#i think he would be horrified and terrified if he could ever see my tags | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blessedbucky · 1 month ago

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we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 5.3)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 8.9k (this actually might be the shortest i've written to date)

summary: satoru has been naively thinking that his world hasn’t been on the edge of collapse for a long time.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, not sure if it's suicidal ideation or what since suguru wants to die for what he did to reader, definitely probably some unhealthy codependency because everyone here is a teenager going through traumatic shit, uhhhh let me know if there's anything else but I think those are the big ones, hurt/like minimal amounts of comfort, gojo is disgustingly in love please help my boy he's struggling with his depressed s/o's

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @lexlibrary, @ziggy0stardust

author note: really wanted to write the fallout of the last chapter in satoru's pov, like how it goes in canon. not sure if it's my own depression on some fuck shit or a genuine struggle, but i got stuck in the middle of the chapter. i really hope it has the emotional impact that i was going for. i was channeling my depression here since my annual seasonal big sad is coming up. brains are great (:

chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4.1, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, AO3

[YEAR THREE]

[PART THREE]

No, I don’t know who you are. Should I?

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. No, that’s mean and unfair. You don’t deserve that. Satoru is the stupid one. Him and his traitorous heart that had fluttered like some blushing maiden when you completely dismissed his identity up until that point, ignored his immense strength that anyone with a shred of cursed energy could feel, and treated him like an actual human. Do you even know how much time he spent hunting down an exact replica of those cheap sunglasses you offered up to him during that first meeting? After Suguru broke them when he was punching Satoru in the face?

Yeah, Satoru is a moron. Because he’s happy that he hadn’t learned Reverse Cursed Technique yet and that Shoko had been away long enough that his nose would never sit totally right ever again after it was broken. Just like your sunglasses, his crooked nose is another reminder that two country bumpkins have rocked his shit so wholly that it’s kind of insane.

That night had been embarrassing and confusing. He hadn’t been able to stop pressing against the tender bridge of his nose, making pain shoot across his face. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Suguru standing over him with sharp, furious eyes and bloody fists. All he could feel were the phantom touches of your soft yet unflinchingly steady fingers on his cheeks and chin. Never an ounce of hesitation from either of you when it came to Satoru. He’d rocked against his mattress, coming way too many times for him to ever admit. The second time that he’d touched himself to the thoughts of you two.

People have always been terrified of Gojo Satoru and his unfathomable strength. Little do they know that he’s no longer the strongest sorcerer in the world. He hasn’t been since the morning after his seventeenth birthday when he woke up in the early dawn, your head weighing down his chest, Suguru’s breath warm against the skin of his neck, and Satoru thought, I love you. Because he worships the ground that you and Suguru stand on. If either of you came to him and asked him to burn the world down, he’d do it. The only thing that held him back from blowing up a room full of batshit crazy cult followers is because Suguru told him there’d be no meaning in it.

But Satoru is still the same boy god as he’s always been. Thinking that his strength alone will be enough to protect himself and everyone else from problems. Pretending that plastering a smile on his face and never taking anything seriously will be enough to infect everyone else. Forgetting that his childhood of being raised as a weapon has dulled his sense of what’s horrifying and what’s not.

Naively thinking that his world hasn’t been on the edge of collapse for a long time.

No. That’s not totally true, either. Because he’s noticed. He sees everything, right? He’s been with Suguru on his trips to buy cigarette packs, becoming increasingly frequent. Satoru’s wondered, more than once, if Suguru is smoking more than eating these days. The bags under Suguru’s eyes and yours are getting darker. The windows and doors of your rooms have been locked more than ever before, a silent warning that you’re not up for spending the night with anyone. Both your tempers are shorter, especially with each other. He doesn’t think you’ve ever shrugged off the touch of others as much as you are now.

In the back of his mind, Satoru has known for a long time that you and Suguru are not okay, but he looked away. That’s his biggest sin. Because he’s been afraid that if he accepts that, he’ll have to accept that it’s because you and Suguru are not cut out for the lives of sorcerers, and that would mean you’d have to walk away from this world.

You’d both have to walk away from him.

This has been his blue spring. That’s what the adults call it, isn’t it? At some point, his spring turned to autumn without his realizing it. Now, he faces the daunting reality of his love turning into a brutal, deadly winter.

“…huh?”

It’s the middle of the night and Satoru has literally just walked into his dorm room when Suguru calls.

He doesn’t understand, at first. It’s hard to when the connection is in and out. There’s so much static. And between all that, Suguru isn’t making any fucking sense. He’s incoherently babbling. And Satoru prays that he’s wrong, but it sounds like Suguru is crying. Satoru thinks that he hears your name in there somewhere, making his stomach twist. There aren’t many reasons why Suguru would be this upset, but Satoru is trying to make Suguru calm down enough to explain.

“…hurt…so much…blood…blood everywhere…sorry, so sorry…”

“Please…need you…Shoko…get here…”

“…Squid…dying…”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Satoru remembers the prefecture that Suguru mentioned he was going with you to. Sensei would have more specific information on the village in his office, right? A primal panic, one that he’s not felt since last year, fuels him to flicker across campus. If he can get near the village, he’ll be able to sense someone’s cursed energy. He tears Sensei’s office apart, trying to find where he keeps mission details.

As soon as he’s got the location, he’s honing on Shoko’s energy, and then he’s there. Next to her bed. She’s still awake, hunched over some medical textbook. She yelps when he snatches her by the upper arm. He’ll apologize later for the rough treatment, but all he can think is Sketch is dying, Sketch is dying, Sketch is fucking dying.

“Run Reverse Cursed Technique,” Satoru demands as he physically prepares himself for this trip.

“What? Why? Where did you even come from? Why are you in my room—”

“I haven’t teleported with anyone.” He’ll also apologize later for making her his first guinea pig. If it’s going to be someone, though, it’s good that it’s the person who can heal herself. “I haven’t even taken myself more than a prefecture away.” This is going to hurt.

Shoko’s voice pitches higher with panic. “What the fuck is going on, Gojo?!”

“Sketch is dying. Start healing yourself.”

Satoru doesn’t even give her the chance to start running it.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

Wrong. That’s wrong.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

For the first time in the course of the Gojo clan’s history, the Six Eyes are wrong.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

They have to be wrong.

Or…Satoru is overthinking it.

There has to be another explanation for why, buried deep in the gash across your torso that’s almost a mirror image of Satoru’s own scar, Suguru’s residuals linger. Suguru is crying and drenched in your blood because he wasn’t able to help you in time. The cursed spirit that did that to you was absorbed by Suguru after the damage was done.

That’s not how that works.

“What happened?” Shoko asks in a tone that Satoru has never heard out of her before. He tries to find his voice, tell her to shut the fuck up, because he knows what she’s thinking. The way that she’s curled over Sketch’s body, body tense, cursed energy flaring with emotion gives her away. “Suguru!” Shoko shouts, trying to reach him through his tears. “Tell me what happened to her!”

“I’m sorry.” Suguru hunches over. Digs bloody fingers in the dirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Why are you sorry?”

Satoru knows the truth. He does. It’s the reason why it feels like the world is about to slip out from under his feet. He wants to shut Shoko up because he doesn’t want to hear the truth. When Suguru, through his tears, manages, “I didn’t mean to,” Satoru wants to cry with him. There’s no stopping it now.

“What didn’t you mean to do?”

Suguru’s next cry is gut-wrenching. Satoru is trembling, more terrified than he’d been staring down the sharp edge of Zen’in Toji’s blade. “I didn’t mean it, I swear. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. Please, believe me. I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

Shoko, the stone-faced judge, has no mercy for either of them. She demands the truth, no matter what hell it’ll bring. She says your name, knowing Suguru can’t deny you your justice. “Did you hurt her?”

Satoru, the unintentional jury, has to witness Suguru become his own executioner when he chokes out, “Yes.”

A crack splits Shoko’s indifferent mask. Twisting her body around, she stares at Satoru with wet and shining eyes. “Goddamn you, Gojo,” she curses before quickly turning back around toward you. She ducks her head, but he catches the stray tear roll down her cheek before her hair fully hides her face. “You didn’t even give me time to get my smokes.”

The more time that passes where Satoru is forced to stand there, unable to do a goddamn thing for you or anyone else here, the more that he has to wonder what the worth of his strength even is.

Because, right now, it’s nothing.

His eyes have never left you after Suguru’s confession. He doesn’t think that he can face the implications of that yet. It’s so slow, the rise and fall of your chest, but he can see how rapid your pulse is under the delicate skin of your throat. Even from his vantage point and in the low light, he knows your skin is clammy. And the gore. It’s not like he hasn’t ever seen the result of a cursed spirit attack. He thought he was desensitized to that. But…things are different when it’s like this.

Guess this is what people mean when they talk about things hitting close to home. Seeing you there, your skin all torn open, blood so red…it makes him sick. His stomach has never rolled quite like this, not even when he was blearily watching his own skin stitch itself back together after getting shredded apart himself. He’d been…detached before he was totally healed and then the overwhelming euphoria poured in.

There won’t be any of that for you, he realizes. If Satoru is on the end of the emotional spectrum where he struggles to pinpoint feelings—even in himself—then you’re on the other side where you get it all. Your heart is too big. Always bleeding. Sitting there on your fucking sleeve, getting stabbed at by everyone and everything. Is this what you feel like all the time? Satoru’s brain is struggling to comprehend it all.

Aah, this is what it feels like to be weak, he suddenly understands. And he remembers how he’d felt it when that spear pierced his Infinity, right before metal sunk into flesh and he had to focus on survival. There was nothing he could do then and there’s nothing he can do now. This sucks, he thinks with the corners of his eyes stinging. No wonder you’re always undermining yourself and saying you’re weak.

How can you think you’re strong when your heart is always bleeding?

Nails digging into the skin of his palms, blood trickling through his fingers, he tries to think about anything else. He doesn’t want to cry. He never wants to feel like this ever again. He never wants anyone to feel this way again, actually. If he could go another day without ever having to hear your gut-wrenching cries when you were in the morgue with Haibara’s body or hear Suguru tonight, then he’d trade his soul away. He’d give his strength away. He’d pluck his eyeballs out and throw them to the highest bidder.

How can he do that, though? Satoru could throw his Infinity around your bodies, but it won’t protect your hearts. The two of you would never let him whisk you away to Kyoto and hide you away from the world forever, as much as he desperately wants to do that right now. Part of the reason that Satoru and every-fucking-one else loves you idiots so much is because of how fucking kind you are.

For some reason, Satoru thinks about that day near the start of the term, under the cherry blossom tree. This just isn’t a sustainable system, you’d said. I wonder how many Special Grade sorcerers there have actually been, but they just couldn’t reach their full potential because old men sent them off to die.

If he can’t make your hearts stronger, then he has to make everyone else stronger.

Satoru knows what he needs to do now.

The settling of Shoko’s cursed energy has Satoru lifting his head. It’s taken a lot of strength out of her. The healthier you look, the worse Shoko does. “We need to get back to campus.” Her hands are trembling, and she drops back on her ass, trying to catch her breath before she’s forced to move. “She’s stable now and I can take care of those kids back at school. I need to eat before I do, get my calories up,” she adds. “You didn’t hurt me on the trip here. Do you think you will hurt us if we go as a group?”

Right. The kids. They were hidden in the bush when Satoru and Shoko got here, but seeing Shoko healing and Satoru’s inaction must’ve been enough to coax them back out. They’ve been beaten. Satoru wondered, briefly, if they were the catalyst for what set Suguru off.

One of them, the one with dark hair, whispers your name. “She’s gonna be okay now?”

“Yes,” Shoko answers softly. “And so will you when we get back to Tokyo.”

“You’re…you’re Miss Shoko…right?”

“That’s right. I guess she told you about us?” The girls nod. “You know our names. What are yours?”

“Mimiko,” the brunette answers.

The other, the blonde, steps beside her sister and takes her hand before introducing herself as, “Nanako.”

Shoko nods in acknowledgement, slowly rising to her feet. “Okay. Well, Satoru over there knows how to move between places,” she explains while pointing over at Satoru. “He’s going to take us back to the school we go to. For people like us.” The girls nod again, eyes alight with understanding. “Don’t be scared. You’re safe now.”

“We’re not,” Nanako mumbles. “She told us we didn’t have to be scared with Mister Suguru around.”

Suguru had calmed down, his sobs quieting to silent tears, but hearing the kid say that has him hunching back over and covering his face in shame.

Shoko watches him, lips pressing into a thin line. “Take those kids first, Gojo,” she orders lowly. A complete turnaround from her earlier decision for them all to go at once. “It’ll be less of a strain on your body and ours. Do it in batches.” It’s a bullshit excuse. Right now, he’s scared of her. Those healing hands of hers can so easily become weapons. He’s seen it before. And, sure, she normally wouldn’t be a threat to Suguru, but there’s no fight left in him. “Now.”

In the end, though, she’s still right. There was no strain on her on the trip here, but he sure as fuck felt it. While future trips tonight will be easier in the fact that he has the two landing points in his mind, adding more people would ramp up what reprieve that gives. It’s more cursed energy, more brain power, more finely tuned control to keep the other bodies all in one piece.

What other choice does he have?

Satoru leaves the kids in his room. It’s comfortable, you’ve told him as much. He marches to Nanami’s room, but he’s already opening the door of his room when Satoru gets there. Apparently, the sudden absence then reappearance of Satoru’s massive amount of cursed energy woke Nanamin up. Satoru is in a rush, so all he can do is demand Nanamin watch the girls while he goes to get you because you got hurt.

Then, between one blink and the next, he’s back with you, Suguru, and Shoko.

The only hint that something happened between Shoko and Suguru is a dark mark on Suguru’s cheek and his split lip. Also, she’s got a lit cigarette in hand—probably stolen from Suguru. Satoru has never given thought to smoking. He’s never really seen the appeal, but he thinks he does now. Especially when Shoko beckons him over and he knows that he’s going to have to carry you on the second trip back to campus.

Bile rises to the back of his throat when he carefully lifts you up in his arms. He’s never been squeamish until he’s had to touch your blood-soaked clothes before. It’s disgusting and now, it’s sinking into his clothes. Satoru hates that. He knows you hate it, too. Wet clothes. You hate being sticky even more. It’s why you’re always so careful when you eat desserts with him. He hopes you blacked out as soon as you were hurt. He doesn’t want to think about you having to lay there, pained by more than the gashes themselves.

“Gojo will be back, Geto,” Shoko explains as she grabs Satoru’s upper arm since he can’t hold on to her right now. “Don’t you dare try to run. If I found out you tried, I’ll do a lot worse than punching you in the face.” To Satoru, she says, “Drop us off at my room.”

When they land and Satoru has gently placed you on Shoko’s bed, he collapses next to it, needing to catch his breath and run his own Reverse Cursed Technique. Not only has he gone the furthest he’s ever warped, but he’s done more trips than ever before, too. There’s still one more round-trip that he’s got to make. There’s a strain on his muscles that he’s never felt before. There’s a blossoming pain behind one of his eyes.

Shoko starts rummaging around in her pantry for something to eat. “I have some protein bars. You should eat one, too.” She throws one over her shoulder when she finds the box and he catches it without looking and pockets it. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the stomach for much right now. “Clean him up when you get back. Burn his clothes. We need to hide the evidence.”

Satoru bristles. “Stop treating him like a criminal.”

“Take off the rose-colored glasses and stop being naïve,” she snaps back. “You heard him.”

“Yeah, and he said he didn’t mean to. It was an accident—”

“Hurting her? Yeah, I believe that. It’s what led up to it that’s the problem.”

He stumbles to his feet, still glaring at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Geto just doesn’t lose control like that,” Shoko hisses before pointing at you. “She wouldn’t be hurt by one of his spirits unless he wanted it. He has to give them specific orders, you know that as well as I do. Maybe he didn’t intentionally have it attack him, but if he was pissed off enough, if he wasn’t careful enough with his order, then a spirit would consider her a threat.”

“Shut up.” Satoru wants to put his hands over his ears like a child. He’s in denial. She’s making sense, but he doesn’t want to admit that because it feels like acceptance. If what she’s saying is true, it doesn’t matter if he accidentally hurt you or not. If he was acting out of anger towards someone else, he’d be branded a curse user and there’s only one person strong enough to kill Suguru. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking about? The guy always riding on his moral high horse?”

“Stop pretending you’re both the same people after last year.” She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes. “Just leave me alone. I can’t deal with you right now. I’m saying that we don’t know, but you need to be a fucking adult and think about all the possibilities here. Also, you’re such a selfish asshole. Do you think I want to think about this? No. That’s why we’re hiding the evidence from Yaga.” She whispers your name. “If we had Suguru declared a curse user before she’s awake, it’d push her over the edge.”

Satoru feels less…panicky than before. He backs down. Glances at you while he asks Shoko, “What’s the story?”

“My residuals have covered up evidence of his on her,” she whispers. “Suguru got there too late. It’s why he keeps blaming himself. Any idiot at headquarters knows how close they are, so it won’t be hard to convince them that their relationship is what’s got him so hysterical.”

“Okay,” Satoru answers as quietly. “What—” his voice cracks. “What do we do if she wakes up blaming him?”

“That’s not something we can answer for each other, Gojo.”

“Explain yourself, Suguru.”

Just like Shoko said, Gojo Satoru is a selfish asshole. Somewhere between Shoko’s room and here, with Suguru, rage overcame Satoru. Because Suguru ruined everything. Instead of trusting Satoru or even you enough to talk about the things bothering him, Suguru let everything fester.

(But you didn’t, either, a nastier part of his brain reminds him.

Is there something wrong with Satoru?)

Suguru hasn’t moved. He’s still there, on his knees, staring blankly at your blood left behind in the grass. It’s like Satoru doesn’t even exist. It pisses him off more. What? Does Suguru think he can give up? He thinks he can sit around, crying over what he did to you, while everyone else has to clean up his mess? No way. Fuck that.

“Why?”

“Huh?!”

Suguru still hasn’t looked away from the place your body had been. “Why does it matter? I hurt a fellow sorcerer. That’s all you need to know, isn’t it?”

Satoru grits his teeth. “Why the hell are you being so vague now? Ten minutes ago, you were apologizing for hurting her!”

While saying your name hoarsely, Suguru reaches out to dig his fingers in the bloody grass. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t. But those…those goddamn monkeys…that’s who I wanted to hurt.” He squeezes his eyes shut, tears falling no matter how hard he tries to keep them from doing it. “I hate them, Satoru. All our suffering is because of them. They create curses. We exorcise them. Over and over until sorcerers die. First, it was Riko. Then, Haibara. When will it be you? When’s it going to be her on a metal slab?”

Under the weight of all this suffering, the anger quickly rushes out of Satoru. No, it’s still there, but he’s so stupid mad at himself for not seeing how bad things have gotten. He pretended that everyone else could separate themselves from their pain like Satoru has always done. He loves you. He loves Suguru. Why couldn’t he just see how much you two have been hurting?

Satoru doesn’t know what to do with all this sadness. He sprints forward, dropping and sliding in on his knees right in front of Suguru. He throws his arms around Suguru’s shoulders and Suguru seems to almost resist. He clenches his fists around the fabric of Satoru’s shirt. Then, he ducks his head down, pressing his head against Satoru’s sternum, trembling and giving another one of those sobs that’s just a gut punch.

“I wanted them dead. It was all I could think. I want them all dead. I want us to have a better world. I would start here. But I made the order too vague when I summoned them. I wanted to kill all the monkeys in this goddamned village and anyone that tried to stop me. She wasn’t even in the way. She said my name. She said, ‘Suguru, stop,’ and that was enough. They knew her because I know her, but I was so blinded by my rage. It was like nothing else existed but that.”

“It was an accident.” Satoru cups Suguru’s face with his hands, trying to get Suguru to look at him, but Suguru won’t budge. “It was an accident, Suguru. It’s okay. Look at me. Just look at me. It’s gonna be okay. We’re already figuring out how we can cover it up.”

Suguru just cries harder. “I can’t live like this, Satoru. Exorcise. Absorb. Exorcise. Absorb. Swallowing their shit. I want a better world, but I can’t do that, either. Because the people at the end of that road, standing in my way…it’s gonna be you and her.” He gives one sharp, hysterical laugh. “The people that I’d be doing it for, the only two fucking people that I love enough to make the world better for are the people that I’d need to hurt to get that utopia. How fucked up is that?”

“We’ll fix it,” Satoru whispers desperately. “It’s okay. We’ll figure out a way to fix it. The three of us, we can make this world better together.”

“Kill me, Satoru. Put me down. I’m begging you. I can’t live in this cycle anymore.”

“Stop! Stop it. Don’t you fucking ask me to do that.” Suguru finally loses the strength to fight Satoru’s hands. When Satoru lifts his face up, he goes. “Just listen to me. We’ll come up with a plan. We can make this world better together the right way. But you can’t give up on us. Me and Sketch, we can’t lose you. We can’t.”

“You don’t need me.” Satoru’s heart skitters in his chest when Suguru reaches out himself, hand on Satoru’s cheek. “I’m not good for either of you anymore. I can’t go back to being the person I was before.” Satoru shakes his head. He refuses to accept that. Suguru is the one holding Satoru’s face in his hands now, trying to make Satoru see his light. “You’re the best for her. I know you love her as much as I do. Take care of her. You can forget me and live a happy life together.”

“I can’t. I’d never be able to forget you. The only future I can see is one with Sketch and Suguru.”

“I don’t have a future anymore. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t accept that and neither will she.”

Suguru laughs bitterly, pulling away from Satoru completely. “Even now, after everything that’s happened, you’re still so damn arrogant, Satoru. What are you going to do if she wakes up condemning me? What will you do, then? Is the strongest sorcerer going to impose his will on her, too?”

“No! I’d never do that!”

“So, if she asked you to, will you kill me?”

“She wouldn’t!”

“I betrayed her,” Suguru whispers. “Weren’t you listening to those girls? I heard her say it myself. You never have to be afraid when Suguru’s around. Suguru is going to protect us all. She’s always trusted me. She wanted to leave all this pain behind, and I asked her to stay. I’ve been actively drowning her, but she couldn’t see it.” There’s a defeated slump in Suguru’s shoulders. “And neither can you, Satoru.”

Satoru doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been good with words. Not like you. But he does know that when you wake up, you’ll understand what Satoru does. You’ll say something along the same line as Satoru when he tells Suguru, “You’re hurting.”

“My pain doesn’t matter. I did what I did, and I need to be punished for it. I still believe in that. Justice.” Suguru stares Satoru dead in the eye before declaring, “I’m going to confess.” His features soften. “I know you’ve got a gentle heart, Satoru. You don’t need to worry. I’ll stick my neck out willingly so that you’ll never have to choose between me and her.”

When Suguru leans forward to press a chaste kiss against Satoru’s forehead, right over that tiny scar left behind last year, Satoru realizes that, yeah, maybe he is a little gentle. Because that gesture alone is enough to break him.

Satoru didn’t know what else to do with himself after everyone kicked him out—Shoko, so she could wipe away the blood and re-dress you, and Sensei, who needed to talk with Suguru about the details of what happened. He showered, desperate to be clean, but it’s like your blood left a stain on him even when he’d rubbed his skin raw. He put on one of Suguru’s hoodies because he’s broader than Satoru and the sleeves will cover his hands. He can’t look at them right now.

The sun is rising when Sensei tracks him down where he’s sprawled out on a staircase. He’s got a lit cigarette in one hand. Sensei has always been pretty good on keeping his habit on the low, wanting to be an excellent role model for his students, but even he has his limits, Satoru guesses.

“Suguru asked to be put in one of the cells.”

Figures, Satoru thinks bitterly.

“Should I?”

“You’re actually asking me that?” Satoru mumbles, no energy left to put any heat behind it.

Sensei sighs, as mentally exhausted as Satoru is. “My bad.”

Satoru straightens from where he’s been hunched over. After everything tonight—last night…something opened up in him. He’s got to stretch himself beyond the little world he’s cultivated. It shouldn’t have come to this, but he’s got a really shitty personality. He’ll always have one, probably. But he’s willing to learn now. It can’t be about him anymore.

“Sensei, I’m strong, right?”

“Yeah, brazenly so.”

“But apparently, it’s not good enough for just me to be strong.” Sensei’s a good dude. He listens. Doesn’t tell Satoru that he’s a dipshit for not realizing this sooner. Satoru throws Sensei a bone and says it for him. “Sorry, old man, for being a dumbass and not listening sooner.”

Sensei takes a drag of his smoke. “Don’t apologize to me for being a teenager. If anyone’s at fault, it’s us. The adults. The weight of the world shouldn’t be on your shoulders.”

“Not only on mine, though, is it?”

“No,” Sensei admits quietly. “Adults are forgetful. Not only do our days pile up, but so do our regrets and fears. With all that, it’s hard to remember that there was a time when we weren’t used to the weight of others’ lives on our shoulders. It’s just another one of those burdens that we carry.” He finally stoops down to sit next to Satoru. “At the end of the day, you’re all children. And to a child, it really is like having the world on your shoulders.”

