#blood ///3454

[hollowwrites]

Missed Opportunities

So I’m currently trying to write smut for my Blindsided fic (about time) and have come to realise I just love writing fluff so much.

Summary - Sebastian stumbles upon Victoria after returning from a wedding. He’s confronted with the feelings he’s been repressing for years.

Warnings - None, fluff fluff fluff!

Word Count - 3454

~

Never in all of his years, did he think having a Pureblood friend would be so…exhausting.

Perhaps maybe, Sebastian was spoiled with Ominis. He was constantly invited to weddings and proposals. They were a common occurrence at the Slytherin Table over breakfast. But all of them were met with a derisory sneer and a not-so-polite refusal.

But Victoria…

Her family was huge.

She had cousins wedded into the Black family, meaning every invitation must be accepted lest she evoke the Headmasters wrath. The Black and Grey family had a good relationship, one her parents were not eager to destroy. And though he already had a soft spot for Victoria considering she was both the Hero of Hogwarts and a Pureblood, perhaps refusing to attended a wedding between their families would put a strain on that

Toujours Pur indeed.

And the proposals…

They irked Sebastian the most. Especially the one sent from the Gaunts for her hand. Ominis and Victoria had a wonderful little chuckle about the whole thing and spent a week playfully calling each other husband and wife.

Much to Sebastian’s disdain.

He most certainly did not enjoy that scenario. His best friend and the girl he has loved since he had met her? No.

It was when Ominis heard Sebastian snap the armrest off one of the flimsy Library chairs, that he stopped. But only on the condition Sebastian finally admit that he loved her.

Thankfully her family were not the pushy type and were actually unbothered about marrying her off.

However…

The endless supply of Owls that dropped letter after letter sealed with sickly sweet pink wax and a white ribbon, boiled Sebastian’s blood.

Of course, watching her open them from three tables away was bad…

…but having her leave for those weddings was worse.

Usually she was gone by breakfast and he missed her completely, spending the whole day wondering when she got back, would a silver band be wrapped around her finger.

~

It was almost one in the morning when Sebastian decided to give up on his search for different Charms and Spells banned around the world. Fascinating what some cultures deem dangerous. He didn’t even need to be there. After Rookwoods death and Anne’s curse halted somewhat, he roamed the Library…simply to learn.

He strolled, bold as brass, out of the Restricted Section, no need to a Disillusionment Charm, nodding to a particularly disgruntled Scribner as he left.

With Ominis as a prefect, Victoria friends with the Headmaster and his grades now impeccable, Sebastian was basically untouchable.

He knew it.

And Scribner knew it.

Sebastian chuckled to himself as he left the Library, the eyes of all the prefects patrolling Central Hall boring into the back of his head. This only made him smirk more.

He still wasn’t tired, but his body was now operating on instinct. He lurched forward towards the Common Room but it’s wasn’t until he veered off did his brain catch on to what his body was doing.

It wasn’t the Slytherin Common Room he was moving towards…

…it was Gryffindors.

And as he rounded the corner near The Fat Lady, a vision of beauty dressed in deep burgundy careened into him, her hands flying forward to catch herself and settling over his chest. He acted on reflex, grabbing forward to catch the offending clutz, fighting every instinct in him to not stare slack jawed at the girl now in his arms.

“Sebastian…” Victoria breathed. Clearly she was in shock from literally running into someone in the corridors, but the way he heard it sent a tingle down his spine. He imagined different scenarios where she would whisper his name like that.

“What are doing wandering the halls at this time?” She scolded with a smirk tugging at her painted lips.

“Have I ever needed a reason to break school rules?” He lied expertly, keeping his hands firmly on her forearms.

In case she falls down he told himself

“Well that’s certainly true…” she laughed softly, tilting her head in curiosity when she notices he’s not making eye contact.

His eyes had dropped to the layered sheer material that clung to her form. A long elegant slit up her leg, accentuated her slender legs along side the painfully tall heels that now made her almost the same height as him.

Ethereally pale, with dark hair and her blood red dress made her look dangerous. Almost vampiric. The sharp blue of her eyes amongst the sultry shadows of her eyes only added to that allure.

Although she had been out all day, her hair and makeup was immaculate. Or was she wearing any? Her lips were obviously redder than normal but Sebastian couldn’t tell if that rosy flush across her cheeks was powdered on or real.

It didn’t matter.

“Sebastian, what are you looki-“

“You’re stunning…” he said confidently, before adding quietly “…Merlins beard…” his eyes slowly trailed up and down her body, scanning every inch of exposed pale flesh. Her shoulders, her arms, her chest where the dress had pushed her up deliciously.

“I…” the way his eyes drank her in made her cheeks burn and her hands tighten around the fabric of his robes, balling into fists at his chest. “…Thank you” she muttered, embarrassed, her voice laced with fatigue.

“Long day?” He asked with a smirk, amused at how a simply comment could break her resolve so easily. No longer a dangerous temptress but putty, quite literally, in his hands.

“Mmm…” she mumbled shifting within his arms “These shoes are ridiculous. My feet are killing me”

“Come on…let me help you to your dorm. I’ll carry your shoes” he gestured, almost exasperated, for her to give him the offending shoes. Secretly, he enjoyed how small she was without them, and he would quite like his diminutive friend back. As she shuffled the heels off and she fell by several inches, he chuckled and delighted in the soft moans of relief she made upon removing them.

“I suppose you can sit with me for a while…” she said with a soft sleepy smile, passing him the shoes with a limp wrist.

He just nodded, eyes wide like an obedient little puppy looking up adoringly at its owner. He followed her towards the portrait of The Fat Lady, her frame opening upon seeing Victoria and slamming back shut when she caught sight of Sebastian. The Fat Lady squinted through a tiny pair of glasses perched upon a long stick. Her face twisting in disgust and she shook her head.

“Come on…it’s Sebastian. He’s my oldest friend” Victoria reasoned, her shoulder slumping as though she could really do without this argument.

Sebastian tried to not let the disappointment show as he heard her refer to him as a ‘friend’.

The Portrait simply opened her frame again and pointedly slamed it shut, her arms crossing over her bosom.

“Ad Nauseum” Victoria said mimicking the Fat Lady’s stance, her tone taking on a parental quality Sebastian only heard when he’d done something truly stupid. “I’ve said the password, you must let me in” she smirked as an idea popped into her head “Or would you like to be responsible for the sighting of a Proud Gryffindor skulking around the Slytherin Dungeons?”

The Fat Lady gasped dramatically muttering expletives under her breath as the frame opened once more.

“Well I know when I’m not wanted” Sebastian pouted, raising an eyebrow at the tiny hole behind the frame “You have to the crawl through that?”

“Yes” she sighed, hoisting her dress into a ball around her hips “Rather undignified if you ask me. I don’t think the Hogwarts Architect considered the female population when he created this”

Sebastian exhaled a laugh watching as she crawled through the tunnel with more grace than she gave herself credit for. His eyes shamelessly dropped to her rear as he followed closely behind her, almost falling out of the other end. Clearly he was distracted.

Thankfully, once he’d entered into the Gryffindor Common Room, there were other things to distract him away from her…assets

His eyes drew over the medieval tapestries and garish red and gold decor. It was warm, Sebastian would give them that, but in that moment, he thanked the Sorting Hat for its correct decision in putting him in Slytherin.

And was that…a snitch? The constant annoying buzzing he could hear from somewhere to his right was enough to make him miss the dungeons.

“Ugh…” he groaned in clear distaste for his surroundings “…Are you sure you don’t want to be sighted down in the dastardly dungeons?” He said swiping his finger across the stone fireplace and rubbing his fingers as though they were covered in filth.

“Absolutely certain…” she huffed as she threw herself at the plush sofa opposite him. Her head lulled backwards onto the armrest, her eyes closing as she relaxed for the first time all day.

Sebastian chuckled and joined her, pulling her feet into his lap and propping his own up on the coffee table ahead of him.

“How was the wedding?” He asked, a sinking feeling of despair settled in his stomach as he thought of her answer;

It was wonderful. The Malfoy family finally approached my father for my hand. We’re to be wed in the spring!

“Mmm…Lovely” came her actual unenthusiastic answer “Though…I wish I’d had a plus one. I wish you’d have been there” she said softly, her eyes still closed.

He opened his mouth to respond, something sharp and witty and typically Sebastian. But the energy in the room felt soft and…safe. He decided perhaps honesty were for the best.

“That makes two of us” he muttered, his voice low and gentle.

“Really?” Her eyes fluttered open to look at him, propping herself up on her elbows “You’d suffer with me?”

“I wouldn’t call spending a day with you suffering” he chuckled, leaning his cheek against his knuckles.

“Have you ever been to a wedding?” She asked incredulously, electing to ignore the obvious flirtation in his comment.

“Well…no actually. But-“

“That settles it…” She interrupts “…My next wedding I’m asking for a plus one and you’re coming with me”

“Why?” He asked, laughing “Miss me that much?”

“I did actually” she said rather casually

That same energy returned. Safe and honest. The ambient glow of the fire bathed her in an orange hue, highlighting the bright blue of her eyes as they looked back at him.

“…I missed you too” he admitted

“Well…” She hummed softly and smiled “I’m back now. You can start making it up to me”

“Making it up to you?’ What exactly am I compensating for?” His tone slipped so easily back to his charming and playful self.

“For not telling me you were willing to come before. Do you know how many weddings I’ve had to attend alone?” She said accusatorially “Weddings are not fun alone. No one to talk to, no one to dance with, no one t-“

“Hold on….” Sebastian interrupted, his hands held ahead of him as though to halt the whole conversation “You don’t dance at these things?

“No? Who would I dance with?l

“I don’t know…I thought someone would have asked you” he turned to her, desperately trying to hide the encroaching smug smirk across his lips.

No one else had touched her!

“You mean to tell me; no one, not one person, has asked you to dance at these little engagement parties and weddings and the like” he was failing spectacularly to conceal the joy in his voice, to the point he almost sounded mocking.

“No?” She answered simply, his tone setting her cheeks a flame “…At risk of you teasing me more…I’ve never actually danced…At all”

Never had he been more thankful for her intimidating beauty.

“That won’t do” he says and stands dragging her by her wrist up and off the sofa. She goes limp and heavy, battling to stay seated.

“W-Wait…What are you doing?” Sebastian laughed at the clear panic in her voice.

“Dancing obviously” her flashed her a brilliant, utterly charming smile “We need to Fix this little problem you have” he continued, gently tugging her up.

“No no…I can’t I’m far too clumsy…” she argued weakly.

And if I dance with you I will definitely fall in love with you; She thought as her brows knitted together in the confusion of her emotions.

“As if I would ever let you fall…” he said softly, all traces of charm and flirtation gone. He just sounded…genuine.

