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jawritter · 2 years ago

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Carry On

Chapter 5

Summary: It was just a simple hunt, found on a pie festival. It was supposed to be easy. Something they’d all done one hundred and one times a million. No one could have told Y/N, Dean, and Sam that nothing from that point on would ever be the same again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2023

Warnings: Pain, Angst, Just generally feeling like things aren’t getting any better.

Due to the graphic nature of this fic, and the fact that it will eventually contain Smut. This fic is an 18 + only fic! If you’re under 18 DO NOT read this fic!

A/N: This fic is beta’d by @kazsrm67 Thanks so much love! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!

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“Dean, come on, you need to at least try and eat something, even if it’s not but a few bites,” Y/N pleaded as she sat there with a piece of grilled chicken stuck to the end of a fork.

Dean shook his head with a grimace and turned away from her. She sighed heavily as she sat the food back down on the dinner tray the orderly had brought in and placed in front of her so she could help Dean eat.

“Dean, if you don’t eat they’re gonna want to put a feeding tube down your throat, and they will put you back in the ICU; you have to eat something.”

Of all the challenges she thought she was going to have to face with Dean over the first week that he’d woken up, eating was not one of them. Dean Winchester liked his food. While she knew it wasn’t a double bacon cheeseburger, she’d seen the dude eat prison food for fuck’s sake, hospital food wasn’t much different, she never would have guessed he’d all but refuse to eat a bit of food once he’d woken up. Yet here they were on day five, and it seemed to be getting worse and worse.

“Stomach hurts,” he murmured, and Y/N didn’t deny that it most likely did. He was on a lot of pain medication, as well as nausea meds, but if anyone has ever been on a Morphine pump like Dean had been for days, or was on the amount of IV antibiotics they were shifting through him roughly every four hours, it did tend to make you queasy, even with the anti nausea meds.

“That’s probably because you’re not eating enough Dean. You’re on a lot of medication and you’re weak, you need to eat to regain some of your strength,” she tried again as she picked up the small bite of chicken on the fork, and brought it to his dry, cracked lips. He reluctantly took the bite.

There was no easy way of saying it, but Dean looked horrible. He’d lost a good bit of weight, between the struggle of eating since he’d been awake, and his time in the coma. His hair was everywhere. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes, and he was still a good bit pale.

What hurt her the most, more than all of that, was the light that seemed to always be in those candy apple green orbs of his had just simply gone out. The joking, annoyingly charming Dean Winchester she knew was just gone. It was almost as if he’d just given up.

“There we go,” she smiled at him, “one bite at a time.”

Technically, Dean could probably feed himself. He had pretty good use of his right arm. His left on the other hand, that one he could only bring up so far before the pain started an excruciating track from his back to his chest. The problem seemed to be sitting up, even just inclining the bed a little became unbearably painful very quickly, and it was hard to feed himself when he was stuck laying flat on his back.

Pain management had become another one of the biggest challenges since he’d woken up. At first, they thought they had it under control, but then two days later, the pain medication didn’t seem to be working for more than two hours before he was literally withering in pain again. So after a very long day of adjusting and readjusting medications, they finally put him on a Morphine pump, which worked so far. Even though about thirty minutes before the light would turn green on his remote, indicating that he could give himself another dose, he was fingering the controller, which let her know that the discomfort was very much still there, and as soon as the light turned green, he didn’t hesitate in pushing it.

After only a handful of bites he turned his head away, with a grunt. “I can’t,” he admitted. “Please don’t make me eat any more of that.”

“Okay,” Y/N agreed with a heavy sigh, glad he’d at least taken a few bites of food, and pushed the tray away from him as he coughed and flinched from the action. She wasn’t about to force feed him; that would just be cruel. “Why don’t I call Sam later, see if he can get you some pie in here, or maybe we can split a burger, how does that sound?”

Dean pouted slightly, as he took the straw in his mouth, and drank a good bit of the Sprite she was holding for him. He wasn’t on any dietary restrictions that she was aware of, and at this point she was willing to try anything to get some food in him.

“Maybe… Maybe he could bring one of those chicken strip baskets from Dairy Queen, you know, the ones that have the white gravy with them?” he said after a moment, and she hurriedly picked up the phone to text Sam his order.

“If that’s what you want, handsome, then you got it,” she said, before coming to sit down on the bed next to him, taking his hand in hers again; careful not to jostle him at all, or cause him any more discomfort.

A heavy silence fell into the room, as it often did in moments like this; moments where neither of them seemed to know what to say to one another, because nothing that she could say could take this away, or make it better for him.

She hated this. She hated to see him lying helpless in this bed. She hated not having the happy, annoying, cocky hunter that Dean was walking around hitting on everything that moved, and annoying the fuck out of Sam and Eileen. She hated that she couldn’t take his place, because she would have in a heart-beat. Dean had been through so much. He’d lost so much. He’d given more than anyone else she’d ever known to everyone’s plight but his own. This wasn’t fair.

“What are you thinking about,” Dean asked, his voice rough and barely above a whisper, but it startled her out of her daze all the same.

“Nothing,” she lied, giving him her best fake smile. “Nothing at all.”

“Liar,” Dean accused. “Sweetheart you’re looking at the king of everything’s fine, and nothing actually is. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, hating the way he could seem to read her, even though this is the most time they had ever spent with one another… well ever.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about. All you need to do is focus on getting better.”

Y/N reached over Dean and grabbed the remote that had the nurse call button attached to it, and placed it in Dean’s reach before turning the volume up slightly on what looked like some old horror movie playing on the small screen, in hopes of attracting Dean’s attention to it, and away from her worrying. The last thing he needed was to get stuck in his head, and some of the thoughts she’d been struggling against lately would effectively stick him there.

Dean’s eyes trained for the TV for a moment, but it didn’t seem to capture his attention the way she’d hoped it would. Instead he just huffed a shallow breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

“Dean, what’s wrong? Is the pain back?” she questioned, quickly reaching for the call button that was on the remote.

Dean shook his head slightly and cleared his throat before looking back at her; she released the remote she was still holding, letting it fall back down onto the bed.

“Everything’s gonna change now,” he murmured after a while, finding his favorite spot to stare out of, which happened to be the only window available in the room.

Y/N nodded, knowing it would do no good to lie to him, because if Dean was nothing else the man was smart, and she was sure that he’d had plenty of time since he’d woken up to lay there and think about everything that happened to him, and what it might mean for him in the future; even if he hadn’t vocalized it yet with anyone.

“Change isn’t always a bad thing ya know. One door closes, another opens. Chuck’s no longer an issue. Hunting has gone back to old school, very little demons and big bads left out there. It might be time for a change. I’d say you’ve given more than your share of time Dean. Even if you can’t hunt anymore, I’m sure there are other things you can do. It’s not the end of all things.”

Dean ran his right hand down his face, as he stared off into the distance, a tired expression on his face.

“I don’t know how to be or do anything else,” he admitted. “Everything I wanted to do, even if it was something other than hunting, it’s just not gonna happen now. If you hear the doctors tell it I’m lucky to even be breathing, much less walk again.”

“Dean, it’s all still so fresh, it’s too soon to make those kinda calls. Just give it some time. They said when the swelling goes down, then you will most likely regain some feeling. They said it’s gonna take time. Give it time. Don’t rush it.”

Dean licked his lips, and his nostrils flared as his face turned red as he fought against his own emotions before he was able to shove it back down.

“I’m just someone’s burden now. I can’t even fucking sit up to feed myself. I would have been better off if—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence Dean Winchester,” Y/N cut him sternly. “Don’t you dare think for one minute you would have been better…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, but instead looked away from him for a moment as she tried to collect herself. Him seeing her upset is not what he needed right then.

“You’re not a burden Dean,” she said after a moment, squeezing his hand in hers. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but trust me, things will get better. You’re right, they won't ever be what they were, but that doesn’t always mean it’s a bad thing. You’ve given up and lost so much, it’s past time that you let someone take care of you, and it’s a damn honor to do it as long as you will let me. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing; nowhere else I’d rather be. That’s not a burden, I promise you.”

Dean said nothing, just kept his gaze anywhere but her as he played with the sheets that were laying across his stomach. He didn’t believe her, and Y/N knew it, but everything she said was the truth. She did count it as an honor to take care of him. That he trusted her enough to stay there with him in what was probably his most vulnerable state. Right now, Dean was thinking about none of that, all he could see was pain, and she understood that too, because anyone facing what he was facing, anyone as independent as Dean had always been anyway, would be able to see nothing but pain and loss. Change usually does hurt, but this was a little excessive.

Y/N reached and placed her free hand on his thigh, and Dean’s eyes widened, his head snapping over to look at her with shocked green eyes, and she narrowed her own as she looked back at him, trying to figure out what she had done wrong, instinctively removing her hand.

“No, no,” Dean said, grabbing her hand and placing it back down on his leg again, this time putting the force of his own hand behind it along with her own.

“What’s wron—”

“I can feel it,” he said, suddenly, the voice of someone who’d just had the wind knocked out of him, “I can feel your hand.”

Forever:

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dismalzelenka · 9 months ago

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Febuwhump 2 - Solitary Confinement

Context for this one: Miriam's been subsumed by Hadar as a consequence of betraying her pact and has been brought back by her sister with some questionable divine help.

Her magic is volatile, and there's a lot of holes in her memory, and even though Eleanor checks on her every day, she doesn't remember the visits.

This contains spoilers for one of the available companion endings.

Pairing: Gale/Tav

CW: briefly mentioned failed suicide attempt

Read From Beginning || Previous || Next

"It didn't work." Eleanor stands at the altar, arms crossed as she wills Gale's avatar to come face her. She's found he tends to appear faster if she kneels, but this time, she refuses to offer him that courtesy, not when he owes her a massive explanation.

He answers with a faint whoosh, the charged scent of Karsite magic rippling in the air as he materializes before her. It's an odd space Eleanor occupies these days, because by all conventional definition, this is the god she worships, if it could even be called that. She prefers to consider them allies in pursuit of a common goal, but she supposes the nature of her divinely inherited powers these days doesn't particularly care about that little nuance. Sometimes, she thinks, neither does Gale.

"Explain," he says. "I sense her presence here, so I assume something must have gone according to plan."

"I've reconstructed her body using the theories we've discussed, it's true." She pauses, studies the body language of Gale's avatar in fascination. She wonders idly how many people in this life have had the experience of playing sister-in-law to a god. "Her mind is in tatters. I fear the Far Realms have taken something from her that cannot be recovered."

Gale's avatar ripples, becomes more corporeal, shrinking into something deceptively human. His skin loses its lustrous pallor, his eyes fade into their old soft brown with a tiny smattering of wrinkles at their edges. Grey streaks thread through his hair. In this form, he almost looks kind. "Show me."

---

Miriam doesn't know how long she's been in this room. It's a familiar room, familiar beyond the fact that she's been trapped here so long she can feel her mind unraveling. The clock above the polished mahogany desk circles the same hour every hour, and try as she might, she can't seem to keep track of the minutes that it does measure.

She's tried writing them down, but the parchment always vanishes when she puts it down; and she's tried holding onto it, but her mind wanders so erratically that she forgets what its doing in her hand within seconds of rolling it up. She's tried carving notches in the wall, too. That would have been an effective solution, except at times she finds herself carving them into other shapes, and by the time she comes back to herself, the orderly rows of lines she's been carefully curating has become a jumbled mess.

The worst is the silence. It presses in on her like a vise clamped around her ears. Sometimes she screams to break it -- obscenities, hysterical laughter, poorly recreated songs she only remembers a handful of words at a time -- but inevitably all that does is break her more when she runs out of sounds.

There is a balcony on the far side of the room. Sometimes she steps beyond the doors and finds herself looking across a harbor she doesn't recognize. She'd tried to throw herself over it into the water below, once, but there is an invisible enchantment that ripples with power that locks her in. Sometimes the sunlight is soothing. Mostly, it's another reminder that she's lost something she cannot wrap her mind around.

There is a blank section of the far wall that once housed a bookcase she's long since torn down piece by piece in sporadic fits of rage. Now there is only a messy scrawl of black ink across the stone:

my name is miriam my name is miriam my name is miriam my name is miriam MY NAME IS MIRIAM MY NAME IS MIRIAM

How many times can she repeat a name before it, too, becomes lost in the endless wash of history that refuses to straighten into an order that makes sense?

---

"You've locked her in my old study?" Gale almost sounds amused as Eleanor leads him to the scrying screen she's installed beside the door. "You do know this is where her entire plight began."

Eleanor clamps down on a familiar ripple of annoyance. "If you'd been paying attention, you'd know it's also the only room warded heavily enough to weather her outbursts of magic. I require further testing to be sure, but I suspect the traces of the True Weave in her blood are directly at odds with the magic that brought her back." Your magic, she thinks darkly to herself. "It took me three weeks to restore your old bedroom after she spent one night in there."

"Curious." He runs a hand along the scrying screen, and Eleanor wants to scream at how detached he sounds. She barely stifles a cruel, vindicated laugh when he jumps at the sound of something slamming against the door.

"Let me out!" Miriam screams. "Please! You can't keep me alone in here forever!" Her sobs never get any less heart wrenching. "Is anybody out there??" Then the pounding begins anew, and Eleanor steels her heart against what always comes next.

"When was the last time you saw her in person?" Gale asks, and with each blow that rattles the wood as Miriam throws herself against the door, his porcelain visage finally begins to crumble.

"This morning," Eleanor says. She means to sound as detached as he always does, means to try to hurt him with how little he's made her care, but her words come out as a choked whisper. "She never remembers me."

#bg3 #febuwhump2024 #day 2 #solitary confinement #gale/tav #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep #miriam taveric #eleanor taveric #post canon #possible gale ending spoilers #diz writes

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commonguttersnipe · 1 year ago

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Chapter 3: Who are you who are so wise in the ways of science?

He was going to kill them one day. He really was. The non-stop bickering and screaming had brought Mr Cleese to the brink of madness and he was extremely close to being pushed beyond. With a firm thwack of a ruler against his desk, the class stopped whatever tomfoolery they had gotten into and spun to face him in record time. The willowy man stood there for a second, his face slowly becoming less red as his captive audience tittered in anticipation.

“Right! To-day, we shall be conducting the test for hydrogen gas, professionally known as the squeaky pop test” He emphasised his pronunciation on the p, for no other reason than he thought it was fun to say. “It will take the utmost amount of maturity, diligence and- What is it Isaac?” He sighed as the bedraggled boy put his hand up.

“Please Sir, will it be dangerous?”

“It will involve fire so yes”.

An excitable buzz arose from the group, though now, Mr Cleese was too tired to be annoyed. An overwhelming weight of disappointment hung over him as he tried to seize his pupil’s attention again. He turned on a Bunsen burner, switching it to a safety flame so all could see the magnificent orangey red blaze. He then pulled out a jar of hydrochloric acid and a small dish of magnesium strips.

“Who can tell me…” He paused for silence (which he more, or less, got) “Why this is the most appropriate method of finding Hydrogen gas?”

“It’s cheap”

“You can do it in twenty minutes”.

“Because hydrogen is colourless and odourless”.

“You ran out of ideas”.

He scanned the room.

“Who said it was because it is colourless?” Bevis Larch raised his hand. Mr Cleese pointed to him with a very subtle smile on his lips, indicating to the boy that he was indeed correct. Bevis grinned.

“We now pour some of this liquid into a vial and pop in a strip of magnesium” He demonstrated “Now we will…”

“Is this room 81?” A mousy, young woman had entered the lab, anxiously fiddling with a piece of paper with her red nails. Mr Cleese looked upon the stranger with an aroused curiosity. She didn’t look like a science teacher at all. Far too soft and pleasant looking. Though take off the glasses… She wasn’t half bad. Even if her jumper was far too large to have a proper look at her body. God, he was gross.

He nods “I wasn’t expecting an assistant though”.

“No, I know… I believe they have made a mistake” She gave him a charming smile. Christ, she’s going to be eaten alive…

He gestured to a lone chair at the very back of the classroom.

“I’m Frances, by the way”

“Right” He hurriedly indicated to the seat again, anxious to get the lesson going again after the interruption. After she had sat down, he let out a deep sigh and resumed explaining.

20 minutes later

“Now, I shall go through the safety regulations. One, no running with a lit splint. Two, watch where you put that flame. Three, If you hurt yourself… you brought it on yourself, man up”

All the students scraped their chairs across the floor as they stood up. There was a feeling of delightful eagerness in the room, which John hadn’t realised he had missed. Once hair had been tied up and bags placed under the desk, he took out the wooden splints and ordered his pupils to queue in an orderly queue.

“Ahem.” John turned to see two-year 13s by the door.

“Excuse me Sir, we’re here to talk about the school’s new medical society” A kempt young man, William Skife, smiled, a slightly less pristine boy clinging onto his arm. John knew him as Raymond Luxury-Yacht (though he could never pronounce it), as he had gained quite the reputation for faking illnesses to get out of class. Why he was hanging around someone as intellectually ambitious as Skife, John would never know… but he could guess.

“Skife, we’re a bit busy”.

“But I have a poster?” He almost whined.

“I made it,” Raymond smugly grinned.

Flicking them away like flies, John flung down the poster on his desk. Peeking across the rows of little heads, he noticed Frances intently staring at him. When she realised she had been caught, she uncrossed her legs and began to gaze at the ceiling. Murmuring something about safety flames, he left the students to light the splints and paced over to the unfamiliar admirer.

“I’m John”

“John” she repeated, soft as a cloud. It was like she hadn’t heard the most common name in the world before. Looking down at her, she was rather small and unremarkable. Dull green eyes, crooked nose and russet brown hair in a bun; Epitome of beauty she was not. However, her lips were plump, and a lovesick haze had painted her face with a vibrant blush. He’d even go so far as calling her… pretty.

“Frances, wasn’t it?”

“Yes!” She confirmed, overjoyed that he had caught her name “Frances Pinnet-Crump. I was supposed to be with Mr Jones, but I think there was a mix up… Had quite the hectic weekend. My mam has a new cooker, you see…”

John shut off at that point and instead focused on her, the young woman becoming increasingly attractive with each passing second. The smell of smoke brought him out of what was becoming a wet daydream and he swiftly turned to the direction of his desk which was half ablaze. The poster which he had thrown aside had caught a lite and was now burning like it had just been prosecuted by Matthew Hopkins. Students were screaming, he was screaming, everyone was screaming, except for Frances, who had borderline sprinted to the nearest fire extinguisher. Despite her quick thinking, she became stuck when using the instrument. Panicking, she passed it onto Louis, who most certainly didn’t know how to use it, and prioritised getting the students out of the building. Bert, believing this to be his hero opportunity, grabbed the extinguisher from him and ran towards the fire, automatically burning himself, his arm turning red.

John just kept screaming.

Ronnie surprisingly did know how to use it, and pulled the pin, quenching the flame with foam. Distant sirens meant that the fire department had been called (thanks to Frances) so everybody was left to look at the damage while slow-clapping Ronnie. Matron was now looking at Bert who was trying really hard not to cry. John felt sorry for him until he remembered that he was an idiot. Science classes across the year were cancelled, at least until they could find a new desk.

Mr Cleese, however, was in trouble.

In front of Headmaster Milligan, the 6,4-man felt tiny. Frances was standing beside him, though by her calm behaviour, she was probably going to blame it all on him. He didn’t know who he was going to blame yet.

“To say I’m disappointed is an understatement… John, mate. Out of everyone to not let an experiment go wrong, YOU WOULD LITERALLY BE THE PERSON WHO CRAFTED THAT LIST!”

John swallowed his breath as he was berated. Now he could understand why everyone feared him. This was a terrifying experience.

“Got anything to say?”

For once, John didn’t say anything. His voice seemed to want to crack and all he could spill were a few ‘umms’ and ‘wells’.

“May I say something, sir?” Frances smiled “I was reprimanding him on just this behaviour when the fire broke out. His lacklustre attitude to student’s safety? Why, If anyone is responsible for the fire it’s me.”

“But you were picking up on his failures on student welfare!”

“Causing him to be distracted!”

“But you were doing your job?”

“So they cancel each other out.” She said with a determined finish. John looked at her in awe. Clever little so-and-so.

That was apparently a good enough reason for John to be let off the hook, providing that Miss Pinnet-Crump supervised all of his lessons, for which she was only too happy to oblige.