“I know my shoulders can handle it, but…that’s only those of us that are born into it. Most of the school’s enrollment comes from scouting, doesn’t it?” It’s not only your face and Suguru’s that flash across his mind. It’s Nanami, too. Haibara. “We’re not giving anyone else the time to strengthen their shoulders, y’know? There’s not much fostering going on here. And that’s not a diss on you. No offense or anything, but you just don’t have the strength to keep us all safe enough to get that thick skin.”

Sensei exhales a cloud of smoke. “I know I don’t.”

“It’s not like we can add more teachers, though. Not enough out in the field to spare. But…hey, you ever read Fullmetal Alchemist? Nah, probably not. What about an ouroboros? Heard of that? It’s like this snake that eats its own tail. That’s us right now. Kids enlist and get thrown to the wolves before they can fend for themselves. Most of them die, so there’s few to go out in the world. Even fewer to stick around and teach. And that cycle goes on and on.”

“I agree.”

“We gotta break it.”

“I know we do, but how?” Satoru turns to stare at Sensei who is, in turn, studying Satoru in the same way. There’s this familiar spark in his eyes. Satoru thinks he’s seen it before. “You said it yourself. There’s not enough of us.” Oh. Wait. Yeah, Sensei is asking these pointed questions because he knows the answer already. He’s waiting on Satoru to figure it out himself. “How do we change things?”

Satoru knows what he needs to do. Last night, he knew that he needed to change things. But he understands how he’s going to do that now. “Make someone like me a teacher.”

A large hand suddenly drops on top of his head. “You’re going to be terrible at it,” Sensei whispers. He’s no longer looking over at Satoru, but he ruffles Satoru’s hair. “I look forward to working with you in the future, Satoru.”

***

Shoko crashes when everyone’s healed. Took those kids with her to bed.

Suguru…he’s holed up in his room when Sensei refused to put him in a cell, no matter how bad Suguru wanted it. The old man said that until you, the victim, corroborate Suguru’s story, there’ll be no imprisonment. Satoru asked Nanami to keep an eye on Suguru. Not that Satoru thinks he’s going anywhere. It’s like the fight left Suguru as soon as Sensei denied his request.

Nothing else for Satoru to do but keep vigil at your side. He’s seated on the floor next to your bed, cheek pressed against the mattress. He doesn’t do anything else. He doesn’t think he could focus on a game or manga or anime right now. Shoko’s always told him that Reverse Cursed Technique can do a lot, but it can’t wipe away the emotional weight of an experience. He can refresh his brain all he wants, but not his memories.

Before she went to bed herself, Shoko warned Satoru that this could break you in a way that you can never come back from. If they thought it was bad after Haibara’s death, this’ll be worse. Because it’s piled on for you. The incident with the Zen’in, the death that you blame yourself for, and even if Suguru didn’t hurt you, this is the closest you’ve come to death.

You can’t do what Satoru does—disassociate from the trauma. There’s no Infinity for you to keep people at bay when they start to close in on him the way all those fly heads had. If you’re scared the things that haunt your dreams, you’ll have to face it because you can’t wipe away the need to sleep with a technique. For the last two weeks, he’s watched you try to train yourself to smile, to try and distract yourself away from the thought constantly pressing in, but you’re not built for that like he is.

With every passing second, it gets harder and harder for Satoru to resist the urge to grab you and Suguru and flee to Kyoto. All he wants to do is protect you both. More than anything, he wants you to be happy. Neither of you have to be sorcerers anymore, he’d make sure of it. It doesn’t wear him down like it does you and Suguru. Or…maybe it does, but you two make it better.

It doesn’t take much for Satoru to be happy. For him, it’s as simple as the scratching of your pencil against paper. It’s the slide of Suguru’s fingers against the pages of his books before he flips them. It’s a gentle breeze that floats through your room when you open the window to get better lighting, carrying away the smoke of Suguru’s cigarettes. It’s the sunlight on his face and the press of your shoulders against his as you all lay on a blanket in the park.

Satoru doesn’t want to be lonely anymore.

As if between one blink and the next, the press of a hand on his cheek is pulling him from his doze. His vision is blurred when he opens his eyes, and your thumb is wiping away one of his stray tears.

You’ve rolled on your side to face him. There’s nothing on your face. Nothing in your eyes. It’s like your body is moving on autopilot. And none of that changes when he reaches up to return your gesture except that the breath in your chest shudders before tears roll down your own cheeks.

Satoru sees it for what it is. A war inside yourself—one side desperately trying to flee from the memories and emotions that come with them. Your body betrays you, though. Tear after tear slips from your eyes and soon, your bottom lip wobbles. You squeeze your eyes shut. Wordlessly, your hand moves down, fisting the fabric of his shirt, and you start tugging while shifting back on the bed to make more room.

“In the bed?” Satoru checks quietly.

You nod fervently in answer.

Satoru crawls up into bed with you. Your hands are greedier than they’ve ever been. He tries to be careful to not overwhelm you with touch, but you yank his arm to drape it over your waist so you can press yourself fully against him. You tremble in his arms, on the edge of collapse.

Right before you bite his shirt to muffle your gasps, you confirm what he’s known all along.

“Suguru hurt me.”

***

“Come again?”

You don’t repeat yourself, instead staring at Sensei with those lifeless eyes.

Sensei stares you down, waiting for words that aren’t going to come. He glances over at Shoko and, when she looks away, he then moves to Satoru. All Satoru can do is shrug helplessly. It’s not like either of them can make you talk. Satoru wouldn’t want to, anyway. He’s shocked you’re talking at all. This is the most you’ve spoken since you woke up two days ago. You haven’t had the energy for it…

Or anything else, for that matter. It’s been keeping Satoru up at night, stealing what little sleep he was getting before. It’s worse than it was after Haibara. You’d been a shell of yourself, but…you ate. A little. Once a day. Now…it’s like you’re a ghost. Shoko had threatened to pour some toxic sludge posing as a protein shake down your throat. She’d been so frustrated with you that she grabbed your chin, and you just gave her the same look as now. Not defiant. Not upset. Just…nothingness.

There’s not supposed to be smoking in the dorms, but Sensei lights one, anyway. “Explain what happened, then.”

“I wasn’t ready.” Your voice cracks from disuse. “The Grade 1 hurt me.”

“Suguru said it was under his control.”

“Not before it hurt me.”

Sensei presses a hand against his forehead, sighing. “Why would Suguru confess to something so serious?”

“Because it’s who he is. He’s upset he didn’t get there fast enough.”

For a long time, Sensei stares at you. “I need you to understand that our laws aren’t like normal ones. There’s no decision on whether or not to press charges against someone for a crime against you. If he hurt you, jujutsu law requires you to report that. If the official investigation results find that you lied to cover for him, you’d be charged as an accomplice and sentenced to death alongside him,” he explains carefully.

“I understand.”

“Good. So, knowing that, do you want to change your answer?”

“No,” you reply with no hesitation whatsoever. “Suguru didn’t hurt me.”

“There’s most likely going to be an official investigation.” Sensei is trying to get you to change your mind because he thinks it’s going to save your life. He knows you’re lying. Everyone that knows you and knows Suguru knows you’re lying. Suguru would never confess to something like this unless he actually did it. “I won’t be allowed to interfere.”

“Suguru didn’t hurt me,” you declare with an air of finality.

***

It’s a few days after you told Sensei your side of the story. Privately, Sensei confirms to Satoru what they all knew would happen. There’s going to be an official investigation. There’s no way they’d let something like this slide. The higher-ups are terrified of Suguru. Maybe more than Satoru. Satoru is a familiar threat. He’s a one-man army. But Suguru…as long as he’s alive, there’s no limit to how many strong his army can be. So, if there’s a chance that he’s gone off the rails, they’ll put him down. And you’ll just be collateral damage. You were always replaceable. A pet project. Nothing more.

“For the time being, you’re off assignments,” Sensei says to Satoru when he’s on his way out the door. Satoru glances over his shoulder at Sensei. He’s looking away. “You’re to keep your eyes on Suguru until the investigation is over.”

Satoru scoffs bitterly before leaving Sensei’s office without another word.

Shockingly, you’re not in your room when Satoru goes looking for you. You’re at the edge of the forest that they use for the Goodwill Event. Just sitting down in the grass, legs crossed, staring intently at some low-level cursed spirits who’d been lured to the tree line by your presence. He plops down next to you, ready to do the same thing he’s done since you woke up which is to be a steady presence.

“What do you see when I use my technique?”

Satoru is so startled by the sound of your voice that it makes him jump in place a little. His head snaps in your direction, but you never look away from the forest. “Uh…what?”

“Last year, when I influenced that old man…you said it was like there were two of me. It was like it was something you’d never seen me do before. But how was that different than what I do with a cursed spirit?”

It’s a weird thing for you to ask, but he’s desperate to hear more of your voice, so he tries to explain it. “Oh. It’s…normally, it’s kinda like…eh, a blanket? Yeah. When you pacify spirits, it��s like a blanket getting put over them. More than Suguru’s contract that looks like chains on them. With that geezer…” He hums. It was close to the blanket, is the thing. “It was like an infection, I guess. It was like there was this shot of your energy through his brain and it seeped through everything else. Does that make any sense?”

Your brows are knitted together in thought. “Yes,” you whisper after digesting all that. “Why is it different, though? What is my pacification but just another way to order a spirit around?”

“Maybe because the pathways are all different?” He crosses his arms over his chest, thinking about this harder now. “Spirits are just huge lumps of cursed energy. Cursed energy in sorcerers has a whole network to go through. Yeah, if you think about the shape of it, that might actually be why. Blanket for the lumps, an infection of sorts for sorcerers.”

You nod slowly. “Why do you think I didn’t have a brain bleed when I influenced Zen’in Ogi?”

“It could be a few different reasons, but the main one is probably time. The point behind this school is to hone your technique, y’know. They don’t really have a Sorcerer Biology 101 class, but our power grows as we do. You kind of peak after your body is done growing. Everyone, though, has this explosive burst of power when they hit puberty that lasts through the rest of your body’s development.”

“I’m still in sorcerer puberty?”

Satoru laughs a little. “Yeah, I guess that’s the best way to put it. It’s like your body is in the home stretch. C’mon, Sketch, I know you’re not dumb. You’ve noticed that your technique has developed over time, right? Why’re you asking such an obvious question?”

“But you said there were other reasons,” you remind him.

“It’s not obvious? C’mon, think about the basics here. How emotional were you? You were the angriest I’d ever seen you when you broke that geezer’s hip. How were you with Zen’in? Also, Zen’in Ogi loves to act like he’s hot shit, but he’s nowhere near as strong as he thinks he is. That guy never would’ve cut it as the head of the Zen’in. That higher-up is the stronger of the two.”

“But…you’re stronger than all the higher-ups combined, right?”

“Duh.”

“Do you think the action itself can cause more strain on me?”

“Huh?”

“Does it expend more energy for me to force an action than force a thought?”

“Oh. Probably, yeah. The Inumaki clan are like that. The more damage they cause to their opponent with their cursed speech, the bigger the blowback on the sorcerer themselves. It’s all about balance in sorcery.”

“Right.” You sigh softly. “I wish I had as much cursed energy as you.”

He rubs his ear absentmindedly. “You’re already halfway there. Once you pierce that barrier inside them, it’s really just a waiting game from there. You just need to finish letting your cursed energy flow through them.”

“Easier said than done. That’s probably where most of my energy is burnt up. If only there was a way to infect them faster…”

“Too bad you’re not like a snake or a spider and can just inject yourself in their veins, huh?” You don’t respond to that. You duck your head, staring down at your hands in your lap. Satoru doesn’t want you getting lost inside your head, so he tries to redirect the conversation. “How’d you like my explanations? Good? I’m gonna be a teacher, so I have to start working on that kinda stuff, right?”

You raise your head, turning to him with raised brows. “A teacher?”

“I’m gonna change things,” he swears. “Last year, when you said this system isn’t working, you were right. But there’s never been anyone strong enough to shake things up, not until me. What if that’s because of what you said? They were never allowed to grow before they died. The future needs someone strong enough to protect them, to let them grow. I’m gonna be that person.” He nods to himself. “I’m never letting anything like this happen ever again.”

For the first time in a really long time, you smile. It’s that small, genuine one that does what it’s always done—make his heart skip a beat. “You won’t be alone.” The back of his neck is getting warm. Why didn’t he bring his stupid sunglasses so he can obviously look away from you? Why can’t he stop blushing, damn it? “Let me be your spy on the inside. They’ll probably ask me to work at headquarters. I want to help you, too.”

As much as you hate dealing with people, that’d be the best course of action for you. It keeps you in this world, but you’re out of the line of fire. And…he doesn’t think you could cut it as a teacher. Kids are still going to die. Not as many as now, he hopes, but he knows the higher-ups won’t be happy with him. They’ll work to keep things the way they are. He can try his hardest, but he can’t be everywhere at once. You’d get too attached to the students. It’d break you.

“I’m going to make things right, Satoru,” you insist.

“You make it sound like it’s your fault.” Satoru leans sideways, his head butting against the top of yours. “Besides, the one in charge of fixing everything is me, isn’t it? It’s alright, Sketch. You don’t have to worry about things right now. I’m gonna figure something out. I promise that nothing else happens to either of you anymore, okay?”

***

The evening before the unofficial trial, when the sun is setting, you ask Satoru and Suguru to meet up with you. It’s at your favorite koi pond. The one where him, you, and Suguru named each fish. There’s a stone bench that you’re already seated at, posture straight and stiff, facing away from the pond. There’s a determination in your eyes that he’s been watching grow from an ember to an inferno over the past week. With that fire, though, is an edge.

“I know I don’t have any right, but…I’m glad you reached out,” Suguru admits softly. “I wanted to see you,” he adds again, even quieter than before. “Just one more time.”

There’s a bitter twist to your mouth. Before you rise to your feet, Satoru watches with a sinking stomach as that iciness forms in your gaze. Suguru flinches backward. Satoru resists the urge to do the same. No matter how mad you’ve been at them, you’ve always forgiven them. Were you finally pushed too far? Is what Suguru did unforgiveable to you?

“We both go, or we both stay. You remember when you said that, right?”

Suguru ducks his head. His shame never lets him keep it high anymore. “I do.”

“You’re as selfish now as you were then.” It’s not said as an accusation, no anger behind it, but it’s got Suguru hunching in on himself, anyway. “I keep finding myself here. Having to decide your future. If there’s anything I resent you for, it’s that. It’s worse now because it truly is life and death.”

“I’m sorry. I know it means nothing, but I am.”

“What about you, Suguru? Is there anything you resent me for?”

Satoru knows the answer even before Suguru confirms it with, “No. Nothing.”

“You will,” you whisper cryptically. “Do you remember the rest of that day? What happened when we made up? I told you what scared me most about coming to Tokyo. I don’t want you to leave me behind when we get there. Remember that?”

“I’m breaking that promise, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Your words sharpen. “You keep saying that, but you begged me the other night to change my mind. You keep doing that. Wasn’t it enough hearing the first time that I didn’t blame you? Do you care that little about me? I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

Suguru sighs your name. “I need to be punished.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?”

“You don’t want to punish me. That’s the problem.”

“Who says I don’t?”

The tension in Suguru’s shoulders loosens and there’s relief on his face for a moment before he straightens to his full height. He’s serious about receiving your punishment. He’s happy, too. Satoru feels stuck between you two. This…it’s your right, but…but he’s scared to lose you both.

“What is it? I’ll do anything.”

“Live.”

Suguru’s brows furrow. “What?”

“I’m making you do the thing that you clearly don’t want to do. I’m forcing you to live. You’re going to live with what you’ve done and you’re going to learn to live with non-sorcerers. I won’t make you stay a sorcerer, but I’m not letting you die. I’m not living in a world without you in it.”

He barks out a sharp, harsh laugh. “You can’t guarantee that, Squid.”

“I already have.” You raise a hand. Satoru had noticed a bandage wrapped around your palm last night, but you’d brushed him off like it was no big deal. That bandage is gone, showing a jagged gash. “I’ve already influenced them.”

Satoru’s stomach drops. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should’ve asked more questions when you came back so exhausted from headquarters after they called you in to give your official statement. You’d told him that you wanted to study some cursed spirits, clear your head doing something you like. “What did you do?”

“It was easier than I thought it would be,” you start slowly. “All it took was a cup of tea. They trusted me too much. They trust us all too much, honestly. They left the kettle unattended. They didn’t look at the water before they let their tea steep. None of them noticed my blood in the water.”

“Blood?” Suguru repeats incredulously. “What?”

“I needed a quicker way to get my cursed energy flowing through them. I’d already tested it on the pencil pusher that drove me to headquarters. Coffee hides the taste better. It was harder with him than it was the higher-ups. Orders require more energy. It was just suggestions with the higher-ups. It took, though. They agreed.”

“Agreed to what?” Suguru asks hoarsely.

“You and I are going to make a binding vow. If a non-sorcerer should ever die by your hand, I die with them.” That look of horror on Suguru’s face is mirrored on Satoru’s own, he knows. “Even if they eventually realize that I influenced them, I doubt they’ll do anything. It’s a perfect deal. I’m a hostage. Neither of you would risk my life.” You pause. “That’s if you agree to the deal, of course.”

“I won’t,” Suguru spits.

“You will. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell them what I did. I’m an accomplice now. Binding vow or not, if you die then I die. You forced my hand.”

Suguru’s hands slowly ball up into fists. They’re clenched so hard that he shakes. You’ve trapped him. You’ve saved his life and he’s furious about it. This was the best possible outcome and Suguru has never looked so betrayed. “I will never wear a heartfelt smile in this world.”

“And I can never live in a world without you in it,” you state just as bluntly.

Tears well up in Suguru’s eyes. “For as long as we both live, I won’t forgive you.”

“I know. I’m doing what you wanted me to. I’m deciding what to do with your life. But I understand. I’ve accepted the risk. I’d rather you resent me for the rest of our lives than watch you die.”

“You’re cruel.”

“No crueler than you.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #anime #jjk fic #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jjk gojo #jjk geto #gojo satoru #geto suguru #my fic #jjk angst

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kitsuga · 6 months ago

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two left feet. {Elliott x Reader/Farmer}

Description:

A fic in which Elliott has prophetic (?) dreams.

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Tags: fluff, you ever have prophetic dreams? i do, elliott seems the type to have them too. look at him, reminder i am both blessed and cursed with the possibility of ooc bc mods have been installed in my brain for far too long, reader is referred to as "Farmer"!, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, stardew valley/sdv x reader/farmer, elliott x reader/farmer, stardew valley/sdv, elliott

Word Count: 2,375

A/N: Written on: February 24, 2023

I!! Think!! Hes!!! So!!!! Cute!!!! I don’t think I like the ending on this one but to be fair im gonna let it slide and pretend it doesnt exist, why not lKJSFHIUEF

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It was cold in the stoney area Elliott found himself in; deep below the surface, he thought to himself—damp, cold, and full of unsettling shadows hidden in corners. Small flames lead his way down the makeshift corridor, but he was weary to follow—what would find him at the end of it? With no exit found behind him, he pressed forward.

The flames started to die out as he walked past, their lives cut short without a second thought—except, he thought about it. Why were they blowing out so suddenly? A chill started to climb up his spine as he made his way down towards what looked like an open area; it was darker than where he had been, only a few dancing flames had sat within the room.

This room was bad news, Elliott thought to himself. Everything in his body was screaming to run, that there was danger around, but he couldn’t. With his feet planted in place, his eyes darted from flame to flame, straining to see what horrors they would illuminate. The hairs on the back of his neck started to stand on end as sounds started around the room; quiet at first before steadily growing louder, menacing, echoing off the stones. Shadows peeled themselves off the walls, contorting to hideous figures; sharp shrills came from somewhere deeper. The knot in Elliott’s stomach grew tighter, almost causing him to hunch over with fear.

Creatures he thought he’d never be able to even dream of started to show themselves in the dim lights, just as frightening as they sounded. Horrifying sights, he thought to himself; dripping, oozing, some even rigid and sharp—creatures with faces so frightening he couldn’t fully comprehend what it was his eyes were trying to focus on. They moved with malevolence, each action full of venom; Elliott found himself begging in silence that he kept out of their sights.

They started to merge together, moving towards something lying on the ground just within the remaining candle’s flames. It was balled up, hardly moving; the figure was... human, Elliott thought. What were they doing there? Were they alright? They needed to get up—needed to get out. The monstrosities grew ever closer, and his anxiety was on the rise; he tried calling out to the person, trying to will the air from his lungs to say something—anything—but nothing was productive. Even if something had come out, his voice would be lost amongst the terrifying noises that echoed among the walls, falling on deaf ears.

The growing sense of urgency made him jittery as he tried and tried again to call out, but the moment his eyes adjusted and caught a glimpse of just who lay in the monster’s trap, his heart sank to his stomach.

“Farmer...?”

Elliott managed to whisper, his voice trembling while their name felt heavy with dread. He tried to move his feet, reach out to them. He tried calling out to them again and again, voice raising and wavering each time. The shadows started to move in, but he could only watch as they swoop in on their prey. With his heart in his throat and lead in his feet, he reached out for the Farmer who lay there unresponsive.

“Farmer!” He shouted. “Farmer! Get up! Farmer, please!”

He got desperate, screaming their name now as the shadows pounced at the person he cared about.

“FARM--”

“-ER!”

Elliott woke up with a start, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears, jumping out of his chest and into his throat all at once. His breath was heavy, shaky, and felt as though he couldn’t catch it—his chest rose and fell with pain. Elliott’s clothes stuck to him, drenched in a cold sweat. His mind started running a mile a minute, no coherent thoughts were able to keep up. Was it a dream? It had to have been; he looked around the room and registered that it was his own. Trying to stabilize his breathing, he tried to brush his hair from his face and slowly lay back down.

It was a dream! It was a dream. It was... a dream. Elliott bolted out of bed, alarmed that it had been a dream. It wasn’t a prophetic one, right? It couldn’t have been. Was it? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought. He was being ridiculous! Surely it was just a nightmare, and he should go back to bed. This is what he tried to soothe himself with as he drew back his blanket and attempted to crawl back into bed.

But... what if it wasn’t? He jumped out of bed once again and rushed around his room—he should just go check on them! No, he NEEDED to go check on them. He felt around the dark room to grab his jacket from the back of his chair and struggled to put it on in a rush, tripping and falling against the front door as he also attempted to put on his shoes. Outside was quiet—even the waves were drowned out by the sound of his racing heart and his breath trying to catch up as he took off running, struggling to keep his footing in the sand. He ran much faster as his feet hit solid ground, sprinting through the familiar path to their farm. Weaving through paths of hard-earned crops and practically jumping over the rickety, old wooden steps of the porch, his fist pounds at their front door. He continues to knock, and knock, and knock, beating at the old wood so hard he could hear it over the static playing in his ears.

Are they there? They have to be. It’s the middle of the night; oh, please be there, he thought to himself. Please be safely in your own bed, comfortable and warm—where they should be. He began to knock again before he was cut off, the door in front of him opening slowly to reveal the very person he was so desperate to see; they stood there in their pajama’s, a fist rubbing one eye while the other attempted to blink away the drowsiness and process the need to wake up. They were here, they were safe, they were... adorable. Elliott hunched over, holding his stomach, and let out the heaviest breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Elliott...? Are you alright?” Farmer asks, voice drenched in sleep. “What’s wrong?”

It took a few moments of trying to calm down and regulate his breathing before Elliott had stood back upright. He looked at them carefully, taking in every inch of them to ease his mind and soothe his heart, as their body was bathed in the gentle moonlight.

“...Ahem,” Elliott cleared his throat and attempted to straighten his shirt. “Hello, Farmer.”

They studied him with half-lidded eyes. Their shoulders hung with sleep still wrapping them like the warm blanket they had left in their bed. After a few moments, and a few hoots from an owl in the distance, they broke the silence of the night once again.

“Are.... you okay?”

“Why do you ask?”

Elliott felt the corners of his lips turn upwards, but not of joy or relief. He was certainly feeling very awkward, now. How in the world was he going to explain this behaviour to them! His smile starts to grow, becoming more and more disconcerting; sweat fell from his brow though his body had certainly had enough time to calm down. He started to clear his throat again, moving to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to find the words to say. Come on, Elliott! You’re a writer! Certainly, you can think of a story to excuse this behaviour away? He watched as the Farmer looked him up and down, squinting a bit at him before they opened their mouth to speak.

“Well... you were banging at my door is if your life depended on it... in the middle of the night.”

“Ah... yeah...” Elliott managed to stammer out.

“Then, your jacket is inside out--” Elliott promptly looked down to see the inside of his jacket pockets where they certainly should not be. “--and you’re also in your pajamas.” He certainly was.

“Well, you see...” He started.