With a small spin in his arms, he pulled her hand up to his shoulder. She sighed and positioned herself properly…or at least what she remembered seeing. Slowly, his hand snaked around her waist and she fought with everything in her to not gasp and fan herself like those Victorian Muggle women.

His hand splayed wide, his palm almost entirely covering the small of her back, fingers, long and sharp curling around her waist. His other was innocently holding her hand aloft leading her in the small silent slow dance. She could feel the callouses across his hand and thought absentmindedly about how he’d gotten them.

Duelling? Helping out at home? Toiling over the little garden next to his home, the suns rays beating down on-

She shook her head and looked down at their feet, desperate to distract herself from the blush creeping across her chest.

She failed.

Looking down only brought attention to the fact she was stood so close to him. Couldn’t even see her feet. Just her chest, pressed into his ribs.

Her nervousness must have been blatant. Sebastian could always read her like a book and if there’s anything Sebastian was good at…it’s reading.

“Don’t be nervous, Angel…” he chuckled “We’re just dancing” his voice was soothing and low, despite his overwhelming urge to tease her. And to kiss her…

With the sudden absence of every dance she’d ever watched leaving her mind, she didn’t know what to do. She leant into him, hoping he could compensate for her inexperience. Or at least hoping she could wrap herself in his warmth and calm the reddening of her cheeks on that.

Sebastian leaned in slightly too, so they were almost cheek-to-cheek as they danced. It meant that his back was stooped low, but the dull ache at the nape of his neck was worth feeling her this close.

His arms wrapped around her back, kept her close. He led them in silence, swaying her from side to side. And in stark contrast to her flushed skin and wild heart, Sebastian felt sick and like his heart might stop any second.

In this moment, Victoria wasn’t some unobtainable Angel who’d helped his sister and clawed him back from the brink of insanity. She was the girl he adored more than anything. And who was currently…his.

In his arms.

Resting against his chest.

His grip tightened around her at this thought, pushing it aside and concentrating on the small circles he moved her around the room in.

He could hear her shaky breath, right next to his ear. His mind, so graciously, tortured him with pictures of what her lips would look like as she breathed. How they parted and her tongue would dart out to wet her lips.

He sighed and with great effort, pulled his face away from hers. He missed the warmth of her cheek immediately, making him shiver. Instead, he moved his chin to the top of her head.

Away from her distractions.

Away from those lips.

And then, there was that atmosphere again. Honesty. Security. Safety.

“You know…” he started wistfully, not quite grasping what words were leaving his mouth, his own ears hearing them at the same time as Victoria’s “…I’ve been mad on you since that duel”

“What?” Her voice was soft but had a distinct strangled quality…

“Since you looked at me…” he exhaled a simply laugh through his nose. His eyes closing, resounding himself to whatever hole he was in the process of digging himself into “…I knew you were special. For a fraction of a second…I forgot about my sister”

He sighed.

He hated admitting it, and he hated how his hormonal teenage body allowed such a transgression . But it was true.

When she knocked him from that platform and offered him her hand…there was no curse. There was no goblin rebellion. There was just…her.

“I…”

“I don’t need you to say anything…” his whole body tensed around her, refusing to let her go in that moment. She sounded…he wasn’t sure…

He wanted for tonight to never end, even though he may have spoiled it. Right now, the air was filled with such possibility, and yes, those possibilities involved rejection. But to have her here for just a little bit longer, in his arms...

Victoria pulled away from him, holding him at an arms length, her hand pressed against his chest and the other still in his hand. There was a quiet happiness that she was not often used to seeing on Sebastian's face. Usually he covered it with a mask irritating charm, mischievous joy…or he just looked…sad.

She felt his slow, heavy heartbeat against her fingers.

Always so calm and yet so manic.

“I thought you were an arrogant arsehole…” she whispered honestly. He snorted out a deep laugh, looking down at her.

“Thanks…” The same irritatingly charming mask slipped over his features again and he smirked. Before he could open his mouth, to undoubtedly say something witty, her fingers touched his jaw as though she could lift a literal mask from his face.

“Don’t do that…” she chastised softly “Don’t hide how you really feel. You don’t need to with me…”

He reached up to touch her fingers stroking softly along his jaw. His features softened and he looked adoringly down at her.

“I…”

“I thought you were an arrogant arsehole.” She repeated with conviction “…then you took the fall for me in the library. You didn’t even know me. But you could help…so you did. Because you’re selfless, and brave, and sweet”

Her fingers pushed into the hair behind his ear, her other hand mirroring it to cup either side of his face.

“And you should probably be in Gryffindor”

“Watch it…” he snapped back with a smirk.

“I’ve been mad on you…since you said ‘I came alone’…” she said staring into the deep dark wells of his eyes “…So I may owe you a couple days” she teased.

Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat as he tried to laugh. She always made him feel so at ease but right now…he didn’t want her jokes. He didn’t want her teasing.

He wanted…needed her.

“Victoria…” he whispered, leaning in slowly into her hands, his voice soft and full of affection.

He leaned ever closer into her warmth, craving more of that safe, soft feeling that was tingling at his neck. Their lips brushed past each other softly…like the chiffon of her dress. Their touch like a breath upon each others skin.

Before he couldn’t take it anymore…

Sebastian pressed his lips against hers. His heart almost gave out as he felt a rush of emotions, finally having the ability to express all of his love for her. In a form that wasn’t empty gestures and futile brief encounters.

“Angel” he muttered once more as their lips parted. He shrugged her hands away from him and seized her cheek. His fingers almost wrapped around her neck if he didn’t push them into her hair.

The second time he pressed his lips to her it lasted longer. And longer still. He didn’t want to stop, to pull away. The world around him faded away. His heart now kick started, pounded against his chest.

And despite his insides twisting and churning as though they would escape him, he couldn’t bring himself to kiss her how he wanted.

Gently, his lips glided over hers. Softly, his hands gripped her jaw. Slowly, his thumbs brushed over her cheeks. Until, eventually and reluctantly he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Victoria’s shoulder, scooping his arms around her waist and holding her against him.

Victorias breath in his ear was fast and shallow.

How did she not know Sebastian could be this gentle?

Her fingers gripped the sides of his robes, fearing if she let go this would all be a dream.

In this moment, Victoria wasn’t some unobtainable Angel who’d helped his sister and clawed him back from the brink of insanity. She was not some untouchable beauty that he thought himself unworthy of.

In this moment, Victoria was his Angel. His true love that he had been holding back for all these years. And now, tonight…finally, he had her.

Masterlist

[cornerstoreclown]

His Blessing

Summary: This is a short one-shot ( 3454 words approx. ) where the reader has convinced Art to roleplay a hostage situation with them where they get to be one of his victims. Don’t worry, the reader comes out of this fic fine! I genuinely promise, I would tell y’all if otherwise. The reader is gender neutral and has a vulva. The reader is not specifically mentioned to have breasts either, so that’s up for the reader to decide what their chest looks like. 

Content and Warnings: Consensual rough sexual activities, some light BDSM, vaginal fingering, biting, marking, some slight blood, hair pulling, knife play mention, mention of guns and the standard Art paraphernalia, corruption of the reader’s mind, slight transformation (?) that’s more along the line of new abilities of the reader during their descent to whatever Art is making of them. Art’s gift, as it were. Being his ‘favorite’ comes with benefits, after all! 

Author’s notes: This was VERY hard for me to write but extremely indulgent. I struggled a lot, HAHA. I’ve written smut plenty a time, but doing it in a canon x reader fic is something I’ve done rarely. This one took so much time because of that. Anyway, I hope that those who are into this sort of thing, enjoy it! For those that are looking for more domestic stuff, stay tuned--I got you. 

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“Safe word is red,” You tell Art, looking over your shoulder at the man who has just tied you up with metal chains to a chair. You don’t get a response, but you know he’s listening. Your hands are bound to the armrests, your ankles tied to the legs of the chair, thighs parted for him. He finishes the job with a gentle boop to your nose, and you feel butterflies in your stomach, before you feel a little bit of chills down your spine. The room was cold, and being in nothing but a tank top and shorts didn’t do you a whole lot of favors. 

However, given the circumstance, you anticipate that you’ll be warmed up in no time. 

Art barged his way into your life, and you willingly let him in. He kept you safe, and you gave him a home. You were his, and he was yours. You’re not sure at what point when you were together that you began to feel less and less like the you that you knew before the Miles County Clown, but whatever influence he’s placed upon you without your initial knowing, you like it. 

You were once shy, reserved. Now, he’s made you brave. He’s made you proud. You fear very little now. And for better or for worse, you’ve even found your mind a little twisted in the process, the thought of danger a thrill to you, and the very concept of others getting hurt a little… funny. People now notice how you look so much healthier, you seem happier, and that you’re far more charismatic than what you’d ever been. As of late, however, you’ve found yourself having a penchant for violence. The craving itches under your skin like a parasite, and hasn’t stopped since you first noticed it. It’s been driving your nuts, feeling like if you don’t act on it soon enough, you’ll go mad. 

You remember telling him about your feelings and those urges, and Art only looked surprised, but your familiarity with him allowed you to see past that response–he was pretending like he didn’t know what you were referring to. Whatever he was doing to you, he was aware of it, and you were too. And yet, you didn’t bother to slip away from it. The red string of fate that is wrapped around your soul is attached to his too, but he’s not ensnared in it like you are–no, he’s the one keeping you restrained in it and has the string between you both wrapped solely around his arm, pulling you along with him like it were a leash. 

The room is full of stained blood splatters at various locations that range anywhere from the ceiling, to the floors, and the walls. The chair you’re sitting on is also stained, and you’re not at all bothered by any of it. You’re not sure if Art had actually killed someone in here, if it was like this before he got here, or if the blood was his own–it was hard to say. He was pretty notorious for bleeding out and taking damage from time to time when wrangling someone. You’ve even tended to some of his wounds before in the past. What you do know is that the place smells a little musty, and there’s one light source, which is the single swaying lamp from the ceiling at the center of the room. Art has a workbench here full of improvised weapons behind you that you saw when you walked in. Things such as forks, glass bottles, scissors, screwdrivers, a hacksaw, an ice ax, pliers, some dental tools–it’s really a mix all out on the table and you didn’t have the slightest negative reaction when you saw it. In fact, you felt a little tickle.

So many things to torment you with if he wanted, and you’re exposing yourself to him trusting him to not kill you with any of it. He’s inflicted pain on you before because you’ve asked for it, and even then, you knew he was showing self restraint during those times, waiting to see if you’d beg for him to stop, and you never did. He’d cut you, choke you, slap you, yank you by your hair, but all of it was wanted. It was something he was even happy to oblige you on.

Something along the way of all those times, there was a change to your body. Your wounds healed fast in the way that his would, and the sensation of pain in your brain transformed to pleasure. It had to be because of him, you reasoned. There was no other way, there couldn’t be. He was changing you, not just mentally, but physically. You don’t know how, but you do know you don’t care to know anymore, because it is what it is at this point. He’s molded you into the perfect toy, built you up from the ground up in such a way that any sensation of pain only fires off reward signals in your brain. You’ve been completely rewired.

