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vapid-slut · 4 years ago

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A Dove Reborn; Ch.1

Warning[s]: Character death, Mentions of violence, murder, demonic possession [kinda, eh yea]

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Reader, a catholic schoolgirl, is brought in as a sacrifice. It isn’t until she’s payed a visit in hell that she’s given a second chance at life and vengeance

A/N: This is my first michael fic so enjoy my shitty excuse for writing I’ve been think about writing this for awhile so I really you like it. Whoever you may be [this blog is a ghost town]. Also there may be some typos because it’s late and a bitch is lazy. xoxo, go piss girl

Darkness.

That's all you saw as your limp body dragged across what felt like wood. You cried out, hoping someone would have the heart to help you. Instead, they laughed at your naiveness. Before you could think any longer, a voice interrupted your thoughts. "This is y/n she has devoted her entire life to being a good little christian. Pathetic." The woman spoke with hatred in her voice as you heard others make noises of disapproval and disdain. Your breath was shaking, you knew there was little hope for you, they didn't care about you or your life, and why should they? After all, you were just a shy little girl whose own family sent her away to a convent to get rid of her.

The skin on your body crawled as you felt the burning stares of everyone gawking at your practically naked form. The woman continued to go on about how silly you were for choosing to believe in a god who couldn't even protect you now, her voice overlapping with your screams and pleas. "Well, let's not waste any more time. The honor of tonight's sacrifice shall go to one of our newest members, Jim." If you were uncertain of your fate before, this solidified it. Tonight was the night you were doing to die.

You pleaded for your life though it was ineffective, your body tensed as you felt a hand across your face remove a few stray hairs. Before you knew it, the blade held along your neck glided with ease, your eyes began to tear as you took what would be your last few breaths. There, on the floor, your once pure body laid lifeless, upper half drenched in your blood.

Eventually, the group of heinous worshippers dispersed, some going off to eat, others making their way home. All of them seemingly unbothered by the presence of your corpse. Having your body on display for everyone to see was truly humiliating. You were to be gawked at, mocked, and then forgotten. The story of your life, no one had ever taken you seriously. Your mother hated you the moment she birthed you. Your father never stayed long enough for you to remember him. With all the time you had spent laying there, your body began releasing a foul odor, making it clear that you had to go.

The blue-eyed boy towered over your figure, his head turning slightly to face the much shorter woman with hair like that of a raven. "What would you like me to do with her, Michael?" The woman named Ms.Mead asked with a calmness to her voice, almost as if she did this often. Michael sighed, letting his shoulders fall slightly. "It's such a shame she would've made a great pet." He paused, taking a breath. "Bury her or throw her in the river for all I care, whichever is easiest." He said sternly as the woman nodded, the blonde turned on his heels to exit the once full room.

-----

You woke up from felt like an eternal sleep. Rubbing your eyes to look around the room, it all felt familiar. The soft lilac walls and crisply made bed, this was your home. Albeit one you hadn't seen in a long time. It had been almost seven years since your mother dropped you off at a convent. You observed the room with confusion, wondering why you were here.

Suddenly the door opened, revealing your strung-out mother. Your head tilted in confusion. "M-mom?" You reached to touch her, but out of nowhere, she raised the back of her hand to strike you across the face. You brought your hand to your cheek, eyes welling up with tears until suddenly she froze.

Everything was happening so suddenly that you cowered in fear as another woman entered the room, dressed in white, she flashed you a smile. The girl reached to hold your hand, but you immediately flinched. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you." She said, her voice soft and calming. You rubbed the tears away from your eyes and took hold of her warm hand. "Who are you. W-where am I?" The girl helped you to your feet. "My name is Mallory, right now you're in hell. But I'm here to take you back t-" Before she could finish, a dark figure walked in. "Ah, ah, ah. You don't get to break satans rules, my love." The man appeared with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes.

"Asclepius, this isn't any of your concern," Mallory said, letting go of my hand as she inched closer to the man. "It is actually, I too have been tasked with bringing Y/N back to the mortal realm." You watched as the two bickered as if you weren't in their presence, tired of sitting around like a church mouse, you decided to speak up. "Okay, what the fuck are you talking about?!" The two turned to look at you, almost shocked that you had interrupted them. Asclepius sighed before stepping closer to you. "This might seem hard for you to comprehend, but you're dead. Your purity made you a viable sacrifice for satan." He paused for a moment, reading the confusion on your face. "This place is hell."

You scoffed, finding his comment ridiculous. That was until you remembered the darkness, the voice of that wretched woman, and the coldness of the knife. "Holy shit." You said, your head falling as you realize your predicament. "So, what do you two want from me?" Mallory turned on her heels. "Well, I was sent to retrieve your soul and bring it back to your mortal body until he showed up." Asclepius rolled his eyes at the brunette, annoyed by her response. "My boss, satan, has been displeased with his son's work. He thinks you'd be a fine companion, someone to give him a push to bring about the end times."

All of this sounded insane. It was simply too much to process. Mallory could sense the fear coming off of you. "Good thing is that won't happen, so long as I have a say in it." She reached to hold your face as a form of comfort. But before you could react, her body fell limp as the red-haired man retrieved his arm from her back, her heart in his hand as you shrieked in terror. "Shhh Y/N, there is no need to fear me, soon you'll be back to normal soon." His voice overlapped with the hissing of snakes as they slithered towards you.

There was no place to run, so instead you back into one of the four corners of the room, even then, you knew it was useless. Pain pierced through your skin as the vipers sank their teeth into your skin, venom mixing with your blood. You tried to scream, but nothing left your throat, your mind slowly fading in and out of consciousness. The man gave you a half-hearted smile. "Send Michael my regards." And with that, your world faded to black once again.

-----

The skin on your body began to prune, given the countless days you had spent floating in the river. Suddenly your heart began to beat as blood rushed through your veins, your eyes opened, the water starting to irritate them. You mustered up what little strength you had left and made your way to the surface, gasping for air.

Swimming was never your strong suit, but you noticed that there was land nearby, so used your bit of energy to make sure you got there. Once you reached the dry land, your body fell, your back making contact with the soil. You wanted nothing more than to sleep. But something caught your attention, a scent. One you weren't all that accustomed to, you felt something within, almost as if your body was fighting itself.

Your body acted against you as you stood, drawing closer to the smell. As you crept, the voices become much more vivid. One, in particular, was much too familiar. "This sacrifice is much more special than anyone we've done before." You thought for a moment, and your mind brought you back to the night you lost your life, your cries and pleas ignored just like the unlucky girl they had chosen tonight.

