love! Please don’t copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this one!

**MASTERLIST** **BECOME A PATREON**

“Dean, are you sure you know where you’re going?” you yell through the howling wind and whirling snow as you track heavily through the gathering white mush and ice that was damn near up to your knees at this point.

“I’m sure sweetheart. It’s just through these trees, we’re almost there I promise.”

You were just about to argue that you felt like you had been trudging through this mess for hours going around in circles, when you saw the very peaks of what you were sure was a chimney tucked deep in the trees.

The deeper you moved into the snow covered forest, the clearer the sight of your salvation against the unforgiving, biting cold came into view. Thank fuck Bobby left these little cabins littering North America. They came in handy in moments like these.

It was supposed to be just a simple salt and burn. A couple of hours drive back to the bunker promised that you and Dean would be home before Christmas morning. What neither of you anticipated was the arctic blast that had struck out of nowhere, quickly rendering the road impossible, and bridges completely wiped out. Dean pulled Baby into the safety of the trees where he could find her once this was all over, about three miles down a dirt and mud covered road, and the two of you had set off on foot in search of shelter.

Thanks to Bobby, it looks like the two of you won't be freezing to death tonight, but you also won't be getting home anytime soon thanks to dangerous roads and blinding snow.

The heavy clunk of your boats as the pair of you stepped onto the old weather worn porch were drowned out by another blast of icy wind that you swore had grown invisible teeth, and was nipping at the exposed skin of your face. You shivered hard as Dean forced the heavy door open, and the two of you beat it inside the dark old cabin as another blast nearly knocked the wind out of you.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been caught in a snow storm this bad,” Dean said, picking up his cellphone and checking for service, and finding none before he threw it down on the old table close to the front door. “Looks like the cell towers are knocked out, which means…”

“No electricity either,” you finish for him, trying the old lightswitch on the wall, and coming up dark.

You watched as Dean pulled his zippo from his pocket, and made his way around the old couch that stood alone in the center of the floor before kneeling in front of the old fireplace that sat against the western wall of the old place, picking up a few old logs and preparing to light some warmth into the chill that was nipping at the two of you even safely inside and away from the blistering wind and snow.

“We got enough firewood here to do us through the night,” Dean said, as he stoked the flames to life in front of him. His legs bowed out perfectly in the dark jeans which were illuminated by the fire’s warm glow as you crossed the floor to get closer to the much desired heat. “I will go get enough at first light to do us at least tomorrow. I don’t think we’re gonna be able to get back on the road for a couple of days.”

“Great,” you grumble, sitting down heavily on the old couch and looking around what was going to be your little home until this mess blew over.

“It’s not all bad,” Dean said, grabbing the old throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and dropping it over your shivering shoulders. “There’s plenty of food stored in here to last us for weeks. We’ve got enough firewood to get us through the worst of the storm, and if I know Bobby,” he said, stalking his way over to the cabinets, opening and shutting them before he found his prize, holding up a bottle of Tennessee's finest in the air as if it were the national world cup. “We’ve got plenty of the good stuff to help us keep warm until this old place heats up.”

You bite your lips against the stupid grin that threatened to pull at the corners of your lips as you watched him dig out two glasses, and stalk his way over to you, stripping off his top layer of jackets as he went before coming to flop down next to you, taking his share of the blanket and snuggling you next to him so that his body heat could help warm you up while he poured each of you a generous three fingers a piece of the deep amber liquid.

You had quite the crush on Dean, and had for some time, but Dean was not the type of man to settle down, and you knew there was no point giving into this little infatuation you had developed for the eldest Winchester. It would be one sided, and it would probably only end in heartache.

You bring your glass to your lips, letting the liquor warm you and calm the pace of your steadily pounding heart as Dean did the same, letting a comfortable silence fall as the two of you watched the flames dance over the logs in the fireplace, crackling against the wind, and giving this old place an almost wholesome feel that you hadn’t expected when you first entered it.

Dean’s arm found it’s way over your shoulder as he subconsciously tucked you safely into his side, draining the remainder of his drink before pouring another, and refilling yours.

“Sorry I dragged you all the way out here to get stuck with me,” he told you finally, kicking his boots off and propping his feet up on the small coffee table as you did the same. Either the fire, or the alcohol successfully warmed you enough to where you weren’t shivering anymore, and could finally relax.

“S’okay Dean, not like I had big plans anyway.”

You could feel his deep, green eyes searching over you even though you kept your gaze on the flames dancing in front of you to a beat only they could hear, but you didn’t meet his gaze, too afraid of what he’d see there, too afraid he’d see just how badly you wanted to kiss those soft pink lips that always seemed to be parted just enough to seem like they were begging you capture them in your own.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, there’s not anyone I’d rather be stranded with than you,” he said, his deep rumble seemingly deeper if it all possible, flowing through your body and sending an uncontrollable shiver down your spine.

You tear your eyes away from the flames in utter shock, meeting his piercing gaze that seemed to sparkle in the dimly lit room as another blast of wind blew and rattled the old ice and dust covered windows, only broken by the beep of Dean’s watch, announcing to the two of you that midnight had fallen.

You look down, taking note of the time on his wrist, and then back up to his breathtakingly handsome face that had moved closer to your own. “It’s midnight,” you mumble, eyes tracking from his lips to his forest green gaze, your breath hitching in your throat as you struggle to remember how to breath with him so close to you.

“Well, then Merry Christmas sweetheart,” he said, his spearmint and whiskey scented breath fanning over your quickly warming skin and drawing you in better than a sirens call on the open ocean before his lips captured your own, stealing your breath and your heart as his tongue gliding into your lips with ease, teasing and tasting as he kissed you utterly drunk; better than any top shelf brandy or whiskey you had ever tasted.

It was like a fire had been lit deep down in your gut, and was stoked deeper and hotter with every brush of his calloused hand against newly exposed skin as clothes hit the floor piece by piece until you were utterly bare before one another.

His strong grip held you close to him as insecurities and self induced fear, brought on by the anxiety of the unknown, melted away into the warm brush of his sinful mouth as it traveled down your sweat dampened skin, and over your most intimate places; leaving a burning pleasure in its wake as his hot tongue slid easily through your slick folds.

Gasp and moans of pleasure echoed through the empty cabin, only broken by the deep rumble of his growl while his tongue worked your little bundle of nerves and lapped at your throbbing and quivering center until you were a shaking, pleasure drunk mess under his control, completely at his mercy.

The dam of emotions he’d released inside of you as your body came down from it’s high left you trembling in its wake, calmed only by his lips as they kissed their way back up to your body, and to your kiss swollen lips, giving you a hint of what he was tasting, and leaving you begging him for more of him, more of him he was ready to give you.

He slid his thick length into you with ease as he continued to kiss hot and deep, swallowing each moan and sound that fell from your lips greedily while his hips thrusted into you, deep and deeper, stretching, pulling and pushing, driving you into a bliss filled delirium with each brush of his swollen manhood through your clenching core until he was rutting himself into you in a desperate attempt to bring the release to the both of you that seemed to be overwhelming, and still not enough to push you over that glorious edge. Your body and souls connected as he rooted his pulsing member deeper into that place you never knew existed,his fingers leaving bruises on the skin of your thighs as his own body began to shake above you, his control beginning to slip, his lips parted and eyes closed in utter ecstasy of the warmth and sensual bliss your body was providing him until he jerked and spilled deep inside of you, triggering your own flooding release that left you putty in his well capable hold.

When it was all over, and your hearts and breathing had returned to a normal pace, Dean pulled himself from you carefully, using his discarded shirt to clean the two of you off before snuggling down behind you on the old tattered couch. The fire still danced across the heap of logs, bringing more warmth against the bitter cold that still howled and pounded against the world of bitter darkness outside around you. It was cold outside, but here, in this little safe haven you had created for yourself in the middle of nowhere and confusion, it was warm and safe wrapped in his arms.

“Merry Christmas Dean,” you whisper to him once you thought he’d finally fallen asleep behind you with you tucked safely into his strong chest.

Things would never be the same between the two of you again, but miracles do happen, and change can be a good thing. Right?

Dean’s lips brushed the back of your neck, sending the whisper of a chill through your exhausted body, causing him to chuckle behind you and pull you closer to him.

“I love you sweetheart. Sorry we had to get stuck here for me to get the balls to do something about it,” he whispered, gripping your hip with his large hand, brushing your lips once more with his own.

“I love you too Dean, and if this is what getting stranded with you means I’m in no hurry to go anywhere,” you tell him. He chuckled and kissed you deeply as the electricity came back on, the sound of the old TV playing Baby It’s Cold Outside humming in the far corner of the room as you fell asleep wrapped in the warmest place you had ever been. In the arms of the man you had always loved. The best Christmas present anyone could have ever given you. Your heart.Your Dean.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @chevyharvelle @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @anaelsbrunette @hayleeharling @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @teresa-67 @thoughts-and-funnies @hearteyes-j2 @miss-nerd95 @writers-whirlwind

#spnchristmasbinog #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester smut #dean winchester one shot #dean x reader #dean x you #dean smut #dean one shot #spn fanficiton #spn fanfic #spn one shot #spn smut #jawritter #jensen ackles #x reader inserts

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drxwsyni · 4 years

Text

Fault in Honesty︱Yandere Chisaki Kai/Overhaul x f!Reader

Anonymous asked: “Hi! I love your work! Do you think you could do a scenario with yandere overhaul and fem. Reader where she tells him she hates him?”

a/n: Ngl I’ve been having some writers block lately so doing a good ol’ sfw (or at least in yandere standards) oneshot was very refreshing. Also the section in italics represents a flashback! Thanks for the request babes <3

Warnings: implied stockholm, captivity

1.9k Words

_____

If you could hazard a guess as to where exactly you went wrong, it would be the day you let the comfort of his security first outshine the red flags. To an outsider, they’d be unavoidably obvious. But for you, someone experiencing a side of Chisaki reserved only to make appearances in your presence, they became muted. Vibrant and glaring warnings were but a momentary afterthought, given no more than a few seconds of contemplation before you returned to focusing on the ideal in front of you.

The ideal is still present now, only it’s being held together by the constricting realities that overlooking those red flags have brought about.

Walls seemingly inescapable, corridors twisting and unending. Perpetually trapping you underground, without an inkling of an idea as to which door would lead you to salvation. All coupled with the pain shooting up your legs with each time your bare feet collided with the tile, a dress airy and doing little to shield you from the deep set chill running past your exposed skin.

You shivered, both from the discomfort of the cold, and from the anxieties riddling your system.

By some form of chance luck, your frantic searching lead you to a stairwell, from one door to another, and into an all too familiar room.

The setting was by far more comforting than the bleak hallways below you. Once dull and sterile surroundings faded, your focus favouring the warmth. You spent many an hour in Chisaki’s study mere months ago, keeping the young boss company without question. Sometimes you’d simply exist alongside him, the copious amounts of work keeping Chisaki from indulging himself in conversation with you. Those moments were regrettable, as you could never stay with him all day. So you would leave him to his devices sooner or later, returning home while he continued to manage his ‘business.’

You suppose he detested the fact that you would inevitably take a leave of absence more than you originally perceived. And while his first move to initiate a more domestic closeness with you was endearing at the time, it only served to muddle your thoughts with regret now.

• • •

Your hand in his, seated close enough to him that your knees were touching. The leather couch situated in the study was always your go-to spot when waiting for your lover to fulfill his duties as a leader for the day. He managed to do so before you left this time, much to your appreciation.

“Anything you could possibly need is already in place, angel. With you living here we’d be able to spend more time together. And…” Pausing, as if to gather his thoughts while absentmindedly squeezing your hand gently in his, Chisaki soon continued. “...It would be beneficial if I were able to monitor your health more closely.”

You regarded the man with a warm and loving smile, finding slight humour in his predictable ways. For one, your wellbeing was always at the top of his concerns. It felt like such a passive occurrence at this point, Chisaki keeping those interests in mind like it was second nature. And you supposed, with how he so clearly treated you on another level of appreciation compared to everyone else in his life, that the quality would only be expected in a man who ensures such a high level of diligence in everything he does.

Chisaki also had a tendency to rush things with you. So naturally, his offer wasn’t something you were entirely surprised to hear. But unfortunately for him, there still resided some resistance in you.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too soon to be moving in together? Don’t get me wrong, Kai. I’d love to spend more time with you. It’s just―”

“This would be good for you. It’s dangerous for you to be living on your own, so you understand why I’m worried about you, right?”

Although he didn’t explicitly state it, you knew what Chisaki was referring to. The unavoidable fact of your quirklessness. He would never say that it made you weak, but you knew it was the root of his anxieties. You living alone was far more risky than he was willing to accept.

But you loved him. So, perhaps the change wasn’t something you should fear?

You let out a small sigh, still unsure, but resigning yourself for now. “...I suppose, if you think it would be best.”

In an act of tenderness, Chisaki took your hand that he was still holding, raising it to his lips. He planted a feathered kiss to the back of it, maintaining a gaze filled with adoration the whole time. Your heart fluttered at the gentle affection, feeling your face warm with a certain bashfulness.

He was pleased with your acceptance, albeit hesitant and largely unsure. “You’ll come around to the idea.”

And with the way Chisaki’s words and actions―not only now, but also in times before―left your better intuitions molding to match his, you thought you’d come around to it too.

• • •

The heavy wooden door behind you, a dark oak cut hand carved and lavish, opened in a swift motion. The abruptness of it earned a startled flinch from your body, you quickly turning around to view the culprit of the commotion in fear.

Like a deer in headlights, your whole being froze in place. Chisaki stood in the doorway, only he didn’t appear to be nearly as surprised as you.

If anything, he was calm.

His eyes trailed up and down your form, taking in your uneasy state. Slowly, he stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “It’s not good for your health for you to be up so late, my love.”

The dismissal of the situation sent a wave of frustration through you. Knowing he didn’t regret any of his actions, what he had put you through, and the reason why you were here―it was infuriating. The possessiveness, withholding your freedom like it wasn’t a necessity, because to him wasn’t. None of your misgivings resonated with him.

You regarded the composed leader, feeling your resistance begin to crumble from his mere presence. “Is this what you wanted?” Regrettably, your voice cracked midways through the question.

He almost looked disappointed, the fact of your apprehension being an unwanted outcome of the decisions he’d made for you. But he was nothing if not steadfast in his ways, a quality outshining the sorrow he felt for finding you so distressed. “All I’ve wanted is to ensure your health and safety. That’s what I’ve done, and I will not apologize for it.”

Another bit of your resolve faltered, your lower lip trembling as you fought to hold yourself together. “Even though I’m a prisoner?”

Chisaki let the words hang in the air for a moment, more so to let you process them instead, hoping you’d understand as much as he did that the statement couldn’t be farther from what you were to him. He moved across the room, taking his black dust mask off while he spoke, placing it on an end table. “I could hardly call you that. You live quite nicely―comfortable living quarters, balanced meals―everything you need and more to get by.”

“Everything except for my freedom, Kai. I mean...can’t you see how wrong this is?” In truth, you knew trying to reason with the man would get you nowhere. It wouldn’t change his mind, and it certainly wouldn’t help you in your now failed attempt to leave him. The thought of the uselessness of the whole thing wore you down, knowing putting up a fight would be for nothing in the end. You’d lost not from the moment he’d stepped into the room, but from the moment you agreed to be his all those months ago.

He faced you once again, mask and gloves removed, able to expose himself in such a way to you only. “It’s dangerous for someone with your connections to live outside of my compound―you know that. There are people who wouldn’t hesitate to use you as leverage against me.” He drew closer, an approach slow, as if trying to ease your nerves. “Tell me, have I ever hurt you?”

You inwardly cursed the man for knowing exactly what to say. His words were meditated, aiming only to lead you into compliance. The question was doing exactly that, because there was no other answer than the one he wanted to hear. The fact that no, he hadn’t. At least not physically. He truly did care for all of your needs. And even when it came to the mental anguish you went through, he always gave you space when you needed it. So really, you had no other choice but speaking that admittance.

Quietly, you did, “N-no, but―”

“So, you can’t deny that everything I do has your wellbeing in mind?”

As he took steps forward, you took some back. Soon enough you were hitting the front of his desk, unable to put any more distance between the two of you as he came closer.

“I can tell you understand that, angel. All I wish is for you to accept it.”

You shook your head, saltine tears falling down your cheeks. Confliction riddled your body and soul, part of you wanting to keep up those feeble forms of resistance, while the other part yearned to finally give in. It would be so much easier if you did, which was the worst part about it. Before you found yourself trapped by him, you truly did love Chisaki.

And somehow, even after all he’s done, those emotions never quite vanished.

“I don’t...I don’t want to be okay with this. Or be okay with you…” Your gaze fell, sniffling through your words. “I hate you―or at least, I’m supposed to hate you. But I fail at even doing that.”

You didn’t have to look up to know he was standing in front of you. Not when the uncharacteristic sound of a softness in his voice was in such a close proximity.

“That’s not a failure…”

Carefully, Chisaki cupped your face in his hands, prompting you to lift your head. Through a blurred vision you regarded his piercing amber eyes. Those set intently on yours, concerned but stern, matching his words to a T.

“You know this is what’s best for you. It’s just taking a while for that to sink in, but you’ll come around to it.” He delicately wiped away your tears as he spoke, the action soothing the torrent of discouragement inside of you. “Now, I’ll get you something to help you fall asleep, and we can forget this ever happened.”

Like always, nothing he did was a simple offer. His statements were final, and you were forced to comply whether you wished to do so or not. Only now, the notion of yearning for free will against his demands was unclear in your mind.

