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zipzin · 2 months ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ashton Greymoore & Imogen Temult Characters: Ashton Greymoore, Imogen Temult Additional Tags: Episode: c03e104 The Cradle's Convocation, He/Him and They/Them Pronouns for Ashton Greymoore, Campaign 3, Discussion of the Gods and Predathos Summary: The bottle never landed on them, which is fine obviously. But that doesn't mean he can't use his own bottle, he just has to empty it first. And if Imogen wants to help, they won't stop her. Might piss her off, but that's always been their nature.

A/N: I wanted Ashton and Imogen to have a convo, especially with all the things that happened in the past episodes (yeah it took me awhile to get this finished). This fic explores (what I see as) Ashton and Orym’s disagreements at the end of the spin the bottle stuff about the Gods, so if you are tired of God discussion this fic is not for you.

The wood creaks as the Hells stand, chairs scratching against the floor, and begin to shuffle out of the room. Ashton holds up the bottle they’ve been nursing through the night. It was still two-thirds full.

He didn’t realize he’d been laughing that much.

Of course, he glances over to where Imogen is standing and rubbing Laudna’s arms as she utters something urgently to her, they also didn’t think they could watch a more awkward kiss between two adults who had fucked someone before. If Laudna thought they were going to forget about that, well, they always were an asshole.

They start to chug, the liquor burning oddly like it was made out of tree sap instead of wheat, and when he sets it down, Imogen is beside him.

“You good?”

“I’m, uh, just needing the empty bottle for um, you know. Things! Later.” Fuck is he blushing? Imogen doesn’t even try to hide the laugh that’s coming out of her mouth and he looks towards the doorway that Laudna’s now disappearing through. “I thought you were erasing Laudna’s memory from that whole, uh, whatever that with Orym was.”

Imogen snorts as she follows their gaze and gives them a terrible wink and not for the first time, he wonders how she became their friend.

What a fucking dork.

She sits down in the chair beside him and grabs the bottle from them, taking a swig and scowling at the burn, “I’ll help.”

“Did Laudna not erase your memory of Braius?”

“Ugh,” Her head pounds into the table, and then she looks up at them, “I didn’t know it was possible for a kiss to have a lot of nose.”

His laughter echoes the now empty room, “Really?”

“Yes!” She shivers, “And it was like sandpaper.”

They laugh as Imogen sullenly drinks some more, wincing around each swallow and he wrenches the bottle away from her. “I’m glad you and Laudna have figured things out.“

Imogen smiles, eyes going soft and starry. If they hadn’t seen her literally glow and fly it would probably be the most magical they’ve ever seen her. “For now.”

“For now?”

She sighs and just levels a glare at him, “Do I really need to explain?”

He pauses, bottle halfway to his lips as he stares at the wall of the fucking tree the room is carved into and then shrugs, “Fair enough.”

Imogen wrenches the bottle from them, “How did we get in this position?”

“An old man recruited us after battling some furniture,” They grunt out.

Imogen laughs weakly.

“I hate to say that you’d probably be here no matter what, I was just the fucker who thought maybe I’d gotten Hishari and Ashari mixed up my entire life.”

“You are a beacon of optimism.”

He sticks out his tongue, “If you weren’t with us you’d probably been recruited by the Ruby Vanguard already.”

“Gee thanks,” Imogen sighs.

“Do we have the moral high ground over some random Ruidusborn who joins them looking for answers at the twilight of it all?”

Imogen gives him a sharp glance.

“We’re walking around with a follower of Asmodeus,” they point out, “I mean what the fuck is up with that?”

Imogen rubs her temples and takes another swig from the bottle.

“You think he really is a follower of Asmodeus?”

“Really fucking weird thing to lie about.”

“Do you think he’s gonna betray us?”

“Braius?”

Imogen rolls her eyes, “No, Orym?”

“Hey!” they say, “I mean, I don’t think Orym would, but if the Tempest specifically asked for something or some shit he might.”

“Ashton.”

He steals back the bottle, “The only thing I trust Braius on is that he wants to kill Ludinus. If Asmodeus asked him to release Predathos he probably would throw you face first. And fuck if we know what’s going on with him and Platinum Dragon. Pretty sure if something happened with him, Braius might reswear his loyalty or some shit, I don’t fucking know how it works.”

Imogen chews her lip, “I don’t think Laudna could handle another betrayal, even with fucking Delilah locked up.”

“He’s not with the Ruby Vanguard, but believe me, if he makes a move, I’m going to be right there,” they promise, “I’ll put him down myself. We’ll keep your girl safe.”

Imogen’s eyes twitch to his. He couldn’t be sure she wasn’t examining his brain, diving through the compartments to ensure that he was speaking the whole truth. It still unnerved them, made them sweat and grateful that after everything, they trusted Imogen. Even if every time they stood next to her mother he was one twitch away from trying to take off her head.

At least Otohan was fucking dead.

She looks down, back to the scarred hands that mirror his in some fucked up coincidence. At least hers don’t hurt. “Okay,” she mutters.

“He wants to kill Ludinus, that’s the only thing I’d count on. Anything else is a lie.”

“Even those eyes he keeps making at all of us?” Imogen weakly chuckles.

They snort, “Okay, I trust that he is a horny motherfucker in more ways than one.”

Imogen sighs, “But when it comes to the Gods-”

“If Asmodeus does talk to him and tells him to release Predathos, then he’s probably pushing all of us in there as fast as possible.”

“And you think that’s a good idea.” Imogen levels her gaze at him and they take another long drink.

“Look,” he finally settles on, “I trust Orym and shit, but it seems like he’s so focused on Ludinus he’s missing out on all the other pieces. Ludinus is a shithead and we all agree we should kill him, and anytime it comes up, that’s all Orym can hammer on.

“I just think that he might be a fucking terrible person who did things that no one, god or person, should do, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a point about the gods. And Orym won’t let us even talk about it.”

“Ashton.”

“That’s what it feels like.” They huff.

“And you’re set on this? Killing the gods?”

“I’m not set, I just think it might be the best option. The least collateral damage.”

Imogen is quiet and all the tension the alcohol had started to zap away zings up his arm and he barely dares to breath.

“What about all those things divine magic is holding up? The demons? You remember the Gray Valley? What happens to all those places when we kill the Gods?”

“I mean yeah, there’s already fucking collateral damage. There’s a lot, it’s already started, People is already dead, so are countless others. We can’t change that and who knows how fucking more are going to die in the next days? But the fucking status quo, the one that left us behind and how many others? The one we might be able to change?”

Imogen’s lips flatten and her eyes pierce into him.

They stare back and put down the bottle with a heavy clunk, “We all heard you at the resurrection ritual.”

Imogen’s eyes widen as she gasps and then in a flash, her face is a smooth mask of indifference again. “Right.”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” They wince.

“Don’t be,” She spits out and he lets her take the bottle again.

“I just, Orym’s family is already dead, so are the countless others at the key that we dropped the ship on. Warriors are getting ready and saying goodbye and the Reilorans can’t even try to say no because they have some fucking device in their head.

“People are going to die all around us, and if we’re too slow, the gods might just bring the entire moon down and start another Calamity. I know that we’re trying to figure out what’s best, but I’m not sure there is a best. Hell, even if we release Predathos what the fuck does that mean for you? Fearne? Your mom?”

Imogen inhales sharply.

He growls, “There’s already so fucking much of it, let’s not pretend that this fucking cycle kills and spits out people like they’re ants already.”

“And so what? You think we should release Predathos?”

“I don’t know if I could ask either of you to do it,” He says softly, “Even if I think that’s the play.”

“You think Predathos is just gonna leave everyone alone? Just chase the gods and it will be fine?”

They pause, hands clenching and feeling the radiating fissures up their arm. He chews his lip and then stares at her, meeting her violet eyes, “Do we eat the dirt beneath our feet? Fuck, it sustains us, gives a place to stand, anchors us. We kill and destroy what grows out of it, but the dirt itself? No, we leave it and we thank it and we go.”

“You think we’re just dirt?”

“To a being that eats divinity?” They scoffed, “If you got a taste of that would you want anything else?”

“And that’s a play you want to make?”

“You watched the same fucking story as me, right? You think the gods aren’t trying to figure out what to do about all of this? You think they aren’t worried and fearful about this? You saw as they danced while they rained down destruction on the best mages who’ve ever lived.

“You think they didn’t scoop up Ruidus, regardless of the people that lived on that continent? Just to save themselves? At the end, they don’t care about collateral damage if it’s between us and them. And that’s why I think he has a point. We sure as hell don’t have wards or some shit to stop them from bringing down entire cities. There’s no power like that here.”

“Just destroying entire city blocks.”

They look at her, the hunched shoulders, the lines that had formed in Bassarus and might have started to fade in Whitestone, but never left. And for a second, he was back on the airship, Imogen fading as she sat next to Laudna in the Hole and none of them knowing what to do except find Esteross.

“You’re a good person.”

Imogen gives a hollow laugh and scoffs, “Sure-”

“No, I fucking mean it,” they sigh, “Look, Letters,” They both breathe out harshly, “Letters was a guiding post for me for a long time. I’m not really from good people, even the shitheads I don’t remember, and he, idiot he was, helped me figure out what was good.

“I’m fucking still figuring it out, but you and Laudna, the others, I’ve been looking at you guys too. You care, so fucking much, and yeah some shit has happened, but that doesn’t mean you’re not still a good person.”

“Ashton.”

“Don’t fucking cry on me now.”

She gives a soft smile, “I miss him.”

“Me too.”

She wipes at her face, “You know, you’re a good person too.”

“I don’t kn-”

She grips his volcanic hand hard, “You are. You care about making sure no one is left behind. No one’s saying that you’re always right, fuck knows none of us are, but you’re a good person.”

They snatch the bottle up and drain the last of it.

“Fuck this was not supposed to be, whatever this was.”

Imogen laughs, held tilted back and some of the trouble smoothed from her forehead. She nods at him, “Go get your girl.”

“Get your own.” He mutters back, feeling the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks.

“I plan to.” They stand and Imogen winks at him, “You got this.”

He nods and rolls his shoulders to loosen his muscles, “Right.”

She gives him one last nod before following where the others disappeared to and he rolls the bottles beneath his fingers before following her. He’s got this. All he has to do is point the bottle. And fuck, if Fearne isn’t feeling it, it’s probably mostly not personal.

#ashton greymoore #imogen temult #ashton & imogen #critical role #my writing: critical role #my writing #mine #who is figuring out how to get some one-shots completed!! me!!! yay!!!!

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nxrthmizu · 4 years ago

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Crash and Burn

fandom | miraculous ladybug

genre | salt, lila salt

pairing | n/a

w.c | 3.2k

author's note | hey remember that lila salt fic i promised? this isn't it but this is something i made today so yep. please accept this as an apology for yknow. me promising to write and. not doing it.

Enough was enough.

“Marinette, stop accusing Lila! She just wants to make friends!”

“Take the high road.”

“Be a good model student, Marinette.”

Enough. Was. Enough.

Marinette had the connections, the power, the choice to make Lila’s entire world crumble apart. The only thing that stood between the liar’s demise was the tiniest pinch of morality and self-restraint— And no, that self-restraint did not come in the form of Tikki. Even the kwami, who had to be an aggregation of all the good and nice things in the world, was fed up and ready to retaliate.

“What a joke.” Lila cackled, tossing a chunk of her sausage hair over her shoulder flamboyantly. The two girls were in the bathroom, with Lila smirking in front of the sink and Marinette a little distance away from her. “You can make my world crumble? What is this, a threat?”

“A promise.” Marinette corrected. “Stop telling lies. Come clean to every one. No more lying about knowing celebrities left and right, no more making excuses about not being able to take your own notes, no more making up ‘diseases’ just so your life gets a little more convenient. To be frank, I really don’t care what happens to you— But by making these empty promises to introduce my classmates to great ‘celebrities’, you’re ruining their futures. Stop.”

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?” Lila sneered, face twisted into an ugly grin. “You going to cry in front of the class? Try and convince them that I, the one they adore— That I am lying?”

“No.” Marinette’s eyes were clear when she met Lila’s. The clouds of self-doubt that used to hover over the bright, shining star inside her soul had now dissipated, letting the bluenette emit a confident, glowing appearance as she met the liar head on. “I’m just going to keep my promise.”

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Lila headed off to a modelling shoot after school, pleased at the prospect of spending more time with Adrien. There were a couple tendrils of Marinette’s words hanging behind in her mind— Did the girl mean what she said? Did she actually… Was she actually capable of causing Lila’s downfall? … Surely not. Marinette may have once been the ‘Everyday Ladybug’, but there was no way she was that competent, there was no way the girl was capable of plotting.

The Italian hummed, brushing away thoughts of the annoying bluenette from her mind. She was going on a photoshoot— One that was going cause the rise and burst of her career, the one that was going to make her name a globally-known one. Unfortunately for Lila, her plans were going to be derailed quite soon— In fact, as soon as Gabriel Agreste’s car rolled into the parking lot of the shoot location.

“Explain this, Mlle. Rossi.” Gabriel’s nostrils flared as he pointed to the tabloid article on his tablet. The Italian girl froze, the headlines seared into her eyes, big and black and bold, shooting poison right into the core of her body, paralysing her cell by cell starting from her heart. “What is the meaning of this?”

‘Adrien Agreste Reported To Be Harassed by Fellow Model’— The image under the caption was one that was clearly taken by a hidden photographer. The picture was framed with leafy foliage, which suggested that the camera was tucked up in a tree. Despite the distance, it was quite obvious in the image that Adrien was reeling away, disgusted and uncomfortable as a faceless woman in an orange blazer, back turned to the camera— Invaded his personal space.

The subtitle was the cream on the cupcake.

‘Witnesses State Gabriel Agreste Ignorant of Workplace Harassment’.

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As if things couldn’t quite go down a worser path, Lila returned home to a fuming mother and an unexpected visitor.

“Lila! You come here right this instant!” The diplomat demanded as soon as the front door opened, her daughter shrinking slightly at the tone and pitch that her mother was using. The last time her mother had been this angry— Well, it was when she got expelled from her last school. “I can’t believe what you’ve done! If it weren’t for your kind classmate, lord knows how long you would’ve continued with this!”

The Italian meekly followed her mother into the living room, eyes widening until they were as large as saucers, mouth agape at the last person she expected to see sitting on the couch.

Marinette smiled kindly, waving at the girl, looking every bit the part of the innocent, pure, kind child that every parent wanted to have. Before Lila could release a torrent of questions about what the hell Marinette Dupain-Cheng was doing in her living room, her mother charged on, beginning to take out her anger on her daughter while a literal angel sat on the sofa, cradling a box of pastries from her family’s bakery.

“Your friend here tells me that you’ve been taking absences from school to go on trips to help humanity!” Mme. Rossi exploded, waving her arms around madly. “She says she’s here to share her notes from the classes you’ve missed! You’ve never left Paris this year! What’s this I hear about flying off to the kingdom of— What was it called again, Marinette dear?”

“Achu.” Provided the bluenette helpfully, the diplomat’s expression instantly softening when she talked to the other teen in the living room.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, dear.” The woman turned back to her daughter, instantly snapping on a mask of anger in a matter of a fraction of a second. “What’s this about flying off to this kingdom of Achu to help homeless orphans with some random prince?”

“Um…” Lila piped up, wriggling as her brain churned at 200 lies per hour, trying to whip up a cover of some sort.

“I’m not done! Your friend here is such a helpful child that she even went as far as to ask her family doctor is there’s a cure for your… Lying disease!” Mme. Rossi practically roared, breathing flames as if she were an intimidating dragon, her daughter flinching away from the heat. “I’ve never heard of anything more ridiculous! And then there’s the fact that you lied to your classmates about having tinnitus?!”

“I actually do have tinnitus!” Lila cut in forcibly, widening her eyes to make herself look more pitiful. “I was just afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to worry!”

“Bullshit!”

“Um… Sorry to interrupt, Mme. Rossi,” Marinette piped up, the diplomat instantly cooling down as she faced the bluenette, a soft smile tracing the Italian woman’s lips. “But it’s getting rather late and my parents would love me home soon. I also have some tests to revise for tonight, so I think I should get going.”

“Oh, of course, dear.” Mme. Rossi hastily got up to help the bluenette to the door, shooting a warning glare at her daughter— ‘Sit still and don’t you dare go anywhere’, the glare read. “Feel free to come over again anytime you want, dear. I’m not home often, but you are such a sweet child. I’m sure Lila could learn a lot from you.”

“Thanks for having me as well, Mme. Rossi. I really like your home. I left the pastries on the counter— Make sure to warm the curry puffs before you eat them.” Marinette returned the smile, bowing slightly to the older woman as a sign of respect.

“Thank you for the pastries as well, Marinette. I ought to visit your parents’ bakery sometime when I’m free.” Mme. Rossi opened the door kindly for the bluenette, waving the girl off with an affectionate smile. Her parents must be so lucky to have such a sweet little thing like her, Mme. Rossi sighed internally, turning the key so she locked the door. And she seems to be a high-scoring student as well.

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Lila seethed, having been grounded by her mother. As far as Mme. Rossi was concerned, there was a boarding school not too far away from their current residence, and by the next week, the Italian girl would be transferred over. Lila had never hated Dupain-Cheng as much as she did in that moment.

Still furious, the Italian snapped her laptop open, too angry to bother with the fact she might’ve scratched the surface. Clicking into the web browser, she started to type in the words ‘Ladyblog’— That was, before a news article caught her eye.

‘Jagged Stone Interview Reveals Underage, Obsessed Fan’.

What on Earth…

As soon as Lila clicked into the link, the news footage from the interview immediately begin to play. The date stamp on it showed that it had aired last night— Which meant that she would’ve missed it, since her mother was too busy yelling at her to turn on the television to watch Nadja Chamack’s daily news.

“As soon as I heard this rumour about some underage teenage girl claiming that she had saved my cat on an airport runway, I called Penny and asked her to book a slot for me to clarify this,” Jagged Stone said grimly, dressed in more formal attire as he sat in the comfortable, cushioned chair of the news station, with Nadja nodding equally seriously beside him. “Let me clarify— I’ve never owned a cat. I’m allergic to fur. The only pet I’ve had was Fang, and he’s an al-li-ga-tor. Not a cat. Whatever the girl is claiming, she’s obsessed and making up stories.”