Farmer looked down and stared, causing Elliott to follow suit. He took a look at his feet and felt the heat of a blush creep up the back of his neck the longer the silence drew on between the two of them. The distant hoot of an owl called out again before Farmer stuck their hand out and pointed at his previously mentioned feet.

“You have two different shoes on.”

The silence of the night swallowed the two of them whole once again.

Elliott heaved a heavy sigh and slowly, almost with a shaky hand with how embarrassed he was feeling now, wiped the cold sweat off of his face and spoke through a crooked—and awkward—smile.

“Ah. So I do.”

“It’s like you have two left feet.”

“That is not the same thing, they are simply different shoes—they're meant for the correct feet.”

Elliott looked up at them through his eyelashes, his embarrassment practically melting away the instant he saw a bright smile on their lips. Of course they tried to make him feel better about it all, it was just who they were; it was something he truly adored about them, after all. Their soft, melodic giggle echoed through the still night, wrapping him with the comfort he had practically begged for just moments ago—it was such a welcomed warmth that he had almost forgotten what it was that had him so worried in the first place; the daunting fact crashed against him like a wave as he remembered and the blush of embarrassment crept up his neck once again.

“Ahem... Well,” Elliott cleared his throat once again—it was going to be sore by the morning if he kept it up, “you see, there’s this tradition of... waking... people up... frantically... to...”

Farmer cut him off with an unconvinced look and by gently putting their hand up to motion him to drop the horrible acting.

“You’re a writer. You couldn’t come up with something better than whatever you were about to give me?” That’s what Elliott had been telling himself, too, only hearing the Farmer say it aloud struck his heart like an arrow.

“Alright, fine.” He took a large breath, held it, and let it out in a quick meditation. “Believe in what you will, but there are times when dreams may be... prophetic.”

“...Go on.”

“It comes in as a sort of déjà vu at times, you see.”

“Elliott.”

He threw his hands up into the air as an indication that he had given up trying to beat around the bush. Holding those same hands out to the Farmer, he looked at them with such heavy concern and care in his eyes, he started to tear up. He fought back those very tears as Farmer gently put their hands in his own, instantly, without being prompted. Softly, quietly, as though the night itself would carry his words to the moon and reveal his secrets, he confessed.

“I had a nightmare—about you.” He started, rubbing his thumbs across the Farmer’s knuckles and keeping eye contact with them. “I... needed to make sure you were alright. I was truly... truly frightened. I thought you had been hurt, or worse—if I had lost you.”

Elliott leaned in closer to them, his voice now hardly above a whisper.

“What would I ever do without you?”

The Farmer looked back at him, their sleep still holding a shade over their eyes, though Elliott could see the gears in their head start to process. It was their turn for their skin to heat up a little, get a little embarrassed, feel a little awkward and lost for words. They opened and closed their mouth a few times, going to say something but changing their mind; finally, they settled on simply giving him a warm, comforting smile, leaving his slight confession for a time when they were more lucid.

“Thank you, Elliott.” They whispered back. “For caring so much about me; for checking on me. I’m alright, I promise.”

The Farmer’s smile turned into a larger one, with a little more pep in their step as they turned away from the door frame and faced the dark inside of their house. They held onto one of Elliott’s hands and gestured into the dark with the other, their eyes silently wishing for a certain answer as they looked into his own.

“Now that you’re here, do you want some tea? You’re free to crash on my couch for the night, since it’s so late. I don’t know what happened in that dream of yours, but... maybe it’ll help you sleep knowing I’m okay.”

Elliott’s eyes grew wide, but only for a moment, before the relief and thankfulness had smoothed his being. Right. They were okay. They were okay, and that was the best thing he could ask for at this point. They were here, in front of him, in the comfort of the rickety old wooden place they called home—not in some frightening, dark, dangerous cave. They were here—with him—he could feel the warmth of their skin and they gently held his hand and guided him through the door, into the comfort of their home. They were safe, and for that, he was thankful.

A promise-- he silently made to himself as he watched the hot tea pour into the cup in front of him—to pay closer attention to their safety. A promise to protect what is loved, and a promise to do whatever was needed to keep any prophetic dreams at bay.

A promise... to think things through a little more instead of panic; he gave a miserable smile as the Farmer started to give a genuine laugh at his two different shoes now that they were a bit more awake to truly appreciate the ridiculousness of his outfit. The sound, however, brought him his much-needed peace.

Surely, he’d see them in a much better dream this time.

#stardew valley x reader #sdv x reader #sdv elliott x reader #kitsu.writes #kitsu.sdv #kitsu.sdv elliott #sdv elliott x farmer #stardew valley x farmer #sdv x farmer #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #sdv fanfic

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training4theapocalypse · 2 years ago

Text

A Nest of Vipers (Cormac McLaggen x Original Female Character - Slytherin)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings / Tags: Smut, Secret Relationship

Summary: Una Montague wouldn't be caught dead dating a Gryffindor. Luckily for her, the feeling was mutual as far as Cormac McLaggen was concerned.

A/N: Dear god, please forgive me for what I wrote while ovulating. First time writing an OFC but I think it's still as hot as reader-insert. OFC and McLaggen are both 18. Also I just want to say that I fucking hate JK Rowling and am gleefully bastardising her work.

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, (let me know if you want removed/changed at any point btw!)

Chapter 1: Smudge

The Slytherin common door shut with a thundering echo. Una Montague looked up from her Astronomy homework and locked eyes with Meredith Prewett. Uh-oh.

Professor McGonagall had asked Sabine to stay behind after Transfiguration that day and judging by the way her high heels stomped across the stone as she stormed towards the group of sixth-years sitting by the fire, it had not gone well.

“You’re in my seat,” said Sabine Zabini with a cutting glare.

Pansy Parkinson sprang up without argument. “Sorry Sabine. Let’s go,” she added to her friends who hastily packed up their things and made themselves scarce.

Una and Meredith rushed over from the little alcove at the lake window as Sabine sank into the onyx wing-backed chair with a woeful groan.

“Sab, are you okay?” fawned Meredith, perching on the arm of Sabine’s chair.

“If I ever see that old hag again, it’ll be too soon,” she hissed.

Una sat down on the hard marble table in front of them. “What did she want?” she asked. When McGonagall had asked her to stay behind, Sabine had told Una to go on without her, and so had she made her way down to the dungeons and found Meredith studying in the common room.

“She told me if I want to sit my Transfiguration N.E.W.T., I’d have to start taking remedial Transfiguration lessons with her.”

“No!” gasped Meredith. Una didn’t say anything. She knew from sitting beside Sabine all throughout the previous year that she was lucky to have even made it to seventh-year Transfiguration. But the first few weeks of term had made it apparent that she was not keeping up with the curriculum.

“Well, of course, I told her where she could stick her remedial Transfiguration.”

“You didn’t!” said Meredith. Sabine caught Una’s eyes before rolling hers.

“Of course, I didn’t, Meredith. No, I thanked her very much for the kind offer but told her I’m withdrawing from the class. Obviously.”

“Oh, Sab,” Una groaned. “You should have just done a few extra lessons with her.”

“Ugh, as if.”

“Who am I going to make fun of her hideous hat with now?” Una smirked, trying to hide her excitement and Sabine returned it. There was one person in Transfiguration who didn’t have a partner and Una was already making silent plans to sit next to him.

Cormac McLaggen. Tall, stupidly beautiful, beautifully stupid Cormac McLaggen. God, she wanted him. But Slytherins and Gryffindors barely spoke to each other here unless completely necessary in lessons. Both houses liked to think they were the others’ opposite. But Una knew that they were simply two sides of the same coin.

Cormac barely even looked at Una. And for some reason that made Una want him more.

When she, Sabine and Meredith walked down the corridor arm-in-arm, boys - even the Gryffindors - couldn’t help but stare. Slack-jawed, awestruck, terrified by the trio’s powerful feminine energy. But not Cormac. He was head and shoulders taller than the three of them so he didn’t even need to avert his gaze - he just simply looked over them as if they weren’t there.

Sabine and Meredith (but especially Sabine) would be horrified if they knew about Una’s crush. Sure, he was good looking but it would be social suicide to date a Gryffindor. Even one as well-connected as him - apparently his Uncle was extremely high-up in the Ministry.

Una had a stupid habit of wanting what she couldn’t have. And, fuck, she was desperate to have him. Even just once. Just to find out what he’d be like. He was so big and broad and downright intimidating. But Una was sure she could have him whimpering, begging for her-

“Hello? Earth to Head Girl?” Sabine and Meredith looked at her expectantly. Una blinked a few times and shook her head.

“Sorry - I was thinking about… Transfiguration. What were you saying?”

“Who are you going to sit beside tomorrow?” asked Meredith.

“Ugh, I don’t know.” Una made a show of rolling her eyes. “I’ll probably just sit at the back by myself. I’ll get a lot more work done without you there,” she teased Sabine.

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes,” said Sabine, pulling her long, black braids over her shoulder. “Whatever are you going to do without me leading you astray?”

It wasn’t so much a question of what, thought Una, but who.

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

A bag landed on Cormac McLaggen’s desk with a thud and he looked up in surprise to see Una Montague perched on the edge of the desk, looking down at him. “You’re good at Transfiguration, right?” she asked abruptly.

He furrowed his eyebrows together. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. Can I sit here?”

What fresh hell was this? What was one of the Vipers doing sitting on his desk? It was rare to see any of them alone. Cormac looked behind her sceptically. “Where’s your friend?”

Sighing heavily, Una pulled her bag back onto her shoulder. “I’ll sit somewhere else.”

She turned to walk away, swishing her hair as she went. But before she took a step he said quickly, “Wait - yeah, you can sit here.” He supposed it would be poor manners to let a pretty girl, albeit a notoriously mean one, sit by herself at the back of the class when there was a perfectly good empty seat next to him.

“Only if I’m not inconveniencing you.”

Already feeling like he was about to regret it, he gestured to the seat.

Cormac continued to look unsurely at her as she slid into the seat next to him. “What happened to Sabine?”

Una rummaged in her bag. Cormac expected her to take out her textbook but instead, she withdrew a small, black compact mirror and some lipgloss. “Oh, she dropped Transfiguration...” Cormac watched quietly as the lipgloss wand drew across her lips, spreading a shimmering pink glaze over them. And for some reason, he felt like he should look away. Like he was watching something extremely private. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. “She couldn’t handle it.”

She pressed her lips together and pouted a little in the mirror, examining her neat work. The way she preened herself made Cormac want to reach out and smear the gloss over her face, just to see her reaction.

She snapped the compact shut and jolted him out of his daze with a start.

“I should give you two for flinching,” she smirked.

Professor McGonagall strode past them to the front of the class and the chattering students quietened down. She announced that they were going to be working on conjuring birds today.

“Might I remind you that your N.E.W.Ts are only a few months away and none of you are yet to successfully conjure more than a feather.”

The class groaned and got to work, trying with limited success to conjure birds using the Avis spell.

“Why is this so bloody difficult,” grumbled Cormac after some time, concentrating on his wand tip while Una lazily brushed a comb through her hair - her wand abandoned on the table. “Conjuring inanimate objects? Fine. But birds…”

“Have a lot of trouble with birds, then?”

“Oh, very funny.”

“I’m serious. I’ve never even seen you with a girl.”

Cormac lowered his wand and turned in his chair slightly. Oh, so this was why she sat here, was it? He couldn’t deny she was good-looking. But still, a Slytherin.

“Oh yeah, been watching me, have you?”

“I’m just very observant.”

“I’m single if that’s what you’re asking?”

Una rolled her eyes. “You wish, Cormac.”

Cormac leaned back in his chair and looked her over, resting his arm on the backrest as he did.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” she asked innocently, putting her brush in her bag before raising her wand and pretending to concentrate on conjuring birds.

“I’ve never seen you with anyone. Except for the Vipers. Or is that a thruple situation?”

“The Vipers?”

“You know, Slytherin’s other monsters. Sabine and Meredith.”

Una laughed. He had half-expected a shrill cackle. But her laugh was warm, even genuine. “Oh, so is that what they’re calling us in Gryffindor Tower?

He shrugs.

“It’s catchy.”

“So? Are you?”

She too lowered her wand and leaned in closer to him. “Are you asking if we fuck each other?” she murmured, staring intently into his green eyes. “Are you picturing me rolling around in the sheets with them in the Slytherin girls dorm? Making them moan my name?” she teased.

Cormac paused and swallowed. “What if I am?” he said, and was pleased when it sounded more confident than he felt. They were both playing with Fiendfyre, talking like this so brazenly in the classroom. But he wasn’t sure who was more skilled in this Dark Art.

“I should slap you,” Una said, moving closer still so he could hear her barely audible admonishment. He felt her bare leg in her stupidly short skirt pressing against his.

“Don’t. I can only get so hard.”

Her eyelashes dipped as she looked down at his lap. Una drew a sharp inhale when his fingers twitched suddenly towards his belt.

He smirked.

“I was joking. But I should give you two for flinching.”

Uno looked up again at him coolly. “You’re not gonna give anything to me.”

“Oh yeah?” He gave her an arrogant smile as if he found it hard to believe. “Why’s that?”

“First of all, I’m not that easy. And second of all, I wouldn’t be caught dead dating a Gryffindor.”

“Who said anything about dating? What if -”

“Miss Montague, Mr McLaggen. Is there something amusing you’d like to share with the rest of us?”

Silence fell over the class again and Una and Cormac turned hastily in their seats to face the front.

“I was just explaining the theory, Professor” Una said sweetly, seemingly unphased by the interruption.

“Then perhaps you could demonstrate?” Professor McGonagall challenged, calling her bluff.

Una pointed her wand and out shot six yellow twittering canaries.

McGonagall’s lips pursed together in a thin line. Cormac was sure she was about to award Una points but instead she addressed him. “And Mr McLaggen?”

Cormac extended his own wand. A stream of feathers erupted from the end and floated down onto the floor. Una bit her lips, trying to stifle a snicker at his expense.

Any further embarrassment on his part was saved when the bell rang signalling the end of class and McGonagall dismissed them.

“I suppose I’ll see you on Friday?” asked Una casually, positioning her bag on her shoulder.

“Thursday.”

“The next lesson’s not 'til Friday.”

“Slughorn’s dinner thing. You’re not ditching it again, are you?”

“I don’t know… Sabine and Meredith say it’s a waste of time, sucking up to an old has-been like Slughorn.”

“They don’t need to come.”

“Trying to get me alone, Cormac?”

Cormac laughed. “It might just be nice for you to make some new friends. You’re not that bad when you’ve slithered away from the Viper’s nest.”

Una narrowed her eyes. “I happen to like my current friends, thank you very much.”

“Sure but I only meant -”

“Believe it or not, I don’t actually care what anyone from your house thinks of me or my friends. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my thruple.”

And with that, Cormac watched as Una strutted out of the classroom, leaving him to kick himself for managing to fumble the quaffle so hard - right when it was going his way too.

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

“Did you miss me terribly, Una?” cooed Sabine when Una found her and Meredith beside the common room fire that afternoon.

“It was the worst,” she said, plopping herself down on the sofa, watching the way the fire danced against the green tiles. “McGonagall picked on me and didn’t even give me a measly point for doing the Avis spell correctly. And nonverbally I might add.”

“Typical,” said Meredith. “It’s so unfair. She hates us.”

“Who did you end up sitting next to?” asked Sabine, flicking through her magazine.

“Erm, that guy… McLaggen,” said Una, as if his name was of little consequence.

“Not that oaf.”

“I know,” said Una. “And it’s not like I could even copy him - he was about as useful as a chocolate cauldron. I’m surprised he’s not in remedial Transfiguration.”

Sabine laughed but Meredith paused thoughtfully.

“He is quite handsome though, isn’t he? And rich, I think.”

“Eugh, Meredith. You have terrible taste,” said Sabine.

Una quickly copied Sabine’s look of disgust while Meredith backtracked.

“I just meant he’s alright to look at. Still a Gryffindor though, obviously.”

“And an idiot. Didn’t you hear how he ended up in the hospital wing last year? Eddie Carmichael dared him to eat Doxy Eggs for a bet. Some Head Boy he is, Una. Between him and McLaggen, you’ll have your work cut out for you this year.”

Una wrinkled her nose.

“Poor Una,” said Meredith sympathetically.

“I did find out some good gossip though,” said Una raising her eyebrows and leaning back on the sofa. “The Gryffindors call the three of us The Vipers.”

“That’s rude,” said Meredith but Sabine shrieked in a fit of giggles.

“I love it!” she laughed. “We really are just living in their heads, aren’t we?”

Una grinned. “I know.”

Sabine closed her magazine and stood up. “Let’s go down to the Great Hall. I’m starving. What do vipers eat anyway?”

“If they’re anything like Ashwinders then insects. Raw eggs,” said Meredith in an attempt to be helpful.

“That’s disgusting, Meredith,” said Sabine, linking her arm through Una’s. Meredith hurriedly latched on to her other side.

“Speaking of dinner,” Una said. “I’m thinking about going to Slughorn’s on Thursday.”

“Ugh, pass,” said Meredith.

“Why?” asked Sabine, giving Una a shrewd look. “Blaise said it was terribly boring.”

“I know but I probably ought to as Head Girl. Bit of a snub if I don’t go twice. And maybe it’ll help my marks in potions.”

“You reckon?” asked Meredith.

“Well, it can’t hurt my marks if he likes me.”

“That’s a good point,” said Sabine thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll come too then. I need all the help I can get since I’ve got one less N.E.W.T. this year.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Shit, thought Una.

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

Blaise Zabini was waiting in the common on Thursday night when Sabine, Una and Meredith finally ascended from the girl’s dormitory.

“Mum was complaining you’ve not written to her yet,” he told Sabine.

“I’ve been busy.”

“All four N.E.W.Ts proving to be time consuming, then?”

“Shut up.”

The four of them made their way along to Professor Slughorn’s office. They opened the door to find several plush seats already occupied around the extravagantly decorated table. Una felt irked when she noticed McLaggen was notably absent. This whole thing really would have been a waste of time if he didn’t turn up after all.

“Welcome, welcome!” Boomed Professor Slughorn. “So nice of you to join us. Blaise, good to see you again - and you’ve brought your sister!”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for inviting me,” said Sabine graciously as they found their seats and Slughorn beamed. Sabine had such a way of making people feel flattered, even special just from her presence.

“And our Head Girl, Miss Montague. And Miss Prewett! I taught your father, you know.”

“Yes, sir. He spoke extremely highly of you,” said Meredith, sitting down.

Una sat on Sabine’s right, leaving a few seats next to her empty. Just in case, said a small voice in her head.

Slughorn began introducing everyone. Una was surprised to notice the way Blaise’s eyes lingered on a fifth-year girl, Ginny Weasley. Though she wasn’t sure if it was distaste or something entirely opposite. Interesting. Una didn’t say anything - she just made a mental note of it, the way she so often did with snippets of potentially damning information.

Slughorn’s office door opened again and Una looked to see Eddie Carmichael entering. Her heart sank as she turned back around again.

“You could have held it open,” said Cormac McLaggen’s voice. Una froze, not daring to glance at the door, incase Sabine noticed her constant fidgeting in her seat.

“Sorry, mate,” said Eddie, pulling out the free seat beside Una.

Cormac slid into the open chair before Eddie could. “That’s more like it, cheers mate.” He looked at Una. “Alright? - ouch!”

Eddie slapped the back of Cormac’s head before sitting down on his other side. Cormac ran his hand through his dark, curly blonde hair.

“Idiots,” scoffed Sabine under her breath.

And Una had to agree.

Cormac shuffled his seat in closer to the table. His shoulders were so broad that Una could feel his arm pressing up against her. Even if she folded her arms, she could still feel him, taking up far too much space.

As the evening went on, they listened to Slughorn regale stories of all the famous students he had taught, each of them members of what he called his ‘Slug Club’. Every time he said the name it made Una cringe. He fawned over Cormac, asking him about his father’s Ministry connections, praised Meredith’s dad’s apparent Potions prowess as a youth and asked Sabine and Blaise what their famous mother was up to. He asked Una about her father - a prominent benefactor of St Mungo's - but was more interested in Una's Head Girl duties. And Una was grateful for this - the less she had to talk about St Mungo's the better.

After dinner, Slughorn summoned a bottle of Elf-made wine with a flourish of his wand. “Just for those who are of age,” he chided the younger students in a sing-song voice, “And only a glass each. Or else you’ll need an Awakening Draught tomorrow!” He chuckled. “And speaking of which - “ Slughorn looked at the seventh-years mischievously, “- you’d do well to brush up on that ahead of our lesson on Monday.”

Sabine grinned at Una and Meredith. It had been worth enduring the evening after all, if they were getting tips about the following class.

As Una drank her glass of wine, she felt Cormac’s leg brush against hers. Maybe the wine had emboldened her but she didn’t shrink away. Instead, she shifted slightly, leaning her leg against his.

On Una’s left, Sabine and Blaise began sniping at each other again when Blaise suggested that their mother might send her a howler. On her right, Cormac was telling Eddie about his plans to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Una lifted her glass to her lips but paused when she felt something. A large, warm hand grazing her bare leg. Cormac’s. She looked down but her lap was covered by the tablecloth.

She moved in closer to the table and Cormac made to withdraw his hand when he felt her shift but she placed her own hand firmly on top of his, before returning hers to the table.

Cormac continued talking to Eddie as if nothing had happened while Una felt his hand trail further up her leg and under her skirt. She took another sip of wine and pretended to listen interestedly as Slughorn started waxing lyrical about a friend he had who was writing a biography about a Vampire.

“I simply must introduce you to Eldred Woprle, Miss Carrow. He has a lot of contacts at the Daily Prophet, you know.”

Una felt blood rushing below her waist as Cormac’s fingertips traced across her inner thigh. Her own hand gripped her wine glass with more force than was necessarily required, just for something to keep herself steady.

“I was sort of hoping Potter would be here tonight. It’d be good to get him on side before tryouts.”

“I don’t know why you’re arsed, mate. I keep telling you - football. Now that’s a real game.”

The plush, cozy room now felt stiflingly hot. Adrenaline coursed through Una’s body as she shakily raised her glass to her lips to try and hide her face. Cormac’s hand skirted over the crux of her thigh. Wine met her lips as she tilted her glass, letting the fruity, slightly sour liquid infiltrate her mouth.

“Well maybe I’ll tell Mum that you’ve got detention with Flitwick already - then we’ll see who gets a howler.”

Una’s heart raced in her chest. The several conversations going on in the room turned to white noise. Slowly, carefully, so as not to brush against Sabine, Una moved her legs apart. A silent invitation. She breathed shakily as she felt Cormac’s fingertips slip under the hem of her soaking wet underwear.

“My my!” cried Slughorn suddenly, causing Una to flinch and inhale an entire mouthful of wine. “Look at the time!” Cormac quickly removed his hand as Una began choking and spluttering.

Sabine gave her a concerned look as she coughed. “Are you alright? You’re bright red.”

Una wiped her lips, trying to compose herself quickly. “I’m - I’m fine,” she gasped. “Just went down the wrong way. And wine makes my cheeks flush.” She extracted her compact mirror and lipgloss, re-applying it hastily.

“It’s gone straight to your face too, mate,” said Eddie Carmichael, looking at Cormac.

Cormac laughed and touched his hand to his warm face. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I suppose it does a bit.”

Una looked at him and felt herself flush even deeper when she saw him press two fingers thoughtfully against his lips. They were wet.

“Oh, how time flies when you’re having fun. You’d all better be off back to your dormitories. And if Mr Filch gives you any trouble, you just send him straight to me,” said Slughorn, waving his hand in the air.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Sabine, standing up abruptly.

Una pushed her chair back and followed her, Meredith and Blaise out of the room without so much of a backwards look.

As soon as they got out into the corridor, Meredith laughed.

“What a drag that was. Honestly, it would be worth failing Potions if I never had to endure that again.”

“I know,” agreed Sabine.

“I think I preferred it to another evening with Malfoy and the rest,” scoffed Blaise. “They’re always brooding these days. And I suppose the wine wasn’t too bad. If you don’t choke on it, that is.”

“Hilarious,” said Una.

“What did you think, Una? You were unusually quiet.”

Una’s abdomen tingled. Her brain worked overtime to come up with an excuse while blood rushed in her ears.

“Well, I had you lot squabbling on my left and two idiots on my right talking non-stop about Quidditch.” Una rolled her eyes convincingly. “But it wasn’t too dreadful. At least we know what’s coming up in Potions on Monday.”

“Well, that’s it sorted then. You can go with Blaise next time and report back to Meredith and I if Slughorn gives us any more hints,” said Sabine, with finality.

Una mulled this over, pursing her lips together thoughtfully. It certainly would be easier to talk to Cormac McLaggen if she only had one person keeping an eye on her. She could hardly just be expected to talk to Blaise and only Blaise all night. She was allowed to network, right? And perhaps, she thought, Blaise would like to network with Ginny Weasley.