“So… thanks for that.” They walked beside each other on their way back to the faculty dorms.

“No problem at all” A comfortable silence hung out between them, as they passed tree after tree.

“Do…Do you want to come back to my place?” John blurted out. It was blunt. It was crude. It was inappropriate.

“Fuck yes” It worked.

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sirserpentine · 5 months ago

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"He is a character, that's for sure," Pentious said diplomatically, though he more than understood where Angel was coming from. If pushed enough, Pentious would surely go into a bitter rant about his itsy bitsy bitchy ex and he knew it wouldn't end well for anyone.

Angel's following words stuck a cord and Pentious almost missed out on what the Sinner said next.

"That's lovely, ssshe must've excelled... and of course," he replied absentmindedly, still stuck on the recollection that felt far too familiar. He reached into the cupboard and pulled out coffee to prepare for the cookie crust, while admiring Angel's ability to still smile.

He measured the ground, distinctly scented beans into the machine with mechanical orderliness, but his mind was swarming. He wasn't sure if he should indulge Angel in this... but his chest was pounding with an unfamiliar need to share, to relate. To reassure Angel that his feelings were understood.

"What you just said... that's um, that's what it was like for me, too. I didn't mean to- It was an accident," Pentious said. He hadn't thought about it in a while. Had refused to.

On that day... he had been so disoriented and likely high on something himself that he couldn't even recall it all clearly. But some parts refused to dissolve from his memory.

Kate had been so pale... And Pentious had tried his hardest to reverse the effects of her ailment, but his hands shook so hard, the desk was cluttered and the improvised antidote, the bottles, they had all spilt, over his hands and he hadn't thought to put out the candle and the fumes- it had burnt his eyes, the red blisters were everywhere and he could hardly breathe and then...

"I was careless, and I knew it'd be it... and I was terrified too, but in the very end I was just ready for it all to..."

The coffee scoop slipped from clumsy claws and its contents rippled all over the counter. Pentious was startled by his accident and began to quickly gather the spilt pieces. "Ssshit. Look at me go again-" he said, whimpering though he tried to laugh. "I'm sssorry, Angel, I didn't... I'm... I'm really sorry."

For making a mess? For everything bad he had done, ever? For what had happened to Angel? That life had led him here, lead them both here and the best he could do to cheer Angel up was a cake? It was a bit off all of that. Pentious bit his lip, trying to gather himself before he made even bigger of a mess.

How desperately Angel wanted to make a cheeky retort about there being an Italian he could absolutely eat right here in this room. But the conversation was a serious one, and even if Angel Dust was nine times out of ten up for sex, he knew that was because of his own nature. Not every demon was a horn dog. Unfortunately. He was just glad Pentious wasn't going to complain about resorting to something he knew how to cook like the back of his hand. Hands.

"And what does bein' pink and fluffy have tah' do with mah'.....oh. Ohhhhhh." He blinked for a moment, staring down at the patterning that went down his arms, especially now that he had removed his gloves to cook. "Yeah, that makes a lotta fuckin' sense actually." Great, he looked like a stuffed animal because he had always had concerns about being gay in his Catholic Italian family. Loved that for him.

He snorted at the mention of his brother, rolling his eyes dramatically, filling a pot with water to boil. "Ah' forget that yeh' knew Arackniss." Oh yeah, that voice was absolutely petty and bitter, Angel wasn't one to hold back. "Then ah'm certain yeh' know he's also always been a motherfuckin' jackass, so." A shrug, placing the pot onto the stove top, grabbing the pasta before grabbing another pan to make sauce in.

Once Pentious had commented on his overdose, Angel simply shrugged, glancing away, not wanting to talk about it. He felt a horrible guilt, knowing - at least as far as he was concerned - that he was the only one in that hotel that had died at his own hand. Even if it hadn't been intentional. "It was. At first. It was scary tah' know there was no stoppin' it, and ah' knew damn well ah' had pushed further than ah' should have. But there was also a weird....peace. That ah' would be free of all that life and - "

He snorted, pouring the pasta into the salted water. " - look how that fuckin' worked out." He only broke out of his thoughts as he felt Pentious behind him, smiling softly and tucking a lock of hair back, as if pushing it behind an ear that was no longer there. "Ah' love tiramisu. Ma used tah' make it all the time." A soft smile over at the inventor. "Yeh' actually gonna let meh' eat yeh' dessert this time? Call meh' flattered."

#ic #poisonedspider #(Angel.)#I ain't no doctor but I feel like these two need some hugs for the rest of their afterlives because holy shiiiii the baggage #;;__;;

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love-r-boy · 2 years ago

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because of all the !! wonderful !! stuff happening, i’m giving a little non-spoilery piece from to honor the deceased, which was difficult because most of what i’ve written out is nothing but the important, big parts and i need to connect them together lol. but i’m digressing. anyway!

Marc shivers.

Mercy Hospital is cold. That’s what he remembers about it—the cold, and the smell. Musty carpet and water-stained ceilings, chalky pills and discount washing detergent. Those are the only things that cut through the haze of injections that they keep him under for, according to them, the safety of himself and others.

Too many movies, his ass.

Marc’s head spins as he tries to focus on the woman sitting across the desk from him. Doctor Ellis is the same ghostly-skinned dead-eyed woman that she’s always been. Absently, she taps her pen against her desk.

“Who am I speaking with today?” she asks.

Even if his mind wasn’t already drifting to listen to the tick of the clock, Marc wouldn’t say anything to her. He closes his eyes as the seconds pass by to the sound of drum beats that drown out her voice, and the squeak of orderlies’ shoes as they walk past the office door and the wind that howls against the window. The noise blankets him, pulling him down, urging him to rest. Just sleep, Marc. Maybe it’ll be better when you wake up. No drugs, no doctors. Wouldn’t that be nice? I’ll get us out of here eventually. Sleep, Marc.

He's startled to lucidity when his vocal cords are used without his permission. The words come out half-mumbled, half-slurred. “That ain’t something you should be saying to patients, doc. Might make them lose hope, you know?”

Marc didn’t say that, and that sure as hell isn’t Steven.

“Jake,” Doctor Ellis greets pleasantly. What had she said to make him speak up after—a glance to the clock—thirty-four minutes of a session? Whatever it was is ignored as she sorts through her papers. “Thank you for finally engaging in your treatment. Today I’d like for us to attempt to walk through some of your early memories again. Do you think we can manage that this time?”

A muscle in their jaw tenses. The room stays silent, except for all the sounds, until Jake says, “I think that you’re part of the dregs of humanity. You wanna talk about childhood trauma? Maybe you should figure out what the fuck happened to you as a kid to make you wanna work as a healthcare professional who doesn’t seem to ever heal the poor sons-a-bitches that come here!”

Jake’s voice had grown in volume until he had been shouting the last words. He falls back against his chair when he’s finished, lips pulled back into a grimace. The world began spinning halfway through his rant as he started to run out of air.

Doctor Ellis breathes in and out. She closes her manilla folder and clasps her hands on top of it. “Perhaps we could get some healing done if you ever put in the work, Jake. Instead you shove your other alters away and play the man made of stone. I have been patient for six months, waiting for you to apply yourself. Then, maybe, you could return to society.”

“We both know you’re never letting us out of here,” Jake says calmly.

Doctor Ellis smiles. “If only you haven’t proven to be a threat to yourself and others.”

“You mean the accident reports that you and your team made up?”

“That’s illegal.”

“And immoral. But they still exist despite Marc being pumped full of drugs every six hours to the point of fucking paralysis before being shoved into a room to collect dust. The only real violence is whatever half-ass treatment plan you force on all of the bastards in this piss-poor excuse of a hospital. There are people in these rooms that could have gone home months ago. Some of them, probably years. But all of us are stuck here because you won’t let us get away!”

Doctor Ellis slowly leans back in her chair, visibly unimpressed. “Are you finished making up this evil narrative in your head? The world is not out to get you.”

Jake snarls and reaches forward to clear her desk with one sweep of his arm. Papers and folders and journals scatter in a flurry; the computer rips off its wires and cracks against the floor. Marc can read Jake’s thoughts as clear as crystal. The doctor’s lack of reaction only pisses off more. He wants a fight, he wants bloodshed, he wants to bite and maim and kill. He’ll never get any of that from her, though. Not on his terms.

Her fights are always with words.

“Tell me,” she says as her eyes drift to the side thoughtfully, “do you think Marc created Jake to hide away his most violent desires, or did Jake create Marc to function as a substitute to the brother he failed to protect?”

The clock ticks. Every second is a drumbeat in their head.

“You know, Doc?” Marc says. “I think Jake was right. There’s something really fucked up about you.”

She blinks and leans forward. “Marc?”

“Look, lady, I’ll be plain. I only vaguely remember this place, but if he doesn’t like you, I sure don’t like you either. Especially not with how you talk to him. And, for the record, you’re wrong.”

“Regarding what?”

“Jake doesn’t have my most violent desires or whatever. Our violence? It’s balanced between us.”

On the ground, having landed perfectly between his feet from Jake’s earlier outburst, is a circular paperweight. Marc had watched it roll there, and now finds it a perfect time to snatch up into his hand, rising to his feet and lunging forward with the perfect blunt trauma instrument in his hand to crack across this fake doctor’s head—

If only his ankle weren’t strapped to his chair.

A shocked cry leaves his lips as his feet jump out from under him, and his head perfectly angles for the edge of Doctor Ellis’s desk. The time slows and distorts as he falls, and Marc has just enough time to think with grim humor, well, Jake, I tried.

#my writing #copying and pasting from google docs got rid of all my italics but they werent load-bearing italics so #it's fine i'll leave it like that #i am SO sleepy

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kingexpl0sionmurder · 4 years ago

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Body Electric - Kaminari Denki - Smut

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder Pairing: Kaminari Denki/F!Reader Rating: 18+ (contains smut) Words: 5,491 Warnings: Sex work (Cam boy/girl), Quirkless AU, Aged-up Adult characters (someone is in grad school! wow!), mentions of masturbation (both male and female), mentions of casual ShinKami, established KiriBaku, Idk they are all just really sexually liberated and don’t care about watching each other cum. Is that voyeurism? I’m bad at tagging things. Title taken from a Lana Del Rey song. AN: Another BNHarem collab piece! The theme was sex work, and I have wanted to do a camboy Denki for a long time so here we go. This was really smutty in my head but Denki makes me soft and it turned out really cute in the end, I’m sorry? He’s such a dork I feel like any sexual encounter with him would just turn out like this in some way, idk. Thanks to @unbreakablekiribaku and @sailorsero as usual for being supportive of me. Happy birthday to @lady-bakuhoe and @burnedbyshoto 🎂🎂 There is no one else I would rather be birthday triplets with!

Please check out the Collab Masterlist: HERE Look 👀 at My Masterlist: HERE Buy me a Kofi if you’re scared of clowns too: HERE

---

Sighing, you sat up on your elbows, squinting at the chat on the screen, willing your heart to stop pounding and your breath to even out. The donations were pouring in, the chat moving so fast you couldn’t even read it. “Alright, lovelies, I hope you enjoyed that. Be right back and we’ll chat a little bit, okay?”

Donations popped up, the chat slowing a little as the clients who only came to jerk off to you left, leaving those who considered themselves true fans. You stood and made your way to the bathroom to pee, rinsing your toy off in the sink and washing your hands. You went back to your room, pulling on a hoodie and settling in front of the screen again.

“Alright, I’m back! I have some time for a few questions and then I have to go for the night. Let me see what we got!” You scanned the chat, ignoring the normal inappropriate questions. Mindfucker: Do you know who Chargebolt is? Cause I heard he watches your stream.

Your heart, which had finally slowed to a normal rhythm, picked up again. You most definitely knew who Chargebolt was. You gave him a good amount of money from your donations when you watched his cam shows yourself. “I do actually, he’s pretty popular on here, isn’t he?” You sat back a little, furrowing your brows. “How do you know he watches me?”

RedDaddy: He did a Q&A and mentioned your channel! Told everyone to check you out.

You recognized the names of the viewers and knew they were also regulars on Chargebolt’s streams as well, so you believed them. Chargebolt was gorgeous and funny, just your type. The knowledge that he was interested in you enough to watch you get off on camera was flattering. You hoped your blush wasn’t showing on your face.

“I’m surprised he knows who I am!” You had missed the last Q&A he’d done, since it hadn’t been on his normal streaming day, and you’d been stuck at work late. Leaning forward again, you bit your lip, looking into the camera from under your lashes. “Can I tell you guys a secret? I watch him, too. Why do you think I never do shows on Thursdays? That’s Chargebolt day.” With a wink you sat back, trying to will the blush from your cheeks. Mindfucker: I knew it! I bet he’s watching right now. You smiled, shrugging. “I hope he enjoyed the show, then!” You tried to hold it together, suppressing the urge to burst into a fit of giggles at the thought, answering a few more silly questions from your regulars, before signing off for the night, promising to be back again the following week.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, leaning your head back and groaning. It was wild that the guy whose cam shows you watched on the regular, the one who had inspired you to start your own, who you thought of half the time when you were filming yourself getting off on camera for strangers, knew who you were and was one of your viewers.

It brought you down a whole rabbit hole for a second, wondering if he got off on you getting off. Why else would he watch? Did he ever donate? You assumed he had a secondary account so you wouldn’t know it was him even if you tried to look at your past viewers, just like you had a secret account so you could watch him as well.

Cracking your eyes open, you clicked to view the donation tallies for the evening. You’d made enough to pay the rent on your apartment for the month in just one night. Sometimes you wondered how you ever managed to survive before you started doing this. It was meant to be a temporary side job, but you’d been running this cam channel under the screen name Neko for over six months, and you had clawed your way out of debt in such a short time, it didn’t make sense for you to stop.

You viewed a few more visitor stats with interest, before logging off the computer and shutting the laptop. You had to get to sleep for your real job in the morning, so you figured it was time for bed, pushing thoughts of Chargebolt to the back of your mind for now.

It wasn’t until later when you were lying down to sleep, that you thought of him again. Your eyes closed as you ran through a scenario in your head, wondering if he would mention you on Thursday, and what would come of all this? You had noticed your viewer numbers had spiked that day, so it was definitely beneficial that you’d caught his eye. You just weren’t sure what would happen next.

Denki was grinning into the camera, wiping the cum off of his abs with the towel he kept beside him, his chest and cheeks flushed pink. He adjusted in his chair, tugging the toy out of his hole and chucking it to the side, pulling his boxers back up over his softening cock. “I hope it was as good for you as it was for me, babes.”

He chuckled at the comments flooding the chat as he reached for his water and took a sip.

Tapeman: As always, you never disappoint me, Chargebolt.

“Hey thanks, Tapeman! I appreciate you always coming to hang out...get it? Coming?”

Mindfucker: Ridiculous.

“Aw, you love me, Mindfucker.” He winked at the camera. “So, did you guys enjoy my Q&A the other day?”

The chat filled with praise, making him grin. He loved to talk to his fans, and sometimes they had some great questions for him. He knew a lot of people just watched him as a way to get off, but he liked to give a little piece of himself to them because he knew that most of the people who watched were probably lonely, and he wanted to help with that in some way. He kept things laid back, joking and laughing with his viewers before and after the show, taking requests and doing his best to remember some of the regulars. Some of the few who had been with him from the beginning he’d made into moderators to help with keeping things somewhat orderly in the chat. Some of them he actually knew in real life, like his roommate Hitoshi, who used the alias Mindfucker.

Mindfucker: So are we going to talk about Neko? Denki’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, you mean the stream the other day? It was…” He made the appropriate motion as he said it. “Chef’s kiss, immaculate. She’s so beautiful…” Trailing off, he let himself think back to the way your chest heaved and the face you made when you came. “I would do anything for her, man.”

RedDaddy: Dude, I agree! She’s also super sweet, like, the total package.

Sighing, he leaned his elbow on the desk, his cheek resting on his palm. “I am a simp, my guy.” He sat up, squinting at the chat. “She said she watches, right? Is she here right now?” He scanned the names of the viewers, frowning. “She probably has a second account. Well, if you’re here, Neko, you should hit me up. I read all of my DM’s okay?” He grinned, winking again. “Alright, I have to go feed the cats so I’m outie 5000, thanks for hanging out and I’ll see you guys next week!”

He said his goodbyes, ending the stream and sighing. He wiped off his toy with the towel and clicked through his stats for the day, smiling at some of the comments that came with the donations. Hitoshi came into his room a few minutes later, holding one of the cats, an orange tabby named Miso, in his arms. “I fed them, you don’t have to.”

Was it weird that his roommate watched him fuck himself on toys and jerk off on the internet on a weekly basis? Nope. Denki had forgone all sense of modesty when it came to sex a long time ago, and Hitoshi was the same. It helped that they fucked around on occasion, best friends who got lonely and lived together sometimes did that, he guessed. Or maybe they were weird. It was whatever, he didn’t like to think about it too much.

“What would I do without you, Toshi?”

��Kill the cats, probably.” He deadpanned, leaning in the doorway. “Burn all the toast you try to make, buy the wrong peanut butter, eat Cheese-Itz for breakfast every day, forget to pay the cable bill.” He raised his eyebrows. “I can keep going.”

“Fuck off, I got the all-natural peanut butter once, it was an accident!” Denki threw his soiled towel into the laundry basket by the closet and picked up the toy he’d used, waving it around a bit. “Did you enjoy the stream?”

Hitoshi snorted, eyeing the dildo warily. “I didn’t really watch, I had my eye on the chat. I was looking for Neko.”

“Man, I can’t believe she’s a fan!” He waved the dildo some more, watching as it jiggled. “I would let her do unspeakable things to me.”

“Look out, your sub is showing, Denki.” Hitoshi teased. “But I agree, she’s pretty great. I wonder if she’ll ever do private shows.” Pausing to scritch Miso behind the ears, he continued. “I’m sure they’d be in high demand.”

Denki stood, pointing at Hitoshi with the dildo. He really needed to put it down somewhere and stop brandishing it around like a sword. “Don’t even, I’d spend all my money on that girl.”

“I know you would.” He chuckled. “I did try to go through the usernames and see if I could find out who she could be, but I didn’t have any luck.”

“It’s okay! I’m leaving it up to fate now, man. If the universe wants us to know each other, we will.” He stuck his thumb towards the ensuite. “I’m going to wash my ass and then we can play Among Us if you want.”

Hitoshi, completely unphased as usual, nodded. “I’ll get a team together. Check the discord when you get out.”

Humming, Denki made his way to the bathroom, picking up his phone on the way. It buzzed as he closed the door, and he glanced down to see he had a message from his other moderator and friend, Eijirou, aka RedDaddy. Tossing the dildo in the sink, he looked down at the screen and opened the message.

Eiji: No luck on finding Neko on the stream, but she said she never misses a Thursday, so I bet she was there.

Denki: Thanks for keeping an eye out, man. I appreciate you. Among us in 30?

Eiji: Bet. I’ll ask Kats to play too.

Your next stream day had you feeling nervous. Chargebolt had talked directly at you on his last stream, asking you to slide into his DMs, and you had yet to take him up on it. You didn’t know what you were so scared of, Chargebolt was a nice guy. You chalked it up to the fear of the unknown. If you sent him a message, what would you even say? ‘Hey dude, nice cock?’ It was bound to be a disaster.

Pushing your nerves back down, you made sure you were ready for your stream, excited for the news you were about to drop on your viewers. You were needing a little extra cash due to some unfortunate car trouble, and you’d figured out a way to make up what you needed in record time.

“Hey everyone, welcome!” You smiled at the camera, waving your fingers. “Thanks for coming! I see a lot of familiar names here tonight. Hi Mindfucker, Dynamight, RedDaddy, Tapeman, LightningMcQueen!”

LightningMcQueen: Hey, beautiful! I’ve been looking forward to this all week.

Dynamight: Chill out, McQueen, you look desperate.

RedDaddy: Be nice, Dynamight. Hi, Neko!

Dynamight: Fuck off, Shittyhair.

Mindfucker: How’s your cat, Neko?

“Be good, Dynamight. You’re lucky I know you don’t mean that!” You giggled at the antics of your regulars, smiling at the question about your cat. “Ichigo is doing good, Mindfucker, thanks for asking! I’ll bring her on camera after the show if you want to say hi!”

Minfucker just sent a cat emoji and you laughed, shaking your head. “I’m beginning to think that you’re just here for Ichigo and not me.”