As it stood, and would continue to stand forever, agreeing with Chisaki was the option that had been growing on you as of late. Tonight’s events happened in a spur of the moment. In all honesty, you were unsure of yourself the moment you stepped foot outside your room. It always lingered in the back of your mind that your efforts wouldn’t get you anywhere. So, now that you were faced with that truth, resigning yourself to his whims wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be.

You let him guide you back to your room. You accepted the medication he gave without a second thought.

And soon you fell asleep, sorrows replaced with the calm and comfort Chisaki provided.

#yandere bnha #bnha fanfiction #yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere overhaul x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yanderecore #yandere writing #yandere fanfiction #yandere male #bnhabookclub

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Text

Honey & Velvet - Part 8

A/N: Maxwell fuckers - rejoice. Here ya go. I hope you enjoy ;) I’m not gonna lie in my head I drew some inspiration from that scene in Narcos. Y’all know the one. If you’d like to be tagged, please let me know, and as always, feedback and comments are always welcome! xx

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: sex, mostly sex, so yeah 18+ (aka mostly porn with little plot)

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“It’s a promise.”

“And just what would you do to me?” you wiped the reminder of your spit from your chin, glancing at your reflection in the mirror over his shoulder. You tried to fix what was left of your lipstick, but it was no use. It was gone to hell, just like you were sure that your soul would be too after what you had just done. And surely would be doing soon enough, “how would you have your way?”

You hopped up and propped yourself up on the edge of his desk, leaning forward just so your breasts were pushed towards him. A dangerous little smirk crossed his features as he stood in front of you, causing you to swallow nervously. His ring clad hand went to your throat as he squeezing lightly, just enough to create the lightest bit of pressure. It went straight to your core as you tried your best not to come completely undone then and there. You still were not willing to give into him that easily.

"Are you nervous?" he asked quietly, leaning forward so his lips were brushing against the shell of your ear. A pleasant shiver ran down your spine as your eyes fluttered closed, an inadvertent reaction to his touch. This man really did have a hold over you.

"No," it was a half lie, concocted to get you ready to deal with whatever he was going to do to you. You'd wanted this for some time now, but now that the opportunity was presented and ripe for the talking you were experiencing a bout of nerves. You cursed yourself silently as Maxwell trailed his hand up and held your cheek. It felt like his dark, almost black with desire eyes, were peering right into your soul.

"We can stop," he offered suddenly, and a panicked look crossed your features as you shook your head no. You planned this all weekend, hell you'd come over to his office in lingerie and an overcoat, there was no way you were backing out now.

You reached for the collar of his expensive looking button down, before slotting your mouth against his and kissing him with a renewed sense of urgency.

He smirked slightly against your lips as sparks of electricity seemed to jolt through your bones at the sensation of his lips on yours. There was something about kissing Maxwell that was different from anyone else. His mouth moved against yours in perfect synchronicity, his hands on your shoulders but slowly moving down to your velvet covered torso as he stare to tug on the delicate fabric.

Your hands slid to his shoulders and you moved to slip off his suit jacket, causing him to pull back momentarily as you tossed it onto the floor. You had a feeling that in most normal circumstances he would have chided you for that, but he was so lost, so drunk on your touch that he wasn't phased.

He trailed a handful of kisses down your jaw and neck, each one hungrier than the last before he stopped at the hollow of your throat, inhaling deeply. You carded a hand through his thick blond locks, trying the capture of softness and intimacy of this moment before it was gone. You had a succinct feeling that it would last much longer; not today anyway. But then again, you didn’t really know what to expect with him.

Maxwell tugged on the delicate fabric, pulling it down the expanse of your chest and letting it settle at yours hips, leaving you exposed, much more than he was. He hands went to the soft flesh of your breasts and he massaged them with his large hands, causing you to momentarily forget yourself as you tossed your head back and let out a small sound of delightful surprise. He was surprisingly reverent in his actions, gentle, as he lowered his mouth, nipping and biting at the soft skin.

But when you caught yourself and put your hands back on his shoulders, pulling him back from you, bringing a hand to his chest, “you’re wearing too much clothing.”

With slightly trembling hands, you reached for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them in a languid fashion, taking time to undo them one by one. Maxwell was watching you closely, almost in a predatory way as you finally, finally, finished and pulled it open. He tugged it off, followed by the crisp white wife beater underneath, leaving his chest bare. His skin was a golden tan, and you couldn’t help but admire it, pulling him back to you by the belt loops of his trousers. Pressing a few small kisses to his the smooth golden skin of his shoulder, you didn’t stop until you were reached his neck, marking him pointedly with your lipstick. He was yours now.

He grabbed your face, this time more gently than he had done in the past and brought your face closer to his. There was such an intensity behind his gaze that you almost couldn’t handle it; the coil in your belly was slowly tightening, already threatening to snap at any moment.

“I am not a nice man,” he insisted quietly, his voice a low timbre that spoke straight to you soul. This was a dangerous position to find yourself in, but you had wanted, craving it to a point where you were not sure you would be able to handle it much longer, “do you understand that?”

“Yes,” your response was a breathy thing, almost inaudible to your own ears. He traced his thumb along your kiss swollen bottom lip, admiring how you seemed to pout at him. Admiring the lips that had been around his cock, the lips that he’d kissed and claimed as his.

“I will not be gentle,” a small look of concern crossed his features for a moment, but any fears that he had were quickly quelled when you grabbed his wrist and slowly put two of his fingers in your mouth, sucking on them, coating them with your saliva as you refused to break eye contact with him.

“Good,” you brought his hand down to your soaked center, letting his fingers touch over your most sensitive area through the black velvet. He let out a sharp exhale as realization, even through the fabric, that you were wet, very wet, “then take me.”

Something within him snapped as he brushed everything off of his desk, beyond caring about the mess or the noise it made. Someone would clean it up later and his door was locked; he only had his eyes on you now. He looked over you for a moment before pushing you back, back, back until you were lying flat on his desk, sprawled out for him.

He tilted his head to the side as he observed you, needy and wanton under him, a large hand trailing down your body and stopping at your hips. In one foul swoop he pulled the lacy bodysuit completely off and tossed it onto the floor. A light shiver, one of pure delight and nerves ran through you as he drank you up. His hungry eyes drank up every inch, every single bare inch, of you as he spread your legs apart.

“You are perfection,” he murmured quietly as trailed his fingers gently up your thigh, stopping at the apex, the very spot where you needed him the most. He could practically feel the heat and warmth radiating off of you, and finally gave in as he ran a finger through your slick folds, “and so wet. Tell me, is all of this for me?”

“Maxwell,” you could barely manage to say his name as he lowered himself to his knees, pulling you closer to his so your soaked center was directly in front of him, “please.”

His grip on your legs was iron, vice like, as he nipped along the delicate skin of our inner thighs, making it a point to leave marks that would you would see for days, marks that would constantly remind you of him. Trying to spur him on, you raised your hips lightly, and he chuckled lightly as he put a hand on your hips to hold you still, “patience is a virtue.”

“Patience doesn’t get me off,” you huffed at him, ready to make some sort of smart remark, but Max was quick to quiet you as he put his mouth on you. Immediately you were silent, seeing nothing stars as you laid back down and gripped the sides of his desk so tightly that your knuckles were turning white.

He used his fingers in conjunction with his mouth, licking stripes up your folds, tasting very bit of you that he could. Deftly, he slid in a finger inside and your mouth opened as a small whimper, a pathetic little sound, reached his ears. You could feel him smirking against as you as he ate you out like you were his last meal, like he was a man dying of thirst. He was not shy, he was timid about getting in there and making sure you were experiencing as much pleasure as you could. Whatever he was, and he was a lot, he was a man that knew how to use his mouth. It didn’t take long for him to get you worked up, to get you close to the precipice of your pleasure as you writhed underneath him.

He added another finger, curling it and finding your sweet spot almost instantly as you closed your eyes and his name fell off your lips, a sound of both curses and salvation. Max snaked a hand up your chest as he grabbed one of your breasts and massaged it roughly, his own low moans creating a pleasant vibration against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your legs started to shake lightly around him as he brought you so close, that you saw nothing but haze. He pulled back for a moment, just before you could find your release and watched you with a smirk as you shot up and glared at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “Maxwell!”

“Hmm?” he ran the pad of his thumb lightly over your clit and you almost jumped, “are you doing to cum for me? Just like you’ve been dreaming of?”

“You’re such a bastard,” you sighed at him, but then, in a snap he was back on you, earning a small yelp of surprise from you, “fuck.”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice so gentle and almost...sweet, but you knew exactly how he was. This was just a little taste of bliss before he got what he wanted from you. Not that he wasn’t enjoying this as much as you; no, Maxwell Lord loved the feeling of eating a woman and feeling her squirm under him. It was just that very few women ever got the privilege of experiencing such a feat as he was picky as ever when it came to his partners. You managed to make some sort of sound in acquiescence as you came completely undone under him

A slew of curses left your lips as he working you through your orgasm, not stopping until you all but went limp under him and he made sure to lap up every last little bit of your juices, like it was the sweetest honey he had ever tasted. Only once he was thoroughly satiated did he stand up to his full height and stand over you, studying you intently.

He grabbed your hips and pulled towards him, admiring the blissed out expression on your face. Tucking a few strands of hair behind your ears, you leaned into touch, just wanted more of him. Just before he kissed you again, he whispered, “you taste even finer than the most expensive champagne.”

“Better than Dom Pérignon?” you teased as you pulled him back towards your lips, kissing him with more fervent passion as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You could taste yourself on him and that was enough to get you worked up again; the way he had made you feel like you were the only woman in the world.

“Better than the most expensive bottle of Dom Pérignon in the world,” he promised in between kisses. Growing impatient, you reached for the waistband of his pants and started to pull them down, feeling the straining in his pants. Your previous efforts had long worn off and you could tell he was growing needier, ready for more, “perhaps tonight we can go to dinner and I compare.”

“Hmm,” you mused quietly, “that sounds lovely, but I’ll have you know, Mr. Lord, that I don’t fuck on the first date.”

“Oh?” he caught your hands easily and pinned them above your head, holding them tightly together, so you couldn’t move, “then what do you call then this?”

“This?” you were practically purring at him, driving him crazier by the second, “it’s just a causal business meeting.To see if you can earn that first date.”

He made a sound, practically growled, as he pulled you off of his desk, before turning you around and bending you over the desk so you were face down on it. The wood was slick and cool under your body, but you could feel his heat radiating onto you as he stood behind you, his large hands massaging the tender skin of your bum.

“You’re such a brat, you know that?” you could hear the mixture of admiration and annoyance in his voice. That was enough to have you practically dipping again as he you could hear him tugging down his pants and briefs before hastily kicking them to the side. He loved the game, you knew he did, but he was getting impatient and wanted his prize - you.

“I don’t know anything about that,” you lied, wiggling your bum closer to him so he’d finally take the hint and give you what you needed. Gods, you were going to be the death of him, he was positive of it. He spread your legs apart and reached up to touch your still sensitive core, and gathered some of your slickness on his fingers, “don’t tease.”

“Don’t be such a brat,” his hand firmly came down on your bum, the sound and feeling of his hands bringing up a sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper as he realized that you liked it. And you did, you really did enjoy the sting of his ring clad hand coming down on sensitive skin of your backside. It was...definitely not lost on him as he repeated a few more times to see what pretty sounds he could draw out from your lips as your skin grew more and more red, “do you like getting punished? I can see you do...you’re so wet, just from that.”

“Please,” you turned to look back at him, “need you inside me.”

That seemed to break him and he quickly decided that he needed you just as much. He was surprised that he was able to hold back this long. He took his hard cock and coated it in your slick before slowly pushing in, a low moan in his throat as he relished in how perfectly you felt around him. It was even better than he had imagined. Your mouth was agape as he pushed in and you reached behind you, trying to find him, to ground yourself and find purchase in something.

A quiet fuck escaped his lips as he fully burrowed himself in you, stretching you in the most delicious ways. He stilled for a few moments before finding your hips and holding onto them so tightly that you were sure there would be finger shaped bruises there tomorrow. But you didn’t care, you didn’t care about anything but him and the moment you were lost in.

But before you could get too comfortable, he began to thrust mercilessly into you, his primal instinct taking over as you laid there, fully at his disposal. He didn’t falter, keeping a brutal pace as he slammed into you, a few curses and moans spilling forth, but the only sound in the room was the sound of his skin on ours. You wondered momentarily what anyone passing by would be thinking, but you didn’t care. Let them know. Let them know that Maxwell Lord was having you over his desk and making you feel better than anyone ever had before.

You quickly became a moaning, whimpering mess under him, reaching back and grabbing one of his hands, bringing to your breast, silently begging him for more. He fucked you like it was his only mission in life, like everything depended on it; you weren’t even sure how he had that much stamina.

Once you felt his cock start to twitch inside you, he grabbed your arms and pulled you against his chest, so your body was flush with his. One arm was draped around your chest, harshly groping at your breasts, and the way reached down and he gently circled your sensitive nub. The combined sensation of the light touch and him filling you up was enough to have you shaking, barely able to stand if it hadn’t been for him holding you up. Your release was close and turned your head to kiss him, letting your lips hit whatever bit of salty, sweaty skin you could find.

“Max,” was all that you managed as you felt your knees start to buckle under you, but he kept you firmly in his grip. His breathing was ragged and he was groaning and grunting openly, clearly as close as you were. His pace stuttered for just a moment before he gave you a few more deep thrusts and spilled into you, coating your walls with his hot seed. You were at a loss for words as your walls clenched around him and you found your second release.

But his hand never left your clit, his ministrations pulling everything and then some from you as you gripped the desk tightly. He was thoroughly enjoying watching you shake and whimper as he tried to get everything out of you that he could. He was still inside of you and you were at your breaking point, a few tears running down your cheeks from how overstimulated you were. You reached for his hand and tried to pull it away, but he wouldn’t budge a moment, until your soft little mewl of, “please, please. It’s too much,” reached his ears.

He slowly removed his hand and you let you lay on his desk, trying desperately to catch your breath. Max ran his fingers down your back, stopping at your supple backside and gently massaging the red, tender skin. He was surprisingly docile for a man that had just been mercilessly fucking the life out of you.

“Who knew all it would take was a good fuck to get you to be quiet?” there was a teasing quality to his voice, almost playful, but you still managed to stick up your middle finger and flip him off. He gave a short bark of laughter before slowly pulling out of you, and you sighed lightly at the now empty feeling. You could slowly feel some of his sticky cum slowly start dripping down your leg as he kept you under his gaze, “you really are exquisite, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been told that a few times before,” you slowly managed to push yourself up and positioned yourself so you sitting on his desk facing his chair. He sank down into it and put his hands on your knees, keeping your legs apart as he watched your combined wetness and his cum slowly dribble out, “admiring your own handiwork?”

“Admiring the art,” he insisted as he leaned back in his chair. His hair was a mess, the most disheveled than you had ever seen him, but he was clearly basking in the afterglow. You reached down and gathered some of the cum on your fingers before bringing them to your mouth and cleaning them off, never taking your eyes off of him.

“I don’t think if it’s as fine as some good champagne,” you taunted, “but it’s not bad.”

“Such a little brat,” he let out a short breath of laughter, running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to fix it.

“Don’t act like you don’t it, sir,” you grabbed his arm and pulled it away from his hair, “leave it. I like the sex hair. It suits you. Maybe you should let loose a little more often.”

“An interesting proposition,” he took your hand and slowly tugged you closer to him, so you were barely perched on the edge of the desk, “care to help?”

“Hmm,” you let your feet hit the floor with a soft thud as you stood in front of him, both of you still in your naked glory, “I don’t know. Stuffy suits are not usually my type.”

“What is your type?” his hands were on your hips, fingers tracing shapes over the area where small blue and purple marks were already welling up. He pulled you closer to him and before you knew what you were doing, before you could consciously consider your actions, you were straddling his lap and sinking back down on his already cock, which was already hard again. You really did have a hold over him.

“Just one stuffy suit,” you admitted, letting out a soft mewl as your hands found their grip on his broad shoulders, “he’s an asshole, kind of a jerk, shamelessly stares at my tits, wears suits from last season, but for some reason he’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

“He doesn’t sound so bad then,” he pulled you against his chest as he slowly thrust into you, his lips finding ours as he kissed you lightly, “if he’s earned your affections.”

“Either that,” you practically moaned into his mouth as you fisted a hand in his hair, bringing his head down to your chest, “or I have horrible taste in men.”

“And yet here you are,” he massaged one breast with his large hand, using his mouth on the other as you moved up yourself up and down on his cock, “in my lap with my cock buried inside of you.”

“You are definitely taking me to dinner after this,” you gasped slightly he bit at your pert nipple. He slid his hands up your sides before bringing them to rest on either of your face. He seemed to study you for a few minutes before brushing your hair back and pulling in for you a kiss. This was so different from how merciless he was earlier, a welcome change of softness, “champagne and all.”

“You’ll get the finest champagne money can buy,” he promised as you sighed contently. Before he could totally melt into his soft side, he gripped your throat and pressed lightly on your marked up skin, “now tell me, little brat, who do you belong to?”

“You,” you breathed into his ear, “I’m yours, Maxwell.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord #max lord x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ww84 #ww84 fanfiction #honey & velvet

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op-peccatori · 4 years

Text

blooming devotion | MLQC Gavin

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Gavin/Reader

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 5k

Summary: He sees it as the ultimate expression of his love, pure and unselfish in nature. His thinks his life is a fitting price to pay, one he never intends for you to be aware of. But things don't always (rarely) go according to plan, and you have a lot to say when you find out. The real question is–will you make it in time?