You yearned to do something, but you were no match for them. That was until you watched as your skin went pale, bits of it turned to scales. Part of you was horrified, but part of you relished in this new power. Before you made a move, you heard a much deeper voice speak. "I sense something, someone, a powerful presence." Suddenly your body was completely taken over. Your once [y/e/c] eyes had now turned to a crimson red. Without thought, you suddenly appeared behind one of the cloaked figures, something you weren't aware you could do till now.

All the rage and bloodlust inside of you reached a boil. As your arm plunged into the woman's chest, you retrieved your hand to find her heart in it, and with no hesitation, you took a bite. The look of shock on everyone's face was pure bliss. You stood, wearing nothing but the underwear you had on the night of your death, covered in blood. Many of the cult members attempted to stop you, but it proved useless as you swiftly discarded them.

The few worshippers that remained had fled, hoping to keep their lives. All that was left were the corpses and Michael, along with Ms. Mead. The blonde boy gave a look of astonishment. Before anyone could break the silence, your skin reverted back to its previous form, the red in your eyes fading as your body fell to the ground. Michael approached you, kneeling to be closer to your face, cupping your chin, now drenched in blood.

"Magnificent, my father must have sent you." His face formed a wicked smile. You were far too weak to respond and watched as he removed his cloak and placed it over your cold body. With that, he scooped you into his arms, continuing to burn into you with his gaze.

His voice was smooth and mellow as he whispered into your ear. "Let's get you home." You shook your head in disapproval and tried to push yourself off of him, but there was no point. It was clear who had the upper hand. Slowly your consciousness began to fade once again. It was clear how exhausted you were, and eventually, you drifted into a slumber. Your fate left in the hands of a man who watched you die.

----

okay wow can’t believe i actually finished a fic for the first time, this feels great! I hope you enjoyed, let me know if you wanna be tag okay toodles!

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagine #Michael Langdon smut #Michael Langdon blurb #Michael langdon headcanon #michael langdon fanfiction

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

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Κατακηλέω (νοσταλγία deleted scene)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Κατακηλέω: to charm, cast a spell over (Ancient Greek)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Narses/Reader but you know how that is

Summary: This is a deleted scene that happens between chapter 16 and 17, it centers mainly around Narses.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: The usual, plus a graphic depiction of burning alive (or my best attempt at writing it anyways)

A/N: Yeah idk what to say here lol, I put this together mainly bc @xbellaxcarolinax made a point of there being little Narses on the story, and bc she was interested in a chapter more centered around him. I write a lot of rambles that I don’t post cause I don’t think people wanna read ‘em, but here it is one of em, in deleted-scene form lol. Hope you like it, and thank you! <3

Also yes I have Michiel Huisman as Daario in my head as a faceclaim for Narses, idk what to tell ya, I suck at describing characters so of course you had no way of knowing that, and I’m sorry.

Taglist: (I’m sorry if you don’t wanna be tagged in these kind of chapters btw, just lemme know and I’ll keep you on the main story ones only, or just the main story and Ivar PoV ones, whatever works for you) @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson

“It scares you, doesn’t it?” Freydis starts suddenly one night, and you lift your eyes to her but don’t say anything. So, she continues, “The reminder of what you could do.”

“If you mean-…”

“You know what I mean. You could lie, and I keep wondering why you don’t.”

“Lying is what you would do, is it not?” You snap, head tilted to the side.

The blonde’s smile turns smug, as if she just made you give away a card. Instead of saying anything regarding that, she shrugs,

“You have traveled a lot, lived a lot,” She states, moving carefully and taking a seat next to you, seemingly choosing to ignore your eyes following her. “Will you tell me you are unaware of what men are able and willing to do for a woman’s love?

She stops whatever it is she was going to say next when an elderly woman enters the apothecary, her blue eyes following the woman’s moves. You are reminded of that night when she shared her thoughts by a window and was interrupted -eyes and ears follow the witch-, and realize why she holds her tongue.

Instead of waiting for the other woman to leave, she stands up and asks you to follow with but a gesture of her head.

Certain steps take you both to the same elevated patch of cold and foreign grass that saw you lay on your knees and pray to whatever Gods heard you to give you an answer.

And so, Freydis continues on,

“Look at all Ivar did to get you to be at his side. Imagine what he would do with the promise you could love him,” Manic blue eyes meet yours as Freydis stops you with a hand on your arm. You pointedly look down at it and back up at her face, feeling a tightness in your chest, dread mixed with disdain. “Imagine what he would do if you pretended to love him and threatened to take it away.”

There’s only one answer you can give her.

“Get your hand off me.”

If you were your mother, you’d have a sword in your hands and a snarl on your lips. But you never wanted to fight like a man, and so you only let the cold of this land seep into your voice and harden your expression, your voice.

She remains frozen for a few moments too long, and you once again pointedly look at her hand and back into her eyes.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” You state, and only then does she comply, her eyes searching yours. You return your arm to be comfortable covered by the warm cloak, and turn to keep walking. “I do not want to hear another word of this, you hear me? Not another damned word.”

“Does that mean you’ve given up? You’ll let him keep you here?”

“I said not another word.”

Freydis swallows whatever her words are to be next, and nods her head, accepting your order as if she thinks you gave her a choice.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Freydis speaks again.

“You choose to protect him now, is that it?”

Her dainty and delicate voice loses none of the edge and the certainty, even as her eyes betray something more human.

“You are a smart woman,” You concede instead of answering her questions, and tilt your head to the side, “But a smarter one would know when to hold her tongue.”

“You don’t hold yours.”

“I never claimed to be smart,” You reply easily, before bowing your head in goodbye. “Goodnight, Freydis.”

She knows it is a dismissal, and a rude one at that, but she only returns the gesture. You could swear a strange sort of pride shines in the girl’s dark blue eyes as she takes her leave.

____

And now you sit alone overlooking that same cliff and you cannot get her words out of your head. You wish you could hate her, berate her for her games and call her names, say she is nothing but a liar, a whore.

But it is not so simple, is it? You seduced a man into giving you his army, did it so well Freydis trusted you to seek Freyja’s favor and do the same with the King, knew you had what it took with only but a look at you.

You promised your love to Narses only for the faint possibility that he could drive the Byzantine Christians off your lands, that he could bend his army and his strength to your will and give you the kingdom you deserved.

And you did to Narses everything that Freydis would have done to Ivar. You kissed, lied, and promised yourself; for the sake of a game.

Because when all you are told you can be is a warm pair of legs to wrap around a man, a pretty little jewel for him to keep and parade around, a quiet and beautiful maiden to stand beneath who the Gods deem you belong to; you learn to play games, all women do.