Being tied up and at his mercy is what you wanted. You told him yourself that you wanted to be in his victims shoes, that you wanted to feel the way that they felt. This wasn’t something that you ever initially wanted and even once would be horrified to humor. But people were allowed to change, you told yourself. You were allowed to change. What’s wrong with a little consensual roleplay with a killer clown? Nothing like feeling like you’re walking on a tightrope at all times.

Art runs a hand across the side of your face as he lingers behind you and the chair you sit in. You lean into his touch, feeling yourself melt a little. For someone who could kill and maim so effortlessly, those same hands were capable of much kindness, but only reserved for you. Hands that could rip your jaw clean off the hinged joints, don’t. They only caress. 

With his other hand, you feel his fingers massage your scalp before they sharply ensnare your hair and yank your head back to look up at him. It’s then that you are forced to see him looking down at you and towering over you, and you admit—he looks a little intimidating and there’s not a glimmer of kindness on his face to be found for the role he’s playing. The tug hurts a little and draws a light huff of air out of you, but you’re fine. You’re great, actually! You feel the way that your lips are beginning to turn upwards, the muscles on your face aching with just how wide your smile is. He’s smiling at you in turn, and when your eyes meet in understanding, you feel a glow erupt from your core, enveloping you like a warm blanket. He was aware of his position to play, but to see that flicker of awareness only solidifies your trust. He’s gone this far to put this much work into you, why stop now? 

Anticipation has your heart beginning to race and you sigh, desperate to get more air into your lungs to keep up with your body’s demand for oxygen.

Despite all these tools he has around him, you noticed earlier that he has none in hand. He could have used the knife on you again, he could have made you fellatiate a gun like last time. He could have pulled out a saw like that one night when he tried to frighten you. It’s during this smile of his that you realize that the choice of weapon tonight is not anything handheld, but instead part of him–his mouth. He bares his teeth behind those curled up lips like a hungry lion, and how fitting when you’re easy prey, having nowhere to run as you’re bound up like a little present for his consumption. His jaw is strong, capable of tearing through bone and sinew, and yet it only further riles you up. 

“I love you,” You tell him, and you mean it. You do. He knows you mean it, too. He enjoys the way that you adore him, and the way that your will bends so easily to him and your submission to him. You were at his mercy at all times. You’re alive because he decided to keep you alive. Every breath you took, it was because he let you. Even when the both of you were far apart, you felt him in you. His presence. His essence, implanted in the deepest depths of your being, growing and flourishing like an invasive vine feasting on the endless affection you held for him, strangling out any potential of who you could be without him. It’s gotten to the point where the thought of a life without him doesn’t even occur to you anymore. 

Art lets go of your hair and makes his way near your side now, bending down as he seizes your face by your jaw, meeting you at your level. It happens too fast, and you don’t have much time to react when he comes close. You barely have time to register that his lips are pressing to yours, but when you do, your stomach flips. You feel his tongue trying to pry its way in your mouth, and you let it happen, eyes screwing shut tightly and exhaling heavily through your nostrils as the familiar taste of his bitterness registers upon your tastebuds. It’s not terrible, surprisingly, and you’ve learned to crave it. To crave him.

His kisses are always intoxicating, and with each one, you feel as if a part of you is being sucked away. And maybe it is. He’s forceful against you during, pushing against you so hard that your head goes back a bit. You taste iron before you feel it—pain doesn’t have time to settle as pleasure takes over and you realize that the clown bit your tongue. It’s not a lot of blood, but enough that it floods the space between your kisses together and flavors the exchange. He’s sloppy when he kisses, and each time you try to pull back, he follows in such a passionate way that you think he’s almost trying to eat you. When he does finally back away, you innately know that your lips are stained red with your own blood. 

Your eyes meet his again when he pulls back, and there’s no sign of anything that indicates that he’s got much thought behind them beyond the calls of carnal desire, ravenous hunger, or brutal violence. 

You think it’s all three right now. At least, until he went for your neck.

“Art–!!” You only manage to get out his name, gasping as he drags the top row of his teeth across your throat, yanking your head back by your hair again, this time to expose your jugular to him proper. He gives a nip, then a suck and a kiss. Your hands ball into fists as you stare at the ceiling and the various blood spatters. It’s the only thing you COULD do. 

He’s marking you, and you can’t do a single damn thing about it. You can feel that where he’s doing it, that cheeky bastard is kissing and licking and sucking the spaces on your neck that’ll be hard to cover up if you don’t use something like a scarf or a turtleneck. Your eyes shut tightly again as you feel his other hand traveling down your bare shoulder, leaving a trail of fire that has your body temperature rising. You’re a whining and pathetic, whimpering mess, and you can’t do a damn thing. 

It didn’t take much to stimulate you, not when it came to Art. He had a way with you, a familiarity with your body that made you ache and yearn for him. He knew what you liked, what you didn’t, knew how to unravel you from the inside out like it was a game, because it was. This was a game, for now, until he decided it wouldn’t be. And you’d hope he’d never have a second thought otherwise. 

The way that his nails drag across your chest, where he could rip out your rapidly beating heart from your chest cavity and devour it whole, it bothers you not. It doesn’t bother you at the notion of how his hand is sliding down to your stomach, that he can rip and yank out your intestines to spill across the floor in front of you. Your eyes shoot open amid the kisses and nips at your neck when you recognize that his hand is slipping into your pants. He’s gone past your undergarments and settled that hand of his right between your thighs, with his middle finger teasingly tapping at your clit. 

You inhale sharply, face twisting as you lurch back in your seat, squirming as he keeps your head in place by your hair. His kisses are trailing down from your neck to your collarbone. Art bites there too, and it stings before it feels awash with the buzz of pleasure that endorphins provide you. He’s dragging it out, testing your patience while he’s sliding his fingers up and down between your thighs when you just want him to get straight to the point and fill you with him, whether it be his dick or his fingers. You ache, you feel empty without him, and he’s got you gritting your teeth, nails digging crescent shapes into your palm from your clenched fists.  

The clown drags his tongue back up your neck, causing you to shiver as the hair on your arms and the back of your neck stand up. Your face twists into something ugly when that hand of his between your thighs presses against you, palm against your clit and his fingers dangerously close to penetrating you. Instead of following through on that, he forces you to grind into his hand, and you do, desperately. 

The heat between your legs only grows, his touch stoking the fire. You know you’re soaking his fingers–you can feel it. When he lets go of your hair once more and you have control again, you move your neck to get a look at him. 

The moment you make eye contact is the moment that he inserts a finger in you. Your jaw drops and you gasp loudly. 

He wanted to see your face the instant that he slipped in, and he’s not disappointed, going so far as to part his lips in the way that you are now, a reflection for you to see of how your own expression appears, like a mirror. Only, he eventually gives you an amused and twisted smile.

“Art…” You get his name out a second time, but once he’s got you set, he’s back at your neck again like some sort of goddamn vampire. This time you expose your throat to him in devoted submission, offering him the opportunity to rip your trachea straight out of you between his teeth if he wanted. Instead, he bites and sucks again. Your neck is going to be so bruised up after all this, you think. He wanted people to know you were his, and his alone. He’s made that quite clear, and that’s not a fact he’s shied away from in the past with you. Hickeys are nothing compared to literal murder he’s done for you as a means of showing those feelings. 

One finger turns to two after a few thrusts, and he stretches you out so good with both fingers. He makes a scissoring motion with his index and middle, taking the time to prepare you for the third one. 

You can only moan.

He’s even taking his time with the pacing, putting his whole hand into it as his fingers move in and out in such a way that, while still satisfying, you wish he’d go faster. You’re not chasing your release–he’s bringing it to you, building you up in such a sickeningly sweet and leisurely way that’s torture, and it’s plain to see on your face. No amount of improvised weapons could make you look as agonized as you are when the eventual third finger goes in and he’s got you whimpering and shaking. The only noise that’s heard in this otherwise silent space is you, the rattling of your metal chains keeping you stuck to this chair, and the sounds of Art’s fingers sliding in and out of you. 

His easy pace begins to transition into a faster one, and you feel the shift that would otherwise have your legs shut if they weren’t forcibly chained open. 

“Fuck…” You whimper. 

The sound of his hand smacking into your thighs is loud, to the point where it’s eventually the only thing in your ears you can really register, and you’re sure it’s the same for him too. 

Your climax is close, and you feel it rising inside you like an ocean tide. Art’s kissing your shoulder again, but you're too lost in the tingling between your legs. It’s hard to think right now—he’s since gone from pulling you up the mountain to pushing you right to the ledge, and now he fully intends on shoving you off.  

You feel your muscles tighten and your toes curl, your breaths becoming sharp as your lips part, jaw slack. He can feel it coming, he can feel the way that your thighs and muscles clench and your body begins to tense up.

You feel as if your soul is about to separate from your body, until there’s a slight jolt of pain, right in the middle space between your shoulder and neck. Warmth and endorphins flood to the source as your eyes open and your head turns, where you see that Art is biting you. 

It’s too late, not even those jaws could seize your soul to put it back into your body as your orgasm wracks throughout you, the initial pain that’s since transformed into pleasure working in tandem with his fingers between your thighs. He did it on purpose, waiting for the perfect moment, and it worked.

Your eyes shut again and behind your lids are fireworks, a collage of colors all at once, and then there’s nothing. You feel light as a feather, and then the steady decline as you feel yourself weighed down by gravity again. It’s enough all at once for your head to slump. 

You need a minute or two to recover. And Art gives it to you. He’s at least that merciful.

As you regain yourself again, you feel his fingers slip out of you, leaving you empty, but satisfied, and when you finally lift your head, he’s licking his fingers, tongue curling around his digits, reveling in the taste of you. He’s looking rather shameless about it too, sucking his fingers like he’s just handled the best dessert. You even see that your blood is on his lips, smeared down his white chin. The muscle between your shoulder and neck has a distinct marking of where his teeth were, along with the unmistakable crimson smudges that you know is your drying blood. The wound is already clotted, impressively enough, your skin is well on its way to knitting itself back to pristine condition as if nothing had ever happened to begin with. In three days tops, it’ll be gone. Pretty impressive, actually.

You can tell he’s smug, even though it might not be direct. It’s there. You know it is. It makes you huff another laugh. You’re not in any pain. You’re fine, fit as a fiddle. 

You have his blessing, after all. 

“Shit,” You mumble, just above a whisper. “That was good. Can you free me?” 

When you expect that he’d oblige your request, Art has a glint in his eye, with a smile to follow through. You thought you were done, but it’s clear you’re not. Your stomach flips again in delight.

He instead heads somewhere out of view behind you, presumably to his bench, but you don’t really know. Was he finally getting the knife out? Was he going to try and scare you? You’re not sure, but you’re ready for anything. He’s trained you well. 

