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kohanayaki · 3 years

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.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 6

You continue the tale of how you, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter became known as The Marauders.

LINKS: CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

___________________________________________________________

Ch 6 .:The Making of the Marauders:.

~Previously~

“That was when they were first starting to put the map together,” you continued, “but that wasn't even the biggest secret they had. Of course, I wouldn't find out about that for another year. . .”

“So at this point I knew that they were hiding something else, but not what it was,” you told Harry, continuing on with your story, “But one night we had planned to meet up and use the invisibility cloak to map out the underground tunnels that ran through the storage cellars, and they never showed up. So I snuck into the Gryffindor common room through the secret passage and found their dorm completely empty. But what was there was our work in progress map. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1975 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This isn't going to work,” Peter said flatly, watching James and Sirius draw a large circle in chalk on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

“Not with that attitude it's not,” James said, “if there's a way we can speed up this process I'm willing to give it a go. I don't know how long I can go on with this bloody leaf in my mouth.”

“Is this even real?” Peter sighed, “it looks like what muggles think magic is.”

“It's real all right,” Sirius said, “old, but real. I mean, Transfiguration was founded on the principles of magic circles! I'm not really sure what these runes on the side mean, but it's probably not important.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Peter retorted, “Remus, back me up here.”

He turned towards Lupin, but he had long since dozed off, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the nearly decaying walls in the corner. Peter sighed, taking a piece of paper from the ground and crumpling it into a ball before promptly throwing it in the sleeping boy's face. Lupin jolted awake, realizing what had happened and chucking the paper back at Peter in annoyance.

“Not a moment of peace,” he huffed under his breath.

“Sounds awfully boring,” James said over his shoulder.

“Blimey, what time is it?” Remus said, panicked as he noticed the light had completely gone from the sky, “It's long past sundown.”

“So?” Sirius shrugged.

“So, we told (Y/n) we'd meet them to work on the map at dusk,” Remus said, “They're probably looking for us right now!”

“Oh, they are,” you announced your presence, an unimpressed look on your face as they jumped, whipping around to look at you.

“(Y-Y/n)!” Sirius stuttered, “how did you—”

You held up the map, raising a brow at the four guilty looking boys.

“Right. . .”

“You snuck into our rooms?!” James said incredulously as he saw the map, which he was sure he had left on his bedside table, in your hands.

“You've snuck into my shower before, Potter,” you glared lightly at him.

“Point taken.”

“Okay, look, I'm sorry we didn't show tonight, and I know we've been acting weird,” Sirius sighed, “the truth is—”

“Lupin's a werewolf.”

The color drained from Remus' face, slightly mortified that you already knew.

“Come on, guys,” you said, “the claw marks and you lot disappearing whenever there's a full moon kind of gave it away. You aren't exactly subtle about it.”

You could sense the intense nervousness in the room, especially from Remus. Ok, so maybe coming right out with it wasn't the best course of action.

“Look,” you said, “if you're worried about anyone else finding out, they won't. I mean, the only reason I even knew you were here is because I'm literally helping you make a magical map that details all the secret passages and shows where everyone is. I won't tell anyone, I swear.”

They still seemed a little unsure, and you bit the inside of your lip slightly.

“If it'll make us even, I'll let you know a secret of my own,” you said, “it can even be future blackmail me if you really don't trust me.”

“No, it's not that, (Y/n),” Remus said as he stepped forward, his throat feeling dry, “it's just, well, I've never really told anyone except the people in this room. Having someone else know. . . it's just a lot to process, but if had to be anyone I'm glad it's you.” He paused for a moment, feeling oddly self-conscious as he regarded you. “When I turn into a werewolf I can't recognize any human as someone I know. I have no control over myself in that state. In the worst case scenario, I could injure or even kill someone I didn't mean to. We originally started taking note of the secret passages and rooms to find a place where I could turn safely and not hurt anyone, and we settled on here. I don't remember much when I come out of it, but. . . I do feel this painful sense of separation each time. Werewolves are pack creatures by nature, so being isolated in that state is. . . agony, if I must be honest. They all figured, I can't recognize humans, but perhaps I could recognize other animals, so. . .”

“They're trying to become animagi,” you finished, “so you won't have to be alone. That's. . . that's actually really sweet,” you said, a breathy laugh escaping you.

Remus thanked Merlin the Shrieking Shack was as dimly lit as it was so his beet red face was at least somewhat less noticeable.

“I agree,” Remus said, turning to his friends and sharing a rare, genuine moment with them. “And, you don't have to tell us your secret,” he said, turning back to you, “it's okay.”

“Hey, I wanted to know,” Sirius said, Peter swiftly elbowing him in the ribs.

“I was actually planning on telling you anyways,” you said, “If you guys are trying to become animagi, I can help you.”

You took a few steps back, bracing yourself against the wall.

“Promise me you won't freak out.”

After receiving a few quick nods, you kicked off the wall. Your body seemed to morph in mid-air, shrinking and re-configuring so fast that by the time you landed on the floor you had been entirely replaced by a large, (e/c)-eyed wolf with fur reminiscent of your hair.

Peter yelped, instinctively putting Sirius in front of him who was gawking at the sight. Remus was in complete shock and you could have sworn you saw James' glasses slip down his face.

In your animal form your heightened senses could sense their fear, and you tried your best to assuage it. You padded around in a circle, sitting down and blinking up at them to try and show them you were in control of your actions. After you figured they'd seen enough, you crawled back into your robes, which had pooled on the floor when you'd transfigured, and willed your body to turn back.

James, Sirius, and Peter looked somewhere in the intersection of shocked and terrified, but Remus looked nothing less than impressed.

“That's amazing, (Y/n),” he said breathlessly, “your transformation was seamless, how long have you had this ability?”

“My aunt had me go through the process when I was nine,” you said, a bitter edge to your voice as you fastened your clothes back around you, “it's not fun, but obviously useful. And thank you, but trust me, it didn't come at all naturally to me. I spent a good part of my winter break stuck with a wolf's hind legs, which is just as inconvenient as it sounds.”

“But this proves that it's possible!” James said, a new rush of energy invigorating him, “we can actually pull this off.”

“If I can manage to keep this sodding leaf from choking me every ten minutes,” Peter grumbled.

“Here, this should help with that,” you said, drawing your wand and pointing it at Peter's mouth. With a simple sticking charm, he suddenly felt the odd sensation of the leaf in his mouth disappearing, only to find it had melded with the flesh on the underside of his tongue.

“It's a long process, but yes, it's possible,” you said to James. Your eyes drifted to the floor where the magic circle and pages of runes were still scattered about, “if you were thinking of taking shortcuts, you might have wanted to read the warning about this spell requiring a blood sacrifice.”

The quartet paled and you laughed at their dumbstruck expressions.

“Kidding,” you grinned, “but seriously, there's no shortcuts. Now look alive, boys. We have a lot of work to do.”

_________________________________________________________

From then on, you helped the four wizards along on their quest to become fully fledged shifters.

“In order to become an animagus, a wizard must keep a Mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire month, even when eating and sleeping,” Peter read aloud from the book they'd snatched from the restricted section, “Next, under a full moon, the wizard must place the leaf in a vial full of dew that has neither been stepped on nor exposed to the sun. The resulting potion must be stored in a dark place, and the following incantation: Amato Animo Animato Animagus, must be recited every morning until an electrical storm arrives, at which point the potion can be taken.”

“Blimey, all that to turn into a bloody cat?” Sirius said, exasperated.

“Well we have the first part almost done,” James said, feeling the faintest outline of the leaf still under his tongue, “Next full moon we'll have to go dew-hunting, I suppose. Looks like you'll have to stick it out for a few more cycles, Moony,” he said to Remus.

“That's alright,” he said, “I've made it this far.”

“He won't be alone for those,” you said, “I'll spend the full moons with him until you guys are ready.”

“What?” James said, looking at you like you'd just told him you were off to join Voldemort, “not a chance, that's way too dangerous.”

“Aw, don't act like you're all concerned about me all of a sudden, Potter,” you smirked. When his expression didn't change it took you aback slightly. He was actually worried about you. “Look, I'm probably the best suited for it anyways,” you said, coughing a bit to coast through the awkward tension, “Remus and I are both wolves, or at least partly. If one of you end up turning into a sheep or something you might be dead meat, not to freak you out or anything.”

“That's reassuring,” Sirius said under his breath.

____________________________________________________________

“You really don't have to do this,” Lupin insisted as you sat on the floor together in the Shrieking Shack later that month.

“I want to,” you assured him, “take it as a thanks for helping me pass Arithmancy. Besides, it's a perfectly fine excuse for me to practice interacting with other animals in my animagus form.”

The boy beside you was quiet for a moment, shoulders tense and jaw set tight. It wasn't that he wasn't happy you were here, he was more grateful than you could know, but he was terrified that he was going to end up hurting you. On top of that was the fact that he didn't want you to see him as he transformed. It wasn't pretty, and it was visibly painful. He didn't want you to think any lower of him, though he knew that fear was irrational.

The calming jazz record that spun on the other side of the room was the only noise between you two for quite some time, but you understood that he needed time to gather his thoughts. This was something so deeply personal you were surprised and a bit honored he allowed you to be here at all. You noticed the photograph that he held in his hands; it was of Hogwarts, taken from the very edge of the forest. The sun was peeking over the horizon, spilling out between the complexly constructed towers that made up the castle's exterior, and casting a warm, golden hue over the landscape.

“It's beautiful,” you said, “the picture.”

“It is,” Remus smiled to himself and nodded, “James gave it to me, as a reminder. He said that matter what happens during the full moon, the sun will always rise on us again.”

“Huh,” you mused softly, “perhaps he isn't such an insufferable jerk after all.”

“Oh, no, he is,” Lupin chuckled, “but he is also a very good friend, and endlessly thoughtful even if he denies it.”

You let that sink in for a moment. You supposed he was.

“Well,” you said, laughing a bit as you shifted in your seat, “this isn't as deep and meaningful as the photo, but I brought something for you.” You reached into your bag, retrieving something that made Remus' eyes widen.

“Where did you get that?” he said, elated as you held out his favorite chocolate bar which had been out of stock at Hogsmeade for weeks now.

“You guys have a secret tunnel that goes right to the Honeydukes cellar and you've never taken advantage of their storage?” you grinned.

Lupin hesitated as he held the bar in his hands.

“So you stole it?”

“I left five dracma in the tip jar,” you rolled your eyes, “I'm not a death eater.”

His smiled returned at that, and he ripped open the familiar foil gratefully.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It's the least I could do,” you said.

“It's really not,” he said, turning to face you fully. You were left a bit breathless as the unexpected intensity of his eyes. “None of this is the least you could do, because the least you could do is nothing,” he continued, rambling, “we were so horrible to someone you consider a dear friend, and you were willing to look past that. You're risking your life by even being with me right now, (Y/n).”

“You don't—”

“I do know that,” Remus said sharply, “I've never been in contact with anyone as a werewolf. The one time I was, I. . .” he trailed off, and it hurt you to see his pained expression, “I just don't know how I'll react.”

“You're saying that as if something bad's already happened,” you said gently, “it'll be okay.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked quietly, equally full of frustration and admiration.

“I'm willing to put my trust in you, Remus. I think it's time you put some trust in yourself.”

Lupin's heart pounded a little harder in his chest. Had you ever called him by his first name before? You looked at him so reassuringly, so confidently. He couldn't understand it, but your words reached him to his core.

“(Y/n). . .” he trailed off, blinking rapidly. A shaky breath escaped him, and your stomach dropped.

“Remus?”

Suddenly you saw something shift in him. His breathing became heavy and his pupils dilated, completely filling his irises in a matter of seconds. He braced himself against the wall as he stumbled to his feet, his skin slowly taking on a gray hue.

“It's happening,” he said, voice deeper and strained, his neck convulsing, “you have to transform, now!”

You didn't waste any time, taking the shape of your wolf form and padding away a cautionary distance. Your stomach churned as you watched Remus yell out, his expression full of pain as his body grew in size, his cries slowly becoming reminiscent of howls. His face contorted in agony as his head morphed into a more animalistic shape, ears growing from his scalp and fur appearing as if his werewolf was fully formed inside him, physically escaping through his skin. You've seen werewolves before, but seeing someone you know actually turn into one, it was completely different. Nothing could have prepared you for this. Seeing anyone in this much pain made your chest tighten harshly.

At last it seemed the transformation was complete. Remus Lupin was gone, and in front of you stood a creature of at least eight feet, perched on his hind legs and towering over you especially in your animal form. You could hear how ragged his breathing had become, his body convulsing with the motion; growing and retracting like a beating heart. You heard a whimper escape his throat, and you could tell he was still recovering from the pain.

You steeled yourself, making the decision to alert him to your presence subtly. You tilted your head upwards, releasing a similar sounding whimper to his. Immediately the werewolf across from you was on high alert, his head snapping towards you and his lips pulling back into a snarl as his ears lowered. You took an instinctive step back, lowering your head slowly. He seemed puzzled by your behavior, which made sense seeing as Lupin told you he never interacted with any other animals during the full moon. His head tilted inquisitively and he took a heavy step forward. You forced yourself to not back away, testing the waters. His eyes narrowed again as he saw you standing your ground, but you quickly sat down, your head tilting to expose your neck slightly. You made doubly sure not to show any signs of aggression; you knew you had no chance against a werewolf at full strength.

However, he seemed to take your queues well. His tail seemed to relax a bit, his eyes returning to their full, round shape as he looked at you with curiosity. You sniffed up at him and he hesitated, but eventually circled around you and did the same. You could almost see the turmoil in him, as a werewolf you doubted anyone he came across treated him with anything less than terror in their eyes, but you were completely relaxed.

He whimpered again, and you were shocked at the sign of submission. You rose to your feet, and he didn't back away. You let out a friendly yip, which he returned, and you felt the weight lift off your chest. You leaped to the side, and he followed you, running alongside you as you bounded across the room, practically leaping off the walls. You jumped at each other playfully, rolling across the floor in a mess of fur. You smiled inwardly as this continued throughout the night, no longer seeing fear or pain or aggression in his eyes when you looked into them. Even if he wouldn't remember most of this, you hoped he would at least feel better in the morning than all the times he had to go through it alone.

Exhausted from all the playing around, you padded softly back to your robes, crawling inside yours and and gesturing over to him with your head. He followed you, coming down to all fours before laying beside you. You weren't sure when sleep came over you, but it was like the world's most comfortable blanket had been thrown over your shoulders, and your eyes drifted closed of their own volition. . .

“Merlin's beard, just what were you two doing last night?!”

You and Remus both jolted awake at the sound of James Potter's aggravatingly loud voice but quickly came to your senses. Remus' arms were wrapped around you, your back facing him. You were just barely covered by your robes with nothing underneath as a result of your transformation. As you scrambled to get decent your face heated even more as you saw Remus was currently without a shirt, his pants ripped considerably. You scrambled away from each other, trying to make yourselves decent.

Peter was howling with laughter, James looking smug as ever. Sirius was oddly quiet, but you were too wrapped up in the embarrassment to notice his behavior.

“What was that about being 'endlessly thoughtful'?” you grumbled to Remus.

“Right, I completely take back what I said,” he scoffed, “ 'insufferable jerk' is much more accurate.”

“Close your eyes, you perverted git!” you yelled at James, who was blatantly staring at you, “toss me my clothes at least, would you?”

James bit back a smirk as he grabbed your bag that was sitting in the corner of the room— clothes you had brought with the intention of changing into after returning to your human form when Lupin fell asleep. He tossed it over to you and you began to change under your robes. As his back was turned to you his mind began to wander. You'd always been attractive, sure, but since you'd always been his rival he hadn't really given you a second thought, especially when he'd been trying to get Lily's attention for ages. But just now, thinking about how downright adorable you looked when you'd yelled at him, something in him shifted. He shook it off quickly, turning to Lupin with a grin he'd managed to put on concernedly fast.

“You cheeky bastard,” he said to Remus, who was furiously changing into a new shirt, “you just wanted her alone, didn't you? Do you really need us to become animagi after all?”

“You're the worst, Potter,” the werewolf glared at him.

“Don't listen to him, Remus,” you grumbled, straightening out your tie as you slipped it on over your shirt, “he's an even bigger idiot than he looks.”

“Are you implying I look stupid?”

“Implying may not be a strong enough word.”

__________________________________________________________

It had taken months of brewing the potion and getting all the necessary preparations in order, but they were finally ready. Remus sat with you in the grass, wand at the ready to undo any untoward transfiguration that happened on accident. Peter, Sirius, and James stood across from you, standing at the edge of a stone ledge about five feet off the ground. You'd said that a leap of faith is what would best trigger their first transformation. They looked nervous, but they were prepared as they'd ever be. Over the last year you had grown considerably closer to the four boys you had miraculously come to know as friends.

“Remember, focus on your emotions,” you said, “you need to pick a strong one, let it fill your body and flow through you. If you block the magic off from any part of your body, it's not going to be pretty.”

“Right, but how do I—”

“James, I swear, I'm really rooting for you to be a mute animal.”

“But how do you choose-”

“Just do it already!”

“Oh, sod it,” James squeezed his eyes shut, not giving himself time to second guess before jumping off the ledge. For a moment he was certain he was about to land face first in the dirt, but then it happened— a moment where time seemed to freeze and his body felt completely weightless. He felt this sensation where his arms and legs vibrated with an intense, foreign energy. Images flashed through his mind in that brief moment in the air; Sirius manically laughing as they ran away from Filch, Remus snapping off a piece of chocolate to offer him after he'd lost Gryffindor a Quidditch match, and, unexpectedly, you. A feeling of warmth spread through his chest, and he grasped onto it, letting it flow through his body like you said. In an instant he felt torso shift, his shoulders narrow, his neck elongate; and when he landed on the ground he still landed face-first as he predicted, but in a completely different form.

He could see you and Lupin in front of him, mouths agape. He was about to say something when he found his vocal chords only allowed him a gruff whine. Shocked, he lifted his head, which felt much heavier than he'd last recalled, and as he looked down at himself he was taken aback to be met with a pair of hooves right beneath him. He staggered to his feet on wobbly legs, of which he now had four. As he tilted his head he could see the shadow of a pair of antlers twisting into brilliant shadows on the grass.

“Potter, you did it!” you exclaimed, “you actually did it!”

“Well how about that,” Remus chuckled, “a stag.”

“It fits him, I think,” you grinned, looking over at Sirius and Peter who looked determined and terrified respectively. “Well go on, it's your turn now!”

Sirius braced himself for the jump, but somehow he found no fear in his system. After seeing James shift in the air right before his eyes, he knew he could do it. He looked over at Peter who was nearly shaking.

“Come on, Peter,” he said, “we'll go together.”

“I-I don't know about this, Sirius,” Peter said, “I'm not ready, I don't think I can do this.”

“It's just a little jump,” Sirius said encouragingly, “you can do this.”

After a few nerve wracking deep breaths Peter gave him the smallest nod one could manage.

“We'll go on three,” Sirius said, “Ready? One—”

“AaHH!”

Sirius shoved Peter off the ledge, knowing he wouldn't jump on his own, before taking the plunge himself. Peter's screams became higher and higher pitched as he shrank at an alarming speed, almost an undetectable size by the time he hit the grass. A small brown rat scurried across the field towards you and Lupin.

The stag in front of you made a sound, dragging his hooves across the grass in what you could imagine as James' unadulterated laughter at his friend.

Sirius began to morph almost as soon as he left the ground, something you were surprised by. He landed on his hind legs, landing gracefully as his front two followed, and a shaggy black dog looked back at you with mischief in its eyes.

You couldn't help but go over and pet him. You laughed as he nudged you with his nose, a resistance that was quickly halted as soon as you started scratching him behind the ears.

“I have to say, I didn't think you would actually manage that on your first try,” you said, secretly prouder than they could have known, “but if anyone could have done it, it's you three stubborn goons.”

James huffed as he saw you continue to pet Sirius, using his antlers to prod the dog out of the way. Sirius barked, lunging at him playfully. It was quite a scene to see the two interact.

“Honestly, this is a pretty solid group,” you said, “you've got James who blends perfectly with the surrounding wildlife so he wouldn't be suspicions, Sirius who could probably do a fair bit of damage as a dog if he needed, and Peter who can fit through small spaces and snoop around the castle virtually undetected.”

“Quite an odd pack,” Remus chuckled.

“Definitely,” you agreed, “but a pack nonetheless.”

And that very week, Remus Lupin was able to spend his first night as a werewolf with his four friends by his side.

__________________________________________________________

“So, how did we choose which animals we turn into?” James had asked you the next day at breakfast, “I specifically tried for a dragon.”

“You don't get to choose,” you rolled your eyes, “You're a stag, that's the end of it. It's pretty much up to chance.”

“I'm sorry, you're telling me I could have turned into a fish and died right there on the ground?!”

“If only,” you sighed dreamily, earning you a playful shove from James. “Alright, it's not completely random, but you're definitely in the unknown the first time you turn,” you went on to explain, “and once you turn for the first time, that's it. That's your animal. A wizard takes on the animagus form of whatever animal most closely resembles their personality. So, a horny bastard for James, a loyal little puppy for Sirius—”

“A bitch for you,” Sirius quipped.

“Never heard that one before,” you scoffed, purposefully messing up his hair.

“Hey, watch it!” he shoved you off him, twisting each of his curls back into form.

“Well, look who's a high maintenance pup,” you chuckled.

Around the same time that year, you finally completed the map. It came together beautifully, each different way of folding the paper revealing a different level of the castle for easy navigation. You'd included the surrounding forests as well as the parts of Hogsmeade that applied for the secret passageways, all of which were marked with symbols and the unique names you'd all come up with. Every student and staff member at Hogwarts had a tiny scroll with their name that appeared in their location. Remus had added the nice detail of including footprints at the last second, so you could see which way they were facing and walking as well. It was fireproof, rip proof, and prone to insulting anyone else who tried to read it. It was the pinnacle of your magical (and slightly illegal) achievement.

“We should write our names on it,” James said, looking down proudly at the finished map, “it belongs to us, after all. We don't want anyone else taking the credit.”

“Yeah, fantastic way to get caught,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “what if Filch comes across it? That's like leaving your signature at a murder scene.”

“You should use code names, then,” you suggested, “I know you guys call Remus 'Moony' as a joke, but I kind of like it.”

The scarred boy blushed lightly at the compliment, a brow raised to his other three friends.

“Alright then, I guess you should all say hi to Rudolph over here,” Sirius said, jutting his thumb in James' direction. The bespectacled boy narrowed his eyes before shooting back.

“Right! And this is my good friend, Snuffles.”

Sirius lunged at him and James swatted him away in laughter.

“Come on, you two,” Remus said, “or we won't put anything down for you at all.”

“I've got an idea for Peter,” you piped in, “When my mom used to garden she said she didn't mind having rats there because their tails resembled worms, which were an old a sign of healthy soil, I know it's odd, but I think Wormtail sounds pretty cool.”

Peter seemed to perk up at your acknowledgment and nodded. It suited him somehow.

“Should we pick animal features too, then?” James mused, “I guess Antlers doesn't really sound that cool. What's another word? Horns? Give me some analogies, guys. What else do they look like?”

“Yours honestly kind of look like a couple of bent forks,” you snickered.

“Prongs?” Sirius snorted, the laughter that followed nearly splitting his sides.

“Oh, go on, what have you got then?” James scoffed.

“I was thinking Padfoot,” Sirius said, “like a dog's paw prints.”

“You know, for someone who was just making fun of code names a second ago you sure have given a lot of thought to yours,” you teased.

“Shove it,” he smirked, “What about you? Can't very well have a second Moony.”

You stared at him in momentary disbelief.

“Me?”

“Well, yeah,” Sirius chuckled.

“We couldn't have done any of this without you,” Remus reminded you with a smile.

“I think you've more than earned an honorary title as one of us,” James said.

“That is, if you want to,” Peter said timidly.

You looked at the four of them, genuinely touched.

“I. . . I don't know what to say,” you smiled.

“You could say 'yes',” James piped up.

“Alright, you loons,” you laughed, “if you leave Severus alone for good, then yes.”

“Hey, I think we've been pretty good about that lately,” James pouted.

“Yes you have,” you admitted, “It's the only reason I bothered to give you the time of day, but this time it's a promise.”

James rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face was undeniable. He'd never admit it out loud, but being friends with you was more fun than messing with Snape ever was.

“Alright, fine. (Y/n) (L/n), I solemnly swear that I will leave tormenting our dear old friend Snivelus behind us forever,” he said dramatically, putting a hand up at his pledge.

“Oh, bother,” you laughed, “the only thing you'll 'solemnly swear' to is that you're up to no good.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“Then that's settled,” Remus smiled, “you'll need a code name too.”

“Let's see,” Sirius hummed in thought, “What other defining features do wolves have besides. . . well, their. . . fangs?”

“They're canines, you numbnut,” you huffed.

“Close enough, I'm writing Fangs.”

“Oi, I didn't agree to that!”

“Too bad, I'm already writing it~”

“Okay, well if that's the stupid name I'm getting saddled with them I'm going to write it myself,” you said stubbornly. You actually didn't mind the name at all.

“Well that's it, then,” James said, “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and Fangs. We could join the bloody circus.”

“All we need is a group name,” you said, half joking.

“We've already got one,” James said proudly.

“Oh? Let's hear it, then.”

“The Marauders.”

“. . .”

You kept your face straight for exactly three seconds before you burst out laughing. The four boys flushed with embarrassment.

“The Marauders?” you chortled, “what are you, pirates?”