You wrap your legs tight enough he begs for mercy trying to escape your spell, you show them how even jewels draw blood if squeezed too tight in a fool’s hand, you let beauty carry you near him and your voice be a whisper as it reaches his ear. You play games.

But, as you sit on the cold grass overlooking Kattegat’s horizon, the sea and the sky meeting far away and reminding you strikingly of dusks and dawns spent on that temple overlooking the ocean and awaiting for those ships; you think about how no women speak of what happens when the game ends.

Because it always ends. It is a world of change, after all, a world of wheels turning and of days and nights and of seasons unending. It goes on and on, and the world changes, the games end.

Maybe you don’t hear women speak of what happens when it ends because few survive it. Those that do, maybe, just like you, refuse to speak of it, refuse to give voice to the pain and the shame that comes after playing with a heart not your own.

Refuse to admit the regret.

“You’ll do it?” He asks, eyes shining, “You’ll be my wife?”

“I would love to marry you,” You lie, you lie, you lie; and it burns your heart, “But I don’t want to bring our children into a world that will push them into the dirt for the Gods they follow, Narses.”

And just like that, promises, vows, oaths, fall from his perfect lips like he cannot help it. And you believe him, because if you hold your breath and dive past the smoke into the memories of your past, you can recognize that the way Narses looks at you now is the same way your father used to look at your mother.

You remember Sieghild’s teachings about Freyja, about her ways of persuasion and seduction, and wonder if, even if you are foreign to her, the Goddess looks over you. You wonder if she would smile or frown at your games.

You fall down on the grass, keeping your hold on Narses’ hands to tug him down with you. Narses falls with a laugh, legs and arms holding him up above you, dark green eyes shining as they look down upon yours.

It is remarkably easy, to surrender to his kiss. You close your eyes, letting your fingers go up into his hair, and allowing your lips and tongue to dance with his.

When his impatient lips move down to your jaw, your neck; you let him, craning your head back so he can have more access to your skin. If you clear your mind, you can almost feel nothing but pleasure.

When you tug particularly hard on his hair as Narses bites at your collarbone, you feel a breathed laugh leave his nose.

Lifting himself up in strong arms on each side of your head, Narses looks down upon you. His words should not hurt like they do by now, as you are so familiar with them you know what they will be before he even opens his mouth.

He steals another quick kiss, and whispers, “I love you.”

As a lover, as his future wife.

You smile through the pain, and answer, “I love you.”

As a friend, as the protector of your people.

As an instrument of war.

You are reminded of the safety of Narses’ embrace, however suffocating; and you can almost taste your name on his lips, bloodied as they were the last time you saw him alive.

“You are in the Elysian Fields, I know,” You start telling the wind, hoping it can carry your words to him, “Or maybe these Varangians’ Gods are fighting with ours to take you with them to Valhalla. Either way, I hope you can hear my voice one last time, my friend.”

You laugh brokenly to yourself, lowering your gaze to the grass under your body, caressing the dark tresses of nature.

“I know I don’t make much sense, I-I never did to you. Ramblings about Fate and empires fallen and tales of Gods and heroes; things that you had no interest in hearing. And yet you still looked upon me like something…something out of a dream, Narses,” You tell him, pain clawing at your heart, reopening wounds you thought you closed long ago. You smile sadly still, and reminisce, “You used to tell me I was your dream, and…I wish I could tell you that you were mine, I truly do. But I can’t.”

And regret fills you, the useless and heartbreaking gift of hindsight showing you that the path you took led only to pain and war. Narses was sent by your choices, by your games, by your mistakes, to die; and you…you were sent here. To what?

You dare think not even the Gods have an answer to your present, or future. But you do have answers to your past, and if someone deserves to hear them, it is Narses, wherever he may be.

“Returning to Eleusis choked me with the smoke of all the fires lit before I left and during my time away. I…blinded myself with ambition and I thought the only way I could fight was through you,” You explain, honestly, brokenly, the only way you know how to, “I knew that if I had the heart of Thebes’ Strategus, I could get what I wanted. I just had to have enough guile, enough lies, enough poison; to trick you into giving me your heart.

You offer the wind a hollow chuckle, bitter and angry and oh so filled with regret you can feel your heart poisoned with it.

“And I did exactly that. Maybe Aphrodite and Peitho blessed my lies, maybe Sieghild was right and Freyja watched over me,” You look over Kattegat’s horizon, facing the truths of your past when you don’t know what you want out of your future, “Either way, I used you, I hated myself but I still did it and…I got what I wanted.

As the agony of the flames crawls over your legs, scorching your skin with the inferno, blinding your eyes with the smoke, flogging your throat with your screams; you turn your gaze to the sky, blackened and barren as it is, and plead the Gods you have fought and bled for to grant you a moment of mercy, a painless death.

And flesh being charred smells awful, making your poisoned lungs heave for unattainable retrieve. You hold a moment of clarity in your mind to beg for Sieghild’s forgiveness, that you left her in this world alone after she sacrificed so much for you. You hope her Gods let you visit her in Folkvangr.

With one last ragged and angry scream, you let your strength leave you, your agony leave you, your regrets leave you.

When you awaken you find yourself in too much pain to accept this is the Underworld. Before you open your eyes, a moment of panic and dread fills your heart at the thought that the Christians left you alive to torture you, but you hear familiar voices, smell familiar fragrances.

Sieghild’s hand over your forehead, gentle and loving in ways she rarely is, makes a small smile tug at your dried and bleeding lips.

“I know you are awake, open your eyes,” She chastises, gruff even when relief clogs her voice. You do, and her smiling inked face settles your quickly beating heart, makes you forget the pain for a moment. “I love you, you stubborn child.”

You allow yourself a smile, closing your eyes again and focusing on breathing for a few moments, before whispering, “I love you too, minn móðir.”

The shieldmaiden chuckles brokenly, pressing rough lips on the crown of your head. After a few moments of silence, she sighs.

“By the way, you mad woman, you did it.”

“Did what?” You ask raggedly, wincing as you lift your head to accept the cup of water she offers.

“Listen, little one,” She instructs, and when you do, you hear the rustling of armor plates, the heavy steps of soldiers outside your door. The Viking woman shakes her head in almost disbelief, “The Strategos, that boy, he saved you from the flames.”

“Narses?”

“His soldiers came with us, we have nearly a thousand men here.”

“I did so many things wrong, Narses. I lied and manipulated and pretended, and maybe because the Gods are cruel, or maybe because reaping what you sow is an empty promise; I succeeded, and I got what I wanted. I knew I wouldn’t win, not against the Empire, not against the Christians, but…I wanted them to remember me, to remember our names and our Gods and our ways. To remember we don’t die silently.