The chat went crazy with people denying it, telling you how much they loved watching you every week. You lit up, feeling more excited about your news.

“So I have something I want to discuss before we get started today. I’ve decided I want to try out doing some private shows, so I’m going to be offering up a few spots. I’m going to give some of my longest and most frequent supporters a shot first, and if all goes well, then I’ll open them up to the rest of you! I’ll be adding a signup link at the bottom of my page after tonight’s stream, so if you’re interested you can apply and I’ll pick a few of you and we’ll work out a schedule! How does that sound?”

Dynamight: McQueen already has his credit card ready I bet.

“Aw, you don’t want to play with me, Dynamight?” You teased, giving the camera your best pout.

Dynamight: You couldn’t handle me, Princess.

LightningMcQueen: Hush. You’re a bottom, Dyna.

Dynamight: Die you fucking extra.

LightningMcQueen: Love you too, blasty.

“I was going to let you pick the toy today, Dynamight, but if you can’t behave then I’m just going to have to let someone else have a turn.” You gave the camera a disapproving look, frowning. You’d picked up that these guys were friends, so you knew they were just messing with each other.

A donation popped up from Dynamight with a comment attached.

Let McQueen choose this time, babe.

“It looks like Dynamight is going to let you choose, McQueen. Which one?” You pulled over the box you kept your toys in and showed it to the camera. “Pick a color.”

LightningMcQueen: Yellow

You pulled the yellow silicone out of the box and showed it to the chat, smirking. “I call this one Chargebolt because it’s the same color as his hair. Are you sure this is the one you want me to use?”

When your stream ended, Denki leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath. The fact that he’d watched you fuck yourself with a dildo that you’d named after him was the hottest thing he could have imagined. He was jealous of that piece of bright yellow silicone more than he should be. He’d still enjoyed it, if the mess across his abs and chest were any indication.

He cleaned himself up and pulled on a shirt, clicking on the link for the private show signup. It was pretty straightforward, listing the price and how long the show would be, and asking for his username and what he would be interested in doing or seeing and what day would work best.

Staring at the form for a moment, he contemplated his options. He could sign up with his LightningMcQueen account, and he might have a chance. He was the first one out of his friends to find your channel one night when he was bored and horny. Then he’d shown it to Hitoshi and then shared your info with Eijirou, Katsuki, and Hanta. He would be considered one of the longest and loyal viewers like you had said.

However, if you got a request from Chargebolt? What would you do? Would you ignore it?

“Toshi!” He called out, knowing his roommate would hear him without him having to get up. “I’m having a crisis!”

The door opened, and the purple-haired man stood in the doorway. “I am not prepared to handle your bi panic right now, Denki.”

“Are you going to put in for a private show from Neko?” Denki pushed on, ignoring his friend’s exasperation.

“I spoke that into existence last week, you know. You’re welcome.”

Flopping back in his chair, Denki closed his eyes. “Should I send in the request with this account or with the Chargebolt one?”

Hitoshi shrugged, watching their cat Sashimi wander into the room. “You’ve wanted to talk to her for ages, man. You could have messaged her forever ago and you wouldn’t be playing this game with her. Sign up with your actual account.”

“I mean, she must think I’m cute, right? Otherwise, she wouldn’t watch.” He sat up, logging out of his secondary account and into his main one. He had a few unread DM’s, so he clicked, his breath catching in his throat. “Dude, look.”

There was a message from you, short but sweet.

Hi, Chargebolt. I don’t know if you saw the stream today, but you should check it out if you haven’t. I left it up for you.”

“She wants you to see her use that dildo she named after you.” Hitoshi patted his shoulder, and then bent down to pick up Sashimi. “I signed up but I told her I just wanted to have a date with her cat. She probably won’t pick me.”

“She will, she loves cats.” Denki clicked on your page and scrolled down to the bottom where the signup was again, letting it populate his main account in the information, and writing ‘any day except Thursday’ in the section for the time that worked for him. “I’m going to get this girl to date me, just you watch.”

Snorting, his roommate closed the door behind him as he left. “I believe in you, Pikachu.”

Once his request was submitted, he went back to his DM’s and sent you a message back.

“I was there, Neko. I never miss a stream. I submitted for a private show, so I hope you’ll pick me. I’ve been one of your viewers since the beginning, you know.”

---

In your head, you tried to plan what you would say once you were face to face (via camera) with the one and only Chargebolt. Everything your brain seemed to come up with fell short. What did you say to this guy, who you’d been simping over for over 9 months, who lit up your screen every Thursday with terrible puns and panty-dropping smiles? You knew exactly what he looked like and sounded like when he came. It was a strange thing to think that you knew that but you’d never actually spoken to him before.

It made you feel a little better when you realized he knew just as much about you. That he watched you fuck yourself on a dildo you’d named after him, and then spent the rest of the stream showing off your fluffy white cat Ichigo.

It was time to put on your big girl panties. You could do this.

Chargebolt had been one of the few that you’d chosen to do these shows with. He was also the last one. You’d met with 4 others, the ones who were the most active in your chat, the ones you assumed were actually friends.

Your first one was with Tapeman, who asked you to call him Sero. He was cute, with the widest, prettiest smile you’d ever seen. He made you laugh, and called you beautiful, and spoke to you in Spanish. You didn’t feel uncomfortable once with him, and the experience gave you hope that the rest would be just as nice.

Mindfucker was next, whose name was Shinsou and lowkey your favorite one. He didn’t want anything sexual at all, which surprised you. You sat with him and drank tea and you got to meet his two fur children, Miso and Sashimi, while he told you about his roommate. You let him admire Ichigo, and talked about music. He was sarcastic, but not in a mean way, and you were pretty sure he was going to be your new best friend.

RedDaddy and Dynamight had asked to do theirs together since they were dating. You wanted to question why they both watched your stream but RedDaddy, who was actually named Kirishima, answered it for you.

“We’re both bi, and we think you’re cute!”

“Yeah, plus McQueen has a thing for you so we like to be in the chat to help him out.” Dynamite, aka Bakugou, added in his gruff voice, folding his arms across his chest.

“Aw, that’s sweet!” You smiled at them. “He didn’t request a private show though, so I guess he doesn’t like me that much.”

Bakugou coughed and Kirishima grinned. “Maybe he was nervous! I’m sure you’ll meet him in one of these someday!”

“Enough about that dumbass.” Bakugou leaned forward, his hand on Kirishima’s knee. “Give us a show and we’ll give you one in return. Use that orange and green one for me, Princess.”

And give you a show they did. You got lost in how they looked at each other while they jerked each other off, and you were pretty sure they forgot you were even there at some point. When it was over, you suggested that they start their own channel.

Bakugou scoffed, but you could tell he was blushing a bit.

“I don’t know, Neko. I don’t think I could share him with anyone else. Except you, you’re the exception.” Kirishima grinned, winking at you.

But now it was Chargebolt’s turn. You made sure you had everything you needed, making sure Ichigo was out of the room, and then signed into your account.

Chargebolt was online, so you made the private room and sent him the request. You felt like you were shaking, and you checked yourself in the camera to make sure you didn’t look like a wreck.

You barely had time to breathe before he entered the chat, his camera screen coming to life and showing you his smiling face. You melted a bit, biting your lip, gazing at how attractive he was.

“Hey, Neko!” Chargebolt was as vibrant as ever, tucking his hair behind his ears, the black lightning bolt in his hair dark against the bright yellow of the rest of it.

“It’s nice to see you, Chargebolt.” You tried to relax, rolling your shoulders back. “It’s kind of weird knowing you can see me too.”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. You tried not to stare at his arms in the tank top he was wearing. Chargebolt had a small frame, but his muscles were defined. You’d seen him plow through an entire bag of chips on stream once, without pausing to breathe, so you assumed he must be one of those people with amazing metabolism that you envied. “You can call me Denki if you want, kitten.”

You choked on air at the nickname, trying to compose yourself. “Kitten?”

“Well, Neko means cat, doesn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow. “I won’t call you that if you don’t like it.”

“No!” You practically shouted. “No, I mean, it’s fine. I like it.”

“Sweet.” He grinned. “Man, I’ve wanted to get you alone like this for so long, and now I’m just feeling really nervous.”

“You’re nervous?” You were surprised. The always cool but super dorky Chargebolt was nervous because of you? “So am I.”

Chargebolt- sorry, Denki, rested his elbow on the desk, propping his head in his hand. “Well, glad to know I’m not the only disaster here. I’ve been trying to get the courage to talk to you for months, and then finally Hitoshi got me to talk about you on stream a few weeks ago, and now here we are.”

“Who’s Hitoshi? One of your regulars?” Knowing that you weren’t the only one who was sweating bullets had you relaxing a bit.

“Oh yeah, Mindfucker! You know him right? He did a thing with you the other day, didn’t he?”

Eyes wide, you stared at him. “Shinsou?”

“Yeah, that’s my best friend and my roommate. He said he showed you the cats.” He shrugged. “You picked all my friends for your private shows. Sero, Kiri, Bakugou, Shinsou.” He paused, smirking. “I forgot that you don’t know that I’m LightningMcQueen.”

“That’s you? I was wondering why they didn’t send me a request, but it all makes sense now.”

Denki shot you finger guns and winked. “Kachow!”

“Oh god, stop it.” You rolled your eyes.

He chuckled, grinning at you. “So, did Shinsou talk about me?”

You giggled, remembering back. “He told me a story about how his roommate mistook a fuzzball for a spider and spent the afternoon sitting on a table waiting for him to come home and kill it.”

“It looked like one of those freaky poisonous ones from where I was sitting. I was afraid to let it out of my sight in case it got away and then multiplied and killed me in my sleep or something.” He took a deep breath. “Spiders are terrifying.”

This man was amazing. “You are everything I always thought you’d be, you know that?”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” He sighed. “You have to have some kind of embarrassing story to tell me so I don’t feel like a fool. You’ve got to make it even.”

“One year my dad hired a clown to come to my birthday party. He walked in the front door and I jetted out the back door and hid in the garden until he left. Clowns are just as terrifying as spiders.”

Chargebolt laughed, and the sound made your stomach do a somersault. It was just as bright and happy as he was. “That is the cutest shit I’ve ever heard!”

“I’m glad my childhood trauma is amusing you.” You deadpanned, trying to keep the smile off your face.

“Aw, don’t be like that kitten! I’m glad we can bond over our irrational fears like this, you know?” He

You shivered happily. “Okay, okay.” You cleared your throat. “So, you didn’t write anything down here for what you wanted out of our chat today.”

“Oh, okay, down to business then.” He sat up straight. “Well, I wanted to tell you myself instead of submitting it on the form.”

Intrigued, you raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t want to give me a chance to back out?”

Snorting, and shook his head. “Nah, I think you’ll like it, kitten.” He folded his hands behind his head. “I want you to tell me what to do. I’m at your mercy.”

Swallowing thickly, you blinked at him. That was...really hot. “You like being told what to do?”

“I would love nothing more for you to pull my hair and peg me within an inch of my life while calling me your little cock slut.” He stared at you with an eyebrow raised, looking pleased with himself when he saw your expression.

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, right? I mean, I’m a switch, I’d do the same to you if you asked. But we can save that for next time.” He smirked. “So, you down?”

Next time? This man was going to kill you. “Take off your shirt, Denki.”

“Fuck yes.” He groaned, reaching behind him and tugging the garment over his head.

His chest and abs came into view, and you let your eyes linger on the barbells through his nipples. “Pants too.”

He pushed his chair away from his desk and shimmied out of his shorts, kicking them to the side. You gazed at him in his blue boxer briefs, eyes lingering on his thin waist, strong thighs, and the outline of his cock. He was a sight to behold, honestly.

You held the fangirling back, leaning forward to get a better look at him. “Do you have any toys, Denki?”

“Of course, Kitten.” He moved out of view for a moment, coming back with a box.

“Let me see.” He tilted the box towards the camera, your eyes flitting over the different colors and shapes inside. “The pink one.”

“Okay, hang on, let me-” He cut off, standing up and throwing the pink toy on the bed. He picked up the laptop and moved it, laying down beside it and angling the camera so you could see what he was doing.

“Did you stretch yourself, baby?”

He made a noise that sounded like a whine in the back of his throat at the pet name, obviously pleased by it. “Yeah, of course I did.” He glanced at the screen. “You should, uh, take your shirt off too.”

“I thought you wanted me to tell you what to do, not the other way around.” Teasing him, you crossed your arms over your chest.

He pouted slightly. “I’ve been good so far though, right?”

“All you’ve done is take off two items of clothing and move to the bed. You’re gonna have to work harder than that!”

Huffing, he lifted his ass off the bed and tugged his underwear down his legs, kicking them off, his hand already moving to wrap around his already hard cock.

“Did I say you could touch yourself, Denki?” It was getting hard to keep up the stern act you were putting on, but you knew it was what he wanted. You wanted to watch him touch himself, watch the way his eyes fluttered closed when his thumb brushed over the leaking head of his cock, and the way he would bite his lip when he moved his wrist a certain way.

You could be patient though, so you continued.

“If I was there right now, what would you want me to do first?”

He stilled, blinking at you a few times. “I would want your mouth first, I think.”

Humming, you sat back, pulling your shirt over your head, letting him admire the lacey purple bra covering your chest. “You’d want my mouth on your cock? Trace my tongue along that vein along the underside and suck on the head a little?”

Denki groaned, closing his eyes, his grip visibly tightening around his shaft. He looked like he was trying not to get worked up too fast. You were amazed at how your words were affecting him, so you pressed on.

“I’d take you all the way down until I was choking on it, and I’d let you hold onto my hair and fuck my face. God, you don’t know how many times I've dreamed about doing that for you. What would you say to that?”

The blush spreading down his neck and chest made him look so pretty. “Ugh, fuck kitten, you’re killing me.” He swallowed hard, opening his eyes to look at you again. “I’d tell you how good you made me feel, but I wouldn’t let you finish me off that way.”

“Oh no? Tell me what else you’d do.” You took the opportunity to move to the bed yourself, pulling off your leggings and panties all at once.

Eyes glued to you while you unclipped your bra and threw it across the room, he continued. “Fuck, um, I would...god, you’re beautiful.”

Flushing at the compliment, you looked down shyly, breaking character. “I’ve heard you say that before and I still don’t believe it.”

Denki scoffed. “If you need a daily reminder, I’d be happy to be the one to tell you, kitten.” You could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it made your heart do a little flip. “I might seem like a dumbass but I’m using this camboy money to pay off my student loans for my masters in English lit so I can quote you entire sonnets from Shakespeare without hesitation if that will help you believe me.”

Your eyebrows shot up, impressed. Realizing you’d ruined the moment, you sighed, covering your eyes with your hand. “I’m sorry, I’m crap at this. I really just want to watch you cum.”

Chuckling, you heard him shifting on the bed. “Okay, how about this? Forget the toys. Just close your eyes and listen to me.”

“Okay.”

“If you were here with me right now, just like that, I’d spend so much time exploring every inch of you with my tongue. I’d start with your lips, your jaw, your neck. Collarbones, shoulders, your chest, those cute nipples-”

“How are nipples cute?” You interrupted with a snort.

You could hear him trying not to laugh, his voice pitched a bit higher. “Shh, don’t ruin it.”

“I think you just did when you said ‘cute nipples’.” You’d never had this much fun with someone in a situation like this. “If I had a dick, my boner would have just died.”

Denki wheezed, and you opened your eyes to look over at him. He was gazing back at you, his eyes bright as he laughed into his palm. “God, I like you so much, kitten.”

Your grin softened, your heart pounding at his words. “Me too, Denki.”

#kaminari denki #kaminari denki x reader #kaminari denki smut #denki kaminari #denki kaminari x reader #denki kaminari smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #kingexpl0sionmurder writes #bnharem collab

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years ago

Note

For the soulmate au:

Din or Whiskey, and the trope where for 24 hours you switch bodies? If you have the time and it peaks your interest, I’d love to see your take on this trope!

hello hello my dear! sorry for taking so long to get to this, but thank you so much for sending it in! I feel like this is a well known fact: whenever I'm giving multiple options for a soulmate request I have no self control and do both. I tried to do a poll to remedy this and it was completely even.

so as a bit of a game and a writing exercise to myself, I'm not going to tell you who this is for 🙃 i hope you still enjoy!

soulmate requests

You should've known it was coming - you went to sleep with anxiety prickling across your skin like front on a window.

But how could you have known that you would wake up as... your soulmate?

It happened to most, at some point, but it was no less jarring. Your eyes felt heavy and opening them felt foreign. There was a thin blanket wrapped haphazardly around your - his body, a cheap pillow toppling to the floor. The air was flying in and out of his lungs at an unhealthy rate as you panicked.

Long moments were spent with eyes screwed shut, processing that today was the day. Your mind was hoping desperately that he wasn't going to ruin your life but... when you dared look around he was surprisingly organized. The space was simple, and your breathing began to slow. He had big, warm hands, carefully clipped nails. Strong arms, sturdy middle... you wrestled with yourself about peaking below.

Shaking your head, you chastised yourself, remembered you - he - would have needs, sooner or later. You could figure out all that when your mind wasn't spinning.

It took a decent amount of the morning for you to brave leaving his bed, searching for a clue of some kind about what you were supposed to be doing. Everything about his space was ... orderly, unexpectedly plain, and it felt almost suspicious that there wasn't clutter or... strong identifiers anywhere to be found. Just practical things, lined up carefully, every bit of his costume in place. It felt surreal, like what you imagined a video game or movie to be like, and you left his muscle memory yank on the pieces. His boots were tucked by the door, and you chuckled at their size, pleasing yourself with the richness of his laugh.

Against all odds, he actually had left you a note, clear and visible and you thanked your lucky stars.

The words were simple, and understable, much to your relief, just stating his job wasn't transferable to you. There were instructions on the back, about setting up protocols to make sure your day went smoothly, and underlined words to stay put.

You could've cried from relief, but his consideration seemed even more suspicious. Even the tone of the note... seemed more than premeditated, almost nervous. Your soulmate, whoever he was, certainly seemed... above the law, in some way, and your curiosity burned.

Digging for more clues was near fruitless, however, and resorted to searching for a mirror.

There was a small one, carefully cleaned in the bathroom, and you gasped when you saw his face.

Stars, he was handsome.

Soft brown hair, cut for practicality, a solid, brow ridge and nose. And oh, his eyes... it felt strange, to feel so seen by yourself, but you almost felt shy, looking through his lashes curiously. His facial hair was soft and you felt silly, not having a clue if you were supposed to do anything with it. In the end, his fingers ran over it awhile, marveling, before you admitted that you couldn't- wouldn't - change a thing.

And then you went in search of food. When you got turned around, you found something, and felt compelled. Settling it snuggly on your head, it felt like more than a show or a uniform - almost as necessary as breathing, as him.

Smiling to yourself, face now slightly more shrouded, you moved on, happy to explore his life as thoroughly as you could.

You recognized his head by what was covering it.

And you knew he recognized you, because you could see it in the way he moved. He had more control over that body than you would even if you had weeks instead of a day. Still, that was the least of your worries. It was completely different, his body language, and presence, and you were in awe of it.

He... oozed confidance, power, even charisma, in his own way. Instictively, you should've moved aside or backed away - but instead you floated forward, entranced.

His hand was warm, and big - you knew it like your own even before he held it out to you. His voice was twice as rich as you remembered it, and you felt unbearably comforted. Strong and solid he stood before you, outfitted for heaven-knows, and you touched his chest. Beneath the layers, you knew the beat of his heart, and you were close enough to hear the pace of his breath.

Gently, he brushed your hair away, cupping your cheek, one finger finding the pressure point below your ear. His heart rate increased with yours, you knew it did.

It seemed he knew you already, too.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk @saradika @zinzinina @0celestialbitch0

#last one thank you all!#soulmate requests #din djarin x reader #or #agent whiskey x reader #you decide #elle only posts soulmate rqs at weird hours thats the rule #maybe i dont know people

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supremeinlilac · 4 years ago

Text

Loving Blind

Pairing: Blind!Cordelia Goode x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2605

Warnings: nsfw, a lil bit of smut idk

A/n: I just thought this was a cute idea, so I ran with it. Lol sorry if it's ooc at all :))

Cordelia was the strongest person you’d ever met.