A/N: this was meant to be sad but I’m too soft. also need to fine-tune it because I wrote it in a bit of a rush so can I run back to Gavin smut lmao

Warnings/tags: (chronic) hanahaki disease, minor campus date spoilers, blood

Nimble fingers fly over the piano keys, spinning a web of nostalgia and longing, trapping their audience with ease.

Even as you’re engrossed in playing old melodies, eager to share them with him, his eyes stay riveted on you.

A memory, old yet vivid, flashes through Gavin's mind. He can see it clearly in his mind, ginkgo leaves swirling fiercely around him, heralding his rebirth, his awakening; your arrival a watershed in a life he had thus far lived without purpose, piano chords striking at the wound up agony in him until it gave in to your light.

He had no one to live for, not since he lost the only person who ever loved him. He had his own code to follow, but it wasn't enough. The itch beneath his skin grew with each passing day, roaring for him to be noticed, to be cared for.

Falling to his demise brought him to his salvation.

You became his purpose.

Gavin believes in forging one's own path, but he secretly thinks fate had a hand in bringing you into his life. It felt right.

At first, he had just been grateful and had committed himself to your protection in the name of that gratitude. But you had hooked him in, heart and mind, and with each passing day, his young heart throbbed harder for you. His eyes sought you out the moment he stepped foot onto campus, his attendance in classes rising with that strange yearning in his belly.

To be the kind of knight you deserved, he needed to change. He needed to be better. For the first time in so long, he had hope. He had something other than the bitterness and rage that had been drilled into him, he had a chance to be more.

He watched over you; you liked to eat lunch outside, and you had a terribly sweet tooth. You almost always had your homework finished on time. You were unaware of his presence outside the window to the music room while you played, and you were oblivious to the way he burned when he watched hopeful teens ask you out.

He had thought that, perhaps, he should talk to you, or thank you, to make this tight feeling in his chest fade.

Gavin had tried to speak with you then, an attempt he's sure you don't remember. But that one unsuccessful conversation had been a pivotal moment; banal in the eyes of everyone watching, but as he had watched you trip, watched you close your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath before sinking down to one knee, he came to a quick decision. He had walked over and bent down to help you gather your things; you had glanced at him appreciatively, your small smile quivering, but something in Gavin bloomed.

The curious sparkle in your eyes, the rebellious strands escaping your bun, the subtle shine of your lips–captivating. The hint of bags under your eyes, the pensiveness in the twist of your mouth, the two fingernails that had clearly been victim to nervous chewing. It was the beginning of the end for Gavin, the moment the true purpose of his life became clear, the first drop of water to this new love that took root in him.

It wasn't all that uncommon, for people his age. And so when Gavin sprinted away from you, rushing to the bathroom with his hand clamped over his mouth and leaving you to stammer out a thank you, acceptance had started to set in. And when the first petal dropped into his palm, sunny and ironically cheerful, he held it to his chest as if clutching the most precious gem in existence. He vowed to give everything to his new purpose. The wretched, crashing waves of his existence met your steady cliff.

He was a stranger to you, but you became his world.

He never told a soul.

There weren't a lot of people in his life that could be trusted with something of this much importance, even then. His father was out of the question; even estranged as they were, Gavin knew the man, and he knew that he would be strapped down as soon as his father found out, and his purpose would be carved out of him. The man would look at his flowers and see weakness.

Gavin would die before he lost the only light in his life.

He never told a soul, but that does not mean no one ever found out. Mr Keller suspected, as did his brother. He never admitted to anything, not at the concerned questions, nor the aggressive yelling.

But the one eventually caught him was Minor.

Minor, who insisted on following him around, who had been observant enough to figure out who had caught friend's eye, who cheered him on, praised him, shook off his attempts to push him away.

Minor, who had trembled as Gavin had succumbed to a sudden attack. Gavin remembers the warmth of his palm on his back, comforting even as he had hacked uncontrollably. The attacks weren't frequent back then, but he had watched you play the piano earlier that day, had indulged himself in fantasies he had no right to dream up, and he had paid the price.

His devotion was fierce and pure, and every great thing demands a sacrifice. It was a way to prove his will, his love, even if only to himself. In his eyes, this was tangible proof of his devotion; quiet and invisible in its expression, yet raging and fervent in its depth.

"...Why haven't you gotten them removed?" Minor had asked, teary-eyed and terrified. Gavin debated not answering before slumping back to rest his back against the fence. His...companion sat next to him, hugging his knees as he waited for his answer.

"I can't," Gavin had said simply. "I can't lose this. The surgery messes you up, it takes away your ability to feel and this is what I live for now. If need be, this is what I'll die for. I’m okay with that."

Minor had looked at him like he was insane.

"It's not a this, it's a person. Have-have you even told her?" Because it could only be you. Minor had looked furious, then, imagining that you had turned your back on his friend. That you had looked at this beautiful boy with his jagged edges and guarded eyes and looked away.

"Told her what?"

"That you love her."

It was the first time it had been put in those words. Gavin had never thought of it explicitly, had never thought I love her. He had just felt, and he had let the feeling consume him so deeply he felt it in every breath he took. It wasn't very painful, not then.

"Not yet," he had said, various scenarios swimming through his mind at the very thought of telling you. Of the expression on your face when you found out. You didn't really know him beyond what you'd been told, so he had a lot to work on. "I'm not ready."

I'm not good enough, not yet. But I will be. And then I'll tell her.

He made Minor swear he wouldn't tell. Minor agreed on the condition that Gavin keep him updated on the 'situation.'

Even as the years went by, and you were no longer in his sight, the flowers grew, and his love for you continued to grow in the tiniest of ways. All he had was a yearbook, but it was enough. His memories were enough to nurture his love.

All throughout, he tried to avoid Minor as much as he possibly could, but the other boy–man, now–tracked him down every now and then and demanded updates. He also took it upon himself to give Gavin updates on you. College, your father, and your new job.

He struggled with the need to go to you, and to offer whatever help he could. Not yet, he told himself. You’ll be of no use to her as you are.

It seemed that your absence, while not enough for the flowers to wither, was enough to keep them at bay. He grew stronger every day, forged himself a body and mind of steel, a man who would protect you for...for as long as he could.

And, once again, your reappearance in his life turned it upside down; he loved you all the more for it, and it wrecked him. With each droplet of blood that dribbled down his chin, with every beat of his heart, he loved you.

When you came back to him, Gavin found out why his condition could be considered fatal.

God, but you had grown even more beautiful.

You no longer looked at him with barely hidden fear, only wary surprise. You were more confident, running your own company, and you needed his help.

He felt it, constricting in his ribs, and he prayed– not now. He felt his heart race, felt the tips of his ears heat up, tried to keep his eyes from glancing at you again and again and again.

Gavin had been quite amused by your uncertainty at his willingness to help. But you couldn't have known the lengths he was willing to go for you, had been going to for years. He had never told you. But he would.

He had hoped to get the chance to do it, to tell you how deeply he feels for you. And so he had allowed himself this luxury of growing closer, of really getting to know you. Of letting you see the man he had grown up to be, scarred and powerful and as just as he could be, hoping that you would love him, never really believing you would.

It ruined him.

Because now you smiled at him. You clung to him as he flew you home, and he could always smell the faint traces of your perfume, could feel the softness of you against his body. Now, you cared for him. You cared about his diet, his missions, his burdens.

You allowed him to come to your rescue, and it made him want to dance. It also had him on his knees, coughing up flower petals with more frequency.

He almost hated it. Sometimes he wondered if he should’ve stayed in the shadows, if only to keep that worried expression far from your face.

But he had to stay close, because there were forces in the world around you, stirring awake, ready to make their move and sink their claws into you.

He loved his flowers, fiercely and protectively. One would think they would be a certain kind of leaf that symbolizes so much in his life; but this was a symbol of his love for you. It would only make sense for it to be your favourite flower.

But now, they grow faster.

You finish playing the last notes of the symphony, smiling up at him, and he smiles back almost helplessly.

‘I love you.’

He...can’t die now. But it hurts to breathe, and it means his feelings have grown deeper. A part of him feels satisfied–it’s the ultimate show of love. Pure and unselfish.

It happens as you’re leaving the campus together; he can barely breathe, and the tip of your little finger brushes his. Gavin nearly doubles over, turning his back to you and coughing violently. He can hear you, frantic and worried, and he can feel your warm hands. His vision swims with the tears in his eyes.

He shakes you off, struggling to get the words out. He doesn't look at you, pressing your handkerchief to his mouth. He knows it's stained with blood. Don't let her see, don't let her see, please don't let her see. “It’s...it’s from...the mission.” The wind picks up, and his feet lift off. “Sorry...you’ll...have to go on...” He’s gone before you can say anything, desperate to find a safe place to ride it out.

He doesn’t dare to look back at you, and so he has no idea your attention has been snatched by something else in the wake of his departure. He doesn’t see you bending down to pluck a bloodstained petal off the ground, doesn’t see the sorrow that steals your breath away.

He doesn’t see you for a while, after that.

Business is booming, and the work keeps pouring in. You've been working hard to fulfil your father's dreams and your own, and you hope he's proud of you.

You can’t bring yourself to devote yourself to any of it today, weighed down by the accidental revelation brought to light in your last meeting with Gavin. You've been cursing yourself for never noticing, for daring to think that you had a chance.

He's loved someone for a long time and it's killing him.

You’ve been trying to reach him for nearly two weeks, but there’s no response. You can’t eat, you can’t sleep, you can’t breathe until you see him, until you ask him why.

Anna worries. Kiki and Willow try to make you talk, but this isn’t something you can discuss with anybody else. This is a secret you will have to shoulder alone, until you can talk to Gavin.

Minor takes a day off, and he comes in the next day looking like the life has been drained out of him. You track him down to the break room, but stop and step to the side when you see him by the coffee machine with Kiki. A quick glance around ensures there’s no one to witness your attempt at eavesdropping.

“Minor, are you okay?” Kiki asks, whispering loudly, utterly unaware of you hovering nearby.

The man nods, more miserable than you’ve ever seen him.

“Aw, cheer up! Whatever it is, it’ll be fine.” Kiki pats him on the back. “Where’s Gavin? Why don’t you go grab lunch with him? You’ll feel better.” She walks away with that suggestion given, greeting you cheerfully, and so she doesn’t see the way he crumbles.

But you do. And you’re hit with another realization–Minor knows.

His eyes meet yours and he freezes, caught in your fierce gaze; before he can flee the room, you act. Silently, you apologize for cornering him, but this isn't something you can just move on from.

“Minor, in my office please.”

He doesn’t say anything as he falls into step behind you, nor when he closes the door behind him–not that you expected him to start confessing. He fidgets, hesitating when you gesture for him to take a seat, before sinking into a chair.

You let the silence stretch on for a moment, collecting your thoughts and weighing your words.

“How long?”

Minor looks startled, peering up at you in confusion. You reach into the drawer in your desk, withdrawing the single withering petal from it. A sunflower petal, from what you can tell. Your heart aches with something bitter. From the look on the man’s face, he’s seen it before.

“How long has Gavin had it?”

“Since...since high school,” he rasps, wincing at your quick, sharp inhale. That's too long. And the man has been continuing with his duties like literal flowers aren't growing in his body.

You're angry, you realize belatedly. Because Gavin is one of the most important people in your life, and he's always treated you with just as much care, but apparently you're not...important enough to be told this.

“How bad is it?” The words taste like ash in your mouth.

He stays quiet, staring down at his sneakers.

“Minor. How bad is it?” You expect him to try and hide it.

Minor bursts into tears instead. You reach for him instinctively, a hand on his shoulder and the other reaching for a tissue, but Minor grabs your wrist. He looks devastated but his grip on you is secure.

“It was okay, before, but Boss,” he stumbles over the words, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, as if they can't be stopped. “He was in the hospital. It’s...it’s not looking good.”

You can barely speak through the numbness spreading through your limbs. Your mind spins chaotically but you'll be damned if you leave this conversation without getting your answers.

“He won’t...why won’t he remove them?” The words feel pointless even as you choke them out, because if Gavin loves someone this much there is nothing in the world that will make him sway. He's not a man who changes his mind, or his heart Your heart burns at the thought. “Has he told them?”

“N-no.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“I don't know. Every time I ask," Minor blows his nose noisily. "He says not yet. I feel like, like he thinks they'll reject him?"

You take a deep, unsteady breath. “Who is it?” Who could look at this fierce, beautiful man and not want him? Who is it that has everything you want in the palm of their hand, and not even know it?

Minor stares at you, an odd look on his face. You're seized by impatience, shaking him lightly. There’s no time.

“Minor, this is no time to keep secrets. We need to do something. Who is it?” You'll talk to Gavin. You'll help him talk to them. This can be fixed.

Something like pity flashes in his eyes, and his fingers slip down to curl around yours, hesitant yet meaningful. An unpleasant feeling curls along your insides. “Boss...”

You can’t breathe.

He’s had it since high school.

The I’m sorry hangs in the air. The it's you tightens around your throat.

You vomit all over Minor's shoes.

The sky looms with the promise of rain, grey clouds drifting and arranging themselves to conceal the sun.

Your entire body aches with regret, even as hope sprouts in your heart. You don't think you've ever run this fast. You don't think you've ever had a reason to.

As you had suspected, Minor had gone to see Gavin yesterday, escorting the man home once he was discharged. He told you that the doctor was very clear about how severe Gavin's condition had grown. That there isn't much time.

It hadn't come as a surprise to Gavin.

You told Anna you had to leave, and you took off, refusing to waste another minute of his life. The answer lay with you all along, it's you. Even as a part of you rejoices, the tears spill over. It's you. You've been the cause of his suffering all this time.

The sunflowers.

There's a stitch in your side by the time you reach his apartment. You hit the button outside the elevator urgently, again and again; the trip up is nearly unbearable. You see your reflection in the doors–sweat drips down your face, and your dress feels damp in several unfortunate places. Your skin is flushed unattractively, your eyes swollen from all the crying you had done on the way over.

It all falls away when he opens the door, eyes wide and bleary from sleep. He looks awful.

And it's your fault.

"Y/n, hey," he lets you in without question, and the sweet concern in his eyes makes you nauseous. Even now, even when he's dying he's thinking of your well-being. He looks gaunt, like he hasn't eaten or gotten proper sleep in months. "Is everything okay?"

You're nodding automatically, used to responding to that question, before you stop forcibly. "No, actually, I'm not."

He looks worried now. "What can I do to help?"

You had considered just bringing a ring. "You can start by telling me why you never thought to tell me about your illness."

You spot the moment he connects the dots, his shoulders tightening in that endearingly and exasperatingly defensive way that comes so naturally to him. "Illness?"

You reach into your pocket, and worry that he's stopped breathing when he sees the petal in your hand. "Looks familiar?"

He reaches for it, and you watch with sickening fascination as he holds it reverently. "It's...not an illness." You hope that the slight quirk of your brow is enough to convey your demand for him to elaborate. "I mean, I know it's considered a disease, but I've never really seen it that way."

"For someone so devoted to his work, you're rather accepting of something that hinders it," you remark casually, trying to resist the urge to put your hands on your hips. You don't want to push too hard, but you're not leaving without letting him know how you feel.

"I guess my devotion to something else trumps it," he closes his fingers around the tiny petal. "It's a price I'm willing to pay."

The urge to do something drastic takes hold of you when he smiles at you so softly. You step closer to him, your hands rising to cup his, before you pry open the cage of his fingers to reach for the petal.

He watches you carefully.

You crush it in your fist.

"What if it's a price I'm not willing to pay?"

He swallows heavily, retreating until his back hits the wall. You follow him without a word. It could be almost funny, the way you're both standing in this little hall at the entrance, but there's no urge to smile. You don't think you've ever been more serious in your life.

"...Unfortunately, there's not much you can do about it," he replies evenly, and this time you do almost smile at his nerve.

"Really? That's odd, because Minor believes otherwise." Your words are delivered casually, but with the way his skin pales one would think you've dropped a threat.

"It's not his business–"

"But it is mine," you cut him off, before wavering. "I...isn't it?" Because, maybe, Minor had gotten it wrong.

You stare at each other, studying, hoping, trembling on the inside. And then the fight leaves him. He looks defeated, ashamed and you begin to think that isn't going to be as easy as just telling him how you feel.

"Yes, it is," he shrinks in on himself, and you've never seen him look so small. "I...I love you."

You stare at him, wondering why he's looking at you with so much anguish.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and you snap back into reality.

"Why? I feel the same way," you say, sure and gentle, and reach for his hands. "I love you, Gavin."

His hands slip from your grip, and he's stalking away from you before you even realize what's happening.

"This is why I never wanted to tell you," he says roughly, taking a seat on his couch to rub his temples in agitation. He looks deeply upset.

"What do you mean?" You follow him, baffled, and sit down next to him, rubbing his back comfortingly when he coughs wetly. "Gavin, please–"

"The last thing I wanted was for you to find out and feel pressured to do exactly what you're doing." He sounds miserable, and you feel helpless in the face of his abject refusal to accept your feelings.

"What, confess my own feelings?"

"There are no feelings," he tells you, insistently. He sounds so sure and it hurts. "You're just...you're too nice."

"I'm really not–"

"You don't have to do this, y/n," Gavin tells you gently, ruffling your hair in a bizarre attempt you comfort you. "I'll be fine."