And even if it hurts, you admit to yourself that you would do it again. You wish you could have loved Narses the way he deserved, you wish you could have been honest, you wish you could have found other ways to fight for your kingdom; but…you understand why you did it, and feeble and useless as it is, you want to forgive yourself for it.

Where there is war there can never be love, right? And you wanted war, you will not lie to yourself and say you truly wanted peace all along.

No, you wanted to see those Christians that came to take your home bleed at your feet, you wanted Attica to be free again, and Laconia, and Macedonia, and Arcadia, and many others. And you would wage war for your freedom for a thousand years if needed.

You would promise Narses your hand again if it came to it. You know you would, because the person you were when Attica was yours…she would have done that and much more for a chance at freedom. Now, you know better. Now, you let yourself be softer. Now, the world is a lot bigger than it seemed back then.

Now, things are different. Maybe you are, maybe the world is, maybe your heart is. Maybe Ivar is.

You smile at the barren horizon that doesn’t seem so foreign and intimidating now, and whisper, “I could do it now, I know. I would end up dead when he knew the truth, that’s for certain, but the victory would be mine, our people’s, by the time Ivar could catch up with my lies. I could, Narses.

“We need Stithulf’s support. We will ally with him, and even if you scream and fight it is what will happen.”

But you are shaking your head before he even finishes speaking.

“As Anassa of Attica I ca-…”

“As the commander of your forces, as the man you’ll marry, I’m telling y-…”

The hostility, the command, in his tone startle you to attention, and you narrow your eyes as you step closer. You don’t reach his shoulder, but the years have taught you there’s few things a man fears more than a woman that refuses to fight like a man but still fights.

“If you try using that to silence me, I fear you will not live long as my husband.” The threat drips from your lips like wine, but Narses doesn’t cave for once, and he drags a hand over his face.

“You always fight me, why do you…why can’t you be…?” His words die in a sigh, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Why can’t I be someone I’m not? Would you love me if I were anything other than me?”

“Sometimes, I wish you were,” He sentences, a hand over his eyes as he grunts out the words. Your heart drops, and so does your guard. He sighs again, and a hand reaches up and cups your cheek, unaware your whole body tightens to a coil the moment he touches you. “Sometimes, I fool myself into thinking I still see the woman you once were in you. The woman that wanted a life surrounded by Eleusis’ warmth, the woman that cared not for war, for vengeance.”

You grit your teeth, and step back, closing your eyes tightly as you croak,

“That woman was never all I was. I wanted Eleusis, I still do, but that doesn’t mean I never wanted revenge, Narses. Those Christia-…”

When you feel he finally drops his hand from your cheek, you open your eyes and watch his hand clench into a fist.

“Why do I have to love a woman like you?” He hisses, turning his back to you and slamming both hands on the weak table in front of him. “I’ve asked the Gods why, you know. Why I have to love a woman arrogant and ambitious and…Hera help me, a woman that is not mine. Never was, never will be.”

“I-…What are you saying?”

“Do you think I’m enough of a fool to think I can make you my wife? If the Fates don’t stop me you will,” A humorless chuckle leaves his lips, “Lord Hades might split open the earth and drag you to the Underworld before I get to call you my wife.”

“Don’t say those things.”

“It is true! I was not Fated to have you, even if the Gods know I was Fated to love you,” He shakes his head, teeth gritted and eyes failing to meet yours, “We both know what made you say yes to me, and it is what is keeping you from saying yes to Stithulf. It was never love.”

Shame chokes you, keeps the next words form leaving your lips. Your lips tremble and your eyes cloud with tears as you look at his tense back, nothing but regrets shining in your eyes.

“Are you-…will you l-leave?”

Will you leave me? Is the question you dare not ask, because you do not have the right to believe he should want to stay at your side, not after everything.

You still don’t want him to leave you alone here.

But the Thebesian takes a deep breath, straightening his back again and turning to you. The same anguished softness you saw so many times in his eyes still shines in them now, and he shakes his head.

His voice when he replies feels like warmth, like safety and nostalgia,

“I will always be at your side. Until Hades summons you home, I’ll be at your side.”

You look into his warm eyes, and with shame still burning your chest, you ask,

“Why? The Gods know I do not deserve it. Why do you stay?”

The answer leaves his lips with the same certainty it always did, with the same hope and the same truth,

“I love you.”

You like to believe you would have loved Narses, you like to believe you would have been content remaining as Eleusis’ Priestess. You like to believe you could have birthed him children for you to teach the way of the Gods and he to give the fame of his family.

Problem is, you fear now, with the taste of this strange freedom still fresh and sweet on your tongue, you don’t think you could have ever lived with the binds of what Narses wanted to make out of you. A priestess, whose ambition is forgotten when he wills it so; a woman, whose eyes will need to lower from his; a wife, to be quietened when he speaks.

And you don’t want that, to be what Narses wanted you to, what Galla wanted you to, what Freydis wants you to, what Ivar wants you to. You want to be you, and you want to fight, and be compassionate and revengeful, and be soft and relentless, without needing to choose one or the other.

You want nights of stupid arguments and infuriating talks, you realize around a broken chuckle, you want foreign languages and even more foreign customs, you want…you want Ivar. In all his vitriol, in all his bloodthirst, in all his awkward gentleness and in all his armored heart, you want him.

Tears of regret and the path not taken fill your eyes, and you find yourself sobbing out a small laugh, “But the person that lied and tricked you, that could do the same to Ivar…she died amongst the flames, left me in her place, I think.

The Priestess is dead.

Taking the small knife Ivar gifted you what seems like a lifetime ago, you hold a lock of your hair in front of you, and cut off the wind-blown and tangled strands, holding a short tress in your hand that weights like a decade of apologies and promises made.

“I’m sorry. For everything I did and everything I didn’t do,” You promise him, closing your eyes and almost seeing his smiling face before you, his eyes shining and his sun-kissed skin weathered around a smile. “In another life, I may have loved you like you deserved.”

You open your palm, and let the strands of grief be carried off by Kattegat’s winds way across the sea.

And in another world, on another land, a dead man takes a breath.

____

So, hope you liked it, hope that last sentence got you wonderin’, and hope you have a nice day/night!

Thank you so much for reading, see you Tuesday with the scheduled update: chapter 18 :)

#ivar the boneless x reader #does this count tho #i guess so #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #νοσταλγία masterlist

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footballfanfictions · 4 years ago

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Think that I like her - Phase Seven

Christian

He ran his hand up and down her arm soothingly. She lay curled up into his side fast asleep. They had stopped kissing for long enough for Christian to explain why he had made such a dick move and tried to break things off with her and explained that his lack of experience with girls made him really nervous. She made him really nervous.