“It's what McGonnagall called us the first time we got ourselves into proper trouble,” James defended himself, his cheeks reddening, “You rowdy mob of marauders, she'd said.”

“Huh,” you chuckled, coming down from your laughing fit, “Well, then I suppose that would make this The Marauders Map. I'll admit, it actually kinda has a ring to it.”

And despite your group's joking quips and bickering, they couldn't agree more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait,” Harry said, eyes wide at your story, “So, my dad was an animagus too?”

“Sure was,” you smiled warmly.

“This whole time I thought 'Prongs' was just because his patronus was a stag.”

“Your animagus form is usually the same animal as your patronus,” you explained, “In some very rare cases they can be different, but they work in the same emotionally driven vein of magical ability, so it would make sense that they'd be linked. Your father was extraordinary at both, because as much as he would deny it, he felt everything very deeply.”

Your eyes drifted to the wall opposite you in the living room, and a small but sad smile graced your features.

“Love is often the most powerful emotion a witch or wizard can draw from,” you said softly, “but you already know that.”

Harry followed your gaze over his shoulder. There, posted on the wall among a collage of photographs from the Order was a picture of his mother and father. It was one he'd seen a hundred times, and one he had his own copy of: them in each others' arms in a London park, autumn leaves swirling around them as they danced without any music. Even from this distance he could see the emotion in their eyes as they looked at one another— like they were the only two people in the world.

“Yeah,” Harry said, wiping a stray tear from his eyes, “I do.”

Read chapter 7 here!

Taglist: @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy @calaryssia @aleksanderwh0r3 @juggysgirlfriend @beautifulsweetschaos @kattirin @mialupin1

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magpie-to-the-morning · 3 years

Text

Sundress Season

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k

Tags: Fluff, Domestic af, Hurt/Comfort, Nothing major the Reader got some scratches gardening and Frankie is Concerned, p in v sex, wrap it before you tap it, Size Kink, Sort Of, Exhibitionism, If You Squint, A little, Dirty Talk, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff (plus a little loving smut),Triple Frontier, Frankie “Catfish” Morales, Domestic, Gardening, Outdoor Sex, No Beta

Summary: You and Frankie have just moved into a farmhouse fixer upper and are enjoying the first warm day of spring. A lazy afternoon nap turns into something... more.

Read on Ao3

Leaning the shovel against the white picket fence, you stand back to take an appraising look at your handiwork, squinting against the midday sun. You’ve taken advantage of one of the first truly warm days of spring to plant some blackberry bushes along the boundary of your new home. Sweat slides down your spine and you can already feel a dull ache spreading through your calves and along your forearms, but you toss aside your leather work gloves with a grin, proud of your morning’s work. You brush your hair away from your face with the back of an arm, leaving a trace of dirt along your forehead. “Frankie, come look.”

“One sec.” His answer is muffled, even considering it’s coming from inside the old farmhouse the two of you have just moved into, and you realize he must still be working on the kitchen sink.

You enter the house, surprisingly cool and dim after the sunny warmth outside, and walk to the kitchen. Frankie’s legs jut out from beneath the sink, and all you can see of him are his work boots, khaki pants, and a glimpse of his soft stomach where the rusty red t-shirt he’s wearing has ridden up. You lean against a nearby counter, the smooth stone lip pressing into your lower back, and smile down fondly at him. “How’s the sink coming?”

The house is a dream come true for both of you, but it’s also needed a ton of work both inside and out. You’ve already sanded floors, patched up creaking stairs, painted most of the rooms, and ripped out overgrown hedges that had threatened to take over the yard. Once you’d cleared them out, the yard and gardens became an invitingly open canvas, just waiting for you to make your own.

The two of you had spent several late winter evenings curled up in front of the stone hearth, seed catalogs and plant nursery order slips laid out in front of you, arguing pleasantly over how to cram in every plant both of you want. You’re determined to line the yard with fruit trees and shrubs, while Frankie is surprisingly invested in the beds where he plans to cultivate tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and a variety of herbs. At least you both agreed to leave the large, well-established lilac trees bookending the house, and you’re currently waiting to see who will win the bet about what color the sprawling, thorn-covered rose bushes will be. You’re hoping for a buttery yellow to complement the lilacs, while Frankie is holding out hope that they’ll be the same pale pink as the roses he’d brought you for one of your first dates.

This morning, just when the two of you had made plans to tackle some of the new plantings, the kitchen drain had backed up. You’d decided that job would be better handled by Frankie and headed out to start the landscaping yourself. “Almost there, I just need to…” Frankie’s deep in concentration, and you swear you can almost see him sticking the tip of his tongue out as he focuses. There’s a final sound of metal scraping against metal, followed by a victorious “ha! Try it now.”

“You sure? I don’t want to soak you.”

A muted huff echoes from the space below the sink. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Ok,” you shrug. “Just don’t blame me if you get a faceful of water.” You turn the tap on slowly and watch as the water spirals easily down the drain. “Hey, you did it!”

Frankie braces a hand along the top of the cabinet and pulls himself to his feet. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he teases. “Told you I could do it.”

“My hero,” you say lightly, crossing the floor to kiss his smiling cheek. His scruff scrapes lightly against your face, and you find yourself lingering, especially when he captures your lips for a proper kiss. “Now I can wash some of this dirt off- I feel like I brought half the yard in.” After the hours you spent planting various shrubs and a few small fruit trees, your arms are streaked with dry soil.

“Here, let me help you.”

Frankie steps behind you, his broad form leaning against yours as you stand at the newly repaired sink. His thighs press lightly against your own as his arms encircle your waist. He leans his chin on your shoulder and his messy curls brush against your ear while he begins to run soap over your forearms. You laugh, his efforts mostly just splashing dirty water around, but the cool water is a welcome relief. “Frankie! I can do it myself.”

You can feel him smiling against your neck. “I know, I just- oh.” His voice turns suddenly soft, with a note of worry.

“What is it?”

“Baby, you hurt yourself.” He steps alongside you, examining the delicate skin of your inner arm with a concerned frown. “What happened?”

“What?” You look down and see a few thin, angry red lines streaking the length of your forearms. “Oh, it’s nothing. The blackberry branches were thorny, that’s all.” You’d been wearing one of Frankie’s flannels for a little extra protection, but it had grown too hot and you’d stripped down to just your t-shirt. “It’s fine, they’ll heal fast.”

Despite your reassurance, Frankie ducks into the bathroom while you pat your arms dry with a clean dish towel and comes back holding some ointment. “They’ll heal better with this.” He flips open the cap and looks up, seeking permission.

You nod, unwilling to deny him anything, especially with that melting brown gaze trained on you. It’s not necessary, but you have to admit- you love that he takes such good care of you. Frankie takes his time, gently stroking a dab of ointment over each small scratch. His light touch quickly takes the sting out of your small hurts, and when he’s finished you catch his hands, bring them up to your lips for a grateful kiss. You adore his hands- so much bigger than your own, strong and capable but still so deft. He ducks his head and smiles and your heart clenches with love for this quiet, loving man.

------- After changing out of your dirt-streaked jeans and into a clean sundress (which, of course, Frankie also offered to help with), you head back to the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. The cold glass bottle begins beading almost at once, and you hold it against your slightly sunburnt neck. “I was going to go read in the yard for a bit, care to join me?”

“I’ve got a couple more things to finish up here, you go ahead.” Frankie drops a kiss to your temple as you pass, on your way to get a book and an old quilt to spread out on.

“Ok, see you in a bit.” The old screen door swings shut behind you, bouncing slightly before it catches the latch. A project for another day, you think. The two of you have already done plenty, and for now you just want to enjoy the rest of the sunny afternoon.

You spread your quilt out under a flowering magnolia tree which offers just the right amount of shade and lay down on your back. A light breeze stirs the green grass around you and sets the flowering tree branches swaying, a few pale pink petals raining down. Sunlight dapples your face as you relax, enjoying the surroundings of the garden you and Frankie are making together. The book is good, but you find yourself distracted, listening to nearby birdsong and watching billowing clouds scud across the bright blue sky. With the sun warm on your face, it’s not long before your eyelids are drooping.

-------

When you wake up, shadows are lengthening across the yard and Frankie is sprawled out next to you, having come out and dozed off at some point after you did. You lean into his shoulder, still warm from the heat of the sun, and smile against him. There’s a patch of skin just below his hairline and above his collar, and you lean in to kiss him just there. He tastes faintly of clean sweat and you press your tongue against him, seeking the slight taste of salt.

Frankie stirs and sleepily cracks one eye open. “Can I help you?” Try as he might to sound long-suffering, you suspect he enjoys your touch.

“Nope, I’m good.” You toss your book aside and drape yourself over his back, enjoying the slight movement below you as he shifts to accommodate you. It’s getting a little cooler now as the sun slips towards the horizon, but Frankie’s warm, solid presence grounds you. He tenses a little when you lean your head on his shoulder and you pull back at once. “Is your shoulder still bugging you?” He’d pulled it while you were moving and as hard as you try, you don’t always manage to wrest the heavier chores away from him, so it’s been a slow recovery process.

His answer rumbles quietly from below you. “A little. Working on the sink probably didn’t do it any favors.” You lean up at once, straddling his waist so you can massage his neck and shoulders. “Poor thing, you are tight here.”

He hums in agreement, though you can feel the tension begin to leak out of him as you knead his tense muscles. You work a stubborn knot, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, and as he sighs you can feel him relax further.

You lean down once more, careful to put your weight on your hands, braced against the ground, and drag your mouth lazily over his neck. Your seeking licks turning to more intent kisses and when your teeth close over his pulse point, Frankie lets out a low groan and bucks his hips. You feel the movement all through him, especially where you’re seated against his ass.

“You want me to stop?” You ask teasingly, getting the expected shake of his head in response. You grind slightly against him before returning to nose at his neck. By the time you trace the shell of his ear with your tongue and nip gently at the cartilage, Frankie has had enough.

He rolls the two of you over with a smooth motion that ends with you flat on your back, and him smiling above you. “Oh, are we done fooling around?” You look up playfully. “I can show you the blackberry bushes before-”

He stops your mouth with a kiss, nipping at your lower lip before licking his way into your mouth. Delight shivers through you and you deepen the kiss, your tongues tangling languidly. You run your hand through his tangled curls, scraping your nails against his scalp. This pulls a soft noise from low in Frankie’s throat as he leans into your touch. His nose brushes yours and he nudges your cheek, trails kisses down your jaw.

Heat is pooling low in your belly and you spread your legs to invite him closer. Frankie takes the hint, canting his hips to drag the growing bulge in his pants against your core while you push back into him. “We should head inside,” you gasp as he moves lower, sucking at the delicate skin of your neck.

“We can if you want, but who’s gonna see?” His large hands cup your breasts and he dips his head to brush kisses over their swells. You arch your back, desperate for his touch even as you look around cautiously. He has a point; there’s no neighbor on this side of the house, just a patch of woods, and you’re well back from the road.

“Good point.” You reach down to tug at the hem of his shirt. Grinning, he sits up for a moment to help you. As soon as he’s shirtless he gets straight back to the task at hand. Frankie’s fingers make quick work of the buttons running the length of your sundress and he pulls the fabric aside, exposing the creamy lace of your bra. Your stomach flips at the sweet, eager look on his face. You’ve been together so many times, but he always makes you feel special, cherished. Despite being outside, potentially exposed, you feel completely at ease in his arms.

With a quick glance up to check that you’re ok with it, Frankie unclasps your bra and helps you shrug out of it. The air is slightly cooler now, but his warm, broad palms encompass your breasts before the chill can even register. You sigh as his thumb brushes your nipple, and downright shudder when he wraps his plush lips around the stiffening peak. Your legs are writhing almost of their own accord now as you grow desperate for more. “Frankie,” you groan, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips curve into a smile and his tongue darts out to flick against you. It glides along your swollen bud and your pussy aches for more so you hitch your leg over his hip. Frankie grabs your thigh to hold you close and rolls his hips sinfully against you, drawing a desperate noise from deep in your throat. “You like that, baby?”

You nod frantically. “You know I do. You know it drives me crazy when you put your mouth on me.”

Frankie chuckles and sucks your nipple into his mouth, pulling much of your breast along with it. The tugging sensation sends a bolt of desire straight to your cunt and you whine. You seize his jaw and glare, your eyes blown with lust. “If you don’t touch me soon Francisco I swear I will go inside without you and finish the job myself.”

You’re all talk and Frankie knows it. “I am touching you, sweetheart,” he says innocently.

You give an irritated huff and seize his hand, directing him where you want it. His composure slips when his fingers brush the crotch of your panties, already soaked with your need. His gaze flicks to yours, a lovestruck look in his eyes as he asks softly, “is this all for me?”

Biting your lip you nod. “Yes. I need you Frankie, please .”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby.” Frankie hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them over your legs. You kick them off, nearly sobbing in relief as he drags a single finger through your glistening folds.

Frankie closes his eyes reverently. “Shit honey, you weren’t kidding.” His finger comes away coated in your juices and he sucks it slowly before replacing the digit. He adds another finger, the pads slipping just inside your entrance to collect more of your slick before circling your clit. You tip your head back, grasping his shoulders as he gently fingers your slit. Just when you can’t take it, when you’re ready to beg for more, he pushes those fingers into you, stretching you out perfectly. Mewling, you buck your hips, chasing the feeling of him fucking you open.

“Mm, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Never. Think you can take another?”

“Yeah.” Your answer comes as a breathless whine.

“Good girl.” Frankie adds a third finger and you swear it makes you see stars. He curls his fingers to stroke that spot deep inside and you find yourself skating the edge of your release. You’re so close, could so easily tip right over that edge, but it’s not until you hear Frankie murmur “come for me, beautiful” that you actually do. All that gorgeous tension he’s been winding up unspools in a rush of pleasure, your legs shaking and your hips bucking as he works you through it.

You’ve scarcely begun to come down before Frankie’s blazing a trail of kisses down your belly, his hands gently parting your thighs wider to settle between them, keen concentration suffusing his handsome face.

“Wait,” you breathe, catching his jaw with a deft hand.

Frankie draws back at once, concern creasing a furrow between his brows as he gazes up from between your legs. “Everything ok?”

You sit up, already nodding to reassure him as you draw him forward and kiss him deeply. “Everything’s perfect. I just want to come on your cock this time.”

Frankie looks down at you in amazement before pulling you into a crushing embrace. He tilts your chin up to give you a searing kiss, his arm wrapped around your waist. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath tickling your lips as he rasps “You’re perfect, you know that, right?”

You giggle, moved by the awestruck look on his face, and drop your hands to unbuckle his pants. He’s already barefoot, making it easier to push his pants down, followed by his boxers. You glance around again, reassuring yourself that the coast is clear. Clocking what you’re doing, Frankie chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby, we’re good.”

Smiling a little sheepishly, you nod. “I know. Just protecting your honor.”

Frankie begins to laugh softly but the sound is cut off by a hiss as you lick your palm and wrap it around his shaft. “F-fuck.” His eyes roll back in his head as you tighten your grip, working his cock. You brush your thumb over his weeping slit, collecting the pearly bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Now who’s being a t-tease?”

You look up at him innocently through your lashes. “I don’t know what you mean, Frankie.”

“Sure you don’t,” he huffs, his breathing already picking up. “C’mere, baby.” He pulls at your waist, encouraging you up into his lap.

You’re happy to oblige. With a few quick movements, you’re settled above him, his cock lined up with your entrance. Throwing your arms around his neck, you lower yourself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Frankie buries his face in the crook of your neck and meets you halfway, thrusting up to seat himself fully inside you. He always seems even bigger when you’re on top, and he gives you a moment to adjust to being so well-filled.

“You good?”

“You have no idea.”

He smiles at that, clearly pleased. “Then tell me,” he urges, kissing you just below your ear. “Tell me how much you like me stretching you out on this big dick.”

Your eyes flutter closed at this. He knows what dirty talk does to you, knows exactly when it will be the most devastating. “It feels so fucking good, baby,” you assure him. “You’re so thick and you hit so deep. I can’t get enough, want you even deeper. Please, Frankie.”

He sucks hard at your pulse point, his tongue laving your neck as he begins to thrust up into you. “Anything, baby. I will give you anything you ask for. You know that, right?”

Gasping, you nod quickly. “I know, love. I know.”

His fingers tangle in your hair, his strong arms bracing you as he fucks up into you. You match each thrust, grinding yourself on the base of his cock. The two of you find your rhythm and you lean back, allowing him to hit at an even deeper angle. Frankie leans forward, able to reach your breasts now. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, all wet heat and slick tongue moving against you. You whimper and arch your back, trusting him to support you.

He does.

Frankie’s eyes are screwed shut as he pounds into you, determined to take care of you before finding his own release. Your whimpering cries plateau and he can tell you’re not quite there yet. He rests his forehead against yours without missing a beat, opening his eyes to gaze into yours. “What do you need, baby?” He asks it softly, reverently, his large hands cradling your face as if you’re something holy. With him looking at you like this, you almost feel that way.

“Talk to me, Frankie,” you gasp. “Want to hear how much you like this.”

Your want pulls an answering moan from him. “God, you know I fucking love this. You’re so tight, and you take me so well, baby. I could pound this pretty pussy all day.” He snaps his hips, driving himself deeper inside you as if to prove his point.

Your breathing comes faster, your cunt clenching around him as his words drive you closer to your edge. “Fuck, yes, just like that. I’m so close, baby,” you whine.

Frankie cants his hips, hitting that devastating spot deep inside you. His voice is even huskier as he urges you onward. “You have no idea what hearing that does to me, sweet thing,” he pants, sweat dampening his hairline. He runs the back of his hand distractedly over his forehead. He’s not about to let go before you do and he leans in close, his warm breath ghosting against your ear. “ Come for me. I know you want to. I can feel you clenching around me so be my good girl and come for me, sweetheart . ”

And just like that, a wave of sweet pleasure rolls through you. You clutch his shoulders as the two of you ride it together, Frankie moaning against your lips as he finds his own release.

Your head drops to his shoulder, your limbs quivering as little aftershocks zip through them. Frankie holds your limp form easily, dropping lazy kisses over your face and hair while you drift back to the present. Finally, you draw back, a dazed smile tugging at your lips. You blow out a breath along with a tired, please laugh. “That was-”

Frankie chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, pleased to have pleased you. “I know, baby.” His kisses are easy, unhurried, and still make you feel nearly drunk with happiness as the two of you linger lazily in your afterglow.

By now, the sun is truly setting, the horizon taking on a purple hue as the first evening stars begin to appear. Even in Frankie’s arms, you start to shiver as the breeze whispers over your rapidly cooling skin. In a deft move, he tugs at the edge of the old quilt, rolling the two of you into it, creating a cocoon of private warmth. As the sky darkens and more stars appear, the two of you stay wrapped up in each other, making plans for your future in the peaceful space you’re creating together.

#Frankie Morales x Reader #Frankie Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Morales x You #Francisco Morales x F!Reader #Francisco Morales #Triple Frontier #Pedro Pascal #Fic #My fic #Reblogging to add to masterlist properly #Sundress Season

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anarchy-and-piglins · 4 years

Text

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job.

He supposed that was to be expected when one was tasked to dealing so closely with death and decay. An unending stream of souls passed his path – no similitude between their age or gender, their species, or even the manner with which they had perished. Phil found them and with the touch of a hand helped them to their feet, waving away all mortal burdens so they could pass on.

His task was merely to play the guide, he did not need to do anything beyond that. Who died was not up to him, neither was where they went after. Moral judgment was better left up to the deities, and Phil was not a god. But he could offer some kind of solace in their final moments, wipe the pain from their face and help them depart to whatever it was they were destined for next. Over time he had gathered expertise at comforting the dying.

Some wanted to be held as they died, both arms wrapped tightly around Phil's waist and rapid heartbeat slowing to a tilt. Others talked until they ran out of breath, recounting snippets of the stories they had lived or simply told Phil how scared they were to die with sobs shaking their chest. Then he would wipe away their tears and console them with the knowledge that soon all pain would fade. Others still were content in the silence, their only fear dying alone and forgotten. Phil sat with them in company, humming a song to himself that he hoped eased their way into death.

Then he would touch them carefully, their soul a bright burning like a flame held to his open palm. He would guide them where they needed to go, and not dwell on if their passing was just or not.

People had mistaken him to be the angel of death before, never mind the fact that this title was an oxymoron by nature. Phil knew it probably had to do with his wings, long feathers stretched out behind him in an arch of dark grays and black. It was a wrong assumption people made about him which he regarded with patient allowance, sometimes even aiding the moniker in its spread. He didn't mind if that was what people thought him to be.

But being an angel of death would imply he brought death with him where he went, a harboring of future loss yet to come. On the contrary, Phil felt as if he was always one step behind, chasing a shadow that fled before him and took lives where it settled. He arrived at the battlefield long after the banners had already been torn down, the ground reduced to a jutting landscape of limbs and discarded weapons. He crossed the sea of corpses – detached to the sense of dread such a scene would induce in normal people – and set about guiding the soul he had been tasked to find onward.

The sight of a man barely into his thirties, frightened expression frozen on his face when the javelin had been driven into his chest, made his heart clench.

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job, no. But it was an obligation that needed to be filled, and he had been the one chosen to do so.

He only strayed from that path a handful of times.

The first time he did, the sunlight was bright. The air was filled with an sense of exhilaration, the rushing of people along cobblestone streets and children shrieking as they played between their parents' legs. Phil drew his robe closer around himself; even after all this time he was filled with unease.

His work didn't often call him to places so full of life – so full of happiness – unless something terrible was about to happen. And he braced himself for the consequences.

But instead, the pull on his soul was languid, small tugs towards the town's bustling square. A slow death then, somebody slipping away into old age? He traced his eyes along the houses, wondering if that was all it was. Natural causes rarely needed his services. Souls that passed on in a tranquil fashion wouldn't require guidance to find the afterlife. It was those that struggled with accepting death that concerned his labor.

Instead, his gaze fell on a shape standing hunched over on the edge of the square and Phil felt his heart drop.

The boy couldn't be too old, barely a teenager to most. His matted, curly dark hair was half-hidden under a beanie and his long legs were slightly shaking beneath his thin frame. Despite the tremble, he was playing an old guitar, deft fingers moving smoothly along the string. As Phil approached he could hear the music the boy was playing, a tune of his own devising no doubt. Phil liked it.

The crowd must not agree. The boy's basket, a small thing with cloth at the bottom to keep coins from falling through the cracks, was empty. People hurried past, barely giving the musician a second glance, and even if they stopped to watch him play for a moment, they didn't leave a contribution behind. Humans could be disgustingly selfish like that.

As Phil observed more closely he could tell why he was here.

How long had the boy been doing this? Traveling around from town to town and settling only long enough to play his music in the hopes some would take pity on him and offer money for his skill. Whatever luck he had found must have been few and far between. His bones were too visible beneath the skin, his cheeks hollowed out and sunken. Bright eyes that Phil somehow knew were supposed to spark with life had become dull in the face of malnutrition.

And still the boy was playing.

After a few minutes more – during which Phil simply watched – the boy grew too tired to continue much longer. He sunk down onto his knees with a sigh, the guitar cradled in his lap protectively. The only valuable possession he was most likely to have. His shoulders sagged as he pushed a hand against his empty stomach, scrunching his face up from what Phil assumed must be pretty horrible hunger pains. He didn't seem to have the strength to raise his head again.

Phil approached, tipping his hat in the belief that it would make him seem less threatening to the starved teen. "That was some lovely playing."

With strenuous effort, the boy looked up at him and despite the circumstances, offered him a lopsided grin. From up closer, Phil could tell how young he really was. "Thanks man, I wrote it myself."

Just as he had expected. It pulled at Phil, the physical thrumming of a soul about to leave its body as it succumbed to starvation. And it was cruel, as the humans behind them walked along the town square, buying food from stands and trading for gold. Meanwhile, a child sat here starving because there was nobody to look after him.

A sharp inhale from Phil to ground himself. Time slowed down around them as he unfurled his wings, all other movement slowing down by the molasses-like pull of his power. Only the boy would be able to see, but his eyes widened nonetheless.

"Oh," he said, a small sigh of resignation. He didn't seem surprised. "You're here to take me away right?"

"I am," Phil confirmed quietly. He wasn't too used to people staying this calm in the face of his true form.

The boy smiled again, more timid and broken through by exhaustion not of his age. He had already reconciled with what was about to happen. Phil knelt down in front of him.

"Are you scared?"

"I guess not," the boy answered. "There's just... just a lot more I wanted to do, you know?"

Phil couldn't. He couldn't know because he had been immortal since the first dawn. He had no grasp on the concept that was the painfully human fear of running out of time. But he nodded anyway. Holding out his hand, he hesitated only a moment before touching the tips of his fingers to the boy's forehead.

His soul glowed dimly in his ribcage, proof that he was running out of life. The color was a stunning yellow, woven through with odd traces of blue. Like a sunrise being steadily overtaken by the noon sky. Within lay the power of creation, the power to bring words and music to completion. Phil didn't know what came over him, but he felt pity for this boy's death.

Then he felt it. The push was subtle, a tingle down his spine and he leaned into it, wondering what would happen. How painful it would be for him. "What's your name?" he asked.

The boy opened his eyes, slipped close from fatigue. "Wilbur."

Phil pushed harder and the horrible feeling of draining that came over him was hard to bear. Dizzy as it made him, he kept at it. Emptiness washed over him, but then he noticed the way Wilbur's eyelashes fluttered, the way his chest heaved in for a deep breath.

Returning life to a mortal had been a first for him.