“Fine,” said Una. “But you owe me. Big time.”

Sabine linked her arms between Una and Meridith as they sauntered along the corridor to the dungeons. Una still felt faintly embarrassed about her unseemly choking display. With her free arm, she searched for her mirror in her tiny handbag, wondering if she had any wine down her front.

“Shit,” said Una, stopping and the four of them halted. “I think I left my compact.”

Meredith groaned. “I’m not going back in there. If I have to hear anything else about Vampires-”

“It’s fine - go ahead. I’ll see you two in the dormitory. See you later, Blaise.”

Una untangled herself, turned on her heels and passed the last few stragglers leaving Slughorn’s dinner party.

Her heels clicked as she walked back up the deserted corridor and around the corner.

“Forget something?”

Cormac McLaggen was sitting on a window ledge in the dark hallway, checking himself out in Una’s little black mirror. He snapped it shut and hoisted himself off the stone ledge, walking towards her.

Una extended her palm expectantly.

“What’s the magic word?” he asked, standing in front of her. Una looked up at him as he towered over her. He was so tall she had to strain - her face was only at eye level with his chest.

“Avada Kedavra?” suggested Una, attempting to snatch the compact from his hands but he reacted quickly, pulling it out of her reach.

“Ooh, not quite,” he grinned.

She took a step towards him, their chests almost touching as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Please, Cormac?”

He hadn’t expected her to surrender so quickly. Cormac grudgingly gave her the compact back and they stared at each other for a few moments, neither of them daring to address what had just happened in Slughorn’s office.

“You know, that lipgloss is very pretty,” he said, curling two fingers under Una’s chin. Her heart pounded in her chest again as she looked up into his strikingly green eyes. His own lips were rosy, tinged slightly pink from drinking the same wine. “Too pretty.”

Cormac took his thumb and slowly dragged it across her bottom lip, smearing it down her chin. He squeezed her face roughly and Una smacked his hand away, scowling.

“There. That’s better.” He gave her an arrogant smirk. “See you tomorrow.”

Una let out a scoff of disbelief as Cormac walked away, leaving her standing alone in the corridor.

She opened her compact and examined herself in the mirror - a pink, glittering streak was smudged across her chin and there were faint red marks from where he squeezed her face.

He was right, she thought as she looked at her slightly dishevelled appearance, she did look better like this.

Chapter 2: Struggle

#freddie stroma #cormac mclaggen #slytherin #slytherin fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #cormac mclaggen x original female character

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taylortruther · 2 years ago

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i got this ask about the golden compass but i am posting it so i can put it behind a tag to help everyone avoid spoilers (since some mutuals expressed interest in reading it, specifically).

the ask:

God I read TGC when I was 13 and I wish I could experience reading it for the first time again. I was hooked since the very first scece. Something about the writing makes you feel like you're inside the book experiencing it alongside Lyra. Lyra who's one of the best heroines ever. An icon and a legend.

AND OH TONY MAKARIOS

I was shocked the first time I read it. Stared at the book for hours like 😲. I reread the series last winter and this scene is only more horrifying as an adult.

Roger's death was also shocking I didn't imagine Lord Asriel would do something like that. One of the best things in rereading it was noticing details I haven't noticed before and I wish I had these books here with me so I could look at my annotation.

I love Lyra and Iorek I love their relationship and I still think that "sivertongue" is the most badass title ever (even more badass to be recieved by a bear). I love Lee. He's such a sweetheart and he remains a loyal sweetheart till the very end.

I can't wait to hear your thoughts on the rest of trilogy! It gets so much bigger and more philosophical. When I reread it I had a hard time with TGC because I really wanted to move on to the 2nd and especially the 3rd book.

---

my answer:

agreed that pullman is an excellent writer! i'm gonna nerd out for a sec here, but he really knows how to suck you in from the first page, and the pacing of all the action, the way lyra learns information, etc. keeps you hooked. i'm so impressed by that. and i also really like how he uses parallels - for example, lyra meets iorek and pities him because he has no daemon, and soon after she finds tony makarios and sees what happens. or how she describes the bears as being at a crossroads between iorek and iofur, which they can never go back from, and soon after, lord asriel talks about how there are alternate universes where once a decision or choice has been made, it blocks out the alternative (except in another universe where those alternatives all exist.) so like, there is a world where iofur is still the king of the bears, which lyra had just been pondering while fearing for iorek's life.

and yes, i love lyra silvertongue! their relationship is so special and unique, i love it so much. and that scene where iorek tells lyra, "you tricked iofur?" and then we think iorek is about to be defeated, only for it to be a trick...! and the way lyra calls him "my dear" and helps him close his wounds. the way she says she doesn't love her father, but she loves iorek... lyra is sincerely just SO good, so fierce, a "wildcat" as pullman calls her at the beginning... i love her. i want to protect her and pan forever and i am terrified something awful will happen to him fjdaskl

super excited to start book 2 today! also if you ever want to share your annotations, i would love to hear them, seriously.

#tgc #hdm #tgc spoilers

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dxckgrxsonx · 3 years ago

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We are Horrible

Fandom - DCU - Batman: Arkham Knight (Video Games) // DCU Comics Pairing - Arkham Knight X RedRoom!Reader // Jason Todd X RedRoom!Reader Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Graphic Sexual Content - Descriptions of Violence - Implied/Reference Suicide (One Mention) - Blood - Swearing - Crying - Unresolved Trauma - M! Receiving Oral Sex - Face-Fucking - Degradation - Boot Humping - Dom/Sub Undertones - Praise! Kink - Choking - Begging - Very Mild Orgasm Denial - Heavy Angst - No Comfort Word Count - 6.3k Notes - If you can't tell, I have big fat feelings for the Arkham Knight. I just??? Love him so very much and basically used my Reader Gloves to express how much I want to jump his bones. I was biting many inanimate objects throughout writing this so if you see teeth marks in random things...it wasn't me.

Also - Would any of you be interested if I started doing a tag list?

‘You horrify me. But at the same time, I horrify myself. We are horrible.’

You hear him before you see him.

All the hair along the back of your neck stands on end and a frigid shiver sweeps over your skin; rocking hard down the interlocking bones of your spine. There’s an awkward hush throughout the group, a tense clack of teeth smashing together when those around you clench their jaw.

His steps are loud–you think he does it on purpose–if he didn’t want you to hear him, you don’t think you would until it’s too late. His posture bleeds authority, this is a man who doesn’t ask permission. He takes what he wants and if you stand in his way, then it’s your funeral.

You’ve heard the stories from those who laid witness to his calculated rage, you don’t ever want to be on the receiving end of that endless wrath.

There’s something uneasy kicking awake in your stomach.

The Arkham Knight is downright terrifying.

It’s not lost on you how afraid everyone is. How the base impulse in the Knight’s presence is to tremble. He makes you feel like prey. Looks at you from behind that mesmerising helmet like he’s already got three ways planned out on how to kill you with his bare hands.

You’ve never met him before. Only joined his team of highly trained militia a few weeks ago, and during that time you’ve trained with a few different people, but never him directly. They have, however, caught you up to speed well enough that you can slip straight into whatever role the Knight assigns.

Some part of you is thankful that you haven’t met him before now, looking at the Knight is almost like staring your murderer in the face. It’s unnatural and the empty space in your chest cavity fills with something that feels like a panic response, feels like fight or flight.

But another part of you—the stupid part of you, the part that has zero respect for authority—wants to go head to head. Wants to push his boundaries, wants to see first hand why those around you are afraid.

In the face of fight or flight you’ve always chosen the former. Preferring to swing your fist at the threat than run from it. Your whole childhood was a panic response, boiled down to fight fight fight, and sometimes, when you look back at it, you understand why you turned into something ugly, something rageful.

Your time in the Red Room helped you control that rage, turn it into something that could be wielded as a weapon. The methods they used were inhuman–you might as well have shot your childhood self through the head–but it worked. They turned you into something powerful, something unstoppable, something utterly evil.

The Red Room burned out everything soft inside you and replaced it.

You hate them for it.

As you watch the Arkham Knight, you see fractured parts of yourself in the way he moves. He hides it well, masks it behind layers and layers of armour and anger and isolation. But you see it in the way he carefully watches everything around him, the controlled way he moves, the way his hands never stray too far from his weapons.

The Knight craves control, needs it.

You know where that need comes from, where it was born, where it rips you open and wedges itself between the tender bones of your ribs. He was once powerless. His entire life suspended on strings in someone else’s hands. You know what that’s like, how it fucks you up from the inside out, twists parts of yourself into something unrecognisable–

How it makes you hate yourself.

You wonder, was he able to cut the strings himself, or did someone else do it for him?

Looking around, you don’t think anyone else notices the barely visible signs of trauma. They look at the Knight and see someone to be respected, followed. They look at him and believe he’ll guide them to victory, to absolute control.

And he probably will.

There’s a cold focus in the way he operates. Something drives him forwards, a goal he’s throwing himself towards with everything he’s got. The Knight is clever, his intellect something to be admired. You’ve been here a few weeks at best and since you’ve arrived, you’ve found yourself more and more impressed.

Leadership isn’t easy in ordinary circumstances, and so the fact the Knight is able to lead his entire army without fault throws your brain into a frantic tailspin.

Without a word, the Knight approaches and you feel that first prickle of panic at the back of your neck. It’s involuntary, your body reacts on a base level - almost like a reflex. It frustrates you how this man is able to pull such a visceral reaction from you when you’ve spent years getting that specific response drilled out of your skull.

You gave up so much to gain so little.

Someone at the side speaks, addressing the Knight directly, “We’ve got the best mercenaries from across the globe ready to follow you into–.”

He cuts the man off with brutal efficiency.

“You two! Raise your weapons.” He barks, voice mechanical, robotic. The Knight stands rigid, controlled, there’s an air of almost smugness surrounding him. He sweeps his gaze across you and the man at your side–calculating. “Kill me and this entire operation is yours to command and profit from.”

Confusion flutters over your face–fast, barely there before you wipe it from your features. Beside you, the guy you’ve been paired with for training–you think his name is Dan, rolls his shoulders, a huge minigun clenched tight in his large fists. He gives you a brief glance, a quick head to toe sweep before settling his full attention on the Knight.

“Is that an order, sir?” You ask, a slight tilt to your head as you consider his words.

“Absolutely.” He confirms.

A smirk tugs at your mouth, that stupid, challenging part of you flaring awake. Adrenaline dumps hard into your bloodstream and you think that there’s always been something dark inside you, something mean and unhinged. Every now and again you wish you could cut it out of yourself, wish you could grab a knife and slice yourself open to take out those parts of yourself you hate.

But the Red Room made you hate every part of yourself. You think that if you start taking parts of yourself away, there won’t be anything left.

The air around your head crackles, tension twisting tight over your throat. The heat baring down from above makes you sweat and the sticky itch of it irritates your skin. The Knight waits patiently opposite, silence echoing through his helmet. Every now and again you feel the heavy weight of his gaze pass over you and it sparks the dry kindles of your patience.

You’ve never liked being watched.

“Well then,” Dan booms at your side, pulling his minigun into a more offensive position. “Let’s get you bleeding.”

Chaos erupts and in a twisted way, you’ve missed fighting against someone who offers a challenge.

Gunfire splits the air in two, it’s loud and jarring and you swing out of the way without missing a beat. Dan heaves his weapon in the direction of the Knight, finger laying heavy on the trigger. Used up bullet casings litter the ground as he pounds through rounds and rounds of ammo without hitting a single thing.

Stupid. Reckless. Undisciplined.

“The man you’re facing cannot be underestimated.” The Knight starts, modulated voice washing over you. The authority and knowledge leaching into the tone makes you listen, leaves you captivated.

He goes for Dan first, and you witness the most incredible display of combat skills you’ve seen outside the Red Room. Leaping onto the minigun itself the Knight uses it as a stepping stone to avoid getting shot through the stomach. Coming up quick you watch with wide eyes as he jumps and lands a brutal kick to Dan’s head.

“I know him inside and out.” He continues, tone unchanged.

Drawing the pistol strapped to your thigh you flick off the safety and fire one shot–just to see what he’s going to do, to find out how he’s going to react. The bullet goes wide, your intention isn’t to hit him, some part of you thinks that he wouldn’t give you that chance. But it gets his attention and the sensation of electricity zips up your spine.

“He is relentless, cunning…and he destroys everything he touches.”

Stepping hard on Dan’s shoulder for momentum he twists into a frontflip, easily clearing Dan’s impressive height and putting him into the perfect position to kick the pistol from your hand. Stutter stepping backwards you fight for separation and manage to dodge the combat boot aimed for your weapon.

“On his worst day, he is your better in every possible way.”

The Knight lands on one knee and when he looks up you feel the blistering heat of his gaze on your face. You level your pistol as Dan collapses to the ground holding his jaw, a horrible groan of pain ripping out of his mouth. Looking down for a split second you glance back to the Knight and raise an eyebrow, mouth twitching into a small grin.

Moving quicker than you can comprehend the Knight darts forwards into your space. Wrapping a gloved hand around your wrist he moves to violently disarm you and probably break your fingers in the process. Using your free hand to grab his armoured shoulder you swing your leg up and hook your thighs around his neck.

Strong fingers briefly scrabble at your knee as the Knight fights for leverage and you twist your hips, using the momentum to throw him off balance. Dipping backwards you swing your weight to one side and drag the Knight down with you as you fall. Releasing your grip at the last second you land easily on your feet as the Knight manoeuvres himself into a controlled roll, sand and dust kicking up around you both.

Slipping your pistol back into its holster you rock into a better fighting stance–lowering your centre of gravity and balancing light on the balls of your feet. Mentally processing the Knight’s skills you search for weak points but come up empty.

You’re no stranger to a difficult opponent–hell, the Red Room was all about putting you against someone older and larger and expecting you to fight your way to victory no matter the cost.

You’d come away from those fights halfway to broken–but that’s what they wanted. The Red Room shattered you into sharp jagged pieces, only to rebuild you in their twisted image. To turn you into some tool, some weapon in someone else's hands.

You’re no better than a loaded gun; just point and shoot.

No wonder you hate yourself sometimes.

No wonder you ran.

Circling one another the Knight stares you down, his presence turns suffocating, he looms over you, all perfectly poised and powerful, “You really think you stand a chance against him?” He mocks, a wicked robotic drawl curling through the air. “A few fancy tricks won’t be enough to take him down.”

You feel like a child again. Up against the endless evil of HYDRA. Put through tests and tests and tests. Each one more taxing than the last until you broke, cried, begged for them to stop. But they never did, just continued to turn you into something unrecognisable, something evil.

“Do you really believe that’s the best I have to offer?” You grin, shark like, all mean edges and sharp teeth.

You strike out first and you realise your mistake seconds too late.

He wanted you to move first, rile you up only to take advantage of your lack of control.

The Knight sweeps your legs, taking you out. You hit the ground with a thud, breath punched straight from your lungs. It’s stupid how such a simple move takes you down but you can’t deny the fact that you didn’t see it coming. You know now, why those around you look to the Knight for guidance, leadership.

He’s strong and clever and always in control.

Rolling to the side you dodge the kick aimed at your ribs by mere millimetres. Springing back to your feet you intercept the Knight’s fist as it comes towards you. Snatching his forearm you shove his attack wide and plant your foot against his chest. Kicking with all the force you can muster you manage to push him back a few steps.

Whilst he’s on the backpedal you regain composure and go on the offensive. Your brain screams that you’re being too aggressive, that he’s too large to go up against head to head, that you’re better staying loose limbed and quick.

But you’re stupid.

The Arkham Knight has you flat on your back in seconds, and a different heat flares awake low in your gut.

Oh fuck.

Forcing his knee against your sternum as he kneels over you he leans in close, mesmerising helmet brushing your cheek. Your fingers sink into the dirt and sand at your sides, overwhelming frustration eating away at the inside of your chest.

“Is that all you’ve got?” He drawls, and you hear the smirk in his voice. “I must admit, I was expecting better.”

Snapping your head up you crash your skull into his helmet. Pain bursts across your nose at the impact and the Knight reels back, knee slipping from its place on your chest. Twisting around underneath him you shove him hard in the shoulder and he gives–not as much as you’d like, but enough to flip you both.

Sitting on his stomach your thighs frame his hips, weapons digging into your skin. The irritating press of his tactical belt makes you frown above him. From feel alone you mentally count at least three grenades and a few other devices; you mark him down as resourceful in your head.

Touching the pads of your fingers against your nose they come away wet with blood and you roll your eyes. As time’s gone on, you’ve found that bleeding is more of an inconvenience than a source of fear. Although you find a dry sort of humour at the fact that everything that causes you pain is Red in one way or another.

“I really hope that he’s having a bad day when I go up against him.” You breathe, and it’s a half truth. “If we just team up and push him down a flight of stairs would that work?”

A strangled cough rips up the Knight’s throat and you feel the laugh caught in his chest seconds before his hand reaches up and curls around your neck, cutting off your air completely. His thumb presses against the thick vein underneath your jaw, you know he feels the desperate flutter of your pulse.

Wrestling you off him he shoves your back to the floor and loosens his fist so you can suck in a breath before tightening it again. Your head goes fuzzy, you feel weightless, maybe even drunk. The sensation fires mixed signals in your brain, half crippling fear, half desperate arousal.

You’re wet.

“Your best is not nearly good enough.” He growls, and you fight the blinding urge to grab your knife and shove it through his ribs. “Reckless, undisciplined, stupid.”

The way his voice dips into a cruel tease sends your brain into the stratosphere, your eyelids flutter, you ache. You never guessed that being strangled and called stupid was your thing, but here you are. Gasping for breath under his hand and getting fucking wet about it.

Finally releasing his hold he straightens up and addresses those who watch on, “Time is growing short. Deathstroke will be back in a couple days for the rest of your training.” Shoving the tip of his boot into your ribs the Knight looks down at you, panting and covered in dirt and sand, bleeding from the cut on the bridge of your nose, “Get up.”

Rolling to your feet you regard him with guarded caution, there’s still a wicked fire burning in your eyes and you’re not entirely convinced you won’t take a swing at him just because you can, because you’ve always been a poor loser.

Disregarding you, the Knight swings his leg over his bike, the vehicle sleek and black and beautiful.

Turning his attention back to the group his modulated voice reverberates, “The reward is you win Gotham. But winning Gotham means defeating its dark champion and exposing his secrets, and the secret is…he’s only human.” Revving the engine he swings the bike around. “I’ve been preparing for this my whole life and I expect you all to rise to the occasion. Because my secret is…I’m only merciful once.”

Taking off in a cloud of dust you follow him with your eyes, briefly, for a split second, you wonder if you have the time to pull your pistol and shoot the back of his helmet. Dismissing the thought as quick as it comes, you turn to Dan who stands close by, minigun back in his hands.

“Well that was fun.” You mock.

Huffing out a short laugh you notice how his hands shake, “Think I need a new pair of pants.”

Sweat dots your hairline, it beads up along your temples and irritates your skin. Wiping it away with the back of your hand you bounce easily on the balls of your feet and take another swing at the punching bag–fist connecting with a resounding thud.

Pain spiders through your hand, the thin bones trembling faintly beneath your skin. It rocks you up to the elbow and you growl at the discomfort. Twisting your hips you slam your leg into the bag and spin on the ball of your foot. Coming back around you throw a blinding three hit combo into the plastic and exhale.

The bag swings back in retaliation and you swiftly duck out of its path before sliding in behind it and kicking it as it passes. Your hands shake, white tape beginning to turn red where your skin has split under the strain.

Midnight rolls around on the clock and you sigh under your breath.

Your fight with the Knight yanked something loose in your chest. It knocks against the cage of your ribs, calling for your attention over the relentless roar of your own pulse. You know you need to pull it out or wedge it back into place–it can’t bounce around inside you forever–but an emotion you can’t put your finger on swirls through your skull.

“Your best is not nearly good enough.”

Reeling back your fist you slam it into the centre of the bag. Fury bubbles awake in your gut and you snarl. Rolling under the bag as it swings back you leap to your feet and raise your leg in a high arc, hitting the bag in the side with enough force to make the chain holding it rattle. Weaving out of its path you bounce on your feet and raise your fists, ignoring the tape that peels away from your ruined knuckles.

Without the rigorous standards of the Red Room you feel yourself slipping. There’s a horrifying yank at the base of your spine when a sense of failure washes over you. During combat training they would put you against each other–test your skills, test your loyalty. Failure to kill your opponent wasn’t just failure–it was death.

The Red Room never tolerated anything less than perfection, and even though admitting it makes you want to rip out your tongue: you thrived on their standards, would snap yourself into ugly little pieces to meet their impossible standards.

Even though your goal wasn’t to kill the Knight, you still feel that evil prickle of thorns around your neck–still get that crippling sense of dread when you realise you failed. Subconsciously–almost an attempt to make yourself feel better–you think you held back when fighting the Knight. After all, in your head he registers as an authority figure–someone you should look to for guidance, for knowledge. Someone who is untouchable–someone who controls you.

It scares you half to death the way you search for an authority figure in him–how you do it reflectively, the way you do it for guidance, for a sense of purpose.

You don’t even know how to exist for yourself.

In the back of your head you hear yourself weeping, part of you so utterly broken that you wonder if you’ll ever be whole again–if you’ll ever belong to yourself and not someone else. Always stuck between begging for someone to take control of you and hating it with every fibre of your being.

The fury gives way for something else, something worse.

Insecurity.

Tears bubble up along your lower lashes and for one horrible second you want to shoot yourself through the head.

Quiet footsteps echo behind you, there’s something familiar about the gait and weight of each step. You turn to face the doorway, furiously wiping at your eyes expecting to see Dan standing there–his muscular figure taking up the breadth of the door. But what you find is someone else.

The Arkham Knight.

His posture radiates authority–your hands start to shake, there’s something desperate and tired inside you. You want to give it all up. The Red Room was all about making sure you had no control–handlers, trainers, handcuffs around your wrist as you sleep. You never realised that if you left–if you ran–what they taught you would still end up following.

Dropping to your knees you bow your head and cry.

Hiding your face behind your bleeding hands you feel the weight of knowing you don’t belong to yourself press into your shoulders. The pain is alive inside you, it almost feels like you’re dying. You’ve been through torture sessions, you know what it’s like to hurt–but this hurts in a different way, right down to your bones; you don’t know if it’ll ever stop.

Movement registers in the back of your head, even when you’re distracted you’re still able to track people’s steps–if you weren't so consumed with shame, you’d probably be impressed with your subconscious.

The Knight stands directly in front of you, his combat boots touching the tips of your knees. A gloved hand reaches under your chin, tilting your head up and forcing your hands to come away from your face.

Staring up at his helmet through blurry eyes you crack your ribs wide open–

“Please–I can’t–I need yo–” Tears overflow and roll down your cheeks, closing your eyes you swallow, you don’t want to look at him. Squeezing your jaw the Knight gives your head a gentle shake, a demand to open your eyes and look at him. “I need you to–” Your voice cracks, “–please, take control of me.”

Silence echoes for a strangled beat and part of you wants to get up and run.

“Oh pretty girl,” The Knight coos, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “Look at you, so desperate, so…broken.”

Your lower lip trembles, you want to duck your head and hide but he doesn’t let you. The Knight keeps his fingers locked around your jaw, the firm grip straddles the fine line between comfort and pain–you wonder if he’ll leave a mark.

“M’sorry. I’m so sorry–please–I can’t…” Your throat closes up, you can barely speak. Wringing your hands in your lap you press the pads of your fingers into your knuckles, use the pain to ground yourself. “You need to tell me what to do–I can’t–I don’t know how…”

“Shh. I’ve got you.” He says, and his thumb presses against your lower lip, the wet salt of your tears caught on the glove smearing over your mouth. Your lips part slightly and he takes the opportunity to slide his pointer and middle finger into your mouth. “Such a good girl.”

Your whole world shudders–crumbles straight to ash, and the Arkham Knight stands at its centre.

Pressing down on your tongue he slips his fingers deeper and you drool, spit leaking from the edges of your mouth. Touching the back of your throat you gag and fight the urge to pull back. Curling his free hand around the back of your head he holds you in place and continues to fuck your mouth with his fingers.

Shifting around on your knees to try and dissipate the ache building in your gut, your fingers drag up your thighs–coming to a slow stop over your covered cunt. Without looking away you press two fingers over your clit and sigh, eyelids fluttering.

A rough boot kicks at your knees, shoving them apart so he can wedge the tip of his combat boot against your pussy–effectively blocking your greedy fingers from where you grow wet and throbbing.

“Behave.” The Knight warns, fingers still sliding in and out of your mouth. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Swiping your tongue between his fingers you suckle gently and wrap your hand around his ankle, keeping him in place. Slipping the digits deeper he reaches the back of your throat again and you forcefully relax to let him explore, tears overflowing and dripping down your cheeks.