Christian didn’t think that Kara was just going to let him off lightly for trying to break up with her but he didn’t mind, and hadn’t had any expectations for that evening at all. He was satisfied to just be holding her, listening to her soft breaths against his chest.

He brushed her hair back from her face and pressed his lips against her forehead. She stirred but didn’t wake. He was wondering if he could reach into his pocket for his phone without waking her but was distracted by a noise at the front door. It sounded like clicking.

He realised it must have been the key turning in the lock when a grinning Mason appeared in the doorway to the living room.

Christian held a finger up to his lips to try and get Mason to be quiet, not wanting to wake Kara.

“Came to your senses then mate?” Mason said quietly.

Mollie peeked over Mason’s shoulder and grinned at me.

“Glad you two have patched things up, you look really cute together.” she said, before she tugged Mase by the arm towards a door that I presumed led to her bedroom.

I silently prayed that I wouldn’t have to hear the sound of my team mate having sex.

Kara woke then, at the sound of Mollie’s bedroom door closing. She sat bolt upright in my arms and looked around.

“Oh! Sorry, I nodded off.” she laughed, turning her head slightly to look at me.

“You didn’t miss much in the movie, it got really bad.” I grinned at her as I spoke and she grinned back.

“You’re not a bad sight to wake up to you know.” she lay back down with her head on my chest and snuggled into my side, laying her arm across me.

Cupping her cheek, I tilted her head up to meet mine and pressed a soft kiss against her lips.

Kara

She woke up on the sofa again, and was disappointed to find that Christian wasn’t there anymore.

Mollie was sat on the other sofa, her legs crossed and a mug of coffee in her hand. She looked over with the biggest smile on her face before saying “the boys are cooking us breakfast.”

She hoped that Christian could cook, because there were lots of things that Mason was good at and cooking was not one of them. They would be lucky to still have their kitchen intact by the end of the day if he was left to his own devices.

“Now that is a sight I would like to see.” Kara laughed.

Sitting up, she stretched her arms above her head, trying to ignore the pain in her neck and shoulders that sleeping on their sofa had caused. She hadn’t wanted to move from Christian’s arms or consider letting him go home, so had sacrificed comfort.

“It’s just a shame they aren’t shirtless. I did ask.” Mollie giggled.

Kara picked up a magazine from the coffee table and threw it, hitting Mollie in the face.

“Naughty!”

The four of them sat around Kara and Mollie’s kitchen table, exchanging banter and just generally enjoying each other’s company. All thoughts of nearly losing Christian were far from Kara’s mind.

Could she trust that he wouldn’t drop her again for the sake of her career? Maybe not, but she couldn’t dampen the feelings that she had for him that were only getting stronger by the day.

They had a game today, they were the tea time kick off at 5.30pm against Leicester City and they were both buzzing. The results since the new manager came in had all been going in their favour.

It was sad to think that they would need to leave soon and couldn’t spend the whole day with them. Kara was thinking about taking Mollie out for some lunch and shopping so that she could talk through her feelings a bit more.

While Mollie and Mase were saying a long drawn out goodbye upstairs (despite the fact that they would see each other ina few hours because they saw each other every day!), Kara walked downstairs with Christian and out to his car.

He leant against the side of the car and opened his arms.

Laughing, she stepped into his embrace and put her arms around his neck.

“I want you to know something.” he said quietly, his mouth close enough to her ear that his breath tickled.

“Yes?”

He pulled back from their hug just enough to be able to look at her and held her face between his hands.

“I promise you, I’m never going to try to walk away from this again.”

Looking into his deep brown eyes, she believed him.

“You’d better not!” she countered.

“I’m going to score a hattrick for you and bring you home the match ball.” he said, a slight tone of cockiness in his voice.

“Oh sure, we’ll see.” she rolled her eyes at him.

He leant in and kissed her then, the cautiousness of kissing her last night long forgotten and she wished that he didn’t have to leave.

He sighed as he pulled away from the kiss and she knew he felt the same.

“Can I see you later?” he asked.

“Of course, you need to bring me that match ball!”

#Football Fanfiction #christian pulisic fanfiction #christian pulisic #christian pulisic fanfic

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teaboot · 5 years ago

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hello! i’m writing a story where a bunch of ghosts befriend a still-alive person, and i was wondering if i could ask you about cemetary caretaking in dms? (because that’s the setting, and i know nothing about cemetary caretaking.) or if not, could you point me in the direction of others who know more?

Yep! Keep in mind though that each Cemetary can have different rules about what markers, headstones, and offerings are allowed, so. There is that.

1. The older parts of the Cemetary are recognizeable because the headstones there are usually upright land in a bunch of varied shapes and sizes. They don't stand in tidy rows, and some of them sink into the ground and tilt or fall over completely. Pieces break off all the time, too, and can get launched back at you with a weedwacker or damage the lawnmower blades, so they have to be moved.

2. A serious concern for maintainance workers is potentially being hit by falling stones, so when they fall down, they tend to stay down until they are paid for to be properly replaced or repaired. My mom said she knows a guy who died that way.

3. Some stones from the late 1800's have weird dog-looking figures carved in- those are lambs, and are put on christian children's graves. They look odd when they erode.

4. Some older graves will be homemade, or have countries of origin included. Some will simply say "baby", "mother", or "father".

5. Some headstones only have one date- those are typically for infants who didn't live long, or were stillborn. Sometimes they won't have names, either, but a few do.

6. When cleaning a headstone, first you now as close as you can through rows, then you go to each individual headstone with a weedwacker and remove whatever's been left to cut the grass down. Then, you put whatever isn't broken or a hazard back as close as you can, and take a leafblower to the whole place so the loose clippings don't end up sticking all over and looking terrible. This takes twice as long when there's a whole pile of stuff, so some places won't let you leave anything at all. I believe in finding a happy medium, but that's me.

7. Loads of local critters and wildlife use headstones and other constructs as shelter. I'm always keeping my eyes out for small birds, snakes, toads, etc- toads are the most common, I try to move them to nearby woods, bushes, or finished areas so they don't get cut or run over.

8. I don't know about anyone else, but I liked to talk to the folks sometimes. A simple 'hey nice flowers' or 'sup kiddo nice truck'. I think it might be cause I used to work with a morgue and it was easy to chat with the people who came in, but Idk. Dead people aren't nearly as eerie or creepy as TV makes them out- I guess it's a tiny bit sad, especially with kids, but like... what can you do, you know?