Wilbur blinked wearily, probably confused by his sudden surge of energy. The absent hunger that had plagued him for weeks. "Wha-"

"Wilbur," Phil said softly, as time resumed its restored flow around them. His wings had been retracted and Phil stood with a feeling like he had permanently lost something important. "How would you like to travel some more? With me."

The second time he did it, the world was struck through with red.

Phil huffed to himself and removed his hat to fan his face with it instead. He quite despised being sent into the nether – something that had only occurred on rare occasions.

It wasn't that his services weren't appropriate to this dimension. Death permeated this place more than any other he had visited during his travels, naturally dangerous terrain and many hostile creatures making it an unwelcoming venture. But the few sentient beings that lived and thrived in the nether did not have the same qualms with death as most did, not fearing it as the end of all things temporary.

Some even revered it as the final blaze of glory to be feverishly sought after.

Most passed on easily, with fervor. It rarely occurred to them to resist the pull of the beyond or make the transition harder than it needed to be.

Not this time apparently. Phil traveled the cracked ground, the unpleasant heat of the lava running beneath it keeping him light on his toes. The pull was strong this time, an urgent tugging like a fish hooked on a line, meaning that whoever was dying had to be in considerable pain. He felt their panic, something bordering on sharp-set denial. A warrior not prepared to lay down his sword?

The boy he found was not a warrior.

In fact, he was barely old enough to hold a sword without the weight of it crushing him. He did have a blade, tiny fist curled tightly around the iron hilt. When he spotted Phil he clutched it firmly and raised it in an ill-concealed threat. Or maybe a gesture of self-preservation.

The warning held little weight when the boy was clearly making an effort to keep standing on his feet. Long strands of pink hair stuck to his face and back – slick with sweat and blood. Fresh cuts and bruises were hardly distinguishable from older scars and the signs of battles wrought long ago. The deepest gash ran along the boy's side and over his chest, still seeping red and probably soon to be fatal. Phil frowned.

"Hey, calm down." He held up his arms placatingly. "I'm not going to hurt you." Not technically a lie, of course.

The boy grunted at him, a low visceral noise that could hardly be called human. Phil realized why a moment later, as he stepped closer and finally realized the person in front of him wasn't human either. Maybe he could be mistaken for one at a glance – aside from the peculiar color of his hair – but upon closer inspection, the illusion quickly fell through.

Sharp claws extended from the hands he used to hold his sword up with and what Phil had mistaken for clunky old shoes turned out to be hooves instead. piglin-like ears were barely visible through the boy's hair and when he made another angry sound, the beginnings of tusks yet to grow in completely revealed themselves. Well, that explained why a child would be all alone in this hellhole.

Another step forward and that was the moment Phil realized that if this child was not human his common tongue would probably not be understood. He was just starting to scour his brain for some distant knowledge of the piglin language he must surely possess when he was hit square in the forehead with a stone.

Phil yelped, blinking just in time to see the kid run off.

Well, that had certainly never happened before. Most of the people he was sent to collect didn't have the stamina left to try and outrun him. Not that it made a difference anyway, as the pull of his soul would inform him of their location no matter how far they went.

A few minutes later he already came upon the boy again, this time lying face-down on the ground, blood loss finally getting the better of him. His sword was still clutched at his side. Phil stalked over calmly, hoping to anticipate any other projectiles coming his way but the child was probably in no condition to try that stunt again. Kneeling at their head, Phil turned them around carefully.

The child's burning red eyes were half-lidded in pain and every inhale rattled inside his chest unsteadily, troubled by his slowing pulse. he was dying fast. Yet when Phil brought his hand forward the kid's own came up to snatch his wrist, pulling weakly at his arm.

It wasn't exactly fear that contorted the boy's face, Phil had seen enough people cower at the prospect of death to recognize the cowardice with which most people faced their demise. This was something else. This was resistance in its purest form, a survival instinct that ran deeper than blood could. The boy let out a subdued whine, lacking the energy for anything more, as he tried to push Phil's hand away or get free from his grip.

Once again Phil felt that familiar pity tug at him.

He pushed through the kid's feeble struggle to touch his forehead, feeling the pulsing of his soul. It became a visible swirl of misty blood, the colors presented in all shades of red - from lightest pink to a maroon so dark it seemed to steal the light away. Phil had to bite down on his own tongue when the first wave of hurting hit him.

He was familiar with pain, but mending another and bringing them from the brink of death was entirely new. It burned along Phil's veins, a liquid fire not unlike the scorching sulfur of the nether itself. The boy shifted a bit in his grasp before finally settling down and slipping into sleep, the worst of his wounds gone. Phil lifted him as he stood up, noticing he weighed next to nothing.

The stinging sensation lingered inside his nerves as he carried the child out of the nether.

The last time he did it was on a dark and stormy night.

The rain came down on Phil relentlessly, soaking his clothes and hair both. Thick droplets clung to his face and he had to wipe at his eyes continually to even be able to see three feet in front of him. He hated this, he'd much rather stay inside on an evening as miserable as this. But when the pull called Phil would answer. It wasn't like he had a choice.

And it was strange, weak in its force but forming almost a mirror image of echoes in his ribcage. Phil wasn't used to that happening often, cautious as to what it would mean. Souls rarely passed in such unison, a synchronized entwinement. The last time he had experienced this he found a mother in labor, alone and afraid as she tried to birth her child into this unforgiven world. Neither had survived the ordeal.

Phil had soothed himself with the knowledge that they would be united in the afterlife.

This pull was slightly different though, and he followed it strangely as it led him deeper into the forest. Any moment he expected a building to dawn in front of him, a secluded cabin or some other sign of civilization. The thicket never thinned out and no light filtered through a window appeared on the horizon. The pull intensified and Phil swallowed, aware of what this meant.

There were two of them, curled up close into each other to conserve their dwindling body heat. The smaller boy was unconscious, clinging to life with some stray strings of determination fast slipping away, brown hair wet and stuck in angles to his face. The other seemed to be of similar age and had blonde hair he rubbed out of his eyes. He perked his head up as he heard Phil's approach, and curled his arms tighter around the other one in a clear display of protectiveness.

Phil stood across the clearing and stared at them.

Part of him wanted to ask what they were doing out here – even if it didn't matter, even if they were already dying from the exposure to cold wearing their bones down. Stealing the heat of life from their very skin as they clung to each other in idle hope.

He didn't need to ask, however. The clothes they wore were telltale of the many orphanages Phil had needed to visit over his life, the way the fabric always seemed to come inches short and the shoes were loose on their feet, worn by a child they were not intended for. Nobody had bothered to give them proper care.

"Who's there?!" the boy who was still awake said, voice firm and puffed up with false bravado. Phil could sense the fright hiding beneath, but the boy was doing well subduing it.

He made his presence known, keeping his wings invisible for the moment as to not scare them any further. "Hey, it's okay kid-" Phil tried, volume as low and unthreatening as he could make it while still being loud enough to be perceivable over the storm. The rain made him blink fast, trying to force a smile despite the unpleasant wetness.

"Stay the fuck away!" The boy sprung up with surprising agility for somebody who must be suffering from serious hypothermia. He had a small pocket knife, the blade dull and glistening in the moonlight, which he held in front of him as if it could protect anybody. "Don't come any closer, you weirdo!"

The last word caught Phil off guard and he nearly burst out laughing. "Weirdo?"

The kid bit his lip, probably thrown by his strange reaction. "Y-yeah. Why else would some dude just be wandering the woods at night? You must be some kind of creep." He moved the knife again, but there was no urgency behind it.

He wasn't shivering either, which was a bad sign. Once you got cold enough, your body couldn't even muster the strength to shake. The unconscious boy sighed out a soft sound of discomfort and the other turned around, hastily scooting over to try and rub his friend's arms warm.

"T-tubbo, dude, don't-" he was muttering under his breath.

"What happened?" Phil asked despite himself. He knew it wouldn't help to know.

"It's none of your fucking business!" the boy answered heatedly, but his voice was already breaking down. A few more steps closer and Phil could see the tears streaking down his cheeks. He pressed both hands to his friend's face, shaking him lightly. "Tubbo, please get up we need to leave."

The smaller boy – Tubbo – murmured something but didn't wake up. Phil could tell he was already done for. The other one would be shortly behind.

He hated how the pity swelled up again, bitter and destructively human.

"I can help," he heard himself saying, and unfurled his wings to their full stature. The rain slowed, suspended in the air and the boy looked at him with weary eyes, equal measures of concern and hesitance. "Do you have a name?"

The boy started shaking his head as if he was reluctant to give it up. But then he thought better of it. "Tommy," came the clipped response.

"Tommy," Phil repeated. "May I help you? May I help your friend?"

That same uncertainty returned to his face, brow furrowed in thought and his eyes moved side to side, scrutinizing Phil's form and most likely weighing his options. He must have realized any other plans had been exhausted and gave a short nod.

Phil moved in gradually to show he meant no harm. Tommy still had most of his body put in front of Tubbo, still shielding him in case this turned out to be a bad decision. He flinched when Phil stretched out his hand, which he pretended not to notice.

His soul was almost effervescent, murky green like the shallow waters and mingles of orange and red. It seemed to move beneath Phil's touch, curious as to what was happening. Tommy's skin was clammy and cold as ice.

Feeling that same coldness in his gut, Phil pushed life into the soul. The warmth of divine light flooded out of him, tethered on the edge and he tried not to shiver under the assault, the hollow feeling that entrapped him. Tommy's paleness drew away with his efforts.

When he was done he took off his robe, soaked but at least another barrier against the wind as he threw it over Tommy's shoulders. The boy was wide-eyed, freckles dotted along his nose, and probably confused as to what was even happening. Phil eased him with a gentle smile.

"Now your friend too, yes? You can both come to my home, it will be much better there than out here in the rain."

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job, but he enjoyed the gifts it had granted him.

His wings and the ability they gave him to travel. He had crossed wild lands and sullen deserts. He had passed by oceans and beneath skies of colors unimaginable to most. The world had lain beneath him sprawled out like a patchwork blanket as he soared the clouds, everything below so small he could hardly imagine it being real.

He had witnessed generations. He had seen the best that others could offer – and yes, the worst too but he had made the conscious decision not to dwell on that. He had known cultures and kingdoms, tasted foods and danced to music and admired flowers that had long since been forgotten to the history books.

And now he had a family too.

Phil had paid his dues. Immortality was a strange thing, a blanket that wrapped around you and made you forget you were different from others. Age never touched Phil and it still couldn't, but other things had been granted that ability.

Hunger and thirst, where it used to be that neither bothered him. When feasts were a mere indulgence instead of a necessity, they were now an aspect of survival. A blade could cut him down, where it could hardly slice his skin before. He was not invulnerable to the destroying of his body anymore. And cold and heat became a constant struggle, tiredness pulled at his mind and Phil found himself craving and needing sleep when he never had previously.

His family had made him more human than he expected, in every sense of the word.

But when he looked at them around his table, joking and laughing in jest, the radiation of souls alive and well, Phil knew it was a price he had gladly paid.

#philza #wilbur soot #technoblade #tommyinnit #tubbo #dream smp #mcyt #shara writes #psukhopompos phil #Posted this on AO3 too so if this doesn't read as easy go there uwu #long fic

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buckleysjareau · 4 years

Note

this has been living rent free in my head pls go crazy with it

eddie trying to patch up buck’s wounds after he’s slightly injured on a call and buck saying he can do it himself, maybe eddie saying “well i’m willing to take care of you, i want to” at some point

unconditional, unadulterated / 1.8k you did tell me to go crazy...

It happens just as there’s a flashover. Buck just barely makes it out the front entrance of what used to be a two story home when the flashover happens and thanks to the adrenaline, there’s only a dull pain in his calf from landing on it rough during his escape. Even as Hen asks if he’s hurt anywhere, the ache— he wouldn’t even call it a pain— wasn’t even enough to mention.

As the adrenaline wears off, though, he realizes that it’s a little more than just an ache. It starts to hurt a touch more even as it’s resting on top of his turnout coat placed on the floor of the truck. It sucks but it’s manageable, nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. He only has to finish out the last hour of his shift then he can go home and ice it.

His optimism is dulled when the instant he puts pressure on it to walk he has to bite his tongue to keep from screaming at the pain that shoots up from his ankle to his knee. He swallows any more noises of discomfort as he tries not to noticeably limp to his gear rack, already knowing he’s not in the mood for Bobby to scold him for hiding an injury.

Which he’s not. He doesn’t think there’s any reason to say anything because he wasn’t injured. He was told that he’d might have pain flare ups for the rest of his life, this wasn’t new to him.

Except for the fact that it wasn’t a random flare up. He’d irritated an old injury by landing on it hard and there was a possibility, a small one, but still a possibility that it was injured. Finding even the thought of going to the hospital right now less than desirable is what’s keeping him from speaking up about the possibility.

“You alright, man?” Eddie’s voice pulls him out his head and it’s only then he realizes just how rough his breathing is as he tries to toe off the other boot.

He forces a smile that he hopes doesn’t resemble the grimace he thinks it does. “Yeah, never better. Tired though, that one took a lot out of me.”

Luck must be on his side tonight because Eddie doesn’t push him. There’s a little bit of disbelief in his eyes but he doesn’t push it.

Thankfully there’s no calls in the last hour of his shift and he didn’t have to move his leg until it was time to clock out. The desire to be home, in his bed, with his leg iced and elevated was almost immeasurable. He’d spent the last hour of his shift internalizing the worry that something could be hurt and if this shift alone wasn’t enough to fully drain him, the overthinking definitely helped.

He looked around him to see if anyone was around to catch him letting his guard down enough to limp and breathed out a sigh of relief when the only two people down there were people coming in from B shift. As he gets dressed into his civvies, he takes advantage of the empty locker room to openly wince and hiss whenever he’d put pressure on his leg.

He grits his teeth mid groan when Eddie walks in.

Please don’t say anything please don’t say anything please don’t say anything

“Hey, do you wanna follow me back to my place? Christopher has been dying to show you his new video game.” Eddie pauses before he smirks. “Well, I think what he said was more along the lines of he’s dying to crush you at his new video game.”

He wants to say yes, more than anything, but he just didn’t have the energy to pretend his leg wasn’t on fire the rest of the night.

Buck sighs. “Any other night I would, you know that, but I really think I just need my bed tonight.”

Something flashes in Eddie’s eyes but disappears quick enough for Buck to decipher it. “If there was something wrong, you’d tell me, right?”

Buck tries to reason with the guilt that comes when he promises Eddie that he absolutely would tell him if there was something wrong because it wasn’t a lie. Nothing was wrong, he was just in a little bit of pain. Like he kept telling himself, it wasn’t anything he hasn’t dealt with before.

The effort it took not to limp or cry out in pain as Eddie walked out with him was enough to drain him for the rest of the week.

And even as he wants to just cut off his own leg at that point, he can’t stop his heart from fluttering or his cheeks from reddening when Eddie waves at him as he drives away.

He focuses on the way Eddie makes him feel soft as he drives home instead of how bad it’s going to feel to walk up the stairs to his bed. It’s enough to get him home but by the time he’s unlocking his door, he’s out of breath from the walk from the elevator to his door.

He’s four steps up when the pain just becomes too much and he yells out as he collapses on his stairs.

As he squeezes his leg in hopes the pressure will help ease the pain he wishes he’d told someone he was hurt. He regrets not telling Bobby when he’d noticed it was more than an ache.

What if it’s another clot? It could very well be a blood clot, he’s been off of the blood thinners for a few months. Oh my God, Maddie is going to be so pissed.

He vows to never hide an injury again if he lives through this.

Then he realizes that the pain lessens just a little and he thinks maybe he can calm down because the pain that came with blood clots didn’t tend to simmer. Maybe he’s not dying and maybe the worst of the pain was over.

He’s too focused on massaging the pain away to hear the door open or the footsteps that made their way to him.

“I knew something wasn’t right.”

Buck startles, head snapping up at the sound of his best friend’s voice. When did he get here?

“Eddie? Why are you here?”

The brunette shakes his head, paces twice, then kneels in front of Buck. “I knew you were acting weird after that call. I saw the way you landed on your leg.”

“I’m,” a painful jolt that shoots up his leg cuts him off. “I’m fine, Eds.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, you look real fine.”

“Not fake fine?” He can’t help himself from replying, grinning at the exasperated look on Eddie’s face.

He rolls his eyes before he stands and grabs onto Buck’s elbow. “C’mon, up you go!”

“No, no, Eddie… I can’t walk on it. Not like this.”

“You don’t have to. You’re gonna lean on me, okay? I won’t let it touch the floor.” He holds out his pinkie and Buck can’t stop the blush rushing to his cheeks at the treatment. He braces himself as he uses his upper body strength and Eddie as leverage to stand. Eddie threw his arm over his shoulder and gripped his side to keep him upright.

“Good?”

“Good.”

The journey to get from the stairs to his couch is a bit rocky at first but Eddie keeps his promise to not let it touch the floor.

“Now, do you have any pain medication you still take in case of flare ups?”

“Uh, no, not anymore. I just use Tiger Balm usually but we’re shit out of luck there. I ran out the last time this happened.”

Eddie’s expression softens, a grin adorning his face as he pulls something out of his jacket pocket. “Maybe not.”

He holds up a thing of Tiger Balm and if Buck wasn’t already in love with Eddie Diaz, that sight alone would have done it.

Eddie picks up on Buck’s expression before he can even ask the question. “Like I said, I knew something was off after the way you landed on that call so I stopped at the drugstore before I came here.”

Don’t tear up don’t tear up don’t tear up

Instead of handing it to Buck like he expected him to, Eddie is careful as he sits on the couch next to him and motions for him to move his leg towards him.

Buck scoots back and carefully moves his bad leg to rest on the couch instead of his coffee table. Eddie takes special care not to hurt him more than he was already hurting, whispering apologies whenever Buck winces. By the time he’s done maneuvering his leg it’s bent at the knee and the area where he feels the most pain is closest to Eddie.

“Does this feel any worse?”

Buck just shakes his head.

Between the soft look on Eddie’s face, his tender touches, and being so attentively cared for, Buck is left speechless.

“Eddie… you don’t have to do this. I can do this myself.” Buck has to stop himself from moaning when he massages a certain spot. “You should be home with Christopher.”

“I don’t have to, but I want to, okay?”

The way he says it is so tender and Buck’s heart flutters in his chest.

“Eds, that’s sweet, but you really don’t have to do this.”

Buck tenses when Eddie’s hand finds his and rubs a thumb over his knuckles that completely relaxes him.

“Buck, I’m willing to take care of you. This isn’t a hardship for me, okay? I want to do this, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. You always take care of me and it’s about time I return the favor so… let me help you?”

No amount of yelling at himself not to tear up stops the tears from blurring his vision. He’s so used to taking care of himself, he’s so used to dealing with the all encompassing pain alone and he never let himself feel the want of someone to care for him so he didn’t have to. Not until now, not until Eddie.

Eddie abruptly stops rubbing his leg and Buck whines at the loss of contact. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Buck shakes his head. “No one’s ever cared for me like this before. No one but you.”

He doesn’t flinch when a hand cups his cheek using their thumb to wipe away Buck’s tears.

“No one.”

“Well you better get used to it, Buck, because I care about you. So much. You don’t have to suffer alone anymore, okay? Just say the word.”

“I love you.” He blurts out.

Even with his eyes screwed shut from embarrassment Buck can hear the sincerity in Eddie’s voice as he repeats the sentiment.

His leg is long forgotten, the pain back to a dull ache.

The only things Buck feels are Eddie’s lips on his and unconditional, unadulterated love.

#it's not exactly what you asked for but i hope you like it!#this turned out way softer than i planned for it too #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 #my fics #my writing

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incorrectbandofbrothersquotes · 3 years

Text

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 6

Adore You

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 4.2k

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @iilovemusic12us @hesbuckcompton-baby @tvserie-s-world @whovian45810 @50svibes If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update!

Warning(s): The beginning of this is just a touch NSFW, but nothing explicit. Also, mentions of abuse and later abortion.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

AO3 link

Chapter 6 here we go!!!

Sunlight pooled into the room above the Blue Boar, warming the skin of the two bodies tangled up in the sheets upon the bed. It illuminated for Juliet all the places Ron had touched her the night before, the memory of it as electrifying and sensual as the moment itself. She stirred to look up at his sleeping face, goosebumps erupting over her as she recalled the number of times she’d whined his name as he drew climax after climax out of her. It made her squirm against him now from her spot tucked into his side. No one had ever made love to her like that before, and she found herself hungry for more already.

To steady herself, she listened to his heart, counting the beats coming steady and strong. It didn’t help quell the ache between her thighs because she just remembered bracing herself against that firm chest as she straddled and rode him. Face growing warm with all the images of their tryst, she shifted again. This time, enough to wake him.

“Morning,” he said, voice raspy with sleep. “‘M surprised you’re up. Must not have done my job right.”

“Believe me, you did more than enough,” she returned, pressing her lips to his chest, right beside the faint marks from her fingers. Her own voice was a bit hoarse as well, but she had used it quite a bit during the evening.

“I see,” he smirked. “You want more then.”

Very few people could make Juliet Fletcher blush, but that made her cheeks burn. He was right after all. Even with everything they had done, she was eager to have him again. And again and again and again…

“Shut up,” she grumbled.

“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “Tell me what you’d rather I do with my mouth.”

She giggled at that, biting her lip as she considered his offer. “I want it on mine.”

True to his word, he said nothing, but pulled her close for a deep, heated kiss. Their lips were still slightly swollen from the night before, but it didn’t stop them. There was no rush this morning, just gentle exploration, soft moans, and slow hands.

As his mouth trailed from her jawline to her collarbone, he stopped, something on her skin standing out to him - something he hadn’t noticed in the night. A circular, red scar where her collarbone met her shoulder. He gently touched it with his index finger.

“Birthmark?” he guessed, but something in his gut told him he was wrong.

She shook her head. “Scar. The cigar was a pretty typical threat for Dad, but he made good on it once when I got carried away with back chat. And Billy wasn’t around.”

His face shifted just slightly when his jaw stiffened and his mouth turned down. “How old were you?”

“Ten,” she told him. “I don’t even remember what I said or why we were fighting. But I remember the pain, that’s for sure.”

He met her gaze. “You’re awfully casual about something like that.”

“It was so long ago,” she returned with half a shrug. “Honestly, I forget it’s there most of the time. And he’s gone now.”

The way she averted her eyes told him it bothered her more than she was letting on, but he didn’t pry. Instead, he pressed his lips to the scar in a display of tenderness that nearly took her breath away. It did not erase what her father had done, but it felt more healed than it ever had before.

After their morning round, they decided they needed food or they’d never be able to keep this up. So they headed downstairs.

Juliet hummed through most of breakfast, which was a stroke to Ron’s ego, but he didn’t mention it. He just watched her pop a bit of food into her mouth and do her little in-seat dance that was fucking precious in his opinion and appreciated that he was with her. It seemed odd that the last time they’d had breakfast, they were perfect strangers. Just a few weeks later, they knew each other...well, intimately.

“Why the book?” he asked suddenly.

She looked at him mid-bite into some toast. “Hm?”

“Why did the book make you kiss me?” he said.

“It really wasn’t the book to be perfectly honest,” she said, setting the toast back on her plate. “It was what you did to get it.”

He cocked his head to the side questioningly as he took a sip of his coffee.

“The whole making up multiple bidders, and choosing Humphrey Bogart as the winning name,” she explained. “And then how much you paid for it. No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.”

“No way,” he returned. “Not even when you were engaged?”

She shook her head. “Arthur was...a very self-centered man. He wasn’t unkind, but he had a role he wanted me to fulfill. And I was expected to do it without him putting in any effort to keep me there. I think...he always thought I was lucky to have him. So he never took on any grand gestures.”

“I’d hardly call bidding on your book a grand gesture,” he replied, unsure what else to say to that. Putting effort into someone you liked? Wasn’t that setting the bar a little low? That felt like the bare minimum. He had always thought of love as two people sort of earning each other, and continuing to prove that they cared.

“It was to me,” she said, her voice soft and just a smidge quieter than usual. Which told him she was really touched by what he’d done. It didn’t surprise him since apparently the only man who had never let her down was her brother. “Thank you.”

“Well, don’t get too mushy, I mostly did it so I can make fun of you,” he said, lightening the mood.

She snorted. “You’ll get loads of material from that, trust me.”

“You’re not afraid of what I’ll find?” he asked.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she shot back, a determined gleam in her eye.

For a moment, he believed her. She did seem to put almost her whole self out there for the world to see, so ready to take a risk. With the father she had and the heartbreak she’d endured, it would have been especially understandable for her to be afraid of everything and everyone. But she took the world head on, and had even opened herself up to him, without once asking him for any sort of promise for a future. She was so remarkable to him, he just sat back and admired her. Until she froze and the color drained from her face.

“Jules?”

She didn’t answer him, she only stared at a spot on the table, eyes fixed on something in the middle. He followed her gaze and saw a small spider, maybe a couple centimeters long, creeping across the wood.

“Juliet?”

“Fucking shit!” she cried, leaping from her seat. The chair scraped against the floor before toppling onto its side as she scampered away, pressing her body into the wall on the other side of the pub. “Ron, you have to kill it!”

He gaped at her, utterly astounded. “Are you serious?”

Her ghost-like complexion told him she was, but she nodded her head anyway, eyes wide with paralyzing fear.

“Spiders?” he questioned. “That’s what gets you?”

“They’re creepy!” she insisted. “It’s perfectly normal to be -”

“It’s the size of a -”

“I DON’T GIVE A GOOD GODDAMN HOW BIG IT IS, RON, JUST KILL THE BLOODY THING!”