“There you go. So good for me.” He praises, releasing the back of your head so he can fiddle with his tactical belt. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

The praise sets you on fire, a dry spark of gasoline on your skin. Back in the Red Room, the only time you got praise was when you completed a task. Whether that was killing an opponent, extracting information, or resisting hours and hours of torture.

You remember the way you’d keen under their words, push yourself past the breaking point just to hear them say you’ve done a good job, that they’re proud of you, that you’re going to have the world at your feet.

It sat wrong in your stomach for years, something young and hurting banging against the inside of your chest when you thanked them for turning you into a monster.

Anything they wanted, you would have done for them.

But this praise is different, it lights you up inside like a goddamn solar flare. There’s no sense of guilt or betrayal, there’s just his words, his gloved fingers sliding rough and wet over your tongue and down your throat. You want to be good–you want to be good for him.

“Poor stupid girl.” He says, rocking his foot up against the sensitive space between your thighs. Grinding down on his boot involuntary you choke on a whimper. “I should have known that under all those fancy combat skills there was a pathetic little slut.”

Biting down on the fingers in your mouth you scowl.

“Don’t look at me like that.” The Knight chuckles, removing his hand from your mouth. “You think I didn’t notice how you reacted earlier? How you got all wet and sticky just from me putting my hand around your throat.”

Heat scathes up your neck, you hate how his words make your body react. Wetness seeps into your underwear, sticking the damp fabric to the swollen lips of your pussy. There’s a quick twitch of your clit as the Knight presses his boot against you harder–rocking it back and forth, dragging the length of your cunt over it.

Digging your nails into his ankle you whine, bottom lip trembling.

Unbuckling his tactical pants he shoves them and his boxers down far enough to free his length–the elastic waistband sitting underneath his full balls. His cock springs up, deliciously long and thick, flushed a deep red at the tip. The thick vein running up the underside of his shaft throbs and a clear bead of precum smears over the head.

Wrapping his gloved hand around himself he gives a long, slow pump and groans, the sound making your wet little hole flutter. Gathering the bead of precum on his thumb he swipes it over your mouth, wiping the taste of himself across your lips. Darting your tongue over his thumb your eyes roll into the back of your skull, the taste of him almost intoxicating.

Tipping your head forwards you mouth at the leaking tip, swirling your tongue over the pretty head of his cock. A strangled noise echoes through his helmet and you grind your cunt down on his boot. Grabbing a fistful of your hair the Knight guides you over his length, making sure you slick up his cock before he presses the fat head into the wet heat of your mouth.

“Uh–fuck…” He moans, hips flexing as he shoves himself deeper. The hand in your hair tightens, holding you in place as he feeds you inch after inch. “You were made for taking my cock sweetheart, you look so–ugh–pretty.”

The thick girth of him makes your jaw ache, you didn’t think your mouth could stretch wide enough to fit all of him in. Spit leaks from the corners of your mouth, dribbling down your chin and landing on his boot between your thighs. Pulling back before he hits the back of your throat he pushes forwards again, forcing his entire length into your mouth.

Brushing the back of your throat you gag, throat muscles squeezing around the tip of his cock. Your fingers clamp around his ankle, eyes watering as he thrusts deeper, your nose bumping against his navel.

“Gonna fuck your face,” He grunts, “Want you to feel me for days.”

Rocking back and forth you drag your leaking pussy over his boot, catching the dips and grooves on your throbbing clit. The pressure makes you moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Heat sparks up and down your spine, electricity zapping along your nerves. The position doesn’t give you as much contact as you want, the layers and layers of clothing preventing you from feeling everything–but it’s enough to get you close.

Pulling his hips back you suck in a desperate breath, lungs burning something fierce. Without pausing, he shoves his cock back into your mouth and down your throat–the impressive girth and weight of him settling heavy on your tongue. Easing into a messy rhythm you revel in the sounds you pull from the Knight’s mouth, the little moans and groans that make your pussy gush.

He sounds so pretty, you wonder for a brief moment what his voice sounds like without the modulator. Almost selfishly, you wish you knew his name.

Shifting his free hand he curls it around your neck, swearing lowly when he feels the bulge in your throat as he bottoms out. Forcing you to take his full length he holds you down, hand fisting your hair and preventing you from pulling back. Your nose presses against his lower stomach, spit and drool coating the warm skin there.

“You’re going to swallow it all sweetheart, you hear me?” He grunts, pulling back when you slap at his ankle. Surging forwards his muscular thighs flex, “M’gonna come in your mouth and you’re gonna swallow it all. You’re gonna swallow everything I give you or you’re not gonna come.”

The lack of air makes you feel drunk, eyes glossy and almost unseeing. Catching the swollen mess of your clit on his boot you shake and grind down harder, desperate to relieve the overpowering ache. Pleasure bleeds through your veins, sparking from the tips of your fingers to your toes. You have no control over the situation–you’ve never felt more free.

The Knight’s rhythm falters, breathing erratic. His cock twitches hard in your mouth and you trace the thick vein running along the underside with your tongue and it twitches again, harder this time. A mean snarl pours through the modulator and your whole pussy clenches, wetness oozing from your flushed little hole.

“Fuck–fuck–fuck.” He growls, hands shaking, strong hips sloppily surging forwards. Releasing his hold around your neck he strokes his fingers down your cheek, pressing down and feeling his length in your mouth. “Y’look so pretty–so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” He coos, breathless, “Shit–uh–fuck. Gonna–m’gonna come.”

Throwing his head back he moans, long and low and so, so pretty.

Shoving his cock down your throat his entire body seizes. Holding you down by the back of your head you fight the urge to gag, to struggle and hit out. His thick length twitches and he spills down your throat, ropes and ropes of his come unloading into your stomach. The taste of him floods your mouth and you teeter on the edge of oblivion.

“That’s it, you greedy girl, swallow it all.”

Gasping violently as he pulls back a thin string of spit connects you and the fat head of his cock. Looking up, your eyes water and there’s something pleading in your gaze. Hovering over his boot you feel your cunt pulse and beg for stimulation–you’re so close to coming that one pass of his boot would tip you over the edge.

“Please.” You beg quietly, face burning with humiliation. “Please–I’m so close–please can–can I come?”

Tapping your covered pussy with his foot you whimper–he grinds against your swollen clit harder and your thighs tremble.

“Is that really all it’s going to take?” He says, tone mocking. “Are you really going to come from this?” Pushing his boot up again he stops you from squirming away and you wail, tears streaming down your face. “God–you’re fucking disgusting.”

Your whole world goes supernova, an explosion of colour igniting behind your eyes. You don’t know how he does it–how he knows just what to say to drag you kicking and screaming to the very edge.

“Shit– oh fuck..shit. I’m gonna–hng–please! I’ve been good…I–I swallowed everything–please–oh god! Please!”

Tucking his softening length back into his tactical pants he kneels down, removing all stimulation and forcing a wrecked sob from between your lips. Roughly shoving your knees further apart with his hands he rubs two fingers over your cunt–a quick back and forth pass that has you shaking, hands coming up to dig into his armoured shoulders.

Staring into his helmet you see your own reflection staring back. Watery eyes, sweat dotting along your hairline, spit and drool covering your mouth and chin. Every part of you looks almost pathetic and you know that if anyone from the Red Room saw you now, they’d put you down like a dog.

You want to look away but something keeps you there, you wonder if you’re looking into the Knight’s eyes. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

“Oh you poor stupid girl,” He teases, a cruel undertone bleeding into his words–it sets you on fire, makes you want to grab one of the guns from his hips and slam a bullet through his chest. “What would people think if they saw you like this? Crying and begging like a whore to come just from this–from a little pressure on your pathetic cunt.”

Stroking his fingers over your pussy you gasp, open mouthed and utterly desperate. Circling his digits around your wet, throbbing clit you grind down–hard. Compensating for your movements the Knight allows you to use his hand to get more pressure on your cunt, closing your eyes for a split second you moan.

“Open your eyes.” He orders, that blaring tone of authority wrapping around your neck. “Don’t you dare look away when you come.”

You snap your eyes open.

“Oh–oh…okay–shit. Can–can I come now…please, I’m so close.”

Your clit twitches as you feel your gazes lock, a glittering pulse forcing more wetness out of your clenching hole. You feel half deaf with pleasure, the only thing registering the Knight and his voice and his quick, nimble fingers rubbing against you.

“Come for me, pretty girl,” He finally says, curling his free hand around your neck and squeezing. “Wanna see you make a mess.”

You’re gone.

He makes you work for your breath, air dragging thick through your throat as you convulse and cry out. Your pussy gushes, arousal seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear and dampening your tactical pants. Glittering heat explodes in your veins and the quick, desperate twitching of your clit matches the clenching of your empty cunt.

The pleasure feels alive inside you, sending you straight into the damn stratosphere. You feel high, drunk, weightless. There’s nothing in your head but blinding warmth and his voice, praising you for doing so well, for being so good.

Pressing your forehead to his helmet you barely manage to keep your eyes open.

You don’t think you’ve come that hard before, you’re not sure if your legs will work if you stand. There’s an ache in your fingers as you cling to the fabric of the Knight’s uniform, aftershocks ripping up the fragile bones of your spine.

Releasing your throat the Knight pulls back, forcing your grip on his shoulders to loosen. Grabbing your chin he presses hard enough to make you hiss.

“You’re mine, do you understand?”

A stupid smile tugs at the edges of your mouth, you know he can feel it through his gloves. Of all the people you’ve belonged to–horrible parents, The Red Room, HYDRA, evil handlers who just wanted you to hurt. You think that belonging to him is the next best thing beside belonging to yourself.

It’s twisted, there's something in the back of your head shouting a warning, but out of your whole life, this is the most free you’ve felt. You recognise that you’re broken, a little fucked up on the inside–you can’t function properly without having someone else control you, guide you. A side effect of going through the Red Room and escaping before they can finish their training.

But you think that maybe the Knight is a little broken too. You still see fractured parts of yourself in him. If you look at him for too long, you start to see the little cracks in his armour. He’s been hurt too.

You see him and you understand: broken sees broken.

You gave up so much to gain…something.

“You’re mine, do you understand?”

Yes

Notes - One thing I'd like to mention - I did play around with multiple different endings for this. Some sweeter, some not so sweet. In the end I tried to stick to my characterisation of the Reader (she's a little screwed up from the Red Room) and I kind of wanted to leave it open to interpretation. I do have an outline planned for a second part to this as I want to give the reader a chance to heal, and I also have a few very self indulgent scenes planned *wink wonk*. Plus you know, AK!Jason has me in a chokehold rn.

Anyway!! Hope you enjoyed. It was nice to flex my smut writing fingers after so long, I'll 100% be writing more in the future.

Love Ya!! xx

#arkham knight x reader #jason todd x reader #arkham knight x redroom!reader #jason todd x redroom!reader #arkham knight smut #jason todd smut #dc universe #dcu comics #batman: arkham knight #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #ella writes

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aehyei · 3 years ago

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BAD INSECURITIES BAD! day four in 31 days and nights with na jaemin.

📌 JAEMIN FEELING A BIT INSECURE !!

pairing: boyfriend!njm x reader, genre: fluff, established relationship!au, angsty

TAG LIST FOR THE SERIES: @bubblegumjeon @dayandnighthyuck @airpodbaekuwu @sunshine-skz @jaeymark @luvrboyjeno @sunshinedhyuck @thiccfullsun @baehaechannie @champagne-n-yachts + if you want to be included, please reply on the original post!

“HOW’S THE GIRLFRIEND?”

“She’s alright.” Jaemin smiled once his friends gave him a pat on his back as they sat on the ground around him. Haechan hummed and reached for a cookie in Jisung’s lunchbox, munching on it shamelessly as if he just didn’t steal it in daylight in front of everyone.

“Isn’t it crazy that Jaemin and Y/n had been dating ever since high school? I really thought Y/n would dump his ass after a week or so.” Chenle snorts when the said boy glared at him. “Leave them alone, Le.” Mark chuckled at the small argument.

“She wouldn’t dump me. I’m Na Jaemin.” Jaemin scoffed, crossing his arms against his chest that he may have purposely buffed to show how fit he was as if to prove a point.

“Yeah, and she’s the L/n Y/n.” Haechan sniffled, wiping the cookie crumbs on his white shirt. “I mean, you’re this dorky hopeless romantic and she’s this perfect girl. She’s so hot, you know? With her straight A’s, sexy body, gorgeous face—”

“Hyuck.” Renjun warns him, nudging his side. Haechan stops his huge mouth and looks up, finally able to notice what he had done with his unstoppable talking. There, sits Jaemin, looking horrified if not too terrified. A look of realization flashed against his eyes as his shoulders began to slump.

“Don’t think about it much, Nana.” Jeno chuckled, nudging his best friend. “You know Hyuck, he talks nonsense 24/7.”

“Yes that I do!” Haechan nods immediately, instantly feeling regret. “I usually don’t mean what I say most of the time.”

“No. No you’re right this time. I’m an outcast and everyone loves her. God, what have been I doing in my life? She doesn’t deserve someone like me.” Jaemin breaks down, pulling on his hair strands.

Everyone knows Jaemin can be quiet and pretend he doesn’t care, but on the inside he can be a little sensitive and has a bad habit of overthinking even in the simplest ways. He may be sometimes a people pleaser, which is a problem his family, friends, and girlfriend tries to help him get over with.

Na Jaemin is the sweetest man everyone has ever met. Too sweet in fact that it was hard to know what was behind the charming smile he always wore.

“But hyung, Y/n loves you.” Jisung reasoned out, biting into his other cookie that he took before Haechan could snatch it too. You were two years younger then Jaemin, being the same age as Jisung. So it would only make sense that you were the closest with him at first before you met the rest. “Trust me, long before you guys became a couple, she wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

“And think about it, you two are still together even after three years.” Mark added.

Jaemin let out a rough exhale, clenching his jaw. Haechan’s words continued to bother him, making a single question circle around his mind repeatedly, mocking him in loud silence.

Will you dump him once you see someone you deserve?

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lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 4 years ago

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what happened the first time Wes tried to crack open the Danny is Phantom conspiracy did he like, confront Danny first or was it all behind his back like, maybe hoping ground zero would be lost among the gossip and that Danny wouldn't find out who spilled the beans once everyone knew

I mean it obviously wouldn't work because nobody believed him and the gossip didn't take off very far beyond a few people talking about Wes being kinda weird

I should absolutely write a fic about this.

I am absolutely going to write a fic about this.

I AM RIGHT NOW GOING TO WRITE A FIC ABOUT THIS.

----

"Hey Fenton! Fenton!!" Dash came bounding over and threw a meaty arm around his shoulder.

"Jesus Dash! What?!" Danny buckled under the weight (pretended to anyway) as Dash gave him a surprisingly lighthearted punch on the arm.

"You haven't heard?! Wes has this total batshit insane theory, it's hilarious!"

Dash was in a genuine giggle-fit, Danny didn't think he'd ever seen him this merry, he was also starting to suspect he was going to leave this conversation being the butt of the joke somehow. Wait-

"Wes? Who the heck is Wes?" Danny asked, it wasn't like he knew everyone in school, like Dash seemed to.

"He's on the basketball team, you know, tall guy, red hair, threw a sick move at least month's game! You know, WES!"

"I didn't watch that game."

"Oh," said Dash, flatly, "Oh yeah, almost forgot you're a total nerd. Anyway, like I was saying!"

Dash grabbed Danny by the shoulders and nearly lifted him off the floor.

"Wes thinks," he could barely speak through his giggling, he even snorted a few times, "Wes thinks your secretly PHANTOM."

Dash dropped Danny back down as he doubled over laughing.

"Could you imagine?! You! You're not even DEAD!" Dash honest to god slapped his knee in mirth.

Danny went through an incredibly swift array of emotions in the span of about five seconds.

The first was fear, clear and bracing, then came confusion, how did he know? Had he seen something? Then there was hope, Dash didn't believe it, and if DASH didn't believe it, maybe nobody else believed it either. Then relief, he could roll with this, he could TOTALLY roll with this! Dash was right! It was absurd, it was ridiculous, it was hilarious, him being Phantom? What utter nonsense!

Sam and Tucker had been standing by his side at a Dash-safe distance, looking absolutely horrified. Sam looked ready to jump in and lay down a swift defence, but Danny gave a quick little low wave for her to stand down. He got this.

"Oh my god SERIOUSLY?" Danny busted out a slightly hysterical laugh, okay so he wasn't completely over the initial terrified anxiety.

"How could I- I mean what- WHY does he think I'M Phantom?! I mean how does that even work I don't-"

Dash clapped him on the shoulder, this was probably the most contact he'd ever had with him without being physically assaulted.

"I know right?! Like apparently he thinks you look alike? And he's all like 'But I've seen his eyes glow green' and 'they're never in the same roo-hoo-hoom." Dash wheezed and started hacking and coughing.

Danny carefully constructed a look of offence.

"Hey I mean, it's not THAT funny. Why couldn't I be Phantom! I know how to use a Fenton Thermos! Look I even HAVE one right-" he torn open his backpack and pulled one out, making sure to fumble it in a terrific display of fuck-uppery and drop it noisily on the cafeteria floor, he dropped to his knees trying to grab it but knocked it under a table.

A few girls standing nearby who'd been listening in started tittering, one of the guys sitting at the table snorted milk through his nose and Dash was just about on the floor in hysterics.

Even Sam and Tucker covered their mouths in an attempt to look like they were holding in laughter. Tucker muttered to Sam, just loud enough for people around to hear.

"I mean, he's our friend and we love him, but god that was painful to watch. He knows he's terrible at ghost hunting! He's got like, nothing but thumbs."

Danny climbed under the table, grabbed at the thermos and lifted it up as he crawled back out.

"See! See! I have a thermos! I could TOTALLY be Phantom!"

Sam walked over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's okay bud, I think you'd be a great Phantom." her voice was thick with her usual sarcasm, soaked in pity though it were.

Danny's ears burned in embarrassment, he might have been humiliating himself on purpose, but it was still humiliating, watching everyone laugh at him for being so weak and incompetent. He was grateful to his friends for pushing through their discomfort and keeping up the act, it was still painful, but it came with a wash of pure unadulterated relief.

Nobody believed this Wes guy, nobody thought it could be even remotely possible. People would talk about it for a little while, have a laugh, maybe there would be a few memes and in-jokes, but eventually it would drop off. People would forget all about it and it would be just another notch on the gossip mill belt.

Even if someone DID believe it, they could never admit it for fear of vicious ridicule, for once in his life peer pressure was his friend.

And then Wes walked in.

Once Danny saw him he realised that he did recognise Wes, he'd seen him hanging around Kwan a few times, and chatting with Star, he was also in Danny's english class. That was about as familiar as he got with the guy, they'd never spoken a word to each other.

Wes had a terrifying expression of seething fury ripping across his face. He was glaring at Dash.

"It's NOT. FUNNY."

Dash was completely unable to stand, it was honestly overkill, Danny almost thought he was hamming it up on purpose, but maybe not, his face was turning an alarming shade of red after all.

"Wes don-" Dash gasped. "Don't do this to me man, I can't brea-" Dash was gasping for air, trying desperately to hold down the giggles.

Danny could almost see steam rising as Wes seethed. Then suddenly that furious stare was shooting daggers straight at him. Danny shrank into himself, looking as small and helpless as he possibly could.

"Uh hey Wes, um, I've heard the news." he joked tacking on a nervous laugh for emphasis. "Uh, soooo," he tossed the thermos from hand to hand, nearly dropping it again. "Is this like, just a joke or do you really-?"

Dash continued to wheeze, Kwan was holding him up by the arm, muttering about getting some water to cool off.

Wes strode over until he and Danny were face to face, he was taller by a good couple inches, even more so with Danny making a conscious effort to appear small.

Wes jabbed a sharp finger into his collarbone.

"Don't think I'm fooled by this pathetic act you've got going on, I am ONTO you, Phantom." he spat.

Danny glanced sidelong at the table beside him, silently begging for assistance, they only watched in silence, strained faces trying not to laugh. A glance the other way to his friends, they simply shrugged.

"Um, okaaay," Danny started backing away slowly. "Uh look Wes I am honestly really flattered but, do we really look that alike?" Danny ran a hand through his hair and then pointed up at Wes. "I mean we BOTH kinda have Phantom's haircut."

Sam deadpanned from the sidelines, "Maybe they're BOTH Phantom."

"We should start marketing that haircut." Tucker muttered to himself, tapping something on his tablet. "We could make a fortune, are you any good at hairdressing?"

Sam shot him a look of disgust and did not dignify the question with a response.

"Don't play dumb you two," said Wes, flipping his focus, "You're definitely in on this!"

The entire cafeteria was awash with giggles by this point. Just about everyone had heard about Wes' theory, but were mostly convinced it was some kinda joke. Now? Now they knew Wes was straight up fucking delusional.

He glanced around as people laughed, at him. At HIM.

"It's not funny!" he yelled over the crowed, the tittering increased in volume. Someone across the room yelled-

"Hey if I get the haircut, can I be Phantom too?"

One of the goths stood up on her seat.

"I've GOT the haircut! Mom says it's MY TURN to be the Phantom!"

There was a fresh round of mirthful laughter, some kids wheezing as hard as Dash had been. Another few kids piped up above the cacophony, throwing jokes of their own.

"I've got a soup thermos so I'm Phantom now, sorry sweaty I don't make the rules."

"If I wear a Phantom shirt does that make me Phantom ALL the time or am I only Phantom when I'm wearing it?"

"I have an ass, Phantom has an ass. Conclusion: I am Phantom's ass."

"Tag yourself I'm the thermos."

"DO THE BUTTS MATCH?"

Wes had been trying to scream over the din, infuriated, desperate to find SOMEONE who would listen.

Danny gave him a pat on the back.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, The Guys in White once hunted some guy down because he had white hair, if a government agency can fuck that up then-"

Wes slugged him.

It wasn't a particularly solid punch like Dash's hits, it was quick and precise, Was wasn't a brawny guy, but he was lean and fast and had good aim.

Danny whuffed out a heavy breath as Wes' fist collided with his sternum and he collapsed to the floor.

Everyone in the cafeteria lost their shit, a few people screamed and one table of football jocks all stood up chanting, "FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT."

Tucker ran over to him as Sam stepped up and without hesitation slammed a fist straight into Wes' nose.

The footballers lost their minds, one of the goths stood up on their table screaming "REPRESEEENT!!"

Wes backed up immediately, crying out from the sharp pain blossoming across his face, he'd never been hit before and couldn't pull his thoughts together quick enough to throw a punch back at her, so he was taken by surprise once again as Sam placed a solid roundhouse kick to his stomach.

He had certainly not been expecting that kind of brute strength from her, she had incapacitated him swiftly and effectively, barely having broken a sweat.

One of his teammates hollered over the crowd and came barrelling down on the goth, she dodged without batting an eye and darted nimbly out of the way, giving the guy a quick kick in the pants to throw him off balance as she rocketed for the cafeteria door.

As Wes took a deep breath through his mouth, his nose dripping blood, he realised that Danny and Tucker were gone. The fight had lasted only seconds but Sam had run distraction well enough for the boys to take off without anyone noticing, a glance around showed Tucker supporting Danny about to exit through the cafeteria doors.

The doors opened to an out of breath Mr Lancer on the other side.

"'The Light Fantastic!' WHAT is going on here?!"

Oh they were all so fucked.

#danny phantom #wes weston #I definitely wanna write a sequel in detention #danny phantom fanfiction #Lula's headcanons #Lula's fanfics

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spencersmagic · 4 years ago

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a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :)

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x @spencerreid-mgg @eoupe @inlovewithbabygirl @galaxydefenderjulia @username2002

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theodora3022 · 4 years ago

Text

Playing tricks with the trickster

Summary: Failed escape attempt from yandere Childe. He lets you play your cards, even playing along, just for his own amusement.

Notes: My first genshin piece yay... I had a sweet and terrible dream of me running from Childe in the woods. Also some inspiration was drawn from @cinnamonest‘s this post, one big virtual hug to her! I hope I did Childe justice, what can I say I love manipulative smiling boys. It has become a pattern as I dash from one fandom to another. This is had turned out to be longer then I expected...Ginger boy demands my time and energy too much omg. Mind the warnings, although there is nothing extreme in this.

Fun fact, I was looping to Nintendo game by Alessia Cara when writing this down. I believe it fits the theme of this fic quite well.

Tagging: @akutaguagua a great friend who patiently beta-read this mess of a horror dream and gave me lots of kind praises!

(Offical art belongs to miHoYo! This is a cover page of this video, if there is any issues, contact me and I will remove it at once)

Warnings: Implied past abduction,dub-con touching, mild degradation, drugging(not on reader), implied non-con/dub-con at the end, this is not healthy love and I do not condone this irl.

It has been nearly a month since the youngest Fatui Harbinger had “taken you in”. After a few tries, you were too horrified by the punishments to continuously fight him. You learned on the first day that Childe’s smiling, the friendly mask would come off towards you. Your behaviour would decide if that is a curse or a “blessing”.