You smack his hand away.

And when he looks hurt, your fingers curl in the neckline of his cotton t-shirt and yank him towards you, your head tilting just the slightest to fit your lips against his. He tastes like iron and gatorade, with a hint of something floral that sinks into your tongue. It's brief, and soft, and when you pull away he looks stunned.

"I love you," you whisper, and he trembles.

"No, you don't." It's barely a whisper, so faint you nearly miss it, and you don't know what to do. “I know that this...this is unpleasant–”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” you cut him off, tears springing to your eyes and this time, you don’t stop them. You don't swallow your words, allowing them the taste of freedom. You feel weak, impuissant. “I hate this. I hate that you’re so willing to die. That you’ve known for years, suffered every single day with the knowledge that you will die for it. I h-hate that you never even thought to live for it instead. You never...you never...”

He looks at you, mutely and pleadingly, robbed of words.

You breathe in forcefully. "What I'm here to do, is to tell you how I feel, and to knock down the pedestal you seem to have placed me on."

There's that familiar defensive look creeping into his eyes, and you rush to continue.

“It’s selfish, Gavin.” Your anger subsides, suddenly and dizzyingly, and the longing that rushes in is tinged by sorrow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His head hits the back of the couch with a soft thunk, eyes sliding shut as if he's got no strength left.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he finally whispers, and a part of you trembles at the way his voice shakes. “And all this time, it’s been the one true, pure thing in my life. I loved you. I love you. I always will. And then one day, my always was...uncertain. You would never feel the same way–that was also a truth I’d come to accept.” He shakes his head when you open your mouth, ready protest, and the sight of him trying to hold his tears back stops you. “I’ve loved you so much it’s killing me and I’d accepted that. How do I go back from that?”

You reach for his hand, bringing it up to your face. “By giving us a chance. Give me a chance, please, Gavin–I’ll show you, every single day for the rest of our long and healthy lives because I refuse to consider any other alternative.” You press your lips to the tip of his index finger, and the flush on his cheeks spreads further.

“You deserve–“

“Love,” you emphasise, kissing the pad of his middle finger, “is rarely about what we think we deserve. It boils down to what we want. And I want you.”

“I want to kiss you before we leave for work. I want to kiss you when you come back from your missions. I want to kiss you goodnight every night.” You nip at the flesh of his thumb lightly, suppressing a smile when he jumps.

“I want to use every bit of my limited knowledge of first-aid on you, although I dearly hope those occasions will be sparse; I want to share every secret I have with you, I-I want to wash your hair when you’re too tired to do it.” You bring his other hand to your mouth, holding it carefully.

“I want to get mad at you for not eating your vegetables, and for having the audacity to disapprove of me doing the same. I want to go to bed with you, I want to hold you, I want to love you.”

Gavin stares at you, dazed and on the verge of tears.

"Is it because I don't have flowers growing in me?" you ask softly. "Is that why you don't believe me?"

"No. No, that's not," he stammers as he pulls you to him, holding you tightly. Your chin rests on his shoulder as he struggles to process your words, and get his out. "I would never wish this on you. I couldn't bear it."

"Then why do you expect me to be okay with it?"

He doesn't have an answer.

“I know it’s taken me too long to get here, but I don’t want to lose any more time. I don’t want to lose you.”

You press the curve of your lips to his jaw, relief coursing through you when he melts against you.

“I want you to live. With me. For me. And I won’t give up. So, please–give me a chance.”

By the time to finish you’re both struggling to breathe, sniffling messily; you’ve pulled Gavin halfway onto your lap, stubbornly holding his weight, arms wrapped around him in a silent declaration–you won’t be letting go.

His head is tucked into the cradle of your neck and shoulder, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “Y/n, I...”

“I love you.”

You crane your head down, a little awkwardly, as he looks up. There’s a spot of crimson on the corner of his lips and before you can think it through, the pad of your thumb is there, rubbing it away. Warmth blooms through you at the contact, at the way Gavin stares at you, and it’s alarming how your mind quietens when you’re with him.

Your lips brush his, achingly soft, and the breath he sucks in is quick and sharp. But his fingers curl around your neck and his mouth slots against yours firmly; a distant part of your mind is concerned by how hard your heart is throbbing, determined to burst out of its confines and reach Gavin, its true keeper.

He tastes like iron, and you vow to ensure Gavin will never taste bloodstained flowers again, no matter what it takes.

“Gavin,” you murmur, mesmerized by his flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. “Gavin, I love you.”

He doesn't say anything, but he buries his face into your hair, and he doesn't let go.

And so you drift off feeling more content than you have in days, hopeful and determined to keep Gavin in your arms, snoozing adorably.

You’re pressed closer than ever, curled around each other, and Gavin wakes up feeling warmer than he has in years.

The sky seems to have cleared up, sending the last eager rays of sun through the glass before it sets for the day.

He's nearly on top of you, and wonders how you're breathing, before the thought has him trying to pull away in alarm. You make a sleepy noise of complaint and follow, holding onto him even in your slumber.

The force of the affection that seizes him nearly sends him tumbling back into oblivion. And then you're stirring awake, mumbling his name tiredly, smiling up at him when you spot him staring at you like a man starved.

There's love in your eyes.

The thought has him tearing himself away from you, stumbling from the couch to fall to his knees on the floor, coughing more violently than he should be. He can hear you crying, your hands rubbing his back as he nearly throws up on the carpet.

Well, he does throw up, but something he hadn't expected to see.

A fully bloomed sunflower lies on the ground before you both, more vibrant than any other flower he'd ever seen. He lets you fold him into your arms, allowing himself the comfort of your warmth, slowly, finally believing that it's for him. Your smile, your laughter, your complaints–they're all his.

Everything will be okay. And for the first time in his life, with your arms around him, Gavin begins to believe it.

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc fanfic #mr love queen's choice #mr love: queen's choice #mlqc bai qi #hanahaki

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years

Text

Winter Passing | Chapter 10

Summary: After car accident leaves him at the base of a mountain with no sign of civilization for miles, a breakup is the least of Henry’s problems. Just as death’s icy fingers begin to coil around him, salvation presents itself in the form of an old cabin in a clearing. Despite years of being told fairy tales and ghost stories that warn against such things, he uses his last of his strength to reach the cottage. When he wakes, he finds not a demon, but an angel, long removed from the insanity of the modern world. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: None, for once. A/N : I think my tag list broke during the last update. Should be fixed now. Like what I do? Buy me a coffee!

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Foraging in the winter was a skill to be honed, and after finishing the morning work on the property, Henry followed Olivia out towards the wilds of the forest that took up the back end of her home.

“I didn’t think anything grew in winter, especially out here,” he murmured, watching her intently, keen to learn and-as he tended to be more and more often with each passing day-in awe of how she moved, how she lived.

“Technically nothing grows in winter, but there’s plenty to gather,” Olivia explained as she opened her hand, showing Henry a seed pod that resembled a dancing flame.

“The pancakes we had the other day? Were made with flour from these Hornbeam seeds. And here? These are delicious when you prepare them correctly,” Olivia explained, her other hand holding a few crabapples.

Eyebrows up in amazement, Henry dutifully turned around, letting Olivia put more foraged goods into the backpack she’d strapped him into. “What about poisonous stuff? Or stuff that you can use for...You know…” He made a face and Olivia couldn’t help but laugh, cupping Henry’s cheek and reaching up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss as they continued their walk through the forest, protected from the elements by the thick overhead cover of the ancient trees.

“That too. Holly and Mistletoe, though I personally have little use for them as nature intended,” Olivia nodded, her smile growing bigger as she felt Henry tuck her in under his arm, pulling her close as they fell in step with one another.

“Tell me a story from when you were...Before you were a witch?” Henry asked, his voice soft and tinged with reticence, lest he say the wrong thing.

“I was born a witch, sweetheart. It’s not like vampires. You don’t get turned into one at the peak of your life,” Olivia laughed sweetly, squeezing his waist with one hand while the other rubbed gently over his chest. “And before you ask, no vampires do not exist. Some of us do blood magic, which is pretty close, but none of us have fangs...That I know of.” Gazing up at him with amusement, she leaned into his strong form as they continued to walk.

“A story from when I was younger. Let’s see...When I first became aware of my powers, my favorite thing to do was hide things up in the trees. I started small; little bits of fur, some meat, one of my mother’s hair combs. No one noticed at first, of course, but then I started to get bolder. My father’s saddle was the first thing anyone really noticed, because, well, we only had one at the time. My crowning achievement though, was putting the family goat in the tallest tree of our village. It lasted all of an hour before the goat began to bleat, and a crowd formed. My parents were none too impressed. I’ll never forget my father having to climb up there, only to throw the poor thing down into an elk skin a few of our neighbors held out.”

“You were-”

“A little shit, yeah.” Olivia grinned proudly up at Henry, earning a laugh and a playful kiss, neither her nor Henry paying much attention to their surroundings, too wrapped up in the moment to care about what might be headed their way.

“Well, you turned out alright, that’s what matters, no?” Henry chuckled, giving her a warm squeeze and another kiss to the temple.

Olivia couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more at peace and more elated. Looking up at him, she knew Henry was the root cause, but after centuries of solitude and suffering, Olivia refused to let the fear of the unknown take hold. What they had was all she’d ever wanted, and she wasn’t about to let it slip from between her fingers.

The choice, however, didn’t seem to be hers.

As they rounded the path into a smaller clearing just west of the cottage, the woods turned silent. Though it was winter, the forest still tended to be a cacophony of sounds, from bird calls to deer munching on berries. The silence was unnerving, and looking over her shoulder, Olivia’s unease grew into fear as she watched Gunnar go into a low crouch. Eyes fixed on the clearing, the husky bared his teeth and raised his hackles, on the defensive.

Olivia had barely turned back around when she caught sight of the apparition. Despite the cloud-covered sunlight that streamed into the clearing, the creature still terrified her, as the light allowed her to see her mother’s visage in greater detail.

Henry’s hold on her tightened instinctively, his eyes fixed on the ghostly image before him. “Liv, darling, what do we do?” He whispered, his concern growing when he felt Olivia begin to tremble.

Hiding her face in his chest a moment, Olivia worked to get her breathing back under control, fighting off every urge to run, knowing that doing so would only aggravate the apparition. Instead, she felt an anger grow inside her, usurping the fear as she forced herself to remember that this land was hers. With a push away from Henry, she turned her full attention to the spirit, drawing it closer with her actions.

“Gunnar, stay.” She commanded when she heard the husky stalk closer, a low rumble making it clear he was ready to attack at any moment.

“You’re not welcome here. Leave. Now.” Olivia spoke firmly, taking off her gloves. Henry’s eyes went wide when he noticed the aquamarine waves entwining around Olivia’s fingers. Moving like the ocean itself, they crashed and flowed, gathering in strength and fury until they created a stormy swell between her hands. There was no doubt, even to Henry, that if she let go, whoever was on the receiving end of the rush of water, would be in for a terrible time.

“Last chance, wretch. Tell me who summoned you and from whence you came, or suffer even more than you already have.”

The water between her hands began to glow, and upon closer inspection, Henry realized there was fire beneath the waves and the true nature of Olivia’s threat became clear. Being hit with a jet of water was one thing, but if that water were hotter than an open flame, spurned by anger, it was something else entirely.

Frozen in place, Henry couldn’t stop his cry of fear as the apparition suddenly lunged forward, screeching when it was hit full on by Olivia’s fury. To his surprise, the thing began to disintegrate once more, although this time, the process seemed far more grotesque. Instead of fading, the water seemed to eat away at the apparition, like acid on metal. It turned his stomach, but he couldn’t look away, fascinated and appalled in equal measure.

Just before its face melted away, the creature let out another ear-piercing wail, the singular word it spoke chilling Henry to the bone.

TABITHA!!

Unable to keep from shivering, Henry only found himself able to move when Gunnar nuzzled at his thigh, the husky’s demeanor back to normal as he sat at Henry’s feet.

“Tabitha? Who’s Tabitha?” Olivia asked as she shook off her own chill, the creature’s all-white stare one that would be burned into her memory for a very long time. Moving back to where Henry stood shell shocked, she rubbed his back, knowing full well this could be his breaking point.

“T-Tabitha’s my ex-girlfriend’s name. I w-was leaving her the day you saved me.”

Olivia could feel the chill in his body, the fear in his heart as he made the connection. Though she had no idea how long they’d been together, the betrayal and astonishment Henry felt coursed through every vein, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that Tabitha had kept her true nature a secret from her lover.

Taking Henry’s hand in hers, Olivia turned them in the direction of home, hoping the hearth, some tea, and her thickest blanket would be enough to ease the pain she knew was imminent in Henry’s very tender heart.

“What I don’t understand is...Why’d she have your mother’s face?” Henry mumbled long after his tea was gone, his gaze still despondent as he sat curled up on the couch, as close to the hearth as he could manage.

“If she’s as strong as she seems, Tabitha will have seen me with you. It doesn’t take a lot of work to conjure up a family line, even one as old as mine. She’d have found my mother’s face in my thoughts without breaking much of a sweat.”

A visible shiver went through Henry and he shook his head, looking for all the world like he might cry at any moment. Frowning, Olivia curled up next to him, making sure he could feel her arms squeezing tightly around his torso, hoping the contact would ground him.

“Am I cursed?” Henry’s question made Olivia’s laugh spill out before she could stop it.

“I wouldn’t say that. After all, only one of us is sending threats, and from what little you’ve told me, it sounds like she wasn’t the most pleasant person to begin with.” Shifting easily with Henry, Olivia let him settle as they both laid out on the couch. With his head between her breasts, she finally felt Henry’s anxiety ease and his heart rate slow.

The crash against the window sent them both flying off the couch, once more on high alert.

“Oh my god, it’s just an owl. Christ, where’s Dyster when you need him?” Olivia muttered to herself as she moved to the window, opening it to let the bird in. Scrambling up the couch and as far away from the black-and-white-feathered creature as possible, Henry’s wide-eyed look matched the owl’s, the two staring at one another for a long moment before the bird turned its attention to Olivia.

“I come on behalf of--”

“Theofina, right? Yeah, I get it. I’m wanted in Rome. Since it seems I don’t have much of a choice, tell her to ready my apartments, and that I’ll be bringing a guest not of our order. How’s your beak? You hit pretty hard.”

“It’s fine, ma’am. Just wasn’t paying attention as there was a mouse and, well, I’m hungry.” The difference between the two emissaries couldn’t have been more blatant, and not for the first time, Olivia wondered just how much had truly changed in her former home.

“Here, I have some rabbit to spare. Warm yourself by the fire. Are you pressed for time?” Olivia asked, doing her best to ignore Henry’s befuddled expression as she pulled some raw rabbit from the floor cooler, cutting it in half before meeting the bird by the hearth.

“What’s your name?” She asked, stroking over his head gently, surprised when she still felt a chill in his feathers.

“Atrix, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Atrix bowed his head for a moment before taking the offered meat and downing it in go.

“Are you treated well?”

“I’m given a home, food, and responsibility, ma’am. That’s all I require.” Atrix nodded, his eyes closing in peaceful enjoyment of the food in his belly, the heat from the fire, and Olivia’s caring touch.

“Good. Go when you’re ready. I’ll leave the window open.” Olivia spoke softly, feeding Atrix the second half of the rabbit before moving to wash her hands.

“Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been most kind. Is this the guest you intend to bring, in the typical way?” Atrix questioned, his eyes going as wide as saucers before he turned his head nearly all the way around to look at Henry.

“Yes. It might be uncomfortable, but it’s the quickest way there, and I know he’s strong enough to endure it.”

“Endure? Endure what?” Henry asked, eyes still fixed on the owl, unsure of what was being talked about, given he could only hear one half of the conversation.

“How do you feel about a quick trip to Rome with me?”

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #henry cavill fic #fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #winter passing

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scriptaed · 5 years

Text

Ink Nemesis Finale

Genre: Angst/Fluff || paparazzi!au; fake dating!au;

Pairing: Reader x Yoongi

Length: 9.1k;

Synopsis: As an aspiring writer drowning under the public’s radar, a click of the pen is all you need to accept your supervisor’s offer to co-write an article for the SS - Secrets Spilled, a regular section of your company’s weekly tabloid; but fabricated stories and invasive details aren’t all that you write when you discover Min Yoongi’s dirty little secret.

A/N: First off, I want to thank everyone who read/reads this series. This may not be my most “popular” work, but it’s one that I will always be proud of. If it weren’t for you guys who always encouraged me to write whatever I wanted to write, I would most certainly not be here writing today. A whole two years since I started this series and there are still some of you patiently waiting for an update. I’m floored. This message and this finale are all that I can give you but I hope you know your care for me as a human and not a robot who happens to write means more to me than words can express. Whenever I feel myself straying from my real reasons for writing, I will recall this fic and all the messages of support you guys sent me... and for those who have no idea what I’m saying: the feelings the mc goes through in this fic is a reflection of my own. Words were my only way of spilling my heart when I went through a hard time last year, so this series is my form of an open book that explains why I took a break. If you still have no idea what I’m saying: enjoy the finale! c:

Life has its own twisted ways with irony. One minute, allies would swear allegiance to your fickle heart; and in another minute, you would be trembling in horror, for your arch nemesis had infiltrated your walls under their own wicked disguise. For better or for worse, the most betraying and hard-hitting realization dawns upon you one storm too late… maybe, and just perhaps maybe, friends and foes are merely two sides of the same coin, plotting and pulling the strings behind the scenes that would prove to be your final downfall; and if there’s anything you’ve despised the most in life, it would be the eerily identical lessons both your greatest allies and enemies have incessantly and irrevocably ingrained within you.