Resisting the urge to laugh, he picked up a napkin and slapped it down over the spider, wiping it away before balling it up and walking it over to a trash bin to dispose of the remains. When the coast was clear, he approached her and she shuddered.

“Ugh, I still feel it on me,” she said.

“It never touched you,” he reminded her.

She scowled. “Look at my face.”

“I am looking at your face.”

“Does it look like I want to be sassed?”

“It does not.”

“Then keep your little opinions to yourself.”

“Not an opinion,” he returned. “It really didn’t touch you.”

“What did I just say?” she shot back.

“You’re being unreasonable,” he said.

“Okay, and?”

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s just finish breakfast.”

“No way!” she cried. “I’m not going back over there, what if there are more of them?”

“There aren’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually, I was just there.”

“Can’t we just leave?” she asked.

“Juliet, I promise if there are any more spiders, I will kill them just as swiftly and mercilessly as this one,” he said. “Let’s finish our meal.”

She eyed him skeptically, as if at any moment he would open up his jacket to reveal a secret stash of spiders just waiting to assault her, but he only held out his hand. Reluctantly, she took it and allowed him to lead her back to the table. He resumed his seat right away, but she inspected hers first. Satisfied there were no more spiders, she sat.

He sipped his coffee. “So, is it just spiders or all bugs?”

“Spiders, mostly,” she answered. “Other bugs I can take care of myself.”

“Why spiders, then?”

“It’s just a thing,” she said with a shrug. “I can’t explain it.”

He could have argued there was a lot about her that couldn’t be explained, but decided against pointing that out. He just took another sip of coffee. She reached for her fork.

“Juliet, wait!” he said urgently. “I think I see another one!”

She screamed and hurled the fork away from her. It soared over to the adjacent table and clattered onto it before skidding to a stop. She looked over at it, chest heaving with her frightened breaths. Incidentally, it was free of any creatures. She glowered at Ron and the infuriating smirk on his face.

“That’s not funny,” she grumbled.

“It’s a little funny,” he returned.

“I loathe you right now.”

“I can live with that.”

She snatched his fork from in front of him and used it instead. “You’re a bully.”

“Eat your eggs,” he replied.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she retorted.

He shot her a steely look, and she stuck her tongue out at him before taking a bite of her eggs. She chewed and swallowed.

“That’s a good dad look you’ve got there,” she said. “D’you use it on your subordinates?”

“Dad look?” he questioned.

“Y’know, the stern look,” she said. “You pull it off well.”

“You seeing that as paternal is only a little bit disturbing,” he replied.

“That’s fair,” she conceded. “I didn’t have the best example.”

“I’d say you probably had one of the worst,” he said.

“Wouldn’t fight you there.”

“To answer your question, if my men disappoint me, I make it known, in whatever way the situation calls for,” he said.

“That’s...vague,” she said.

He only shrugged again before he changed the subject. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“I’m actually taking the train to Trowbridge to interview the defense attorney for the Lee case,” she said. “I should be back by this evening, though.”

“You want some company?” he offered. “We don’t have any training going on today.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Sure,” he said. “Despite your attitude, I kinda like spending time with you.”

“Flattering,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I actually...would love that. Thank you.”

Once again, something so basic was - to her - going above and beyond. It was clear to him that Juliet had become accustomed to a certain level of interest in her, and it was low. He hoped to prove otherwise.

***

Trowbridge was not much bigger than Aldbourne, there was just more going on since it was the capital of the county. Juliet was meeting the defense attorney at his office, and she confessed to Ron she was a bit nervous about the interview. He wasn’t an attorney that worked for the government, he was in private practice. His name was Harvey Cooper, and when Juliet had done some background on him, she discovered he was well-known for cases like the Lee case. He had actually sought out Meredith Fisher when the police report came through about Peggy’s body. There was a lot that could go wrong, but Ron reminded her that there was also a lot that could go well.

They arrived at the office, where they were greeted by a secretary. Harvey emerged from his office with a smile that would have been more appropriate for a salesman than a defense attorney for a murder case. He shook Juliet’s hand, accepted without question that Ron was her photographer, and took them back to his office. He gave a brief, cheerful tour of the place, explaining that he’d done some updating, but was limited because of the war. Juliet and Ron exchanged a surprised look at the man’s chipper disposition.

“Well, Miss Fletcher, I must say I’m surprised you’re working this story,” Harvey said as they all took seats in his office, Juliet and Ron on one of the desk, and Harvey on the other. “I read some past issues of the London Pursuit, and saw you were an entertainment writer.”

“Yes,” she said gracefully. “I got a bit of a promotion, you see, with the majority of the men otherwise occupied.”

“Sure, sure,” Harvey replied. “Of course, in my line of work, I’m more than aware of what women are capable of.”

Ron watched Juliet’s careful disguise of her distaste to that remark. She forced a smile and tucked her hair behind her ear, before retrieving her notepad and pencil from her bag.

“Certainly,” she said. “Which brings me to the point at hand. I’ve spoken to the prosecution about Meredith Fisher’s case, and the evidence is really strong. How do you plan to plead?”

“Not guilty,” Harvey answered simply.

“On what grounds?” she asked, unsurprised by that answer.

“Institutional failure,” he said.

That took her aback. She blinked for a moment and sat back in her seat. “Institutional failure?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Operation Pied Piper was under prepared and under planned. According to my research, no one vetted any of the families who agreed to take in children. If you signed up, you were approved, no questions asked.”

Juliet’s brow furrowed. “While that’s certainly interesting, it doesn’t absolve Mrs. Fisher of responsibility for her individual actions. No other unvetted family has done this.”

“But they could have,” he insisted. “I believe Mrs. Fisher is being made into a scapegoat for something that could have reasonably happened to any number of the children who were part of the program.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and Ron watched her. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Ron didn’t quite understand it either - it was a flimsy argument.

“Are you...are you taking the piss?” she questioned.

“Not in the slightest,” Harvey said.

“Mr. Cooper, that argument is generally only used in civil cases for things like job termination,” she said. “This is murder. And it didn’t happen to any of the other children. Mrs. Fisher isn’t a stand in for something that’s been happening nationwide, this is a single instance.”

“But, if the committee in Parliament had done its job, Peggy Lee would never have gone to the Fisher home,” he said.

“Why?” Juliet pressed. “Does Mrs. Fisher have a record of violence?”

“No, but one interview could have told them that she had no children of her own,” he said. “They never could conceive - a naturally devastating thing for a woman. Who would trust her with a child after discovering that?”

She froze, and Ron watched something flash behind her eyes. A storm was brewing inside her, a hellish anger at the implication there. He didn’t agree with what Harvey was saying either, but that was just the sort of comment that set Juliet off.

“Your entire argument is childless women being unhinged simply because they are childless,” she said, and there was a strain on her voice to keep it level. “There are plenty of women who cannot have children who do not go around murdering other people’s, myself included. Your head is up your ass if you think this will be an acceptable defense in a court of law!”

It took Ron a moment to fully absorb what she had just admitted. He wondered for a fleeting second if Juliet was bluffing, but she was too ethical. In situations like this, she wouldn’t lie - not about something so serious. He also wondered if it was something he could ask her about, but that was a conversation for later.

“Any doctor would diagnose her as unstable,” Harvey said, face darkening. “And I don’t appreciate your tone, Miss Fletcher.”

“I don’t appreciate your ignorance, Mr. Cooper,” she shot back. “She wasn’t diagnosed as anything except woman, and that was by you, not a doctor.”

“Hold on -”

“So if I - I dunno - leapt over this desk and strangled you,” she cut across him, and Ron held back a laugh. “You would reasonably expect another attorney to argue that it’s the responsibility of the London Pursuit because they should have known, say, that my ex-fiancée was an attorney therefore I’m more likely to kill one? Because scorned women are known to be more furious?”

“That’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same, only in your case, worse,” she snapped. “A child is dead, and you are making a mockery of the fight for justice.”

“I’m doing my job -”

“Your job should entail getting Mrs. Fisher evaluated by a doctor and arguing down her sentence based on her mental capacity,” she returned. “Instead, you are reducing her to a monster because she is unable to give birth.”

“I’m not -”

“Even if it were true - which it isn't,” she interrupted him again. “It would still be her own fault for putting her hands on a child!”

Harvey slammed his hands down on his desk, which prompted Ron to get to his feet, but Juliet didn’t even flinch. She stared that lawyer down as if they were in the courtroom already and she was the cross examiner. She was so unafraid it was almost difficult to believe that just hours ago a little spider had sent her running across the room.

“Miss Fletcher,” Harvey said levelly, casting a sideways glance at Ron. “You clearly came into this interview with your mind made up about my client and this case. I must ask you to leave.”

She stood up. “You’re right, I did come in here with my mind made up,” she said. “But that’s because I’ve got the facts. Unlike you, Mr. Cooper, I do not rely on drollery to do my job.”

“That’s a bold statement coming from a woman -”

“Do not ever reduce me to my sex, Mr. Cooper,” she snapped. “Yours certainly will not protect you from being intentionally stripped of your dignity.”

With that, she turned on her heel and swept out of the office. Harvey stood up. He went around his desk and started after her.

“Hold on, what does that mean?!” he called.

Ron intercepted him at the doorway, stopping Harvey with a hand to the chest.

“No,” Ron said simply, with a warning look. It went without saying that Ron had about fifty pounds on Harvey, so if he followed them out, there would be consequences. When that was well understood, Ron went after Juliet.

She was already outside by the time he caught up, and she was waiting for him. The wind blew her hair, and he was briefly struck by how attractive she looked. He was already aroused by how she did in the interview. When he wasn’t on the receiving end of her ranting, it really was something. It was something when he was, but ultimately more enjoyable when it was directed at someone else. Because he could just sit back to watch her go and admire her.

“Well done back there,” he said.

“What an absolute wanker,” she said. “Institutional failure, what a fucking joke. And how insulting for Mrs. Fisher. Everyone deserves a lawyer who takes them seriously. And he clearly doesn’t.”

He only nodded in agreement. “What did you mean by the dignity stripping comment?”

“I can’t print anything about this until the trial happens, but believe me, that conversation will be included in the article,” she said. “I’m not normally one to get set on taking someone down, but if he seeks cases like this out just to pull stunts like that, the public should be aware.”

Her face was red with frustration and her pace had quickened. Luckily, Ron had no trouble keeping up since his strides were longer than hers. His own heart was racing, but mostly out of his excitement about her. When there was a break in the buildings, he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into the alleyway, pinning her against the wall. He stifled her yelp of surprise with a searing kiss. He wanted to show her how much he felt for her. She was smart, passionate, and annoyingly ethical, but he adored her. Seeing her in action only reinforced just how much.

She moaned into his mouth before they broke apart for air, but clung to his jacket so he wouldn’t get too far away. Her eyes took a moment to re-focus on him after the dizzying intensity of his kiss.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed.

She searched his face for something behind his words, but found him genuine. “Thank you.”

She bit her lip as she looked him up and down, that hunger from the morning returning to her. She craved him again, and when he smirked she knew he was aware of the effect he had.

“God, what’s wrong with me?” she sighed, shaking her head.

“Plenty, but I really like you anyway,” he returned, and she beamed. “You wanna get back to Aldbourne?”

She nodded eagerly. “God, yes.”

He turned to get onto the street again, but she pulled him back for another kiss, this one just a little longer than the last.

It was on the train back to Aldbourne that he decided to inquire about what he heard her say in Harvey’s office. Her head rested on his shoulder as the countryside whizzed by, slowly disappearing as the sun sank behind the horizon. He looked at the yellow glow on her face and couldn’t help himself.

“You really can’t have children?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Oh, crikey, I almost forgot I mentioned that.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if -”

“No, it’s quite alright,” she assured him as she sat up. “We are sleeping together, so you’ve got a right to know.” She paused and looked down at her lap before continuing. “I was pregnant once. By a man I’d been seeing only a few weeks. But I was nineteen years old and terrified of what life would be like with a child I didn’t really want.” She fiddled with the handles of her bag. “So I made the decision to terminate. Only, something went wrong, and I was told because of the mistake, I’d be unable to have children. That’s the long and short of it.”

The confession should have been shocking, but he found himself remarkably indifferent. He wanted to know more about it, but the act itself did not bother him in the slightest.

“Did you tell the father?” he wondered.

She shook her head. “No. I’d made up my mind and I didn’t want him to try and persuade me to change it.”

“So you went alone?” he asked.

“No, Billy took me,” she told him. “No questions asked. He was the only one who understood.”

“Understood?”

“I wasn’t ready for marriage or a child,” she explained. “I had so much more I wanted to do with my life.” She met his gaze. “And I’ve done it.”

“So, no regrets, then?” he questioned hesitantly.

She pondered that, glancing out the window before looking back at his face. “Not really, no. I’m not suited for motherhood, anyway.” She bit her lip. “Is that...is that a problem?”

Honestly, he had not thought much about the future, especially since the war started. It was dangerous to hope. Juliet had awakened some of that in him - some glimmer of faith that he could go to war and come back to her. But children? He had never thought that far ahead, so life without them didn’t feel like a disappointment. He just wanted her.

“No, not at all,” he replied.

She visibly relaxed at that, letting out a low breath before easing herself back into his side. Before she got there, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and made her look at him once more.

“And by the way, we’re more than just sleeping together,” he said, and he kissed her smile.

She settled against him and closed her eyes. He draped his arm around her shoulders. They were content.

#ron speirs #band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #juliet fletcher #roliet #you better you better you bet series #ron speirs x ofc #band of brothers fic #band of brothers ofc

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princessofprocrastination · 4 years

Text

Incapable Of Love (Corpse Husband)

MASTERLIST

summary : corpse hasn’t been in a relationship for a while. he thought he was ready when he met you, but now he’s not so sure anymore. (a dash of sykkuno)(angst)

a/n : dude i spent three whole days writing this and maybe i went too far, it’s so long. anyways, enjoy. this might not be the only part, please tell me if you want a continuation and tell me who you want yourself to end up with.

warning : a very long story, and a whole lot of heartbreak.

you were semi wild in highschool. no, you weren’t a party goer, you didn’t even start drinking till you reached twenty-one, but you didn’t have a hard time finding a boyfriend. although you never ha a hard time moving on, you are still a virgin, and you are proud to say that.

your mother always told you to have fun while you were young, and never to feel deprived of the little things like going to clubs, this way, you would settle down and never feel the need to go back to the party phase ever again when you’re married and have kids.

truth be told, you never thought about wanting kids. while every one of your friends spoke about their dream lives with kids, you never saw yourself with a child.

you never took dating in highschool seriously. no one does. you did it to have fun. this was because you were in a very abusive relationship early on your teenage days.

you were too young and naive to say anything when your then boyfriend would hit you, since he was much older than you, which was completely legal as you two weren’t doing anything sexual.

it started small, just loud screaming or he would get in front of your face. then, he would scream at you while holding your face in one of his hands tightly, which would leave red finger marks all over your cheeks. it didn’t take long till he fully hit you, grabbing your hair and banging it on the wood table.

it took you almost risking your life for your friends to find out what was happening and reporting him to the police.

the amount of head injury you took caused a lot of trauma, but you still pushed through and didn’t let it get to you. your friends often called you a ray of sunshine although you dress the opposite.

you would call yourself lucky. lucky that you found happiness in your job, that you weren’t stuck on a boring desk job. you were lucky to have started youtube.

your friends would tell you that you deserved the success and fame that youtube had brought you, to keep going and not to let your actual supporters down whenever the hate would come up.

then, quarantine started. which somehow made your channel grow even bigger. also, this meant that you had time to just do better in creating content.

one of your subscribers had commented about someone by the name of “corpse husband”.

you had never heard of this name before, which made you more curious, but you never looked into it.

corinna kopf, had brought you into the idea of streaming in your free time. and since you grew up playing minecraft, you started streaming your minecraft gameplays.

soon enough, you made new friends and was invited to play among us, a really popular game during quarantine.

there is where you found out who corpse husband actually is.

streaming, you joined the discord call. your facecam directly showing your face and your background being your newly cleaned bedroom.

“this is y/n, she makes one hell of an imposter,” corinna says to the rest of the people in the discord call.

you blushed, not expecting the attention when you just joined in.

felix, who goes by the name pewdipie introduces the rest of them to you.

“and corpse is here too, his name had been popping a lot up in your comment section.” felix said to you.

“actually, i was about to ask about that.” you replied. confused on why the rest of them were teasing you too.

“let’s just say, a certain deep voice man had been simping for you recently.” valkyrae told you.

“awh, that’s sweet, i’ve never had anyone simped for me before.” i said, smiling t myself.

it took approximately three seconds for your stream comments to be filled with “i simped for you way before he did.” or “i simped since you started your channel”

you laughed, you were expecting this.

“okay, i’m guilty of that.” the man itself said.

that was how your friendship started, which soon continued into a relationship.

you weren’t even sure how you were capable of finding such a man. he takes good care of you, making sure you ate your medicine at the right time. to which you would remind him to take his, too.

he’s a respectful man, always making sure he didn’t accidentally go above your boundaries.

before the both of you were official, you made sure he knew about your past trauma, that’s you were sensitive to a lot of noises. screaming, glasses breaking, even the sound of people clapping.

months go by and you both are going strong. you are usually at his house more than you are at your own. today was no exception.

you came back to corpse’ place after filming a video with another fellow youtuber. you didn’t have the best of days. the person you were collaborating with turned out to be a pretty creepy person.

he kept on asking you about personal thing like your sex life, although you’ve told him many times that you weren’t comfortable with talking about that.

behind the scenes too, he would try to come up to you and grab your waist. you left his house in anger and rush.

you left corpse’ apartment before sunrise and came back early enough for dinner.

you knew that he would be streaming today, and since he usually streams late, you weren’t rushing to make dinner.

you always had an issue with getting him to eat, but since you both are still in the “honeymoon period” of your relationship, it had still been tolerable.

you put your bags down on the couch as you start to make dinner, not going to shower in case corpse hasn’t ate anything today. you felt bad for leaving him alone for a long period of time.

you finished cooking and quickly cleaned up, making sure all the dishes are clean before you call on corpse to eat.

you stood in front of his steaming room, bracing yourself before asking him to eat. although he is a puppy inside and was only intimidating because of his voice, you couldn’t help but feel scared at times. it was your habit.

you knocked on the door softly twice, making sure you weren’t interrupting anything.

you didn’t hear anything from inside the room. you knocked a little louder since you thought maybe he hadn’t heard you.

you heard some clicking of keyboard keys. you assumed that he couldn’t hear you so you slowly opened the room door, making sure his stream couldn’t hear you just in case he was unmuted.

although you two have been together for almost a year, he had told you that he wasn’t ready for the public to know, not even your mutual friends. that did make you a little hurt but you brushed it off since you knew it was going to be worth it.

anything with him was worth it.

“hey.” you started, making sure not to startle him.

he put his hand up for you to see. you stopped in the middle of the room, scared that you messed something up.

corpse clicks one of his keyboards. he turns to you slightly, but not looking into your eyes. you found this a little weird but you pushed the thought at the back of your head.

“bub i made dinner, let’s eat.” you said to him.

“not hungry.” he replies.

you sighed. you knew this was going to happen.

“you always say this, but you need to eat.” you almost whined at him, practically begging him to eat.

“‘said i’m not hungry.” he replied to you again.

“even just a little, please eat.” you tried again.

“JUST STOP, I’VE HAD IT WITH YOU. I TOLD YOU I’M NOT HUNGRY.” corpse screams, while his left hand banged on his gaming table loudly.

you flinched, and slightly moved back. this brought you flashbacks to your highschool relationship.

“i’m sorry.” you said, voice soft that you weren’t even sure he could hear.

you left the room in a rush but still tried to get out quietly.

you could hear corpse continuing his steam. tears were now going down your cheeks as you walked in your shared bedroom.

you sat on the bed, with your legs folded to your chest as you have a mild panic attack.

soon, after almost an hour or two of just crying, you knew your anxiety wouldn’t calm unless you slept, not knowing what to do without someone else helping you calm down.

you laid in bed, tucking your legs into the duvet, almost cuddling into yourself. you felt extra drained with all the things that happened earlier. you soon fell asleep, crying.

you don’t often struggle with sleep, but when you do, it’s usually hard to take care of. these were one of those days.

you woke up only a couple of hours later, not even making it into the AM.

you sat on the bed, rethinking about what happened. although you were very tired and in need of sleep, your brain worked perfectly fine after that screaming fest.

you got up and stood in front of corpse’ streaming room, trying to listen in whatever is happening inside.

“i just need a little break for her, that’s all, i didn’t mean to lash out.” you heard him say.

he’s probably on the phone with someone.

“i don’t even think i want this relationship anymore. it’s just so hard, she has her problems too, i can’t handle mine and hers.” he continues.

you ceased all your movements. you were thinking of talking it out but now you weren’t so sure he even wanted that.

it took you approximately three seconds to think through what you should do.

you weren’t one to make rash decisions but you knew for sure that you just had to leave. for good.

you walked back into your shared bedroom and carefully and quietly packed all your things, making sure to not leave anything behind. lucky for you, you both hadn’t moved in together, you just spent your time here, more than your own apartment.

you quietly walked to the front door of his apartment, grabbing your car keys. you stood in front of the door, sighing.

this was it.

finally, you left his apartment.

CORPSE’S POV

“- handle mine and hers.” i said.

“you can’t say that, you know you appreciate her, she’s been there for you through all the major things, don’t be stupid over a small comment someone made about you guys.” sean, who i was on the phone with, told me.

i sighed.

“i know, but it just really messed my head up, you know.” i said to him.

“i get it, but don’t put the blame on her. it’s already bad that you lashed out on her after she made food for you.” sean said.

food. i’m kinda hungry now.

the conversation lasted for a couple more minutes before i told him i was hungry and needed to eat.

i walked out the streaming room, out to a weirdly cold living room. i brushed it off since it happens sometimes. maybe the heater broke.

it was oddly quiet in the apartment, so i assumed she fell asleep.

i walked into the kitchen to see two plates of food still sitting there, definitely untouched.

i glance at the place she usually hangs her keys.

it was gone. her shoes, gone.

i walk in the bedroom and open all the cabinets where her clothes are usually in. they’re gone.

shit.

YOUR POV

although it’s been a couple months since the whole “argument”, it never got better.

but you’ve always been a tough cookie, not showing other people your feelings. you had always been good at that.

valkyrae, one of your bestfriends, had made sure you were okay, knowing what went down.

she visited you often, making sure you were okay.

remember the same day the argument happened, you met up with a creepy youtuber for a collab? yeah, well, he went on social media to call you some derogatory words.

he even made a video saying you promised him sexual things after filming, which you couldn’t even believe came out of his mouth.

lucky for you, your supporters never ceased to amaze you. they knew you were not that type of person, and even made sure his platform was taken away from him.

that whole scandal wasn’t taking up your brain but corpse did. it seemed like he didn’t care at all. as if he was just waiting for the day you left his place for your own.

that took a while to get over, and you were sure that you aren’t 100% over it, hence why rae has been helping you all along.

only a couple weeks since the argument, you felt like you couldn’t stay in your apartment any longer. there was just too many memories of him in there.

again, you knew you were lucky in the sense that you had the financials to move.

this time, you moved to a house, since you needed a bigger space and you felt bad that every time your friends came over, they had to bunk in a small space you called your apartment.

rae and yourself got somehow super close with a lot of the offlinetv members. sykkuno, being one of them somehow clicked with you instantly after meeting.

he and rae helped you move your things from your apartment to your house.

it felt good saying that. house. not an apartment. not a place you pay rent anymore.

you tried to get over the corpse thing, but deep down you knew your love for him would never disappear. he was one of a kind. and although he says he has many problems, you found that special about him.

but what do you know. you can’t say much when feelings aren’t reciprocated. you understood that you were a handful but why did it have to hurt this bad.

“hey, stop thinking about him.” sykkuno says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“who?” you asked, acting dumb.

“you know who, it doesn’t take a genius to know.” he answers you.

dang it, he caught it.

you looked at sykkuno. you couldn’t help but think about it at times. although you’ve settled in your new place for a while now, no more memories of him, you just couldn’t help it.

“come here.” sykkuno says, opening his arms out, reaching out to me.

you went to his side on the couch, engulfed in his arms. he understood you. that’s what you loved about your friends. they all understood you.

too busy cuddling up to sykkuno, you hadn’t heard a shutter of a camera from behind you.

valkyrae giggled silently, glad she got a photo of you two.

she posted it on her story, captioning it, “so proud of this girl right here for being so strong. also, aren’t these two so cute.”

you didn’t see the photo until after dinner, once all of you are on the couch, watching the voice.

“rae, what did you do?” you asked her when you saw your twitter blow up.

“i have no clue what you’re talking about.” she tells me, acting innocent.

i clicked on one of the photos on twitter that had been circulating. the moment i clicked on it, i saw a very familiar pair. sykkuno and i.