9. You gotta watch where you step, because some places- especially older ones- are FULL of small holes or sudden dips. These can be from animals, but more often graves that don't get enough dirt on top or super duper ancient ones where things have caved underground let the earth sink in over time. It leaves about a person-sized divot that's easy to trip on and needs extra attention.

10. Some people like to leave candy or bottled drinks for their loved ones. I.... understand the sentiment, but. It gets gross, over time, when the packages fade and split, and critters get in, so most places don't allow it or throw it out.

11. Wal-Mart knicknacks. Are the bane of my life. Little hollow statues that break and get full of wasps nests, wreaths made in China where the flowers pop off, five hundred individual fabric flowers stuck into the ground one-by-one that you have to painstakingly remove and put back every single time, with sharp rusty metal ends and wire cores that pull the equipment apart... just. Ugh. I understand, I do, and I get that it's not something people generally think about, but... just. Whatever you're thinking of leaving, give it a quick shake. If something comes loose, I can't recommend leaving it.

12. Some headstones are homemade by friends or family, with glass beads or shells in cement. Those are sweet,and I like to see them.

13. The back of your neck will burn. No amount of sunscreen will prevent it. I recommend a collared shirt, or tying a bandanna around your neck. There is nothing else you can do.

14. Your whole body will be covered in sweat. I wore jeans, boots, a tank top tucked in, and a sleeveless T over top, with a bandanna, safety goggles, and a hat. The jeans got sweaty every day, and rubbed my upper thighs red-raw after the first three weeks. The skin grew back dark and dry and I need to apply moisturizer constantly to avoid cracking. My old sunburns have turned, and some of the worst ones left strips of dry, papery, red scarring that took forever to fade. Again, moisturizer and sunscreen. Constantly. I still have a callous at the base of each finger on both palms.

15. Your whole body will sweat. Your whole body will be covered in grass clippings. Some will fly up your ears and nose. Sometimes tiny rocks will hit your shins and face and feel like bee stings. You have to towel off every couple hours and drink water damned often, because you will literally sweat full litres every day. You will attract flies. They will crawl on your skin. You will learn to ignore them, because at least they aren't mosquitos or ticks.

16. There is no bathroom. The men will disappear in the woods or behind a tree. I would go to the bathroom at home and just make sure I didn't drink more than I could sweat, I guess. I'd take the worst days of my period off and stay home because there was no way to deal with that on an eleven hour shift with no washroom break. Ta-da. I still worked longer and harder than most of the men, though, so whatever.

17. It's unskilled hard manual labour, and our group had no toilets and long hours. Most of our workers came fresh out of prison, but I can't speak for everybody. We were small town, no-union farmers and kids with free time, and most our new guys quit after a day or two. Literally. We had one dude three years younger and over half my size who showed up for 45 minutes before quitting.

18. Your fingers get stiff and hard to move, and your elbows and feet get sore. It took me a while to make it more than two days in a row without a breather day in between, but three and a half was my max. By the end of it I'd be stumbling, missing spots, irritable, sore, and tired. Given a day or two to get back on my feet, and all was good. But there were some older folks who'd been doing that work for thirty years without a day off, and Damn. They've got my respect.

19. The skin on your feet and hands gets hard like leather. Be ready for that.

20. The older guys, or whoever's worked there longer, will have stories about some of the graves. Special ones they're extra careful with, or spots where old school buddies or family is buried. I'd like to say we treat them all equal, but I guess you can't help but be a little more thorough for the young mom who's daughter just turned nine, or the baby from 1920, or the brothers who died in a house fire. It's like... we're supposed to die from old age, after living a full life, right? It sucks a little harder when you know someone didn't get to have that.

21. You can't work through rain or lightning. You see a strike overhead, you haul ass to the truck and see if you can wait it out. That shit'll blow the bark off a tree.

22. You lose weight, gain muscle, turn darker, and your hair bleaches out at the ends. After about a month I was five pounds lighter, with bigger biceps and shorter hair 'cause it was too hot to leave long.

23. Water grass. Is hell. It's thick, it grows fast, it loves rain, and it's a bitch to cut. It will grow a foot high in two weeks, I shit you not. You gotta come back two, three times a month to keep it down.

24. Hearing damage from not having proper protection is a noticeably advancing issue

Best part of the job: feeling yourself get stronger, seeing your work at the end of the day, plenty of time to think and daydream, regular eating and sleeping schedule, easy to save money because you have long hours and no time to spend anything.

Worst part: physical discomfort, aches and pains, the repetition makes it feel like an ordeal of Greek damnation, always exhausted, coworkers keep quitting.

I can't think of anything else right now but ill update if I can! Hope this was helpful!!! :D

#Death #death tw #violence #cemetery

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sp4c3-0ddity · 6 years ago

Text

Another Vampire Romance

Summary:

The path through the forest isn't the shortcut Katie hoped it would be, and the "haunting" isn't mere superstition after all.

Word count: 5425 (one-shot, complete)

A/N:

i swear this is a serious fic. don’t be misled by the title it’s still April Fool’s where i live. in any case, i never did think i’d ever write a vampire fic...

as always, i must thank @rueitae for beta reading so quickly

uh warnings for blood/injury and some suggestive themes - you know, the usual vampire fiction stuff. and i hope you enjoy!!

Edit: @artemisarya did fan art of a scene and it’s so good ;_;

Read below or here on ao3:

The forest wasn’t truly haunted as far as Katie could tell. Why should it be? She saw none of the restless spirits of a thousand soldiers, no ghosts that wandered the trees where they died lost, no demons lurking in the dark beyond the footpath, waiting for a single misstep to seize the soul of an innocent passerby.

No vampires crouching, a stalking predator lying in wait to take her by surprise.

But it was getting darker, shadows growing longer and sunlight barely penetrating the thick interlacing branches overhead, and according to Katie’s map she was still leagues away from the nearest village at the edge of the forest.

Maybe she should’ve taken the long, more populated route…but then she would’ve risked arriving for the start of her term late.

If only her family could spare her sooner - but if that was possible, she could’ve afforded to hire a wagon.

Brown leaves crunched underfoot as Katie trekked, the sound deafening in the stillness of the forest by evening. Even all the birds, so vibrant despite perching unseen in the trees, fell silent over an hour ago.

Suddenly Katie wondered if their silence was down to the time…or location.

A breeze stirred the branches, setting them rustling, and she clutched her cloak a little tighter around herself, shivering. She’d been walking with few breaks for the whole day, and her limbs and fuzzy mind longed to stop for longer than it took to rest her aching feet and relieve herself. But Katie needed to press on to the next village to avoid spending the night in the forest…although soon it would be too dark to read her map.