“It’s also kind of bewildering that she saved it on an airport runway,” Nadja continued, shaking her head in disappointment. “That kind of thing only happens in dramas— It’s too dangerous for anyone besides authorised workers to be on airport runways.”

“Right, right!” Jagged agreed instantly. “The whole rumour is just really baffling.”

“M. Jagged, may I ask what kind of effect these rumours have on a celebrities’ career?” Nadja continued, leading the conversation on like a professional.

“Well, rumours that circulate around tend to have really bad effects, and the worse ones can hang around for a long, long time. Tabloids are often spun off from rumours, baseless and with no evidence. Those tabloids will never truly disappear, so they can leave a mark on a celebrity’s reputation as some people will believe anything— Even things they read from un-cited tabloids.”

“That is simply terrible. Have you ever had any cases of rumours created by underaged teens before this?”

“I’ve had quite a number, but none of them really got as big as this one. From what Penny has found from digging around, the teen girl managed to spread the rumour through her school and onto a once-popular blog.” Jagged explained. “Penny has also found out that the same girl has claimed that I’ve written songs for her to thank her for saving my cat! I would never write songs and dedicate them to an underaged girl— Trust me. If I could do such a thing, I’d already have written a dozen in honour of my niece— She’s my favourite designer.”

Nadja smiled at that sentence. “Then—“

The news footage cut off abruptly as Lila slammed her laptop shut, too upset to continue watching.

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On the other side of Paris, Alya was pacing around her room frantically, wondering why on earth Lila wasn’t picking up on her calls. She’d left at least four dozen messages to the Italian, who was absent from school that day. There had been a couple whispers here and there about why she was missing— Rose had suggested another impromptu trip to Achu.

Lila’s absence wasn’t the weirdest part of the day, however.

That award would go to Marinette, who walked into class with a smile, the slightest sprinkles of delight colouring her bluebell eyes when she spotted Lila’s empty seat.

Growing in frustration, Alya threw herself onto her bed, phone clattering onto the mattress with her. Within the next few minutes, however, her phone suddenly started exploding with notifications. Excited at the prospect of Lila finally texting back, Alya turned on her phone, only to be disappointed by the notifications all clamouring from the class group chat.

Kim had sent a link to the chat— Without hesitation, Alya clicked into it, frowning when she saw Nadja and Jagged appear on the screen. Throughout the interview, the colour on the Ladyblogger’s face only paled by the second until she was as white as a sheet, and if it were halloween at that time, she would’ve won the best costume award for being a ghost.

There must… There must’ve been a mistake.

A notification from Lila’s number made the blogger perk up, instantly clicking into the conversation— But her newfound hope didn’t last very long.

[Lila]

Hi, Alya. This is Lila’s mom. She’s currently grounded right now. Is there anything important you need to tell her?

[Alya]

Oh, nothing much… I just wanted to ask where she was.

[Lila]

She’s at home.

[Alya]

Okay, thanks.

Flopping onto her bed, Alya begin thinking, revising over the past few months like it was an old clip. Lila’s exciting adventures and interactions with celebrities of every kind— Lila going overseas and face timing the entire class— Lila letting her in on the secrets of being Ladybug’s friend…

… Marinette trying to tell them that Lila was lying…

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The class was awfully silent the next day. Adrien was absent as well— A social worker was looking into his home life as a result of the tabloid that arose. Things for the blonde could either get better or worse from then on, as the matters were still foggy and things hadn’t cleared up yet. The blonde maintained contact with his friends, however, calling and texting them whenever he could.

“Class, settle down.” Mlle. Bustier stepped into the class, looking very tense and uncomfortable. “Today, we will have a guest, so please be on your best behaviours, alright?”

Just as the teacher finished speaking, a tall, regal-looking Italian woman entered the classroom, a cowering principal and a meek-looking Lila in tow. The class brightened slightly at the sight of their friend— But by the way she wasn’t looking into their eyes… Things weren’t going to be good.

“Good morning. I am Mme. Rossi, Lila’s mother.” The woman begin speaking, her firm and no-nonsense tone instantly making every student sit straight, their eyes too afraid to look anywhere else but the Italian diplomat. “It has come to my attention that my daughter has been taking absences from school to do charity work— And I have to clarify that this is a lie. Lila has been doing nothing but holing herself up in her room, lying to me and saying that there are no classes due to akumas.” The Italian diplomat glowered at Damocles. “What’s even more baffling is the fact that neither her homeroom nor the principal bothered to check up with me despite a student having extended periods of absence with no note or email written whatsoever.”

The class was so quiet that they could hear the quiver of Mlle. Bustier’s trembling lip.

“In addition, I’ve been kindly told that Lila has claimed to have a lying disease, which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard this week.” It was impossible to miss the way the Italian diplomat was glaring daggers at both Mlle. Bustier and Damocles. “No one bothered to look it up online to see if it’s actual disorder, nor did anyone call me to confirm and ask for a doctor’s note, which is standard procedure.” Chills burst over the room, making every one shiver as the woman hissed out her words.

“Mme. Rossi, we didn’t want to disturb your busy schedule—” Damocles begin, only to be blown backwards from the sheer intensity of Mme. Rossi’s glower.

“M. Damocles, standard procedures exist for a reason. Unless you’d like to tell me about any other things you’ve been letting my daughter get away with?”

“N— No, Mme.”

The Italian diplomat continued on her war path. “My daughter also claimed to have tinnitus, am I correct?”

“Y— Yes, Mme.” Mlle. Bustier answered when it seemed like no one was going to.

“And I heard that the class seating arrangement was shifted to accommodate for that?” The homeroom teacher didn’t dare answer this time, for it seemed like whatever she said would be the incorrect answer. “And apparently, my daughter has also been faking broken wrists and requesting for her classmates to complete her work for her.” Mme. Rossi was practically breathing flames at that point, “And I am incredibly upset at the lack of action from the homeroom teacher.”

No one could breath.

“I have many concerns about the running of this schooling facility, and I expect to discuss this with M. Damocles privately after this. However, there is still something to be done.” Mme. Rossi swept her gaze towards her daughter, who found the floor incredibly interesting at that point of time. “Lila? Something you’d like to say to your classmates?”

“… I’m sorry for lying to you.” Lila mumbled resentfully.

“Louder, Lila. No one can hear you.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you!” Lila swallowed, bursting like an explosion that had finally been triggered, tears in her eyes and fists hatefully curled. “I’m sorry for lying about my diseases and injuries. I’m sorry for making you do my work,” She spat. “Sorry for causing any inconveniences.”

Mme. Rossi raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “Is that all?”

Lila glared at her mother, who was completely unfazed. “Oh, so you want an apology from me? Fine!” She turned to the class, a maniacal glint in her eyes as she sneered at the class, a few gasps puffing from around the room as they caught their first glimpse of the liar that resided in the ‘harmless’ shell of Lila Rossi. “I’m sorry that you are all such idiots that you all fell for everything. I’m sorry that Marinette has such terrible, untrusting classmates that turned their backs on her even though she was still a goody-two shoes till the end, even though she still wanted to help you sorry peasants. I’m sorry that you were all so goddamn gullible! There! Good enough for you?”

Shock was etched into the faces of every human in the classroom— Including Mlle. Bustier, M. Damocles, and Mme. Rossi themselves. Clearly, that part of the apology had not been part of the plan.

“Did I miss something?” Said a sweet voice, followed by the presence of a bluenette, her hair tied in a half-up. A royal blue blazer decorated her lithe form, accompanied by a smart-looking white blouse and a black plaited skirt. Formal had never looked so good on anyone— And if someone didn't know better, they'd think that the bluenette was a young lawyer, emerging victorious from her first successful case.

“Marinette!” Alya exclaimed.

“I’m sorry that you’re such an annoying, little, pest.” Lila bit in the girl’s face, disdain colouring her features as she ignored her mother’s enraged gasp behind her.

The bluenette simply smiled, unaffected by the liar who had crashed and burned like the liar once wished upon her. Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood at her full height, the perfect image of grace and poise as she maintained her composure, quite unlike her nemesis, who thrashed under her mother’s restraining hands.

“And I’m sorry that you didn’t take my promise to heart.”

this can count as adrien redemption depending on you cause ehhh i dont like how passive he is but i havent caught up with the recent episodes, he might have become better. idk.

also where the hell is my miraculous taglist i cant find it so eep. no tagging ppl ig oops

#miraculous ladybug #the tales of ladybug and chat noir #marinette dupain-cheng #lila rossi #lila salt #rossi salt #ml class #ml salt #ml class salt #marinette deserves better #badass marinette #lila rossi lies #lila's lies are exposed #adrien agrete #alya cesaire #cady writesss «

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the-insomniac-emporium · 4 years ago

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Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

------------------------

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

------------------------

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

------------------------

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

------------------------

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

------------------------

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #tw blood #tw self harm #tw cannibalism #blood blood blood oops #I wrote this instead of sleeping because my hands cannot be stopped #typeity type type type #sorry if the formatting is off #i'm trying the new editor or whatever #if it's fucked I'll fix it whenever I wake up

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nyancatkuroo · 4 years ago

Text

Hot Neighbor Sakusa x Y/n

Here it is! My first Miki Mouse Whorehouse collab.

Many first times this time around, my first omi-omi fic ever, first fic published on this blog and it’s all very exciting.

BEWARE THOUGH, this is a dark fic so many TW’s to come.

You can thank @undermattsun for what you’re about to read, my eyes are still very much burning but, huh, enjoy!

Choose who to lewd next, from a selection of many other characters and fandoms. I’m just one of many whores who contributed to this collab!

Pairing: Neighbor Sakusa x Y/N

WC: 1.5k

TW: Deepthroating, spitting, hitting (slight pushes), hair pulling, feet sucking, just a whole lotta sucking my guy, oral sex m! receiving.

A/N: I may or may not have had too much fun talking about crocs and that toe sucking scene may or may not have awakened something in me.

“Fuck! I can’t believe I’m out of eggs too!”

You close the cabinet door and sigh, that’s just like you to be out of just about anything you need to bake some carrot muffins. Sure, you got the carrots, but what about eggs and some flour? As you stand in your kitchen, empty bowls and unpeeled carrots around you, you think of what to do.

The market is a mere 10 minute walk from your apartment but going out at 8pm on a winter night, where the sun is long gone and the cold is colder than ever, is not something you feel like doing. You shiver at the thought and scratch your head, at a loss for ideas when your phone pings, startling you from your thoughts.

You see it’s a message from Sakusa, your next door neighbor, who says to keep it down. You blush as you realize your earlier scream must’ve been louder than you thought, the whole dorm floor might have very well heard you. As you’re typing out a response, you get an idea.

To Sakusucks

Yeah wtv, bring me some eggs I’m all out

From Sakusucks

Not happening.

To Sakusucks

BOOOO

I still have those baby wipes you lent me at school the other day

so fresh

so clean

Before you even have time to send yet another annoying message, you hear your front door opening and see Sakusa in your living room, as much as a dorm room allows you to have one at least.

“This place gets more disgusting every time I come.”

You look around, eyeing the scattered plates and textbooks around the room and - wait, is that a moldy piece of cheese on the floor? How is that even possible, you wonder, before your eyes meet Sakusa’s disgusted face, which happens to also be eyeing the moldy piece of food.

“Yeah anyways, where are my eggs?” You say, hoping it’ll stop the man from commenting on the moldy cheese.

“What?”

“My eggs, you know, that stuff that comes out of a chicken’s butt or whatever.”

At that, Sakusa eyes you from top to bottom, a scrutinizing stare that sends shivers down your spine. You see the dark haired boy walking to meet you and smile innocently his way. What you don’t see coming though, is his finger, until it’s already down your throat. You choke on the foreign object having entered your mouth and feel yourself gag.

Sakusa adds a second finger, then a third, as you suck and choke on the spiker’s hand. You feel yourself blush under Sakusa’s unimpressed stare and remember how you were able to suck on four fingers the last time the boy came over. The thought of Sakusa’s dick in your mouth, for a ‘cleaning session’ the curly-haired man would say, makes a familiar warmth curl its way down your stomach and you feel your mouth going slack.

“You forget your place, you nasty fucking whore,” he berates. You moan and suck harder on Sakusa’s fingers, as he slowly takes them out of your mouth and wipes his hand on your hair before pulling at it, bringing you down on your knees.

Cheeks flushed, breath still ragged from the fingers down your throat, you look up to see Sakusa’s annoyed face. You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips at his words.

“Look at you, you’re a mess.” He smirks before letting go of your hair, showing you his still wet hand, “see what you did, you dirty slut, how should I punish you for making me dirty?”

You feel the spiker’s hand making its way back to the top of your head and feel a forceful tug that sends your face crashing against the hard floor.

“Take off my shoe.” Your eyes widen as his words sink in, “Or am I gonna have to make you?”

You look down at the feet in front of you, Sakusa’s toes hidden by his sock and sandals. “I can’t believe I’m gonna suck toes for a man who wears crocs with cleaning supplies jibbitz on them,” you find yourself thinking.

Sakusa catches on and mistakes your break in action for hesitancy. “I took a shower 20 minutes ago, not that you should worry about that seeing the state of this place.”

You quickly shake off the crocs’ thought and take off the man’s right shoe and sock. As Sakusa rests his back on your kitchen counter, you take his foot, gulp and start licking his toes, from the big toe to the little one, taking your time to suck between each toe as well. You moan and slurp, quickly getting into it, thinking of it as Sakusa’s bulging shaft, which you see becoming harder and bigger through the fabric of his grey joggers.

You hear Sakusa humming appreciatively and look up, a mouthful of foot deep down your throat. You start nibbling on Sakusa's toes, in an attempt to please him more, which you apparently succeed in doing, going by the moan that escapes his lips.

Back resting against your kitchen counter, you see Sakusa open his eyes, hooded lids searching the distance, an easy smile on his face that is quick to disappear when he catches your eyes. He takes his foot, leaving your mouth feeling weirdly empty, and pushes your face away with the foot that was in your mouth moments ago. He wipes himself on you again, this time on your bare thigh, seeing as you’re wearing some short shorts.

He leaves your side and goes to sit on the couch at the other side of the room. He takes off his remaining footwear before sitting down, his legs spread wide as both a confirmation that he isn’t done playing with you, and for comfort, seeing how his crotch area has visibly tightened.

You bite your lips, eyeing the very desirable man in front of you, and make your way to the sofa. You sit next to Sakusa and firmly press your hand to his crotch. You hear the spiker groan, sending you an aggravated look that only makes you smile as you quickly slide a hand down his pants, taking his already hard cock out of its clothed prison.

You lick your lips at the sight of the pinkish head, ideas already forming in your head, but before you have time to act on any of your dark thoughts, you hear Sakusa call your name. You lock eyes and feel him taking your hand, which he kisses before slowly sucking off every single one of your fingers. You only take your eyes away from the man when you feel him spit in the palm of your hand.

You take that as your cue to start massaging his erection, going up and down his entirety with your hand, pumping faster and playing with the head of his cock until it isn’t enough anymore.

You get off the couch and settle comfortably between the man’s open legs before taking him in your mouth. You feel full again, now that you have something in your mouth to play with, and start sucking Sakusa off, pumping with your hand at the same time.

You hear him whispering some sweet curses at you and moan from the validation. You feel Sakusa gripping at your hair once again, pulling hard to make you face him. He grips your head with his hand and forcefully opens your mouth with his thumb, positioning himself to face you, and then spits in your mouth before shoving your face back on his dick, which you gratefully welcome back into your mouth, this time letting him use you like a ragdoll.

You hear yourself gurgling and gagging at each of Sakusa’s furious thrusts, but never deep enough to make you spill your insides out, the dark-haired boy taking his dick in and out of your orifice to let you have a half second of a moment’s rest before fucking your face anew.

He’s close, you feel it by the way his dick is twitching in your mouth and you scrape your teeth against his shaft to bring him closer to the edge. Sakusa thrusts deeper and faster, fukcing your face numb until he comes inside of you with a grunt. He pushes you off of him and finishes by pumping himself dry, coming on the floor, and before he even commands you to clean it off with your tongue, you find yourself on your knees, licking the ground like a famished dog.

Before you have time to process any new information, you feel the spiker taking you from the floor and placing you on the couch, brushing your hair with his hands and placing a forehead kiss on you, whispering a ‘you did well cleaning me off today’ before getting up to leave. You didn’t even notice him putting his shoes back on, dick nowhere in sight either. You feel your eyes close as you hear Sakusa’s voice.

“Oh and before I forget, I don’t have eggs either.”

The spiker’s words are left hanging in the air, your head still hazy from the cleaning the man just gave you. You want to answer, but your words are lost to fatigue and you barely hear the door of the apartment closing. You may not have gotten what you wanted, but Sakusa didn’t get his baby wipes either. None of that matters though, you think, as you end up falling asleep on your couch, a filfthy fucking mess.

#sakusa x reader #sakusa #king of cleaning (you) out #if you know what I mean #pornhub au #kjgfskjdkaj #wrote this in like 3h and finished at 1am #very much let myself be swayed by the head empty no thoughts mentally #so uh #yeah #here's this #gaby writes #also one last #sakusa x y/n #for the road

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guardianofrivendell · 4 years ago

Text

Of bookcases and headaches

Merry x gn!reader

Requested: Yes, by a lovely anon for my 1k sleepover! “Congratulations! May I ask for 💙 with Merry, General Prompt 8 and/or 6?”

Prompts: 6 - Are you taking care of yourself? 8 - Is that my book?

Warnings: no warnings, how about that?

A/N: This got longer than I intended to... So this gets its own post and will be linked with the oneshots instead of sleepover drabbles. It was the first time writing for Merry (besides the preference posts) so thank you anon for this request! Also yes, this might have been inspired by the events of the past week :)

I’ve been out of my writing mood for weeks - ever since I’ve published Dwarves Always Knock Thrice and I hope I’m getting back into it with this fluffy comfort fic 🙈

Merry was on his way to meet up with Pippin in the Green Dragon, their weekly visit for a pint or two to celebrate the end of the week. Or the beginning of a new one. Any reason was a good one really.