“very funny, rae.” i laughed along with her, showing sykkuno what i just saw.

you didn’t think much of it since you two are just friends but since you saw the amount of ‘ships’, you decided to post something on your instagram

“guys, come here, let’s take a photo.” you told them two.

you quickly snapped a photo. you made sure none of you look too crazy in the photo.

you posted the photo on your instagram and wrote “three friends, hanging out. they might kiss. they might :)”

you showed rae and sykkuno before you posted it.

sykkuno laughed before opening twitter and tweeting “they might kiss, they might.”

you saw his tweet from over his shoulder. you high-fived him for going with the joke.

obviously you two aren’t dating. if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t completely over corpse. you have admitted it to your two friends once in a confession night during a sleepover.

but you couldn’t lie that you had a very very small crush on sykkuno once. like come on, he’s just so wholesome and sweet, you couldn’t help yourself.

you were proud to say it too, he was your crush and he knew that. he is very proud to say that too.

since the breakup, you’ve had a pretty good life.

yes, you moved in a house that you had already fully paid for but other than that, you proud to say you got a new car, amazing house renovations, made a lot more new friends who support you endlessly and you even got a cat as a companion to fill the void you have for staying at such a big house.

CORPSE’S POV

i’ve been miserable ever since. i see her everywhere on the internet.

i know she has been better off without me. only an idiot couldn’t tell that. she made a lot of new friends, got a house, got a new car.

i’ve seen them all. vogue interviewed her. and apparently she can sing too and she’s been singing in a lot of shows.

it’s getting harder and harder to get her out of my head.

why was i that stupid. stupid enough to think i was better off without her.

now when i look at myself in the mirror i feel pathetic. dishes were left piling up in the kitchen, the beds are always unmade.

i took her for granted.

FLASHBACK

shit.

did she leave?

a part of me says that this was the easy way to let her go. letting her go without actually letting go.

i had been dreading to talk to her. but another part of me thinks i should go to her apartment and find her. discuss it with her.

without realizing, tears rush down my cheeks.

i wipe it quickly, not understanding my own feelings. why was i crying when i was the one who had wanted this in the first place?

NOW

i regret the time i didn’t rush to find her. i didn’t know what i was thinking. why would i make such a rash decision like then when i knew damn well how well she treated me.

why did i have to be such an ass?

i called sean that day. he scolded me for being so stupid. i agreed, but i still didn’t make an effort to find her.

now that she lives somewhere else, i’m regretting it. i can’t ask rae or sykkuno, knowing that i’d just get scolded yet again. they are her bestfriends afterall.

even since rae posted the pic of you and sykkuno in your living room, i felt jealous. but i had no right, not anymore.

then i saw your instagram story, then sykkuno’s tweet. have you moved on already?

was i too late?

you are happy now that i’m not. you are happy doing your own things, thriving and here i was, sitting on my bed, crying.

i remember not even a day after she left, there was a huge scandal which included her in it. i was heartbroken and stupid, not knowing what to do with the fact that she left that i believed that stupid youtuber.

sean called me an idiot, stupid enough to believe that she would do that to me when i damn well knew that she wasn’t that type of person.

i felt stupid now that i took her for granted, that i lost the chance to get her back into my arms.

but she’s happy now. and that’s all that matters. even if it’s in another guys’ arms.

PART 2

#corpse husband #corpse husband x reader #corspe husband imagines #corspe husband imagine #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse husband fanfic

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cherryblossomtease · 3 years

Text

In The Fairest Season ~ Part 7

18+ only

warnings summary masterlist

Chapter Warnings - Sexually explicit content

~LATE SEPTEMBER~

You’re still surprised that the servants aren’t talking about your morning escape to the coast. You were certain they would be whispering about the new Baroness and her wild foreign ways, but no, if anything it seems to have only endeared you to them all the more.

After you recovered from that remarkable thing Helmut did with his mouth, you went with him through the gap in the wall to see that he’d ridden his horse to find you.

The ride back —sat high in the leather saddle with Helmut steady behind you— was glorious. That crisp morning air tossed your hair while his coat kept you warm. When you’d come back looking like a ghost brought in from the moors, the servants just smiled and bowed to their beautiful mistress and helped you warm by the fire and as promised served a breakfast fit for a Baroness.

Now, after a day of trying to learn your way around the castle, and another night learning your way around your husband, you lie naked and spent; smiling as you stare off at nothing, the fire crackling in the distance.

You can hear the leafless branches of the trees scraping the window as you lay in his arms, curled up small and safe beside him, your bare skin pressed against his.

“Will it always be this way?” You ask quietly.

He stirs, his hand laying over the curve of your shoulder, stroking down, tickling the tiny hairs along your arm to the top of your hand which you lift letting your fingertips touch, meeting in the air like a steeple. He slides his down interlacing them, resting both your hands in the space between your hips that face one another.

“What way is that?” He asks preoccupied with admiring the sight of you still shaking a bit after a more… ambitious encounter tonight. You’re still thinking about the way it felt when he got behind you…

“I feel—light— I thought maybe I would be sad to lose that part of me, but now I see that it doesn’t matter so much. Now that I’ve shared it with you. It’s like floating.”

“No. It won’t always be this way. But when it is, there is nothing better.” He smiles.

You shut your eyes listening to the trees outside, inclined to agree.

He says your name and you look into his eyes. “What is it?”

“I want to talk to you about something.” He says pulling his hand free of yours to smooth your hair from your face.

“If it’s about what we’ve just done…I can’t help not knowing what to do, it’s only been two nights, you’ll just have to be patient,” You say bluntly. Helmut laughs, rolling onto his back until you pull up beside him smiling. “What? I don’t want you critiquing me just yet dear husband.”

Settling into a smile he lays his palm to your cheek. “I have nothing to critique draga devojko, which I thought I’d made rather clear.” He says and takes his hand away to rub your stomach, low beneath your navel.

You turn your head biting your lip, your grin is as wide as your blush is deep. What an absolute beast! You think, very aware of the sticky mess along your upper thighs, the remnants of his approval not inside of you. And how I love him… “What is it then?” You ask with a coy little smile.

“Singing.” He says and you can feel the color drain from your face.

You turn onto your back, sitting up on your elbows. “What about it.”

“You were born to sing, you know that. I don’t want you to give up trying, not because you’re here, not because you’re my wife. You may fall pregnant soon, and if you do it will be a gift. But until then… you should try.”

You stare across the expansive room until it all blurs into nothing and your eyes shut. “I don’t want to sing anymore.”

“Of course you do.”

“No, I don’t”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Helmut. I was almost killed for my voice, why would I ever put myself at risk again.”

“But you weren’t”

You sigh and sit up wrapping your arms around your knees. “You were right. It isn’t this way every time.” You grumble.

He rolls his eyes at you and sits up, stroking your bare back. “Listen to me. I’m saying this to you tonight so that you know how it will be. You are the same woman you were before you ever became a Baroness. I don’t want that to change. Not yet. And here, in this country, you have a chance to accomplish great things. But you must try, you must begin to strengthen your voice and not let it fade.”

You know he’s right, but you carry such fear with you… but perhaps if you were to go slowly. Still, that will do little to fix the fear that continues to walk beside you, like a demon shadow, it’s ragged nail gliding along your throat.

With a shiver you shake your head. “I can not make promises. I don’t know how to explain it but I feel such a terror— unlike any I have ever known.” You look back at him and he sees how your eyes sparkle with tears.

He quickly tsks, angry with himself for upsetting you and sits up, pulling you close. “Then you must take the time, and ask of me whatever you need to feel safe.” His arms squeeze a bit tighter “I would burn the world for you.” You don’t doubt it. When the room is quiet again and you’re feeling better, you pull away and look up at your devilishly handsome husband and smile.

“Helmut? Let us strike a bargain. If I begin to train as you wish me to do… then will you make love to me until I am better at it than you?”

He tilts his head, amused, surprised, intrigued. He laughs and agrees, kissing your shoulder. “Yes, wild mala pltica. Until you beg me to stop.” He says shaking his head, looking ever so slightly afraid of you which makes you laugh.

The sound fades against his lips as your eyes close and behind them you see lights, bright and shining and beyond them —the stage.

~EPILOGUE~

Your white silk gown that costs more than your former yearly salary —when you spent your days and nights singing for the ones you call contemporaries now— is bunched up around your waist, the preparation it took to put the thing on all but forgotten.

In the simple elegance of your bedroom, his hand clamps down over your mouth but does little to quiet you.

Your voice is too strong now, and he isn’t exactly helping.

“Don’t stop.” You demand, breathing hard after dragging his fingers away from your mouth.

Helmut leans forward, bracing on your dressing table with you in front of him.

When he takes you from behind like this, you lose all sense of decorum. You feel like a feral creature ready to devour him if he doesn’t get you first.

He tries to keep you quiet but you know, he doesn’t really care. Helmut is not a demure man, he likes a show and he couldn’t care less who hears. This is his house and you are his wife, his Baroness —his little bird— who he fucks until she screams his name, until she thinks she will fall to the floor and then he fucks her again.

You would not have it any other way.

You shut your eyes and imagine all of those people waiting…

There is a hall full of guests below who have just seen you perform on the best stage in Sokovia. They have come from far and wide to hail you as the brightest star, finally risen to heights worthy of your talent after overcoming such odds, refusing to let the devils hand rip your talent away, but they —your loving admirers —will have to wait.

He finds your eyes in the mirror and you look into his, hearing your own sweet, whimpering moans as you take all of him in, the consuming feel of Helmut’s attention no less wonderful than it was the first time.

You reach back grabbing the Barons arm, “Please don’t stop…” You manage and he flashes a smile. You know one another’s bodies so well now.

He slides his hand across your belly and down, the silk gown going right along with it and you spread your legs for him, your mouth open with silent approval letting him circle your clitoris with your stage dress and his deft fingers as he keeps you filled with his solid member until you sink against him, fingers digging into the fine fabric of his dinner jacket.

You feel your world stop for a breath, teetering on the edge, hovering, waiting, and finally you’re sent crashing over the edge when he strokes you one final time and you gasp as you climax; your shaking breath stunted, mixed with the lightest laugh of release as you pulse.

Your head falls back and he inhales your scent which is perfumed tonight and the Baron comes quickly and quietly though you know the soft sound of his voice when he does and it still makes you feel like you are floating…

As you try to quickly make yourselves presentable, him at his corner of the room and you at yours, you look in the mirror one last time smoothing your hands down the front of your gorgeous silver gown. Keeping your smile hidden you resist the urge to turn to the side and give away the secret.

You will wait to tell him tonight, when everyone has gone and the halls are empty but for their many ghosts.

You look back over your shoulder finding his reflection, watching Helmut adjust his white cravat and your heart nearly bursts.

And how many hiding places will this little one find? You think remembering that sweet conversation not so long ago.

Helmut finds you watching him and smiles

“Ready?”

“Always.” You say eyes back on your reflection, still so pleased by the woman you find.

She may have started as the child of love who sang her way into the hearts of the people and a Baron, but now, she is the one they come to see, she is the one who stands alone onstage, unafraid.

She is you.

The many occupants of the castle hall turn as you appear at the top of the stairs, breaking into applause, praising you in both English and Sokovian.

You stand on the landing with your adoring husband at your side, thanking them, elated by their support and love. He takes a step down and raises a hand as if to show you off like some priceless jewel and the cheers grow.

With his signature smile and sparkling eyes, Helmut takes your hand, kissing the back of it and stokes the center of your palm gently, secretly tickling you. Your eyes dart over in warning, insisting he stop though you love it when he teases you. Helmut tilts his head just a little with an innocent shrug. You can only stifle your laugh and give him a wink— the wicked man— and step down to take his offered arm.

On ground level you begin to greet your guests, anxious to run into Brigittes arms who has traveled just to see you and hopefully to stay for a while when Oeznik appears at Helmut’s side.

“This was delivered for you sir. I would have taken it to your study but the messenger insisted you be given it straight away."

Curious but unbothered, you both look down at the letter the old man holds.

It is folded and sealed like any other, but as you look closely you see that the red wax has an emblem you don’t recognize.

“Is that an octopus?” You ask looking around Helmut’s shoulder. You count six arms curled in under the head, but it is this head that draws your attention again. That is no sea creature.”Is that a skull? What is this Helmut?” You ask glancing up at him.

He is silent. He is still.

“Oeznik, is the man still here?” You ask when the Baron does not seem to be able to speak.

The butler looks around for a moment, finally settling on the open doorway of the main entry.

“There My Lady”

A tall thin man stands alone looking in at the both of you, his black hair parted, his thin face a bit gaunt and harsh looking. He is far, but even from here you can see that there is something very off about the man. His confidence is misplaced and his arrival brings a heaviness that you feel yourself reject. The tiny hairs on your arms rise in protest.

“What did he say his name was?” You ask, your throat gone dry and tight.

The Baron finally speaks. “He does not have a name, at least not one that I was given when I was first confronted in the summer. When I was rudely taken from you.” He says glancing at you from the corner of his eye “But I’m sure he had a message?” He asks looking at Oeznik, and you think perhaps the Baron already knows. You’ve never seen him look this way before. You wonder, is this the face of Colonel Zemo…

Oeznik nods looking very grave.

“Yes my Lord he did… he simply said, Hail Hydra.”

Authors Notes - Okay I've decided to stop kidding myself, because of course I'm going to write another chapter in fact I've already started. Thanks for reading and showing this story so much love I appreciate it more than you know!

#baron zemo fanfiction #baron zemo x you #zemo x reader #zemo smut #zemo #helmut zemo x y/n #epilogues or its not over #I never know when to stop #Baron Zemo love #romance #happy endings maybe #Helmut Zemo in love #Baron Zemo romance #Zemo Historic AU #Zemo Victorian AU #more to come

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moony-meadow · 3 years

Text

The Very Hungry Beelzebub (2)

Previous Part / Next Part

With an echoing splash, I fell into the space that could only be Beelzebub’s stomach. Terror took hold of me as the reality of my situation fully settled in. Desperately, I scrambled to my feet. There was liquid up to my knees, and though it was pitch black, the area felt more spacious than the previous stomach I had occupied. I didn’t dwell on those details long though.

I threw myself against the wall of the stomach I was trapped in, pressing my palms into the squishy surface as though I would be able to phase through it. “Nonononono--this can’t be happening, I can’t--” I froze. Had I just spoken? One of my hands jumped to my throat. “Ahhhh,” I tested. When I felt the vibrations beneath my hand, I became sure I hadn’t imagined my own voice.

Evidently, the silencing spell Beel cast on me had been temporary. The effects had lasted just long enough for the demon to get me exactly where he wanted me. “Maybe it’s not too late,” I breathed. It was just at that moment I noticed a burning sensation beginning to prick at the parts of my skin submerged in the liquid that pooled at the bottom of Beel’s stomach.

“Stomach acid. I’m standing in stomach acid,” I reminded myself. And unlike when I’d been in Mammon’s stomach, there was nothing stopping this acid from doing its job and dissolving anything it came in contact with.

I struggled to prevent my own panic from halting all rational thoughts. I needed to keep it together. There was still a chance I could survive this.

Pressing myself up against the wall I guessed to be the outermost, I screamed out Beel’s name as loudly as possible. I didn’t wait for a response before announcing my command. “I order you not to digest me!” My voice was shrill and shaky. The words sounded more like a desperate plea than a command from a master. Were I not currently in a life or death situation, I would have felt self conscious. As it was, I was just glad I had managed to get it all out.

In the next instant, I felt the muscles surrounding Beel’s stomach tense. And then suddenly, the painful burn from the acid retreated as the liquid drained away. A few moments later and I was standing in a completely dry environment, with only the stinging of my skin to show the dangerous liquid had been present in the first place.

Slumping down to the floor, I released a heavy sigh of relief. Ever since arriving in the Devildom, I’d had my fair share of near death experiences. Hell, I’d even been killed once (in an alternate timeline, of course). However, my familiarity with dangerous situations didn’t make them any easier to deal with. I still felt like I’d been figuratively run over by a truck.

“Y/N?” The sudden rumbling voice shook me out of my brooding. I startled slightly as the wall I had been leaning against was gently pushed inwards, no doubt by a hand pressing from the outside.

“Beel? Are--are you...yourself right now?” I questioned uncertainly. When he had said my name, it had been tentative and soft--much more like it usually was than what I’d heard only minutes ago. However, I had to remain wary. The last thing I wanted was to be struck with another silencing spell.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry!” Beel cried. Though he didn’t directly answer my question, his response easily gave him away. He was back to his normal self. “I-I didn’t mean to--oh god, I could’ve killed you!” Now that my panic had ebbed, it seemed it was Beel’s turn to freak out. His voice was riddled with genuine horror and fear.

After Beel had first told me about his secret eighth sibling, Lilith, and the crushing guilt he felt in regards to her death, I began to see the demon in a new light. He was someone who cared deeply for his family, someone who wanted nothing more than to protect those he cared about. So when he felt as though he failed in that task, Beel placed every ounce of that guilt on his own shoulders. It made my heart ache to witness, especially now that his guilt was in regards to me.

“Beel, it’s okay. I know you would never do that when you’re...well when you’re in your right mind,” I assured him, hoping he could feel the soft pat I gave his stomach wall.

“Are you okay in there?” Beel questioned urgently, giving no indication whether or not he accepted my forgiveness or not.

Automatically, my hand reached for my still slightly aching legs and feet. The fabric of my pajama bottoms and socks, while still present, did feel markedly thinner. I suspected it would have been only a matter of time before the clothing dissolved altogether. “I-I’m fine,” I told Beel. “Just a little shaken up, that’s all.” I was attempting to sound reassuring, but the fact that my voice was still wavering slightly probably didn’t help me to be convincing.

The giant hand resting against the outside of the stomach began to move in a slow back and forth movement. It was surprisingly soothing, given the circumstances. “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?” Beel asked softly. It was crazy how such an imposing looking demon could manage to sound like a little puppy dog.

“I promise, I’m okay,” I insisted. “I just need you to get me out of here.” I almost wanted to remind Beel that this wasn’t my first time in someone else’s stomach, in an effort to assuage some of his worries. However, I still wasn’t quite comfortable bringing up that little tid-bit of information. The fact that I had somehow managed to end up eaten by two separate demons in a matter of days still caused me quite a bit of embarrassment.

“How can I do that?” Beel inquired, seeming uncertain.

“You just need to...well cough me up basically.”

The experience of Mammon forcing himself to hack me up hadn’t exactly been pleasant. In fact, I might even argue it was worse going up than it had been going down. But considering it was pretty much the only viable option, short of someone cutting Beel open and pulling me out, I was resigned to going through it again.

My statement was met with silence on Beel’s end. I was fairly certain he had heard me, so what was preventing him from responding? “Beel, is there a problem?”

There was a pause and then, “I...I’m not so sure I’ll be able to bring you back up.” the demon admitted miserably.

I raised a questioning eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

Beel’s stomach expanded and then contracted as he blew out a low sigh. “Unless I’m sick, I-I really can’t spit out or throw up anything I’ve eaten.” He sounded sincere, however what he was saying must’ve been a lie.

“What about that time you accidentally swallowed some of Solomon’s cooking and had to hack it up?” The occasion was difficult to forget considering the taste of the food the sorcerer had cooked still haunted me to this day.

Another moment’s hesitation. Beel clearly was reluctant to voice whatever it was he planned on saying. The rubbing against the outside wall of the stomach came to a stop. “That’s because my body only lets me get rid of stuff I didn’t enjoy eating,” he finally divulged, the words sounding almost like an apology.

It wasn’t surprising to me that Beelzebub had taken pleasure in eating me. It had been well established that he found me to be delicious even before today. I’d accepted the fact that everyone in the Devildom (excluding Solomon and the angels) considered me to be some kind of delicious treat. No, that part wasn’t what bothered me. I was much more concerned with the news that Beel believed himself incapable of getting me out the only way that I knew worked.

Anxiety was threatening to sneak back into the forefront of my mind, but for the moment, I managed to push it back. “Well you can at least give it a try, right?” I offered.

“Of course, just--just hold on,” Beel replied.

When Mammon had coughed me up, it had seemed to help if I stood up straight and still. I assumed the same position this time, bracing myself for the oncoming onslaught of movement around me.

My environment folded slightly, I assumed in response to Beel bending over. Next, a firm weight appeared at the front of the stomach from his hand. Then came the coughing and retching that shook my whole world. Last time, when I’d been in Mammon’s stomach, it had taken only a matter of minutes before I was spat out onto the palm of the demon’s hand. This time however, nearly ten minutes passed with absolutely zero progress, and I could tell the process was beginning to take a physical toll on Beel.

“Hey, hey, you can stop!” I called out, lightly pounding on a wall of the stomach. It seemed pretty clear that Beel’s assumption had been right. We would have to find some other way to get me out.

The motion of Beel’s heavy breaths surrounded me. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” His voice was riddled with guilt and sorrow.

I was about to insist that he had nothing to apologize for when suddenly I heard the distant sound of a door opening. It felt as though every muscle in Beel’s body tensed as he too realized someone was entering the room. Both he and I could only pray it wasn’t Lucifer.

“Oh hey, Beel. I was just lookin’ for Y/N.” I released a sigh of relief at the sound of Mammon’s voice. While I loathed the idea of letting the Avatar of Greed know I had once again been eaten, he was the only demon in the House of Lamentation I would even consider letting in on my current predicament. At least the secret would still go no further than Beel, Mammon, and I. “They’re not in their room, have you seen--” Mammon stopped mid-sentence. I could only assume he had just noticed the state of the kitchen. Sure enough the next words that came out of the demon’s mouth were, “What the hell happened here?”

#shall we vore #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t vore #soft vore

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seventhstrife · 3 years

Text

SubScorp Week 2021 Day 4: Lust 1/3

I AM SO MAD ABOUT THIS PROMPT!!! IT GOT RIDICULOUSLY LONG!!! LIKE, AN UNREASONABLE LENGTH OF FIC WAS ACHIEVED THROUGH THIS PROMPT THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE EASIEST ONE!!! WHY IS MY BRAIN LIKE THIS!!!

Special shoutout to all of the wonderful, lovely, ridiculously patient people on discord who weathered me complaining about my stupid hellbrain lolol

Only part 1 tonight since I literally spent all day writing nearly 10k words, and there’s no way I can edit it and also sleep before my shift LOL

Read it on AO3.

Part 2

It would have been kinder, perhaps, to simply announce his arrival, but Hanzo had grown so fond of being amused in recent years and he could not resist the urge to indulge.

Gathering a handful of small stones, Hanzo climbed the nearest building and darted across the sun-baked clay of the rooftops, careful to remain unseen as he trailed his target.

A smile curled his lips beneath his mask. He waited until he was sure he was completely concealed, then let loose one of the pebbles in his grasp—a direct hit to the back of Kuai Liang's head.

The sight of Kuai Liang's flinch, as well as the sharp snap of attention and his dark expression of annoyance and suspicion through the crowded, dusty streets of the road, stretched Hanzo's smile into a grin. He bled into the shadows, knowing he would have to be swift if he wanted to stay ahead of Kuai Liang's attention.

He only managed one more stone's throw before Kuai Liang wisened up and scaled the nearest building. He was no fool, and tracing the stone's trajectory was a simple thing. Hanzo was forced to duck behind any cover he could find to avoid the Lin Kuei Grandmaster's thorough, careful scrutiny of his surroundings.

His next throw would be his last, he knew. He would have to make it count if he did not wish to be caught.

Hanzo crouched low and waited for his moment. The instant Kuai Liang turned, still scanning his surroundings for any movement, he sent his last stone flying.

He saw the beginning motion of Kuai Liang's whip-fast reaction, hand darting up in a flash to catch the stone, but Hanzo was already gone, swallowed in hellfire, and before Kuai Liang's fist fully closed around the rock, Hanzo appeared directly behind him.

Hanzo didn't hesitate. He tackled Kuai Liang to the roof, perched atop his chest before he could react.

Blinking in the harsh sunlight, Kuai Liang's scowl of deadly promise melted away into shock.

"Hanzo?"

Hanzo smirked. "Is this the standard of Lin Kuei assassins?" Hanzo shook his head. "Perhaps I should reconsider allying myself with a clan that is so soft."

Kuai Liang's eyes narrowed in a glare, but it was lessened by the reluctant smile that tugged on his lips, as if against his better judgment.

"I think I am the one who should be reconsidering my allies, if they are so eager to attack me on the streets," Kuai Liang pointed out, and Hanzo chuckled, finally stood and offered his arm.

Kuai Liang took the offered hand and absently brushed himself as he stood. His dark eyes, pleased and curious in equal measure, peered at Hanzo with confusion.

"What brings you to Outworld, Hanzo? And to me, specifically?"

Hanzo crossed his arms, gazing across the sand-dusted streets and modest abodes of the city, half of it hollowed out from the bright red clay of a mountain.

"I had received word that you accepted a mission from the Thunder God." Hanzo's face darkened with a grimace. "I would be neglecting the conditions of our alliance if I did not aide you."

"My mission is one of reconnaissance, Hanzo," Kuai Liang said, brow furrowed. "My life is hardly in danger."

"No mission from Raiden is as simple as he makes it seem," Hanzo said darkly. The loss of his clan—again—still burned. "If my presence is an insult, I beg your forgiveness," Hanzo continued, and he bowed. When he rose, he met Kuai Liang's eyes dead-on, determined and stubborn. "Allow me to accompany you, if only to set my mind at ease."

Kuai Liang had appeared taken aback at first, but understanding quickly bled onto his expression, and no little guilt. His own memories of the Kamidogu, and the manipulation he'd suffered, did not appear to have been forgotten either.

"...I accept your offer, Hanzo. Thank you." Kuai Liang said, and he returned the bow. "Shall we?"

The Thunder God's power had sent Kuai Liang to an Outworld city, but Kuai Liang's true destination laid deeper in the forest. An ancient temple, Kuai Liang informed him, long abandoned, had been rumored to have worshippers once more. Raiden merely wanted confirmation of such a thing, to decide his next move. The worship once practiced there had been forbidden, one steeped in ritual sacrifice and practices so brutal and cruel that even Outlanders shunned it, and if some sort of revival was in the making, Raiden suspected it would only be a matter of time before the cult spilled into Earthrealm and claimed the inhabitants there for their depraved rituals.