No need to worry about strapping yourself in for the ride, you’re pretty secure as is right now, aren’t you? 

“Remember, the safe word is red,” You remind him, glancing over your shoulder. 

His back is to you when you look behind you. He’s fiddling with something purposefully hidden from your view, but he does give you a glance, and an understanding nod. He knows. 

You look forward again, face turned away from him, and smile to yourself.

The fun was just getting started. 

[firstprince-ao3feed]

sunburst

by theagcd Alex doesn’t know if it's his tone, or something in the air, or the fact Alex is calling him when he’s just right up stairs, but he can tell Henry feels something is wrong immediately. “Alex, what's wrong?” He cringes, whether at himself or the pain, he’s not sure. “Okay, so don’t get mad.” “Alex–” “I need you to come outside.” He can literally hear Henry’s blood pressure rise. “Why?” “Okay, so like, I broke my arm.” “What?!” or; alex breaks his arm on a trampoline Words: 3454, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston, Red White & Royal Blue (2023) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, Sort Of, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Protective Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Broken Bones, domestic dads firstprince, Trampolines, Alex Claremont-Diaz Being an Idiot, wow thats already a tag. hes so funny, Stubborn Alex Claremont-Diaz, wow thats also already a tag LOL via https://ift.tt/WZyixRP

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

day breaks instead

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2MQu1Vj by SharkEnthusiast Dean goes missing in May of 1996, when the Kansas heat leaks from the pavement, bubbles up from the ground. Sam isn’t worried. A.K.A. Fate is real, God is dead, and Mary Winchester lives. Words: 3454, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, John Winchester, Mary Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Bobby Singer (Supernatural) Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Past John Winchester/Mary Winchester - Relationship, Dean Winchester & Mary Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Mary Winchester Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mary Winchester Lives, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Time Skips, Episode: s02e20 What Is and What Should Never Be (Supernatural), Remix, Non-Hunter Winchesters (Supernatural), (sort of), Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Addiction, Hurt Dean Winchester, Blood and Gore, Trauma read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2MQu1Vj

[hitmanfanfics]

Chapter Update!

Killer_Kitten42 posted a new chapter of Embrace of the Serpent (14227 words):

Chapter 5: Damsel in Distress (3454 words) by Killer_Kitten42

Chapter Summary:

Your mission doesn't quite go to plan, but Agent 47 turns up yet again, this time to help you out.

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Hitman (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Agent 47 (Hitman)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Agent 47 (Hitman), Diana Burnwood, Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Lucas Grey, Olivia Hall (Hitman) Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Sex, Fluff and Smut, Awkward Flirting, Flirting, Almost Kiss, POV Second Person, Assassination, Foot Fetish, Anger Management, Fights, Fist Fights, Fight Sex, Bisexual Female Character, Nonbinary Character, Blood and Violence, Booty Calls, Canon Compliant, Gun Violence, Cunnilingus, wounded soldier trope

Summary:

You are Agent Viper, a female assassin, and one of the best, working for the Global Elimination and Contracts Organisation (GECO), with her handler Cricket. However, you also have a history of issues with anger management, a secret that you've managed to keep from GECO so far. As you start seemingly being pitted against the 'Worlds Deadliest Assassin', Agent 47 of the ICA, you find it more and more difficult to keep your emotions at bay. Especially as your relationship starts to develop...

[fates-theysband]

longer than usual description under cut. i can’t link to the picrew in this post because tumblr hates links but i’ll rb with a link

jojo fans will see the ugliest clashiest collection of patterns imaginable and say “yeah we can put all of that in one design and it’ll look good” and they’re right. anyway, this is my first pass at a part 6 s/i, because these precious few hours between my 10-5 saturday shift and my 1-5 sunday shift are the most time off i’m going to get in a hot and spicy second so i might as well put out SOME sort of content so nobody thinks im dead.

this s/i’s name is Laplace Capgras, and unlike the other jjba s/is they’re actually a cousin of the main family, which is one of the ways they’re kind of the odd one out of my jjba s/is (the other being that they were actually born into said main family instead of just being some downtrodden stand user kid my part 2 s/i found on the street; their dad was actually the first of those kids but he was a little older so he grew up as a younger brother rather than a child). 

their stand, Black Box Warrior, senses a designated target’s “sins” (anything that the target has done that they know deep down is wrong even if they don’t feel any conscious guilt or shame for it; if they not only don’t feel bad about it but genuinely believe it was the right thing to do Black Box Warrior can’t sense it) and, once it’s locked onto a target’s sin, doles out a punishment of its own choosing. the punishment usually fits the crime and the language for more minor sins can be hilariously lofty--think phrasing “kicking an unwanted visitor out of Laplace’s cell” as “punishing an intruder with banishment”. combat effectiveness is limited, because as far as they or anyone else knows, the only way Black Box Warrior can kill a target is if it sentences them to death, and it hasn’t ever done that.

they got sent to green dolphin on charges of first degree grand theft after using their stand to “fine” a health insurance company the money needed for the expensive experimental treatment that their dad would have to undergo to even have a chance at surviving the rare disease he had. their dad is alive and well now thanks to them so they were willing to keep their head down and serve their sentence. unfortunately, Pucci. to be more specific, unfortunately, Pucci popping out the disc with their memories of how to control their stand and basically anything that would be able to pull them out of the state they were in when they found out that the insurance company had denied coverage (that state being burning blinding rage). so Jolyne and friends first meet Laplace as a rage-filled husk of their actual self whose stand is basically dishing out punishments willy-nilly to anyone who has ever made a mistake and whose physical body is all too willing to beat the shit out of anyone who provokes them.

unfortunately for Pucci, Laplace ends up getting their ass kicked when, just by pretty much random happenstance during the fight with Jolyne, they happen to lock eyes with Weather Report and feel flutterings of...well, they know it’s not anger or hate but they don’t have time to figure out WHAT it is before they get ORA’d. once they get their memories back they’re a lot nicer, although they’re still a pretty serious person who is maybe a bit more honest than is strictly polite. like they won’t INSULT you but if they think your idea is terrible and will get you killed they’re also not going to sugarcoat it. also they get increasingly more fixated on The Power of Love as shit gets more real--not just romantic love, but all kinds. they truly did say “i got into this prison because i loved my parents and i’ll get out of it because i love my new friends and also may love one of them as something other than a friend.”

is this in any way coherent or cohesive? no. am i proud of the ideas in it anyway? yes.

[darklightescape]

im doing filter science lads. heres an aesthetic builder meme for everyone’s favorite boy.

[foreignlanguagemiddlesummer]

well that went really bad really fast

[rafaelblackbird15]

Teen Wolf Fic Recs Part 2: Steter

It took me quite awhile to gather all these together, so please enjoy discovering more parts to the incredible world of Teen Wolf, provided to you by the wonderful writers of our fandom.

Leave comments and kudos for these writers if you can, they really deserve it, they're wonderful. And it's my honour to try and share their creations with tumblr.

These are Steter, Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale fanfictions. Read them at your will. Check the tags on the actual fics for warnings and such.

I have included links to authors that write a lot of Steter as well, and some of their fics for examples. I'm sorry this post got so long, haha, but enjoy the stories, they're worth it.

If any of the links don't work, just comment and I'll fix it.

Check out my other Sterek fic recs [Part 3] and [Part 4] and Steter fic recs [Part 1]

*********

Broken Bones and Broken Bonds by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 20148

Chapters: 4/?

Summary:

Stiles kind of wished that he’d at least tried weed before this. 

Or something, you know? Maybe taken up a graffiti hobby, or even just skateboarded in front of City Hall often enough to get a citation. 

He wished he’d done something to be deserving of the looks people gave him now, rather than just being the recipient of his dead father’s unused power. 

**********

Stigmata by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 1661

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

He feels so hollow that he almost wonders if he's been turned inside out. This emptiness he feels; is it the vastness of the entire world?

How do you fill a world? With people, he supposes. But his people no longer want him.

He needs people.

*********

Beefcake Mountain by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 14565

Chapters: 7/7

Summary:

Shortly after moving back to Beacon Hills, the left hand of the Hale Pack opened a text from a mysterious number.

"Is there a mirror in your pants? Because I can see myself in them."

What the f—

**********

Steter Week 2019 by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

Works: 4

Complete: No

Summary:

There isn't a summary listed so I've included the first fic underneath:

Marvelous Miss and Magnificent Mischief by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

Words: 3346

Chapters: 1/1

also Part 1 of the Magnificent Mischief series

Summary:

“Marvelous Miss and the Magnificent Mischief!” the carnival barker shouted just outside the corridor with all the food tents. “Come see Miss Paige do amazing tricks with her talking raven! He not only speaks, but he jokes! He teases! He philosophizes!”

********

Author: twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

This author has a lot of wonderful Steter fics, and their writing of the pairing is really worth having a good look through.

*******

Blood Runs Cold by Smalls2233 on Archive of Our Own

Words: 111408

Chapters: 22/22

Summary:

“So then why are we letting Scott and Derek search for it if you know it's useless?”

Peter looked down at Stiles and cocked his head with a grin. “Because I think seeing my nephew and your best friend run around like headless chickens while I think up a plan is hysterical.”

“And the plan is…?”

----

Trusting Peter Hale is something that Stiles had repeatedly told himself to never do. He had seen first hand the results of Peter's plans and schemes, but when a shadow began tormenting Beacon Hills, he found that sometimes he'd have to to play along with Peter's games.

This story does include a dose of Chris&Stiles interaction about midway and carries on throughout, and then Chris/Peter towards the midend, which also carries on. And it kind of dissolves into Chris/Peter/Stiles. If that's not your taste, that's fine, because the majority of the story is Stiles/Peter, and that majority is really really good Steter.

**********

No One Listening Tonight by Smalls2233

Words: 6985

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

That left… well it left Peter and only Peter. Relying on Peter for help was only slightly better than stabbing himself through the eye with a hot poker. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Of course, there was always the option of packing up and letting whatever was trying to destroy the town succeed this time. Stiles snorted under his breath as he thought about how that would probably leave him with fewer injuries than dealing with Peter would. But unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. Stiles knew he needed to head downtown to Peter’s apartment and pray the man was willing to work with him.

----

Stiles stumbles into a magical trap forged by a wannabe warlock.

*********

Author: Smalls2233

*********

Blue by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 3179

Chapters: 2/2

Summary:

Derek brings both Scott and Stiles to the hospital to prove a point about hunters, but Stiles isn’t sure the point he’s getting is the point Derek’s trying to make. Especially when his black and white world explodes into color the moment he looks into Peter Hale’s eyes.

*********

The Long Way Around by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 15569

Chapters: 3/3

Summary:

When Peter leaves Beacon Hills for good, he expects that to be it for the broken bonds of the last remaining members of the Hale pack. Fate and Stiles Stilinski aren’t of the same opinion.