The all too familiar path took him past your house and he caught himself slowing down his pace every time, in the hopes of catching you outside so he could invite you to join him.

Which was ridiculous really, since you were both friends who regularly talked to each other. It wouldn’t be considered weird for him to knock on your door and simply ask you to join him for a pint.

But somehow Merry found it extremely difficult to do so.

Most of the time he just lingered for a few seconds before he chickened out and quickly continued his way to his favorite pub, telling himself that next time he’ll be brave enough to do it.

Today however it went a little different.

When he stopped at the white fence surrounding your yard, he noticed something different about your house. Something that didn’t feel quite right. It took him a while before he realized what was wrong.

The curtains were drawn.

And it wasn’t even time for afternoon tea yet!

Without a second thought, Merry opened the gate and made his way over to your yellow front door. Gone were his nerves and his doubts, replaced with worry for you.

He knocked a few times but you didn’t answer.

It wasn’t until he started knocking on your window, calling out your name that he heard the front door unlock.

“Y/N?” he asked.

You had opened the door just a smidge, enough for you to be able to see who was so rude to disturb your peace and quiet.

“Merry?” you croaked.

Merry’s face went blank when he heard your raspy voice.

“Y/N? Are you alright? What’s wrong?!”

You winced at the volume of his voice, and one of your hands flew to the side of your head. “Shhhh,” you shushed him, stepping back into the darkness of your entrance hall and leaving the door open.

Merry hesitated for a second, not sure if he should follow. But if you didn’t want him to come inside, you would’ve closed the door or told him to go bugger off. Right?

Every curtain in the house was drawn, there weren’t any candles lit and Merry’s eyes needed some time to adjust to the lack of light before he could go any further.

As he entered your living room, his eyes widened at the state it was in. Books and scrolls scattered everywhere, like they were carelessly tossed aside without a second thought where they would end up. This was very unlike you.

He watched you curl up in your armchair with a heavy sigh, tucking your feet under you and burying yourself under your blanket. It was obvious he had woken you up, which explained the raspiness of your voice.

“This place is a mess, Y/N… ” “Yeah, thanks to you,” you accused him. “What did I do?” Merry looked at you confused. “You don’t have to yell, I can hear you just fine.” “Y/N, I’m not yelling,” he said, taking a few steps in your direction. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You ignored his question.

“My living room looks like a troll horde because I was looking for that.”

You pointed towards the small wooden side table where, in between empty teacups and dirty plates, lay a thick book with a dark blue binder.

Merry recognized the silver lettering on the spine.

“Is that my book? The one that you borrowed from me… A year ago or so?””

You hummed in response, burying your head in your hands. “I know, I’m a horrible person!”

He chuckled. “Y/N, you’re hardly horrible. The complete opposite would be more accurate in fact.”

You raised your head a little too fast at his words and you winced.

“I’ll go and make you some tea,” Merry smiled at you and made his way to your kitchen, taking the dirty cups and plates with him.

He brought you a fresh cup of tea, almost tripping over the many books and paper scrolls on the floor in the process. You took a sip and winced when you burned your tongue.

“Careful, it’s hot. I thought that was a given,” Merry said, rolling his eyes in a playful geste.

He took the cup out of your hands and placed it on the side table before he crouched down in front of you.

“Now will you finally tell me what’s wrong? I cannot help if you won’t tell me.”

Merry’s eyes met yours and you noticed the concern in them. He didn’t even try to hide it.

“I hurt my head and now I can not bear any light or noise… And my stomach is upset for some reason. It’ll pass.”

Merry’s eyes widened. He did not know a lot about healing or injuries but he knew what it was like to have a concussion. It was that kind of knowledge you gathered over the years when you were friends with a Took.

“It sounds a lot like a concussion, Y/N. How did you hurt your head?”

“Long story short, I thought I lost your book. I did not want to tell you because you were going to be mad at me and I hate it when you’re mad at me-” “When have I ever been mad at you?” he interrupted. “Hush, I’m trying to explain something here. But then when I was lying upside down in my chair, I saw your book underneath my bookcase. That’s why I couldn’t find it!” “Should I ask why you were lying upside down?”

You raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. He would almost think your headache was gone, if not for the slight squinting of your eyes and your pale complexion.

“Do you really want to go there, Merry?” “Hey, if I’m missing out I want to know!” “It’s a great way to see things from a different perspective,” you explained with a smile, but it did not reach your eyes.

He rested his chin on his hand. “Hmm, i guess you could be right. Now, continue, what happened with the book?”

“When I tried to get the book - your book - from under the bookcase, I couldn’t. It was stuck. So I gave it a good yank, but then the whole thing started toppling over!” “So rude!” he gasped dramatically. “Right?” you laughed, and this time it did reach your eyes. Merry was happy to see you were slowly getting in better spirits and pride filled his chest knowing he was the reason behind it. “I was able to stop the case from falling over, but most of the books fell off the shelves. A few of them hit my head pretty hard.”

Merry nodded in understanding. “Hence the headache. And your troll horde.”

You huddled a little deeper under your blanket and closed your eyes.

“I didn’t feel like cleaning it up yet.” “When did this happen?”

You opened your eyes again but kept them trained on the ground.

“Two days ago…” “Two days- Y/N, have you been taking care of yourself these two days? You should’ve called someone!”

You scoffed.

“I know how to take care of myself, Merry. Besides, I was more asleep than anything else. I didn’t need help.” “You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Y/N. There are people who care for you, you only have to let them in.”

The silence that followed was deafening and Merry wondered if he had said too much.

He jolted back to his feet and clapped his hands before he could help it. You flinched and groaned softly, cursing him.

“I’m sorry!” Merry apologized quickly. “I forgot! I was about to tell you what I planned and I got excited. I’ll try and be good from now on.”

“We both know that’s impossible,” you chuckled. Merry was relieved you weren’t angry with him.

“I’m going to the Green Dragon first, Pippin is probably wondering why I didn’t show up and I don’t want to make him worried. After that I’m coming back, okay? Then I’ll clean up your books so you don’t break your neck. In the meantime, you try and get some more sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He turned around and stepped into the hallway, but paused when you called his name.

“Merry?” “Yeah?” “You’re the best friend someone could wish for,” you smiled, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“So I’ve been told...”

Permanent taglist:@roosliefje @kata1803 @entishramblings @artsywaterlily @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose @marvelschriss @kumqu4t @myrin1234 @dark-angel-is-back @the-fandoms-georgie @lathalea @xxbyimm @sokkasdarling @katethewriter @aredhel-of-gondolin @leethology @thepeanutcollective @elvish-sky @moony-artnstuff @emmapotato88 @kirenia15 @vicmackeybullshxt @hey-its-nonny @moarfandomtrash @anjhope1

If your name is scratched, it means I couldn’t tag you :)

#Merry x reader #Merry x gn!reader #Merry x you #Merry Brandybuck #Meriadoc Brandybuck #Lord of the rings #Lotr fanfiction #Lotr imagine #Lord of the rings x reader #Guardianofrivendell 1k sleepover #Lord of the rings imagine #lotr #requested

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violetsoju · 4 years ago

Text

snapshot

miya atsumu · fluff · 1.9k

muse: highlight - not the end

a/n: my ultimate boys are finally back after three and a half years, and my inner fangirl that has been asleep for way too long has been unleashed for the past few days. hence, this impulsive piece. do let me know if you enjoyed it ❤️

It’s time.

After a year or so, there’s finally light at the end of the tunnel. Cherry blossoms are in full bloom again, gracing the pathways with shades of light pink and white.

It’s the beginning of a new year, of new beginnings, of new hopes and dreams. A time of renewal and rebirth. When cherry blossoms are in full bloom, the future is bursting with possibilities.

What better way to start off the new year with something that makes your heart blossom with love and joy?

You’ve been deep in slumber for the past year, so it’s about time to be awaken and open the curtains for the sunlight shine in.

Your planner is inked with colourful notes and doodles, laptop reformatted with an empty recycle bin, camera equipment cleaned and dusted, phone storage deep-cleaned.

It’s hard to not notice the bright smile tugging your lips even without the mandatory cup of morning coffee, greeting everyone in the office like a ray of sunshine. Even your supervisor notices it and is surprised with the increased efficiency of work from your end. Perhaps he’s more surprised with your razor sharp accuracy in clocking out every day, disappearing in a flash once the clock strikes 6.

Your colleagues can’t seem put a finger to the recent change in your behaviour. What’s an afterwork get-together without you and ridiculous tipsy antics? Not even your favourite yakult soju or the summoning of your supervisor could drag your feet to the dinner place.

“Do you have a boyfriend? That’s why you’re so busy recently?” They would ask. Or they would try and wiggle their way by asking “Is there someone waiting at home for you?”

No matter how tactfully they twist and turn their words, they were all futile attempts. Because all they would get was a sickly sweet innocent smile that never met your crescent-shaped eyes, and an automatic response. “Thank you for the invite, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass tonight. Have fun!”

They had their bets that you were wrapped up with your secret little love life, spending nights over at your lover’s place, whispering sweet nothings into the night. “Ah, young love.” They would sigh. “Remember to stay protected!”

Your tight lipped smile fuelled them further instead. Why don’t you say anything, they wonder.

To you, why waste your energy explaining something that is incomprehensible to them and risk having yourself being the centre of gossip? Not that you are already the recent centre of gossip.

Because they won’t understand the surge of excitement flowing through your veins at the ping of notifications popping up on your phone screen during work. They won’t understand the of anticipation for the timer on a video screen to turn zero, whether on the way home or while having dinner. They won’t understand the happiness of late night chats with likeminded people online, sleep washed away while gushing and typing in full caps with each other. They won’t understand the buzz of giddiness with just one post, one picture or one sentence. They won’t understand the little squeal behind a picture or a minute-long video unexpectedly appearing on screen. They won’t understand having the same song or same album on loop for days, weeks, or months. They don’t understand the dilemma of choosing a wallpaper or lockscreen for your phone. They don't understand how by remembering a person or something they have said before drives unimaginable motivation and makes the toughest circumstances bearable and possible to overcome. They won't understand how a person who doesn't know your existence personally can be a source of comfort and happiness.

They won’t understand the real reason why you’re smiling like a fool at your phone.

Maybe if they peered carefully at your phone screen, they would know why.

And it’s not what they had in bet.

Well, they were partly right if you were to be completely honest.

But if you were to place your bets, you’re sure most of them would still be scratching their heads in confusion at the black, gold and white logo.

It may be foreign to them, but you swear that you can see those colours even if you’re blind.

MSBY. The 8 member boy group. Worldwide superstars. The whole damn package. Boys made for the dazzling stage. Boys that deserve the whole world. Boys whose talent knows no limits. Boys that you hold dear to your heart.

Ever since Hinata Shouyou, the youngest of the group had injured his lower back and knee during choreography practice (in which was revealed with a slip of a tongue in a livestream that Bokuto and him were so engrossed with a certain acrobatic move which involved a backflip from a higher ground, they begged their choreographer to add it into their new choreography. Instead of showing a clip of the move, they decided to give it a shot and perform it live spontaneously for everyone, where too much adrenaline and a small slip had him lying in the hospital bed for weeks), the group had collectively come to a conclusion to halt their activities until he was fully recovered and ready to roll. There were no solo activities, solo promotions or unit activities despite the attractive proposals or invitations. Such a waste of talent and time, many said. What is their company thinking? Letting their cash cow go to waste like that. But they tuned out all the crap, and firmly held to their resolve of being together as a group; all for one, and one for all.

“We’ll be back. And we know you all have our backs.” Meian Shuugo, the leader of the pack assured, eyes filled with resolute and confidence.

So after a draught of 456 days to be exact, an oasis finally appeared in the burning desert sands. When the notification titled ‘MSBY is back’ appeared on phone and laptop screens alike, it took a few seconds for everyone to blink and make sure it wasn’t a mirage. But the small tick was unmistakable. Then the whole fandom lost their shit.

This isn’t a drill. MSBY is back. In full swing.

The black jackals are ready to hunt. Their hunger has been supressed long enough. They’ve been starved for too long. They’re out for blood. They’re ready to pounce at any moment. They’re back in the game.

(If you were to be real honest, everyone should have saw this coming after that particular livestream where Bokuto, the renowned king of spoilers, animatedly announced that “We’ll be seeing you guys soon. Like real soon!” with his wide toothy smile, to which Inunaki Shion ferociously slapped him in the back with a cramped broad smile plastered on his face. “In the next livestream, of course! Can’t wait to see you guys soon!” The mom of the group added through gritted teeth. Adriah Tomas choked on his water and sheepishly grinned, while Sakusa Kiyoomi stared ahead unfazed, like this was a daily occurrence.)

Which means it’s time for you to get back to work. Which is also no surprise why you’ve been so occupied these days, having two schedules to work with: your personal schedule and MSBY’s comeback schedule. Which also means, your weekends are MSBY’s weekends.

Fangirling is a job to be taken very, seriously.

Change of word choice for the better. Supporting your idols is a job to be taken very, seriously.

So on a pleasantly warm Saturday afternoon with cherry blossoms petals dancing in the wind, as you try your best to stable yourself on the ground with the huge ass DSLR in your hands, you scan for a specific person among the sea of people ahead. A specific blond, to be exact. But lucky you, because even if you don’t scan for him, he finds his way to your camera lens. Which is why your pictures are one of the most sought after and anticipated of the idol Miya Atsumu, lead dancer of MSBY.

It’s like he has antennas on the top of his head. Despite the flurry of cameras flashing at him, confessions and screams drowning out his surroundings, rapid camera shutters going off like woodpeckers drumming relentlessly on a tree, he somehow, always manages to locate you, to look right into your camera lens, giving you his million dollar smile or infamous grin with small fangs peeking from the sides. The cherry on top? His top-notch fanservice. He never, never fails to give a reaction to you. Be it a small wave, a heart shape with his arms bent over his head, or a flirtatious wink that would combust hearts right on the spot.

You’re beyond grateful for his attentiveness and recognition towards you. It’s not like you’re on his heels. Hitting the shutter button is just a pastime of yours when your schedule allows. In better words, you’re just a random potato popping up occasionally with a camera. Plus, it’s no easy feat to pick a specific person out among a sea of people, especially with tens or hundreds of faces flashing before his eyes in one go.

Truth to be told, you’re thankful for the special attention too, because you get to share the fun and playful side of him with everyone, to light up everyone’s day with pictures of their favourite golden boy. Sharing is caring, and in this big close-knitted family, everyone deserves to be well fed.

However, the good things in life are never free.

Jealousy is a bitch, and bitches need to get well soon. Rumours are born out of wicked tongues, and wicked tongues are born out of the evil fire of envy.

Baseless ridiculous tales circulate among the community. How you’re the daughter of some big-shot of the company or political figure, using, or abusing your privilege connections to gain his favour. How you’re an obsessive fan who has intruded your way into his life, holding his career by the reins out of corrupted love by stalking and threatening him to pose for the camera, your camera specifically if he wants to keep himself and his group safe. How it’s a business relationship between the both of you: you as his private photographer, him paying you to get perfect shots of him to boost his popularity, to outshine his members, to feed his monstrous ego.

But do you care? Of course you don’t.

Because between this jam-packed schedule, this is the only time you get to see your boyfriend in real life, and you want to keep a record of his amazing journey through your lenses. It’s a diary of his growth, the beautiful moments in his life. A diary for him, you and his fans. To also show him that you’re here with him, here for him, no matter what.

And does Miya Atsumu care? Of course he doesn’t.

Because what more can he ask by having the opportunity to see you in flesh, even if it’s just a few seconds amidst his hectic back-to-back schedules. You’re his serotonin, the one that he misses holding in his arms after a long tiring day, the one that keeps him going, the one that he can count on for being there.

Knowing that you’re there at every step of the way makes him take each step with more confidence and pride.

So as Miya Atsumu exits the broadcasting building, he searches for a familiar camera lens among the sea of similar looking cameras shoved in his face. He sweeps his gaze from left to right, and grins when he spots the one he’s looking for.

A face sculpted by the gods with a boyish grin that could lit up the world graces the cameras of many, but only one captures his eyes gleaming with delight head on.

There was a really cute fanart of idol! Atsumu but the artist has closed her twitter account so I can't link it here T_T but if you do have any idol! Atsumu fanarts do send them in hehe

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mandowh0re · 4 years ago

Text

Peter woke with a start.

His nightmares had been getting better. Really, they had. He couldn't lie about it anyways, Friday always told Tony if Peter had one.

But the one he just woke from had shaken him, making it feel like he hadn't even had a break from them.

He sighed, rubbing his face hard and staring at his bedroom door for a few seconds before deciding he wasn't going back to sleep after that.

He resigned to go out to the kitchen for a glass of water.

He stepped into the living room, only to see a black shadow standing near the elevator.

Scratch that. Two shadows.

The hairs on Peter's back stook at attention, and Peter cursed himself for not having his webshooters.

Then again, he was in the most secure building on the planet in the middle of the night getting water. Why would he have felt the need?

One of the figures took a step forward.

And

No way.

No fucking way.

In the dim light of the overhead sink light, Peter made out the face of Captain fucking America.

“Friday, lights. Now.”

The lights immediately switched on, flooding the penthouse in light. It burned Peter’s sensitive retinas, but he didn’t dare close his eyes.

“Who are you?” Steve asked, obviously confused as to why a kid was in Tony’s penthouse.

Peter asked his own question in favor of answering.

“Why are you here?”

Steve lifted a brow, and if Peter was paying any attention he’d see Natasha behind Steve, face morphing into regret.

“Steve, I think we should come back another time,” She says, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder, “We don’t have to talk tonight-“

“It’s best if we do.” Steve cuts her off.

“It’s best if you leave.” Peter retorts.

“Son, I don’t know-“

Peter takes a step forward, and somehow was across the room in that step. He places a finger on the captain’s chest.

“Do not call me ‘son’,” he all but growls.