A simple mission, but one that did nothing to abate the uneasy feeling that had overcome Hanzo from the moment he'd learned of Kuai Liang's undertaking. He had not lied to Kuai Liang for his reasons for being here, but he had neglected the full truth: that, more than anything, he worried for his friend and what might happen to him when caught up in another machination of a God.

Once Kuai Liang had debriefed him, they fell into silence, traveling the forest with their ears peeled for the slightest sound that stuck out: voices, a footstep, anything that would confirm Raiden's suspicions. But caution and vigilance would only help them so much if Raiden had sent them into some sort of trap.

Hanzo pushed the worry from his mind. Nothing will happen to him. I will ensure it, he vowed.

The temple emerged from the trees when they were nearly on top of it. If it had been recently re-occupied, it did not show on the outside. The forest had been allowed to encroach upon it, nearly to the doors, and lichen and vines covered the side of the crumbling stone building as nature reclaimed it.

Hanzo and Kuai Liang knelt side by side as they observed the building, but it truly seemed abandoned.

"Shall we take a closer look?" Kuai Liang asked once it was plain they were quite alone outside.

Hanzo repressed a grimace; telling Kuai Liang he had a 'bad feeling' was out of the question, unless he wanted to make Kuai Liang think he indulged silly superstition and thus, lose his respect forever.

Hanzo nodded. They took a closer look.

Their steps were slow and cautious as they climbed the sun-bleached steps. Cracks and fissures stretched across nearly every surface, and while the stains were very faint, Hanzo still recognized the dried blood dotted across the stone.

It only took a few minutes to carefully sweep the temple for signs of life, and they met in the dusty temple's center once they were done.

"It appears abandoned," Kuai Liang observed, dark eyes lingering in a dark corner for one last check before he finally looked at Hanzo.

"I agree," Hanzo said, crossing his arms. "I hope the Thunder God has promised you something worthwhile for this waste of time."

A small smile tugged on Kuai Liang's lips; Hanzo pretended he did not find the sight incredibly gratifying.

"The terms of a contract are confidential, Hanzo."

"So, nothing," Hanzo surmised with a nod. "Unsurprising."

Kuai Liang's smile grew, amused. "Your time was wasted as well," he pointed out. "Will you demand compensation from Raiden?"

"Do not tempt me," Hanzo warned. He could do so without shame or remorse. After what the Thunder God had put them both through, it was the least he deserved.

Kuai Liang opened his mouth, eyes dancing with mirth—

But then his eyes shifted, just slightly, and he tensed, all over.

Hanzo barely had time to react before Kuai Liang was shoving him with a rough shout of, "Get down!"

His balance was upset but Hanzo recovered, quickly rolled to his feet in a crouch, one arm braced on the floor, the other already unsheathing his dagger.

"Jussst asss my hunger growsss, what ssshould I find but fresssh blood in the unlikeliessst of placesss?"

Skarlet ascended the last steps of the temple, an expression of satisfaction and interest on her features. She held a single hand aloft where an orb of thick, viscous blood twirled idly.

She came to a stop some distance away and widened her stance. Her fingers curled into claws and she stretched the blood like a scarf between her palms. Her eyes flashed between the two of them.

"My lucky day," she rasped slowly.

Hanzo frowned heavily, though it was almost a relief to finally face the inevitable complication he had been expecting this entire time. He darted a quick glance at Kuai Liang.

Kuai Liang was much in the same position and appeared unscathed as he leveled Skarlet with a heavy frown. A smear of blood shards streaked across the space they once stood.

"What are you doing here, Skarlet?" Pure, icy contempt dripped from his tone.

"I am the one who ssshould be asssking the questions, Sub-Zero." Skarlet arched a single thin eyebrow. "Asss the Outworlder, I am not the one who doesss not belong here..."

Hanzo rose and Skarlet's gaze cut to him, wary and deadly. He unsheathed his second dagger and gave them a spin.

"You are outmatched, Skarlet." He pointed at her with a blade. "You would be wise to leave."

Her mouth was hidden behind a crimson mask, but her smile was only too obvious in her tone.

"I am trembling with fear," Skarlet said mockingly, and barely before she'd finished drawing breath, she moved her hands in a quick sweeping motion that sent a wide arch of blood, suddenly crystallized, straight for them.

Kuai Liang had his ice to defend himself with, so Hanzo did not waste a moment summoning a ring of fire, nose wrinkling as the blood met his flames and burst on impact. A power based on draining the life from another—it was barbaric.

Hanzo's words had not been an idle boast—together, he and Kuai Liang were formidable, and years of fighting at one another's side had only fostered a deadly alliance, one of devastating power and precise, efficient strategy.

Barely minutes into the fight, Skarlet was showing signs of unease. She was smart to keep her back to a wall at all times, to better prevent them from flanking her, but the ceaseless assault of ice and fire was clearly wearing on her.

When Kuai Liang froze her leg, just long enough so that she caught a fireball to the chest, she staggered, fell to one knee as her harsh breaths echoed through the ancient temple.

Tales of her cunning and deadliness had not escaped them, however, and neither man allowed their guard down, approaching slowly, fists raised.

"Thisss," Skarlet panted, glaring at the two of them, "Isss hardly fair, isss it?"

"You chose this fight, Skarlet," Kuai Liang said pitilessly.

The way her eyes narrowed at Kuai Liang—that earlier feeling of unease rose within Hanzo once more.

"I did," she agreed. "And it isss time I evened the oddsss..."

Skarlet thrust the hand—that before had been clutching her side—at Kuai Liang, and a small disk of blood, no doubt razor-sharp, shot towards him at an incredible speed.

Too fast to deflect it properly, Kuai Liang raised his arm, and Hanzo only caught a glimpse of how it burst moments before impact, hovered in the air in dozens of pinpricks of needle-thin blades, before crashing again. As Kuai Liang dropped to a knee and ducked, shielding his face from the worst of it, Hanzo was already backing away as Skarlet flew at him in a sudden burst of deadly fury.

"I can already tassste your blood," Skarlet said with relish. The blade of her blood dagger locked with Hanzo's and their faces hovered close. Her eyes shined with wicked triumph. "I will enjoy gorging myssself in the daysss to come."

Hanzo only glared back, disgusted. Between them, a sudden light grew and Skarlet glanced down with wide eyes to see her dagger glowing-white hot to match where it met Hanzo's as his arms caught fire.

An instant later, the blade, warped, shifted, and burst. Skarlet cried out, backing away as the blood singed her and the hands she shook out were bright red from the blistering heat.

"You will only taste defeat," Hanzo swore, summoning his kunai.

The low thump of a body hitting the ground drew his attention away, however, and it was with dread that Hanzo clapped eyes on Kuai Liang—teeth gritted in a grimace of pain, hands clawed against the stone as if he might crumble the stone at their feet.

He raised glassy, straining eyes to meet his.

"H-Hanzo," Kuai Liang managed, and then he shuddered, hunched over, and a low grunt of pain escaped him.

The sight and sound of him chilled Hanzo to his very core. Kuai Liang had been trained, practically since infancy, to withstand incredible amounts of pain. Anything that made him cry out like that—

Hanzo looked to Skarlet and he had no problem recognizing the sheer relish and satisfaction of her expression.

The hellfire, always kept carefully maintained, overflowed into instant, black fury.

Faster than she could ever predict, Hanzo flew across the room, seized Skarlet by her neck and did not stop until he slammed her against the opposite wall. Her strangled choke—brutally cut off by his hands, pressing deep—only incensed him further because this one cry of pain was not enough.

"What have you done to him?"

Skarlet strained against his grip, but she could not touch him, not when he burned so hot. She quickly realized she could not escape, but she only laughed, a reedy, raspy thing that made Hanzo see red.

"It—It isss a new concoction," she hissed, throat working harshly beneath his fingers. He barely loosened his grip so that she could speak, despising every moment he was not killing her. "One I-I have been..." She swallowed. Her heels scraped against the stone wall for purchase. "Very eager to try out."

Hanzo tightened his grip once more and Skarlet's eyes grew larger, panicked and desperate.

"WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE."

With each word, flames licked Hanzo's tongue, eager to escape. The temptation to release the flames on Skarlet's wretched head, to burn away her smirk until only bone remained, was nearly overwhelming.

But Kuai Liang's life hung in the balance. He could not give in to anger.

He allowed Skarlet breath, and she finally spoke, "That blood wasss poisoned," Skarlet hissed and Hanzo tensed.

"Where is the antidote," he demanded, and Skarlet laughed again.

"It isss not that sort of poissson," she said. "Thisss one was made for...ssspecial occasssionsss..."

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"

Skarlet looked into his eyes and victory shined in her dark, mad eyes.

"It isss a powerful aphrodisssiac," she purred, and Hanzo tensed. "If he is not sssatiated, his blood will boil."

Alarmed, Hanzo glanced at Kaui Liang. It looked as if he was already feeling the effects, if the way he clutched his abdomen meant anything. He ground his forehead against the filthy stone floor and even a short distance away, Hanzo could see the red welts rising from his skin, as if he were burning from the inside out.

"It would be bessst," Skarlet continued, able to speak more in Hanzo's moment of distraction, "If you left usss here." Her eyes darkened with desire and twisted eagerness. "I am more than up to the tasssk of helping him, and I am sssure he will find me very sssastisfying."

Kuai Liang would rather die, Hanzo knew.

Slowly, every line of his body a taut line of repressed violence, Hanzo allowed Skarlet to slide back down the wall so that her feet touched the floor.

Her eyes brightened with victory—and then Hanzo yanked her close, so that they instead widened with surprise and a quick flash of fear—for he had not released her yet.

"No," he simply said, and then he shoved Skarlet back.

Her skull cracked against the stone and she went limp.

Hanzo let her drop carelessly, turned his back on her, and quickly made his way to Kuai Liang's side. She would not die, he was sure of it, and though he dearly wanted to make her pay for poisoning Kuai Liang, there was still a chance she would be needed in the future, should her words prove false and some sort of antidote could only be procured through her repulsive blood magic.

Hanzo fell to his knees at Kuai Liang's head, hands hovering or unsure.

"Kuai Liang..."

Shakily, Kuai Liang raised his head. Hanzo didn't hesitate to clasp his hand when it was raised and his eyes widened to feel the heat of him, hot enough to rival his own skin.

"Hanzo..." Through his fierce grimace, Hanzo saw the flicker of uncertainty, the worry and anxiety brought on by this sudden vulnerability.

"I have you," Hanzo assured him and he squeezed his hand tightly. "We will fix this, I promise you."

Kuai Liang stared into his eyes for a moment, panting, face beginning to bead with sweat.

He sagged with a nod, weary and pained.

Hanzo swallowed them both in hellfire, and only the scorched stone and Skarlet's crumpled form marked their ever being in Outworld.

#@subscorp-week #@maagspies #@summertrapped #subscorpweek #subscorpweek2021 #subscorp #mk #mortal kombat #my stuff #my fics

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wanderingchocolateeclair · 3 years

Text

A Frayed Thread of Hope

[Part 3] (this was written quite a while ago, just a heads up for the quality of it)

Ao3 Link here! :)

Finally got round to transferring and posting this chapter to here!!! It’s taken a little while, but I’m hoping that this being in here might remind and motivate me a little more to write the next part out...the fic is up on ao3 and will be updated on there first when I get round to it and then transferred over here at some point too :)

Tagging (you can ignore if you’d like, or tell me if ya wanna be tagged or taken off the list. This is just a repost of a chapter that’s already up on ao3 so sorry if you’ve already read it 😅 I also haven’t posted in a while so sorry if I’ve accidentally tagged you or forgotten to tag): @kouricaesar @chaotic-trash-can @kiriderp @theshisthings

TW: slightly graphic description of injury, mentions of blood, slight mention of nausea, a lot of crying and sad.

——————————————————

(Flashback)

‘No no no, please-’ Shinya panicked as he heard the lack of response coming from Jeanist’s side of the raid. Minutes prior to this, he had felt his heart drop and a ringing sound echoed through his head. He knew that this was not a good sign, but pushed it away as he helped to apprehend the LoV. ‘Please, please be okay...’

Dammit. He knew that he should’ve tried to stop him. He saw it in his eyes...those eyes...his eyes. Tsunagu knew that something was going to happen and that the worst part would hit his team, he always knew when the worst would happen, and it always had to happen to him.

‘That’s why he looked at me like that...Dammit....DAMMIT! Shinya, you are such an idiot!’ Shinya’s mind was racing as he made his way towards Kamino with Endeavour, where the other team was based.

“We can only hope that we are not too late.” Endeavour said harshly, knowing that he had to reassure the other man but unaware of how to do so.

Shinya simply hummed in response, taking a large leap from one building to another. He wasn’t really listening, his mind was way too busy to hear anything but his own thoughts. ‘Tsunagu....why? You knew that this would happen, and you knew the pain I’d be in once I found out...so why?’ He found himself trailing off into thought, ‘heh....nevermind....even if you could answer me now, your words would always stay the same - that it was “the only way I’d prove myself to be heroic” by taking a hit that could kill you, for the sake of others....’

“Dammit....”

(end of flashback)

————————————

Shinya was torn away from his rapid train of thought by the sound of footsteps hurdling towards him and Tsunagu’s family. Before even he could react, cold hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him gently, a pair of red wings knocking over several items along the way.

“Edgeshot-senpai! You’re okay! Well, you look okay! Are you okay?” The flustered young man exclaimed in a panicked manner, blond hair ruffled across his head as messily as a bird’s nest.

“Ah, Hawks...yes...Yes, I’m alright. Ju-just still a little shocked, I guess...what about you? What are you doing here?” Shinya shakily answered, his mind still thinking back to what happened.

The winged hero sighed in relief, giving a small apologetic bow to the family that was scattered around him. “Isn’t it obvious? I heard the news and came as quickly as I could! All Might-san retiring, Endeavour-san...moving...up the ranks...” Hawks eyed the end of the corridor wearily, “it’s all a lot to take in right now...for everyone.”

The ninja hero nodded, gesturing for the other to take a seat. Hawks simply shook his head in response and mumbled something about feeling too uncomfortable to sit down in this situation, making Shinya chuckle lightly in agreement.

“Hey....Shinya-san...”

“Hm?”

“...Tsunagu...” Hawks trailed off, staring cautiously at the door standing opposite them.

The mention of the fiber hero’s name caused Shinya to snap his head up a little too fast, making him wince at the sudden pain that shot through his neck.

Hawks paused for a moment, before slowly carrying on. “Tsunagu-san....will...will he be okay?” He looked at Shinya with sad eyes, nervously fiddling with a small marble that he held in his hands.

“I-” Shinya’s voice cracked as he tried to find an answer, looking down at his own hands, that were still bloody and shaken. “...we don’t know...we- we can only hope...” he blinked rapidly to try and clear the tears that blurred his vision once again. ‘Not here, dammit, not here. You are so weak, Shinya, don’t cry- you can’t...’

They shared a small silence, standing there, gazing at the closed door in front of them. Just as one of them was to try and break this silence, a rather loud buzzing came from the winged hero’s jacket, causing him to fumble around for his phone.

After exchanging a brief conversation with the mysterious caller, Hawks looked up at Shinya apologetically and lightly grabbed his shoulder. “Ah, sorry, urgent call from the commission...I gotta go...”

Shinya smiled slightly. “Of course. That’s understandable. Thanks....thanks for checking up on us....”

“Yeah,well, someone’s gotta do it. We wouldn’t want our favourite parental ninja to pass out from shock all by himself!” Hawks exclaimed brightly, his wings spreading out even more, almost hitting Ai in the face. “Oh, Rumi sends her regards, by the way. She’s busy so she couldn’t come in person, but she said for me to tell you ‘if that jeans bastard dies I’ll kill him, give him a good thump ‘round the head when he wakes up, will ya’ so....uh....yeah! Um....well, please make sure you let us all know how he’s doing...”

“Heh, yeah I will, don’t worry,” Shinya chuckled at the other’s enthusiasm. Waving at the winged hero, he watched as he briskly disappeared from his sight.

Shinya sighed, leaning his head back against the wall, his mind overflowing with doubts and worries yet again. He thought back on the sight of Kamino, destroyed and in ruins. All might’s thin and frail form, barely holding back that monster....and.....Tsunagu... ‘dammit! Stop it!’

——————————————

(flashback continued)

As they arrived, they realised that this was no ordinary villain, and that the LoV had already managed to escape. Shinya scanned the area anxiously, trying hard to mask his panic but failing to do so. ‘Where......where are you....I’m here, please, Tsunagu where are you....’ he tore his attention from the ruins and glared at the madman that was loitering in the air. He was absolutely filled with rage, his body shaking, he could barely breathe. He wanted to lunge forward and completely rip this...thing...apart. He wanted to completely let go, just like he did all those years ago, this time with no regrets. But he knew that it was not his fight to do so. He knew that he was only there for support, with the rest of the heroes, to help All Might.

A huge gust of wind from one of All for One’s blasts knocked him over, sending him tumbling backwards. He was never brilliant at going against power types (he’s a light little man, leave him alone) but this was troublesome. Bracing himself for the impact of a harsh landing, he was startled when he felt himself being caught by something wrapping around his arm.

“Edgeshot-senpai!” Kamui called out, catching the other man before he could hit the ground. He set them down, away from the main fight, sheltered by a huge chunk of a building. His shoulder was occupied by a rather unconscious Mount Lady, but he had another in his arms...

Shinya gave a brief nod of thanks, before noticing the condition of the lanky figure that hung loosely from the other hero’s grasp. ‘Oh please- please, oh god, no...’ he felt his heart drop.

He started panicking as he took in the sight in front of him. Eyes lifeless, staring out at him. Hair, messy and dirty. Tsunagu’s body laying limply, now on the ground, his arms and costume bloody and torn. What’s worse, is the gaping hole that was present in the middle of his stomach. He wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t moving, it was as if his life had been drained straight from his body.

Shinya felt as if he was going to be sick, his body shaking too hard for him to stand. This feeling....this feeling was way too familiar. He was so worried in finding him, but when he finally found him...when his partner’s body was lifted from the rubble...he felt even more hurt than before. He started choking on the tears that he couldn’t hide....that he wouldn’t hide....gasping for air as he stared at Tsunagu’s broken form, imitating that of a torn rag doll, riding the edge of death as if it were a knife with which to cut the rest of the strings that connected him to his life.

“No no no, please, no- not again....not again....why- why? Tsunagu, why you....why my family? Why is it always my family?! The people I love....mother...father...my....why did it have to be you?!” He blurted out, unable to contain the rest of his pain. He held onto Tsunagu’s unconscious form, clutching it tighter as more and more tears soak into his mask. He would hide his anguish, but he didn’t care. Not anymore. He didn’t care who saw him crying. He didn’t care who heard his silent screams and cries of lost hope. He ignored everything around him as he hugged his partner closer.

“Senpai....I’m sorry....I’m...we really need to get him to hospital....he’s...it’s...” Kamui spluttered out quietly. He watched as the ninja hero lost all of his hope and felt his heart beat rapidly at the thought of what else could happen. “We are...we’re out of sight from everyone else...it’s- it’s...”

Shinya sniffled. He looked up at the younger man, his eyes still blurry and unfocused. “Thank you....I’m sorry....I....”

“No...it’s okay....I understand.” Kamui replied, cradling Takeyama in his own arms gently.

(end of flashback)

————————————

His thoughts became muffled, his ears ringing, and only one sound echoing through his head.

“Shinya...”

It was Tsunagu’s voice. He snapped back to reality, looking around anxiously.

“Shinya.....I’m sorry...”

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pinknerdpanda · 4 years

Text

The Diner

Word Count: 3,623 (decidedly NOT a drabble...it got out of control and I won’t apologize.) Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Angst, Theft, Fluff Beta’d By: @princessmisery666 - thank you my love

A/N: This was requested (kind of?) by my amazing and wonderful Name Twin @amanda-teaches. I hope you like this babe! (And I promise I’m working on the other still) I know these are called “Merry Manda’s Christmas Drabbles” and literally NONE of them are Drabbles...but I’m lazy and haven’t changed it in the 4 years I’ve been doing these. So...Sorry? (I’m not, actually. I’m not even sorry a little bit.)

The bitter chill of winter air cut through the leather of Bucky’s jacket as he stepped out of the car. He’d briefly considered taking his bike for the evening but had thought better of it. Though now, he was grateful he’d spared himself that torture. Shivering, he wondered if getting out on this frigid night was even worth it at all.

“Fuckin’ hate the cold,” he muttered, the words crystallizing in the air as he shoved the keys into his pocket and began making his way to the door.

After Steve went back in time to return the stones - and himself - to their proper place, Bucky felt lost. He’d known Steve’s intentions - even supported them. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.

He and Sam had gotten along better than Bucky would have guessed at the jump. They’d actually grown code enough, Bucky might even go as far as to call Sam a friend. Sure, they still had their moments of friction, but overall they worked well together. Sam was a damn hard worker and made him laugh, despite the obvious pain Bucky saw in his eyes. He missed Steve too. Whether they admitted it or not to themselves - certainly not out loud - they needed each other.

But sometimes Bucky just needed some time to himself.

That was how he’d wound up here the first time six months ago. It had been Steve’s birthday and even though Sam had invited him along to go see his old friend, he’d declined. He hadn’t been ready for the reminder of what kind of life he’d missed out on. So instead, he’d chosen to go for a drive with no real destination in mind. Not long into the trip however, he’d gotten hungry and stopped at the first place he saw.

The diner was small; cramped and slightly dingy, with scuffed linoleum floors and cracked booth seats. The menus felt sticky and none of the dishes matched, but the coffee was perfect. Hot, dark and slightly burnt; just how he liked it.

If anyone had recognized him that first day, they didn’t say anything. He was used to his fair share of open stares and the odd murmuring of worried voices wherever he went. But not here. Here, he was just Bucky - cup of coffee, no cream.

Bucky fell in love with the place immediately and it soon became his little home away from home. A place of refuge he could escape to when things got too heavy or his thoughts got too loud. Or, like tonight, when he just really, really wanted some of that amazingly shitty diner coffee.

The cold air that enveloped Bucky sloughed off as the diner door shut behind him, quickly replaced by the warm scent of coffee and whatever Mel was frying in the kitchen. He’d been there less than a second and he could already feel himself begin to relax.

A quick scan of the space showed no signs of anything out of the ordinary. Well - not really. A few weeks back, someone had decorated the counter top with a small, fiber-optic Christmas tree and a Santa figure that looked nearly as old as the place itself. Meager as it may be, it made the place feel festive.

The old jukebox in the corner - usually churning out songs by Chuck Berry, Elvis and The Temptations - hummed holiday tunes and voices that made him remember Christmases long since past. Before the war, before HYDRA, before the snap...when he was just a charming blue eyed kid from Brooklyn, looking out for his sisters and his annoyingly stubborn best friend. Bing Crosby's soothing timbre always brought back fond memories of his ma's cooking and the squeals of delight from the girls when they woke Christmas morning.

His moment of reverie was broken, however, by the sound of another familiar voice.

“Hey Bucky. Merry Christmas!” Y/n smiled and Bucky briefly thought of the prospect of making new Christmas memories to settle alongside those from so long ago.

Y/n followed him with a steaming pot of coffee as he took his seat at his usual booth. She filled the cup to the very brim before leaning against the back of the seat opposite of him.

“Merry Christmas, y/n.” Bucky wrapped both hands around the chipped porcelain mug. “I figured you’d have the night off, bein’ the holidays and all.”

In all the months he’d been coming here, he’d only ever seen her face bright and full of joy. She was sweet and kind and always made a point to have a chat with him about anything and nothing when she had a moment to spare. If he was being honest, part of the pull he felt toward this place was because there was a good chance he’d get to bask in her glow, if only for an hour or two.

But now, the smile on her face drew tight and the light in her eyes dimmed. In an instant, Bucky was filled with a pang of regret. Before he could find the words to apologize, her features melted back into place. He wondered if the cheeriness she tended to exude was simply a mask that he’d failed to recognize.

“Girl’s gotta make a buck somehow, right? Just the coffee tonight?”

Bucky paused, the cup halfway to his lips as he thought about it.��

“Actually, I think I’m craving pie.”

Y/n nodded approvingly. “Well lucky for you, we have lots to choose from. Pick your poison.”

Savoring the delicious burn of the first sip of liquid gold, Bucky smacked his lips and tipped his head to one side. “How about you surprise me? Bring two slices of your favorite?”

“Coming right up!”

Bucky watched as y/n made her way behind the counter, setting the pot back on the warmer and moving to the fridge where they kept their pies. Propping a fist on one hip, y/n pursed her lips as she surveyed the options before her.

Bing's voice filled the comfortable silence as he crooned "White Christmas".

“Heya, Buck!” Mel’s voice drew his attention and he turned to find the greying head of the diner’s owner peeking out of the kitchen window. "Merry Christmas!"

“Merry Christmas yourself, Mel. Surprised you’re even open tonight.”

“Everybody’s gotta eat, even on Christmas Eve.” Mel grinned. “Besides, who else is gonna let your ugly mug drink all their coffee for a buck and a half?”

Bucky scoffed and shook his head. “You oughta be grateful I even come in and pay for this sludge, Mel. I could just stay home and drink my own damn coffee.”

“And yet here you are,” Mel quipped back, his gaze flicking to y/n as she approached Bucky’s table with two slices of pie. Mel winked at Bucky before disappearing into the kitchen.