So you had quieted down, struggling to restrain yourself from yelling or screaming, carefully not to provoke his anger. Despite being compliant to his orders, you never truly showed him any affection either. Sure, you would sit on his lap if he asked, but you never initiated anything intimate with him. No matter how much Tartaglia spoiled you with clothes, books, jewelry or other luxuries, he is still the one who holds the commanding end of your shackles. It’s the best not to get used to all of that when your sight is set on the door.

Although he has taken your freedom away, you are not kept in a windowless room. On the contrary, you have too many outings now. Wherever he goes, you have to be present in a 2m radius, including meetings. Being a Harbinger is no easy job, so he prefers not having to worry about your safetly during buisness hours. The best way to do that is never let you out of his sight.

“Love, no one should witness our little problems. Well, no one alive that is.” Of course you wouldn’t want to put innocent people's lives at stake. You never dared to act out when you two are in public, and no one would bat an eye if a Fatui had taken a lover.

You had taken an emotionless approach towards him. If Childe wants a kiss on the cheek, you’ll give him a quick light peck. If he wants breakfast, you’ll go make some pancakes with the topping he likes. Luckily, Childe had not done anything too extreme yet. If cuddling to sleep does not count as extreme that is. The only time you slipped up is when he suddenly hugs you from behind when you’re cooking.

You thought maybe, just maybe, by being as boring and dull as you could, this bastard might just get tired of you and let you go. Childe only loves the fun of it right? Or maybe it could lower his guard.

Oh, how naive you are. You should have known better than to underestimate a Fatui harbinger. See, this is exactly why he needs to keep you around. Yes, unfortunately for you, Childe loves you, so very much. Speaking to him with a monotone voice isn’t going to alter that fact.

You have been devoid of emotions as of late. While Childe does appreciate fewer screams for the sake of his eardrums, this schemer can sense you are up to something. Perhaps this is the peace before your “storm”(he thought of it more like a drizzle)

You want to play a game? Okay, why not? Childe cannot wait to see what tricks you got on those sleeves. Are you ever getting away? Does an amateur ever win when they play a game with a professional trickster? Never.

Still, nothing bites like a cornered rat. You are no airhead, and he is fully aware of that. Just not as cunning and observent as him, that’s all.

The way you just kept your emotions sealed up is impressive, even to someone like him. Even when he got hansy, you did not flinch and just stared at the corner. Childe can only catch faint glimpses of anger when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Hm, when are you pulling your trigger? Tonight, or tomorrow night? Not that Childe is impatient, anything from you is worth waiting. But he would need to dismiss his patrolling underlings in the nearby woods beforehand. No extras would be allowed to disturb this game.

There is no chance during the day, a somewhat mutual understanding for you two. Night time in comparison, is a different story.

Anyone’s sleeping hours is their most vulnerable time of the day, Childe is no exception. You do not plan to harm him, not that you don’t want to. But you are willing to swallow the pent up frustration towards him if you would never see his face again after this. Maybe beating up some slimes would help with the release?

You somehow managed to slip a mixture of herbs into his tea. Since he would buy cooking ingredients for you from time to time, you had requested a bunch of herbs along with the ingredients of a sleep inducing medicine you remembered. Although Childe does all he can to keep you near him, there are inevitable hours that he needs to be somewhere without you. He cannot jeopardize your safety with troublesome monsters. On a side note, he loves showing you off to anyone, his colleagues, acquaintances, business partners, anyone he does not deem a threat.

Enough time for you to make those herbs into powder and cover it up with a few spoons of milk. Tea with milk has become quite popular in Liyue as of late. Childe has grown to love them, so you have learned how to mix it up. He always let you handle his food and drinks, saying that he “trusts you”. What you do not know is this is one of the openings he exposed on purpose. It’s not like you can aquire anything deadly under his suffocating supervision.

Your plan will work, or so you think. Childe will not wake up when you wiggle out of his grasp, because dreamland will keep him occupied. All you need is a glider and a usable sword from Liyue and you’ll get your life back. Bottling up extreme emotions has certainly taken a toll on your mind, but it will be worth it if that is the prerequisite of being free.

Something about this being so easy sits ill with you. Have you really been with the youngest Fatui Harbinger this whole time? But that was brushed off your shoulders by the sheer excitement of regaining your long lost freedom. You know Liyue is in walking distance, all you need to do is cross these woods and-

The moment you dive into the forest, you think you heard an amused chuckle.

That smooth voice terrifies you to no end, the same voice you took orders from for the past month.

Oh, how Childe loves seeing you happy. It’s priceless, both literally and figuratively. No matter how many things he buys you, you had not shown him even one small smile. Enjoy your sweet freedom, because it ain’t going to last. You certainly will know your place after this right? If not you are just dumber then he give you credit for.

That glow of relief in your eyes is worth every last bit of this intense dizzying feeling to Childe. To make sure your plan go through, he had drunk the tea without hesitation, quick enough to catch the momentarily excitement you expressed. He knows the game is on, therefore he had given the night patrol guards the entire evening off. Forcing himself to stay concious by digging his nails into his palms, Childe followed you into the woods.

Your potion is quite strong. Excellent, you’ll have to give him the recipe for informational purposes later. Especially how you managed to achieve such effects with a few herbs you had. He never took you to be anything less than a smart girl, but this has exceeded his expectations. Where’s the fun in a game without challenges?

How you storm through the forest wearing that cute terrified expression looks so endearing, it’s surely not his fault if he wants to enjoy this sight to be longer right.

So, each time you feel the slightest at ease due to whatever reason, expect Childe to make some sound to send you running like your life depends on it again. The sadistic man is hunting you down playfully, like a cat chasing a stray mouse to the inevitable corner.

You know he is toying with you. There is nothing you can do to make him shut up though.

“Love, you had scratched your leg. Must hurts by the looks of it.”

“Liyue is that way, you know.”

“Are you tired? If you want to jog in the middle of the night, you should have called me to come along!”

How can he say those things nonchalantly while you are trying to escape from him? Here he is, daunting you with that signature smile he wears so very often. That is when reality slaps you right in the face. No matter how hard you plan, no matter how fast you run, there is no getting rid of him.

When your stamina runs out, a simple pull and push on your left wrist is enough to let you fall onto the ground panting. Even now, you still refuse to beg for mercy. You would take the cold grounds to the warmth of Childe’s embrace anyday.

“Aw, burnt out already? Pathetic. Looks like we need to work on your stamina more. But this is not the place for exercise.”

“Look at me.” His slender but forceful fingers tilt your head up, making you look into those ocean blue orbs. There is anger present in his eyes, but those emotions are more a mixture of delight and that. His smile had also been replaced by a mocking smirk. “You, trying to leave me? Your sense of humor is...well, let’s just call it unique. Lucky for you, you amused me nonetheless.”

“I know what you’re thinking. How I’m a selfish jerk and you hate me. Why be so ungrateful? You get to live in luxury thanks to me, you know. I am selfish, yes, but look how stupid you are. I know you added something extra in my evening tea, my beloved.”

“Come now, we are going to do some exercises suited for a night like this once we’re back home. It is our one month milestone, after all. You had already given me your gift, it is only fair for you that I do the same.”

Childe is not making a sarcastic remark. The thrill of that chase was the best fun he had in months. And you are going to love his gift too, maybe not right away, but surely sometimes after.

You have to mentally prepare yourself for the worst as he dragged you back to the prison, hopefully you’ll still be able to walk properly after whatever Childe got in store.

#yandere #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #this is a dream fleshed out into a fic #i am not sorry

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prettylightsbigcity · 3 years ago

Text

Yours, Always

TW: MCD, cancer, suicide

Losing someone you love feels impossible. In the days after his death, Baz writes a love letter to Simon.

I recently lost someone close to me, and I wrote this pretty soon after they passed. I debated whether or not this was something that I wanted or needed to share, but after sitting with it for some time, I decided to throw it out into the universe. Please read the tags and trigger warnings, and don't read this if you're not in a place to think about the things mentioned. I'm listing some resources below; take care of yourself, friends. Read below, or here on ao3.

***

Dear Simon,

I think I’m disappearing right in front of my own eyes. Most days I get up, go through the motions, speak to people without hearing them, eat without tasting; I am moving through the world like a ghost. I’m a watery impression of myself. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so numb. Do you know what kept me alive in the darkest seasons of my life, Snow? When I first realized what I was, that I would never be the boy my mother had loved again? When the days all bled together into one endless smear of suffering trapped inside a coffin? Do you know what kept me alive? It was you. The knowledge that you existed, somewhere in the world, before you ever spoke to me kindly, before I even dared to hope that you could care for me the way I care for you. Just knowing that you were out there, Simon Snow, gave me a reason to carry on living. Loving you has been at the core of me since before I even understood what I was feeling. Being loved by you has been the greatest honor of my life. We have fought for each other over and over again, and we’ve always won.

But what was the point of it all? The agony and struggle we both endured— not to mention what we put everyone else through— to get here? Everything you did for our world, the trauma and torment and heartache inflicted on you, not just by The Mage (curse his wretched soul), but all of magickal society with the expectations they placed on your shoulders when you were only a child. The Greatest Mage. The Power of Powers. The Chosen One. I know you thought it was all a load of rubbish, but I believed it. I still do. I believe in you, Simon. And after all that, there was nothing any of us could do. I sat in Dr. Wellbelove's office right next to you while he said horrifying things that didn’t make any sense, words like “glioblastoma” and “metastatic” and “terminal” and— and “cancer.” It had likely started somewhere else, he said, spreading to your spine and then finally your brain, which was what brought us in to see him. The headaches. None of us could do a fucking thing; I just sat there in that sterile fucking office, holding your hand, and all the magic in the world couldn’t change anything. Of course, we tried. We had to. Penelope and I coated you with every spell under the sun and a few that hadn’t even existed previously. Nothing changed. You were impenetrable to magic right to the end. It’s just like you to be an absolutely stubborn arse.

It will be your birthday next week, Simon, or at least the day we’ve been calling your birthday for the past nine years. Ten years of loving you. Ten years of choosing us, through every up and down. It wasn’t enough. No amount of time being loved by you could ever be enough for me. I should have savored every moment, but I was a fool. I expected ten more birthdays, and ten after that, until we grew old together, just like we used to talk about. We made so many plans and shared so many dreams. We talked about having kids of our own someday; round-faced, freckled children who looked like you, or maybe children from care who needed a family, just like you did. I know it terrified you, but you would have been the best father, Simon. It frightened me too, but I would have been able to do it with you by my side, I know I would. I think about that imaginary future family often these days, mourning something we never got to have, and now we never will.

I remember last year, when you turned thirty, you joked that it was too late for you to make anything of yourself now. We stayed up late and drank an entire bottle of wine, plotting to make our grand return to America for your fortieth birthday.

“New York,” you said, “and New Orleans, and Los Angeles– we missed all the good stuff last time.”

“We were a little preoccupied with the overwhelming amount of bad stuff last time, Snow,” I told you.

“Think we should go back to Las Vegas and see if we like it any better now?” you asked, grinning like a fool.

“No,” I said, “and I can’t believe you would ever suggest that.”

“It’s the vampire capital of the world, babe,” you said, like I was the one being an idiot.

“Yes, and I prefer to be the only vampire allowed anywhere near you,” I countered, tackling you and pressing you back into our mattress.

You told me I should go on that trip without you, one of those interminable nights when I sat next to your hospital bed with my head resting on your lap. You were running your fingers through my hair, so gently. You barely had the strength to lift your hand. You couldn’t see me by then; the swelling pressing against your optic nerve had taken your vision a week earlier. They tried radiation to reduce it, to try and restore your sight. It hadn’t worked. I stayed even closer to you after that, holding you as much as I could so you would always know where I was, that I was there, that you weren’t alone. You asked me for things, in those quiet, desperate nights. We both knew that time was running out, so you asked me for promises, and I could never deny you. You made me promise to take care of everyone– Penelope and Shepard and their children, my siblings, your Uncle Jaime. I promised to visit Ebb’s grave for you, and Lady Ruth’s. You knew by then that you’d never be able to visit them yourself again. You asked me to promise you that I would go on, that I’d try to be happy, even try to date. As if I would ever feel joy again after you were gone; as if I could ever love anyone else after the way I have loved you. The way I still love you. You are the love of my life, and if a creature like me is capable of having a soul, you’re the love of every life my soul ever has and ever will experience. I never intended to break my word to you, Simon, but the Baz who made those promises still had you. He’s gone now; he died with you.

I’m sorry, Simon. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but I’ve never been brave like you. I’m not strong enough to stay here without you. Our families– the ones we were born with and the ones we chose– will survive this, I know they will. They have each other, they won’t be alone. Not like I am, now. You’ve forgiven me so many terrible things in my life, love. I hate to ask you to forgive one more, but I have to. Please, forgive me, Simon. I love you. I’ll see you soon.

Yours, always.

Baz

#my fic #snowbaz #mcd #tw: cancer #tw: depression #tw: death

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sebbybooks · 4 years ago

Text

Wreck My Daydream

Part Two

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

18+

Tagged🎄

@wayward-mikaelson

Cataglottism

(n.) kissing with tongue

I’m already wet and Sebastian barely even touched me.

I hardly gave myself a moment to be ashamed or even stir in the crass words I was using even if I had only thought them. Like a diary I suppose there was no need to lie to myself considering it was one hundred percent true. I, Nellie Lennox, was unabashedly met with unending desires that washed away my trepidations that led up to this moment.

In its place I felt this newfound sense of possibilities that I wasn’t actually making an ass out of myself with my sudden confession of feelings for Sebastian. In my defense I didn’t just wake up one morning after having some epiphany as to why I wanted to be with him. The thought of us together made itself at home in the back of my mind.

Almost like a what if. . .

However, I couldn’t help but be terrified of all the ways it could go wrong. What if I had made things weird between us forcing us apart? Life would be a bitter existence if Sebastian wasn’t around in some capacity. For the longest time I tried to find him in different relationships. It is a messed up philosophy, but it almost worked. Whenever things would get too serious it nearly terrified me. I was their someday and they were my maybe. I owed this last relationship that is still so freshly cut more than that.

I owed myself that.

On the unique and rare chance I somehow got lost in a very realistic maladaptive daydream, I’m pretty certain Sebastian wants this too. Just thinking about what he had told me seconds ago made my heartbeat drum to a dizzy rhythm. Imagining myself getting fucked to the beat of it was a completely different type of sensation.

Retraining my focus on the now I could see it in Sebastian’s face all the wheels going around in his head. Confusion? Uncertainty? Regret?

“You don’t get to do that.” I tell him. I felt like I was going to climb out of my own skin if he left me suspended in the silence for a second longer. Sebastian tipped his face closer to mine, our lips gingerly brushing against each other. Perhaps he was feeling ambivalent in regards of his feelings for me? After all this was sprung on him in the middle of the night.

Sebastian shook his head as if he was at war with himself. “I want to.” His voice was strained and dangerously low, like something was causing him utter misery being this close, yet not knowing exactly when to pull away.

“Then why don’t you.” I dared him.

I was growing impatient with this slow burn we had somehow started. I wanted to play with this fire. If I got burned in the end by his touch then so be it. At least I would forever be marked with a reminder of knowing that I at least went after something I wanted with no apology. I wanted to see how far he was willingly to go.

Sebastian removed his hand from the security of being wrapped around me. I feigned a disappointed sigh at the lack of contact. My entire body must have been on autopilot , because I didn’t recognize the position I was in. I practically sat in his lap with one leg wrapped around him and the other one mindlessly dangling over the bed. Of course the mind reader that Sebastian was naturally grabbed ahold of the side of my thigh and wrapped it around his back.

It wasn’t like I was naive to sex or never had my fair share of romantic conquest. Regardless of my experiences I still felt like a gigantic ball of nerves. The way he stared down at me with a heated look in his eyes as if he wanted to posses every inch of me. Hell, I felt like I could come undone from that alone.

The hand that was planted on my back slowly drifted downward trailing the curve of my backside gripping my ass through my thinly silk hunter green shorts that matched the top. Earlier I had berated myself for wearing scantly clad pajamas to bed. Now I am thanking my lucky stars I opted out of the option of wearing a red Christmas onesie that had polar bears wearing scarfs around their necks. They were ones my mother insisted the whole family wear.

If I had I probably would not have been able to feel his erection that was restrained in his sweatpants. Trying to situate myself closer I rocked into him slightly, massaging myself on him. My ears didn’t miss the subtle groan Sebastian let out from the feel of my weight pressing further into him.

His silence wasn’t lost on me and he still hadn’t answered my question so I did it again. I wanted him to say something. My nervousness abated at this point. I twined my arms around his neck, grinding myself against him again and again. All the while Sebastian watched my every movement with a hint of a star struck look in his eyes. The feeling was certainly mutual I was even shocking myself at my behavior.

“Nellie,” Sebastian finally says, voice husky. He usually only ever calls me by my nickname so I was more than sure that he was not fully himself.

“I’m a big girl Sebastian I can handle whatever you need to say.” I tell him, holding in my breath.

“Alright,” he said with uncertainty. “You and me, this, it’s not a good idea.” His tone was barely audible and even more so he sounded hurt. Everything in me froze.

“And why is that?” I asked him more confused than ever. Suddenly feeling absolutely self conscious as I over analyzed every intimate word I just shared with him. I was even more horrified by the fact that I was dry humping my best friend.

He let out a darkly laugh. “It’s pretty damn obvious Nells.” Sebastian says rather ominously.

“...It’s not actually.” For someone that wants nothing out of this, Sebastian was holding on to me like an anchor and I on the other hand just wanted to get away and sink.

Admittedly, I was losing this game of tug a war. There was only so much I was willing to endure even I had my limits. “You’re giving me whiplash Sebastian .” I tell him honestly, “ I’m not like those other girls you go for that are satisfied with you just dangling yourself in front of them like a piece of cake that I can’t have. I meant what I said when I told you I didn’t say it just to hear you say the same.” My voice could only rise so high in pitch.

I definitely didn’t want to wake up the upstairs guest that would love nothing more than to recap this conversation over breakfast. Then like an unexpected bolt of lighting startling you from a distance, Sebastian kissed me.

Sebastian

I am a selfish bastard.

My mind fell quiet when I looked at her. I wanted to swim in the serenity and peacefulness that was this smart, vibrant, sexy, and uniqueness this woman possessed. I only wondered even in the darkness could Nellie see my eyes as plainly as I can see hers. If so could she see the shame reflecting in them? I could feel the nagging weight of my conscience siting on both of my shoulders, arguing back and forth over what I should and shouldn’t do. It was kind of ironic that the devil in my ear insisted that I give in to the angel in my lap.

God knows I waited for her and that I would keep waiting if I had to in this lifetime or the next. It was always going to be Nellie for me. I wanted to tell her all of this, but the longer I held on to this slice of heaven I was given during this random hour. I also knew that this moment was fleeting. I basked in the way she looked at me, the way she held on to me like I was an object of virtue. I also got a sample of what it would be like to lose her the second she began to slip away on her own accord. So, I did what any poor fool would do in my position. I kissed her.

It wasn’t exactly suave or how I imagined it would go. My mouth sort of crushed against her unmoving lips in a rushed and unskilled manner. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what I was doing, I certainly could do a hell of a lot better than this. An yet, it was still like I predicted it would be, filled with pure unadulterated pleasure. Nellie’s lips were sweet and warm, exactly how I imagined forbidden fruit to taste like.

A perfect mixture of firm and softness that drove me wild. She flattened her hands on my bare chest as if to brace herself. Nellie pushed herself away, but her face was still so close to me. She didn’t speak and neither could I. I forced myself to look up at her and hoped that she could see I would do everything in my power to earn her forgiveness. That it was a mistake I will make right somehow.

“Nell,” I let out an exasperated breath. “ I have a need for you that goes deeper than just lust and I know that it will never truly be sated. The killer thing is I’m already at risk of losing you before I even had you.”

Nellie stared hazily up at me.“You already have me.” She whispered, our lips still grazing. Those four simple words set off a firework in me. This time when I kissed her our mouths came together like we needed to feed off of each other’s oxygen in order to survive. I’d suffer if I didn’t have it.

My mouth was greedy for hers, and I could imagine she felt the same. The moment I felt her lips slightly part open to let me in, less than a second our tongues slid together in a torrid and sensually slow pace. We kissed like a couple of eager teenagers. My heart threatened to leap from my chest when the tip of Nell’s tongue moved across my bottom lip. She tastes like gingerbread , mixed with some other divine flavor that I can only assume is Nellie. She arched herself closer into my chest and I could feel the points of her hardened nipples through her top. I seized the opportunity to press her body close because I needed more.

I wanted to feel the heat of her soft skin on mine. She returned her arms back around my neck tightly holding me in place as she angled her head kissing me back with the same ferocity. Deeply, and oh so thoroughly by the way she sucked on my tongue. I had a rough grip on her ass keeping Nellie steady as she straddled me. I was so damn hard for her. If my dick could get even harder it was bound to. Nellie did that thing again where she grinds down on my erection and I cursed at myself to not combust. I grabbed ahold of her hips guiding her to move faster, harder.

I kept telling myself to savor her, fucking take my time with this moment. I couldn’t just rip those tiny little shorts off and sink myself into her over and over until we’ve both had enough. But even then I would always need more of her. I wasn't a sentimental man, with Nellie I at least wanted to try. I wanted my first night with Nell to be a little less spontaneous than this. It wasn’t like I came prepared for festivities filled with endless fucks. Plus the added fact I couldn’t let things get too carried away especially since she still didn’t know what I have done.

Yeah, I am a very selfish bastard.

I didn’t want this to end. I wanted my mouth to explore every single part of Nellie. I wanted the taste of her to live on my tongue. I wanted to go as far as she and my consciousness would allow me.

“I need to touch you.” I panted, between every nip and kiss I left on the delicate area of skin under her jaw.

“You’re already touching me.” She says with a soft laugh, which was a melody to my ears. I was but at the same time I wasn’t. I needed to rid Nellie of any barrier that prevented me from branding her skin with my touch.

“This…off.” I tug gently on the bottom of her tank top before returning my hands to rest on her thighs, caressing them as I sucked on her neck for dear life. Going back and forth between grazing her neck with my teeth then licking over the area to soothe any imprint I’ve left.

Nellie crisscrossed her arms reaching for the hem of her top gracefully pulling it over her head. She purposely fell backwards onto the mattress aiming her shirt at my face. For as long as I’ve known Nell she was never one to be shy in her own skin.

“Imagine how unsexy that would have been if I hit my head on the headboard.”

“As long as you didn’t hurt yourself I would have just pretended that I didn’t see a thing.” I teased.

“Ah, to think they wonder where all of the good men have gone.” Nell scrunched up her nose pretending to be lost in critical thought.

I cock my head to the side. “Mm-hmm. Are you mocking me?”

“What if I am?”Her plump wet lips spread into a smile.

It was miracle I caught a word of what she said to me. I swallowed a groan as my eyes drift over the area of her body that was naked from the waist up. Nellie was clearly a stolen painting from the Louvre that I had no intention of returning. All I could do was stare.

With her legs still draped around me, my hands slide up the curve of her torso passing her ribs. I sensed that she was watching me, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off of her just yet. The pads of my fingers traced over to her breast and my mouth practically watered at the sight of them. She was ethereal.

“Don’t suddenly go mute on me Sebastian.” She let out a shaky breath.

I’ve heard her say my name a thousand times. Hearing her say it in this state created a feeling of warmth that filled my chest. I could only begin to imagine the different ways I wanted to hear her call out my name. My gift, my best friend, my Nellie. Those last words had a sting to them even as I thought them. Deep down I knew that was never going to be true.

I eased all the way down my tongue traveling around the dip of her navel. Creating a path up the center of her abdomen. I knew that Nell was extremely ticklish. The slightest form of contact would automatically turn her into a ninja. From the way she was pressing herself back into the mattress I knew she was trying her hardest not to flee. Of course I found it rather enticing so I made sure to spend extra time over the areas of her exposed skin I knew to be the most sensitive. Brushing the tip of my nose between her breast my mouth finally latched on to what I’ve been waiting for.

“So fucking beautiful.” I say as I graze my mouth over the stiff peak of her nipple. I was in awe over the ability that they simultaneously could feel hard yet felt extremely soft. I dragged the tip of my tongue around the bud of it in a languid movement before sucking it in deep. I loved listening to the sounds she made while I sucked and devoured as much as I could fit into my mouth. I wanted to hear a symphony of the noises that escaped from Nellie.

Going for one after the other not wanting to miss out on either. Nellie kept a limp hand pressed into my hair keeping me close as if I dared to stop.

Writhing underneath me Nellie gasped,“Touch me.”

Now she understood what I meant. My own body felt betrayed by my decision. I literally ached from pain and pleasure. Truthfully I wouldn’t opt for a better scenario than this. I would be more than gratified with giving Nellie an orgasm or two.