A low growl broke the stillness.

Katie froze, her eyes wide and a shiver traveling up her spine. Lions didn’t venture so far north…but did bears growl like that?

I’m being followed, she realized with dawning horror. She forced her feet to shift, muscles poised to flee at the first sign of a threat, as she tried to remember what, exactly, one did to avoid being mauled by a bear.

But what if whatever followed her wasn’t a bear but something worse?

“Evening, milady.”

Katie shrieked, arms flailing in a pitiful effort to defend herself as she jumped away from the…mild male voice. She opened her eyes - when did she close them? - and met the blue-eyed gaze of a boy that looked close to her age.

He didn’t look surprised at her reaction, only bemused judging by his slight smile and a thin, raised eyebrow. “I apologize,” he said, oddly formal as he rested a hand over his heart. “I forget how easy it is to sneak up on a human.” He spoke with the slightest accent that Katie couldn’t place, his skin too dark - like he spent hours in the sun - to name him local…and his clothes - a fine navy coat over the tight trousers that noblemen wore - worn by a journey, wrinkled with a few odd stains.

But he carried no bag, no water skin, no obvious weapon at his belt.

Curious, especially this deep in the forest.

He looked more than just disheveled too, his clothes torn in places, and his dark skin mottled darker with bruises on his jaw and under his eye.

What…hurt him?

(And would it treat her the same?)

Katie cleared her throat in a pitiful attempt to compose herself; the mystery of the man’s sudden and strange appearance helped - she never really could resist a mystery. And his words… “Are you implying that you aren’t human?” she wondered with a laugh.

It sounded forced to her ears. How could he not be human? Yet her heart pounded in her ears, almost too loud in the eerie stillness of the forest - haunted, Katie remembered.

Well, perhaps there were more to those claims than mere superstition.

The man’s eyes - a shocking and almost inhuman shade of the vividest blue - widened before he laughed, hands slipping into his coat pockets as he tossed his head back, exposing the narrow column of his throat. “It’s been too long since I spent time with the more ignorant members of your kind,” he admitted as if it was the most casual confession in the world, “but since you know…” He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze darting around, looking almost awkward. “Can you spare me a drink? I’d never ask a stranger, but I’m getting desperate, and you’re the first human I’ve met since I came here.”

Katie stared at him, growing more bewildered with every word that escaped his lips. Numbly she reached for the water skin dangling from her tote and held it out to him. “Uh…sure, you can have a drink,” she told him. “According to my map, there’s a stream not far from here, so I can refill—”

The man cut her off when he took the water skin. He went so far as to uncap it and sniff its contents - water, as if there was any doubt - before handing it back to her. “That’s…not what I meant,” he said with an oddly apologetic smile.

“Then what do you mean?” Katie asked…although she already knew the answer.

She stumbled back a step, nearly tripping over an arching tree root that extended over the footpath, with her heart leaping into her throat. Her fingers found the silver cross dangling from her neck - a gift from her mother in happier times.

Stories of the thousand soldiers ordered by a despotic liege lord to march through this very forest only to disappear without a trace flashed through her mind, of travelers warned to journey the long way around, of playing children lost and never found.

“Vampire,” she hissed, glaring at the man…though her heart raced faster than any warhorse, urging her to flee.

The man - the vampire - glanced down, at her hand gripping the cross. “That won’t protect you from me,” he warned, “anymore than it will from the ones of my kind that make this forest their home. Besides”—he smirked very slightly—”I’m a Christian too, milady.” He leaned towards her, like a predator crouching for the pounce - and she was the prey. “I swear it won’t hurt.”

Katie took another step back, looking him up and down. He was a whole head taller than her, lean with long legs, so if she ran for it doubtless he would catch her.

And as exhausted and achy as she felt after days of walking on foot, she couldn’t outlast him.

But the blood rushing past her ears, filling her with a panicky energy, urged her to try anyway.

So Katie turned and ran, air whistling past her as she wove around tree trunks. Her feet thudded against the ground, each step sending a shock reverberating through her body. She swung her arms to keep her balance as she nearly stumbled over roots, and the sound of her breathing and pounding heart filled her ears.

She didn’t halt till she tripped at the crest of a hill. Her knees buckled beneath her, and she fell to the ground with a gasp, her body rolling down too fast so all she could do to protect herself was tuck her elbows close to her sides and keep her mouth closed against swallowing any dirt.

She slowed to a stop at the base of the hill, panting and gasping for air, leaves and twigs stuck to her cloak and in her hair, tears in her baggy trousers where rocks and sticks caught in the fabric.

Tears - of pain, of panic and distress - pooled at the corners of her eyes while the world overhead spun, branches and leaves blurring dark green and gray. Her skin stung and smarted everywhere, the scraped palms of her hands worst of all, but when she touched her aching temple, viscous red blood stained her fingertips.

Katie rolled onto her side, clutching her throbbing head and trying to keep her surroundings from spinning too far out of her control. She sat upright and reached for her tote at her back to rifle inside for her rolled up parchment map.

She drew it by hand based on her father’s old atlas; his library was the only thing she and her mother agreed to keep intact from their old estate, refusing to sell even a single tome, and she made sure to put it to good use.

She unrolled the map and slowly stood, head fuzzy as the ground tilted beneath her, but she kept her balance by leaning against a nearby tree trunk. She inhaled as steadily as she could, squinting at the map and trying to orient herself.

But it was too dark, the light of the full moon barely enough to make out any lines of ink on the parchment, much less what they symbolized.

So much for escaping the forest by dark.

Katie slid down the tree with a sigh, her chest tight and shoulders rigid. What if the vampire found her, injured and weak? She could barely keep her eyes open now that the energy of flight faded…

“Look at that, Zethrid,” a high, simpering voice intruded. “Can you believe it? I’ve never seen prey that did all the work for us.”

Katie blinked slowly, forcing her eyelids open despite the sleep trying to weigh them down, and stared up at three unfamiliar faces.

Their eyes, luminous in the moonlit darkness, glinted wickedly.

“It took all the fun out of the hunt, Ezor,” the largest figure complained with a snarl. Her nostrils flared, gaze falling to Katie’s forehead. “Such a waste of clean blood too…”

“She’s still worthwhile,” the third, shortest figure said, her voice cooler and more detached than the others. She crouched in front of Katie, fingers gently clutching her chin and tilting her head to the side to examine the cut on her temple. Her brow furrowed, nose twitching, and she mumbled, “But there’s something in her scent…”

“She’s barely a snack, Acxa,” the big one - Zethrid, Katie guessed despite her sluggish mind - whined. “And she’s already injured, so there’s no sport in this.”