She was the tree that bowed to the wind when it raged, but refused to fall. Trembled in the face of an earthquake, but stood fast. She was the light that had guided you through so many dark days.

Now it was you that lead her, an arm around her waist as you showed her the way. Someone had stolen her sight, but not her soul. You thought that she was unbreakable.

The attack had left her scattered, and she couldn’t see to pick up the fragments, although she tried. On hands and knees she searched for the pieces that would allow her to carry on as normal, to lead as she once led.

Getting the second sight meant everyone wanted to know what she was seeing, wanting to steal the only images she was allowed to see anymore for themselves. You never asked what she saw when you’d touched at the hospital. It wasn’t important.

Back in the academy, you found yourself wordlessly returning items back to their places that had been moved by the other witches, so that Delia wouldn’t have trouble. Chastising them when she was in the greenhouse, unable to hear how you would remind them of the need to keep things orderly. Thankfully, it hadn’t been something she’d picked up on, you knew how she’d hate it.

You’d yet to be intimate on any level since she’d returned from the hospital, both to scared to initiate. Cordelia’s doubt nipped at her heels, sneering at her that you wouldn’t want to lie with her now she was damaged. Now she couldn’t love you the way you deserved.

You were just wary about hurting her, or treating her like she needed help, because you knew she hated to feel helpless. Like a burden. You wanted to help her, and a few days later you had an idea that you thought might just help you to get close to one another again.

The girls had an evening workshop with Misty in the greenhouse, something about having lots of new plants arrive that needed tending to. You knew it was Misty’s way of helping you and Cordelia connect again, feeling her own guilt about the headmistress not being able to work in the greenhouse the same way she used to.

“Delia?” You called out, peeking round the corner of her office and finding it empty. She often resided there when she wasn’t teaching or when the greenhouse was busy and she could find no solace.

You found her in the kitchen, bent over and trying to scoop shards of a shattered glass into shaking hands. You ran to still her movements, afraid she’d be cut by the glass. She protested when you cooed at her to stop or she’d hurt herself, angry that she could to it be herself, and that she didn’t need you.

“I know you don’t, but I can help, can’t I? I do wantto help” you asked softly, tone unprovoking, and you breathed through your nose in relief as she nodded and allowed herself to be sat at the table.

Quickly filling another glass, you pressed it into trembling hands and set to work sweeping the mess. Neither of you spoke, silence only broken by the tinkle of glass and the slurp of water between her lips.

When it was done she thanked you and apologised for snapping, which you ensured her was fine. You understood how trying it could be to feel helpless and that others were belittling you.

“I have a surprise for you. The girls are doing a lesson with Misty for a while now.”

You hinted, smirking although she couldn’t see the action. Cordelia picked up on your suggestiveness immediately, a blush climbing steadily up her neck and settling in her cheeks. You leaned to kiss the tips of her ears that were also enflamed, hot beneath your lips.

As you ascended the stairs together, Cordelia’s unease was heavy in the air. Her hands gripped yours tightly and her breathing was laboured.

Once in your room, you sat against the bed and watched her taking her rings off at the desk. She didn’t turn around when she was done, and you saw her bit her lip anxiously in the mirror, hands wringing each other.

“We don’t have to if you’re not ready yet.” You spoke, cautious to watch your lover’s reflection for any signs of discomfort.

She turned, nails pulling at the hem of her trousers as she walked to you. “No, I want to, I just- What if I can’t make you, you know?” Her confession made your heart dip, why hadn’t you thought of that? To know that’s what she’d been worried about all this time.

“Baby, I don’t care about that. I just want to be close to you. To feel you again.”

You hooked your fingers around her waist, bringing her to stand between your legs before pressing a chaste kiss to her covered ribs. “I just want you.” Your voice soothed her, nervousness shattering like the glass and this time she made no attempt to collect them again, hands falling to the back of your head to keep your head there.

The buttons on her blouse we small and delicate, fiddly even for your deft fingers as you fought to open them. Not to mention the distraction that was Cordelia placing affectionate kisses to the top of your head and around your hairline, muttering pet names and ‘I love you’s’, voice thick with arousal now she’d shed the worry.

Your clothes were taken off slower, more delicately than they ever had been before, and the gentleness of her touch had you arching into it, eager to be rid of the clothes. Having been denied the touch of her skin to yours for so long, the proximity of Cordelia was making you impatient.

When she was standing in front of you, bare except for the rouge of her lace underwear, you let your eyes rake over her form, savouring it. She was a sculpture, perfectly crafted by the patient hand of a craftsman, every dip and curve deliberate. It was an honour to be able to hold her as you did.

One last fleeting glance at her, and you were pulling away, searching through one of your draws for the satin. Pinching it between fingers, the material pooled beautifully in your hands, a flowing waterfall into the basin below.

“Here, put this on me?”

“What is it?” she enquired, hands searching for the object in question. You ran the satin through her fingertips, letting her feel the slippery material before snapping it quickly rigid with a pop.

“A blindfold.”

“Why?” She asked, voice low and curious, her hands faltering on taking it from you. She couldn’t help but be defensive, you wanted to be blindfolded?

Were you trying to mock her? After all, you could take the blindfold back off at anytime and be granted your vision back. She didn’t have that choice. It had been cruelly ripped from her. She wasn’t in control anymore.

“I just want to feel you, all of you.” You explained, back of your fingers brushing her cheek and hooking some stray hairs behind her ears that had escaped from her bobble. “And I want to be close to you, to understand.”

She pushed her doubts out of her head. You loved her, for everything she was, even blind. You weren’t mocking her, of course.

She hummed, and you pushed the blindfold into her hands, wanting to be blinded by your lover and thrown into the darkness that you could share. Could lighten.

“Wait.” She stopped you from turning, tucking the emerald satin into the corner of your panties, patting it into place.

“What?” you asked, but Cordelia interrupted you with a shush.

“Before you do, let me just-” she trailed off, hands coming to cup your face as you watched, hands falling to her waist to keep her close.

She closed her eyes, tongue poking out in concentration as she ran the pads of her fingers over your face. Her fingers traced the curve of your jaw, down the ridge of your nose, over the contour of your chin and back. Committing it to memory.

The way she held you, so delicately, like one would an infant made your lips curl in adoration. She smiled too, feeling the movement and mirroring it. Cupping your cheeks again, her thumbs ghosted over the dip of your eyes, eyelashes fluttering against her skin. Tickling.

It was as if your face were braille, her favourite book, one she couldn’t help but return to, to read again and again. The sweetest addiction.

She pulled you into a kiss, lips lingering together before they parted and you let your tongue swipe inquisitively across her teeth. Her palms danced across the skin of your ribs, thumbing just under the swell of your breasts.

Pulling away, you pressed fond kisses to the mottled salmon skin of her eyes, demurely whispered affection against her cheeks.

She pulled the satin from where you’d tucked it at your waist and turned you around. Feeling for your eyes again, she pulled the material taut over the skin and let you hold it in place as she tugged and tied it secure.

“How’s that?” she breathed, smoothing down the wrinkles that had appeared over your eyes on the material. The cool material was soft against your skin and moved slightly with every shake of your head, but held it’s place and refused to fall.

In answer, you felt for the edge of the bed, hands finding hers and pulling her behind you. Clambering on, you settled against the pillows unsteadily, feeling her warmth beside you. She hovered above you, hair tickling your face and making your nose scrunch up.

The elimination of your sight had heightened your other senses, the sweet tang of her perfume stinging the back of your throat in a beautifully overwhelming way.

“You are so beautiful,” she breathed, breath hot against your neck.

“You can’t see me,” you giggled, pulling her lips back to the expanse of skin as you tilted your head, moaning at the suckling noise she produced when latching back on.

“I can feel you.” You felt her lips curve into a smile below your jaw, teeth grazing.

“That’s cute.” You cooed, and you could feel your skin heating up at both her lips against your skin and at her sweet words.

“Shut up and let me concentrate,” she scolded playfully, swatting the hand away that you’d started to tickle her neck with.

Neither of you could see the bruises she was staining the skin under her mouth with, but Cordelia could tell that they would mark by the way your breath would hitch with her bite, exhaling at the soothing cool of her tongue.

“I feel like that might be visible tomorrow,” you joked, fingers coming up to press lightly on the mark, the twinge confirming your suspicions. Delia giggled against your skin, the vibrations sending goosebumps over exposed flesh.

She leaned back, pulling her hair roughly into a bobble, as it was only serving as an unnecessary distraction. You’d followed her, propped up on your elbows. Unaware of your new position, Cordelia returned to where she’d left you, heads butting firmly. You both let out squeaks of surprise, that dissipated into laughter, and light apologies.

It was good to hear her laugh again. The sound having been foreign after her attack, this providing a welcomed homecoming for it, even if it was for something as simple as a clumsy headbutt.

“Right come here you, slowly, this time” you teased, fingers finding her jaw and pulling her into you again.

The faint melody of Fleetwood Mac drifted up through the floorboards and you felt Cordelia smile against the kiss again. As you tasted the mango of her chapstick, sweet and wet on your tongue, she pulled away breathlessly, forehead resting on your collarbone.

“I love this song.”

Wanting to savour this moment, the headmistress sat aside, legs crossed on the bed, poking at you to come to her. You did, brushing the inside of her thigh in the process and making her jolt. “Ticklish,” she explained, and you laughed. She’d probably had been embarrassed before, but your clumsiness had made everything seem funnier, especially seen as neither of you could see what you both looked like. Flailing around, carelessly, so she laughed with you.

When the laughs had bubbled out, Cordelia guided your hands to her face with hers. Placing your palms flat against her cheeks.

“Here. Go on.”

You mirrored her previous actions, tracing the plane of her face with curious fingers. The fullness of her lips, curve of her cheekbones, the bump of the mole to the left of her mouth. Learning her, feelingher.

A kiss to her nose, the space between her eyebrows, thumbs swiping away tears that didn’t exist. You could hear her shallow breath as if it were your own, perhaps it was. You felt closer to her now than you ever had.

When you were finished, you noticed that the faint murmur of Stevie Nicks had gone, replaced with sweet silence you’d grown so used to. But Delia was beside you now, your Delia.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

You sat up against the pillows, pulling Delia to straddle your lap and draw her lips to your own. Reaching behind you, Delia fiddled with the clasp of your bra, frustrated laugh between chaste kisses as she fought it.

You removed hers with slightly more ease, your patience proving beneficial. Discarding it, you heard the thud as it landed, near the window, was it? You couldn’t be sure.

The faint taste of salt lingered on your tongue as you swirled her nipple around it until it hardened to a rosy peak beneath your lips. Her gasps and whines spurred you on, her hands on your neck pulling you closer.

The bumps of her spine under fingers seemed more prominent when you had to rely on touch instead of your sight. You always used to trail kisses up her back over the bones, but they felt different. It was as if you were learning her body all over again.

Cordelia unlatched herself from you, messily kissing at the corner of your mouth, tongue snaking across your lip. She was somehow being both rushed and purposeful with her touches, the right ones lingering where she wanted, while others were lustful and passionate.

She trailed deft fingers across the band of your bra, over your ribs, leaving a prickle of goosebumps in her wake. She located a blemish on your skin that she’d first noticed when she still had sight, only now noticing that the texture differed minutely from the rest of your skin.

The braille of the blemish showing her that you were still there, all she knew of you with sight was still there without. She hadn’t lost any of you when she’d lost a part of herself.

Cordelia had worried that you would think less of her when she’d been attacked, but the truth was that you thought more. You awed at how she’d coped with the sudden disability, taking it in her stride and not allowing any of her girls see how much it really had affected her.

She kissed you that night with more security than she’d felt since the incident, in the knowledge that you’d be a guiding hand when she needed it. The light in the vast darkness and her lighthouse in the sea.

taglist: @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @pluied-ete @notokpaulson @extraordinarilycelestrial @nothingbut-a-beautiful-monster @mssallymckenna @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @darling-dontforgetme @amethyst-bitch @its-soph-xx @germansarechill @bluesxrgnt @d14n4ol @ninaahs @sarahp-stan @natasha-danvers @imgayandmymomdoesntknow @lovelypeasantjellyfish @rainbow-hedgehog @paulawand @saucy-sapphic @lilypadscoven @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @serawalkerwrites ,, if you want to be added, just shoot me a message or an ask :))

#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #american horror story #ahs coven #ahs apocalypse

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lightsinthedistancee · 3 years ago

Text

Under the Cover of War: FO!Poe Dameron x Resistance!Reader

Pairing: FO!Poe Dameron x Resistance!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: “‘Let’s go,’ he murmurs. ‘Let’s run.’ His gaze is fixed on you, begging for this. He needs you—he needs you to be there for him so that he has a place in the galaxy, a place he would never have otherwise. ‘Please.’”

Following the destruction of the Hosnian System, a promise and a dire decision are made by you and Poe.

Warnings: Language

“Why?”

The single word is clipped, volatile, dangerously soft in nature. It’s a question, a plead, an accusation, all at once. It seems to scream in the silence, to imply a million other queries that Poe doesn’t want to answer.

He simply remains quiet as he stares at your back turned to him. You sit on the edge of the bed, breath shaking, refusing to even look at him.

He inhales, blinking rapidly. “Sweetheart—“

“Why?” This time, it’s a scream. The sound is ragged, painful, your voice cracking. It makes him flinch, makes him draw into himself.

The loud cry echoes, disintegrates as the seconds pass.

He wishes he could transport himself back to five minutes ago, before either of your holos had rung. Before the First Order had reported a victory to him, before the Resistance had reported a devastating, unfathomable loss to you.

He wants to return to when he’d laid beside you, running his fingers down your sides, when the memory of pressing you into the sheets was still fresh in his mind.

But somehow he knows that whatever the two of you have will never return in any way.

“How could you?” you whisper, the shock of five of the galaxy’s most populous planets being obliterated in mere minutes still in the process of shattering you to pieces.

Poe wants to shrink into the air, disappear in moments. He knows you’re crying, that you can’t handle it. He’d be lying if he said he himself was handling it at all.

“I…I don’t know what happened.” He stares at the sheets, tears running down his own face. He can’t imagine it. The deaths of tens of trillions. Their screams, the pain they must have felt in the blinding light of imminent death.

Your hands tighten into fists as you shake. Your form is locked in tension, perhaps about to abruptly turn around and strike him, perhaps about to break and collapse into a distraught pile of bone and flesh. “You’re a liar.”

The words are akin to a strike itself. He near hisses, unstable in his new knowledge. “Why the fuck would they tell me? I’m not even a colonel.” His volume rises, swirling in the atmosphere, ready to completely burst free. “I didn’t have a damn thing to do with it—“

“But you certainly have something to do with those who ordered it!” You finally turn to him. You’re livid. Eyes red with tears, lips in a tight line, a glare that threatens to break him.

And your statement is not something he can deny. He deflates, silent. He can feel your eyes on him expectantly, but nothing comes.

When enough time passes, you stand from the bed, grabbing your things from the bedside table. As your fingers delicately wrap around the blaster you regularly carry around, he briefly thinks that perhaps you’re about to turn around and shoot him.

But you don’t, and something new finds home beside your anger: a heartbreaking sense of disappointment.

It’s on instinct when his hand shoots out, grasping your arm. “No, wait…please. Don’t go,” he says quietly.

You’re all he has. There’s nothing more to say other than that. Life in the Order is a cold one, always has been. While he may not agree with the side you’ve chosen, you’re the sole warmth in his life, the sole radiant light.

You jerk in his grip, but he tightens it, eyes unashamedly pleading with you, begging you to not leave him.

Even in the place you always meet him, buried beneath layers of rock, surrounded by passages of clandestine activity necessary in your illicitness, his meetings with you never fail to be the only times he’s truly happy.

“Please…,” he pleads once more, thumb running over your knuckles.

A debate takes place on your features, and he can read you better than he can anyone else. He’s the person you’d let into your heart, the person you’d revealed every personal secret to. He’s the one who’d whispered ‘I love you’ one fateful night, the one to whom you’d whispered it back. He’s the one that had challenged your blind loyalty to any ideology, the one to whom you’d done the same.

He can see all those things viciously, ruthlessly grappling with the horrifying events that had just transpired: bodies being ripped to shreds, building being reduced to dust, life being annihilated in fire.

And in an act of emotional obscurity, the two opponents are shockingly close.

It’s evident which wins out when you limply fall back to the bed, body slumping to lie down, eyes tiredly closed.

“Then tell me why,” you whisper, barely audible.

“Why what?”

“I want to know why you joined the people who did…this.”

And at that simple request, he feels his walls rise. Even if they’d fallen long ago when he was around you, they’d never truly disappeared.

“I thought we don’t talk about stuff like that,” says Poe quietly.

“Well, I changed my fucking mind.”

He gazes around the room, reminded of the sole thing that prevents full, unconditional commitment to the other. The space they are in is a brutal reminder of the fact, for it presents itself in sets of two, an embodiment of duality.

Two blasters on top of the bedside table. One polished and new, the other dull and thoroughly used.

Two sets of boots clumsily scattered by the door. One shiny, lacking a single scuff mark, one that’s appearance suggests it’s been passed through several owners.

Two jackets. One with the hexagonal, sixteen-rayed symbol of the First Order, one with the starbird of the Resistance.

It’s a glaringly horrid representation of the two of you, never destined to be the same.

“Did your tongue also vanish along with the five planets?”

He slowly comes back to the present with your words, forcing away his disconnect.

It’s not something he can afford right now. Maintaining his privacy, hiding the events of his past, concealing the cause of his motives—he can’t afford any of that if he wants you.

And somehow, all he does want is you. You, you, you—to the point that he wonders if it’s unhealthy, if it’s even real and true, but that’s something he refuses to consider in the moment.

Even though you’d seen some of the darkness through him, he is certain that your loyalty to light is stronger, if only marginally, and that means he has to tell. He has to reveal.

“My mother,” he simply says, gaze unfocused. “She was a rebel pilot. She died.”

The slight stirring of your body freezes. He’d never talked of his family’s loyalties; he’d always given the impression that they’d passively existed in the deluge of light and dark that had overtaken the galaxy.

“She’s why I joined.” He flinches at the memory, grimacing at the pain he’d felt as a boy. “She died because of rebellion recklessness. Because of belief in blind hope.”

The anger—it’s simmering once more, bubbling higher, inching further and further to the edge of his chest.

And he can tell yours is too. Your fingers grip at the sheets as your eyes narrow. “Reckless…blind…hope?” He’s questioning your belief, accusing it of something dangerously irrational, and you yearn to lash back on instinct, to defend the beliefs you’d lived your life by—even as your own doubts of it conceal themselves in the background.

He laughs bitterly, his voice rising again. “Don’t kid yourself. That’s what the New Republic lived off of, and it was a fucking mess.”

You tense up, practically shrieking your next words, wholly, viciously attacking him back. “Who are you to say that—“

“There were people revolting in the streets!” he yells, his voice perhaps even louder than yours had been. “There were people in the Outer Rim starving! It was chaos—“

“And the First Order is what? Orderly?”

“They’re better than you and your—“

And he falls silent all of a sudden. He stops himself.

He knows where this is going. It’d happened and been resolved before, but he has a sneaking suspicion that that won’t be the case if the two of you continue down this road.

“Fuck,” he groans under his breath, his back slumped as he rubs his face with his hands.

“Me and my what?” you ask quietly.

He just shakes his head.

You fall back to your laying down position, head burying in the sheets, trying to block everything out. He’s right. He’s entirely right. The flaw in the Light, the flaw in the Republic, but you can’t bring yourself to denounce the loyalty you’d inherited.

He sniffles, hiding his tears behind his hands, and his figure—he knows it’s one of pure pain. As good as he’d gotten at hiding his emotions, they always seem to show themselves in your presence, no matter how hard he tries to defeat them, and it’s undeniable that you feel them to the fullest.

“You say ‘mama’ in your sleep sometimes,” you whisper all of a sudden.

At the revelation, he goes still. It’s an unsettling thought…that perhaps you’d known of his weakness long before he’d willingly showed you, long before he thought you deserved to know.

That maybe you’d heard the words of him crying out for his mother before you’d even known the slightest deeply-personal thing about him, when you’d only known the feeling of him inside you and the feeling of his lips on yours and the weight of his body as he slept beside yours.

His reluctance to look at you only increases tenfold when the shame floods in. The shame of a lifetime at this point—of weakness regarding his family, of putting blaster bolts in people who didn’t deserve them, of not being able to let go of his past, something he’d been striving for his whole life.