Bucky’s face flushed at the not so subtle implication. And yet, here I am, Bucky thought as y/n set the plate in front of him.

“Chocolate cream pie, huh?” Bucky quirked an eyebrow at her. “I woulda pegged you for a cherry kinda gal.”

“Guess you woulda been wrong then, Sarge.” Y/n shrugged, a smug smile on her lips. “Enjoy!”

Y/n turned to head back to the counter, but Bucky caught her wrist gently. As she turned around, a spark of something between fear and confusion flashed across her face.

“Now where are you going?” Bucky let go of her wrist and motioned at the seat across from him as he continued. “Thought we were gonna have some pie?”

Confusion won over as she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re gonna have some pie. I gotta get back to work.”

Bucky gestured around the nearly empty diner, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. Only one other table was occupied - a young couple, too giggly and twitterpated to notice anything other than each other. “I dunno. Looks to me like there’s not much work to be done at the moment. And besides, you really think I could eat all this by myself?”

Y/n planted her fist on her hip again and rolled her eyes. “Something tells me you definitely could.”

Gasping in mock offense, Bucky pressed his hand to his heart. “Even the notion! And on Christmas Eve, no less…”

Scoffing, y/n held up her hands in surrender. “Alright, fine. Let me go get a cup of coffee and I’ll join you. But only because it’s Christmas.” Y/n shook her head warily as she walked back behind the counter.

He didn't even try to fight the pleased smile from his lips as he tapped the side of the mug with a vibranium finger. “Maybe just bring the pot?” Bucky called before draining the last of his cup.

A dull thunk against the warped tabletop nearly startled him and he looked up to find y/n already settled across from him, the coffee pot between them.

“Already ahead of you, Bucky.”

Bucky grinned and nudged a napkin wrapped fork in her direction as y/n poured a cup of coffee for herself and refilled his.

“So…” he began, unfurling his fork and immediately scooping up a large bite of pie and jamming it into his mouth.

Y/n’s eyebrow quirked and she paused, fork poised midair as she responded - “So?” - before copying his action, albeit with a slightly smaller bite.

“That’s some damn fine pie.” Bucky licked his lips and hummed in delight as he took another bite. “So, what’s the story?”

Y/n set her fork down and wiped her napkin over her mouth. Bracing her elbows on the table and wrapping her hands around her coffee, she tipped her head to one side.

“What’s what story?”

Bucky at least had the manners to swallow before taking a drink and leveling a measured gaze at her.

“Earlier, your face dropped when I mentioned you working tonight. What’s that about?”

Perhaps at some point in Bucky’s long, long life he’d have danced around the question. But lately he found himself growing more and more blunt. Why not just cut right to the chase without all the benign pleasantries?

Y/n blinked and cleared her throat. “I...uh...I don’t know what you mean.” She smiled at him, though her lips seemed forcibly stretched around her teeth.

Leaning forward, Bucky shook a gunmetal grey finger at her. “Nope. Not gonna cut it. Something’s bothering you, and I wanna help. If you’ll let me.” He sat back, running a hand through his recently shortened locks. “God knows you’ve listened to enough of my bullshit to last a lifetime.”

Tentative fingers wrapped around her fork as she began swirling the tines through the whipped cream of her mostly-uneaten pie. Bucky watched as she distracted herself with the sugary concoction.

“It’s,” she cleared her throat, gaze still trailing the swirls made with her fork. “It’s my brother. He got himself in trouble with some pretty brutal bookies. He came around last week asking for cash; I guess he’s in pretty deep. I gave him the little bit of savings I had, but I guess it wasn’t enough.”

Bucky’s body went rigid and he felt the anger building in his veins. He was thankful her gaze was still downcast, because he imagined the look in his eyes was pretty dark.

Y/n swallowed, setting her fork down with a soft ‘clink’ against the plate. “I came home from work a few days ago and he’d come in and stolen anything he thought he could get some money out of. I dunno; guess he pawned it or something.”

Small whirs and barely audible clicks of metal on metal filled the silence between them as Bucky’s fist clenched nearly as tight as his jaw. He knew she probably didn’t hear it, but to his heightened senses, it sounded like a blaring siren. Schooling his features and relaxing as best he could, he took an extra moment to level the tone of his voice.

“Your brother robbed you to pay off some bookies?”

Y/n eyes shot up, meeting his and widening suddenly as realization struck her. “Shit, I didn’t...please don’t…” She sucked in a shaky breath.

Bucky placed a hand over hers, surprising himself for a second before shaking his head. “Hey, hey. It’s ok.”

Hanging her head, she sighed. “Sometimes I forget who you are. You’re just Bucky, to me. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to put you in any kind of awkward situation being an Avenger and all…”

Her rambling died as Bucky’s hand tightened around hers reassuringly.

“I think knowing I’m ‘just Bucky’ here is one of my favorite things about coming here,” he offered her a lopsided grin as she met his gaze through watery lashes. “I’m just worried about you. You didn’t do anything wrong, darlin’.”

Releasing his hand, she sunk back into the faded pleather booth and wrapped her cardigan around herself.

“I know. I’m fine. Really.” She picked at an invisible thread on her sleeve. “I mean I can do without a TV or a computer, but he took all the presents I bought for the kids down at the rec center. I’d been saving all year to be able to do something nice for them.”

Bucky’s face flushed with renewed anger. How in the hell did someone so kind and generous and wonderful as y/n wind up with such an asshole for a brother?

“Excuse me, miss?”

Y/n looked as caught off guard as Bucky felt when the young couple from the other table called for her. They seemed hesitant to even disrupt the obviously tense situation.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but we’re gonna miss our train if we don’t leave soon.”

“Oh no, no, no. You’re no bother.” Y/n sniffed and pasted on a smile as she slid out of the booth and met them at the counter. “I’m sorry I didn’t check on you sooner.”

Their conversation faded into the background as Bucky’s head buzzed with all the ways he wanted to make y/n’s brother pay for hurting her so badly. A voice in the back of his head - one that sounded entirely too much like Steve’s star-spangled-ass for his liking - told him to calm down. It was obvious y/n loved her brother, and anything Bucky’s scrambled mind could come up with to deal with him would definitely end up hurting her more.

So, rather than plotting revenge, Bucky pulled out his phone instead. He began clicking away furiously and got so lost in his mission, he missed the sound of y/n’s footsteps as she neared. The feeling of a warm hand against his shoulder made him jump, the device thumping to the table, narrowly missing his now-cooled cup of coffee.

“At ease, Sarge. It’s just me.” Y/n chuckled and patted his shoulder. “I didn’t think it was even possible to scare you.”

Bucky’s face twisted in smug defiance. “It’s not. I was just distracted, that’s all.” He snorted in derision.

“Uh-huh.” Y/n’s lips pursed, clearly trying to fight a smile. Bucky wished she wouldn’t; he’d give just about anything to see her face light up again. “Well, I’ve gotta go clear their table and start getting things shut down for the night. I just wanted to thank you for listening to me and for always being so...well...you.”

The sound of Bucky’s heartbeat roared in his ears as she leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss against his cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

----

A loud, almost violent-sounding banging on the front door woke Bucky up with a jerk. He scowled, eyes squinted against the faint golden rays of morning sun peeking through his curtains. The clock on his nightstand seemed to mock him with bright, bold, red numbers declaring the time to be 6:48 am.

The banging started again, somehow more violently. Muttering curses under his breath - mostly aimed at Sam for deciding to spend the holiday with his family down south, thereby leaving him to deal with whoever was currently trying to break down the front door - Bucky stumbled out of bed.

Another rapid series of knocks came to an abrupt stop as Bucky swung the door open. The venomous glare melted from his face as soon as his eyes met y/n’s.

“Y/n? What are you…”

His confused mumbling was cut off as y/n pushed inside and began pacing the length of the living room. She looked upset; angry even. Which Bucky could understand, at some level, as he, too, was none too pleased with being conscious at this god-forsaken hour. He watched her silent pacing with a sleepy sort of curiosity, expecting her to either start yelling or crying at any second. When a minute or so passed and she’d done neither, he tried again.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

The pacing stopped suddenly as she whirled to face him. The fire burning in her eyes was slightly off putting and not something he was used to seeing from her.

“What’s wrong?!” She stalked towards him. “What’s wrong is that I was woken this morning by a burly man named Carl - who smelled of cheese and tequila and told me he had a load of packages waiting for me in his truck. I was seconds away from calling the cops when he told me that it had all been paid for by someone named J. Barnes.”

Bucky’s head fell forward, a funny heat creeping up his face. A particular plank of flooring had suddenly become incredibly interesting.

Y/n scoffed. “I was confused at first, because I don’t know any J. Barnes, right? Except I do, don’t I James.”

The sound of his given name fell from her lips in a sort of disdainful disbelief that made Bucky’s head snap up.

“Y/n listen…”

“How did you even know where I lived? Are you some type of creepy stalker customer? I never asked for...I didn’t…” y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I didn’t tell you that story so I could be seen as some charity case!”

Bucky held his hands up and took a slow step towards her. When she didn’t step back, he continued to approach her cautiously.

“First off, I know you didn’t. I didn’t mean for it to come across that way. I was only trying to help.” He now stood only a foot away, and made no move to come closer as he continued. “I’m not a stalker, either. I only had EDITH look you up and send the address straight to the delivery company. I specifically told her not to give it to me.”

“Who the hell is Edith?”

Bucky sighed, “It’s not a who, it’s a what. It’s Stark’s AI. The narcissistic bastard called it EDITH - ‘Even Dead, I’m The Hero’.” Bucky rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help the twinge of pain at the thought of Tony. One of Bucky’s biggest regrets was not being able to make peace with the man before he sacrificed himself against Thanos.

Y/n frowned, opening and closing her mouth a few times. Bucky took a chance and stepped forward, placing his hands gently on her elbows.

“I’m sorry, I swear I was just trying to help. When you said your brother stole all the gifts you’d bought for the kids at the rec center, it made me think of my sisters. There were a few Christmases when my ma couldn’t afford presents and it broke my heart for them. I was just a kid back then and I couldn’t do anything to help, but now I have the means and I just...I just want to help.”

Without warning, Bucky found himself engulfed in y/n’s arms. Her face was warm against his bare chest and he blushed, just now realizing he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on. He pushed aside his own discomfort and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tighter when he felt her body begin to convulse with silent sobs.

They stayed that way for...well, Bucky wasn’t sure. It could have been a minute; it could have been an hour. But eventually, her tears subsided and she pulled back, wiping her face and not meeting his gaze.

“Thank you, Bucky” Her voice was so quiet when she spoke, Bucky wondered if he’d only been able to hear it because of his enhanced hearing. “But I can’t accept it. It’s too much, I can’t ask you…”

“You didn’t. I wanted to. For you and for those kids. Every kid deserves a present at Christmas.”

Y/n shook her head, eyes still glossy, though her lips curved in a sweet smile.

“You’re too precious for this world, you know that Sarge?” She sucked in a deep breath. “Ok, fine, but on one condition.”

Bucky frowned. “Condition?”

“Yes. You have to help me deliver them.” Y/n crossed her arms again, a challenging glint in her gaze. “But you should probably put a shirt on first.”

Bucky cringed. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” Y/n’s eyes widened as though she hadn’t meant to speak the words out loud.

Bucky fought the urge to make a smug remark and chose instead to ignore it and save her from any further embarrassment. Though he did catalogue that to contemplate later.

“Alright. Let me get changed and then we can get going.”

Bucky smiled and started toward his room, but stopped to face y/n again.

“Oh and y/n?”

Y/n looked at him and Bucky pretended not to notice the way her eyes trailed over his bare torso before she met his eyes.

“Hm?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

A/N 2: I am using my new and improved taglist. If you want to be added, Send me an ask with the list you’d like to be on. Weirdos are for everything, Heroes is MCU and Hunters is for SPN.

Weirdos:

@hannahindie @amanda-teaches @ellen-reincarnated1967 @feelmyroarrrr @masksandtruths @princessmisery666 @jamielea81 @foxyjwls007 @becs-bunker @super100012 @shy-violet-soul @emoryhemsworth @impandagrl @donnaintx

Heroes:

@arrowsandmixtapes @bethbabybaby

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes Fluff #merry manda's christmas drabbles #merry manda #merry manda 2020 #panda writes #panda writes MCU

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mulderist · 3 years

Text

Wicked Game

Previous chapter || Read on A03 || tagging @today-in-fic

CHAPTER 8

Details were scattered but I remember Skinner ushered me away from the crime scene. I argued that it was my investigation, he said that there was nothing more I needed to do. I stumbled towards the elevator and saw Byers exit, holding his medical satchel. He placed a hand on my shoulder and I saw him mouth the words: you look terrible. The room felt like it was spinning in slow motion, like the sensation you get when you’re falling in a dream. Delirium had set in. Too bad my one vice was alcohol otherwise I’d swallow an upper to get myself back on course; my liver could hate me later. I rode the elevator down and managed to get out to the curb. I hailed a cab since I couldn��t remember if I drove myself. By the grace of God, and an honest cabbie, I made it home alive.

The sleeping pill did a mediocre job; I felt groggy and sore, hungover minus the whiskey. I rolled over and squinted at the alarm clock. About twelve hours had passed since I left two dead bodies in the precinct interrogation rooms. Afternoon sunlight radiated through my window and I knew I had to get the day started. I found a small bit of food in my pantry to calm my angry stomach and some water straight from the tap to rehydrate. My clothes should probably be tossed in the incinerator but then I would be down one dress shirt. I stripped and stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as I could stand. It sputtered at first but soon rushed against my chest. I scrubbed my hair and switched to the soap, finally feeling clean for the first time in two days. A layer of grime swirled down the drain. I stood firmly under the spray and let it beat mercilessly against my upper back and shoulders. Hands braced the shower wall and my eyes closed heavy.

Scalding water and steam tried to purify me. I stayed under until the temperature cooled. A deep exhale and I cut the tap, hearing the ancient pipes shudder. I pushed the curtain aside and grabbed the towel from the hook, drying off then wrapping it tightly around my waist. I wiped away the thin layer of fog on the small medicine cabinet mirror above the sink. My reflection was certainly worse for wear. Bruises were now that off-shade of yellow and dark circles carved unappealing lines under my eyes. The shaving foam canister and my straight razor looked lonely on the shelf. I walked into the bedroom and pulled open the dresser drawer to retrieve a pair of boxer shorts and an undershirt. I tossed the towel onto the bed and as I dressed the phone rang from the bedside table.

“This is Mulder,” I answered, reaching for the discarded towel.

“It’s Frohike,” he cleared his throat, “I was trying to reach you earlier but there was no answer.”

“Sorry about that. These sleeping pills pack a wallop.” My voice sounded ragged, like I had swallowed gravel.

“Remind me to get the brand name,” Frohike said. I maneuvered the phone and dried my hair,

“I hope you’re calling with some good news.”

“Good is a relative term, my friend. Byers and Langley did a fine job on Mr. Lodi’s autopsy and came to the conclusion that cyanide was the poison of choice.”

“A cyanide capsule? He did himself in?”

“The poison was definitely ingested but not from a broken capsule, we didn’t find any residue. He might have had something to eat or drink that was laced with it.”

I thought for a moment.

“The water cup. There was an empty cup on the floor in the room when I walked in.”

“There’s those fine detective skills.” Frohike jabbed.

“Sharp as a tack. Although I sure as hell didn’t suspect a mole in the precinct.”

“An inside job. The plot thickens.” His intrigue was so palpable I could taste it through the phone.

“This all has to tie back to Spender somehow,” I began, “Someone higher up was steamed that we were getting too close to solving this case and took out our suspects. There are more pens in the inkwell than I thought.” I picked up the phone and walked to sit on the bed, “Could you find any prints?”

“The doorknob had a myriad including yours and Captain Skinner’s but nothing we could go on. And the only prints on the paper cup belonged to Lodi. Our culprit must have used gloves.”

“He most likely added the poison while at the water cooler. Essentially slipped him a killer mickey,” I sighed heavily, “Did you get to work on Theo?”

“Getting ready to sharpen my scalpel, though I’m sure to find much of the same as we did on contestant number one. When I’m done I’ll send him and Lodi over to Washington General.”

“Alright. I’ll finish up here then hit the precinct.” I hung up and left the phone on the bed then returned to the bathroom sink. My hand hit the faucet right as a sharp loud knock hit my front door. I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. I really wanted to ignore it but they were persistent. Instinct told me to grab my Browning from the bedside table. I checked the safety and cautiously approached the rapping at my door. To my surprise there was a petite figure in a white uniform on the other side of the peephole. I flipped the lock but kept the chain intact.

“What are you doing here?” I asked through the crack in the door.

“Something happened,” Scully said tentatively and leaned closer, “May we talk inside?” I looked down the hall and closed the door to undo the chain then gently ushered her in. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and quickly looked away as I placed my weapon on a nearby table.

“Scully, what happened?” I questioned, trying to think of what possible reason she had to come to my apartment. It felt different seeing her in her nurse’s uniform and not being a patient. The standard crisp white dress with sharp collar, matching nylons, and patent shoes were a polar opposite to the flattering outfit the last time we met. I then felt her eyes search me and I straightened up.

“Mulder, would you mind getting dressed first?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. I glanced down then nodded and went to the bedroom. Personally I never really bothered with modesty.

“You talk, I’ll listen,” I called as I found a pair of trousers. The sound of her heels soon echoed on the hardwood floor and she hovered near the doorway, careful but curious.

“A body came in last night that washed up near one of the marinas on the Washington Channel. The pathologist was short-handed and I was made conveniently available to assist on the autopsy.”

“Is that out of the ordinary?” I asked as I tucked in my shirt and zipped up.

“The body or the task I was given?” she playfully retorted.

I chuckled. This one is razor sharp.

“I only ask because I thought you worked in the emergency room.”

“My training is versatile,” she countered, inching a little more into my bedroom. “Sometimes I’m pulled in other directions if there’s a need. Also it’s a nice opportunity to learn.”

There was an underlying tone in her voice that she wanted to do more than her position allowed. I could picture her taking charge during the war; delegating to fellow nurses, keeping a cool head, spreading herself thin to help whenever and wherever she could. But fate can give with one hand and take with the other. After the men returned home, a lot of good women were forced out of those opportunities. My sister went through something similar after pulling swing shifts at a shipyard in Boston. So I suppose I’m a little biased.

“Anything strange about the stiff?” I asked, getting my train of thought back on the rails.

“From the license in his wallet we found he drove a cab. I’m surprised you didn’t get a call about it.”

“Honey, thanks to some Grade A sleeping pills I didn’t hear that phone ring until about an hour ago.”

Scully shook her head and continued,

“Well, this poor cabbie was stabbed repeatedly.”

“Could have been a robbery gone wrong,” I offered as I pulled on my socks and shoes, “Was there still cash in the wallet?” She considered the question.

“I can’t remember, I was taking notes on the condition of the body. There were about six deep stab wounds from a medium blade. Standard bloating and decomposition from blood loss and being in the water for a few hours. Certainly looked like a murder to me.”

“Do you mind if I shave?” I asked while pointing towards the bathroom. She raised an eyebrow at my strange interjection. Frankly I was trying to lighten the mood a little, keep her at ease while she recounted events.

“Go right ahead,” her head tilted slightly, “you certainly could use it.” Scully tacked that on as she coyly rubbed her upper arm.

I offered a smirk then turned on the faucet and lathered up. She was within eyeshot, watching and waiting to continue..

“Tell me what happened next.”

“The pathologist and I completed the autopsy and as I left the morgue I was confronted by someone. He asked my name but didn’t give me his. I waited for him to show me an ID or badge but he never did.”

Scully paused and I turned my head to see she had boldly entered the room and took a seat on my bed. I could tell from where I was standing her demeanor changed, her brow furrowed. My focus turned for a moment back to the mirror so as not to slice open my upper lip.

“Scully?” I prompted after a precision scrape.

“Yes...sorry. The man asked if I knew you.”

“What did you tell him?” I asked as I finished an area under my chin.

“I played dumb of course.”

“Smart girl.” I said to myself before splashing water on fresh skin.

“Apparently that was the wrong answer because he grabbed me by the arm and pushed me into the first open room.”

I stepped out of the bathroom, suddenly taking great interest in busting this assailant’s kneecaps when I found him.

“I was warned,” Scully continued, lacing her fingers together, “he said to stay away from you, Mulder. He said that if I was stupid enough to talk to you then he and his associates would come after me for what I know.”

“Describe him,” I said harshly as I moved closer, feeling the remaining drops of water prickle against my cheeks. She closed her eyes for a moment. Those baby blues blinked open and she stared through me, developing a picture of him on the wall.

“Fairly young, maybe late twenties. Brown hair I think...he was wearing a hat. Dark eyes, sharp nose, oddly perfect teeth. His smile was broad and gave the impression of being pleasant, though I could tell he was a sleaze.”

My hand went to the back of my neck to damper the bubbling rage. I couldn’t blow my stack yet. What the hell game is he playing? How much did he know? I ran my hand over my face, collecting moisture then drying my palm on my hip. I needed to get her somewhere safe until I got some more answers. Her gaze met mine and I touched her shoulder.

“Did you drive here or take a bus?”

“The bus. I came straight from the hospital, why?”

“I want to make sure you weren’t followed. We’re going to the precinct.”

“Mulder, no.”

“Scully, listen to me.” But she was already on her feet and heading out of the room.

“I don’t need protection.” She stiffened as I followed her.

“Then why did you come here? You could have easily flipped open a telephone book and given me a ring instead.”

“I was frightened,” her voice broke and she tried to hide it, “In a moment of fear you don’t make wholly rational decisions, but I knew I could trust you.

I stepped closer, moving through a cloud of uncertainty and tenderly cupped her cheek. Scully closed her eyes and softened against my touch. A pang of guilt resonated in my chest, her exhale hummed through closed lips.

“Let’s go.” I said softly.

She nodded and I collected my weapon, my grey fedora, and showed her out. Once in the hallway we walked towards the elevator.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I began before pressing the button, “You are going to take the stairs down and head out the back door, through the alley, and over to the next block. Then take a cab to the 3rd District precinct…”

“Mulder…”

“Look, I don’t care if they know where I live. I don’t want them to follow you home.”

Her lips parted as she tried to say something but I kept going,

“Once you arrive at the 3rd, ask for Melvin Frohike and wait with him until I get there. He might have his colleagues in the lab but don’t worry they’re harmless.”

“What are you going to do?” She asked with concern.

“I’m going down the elevator and straight out the front door, hoping to catch a glimpse of this guy.”

I felt her fingers brush against my hand. To my surprise she lifted her heels and quickly planted a soft kiss on my lips. I held the back of her head and returned the favor.

“Be careful,” she said as we separated.

“You too, angel.” I replied and adjusted my hat with a wink.

#i wrote this #historical au #mulder pov #wip #xf fanfic #fanfiction #yup i'm still writing this thing

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jingabitch · 4 years

Text

Armed to the Fangs ch.10

SUMMARY: you grew up in the hunter’s guild, understanding that it is your sacred duty as a hunter to protect humanity from the vampires that lurk in the dark, draining the life from anyone unlucky enough to be caught. while making the rounds one night, you encounter taehyung, a fabled born vampire - not that you know that when he tries to entice you into a dark alley. next thing you know, you’re kidnapped and taken to their home, where you realise that all of them somehow crave your blood and seem to know more about your past than you do. finding out about where you came from might be the key to setting humanity free.

PAIRING: eventual ot7 x reader

WARNINGS: some description of violence, angst, pining, maybe eventual smut but not for a looooong time, slow burn (really the slowest of burns), shit goes down in this chapter, rising tensions !!!!!!

RATING: T

WORD COUNT: 4k

A/N: yay action! thank you @pasteljeon for looking over this for me.

series index

When you woke up, Yoongi was still there, having fallen asleep himself. Shooting his reclining figure a fond little smile, you rolled off the bed and into your bathroom to clean up. As much as you didn’t want to, you had to let Seokjin know that you were no longer an official ambassador. The decent thing to do would be to offer to leave, even though you had nowhere to go.

Patting your face dry, you groaned. It hadn’t struck you last night when you’d still been reeling from the betrayal you’d been dealt by the Guild, but the situation you found yourself in now was pretty bad, to say the least. Homeless, without anything to your name, and with a death sentence on your head… Yup, it was going to be a fun time, all right.

Quietly, you slipped from the room you’d be living in – you avoided calling it your room in your head – walking down the long, winding hallways to Seokjin’s study. Just when you’d finally gotten familiar with the maze-like manor, you had to leave, you thought bitterly.

You stopped outside the double doors of Seokjin’s study, pausing for a minute. Did you really have to do this? Maybe if you didn’t say anything, they’d let you stay for a little while before they realized that you didn’t belong there anymore…

No. You shook yourself out of it. It wasn’t fair to the boys if you kept staying here, eating their food and cramping their style. You still remembered the way they’d laid out their meal the first time you’d eaten together, pouring the blood into soup bowls. As horrifying as it had been to you – and the smell still haunted you – you recognized that they’d changed their behavior because of you. It was unfair to expect them to keep doing it now that you weren’t serving any function.

Steeling yourself, you raised your hand to knock on the door.

“Come in,” Seokjin invited, and you did.

“Hello,” he greeted. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” you said with a small smile and a nod. You certainly didn’t look it – Seokjin could see how pale you were, and the way your hands were anxiously fiddling with the long sleeves of your shirt.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his brows knitting in concern.