**********

Prowl by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 3454

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Laura's body is never found, but instead of continuing with his murder spree, Peter gets distracted by the scent of his mate. Stiles gets very distracted by the huge wolf that starts showing up at his house all the time.

**********

Author: Wynnebat

This author writes some really interesting, deep stories about Steter that are really beautiful.

**********

your last white lie (everything is not alright) by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 4023

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Stiles says yes, and things go downhill from there.

**********

reflect by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 569

Chapters: 1/1

Part 1 of the dig your teeth in and tear until you taste (peter/stiles oneshots) series

Summary:

(previously posted to tumblr)

When he dreams, he can sometimes still hear his mother’s voice, explaining it to him: Reflections are the price we pay for what we are.

*********

sentire by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 1027

Chapters: 1/1

Part 2 of the dig your teeth in and tear until you taste (peter/stiles oneshots) series

Summary:

[to feel]

Stiles hears the whisper of death before it strikes.

**********

Author:

snowdarkred

This author writes some really intense, interesting stories about Peter and Stiles. Not as long as some fics are, but they're really good adaptions of Steter with a lot of feeling.

**********

The Striking Complication by aurevell on Archive of Our Own

Words: 27235

Chapters: 4/15

Summary:

The smile slips off Stiles’s face. “Hey, um. Why am I here?” he asks, voice unsteady. “I’m—I have this weird feeling like I shouldn’t leave you. I’ve felt all day like...” He can’t finish the thought.

Peter looks as surprised as Stiles feels. A strange expression passes over his face, there and gone before Stiles can decipher it.

Stiles snaps awake each morning with the sense that he’s missing something. Weirder still, he can’t wrap his head around his sudden, inexplicable trust in Peter Hale, who seems to know way more than he’s letting on. Nor can he guess why a half-remembered nightmare seems to haunt his every move.

Rinse and repeat. Because time loops suck, apparently.

*******

Author: aurevell

This author has 11 Teen Wolf fics under their belt. 5 Sterek and 6 Steter. Happy rummaging!

**********

the teeth right down to the blood by sazzafraz on Archive of Our Own

Words: 2133

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

‘We’re pretty fucked right now.’ Scott says. Stiles doesn’t speak but there’s something singing in his bones that says Scott got the message anyway. (In which both are bit and things are gruesome.)

This has a sprinkling of Scott/Stiles, Scott/Stiles/Peter, and Scott/Allison as well as Steter, but it's worth the read, a good story with an interesting concept.

*********

Author: sazzafraz

This author doesn't have that many Steter stories, although they do have a few. Although they do have some pretty lengthy Teen Wolf fics about other characters of the show.

***********

Everything goes (wow) by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 8215

Chapters: 5/5

Part 1 of the Aranea & Babewolf series

Summary:

It was supposed to go like this:

1. Peter summons demon to the circle.

2. Demon remains in said circle until Peter outlines their contract.

3. Demon agrees to elegantly crafted contract, becoming loyally bound to Peter and Peter alone.

Instead, the creature steps casually out of the circle, tosses its things onto the leather sofa, and starts immediately meddling in Peter’s immaculate space, touching all of Peter’s very expensive things.

*********

It's only by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 2905

Chapters: 3/5

Part 2 of the Aranea & Babewolf series

Summary:

“Darling, please don’t pout.”

“You’re pouting.” Stiles pouts, from the upper corner of the library, everything from his hip bones down an angry mass of hissing fangs and venomous chelicerae. “Why would we ever go back to that garbage town? Everyone there is the worst, the only good thing is the very rad and awesome curse I laid.”

*********

You are a memory by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 900

Chapters: 1/1

Part 2 of the Little glimpse series

Summary:

If he has to bleed to breathe warmth back into Peter’s icy body, he will.

Because Peter’s done the same for him.

********

Author: midmorning_bomb

This author has 16 Steter fics. A little unfriendly to some of the other characters, but it's only kind of obvious because it's not subtle about it, and not exactly underserved. Has some really interesting ideas as well as some kind, well developed Steter. Definitely have a read through.

***********

[7-wonders]

Circling the Drain

Summary: It's a race against time...wait, why do people say that? It's not a race against some outside force, it's a race against a crazed back-from-the-dead mafioso with a vengeance.

Word Count: 3454

A/N: I tried something a little different for this chapter in terms of formatting, mainly because there was so much I wanted to fit in different POVS. Uhhhhh let me know your thoughts and like, comments and reblogs make my world go round. ALSO that second gif is exactly how I imagine a certain scene (you'll know it when you read it).

Warnings: Very torture heavy chapter. Blood, torture methods, guns, knives, kidnappings, talk of death. You should probably go pet some puppies or kittens after you read this.

Previous chapters of Memento Mori: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

Duncan

It’s difficult to know how much time has passed since Duncan was last outside of this small concrete room. There’s no windows to let light in, no clocks to denote the hour, and no sort of schedule that he can catch on to. Although, even if there were a schedule, he would be too delirious from sleep deprivation to realize that there was one. The only thing that Duncan can count on is the unending torture at the hands of his uncle.

All of the crisis training in the world wouldn’t have prepared him for the physical and mental torture that he’s been put through. Though he doesn’t know it, it’s been almost seventy-two hours of this absolute hell, of Bill beating him black and blue, taunting him, slowly ripping out fingernails one by one (somehow, he still has six, though one of the six is just barely hanging on), refusing to let him sleep, and tasing him back to consciousness whenever he tries to close his eyes. This most recent time, the throbbing of his head had begged him enough to where he finally closed his eyes, only to be jolted up with a rush of electricity running through his body and seizing his muscles.

“You still think you’re getting out of it that easy, huh? That you can fall asleep and bide your time until you’re ‘rescued?’” Bill chuckles. “No, it’s not that easy.”

“Just kill me already, if that’s what you’re planning on,” Duncan says through clenched teeth, glaring up at Bill through the one eye that’s not completely swollen shut.

“Is that what you want? You want me to kill you?” His obviously-fake concern would enough to make bile rise in Duncan’s throat, if he had actually had anything left in his stomach.

“You want me to beg for it, don’t you?”

“I guess I underestimated you. Turns out you do have some sort of critical thinking skills.”

Duncan defiantly turns his head, refusing to give Bill what he wants. Realizing this, Bill begins to walk towards the door. As he does, going to flick off the single light bulb in this place, Duncan’s chest tightens in anticipation of the claustrophobia he’ll surely begin to feel (most likely a side-effect of what he’s gone through, considering he’s never been scared of dark spaces before) and he scrambles to stall him. “So why are you keeping me alive?”

Bill stops for a moment before slowly turning around. “I already told you.”

“No, I know that you want revenge. But what’s your plan? Why waste your time? Surely you’ll at least give me the honor of knowing what I’m dying for?”

His jaw clenches, not pleased with that last question, but he doesn’t hit Duncan. Yet. “I’m taking back what’s mine, and then some.”

“And you think Mom’s going to be okay with that?”

“Your poor mother is going to be more than okay with that when she finds out that the Coven killed her only child.”

Slowly, it dawns on Duncan. “You’re the one that’s been killing people in the Coven’s style and leaving them in our territory?”

“Of course I am!” Bill holds his arms out as if to say ‘tah-dah!’ “Cordelia Goode would never be so bold as to do that! But after I kill you, drain you of your blood, cut your tongue out, dump you in the Potomac, and reappear into society, people won’t care about that little fact. Especially after I reveal that it was the Coven that prompted me to fake my own death and go into hiding for years.”

“How long were you planning this?”

“About a year before you stabbed me, when I realized that you were far too…” he grits his teeth, “charismatic to not end up with the family business eventually. That’s why I always made sure that the police and paramedics were well-paid, just in case the day ever came that I needed them to lie on my behalf.”

“You have it all planned then, so why not just do it and kill me now?”

“Well, there are a couple of minor issues I still need to work out.” Bill glances at Duncan slyly. “Such as what to do with that girlfriend of yours.”

In a flash, Duncan sees red. He lunges, forgetting the fact that he’s chained to the radiator and can only go so far until his ankle is jerked violently and he falls back to the ground. “You leave her alone, she’s done nothing wrong!”

“You’re right, she hasn’t, but (Y/N) knows too much.”

Duncan’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that Bill (predictably) knows more than he should.

“I’m thinking a suicide? It’s very believable, what with the grieving girlfriend and all.” Bill steps forward and, ever so slowly, places his foot on one of Duncan’s hands. “Maybe she slits her wrists in the bath? It’s very easy to overpower someone when they’re vulnerable. Or perhaps she overdoses? That’s not my preferred method, though, far too much room for someone to survive an overdose. Tell me, Duncan, how would you prefer that she die?” With each possible method, Bill continues to lay more pressure on Duncan’s hand until Duncan is moaning in pain.

“Don’t...hurt her,” Duncan pants.

Bill finally removes his foot, giving Duncan a moment to breathe before he stomps on his hand, digging the toe of his shoe in until Duncan is screaming and Bill is sure his hand is broken. “I think she’ll jump into the Potomac with a weight tied around her ankle. The poeticism--her drowning in the same river that your body will be found in--is something that’s just too good to pass up.”

“I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll kill you again and make sure that it sticks this time.” Tears are streaming down Duncan’s face, though whether that’s from the physical or emotional agony he’s in, he can’t be sure.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Bill smiles, walking to the light switch and flicking it off. “I’ll be back in a bit, and then our final act can finally begin.”

This time, Duncan doesn’t stop him before he leaves, barely letting the door close before his willpower crumbles and he begins to sob. Cradling his injured hand, he has to force himself to look at the now-mangled fingers. He gasps, attempting to straighten them out, but they refuse to even twitch in response. It’s now that Duncan realizes that the true torture is waiting. His mind and body shattered, he now has to be at the mercy of Bill Shepherd before he can finally die. He’s never wished for death before, but now, he feels a pang in his heart for every one of his victims that have had to wait, broken and bruised, for Duncan to kill them.

You

“Does this location have any significance to you?” Cordelia asks Annette, pointing to an address hastily written down on a scrap of paper. The address corresponds to a building, fairly nondescript, but obviously holding some sort of significance.

“No, it doesn’t.” Annette shakes her head.

“That’s because this is the location of the first school that I opened here in D.C. Bastard’s really going all in on trying to frame me for everything he’s done.”

(Y/N), who had previously been dozing off on Langdon’s lap (Langdon had already made her swear not to tell anybody or else he would kill her in her dreams like Freddy Kreuger), sits straight up at this moment. “What makes you think he’s there?” she asks.

“This car.” Cordelia pulls another paper out from the folder she had brought with her, this one a picture of a Mercedes E-Class. “It’s been back and forth from Umbra to the old school numerous times in the past two days. License plates are registered back to Umbra.”

“So it’s definitely Bill, then.”

“I’m not typically a betting woman, but I would put money on this. Surveillance indicates that this car has been parked in front of the Goode Academy for six straight hours now.”