It all externally devolves into a mere fit of subtle trembles.

“Poe?” Your tone is soft now, gentle. You’re on your knees, sitting up, a single hand on the side of his face joining the space between the two of you. A certain mixture of concern and inquisitiveness finds home in your eyes, and for a second, he thinks your expression reflects one of a person staring at a beaten-down, once-aggressive animal.

“I regret it—joining the Order,” he simply says, voice cracking. The gas, plasma, fire, flesh, and bone of the destroyed system fill his imagination. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Only if you mean it.” There’s still no sympathy to your voice, but there’s a softer edge to it, the kind that’s always existed but disappears in every fight.

“I do.” He leans back into the pillows, forearm over his eyes. It feels as if this has been going on for far too long, for he’s exhausted.

Your hand finds its way into his curls, tracing from his hairline to the base of his neck. It’s hauntingly reminiscent of what he’d felt so passionately and tenderly before the conflict had even begun.

“All darkness dies in the light,” you whisper.

It’s an ambiguous statement to many, but he automatically knows what you’re asking of him—you want his darkness to die in your light.

And while part of him begs and yearns to submit to your wish, something about your words perturbs him—the words unsaid. His darkness…the one he’d held for so long, you don’t want it to disappear, you don’t want it to transform, no, you want it to die. You want him to kill it.

“I can’t,” he says softly, fingers fumbling with the sheets, almost hoping to blindly find you.

“The Light Side’ll—“

“I’m done with the fucking sides,” he interjects, his words lined with a sharp edge. A puff of air leaves his lips as he desperately wishes for calm, one with at least some semblance of permanence. He finally looks at you, eyes now completely devoid of any anger or menace they’d held before, just the sadness of someone who’d made one too many wrong choices. “It’s just pain either way, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” you admit, a brief expression of hesitance crossing your face. “But you have to choose.” The hesitance turns to anguish, a revelation in its most subtle form. “There’s more pain if you don’t, and perhaps…perhaps that’s why I chose my side.”

He props himself up on his forearms at the mere implication—the implication that your unwavering loyalty to the light is not so unwavering, that you’d gone head in like he had with his loyalty and was now beginning to doubt things.

“Some don’t choose—“

“And they suffer for it,” you interrupt, finishing his statement with your own thoughts. It’s something you’ve seen your whole life: those who don’t choose being made to do so—often in violence.

He laces his fingers with yours, delicately wrapping each of your digits around his palm.“We’ve suffered our entire lives, darling,” he muses. “Born into a galaxy at war, a brief respite, and then yet another one…just suffering, suffering, suffering…within us, around us…what’s a little more?”

The whole room seems to freeze as you peer at him, part curiosity, part doubt, part disbelief. “What are you suggesting?”

“I think you know,” he says softly. The warmth staring back at you is undeniably something you would die for.

“Say it.” Your whisper is said with the deepest conviction, awaiting the words that would cement your decision, perhaps a decision you won’t know until you hear the offer leave his lips.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs. “Let’s run.” His gaze is fixed on you, begging for this. He needs you—he needs you to be there for him so that he has a place in the galaxy, a place he would never have otherwise. “Please.”

Your breath shakes, just barely, contemplating, debating. There’s an inevitable weight to war, the kind that crushes people to pieces, and the temptation to run from such a force—it feels right. It feels right to be free, to live safer, to be with whom you want. “There’ll be sacrifices to make.”

“There’ll be sacrifices either way,” he insists, and you’re certain he’s right. “Darling….” His words fade off, and he surges forward, gently locking his lips with yours. It’s tender and pleading, the ultimate question asked once again through touch.

“Poe….” The way you say his name is filled with something decisive, something deliberate. The seconds pass. He waits. “Let’s go.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

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can-of-pringles · 2 years ago

Text

Similarities - Chapter 4: The End of What We Know

Rating: Teen and up audience

Warnings: Some angst, descriptions of injuries, violence, and gore (but nothing worse than shown in Stranger Things), death, major character death

Word Count: 7k

Summary: Eleven sat at a table as she played chess with him. Something felt different, but she couldn’t place what it was. She had a sense he didn’t just want to play a game.

Note: This was written out right before volume 2 was released.

Also Read On AO3

September 8, 1979.

The older kids had terrorized Eleven, which resulted in Two being punished. Despite this, it ended up putting an even bigger target on Eleven’s back.

Eleven’s eyes quickly scanned the rainbow room. Seeing the children that previously attacked her, scowling, made her anxieties worse.

Pushing her panicked thoughts away, she tried focusing on her game with the Plinko and chips. As much as she tried ignoring her worries, her body wouldn’t let her; her heart pounding as if it would jump out of her chest.

She was well familiar with that deep sense of dread taking place in the pit of her stomach. She panicked and lost hold of the game chips, scattering them on the floor.

She picked them up as quickly as she could, but another hand snatched the last one right before she could grab it.

She glanced up and saw her friend, Peter, the orderly; the chip in his grasp.

Were they friends? She didn’t know how else to describe their relationship. He always treated her well and spoke to her with kindness. Different from the other orderlies.

The rise and fall of her chest slowed, allowing her heart to calm down slightly.

“You open for something a little more challenging?” Peter asked.

---

Eleven sat at a table as she played chess with him. Something felt different, but she couldn’t place what it was. She had a sense he didn’t just want to play a game.

“Try not to show any emotion as I speak, okay?” Peter said in a hushed tone.

She stared at him for a second, feeling confused, but went along with it.

“Just keep playing the game if you understand.”

She listened and did what she was told.

“Two is still in the infirmary recovering,” he spoke. “He’s being watched now, but once he is released, he and the others are going to attempt to kill you.”

Eleven swallowed, trying to get rid of the feeling of her dry throat.

“Right here, in this room,” Peter told her. “And Papa will allow it to happen.”

“In fact, he wants it to happen… He’s been planning it for some time now.” He added.

She felt goosebumps on her arms and her breathing quickened.

“Stay calm,” Peter warned her.

It angered him to see how easily fear could spread in the place just by Brenner’s actions.

He knew feeling sorry for Eleven could’ve been described as a weakness, or so he originally thought. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily wrong per se… just a different perspective.

“Maybe you are going soft…” He thought.

Peter quieted the doubts and insecurities that plagued his mind. What he currently felt didn’t matter. There were more urgent matters at hand.

“Focus on the game.”

Eleven slowed her breathing and put up a mask of calmness.

“There’s a reason why Two and the others were able to escape their room last night,” Peter continued. “Why the security cameras were turned off… Why Papa punished Two today.”

“They don’t even realize it, but he is moving them like pieces on this board here.”

Eleven glanced down at the chessboard, and then back at him.

“Driving them to do exactly what he wants, which is...”

“Why?” She asked.

“You frighten him.”

Taken aback by what he said, Eleven replayed the words over in her head. Papa was afraid of her..? She rethought every interaction she’d had with him.

“He knows you are more powerful than the others.”

She almost scoffed at hearing that. She didn’t feel like it. Her body still ached a little from the attack. She had the bruises to prove it.

“And he also knows he can’t control you.”

You could never get Eleven to admit it, but she loved the feeling of rebellion. Peter helped her discover that.

“That’s all he wants,” Peter continued. “Control.”

“I saw all this happening. That’s why I wanted to help you, but I only made things worse.” He almost frowned.

“Helping me... made Papa hurt you.” She remarked.

Eleven remembered he received another punishment recently. The sound of his screams echoed in her mind. They never stopped hurting him, even when he begged for it to stop. She couldn’t help but wince thinking about it.

It disturbed her, but more importantly, made her angry. She wondered now how many times the punishments he received were because of her.

Eleven pushed down a feeling of guilt and continued to pay attention to him.

Peter nodded, confirming her statement.

She let out a sigh.

“And it is why you must escape,” he added. “Today.”

Did she hear that correctly? Escape the lab?

“They must’ve hit his head as well.” She thought.

Not that she didn’t want to escape, but with how guarded the place was, it seemed impossible.

However, she figured he must know something she didn’t. Why else would he be telling her this? Hopefully not to get her hopes up.

No, Peter wouldn’t do that.

Despite her apprehension, Eleven kept listening.

“But they are watching us, closely.”

Peter glanced up at the camera in the room's corner. Eleven turned her head and looked as well.

“If you want to make it out of here alive, you must do exactly as I say.” He stressed.

“Do you understand?”

She took a minute to consider.

“Why do you still help?” She questioned.

“Because I believe in you.”

Eleven almost felt a smile form on her face.

“It is time you are free from this hell.” He emphasized.

Peter slowly reached his arm under the table to slip her an access key card. Eleven took it.

---

As Eleven plotted what to do next, she noticed Papa talking with Ten. After a while, they both left the rainbow room.

She needed an excuse to leave. A distraction, almost.

Eleven stood up from her chair and told the other orderly present that she didn’t feel well. Using her previous concussion as an example; she told him she felt dizzy.

“Dizzy?”

“Yes, the light is hurting my head...” She replied.

The girl hoped she was convincing enough. Taking his sigh as a confirmation, she knew it had worked.

As he took her to the infirmary, Eleven luckily had the chance to sneak off.

She found the doors that Peter instructed her to go through. Taking the key card out of her sock, she slid it through the lock and the light turned green; allowing her access.

“It’s working.” She thought.

She still held onto a healthy dose of skepticism, but had to admit, she was getting excited the more she followed his plan.

She hurried down the flight of stairs and found herself in an unfamiliar place.

Eleven’s face showed her curiosity and confusion. The room looked to be to keep the lab functioning. Her eyes squinted, adjusting to the darkness of the room.

She moved cautiously, looking around at everything. Her body shivered, but not because of the temperature; Eleven couldn’t help but feel nervous.

A pipe made a loud noise, causing her to jump and back away.

Unaware of Peter standing behind her, she bumped into him and immediately turned to face him. She gasped.

Putting a finger to his lips, he signaled for her to not make a sound.

“Quiet.” He whispered. “Follow me.”

Eleven stared at him for a second. She listened and followed him.

---

Peter worked on taking the grated lid off a circular vent he’d found; big enough to work as a tunnel and a potential escape route.

“Now, it’s going to be a bit scary in here, but this, this will lead you out beyond the lab fence to the woods.” He explained.

Eleven stared at the tunnel, then at him.

“But you’re too big.” She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

He turned to look at her and reached to hold her hand.

“I’m not going with you, Eleven.” He confessed.

He had desperately held on to the wish of escape and freedom for years. But with the current situation, he had accepted that only she could go.

Perhaps years ago, he wouldn’t have had a second thought about leaving Eleven in this place. As long as it could guarantee his escape.

But things had changed. He knew he wouldn’t rest easy knowing she’d still be trapped. At least he would feel some sense of relief that she would be free.

“Admit it, you do care for her.”

Why would he go through all this trouble for her if he didn’t?

Perhaps one day she could come back and rescue him. Once, her powers flourished more.

“I meant what I said when I called this place a prison,” he said. “And everyone here is a prisoner, not just you.”

“Not just the other children, but the guards, too, the nurses,”

“Me.” He concluded.

To further illustrate his point, he told her about the main reason he had been stuck here.

“Here.” Moving his hair out of the way, he revealed the device in his neck.

“Can you feel it?” By that, Peter meant the energy radiating off of it. “Your papa calls it Soteria,”

“It weakens me, it tracks me,” he described. “Even if there were another way out, he will find me.”

“And if he finds me, he will find you,” Peter said, in disappointment.

Not wanting this to be the end of his escape, she quickly tried to think of what could be done.

“What if I make it go away?” She suggested.

Peter looked at her, wondering what she meant exactly. He realized with her powers involved, it could work.

“You helped me, I help you,” Eleven added.

Peter genuinely smiled.

---

After Eleven explained her idea thoroughly, Peter agreed.

He sat on the ground, prepared, as Eleven stood in front of him.

“Remember, you can’t hurt me more than they already have.” He assured her.

Knowing that this wouldn’t be a simple and painless process, he took his belt and bit down on it; ensuring that he wouldn’t make a sound or injure his mouth somehow.

He held the part of his hair that covered up the place out of the way.

Eleven closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As she focused, she felt her powers growing stronger. She maintained her energy on it and felt the energy of the Soteria.

She strained and gritted her teeth. The Soteria was strong, but she was stronger.

With all of her strength, she quickly yanked the tracker out of his neck and threw it to the ground.

Eleven took a breath and watched Peter.

He removed the belt from his mouth and slowly stood up.

Peter placed his hand on the freshly opened wound as it throbbed.

He’d have to worry about the wound later. But for now, he felt his powers growing stronger once again. And it felt good. As if a part of himself had returned.

Peter walked over to where the removed device lay, muttering a sound.

He crouched down and picked it up, examining it as he held it in between his fingers. Stained with his scarlet blood, it felt sticky to touch.

“Who knew something so small could cause so much trouble?” He remarked.

Peter looked back at Eleven, truly grateful for what she had done for him.

“Thank you.” He smiled.

She took a breath and nodded, wiping the blood away from her nose.

Before they could have a minute of peace, Eleven turned her head to the sound of guards coming.

That familiar sense of fear came rushing back to her.

“There they are!” One guard shouted.

“Stop!”

“Run,” Peter commanded. He grabbed her hand as they ran the other way.

“Freeze!”

“Stop!”

She could feel her heart pounding. Adrenaline ran through her body and the blood roared in her ears.

They found the other flight of stairs and quickly made their way up.

“Lock it down! Lock it down!” Guards yelled.

Peter opened the two large doors in front of them. They continued to run down the hall they found themselves in.

“Hey!”

He and Eleven came to a stop when they saw the three men walking toward them, holding guns.

“Where do you think you’re going?” One man said. His tone sounded sickeningly amusing like he was going to enjoy what was about to take place.

Eleven and Peter froze. They turned their heads to the sound of two other men coming up behind them.

With the three men in front of them and two behind, they had nowhere to go. They were stuck.

The men behind them turned on their weapons, electric prods. The purple electrical currents sparked, reminding Peter of flames.

“Against the wall.”

One guy in front of them spoke. “Both of you, now.”

Eleven felt defeated. What else could she do but give up? They had made it far, but she knew she had to accept her fate.

She started to obey and turn to the wall when Peter grabbed her hand.

“No,” he spoke.

Eleven looked at him with surprise. Apparently, he wasn’t giving up yet. But what was his plan?

“You don’t have to be afraid of them, Eleven,” he said.

Peter looked at the men standing in front of them.

“Not anymore.”

“Take ‘em,” the main guard said.

The other two men approached them, their prods ready to shock and burn.

Peter instinctively turned and used his powers on the two men behind them. He pushed them back against the wall. They hit the wall harshly and fell to the ground.

Eleven’s eyes widened in shock. She let out a shaky breath, her lungs still aching from the running.

Thoughts raced through her head, but she couldn’t speak. She almost froze, but couldn’t because her body was in a state of survival.

Peter turned towards the front again and used his newly found powers to pick another man up. He slammed him against the ceiling, then let him fall back down.

Almost finding himself in a routine with his powers, he took another man and threw him against the wall and he fell; rendering the man on the verge of unconsciousness.

Peter stopped for a second, letting himself rest a bit until he could feel his energy growing again.

The last man standing foolishly approached; despite how frightened he was.

Staring intensely at the guard, Peter’s light blue eyes pierced through him, seeing him as nothing more than an obstacle in the way.

Feeling his powers surging, with a quick tilt of his head, Peter snapped his neck; killing him. The guard dropped to the ground.

Eleven and he stood for a second in the hall. The bodies of the armed men lay on the surrounding ground, not moving.

Eleven still breathed hard. Her heartbeat slowly returned to a normal pace, but internally, she was freaked out.

Peter looked at her again.

“Come,” he said.

Peter took her hand and led her into a small storage room next to them. He quickly shut the door.

“Wait here, don’t move.” He instructed. “I’m going to find us a way out.”

“Wait,” Eleven spoke, and he met her gaze.

Confusion clearly showed on her face. She didn’t know how to explain what she’d just witnessed.

“How did you—”

“Like I said, we’re alike, you and I,” he answered.

Peter glanced down at his arm and pulled up the sleeve on his shirt; revealing the tattoo on his wrist.

001

Eleven stared at the marking in surprise.

Everything clicked into place in her mind. When he’d originally mentioned One, how different he was compared to the other orderlies; how he said they were alike.

Eleven reached her hand out, gently grabbing his arm, and placed her similarly tattooed wrist next to his. However, her’s was 011, hence her name.

She looked up at him, eyes still showing her surprise. She gasped.

Peter smiled.

His mind yelled at him to tell her the additional news and to get it over with. But something in him stopped him from doing so.

The girl was still processing everything else. She probably wasn’t ready to learn that he was her father as well.

He could tell her later. Once everything was calm, and they would be far, far away from the lab.

Peter went to leave and closed the door; leaving Eleven standing there by herself.

---

Peter worked through the remaining security guards and other orderlies in the building; ending their lives quickly.

But it had drained his energy significantly. And he hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he was rusty with his powers. He knew he couldn’t go on with his current plan. However, it didn’t mean he was powerless. He was far from that. He just had to get more creative.

There were too many people left to kill. The scientists, doctors, and children. Instead, he focused his powers on creating hallucinations for them all.

He made it so that the people in his reach couldn’t see anything. Instead, he reached into their minds, going through their memories. He trapped them in their greatest fears.

Meanwhile, Eleven heard screams coming from the outside. She started to panic again. After she saw what he did to the guards, her mind wandered into darker territory.

Despite the warning signs going off in her head, she ultimately decided that she’d rather know what was happening than be left in the dark.

Eleven placed her hand on the door handle and paused. After a minute, she sighed and tugged on the handle, opening the door.

She slowly made her way toward the rainbow room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a few more bodies lying dead on the floor. Guards, she assumed.

Eleven closed her eyes for a second and shuddered. She hated the guards, of course, but wasn’t used to seeing them so... lifeless.

As she continued, the screaming became louder, echoing on repeat in her mind. Many of them sounded like from the other children.

“Please don’t hurt them!” She thought.

When she made it to the rainbow room, she saw Peter standing in the middle. With his hand stretched out, he used his powers on the children.

The children were screaming so loudly that Eleven covered her ears.

“Stop!” She yelled.

Peter ignored her and continued to use his powers on them. He stopped once they all fell to the ground, unconscious.

“You… are they… dead?” She couldn’t hide the terror in her voice. Her eyes widened, and she started shaking with fear.

Peter looked at her. The darkened expression he had previously faded and his usual one returned.

Eleven wasn’t sure she had ever felt so unsettled by him before.

“They’re not dead, just passed out for now,” he said.

“Passed out…?” She repeated.

“Not awake.”

Eleven quickly checked one of the kids and saw their chest rise and fall. Relief flooded her senses once she realized he had been telling the truth.

It wasn’t as if she wanted to think of him as a liar, but he wasn’t the one checking. It was just a necessary step, in her opinion.

“I was running out of energy, this was easier.” Peter exhaled. He hadn’t expected to be tired already.

“What did you do to them?” She asked.

“Make them see things that aren’t there, we need to go now.”

He took her hand, and they moved onward.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Eleven nodded.

“There’s two more rooms we need to go through, and then we can leave; there’s an exit in the back, it leads to the woods.”

She couldn’t help but feel excited about what he told her. It was finally happening. They would be free.

Peter and Eleven wandered down a hall until they reached a certain room.

She didn’t recognize it. “Why are we stopping here?”

“There are some things we need before we can go, they’re... important,” he replied.

Eleven furrowed her eyebrows and frowned, but didn’t ask any further.

Peter opened the door and started unlocking the filing cabinets inside.

He pulled folders out, searching for Eleven’s file and his. He didn’t know if they had copies elsewhere but figured having one copy was better than having none at all.

The other unimportant folders scattered across the floor as he threw them out.

“What are you doing?” Eleven questioned.

Did they have time for this?

“Almost done, can you tear up some of those folders on the floor? The papers inside, specifically,” he requested.

Eleven almost protested, but decided against it, and ripped several papers up into pieces.

“Why?” She asked.

“Getting rid of the files could help the others escape easier, eventually.” He explained. “Lost information makes it harder to find people, that’s what you want for them, right?”

In reality, he didn’t care about the others but didn’t want the lab to have the information. He knew Eleven cared, though, and used that reasoning to convince her.