Still leaving featherlight kisses across her chest. With one hand I reach down and brushed along the dip of Nellie’s hip, then began to tug away at her shorts. To my surprise she was bare underneath. This was a new and uncharted territory we were crossing.

Tell me to stop, say that this is just the wrong time, tell me we would never work. Those words never escaped me, the sound of the goddamn doorbell intervened for her. My movements hesitated then shortly I picked up on inaudible chattering out in the hall. Nellie turned her head in the direction towards the door which I hoped like hell was locked. “Maybe we should go see what’s going on.” Her eyes widened.

“Or we could stay here and not shame the fact that I was two seconds away from wrapping your legs around my face while I tasted the slickness between your thighs. ” Nellie released a ragged breath and I meant every word.

To my dissatisfaction we were composed in under three minutes. I felt a strange sense of comfort and pride seeing that ever so often I’d catch Nellie looking in my direction smiling like she had some big secret she was bursting to tell. Which only made me feel like an even bigger asshole. The walk downstairs was surprisingly noisy. Someone had plugged the Christmas tree back up and there was a chilly wind breaking in as the front door came to an immediate shut.

Nellie’s parents were both moving around in a fast pace trying to find new spots to put a couple of suitcases. I had to swallow down a chuckle at the sight of their bold choice of pajamas. Nellie had already beaten me to the bottom of the staircase just as I rounded the corner of the spiral stairs.

“Cousin!” Vanessa squealed rushing over towards Nellie, who excitedly embraced her the same. They exchanged a few excitable words to each other that I tuned out. I was busy focusing on the six foot son of a bitch with a puppy dog expression on his face standing awkwardly behind them.

“Now you know Nells Bells you can’t have Christmas without good ole St. Nicholas can you?” She winked at a stone faced Nellie who just looked straight ahead at her ex boyfriend Nick. “I hope it’s okay I brought him over with me. I saw him at the airport dozed off in a chair.” Vanessa whispered as she leaned into Nell, like she just earned a gold star. Soon as Vanessa’s wild dark brown eyes caught ahold me I knew my bubble was about to pop.

“Something told me I was off the naughty list this year.” Vanessa bit at her glossed up lips and made a beeline towards me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She smelled like an overtly sweet perfume that tortured my sinuses. “Did you forget how to work a phone or what? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days. I miss you.” She cooed.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nellie watching the two of us. This was my punishment.

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years ago

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Bloody Vengeance (Ivar x reader)

Summary: Reader wants vengeance and knows what Heathen Prince can help her.

So I decided to add a spin to the trope-Ivar takes over a city and reader is captured. Hope you enjoy!

Words:3500

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of past domestic violence, death and torture, plus some sexual tension cause why not?

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius

"Prince Ivar, there is someone who wishes to speak with you."

The youngest Ragnarsson looked up from the dagger he was sharpening. The Viking before him was one of his own, supposed to be guarding the entrance to the great hall of York. It had been a good fight yesterday, especially when all of his plans came to fruition in taking the city. The way his man had made his declaration, it was obvious the Viking only came to Ivar out of obligation, meaning whomever was seeking an audience was no one of importance. Though, it was interesting that this petitioner requested him personally as his two elder brothers also reclined nearby at a table, nibbling away at the food on it.

"Who is it?" He drawled, spinning the blade in his hand.

"It is a Saxon woman who speaks our language."

That intrigued the bloodthirsty prince. His eyes jumped back up to his man for a moment before glancing at his brothers. Even from where he sat, he could see the curiosity on their faces. There were only a few in England who knew their language, and none were ever a woman. Without hesitation he commanded, "bring her to me."

His man bowed his head before turning and retreating back towards the entrance.

"What do you think she wants?" Hvitserk asked from where he reclined, eyes towards the entrance as if that would provide the answer he sought.

Ubbe spoke first. "The better question is why did she ask for Ivar specifically?"

"Because I am more important." Ivar retorted without even looking at his two brothers. He leaned back in his chair, idly spinning his dagger as he thought. Perhaps this city of York would yield more interests than just a stronghold.

*****

Several minutes later, you were led before three of the most feared men in all of England. You were insane for asking for this meeting. Beyond insane. You planned on attempting to make a deal with the devil incarnate. But from what you had heard, if anyone understood revenge, it was the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok.

Specifically, Ivar the Boneless.

Their eyes slid over your body like oil as you approached, leaving you feeling dirty and tainted without them even touching you. These conquering heathens had no decency. As if unbothered by the obvious lustful gazes, you kept your head up, eyes straight ahead and without fear. Though no one else knew you clasped your hands before you as to not betray the way they shook with trepidation.

Without stopping, when the Heathen guard who led you in did, you walked the few extra steps to stand before Ivar. For a brief moment, you thought you saw shock cross his face; for through your movements you made known, you knew specifically who he was, your gaze never wavering to his brothers or the other Heathens scattered in the room.

The two of you stared at one another for an excruciatingly long minute, his turbulent and piercing, blue eyes refusing to look away, demanding for you to relent and look away first. Though your knees threatened to falter beneath you, you met his gaze head-on, not letting him intimidate you yet. To your surprise, you thought you witnessed a corner of his mouth turn up in a barely-there smirk, but the image vanished just as soon as you thought you imagined it.

"How come you know our language?" One of the brothers asked in their native tongue, running a hand over his beard. He eyed you like you were a newly crafted tool, interesting but easily discarded if no longer serving a purpose.

You glanced over at the one who spoke, curious his name but not willing to ask. Continuing to speak in their language, the words felt coarse on your tongue but you had excellent tutors so the words poured from your mouth with ease. "I learned it while being a ward at the court of King Ecbert."

The dark-haired Prince's eyebrows furrowed as he continued to eye you. His gaze shifted from your eyes to scanning your body as if to jog his memory. "I recognize your face."

"I would frequently watch you and Prince Alfred play chess."

"Mmm….so what do you want, Christian?" He sneered the title like it was a curse word, leaning back in his chair as if a throne. "Why did you ask for me? Are we to play chess?"

That earned a chuckle from those nearby. He smirked down at you, pleased by his quip and his attempt to demean you.

"If you want, my Prince, but I doubt you will find me a worthy enough opponent." You took a deep breath before continuing. "I came to ask two favors of you…."

"You are in no position to be asking for favors! Your city is overtaken, you are a slave no matter your birthright! Why would I care about your favors?" Ivar demanded, standing up and stepping closer with all the feel of a venomous snake ready to strike.

You refused to allow him to intimidate you, even if the sinister look on his face made you internally quake. Seeing him now only solidified all the horrifying stories you had heard, eclipsing your memories of him as a young man in King Ecbert's court. Someone who had intrigued you at the time, causing you to pursue knowledge of his language even after he left England's shores, in foolish hopes you may one day see him again. Yet before you now was the menacing, bloodthirsty warrior prince you had heard tales of that were enough to freeze one's blood….and you believed them.

"Come on, brother. Let us hear her out." The other brother with the kind face stated, eating an apple. "I am curious now." When he caught your eye, he gave you a flirtatious wink.

Ivar rolled his eyes and then gestured for you to continue with unconcealed contempt.

"Thank you, my Prince." You started, giving the dark-haired prince your undivided attention once again. "In exchange for my favors, I will forfeit my life to you to do with as you please, be that a slave or kill me in whatever way most entertains you. I will not argue or fight back. I will graciously accept your choice."

"I could do that already, Christian." Ivar interrupted with a sneer. "Or have you forgotten who decimated your army yesterday and bathes in the blood of your people."

"Brother…." The bearded brother groaned. He tapped once on the table with his hand, giving his youngest brother a pointed look.

His upper lip raised in a snarl at his brother before turning to you again, "Speak! I grow weary of your presence."

You could not help but flinch as he yelled, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the once pristine great hall. Swallowing thickly, you pushed onward. At this point you had nothing left to lose. "There is a monastery not far from here, it is hidden well for it holds many sacred treasures for my people."

"So?"

"I can show you where it is located."

He openly scoffed, disdain leaching into his voice. "Why do I care? We have taken York. I can send my own men out scouting to find it. Why do I need you?"

"You speak truth. Though I can show you the hidden passageways into the monastery."

"Why would you tell us this?" The brother who winked at you asked, not in a condescending manner but what seemed to stem from curiosity.

This was it. For so long you had harbored this…. this secret revenge. You had spent many nights awake, plotting how you would fulfil your unspoken vow. When the heathens took York, instead of being terrified, you saw an opportunity. Especially when you glimpsed Ivar. Now admitting it out loud, it almost felt surreal.

You glanced over at the flaxen-haired brother for a moment but returned your gaze to Ivar. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet but not from fear. No, it was from barely suppressed rage you finally allowed to escape from your chest where it had festered for too long. "My first favor is, if I tell you of this place, show you how to enter without being seen…. I want you to burn the monastery to the ground."

Silence hung in the room for a long moment, all eyes from the three brothers and others scattered about were glued to you as they absorbed your sharp words and harsh tone. Without waiting, you continued to lay out your favors…. your demands.

"My second favor is that you swear to me on your gods and your arm ring that Bishop Cerdic will die a slow and painful death. I don't care how he does, just that he dies screaming for the mercy you will never give him."

Ivar tilted his head to the side, staring as if seeing you for the first time. "That is not a very Christian thing to ask for."

"I never said I was a good Christian."

"Mmm….and what would your God think of your favors?"

"Truthfully, I don't care."

Ivar moved closer; the pounding of his crutch echoed with each step until he hovered over you. You could feel his breath on your face as he pierced you with his eyes. It felt like being confronted by an apex predator, and you were chained with no means of escape. Heat radiated off his body, warming you in more than one way. Death danced in his eyes but instead causing you fear, it excited you.

"Why?"

You blinked rapidly, surprised and brought out of your inner thoughts by his question. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why do you want us to kill your bishop and destroy the monastery?"

"You are Northmen, do you need an excuse?"

He smirked, tracing a single finger along your cheek and down your neck. An involuntary shiver ran down your spine at the feeling of his unusually gentle touch. "I am intrigued. I accept your offer and favors. You will be my personal thrall, no other may touch you."

"Thank you, my Prince."

"Tomorrow you will show us where this monastery is." He stated as if speaking to you alone. His thumb hesitated over your pulse point for a second making your heartbeat accelerate. His lips twitched in a barely-suppressed smirk. Abruptly, he released you and took a step back. "Leave us now."

After a proper curtsy upheld by your station, you started towards the exit, feigning ignorance to the many pairs of eyes on you.

"Thrall!"

You paused at Ivar's call. Curious as to what he could want now, you turned around to meet his intense gaze, sending heat down your spine even from across the great hall.

"Do you wish to be there when we attack the monastery and kill your bishop?" He asked, sitting down and with his dagger out, spinning it casually in his hand.

"Nothing would bring me greater pleasure, my Prince."

He easily matched your shark-like smile and in that moment, you knew you had made the right choice to seek him out. Your long-coveted revenge would finally be appeased.

*****

You stood alone in the courtyard of what had once been a simple but beautiful monastery. Now flames greedily consumed everything except for the stone walls. Bodies of the helpless monks lay scattered about, their blood painting the dirt and stone beneath them. A few hung from rafters, their bodies still twitching as life drained from them and spilled on the ground below.

You wondered if this was what hell looked like- unrelenting fire, excruciating screams of the damned, the taste of iron and copper and ash drenched in the very air that now threatened to suffocate you.

Through the carnage you stood unwavering, even surprising yourself. Hate and revenge kept you strong in the face of so much destruction and annihilation, allowing you to witness the slow death of the man you swore to kill one day. To others, the bishop was a man of God, someone to admire and aspire to be like. To you, he caused the death of the one person you cared most about in this world.

Standing on the other side of the courtyard, you watched the bishop hang from a cross as some of the Northmen took turns shooting arrows at him, but always making sure it never hit anything vital. His screams and cries for mercy reverberated in your ears.

Behind you came the distinct sound of a slow walk, led by the pounding of a crutch hitting the ground. You knew who it was without turning around, there was only one man whose gait was so distinctive. As he slowly drew closer, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. So far there had been no malice, no concern for your personal safety, but that does not keep the field mouse from fearing the elusive snake. His body heat radiated across your back as he stopped just behind you. Each breath he released made your hair flutter, he stood so close.

After several silent moments, you finally spoke, the weight of your revenge lifted. "Thank you, my Prince."

He made no sound to accept your thanks, not even a grunt of acknowledgement. To your astonishment, one of his leather-bound hands brushed your loose hair over your shoulder, exposing your neck to him. You held perfectly still, never removing your eyes from the bishop even though all your senses felt inflamed by his touch alone. The prince's fingers traced patterns over your exposed skin, creating goosebumps in the wake.

"Tell me…. why?"

"Why what?" You knew what he was getting at.

Harshly, he wrapped a hand around your throat, pulling you against him until not even air could squeeze between your pressed bodies. "Do not play coy with me. You will answer my question."

"My….my father is a powerful lord with great wealth, land and influence in England." You paused, the words, the truth, sticking to your throat, almost suffocating you even more than the Heathen's tight grip on your throat or the death-saturated air. "He is not a good man though. He uses his family, the women folk to…."

The rough hand around your throat loosened to a faint touch as your words sputtered out. After a second, his thumb gently rubbed along the column of your throat as if to coax the words out.

"My father hates the fairer sex; I am not even sure he knows why." You continued, loathing and pain dripping from each word. "So, he used my mother to take his frustrations out on. On more than one occasion, she almost died from his abuse. But he was powerful so no one could stop him. Finally, my mother became desperate enough, she decided to leave. Under the cover of night, she brought myself and a couple servants to this very monastery to seek sanctuary. She begged the bishop to grant her a divorce for fear of her life and mine since he recently started to turn his rage onto me also. But he refused. The bishop said a wife was a servant to her husband in all things, for the Bible commands her to respect him as he is the head of the household. He said God would give her the strength to endure her trials."

A single tear slipped down your cheek as you remembered everything.

"We were forced to return to my father. In his fury, he beheaded the servants who had come with us, declaring them traitors for helping my mother and I to leave him. He locked me in my room without food for three days and during that time…. he killed my mother, his wife."

"How did you escape him?" Ivar whispered into your ear. His hand, no longer a cage holding you to him, but an enticement, still caressing the column of your throat with something akin to tenderness.

For the first time in years, if not your life, safety eased your mind. Which was so wrong, something you would certainly go to hell for if the priests spoke truth. Surrounded by fire and carnage, all due to you and now practically in the arms of a blue-eyed devil, you should be praying and repenting. Yet there was a lightness in your chest, a sense of freedom even though bound for life to a bloodthirsty heathen prince. You struggled to make sense of the conflicting thoughts.

"He, um, he betrothed me to another lord here in York…. so, I moved here several months ago."

"Do…. did you care for your…. betrothed?"

You chuckled, turning your head slightly to meet his fierce gaze, only to find your faces a hands-width away from each other. "No, he was an old, ugly man who snorted like a pig when he breathed."

An arrogant smile curved his lips, making your heart flutter. "Ah, I think I remember him. My brother, Hvitserk, sliced his belly open. Does that please you?"

You shrugged. You knew it should bother you, the mention of the gruesome death of your betrothed, but you felt nothing. Instead you were beguiled by the man who held your life in the palm of his hand. Who you sold your soul to for vengeance otherwise unattainable. Your faces so close, you could taste his breath on your tongue. You could not help but be in awe of his savage beauty, with the most expressive and vivid eyes you had ever seen before.

"What will become of me now?" The question slipped from your lips before you realized it. "You have fulfilled my favors, my life is forfeit."

Slowly, as if to gage your response, he leaned closer to rub his nose along yours. Seeing that you did not pull away, he then slid his nose to nuzzle your temple. Your breath hitched at the feeling it invoked. Butterflies danced in your belly. Unconsciously, your hand reached out to grip his arm that now wrapped around your waist, either to keep you pinned to him or to steady you, it did not matter. The thought of him letting you go brought anguish to your yearning heart.

"You are mine. No one will lay a hand on you or harm you again. You will come with me." He growled against your temple, searing the words into your mind. "Does that please you?"

"Why are you being so good to me?"

He pressed his lips to your skin, letting the touch linger. Finally, he answered, his voice soft like he divulged a great secret for only you to hear. "I like your spirit, the fire that burns inside of you. It calls to me."

You could not help as you tilted your neck to the side, allowing him access to more skin. If the rumble in his chest and the way his grip tightened slightly on you, he greatly approved of your actions. His lips trailed down from your temple to your neck, both to reassure and to claim you.

"And then what?" You asked breathlessly, your thoughts hazy under his branding touch.

"Only the gods know." He whispered. After a sharp bite to your neck that made you squeak, he released you and moved to fully face you. "Come."

You looked back over at the bishop once more. Now seeing his dead form, it was the lid on the coffin you needed. Years of hungering for revenge finally sated. You could move on.

Without a word, you turned away from the grisly sight and took the offered hand of the Heathen prince next to you. The two of you walked out of the courtyard and towards his chariot, hand in hand.

"How far away is your father's estate?"

You glanced at him but his face remained expressionless. "Perhaps a three-day journey if the weather is pleasant."

He hummed with a single nod of his head. Once the two of you reached the chariot, you took your spot by his side as he sat. He called out to Hvitserk that they would leave this place soon. His brother, covered in blood and grinning like a madman, raised his sword in acknowledgement before starting to give out orders. You stood there, watching the organized mayhem of the Northmen and the fires still engulfing the monastery.

"Your father has great wealth, you said." Ivar leaned forward on his seat to watch you with a smirk on his face.

"Yes."

"Three days is not too far. Perhaps we shall pay him a visit, mmm?" With a devious wink, he clicked his tongue and gathered the reins. The chariot jolted forward as the horse began trotting away from the destruction.

Without a second thought, you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His answering smile sent the butterflies in your stomach a flurry. He called out to his horse, picking up speed and moving faster through the dirt path in the surrounding forest. Silently, you stood next to the man whose name alone created panic and fear in all of England. But to you, all you could taste was freedom.

#vikings #vikings fandom #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction #ivars heathen army #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless x you #ubbe #ubbe ragnarsson #hvitserk #ivar ragnarsson #mzwrites

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harryhandstan · 5 years ago

Text

gotta get better

gif credit

This concept has been in my head for a while now and it took me like a month to write and edit and just get it all out! I had surgery two years ago today and it was one of the most emotional, stressful experiences of my life simply bc I’m just a big baby lol. This is just something to celebrate that day and the fact that I’m still so happy it’s all over! Fluffy af as usual cause that’s all I know how to write. :)

Thankful to @bfharry and @bopbopstyles for not only inspiring me with their amazing writing but pushing me towards finishing this and reaching (even going over) my personal 5k goal! I appreciate you both so much!!

I recently saw a post about tagging triggers properly so I’m gonna do it that way but if I do it wrong or it doesn’t work PLEASE let me know and I will fix it immediately (just want to be sure all my bases are covered)

// needles tw, pills tw (prescription), anxiety tw // (if I missed anything I should’ve tagged please please let me know!!) and I’m sure there are some medical inaccuracies bc that whole day is kind of a blur for me haha

as always likes/rbs/comments are welcome but absolutely not necessary :)

final word count: 7.1k

"Y'nervous, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Bout to chew your finger off. I know there can't be much of a nail left."

Your hand drops back to your lap. You hadn't even realized you were doing it. A bad habit of the nervous child you thought you'd long forgotten. He offers his left hand and you accept it, thumb swiping over the cross painted across his skin. He knows it's one of your favorites and you're thankful for the comfort. You don't know how many times he'd teased you about how you would eventually rub it off one day and he'd have to get it redone.

"S'a routine surgery, I bet they do them all day. You're gonna be fine."

You'd been over all this a thousand times before. Harry had to ban you from looking up the procedure online at one point. You became obsessive with worry. What if you're still awake when they cut into you and you can't talk? What if you feel everything and can't tell anyone? What if you don't wake up? He had shot down every one of your horrifying theories.

"How much longer before they take me back?"

"Nurse said it would be about 10 minutes when we checked in. Shouldn't be too much longer. Want me to check the board again?"

Checking in had only consisted of a nurse taking your name and giving you your bracelet for the day with an ID number. The number would help Harry stay updated on where you were throughout the whole process. The "board" was simply a tv mounted to the wall that frequently cycled through each patient's last name and ID number.

"No, no," You cling to his sleeve like a desperate child, "Don't leave again. She said they wouldn't update anything until I went back anyway."

Harry had left you only briefly when you first arrived. Hands in his pockets, wandering around like a lost child around the big, open expanse of the waiting room. He stayed where you could see him and the whole time you had anxiously chewed your bottom lip until he returned. You hated it, but you knew he was just as nervous as you. So you let him have that moment. To check his surroundings and release some of the nerves so he could come back to you, calm and cool as always.

When the nurse does call your name, you almost jump out of your skin. You freeze, unable to move. Harry stands and flashes the nurse a quick smile before turning back to you and offering his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't do this, H. I feel like I'm gonna throw up if I move."

"You're not, promise. Remember those breathing exercises we practiced? Do those. C'mon..deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out. Do it while we walk."

Slow deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out.

You remember how silly you felt the first time you did it. How it made you giggle at first. This is never going to work. But eventually it did. Anytime you got upset or started to overthink about this day, Harry made you stop whatever you were doing and sit down. Breathe.

It was a little difficult to do while walking. Your body wanted to pause your steps when your breath paused, but Harry tugged you along, you almost hiding behind him until you made it through a set of heavy wooden doors to a small space with a hospital bed and a curtain drawn in front of it.

The IV had had been your biggest dread, the fear overriding any logic that it was something you needed, instead of something the nurses decided to do simply to torture you.

Your face twists into a wince of pain when the needle goes into your vein, Harry standing over you, his face a mirror of your own as you squeeze his hand. When the nurse pulls away with a triumphant "all done!" you flash a look of surprise between your arm and Harry.

"Not that bad, eh? Think ya overreacted a bit about how bad that was gonna be?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to shoot him a nasty look for teasing you.

"Maybe a little." You pinch your index finger and thumb together, indicating a minimal amount.

"Tiny bit more, babe," Another nurse appears from around the curtain and he laughs before speaking to her, "it's all she's worried about all morning."

"Honestly that's everyone's least favorite part. The rest of the day should be aces if you can handle that!"

Harry settles himself into a chair while the nurse goes through a myriad of questions. Any other surgeries? Allergies to medications you know of? Do you smoke? Drink?

Harry snorts when you say no to drinking, but quickly clasps his hand over his mouth when the nurse's head snaps to look between you and him.

"The occasional drink is fine, no worries. Nothing this morning though, right?"

"No, ma'am."

Your eyes meet his, a mischievous grin still plastered across his face. He mumbles a quick "sorry" while you try to pull your concentration back towards the nurse and the remainder of her questions.

"Alright, time for the good stuff," she passes you a small clear cup with two white pills, "First one is just something to keep you calm and relaxed, second one is to prevent any pain after the procedure. They'll give you something to make you sleepy when you get to the OR, but this might make you a bit loopy for now."

"This should be fun." Harry claps his hand in front of him, rubbing them together quickly. He leans forward in his chair, as if ready for a show.

"Yeah? Is she a happy drunk?"

Harry had only ever experienced you high on any sort of prescription medication once, almost a year ago when you went on a girl's trip with your best friend and twisted your ankle in an attempt to make it back to her car after dinner out one night. You calling him from an unknown ER in the middle of the night had terrified him enough to start packing a bag to fly to you before your best friend could grab your phone and assure him you were fine and she would put you on a plane home to him in two days as planned. He had teased you endlessly when he picked you up from the airport and for the next few days afterwards as you limped around on a bruised, ACE bandage wrapped foot.

But after too many wine drunk nights to count, he had enough stories to humiliate you with and the thought of any one of them being told now had you sinking further into the hospital bed.

"You could say that. Last time she.." His voice trails off at the sight of your eyes, wide as saucers, begging him to stop.

The nurse grins, her face kind and sympathetic to your silent cry for help.

"We're a little behind schedule this morning so it may be about 20 minutes before they come transport you, okay?" You nod, the effects of the sedative already working its way through your system, "Keep an eye on her? Make sure she behaves?"

"Yeah, I got her. We'll be fine, thank you so much." He's closer now, standing next to you again, a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your shoulder. You manage a thumbs up and a sleepy "thank you" as an affirmation that you appreciate all she's done for you.

"You're more than welcome. You'll have a different set of nurses in recovery but if you need anything until they come get you, just let me know, alright?"

"We will, thanks." His thumb ghosts across the front of your collarbone, the lightest of touches to soothe you, his eyes still focused on the nurse.

"Good luck! You're gonna do just fine, I promise."

The second she's around the curtain, Harry nudges you lightly, "Scoot."

"Huh? What do you mean..Harry, there's not enough room for you in this bed." Your head feels too light to deal with his nonsense now.