“Steve,” Natasha tries again, “Let’s go,”

“I’m not leaving because of some kid who shouldn’t even be up here-“

“You’re treading in some dangerous territory here, captain,” Peter spits the last word with as much venom as he can muster, “You’re the one who shouldn’t be here.”

Steve’s face falls for a split second, then immediately turns into his Captain America face. No nonsense.

“Where is Tony?” He asks, fingers twitching for the shield he no longer carries.

“That’s none of your business anymore.”

Natasha sees where this is headed, and she really doesn’t want to be a part of it.

She tugs on Steve’s shoulder once more.

“Okay kid, we’re leaving. Come on Steve-” She tries again, but Steve, foolishly, stands his ground.

“What did you do with Tony?” The man grounds out.

And that’s it. That’s what breaks the little resolve Peter has.

It all happens so quickly that Natasha finds herself dizzy from the whole exchange.

Peter punches Steve, hard, because he knows Steve can take it.

Steve is so off kilter from the fact that a literal child was able to punch him so hard that he doesn’t see Peter’s next move, which was grabbing his shirt and tossing him to the ground.

Suddenly, a window is smashed open and Tony lands in the middle of the living room, armor slinking back into the housing unit on his chest. He sees the scene in front of him, Peter standing above Steve, Steve on the ground holding his jaw, Natasha in front of the elevator with her hands covering her mouth.

“What the hell!”

Peter registers Tony’s presence, but ignores it.

“What did I do with him? Me? You have the audacity to come in here, uninvited, in the middle of the night, in our home after you nearly killed my father and you’re asking me what I did to him?”

Peter is seething. He only sees red. He wants to go for another hit when a hand wraps around his wrist.

“Pete, come on, bud. It’s not worth it.”

After one more scathing look at the man he threw to the ground, the fight immediately drains from the boy’s veins, leaving him dizzy from the sudden loss of adrenaline.

“Good boy,” Tony gently tugs his son into a hug, then scurries him over to a couch and sets him down to cool off.

He stands again, looking over to his ex best friend who is now standing but is still cradling his jaw. His eyes wide in shame.

“Father?” Is all he can get out.

Tony takes a few steadying breaths before answering.

“Yeah.”

“Since when?”

Blowing out a breath, Tony answers, “Um, 16 years now.”

“But how-“

“Not now, Steve. Let’s go.” Natasha says, finally getting him to move towards the elevator.

“Stop by the medbay before you leave. Have them fix Steve up. And maybe call me next time before you want to talk.”

Natasha nods and the doors slide shut.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, Peter sitting on the couch with his face in his hands. Tony sits next to him, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“So, you landed quite the punch on old man Rogers, I see.”

Peter makes a noise akin to a dying elephant.

Tony chuckles, “I leave you for one night and I miss you knocking out Captain America. I can’t believe it. I’ll have to ask FRIDAY for the footage.”

Peter still doesn’t answer, but leans into his dad. He tries to hide the sniffle, but Tony’s had almost two decades of experience with the boy. It was impossible for him not to notice.

“Bud? Come on, what’s wrong?”

Peter sniffs again, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve covered hands.

“I just- That felt really good.”

Tony barks out in laughter, pulling his kid in for a hug.

“I bet it did, kid.”

“You’re gonna have to replace that window, again.”

Tony looks at the destroyed glass, shards all over the ground, and feels the breeze from outside.

“Tis but a scratch, dear boy.”

Peter giggles, and Tony thinks he’s done his job for the night.

***

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#marvel #mcu #tony stark #iron man #avengers #steve rogers #captain america #Peter Parker #Spider-Man #iron dad #spiders on #tony stark is peters dad #biological #Natasha romanoff #Drabble #toni writes #fic

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hey-there-juliet · 4 years ago

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Random Drabble Day (2/23)

Summary: First off, let me just say that this is more like a one-shot than a drabble because I'm a wordy bitch and I cannot control myself 😅

That said, I always had a hard time imagining Julie writing some of the Perfect Harmony's lyrics about herself, so I thought why not make this just another song that Luke and Julie wrote together? This is set somewhere between Finally Free and Edge of Great, in that week when Ray was stress-eating. This is supposed to fit back into the show at the end, so it might seem like a cliffhanger, but it's not.

Quick shout out to @jamestkirkish for betaing this for me! I love you and you are amazing! Any remaining mistakes are my own. And to the fabulous Sloan, for helping me out with Luke's handwriting! Enjoy 🧡

Fandom: Julie and the Phantoms

Relationship: Juke 💜

in the great scheme of life and ghosts

No matter how many times Luke insisted that she had been snooping through his things, Julie knew for a fact that she had done no such thing. In reality, she had simply been cleaning the studio when she came across it.

For three ghosts who didn't eat and could barely even touch anything most of the time, the boys sure knew how to make a mess. Every morning Julie would walk into the studio to find the chairs or coffee table rearranged, at least one of the rugs was always askew, and the clothes... the clothes were everywhere, and the worst part was: they reeked.

And so every morning before leaving for school Julie would shoot them a stern look and tell them to pick up after themselves. Which they did - when she got back home, things were mostly in their rightful place. Still, every weekend Julie would make sure to take a moment away from homework and rehearsal to tidy the place up to perfection, just like her mom liked it. She'd dust off the furniture, water the plants, sweep the floor, and even vacuum the whole place. One Saturday when she was home alone (her dad photographing a wedding, and Carlos at a friend's house), she even went through the trouble of washing all of the guys' old clothes.

Somehow, and she didn't even want to think about how that worked, the clothes didn't stink when they were actually wearing them, but at any other moment when they made no contact with their skin? Yeah... not good. So she washed them all (three times, using every trick and product she had). She washed them a fourth time for good measure and, by the time she was finished, any traces of twenty-five year old mold was gone, and so was the smell.

So no, she was not snooping - no matter what Luke said - when she came across the crumpled paper ball between the couch and the low cabinet, just behind a big vase her mom had gotten from tía Victoria.

Julie sighed, making a mental note to tell Luke to put his discarded ideas in the bin (again) if he didn't want them anymore, when one scribbled and wrinkled word caught her attention: Perfect Ha-

She bit her lip, staring down at the teasing word. Perfect what? Was it lyrics? Maybe half formed ideas? Doodles? Julie knew Luke liked to doodle in the margins of his notebook whenever he got stuck trying to come up with the next best piece of lyric or melody. She also knew she should probably just leave it alone, put it with his stuff to ask him later if he wanted to keep it, or put it in the garbage. Except the more she glanced down at that damn word, the stronger she felt it pull her towards uncovering whatever else the crumpled paper ball was hiding.

In the end, the pull was too strong. She'd just take a quick look, make sure it wasn't anything important before she threw it away. And, she reasoned with herself, trying to squish the guilt that was making itself known in the pit of her stomach: Luke had gotten rid of it, so he clearly didn't care much for whatever was in there.

Not able to resist any longer, Julie carefully unfolded the paper, slowly making her way towards the piano and using its surface as a table to help smooth the page over.

Luke's (horrendous) handwriting covered it with the bare bones of a song, random lines were scribbled in the margins with a couple of doodles for company, and even a little note from their bassist - ‘Reggie was here ;)’.

It took her a minute before the chicken scratches became words, and then Julie's breath left her in a rush, as the guilty feeling in her stomach turned into butterflies and flew away with her imagination.

It was a song, parts of one, anyway, and - more importantly - it was a love song.

Unprompted, her own words came back to her, "Wow, Luke! I didn't know you were such a romantic." Quickly followed by Alex's short reply, "He's not."

She knew now who Unsaid Emily was really about, but these new words were clearly about a different kind of love. The romantic kind, and Julie couldn't help letting herself believe - just for a moment - that the song might be about her.

Before she could let herself be carried away in a daydream, there was a - now familiar - shift in the air, a sound almost like static, the only thing letting her know of a ghost's appearance. Without a thought, she crumpled the page again and shoved the paper ball in her pocket for later inspection.

"Hey, Julie!" Reggie's cheerful greeting sounded across the studio from where he had poofed in, and soon - with his "help," bless him - Julie was finished with her weekend clean up.

As if summoned by the end of her chores, Luke poofed in, ready to rehearse. Alex soon followed; and by the time Julie retired for the night, the song had been almost forgotten where it hid inside her pocket.

Almost.

***

After getting ready for the night, Julie settled on her bed with the wrinkled page and her dreambox. She read over the words again and again, imagining they were about her.

Step into my world,

Bittersweet love story about a girl

Shook me to the core

Voice like an angel,

I've never heard before,

You and me together, it's more than chemistry

Love me as I am

I hold your music

Here inside my hands

You are my brightest burning star

We create Perfect Harmony.

And unless Luke had been singing with another girl, there didn't seem to be many options on who it could be about, right?

From the beginning, Julie had felt something connecting her to him; to all of them, in different ways. But Luke had been the one to give her a little piece of his soul right after meeting her when he let her use Bright to earn back her spot in the music program. Seeing his passion reflecting back on her, the way he treated music like she used to, made her miss it more than anything for the first time in almost a year. It made her miss the way it felt to use music to connect with her mom.

After they spent a whole weekend finishing each other's songs and working on new ones, getting to know each other's inner workings - the part of them that bled out feelings into paper to create beautiful melodies, Julie knew she was a goner. Finding out he'd been the one to write the words that shaped her taste in rock certainly didn't help. Like he'd been helping her find her way to music long before they even met.

Her crush on him had been inevitable from the start, and while falling for him was probably one of the worst things she could’ve done, it was too late to stop it. She'd been free falling for a while, and hopefully she'd land in his arms soon enough. Reading over his words again gave Julie a warm fluttering in her stomach that made her think he was more than ready to catch her once she reached the ground.

Carefully folding the piece of paper, she put it inside her dreambox, then placed the box back on the shelf.

***

The following week went by without any hiccups. Every once in a while, Julie would remember Luke's song and a familiar warmth would fill her up, leaving a soft smile on her lips and glazed eyes staring off at nothing. Just as often, Flynn would have to shake her out of her daydreams.

She didn't think much would come of it until her dad decided to throw the band a party so he could film them and post their video on YouTube. Which was fine. Amazing, even. It was most certainly great! Until Luke came to the school, staring at her with his stupid, beautiful, awed eyes, and with his soft, perfect smile, saying things that made her combust and melt, all at the same time.

"I think you make me a better writer."

"I think we make each other better."

Calling Nick 'Luke' was bad enough, but slipping into a complete musical sequence as she danced with him? "Goner" didn't even begin to describe her.

Like the other times they'd written together, the lyrics flowed through her, finishing the song he'd started with the same ease as one would take a breath.

Julie knew that whatever was going on between her and Luke couldn't happen or, if it did, it couldn't last. In fact, in the great scheme of life and ghosts, she didn't know much, but what she did know was that - be it in life or in death - love was constant.

He didn't need to have a heartbeat or to be able to touch her for her to love him. He was just as real to her as the next person, and whether it would hurt in the long run or not, it didn't matter.

She knew Flynn was only looking out for her, but that ship had sailed, and Julie was already so lost in his ocean eyes that avoiding eye contact wasn't going to bring it back. She would entertain her though, even knowing it wouldn't work. Just like the tide, eventually he'd pull her right back in.

She could love him just as he was, for however long they had together, and especially after that.

End notes: I hope you guys enjoyed it! And, if you'll notice, at the beginning it kind of gives off the impression that Luke eventually finds out about the song and Julie tells him how she found it. Which may or may not lead you to believe that they're in a relationship. I guess it all depends on interpretation though ;)

Oh, also! Shout out to the chaos squad folks that guessed right! You guys are no fun :( /j lmao

#RDD #23 by 23 challenge #fanfic #mine #jatp #jatp fic #julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #juke #jukebox #julie x luke #fic recs

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justjstuff · 3 years ago

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Sacrilege

My first contribution to the SethKate fandom! A quick oneshot during the break between s2 and s3, ending in post-Amaru territory.

Summary: Kate wasn’t laughing now.

There were silent tears streaming down her cheeks, her mascara smudged beneath her eyes and her brows knitted unhappily. Seth drank in the sight of her, something coming loose inside his chest at the same time that his heart dropped somewhere near his feet.

“You’re not real,” he whispered.

A short story about Seth dealing with his grief.

Read it on AO3 or below the cut :)

Seth didn’t know exactly how he found himself in that unfamiliar office in the middle of the day. Richie had taken to Jed’s like he was born for it and Seth had stayed quietly in the background—a place he had never been comfortable being, that had always been Richie—but he found himself being unable to do anything else. He gave orders, kept Richie’s feet firmly on the ground while his brother played boss, but kept to himself otherwise.

It felt good, in a way, to see his brother look so sure of himself, to see Richie feeling comfortable in his own skin for the first time in ever. Still, it was hard to miss that there was sadness and regret buried deep beneath his brother’s Hugh-Hefner-robe-wearing exterior. In the week that they had taken over Jacknife Jed’s, Seth had time to see the cracks in his brother’s armor and to feel his own shock wearing off. That morning seemed to have been his breaking point.

It was something simple, really, that managed to bring him to his knees. Something that he had never expected could take his breath away and send him to the kind of panic attack he hadn’t had since he was a teenager.

Mornings at Jed’s were like the middle of the night everywhere else. There was a certain kind of quiet that took over the compound, like everything was still and Seth could take a few moments to himself. He started making a point to have breakfast by himself in the kitchen while everyone else was asleep.

They still didn’t have much in their kitchen. Malvado hadn’t actually stayed where they chose to operate from and the employees had only deemed necessary to keep a coffee maker there, but they’ve been slowly building it up instead of using the bar’s kitchen which was frankly annoying to do when they had to cross the parking lot from their bedrooms to get a beer. The fridge and stove were the first to arrive and now they actually had plates and fucking cutlery, it was starting to feel not exactly like home but definitely more like they weren’t staying in an old warehouse for a couple of days. They had the option of using Malvado’s underground facilities at Jed’s but had ultimately agreed that they would feel safer working from the warehouse behind it instead.

Then he saw the toaster.

It was this ugly bright red, which probably meant Richard had been the one to get it; a clunky piece of metal right in the middle of the stainless steel countertop that had already been there before them. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make Seth’s carefully constructed defences crumble like they had never been there in the first place.

He had tried so hard, just so fucking hard to not think about her ever since that night. He had gone back to the blood well with Richie and Scott but there had been no body, only a bloodstained white sheet stuck to the wooden boards. The sight of that blood, Kate’s blood, had sent him straight to the nearest bottle of whiskey and his brother had been right there with him. The next day, there had been no more mention of her and Seth had pushed everything deep down.

And then the godamn fucking toaster.

The tilt of her jaw and the amused little smile as she said, “Not funny.”

Her hand in his after a nightmare.

The way her hair caught the sunlight after a dip in a shitty motel pool.

The quiet sigh she always let out before forcing herself to get out of bed.

The hurt, the anger, the guilt of it all but also the reluctant almost shy happiness he hadn’t allowed himself to feel, but was undeniable all the same. The partnership they had, the heartache.

The fucking heartache.

Quite literally, his chest felt so constricted Seth had to remind himself that he could actually breathe and that Kate hadn’t taken away his ability of doing so when she left. No, this time she hadn’t left. She was taken.

Seth stumbled back to his office. It wasn’t exactly an office yet but there were two desks and a kind of decently stocked bar and that’s all Richie and him needed. Seth didn’t think twice about uncapping the whiskey and downing a few desperate gulps before coming back for air. His throat burned but he wasn’t sure it was really from the booze and as he blinked at the bare wall in front of him he didn’t even have enough strength to pretend he wasn’t blinking away tears.

He didn’t know exactly how long he stood there, drinking himself stupid, but by the time the bottle was almost gone it had gotten a little easier to breathe without the fear of having his chest explode with the pain of it all. It wasn’t enough, though.

Looking at the bottle reminded him of the few times he had shared a drink with her , the way she would giggle and wipe away a drop of whiskey from the corner of her mouth. It was almost like she was right there with him—it felt so real for a moment that he could hear her small laugh, could smell her in the air like the afterscent she left on his pillow from spending the night there after a particularly horrible nightmare. Seth put the bottle down.

In a mindless haze, he reached for the small key in his pocket and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk with clumsy fingers. Inside there were only two things: Kate’s cross—the one Richie had seen Scott take and then throw as far as he could in a fit of rage, and then had gone to collect—and his drug kit.

It seemed almost sacrilegious to put those two items side by side but Seth didn’t care. After Richie had silently passed the necklace to him when they’d been drunk that first night, it had taken residence in Seth’s drawer, which Richie had adamantly kept away from. Besides, it felt like a sick sort of comparison to Kate herself. She was everything good, his moral compass, a godamn fucking angel with soft hands and bright eyes, but she also had darkness inside of her and she hadn’t been one to shy away from it.

The kit wasn’t the same one he had during Mexico, which Sonja had thrown out the first chance she had. No, this one was new, Seth had bought it just a few nights ago. At the time he didn’t exactly understand why he had done it, despite the craving for it going away and then coming back every once in a while, he had been absolutely certain he never wanted to go through withdrawal again. Maybe a part of him had known he would need it, maybe his subconscious knew it was only a matter of time before Kate’s death became too much.

Seth went through the motions of prepping the hit without thinking about it. All he felt, all he could concentrate on was how much everything hurt and how much he didn’t want to feel anymore. It wasn’t his body craving the chemicals, it was his mind craving the silent bliss of not feeling.

Seth tapped his arm, a familiar routine of trying to find a vein, but either because of the booze or because he had grown unused to it, he couldn’t. He put the needle down, the sound of it smacking against the bottle echoing as he fumbled for the tourniquet to wrap around his bicep.

He could hear her crying.

It was, to his greatest regret, a sound he had been familiar with and it made him reach for the needle faster than his alcohol drenched brain could process. Seth pressed it to a bulging vein but only held it there for a few long moments as Kate cried. The tip scratched his skin before he dropped the needle. His hands were shaking too much and he couldn’t help but think that usually… usually she would be the one to pick up the needle and help him finish the job.

When he looked back up, Kate was there.