(Y/N) doesn’t know much about hostage situations, but she has to assume that Bill being where Duncan is held captive for an extended amount of time means nothing good.

“We need to move now, then,” Annette says. There’s no question behind her voice; she’s going to get her son.

“Yes. Your team?”

“Myself, Langdon, and (Y/N).”

Cordelia glances warily at (Y/N). “Do you have combat experience?”

“Duncan trained me to fight, and also did some weapons training with me,” (Y/N) says.

“That’s good enough.” (Y/N) tries not to be offended. “I have myself, Madison, Misty, and Mallory.”

“We’re going?” Mallory, a brunette wearing a gold headband, says.

“I need my best girls, and you three have proven yourselves.”

“Alright then, let’s go.” Annette grabs a key from around her neck and unlocks what you thought to be a closet door, opening it to reveal a weapons cache large enough to rival a small government’s. “Stock up.”

“Which gun are you most comfortable with?” Langdon asks (Y/N), the two standing side-by-side after everybody else has had their turn.

“Uh, I don’t really know the names. It’s a handgun, and it’s black.”

“Probably a Springfield, then.” Langdon hands (Y/N) a gun that looks similar to ones that she’s handled before. “It’s already loaded.”

“Thanks.” She glances at Langdon after holstering her own weapon, watching as he selects numerous guns of different sizes. “What if we’re too late?”

“We won’t be.”

“But you heard what Cordelia said. Bill’s been there for six straight hours now. He could have--”

“You’re right, he could have,” Langdon interrupts. “But we can’t go in there assuming that the worst outcome has come true. We have to have hope. If nothing else, there’s always hope.”

“I have hope.”

“Good, because I do, too.” Langdon grabs a knife from the weapons closet, twirling the tip of the blade on his index finger. “Now let’s go get Duncan back.”

Duncan

Bill stands before Duncan, twirling the tip of a knife on his index finger. “I’ve held onto this for six years now. Do you recognize it?”

Of course Duncan recognizes the knife that he stabbed his uncle with. In his dreams, he can still feel the cool leather handle gripped tightly in his palm.

“It’s something of a treasure to me, although it certainly didn’t seem like it at first. I’ve come to recognize the significance of holding the thing that almost killed me, and I like to keep it as a reminder.” Bill holds the knife out to Duncan, knowing he’s too weak to fight him for it. “See that on the blade? Why don’t you read it for me?”

Cursive lettering is engraved on the blade, though it was not there when the knife had been in Duncan’s possession. “Memento mori,” Duncan mutters, trying to remember his Latin lessons from high school.

“It was an extremely popular phrase during the medieval period, specifically when it came to funerals. ‘Remember you must die.’ It’s a warning, a reminder. That’s what this knife has become to me, a reminder of the inevitability of death. It also reminds me that I’ve survived death before, and I’ll surely survive it again.”

“Quite the sense of humor,” Duncan remarks dryly.

Bill shrugs, bending down to Duncan’s level. “A little gauche, perhaps, but I enjoy the significance of the phrase.”

Duncan’s about to ask him what the point of this is when Bill shows him by shoving the knife into his abdomen. Duncan grunts in pain, gritting his teeth and glaring at him. “Of course you’re going to stab me just like I stabbed you.”

“Do you know how I managed to survive?” Bill asks.

“I’ve tried not to think about it much.”

“I survived,” Bill continues, “because you were too stupid to realize that you needed to pull the knife out. What do all of the medical professionals say when training civilians on dealing with stabbings? ‘Don’t remove the weapon.’ That’s the only thing keeping them from bleeding out, and it’s what kept me from bleeding out.”

“I had assumed I severed your abdominal aorta, what with all the blood.”

“Exactly, ‘assumed.’” Bill digs the knife around to watch the way that Duncan tries not to scream before pulling it out and watching as blood begins to pour out of the wound. For every beat of Duncan’s frantic heart, trying to pump blood to the source of the injury in an attempt to clot it, more blood pulses out. “Never assume things, my boy.”

Though his head is starting to spin, Duncan finds just enough rage to spit at Bill. “Go to hell.”

“From the looks of it, you’ll be there long before me,” he says almost gleefully before pulling out a gun and shooting him in the thigh. This time, Duncan openly screams. “Just wanted to make sure you actually die, if the stabbing wasn’t enough.” Bill’s extremely nonchalant, as if he’s discussing the nuances of the Nationals rather than talking about murder.

Bill grabs a key and unlocks the chain from around Duncan’s leg, knowing that he won’t have the strength to escape. “I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you.”

“Fuck you,” Duncan responds, but Bill’s already gone.

Duncan moans in pain as he stares at his wounds, feeling the stickiness of blood beginning to pool under him. Lifting a shaky hand, he presses it to his abdomen to try and slow the bleeding. As he swallows deeply, realizing that he very likely is going to die shortly, he thinks about a number of things, mainly regrets.

He wishes that he had realized earlier that his mom was just as much Bill’s victim as he was.

He wishes that he appreciated Michael more for the brother he had been to him.

He wishes that he had told (Y/N) that he loved her more often.

But most especially, Duncan wishes that he had just put a bullet in Bill’s head that night instead of stabbing him. Then, he wouldn’t be feeling this intense cold begin to settle in his bones as he’s forced to slowly die on the concrete floor of a basement. Facing the Grim Reaper head-on is not nearly as dramatic as he thought it would be.

You

Watching the Coven, Langdon, and Annette taking out the defectors is not nearly as dramatic as (Y/N) thought it would be. Wisely, they had requested that she stay behind until the perimeter was secured. It’s much quieter, and a lot less bloody; as it turns out, members of organized crime do have consciences, and chose to subdue those not directly a threat. After Langdon finishes tying those who had remained loyal to Bill together, Cordelia motions for (Y/N) to follow the group into the old school.

The proud sign that once declared this building the Goode Academy now lies in the dirt of the overgrown lawn. The doors are open, solely because the rusted hinges make it impossible for them to remain closed against a gentle breeze. The further that they make it inside, the more frantic (Y/N) is. She knows that they’re close to Duncan, she just doesn’t know what state they’ll find Duncan in. Before they can make it too far with Cordelia as their guide, Bill appears. Instead of holding a machine gun, which is kind of what (Y/N) had expected, he has a concerned look on his face.

“Annette, thank god you’re here! I know this must be confusing to you, but when I heard that Duncan was missing, I knew that I needed to save him from the bitches that had sent me into hiding years ago.”

Confusion blankets (Y/N)’s mind as she tries to figure out what’s going on, but Annette doesn’t feel the same. “Cut the shit, Bill. I know what you’ve been doing.”

Bill laughs. “You’re going to let Cordelia Goode manipulate you into believing her, after she tried to kill me?”

“You’re an idiot. You think I don’t smell the blood in the air?” Annette laughs viciously, a verbal slap in the face. “Where’s my son?”

Like a switch was flipped, the worry on Bill’s face falls into contempt. “You’ve always been too emotional for your own good, Annette.”

“‘Family over everything,’” Annette quotes. “Remember that? What happened to that?”

“That died the day that that--that mistake came back from boarding school and decided that our business, the empire we built from the ground up, was his birthright.”

“You never were good at sharing, were you?”

The siblings stare at each other for a moment before Bill sighs. “You could have just been complicit, but no. Guess I’ll have to think on the fly, then.” He pulls out a gun and cocks the hammer back.

Before he can fire, Madison and Mallory appear from behind him, having snuck into the back. Madison knocks the gun out of his hand, the weapon firing into the ceiling, as Mallory socks him in the face and drives him to his knees. Both women force his hands behind him, holding him still as Cordelia walks up to him.

“The door to the basement is in the kitchen, hidden behind the left wall of the pantry,” Cordelia says to the group.

(Y/N)’s off, moving as fast as she can while maneuvering through the unfamiliar house. “Wait, you can’t do this. Annette, you aren’t really going to let the Coven, of all people, do this to me?” Bill pleads.

“I can actually, and I will. After all,” Annette turns to Cordelia, “we have a deal.”

In the kitchen, (Y/N) throws open the pantry door, pushing and shoving and pulling at the left wall before it finally opens to reveal a set of stairs.

“Girls?” Annette calls just before she reaches the door. “Make it painful.”

(Y/N) runs down the stairs, hands scrambling along the wall until she comes across a light switch. Flicking it on, her eyes look around the room until she sees a lifeless figure on the floor that’s surrounded by a pool of blood. A cry is ripped from her chest as she falls to her knees beside Duncan, hands hovering above him as she tries to figure out what to do first.

He’s pale, scarily so, and he’s breathing so shallowly that she can’t tell he’s breathing at first. Somehow, with all the blood, he’s still breathing. All (Y/N) can focus on is the fact that he’s still alive (later, she’ll wonder how she didn’t even flinch at all of the injuries and the blood, oh, the blood) as she rips her shirt off and presses it firmly against the wound on his stomach, calling his name over and over again in increasing levels of desperation.

From behind her, she can hear Annette scream and yell for Langdon to call an ambulance. She can feel the presence of somebody next to her as they catalogue where Duncan’s hurt, but she can’t bring herself to look away from Duncan’s face. His perfect face, that she’s kissed over and over a thousand times and has taken immense pleasure in watching a blush rise to the surface. His perfect face that she’s now slapping to try and get him to at least show some sort of response.

“You don’t get to die like this,” she tells him, hoping that he’ll somehow manage to hear her. “You said that you didn’t want to be the reason I suffered, but look at you now, making me suffer. Don’t keep me suffering like this!”

Slowly, and just barely, his eyes crack open just enough that (Y/N) can see a hint of blue. His lips move, saying something without audible sound, and she brings her head down to his to try and catch what he’s saying.

“An angel.” She finally makes out what his reverent whisper is over the wail of the incoming ambulances, and laughs brokenly as her head falls onto his chest in relief.

//

@sammythankyou @girlycakepops @ultragibbycentralworld @ajokeformur-ray @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @everything-is-awesomesauce @michaellangdon @jimmlangdon @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @kahhlo @storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonslove @born-on-stgeorges-day @xavierplympton @michaelsapostle @venusxxlangdon @wroteclassicaly @idespac @tcc-gizmachine @dyns33 @hexqueensupreme @hecatemacbeth7 @youngandfleeting @lambofcairo @myluciferiscody @anacerta @ladyren33 @ladyrindt @dark-mei-rose @sojournmichael @blakewaterxx @9layerdevilfoodcake @angelicmichael @takingback-thecrown @etherealsxnder

[klixxy]

cracked bones&burnt heart

fandom: detective conan / magic kaito (dcmk)

pairing(s): gen

category: angst, surrealism, hurt/no comfort

word count: 3454

notes:

“I watched TV. I had a Coke at the bar. I had four dreams in a row

where you were burned, about to burn, or still on fire.