One, time can heal even the deepest of wounds and the nastiest of scars.

...but they don’t know the depth and length of which your gaping wounds run. Enemies don’t know the scars that transcend through time and the way it lurks at every corner and creeps into your veins, until the time when you finally notice is one epiphany too late and the trauma has already rooted itself into your daily life for perpetuity. No one but you can really gauge how long it would take for you to recover from your falls—or if you ever would, that is. Because right now, sitting here with a flesh wound in a gaping heart, you could only attest to this: pain ages like fine wine.

Two, people can recognize their mistakes and change for the better.

…or at least that’s what optimists like to tell themselves; but the reality is, in your cold albeit truthful experience, people can only change to an extent. You were still bitter, you were still self-serving, you were still every bit of that wicked woman whom had spoiled your relationships and woken you with cold sweat in the middle of your nightmares-come-reality. Surely, the woman had been forcefully tranquilized under your hands, but her tracks remain like crimson stains on the purest of snowfalls. You can feel it every so often. From time to time, you can feel her peeping one of those bewitched, scarlet eyes of hers, threatening to awaken if it weren’t for your honed abilities to quell the scorching fire. She remains in you, an innate and inevitable part of you, but your chains around her neck keep her tethered and you from another episode.

So how exactly, you would like to inquire from both friends and foes, have you changed?

Evidently not much—that, you can answer, for your days of woe remain painfully prevalent even as you sit here, one year into a nightmare that you just can’t seem to awake from, mulling over how differently things would have played out between you and him, wondering what he was doing and what he had immersed himself into this time around, and pondering for days over whether he ever sat down in a chair and stared off into the distance as you do now, wondering over you?

Because you can still see the glaring television screen reflecting off your bloodshot, strained eyes in the midst of the pitch black bedroom, even as your head rolls back onto the chair and your stare meets the grotesque white-blue lights lining the office ceiling. You can still feel your heart wince—once at the sight of him and twice at the mention of his name. His cold hands that once brushed against yours and the serenity of his dark eyes that once gazed into your soul still manage to warm you, even from this distance, even after all this time. His absence is like a gaping wound, looming over you like vengeful apparitions that taunt you throughout the day. The ache in your chest is sheer proof of the truth you’ve always denied but can’t seem to let go.

Recently, you’ve found yourself dubious over the disguise of your next enemy. The twisting pain you had once suffered had long submerged into a pool of longing, a bittersweet melody that has you reminiscing over the past that you could never relive. He made you face your deepest fears. He was the aftermath of your own reflection, a living proof that you could survive the hellish consequences that came with the search and capture of success. He assumed the guardian he wished he could have had during his own struggles, shielding you from paths that would lead to dead ends amidst the forks in the road. His curt methods were burdensome and grueling to your heart, but in retrospect and even during that moment in time, something in you knew he meant well. He always did.

Because even through all the struggle he had put you through, be it unwanted fame, attention, and self-reflection, you could only remember the magical days when sparks flew between you two and your heart raced itself into trouble as you swore to yourself he was the one. Because even now, you still long for his touch, for his voice, for anything that could convey to you that he was still here.

Even if he isn’t.

In the mean time, Solji has been the sole remaining connection you’ve had to the outside world. Only a week had passed after your downfall, when you were so sure no one would return and no one cared enough for your wellbeing, when your self-proclaimed friends proved to be merely colleagues by obligation and your short-lived rocky friendship with Xiao Lin became one beyond salvation, when your heart crushed and your soul shattered in the silence of the one whomst should have been the one brewing the loudest storms, the one you had once declared your lover, Solji was the one to demolish the locks to your gates, even as you so incessantly refused to comply.

Weeks into the aftermath, Solji brought you food and water, but most crucially, a shoulder to cry on. You had initially denied her aiding hand out of utter shame. Who were you to ask for help from the very person whose trust you had broken? Who were you, after pointing an accusing finger at for betraying your trust, to accept her help? Solji was the last person you should have questioned. Moreover, she never should have been in the list in the first place and her unconditional loyalty, even as you lifelessly watched her clean your room as you lay in your stench of a bed, was clear proof to that attestment—and that glaring truth only humiliates you further.

It took weeks, nearly two months, for you to willingly begin recuperation. The process was slow and damn difficult. Your motivation was lacking, because at that point you figured what was the point when everyone hated you including yourself? But the one person who held the last glimmer of hope in a time when you could no longer see the end of the tunnel was Solji.

Day by day, you found one more reason to get up in the morning. Week by week, you found yourself longing for self-indulgence, whether it be channeled through food or hobbies. It took well over two months for the time to arrive when you finally find yourself seated at your desk, staring at your favorite fountain pen and piles of paper that you recognize the reflection in the mirror.

A writer—your identity, your passion, your reason for being.

But even if you longed for the day when you could write to your heart’s desire, when you relish in the strikes and crosses and strokes of the pen scraping with certainty and conviction against the paper, and when you could heave a sigh of content at the universe you created in the palms of your head after hours upon hours of concentration whilst in an unbreakable zone, you could no longer relive those days without the clouds that loomed over your conscience.

Guilt—writing was your ally turned foe, what had once been your media for self expression had manifested into a ruthless weapon for retaliation against those who wronged you.

Fear—writing brought you the highest joys, but the thought of having to relive the experience of its loss once again freezes your soul.

Shame—writing was your knife, words were your blades, and before you knew it, you were the villain of your greatest tales, sneering in satisfaction at your beloved’s blood that stains your hands and salivating wickedly at the gaping hole left in his heart as he gazes at you in utter betrayal under the hands of his own love.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to write anymore.

You just couldn’t write anymore.

Solji had suggested fleeing the barred prison that was your apartment, where every corner laid a fragment of a cherished memory that only furthered your pain, and taking refuge elsewhere. As expected in hindsight and surprisingly in your previously hazed mindset, Solji’s advice was just one more step toward recovery. Nine months away from home were enough for your getaway where you would no longer clutch your chest at every reminder and thought of the incident. Nine months away were enough for you to finally reflect on your mistakes head on. Nine months were enough for you to lock yourself in your apartment and dive head-first into your long-lived passion for the remainder of the year.

...but even after all the trials and tribulations, nine months weren’t enough to forget him.

Drowned by your recollection of the whirlwind that was last year, your mind finally shrieks for help as you rise to the water’s surface only to find yourself twirling around and around in a dizzying cycle. The cold white lights of the office was blinding, freezing even. The soul of every living being in the room must have been drained to power these accursed lights, you surmise so surely, willing to bet your life on it… not that it’s exactly a bad thing.

For one, at least you could revel in the fact that you were no longer subject to the torture that your fake colleagues are at the moment. And for another, said colleagues had left you unscathed as you had ventured into the depths of the building. Maybe they had forgotten you. Maybe they never really cared for you unless they could instigate some reaction from you that they once so cruelly found amusement in. Or maybe you just didn’t give enough of a damn anymore to care what they thought—that… that brings a smile to your face.

Just one more fucking sign of liberation.

Heels come tapping against the floor and you whip upright to face your beloved friend. You hadn’t seen Solji in over a month since you had last locked yourself in your room in the name of literature. Blood rushes from your head under the hands of gravity and a sense of queasy twirls descend into your stomach.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re here,” Solji coos, smiling as she spins you around on her chair, “how are you doing? And yes, I already know your answer after all these years of witnessing your bad writing habits, but I’m still going to ask out of courtesy. Are you eating well? Sleeping enough?”

“Well, as you know, I’m somewhat sleep deprived, somewhat self-gratified, not nearly satisfied, but… at the very least I’m alive, even if my eyes burn and my lips chap,” you pause after the two of you share a short-lived laugh, eyes sinking to the floor before you muster the courage to point a thumb over your shoulder and at the computer screen behind you, “so, um, what’s this about?”

An uncomfortable silence stills the air when Solji arches a brow only to let in an inaudible gasp as she peers at the computer screen behind you.

“Oh, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I called you over to tell you properly, but I guess you beat me to the chase,” Solji prims lopsidedly.

Her hesitation to proceed manifests in the hitch of her intaking breaths, probably mulling over her next words as she observes every emotion that flickers across your face—a tinge of betrayal, mostly disappointment, perhaps even a bit belligerent, but most of all, hopeful. A puff of air leaves her when she notices the light at the end of your tunnel vision eyes, eyes widening as she crosses her chest. That being said, it still amuses you how often she’d tip-toe around the incident last year, for fear of catalyzing another mental breakdown.

“You see, after seeing how much... negativity the SS brought you last year… and after realizing how far this site has strayed from my initial intentions of supporting an upcoming boy group and how it’s turned into this monster of a toxic tabloid, just hunting down these poor boys like they’re animals at a zoo, I made the final decision to close it down.”

After you had treated Yoongi like an animal for your own gain—the thought still stings you with guilt. Solji had advised you that time would heal the pain just a month in the aftermath of the storm, but now that you’re finally here, one year later, you find yourself caged in the eye of the storm.

“Oh, no. It’s toxic, no doubt about that,” you nod absentmindedly just as you’ve always done, disregarding the split second of a wince. Numbness has been the only effective coping mechanism since he left. “It was a good decision.”

This is your fault. Solji’s first piece of work, first treasures she had the gratification of grooming and growing into prized jewels envied by all, like the children that were your every written work, now put to eternal slumber because of your mishandled outbreak.

“This decision was inevitable, Y/N,” she speaks softly but firmly, reminding you like she has dozens of times in the past year, “the SS is innately toxic and I’m going to put an end to it. It’s not your fault. Remember that, Y/N.”

Blinking blankly at her, you take a deep breath and sigh heavily—but the weights on your shoulder remain ever the more prevalent. “It’s hard to tell myself that when the person I need to hear it from the most despises my guts, but yeah, I’ll try.”

“Don’t say that…” Solji murmurs, swiftly striding forward to take your hands into her own soft ones. Squatting down, she meets you at eye-level. “Has—” she hesitates in the midst of her tracks “—he, not contacted you at all?”

She avoids his name at all costs but that only makes you more aware of the pain that gnaws at your chest.

“Who? Oh, Yoongi? No, he’s probably too busy doing what celebrities do, you know? TV appearances, award ceremonies, and all that... ” you feign nonchalance that elicits a look of concern from your motherly friend. Shaking your head, you shrug; but just as quickly as your shoulders rise, your shoulders descend, seemingly monumentally heavier, as dejection dawns upon every inch of you. A familiar feeling of despair returns and all purpose to compose yourself leaks from the fading smile stitched to your lips… because what’s the point of pretending anymore? Swallowing the smidge of pride you had left, you let your eyes fall to the floor just as your spirit has. Your words come out meekly—you’re not even sure if you were speaking, for all you could sense is the slight slur of your tongue and tips of your grazing lips. “No… he hasn’t, no.”

“He hasn’t called you since he left? Or even texted you?”

Her voice crescendos under the hands of her wrath; but to you, her anger is an afterthought, a shadow to her deduction, because hearing her put your worst realizations into words, as if forcing you to acknowledge the harsh reality, hurts you the most. You don’t want to give up. It’s foolish. You don’t even deserve this privilege. But still. You don’t want to let go.

After all, despite all the harassment and bombardment from feverish fans and news outlets, isn’t that the reason why you begrudgingly kept your phone number? Foolishly and helplessly waiting for his and his name to light up your screen someday?

Clutching your phone tightly in your grips until it turns a numbish white, it takes all the strength in you to shake your head, “no, I haven’t heard anything from him since.”

You knew this would happen. What else did you deserve after betraying him. He already had trouble expressing himself outside the music realm; and yet, after he had so faithfully entrusted you with his secrets and vulnerability, you reminded him of all the reasons why he had hid from the world in the first place. This is what you deserve: radio silence.

But you just don’t think you can voice it out to Solji.

Not without cracking your voice and tumbling into an unstable mess, that is.

Observing your slow descent, Solji hastily squeezes your hand with a voice that rings of the only cheer you’ve heard in months. “Hey, what about that message we worked on putting together?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter. “I’m too scared to check.”

“...Y/N, I’m sure he’ll come around,” she finally manages to say after a long pause.

The more she says that, the harder it becomes to believe. At this point, you find no resolve to refute her utterly gullible implications. Pressing your lips into a thin line and routinely nodding your head, you look off into the distance beside you, waiting uncomfortably for her to untether you from her vigilance. As a seasoned professional around you, your lack of eye contact speaks volumes to her and the looming clouds seemingly spread its wings onto your friend. How cruel is it that happiness is limited, yet guilt seems to be boundless? You know you’re being a drag to your friend, so why does she even bother? It only makes you guiltier.

Her smile, on the other hand, has other plans, as it shoos the gray shadows away and out of her cubicle just as her hand on your shoulder brings light to your vision—and suddenly, as you peer up to find those vibrant, orange locks and cheek-raised smile of hers, it’s almost as if someone had swapped your icy cold, blue filters for a warmer, more welcoming gold. It’s relieving, really, to have someone there for you unconditionally.

“And if he doesn’t, then I guess it’s his loss and my gain. I get to have you all to myself!” she chimes likened to a kid with her favorite toy, and before you know it, she has you by the hands and pulls you to your feet as wind is knocked from your lungs. “C’mon, let’s go get something from your favorite coffee shop down the street, yeah?”

Your mind runs blank for a second but your lips return her smile, as if by second nature.

“...yeah,” you hum as she guides you through the labyrinth of cubicles and a gust of wind refreshes your hazy state.

The familiar irking honks and running engines blast you back into reality, a reality in which you had once lived on the daily just a year ago. Writing was your hobby, your everything, and yet, it crippled you, pained you, betrayed you. Sometimes the things you hold closest are the most dangerous of all and you learned that the hard way; but as Solji squeezes your hand and tosses her head back to check that you were in fact still present and somewhat well, her hair twirling in the wind and her eyes forming crescents, your heart welcomes you home once again. If holding her close would endanger you to further heartbreak down the road, you know she’s worth every ache.

“Hey, Solji?”

“Hm?” she twirls around once you two reach the crosswalk and await for the green light. After noticing the glimmer in your softened eyes that watch her with utter admiration, she shudders with a scoff. “What now? You want me to pay for you drink, too?”

“No,” you pout, hooking your arms to her own crossed ones and swaying her side to side. “I just wanted to thank you.”

“What is this about?” you can feel her cringing through her titters. “Why are you suddenly acting like this? I thought you were still in the dumps!”

“I am! But not as much now that you’re with me,” you coo, clearly amused enough by her reaction that you almost convince yourself to rub a cheek against her face; but instead, you choose to cradle your head into the crook of her neck.

“You silly girl,” she scolds, slapping the top of your head before settling into a soothing pat. “I’ll always be there for you.”

“Really?” you lift your head like a pleasantly surprised child and she frowns amusedly at the smile on your face. “You promise?”

“Promise? I need to promise you?” she gapes, baffled enough to slap you once again on the head. “Who else stayed by your side even after you abandoned them? Huh? I don’t see anyone! Tell me where—”

“—oh, there is one!” you exclaim and Solji whips her neck only to find you pointing at her right between her eyes. “She’s right here!”

Your usual antics elicits a groan and a roll of the eyes from her. The lights turn green and you nearly trip over your feet trying to catch up to her sudden acceleration as she attempts to flee your side, ironically contrary to her latest proclamations. “Well,” she scolds lightly akin to a lecturing friend who worries over you like a mother, striding confidently and pridefully through the streets with your arms hooked around hers, “as long as you know who’s really there for you and who’s not.”

“I know, I know,” your remarks exude of sheer blissful gratitude as you lay your head against her shoulders and smile giddily to yourself. “Looove you, mom.”

“Ugh,” she scrunches her shoulders, “please don’t do that ever again.”

Hands buried in your pocket and bare face exposed to the cold winds of winter, the thumps of your fuzzied heart is enough for you to acknowledge that you are alive.

“Do what?” you quip. “Love you?”

Arm in arm with the widest smile that stretches from ear to ear, you swear your heart has at long last awakened once again; for at this very moment, you can finally feel.

“Stop!”

Perhaps you aren’t completely well.

But you are alive and you know you still will be far down the road.

And for now?

That’s more than enough.

The stirring of the alcohol settles in the back of your throat, your mind still slightly hazed as your friend plops you onto the couch and you could do nothing but flash a goofy grin at her frown.

“Soljiii, let’s get another drink,” you drawl. “You promised we would go bar hopping!”

“Yes, you somehow convinced stupid me into taking you to a bar instead of a cafe, we bought you one drink, and now we hopped back to your apartment! See? Bar hopping,” she perks both hands up like a bunny, laughing at the scowl on your face. “You’re finally starting to feel better. I don’t want you to drink too much too soon. Ease your way back into it, alright?”

“I-I’m not even,” you pause because what exactly were you trying to say again—oh, right, “I’m not even that tipsy.”

Your friend narrows her eyes at you as she gathers her purse and coat. “...uhuh, well I prepped a bottle of water for you in the kitchen just in case. I’m almost late for my meeting, so I gotta go now. Call me if you need anything!” she shuffles to your door, throwing one last glance over her shoulder before departing. “And don’t go out on your own until you feel better, okay?”

“Psh—” the door slams “—what am I? A baby?”