“I’m fine.” You brushed it aside abruptly and came to stand behind the chairs facing the desk, bracing your hands on the back of them. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“I’m listening.” Seokjin closed the folder he was working on and steepled his fingers together, giving you his complete attention.

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” you started, defaulting to formal language to dispel some of the discomfort you felt, “I’m no longer associated with the Guild.”

Seokjin nodded wordlessly.

“As such, I’m not an ambassador anymore.”

“Okay…” he said, a little cautiously. Where were you going with this?

“When would you like me to move out by?”

Wait, what? It felt like his mind had ground to a halt. Leave? He’d never expected this, and it threw quite a wrench in his plans. In all honesty, as much as he’d felt bad for you about what had happened, some part of him was relieved – this solved the problem of you being a hunter quite neatly.

His surprise must have shown on his face because you immediately started babbling explanations. “Well, it’s just that I came here as ambassador and—”

“Y/n,” Seokjin cut you off gently, “Do you have a plan for when you leave?”

You grimaced. Trust Seokjin to immediately narrow in on that. “I’ll figure it out,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. You didn’t want him to feel sorry for you and offer you a place to stay out of pity or something.

“Y/n, are you sure? It’s going to be dangerous out there. The hunters have put a target on your head.”

God dammit, did he think you didn’t know? “I can handle myself, don’t worry. Maybe I’ll leave town, travel the world and stuff.”

There were no words to describe just how much Seokjin didn’t want that to happen. Not only would they not be able to protect you outside the manor walls, but if you left town altogether… well. Suffice it to say that he might not survive his brothers’ wrath if he didn’t stop this now.

His mind raced as he tried to figure out how to convince you to stay. “Do you have a plan for after you leave?”

You shrugged. “I’ll figure it out, I guess.”

“Y/n… please stay.”

Your eyes widened, and he searched for a way to make what he’d said less weird and overbearing. “At least until you have a plan,” he tacked on hastily. “You don’t have to rush into anything. You know we all like having you around.”

The way your brow arched showed that you did not, in fact, know this. Oops. Seokjin tried to muster some guilt at spilling the beans but wasn’t very successful. At this point, if you didn’t realize how whipped most of the boys were for you, it really was your fault.

You capitulated easily, since what he was offering you was the preferred outcome for you too. Of course you’d considered all the challenges you’d face if you left. You had no home, no plan, and it wasn’t like you could pick up a normal job in this city. “All right,” you accepted gratefully. “I’ll stay just long enough to get my affairs in order, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“There’s no rush,” Seokjin hurried to remind you. “We don’t mind having you around, and we’ll worry if you leave without a plan, especially with things the way they are now.”

“Thank you,” you said as you stood up to leave.

Now that that was done, you returned to your room. Yoongi was already gone, and although you spent a few seconds wondering where he’d gone off to when he’d appeared dead to the world when you’d left, your overwhelming emotion was an inexplicable exhaustion. Groaning, you changed back into your pajamas and sank into the bed, Injeolmi leaping up to snuggle into your side.

-----------------------------------------

“Hobi…”

Hoseok groaned, pulling the covers up over his head. “Go away. Stop watching me like that. This isn’t a zoo.”

“You need to eat,” Jungkook fussed from the foot of the bed.

“I can’t.” He’d tried, at their insistence, drinking from a blood bag, and it had come right up. He had no desire to repeat the experience.

“Hyung, please.” Jungkook was near tears now, and Hoseok didn’t understand why. He wasn’t the one laid up in bed and barely able to move.

“Go away,” he repeated.

“This is my room,” Yoongi pointed out, frowning.

Defeated and too tired to argue any more, Hoseok turned away from them, lying stubbornly on his side facing the wall and ignoring his brothers. If only he could ignore the pain radiating through his entire body too.

--------------------------

The six brothers sat around the dining table, waiting and watching the one portion of food at your place get cold. “Do you think she’ll come down tonight?” Jimin wondered, his brows knit in concern.

“It doesn’t look like it,” Namjoon said with a sigh. He stood up and picked up the tray your food was placed on. “I’ll bring it to her.”

This, of course, started a minor scuffle as all the vampires wanted to be the one to deliver your dinner. You’d been holed up in your room for the better part of a week now, and they were all worried, never having seen you this down before.

In the end, Namjoon won by simply walking out of the dining room with the tray in his hands while the other boys were yelling at each other. His own pack of blood was perched on the edge of the tray where he’d placed it, hoping you would let him dine with you tonight. He kind of missed having you around the library and staying in your room alone was definitely not healthy.

Stopping outside your door, he paused, looking down at his full hands. Given his track record with dropping things, it seemed prudent to not even attempt balancing the tray full of food with one hand while knocking, so he just called your name instead.

When you came to the door, he had to work hard to not let his surprise show on his face. Your hair was mussed from your pillow, you were dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, and… was that dried drool on the side of your mouth?

“I brought dinner,” he said instead, hoping that you wouldn’t notice his reaction to your appearance.

“Thanks.” Your voice was raspy from sleep, and you went to grab the tray, intending to eat it alone in your room like you’d been doing for the past few days. You were grateful that the boys were so understanding and didn’t seem to mind bringing you your meals, but you hadn’t been able to muster the energy to do anything much. Truly, Namjoon needn’t have worried – you weren’t exactly in the right frame of mind to be observant about anything, just wanting to retreat back into your room to mope alone.

Instead of handing the tray over, though, Namjoon’s fingers tightened around it as he pulled it further from you. “I was actually hoping to have dinner with you tonight,” he said. Your hands froze in the air as your eyes snapped up towards him.

“Oh…” you said, slightly hesitantly.

“Is that okay?” Namjoon’s eyes sought yours, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to that earnest gaze. Nodding, you stood aside to let him in before shutting the door after him.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a few days.” As he set the food down on the table, he tried to strike up a conversation. To no avail, since you just grunted in response, folding your arms over your chest and picking at a loose thread on your sleeve as you followed him.

“Are you okay?” He turned to look at you, his brow furrowed in concern.

You opened your mouth to assure him that yes, you were doing fine, but the words wouldn’t come out, and before you knew it, your eyes were filling with tears. You sniffled helplessly, trying to blink them away.

“Woah, hey, hey,” Namjoon stepped forward and gingerly wrapped his arms around you, giving you lots of time to dodge away from him if you didn’t want physical comfort. Instead, you pitched yourself forward so that you almost crashed into him, burying your face in his chest as your hands fisted in his shirt on either side of his waist.

He held you quietly as you sobbed, stroking your back and making soothing noises at you. When you were finally spent, he directed you gently to the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sniffled, wiped your nose on your sleeve, and said, still a little choked and nasally, “Okay.”

Rubbing your back, he waited for you to begin speaking. “Jennie-unnie was sent here because I was getting too friendly with the vampires.”

He blanched. It made sense, he supposed, but he hadn’t really thought about why you’d been cast out of the Guild, especially since you were barely cordial to them.

“It just feels weird, is all,” you continued in a small voice. “Being a hunter was the only thing I ever knew. I grew up in the Guild.”

Wait. Namjoon frowned. That didn’t make sense. Hunters were usually recruited in their early teens, and no one was ever born into it.

When he voiced his question, you nodded. “I was the exception. They found me, um… my parents had been drained when I was a baby, so I was brought back to the Guild and raised there.”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon sympathized. “It must be hard to lose the only home you’ve ever known.”

You nodded, trying not to cry again. “And Master Bang… he’s the closest thing to a parent I ever had.”

Namjoon tried to maintain his cool, but he couldn’t quite hide the way his nose wrinkled at that revelation. “I’m so sorry,” he said again. No wonder you’d been so messed up when you arrived. He was a real piece of work.

“I know that everything seems scary now,” he started tentatively, “and I want you to know that you can take all the time you need to figure it out. All of us want to be here for you, and if you’ll allow us… we want to be your new family.”

“Really?” you asked, turning your teary gaze on him.

“Really,” he confirmed, and you leaned in to hug him again. Namjoon truly gave amazing hugs, you were finding. You didn’t consider yourself a particularly small person, but he dwarfed you easily, making you feel so protected and warm. After spending so long being the protector… it was nice.

“Now go take a shower, you’ll feel better,” he instructed when you pulled away from him.

“Okay,” you agreed, getting up to do just that.

------------------------------

Let it be known to all that Namjoon was not a perv. He just had exceptionally great hearing as a vampire, and he couldn’t turn it off. It was why he heard the agonizing noises of you shedding your clothes, growing increasingly discomfited as he heard each successive item hit the floor.

Injeolmi wandered out of the bedroom and gave him a judgmental little meow, and Namjoon frowned at the cat. “Don’t be like that,” he grumbled halfheartedly. “I can’t help it.”

The sound of running water let him know that you’d stepped into the shower, and the sigh you let out as the hot water hit your body was almost a moan.

“Jesus,” Namjoon muttered, jumping half out of his skin at the sound as Injeolmi gave him the stink-eye.

Utterly oblivious to what was going on, you continued with your blissful shower. You hadn’t gotten out of bed since you’d returned from your conversation with Seokjin, and it felt amazing to wash all the filth off yourself. You let out a moan as you scrubbed your scalp clean, a sound that made the hair prickle on Namjoon’s.

You had to be the loudest person he’d ever met in his life. Who made this much noise just showering? The sound of your hands spreading soap over your body were so distinct it was almost like having a front-row seat to the show. Not that he was imagining just what was going on there, of course. Sweat beaded on his temples as he glared at the closed bathroom door. Just a flimsy piece of wood separated the two of you.

Well, that and his willpower, which was quickly shredding as he sat there, trying not to make a sound (and determinedly avoiding eye contact with your cat).

Thankfully, you soon turned off the water, although your slightly off-key humming as you toweled yourself off didn’t do much to help either, making his heart clench with fondness for you. When you finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed in yet another set of sweats and toweling your hair dry, he cleared his throat to alleviate the sudden dryness and smiled back at you when you grinned at him from under your towel.

“Come eat,” he gestured towards the table, waiting for you to turn your back on him before standing to join you due to the… ahem, situation in his pants.

You sat down, looking at the food happily as you picked up the spoon. Today Seokjin had made kimchi stew, but as you took a sip you grimaced. It had gotten cold after sitting out for so long.

Namjoon, picking up the blood bag from the side of your tray, caught your expression. “What’s wrong?”

You explained it to him, and he chuckled. “Let’s go heat it up, then.”

In the kitchen, you put the pot back on the stove to reheat, leaning against the island facing your stew as you waited. Namjoon stood on the other side of the island, watching as you chatted about a book you were reading that he’d recommended. It was very domestic, and he felt his heart warm at how nice this all felt.

When the stew was bubbling away again, you turned off the stove and took the pot off. Instead of going to the dining room, you and Namjoon sat at the counter since it was just the two of you, and for the first time in days, you began to feel like everything might be all right again.

---------------------------

Over the next week or so, the boys were gratified to see you come out of your shell again. There were moments when an air of melancholy would surround you as you stopped what you were doing to stare sadly into space, but you always came back to them.

You managed to find things to do with almost every member, hanging out in the library or garden, learning how to play the piano from Yoongi, even working out with Jungkook. Taehyung was so jealous that he decided to join you and exercise for the first time, and the way you laughed at his inability to do a pull-up was completely worth the soreness the next day, especially since you then wrapped your arms around his legs and helped lift him up.

Injeolmi became a common sight around the manor as you gave him free rein, and where Injeolmi was, Jimin was never far behind, spoiling the cat with pats and treats. You found yourself having to stop Jimin from buying his own treats for the cat after Injeolmi started developing a paunch, and you didn’t know who’d given you a bigger pout, the cat or the vampire.

Of course, all the boys were thrilled that you were coming out of your shell and spending more time with them. Now that you weren’t being pulled in the opposite direction by your allegiance to the Guild, you were more comfortable being open around them, laughing and joking in a way you hadn’t let yourself before. It was truly a beautiful thing to see, if slightly inconvenient.

As your resistance towards them melted away, the mate bond had a chance to snap into place. All of them felt it now, tugging in their chests, directing their instincts. You didn’t seem to notice either the sensation of the bond, mistaking it for fondness, or the way their eyes followed you around hungrily.

Not hunger as in lust (although there was that too), but actual physical hunger. The mate bond was parasitical in nature – vampires who found their mate could only drink from them. You were quickly becoming the sole source of food for seven born vampires, although they were conspiring to keep it from you for as long as possible, not wanting to spook you and send you packing by revealing your importance to them too early.

Still, it was becoming increasingly harder. When you threw your head back to laugh at one of Seokjin’s lame jokes, everyone in the room zeroed in on your neck, looking for the almost imperceptible sight of your vein throbbing slightly with each heartbeat that they could hear. Working out with Jungkook meant that the blood rising to just under your skin had such an alluring scent that he found himself working out harder than he ever had before to redirect his own blood flow. He wasn’t always successful, though, and you grew used to the boys disappearing unexpectedly when your back was turned, only to reappear later looking sheepish for some reason. You just assumed they got too hungry to wait and had to grab a snack.

The closest call yet was when you pricked your finger on a thorn in Namjoon’s garden while helping him clear some of the debris to plant new bushes. You’d yelped in pain as you dropped the dead branches you were carrying, and that was the only warning Namjoon got before the blood rose through the little wound to the surface.

“Oww,” you complained as you popped your finger into your mouth. Namjoon, thankfully standing with his back to you, broke into a full sweat. What was he supposed to do? He had to walk past you to get back into the manor, and he didn’t think he could take another step closer to you without attacking.

As desperation overtook him, he sprinted away from you, vaulting over the high wall of the hedge maze and running for his life.

“Namjoon-ssi?” you mumbled around your finger. “Where are you going?”

You frowned at the empty space where the vampire had been just seconds ago. What was going on?

------------------------

These days, being alone in the manor was a rarity. As you started seeking out the boys more for company, you found, to your delight, that they were more than happy to reciprocate. There was almost always someone willing to hang out with you in their usual haunts, and Jimin was always underfoot, chasing Injeolmi around and begging for affection from the cat.

So it was strange, you thought as you drifted through the hallways of the manor, that there was no one around today. You’d checked the study, the library, the music room, the gym… it was like all the boys had disappeared.

Slightly concerned, and with Injeolmi in tow, you wandered around the parts of the manor that you rarely went to, trying to find the boys. They usually knew you were coming way before you made your presence known, so you didn’t worry that you were going to intrude.

Today, however, the boys were otherwise occupied in a screaming match in Yoongi’s room, where Hoseok was still laid up. They’d managed to get Hoseok’s bedroom fixed, but he was in such a frail condition that no one wanted to move him, so Yoongi had temporarily switched rooms with him. All of them had different opinions about what to do with Hoseok, completely drowning out the man in question’s voice as they debated hotly about whether and how to tell you what was going on.

As a result, none of them heard you approaching, even as you frowned and hastened your pace when you heard the indistinct sounds of yelling. As you grew closer, you were able to hear what they were discussing.

“We can’t just do nothing; Hoseok-hyung looks like shit!”

“He’ll be fine for a little longer, you know born vampires are tougher than that.”

“Yes, but we aren’t invincible. He’s running on borrowed time and you know it.”

“We have to tell her eventually anyway.” Seokjin, ever the voice of reason, cut through the loud argument the younger vampires were having. By this point, you were hovering right outside the door, which had been left slightly ajar. If they weren’t so immersed in the fight they were having, they would have noticed you from a mile away.

“Sure, let’s just march right up to her and tell her that if Hoseok doesn’t drink from her, he’ll die soon,” Yoongi scoffed.

“What else do you suggest, hyung? Look at Hobi,” Namjoon retorted, frowning.

“I’ll do it.”

Your voice shocked them into silence, and you stepped further into the room. “Hoseok needs to drink my blood, right? I’ll do it.” You didn’t know where all this bravado was coming from. Letting a vampire drink from you was basically like committing suicide, yet here you were, offering yourself up for dinner.

“Y/n… are you sure?” All of them were ogling you now, and even Hoseok had forced himself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard.

You took a moment to consider, looking over the man in the bed. He really did look awful, pale and trembling with dark circles under his eyes. His lips were chapped and dry, and he’d lost so much weight in the two weeks you hadn’t seen him that his cheekbones protruded sharply. You knew in your bones that you were the only thing keeping him from certain death, and you had a life debt to repay.

“Yes.” And you crossed the room to him.

#ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #ot7 x reader #ot7 fic #bts x reader #vampire bts #bts vampire au

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

wings & the way down - part 4

Spencer Reid x Derek Morgan

Word Count: ~1870 this chapter

Warnings: None?

A/N: A wild subplot appears! Gang’s mostly here, so we get to the fun stuff soon. Nobody’s reading this on tumblr, really, but I still feel the need to apologize for the delay!

Catch up here.

Monday, January 6 - Derek

As far as first days go, it could be a lot worse. It’s still fucking exhausting.

They send the class president to meet him in the office, in the morning — blonde-haired and blue-eyed, straight out of a Colgate ad as she shakes his hand and introduces herself as “Jennifer, but my friends call me JJ.”

Derek doesn’t fully trust girls like that, the ones who are so traditionally pretty they think they don’t have to be nice, but she’s cool enough as she shows him to his first class and gives him a brief tour, pointing out where he’ll want to go for his next class. He’s already feeling a little lost.

People keep looking at him, and he wonders what they’re seeing.

JJ seems to know everybody; she greets almost everyone by name as they walk, introducing Derek in passing. Most of the kids smile right back. It makes Derek reconsider his initial assessment of her; mean girls don’t usually get that sort of genuine warmth aimed in their direction.

She invites him to eat lunch with her and her friends, but he has a meeting with Principal Strauss during lunch to talk about the student handbook, how he’s adjusting, and all the other fun shit.

“No worries, standing invitation,” JJ tells him.

“Tomorrow, then. It’s a date,” he replies, flashing his most charming grin.

She smiles at that — not the flirtatious expression Derek expected, more like she’s laughing at a private joke — before waving and heading off to her own class.

The history teacher, Ms. Lewis, asks him to stand and introduce himself to the class, and to “Tell us something about yourself,” which… yeah, he saw that one coming, and he practiced it in front of the mirror last night.

“Derek Morgan.” Not-too-bright smile; just casual enough to be cool, not cocky. “I just moved from Chicago. Psyched about the Vegas weather, not so much about the pizza.”

He has to do the same thing at the start of every class. He’s going to be repeating it in his sleep, at this rate, and the more he says it, the more disingenuous it feels, trying to boil his identity down to one neat sentence.

The English teacher, Blake, also asks him to say his favorite book, and Derek hesitates slightly. His instinct is to lie, say something cool and not quite as nerdy, but he catches himself and tells the truth instead. Nobody seems to care except the girl sitting next to him — dark hair, darker eyeliner — who raises a skeptical brow, like she doesn’t believe it.

At the end of class, though, Blake pairs him with Eyeliner Girl for a project, and she gives him a begrudging smile before introducing herself: “Emily. Glad I’m not the new kid any more.”

She scrawls her name and number on a piece of paper and slaps it down on the desk in front of him, saying something about meeting up later in the week, as she starts to pack up her stuff. Derek notices an enamel pin of a pansexual pride flag on her bag — between a Joy Division patch and a pin that says “Death Before Decaf” — but before he can figure out whether he wants to comment on that, she’s on her way out the door.

Most of the day is just a blur of new faces and names and trying to remember where the fuck he’s going. Strauss is brusque but sharp. The place is huge, but there seem to be a lot of girls eager to show him around. People have been friendly enough; the whispers he hears are curious, instead of vicious.

Derek feels a little bit like he’s got a spotlight on him every time he walks through the halls. At least here it’s a spotlight and not a bullseye.

He wasn’t nervous for any of his classes, or anything, but he’s definitely nervous before practice. He’s not sure whether Coach Rossi told the team anything about why he ended up transferring mid-year.

He’s braced for some hostility when he introduces himself to the team captain. “Hey, man, I know this has got to be weird, but—”

“Hey, apparently you can help us win some games,” the guy says, with a disarming smile. “Foyet. Glad to have you.” Derek breathes a little easier as they shake hands.

Coach Rossi, meanwhile, isn’t like any high school coach Derek’s ever met. They’re usually big and loud and kinda aggro, but Rossi’s quieter, deadpan, well-dressed. He’s got this unimpressed expression, like he has seen some shit in his day and is not going to be bothered by any amount of macho teenage posturing.

It feels good to be back on the court. The team’s not stellar, but fuck, it’s better than what he left behind, any day of the week. Derek’s in his element, here, and after a day of uncertainty, it’s nice to know he can still do this. By the end of practice, he seems to have won over most of the guys who seemed a little frosty at first, and that’s really fucking nice too.

He hangs back for a minute to talk to Rossi, afterward, to thank him and just touch base. Then there’s talk of uniforms and making sure he has a locker, before the next practice, and by the time he gets showered, the rest of the team is gone.

He doesn’t mind walking back to the main building on his own. It feels like he’s been smiling and shaking hands and working so damn hard to make a decent first impression that he hasn’t been able to properly breathe all day.

The school is mostly deserted, at this point — there are a few teachers still working at their desks, a couple students packing up. He gets a little bit turned around trying to find his locker again, wandering into an out-of-the-way section of classrooms near the auditorium before hitting a dead end. He retraces his steps and takes the right turn this time.

Then he hears an argument around the corner, unmistakable in the relative quiet. He winces, wondering if he should announce his presence somehow, but it doesn’t sound like the kind of thing he wants to interrupt.

“Look, I’m sorry,” a female voice is saying. “But every time I think about it… it’s terrifying. It’s easier for you, you’ve never—”

“You think this is easy?” another girl snarls. “Fuck that and fuck you. I told you, I’m not doing this. No fuckin’ way.”

With that, heavy footsteps stomp away, echoing down the hall.

Derek pauses for a moment, listening, but there’s no more sound; he waits a few seconds anyway before turning the corner, where one of the girls is still standing silently.

When she whirls, startled by the sound of his footsteps, he realizes it’s JJ.

It just takes her a blink to pull herself together at the sight of him; if he didn’t see the tears streaking down her cheeks, he’d almost believe it when she aims one of those Colgate-ad smiles in his direction.

“You okay?” he asks hesitantly. JJ nods vigorously.

“Totally! I think it’s allergies or something,” she insists. Right.

“Think I’m a little turned around. How do I get out to the senior lot?” he asks her.

“I’m heading that way, I’ll show you,” she says. As they start to walk, Derek can see her, out of the corner of his eye, wiping away tears discreetly. “How was your first day?”

“Not bad, can’t complain,” he says, shrugging. “Pretty weird being the new kid, but… what are you gonna do, right?”

JJ hesitates before saying, “Must be nice. Getting a fresh start, no expectations.”

That’s not the usual line. Most people say it must be difficult, having to start over where nobody knows him; most people ask if he misses home, and they don’t consider what he’s trying to get away from.

He doesn’t ask JJ what she wants to get away from — instead he says, “That’s what my momma keeps saying: I can be whoever I want to be.”

“So who do you want to be, Derek Morgan?”

“Just want to be myself,” he says, and she looks up at him with a small, sardonic smile.

“You make it sound so easy,” she mutters.

He laughs. “Yeah, fair enough.”

This time, her smile seems more genuine. JJ points him in the right direction and then ducks into the women’s bathroom, with a wave and a reminder that she’ll see him for lunch.

Derek heads toward the front door. He’s fishing around in his bag as he walks, looking for the keys to his uncle’s truck, when he walks right into somebody rushing out of the men’s bathroom.

“Fuck, sorry, are you —” He stops dead, still with an arm out to help steady the other person, because the other person is Spencer.

Spencer, who looks just as surprised as Derek feels. They lock eyes for a second, and Derek’s insides go on an entire fucking roller-coaster ride in one frozen moment.

“I thought you were in college,” Derek blurts out, half-laughing, but Spencer doesn’t look even a little bit happy to see him. He’s gone pale.

“What? No, still in fucking high school, last I checked.” His voice is bitter, and it cracks on the words. “I just take college classes sometimes.”

“Oh.”

“I thought you were visiting,” Spencer says, pushing his hair out of his face like he wants to be pulling it instead.

“I am,” Derek says, stomach sinking when he realizes Spencer still isn’t smiling. “For another six months.”

Spencer’s mouth drops open, and Derek has a visceral flash of sensory memory: those pretty pink lips brushing his cheek.

Spencer scowls. “So you’re — you go here. Fantastic.”

Derek’s too tired to pretend the venom in Spencer’s tone doesn’t hurt.

He snaps, “Did I do something wrong here, or did you just wake up on the bitchy side of the bed?”

Maybe not his most mature reaction, but. It’s been a long fucking day.

Spencer digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, for a second, and Derek can see the tension in his fingers. Then he exhales and it’s like all that twitchy furious energy drains out of him at once. He just looks exhausted.

His voice is low and croaky as he says, “I liked that you didn’t see me the same way as everybody else does.”

“So, what, you think that’s gonna change just cause we go to the same school now? What kinda asshole do you think I am?”

“The kind who wears a varsity jacket,” Spencer mumbles. His eyes are huge and hurt and soft, and Derek recoils slightly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Spencer shakes his head. “Never mind. Just — trust me, okay? You’re better off pretending you don’t know me.”

“I want to know you, though,” Derek says quietly.

Spencer’s phone is vibrating. He looks down at it and then gives Derek one more sad little half-smile as he starts to walk away.

“If you still feel that way by the end of the week, give me a call,” he says over his shoulder, already pushing the front door open. “But you won’t.” Before Derek can respond, he’s flipping the phone open and saying, “Hey, Mom. I’m on my way.”

When Derek collects himself and follows him out, Spencer’s already gone.

#moreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #derek morgan

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