"Yeah there is if you scoot. C'mon. Hurry before we get caught. M’supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember? Gotta make sure you don't fall outta the bed."

He's already wedged himself next to you, trying to make his tall frame fit into the limited space.

You move over as much as you can, the rail of the bed poking into your hip.

He tucks one arm behind your head, the other one thrown behind his own as a cushion.

"You feel more relaxed now, lovie?"

You scrunch down in the bed, just enough that you can tuck your head under his other arm, "A little. I don't feel sleepy enough though," Your eyes dart up, seeking the comfort of his face, "I'm scared, H."

"I know you are, baby," the hand behind your head shifts to cup around your arm, pulling you closer, "Just pretend you're home with me and we're taking a nice little nap together, yeah?"

"But you won't be there with me, not really."

"I'll be there when you wake up though. First thing you'll see when you open your eyes, promise." He runs a finger along the curve of your nose, "Close your eyes. Try to sleep, hmm?"

You shake your head, turning towards him to hide your face in his side, inhaling his scent.

"Want me to turn the light off? Would that help?"

"No," You toss the arm that isn't trapped between you two over him, holding tightly to his shirt, "Stay."

"Alright, then. We'll just wait," He tilts his head to rest closer to yours, "Have you thought about what you want to eat after?"

"Not really. M'too nervous to think about food."

"We'll think of something good. Whatever you want."

"You're gonna get us in trouble, better scoot back to your corner like a good boy." Your words come out unintentionally slurred and you weakly push yourself up and away from him as he slides off. He doesn't sit though, just stands near you, an anxious look flashing across his features.

"Hey, c'mere. Gonna be fine, routine surgery, remember?" You stretch your arms out to him, a plea to be near his warmth again.

He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. You tug lightly at the sleeve of his cardigan, a feeble attempt to pull him closer. He indulges you, his brow still creased with distress.

"Know ya gonna be fine, just hate you have to go through it at all. Wish I could take it from you without all this." He gestures to the IV he knows you despise so much.

"You have helped take it from me. All the sleepless nights you spent up with me, holding my hair back when I got sick. All the days after when I was too drained to get out of bed. You were there for as much of it as you could be. And you pushed me to go see the surgeon in the first place. You've helped me more than you give yourself credit for."

His fingers intertwine in yours, the pad of his thumb soothing over the front of your hand.

"Make sure you keep my phone with you, my mom will probably call you every 30 minutes for updates." A yawn stretches across your face, "She has your number too, bullied me into giving it to her last week when I called to tell her about the surgery."

He nods, patting his pocket to make sure both phones are still nestled there together.

Another yawn threatens to escape and you muffle it this time, more content to fight sleep to stare at Harry; his hair a perfect mess of curls under the harsh brightness of the hospital lighting. His face is more relaxed now, his eyes still focused on your fingers tangled together. He catches you, your eyes glazed over, too heavy and threatening to close.

"Darling, please close your eyes. I can see how tired you are," His fingertips sweep delicately over your nose again, as if he was lulling a baby to sleep, "You don't have to stay awake for me."

"Closing my eyes for just a second, alright? Not because you told me to though. I want to. Wake me up in 2 hours, don't wanna sleep too long."

Your eyes are already drifting closed, the last thing you hear is a chuckle; effortless, light as air, "I will, promise."

Soft kisses pressed across your face, "Sweet dreams, love."

His voice is the first you hear as you wake up in the dimly lit recovery room. Well, really it was more like a big cubicle, another space with a curtain drawn in front of it. Even with the floaty, dreamy feeling flowing through your system, you can still detect the worry in his voice.

"Harry?" It takes your mind a minute to catch up and process where you are and what had happened.

Oh yeah. Surgery day. No more annoying gallbladder. No more sleepless nights. Freedom to eat what you want and not be haunted by nausea and sickness from what you ate.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" Suddenly a nurse in bright blue scrubs is there, way too animated and loud at the moment, "Pain scale 1-10?"

"I don't have any pain. Zero." You're aware of how high you sound and a giggle escapes through the haze. That earns you a smile from Harry, one that lights up his whole face and makes his dimples shine through.

"Awesome! Well then as soon as you're good and awake we're gonna get this IV out and go over some paperwork for both of you to sign. I want you to drink something for me too, so what would you like?"

You request a ginger ale and as soon as the nurse leaves to retrieve it for you, Harry scoots the chair he's sitting in as close to the bed as possible.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours," He absentmindedly fixes your hair, looping various curls back around to their respective places, "Took a little longer than expected, you had a small infection so they had to make sure it hadn't spread."

"How much longer?"

"Long enough you had us all slightly worried." His hand trails down your cheek to cup your chin gently, urging you to look at him, "You sure you're not in pain? Now's not the time to do that stubbornly brave thing you do where you pretend nothing's wrong."

"I feel fine, really. Just a little tired, ready to go home."

He studies your face, trying to find any trace of dishonesty. When he's satisfied you're being truthful, he stands and extracts your phone from his pocket.

"Already talked to ya mum, but your co-workers were all texting you, asking how you were. Figured you'd want to handle that yourself, didn't know how much detail you would want to give them."

"Did you give my mother all the details? Infection and everything?"

"Um, no. I knew better than to do that. Promised her you would call when I got you settled at home."

"You promised or she demanded?"

"Okay..she politely asked that you call her when we get home."

"That sounds more like her." You roll your eyes, pushing yourself so you're sitting more upright in the bed.

"She just worries about you." He adjusts the pillow behind you, fluffing and tucking it where you direct it, against your lower back.

"I know. I'll FaceTime her when we get home to prove I'm alive."

"It's been a while since we've seen them, maybe we should plan a visit?" He plops himself back in the chair, leaning back as far as he can go; hands behind his head, eyes closed. You'd both gotten very little sleep the night before, you were too anxious and he was too gracious to let you suffer alone.

"Oh please, I'm lucky I even got time off to do this. My boss would never allow another break so soon."

"Maybe for the holidays?"

"Maybe..but only if you can go with me, you know they love you more than me by now anyway."

"They do not," He peeks one eye open at you, "They love us both equally."

You shoot a quick text to your co-workers, using the group chat between the few of you to make it easier.

I'm out! Feeling okay for now but that might change later lol

The nurse is back, apologizing for taking so long, "We've been so behind all day, it's crazy busy. I had to wait for your doctor to sign off on your release." She hands you a can of ginger ale, white bendy straw already poised and ready for you.

"Just need you to sign here," She holds a clipboard and a pen out to you and you balance the can dangerously in one hand while you scribble something that resembles your signature. Close enough. She gestures for you to pass the clipboard to Harry, "His signature goes under yours, just says he's responsible for you for the next few hours until everything wears off."

"This means I'm the boss, right?" He leans over to grab the board, a wink thrown in your direction. He's enjoying himself way too much at the thought of being in control of you for the next few hours. Smug son of a bitch.

She takes the clipboard back and pulls off a yellow sheet of paper, "This is just your copy of what you signed, and also has post op instructions for your bandages. Your prescription's been sent to the pharmacy, and there's a brief summary of pain management information on the bottom there just in case you need it."

"Thank you." You transfer it right to Harry's waiting hand, knowing he'll be the one surveying every word, making sure you follow everything to the letter.

"I know you mentioned earlier having a little bit of a drive home, so probably once you get her some food and pick up her prescriptions, it'll be time for another round of meds. Okay?" She turns to you again, "I know it sounds silly, but one of the most important things after this particular surgery is lots of walking. Otherwise you'll be miserable. Rest for a while when you get home, then get up every 10 minutes or so until bedtime. Don't let her skip that part, alright? Very important."

"I heard you weren't a big fan of this thing," She nods towards the IV in your right forearm, "So this'll probably be the best part of this whole process for you. We'll get this out and then you can get changed and we'll get someone to wheel you down and out of here, alright? Don't look and you won't even know when it's gone."

"Hey, think about what you want to eat, huh? Your first freedom meal. Yay!" He slips his hand into your left, raising your connected hands victoriously. You didn't think it was possible for you to love him anymore until this moment. The way he could so easily erase your fear was one of his many gifts you adored him for, "What are we having, babe?"

You don't even hesitate before answering, "Pizza, from Milano's. It's my favorite, other than that one place in Italy you took me to. Please? Oh and one of their salads, with the little bread knots on the side!"

He glances at the nurse, awaiting a reprimand for your meal choice.

"As your nurse, I feel I should remind you that while you can have anything you feel like eating, we usually recommend something small and light at first. Broth or soup with some toast, maybe. The salad may be fine, but the pizza might be a little heavy. Taking it slow would be best. But everyone is different."

"So..just cheese then? Maybe some mushrooms?"

You let your head fall back against the pillow, a foggy haze settling over you, "Plain cheese, no mushrooms."

"Alright, sounds good. Why don't I go call it in and pull the car around? Meet you out front?" He leans closer, a quick peck to your cheek before pulling his hand loose from yours and turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," You attempt to tug at his wrist, but fail, your brain still set to slow-motion. He takes pity on you and returns to your side, "Let's eat there. It's in the mall so we can window shop after we eat."

"You sure? You still seem a bit tipsy, honey."

You don't feel tipsy. Just tired, and hungry. Very hungry. As if on cue, your stomach makes a remarkably loud noise; an objection at not being fed for the past 12 hours.

"Alright, alright, calm down. " You let out an embarrassed groan when you realize he's talking to your stomach, "We'll eat there."

He kisses you again, closer to your mouth, "Missed."

"I did, huh?" He chuckles, close enough to your face now your noses are almost touching, "Let's try again."

This time his lips meet yours and you know he missed on purpose the first time by how amused he looks when he pulls away.

"One more for luck?" You can't resist letting the back of your hand wander over his face, before resting the palm of your hand against his cheek.

"I think I can handle that," He smiles before landing another quick peck to your lips, "Be good for the nurse while I'm gone. I'll have the getaway car ready in 10, yeah?"

You're certain Harry would have fed you if you would have let him, right here in the mall food court in front of everyone. But you refuse, insisting even, on carrying your own tray to the table. He chuckles when you pull your phone out of your sweater pocket to take a picture of your food, quickly uploading it to Facebook.

He watches you closely as you take the first bite, even pulling his own phone out to sneak a photo of you when you temporarily close your eyes to appreciate the indulgence of being able to eat one of your favorite foods again; free from that anxious feeling of whether or not it would settle right with your body later. You open your eyes the very moment after he captured the image.

"Harry!"

"You just looked so happy! I couldn't help it. You know I'll never post it anyway. Snagged a few of you earlier in your little blue cap they made you wear too." He flips back through to show you. You try to snatch the phone away, but he's too quick to pull his hand back and stash his phone in his pocket.

"When??"

"After you fell asleep, right before they came to take you back."

He takes a bite from his own generous slice of pizza in front of him before gesturing to your tray, "How is it?"

"Amazing. Even better than before, if possible."

His smile is bright, loving the satisfaction of seeing you actually enjoy food again.

Your plan to walk around the mall was cut short, you could barely make it through one store without yawning. You cling to Harry most of the way back to the car, his arm securely wrapped around you to keep you steady.

You doze off on the drive home, and when your eyes flutter open you find him opening the passenger door, offering a hand to help lift you out of the car and up the stairs into the house. Your foot stumbles on the first step, failing to make contact and you almost fall back.

"Easy," He giggles, an arm thrown behind your back to catch you before encouraging softly, "Try again."

When he's confident you're stable enough on your feet, he lets go to unlock the door.

You're greeted by a bouquet of flowers, a colorful arrangement of roses and lilies from Harry's band mates. You immediately recognize Sarah's handwriting on the card and make a mental note to shoot everyone a thank you text later. You don't know if it's the medication still in your system, the exhaustion of the day, or the overwhelming amount of love that makes you teary eyed.

Harry stands behind you as you admire the flowers and the card, arms curving around to hug you, careful of the large bandage on your upper abdomen and the two smaller steri-strips on your right side.

"How did they know pink roses were my favorite?"

"They love you, peach." He rests his chin on your shoulder, "Besides, you've only mentioned growing up with a pink rose bush in your Nanna's garden about a hundred times."

"I always loved it. Still do."

Your mind travels back to your earliest memories spent there; summers when you practically lived at the small house on the hill. Helping pick tomatoes and peppers from the garden, too warm afternoons spent with a book in your lap under the shade of a peach tree, your grandfather's corny jokes and loving smile. Your Nanna's too generous portions of food contributing to the few extra curves you still carried with you to this day.

You don't even notice the tears at first. They slip down your cheeks and land on his arm. Once you realize, you try to quickly wipe them away, but Harry sees.

"Hey..c'mon, I think your high's wearing off a bit, bub. Pajamas, meds, nap. Sound good?" He turns you to face him, using the sleeve of his shirt to brush away any tears that still linger at the corner of your eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 3..why?"

"No nap. I'll never sleep tonight, and you know how grumpy I get when my sleep schedule is thrown off." Even with your declaration of not wanting a nap, you can't help but rub your eyes, a weak attempt to keep yourself awake. Any resolve Harry had to try to convince you to nap melts away. A smirk on his face, he knows you'll eventually crash later, most likely on his chest or in his arms. He's content to let you be stubborn for now.

"Okay, then. New plan. Pajamas, meds, movie. Better?"

"Better. You get everything ready and pick the movie while I change?"

"You don't wanna pick the movie?"

You wave him off, already shuffling towards the bedroom, "You're the boss today, remember?"

You take your time gathering what you need to get cozy for the rest of the day, selecting an oversized, well-worn tie dye t-shirt and leggings from your dresser. You even take a moment to dip into Harry's extensive sweatshirt collection, grabbing your favorite one. It's amazingly soft and still smells of him, a faint scent of his cologne and well..just Harry. You couldn't imagine anything more comforting.

In your pursuit to feel more lucid, you venture into the bathroom, taking a moment to wash your face. The cool water instantly refreshes you and pushes you closer to feeling like yourself again. Wanting your hair out of your face, you pluck a scrunchy from your shared collection of hair accessories. You quickly recognize that your arms still have that too heavy feeling of unconsciousness and after a few attempts to gather your curls into some sort of up-do, you give up and loop the accessory around your wrist to try again later.

Harry senses your frustration when you find him in the kitchen, two small green pill bottles sitting on the counter in front of him. He's already filled your favorite cup with ice water, and you gratefully take it and drink from it.

"What's wrong?" His brow creases with concern and you feel guilty for making him worry over something so silly.

"Nothing..just wanted my hair up out of my face but my arms wouldn't cooperate." You try to laugh it off to put him more at ease, "It's not a big deal."

You know it's only the weariness of the day still making you feel so emotional, clear-headed you would not be upset over something so small.

"Here. Let me try." He slides the scrunchy from your wrist and pulls you closer to him, moving behind you to gently work long fingers through your hair, gathering it all in a loose ponytail on top of your head before securing it around a few times with the scrunchy.

You let your shoulders drop with a deep sigh when he's done, it was such a simple thing, but it made you feel so much lighter. He spins you around to face him, a charming gleam of pride at his handiwork adorning his face, "Too tight?"

"No. Much better. Thank you, Harry. You take such good care of me always, but today..I don't know what I would've done without you. I made such a big fuss and probably made you miserable with all of my worrying." You're suddenly very aware that you are rambling, but when you catch a glimpse of his face, his smile is wide. So bright that the skin around his eyes is crinkling.

He leans towards you, lips stopping whatever words may have come next, arms wrapping around you to pull you closer in a soft, warm embrace. When he pulls away, his eyes bore right into yours, and your heart swells with more love than you could ever imagine having for one person. But he wasn't just any person. He was your person, your whole word staring back at you.

"I'm SO proud of you. You've been so strong today, always knew you had that strength in you, but seeing you take that leap of faith..doing something you knew you should despite your fear, that's all you, love. I can't take any credit for that. You've made me anything but miserable, trust me."

His face is still close enough to yours that you nudge forward, pressing your forehead to his, a silent appreciation of his affection.

"Any pain yet?" He pulls back, a thumb across your cheek, eyes still locked on yours.

"My head kind of hurts? And I still just feel kind of..drunk."

"You have always been a bit of a lightweight, babe. And a thief too, I see. S'that my sweatshirt?"

"Have not!" You swat playfully at his arm, "Maybe. Is that my hair clip in your hair?"

"Possibly." His eyes dart up to the swoop of curls on top of his head, a black plastic clip twisting it back and away from his face.

"Guess we're even then."

"S'pose we are." He tries to keep his eyes narrowed in a mock attempt of annoyance, but it quickly fades into laughter.

You decide against FaceTiming your family, hoping that hearing your voice will be enough. It seems to satisfy them at least for the rest of the day. You assure them that Harry is taking very good care of you and that everything went as smooth as could be expected.

He raises one eyebrow at you as you hang up, "As smooth as expected, huh? You aren't going to tell them the truth?"

"What's to tell? I had an infection and now it's gone. I'm fine, there's no sense in worrying them. We can give them the full story later."

He shrugs, fingers working to open one of the green pill bottles before passing one of the white pills to you, "For your headache, lovie. There's something here for nausea too if you need it. M'worried the pizza might've been too much. Maybe you should take one of these..just in case?"

"Harry, I promise I will tell you if I feel anything other than fine." Your hand runs from his shoulder down his bicep, squeezing gently, "Besides, I cannot take a whole one of those. If you think I'm a lightweight now..I'll sleep for the whole week if I take that."

He slips the bottle in his pocket, pulling you in to press a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll keep it close just in case, okay?"

"Sounds good," Your hand trails back up to his neck to work fingers through his hair, "Hey, thought we were watching a movie? What'd you pick?"

"Thought we could decide together. C'mon, let's get you comfy in bed."

"Ever the gentleman, always trying to get me in your bed."

"Hey! I am a perfect gentleman, thank you very much," He chuckles, a hand coming to rest on the small of your back, "Just thought you'd be more comfortable, you can prop up and stretch your feet out."

You let him tug you along for the second time today, thankful it's the luxury of your shared bed you get to settle into this time. He tucks you in softly, propping pillows behind your back and head.

"Comfy? Need anything else?"

"No, just need you to quit babying me so much and relax with me for a bit."

"Since when am I not allowed to baby you?"

You roll your eyes, "Never said you weren't allowed. Just want you to stop worrying so much, that's all."

"Good. Cause y'are my baby," No matter how many times you'd heard him say it before, it never failed to make you blush, "Do anything for you, y'know that, right?"

"I know," You look down at your hands, trying to slow your racing heart, "You never let me forget."

"Hey," He pokes your cheek, pulling your gaze back up to him, "I love you."

"I love you more, H."

He kisses your forehead, "Impossible. I love you most."

The reference to one of your favorite movies has you smiling at him, that dreamy feeling falling over you again, "Can we watch Tangled?"

"Sure, princess."

He sinks next to you, head propped up on your shoulder, navigating easily through Disney+ to find your requested movie.

Your eyes drift closed right about the time the lanterns are being released in the sky, a moment that normally leaves your face wet with tears, the soft vibrations of Harry humming along the perfect lullaby to push you further into your dream.

He wakes you later in the evening.

"Dinner's on the table if you want to join me."

"Time's it?" Your voice is still heavy with sleep.

"7. You were sleeping so deeply I didn't want to wake you, thought your body could use the extra sleep today."

"Yeah. It was nice, thank you." You stretch your arms forward, reaching for his hands to help pull you up.

"How do you feel?"

"A little sore. More sober, for sure."

Dinner is simple; a bowl of plain broth, salad, and toast. Exactly what the nurse suggested earlier. There's even a warm mug of tea waiting for you.

"With honey for my honey," He's so proud of his cheesy expression of love you cannot help but smile.

You look at him curiously when he sits next to you, the same boring meal set out for himself.

"Harry..you can eat what you want, babe. Seriously you've done enough today, more than enough to be supportive. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you made yourself something different."

"Nah. S'fine. We're in this together, yeah?"

You raise your eyebrows at him playfully, "Did you have an organ snatched from your body today?"

"No, I didn't." He laughs, "I just meant food wise, love. It's vegetable broth, by the way, hope that's alright."

"It's perfect."

You nudge him lightly, an elbow to his side, shifting closer to ask for a kiss. He meets you the rest of the way, lips planted firmly on yours. When you don't pull away, he quickly adds another.

After dinner is done and you have another round of meds, the two of you end up in an awkward ball of cuddles on the couch. Harry flips through the channels on the tv before finding a show you both agree on.

But you're too restless, unable to find a position comfortable enough for you. You shift a few times, finally giving up and letting out a frustrated groan before tossing the blanket off the both of you and springing up and off the couch.

Harry doesn't panic, just grabs your hand before you can get too far away or lose your balance, keeping his voice low when he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing hurts. I just can't get comfortable, and I don't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right, angel? Explain."

"I don't feel like myself. I don't know how to explain it. Just feel off."

He sees you're on the verge of tears and ascends from his spot on the couch, arms quickly enveloping you before placing a finger under your chin to pull your face up to look at him.

"It's probably gonna take a day or so to adjust, baby. Yes it was a minor surgery but it was a major change to your body." He's bending now to look right into your eyes, searching them, "How can we fix it tonight, hmm? What do you need?"

Tears are free flowing, falling on the front of your t-shirt and down to the floor.

"Take your time. Breathe." A large hand smoothing warm circles firmly across your back; a balm for your restless spirit.

You pause, deep breath in before slowly letting it out, "I think I just need to move around for a bit."

"Let's go for a walk, eh? A quick one and then back to bed. Your mind needs more rest. How's that sound?" He taps your forehead softly.

"Okay, yeah." You nod your head, an approval of his plan.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

You nod again, scared your voice will break if you try to speak. He knew that those words held a lot of weight for you, he'd repeated them often throughout this whole process and to hear them now was a reminder of how safe you were. That with him, you would always be safe and loved.

Being dark outside meant you gracelessly padding through the house, up and down the hallway a few times and back to the living room. Harry stays close, encouraging you along with little claps and kisses to motivate you. When your stomach starts to feel uneasy, he urges you once again to take something for nausea. You agree to take a half a pill, knowing it'll help you sleep.

Despite the nap you had earlier and only being awake for a couple of hours, it doesn't take much convincing for you to settle back into bed.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

He's already reclined next to you, book in hand, the soft light from the lamp illuminating one side of his face. You're smushed against him, drifting between that sweet space of almost asleep and wanting to stay awake to enjoy any spare moment you get with him. His hand working through your hair helps push you towards the former of the two.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden today," Your words are slurring together but you continue on, just needing to get your thoughts out before he can stop you, "I don't deserve you and I shouldn't have overreacted so much about something so simple."

"Hey, none of that now," He lays the book on the nightstand, careful to save his place for later before pulling you closer to him, "You were not, nor have you ever been a burden to me. Just because you needed a little extra help today does not mean you aren't deserving of me or my love. You will never have to earn that. It's yours, always has been, will be as long as you decide to keep me around."

"Thank you. For all of it. I'll always want you."

"Always? Y'might change your mind someday, angel."

"I won't. Promise."

"Yeah? Me either."

A kiss laid delicately to the top of your head has your eyes dangerously close to falling shut again before another thought navigates its way through your mind and out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"H..what am I gonna do with a full week off from work?"

"Let me take care of you?"

And that's exactly what he does.

Mornings spent sleeping in, late breakfasts made together and afternoon walks. Evenings consisting of the two of you preparing dinner together or ordering takeout from some of the forbidden places you couldn't eat from before. Mugs of herbal tea before early bedtimes, you sweetly falling asleep to the sound of his voice reading to you most nights.

But his favorite part was that the scent of lavender was no longer cursed for you. Some nights before your surgery, when you simply could not fall asleep the pain was so unbearable, you would fill the tub with hot water and lavender scented bubbles to try to calm yourself enough to be able to drift off afterwards. It never worked, the heat always doing more harm than good. Harry would always be waiting for you, open arms and a soft towel to wrap you in.

So the smell became one you hated, memories of sleepless nights and nausea. But now you were free to use it again for what you always loved it for before it was cursed. In your body wash, lotion, even your laundry detergent; spreading the scent all over your shared space in as many ways as you could.

He even mentions it one night after dinner, when the two of you are pressed impossibly close together on the couch. His nose buried into your neck, inhaling deeply, pulling away to announce, "You smell like you again, love. Missed it so much." He burrows back in, placing kisses from your neck to your shoulder, ignoring your giggles and protests of how much it tickles.

A week later, the alarm wakes you sooner than you've become accustomed to, reminding you of your return to work. Harry's arm thrown over your waist pulls you closer as you try to leave the bed, a sleepy "Don't go." mumbled in your ear.

You do your best to peel yourself away from him, admitting silently to yourself how much harder it is for you to leave the warmth of your bed as it is for him to let you go.

2 years later, you have a scar you swear didn't heal right, and a man who loves you even more because of it.

#harry styles imagine #harry x reader #my writing #so happy this is finally done and being posted!#soooooo many times I almost just deleted it bc I didn't know how to feel about it #but anyway hope y'all enjoy!

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