Perhaps it’s the alcohol that runs through your veins or perhaps it’s the adrenaline after the first girl’s night out in a year, but nothing in you agrees to being locked within the confines of your cramped apartment. You need to distract yourself from wallowing in the dark, especially in your apartment, otherwise you’d face an all-too-predictable spiral into an abyss of self-pity. Jumping to your feet and stumbling toward the door, you hum a familiar tune that soothes the heart which aches in the wake of a high stuck in the deafening silence. You haven’t been able to pinpoint the origins of the tune that had pulled you through the sleepless nights and nightmarish days, but as you draw the door closed until just a crack between your doorframe and its lock remains, just enough for you to peak through at the disarranged sheets of your bed, and just long enough for you to gaze longingly at the two figures that lay in your bed eye-to-eye and arm-in-arm in a comfortable silence, an answer arrives and your heart is left with an unsettling stir.

The melancholic stain remains deeply rooted in tonight’s atmosphere and its intention to stay cements throughout the torturously lengthy night. You don’t realize it until you enter your elevator and press for the first floor that you notice the wall you had braced your heart with at every corner of your life. At some point in the last year, you had subconsciously defended yourself from the doleful memories that would reign your next few weeping nights.

Because as you stand here in the elevator, eyes stuck to the closed gray doors and thoughts feigned to be preoccupied elsewhere, it’s impossible not to notice the couple that had once stood by you. With your hands tangled in his hair and his arms wrapped over your waist, pushing you against the wall before pressing for the doors to close and returning his hands to slide to the small of your back, you can still feel his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips. The electricity that sparked like fire between his lips and yours, the hastiness of his every touch that begged for the privacy of your room, and the worrying ache over spotting the daughter of a CEO that was drowned out by the waves of yearning and buried into the back of your mind like an extended dynamite persists to haunt you to this day.

Because as you make your way out of the apartment and down the streets of the neighborhood, the gray hues of a sky shrouded by gloomy clouds on a winter evening seeps into the backdrop, fading into nonexistence just as quickly as speckles of sapphire blue bedazzled by gleaming stars paint night as day. There, just a block down from your apartment, the steps of your foot patter against the sidewalk, slowly and reluctantly, as if to prolong a moment beyond time’s capabilities. Your surroundings whirl around you in a blur and before you could desperately grasp for a break, you’re brought back into a fragment in time when he had taken initiative and held your hands in his for the first time, intertwining your fingers and guiding you home. Silently under the starry night, he declared his love for you. Electrified by the spur of the magical moment, you had confessed your greatest epiphany of falling in love.

Because as you pass by your neighborhood and night returns to day, you can’t help but stare through the windows of a closed restaurant where Yoongi had once taken you on that one revisited night. You can still remember how he had insisted on taking you out, despite its risks and the potential dent in his career that you had ultimately caused in the end. You can recall staring at his hands on the table and hesitating to touch them but remaining curious nonetheless. There, next to that specific table in the corner of the store, he had lowered his walls and entrusted you with his heart. Music was his passion just as ink was your companion, but on that one fateful night, he was willing to share his greatest friend likened to handing the ultimate weapon to who would turn out to be his greatest foe—you.

It seems as though the omnipotent universe finds amusement in your pain, for every corner down the street, you find it screaming at you to remember… to reminisce… to wallow in the pain that incessantly evolves and somehow paves its way into existence once again, just as you had nearly ridden yourself of the parasite.

“Hey, isn’t that Y/N?”

You’re snapped back into reality when you hear someone whispering about.

“Y/N, who?”

“You know,” a pair of girls point at you with masks over their lips, joining a frenzied crowd down the street, “the girl who dated Yoongi right before news broke out over him and that CEO’s daughter!”

The girl’s next reply is like a punch to the gut, “they broke up though, right?”

“Oh,” her friend scoffs, hooking an arm over the other and pulling her toward the havoc that was the crowd, “definitely.”

Right, you recall to yourself as you pull the neckline of your sweater over your nose, this was why you never walked outside anymore. The spotlight Yoongi’s fame had put on you never seemed to fade after all these months. You aren’t exactly surprised, though; because as a black car pulls up the sidewalk and the crowd descends into chaos, time slows, air stills, and you’re warped back in another episode of deja vu. Watching people scream by the grand entry of the boys, standing afar off to the side of the mayhem with a garment to conceal your identity, it’s almost as if you’re just another character in a tape put on replay.

Not all fans are what they claim to be.

They don’t care for your well-being. They only care if your actions served them under the right conditions set by their own selfish demands.

One day, you could be their whole world.

Another day, you could be no one.

His fans are no exception, a fact all too evident as you stare off into the distance where people collided and thrashed violently against one another all in hopes of screaming incomprehensible strings of words at the glamorous idols that suffered from the chaos that ensues. Cameras flashing, questions flying, and microphones shoved into their personal space, the scene is all too familiar to the night when you first met Yoongi and the news of your dating scandal shook the entire universe.

“Whoa!” a girl yelps and you whip your head up only to find yourself collapsing onto the floor. Wind knocks out of your lungs and you heave for air, wincing at the stinging pain that vibrates from your bottom up. The girl, standing above you, spits, “hey, can you stand here in the middle of everything? You’re blocking our way.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re—”

“—oh, it’s you,” the girl gasps and a group of surrounding girls turn to stare at you in bewilderment. “Why are you here? Didn’t Yoongi dump your ass years ago? Or are you here to beg for him back?”

“Wha—

—it’s okay, take a deep breath, you tell yourself even as you can feel yourself gradually descending into relapse. The darkness that settles into your grim composure and the bitterness that looms over you escapes your grasp as the enemy in you broke free. You have to control yourself. You can’t cause a commotion after all the trouble you’ve brought to Yoongi. The media had seemed to have finally forgotten his scandal between you and him, despite the numerous times his agency refuted the claims. How much unwanted attention would your presence here divert from what truly matters: his music?

You’re ashamed of your actions. You’re ashamed of your feelings. Really, you’re ashamed of you.

Head hanging low and teeth gritting tight, you keep your glare to the ground and out of sight. The girls only snicker at you as others looked back with pity written over their faces before turning their backs on you once again and actively choosing to ignore the situation. One breath in, one breath out. It’s almost as if you have to remind yourself the simplest things, otherwise you’d freeze in motion and cause unnecessary attention.

But is it too late?

A series of gasps ripple throughout the crowd just as you dust the rubble off your hands. A hushed silence befalls your surroundings, as if by the crafts of magic. A familiar pace of footsteps echo in your riveting heart.

One step. Thump. Don’t walk toward me.

Hesitantly lifting your inspecting eyes form the red scratches against your palm, your heart stills by the boy who makes his way toward you.

Another step. Thump. Don’t save me.

Akin to flowers that bloom along a wizard’s path, the crowd parts amidst the silence as he walks with confident, swift strides, head down, and eyes locked on you. The power of his gaze is enough to fade the stinging pain and your liberated heart feels as light as the clouds of which your mind remains hazed by. No one mattered at this point, for tunnel vision had overtaken the both of you and everyone except you and him was but a blur.

One final step. Thump. I don’t deserve to be saved.

And it’s at this moment that an epiphany dawns upon you. You still long for his enigmatic mien, a stark contrast to his delicate touch and his gentle words that he had so curtly and unabashedly spoken with truth. He had always known what was best for you, for he, too, had undergone the lowest of the lows and the highest of the highs. You always knew that, even if you denied his help and went through the effort to voice your refusal in an attempt to aggravate the man. And despite all your tantrums and flails and screams, he remains here, patient and forgiving and understanding, waiting for the day you realize he was indeed nothing but a loyal friend betrothed to your heart.

Because here you are, wounded and tossed aside. Having hurt and been hurt, this was nothing but fair play. You deserve this… but justice isn’t a matter of concern to him. You were his utmost concern. You hurt him, more so than anyone else in this crowd, but the look in those ocean-like eyes that painted more words than those who would simply undermine it as apathetic told you his love is unconditional.

You were ashamed of yourself.

He should have been ashamed of you.

Yet here he is, holding his hand out for you and you only; and before you know it, you’re grasping onto the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Y/N, are you—”

“—sorry,” you blurt, yanking your hand back and hastily turning around. Shuffling forward, the ruckus that ensues behind you drowns underwater. You’re not even sure if Yoongi hears you mumble, “I have to go.”

“Y/N! Wait, Y/N!” you hear Yoongi call out several times but your feet remain persistent on its trek elsewhere, that is, until your heart melts at the familiar touch of a cold hand that clutches your wrist. Freezing in your tracks, you gulp. He pants in between his words, “Y/N, where are you going?”

“What are you doing?” you ask with your back on him.

“Following my heart,” he answers plainly. “What else have I ever done—”

“—I mean,” you cut, biting your bottom lip, “I mean, why are you here? Why did you do that in front of all your fans? What’re they going to say?”

“They can say whatever they want.”

Shutting your eyes, you take a shaky breath in and retract your hands from his, though not too roughly as to retain your frail heartstrings. “I don’t know why you’re acting like this.”

“You know damn well why,” he deadpans. “Y/N, please, at least look at me.”

You can hear the hissing crowd encroaching from afar.

“I don’t want to—”

“—I’ve missed you damn it.”

You wish he wouldn’t say that, it only makes it harder on you.

“Well,” you muster the courage to utter, even if your heart shatters as you do so, “I don’t.”

Every step forward plucks at your strings. Every distance furthered between you and him subtracted from the ticking bomb within you. It’s only a matter of time until you could no longer uphold your lie. So you make a run for it.

Forward, you chant to yourself, keep running until he’s forced to give up and return to the world where he truly belongs… and that’s exactly what you do. You run and you run and eventually you find yourself falling into yet another inevitable trap of the universe. Standing in front of the doors to a concert hall, a place you used to call home before the memories of the night shared between you and him haunted its every corner, you scan around for any passersby.

You should return home. It’s your safest bet. Plus, did the janitor really not change the lock after all these years?

Click.

The key slides perfectly into the lock; and even through all the protests your defense mechanism puts on, it’s only inevitable that your heart overtakes your body and you’re already slipping through the slit and leaving the world shut outside behind you.

Alas, the rows upon rows of burgundy velvet chairs, balconies upon balconies that line the walls, and the dim lighting across the room that plays a stark contrast to the golden lights focused on the stage, everything screams home to you. Even if you can still see him sitting down beside you on the front row, turning to smile that damn half-smile of his, your heart is content over a dream nearly turned reality just minutes prior. The boy of the past beckons for you and you follow him up the stage with a smile on your face. His ghost leads you before the piano, seating yourself onto a cushioned black bench and a set of white keys streaked with black.

Here, on the stage, the lights are blinding. The audience is blacked out and you can no longer see too far off into the distance. From here, you figure you must appear dazzling—perfect, even; but you know you’re flawed, maybe the golden glow that reflects against the polished wooden floor and onto you makes it hard to believe, but you know you’re human. Up here, the grand piano is the only thing that keeps you focused on the task at hand.

Is this the sight Yoongi faces every day?

Is this the mundane sight he faced on that night? Or did he see you watching him with those sparkles in your eyes that reflected the star on stage? Did he smile that night, performing whilst observing his sole audience member with utter adoration and a heart on his sleeves?

The sparks of that night makes its grand entrance, even as an unsettling realization dawns upon you—because the thing is, you don’t remember, you can’t remember if you were busy taking advantage of his vulnerability.

Three notes—you play the familiar notes that had lulled you to sleep throughout the trying year. The tune brings a bittersweet smile to your lips that tugs at your chest. The truth is, you miss him. You didn’t want to turn him away but you couldn’t be selfish any longer. Even so, you miss him. You want to hold him right here, right now.

“I see you still remember that little performance I put on for you.”

Whipping around, your eyes widen when you find him standing before you. Decked out in a classic black and white suit, with a loosened tie, tousled hair, and hands buried in his pockets, as if he wasn’t sprinting just a minute before, he approaches you slowly.

“I don’t,” you mumble a lie, turning your back on him and lowering your eyes to the keys in shame, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yoongi chuckles and you can feel his vibrations against your back as he leans forward to hold your hands in a delicate grasp. “I see you’re also still not very honest with yourself,” he muses when you relax under his touch. His hands guide you to the keys—and you don’t know why, but you let him.

With his fingertips over yours and the top of your hands grazing against his rough palms, the complete song is like an entire symphony compared to the three notes you played earlier. Everything is almost a carbon copy of that magical night, except here he is, holding you in his arms, and here you are, head against his chest as you count the rhythm of his quickening heart. The tune, too, has evolved from the melancholic melody from before.

“...is this the same song?” you can barely utter.

“Oh, so you do remember,” he remarks and you can practically hear him smirk. “The song I played for you was supposed to be the hook for one of my tracks.”

“It sounds different though. It sounds… happier.”

“Does it?” he chortles, still gliding your hands across the piano. “I revised it after that night. I wanted it to be an accurate reflection of me. Simply put, it was too sad, too lonesome. This is more fitting.”

And now…? How is this an accurate reflection of him? If anything, your betrayal should have been the most lonesome act of all… unless he found someone new.

The thought has something gnawing in you as your hands fall from the keys and back into your lap. The music stops and silence follows. The deafening confessions exchanged between his heart and yours are all you can hear echoing in the vast room.

“...why are you still treating me so well?” you finally mutter. His silence only spurs you further into an unexplained fury as you raise your voice. “Don’t you hate me...? Don’t you hate me for lying to you, for taking advantage of you, for breaking your trust when you had so meticulously told me not to?!”

Even in a time like this, Yoongi remains composed as he always does, silently putting his thoughts into words that would eventually quell your fire.

“I didn’t hate you. I was mad and it hurt like hell for months on end, but I don’t hate you,” he states firmly. “You know I’ve never been one with words, but hell, Y/N, I’ve missed you.”

“Why did your company tell everyone we were through without giving me a single warning, then?” you shake your head in a fruitless attempt to still your racing heart. “Why didn’t you text me back? Why didn’t you call?”

“I did text,” he confesses and you freeze. “I didn’t text you, but I told Solji to take care of you. That’s the most I could do while retaining our break. It was for the better... but if you were waiting for my call, then why didn’t you call?”

“Well,” you pause, taken aback, “you said you wanted a break. I knew I hurt you too much. I couldn’t just be selfish again and force you to be reminded of me after you had requested me not to.”

“...is that why you never told anyone Ink Nemesis was really just an aspiring writer in disguise?”

Silence.

How does he know that?

No one would have arrived at that conclusion. It just doesn’t make sense.

How does he always read right through you?

“No,” you shake your head profusely. “That doesn’t even make sense. I’m a selfish person, you know that. I didn’t tell anyone so that I wouldn’t tarnish my reputation. I could still go out in public if no one knew I was the one who released those photos. I could still establish my career as a writer if no one knew I was Ink Nemesis—”

“—because you were selfless and because you changed after recognizing how much you hurt me, you decided your confession would only tarnish my reputation,” he surmises a little too accurately, “even if that meant you would have to be plagued with guilt that you’re still trying to carry to your grave.”

Bulls-eye.

“It… it doesn’t matter anymore,” you bite your bottom lip, hoping anything would stop you from speaking the truth. “Everything happened so long ago. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Good. I don’t want it to hurt anymore,” he places both hands on you and you comply as he turns you around to face him. Bangs hanging over his eyes as he leans downwards, your heart jumps at the soft edges of his that you had so yearned to see in flesh again. He speaks lowly but surely, “but isn’t there anything still left from back then?”

You still love him.

Meekly answering, you utter, “...no.”

“Really? I’m the only one reliving this hellish nightmare on replay, reminiscing over our undeniable chemistry because—and I swear on my life—I would never be able to find someone who understood me like you?” he lays his heart out on the table. “Am I really the only one who feels these sparks?”

Peering up at him to meet his gaze, you can make out the sincerity of his face where the shadows of the blinding lights above falls gracefully. The surrealism of it all takes you out of the race. Even if you were to lie, he would see right through you.

“...no,” you gulp, lowering your head to conceal the waterworks that make its way to your eyes, “no, you’re not.”

“I never trusted anyone more than you, Y/N. You know I gave you my entire heart, right?” he speaks sternly. “So is there anything else you want to say to me?”

“I’m... sorry, Yoongi. I never wanted to hurt you—” the words you’ve been wanting to say come to you naturally, as if rehearsed thousands of times “—I know it doesn’t matter now, but I won’t ever hurt you again. Ever.”

“Why?” he utters, fingers on your chin and tilting your head back until your gaze meets his. Yoongi’s eyes soften for a second at the sight of the warm tears streaming down your cheeks, lifting another hand to gently wipe the drops away. His touch is electricity against your bare skin.

“Because I love you.”

Yoongi smiles that lopsided smile of his, fruitlessly stifling the chortles that escape before uttering one last time “then it does matter, love” and locking his lips with yours.

That, in itself, is enough to tell you he’s forgiven you.

And now, you can finally forgive yourself.

“First of all,” you clear your throat hesitantly, leaning forward into the microphone that squeaks, “I would like to thank you all for coming to this press conference. Although Yoongi and I have already settled things privately, I would like to publicly apologize for my malicious actions against Min Yoongi of BTS. Two years ago I was in an unstable position and I was willing to accept any job just to make a living and persist to chase my goals as an aspiring writer. I know me coming out as Ink Nemesis is not enough of a rectification for my actions, and I understand why certain networks have refused to attend tonight’s press conference, so I want to take this time to thank those who have. I promise I will do my best to answer any question with utmost truth.”

Dozens of cameras flash in the room filled with reporters and previous fans of the works on your blog. Surprisingly, you can’t even count the number of heads in the cramped room, even if certain fans, both his and yours, had boycotted the press for your first upcoming novel. It takes everything in you not to squint at the blinding lights, because if there’s anything your relationship with Min Yoongi has taught you in the past year, it would be that the media tears you apart over the most trifling matters.