She was exactly as he remembered her on one of their good days. The white sundress she had only worn once falling to the top of her thighs, the red bikini peeking through its spaghetti straps. She had bought it all in a cheap gas station one morning and forced him to stop at the first motel she saw that had a pool to spend the afternoon there. He had been twitchy about being so close to the border but they had spent the previous couple of days stuck in the Corvette so he let her waste the day by the pool until he had come across an American family at a small restaurant he had stopped for food. Seth had booked it back to the motel to find Kate floating on her back.

He hadn’t let her stop for anything, just pulled her arm until she got out of the pool and guided her back to the car with his hand fighting to find purchase on her wet shoulder. He had expected her to snap at him while they sped down dusty backroads but Kate had only laughed. She had given him shit for everything later and insisted he owed her for making her leave behind the first dress she had worn in forever but she hadn’t been mad. Hearing her laugh had made that day be one of the first that felt light after the Twister.

She wasn’t laughing now.

“You’re not real,” he whispered.

Kate didn’t reply, didn’t even react in any way other than the tears that continued to come. But still, her green eyes stared right into his, and she didn’t go away. Seth wished she would. He wished she never left.

The sudden rage that overcame him wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but it still took his breath away, consumed his body in the flames that he sometimes wished had taken him. It wasn’t exactly anger, or rather, it was more than that. It was grief , swallowing him whole and drowning everything that made Seth Seth. He threw the whiskey bottle at her, the sound of it breaking on the wall behind his desk not quite covering the sound of his knees crashing on the floor.

Seth cried.

He wept like a fucking baby, like he hadn’t done ever since his mother had left him. He cried until his head hurt, until he couldn’t really smell the spilled whiskey and couldn’t see the blank wall where Kate’s ghost had stood. And that’s how Richie found him.

Seth had no idea how long his brother had called for him, only realizing Richie was there with him when he felt a hand on the back of his neck guiding his head to rest on a fluffy robe. Richie didn’t say anything and neither did Seth despite all the words he had clogging up his throat.

I miss her, he wanted to say.

I wish it had been me instead, he couldn’t help but think.

Yet he stayed silent. Until maybe a few minutes later, when he muttered, “‘m gonna throw up.”

His brother never mentioned that night with him. Ever. Even when Seth pulled him aside the day after to reassure him that he had thrown the smack away, Richie only replied with a quiet, “Okay,” and a stiff nod while he avoided his eyes. They didn’t talk about it and the urge to shoot up never came again.

He still saw her from time to time, mostly when he was close to blackout drunk and never as clearly as he had seen her that first night. Kate was always wearing something from one of their good days and she was never crying. She only watched him quietly as he fought with himself to keep her in the corner of his eyes instead of staring at what everyone else would think was nothing.

Six months later when he was in Santanico’s fighting ring, he saw her again. For a few beats he thought it was another hallucination, and it was enough time for the other guy to knock him down, but she was still there when he looked up.

Seth knew almost immediately that it was her. The unfamiliar red hair, the heavy makeup she had never used, the clothes that he had never associated with a happy time. It wasn’t a hallucination. Seth knew that despite how surreal it sounded, the person who stood in the crowd was Kate Fuller.

Everything after that was a fucked up nightmare.

Six months of grieving Kate had taken a toll on him. Seth worked hard to keep things going, he took care of business when Richie was too busy posturing as the Boss and he kept a tight ship running. He kept swinging, even when he felt like he didn’t have much strength, because he had learned many things growing up but giving up wasn’t one of them. So he pushed everything down and kept going, but by the time all of the Amaru bullshit had to be dealt with he just didn’t have anything else to give.

Standing there at the gates of hell, Seth was done. His brother was gone but he still had Kate, at least for a little while. He had wrestled her out of death himself by force, he had refused to accept she was going to die in that church. His hands didn’t shake this time when he found a vein with the needle.

Letting Kate walk through those gates was the hardest thing he had ever done. His brother was gone and if he lost Kate too he would have absolutely fucking nothing to keep him going, he would have done anything to keep her safe. But then she had said it.

In the eyes of the people I love.

Seth knew that in that moment she was acknowledging him as part of her family, he knew that he couldn’t take her choice away, not when she was looking at him with that look on her face. Time to let go, partner. Seth did. He let her go. But only because he knew he was right behind her; if there was one thing Seth was certain it was that he was going to Hell when he died and he didn’t plan on staying a second longer without his family. There wasn’t much of a plan, really—try to save her brother as he went down swinging, then try his best to find her and Richie on the other side.

Only he didn’t die.

Not only that, but Richie and Kate came back and Seth’s luck finally seemed to have turned around because in the end they were all alive and there. That Kate went with them when it was all over was another kind of miracle.

Months later and Seth still didn’t know how his life had turned out this particular brand of okay.

He wasn’t doing any more mid level-boss work since the Lords had all died, and despite the fact that sometimes the work was mind numbingly boring, he still spent a lot of his time doing what he really loved—planning for a job and then driving off into the sunset with the two people he cared the most about.

He had taught her some things back in Mexico but it shouldn’t have been enough to make her so smooth during their jobs. The kid was a fucking natural, and Seth caught himself sometimes being distracted in the middle of a bank robbery, looking at her in her semi-formal wear. No matter what type of clothes she wore to fit in between the two suits, they were always white. He didn’t ask about it, just like he didn’t ask about the gloves she wore sometimes even when they weren’t on a job.

Kate was far from healed from her ordeal, but as the months passed she got closer to okay and then okay sometimes turned into happy. And that’s all Seth ever wanted for her.

It had been a nice day. They had robbed a bank south of Austin and had made it out before the cops even realized what had happened, making it almost all the way down to Port O’Connor where Malvado’s operation had a nice safehouse by the beach. They spent the rest of the day counting their loot, checking the news and lounging around the house drinking and talking and laughing like they usually did.

By sunset, Seth’s not-so-happy thoughts had returned in full force.

He was leaning on the doorway to their back porch with a beer in hand, watching Kate as she slowly made her way down the steps so she could bury her toes in the sand. She had changed out of her white jumpsuit from that morning into the tiniest cutoffs Seth had ever seen her wear and a green tank top. Her red hair was moving with the breeze coming from the ocean and it almost reached the waistband of her shorts with the way her head was tilted up towards the last rays of sunshine.

She was heartbreakingly beautiful. Kate had always been pretty and the sweetness of her eyes and face had always drawn his attention in a way but now there was a certain kind of sadness to the angle of her eyebrows and the look in her eyes that somehow managed to capture his attention even further. There was confidence in the tilt of her chin, strength in the way her shoulders were never hunched and sharpness in her unbridled laugh but there was also sadness. Seth loved every single part of her.

He would never dare say it out loud to fucking anyone, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself. The truth was he couldn’t even tell when he had fallen in love with this girl.

The thing that scared him the most, though, wasn’t exactly telling her any of it—he was very content living in her shadow, with her as his partner and his brother by his side. Seth didn’t need her to love him in a way other than platonic . What scared him in moments like these was the thought of losing her. Again. If anything happened to her, if she left because she was fed up with them or, God fucking damn it, if she died , he now knew that these moments were the ones that would haunt him, her tiny shorts and the faded green tank top, keeping him company in the corner of his eye.

Kate sighed and Seth shook himself from his depressing thoughts. She had moved back up the steps but hadn’t stepped any closer to him, her arms around herself and goosebumps on her arms.

“You should head inside,” Seth said, his voice so rough he had to clear his throat before continuing. “It’s getting colder, at least grab a jacket, Princess.”

Kate didn’t acknowledge his words, only stared up at him deep in thought, her green eyes catching the last light as the sun disappeared below the horizon. Seth sighed and stepped forward, leaving his beer on the railing so he could close his warmer hands over her biceps. He rubbed her arms and raised an eyebrow at her in expectation.

“You looked so sad,” she whispered and he stopped his motions immediately.

Seth cursed himself for not being more careful, but only sighed in response, squeezing her shoulders once before stepping back and reaching for his beer. She snatched it before he could, taking a long pull from it with her eyebrow raised as if to say, “If you won’t answer me, then I’ll drink it all.”

Seth rolled his eyes and moved past her, shedding his shoes and socks as he went. He was just buzzed enough that he didn’t question the sudden urge to feel the sand beneath his feet. He had changed into more comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, and the hems of his pants were getting dirty from the sand, but he didn’t mind. He just closed his eyes and enjoyed the last bit of sun on his face before Kate spoke again.

“You know, the first time I saw your feet I blushed so hard I had to excuse myself to the bathroom to put some cold water on my cheeks,” she said suddenly.

“ What? ” Seth turned around so fast he thought he might have pulled a muscle. Kate had sat down on the top step, she was hugging her knees to her chest and looking at him like she deeply regretted saying anything, but she didn’t back down, even when he blinked dumbly at her.

“Not like that , you moron!” she said with a frown, though her cheeks were getting pinker by the second. Seth couldn’t help but laugh as she exclaimed, “Shut up!”

“No, I’m sorry, go on about my feet, sweetheart,” Seth said, stepping closer to her so he could take his beer back. He took a sip and handed the rest of it to her, something unwinding in his chest at the sound of her embarrassed giggles. Kate took a long gulp of the cool beer before letting it drop on the step next to her.

“I just mean that it felt… intimate, I guess.” She shrugged one shoulder, somehow managing to look both shy and confident. “Like I was seeing you be vulnerable or something.”

Seth propped one leg on the step beneath her, bracing his elbow on the railing so he could lean down closer to her. There was a soft smile on his face that he couldn’t hide no matter how hard he tried and his only consolation was that Kate’s cheeks were darkening still.

“I get it,” he let her off the hook, snorting a bit. “I had that same “oh shit” moment when I walked in on you only wearing a towel a few days in.”

“Don’t be creepy,” she whispered teasingly and Seth rolled his eyes.

“Not like that ,” he threw her words back at her, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips briefly. “It’s just that I’ve never realized how… ready you were at all times. It’s like you carried yourself like a goddamn soldier on the battlefield, ready for anything thrown your way, you know? Confident and sure of yourself, always. But that day I caught you off-guard and… I guess I just realized how tiny you looked. Made me think of how much I needed to take care of you, to protect you.”

There was a beat where they just stayed quiet, neither of them knowing what to say after their small confessions and Seth letting his eyes look anywhere but at hers while feeling her gaze heavy on him.

“What were you thinking?” Kate asked in a small voice. “Before?”

“Kate,” Seth sighed again, met her eyes for a brief second before bracing himself to push off the railing so he could put some space between them. Kate stopped him with a hand on the loose fabric of his jeans on his shin.

“What were you thinking, Seth?”

Goddamn it, he couldn’t deny her. Not when she was looking up at him with that beautiful, sad face of hers, not when her voice felt so fucking quiet and intimate, especially not with the way he could kind of look down her shirt from where he was standing above her.

Without meaning to, Seth started rambling on like a fucking amateur.

“When you died,” he started and had to take a deep breath after saying that dreaded word, “I was in a really bad place. I kept… I had these visions of you. I mean-” and now he was full-on babbling, “I had a vision of you once, but that was because of the heroin and after that one time I never did it again but…” Seth let out a harsh breath and looked up at the darkening night sky so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “Every time I saw you, you were wearing something from a day during our time in Mexico where things were good. Or at least not as bad as usual. The days where I could get you to smile. And now… Now sometimes I think during these happy days that if you’re gone again, I’ll be seeing you in these clothes.”

Kate didn’t immediately say anything, the only sound between them the waves crashing behind him and the rush of his heart beating in his ears. So Seth kept going, as if he hadn’t made a fool of himself enough.

“I don’t think I can take losing you again.” He muttered it so quietly that it felt like a confession, whispered at the feet of her altar.

Kate stood up slowly, swaying slightly because they were both tipsy by that point, but standing tall and sure, towering slightly above him because of her higher ground. She slowly reached for his hand and pulled him forward until he had to change his position to stand a few steps beneath her. Her hands were cold in his but she wasn’t wearing her gloves and Seth could only feel grateful for the feel of her skin. She held his hand between two of hers like he was the one who needed warming up, but Seth didn’t mind. He squeezed her back.

“We’re both going to die, Seth.” She said it so bluntly Seth’s eyes snapped back to hers but she didn’t stop long enough for him to say anything. “If we have it our way at least, we’re both going to die and that’s the only certainty we have. The only certainty anyone has ever had, Seth. This is the way things have always been.”

“I know, but,” Seth tried to interrupt but Kate wouldn’t have it.

“You don’t need to protect me, okay? We’re partners , that means we have each other’s backs. I have your back and you have mine.” She squeezed his hand tightly and there was something in her eyes that made Seth almost forget to breathe. Kate gave him a tiny smile, one that held so many things Seth didn’t know what to make of it, only that it made his heart speed up and, combined with the lack of breathing, left him feeling a little dizzy. “We can’t change the end but we can make sure these happy days are as happy as they can be, right?”

Seth was nodding before his brain caught up with him. Fuck, he loved her so much. He would agree with anything she said as long as she kept looking at him like that, kept holding on to his hand like she was.

“Yeah, honey, alright,” he managed to say, his voice kind of hoarse. He felt his ears warm when she giggled a bit, like he was a goddamn kid again with his very first crush. He didn’t even know it was still possible to feel those fucking butterflies.

“Good,” Kate said, her voice final as she smiled slightly at him. “Because I’m going to kiss you now.”

“What?” Seth’s whole world stopped. It felt like she had pulled out the steps from beneath his feet and taken his breath and any cognitive function along with her. Kate only nodded, her cheeks darkening again, her eyes never wavering from his.

“Yep,” she said. “It’s okay if you don’t want it to mean anything, you know? I mean, I do, but it doesn’t matter because a kiss is never a bad thing, right? I guess there are some situations where it could be but not like this, okay? I’m just making this happy day happier and I really do want to kiss you, have wanted for quite a while to be completely honest, and if you want to forget about—”

Seth could see how she was going from confident to uncertain and embarrassed the longer he stood there with his dumb mouth hanging open like a goddamn fish and his eyebrows trying to see if they could merge with his hairline. He snapped out of it suddenly, and without even realizing what was going on, he was reaching forward to kiss her.

Seth didn’t kiss Kate like he wanted to, taking his time, being gentle and careful. He kissed her like he knew she wanted to be kissed, like he wasn’t afraid to break her, like he knew she was the strongest fucking person on this earth. And she was.

He buried his hands in her hair on the back of her skull, his thumbs tilting her jaw down so he could kiss her better with her standing above him. Seth didn’t know who exactly deepened the kiss, maybe it had been him, but it didn’t fucking matter because now he knew how Kate Fuller tasted and he could die right there and die the happiest man on fucking earth. He slid his hands down until they found their way to her back pockets so he could pull her closer to him, their chests touching as he went up one step.

Kate’s arms were around his neck then, holding him close, as if he would ever willingly part from her ever fucking again. Richie would just have to deal with the fact that their next jobs would have to be handled with Kate hanging off his neck like that. She pulled away slightly, taking a few gasping breaths but he pulled her closer without even opening his eyes, kissing her once more and then another one after just because he could because she really wanted to kiss him. Had for a while now.

When Seth finally managed to break the kiss again before either of them passed out, he was standing on the same step as her, her tiny feet on top of his as he held most of her weight up so he could keep kissing her.

“Oh,” Kate gasped slightly, her eyes shining bright even as her pupils were dilated.

Yeah, Seth agreed with that sentiment. He huffed a laugh which she echoed, then breathed her in before diving back in to taste her smile. Truth was, it didn’t really matter how it would all end. He had already gotten the happily ever after he wanted, this was fucking El Rey.

His brother safe and happy, Kate’s arms around him and the sound of the crashing waves welcoming the dusk and waking them up at dawn.

#sethkate #my works #my work #from dusk till dawn: the series #FDTD #seth gecko #kate fuller #seth gecko character study #kinda #writing #fanfiction

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plush-rabbit · 4 years ago

Text

Bleeding Knees

Warnings: Religion (Christianity)

Word Count: 2.3K

Fandom: Obey Me

It's a restless night where no matter what you do, you can't sleep. You toss and turn and try to shut your eyes for the tiniest bit of sleep but it leads you nowhere, just limbs lost in blankets and a mind that wanders and lingers too much on unpleasant thoughts.

With a huff, you throw the blankets off, and slip into your slippers, the floor is steady underneath and doesn't alert your sleeping roommates. The door opens without a squeak and clicks softly when you close it. You walk around aimlessly, your fingertips tracing along the walls, your ears falling flat as you ignore the whisperings of paintings.

You lose yourself within this palace, the walls blend in together, paintings full of color and life make you hesitant to to watch and admire, knowing that they would scrutinize you and huff and puff.

The closer you get to the end of the hallway, the chiller it becomes. There's a gentle breeze that makes you shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself, your hands rubbing down the sides of your arms for comfort and warmth.

You crane your head over the corner, spotting a balcony door open wide, curtains fluttering and creating ghastly shadows. There's a bubble of anxiety that starts to rise but your body has a mind if it's own, walking towards the open door and stepping onto the balcony.

You breathe in the fresh air, the cold air nips at your lungs, not ready for the change of temperature. Your brush your fingers against the mental railing, the obsidian railing shines, the intricate details are etched upon the metal.

The moon shines brilliantly above you. It's full, large carters visible with a light, warm yellow glow. Stars are visible, hidden for moments behind passing clouds, but shining just as bright when you look at them again.

"It's usually a clear night here. Sorry that you stayed up late for nothing," a gentle voice fills in the night chuckles.

You jump and turn your head. "Ah! Lord Diavolo! I-I'm so sorry," you quiet to a voice in a hush, your cheeks burn red. "I didn't mean to be awake at this hour, I just couldn't sleep." You try to keep his gaze but fall at the tip of his nose, clasping your hands behind your back you look at the open door. "I'll just be on my way," you mutter.

"Oh no. Don't go. You're free to look around." He stands next to you, his arms resting at his sides, bright golden eyes watching you. "I just wish you had asked. I wouldn't want you to get lost." He pauses, his lips form a smile and there's a twinkle in his eyes. "Again."

You let out a nervous laugh. "Right." You pause and force your jaw to unclench. "I just- It was late and I didn't want to disturb anyone."

He hums next you and shifts his gaze to the garden. "May I ask you something personal?"