Eleven supposed he had a point. She may not have liked the other kids a lot, but they didn’t deserve this life. Especially the younger ones.

“Got it, let’s go,” Peter said, holding two specific folders.

Eleven dropped the last pieces of ripped-up papers on the ground.

He handed the folders to her. “Don’t lose them, please.”

She nodded and held them in her arms. She didn’t know what they were for, but if Peter had been looking for them, they had to be important.

“Follow me, we’re almost out of here; there’s one more place we need to go, promise.”

They headed out towards another hallway, when Dr. Brenner stumbled out of a room in front of them, still recovering from a hallucination. Peter knew his distractions wouldn’t last forever, but he had hoped for more time.

At least, the last thing he sought was standing in front of him.

“That makes it easier for me.” Peter thought.

“Eleven, don’t listen to whatever he tells you, he is lying,” Brenner said.

Peter almost rolled his eyes at that. Hypocrite.

Eleven frowned. “You... you lie!” She shouted.

“He is not who you think he is, he is using you to get out of here,” he continued.

Each step he took toward them made Eleven flinch. Without thinking, she moved and slightly hid behind Peter.

“It’s all a trick, Eleven...” Brenner spoke. “Using you for his own gain, he doesn’t care about you, not like I do.”

She definitely knew Brenner was lying. Peter’s first plan had been for her to leave alone. He hadn’t considered originally that she’d be able to help him with the Soteria. He had been willing to sacrifice his chance for freedom just so hers was guaranteed.

Eleven thought back to all the times she had spent with Peter. How genuinely caring he was to her. She knew it wasn’t all just an act. He was her friend.

“Liar!” She yelled.

Brenner turned his attention to Peter. “I noticed your little... bond with her after all these years; I should’ve put a stop to it before it got this far.”

Peter’s hands turned into fists. He was getting more livid by the second. However, he still wanted to draw out Brenner’s death. Make it slow and painful. To get revenge.

He lifted Brenner up with his powers by the neck, slowly choking him.

Eleven watched in horror. Her eyes widened, and she gasped.

Brenner saw the two folders Eleven was holding.

“You—you figured it out... didn’t you?” He forced out. “Course, t-that’s why she’s special... to you...”

Peter tightened his grip on the man, but he didn’t stop.

“Now... you’ll spend time as—as true father and d-daughter.” Brenner choked. “T-That’s all you… w-wanted, abs-s..urd.”

Eleven turned to look at Peter. Her face showed her confusion.

He ignored her, only focusing on choking Brenner; much like a snake and its prey.

“She’s my daughter, O-One! I raised her!” Brenner’s voice was hoarse.

“What is he talking about?!” Eleven questioned.

Tired of listening to the old man ramble, Peter dropped him.

Brenner gasped for air, clutching his throat. But before he could stand again, Peter lifted him back up.

“This... is for everything you did to me,” Peter uttered in an eerily calm tone.

Eleven quickly shut her eyes once she heard the cracking of Brenner’s bones. She heard him screaming as his body contorted and broke in different ways.

His jaw was snapped out of place, and his eyes were removed.

He fell to the ground, dead.

Peter sighed from exhaustion. He wiped away the drop of blood coming from his nose.

He looked over the man’s body. It was completely devoid of life.

Peter smiled wickedly. With Brenner’s death, he felt a burden lift from his shoulders.

After all that, he turned his attention towards Eleven.

Her eyes were still closed, and she was practically shaking with fear.

Trying to make her feel better, he placed his hand on her shoulder; causing her to jump.

“It’s okay, it’s over with; keep your eyes closed until I say you can open them,” he said.

Eleven nodded, and Peter led her away from the carnage.

Once Brenner’s mutilated body was out of sight, he told her to open them again.

“There!” He pointed towards the back doors.

Eleven and he ran to the exit, opened the doors that led to the woods, and didn’t look back.

---

The two walked in silence for a while, trying to navigate the unfamiliar territory.

Thoughts swirled in Eleven’s head. So many questions, questions that she didn’t know if they had an answer.

She started with an obvious one first.

“Where are we going?”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t know,” Peter admitted.

He didn’t like feeling useless like this, but had to deal.

“Until we come across some abandoned shelter, if possible...” He added.

Eleven swallowed nervously and nodded. It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but accepted it, because of their current situation.

Feeling ready to confront the bigger questions, Eleven cleared her throat.

“You’re One... but Peter too?”

“Yes, I have multiple names,” Peter replied. “I started out as Henry Creel, my family and I moved to Hawkins, the town we’re in, when I was a child.”

“You... had a family?” She asked.

“Yes, most people do,”

“What happened to them?”

Peter hesitated for a second until he settled on his answer.

“They’re not here anymore, they’re gone.” He answered.

“Oh,” Eleven muttered.

“After they were... gone, Dr. Brenner, or Papa, as you called him, took me to the lab,” he continued. “Because of my powers, he made me number One.”

“Because you were the first...”

He nodded.

“After a while, others were born, including you; all numbered,” he added. “Once I had grown up, Brenner decided to make me an orderly under the name Peter Ballard.”

“How long were you there?” Eleven questioned.

He paused to think. Sometimes it could be hard to remember. The years tended to blur together.

“Twenty years, I believe?” He said.

Her concept of time wasn’t the strongest, but she knew that was an extremely long time. Now she especially understood his desire to leave. Twenty years in the same place, never able to be free. She didn’t know how he hadn’t snapped sooner.

“I’m sorry,” Eleven murmured.

Peter glanced at her. “Thank you, but it’s not your fault.”

“Because you have more than one name, what do I call you?”

He pondered for a second.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, for now.”

She nodded.

Eleven suddenly remembered his wound when she noticed the red stain on his shirt collar.

“Is it okay?” She pointed to it.

“My neck? Yes, currently,” he responded. “The bleeding stopped a long while ago, and my injuries usually heal fast; I’ll be okay.”

Eleven sighed in relief at the news. “Good.”

“They can’t follow us... right?” She mentioned.

“They could, but if we remain careful, then ideally, they won’t find us,” he said. “Especially because now they don’t have a leader, they’ll need time to regroup.”

“Re… group?”

“Make a plan,” he clarified.

Now that Brenner was out of the picture, hopefully, the whole “research project” could come to an end. It had been he who started it. Though that didn’t account for others following in his footstep.

But that was a potential problem in the future, not now.

“Oh,” Eleven said.

She knew by a leader he meant Papa or Dr. Brenner. Her face scrunched up in disgust when the sounds of his death replayed in a loop in her head.

“Did you... have to end him?” She said, albeit meekly.

Peter looked at her as almost if she was speaking in a foreign language.

“Yes, it was necessary, necessary for our escape and proper punishment for all the pain he caused.” He lectured.

Eleven sighed. “Okay.”

Peter softened a little. She was only a child. She hadn’t known how bad he was exactly, couldn’t have known.

“I understand you had a… somewhat different relationship with him than I did, but I promise you, he didn’t have your best interest in mind.”

She nodded in acknowledgment.

Strangely, she still felt a sense of grief. She knew he was a bad man and that he had done terrible things. So why did she feel like this?

Her throat hurt and her body ached. She didn’t want to cry. She knew she shouldn’t cry over this. But the urge was strong.

She had seen so much. Maybe it finally fully hit her all at once. Her emotions overwhelmed her like an unrelenting wave.

A few tears ran down her face. She sniffled and quickly wiped them away. She knew she had to keep moving.

Luckily, Peter had learned early on how to deal with children and their emotions. Though he still struggled with it some. It didn’t come naturally to him.

He placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be okay, once we find shelter, we can stop for the night,” he spoke softly.

She gave him a brief nod.

Eleven thought over the last few words Brenner had said before he died. She knew he lied, but overall, she still needed to know what he had meant.

“At the lab, what was Papa saying?” She asked, changing the subject. “What did he mean?”

Now Peter was the one to freeze up. That was unusual for him. He hoped she hadn’t noticed.

“He was just saying things to confuse you, the ramblings of a dying man.”

Eleven glanced down at the folders she was carrying. She felt tempted to peek inside them but decided not to. She didn’t know how Peter or Henry or One would react.

She hadn’t decided on what to call him. She could figure that out later.

“So, it all was lies?”

Peter bit his lip. He fidgeted with his hands. He didn’t understand why this was so difficult for him.

“No,” he faltered. “Not everything.”

Eleven felt goosebumps on her arms again. She frowned. She didn’t know how to feel. Now she had to determine what was truth and what was a lie.

“What was true?” She asked. Her throat felt unusually dry.

Peter knew she wasn’t in the right mindset to receive more earth-shattering news. If they could just find a place to rest, then maybe he could finally tell her.

“No more questions, Eleven, it’s not the right time,” he tried to end the topic.

Only she wasn’t ready to give up. She continued to press him for answers.

“What was true?” She repeated.

Peter looked at her with faint annoyance. He sighed. “You’re too emotional right now, you’re not thinking properly.”

“How?”

“Eleven...”

“Tell me.” She insisted.

Peter didn’t respond.

Eleven huffed. She glanced down at the ground.

“Maybe Papa was right, you don’t always say the truth...” She muttered under her breath.

Peter suddenly grabbed her arm, turning her to look him right in the eye.

“That man… was a liar and you know it.” His tone was low and serious.

Eleven’s eyes darted down, uncomfortable with his sharp blue eyes closely staring into hers. She yanked her arm away and scowled. “You said he didn’t always lie!”

“Not about everything,” he struggled to not raise his voice.

“Then what? Please, tell me...” She said.

Eleven continued to grow more impatient.

“I won’t stop asking.” She frowned.

As she kept repeating her request, Peter was losing his patience.

“Tell me!” She shouted.

“Brenner was never your father! I am!” Peter matched her tone.

Birds flew out of the trees above them, scared by the sudden shouting. Eleven jumped and looked up, seeing birds overhead.

They stood still in the forest, not speaking a word.

Not believing his words at first, Eleven let out a small chuckle and shook her head.

She vaguely knew what jokes were. This had to be one, although an odd one at that. It was probably a way to help her feel better, to relieve the tension.

She stared at him in silence when she realized the serious expression on his face wasn’t changing.

At that moment, Eleven felt that deep pit feeling in her stomach again. Her breaths came out shakily.

Out of everything Brenner had said, it never occurred to her that was the truth.

Eleven lost the battle with her wave of emotions. It engulfed her.

Tears pricked the corner of her eyes. Crying was the only way she knew how to cope with huge emotions.

“Eleven...” Peter spoke, before slowly reaching his hand out to wipe her tears away.

Her breathing became loud and uneven. She took off running.

“Eleven!” He called out.

Peter tried to get a hold of her by using his powers, but Eleven fought back. Her powers surged along with her emotions. She slipped free of his grasp and continued to run.

Her feet stung from the sharp rocks and sticks lying on the forest floor, but she kept on running.

Now fully crying, her eyes blurred; messing up her vision. She accidentally ran into a low-hanging branch. It left a slight scratch on her cheek.

Her lungs felt like they were burning as she ran. But she couldn’t stop.

Eleven started to slow down. She noticed an area slightly secluded by bushes and rocks.

She came to a halt and panted. Tears still ran down her face. She tried to wipe them away, but they kept coming.

Knowing she needed to rest and to process what Peter had told her, she sat down on a big stone hidden by the bushes.

Eleven’s throat almost felt hoarse from sobbing. She sniffled and her crying slowed.

Hopefully, she hadn’t made the folders wet with tears. She glanced down at them and noticed they were labeled. One folder with 001 and the other 011. She didn’t bother trying to read the content inside of them. She could only read a little bit. Reading skills hadn’t been a big priority back at the lab.

---

Thankfully, it wasn’t difficult for Peter to follow Eleven’s tracks. She had left scattered leaves and broken twigs in her path.

He came across a newly broken branch.

He sighed, assuming she must’ve run into it. Peter hoped she wasn’t injured.

She couldn’t have gone far, he figured. However, it still left him feeling on edge. He had no idea if there were people from the lab hunting them down currently.

Peter hurried when he heard crying.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eleven’s hiding place. He felt the panic in his chest subdue.

Peter cautiously approached her, careful not to scare her off. He stood in front of her from a distance.

Eleven knew he was there but didn’t meet his gaze. She stayed sitting on the rock, too tired to move.

For once in his life, he wasn’t sure what to say.

He first noticed the scratch on her face and frowned.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

She gently touched it and winced, nodding.

Peter sighed.

“At least it’s just a scratch.” He thought.

“It should heal quickly... seeing as there’s no blood,” he added before hesitantly sitting down beside her.

He was secretly relieved that she hadn’t moved away from him.

Eleven wiped her eyes again. They were red and puffy from crying.

He knew he should say something, say anything, but couldn’t find the words.

“It’s true?” Eleven’s voice sounded thick with emotion. “You’re my real father?”

Peter nodded.

Eleven breathed. She closed her eyes and sat with the confirmation.

“Those... are our files, they hold all of our information if you’d like to look at them yourself.” Peter pointed at the folders.

She glanced down at them, taking a peek at hers. She skimmed over it, only reading the words she understood.

Seeing some confusion on the girl’s face, Peter helped explain some things, including her date of birth.

When she was done, she closed the folder.

“I’m sorry I ran away... I... needed...” She faltered.

“Time to think?” He asked.

Eleven nodded.

She couldn’t help but still feel a little confused.

“Why? I don’t...”

“Brenner used me in his plans,” Peter said, refusing to go into specifics. “He had always wanted more people with powers to turn into weapons.”

“How long did you know... about me?” Eleven questioned.

“I’ve known... since you were four years old,” Peter confessed.

Eleven’s eyes widened. She felt a pang of hurt. This whole time he knew, and he kept it from her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her bottom lip trembled, new tears threatened to spill.

He sighed and glanced at the ground for a second. “It wasn’t safe...”

She frowned.

“I wanted to tell you, truly, but I couldn’t until now. “

Who knows what Brenner would’ve done to him.

“You do not know how hard it was for me to keep it from you for so long.” His lips pressed into a thin line.

“But I still looked out for you,” he added. “I did what I could to keep you safe.”

Eleven knew that. She would always be grateful for what he did to help her.

“I know,” she turned to look at him.

“We need to go,” she said, standing up and attempting to brush off any dirt on her gown.

“You’re right, we’ve been in one place too long,” Peter agreed. He looked up at the sky to see the clouds were turning a darker shade.

They definitely needed to move before it started raining.

Peter offered to hold the folders for her, and she handed them over.

“We need to keep going before it gets dark,”

They headed off again, keeping a lookout for anyone or anything.

---

Peter felt himself growing more nervous when they still hadn’t found a place to stay. His feet hurt from nonstop walking.

Eleven didn’t even have shoes. If his feet were hurting, he couldn’t imagine how bad hers felt.

The girl yawned and sighed.

“I’m tired...” She murmured.

“I know, I am too, but we can’t stop.”

The forest started looking the same to her. She hoped they weren’t going in circles somehow.

Hawkins lab had been out of view for a while now. So far, no one had come after them.

Eleven spotted something unusual in the distance. She squinted her eyes.

“What is that?”

Peter saw what she was looking at and hope rose in his chest.

“Looks like an abandoned building, a house?” He answered.

They got a better view once they were close enough.

It appeared to be an old house or cottage, clearly damaged from the years and weather.

It was falling apart, but obviously, no one had been there in a long time. And no one was around for miles. It was perfect for them to stay in, for now at least.

Peter slowly opened its door. It creaked loudly, making Eleven feel on edge.

Natural light flooded in from the shattered windows.

Leaves and debris were scattered about the place. Whoever lived there before must have left in a hurry, seeing as furniture and things were still there.

Noticing how creeped out Eleven was, he held her hand as they explored the house.

In the den, there was a couch and chair, both torn up and discolored. The fireplace in the middle would come in handy.

Peter checked the kitchen first. He knew there probably wouldn’t be running water, but who knows if they had left other things behind.

They hadn’t come across any animals hiding out yet, which was a relief.

He opened the pantry and cabinets and looked around, but opening up old doors stirred the dust particles up.

Peter coughed.

“It’s so messy in here,” Eleven commented.

He nodded.

An unopened pack of bottled water caught his eye. He pulled it out of the pantry, setting it on a countertop.

They had needed something to drink, and even though it wasn’t as fresh as he’d preferred, they didn’t have any other options.

“What is it?” Eleven asked.

“Water.” He smiled. “We need to be smart about it, don’t drink more than you need.”

She nodded.

Peter saw some canned food but wasn’t as sure about it. He noted it was to be used as a last resort.

“You can explore, but you need to be on high alert, understand?” He said.

“Yes,” Eleven answered.

“I’m going to collect some wood outside for a fire,” he explained.

As he said that, her stomach growled due to hunger. She gave him a sheepish look. It had been hours since they’d both last eaten something.

“And find something to eat,” Peter added.

---

After a while, Peter managed to get a fire going. Eleven listened to the sound of the fire crackling.

He found two rabbits for them and killed them for food. They currently were cooking over the fire.

The rain came down outside, causing a chill to move through the house.

Eleven scooted closer to the fireplace. She sat with her knees close to her chest.

Once the food was ready, they ate.

She didn’t like the taste of it, but it was better than starving.

The rain eventually ended. When the rain lifted, nightfall was upon them.

Their eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The only light source came from the fire.

Eleven yawned.

“Are you tired?” He asked. The light from the fire illuminated his face.

“A little...”

“You can sleep if you want, I’ll keep watch,” he said.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“It’ll be okay, rest.” Peter insisted.

Eleven walked to the couch and laid down. She tried to get as comfortable as she could but had to admit she slightly missed her bed from the lab.

Her mind wondered about the lab, about the other children. She hadn’t a clue what was happening there.

Deep down, she hoped they were alright.

She thought about the lab more. Even though she hated it, admittedly, it had been her only home.

It was all she knew until now.

She felt conflicted about who she was, her identity. She was a child from the lab, and apparently Peter or Henry’s child.

She still hadn’t decided on what to call him. Names could be tricky.

She didn’t really have a name except for a number, but she figured that could change now that she was free.

“Hey... Peter...?” She hesitated.

He glanced at her in acknowledgment.

“I... I think I want to be called something else...” She said. “A real name...”

“A real name?” He asked.

“Not a number... but it needs to sound like Eleven,” she clarified.

“You want me to suggest a name?” He questioned.

The girl nodded.

Peter thought for a while, taking what she said into consideration. A real name could also help her blend in better.

“Well, Ellie sounds like Eleven... El for short,” he suggested.

“Ellie… El for short.” She repeated, hearing how it sounded in her voice.

Peter watched for her reaction.

“I like it.” She smiled.

He smiled back. “I’m glad, Ellie.”

“What happens now?” She changed the subject.

Peter frowned slightly.

“I don’t know... we’ll keep on moving until I know it’s safe, find a place to stay, eventually settle in somewhere, that’s our current goal.” He sighed.

He knew their best chance of surviving was to blend in somehow.

“Okay, I trust you,” she spoke.

Peter smiled softly at that.

Eleven, now going by Ellie, felt her eyelids getting heavier as the sky became darker.

But she knew she had to address something. The gnawing feeling in her mind told her to.

“I’m not mad at you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m not mad that you’re my father…” She stared up at the cobweb covered ceiling.

“It’s not like you have a choice in the matter,” Peter responded. “It’s the way things are.”

Ellie sighed and turned to look at him.

“I know, but I want to tell you how I feel... tell you I'm not upset.”

“Thank you for telling me,” he replied. “I know this is unfamiliar territory for both of us… but we can navigate it together.”

She smiled at his reassuring words. “Okay.”

She yawned again and finally lost the battle of staying awake.

“Goodnight, El.” Peter whispered.

#stranger things #001 and 011 au #peter ballard #peter ballard fanfic #stranger things 001 #001 stranger things #henry creel #stranger things season 4 #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #el stranger things #stranger things eleven #my writing #pringles writing

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obeymeluv · 4 years ago

Text

You Steal the Boys’ Clothes

Something I’ve been thinking of for a while.

Lucifer

It was rare the eldest was without his cape, as everything seemed to be a formal event and he must be dressed to impress. Being dressed to impress, however, means being clean so he gets it cleaned from time to time

Lucifer is a very organized, practical man. Constantly towing the line of obsessive for the sake of orderliness.