“So, um…” you mumble, shifting in your seat, “we can begin the Q&A.”

No one speaks but the flashes and clicks persist throughout the silence. Your eyes flicker across the crowd only to find Yoongi’s intent gaze under the rim of his bucket hat with ease. His eyes widen slightly at your call for help before he blinks blankly, looks around, and kicks the chair of the closest reporter to him.

“Oh!” the bespectacled man raises his hand, jumping at the sudden vibration.

You lean into the microphone, “yes?”

“Seeing as you have mentioned your humble beginnings as a blog writer, could you explain why you took pleasure in writing via a blog and not through an agency?”

“Ah, that’s a good question,” you purse your lips. “Actually, I think there are many perks to writing on a blog that many don’t consider, both readers and writers alike. Through a blog, readers can comment on any part of a chapter. Specific feedback, especially the ones that quote certain excerpts of my work, can be really helpful in my progression as a writer. Not to mention, their reception helps motivate me as I write later chapters in the series. I think it’s pretty cool that readers can send messages to their favorite writers and writers can have a personal connection with the very people who support their livelihood.”

Another man raises his hand, “and what about the cons to running an online blog?”

“Hm, where do I start?” you laugh along with the crowd. “First off, I have to figure out how to even run a blog. I have to design my website, I have to edit my own work, I have to create a cover that looks somewhat presentable, and most of all, I don’t even get paid! The algorithm always changes, so the attention your works receive might not be an accurate representation of its quality.”

“Can you elaborate on how to assess the quality of your work?”

“Well, that’s a difficult one to answer. Sometimes numbers such as likes, reblogs, and comments are a good indication of how many people have read your work, but not everyone leaves any notes. Sometimes people are busy on the days you post and sometimes people just don’t see or aren’t interested in your cover or synopsis.”

“How does it feel when your work is not received well in terms of numbers and what do you do to proceed? Does the reception change the direction of your work?”

“Honestly, it’s pretty dejecting when you spend hours on something and no one responds. That’s how it is in life, though,” you shrug. “In fact, there was a time on my blog when one of my works received all the attention, whereas another one of my works went completely under the radar. It was pretty despairing to see the stark contrast.”

“And why is that?”

“Why?” you pause. “Well, I have to say I’m a very competitive person. I’ve always wanted to be the best at what I do and I hated that my own work was stifling my growth. I wanted to grow as a writer, and somewhere along the way, numbers became my definition of success and quality. When I noticed that the numbers were falling on something that I was so proud of, I was disappointed. Relying on numbers is a realistic but grave mistake. Nowadays, I could care less about the numbers. Of course, a part of me still cares and I still would love a reasonable amount of notes—” you laugh “—but getting over the misconception that numbers are equivalent to quality helped me in my return to fiction. Honestly, people who rely on numbers are missing out on a lot of amazing works. Trust me.”

“What would you tell your past self right before you shut down your blog?”

“I guess,” you have to pause and think, “I guess I would tell her to go ahead and do it. I would tell her she had so much to live, so much that she was missing out on life because she gave so much of her time and heart on her blog. I would tell her that when the time comes, inevitably, she would write again because she wants to and not because of anything else.”

“Why did you really take down your works?”

“Ah—” how should you go about this topic that even you want to avoid “—it has to do with my reasoning before. I’m a competitive person and I was disappointed in myself. Certain readers only responded when I updated one of my works, some people even unfollowed me whenever I posted something else, but they were never there when I voiced my struggles or needed help from public disputes. I know it sounds silly and I really shouldn’t hold it against them, but it felt like no one cared about me until I served them. My creativity was stifled. Everything added up and I just didn’t want to have anything to do with my blog. Honestly, I was putting too much pressure on myself. I was conceited and it was dumb of me to have such a toxic perspective. Other writers wrote beautiful works, regardless of whether they had higher and lower number of notes, but I couldn’t help comparing myself to them. It’s embarrassing to say this out loud now, really, but that’s the truth. I think it’s a truth that echoes with many online writers.”

The crowd nods their heads and people start scribbling onto their notepad. Several hands raised in the crowd but you can barely see anyone amidst the flashes, so you toss a finger up somewhere in the air.

“How are you and Yoongi doing right now and how did he respond when you posted the picture of him on his affair?”

An audible gasp echoes in the room as you frown, brows furrowed and mouth hung agape at the unrelated question. The reporters stiffen, because surely, it’s a question they’ve all thought of asking but had the decency to refrain from. Trying your best to retain Yoongi’s hidden spot amongst the crowd, you keep your eyes on the reporter.

“I’m sorry but that’s something only him and I should be concerned over. Him and I are doing just fine, thank you,” you smile when you spot Yoongi giving you a nod with an affirmative smile that says that’s my girl.

A loud series of coughs saves the tense silence that follows. Everyone’s eyes dart to the very front right row, and when a light focuses on the reporter and their identity is revealed amidst the blackened platform below your stage, you can’t help but smile fondly at her.

After years of silence, it seems the grudge has finally been settled by her attendance, and thereby support, of your first press conference.

“Moving onto more important and relevant topics,” Xiao Lin settles the notepad into her lap, devoting all of her attention to you with a grin, “will you ever return to your writing blog? In other words, will you post your old works again?”

“Well, I have returned to my writing blog every once in a while,” you hum. “I’m no longer the same person as I was before, but I’m also not ashamed of who I was and the works that I wrote in the past. When I return, I will return on my own accord and my own terms. I’ll leave you with that.”

“And…” she scribbles something onto her notepad before looking up, “what will be the name of your upcoming novel?”

A stagnant silence floods the room that waits with bated breath as you lean into the desk and prolong the suspension. Smiling to Yoongi, head lifted and chin high, you speak proudly into the microphone. Alas, when the answer leaves your lips, a hushed gasp intermixed with a collective plaudit arises, for your proclamation is merely the first signal for the end of a beginning.

“Ink Nemesis.”

are you ready for it?

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fangirlings-things · 4 years

Text

Burning | Athelstan

(A/N): this is just the one shot full of angst that no one asked for but I had this idea and decided to write it, I love Athelstan and miss this priest!! Let me know what you guys think and if I should write more for this fandom

Fandom: Vikings

Pairing: Athelstan x female reader

Word count: 2K

Warnings: angst

gif is not mine

based on this song

Summary: after Athelstan is gone, she loses her will to live and everything just seems pointless

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

─━━━━━��⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

"You should eat" Bjorn's tone was serious, full of worry. He had his blue eyes glued to the your face, his fist clenched fiercely around a cup of ale. He had almost forgotten about his drink, since his attention had been instantly and completely drawn to (Y/N) when he was on the other side of the hall. The expression on your face was so empty and hollow, that it made him walk towards you and sit by your side at the wooden bench.

"I am not hungry" you replied simply, not even turning towards him as you answered. Your eyes were fixed on an inexistent point in front of you, ignoring completely the feast, the music and the laughs that were spreaded all across the place. You were the only one there, who wasn't even slightly happy. You were in pain and Bjorn knew why, even though he thought it would be better not to mention it. Everyone was trying not to mention it in your presence, for the best.

"You have to eat something, otherwise you'll fall ill" he tried to get some reason into you, as determined as ever even if you were hardly trying to ignore him and his words. He noticed that you took a deep breath, your hair raising upon your chest as you did so. You seemed not to care at all about what he was saying. Frustrated and mostly worried about his friend, he placed his hand on yours and squeezed it hardly, trying to bring you back from whatever dark place you found herself in. By the way you shuddered under his touch, he knew you were now really listening to him. "Winter is close now and being weak at it is bad, you know that. You could not survive"

"Maybe that is what I want" only then you turned your face to his, and in that moment he was able to see that your eyes were glistening with tears. The pain you were feeling seemed almost tangible, so hard and strong it was. So present he could see it carved into every little detail of your beautiful features. Your words hit him so hard. Harder than many strikes he had taken in battle before. "Perhaps dying will be better than living like this" a tear stremed down your face as you gently took your hand out of his and got up, running away and shutting him down like you had been doing for a while now. Since he had been killed.

"You think Althestan would want for you to die?" Bjorn spoke up as you started to walk away, a certain despair taking a hold of him and making him say that. He feared for your future. And even more for the fact that you seemed to not desire a future at all anymore.

The statement had the expected effect on (Y/N). You turned around, back to Bjorn and he could see the intense horror in you. To hear his name said again, in such a way, made everything worse. As you hadn't already reached your limit of bearable pain. You took what seemed to be an eternity to finally speak, searching inside youself for words. Any words at all, that would take the echo of his name out of the air, that had became heavy and poisoned. Filled with pain.

"He is dead" you repressed a sob, eyes on Bjorn's with so fixation that he felt a shiver running down his spine. You had never given him such a harsh look. "What he would want, will not change reality anymore. Can't change it. Because he is dead." you repeated the initial words, biting so hard at your lower lip to repress a sob that you felt the metalic taste of blood on your mouth.

"(Y/N)..." Bjorn started with a heavy sight, regretting what he had said already. Instead of helping, he had just made it all worse.

As soon as he tried to speak again though you decided to not give him a second chance and turned around, pushing people aside to get out of that hall as soon as possible. You wanted to get away from the feast. Away from Bjorn. Away from everyone, because none of them were him.

None of them was Althestan. Hear and see those people laughing and smiling, hugging each other and enjoying good company only made you think more and more about the fact that you weren't ever going to see his smile again or hear his musical laugh. You would never be hugged by him again or lay by his side at night. He was gone. Just disappeared.

All you wanted, was to disappear as well.

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

"You wanted to see me, King Ragnar?" you had your eyes glued to the floor underneath your feet, analysing all the imperfections and dirt in it, as well as some stains you recognized as ale ones. Now, the hall was completely silent expect for the sound of your and Ragnar's breathing. It didn't seem at all that in the night before, that place had been completely crowded with the people of Kattegat.

"Yes, I wanted to see you (Y/N)" Ragnar was on his feet as well, his muscled arms crossed over his chest and the usual serious expression on his face. It remembered you of Bjorn's own expression at the feast. They were so similar, those too. More than even they could see it. "Bjorn told me you have not been eating properly"

With a heavy sight, you felt anger fill your whole being. You wanted to scream at Bjorn, tell him to leave you be and mind his own problems. Deep down though, what stopped you was the knowledge that he was doing that to help you. He was trying to save you from youself and your self destructive thoughts. Although, you felt already long gone now. No salvation for you left.

"With all the respect my Lord, Bjorn should not have said such things. I have been feeding" you forced the words out after a moment, thinking twice about every single word before mumbling it out.

"Enough to sustain your health?" insisted Ragnar, and the firmess on his voice made you raise your head to stare at him. You saw that he had his eyebrows raised and clearly, hadn't accepted your poor statement. As in response to the questioning you averted your eyes from his quicky, the King squeezed his lips on a thin line, understanding the silent answer. "Bjorn also, said that you talked about not wanting to live anymore. (Y/N)" again, his voice was so firm that you had the obligation to look up and meet his blue eyes with yours. There was compassion on Ragnar's eyes as he took a few steps towards you and then stopped at a short distance. From up close, you could see that the King, as you, had a great pain carved on his face. "You're suffering"

And right there, you fell apart. The tears came crashing down like waves on a boat, running down your cheeks like an unstoppable river. The knot on your throat was so great that you for a second, couldn't even get breath into your lungs. Everything just hurt so much.

Ragnar didn't say anything as he watched you painfully tremble from head to feet. Didn't spoke as he saw the tears falling on his hall. He shared your pain. Closing the rest of the distance between you two he passed his arms around your much smaller body and squeezed you tightly, trying to give you some comfort.

"I miss him too" he whispered in your ear, and that made you sob out loud. So loud you were sure someone on the outside, passing by, would probably be able to hear it. It was an awful sound. The most truly terrible sound Ragnar had ever heard on his troubled life.

"Make this pain go away, Ragnar. Please, make it stop" your hands were grabbing at his shirt firmly, it seeming to be the only thing keeping you from falling. The words were mumbled out through sobs, uncontactable tears still flowing out of your eyes "I can't take it. I'm burning. There's a flame on my chest and I can't..." whatever you were going to say afterwards, was never said. You just sobbed again, even more deeply and painfully now than before.

Feeling tears run down his own face, Ragnar gently pulled away and grabbed your face with both of his hands. His palms were warm and comforting on your wet cheeks. Your eyes were both red and sore from the crying.

"I am not going to let you die" you opened your mouth in a protest, but he silenced you with just a hard look. "I'm not. Althestan is in heaven now, watching us. He would want me to take care of you" his calloused fingers stroke your right cheek slowly, the knot on his own throat threatening to suffocate him. Oh, did he miss his best friend. The person he trusted the most in the whole world. "He loved you so much"

(Y/N) hugged Ragnar again, didn't minding the fact that he was the King. He was just a friend in that moment. The one person who really shared your pain and understood it.

"Why do we have to carry such a burden?" you asked the man, your face resting against his chest and wetting his shirt. His grip on you was firm, keeping you up and alive. Like he had just said he would.

"I suppose this is the work of the gods" Ragnar shut his eyes as he placed his chin on your head, sighting. He smiled when a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Or perhaps, it is the work of Althestan's God. The Christian God.

"Why would he have to take Althestan away so soon? Why?"

"I don't know" Ragnar admitted, having thought the same thing since the got the word of his friend's death. He did not understand. Both of them didn't.

Sighting heavily again you turned your head completely to the side, pressing your ear flat against Ragnar's heart and so being able to hear his heartbeat.

In the corner of the room, close to the doors, you saw a shadow. Someone watching. The thought of getting caught at such a intimate moment with the King filled you with worry, but you didn't had the strength or the will to get out of that embrace. So you blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the blurry vision caused by the tears. With you vision now clear, you saw who was standing there.

Althestan was smiling at you two. At you. He was wearing his monk clothes, although his hair was long like you had gotten used to. All the air left your body, you couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Just looked at him, the tears getting even more insistent.

His smile got wider and you understood what he was trying to say with that kind smile. Take care of each other. As well as I love you. He always had had that look in his eyes when he said he loved you.

And then without saying anything he walked away and pass the doors of the hall, and as much as you wanted to scream for him to stay, you didn't. You knew he didn't belong to you anymore. He belonged to his God. On the outside he disappeared after a few seconds under the sun light, leaving. Gone.

Feeling your heart heavier and yet lighter inside your chest you were able to crack out a painful little smile, deciding that you did not want to die anymore. You wanted to stay alive.

You would live day after day, just waiting for him to pay you a visit again.

#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #athelstan x reader #athelstan imagine #athelstan #vikings fanfic #vikings imagine #vikings #angst imagine #angst

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whitherliliesbloom · 4 years

Text

hello, goodbye

[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ my writings ] [ prompt #13 (free write) - farewells ]

[ alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,231 words ] ★ [ plastic memories au ]

in a world with declining birthrates and where loneliness is a growing issue, androids named giftias were created for the purpose of forming connections with humans. however, giftias only have an approximate lifespan of about 912 days. the giftia retrieval service is an organization put in charge of the retrieval of giftias that were nearing that lifespan. illya, a giftia working for the retrieval service is given a new human partner, alphinaud.. who soon realizes that illya was herself nearing her own lifespan.

may you one day reunite with the person you love and cherish

Her smile was contagious, upsettingly so. She shone like the stars that hung in the sky, like an angel descended from the heavens. Her smile was more human than most humans - even when she herself was only ever meant to be a creation that imitated the concept of humanity.

But there wasn’t a single person within the retrieval service that could bring themselves to smile for long in her presence.

Because they knew - they knew of the truth that laid behind her smile. An expression built on a mountain of lies, of false emotions. And yet it was not because giftias were fake humans.. nor did anyone argue over the genuine feelings giftias could form.. that was, after all, what they were made to do. To emulate and form connections with humans, to fill the void in the hearts of people who lacked the family and friends to do so.

Illya’s smile was but a mask - a well rehearsed act played by the master of faking her own happiness, hiding away the words she truly wanted to say. It was a familiar sight in the office, but one that brought only a scalding pain to those around her. And the pain only grew with every day that passed.

For a long time, it’d remained that way. Her smile however dazzling and bright, was always met with a cursory glance and a curt response by her human colleagues. Even her old partner, a woman whose face wore the wrinkles that spoke of her experience and time in the field turned colder and colder, despite her own best efforts to smile warmer and warmer. But that was fine. A life void of color was most fitting for a machine.

She thought herself to be fine with not ever seeing the warmth of another person’s smile towards her, resolved herself to being but a doll made to fulfill her duty and naught else. Life is cold as her circuits were. If she did not feel, her impending farewell will taste less bitter.

But her new partner had contrary plans - a human who was determined to see her smile shatter into pieces, to see her suffer.

She still remembered the day they met - and the first time she’d seen a human smile as warmly as he had towards her on that day in what feels to be her entire lifetime. And she smiled back, facade unbreaking, as she offered him a warm cup of tea before leading him to his seat. It would only be a matter of time before he too turned cold and looked away from her like the others did. As long as he figured out how much time she had left, realized that he was talking to a machine on the verge of shutting down.

But that day never came.

“Are you okay, Illya?”

He’d always ask without fail every morning, and it’s vexing how concern towards her was feeling more and more familiar. Unplugging herself from her aged charging station was becoming a chore, one that her roommate and partner ever took great notice of.