You stare at him, an eyebrow quirked before you return your gaze to the front of you. "Of course."

He's silent for a while that you begin to wonder if he really didn’t have a question and just wanted to make conversation. In the short time that you’ve known him, you wouldn’t put it past him but then his voice fills the night. "Do you ever think about death?"

Your hands still above the railing. "All the time," you whisper, your fingers scratching the metal railing.

"Would you accept death?" His voice lowers to match yours, his posture straightens and eyes grow heavy.

"With open arms," you answer honestly. Your eyes glance to the side, and meet his for a second. "I feel as if you're threatening me, Lord Diavolo," you say, your tone both teasing tinged by a hint of fear on your words.

He chuckles. It's a nice sound, deep and rich. "I would never threaten you."

You nod, the smile that had been beginning to form falls and you're both left staring at the scenery in front of you. Your eyes make out the outline of a hedge, following the gentle curves of the art.

The silence that fills the air is light. The lanterns outside cast a soft orange glow, flickers of shadows dancing across the both of you, your shadows bleeding out into the night.

"Do you fear death?" You ask, breaking the silence.

There's a twitch of his eyebrows, his expression unreadable before it relaxes, a coy smile plays on his lips.

"No. I'll live longer than you can ever comprehend." Exhaustion laced his voice and for a second he appears older and much more tired. It’s a sight that makes your stomach churn. "Long lifespans make for great kings." He winks at you, a cheeky grin returning to his face.

"I'm sure you'll make a great king, Lord Diavolo." You stand up straight and let out a breath. The trees rustle in the night, branches looming over head.

"Why don't you fear death?" His voice cuts through the night, rushed and shaky.

You let out a thoughtful hum. Your posture slinking back down to rest against the railing as you try to find the right words. You open and close your mouth. Tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth and peeking out to wet your lips.

"I suppose," you start out, "humans- some humans have religion to turn to and I suppose that makes it easier to handle death."

"Do you turn to religion in your time of need?"

Your eyes narrow and gaze hardens. "No."

"Why is that?" He pries further, gentle prodding of the sleeping bear.

You stare at the sky, it's endless and vacant, ends at the horizon and full of stars and colors.

"Religion," you pause, the word heavy on our tongue, "is something that you're supposed to dedicate yourself to." Your stomach churns as you speak to the Lord. "You're supposed to bleed for God. To kneel and wail praises to the Lord- to God. You should scream and pray until your throat is hoarse and bleeding." You want to claw your throat. "There is no benevolent God. No God that you can pray to when you're sobbing in the middle of the night and trying to grasp for air. No, that God is hungry- aching to hear your prayers and sins- to whisper them in the night in hope for forgiveness. You're supposed to be willing to die, to rip out your heart, to claw your throat and offer God everything you own." Your throat is burning and it's getting harder to talk. "You have to beg on the floor like a dog, to kneel and give thanks for everything that you own. That that God," you spit out the word, "is holy and above, can do no wrong. That everything you have and are is because of them." You bark out a laughter. It's sharp and humorless. "Don't get me wrong. The minute you're different- the minute that you deviate from who you're supposed to be, that you cast aside God's little vessel, you're thrown away and told that you are nothing more. You're beaten until you're black and blue, until you're crawling and spitting blood, promising to everyone above, that you won't do it again because if you do, your spirit is going to hell. You'll be tortured and murdered above ground before you ever reach hell." Your teeth are bared and you're speaking through clenched teeth. Eyes sting with unshed tears. "You eat his body and drink his blood but that isn't enough to protect you. His body is bread and you have to rip it apart- dig your teeth in and bite. His blood is wine and it's bitter and burns your throat and you have to drink it all as it stains your insides." You look back at the Lord, golden eyes that shine too bright make you look. "We're told that demons are evil. Manipulative. That you'll do your best to whisper lies into us and pervert us." Your jaw clenches and fists tighten. "If we suffer, it's all because our faith wasn't enough." You don't have the courage to look him in the eyes so you stare at his medal, the light catches on it and it glimmers. "We're made to pay the church, we're forced to give money to a place while we're told God did everything for free. That he washed the feet of prostitutes when no one else would but the believers, his followers, will turn their nose up at the thought of getting near someone like that. They'll scowl and spit and yell, insults hurled and whispered all while they go back to church and sing and hold hands and talk about doing good." You take in a deep breath, the tips of your ears burn and your nails dig into your biceps. "We're supposed to suffer for God. To praise and pray and sob and bleed," your voice cracks and a warm brown hand twitches, fingers inching towards you. "We are dogs. Loyal and willing to die. Below our Master. On our knees until we bleed." Your whole body grows heavy, arms dangling over the railing. "We don't get to be who we want to be. We have to hide ourselves and pray for this wickedness to go away." You let out a breath that you hadn't realized that you've been holding in. "That's religion in the human world."

Tears burn in your eyes, a lump in your throat makes it hard to bread and bright red lines paint your arms. You turn around and lean on the railing, arms crossed in front of you as you try to regain your breathing.

"Not a very good relationship with religion I see." His voice whispers, holding no sarcasm or attempt at a joke- just pure, genuine curiosity.

You chuckle, it isn't totally devoid of humor. "Yeah." You nod your head. "Yeah, I guess you could say it's not a good relationship."

It's silent for a while after. Gentle breeze makes the hair on your arms stand and you think about asking where the breeze comes from but you hold your tongue.

It's comfortable. Two beings enjoying each other's company while one listens to the other and their relationship to the outside.There is a silent understanding- to no poke or prod.

Your words hang in the air, heavy yet light. Burning yet cold. You've gotten your grievance out and while in no way you are healed, the wounds open and bleeding, you feel lighter. Your shoulders don't carry a burden, your stomach has lost the everlasting knot, your head feels clear and your heart aches and wants to wail until you can't speak but you feel as if it's easier to beat.

"Not all religion is like that," you whisper. "In some you aren't condemned to a life of torture." You stand a bit taller and wipe your eyes.

"But you still believe in a God?" He asks, attention fully on you. You nod. "What God do you believe in then?" He turns to face you, a gentle smile and reassuring eyes urge you to explain.

"I believe in one that is just," you answer honestly. "One that doesn’t condemn every one who disobeys to a life of torture, one who loves and welcomes everyone." You look back at Lord Diavolo and grin. "It's silly to a demon, but to a human whose life goes by so quick but lasts so long, it's a nice comfort to have."

"Humans are very strange." He runs a hand through his hair, deshelving it in the process.

"Is that why you want relationships to strengthen between the three Realms?"

He nods. "It would be nice to interact freely." He smiles at you. "Even if not everyone is as passionate as you." He gives you a chuckle.

"Heh. Are you teasing me Lord Diavolo?"

He waves his hand and shakes his head. "Please, I appreciate the title but you're free to call me Diavolo. You aren't my subject." He grabs your hand gingerly in his. "You are my guest." He bows, lowering his gaze and meets your eyes, staring intently into them.

You can only hold his gaze for a second before you turn away, thankful that the orange glow casted by the lanterns on the walls will blend in with the pink that has begun to settle on your face. You shuffle and force out a yawn. "I'm pretty tired. I think I'll be heading to bed now." You pull your hand away from his and glass your hands together intertwining them and watching him rise back to full height.

The way his eyebrows quirk makes you sure that he doesn't believe your statement.

"Allow me to walk you back." He offers his hand towards you, his cape draping and falling off his shoulder.

You give him a gentle smile and place your hand in his.

The walk back to your room is silent, steps echoing in the empty corridors, paintings that come to life watch and try to peer out of the frame as you both pass by hand in hand. He squeezes your hand every so slightly, fingers rubbing along your knuckles. You smile softly whenever he does this, feeling a sense of bond grow between you.

You arrive at your room, the door still closed and silent inside. You both stand there, hands still collapsed tightly against one anothers. He clears his throat and you turn to face him. His eyes look deep into yours, full of an emotion that you can't place.

There's a moment that lasts for too long, with breaths being held and your palms starting to get clammy, where you can feel butterflies make a home in your stomach.

"Good night Diavolo." You smile at him and the name on your tongue makes your heart skip a beat.

He presses his lips against the crown of your head and bids you good night, his hand slipping out of yours with ease, his fingers dragging and committing the feel of your hand to memory.

Once he hears the door click behind him, he brings two fingers to his lips delicately and smiles softly.

#obey me diavolo #obey me lord diavolo #diavolo x reader #obey me imagines #obey me diavolo x reader #diavolo x mc #lord diavolo x mc #obey me #tw religion #tw christianity #im having thoughts #lowkey diavolo and mc #okay bye

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normal-thoughts-official · 4 years ago

Note

We need more MIND CONTROL ANGST in this fandom give me Alec hurts Magnus and for a split second Magnus is just shocked with this feeling of "alec... hit me?" And even tho he very quickly realizes something is wrong it just feels so wrong and painful and later when Alec is unwhammied hes so guilty he doesn't want to even touch Magnus but that's what Magnus needs most rn, touch and affection and reassurance and comfort, cue misunderstandings and more angst before the ultimate happy ending :)

again, ur mind........ the talent in this.... *girl in porn voice* it's so big

also this is tagged but just to make sure, trigger warning for mind control, abuse/child abuse mentions, self harm

ok maybe it starts like... they are together and alec has a headache or something as the control kicks in or something and he falls to the ground and magnus runs after him like what happened? and alec's like "something's wrong, magnus, stay away" but magnus is too worried so he doesnt listen and he touches alec and alec hits him

and for a second he thinks it's because he went too far and touched alec without consent and his mind is flashing with asmodeus and his words when he hit him, and memories and for a second he barely knows where he is and what is happening and who is who. and because this is happening slowly alec screams "something is controlling me!" because he knows soon he'll be like possessed completely and he wants to apologize but he knows it's more important to let magnus know what's happening first. and sure enough soon a Demonic Voice overtakes him and his alec is obviously gone

and it's quickly resolved because magnus is 1- smart, and 2- powerful, and clearly the spell whomstever was using on alec was not super strong lmao. maybe someone who was trying to get to magnus for some reason? so like, extra spice because magnus feels guilty - he knows all too well what it's like to be forced to do things you don't want to do, to see yourself as a monster, to have nightmares about being forced to hurt the people you love-

and alec of course is drowning drowning drowning in guilt as well because he hurt magnus, it's the one thing he remembers before losing control, he hurt magnus when he was supposed to protect him, and he knows magnus has history with abuse, and he could clearly see the way that magnus lost himself in a flashback for a second, he triggered him and he became the people he had always sworn he'd never be, that he'd help him forget, and he hurt magnus he hurt magnus he hurt magnus he hurt magnus

and he feels so stupid because he hadn't even realized something was wrong before it was too fucking late, and he had enough control to scream at him, but not to hold himself back? what kind of bullshit is that? he feels like a failure and he blames himself and he wants to scratch his own skin off, make himself bleed because he failed the one person he loved the most, again, and he doesn't deserve magnus if he can't help him

so basically like as soon as magnus manages to undo the spell and they are done Finding The Culprit and Resolving The Plot alec is just like. completely retracted in himself. already scratching his hands in a similar way to what he did when magnus was in the hospital, fists tight and hurting, and usually magnus would notice that, but all he sees is the rage burning within alec, that terrifying anger that he shows sometimes and after alec hurt him... it's scary

and because the person who did this was trying to get to him, he feels like that's his fault, too. he dragged alec into this mess and he was too much again, and he's nothing but a burden to the people he loves and he knows how alec feels like he needs to be in control of things, how if he doesn't he loses his footing, and losing control of his body is the most terrifying experience - magnus would know - and he brought this on alec and didn't even notice when he's the warlock, he should be able to have noticed the spell, he could have stopped this whole thing from happening but he didn't and things could have been so much worse, all because he wasn't paying attention as always, and god, he hurt someone he loved, didn't he? again. he's like an omen, bringing pain and death and hurt to everyone around him, he's cursed-

and alec pretty much leaves immediately with some bullshit excuse about needing something, and magnus tries to call for him, but alec is gone in an instant and ignores magnus. and magnus is just unleashing the spiral he had been keeping at bay and contained while he was figuring out the solution for this, and he just had a horrible flashback moment and the voice of his father is running free around his head, telling him everything about how he's not good enough, not powerful enough, how he'll never have anyone because he's a demon and this is what he was made to, to hurt, and he might try to pretend otherwise but in the end it will always come back to this; so he's in a bad mental state to not realize what he otherwise would immediately - alec is blaming himself, of course he is - and just sees that he's angry and leaves. and then he's alone with his thoughts screaming at him that he keeps bringing pain to the people he loves, that he's useless, evil even, that his father was right, that camille was right

and maybe he knows deep down that alec wouldn't blame him for this but he still can't help but think that eventually alec would grow tired of him and why not now? what does magnus even have to offer him, except for baggage and pain?

and he can't help but think, what if it happens again? what if that was just the first time and soon enough alec will become camille just like he always feared his next lover would? and then he feels guilty for even thinking that, because of course alec wouldn't, and this wasn't his fault, and magnus should be able to get over it instead of spiralling like that and acting like alec had done something wrong when he knows alec got the worst position in that situation

and alec is just shooting arrows all night, letting his hands bleed and hurt and also doing his best to train, because he needs to do better, he needs to be stronger and he can't keep letting this happen because last time it was irreversible. and he's thankful this time wasn't like that but this is unacceptable and god, he hurt magnus

he probably only comes back home the next day and magnus doesn't sleep at all that night because fuck, he fucked up. he didn't notice and he let this happen to alec and then he was a baby about it and mentally compared him to camille and basically blamed alec for all of that and alec didn't even come back home. maybe this time he's done forever, maybe alec's tired of him, maybe this will be the one thing they never manage to overcome, because alec will blame himself and magnus can't pull his shit back together to support him, and god alec will blame himself and god last time this happened magnus had to take him off the ledge, and alec promised he would tell him if things ever got that bad but how could alec even trust him right now, what if he's gone, magnus didn't even check up on him, he was too busy worrying about himself like some fucking asshole

and like he knows alec is alive because he can sense him with magic even if faintly but he still has that moment of panic and maybe alec isn't ok and he doesn't know but what right does magnus have to track him down right now? what good could he even do? it would be overbearing and unfair to go after him, alec obviously doesn't want his company right now

so when alec finally comes home the next day magnus is like "alexander" relieved and worried at the same time and he kind of runs to him but alec stays still so he pauses when he stops, hand even hovering mid-air, clearly hesitant and afraid to touch him and alec thinks, he's scared of me, look at what you did, he can't even trust you enough to touch you. and because alec doesn't touch him either and just seems closed off, magnus thinks, you can't fix this. it's all your fault and he'll never open up to you again. you're done

and then more guilt because he thinks, alec is not camille, he's not withholding touching me as punishment, why can't i stop acting like this is his fault? what's wrong with me? just talk. but he can't because he's terrified and there's so much going on in his head and then he feels worse because he can't just do the right thing and communicate, again, when clearly he should be the one to bring this up and make sure alec knows it wasn't his fault, and apologize for not being there for him

and maybe alec has that moment of "maybe i should just... go" and then magnus tries to stop him like "no, don't, please" because he's scared if this goes on for longer he'll just spiral harder and then he'll lose alec for good. and in the process he touches alec and alec recoils like he's been burned and magnus freezes completely and the sudden movement makes his eyes widen for a second and there's this almost imperceptible flinch and then again the guilt because 1- he touched alec without consent and warranted this reaction; 2- alec doesn't even want to touch him and he could have prevented this; 3- he's acting like alec would just become his abusers again. why the hell did he flinch?

and alec goes "i'm sorry", and magnus almost interrupts in his haste to be like "no, no, no, don't be sorry" almost begging him and that's when it hits alec that magnus has probably been spiralling this whole time too. and he wasn't there for him when magnus obviously needed comfort after such a traumatic experience. fuck he's fucking this up even more

so magnus can see the spiral in alec's eyes and he's like "no, come on, sit down, it's alright" and offers him like tea or something and his hands are shaking a bit because he wants to fix this and they both do really. cue awkward "im sorry" "no im sorry" "no im sorry" "no im-"

anyway they both talk about what they had been thinking and the guilt and the spirals and (in magnus' case) the whole thing about being triggered and not knowing how to deal with that and they clear the air and reassure each other because they are healthy and communicate and we stan that. sometimes just talking about the pain and reassuring each other is enough, you know?

and like alec holds magnus' face tenderly where he had hit him and very slowly leans down to give it a kiss and strokes it a bit and magnus takes alec's hand/fist and gives it a kiss too and slowly heals his knuckles and alec smiles up at him in the way he does and magnus' eyes shine too when he asks "better?" all hopeful like it really matters to him you know

and just alec peppering kisses on magnus' face and magnus kind of nuzzling against his hand and they both get that comfort of touching and knowing that they're still welcomed for each other and they have a Really Long Hug. complete with alec's face buried in magnus' shoulders and magnus clutching him a bit and it's almost smothering for them both but it's what they both need you know. and they whisper to each other "it's ok" and "i love you" and all that nice stuff 👌

anyway this is REALLY LONG so im ending it now im just obsessed with the mental image of alec kissing magnus' face and magnus' kissing his hand bye. also i love this ask ugh we stan mind control angst

#sh #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #long post #self harm tw #abuse tw #child abuse tw #mind control tw #angst #mind control angst #ask #anonymous

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commander-diomika · 3 years ago

Text

(Click to Read From the Beginning) Part 5 - Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde, literal background Barnes/Carter Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~2500 Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Opposites Attract, Masturbation, Accidental Voyeurism, Pining, oh there's yearning in this one lads,

Summary: With the quarantine cell still under construction, it's not quite as soundproof as it ought to be.

It was remarkably easy to keep busy in the business of saving the world. Wilde made it his mission to get to know every face in town, and in turn have them know him, and like him. He made friends easily, the locals charmed by this tall man with his fluent Japanese and endless supply of entertaining stories. For the sake of the job - not just his own lingering fear - he was meeting every person on the island and building a solid network of people who would let him know the moment a new face appeared. The wider his web, the less he found himself reaching for the scar on his face.