He knows where his cape should be, and that it’s not there

With a demon’s-only screech that warns Mammon to stretch his calves and run, Lucifer hunts down the three most likely suspects to interrogate them (Mammon, Satan, and Belphegor).

He tries to get a two-for-one by dragging Mammon into the study where Satan sits smugly with a book (because he knows he didn’t do it but MAN is he enjoying this!)

Imagine surprising not one, but THREE demons when you come shuffling down the hall with a Lucifer’s cape wrapped around you like a blanket.

It whispers and it drags and it absolutely DROWNS you.

Very charming. Ethereal, almost like some sort of wedding wear

Lucifer would’ve never imagined you’d be the culprit, and now his poor brain is trying to save and process the idea of you looking so sleepy-happy in his clothes

And the ex-angel falls all over again.

He catches the little cheek nuzzle and way you bunch it around your body, a foot poking out not to get tangled

Satan and Mammon will probably die laughing instead of at his hands, but Lucifer could really care less

Lucifer idly wonders where you’d curled up that he totally missed you, and escorts you gently but red-faced to your room

Satan and Mammon tag along, and when they see Lucifer come out with his cape they can only deduce he put you to bed.

Mammon

With no homework to do and some money in the bank, Mammon was ready to spend the weekend tearing up the town with you!

He was fresh out of the shower and mostly dressed, searching feverishly for his beloved white and brown jacket

Mammon wasn’t the cleanest person by nature (hello, money hoarder and collector of interesting/valuable things) so he tidied up as he went

As he started to suspect one of his little brothers was holding the jacket for ransom, he sent out a group text asking about it

There were several typical smart-ass responses (Lucifer, Asmo, and Satan) and he was in the middle of a snark fight when you showed up at his door somewhere between bashful and chill

In HIS jacket

Mammon’s brain shuts down.

HIS baby in HIS jacket? HELL YEAH! OH GOD, IT’S TOO PERFECT!

FIEND, TAKING HIS HEART!

“It’s kind of a human thing,” you explain. “There is a one-jacket fee among couples. Usually it’s a hoodie.” you tease, reluctant to shrug it off, “But this seems to be your only jacket so I guess I could give it back.”

It’s very subtle, but he’s worn that jacket for centuries and no amount of detergent can disguise the scent that makes his heart skip a beat

Something about the smell of your skin and a hint of his has him purring

You hold the jacket out to him. Mammon wraps his fingers around it and swings it around until he’s holding it over one shoulder

The yellow takes over in his eyes a little more. Gets a little brighter and intense.

“You want to take anything else off?” he husks playfully

Your day out turns into staying in and Mammon is happy to trade his jacket for a shirt you can sleep in (like, forever. It’s fine. Whatever, dummy.)

Leviathan

It was actually really hard to steal Levi’s clothes because he lived in his hoodie and turtleneck. His RAD uniform was really just for show and that wasn’t what you were looking for, anyways. You didn’t want to chill in uniform.

He was very particular about his merch because certain shirts were collector’s items and he didn’t like people messing with his folding patterns

You went to Asmo with your dilemma and he found it absolutely ADORABLE. It was almost enough to make him jealous, really

Somehow (Asmo being Asmo?), the fifth- born was able to swipe one of the green button-ups Levi wore under his RAD uniform

His first thought was to alter the garment to make it fit you (matching outfits? YES!) but Levi would probably kill him. His big bro hated shopping for clothes unless he HAD to have them.

Asmo gets the bright idea to magically/temporarily alter the fabric to fit you. Maybe Levi will like it so much he’ll just give you a shirt! 💖 (Or get some fucking outside time and go buy more shirts!)

Levi catches his own scent somewhere outside of the door and his brain goes off. He hits the pause button at lightning speed.

No one else smells like him! They haven’t shared bath products in centuries! He already finished his laundry so what’s happening?!

His first thought is: Mammon broke into my room while I was in the bathroom and stole something to pawn!

Levi doesn’t even think to take inventory of his stuff, barging out of his room to hunt down his big brother

He’s yelling and whining before he even sees him. Then he sees you. In his shirt.

All the angry words die in his throat as the absolute mortification and adoration sets his face on fire

SO KAWAII! It basically makes up for your normie-ness.

Levi’s stuck standing there, blushing his head off and unable to say anything as his fists shake with joy and nervousness

He gets a nosebleed. One of his brothers are laughing at him.

You guide him back to his room to take care of him, Levi lets you and becomes very fascinated with the idea of you in his clothes .Lots of petting and figuring out you look DOUBLY MEGA CUTE when the magic wears off and you’re just in a pool of fabric.

He’s totally down for matching clothes and definitely lets you keep the one you’re wearing.

Satan

His wardrobe is very...interesting...to say the least

Colors and personal combinations aside, Satan actually has a very smart wardrobe. Lots of basics and easy layers.

You can’t steal his signature green sweater or the blazer he seems to live in, so you settle for an emerald knit sweater that has a bit of a v-neck/university feel to it

It takes Satan a while to notice, as he’s buried in a book. You two tend to gravitate towards each other and just enjoy a cozy, companionable silence

He’s just finished a book and is debating cracking open one from the stack to his left when the color catches his eye

The smooth, sly comment dies on his lips when he realizes he likes the damn thing because IT’S HIS

You look very cozy and warm. It’s a very ‘cuddle me’ kind of look.

Perhaps you could warm his lap? Or give his poor hands a rest under the hem?

Very cheeky and clever. Grabs you by the sleeve of it just to ‘answer his curiosity about whether it matched his nails’.

Does he have a cute university student kink? If he didn’t, he does now?

There’s a 50-50 chance of you guys having sex.

Will definitely want to hold you and cuddle you close, petting the fabric and whispering compliments into it.

If you don’t already have a business/academic attire, Satan will definitely suggest a few pieces because YES. This is a thing he loves and it DOES things to him.

Asmodeus

He’s the type to let you think you stole something

Probably stages what he wants you to steal just so you take it

Honestly, I could just see him dumping some of his clothes on you because you’re dating now and this is a cute thing he read about!

It’s super likely he’s into couple outfits or coordinating outfits, so he’s either spent time in his closet pre-planning or asked you to try on a million things just because

This cutie pie purposely orders THE BIGGEST thing he can find so you can both fit in it at the same time

Asmo loves you to pieces no matter what, but seeing you in his clothes makes him squeal and hit a note Mammon has threatened to murder him over

Ever dramatic, this is like, THE BEST THING EVER

A MILLION Devilgram posts about it (safe ones, of course)

Do you guys spark a couple’s trend and spade of lover’s stealing each other’s clothes to snap a victory pic? Maybe

Probably fake faints at the sheer glory of you in HIS bomb ass clothes. Definitely fans himself

Spoils you rotten with compliments

This man is weak. “Gorgeous! Smother me.” as he falls back on the bed and gestures to his face

He won’t turn down the idea of sexy times (depends on your libido, comfort, etc.) but sometimes he makes raunchy jokes just to be funny. Smothering could also mean using him like a body pillow (which he’s totally okay with).

You get max cuddles and WILL be the envy of Devilgram

Beelzebub

Beel felt a little guilty for leaving you at the House of Lamentation with his brothers

You guys were supposed to hang out after school but there was an emergency practice. The coach always got pre-game jitters and demanded a few last runs. He showered and ran back to the House, hoping you still had time for him.

He tiptoed quietly into his shared room, unsurprised to find you waiting there for him. You’d been caught in Belphie’s sleepy little aura by the looks of it,

Beelzebub couldn’t help the grin or little hum that made it past his lips. Your eyes were open but he didn’t know if you actually saw him. You looked super cute in his humongous bed though

You were getting sleepier and sleepier, your eyelids getting heavier and heavier. Beel pulled the sheets over you and gentle untangled the arm you managed to latch on to

Maybe waking up to a bit of food would make up for everything! Beel toiled away in the kitchen, making a cute little snack tray for the two of you.

In reality, it could probably feed at least twenty, and he ate at least half of what he prepped.

Beel returned to the room with what he considered a decent amount (scraps, kind of, but enough variety! He tried! It’s the thought that counts!) and was surprised to see his sheets all tangled and half-kicked from the bed

You were wearing his jacket now, passed out and turned into the furry lining that usually went across his shoulders and neck

DId you sleep walk? He was trying to understand how you’d gotten into his jacket

Beel realized it was the first time you’d been in his clothes and it was enough to make his heart melt

Super huge on you, obviously (extra fabric everywhere), but so cute! He could basically swaddle you in his jacket

“They’re a restless sleeper,” Belphie yawned. “I thought it would help them calm down.”

It used to work on Belphie, so Beel could see why he resorted to it

Beel offered his twin some food, sitting carefully on your other side.

He shifted some of the parka fur away from your face, trying to fix your hair and nudge your chin up so your nose wasn’t buried in anything. He stroked your cheek a little, mesmerized by the sight of you and how you felt.

Belphie declined, muttering something about, ‘Stop looking like that and eat your food! Gross!’ before Beel settled for patting your head one last time and eating quietly

Belphegor

He’s another one that’s hard to steal from

You’d think it’d be easy since he sleeps all the time, but Belphie really only wears 10% of the clothes he buys

Yes, he’s a pajama snob and has all things comfy and cozy, but hardly any of them smell like him because he falls asleep anywhere with little issue (no special clothes required!)

You thought about stealing his blue cardigan with the pocket, but he’s always sleeping in it!

Belphie picks up on your train of thought, and the frustration, because you fall asleep thinking about it. Dreaming about coyly stealing his cardigan and being all cute and snuggly in bed

It’s enough to wake him up, shuffle to you, and break your sleep. He flops down on your bed with his cardigan unbuttoned and says ‘climb on’ while patting his chest

You’re obviously sleepy and confused and he loves it. Belphie slides you onto his chest and wraps his arms around you, resting bits of the fabric on your back as you settle into him

It’s not the same but it’s close enough

Would you be offended if he got you cow pajamas so he could snuggle you like his favorite pillow? He falls asleep wondering about the answer

He wakes up to see that Beel has covered the two of you with his favorite blanket.

You in his blanket? Against him? Slowly smelling of him and his clothes? It’s the best thing to fall asleep to.

Makes a joke out of your clothes-stealing quest by stripping one of his pillowcases off and putting you in it like a little sack. You have to stay on his bed now because you’re his pillow and all pillows stay on the bed.

“What? You wanted to smell like me! It’s something I use!“ Belphie defends as you wonder whether or not you like this human pillow thing while he snuggles you.

#Obey me!#Obey me! x reader #Lucifer x reader #Mammon x reader #Leviathan x reader #levi x reader #Satan x Reader #Asmodeus x reader #asmo x reader #beel x reader #Beelzebub x reader #Belphegor x reader #Belphie x reader

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literallydontlook · 3 years ago

Text

The Unexpected (2/4)

You’re just not that interested in dating military men, nor have you ever been with an alien lover. But a chance Ascension Week encounter awakens something you didn’t know was inside. Chapter 2 of 4.

Pairing: Thrawn x f!reader

Rating: 18+

TW/CW: none (or if I’m missing something, please let me know!)

Tags: sexual tension, romance, slow burn, civilian reader, sexual fantasy, m@sturbation

Word count: 2k+

A/N: I know I said the whole thing is written, but I got sort of unhappy with it and thought I’d rewrite some. My Thrawn crush has sort of cooled so I couldn’t find the energy to do it. But! I am a woman of my word! Here’s part II, unedited, no beta we die like chiss.

<-- Part 1 - The Trap

Part 2 - Friends

Dajmita had returned in the morning wearing last night’s gown, her makeup smudged from a night of sexual activity. Removing her shoes, she found you curled up in a blanket on the sofa. Your makeup from the previous evening in a similar state of disrepair.

“What happened to you?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“I tried to take someone home,” you groaned pulling the blanket over your head. She smiled impishly and then faltered, “Wait - What do you mean tried?”

“How do you do it? I took him to my studio for a ‘tour’,” your hands motioned in air quotes, “and he bought a piece of art and left.”

Dajmita was torn between laughter and pity. She sat down beside you and stroked your hair, pulling tangled pins out as she tried to sooth you, “Only you could miscommunicate a hookup.”

Your data pad pinged and you grabbed for it blindly from under the blanket. You groaned, “Aaa ugh it’s already noon?” You threw your legs over the side of the couch and dragged your feet to the refresher.

“Do you have to be somewhere?” Dajmita called from the other room. You washed your face and pulled the remaining pins from your head, then pulled your hair up into a messy half bun. You sighed.

“I promised to meet a friend for lunch,” you breathed out tiredly as you brushed your teeth.

“You could just cancel,” she pointed out.

There was only the sound of scrubbing as you considered this. Spitting out the foam and rinsing your mouth you decided you shouldn’t flake.

“No...I should go,” you sighed again, pulling off your gown and rummaging through your dresser for something comfortable to wear. Dajmita gave you a concerned look.

“Well, I guess you must be pretty comfortable with this person if you’re going out like that.” You looked in the mirror and shrugged. You grabbed a cloak and pulled the hood over your head, “It’s not like anyone wants to hook up with me when I’m dressed up anyway!” you cried out over-dramatically.

Dajmita crossed her arms, “Don’t say that.”

“Just let me wallow for one day,” you complained, dragging your feet out the front door, “I’ll be back later.”

She laughed, “Fine but you’re being ridiculous! We’re doing something fun when you get back!” she called after you.

“Fiiine!” you called back.

——-

Eli had already found a table at Dex’s Diner when you arrived.

“What’s with the cloak? Did you have a uh...rough night?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. You glared at him.

“Whoa sorry we don’t need to go into detail,” he raised his hands defensively. You buried your head in your arms, “Nothing happened.” Your voice was muffled.

He realized you were serious as you sat back up to give the waitdroid your order. “What do you mean nothing happened?” he asked incredulously.

You took a deep breath, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, “Stars I can’t be talking to you about this!” you cried out.

“Hey I’m not a little kid anymore,” Eli shot back. “You can talk to me,” he offered kindly.

“I mean, what more can I say? We went to my studio and he bought a painting and then left.” Now that some time had passed, you could laugh a little. Then a thought occurred to you.

“Is he married or something? Or anti-inter-species?” Eli’s face twisted in thought, “He’s definitely not married, but to be honest I didn’t realize he had a sexuality.”

“Oh.” you considered this, not sure if you should feel better with this new information. The waitdroid returned with your orders - the smell of grease inviting you to indulge.

“Well he wants me to install the painting he bought on his ship,” you said, jabbing at the mush on your plate. You received his transmitted instructions earlier that morning which only reminded you of your failure.

Eli stopped mid-bite. “He wants you to come to the Chimaera? ...In person? He didn’t ask you to hand it off to a stormtrooper at the landing dock?”

“Is that unusual?”

“I’ve never seen a civilian aboard a Star Destroyer. I don’t think you’re allowed...but then again, it’s his ship, so I guess he can sort of do what he wants,” Eli conceded.

“I’ll send him a message to confirm,” You said, your heart beginning to race again. Why do I feel so...excited? You push away the thought.

“Enough about Thrawn. What’s up with you? What are you doing here? Last my parents told me you were training to be a supply officer in the Expansion Region.”

Eli sat back and sighed, not sure where to begin.

—-

“You cannot get hung up on a random guy you don’t even want to date!” Dajmita spelled out loudly as she shook you by the shoulders.

“Please don’t yell at me.”

“I’m not yelling! I’m just making sure you hear me,” she huffed. “You’re so desperate for a fuck. This isn’t some failure you need to overcome. You said yourself this guy might be ace.”

“Well why would he ask me to install the art on his ship then? Civilians aren’t normally allowed,” you countered.

“Maybe he’s just really into art and wants to maintain the artist’s original intent- I don’t know!” Dajmita threw up her arms in frustration, “Why do you even care? You don’t even like military men. If you need someone to fuck, just ask Endel. He’d definitely do it!”

“You know I can’t lead someone on like that! I think he still has feelings for me!” you turned back to the mirror to finish applying makeup, “Ok does this look like I’m not trying too hard? I want to be taken seriously as a professional but like, a hot professional.” You stepped out of the refresher clad in workers clothes.

“I mean, if that’s what you’re going for...Like a carpenter from a pornographic holo vid,” she assured you. You looked down at your top, “Is it too tight?” You tried stretching your arms up to see how much of your mid drift would be exposed. You tried bending over, too.

“Oh yeah - just do that a lot,” Dajmita purred suggestively.

——-

The Chimaera was much bigger than you had ever imagined. Several Lambda-class shuttles were docked in the landing bay where hundreds of stormtroopers and Imperial officers buzzed about their business in an orderly rhythm.

You suddenly felt very self-conscious. Your civilian clothes drew more attention than you were used to and even the officer who scanned your security clearance regarded you suspiciously as he read your destination from his data pad.

“You have an appointment with…Admiral Thrawn?” He asked incredulously.

“That’s right. I’m installing a painting in his office.” This seemed to make sense to him, but he reached for his comm for confirmation.

“Sir - There’s a...female civilian here to install a painting?”

Thrawn’s voice came through the comm, “Yes, please send her up with an escort.” Still somewhat suspiciously, the officer signaled a stormtrooper to meet you and he wordlessly lead you to a turbo lift.

You were fascinated by the cold design of the starship’s hallways. Every surface was immaculate, each crew member walking with purpose. There was almost complete silence, only the sound of murmured conversations and footsteps hung in the air. The path itself was dizzying - turn after turn after turn - you weren’t sure if you could find your way back.

Just as you began to wonder what was behind all of these sealed doors, your escort stopped at one guarded by another trooper.

“Code cylinders,” he demanded. Your guide handed him a pen-looking object and clarified, “This is only for her.” The object was inserted into a keyhole, opening the door behind him. “Go on in.”

Your escort turned and walked away, leaving you to enter Thrawn’s office alone.

The sound of clashing metal and of exertion filled the entryway. As you pushed the repulsorlift cart into the antechamber, you saw a door opened to a bright sparring room where Thrawn was combatting two large sentry droids. He expertly dodged each attack, countering with his own. You couldn’t help the warm feeling rising in your core again as you noticed his muscular arms for the first time. You imagined them pinning you to the floor as he pounded into you, a strong hand pulling your hair back.

Just as you caught yourself mid-fantasy, Thrawn noticed you and commanded the override code. The droids returned to their stations and powered down as the door hissed shut. You weren’t sure what to do next, but the door soon re-opened with a hiss and Thrawn emerged wearing his uniform jacket.

“I apologize - I thought I would have a few more moments before you arrived,” he said, fastening the cuffs on his sleeves. “Please, come in.” He ushered you through another door leading to his office. A large desk was situated in the center of the room, two reptilian sculptures flanking the display shelf behind it.

Thrawn led you through his office to an adjoining living space. “I’d like the painting to hang here. Please let me know if you need anything.”

“Th-thank you,” You shivered, realizing it was significantly colder here than in the hallway. Thrawn noticed your nipples had hardened in the cold, their outlines visible even through the layers of your shirt and bra. It was going to be difficult to concentrate today. He excused himself as you unloaded your work and began dismantling the piece’s wooden transport casing. After almost half an hour, you were able to carefully free the painting, only to realize it was too unwieldy for one person to lift.

You found Thrawn in his office, carefully studying star charts at his desk. Another fantasy intruded and clouded your vision: sitting at the edge of his desk, the holos of planets splashed against your skin, your legs spread wide as he drank in your cunt. He tweaked your nipples as you moaned in pleasure, the danger of being discovered only heightening your arousal. You breathed in deeply to ward away the thoughts.

You cleared your throat and he looked toward you.

“Could I have some help?” you asked, expecting him to call another officer or trooper to assist.

“I’m at your service,” he said to your surprise. He followed you back into the other room.

“I just need a hand lifting this onto the mounting brackets,” you explained. Thrawn situated himself on one side of the canvas and you heaved it up together, guiding its hanging wire in place. Just as it was lining up, he stole another glimpse of you. Your shirt rode up slightly as you worked and his eyes lingered on the small sliver of mid drift that was becoming more and more exposed in your exertion. With a deep breath, he fought back his primal urge to lunge.

You both stepped back to evaluate the painting’s placement. There was a long silence.

“…Is it…to your liking?”

“Yes…” he mused quietly, “Thank you…I believe I still owe you…payment.” His last word was almost a purr and you flushed as you fantasized a another meaning. Did he notice?

You followed him into his office, where he unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out a bundle of credits. He handed them to you, your fingers accidentally brushing against each other in the exchange. He saw your jaw tighten.