I watched TV. I had a Coke at the bar. I had four Cokes,

four dreams in a row.”

- Straw House, Straw Dog | Crush by Richard Siken

tw warnings: some brief but pretty gruesome depictions of blood, violence, and fire. also a brief scene at the end referring to suicide. this whole fic is one giant mental breakdown pulled to the extreme so just be wary of that going in :)

(Inspired by [redacted] by AngelicSentinel.)

summary:

It starts like this.

There are fingers on his face.

Soft fingers. Calloused palms.

They leave striking red lines across his skin, stinging in gentle pulses across the left side of his face. The mark doesn’t hurt as much as it should, but it wriggles deep into the stark lines of the bones twisted in his cheek.

Soft fingers. Calloused palms.

Here is the girl whose heart he’s broken.

He wishes she’d hit him harder.

[rabbitfishtv]

Thanks to the wonderful support of friends, family, writers, readers, and dogs, I've had a pretty satisfying literary year despite the ongoing horror show of the covid years.

It's the one-year anniversary of THE DUBIOUS GIFT OF DRAGON BLOOD, and it's currently on sale in ebook and softcover through my publisher (https://boldstrokesbooks.com/books/the-dubious-gift-of-dragon-blood-by-j-marshall-freeman-3454-b). Outside the US, buy the softcover online or at your local book store. In Toronto, at the Glad Day Bookshop or Bakka/Phoenix.

One of my favourite moments of 2021 was participating in young adult fiction panel at last years Saints+Sinners festival, along with wonderful authors@DevJanner and Lindsay Sproul: https://youtu.be/W6bMN0Qi-hs.

My action-packed SF parable, “BA MOONCHA IS COMING,” went live on Terse Journal’s website in September, where you can read it for free: https://tersejournal.com/2021/09/30/ba-mooncha-is-coming-by-j-marshall-freeman/

Bold Strokes Books asked me to write a novella for a project of YA stories along with the wonderful authors, ’Nathan Burgoine and Jeffrey Riker. THREE LEFT TURNS TO NOWHERE is out 02/22, available for pre-order at our publisher, as well as through all online retailers.

Yesterday, it was announced that I am again a finalist in the SAINTS+SINNERS FICTION CONTEST, for my story, “To Wrap Yourself in Light.” Jewish identity! Gender identity! Fortune Telling! All the finalists will be published in this year’s Saints+Sinners anthology, available 03/22.

And finally, Bold Strokes accepted my new novel for publication. Look for much, much more news in January about BARNABAS BOPWRIGHT SAVES THE CITY, coming May 2022!

Wishing everyone a safe and happy new year,

Jonathan

[ao3feed-erwinlevi]

by sagewind

For some reason, the only thing he can think of is to ask for his name, as if that’s the most important thing right now. The man offers him a ghost of a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Erwin Smith,” he says. 

Erwin, repeats Levi in his head. Erwin saved him.

Or,

After days of running, injured and alone in a world overrun by a parasite that turns people into monsters, Levi finds Erwin Smith.

Words: 3454, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of In a Wasteland

Fandoms: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: Gen

Characters: Levi Ackerman, Erwin Smith

Relationships: Levi Ackerman & Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman/Erwin Smith

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Violence, Injury, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Body Horror, Blood and Gore

[writingformadderton]

Let me take care of you

Ship: Eggvid

Word Count: 3454

Summary: Eggsy comes back home injured from a mission and gives his best to hide it from his boyfriend. But David quickly realizes he’s in pain and tries to take proper care of him, which isn’t easy with such a stubborn boyfriend as Eggsy. 

Additional tags: trigger warning (mention of blood), injuries, fluff, soft, hurt/comfort, Kingsman, The Bodyguard, Merlin

Eggsy curses under his breath as he pushes himself up from the floor and rubs his face tiredly. He leans against the cold brick wall behind him and winces at the pain shooting through his body.

“Fucking cunts!” He curses again and presses his hand against his injured ribs. Eggsy presses his eyes closed, taking a deep breath in through his nose and exhaling slowly out of his mouth, breathing through the pain. He sinks his hand into his pocket, trying to find his phone but stops himself when his fingers wrap around the cold device in his jacket. “Don’t,” he tells himself and lets go of it again. If he called his boyfriend now and tell him to pick him up because he was too weak to walk, David would worry too much and come to him in a panic.

Eggsy crouches down, groans, and leans against the wall catching his breath. Maybe if he would take a small break, he would be able to get his car and drive home. Everything went wrong this time. It started off good so he and Roxy could finish the mission off perfectly. But when they were parted, Eggsy tried to distract the guards and ended with a bullet brushing his left hip, making him bleed. The fight grew more intense and he soon found himself cornered, which lead to a probably broken rib and a severe headache after crashing against a wall.

He could convince Roxy that everything was okay, not wanting to admit how shitty he defended himself. Going on this mission had been a risk because Eggsy was clearly distracted and unfocused on it. His boyfriend, David, was out there, protecting a politician from assassinations, the usual business. But, it always made him nervous and fear for David’s life. He, himself, had the Kingsmen that could take proper care of him when he was injured, even when he was close to death. But, David would be brought to an ordinary hospital and the fear of losing him was at large.

David on his side was always worried about him, still fighting with all the things he had seen and done in Afghanistan. He was traumatized, fought with his panic attacks, sleepless nights and every tiny bit of tension could drive him over the edge. But, he somehow needed the adrenaline rush to stay sane, to have a proper reason for his panic. So, Eggsy decided to support him fully with working in such an intense job. He knew he needs it.

It wasn’t always easy for the both of them. There were times when it got too much for David and he needed Eggsy right by his side. He never was the type of person opening up to someone, but that changed with meeting and loving Eggsy. On other days, Eggsy just needed some cuddles and the near of his boyfriend. It worked out quite well.

Back in London, Eggsy just wanted to get home, already breathing through gritted teeth, when his stepfather’s thugs showed up and decided to beat him up all over again. Figuring out Eggsy wasn’t beating them as easily as usual, they decided to rough him up even more.

And here he was, trying to get up and back home to his boyfriend. Eggsy pushes himself up at the wall cursing Fuck a few times. He bends forward in pain and lets out a moan bracing himself on his knees. “Okay, deep breaths,” he encourages himself and slowly stands up straight. He walks over to his car slowly and fumbles for his keys. Quickly opening the door, he gets inside. He winces in pain as he buckles up and starts driving, tears forming in his eyes. It was almost impossible to breathe right now and the pain only got worse with every passing second.

- 

David cracks his neck tiredly and lets out a relieved moan as the tension passes a bit. He looks at his watch and frowns a bit. Eggsy should be home already, at least that’s what he told him yesterday. He stands still for a moment and sinks his hand into his pocket taking out his phone and turning it on. David stares at his lock screen for a moment and sees the picture of him and Eggsy. He dials Eggsy’s number, his thumb hovering over the button to press call. “Don’t panic,” he tells himself and turns it off putting it back into his jacket. JB comes around the corner and David crouches down, patting the dog’s head lovingly. “You miss him too, right?” he asks and sighs lightly. He pushes himself up and walks into the kitchen grabbing the dog food. “Let’s get you some dinner,” he takes out the bowl and fills it when he hears the key in the door. David breathes out relieved and puts the bowl down, letting JB eat and puts the package back into the drawer.

When he walks around the corner, he feels shock settling in. “Holy shit!” he says and feels his heart starting to race.

“Well that’s a hello,” Eggsy smiles weakly and braces himself at the wall as he kicks off his shoes.

“What the hell happened?” David asks, panicked, and rushes over to his boyfriend, who seems to have severe trouble to stand straight. His eyes wander all over him taking in everything and he sucks in a sharp breath. His boyfriend was covered in blood, a big bruise on his cheek, a swollen lip, his hair was a mess, along with his suit.

“I might have gotten into a fight,” Eggsy admits and looks at him carefully. He wouldn’t send him into panic, right? “Maybe two,” he chuckles and contorts his face moaning at that.

“What’s wrong?” David asks worried as Eggsy suddenly goes pale and tries to hold himself up, stumbling. He pulls him into his arms and barely dares to touch him, not wanting to hurt him.

“It’s nothing. Just got a punch on the head that’s all,” he mumbles into his shoulder and closes his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” he growls and shakes his head kind of amused but also annoyed.

“I just really need some cuddles,” he says and looks up to him with a brave smile.

“You need a bath, new clothes, sleep and a doctor,” David says and rolls his eyes tiredly. This would be a long night.

“I don’t need a doctor,” he pouts and makes his boyfriend chuckle softly, “I just need you, darling.”

“Don’t try to be cute while you’re bleeding on my damn suit,” he teases him and leans down a bit. “Okay, come here,” he lifts him up carefully causing him to let out a pained groan. “Sure, only your head.”

“Shut up,” he growls and buries his face in his shoulder pressing his lips together, trying to stop any sound from coming out of his mouth.

David sits him down on the toilet lid and turns on the water in the bathtub. He walks over to Eggsy who looks miserable and crouches down in front of him, “You’ll have to tell me what happened so I can take care of you.”

He sighs a little and nods, telling him everything that happened and holds his boyfriend’s hand tightly. Eggsy avoids his look, not wanting to see the worries in his beautiful ocean eyes and feel guilty for it, “To be honest my ribs on the right side hurt a little, but I bet that’s just because I got a hard punch on them.”

David nods slowly, “Can I check on them shortly?” he asks and Eggsy nods. David gets up and carefully helps him to get out of his jacket, “Okay, can you sit straight for a moment?”

Eggsy nods again and carefully sits straight, a sharp pain making him moan softly. His boyfriend watches him closely as he moves his hand up to his ribs and starts pressing down gentle, trying to feel if everything is in place. “Oh fuck, Dave!” he curses and presses his eyes closed.

“Deep breaths,” he simply says and squeezes his knee encouragingly. David watches him observantly as he does and the way he whimpers and contorts his face tells him everything he needed to know. “I think you’ve got a broken rib.”

“No, it doesn’t hurt that bad,” he says and feels embarrassed for lying him straight into his face.

“Love, a broken rib can be dangerous, okay?” he tries again.

“Yeah, I know,” Eggsy answers and smiles down at him for a moment, “I’ll be okay, don’t worry,” he lifts his hand and fondles over his boyfriend’s soft slightly curled hair.

David watches him for a long moment and tells himself to calm down. There was no use in showing how worried he really was, because his love would only try to hide it even more than he was already. He gets up and places a soft kiss onto Eggsy’s forehead before turning the water off and checking the temperature.

Eggsy watches David as he opens the buttons of his shirt and helps him out of it gently. He braces him as he gets up and helps him out of the rest of his clothes and into the bathtub. He sighs as his body sinks into the warm water and tries to relax, closing his eyes. The pain floats aside and the warm water lulls him in, making him sleepy.