Zolf won people over not by charming them, but by helping them. The gruff dwarf at the inn became known as someone the locals could go to when someone fell and broke something, or to use magic to help Stone Shape the stumps of houses that were slipping into sodden earth.

He also worked on supply lines. Trade was still relatively lively, but he and Wilde were in the market for more esoteric items than bread and booze. They needed adamantine for the cell, they needed anti magic equipment, and it was certain Barnes and Carter were going to return having depleted the stock of healing potions they’d taken. Strangely enough there wasn't a steady supply of any of those items on the island.

As much as Zolf wouldn’t admit it, Wilde smoothed the way when it came to trading. He charmed the locals and when Zolf appeared with increasingly obscure demands, he was seen as a friend by association. Zolf knew he wouldn’t have achieved that so quickly.

They both oversaw changes to the inn. Many rooms were separated with nothing but thin paper walls on slides, making the whole space quite modular. Wilde sequestered one of the few solid, seemingly defensible rooms on the ground floor and turned it into an office-cum-sitting room. Before their gentle takeover it had probably been a private dining room for special, or at least rich, guests. Zolf took the time to install a proper bed frame in his room, since his legs made climbing down to the floor-level futon bedding difficult.

On another continent, sentient creatures went wrong, turned on their loved ones, fought, died. Cities were turned and abandoned, and storms ravaged places that had never seen more than a light drizzle. But even knowing that elsewhere things were coming apart at the seams, there was a touch of peace in their little corner of it. For a few weeks they slipped into a routine.

Zolf rose in the mornings before Wilde, wordlessly depositing a coffee in front of the bleary man when he appeared. In the evenings that Wilde wasn’t out liaising they took to Wilde’s sitting room and read, or drank, or talked. Frequently about the mission of course, but there was only so much hashing and rehashing they could do. When things got too heavy, or nothing had changed, topics wandered. Zolf’s stories from the navy. How Wilde became a journalist. Small things. Easy things when they both just needed to put it down for a while.

Wilde would never do something so gauche as ask for forgiveness, or understanding, but some days when he reported another success, it sounded like I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.

Some days when Zolf poured coffee into Wilde’s mug it looked like you don’t have to apologise.

And on the rare mornings when some watery sunshine peeked through the clouds, as Zolf practiced in the yard with his glaive, Wilde followed to idly spectate over the paper and his breakfast, and the action felt like I don’t know why but it’s easier to be around you than not.

Barnes and Carter returned in good enough spirits and got started on their isolation in the mostly-complete cell. As soon as they returned, Zolf felt himself get itchy for action and movement again. He couldn’t even scratch the itch by properly debriefing the returnees yet; the newest information from Curie posited a hive-mind connection between those infected by the blue veins. Still, this was just the way it had to be. Zolf tried to soothe his agitation. Things were just going to move slow for now. He only had to look at Wilde’s scar to help quiet any feelings of angst. A little bit of frustration was something he could cope with if it meant what befell Wilde never, ever happened again.

Four nights after Barnes and Carter returned, Zolf sat in front of the fire attempting to read the Dwarvish tome Wilde had picked up in Damascus. It wasn’t exactly riveting stuff, and his Dwarvish was rusty, but he promised he’d at least make a dent in it. Wilde came in fresh from the bath, his hair wet and wearing the yukata he’d been gifted by one of the locals. As he passed the back of Zolf’s chair, Wilde placed a hand on one of Zolf’s shoulders and leant over to inspect the page.

This close, Zolf could smell him. There was a soft, flowery note that Zolf couldn’t identify, probably whatever he washed his hair with. And then there was the warm, familiar smell of the man himself. Zolf kept his eyes on the page in front of him.

Pointing with his other hand, Wilde spoke. “This character here- the translation guide I was using didn’t even have it. Brought the whole lot to a screeching halt. How are you getting on with it?”

Zolf, nose full of Wilde’s scent and nearness, opened his mouth to reply. “I – er, it’s fine. It’s an older script but I can read it- don’ quite understand what they’re gettin’ at, but, er.” He looked over to Wilde’s face again, profile lined in firelight. His face was so close that Zolf could lean and place a kiss on the man’s unscarred cheek, if he chose.

Wilde glanced up from the book. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before Wilde straightened, letting go of Zolf’s shoulder with a small squeeze.

“Wonderful. Let me know if anything useful comes up, will you?”

Zolf simply grunted in reply, still feeling off-kilter. This wasn’t the first time Wilde had touched him like that. As Wilde started to settle into life at the inn, started to feel a little safer, some of that old comfort was returning. Zolf didn’t mind the touching. He got the feeling Wilde was lonely. He was probably used to a lot more physical contact than he was getting now. For all he had been ingratiating himself with the locals, it was clear as day Wilde couldn’t trust them. If Zolf was the only person Wilde could reach out to…

Zolf shook his head a little and tried to focus back on the text. Wilde collected his own evening reading material, some piece of Japanese fiction, and settled in the other chair. The silence, but for the ever-present sound of rain, was comfortable enough. Their new lot in life involved a lot of waiting, and they were both doing their best to try and make peace with that.

Time passed and Zolf, already struggling to focus on the dull history book, realised he’d read the same sentence three times over. Some essential part of his mind had shifted, noting a change in the soundscape. Previously, there had been nothing but the rain and slight crackle of fire, but now there was a new element in the mix.

Zolf stared blankly at the page, listening hard. It was… conversation? Perhaps, but the innkeeper and his wife had rooms all the way on the other side of the building, and Zolf couldn’t usually hear them. It was… the wind? No, for all it was raining, it was the usual dreary patter, no strong winds to explain the slow rhythm or hint of a moan in those sounds.

Zolf’s heart beat slowly. One, two, three… and suddenly he knew what he was hearing.

Zolf looked up from his book to see if Wilde had noticed. Obviously, whatever he was reading was much more riveting than Zolf’s dry historical facts, because he was still engrossed in his book. Despite his close attention to the pages, Wilde could sense Zolf’s regard. Without Zolf even clearing his throat, he looked up.

“What?” he asked mildly to Zolf’s raised eyebrows.

“You hear tha’?” Either it had gotten louder, or Zolf’s ears had adjusted to picking out rhythmic moans and whimpers.

Wilde slipped a finger in his book to mark his place, cocking his head. With his attention drawn, he contextualised the new sound quickly (much faster than Zolf) and his eyebrows started climbing. When the brows couldn’t get any higher, he straightened in his seat and placed a hand delicately on his chest in feigned shock. “Well, we didsay that Barnes would look out for him, but that’s not quite what I had in mind.”

Zolf tried not to roll his eyes.

“And we knew that Howard would struggle with the isolation period,” Wilde continued, voice artificially prim. “I’m glad they’ve found a way to pass the time.”

Zolf’s efforts to not roll his eyes failed, then he glanced around, puzzled. “How is the sound even…?”

Wilde’s eyes were bright; his expression screaming this was the most fun he’d had in weeks. “The trapdoor. The one in the Teal Sitting Room. It’s still under construction, so…”

“So, sound is travellin’ through it.” Zolf finished the thought, voice level despite the blush he could feel rising in his cheeks.

Barnes and Carter were slowly increasing in volume. Zolf could finally make out the timbre of Carter’s voice specifically, though he’d never heard him make those noises before.

“I didn’t know that Barnes had it in him,” Wilde murmured. “Or, had it in Carter, specifically.” With that puerile comment, Wilde moved. He folded the corner of a page to mark his place and stood, checking the ties on his yukata as he did.

“Where are you going?” Zolf hissed.

Wilde smiled wickedly. “Why, to the Teal Room, of course.”

“Wilde!” Zolf said, flushing angrily. He was trying to formulate a scolding regarding privacy and eavesdropping, but the scoundrel had already stridden off. Zolf’s thighs tensed and relaxed as he went to stand then aborted the movement, debating with himself. Carter voiced a particularly sharp cry and Zolf decided that anything was better than sitting here by himself.

I’m just gonna stop Wilde from doin’ anything inappropriate, he told himself as he stood and followed.

Inside the room, Wilde leant against the doorframe, body languid as if he attended a mere dinner party. There was a tarp covering a half-constructed hole in the centre of the room. When Zolf came to hover beside him in the doorway, any lingering mystery about what was happening downstairs was dispelled.

“Fuck, James, please,”Carter sounded utterly desperate. This close, Zolf could even hear the slow rasp of movement, skin-on-skin. Barnes’ voice was harder to make out, as he responded with something quiet and urgent. There was a breath, then the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and Carter making a choked noise that pulsed straight from Zolf’s ear to his crotch.

Wilde was delighted. He looked sidelong at Zolf and mouthed the word “James?” wrapping his lips around it in impish joy, as though first names were the controversial thing about this situation.

There was a grunt from downstairs that was undoubtedly Barnes

Wilde spoke sotto voce, keeping his voice under the sound of the rain. “I knew he’d be the strong and silent type.”

Zolf didn’t reply. He didn’t know where to even start. He would hate to be overheard like this, but there was something thrilling about it. Fuck, Wilde’s a bad influence on me. He knew he should leave, just walk away, but…

The pace downstairs changed. What had previously sounded like a languorous tease picked up energy. Carter literally wailed as the thump of a cot knocking against a wall started up, one, twice, three times, continuing, not rushed but steady. Carter’s whine cut off in a muffled ermf and Zolf could see in his mind’s eye, agonisingly clear, the way that Barnes had just put his hand over Carter’s mouth.

Zolf’s eyes had been locked, unseeing, on the rough tarp, but at Carter’s stifled moan, he looked up at Wilde. He was gazing back, and Zolf was shocked to see something hungry in those eyes. Mere moments ago, the energy from Wilde had been lewd and juvenile. Something had shifted.

Wilde’s scent was still in Zolf’s nose and suddenly the image in his mind changed.

His hand, hooked behind one of Wilde’s knees, pushing it up toward his chest… fucking him open fluidly, pace keeping time with the rhythmic thudding from below. Wilde’s face flushed cheek to cheek, eyes half lidded, awash with the pleasure of it.

Zolf shut his eyes, hard, hot with shame. When he opened them, Wilde was still staring him down, a touch of that imagined flush now true in his cheeks. There was something knowing in his expression as well, as though he could see straight into Zolf’s mind and the images that lay within.

They had been so in tune with each other lately, after all.

Wilde’s mouth worked as if he was seeking words, but he was interrupted. “Heavens above, James, faster please, I’m going to-”

Wilde sucked his breath in hard as Carter came. The words died on his lips and he half-shoved past Zolf to leave the room, taking long strides and disappearing down the corridor.

Zolf stumbled. If the two men downstairs were in any state to be paying attention to their surroundings, they would have heard Zolf’s clumsy footsteps, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He went to follow, but by the time he’d caught up to Wilde, the bedroom door was shut.

There was no lock. It was only a barrier in that it was one that Wilde chose to put up. Zolf wasn’t about to go barging in where he wasn’t wanted. He lifted a hand to knock. Paused. What exactly was he here to say? To tell Wilde off? To apologise? To say, Look at me like that again, I’ll be ready this time? He lowered his hand.

Later that night in bed, for the first time in months, Zolf found himself firming a spit-slick hand around his cock, breath unsteady. He kept his mind cautiously blank. Every time he was tempted to dwell on the sound of Carter’s whimper, or Barnes’ low rasp, or that ravenouslook in Wilde’s eyes, he drew himself back to sensation alone, pleasure coiling in his gut. He certainly wasn’t thinking of Wilde’s hand on his shoulder, the relaxed set of his body as he listened to Barnes and Carter fuck downstairs, the salacious delight in his eyes.

Zolf pumped his fist faster, definitely not thinking of the thud of the cot against the cell wall downstairs as his hips rolled and breath hitched. Hanging on to awareness by a thread, he remembered the thin walls, and bit his lip to stifle his groan as he came.

His eyes closed, he listened to his hammering heart, breathing slowly. It had been a very strange night. From the buzzing post-orgasm haze, a thought emerged, unbidden.

Lavender. Lavender was what Wilde’s soap had smelled of.

#hank writes #rusty quill gaming #rqg #zoscar #zolfwilde #zolf smith #rqg oscar wilde #rqg fan fic #i don't even know if these are appearing in tags but old habits

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thirstystarkey · 5 years ago

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HATE CAN SOUND LIKE LOVE • JJ MAYBANK

Summary: JJ and Y/N have always fought, since everyone can remember. They both have short tempers and a endless love for surf and chaos. But what happens when they have to pretend to be a couple? Well.. people always said that hate can sound like love sometimes.

Warnings: Mention of underage drinking, drugs, minor violence, some smutty scenarios and a ton of sexual induendos, JJ being a hot idiot and Y/N a wild girl brat

CHAPTER 21

As the boat JJ borrowed to surprise Y/N pierce through the waves, the sun started to go sun painting the sky in beautiful shades of pink and orange. Y/N loved watching the sunset and JJ made sure to get them as far as possible to enjoy a nice evening.

“This is so beautiful.” Y/N said mesmerized as JJ sat beside her. He anchored the boat before hand.

The hot weather of summer blessed them with a pleasant warm day, Y/N wore a flowy yellow sundress and JJ had his usual attire that consisted of a random tshirt and his shorts along with his black boots. Fingers adorn with rings and his bandana tied up on his wrist. He looked more beautiful than normal to Y/N.

“The sky ain’t got none on you.” JJ said teasingly brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Oh god, stop Maybank.” Y/N laughed hiding her face as her cheeks turned bright red.

“I made the famous Y/N blush once more.” JJ said loudly like he was talking for others to ear but there was no one around, beside some animals. “I’m the king of the world.” He imitated Jack Dawson breaking into a raspy laugh.

“You are an idiot JJ Maybank.” Y/N looked at him through her arm, with a smile mocking him.

“You still like me, admit it.” JJ arched one brow in a suggestive manner.

“I mean... On good days, you can be tolerable.” She mocked the blond boy pushing his shoulder.

“And on the bad days?” He teased her getting closer to her, his breath hitting her skin.

“I either want to kill you.” She whispered straightening her back. “Or I want to fucking throw you of the boat.” Y/N mocked JJ realizing I was expecting a different answer.

“Am in danger right now?” The blond boy asked.

“Why are you afraid of getting wet?” Y/N sassed.

“Totally not, are you baby?” JJ pulled her into him, whispering in her ear.

“Never.” She answered under her breath due to the sudden movement.

“Good.” JJ smiles against her neck.

It all happened too fast for Y/N to process but when she took notice she was grinding her hips against JJ’s, in his lap while his hands tightly held her against him by her thighs. His rough digits against her soft flesh made her head spin with euphoria, being this close to him and feeling his whole body pressed against her created a itch only JJ could scratch.

But once his hands moved through the inside of her dress until they reached her waist Y/N froze in place, she knew what she was about to do and deep inside her even though she wanted it, it also scared her. Y/N pulled away from his lips and stared into his dilated pupils full of lust darkening the beautiful shade of light blue he had normally.

“Did I do something wrong?” JJ asked suddenly insecure.

“No JJ, it’s not you.” She looked down trying to find the correct words for her feelings.

“What it is?” He asked again, removing his hands from her skin readjusting her dress in place before carressing her face. “I’m sorry, we don’t need to do this if you think we’re moving to fast.” He cupped her chin sweetly.

“I want to. I really want to.” Y/N whispered softly with a sign getting ready to speak her mind. “It’s just that... I don’t want you to see me for what I am and run away after.” Y/N said looking into his eyes, seeing JJ’s expression change. He wasn’t really used to affection but with her it felt different. He didn’t want to hide anymore.

“I won’t ever run away from you Y/N.” His voice turned soft as he kept on carressing her face. “I mean it.” He reassured once he notice her insecure feelings. “I’m the one who should be afraid of you running away, I’m a big chaotic mess.”

“We are all big chaotic messes, see where we live JJ.” She laughed softly.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” JJ confessed against her lips.

“Neither would I.” She whispered back, kissing him softly.

Y/N pushed his shoulders back, making JJ fall softly against the mountain of blankets underneath them before she, in a moment of braveness, decided to take her dress of tossing it beside them, JJ’s mouth fell open watching her as he quickly sat back up colliding their bodies again. His lips roughly kissed hers making her mouth open slightly his he took the opportunity to brush his tongue against her, making Y/N moan at the feeling.

“Are you sure?” He questioned, kissing a trail of soft kissed down her neck to her shoulder while his hands traveled up her spin to her bra.

“Yes, please JJ.” Y/N whined. “I need you.” She admitted.

He was surprisingly fast to get rid of his clothes, picking her up off the ground and in a mess of limbs he managed to get her into the suite of the boat. It was simple but did the job. JJ had previously lit a few candles around the room and once Y/N saw them she smiled against his skin, kissing his neck with a smirk on her face.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do this.” JJ said once he was on top of her.

“How many?” Y/N bit her lip pulling him down by his shark tooth necklace.

“Too many.” He admitted pulling her leg up his waist. “Every time you acted like a fucking brat.” He said against her skin. “I wanted to wrap my hand your neck.”

“Fuck.” Y/N moaned feeling his fingers tease her. “You can do it now.” She teasingly suggested.

“So good for me.” He whined pushing one finger inside her while his free hand moved up her body, wrapping it softly at first against her throat.

“Harder, please.” Y/N begged arching her back in the mattress.

JJ tighten his grip against her skin as he kept on moving his finger inside her easily due to her wetness, his thumb brushed softly against her clit in circular patterns that made her blood boil in ecstasy, she could feel how close she was to coming undone underneath him since her moans escaped through her lips easily.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum.” She moaned loudly feeling herself clench around his finger.

He kept moving as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear helping her ride her orgasm. When he removed his hand from her he licked his finger clean with a burning gaze on her that made Y/N moan at the sight.

“You taste so good sugar.” JJ said making her cheeks turn red with the compliment.

“Fuck me already.” Y/N begged wrapping her legs against his hips pulling him lower on her.

“Your wishes are my commands princess.” He winked at her with a soft laugh.

Their bodies connected in an euphoric electric rush, both feeling a strange relief as they been waiting for this very moment for the longest time. Both Y/N and JJ moaned and whimper as they tried to get a good grasp of the other, like they couldn’t get enough. She wanted JJ as close as possible to her and he did the same, grabbing her skin to pull her as close as possible.