“I’m fine.” but she’d always answer, as ever with an unfaltering smile upon her face that was only met with a deepened scowl from him. She was used to her smile bringing pain to others - and yet she’d sensed that it wasn’t quite for the same reason as Alphinaud did now.

With a soft buzz of life, she turned off her own port, and spared not even a single glance towards him as she saunters towards the kitchen as nonchalantly as she could best act. Giftias had no need for sustenance - eating was but yet another act of human activity to sell their own humanity. But she was always strangely fond of cooking - of preparing food with her own two helpless hands and bringing joy to others, even when she could not herself partake in such a joy. She wouldn’t allow herself to.

“Ah, let me help you.” Alphinaud clumsily tosses aside his blanket, rolling up the sleeves of his pajama shirt and taking his spot next to the bewildered giftia.

“I-I’m fine. I don’t need your help.”

“I will, anyway. It’s the least I can do.” He flashes her a smile at a time when his smile wasn’t at all appreciated, and Illya has to turn away to hold back a frown beneath grit teeth.

Stop being so nice to me.

She’d always knew him to be different from the others, or at the very least much unlike her old partner who had been more practical than she was emotional. He treated her in a way she never knew she wanted to be treated, he was at once her biggest headache, but also a salvation she never asked for.

He was her biggest fear realized, a smile that mirrored back at her, and a frown that was birthed out of genuine concern for her feelings instead of his own.

“You’ve been staring at that flyer for a while now. Is something the matter?” Alphinaud had asked once while they were out on an assignment.

He was also, infuriatingly observant of her behavior, something she’d grown so lax about after getting into the habits of being nonexistent in presence to everyone around her.

Illya would clutch the hem of her skirt, fiddling with the lanyard around her neck that held her identification card. And when silence would not suffice to appeal him, she’d hide her face beneath the shadow of her bangs and stutter.

“N-nothing.”

“That’s an advert of the coming festival, right? Would you like to go?” He willfully ignores her attempts to brush his question off with yet another infuriatingly radiant smile.

“No.” her swift answer only comes naturally, accompanied with yet another fake smile of her own. But the muscles of her face aches even more than ever, and she has to force herself to shut her eyes when she feels a burning behind her lids. “I’m not interested.”

What was the point in going anyways? What was the point of seeing the lights when eternal darkness was all that she will see in her near future? She didn’t know life outside of working, and when she hadn’t been working, she would sit perched upon her station with the lights in the apartment turned off, drifting in and out of dreams that she was terrified of having.

But she wasn’t surprised when he’d turned up in their room that very same evening with two tickets to the festival anyway, loathed how genuinely over the moon she had been when she’d realized that he saw her through her blatant lie and went against her wishes.

“It would be fun.” he’d said with the most awful, joyous voice he could muster, and the incandescent smile he wore upon his face nearly breaks her.

Why do you want to see me cry so badly?

It truly had been the most fun she’s ever had, and her own happiness upset her. The past two years of practiced nonchalance and lack of a care for her own well being had swiftly been undone within a matter of a mere few fleeting weeks. Weeks filled with a roller coaster of emotions, of dreamlike excitement.

The fireworks that burst into a kaleidoscope of colors and bright lights in the sky deafened her, the weight of the jacket he’d insisted on slinging over her shoulders felt heavy. And as if it hadn’t been torture enough, twelve curse the man for slipping his hand into hers, knotting his fingers in between her own and pulling her close, forcing her to feel each and every inch of his warmth and kindness.

She’d assume his attempts to break her was out of ignorance if she wasn’t acutely aware of the pain he was going through himself. If only she hadn’t been eavesdropping.. hadn’t heard of the way his voice shook and trembled when their manager had informed him of her remaining lifespan.

Under the dazzling starmines, were a pair of fools hellbent on hurting one another.

“Why?” her resolve dashed, she cannot help but to ask with a hushed voice, barely audible in the midst of the booming fireworks and laughter of the other festival-goers rising into the air. “Why are you being so nice to me.. even when you know that i’m..”

For a moment he was silent, and she wonders if Alphinaud heard her. She wouldn’t minded if he hadn’t, perhaps convinced herself for a moment that that would have been for the best.

“Do you not want to have happy memories before then?”

Illya manages a smile out of habit, but she has no expectations of it managing to fool him this time.

“If I’m going to shut down, then I’d rather not have any memories at all.”

She remembered uttering those very same words to many giftias she’d spoken to, giftias who were themselves nearing their lifespan, and were due to be separated from their families and loved ones. And as varied in personality as humans were, those giftias gave her different responses to that very sentiment.

A handful had agreed with her, lamented their coming termination and cursed the system they had been born to serve and die under. Many others however had disagreed, and the smiles they wore upon their faces as they’d recounted the joy and love they had been showered with haunted Illya to the core every time she had to watch the lights from their eyes fade.

That should have sufficed as proof that memories formed by plastic would amount to nothing but pain in the end.

“And leave this world without having truly lived your life? That’s not right, Illya. You deserve to live, more than anyone else in the world.”

Giftias were extraordinary, a true marvel of human invention and technological advancement. And more than anything, they lived up to their namesake of being gifts to mankind - to bring happiness. Giftias never truly needed to be happy themselves, or to live.. as Alphinaud would so insist otherwise. But what difference was metal and wires to flesh and bones if they could feel and think the same? A sentience that could suffer was worthy every bit of happiness they could experience.

“I want to be part of your life, how ever long or short it may be.”

She could never forget his words, could not drown his sincerity from rippling through her. His voice replayed in her head again, and again, long after the colors of the sky had faded, and naught but faint dots of light hung above their heads.

The pale moon looked so much more sorrowful on that night than ever before as Illya sat upon her station, staring listlessly out the window. The only thing louder than the buzzing of her own circuits was Alphinaud’s breathing and the rustling of his sheets as he tossed and turned. And when her racing mind had finally settled on that accursed number plastered onto the back of her mind, her resolve shatters.

“Alphinaud.” He awakens to the girl standing over his bed. And though his vision is blurred, he could faintly make up the outline of her trembling form. When she speaks up again, the clarity behind her sorrow alarms him. “I can’t sleep.”

“W-what’s wrong?” the young man forces himself to sit up, but so nearly falls onto back onto the bed when Illya throws herself into his arms.

His warmth hurts her, the tight hold of his arms that wrap around her to pull her closer to his chest is suffocating. But she can no longer find the strength in herself to smile.

“I’m scared.”

She felt like a failure, of a retrieval service employee and a giftia both. She understood fully why the people around her became distant, watched as her world grew colder and devoid of life in the past three months of her remaining lifespan. And she never once bemoaned their choices, because to associate with a dying person was to willfully subject themselves to even more pain.

Yet she’d selfishly and secretly longed to be proven wrong, wished for a warmth and joy that she could take with her past her last moments. And when she’d finally had her wish fulfilled, she could only tremble and cry at this gift, this treasure that Alphinaud has given her that she truly didn’t deserve. She would pay for this honesty with even more pain, she was sure of it.

“I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“I know.”

She feels Alphinaud press his face into the side of her head, and his hand rises to begin stroking through strands of her hair, and she apologizes for the tear stains she leaves upon his shirt with choked sobs, spilling forth months of pent up regrets and sadness. Her last recollection of that day is the feeling of a blanket being draped over her, of Alphinaud pulling her against his chest and allowing the sounds of her weeping to grow fainter as she drifts to sleep.

Her charging port is left neglected for a bed bathed in a gentle moonlight that watched over them as they slept in each other’s embrace. In the midst of that sorrowful and tearful night, it had been the warmest Illya had felt in a long while.

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #illya skawi #we've come so far #plastic memories au #kiwisffxivwrite2020 #fanfic #mine #this was supposed to be a lot longer and could have been #were it not for WRITING BURN OUT WOW #will i ever write a fanfic of their actual last moments together #:thinking:

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catradoramma · 5 years

Note

Do you think Catra’s tail is sensitive? If so, what would she do if Adora were touch it?

5 Times Catra’s Tail Was Touched +1 Time it Wasn’t

(rated M)

Catra’s tail is sensitive. Here are 5 times someone touched Catra’s tail and one time no one did.

A/N: I’m so sorry anon. This shit gets sad, and it may have some triggering content. See bottom A/N for details.

| ao3 | twitter | kofi |

The first time Adora touched Catra’s tail, they were barely 4 years old. They were laying in Adora’s bed because Adora’s bed always felt safer and warmer. It was after curfew and they really should have been sleeping but sometimes it was hard and Adora was really good at keeping Catra company. Catra can’t remember much about what lead up to it, or why Adora touched her tail in the first place. Maybe Adora was just rubbing Catra’s back or maybe she got curious, but as soon as the other girl’s fingers touched her tail, it felt like every single muscle in her body had instantly relaxed.

It wasn’t exactly a bad feeling. And it wasn’t entirely unwelcome…but it was weird. Catra has been trying to sleep and she was having trouble relaxing. So in that way, she thought it was really nice. And a secret part of her liked that only Adora knew about Catra’s secret relax button.

“You okay, Catra?” Adora whispered over Catra’s shoulder. She sounded mildly alarmed which makes sense in retrospect. Catra had essentially gone limp under Adora’s hands unexpectedly, Adora deserved a little panic.

It took Catra a few moments, but eventually she managed a soft hum before she started purring.

Coincidentally, this was also the first time Catra purred.

And it was for Adora.

Just. Maybe something to think about.

—

After that, the tail touching became a pretty regular thing for the best friends. Whenever Catra was having a particularly hard time sleeping, or she was too worked up about something, Adora would rub her back, then carefully massage the base of Catra’s tail and things would be better. Things would feel a million times better. Catra would start purring and the gentle noise would sooth both of them to sleep.

It was a win-win situation.

And it always felt a little like salvation whenever Adora pressed it. When Catra was half dead from a particularly gruelling training session with Shadow Weaver, and her body felt more like an over-stretched rubber band than anything. When Catra was boiling over with anger, her hair standing on end and her claws as sharp as razor blades. When Catra felt small, and too big, and too clumsy. When Catra wasn’t enough, and too much, and thrown away. A single touch from Adora was all it took to calm her down, to bring her back, to put her back together.

Adora always knew exactly when Catra needed her touch. Wordlessly, Adora always knew. It was just something she was good at.

Or maybe Catra broadcasted her emotions.

Either way, it was such an amazing feeling, being known like that. It felt good to be known and to know that whatever Adora found out, she wouldn’t abuse.

She wouldn’t tell.

It would just be theirs. A healing power that Adora possessed.

—

It wasn’t until they were maybe 13 that Catra realized that the tail-touches didn’t feel the same anymore. They were still nice, but they weren’t…relaxing anymore. They were almost…electrifying.

Now don’t get Catra wrong, the touches still made her go completely boneless—melting her like ice in lava. But recently, instead of putting her to sleep, the innocent touches brought her for life. They made her yearn for something Catra had never really considered before. Something Catra wasn’t really able to recognize.

It left her warm and tingling in ways she’d never felt before, and while learning about this new facet about herself—a facet that could only be unlocked by Adora—was exhilarating, it was also terrifying. It felt a little like she wasn’t even in control of her body anymore.

It was scary and thrilling and Catra had no idea what to do about it.

—

It happened completely by accident. Catra will swear up and down until the day she dies that it was an accident. It had to be an accident. There’s no other way to explain it.

They were running from Shadow Weaver, hand-in-hand and giggling breathlessly at some random prank Catra had pulled. Her heart was racing at the excitement of running, of being with Adora, of getting away.

Catra pulled her into a supply closet, the door shutting seamlessly behind them as Shadow Weaver dashes past. Adora was leaning against Catra’s back, as Catra caught her breath against the cool metal of the door. Adora let out a breathy chuckle that sent a shiver down Catra’s spine, all the way down to the top of her tail.

Her tail twitched, aching to wrap around Adora’s leg and pull her closer. That exciting feeling Catra got around Adora had been named, and the longer it stuck around, the firmer it seemed to set itself into her chest. And after a few too many less than completely innocent drama Catra had about Adora, Catra was convinced it wasn’t going away.

Adora turned her head a little and her warm breath tickled the fur just behind Catra’s ear. Catra felt a low purr build in her chest. She turned around so her back way against the door.

“I can’t believe we pulled that off!” Adora breathed, her voice a little high picked and excited.

“Come on,” Catra scoffed, equally breathless and excited. “Of course we pulled that off. We used my plan.”

Adora let out her own breathless scoff and rolled her head as he rolled her eyes. Catra was extremely charmed by the action, even if it was at her own expense.

Catra bravely settled her hands on Adora’s hips.

“You are pretty amazing,” Adora said sarcastically greatly pained, and the words caught Catra somewhere deep in her chest. “I—I mean—“ Adora’s cheeks turned an adorable pink as her grey eyes widened. “I liked your plan. I mean—I also think you’re amazing, but I just m—“

Catra cut her off with a kiss, unable to take it anymore; the way her heart pounded and her stomach fluttered around Adora. How every gesture lit a fire under her skin.

Adora was unresponsive at first, and Catra’s heart was practically beating out of her chest until the longest two seconds passed and Adora surged forward. Their teeth clacked together a little bit, but after a little bit of quick figuring, they managed to line their lips up.

Catra smoothed her hands up Adora’s sides, pulling her closer as she nibbles on Adora’s bottom lip. She let out a perfect and adorable little moan, the sound causing Catra to growl and shift them around, pinning Adora against the wall instead.

Catra moved her hands up Adora’s front, desperate to feel up those perfect abs before swooping around to pull her closer by the small of her back. Adora gasped at that, her hands flying down to Catra’s hips. Catra purred lowly at that, surging forward to deepen the kiss as Adora’s hands moved around to Catra’s ass.

Catra was so occupied with feeling up Adora’s equally as perfect back muscles that she hadn’t even realized Adora’s hands had twitched around to the base of Catra’s tail. The second Adora’s fingers touched the base, Catra shivered. The second Adora started massaging the area, Catra completely melted against Adora’s front. Catra didn’t know what kind of noise she let out, but she did know what the hot jolt of pleasure that travelled up and down her spine all the way to her toes felt like. It felt so fucking good, Catra thought her brain melted right along with the rest of herself.

This is probably when Catra should have realized.

This is also when Adora should have realized.

This is exactly what made her later betrayal so much worse.

—

Catra knee what she was doing was wrong. She knew what she was doing was cruel and abusive.

She knew.

And yes, she felt bad about it. Of course she did.

But she felt so dark and twisted inside. Her heart like a broken and blackened thing rotting in her chest, taking any shred of sympathy, any sort of empathy, and sort of anything.

Catra knee what she was doing was wrong.

And yet, she couldn’t stop herself from crowding Scorpia up against a wall. To pull her in by her jaw, and kiss the daylights out of her. She couldn’t stop herself from pulling away, looking Scorpia in the eyes as Catra mumbled hotly in her ear, “We gonna do this or what?”

She could see it on Scorpia’s face. Could see it in her eyes. The hope. The hope and the fear.

And Catra ignored it.

“Y-yeah,” Scorpia breathed, her elated disbelief evident in her voice. God, she was so heartbreakingly into Catra and her voice just then was almost enough for her to pull away. But she stood firm and surged back into kissing Scorpia.

Catra doesn’t remember most of what happened—did that on purpose so she wouldn’t have to feel too guilty about it. So Catra’s not 100% sure how it happened, but Scorpia’s large, beautiful, fantastic claws rubbed against the base of Catra’s tail and Catra’s whole body seized up.

A horribly confusing mix of pleasure and despair rushed through her. She trembled with the force of it, tears springing to her eyes as she arched against Scorpia’s face.

The grief hiding in Catra’s chest overcame her. Catra dropped down to her elbows and sobbed. She let it out, her heart breaking for Scorpia, and herself, and Adora.

Catra vowed to never love again.

—

+ 1.

They were much older when they met civilly enough to speak for longer than two seconds. The years and the war a wide crevasse between them.

“It’s good to see you,” Adora hedged, her voice still lighting up an old, long dormant part of Catra.

Catra cleared her throat, nodded, and would have lashed her tail if it had still been there. It was a loss Catra was still adjusting to.

“I heard you retired your sword,” Catra said, unable to look at Adora, opting instead to gaze out at the crowd of other Princesses gathered in the lower ballroom at New Bright Moon.

Catra saw Adora nod out of the corner of her eyes. “Eternia is safe now. We’re stable and it doesn’t feel right to use the power anymore,” Adora shrugged and Catra’s heart ached. Adora was just so good.

“I hope the next She-Ra feels the same,” Catra said, mature enough to admit at least some of her feelings, but mostly jaded enough to know no one was quite like Adora.

“I have to believe they will be,” Adora says firmly. “Or else what was the point of all this?”

Catra couldn’t stand the way Adora’s voice cracked so she reached over and placed her hand over top of Adora’s. “We’ll finally get to rest,” Catra said, finally looking at Adora. “And at least for a while, so will they,” Catra added, looking back over the ballroom.

Adora let out a little sigh. “I guess you’re right.” She turned her hand in Catra’s and linked their fingers properly.

Catra looked over at Adora, and caught the small smile she was sending her way. Catra’s heart pounded for the first time in a long time, and her body relaxed in a way she hadn’t been able to relax since she’d lost her tail.

It felt like a first step.

And a little like a confession.

Like the feelings weren’t just from her tail.

A/N: possible triggering content: Catra uses Scorpia to fill the void in her heart left by Adora’s betrayal. She also takes advantage of Scorpia’s feelings :(

#spop #catradora #she ra #catra #she-ra #adora #karleecatradorafics #catra (she-ra)#scorpia (she-ra)#big sads #angst #hopeful ending

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