He takes off his suit jacket and pulls back the sleeves of his shirt, putting his phone aside. David leans down and takes the shower head, turning on the water again. He washes his boyfriend’s hair carefully, the water turning red already. His stomach turns a bit seeing it, but he takes a deep breath and tries to focus on his lover’s wellbeing. His heart starts racing when he sees the dried blood in his hair and carefully rubs it away, not wanting to open any wound.

Eggsy glances up to him and sees how pale he got and how hard he concentrates on him, his jaw clenching. He grabs his hand and squeezes it, making him look at him, “You don’t have to do this.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he says and gets up, getting some antiseptics. “Who should do it besides me? You don’t wanna see a doctor and you clearly are unable to do it yourself.”

“I’m okay, Dave, don’t worry,” he urges softly and turns sideward to face him, letting out a strangled groan.

David pours some of the antiseptic onto a cloth and cleans the wound on the back of his head. “Keep it there,” he says and waits until Eggsy holds it securing, “Have you seen yourself? You’re clearly not okay,” He carefully wipes away the blood from his face, dabbing his swollen and bleeding lip with some antiseptic, making him whine softly.

Eggsy watches him get up again to wash his hands, red stained water pouring down from them. He knows how hard this must be for him to watch and he tries so bad to hide his pain. “David,” he speaks softly and his boyfriend turns around slowly.

He sees the deep red water and his stomach starts hurting, but he decides to keep himself together. “Mm?” he hums and walks over to him, crouching down in front of him, trying to blend out the blood and focuses on his blueish green puppy eyes.

“Breathe,” he says and grabs his boyfriend’s hand which is trembling, “I’m alive and okay. No need to worry.”

David squeezes his hand and shakes his head, “Don’t make it about me now. I’m alright,” he says and places a gentle kiss onto his bruised knuckles. They look into each other’s eyes for a moment, sinking into their safe space. “Let’s get you out of here.”

- 

After drying his hair and putting on some boxers, David carries him into their bedroom. He puts him down on their bed and inspects the wound on his hip, that the bullet left. David puts some antiseptics on it after cleaning it carefully with a warm soft wash cloth and puts some gauze on it. He helps him to sit up and put on a shirt, before leaning him against the pillows and putting a blanket all over him.

Eggsy pulls him close as he wraps the blanket around him and smiles at him, "Thank you for helping me," he says and cups David's face.

"Of course," he answers and leans his forehead against Eggsy's. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too," Eggsy says and softly squishes his cheeks.

 -

Later that evening David is cuddled up under the blankets next to him and places soft tiny kisses on his boyfriend's shoulder. Eggsy plays with his hair, calming them both down. He watches David falling asleep slowly, exhausted from an intense day at work and taking proper care of him afterwards.

"You need anything?" he asks mumbling and tries to keep his eyes open.

"I'm alright, luv," he assures him and smiles down at him, "You should get some rest."

"You too," he yawns and rubs his face tiredly as he sits up, "I'll help you lying down flat."

 -

David wakes up again when he hears JB barking loudly. Adrenaline rushes through his body and his heart starts racing. Was someone in the house? He looks down at JB who barks at him and runs around nervously. He leans down and strokes over his head. "Shh, calm down, mate," David turns the light on and looks to the other side of the bed, being empty. "Eggsy?" he asks confused and suddenly it hits him. "Where is he, JB? Where's Eggsy?"

The pug rushes out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. When he gets in, he sees his boyfriend sitting on the floor, bend over in pain, his face buried in his knees. Eggsy groans and spits out a curse.

“Hey, what’s going on, darling?” he asks worried and crouches down in front of him. The younger man leans his head back against the wall behind him and groans at that movement. David lets his eyes wander all over him searching for a sign. His boyfriend’s breathing is flat and shaky and he is going pale. “Are your ribs hurting?” he asks and carefully rubs over his shoulder.

“Can’t breathe,” he chokes out and presses his eyes closed trying to focus. His lungs are burning, the pain in his ribs got worse and he can’t get enough air, feeling himself getting dizzy, “Hurts.”

“Okay, I’ll help you to lie down for a moment, alright?” he asks and Eggsy just nods, not knowing what to do and trusting his boyfriend to do the right thing. David carefully helps him lying down and gently encourages him when the pain gets too much. When Eggsy is lying on the floor David leans over him and softly removes his hand from his ribs. “I need you to take deep breaths for me now, okay?”

“Can’t-” he just pants and looks up into David’s deep blue eyes. “At least I’ll die with a pretty view.” he chuckles weakly, sweat on his forehead.

“Stop it immediately,” he says harshly and shoots him a glare. “You’re not gonna die on me just because you were too stubborn to see a doctor.” David sees the surprised look on Eggsy’s face and takes a deep breath. “Sorry,” he rubs his face and shakes his head at himself, “I know taking deep breaths hurts but if you don’t there’s a risk of getting pneumonia.”  

Eggsy nods slowly and watches his Scottish lover, he would do what he said. He takes a deep breath and feels his whole body protesting against it, whimpering through the pain. He presses his eyes closed and feels a tear leaving his eyes as the pain gets too much. Eggsy opens his eyes again when he feels his boyfriend’s thumb stroking over his cheek and catching the tear.

“It’s okay, keep breathing deep, darling,” he says and can feel his boyfriend grabbing his hand. David squeezes his hand softly and pets his hair. “You need a hospital. Now.”

“No,” he whines, “No hospital.”

“That wasn’t a question, dear, you’ll have to,” David says and gets up to get his phone.

“Dave, come on.” he tries softly, holding his hand firmly keeping him there.

“Gary Unwin,” he simply says and it changes something in Eggsy’s behavior. It didn’t happen often that he got called by his full name nowadays, especially not by him.

“No hospital,” he states again and looks at him harshly, “Or I swear I’ll fight you.”

David turns towards him fully and raises his eyebrows. “What did you just-” and he starts laughing. “You’re such an idiot.” he chuckles and rolls his eyes, “You can’t even sit up on your own and wanna fight me?”

Eggsy tries to hold back a giggle at that and bites his lip at the pain. “I’m not going into a hospital, I mean it,” he says firmly.

David watches him for a moment taking in the situation before his eyes. His boyfriend lies on the bathroom floor, his face is covered in bruises, his knuckles are bruised, he couldn’t breathe properly and sweat was covering his whole body slowly. “Fine,” he gives in and nods slowly. “Then I’ll take you to Merlin.” Eggsy whines loudly and shakes his head. “Hospital or Merlin. I’m not joking, darling.”

“Fine,” he sighs and rolls his eyes.

 -

After a phone call David carried Eggsy to his car and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. He holds his hand during the drive, focused on the street, his boyfriend and swallowing down his worries.

“Ugh I’m so stupid sometimes,” he growls and squeezes David’s hand as a sharp pain shoots through his whole body.

“You’re not stupid,” he chuckles and strokes over his knuckles calmingly, “You just need some help and that’s why I’m here.”

“I should’ve listened to you though,” he presses out through gritted teeth. Eggsy looks at him tiredly and smiles weakly, “You’re way smarter than me.”

David starts laughing and sets the blinking lights, turning the car to it’s left. “Sure,” he rolls his eyes playfully. “I think the word you were searching for is something like panicked, overprotective or scared for you all the time.”

“And I love you for that, okay?” he assures him seeing the hint of insecurity in his eyes. “I need someone who keeps me in place,” he admits with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, I know,” David grins and leans over to him as he parked the car, kissing him lovingly.

 -

Inside Merlin, walks towards them and can only shake his head seeing Eggsy moaning in pain in David’s arms. “Stubborn as always,” he says and sends David a compassionate smile.

“I wasn’t-ugh god-I wasn’t stubborn. I was feeling okay,” he protests and grunts softly when David lets him down.

“Oh yeah, I’m seeing it,” Merlin says and raises his eyebrows at him.

“Come on, don’t give me that attitude now,” Eggsy chuckles and braces himself on David as he walks over to the camp bed like you would usually find it in a hospital.

“I bet you were giving David some attitude not to drag you to a hospital,” he just says and rolls his eyes at him.

“Oh, fuck off,” Eggsy curses and lies down growling in pain, “I was as charming as always, right luv?”

David just chuckles and nods, “Of course, you were.”

 -

After a while, Eggsy is lying in their bed again, tired from the interruption of his sleep and the painkillers he got. He watches David closing their bedroom door and coming towards him. “I love you,” he whispers adoringly as his boyfriend is lying next to him and grabs his hand. “I’ve been thinking about taking a break from work to spend more time with you, because I’ve been on too much missions abroad lately. And I always start missing you so much,” he caresses David’s hair, who watches him observantly. “You’re my everything and perfect. I love you so much, I’ll kick everyone’s ass who’s trying to hurt you.”

David chuckles and kisses him, “How strong are those pills Merlin gave you? Messing with your head?”

Eggsy pouts and smacks his arm lovingly, “Shut up, handsome.”

“Love you too, bubs,” he grins and pulls him into his arms. His boyfriend sighs softly and cuddles up in his arms, “And next time I see those assholes I’m gonna kick their ass.”

“I’ll be pleased to join you,” he mumbles. “Night, Dave.”

“Night, darling,” he presses a kiss onto his fluffy hair and listens closely, waiting for Eggsy to fall asleep.

 @taron-eggmcmuffin @sarahegerton96 @multicoloredchicken @primaba11erina @maddertonmyheart @madderton-obsessed​

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

day breaks instead

day breaks instead https://ift.tt/O2hVkcp by SharkEnthusiast Dean goes missing in May of 1996, when the Kansas heat leaks from the pavement, bubbles up from the ground. Sam isn’t worried. A.K.A. Fate is real, God is dead, and Mary Winchester lives. Words: 3454, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, John Winchester, Mary Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Bobby Singer (Supernatural) Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Past John Winchester/Mary Winchester - Relationship, Dean Winchester & Mary Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Mary Winchester Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mary Winchester Lives, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Time Skips, Episode: s02e20 What Is and What Should Never Be (Supernatural), Remix, Non-Hunter Winchesters (Supernatural), (sort of), Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Addiction, Hurt Dean Winchester, Blood and Gore, Trauma via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/MKQeC63 March 07, 2024 at 09:33PM

[ao3feed-goodomens]

A Change of Management in Heaven

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2xOUQOF

by LeesaCrakon

The last person Crowley expected to see in a crowded pub on a Saturday night was the archangel Gabriel, but there he was in all his shining glory.

Words: 3454, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M

Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens)

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley & Gabriel (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Angst, Gabriel (Good Omens) Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Drinking, Heavy Drinking, Heavy Angst, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Men Crying, Mental Breakdown, Suicide Attempt, Self-Hatred, Self-Esteem Issues, Gabriel Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Blood, glass breaking, Gabriel Needs Love, Fallen Angel Gabriel (Good Omens), Swearing, Gabriel swears, Gabriel/Michael (Good Omens), Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Crying, kissing and crying, Crying While Kissing

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2xOUQOF