“I’ll be stationed on Coruscant for the next few months. There’s an exhibit on Mandalorian folk art that I think would be…educational. Would you care to join me?”

So he wasn’t going to bend you over his desk and have his way with you. Perhaps he really was only looking for a companion to discuss art with - he obviously wasn’t getting that kind of engagement from his peers. You were disappointed but not heartbroken. After all, it wasn’t like you had romantic feelings towards him. You accepted this invitation to friendship.

“I’ve been looking forward to that exhibition myself. When do you want to go?”

#thrawn x you #thrawn x reader #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #thrawn fanfiction #the unexpected

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tarisilmarwen · 3 years ago

Text

RobStar Week 2021, Day 6 - Formal Night

(Have a RobStar/BBRae double date for this prompt as a two for one special!)

---

"Do we have to go to this?" Beast Boy whined, fidgeting a little as Raven straightened his bow tie. "Can't we just like, video conference in or something?"

"Metropolitan Society of the Arts hasn't quite nailed down simulcast technology yet," Robin said in explanation, helping the changeling into his dinner jacket. "We could watch the livestream, but it'd be really laggy, and we'd lose connection more often than not." He brushed Beast Boy's sleeves off when he was done. "Besides, this is culture. It's good for you."

Beast Boy gave an uncertain whine, but made no further comment, as Raven withdrew to slip her faux-fur-lined shawl around her shoulders and Starfire moved in to futz with his hair, smoothing it down into a semblance of orderly flatness.

"Do you not like the opera, Beast Boy?" she asked him, making sure his hair was to her satisfaction before stepping back and tugging up her long gloves again.

"Never really been my thing," he admitted, reaching up and feeling the slicked-down hairdo. "Always puts me to sleep."

Robin wound an arm inside Starfire's, his jacket sliding neatly against the silk of her gloves. "I wouldn't blame you," he laughed. "Opera is kind of an acquired taste."

Starfire beamed at him, her eyes sparkling. "It reminds me of the poetic ballads we would perform upon royal holidays," she commented. "I am very excited for this."

Beast Boy shrugged, grabbing up his wallet and shoving it into his back pocket before reaching to grab Raven's hand. "Well, as long as you guys enjoy it, I think I can manage."

Raven gave a wry smile as she entwined fingers in his. The contented feelings of love and happiness from their double dates were like a warmth on her senses, familiar and comforting. Starfire's eager excitement and the anxious thrill racing inside Robin at the thought of doing something with her she loved never failed to make the empath feel... more at ease, somehow.

The looks of adoration they traded with each other, the casual level of comfort they felt... She and Beast Boy were still navigating their awkward newfound feelings for each other but Raven very much hoped they could reach that level of ease with each other.

Beast Boy did like to cuddle, so that was a good start.

She squeezed his hand encouragingly, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"I snuck your gameboy into my clutch," she told him. "If you can stay awake until intermission, we'll sneak off and find a quiet corner."

He looked confused and bewildered a moment, but then seemed to light upon her insinuations. "Ohhh, leave the happy couple alone for an hour, I get it," he said with a grin.

Fortunately Robin and Starfire were busy fussing over who was going to hold the tickets and didn't hear their private exchange.

*** Starfire's eyes were shimmering; she clutched hands over her heart as she listened with rapturous emotion, her Tamaranian powers almost haywire inside her with the strength of her feelings.

Beast Boy was snoring lightly in his seat, his head slumped over the top and drooling a little from his mouth, but Raven didn't seem to mind, leaned against his shoulder and quietly listening to the music with a faint smile.

Starfire could feel Robin's eyes on her instead of the performers, watching her reaction to every line, every moment, but she barely paid attention, so enraptured she was with the moving story and the beauty and technique of the singers' performances.

The main soloist was onstage now, pouring her heart out into a powerful aria about difficult love and Starfire felt herself ache for the poor fictional girl, doomed to forever be apart from the one she treasured and adored.

She clapped vigorously with the rest of the audience as the act concluded, peeking aside at Robin when he stood up, and doing the same.

"What is this called?" she asked, observing the same phenomenon from patrons down below on the floor.

"A standing ovation," he explained, saying it into her ear. "It's basically used to compliment the performer, tell them they did a really great job."

Starfire beamed and clapped harder, joining the chorus of appreciation for the soloist, who stepped forward and took a quick bow as the lights came up.

Beast Boy snorted and startled awake, shaking his head and quickly wiping the drool away with his sleeve. "What'd I miss?" he asked.

Starfire jumped into an explanation at once, her dress swishing around her ankles as she turned eagerly to Beast Boy. "The heroine and her lover both snuck away from their houses for a secret rendezvous, in which they proclaimed their eternal affection for each other. But the heroine's stern guardian found them out, and attempted to duel the lover to the death. He barely escaped with his life and now the heroine has been locked in her room and has conveyed that she feels she cannot live without him."

"Oh." Beast Boy scratched his ear. "So pretty normal stuff, then."

"It was so moving!" Starfire exclaimed, her voice almost breathless. "The lyrics of the aria were so beautifully poetic!"

Behind her, Beast Boy observed Robin, his eyes shining at Starfire like she was the beautiful piece of poetry.

He smirked a little to himself. "Yeah I'll bet. Hey Rae." He nudged Raven conspiratorially. "You remember where the bathrooms were? I uh... kinda need to use the men's room. Fast."

She caught on to his excuse, rising from her seat with him. "Well don't pee on the floor, I'll get you there," she assured him, trying to hide her grin.

She quickly enveloped them in black energy and teleported them away.

***

He'd known Starfire was a sap—known for ages, really—but it still surprised and alarmed him when the Tamaranian princess burst into tears at the conclusion of another powerful number.

"Woah, woah, hey!" he said in concern, turning in his seat towards her at once as the applause filled the auditorium, almost drowning him out. "Star, are you okay?"

She hiccuped, her breath hitching and stuttering as she tried to get her words out. "It is just—so sad!" she managed around choked sobs. "They can—never tr—truly be accepted by their families!" Big wet tears were sliding down her cheeks, running the mascara Raven had so painstakingly helped her apply earlier that evening. Starfire fumbled in her clutch purse for a tissue, her hands shaky, Robin eventually producing his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing away at her eyes, worry pinching between his brows.

She looked at him gratefully when he finished, whispering a strained, "Thank you."

He nodded silently but sent an anxious glance back towards the door that led into their private balcony box. Raven and Beast Boy had been on a long bathroom break.

Where the hell are they?, he wondered anxiously.

Turning his attention to his distraught girlfriend, Robin wrapped arms around her shoulders and waist, rubbing up and down her back, trying to soothe her back to emotional stability. She calmed as he held her, her sniffles settling down, quieting into a somber ease.

"Sorry," he said. "I should have warned you this one had a tragic ending."

"It is not that," she mumbled, hiding her face against his lapels now, vibrating the words against his chest. "It is.. very silly but... these kinds of... melodramas about love and romance," she began, raising her head slightly, looking into his face with sad green eyes. "It just brings up... old buried feelings," she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Starfire took a deep breath, wringing her gloved hands. "For the longest time... I feared you did not have any desire to be with me," she admittedly quietly.

That stung like the knife the heroine had stabbed herself with in Robin's own heart, and he gripped her tighter, fiercely. "I know," he whispered in apology. "I was stupid. I kept putting up excuses for why we shouldn't be together, and I hurt you with how long I stalled, afraid of my feelings." He shook his head. "Afraid of myself, of being vulnerable."

"That is not how you feel now," Starfire said with conviction, looking at him adoringly.

He grinned. "Nope," he agreed. "I can say it now. I love you, Starfire, and I never want to be without you again."

Her smile cracked her face and she flung herself at him, capturing his lips with a kiss as the audience applause and cheers down below became deafening.

***

Raven had the audacity to look completely unbothered as Robin stalked up to her, with Starfire trailing behind, leaned up against the wall just outside the men's bathroom with her arms crossed casually. Beast Boy sat indian-style on the floor next to her strappy sandals, thoroughly engrossed in his handheld gaming device, beeping softly as he mashed buttons.

Robin set annoyed eyes on them. "And where exactly have you two been?" he demanded.

"What?" Raven replied, shrugging. "Starfire gets a little overpowering on the senses when she's emotional. I figured I'd spare myself the headache."

"Besides dudes," Beast Boy piped in, not looking up, "we figured you two could use some alone time. You guys haven't been on a real date in ages."

"Is that what you were doing?" Robin pressed, still a little irritated. He nodded his chin towards Raven's shoulder, where her dress strap was askew, down around her upper arm. "Having alone time?"

Raven coughed lightly and surreptitiously reached to fix her strap and cover it over with her shawl.

"The sentiment is appreciated," Starfire spoke up, eyes soft but strained, "but I was looking forward to spending the time with the both of you."

"Well, the night's still young," Beast Boy said, standing up, his Gameboy loose in one hand. "I'm sure we can find something to do that we'll all like."

"Oooh!" Starfire exclaimed breathlessly, turning to her date. "Robin, there are newborn giraffes at the Jump City Zoo!"

"Sounds good to me!" Beast Boy said, immediately grinning. "Rae?"

"Nice quiet evening with only a few people and lots of calm content animals? Sounds up my alley," she quipped.

Robin had trouble finding his words for a moment, having been quite distracted by the warm golden chandelier light glistening in Starfire's red hair and the adorable eagerness with which she looked at him, and stammered a bit before his brain shook itself back into order.

"Uh... that's—I mean—uh... uh yeah, sounds—sounds good to me."

She gave him a peck on the check affectionately, amused by how easily she could still flummox him, and slipped her gloved arm through his elbow, settling comfortably into his side.

"Would we not be overdressed, though, in this attire?" she asked, slight worry wrinkling her brows.

"You should keep the dress on," Robin blurted, then blushed heavily and trailed off into babbling again. "It—I mean it uh—it suits you, green always—uh it looks—it looks really great on you and—"

Beast Boy rolled his eyes. "Ugh, they're like the model couple, it's disgusting," he commented aside to Raven.

"Revolting," she agreed with a smile. After a pause she shouldered away from the wall. "C'mon," she urged.

Giggling, Starfire tugged her still-blushing boyfriend along as the two couples made their way through the glimmering tiled halls of the theater towards the exit.

---

So I’m not saying that Raven and Beast Boy totally had sloppy makeouts in the men’s bathroom but... yeah I’m totally saying that lol.

#robstar #bbrae #robstarweek #Teen Titans #robin #starfire #raven #beast boy #fanfiction #prompt fics

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years ago

Text

Summer of Whump #4: Escape

Warnings: drugging, vomit, blood

Villain's face was smacked against the roof of a "Villain Containment Practices" AKA a VCP car. He groaned and elbowed the ruthless Hero who dared to lay hands on him.

"Calm down," the unlucky Hero seethed. "Things will be easier for you."

"But not for you," Villain sassed which resulted in the hero lifting his head and smacking his nose hard.

"Will you mind?!" Villain yelled. He felt blood pouring out of his nose and draining into his mouth. Broken. He groaned, annoyed.

"Serves you right," the hero taunted close to Villain's ear. She pulled on his earlope and clicked the handcuffs into place.

The second that Villain was settled into the VCP car, he started blabbering and wiping his nose against his sleeve.

"Okay," he said between wipes. "So here's how it happened. I was literally walking home, minding my own beeswax, when this homesless guy comes up to me. Now, me? I am very clean and I like my cleanliness. So anyways, this guy comes up to me and now, he is begging for money and I'm like, 'Dude, personal space here'. I mean, of course this guy has no etiquette skills so he attacks me. Now, my wallet was in my pocket. Still is, for your information, you can find some nice cash in there. Anyways, this guy he touches my wallet and tries to grabs it- wait, guys, I shouldn't be being arrested. It was self-defense! Hey, hey!" Villain reached his hand forward and jostled one of the hero's head. "Wakey, wakey," he said. The hero turned and scowled at him.

"Did you hear me?" Villain asked. "It was self-defense."

"But, Villain, did you have to steal that guy's own wallet and hospitalize him?" The hero asked. "We know that he was doing something illegal also, but he being taken care of. So, please, shut up."

"But, but," Villain whined.

"Zip."

Villain threw himself back against the leather seats, scowling himself. This was unfair. Why couldn't he be a normal citizen without being arrested?

He placed a hand over his nose and summoned his healing powers. In a flash of painful light, the nose clicked into place.

"I thought we inhibited his powers," The driving hero mumbled to the other.

"Shoot. Pull over," the other, also known as the sassy one who broke Villain's nose (we'll call him Nosey), hopped out of the car and joined Villain in the backseat with a clipboard.

"So, Villain," Nosey said. "We are going to have to administer a power suppressor. Do you have any allergies to any drugs or medications?"

Villain glanced at Nosey with a "you serious?" expression. He then shook his head.

"Verbal confirmation."

"No you idiot," Villain snarled. "Are you blind in there." He waved a hand in front of Nosey's face.

"Cut the attitude man," Nosey warned and started to recite all of the questions in a bored tone like they have done this one too many times. Villain answered with the same montone tongue, sneering at Nosey like he was trash- which, in Villain's mind, he was.

"Okay," Nosey finished and plucked a hypodermic needle from their pocket. Villain watched suspiciously as they filled it up with a clear liquid from a small bottle. It was something actually from a pharmacy, he could tell. He reached forward and plucked the bottle out of the other's hands with a sharp, "Gimme."

Villain quickly skimmed over the words, stopping at each -zephines or -pams with a confused look on his face.

"What's in this?" Villain asked. Before Nosey replied, they jabbed the needle into Villain's neck and administered the contents.

"Hey!" Villain exclaimed, pulling the needle out. Almost immediately, he was hit by a cold sensation.

"Hey," he mumbled drowsily, his eyelids drooping. "Did-did you drug me?"

Nosey grabbed Villain's chin and forced the Villain to look at them.

"Of course, you were quite intolerable," then they reached behind them and pulled out another needle. The power suppressor.

Nosey easily emptied the drug into the vein on Villain's wrist with a satisfied smile at Villain's shock. They then unbuckled Villain and helped him lay down on the seats.

"Sweet dreams," Nosey said right before the darkness engulfed Villain.

Villain woke in a damp room, shivering out of his skin. He groggily looked around, found nothing of interest, and closed his eyes again. He vaguely recognized that the drug was still running through his system- whether it be the sedative or the suppressor, he didn't know which. He also knew that he should take advantage of the chance to rest while he had it.

That "chance to rest" actually became only five minutes. The damp coolness of the cell was replaced by a gust a warm air. Villain didn't care, or didn't realize, that Hero was standing in front of him.

He did open his eyes, however, when he heard Nosey's pipsqueak voice, "I thought he was awake."

"He is probably still drugged up," Hero said in her calm, orderly tone. "Oh there he is," she ran her fingers over Villain's cheek, checking for any type of reaction. Finding none, she stepped back and whispered something to Sidekick that Villain couldn't make out.

His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but being the positive guy he was, he decided on cotton candy. Make the situation a little better.

He closed his eyes again, even though Nosey and Hero were standing right there and talking about him. He picked up bits and pieces:

"Move him to a warmer cell, one with a bed," came Hero's assertive voice.

"He doesn't deserve it!" came Nosey's ear-shattering chirps of a voice.

"He is laying on the ground in a cell, hardly able to keep his head from rolling around. Make him comfortable. He needs the rest for what's about to come."

Even though Hero's voice was indeed calming, it still made Villain's heart pump faster. They were going to so something to him. He frowned weakly- hardly a frown in the hero's eyes. He didn't know why, but it sounded like they were going to do more than just hurt him.

Kill him, or maybe do tests on his healing powers.

Villain whimpered loudly which brought the heros attention. His eyes were squeezed shut, unable to look at them. A wave a fear came over him when someone's (hopefully not Nosey's) arms wrapped around him and lifted him from his spot. He squirmed, trying to break free.

"Shut up," came a sing-song voice. It made Villain freak out, kicking and panting. It was Nosey. Nosey was touching him.

"Sheesh," Nosey exclaimed at the outburst and readjusted Villain so that they (Nosey) was much more comfortable, but the newly formed position stressed Villain's limbs.

"W- w," Villain croaked. "... taking?"

"Aw look at you, so out of it and quiet. Hardly able to form a complete word," Nosey gave a fake pouty face that Villain didn't even register.

Sleep once again tugged at him, but he tried to keep his eyes pried open. He would never forgive himself if he fell asleep in Nosey's arms.

Suddenly, after what seemed like an eternity of floating through the air, Villain was sat down on a bed. Without any resistance, he allowed his limbs to be moved around and a thick, warm blanket to be draped over his body.

He closed his eyes, relishing the warmth and inviting comfort. He let out a few grumpy mutterings as the drug took hold once again and he fell into a deep slumber that only time could wake him from.

Nosey left immediately after tucking Villain in, if they even called it that. More like heeding to their boss's orders, but they hated it. Hated the way that Villain was being treated like a hero himself.

Hero entered the warm cell that Villain was placed in. The room was much nicer than the damp one, with a bed, light, and heating unit, but still a cell nevertheless.

She walked over to Villain's sleeping figure and traced his cheek with her long, unkept, fingernails. He didn't stir, which was good. Very carefully, she lifted the covers off and placed her hand on his chest.

And then she worked her powers, digging into Villain's conscience. It was foggy, which was understandable, and very difficult to navigate through, but she still found her destination.

The truth about what happened.

She watched the scene in her head. An imposter homeless man stalking up to Villain, asking for cash. Villain refused, beginning to walk away, but the homeless guy took out a gun and smacked the back of Villain's head. Villain then wheeled around and shoved the man against a nearby wall, giving him a round of punches. As Villain performed his beating, the homeless guy reached around and took Villain's wallet out. Villain quickly finished his work with a devastating punch that left the man in a heap. He then swooped down and grabbed his stolen wallet with a shrug.

Hero gasped and stepped backwards, quickly making sure that Villain didn't wake up. He didn't, so Hero put the blanket back over him and left the room.

As she strolled down the hallway, she thought of the feeling that she was getting from Villain's memories. Innocence. Villain was innocent. Not that he didn't do the extravagant illegal works that he regularly took part in, but that he had no idea that what he was doing was wrong.

He was misguided.

It took Villain some time to completely recover from the suppressor, but when he did, boy he felt like he could fly to the moon and back.

The downside of having healing powers was that you needed them for everyday function. They run your body systems like your nervous system does. It powers them like food and water does, so when those were taken away, Villain's body went on momentarily shut down. Hopefully Hero realized this before she decided to drug him again.

One day, Hero entered his cell as he was picking through breakfast. He had no recollection of Hero's impediment of his memories only days before.

"Villain," Hero cleared her throat and eyed Villain's plate in curiosity. "It's not poisoned," she laughed, wondering why he wasn't eating much.

"Not hungry," Villain replied, glancing at Hero for a brief second.

"You need the energy. We are going to start, uh, well, work today."

"Work?" Villain asked, absent-mindly.

"Yes. You are a prisoner," the words hurt Hero almost as much as she was the one receiving them. He really wasn't a prisoner. He was going to get reformed, learn morals, and hopefully become a hero, which was a long shot, but one should always hope for the best.

Hero sat on his bed as he finished lapping up the breakfast, which took a good thirty minutes. Hero was patient, however. Villain would need time to be assimilated into a hero's society. Spending some time in silence, watching him eat was insignificant compared to what he was about to do.

Two days later, Villain was throwing up in a toilet. Throwing up, not due to sickness or eating something funny, but from stress and exertion. The exercises that the heros made him, along with all the other "reforming" villains, were insane and taxing. Not to mention the mental strain with all of the "moral speeches" and assessments. Mulitple choice questions like: Which is the right thing to do when you see someone being beat up? A.) Call the cops or heros; B.) Stop the fight; C.) Talk them out of it calmly; or D.) All of the above. Villain put down B.

He failed the test.

Villain rested his forehead against the cool toilet seat. He had to get out of here. Runaway and leave. If only two days led up to the this, Villain glanced down at the bloody vomit in the toilet, then what would two weeks result in? Power suppressing? Villain shuddered. He couldn't go through that again.

So, Villain made the decision right then and there, infront of the toilet, that he would escape tonight and leave the city.

Forever.

#summer of whump #escape #villain whumpee #drugged #captivity #writing #hero whumper #hero caretaker #summerofwhump4 #drugged villain

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