“You’re so fucking tight, you’re taking me so so well. Fuck baby.” JJ rambled lost in pleasure as he felt her clenching tighter around his cock.

“I’m so fucking close JJ.” She mewled under him, crying out once he begin to tease her clit. The overstimulation becoming overwhelming.

“Let it go, cum princess.” He begged moaning, feeling his own realise dangerously close.

“Cum inside me JJ.” Y/N bluntly begged while she came, arching her back off the mattress.

“Y/N-” JJ whined with his hand over her throat, feeling his thrusts slow down to a sloppy pace.

“Please JJ.” She clawed down his back harshly. “I need to feel you.” Y/N moaned loudly. “I need you.” She cried out.

Looking down at her, seeing her mouth open, her lips red swollen, seeing her so fucked out was enough to send him over the edge, cumming deep inside her.

“Fuck.” He whispered hotly on her ear after pressing his sweaty body against hers. Y/N moved her hand up and down his body in a loving manner as he moved her hair off her face.

They stayed like that for a few minutes before JJ pulled out making her whimper in discomfort due to the sudden feeling of emptiness, he cooed her carressing her skin before he pulled her against him, embracing her.

“Let me grab a towel to clean you up.” He kissed her temple before he got up, dressing back his black boxers in the process, giving Y/N a perfect view of his back.

Once he came back and finished cleaning her JJ handed her his discarded tshirt to dress. He laid down next to her, pulling the sheets over them. Y/N cuddled tightly agains him, with her head on his chest, quickly starting to doze off in a sleepy state as JJ kept on playing with her hair kissing the top of her head a few times.

Tag list 💞

@thatsonobx @starkeybaby @this-is-bigger-than--us @tomzfrog @alotbnouf @jj-maybank-stan @jellyfishbeansontoast @rafecamerondeservesbetter @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @tembo-ndoto @poguebx @k-k0129 @kieinred @obxmxybxnk @lcil123 @fandom-phaser @sexualparkour @myrandom-fandomlife @lasnaro @sw-eat-ing @kiarascarreras @jjswhore @milamaybank @downbytheouterbanks @write-from-the-heart @justcallmesams @annedub @drizzlethatfalls @tovvaf @drewswannabegirl @whoreforouterbanks @newhopenessie @maybebanks @poguesrforlife @shawnssongs @wastedheartcth @rudyypankow @danicarosaline @sc4rlettm @hufflepeople @punkrainbows @obliviatevamps @trustfundparker @annoylinglyaries @sexytholland @5am-cigarette @majoroof @ilovejjmaybank @aheadfullofskies @jjmeybank

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Escape: Chapter 2

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort Characters: Gordon, Scott

So much for being a oneshot. This has decided it wants to be a full blown fic and who am I to deny it? I don’t think it’s going to be overly long, although I do know there’s a minimum of three more chapters after this, so who knows.

<<<Chapter 1

Gordon didn’t remember much of the swim. He remembered the start, desperation propelling him as he hauled Scott through the water, big brother obligingly limp and malleable – they all knew the basics of water rescue, all knew that a ‘helping’ rescuee was nothing but trouble – as he found his pace. It was a balance between speed and endurance; the distance was long, but they were also completely exposed and it only needed one of their pursuers to spot them and there’d be crafts flocking to scoop them up.

He had to set a punishing pace. His muscles screamed, vocally displeased about the situation, but there was no choice. They had to get to safety, he had to save Scott. All he needed to do was get them to the next island. If their comms were down, John probably already had Virgil on his way to their last known location; all they had to do was get out of range of the jammer and then Virgil and his beautiful green girl could come pick them up.

They just had to get there. He just had to get them there.

It wasn’t a choice.

His world narrowed, focus purely on three things. The ocean, not hindering him but not helping, either. The island, a blur on the horizon that barely seemed to be getting any bigger. His brother, limp in his hold.

And then it narrowed further, awareness seeping away and a mantra the only thing circling in his mind.

Get to the island. Get to the island. Get to the island.

Nothing else mattered. Not the burning of his lungs, nor the screaming of his muscles. Not the salt water peppering his face from the spray.

Just. Get to the island.

His limbs were like lead, already weighted down from carrying Scott across the land even before they’d hit the water. It didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter.

Oxygen came in gasps, instinctive training kicking in to keep going even though it felt like his lungs were going to burst.

The contact point between his arm and Scott’s body was searing hot, couldn’t be ignored if he tried. That was why he was doing this, that was why he had to do this. It wasn’t just his life at stake, and none of them could afford to lose Scott. Gordon couldn’t afford to lose Scott.

It urged him on, pushed him forwards even after his vision faded to nothing, an abstract landscape of get to the island interwoven with Scott and the roaring of his own breath in his ears. He couldn’t hear the ocean, the rush of water deafening in its absence. Until it wasn’t.

Until Gordon wasn’t a human, brother held securely as he ploughed through the waves, but just a concept, a slaved need to get to the island and Scott. Even the concepts couldn’t hold their own identity, merging into get Scott to the island and reducing down to the barest bones of Scott-island.

The gravel scraping at his bare skin didn’t register at first. Sharp stones bit into his skin, scratched his face and arms, and ground him to a halt. He struggled, Scott-island bouncing around in a panic, but he had no energy left to fight.

“Gords.” The voice was weak. The hand that touched him wasn’t much better. “Gords, you did it.” There was awe, reverence almost, and pride. Pain. But no disbelief.

The touch brought with it awareness, the fog fading enough to show him where they were, reengage his senses. Scott was still in his hold, both of them more in the water than out, but the gravel wasn’t an obstacle blocking their way. It was a beach.

The beach. The island.

He’d made it.

The sound that erupted from his mouth could have been a laugh, but it was too raw, too exhausted to classify.

Gravel shifted, scraping together under pressure, and under his arm Scott was moving. Muffled gasps and groans reminded him – no, he hadn’t forgotten, just faded it from hyperawareness – that his brother was seriously injured, and it gave him just a little more energy.

They were still half in the water. A rogue wave could wash them back out at any moment, Scott needed to get clear. Scott needed treatment, warmth against the shock until Virgil found them with the full compliment.

His arm burned, muscles pushed beyond their limits, but he had to get Scott safe. Balling his hand in his brother’s shirt, protests shooting down the tendons of his hand at the motion, he tensed his shoulder and hauled.

Scrabbles echoed his movement, Scott working with him to pull himself clear of the water. His brother knew the score, too, knew it was too dangerous to stay there.

It was a herculean effort, his arm trembling with exertion and for all that he hadn’t done any of the swimming, Scott’s strength was drastically waned by pain. Their gasps, effort and pain, combined until Scott’s feet were clear, somewhere around Gordon’s head.

With one last gasp, he let go of his brother, arm flopping weakly to the gravel. He was still half in the water, could feel the gentle caress of the waves, but that wasn’t important. Scott was clear, Scott was safe, and Gordon’s eyelids fluttered shut.

Only for a hand to rudely fist itself in his collar and yank.

“Come on, Gords,” Scott insisted, pain interlacing through every word. “You, too.”

Gordon groaned weakly, a protest at the idea of trying to move any more, but Scott was insistent – and strong. His strength may have been waned by the whole experience, the fist in his collar might have been trembling with strain, but he was still Gordon’s big brother, and Gordon was well aware by now that that meant something when it came to situations like this.

He was also well aware that if he didn’t help Scott, his brother would no doubt worsen his injuries pulling him clear, so he dug deep, finding that core of never give up that had got him this far in life despite everything, and dragged out a last dredge of strength to push when Scott tugged. Scott was trembling but he was, too, burning energy he just didn’t have as he forced his beyond reluctant body to move, just a little bit.

Just enough to get clear. Just enough to collapse on the drier gravel, up beyond the momentary reach of the tide. Just enough to reach for Scott and find him close enough he could almost be a pillow.

Would be a fantastic pillow, if his ribs weren’t busted. Gordon directed his too-tired, too-heavy, head to land on the gravel, uncaring as it rolled into his hair and promptly tangled.

“Gordon?” He heard the gravel crunch against each other as Scott, too, gave in to exhaustion and let his own head hit the gravel. His face was white, taut with a pain Gordon could do nothing about, and bright blue eyes were half-lidded.

“Got you out,” he mumbled, the urge to touch welling even though he could barely move. Barely was a generous descriptor, too casual to encapsulate the agonisingly slow inching of his hand as it desperately dragged itself to Scott, fingertips so light he barely felt the skin of Scott’s jaw when it could move no more.

Scott swallowed at the touch, eyelids drooping further until a flash of determination had then snapping open again.

“You did,” he agreed, breathy as wet, clammy fingertips brushed the back of Gordon’s hand. “You’re amazing, Gords.”

The words were heartfelt, genuine and wrapping Gordon in a haze of contentment. Still, he felt his lip twitch, the closest he could get to a smug smile. “’Course I am,” he murmured to the gravel, feeling cool, wave-smoothed stone against his lips. “I’m me.”

“That you are.” There was a smile in Scott’s voice, the pride of a big brother. “Get some rest.”

“Virg,” he mumbled, and Scott’s sigh was exasperated fondness.

“I’ll call him,” he said, the promise washing over Gordon. “You’ve done more than your fair share, Gordon. I can handle the rest.”

“Keep you safe,” Gordon mumbled. The light touch of fingers on the back of his hand grew slightly stronger, twitched from side to side in what could almost be a reassuring caress.

“Yeah.” There was something melancholy about his agreement, Scott never liking it when he had to rely on one of them for his own well-being. He hated it when it came with a cost, but Gordon would take the exhaustion over whatever fate would have been in store for his brother if he’d obeyed his desperate command to leave him.

Gordon’s eyes slipped closed, reassured by his big brother’s words despite knowing his injuries were bad and Scott was trying to pretend they weren’t. He was just too tired, exhausted down to his bones, to be able to do anything about it. He’d tackle Scott once he’d got some rest, if Virgil hadn’t already arrived by then to deal with their stubborn eldest brother.

The crunch of boots on gravel jolted him back to awareness just as he edged to the cusp of sleep and his eyes flew open to meet Scott’s. Blue eyes, filled with a panic that hadn’t been there a moment earlier, flickered to something behind Gordon, where he couldn’t see.

“Run,” Scott rasped, voice barely a whisper, when he noticed him looking.

He was still white, still cool to the touch and washed out from pain. Gordon knew his brother couldn’t move, but this time, he couldn’t move him, either. His muscles were still trembling from the over-exertion of swimming so far, from getting Scott here. Getting Scott safe but if Scott was looking like that, telling him to get away, then Scott still wasn’t safe and Gordon’s job wasn’t done. The gravel kept crunching, multiple footprints.

Multiple people.

“I’m not leaving you,” he reminded him, equally quietly, feeling his energy levels starting to rise as the adrenaline started pumping.

“Gordon-”

He moved his hand, fingers that had been tickling Scott’s jaw questing further, until they cradled the back of his head in a mimicry of earlier, when he’d promised Scott he’d get him out of there. The movement was enough to silence his brother, although piercing blue eyes made Scott’s frustration and disapproval clear.

Besides. They were surrounded.

Dammit, if Gordon had been a little more aware, if he hadn’t relaxed so quickly. If he hadn’t let down his guard-

“That was an impressive feat.” The owner of the voice seemed to be the one whose boots were closest to Gordon’s head, barely visible in his periphery. “Not many people could make that swim.”

Gordon turned his head to look at the speaker, face rearranged into a scowl. He felt Scott grip his arm tightly, a warning and a plea not to do anything stupid. The sun was directly behind the asshole’s head, rendering his features entirely in shadow.

“Unfortunately, while it was a good effort, I’m afraid it wasn’t good enough,” he continued, and snapped his fingers.

Hands grasped Gordon, yanking him backwards, away from Scott until the only contact he had was the constrictor-tight grip Scott had on his arm.

A boot, studded and closely resembling something military-issue, slammed into Scott’s wrist. Gordon hissed as the impact forced Scott to yank his arm hard. It didn’t break his grip, although Gordon wasn’t confident the same wasn’t true for Scott’s wrist. Another blow, equally as hard, sent vibrations all along his arm until it jarred his shoulder.

It was the third that forced Scott’s grip to give, a crack snapping through the air and telling Gordon another bone or few had been added to the fatality list. Gordon was yanked further back, out of his brother’s reach, and snarled.

“You’re a stubborn man,” the same bastard spoke again, stepping past Gordon to stand next to Scott, looking down at his brother. His face was still in shadow, but that didn’t stop Scott glaring up at him defiantly. “Hard to pin down, and harder to keep there.”

Scott didn’t say anything, but his jaw was set and there was defiance in his eyes.

“But not impossible.” Without warning, he lashed out with his boot, a hard strike straight to Scott’s broken leg.

The swallowed whimper it elicited from Scott cut Gordon deeper than any scream, and the rage that had been slowly bubbling up – at the assholes surrounding them, the bastard standing over his brother, himself for letting his guard down too damn soon – flooded him. He’d promised Scott they wouldn’t hurt him again. But they had and he couldn’t just sit back and watch.

Bone deep exhaustion was overpowered in a flash, rage-fuelled adrenaline tearing through him and throwing off the hands holding him effortlessly. They hadn’t been expecting resistance. Nor was Bastard, as Gordon slammed him out of his way, into the gravel with all of his strength.

It was a fight he couldn’t win; he knew that. They outnumbered him beyond any odds he could handle unarmed, especially with Scott an obvious target. But he could put himself between them and his brother, be a shield if nothing else. They would not hurt Scott again.

Bastard pulled himself back to his feet slowly, deliberately. Behind him, Scott was hissing his name, demanding that he stop being an idiot and run. But Gordon couldn’t do that. Call him an idiot, call it the move with the least strategic advantage, but he couldn’t leave Scott to handle the assholes alone.

“You know,” Bastard said, pulling himself back up to his full height. Blue eyes – cold, nothing like Scott’s – flashed as he spat out a small stone. “Our intel was wrong.”

Intel. The word by itself was enough to churn Gordon’s stomach. Their security was tight; always had been, always would be. Kayo expected no less. It had seemed too neat for a random encounter, but the blatant admittance… Gordon didn’t like the implications. Not one bit.

“The eldest and the youngest,” Bastard continued as though he hadn’t just soured Gordon’s insides. “That’s what we were told.” Those blue eyes bore straight into him. “But you’re not the youngest, are you?”

Alan. They’d been expecting Alan, and Gordon seethed at the idea they’d been planning on attacking him. Except there was no disappointment in Bastard’s voice. He sounded amused, almost cat got the cream.

“That impressive swim. Your combat training.” Lips curved themselves into something satisfied, and Gordon got the sinking feeling Bastard preferred that it was him. “WASP, wasn’t it, Gordon Tracy?”

Gordon bared his teeth. Behind him, Scott was hissing, words too quiet to be heard, but Gordon knew his brother well enough to know it was an incessant demand for him to run.

He would have done, if he’d thought it would do any good. If he thought he could get Scott out, too. The clues were slotting together, the same clues he knew had snapped in place for Scott. From the outfits, these assholes were some sort of private militia. Illegal, because since the World Government had been founded and the last of the resistance squashed, there was only the GDF for the land and sky, and WASP for the seas. Scott had been their primary target. Scott had been in the Air Force, just before the final dregs were enfolded into the GDF; Scott was Commander of IR and had corresponding high clearance with the GDF out of necessity. The sheer delight in the way the man had said WASP.

These assholes wanted intel. Even out of date intel was worth something, especially for WASP and their ever-expanding research.

A hand signal flashed, unfamiliar to Gordon but of course they wouldn’t have one the legal forces would be able to comprehend, and the assholes descended upon him.

“Gordon!”

It wasn’t a fight he could win. He knew that, Scott knew that, Bastard and his infuriatingly smug grin knew that. There was no way to escape right then, and the more of a fight he put up now, they more they’d beat him down so he couldn’t fight back later.

And he was still exhausted. Adrenaline could only do so much to push his battered muscles on.

When the hands grabbed him, he let them, keeping a strict eye on where Scott was and how many men were on his brother. Scott looked anguished, and he knew it wasn’t the pain that was causing it. Gordon sent him a grin, before snarling at the asshole that yanked his brother up by the freshly-broken wrist.

He got a backhand across his face for that, and turned his glower on the asshole responsible for a moment before looking back at Scott. His brother was fighting, as much as a man with as many broken bones as Scott could fight, but it was an exercise in futility. Gordon lunged forwards with a cry as one of the assholes kicked the broken leg again, tearing another muffled yet pained noise from his brother, but they’d learnt their lesson from last time and the waning adrenaline wasn’t enough to tear him free.

Metallic cuffs clinked shut around his wrists, wrenching them behind his back, and he saw the same happen to Scott, before both their communicators were torn from their wrists and thrown down to the gravel.

The sight of them reminded Gordon of Virgil, no doubt on route and completely clueless what he was going to be flying into.

If he and Scott hadn’t stood a chance, Virgil would be completely helpless.

But if Virgil found just their communicators…

“Walk!” one of the assholes holding him barked, kicking at the back of his knee. Reflexes had him stumbling, and he sent a baleful glare their way. Another asshole had Scott thrown over his shoulder, and Gordon hoped to hell his brother’s ribs weren’t as bad as he’d feared, otherwise there was probably some bone making contact with something soft and squishy it was supposed to be protecting right about now.

Scott wasn’t moving, seemed to have given up fighting. Gordon hoped he’d given up, otherwise the limp body told a very different story – and not one Gordon was fond of.

There was a submarine sitting in the water, and as Gordon half-stumbled onto it, dragged along by assholes with no care that their unwilling companion had technically hit his physical limit long ago and was running on pure adrenaline and spite, he heard a distant whine of an all too familiar engine.

A green speck, barely visible, appeared on the horizon, and then he was shoved through the airlock, replacing the blues and green with a boring uniform grey. It slammed shut behind them, and humming machinery as familiar to him as breathing ran through the corridor. Instinct had Gordon adjusting his footing as the floor below him slanted.

They were diving.

Oh, hell. That wasn’t good.

Chapter 3>>>

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #gordon tracy #scott tracy #thunderwhump #escape

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