“Lotor won’t care about that,” said Acxa.

“Of course not,” the first speaker, tall and willowy, agreed while she picked at her fingernail. “He only wants intruders to know whose territory this is.”

“And her injuries make that an easier task than usual,” Acxa pointed out with a nod.

Zethrid rolled her eyes but grunted, while Ezor grinned nastily. “She’s so small she’s not even worth sharing.”

Katie swallowed, heart constricting with a newfound fear. Perhaps she should’ve taken her chances with the vampire that asked for permission.

But she curled one hand into a fist, her other closing around the hilt of her knife. She wouldn’t be able to run, not in her state, but she refused to let them drink her dry without a fight.

Acxa gripped her arm, wrenching her upright, but Katie swung her knife at her face with a scowl. The vampire dodged easily, her other hand closing around her flailing wrist and gripping so tight and wrenching her arm so sharply that Katie yelped in pain.

The knife slipped from her fingers.

Katie blinked burning, frustrated tears from her eyes. Was it really…was that really how easily the smallest of them could overpower her?

But no, she couldn’t give up now; her mother still needed her, she had that coveted place she fought for at a renowned college, she had to survive this and—

Zethrid lifted her effortlessly, but Katie thrashed, kicking her feet. Her boot collided with Ezor’s chest, but she didn’t even step backwards, just laughed and patronizingly patted her cheek.

“Is this enough of a fight for you, Zethrid?” she asked her burly companion.

Zethrid scowled. “She wouldn’t be able to crush a spider under her heel,” she grumbled. She hefted Katie over her shoulder, carrying her like a pathetic sack of potatoes with her legs dangling uselessly against her chest.

But Katie still fought, bellowing with all the air she could pull into her lungs. She tried punching Zethrid’s back, though the effort made the ground lurch all over again, and even twisting around to grab a fistful of her hair.

But it was useless, she started to realize. A sob burst out of her, her heart dropping into her stomach alongside a heavy knot of dread.

If she was barely a “snack”, why didn’t they just finish her now?

Ezor walked behind them, laughing and smirking in obvious mockery while she and Zethrid chatted, oblivious to - or reveling in - Katie’s fear. Only Acxa, who led the way deeper into the trees, further away from the footpath, traveled in silence.

Until a low and feral growl forced them to a halt.

“Back off!” the first vampire she ever met hissed. “I saw her first!”

Katie lifted her head, a weird flush creeping into her skin despite the rapid, frightened pounding of her heart. Her breath caught in her throat when her gaze fell on him, his body wound tight with his arms rigid at his sides, a livid scowl twisting his lips, and his eyes a blazing blue no one could mistake as human.

He looked just as threatening as the three vampires carting her away.

They turned to face him, and Katie lost her view. “You again?” Acxa said, though she sounded more weary than annoyed. “I thought we warned you off Lotor’s territory.”

“Can’t you see, Acxa?” Ezor sneered. “He’s lost his pet and wants it back.”

Katie glared at the ground and spat, “I’m not his—”

“I did,” the man agreed so quickly Katie forced her jaws shut despite the irritation filling her. “She’s smart for a human but gets lost so easily, and obviously she doesn’t understand the finer points of our politics when I warned her that she was trespassing on Lotor’s territory.”

Anger made her blood hot, but Katie wasn’t so thoughtless she’d dare to contradict him now. He was trying to free her, to talk her out of a situation she - and likely he, outnumbered three to one - couldn’t fight their way out of, but—

He probably just wanted her blood for himself.

Well, she preferred the vampire that might listen to reason to the three carrying her off to be devoured.

(Never mind that animalistic growl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end…)

Katie held her breath, her heart pounding while she waited for them to deliberate, the silence thick with an awful tension, until at last Acxa said, “Do you swear to leave our territory by dawn?”

“Only if you return her to me,” he said, tone firm.

She didn’t reply immediately, so Zethrid said, “Wait, you wouldn’t—”

“Give her to him,” Acxa pronounced. “I can smell him on her, so he’s not lying.”

His scent? He didn’t even touch her earlier!

“What?” Ezor said, for once incredulous rather than mocking. “But if Lotor finds out we let a human - even another vampire’s pet - go free, then—”

“He won’t find out,” Acxa promised, “and if he does, I’ll take the blame.”

“See that you do,” Zethrid said with a hint of menace in her voice. But she dropped Katie unceremoniously to the ground. “I told you she wasn’t worth it…”

Katie curled in on herself with a pained hiss, her shoulder aching where it collided with the ground. Her head throbbed behind her eyes, so violently she barely heard the other three vampires’ retreating footsteps - but they moved so silently there might not have been anything to hear at all.

Nothing but the other lone vampire sighing as he slumped against a tree trunk.

Katie forced herself upright, crawling towards him and intent on telling him exactly what she thought of being called his “pet”, but any anger she felt evaporated when she spotted his eyes pinched shut, one hand clutching at his throat while the other bunched in the fabric of his trousers.

“A-are you…all right?” Katie wondered. Her hand hovered over his shoulder, unsure.

He didn’t look half as worthy of fear - half so dangerous - as he had a moment ago.

He shook his head, one eye cracking open. “Just so…thirsty,” he said, his voice hoarse. His gaze snapped to her forehead, and he extended his hand towards it before he seemed to think better of it. “You’re bleeding, milady.”

Katie’s eyes widened as she touched her temple, hair and skin sticky with blood; she forgot about the cut on her head. It almost hurt to raise an eyebrow, but somehow she managed it and asked tartly, “Is it enough blood for you?”

To her surprise he snorted, a smile flickering across his lips, but his piercing blue eyes were hazy when they fell on her face. “You wouldn’t happen to want to change your mind, would you?”

Something in Katie - perhaps compassion, the sort she usually reserved only for her family - stirred, along with a growing curiosity. What was it like, allowing a vampire to drink from her blood? “I…never did say no, did I?”

He shrugged. “If you say yes now, I won’t hold it against you, milady.”

“Why do you call me that?” Katie said, frowning. “And why did you…save me from them? I’m not your”—her lip curled—”pet.”

The vampire tilted his head back, letting it fall against the tree trunk, and admitted, “I know you’re not, but that was the only way to get them to let you go.” He sighed and offered her a real smile, the sort that filled her with an unfamiliar warmth. “And I don’t know what else to call you, but I’d like to know your name before I take anything from you.”

Katie bit her lip, fingers wringing the frayed edge of her dirty cloak. “Won’t it…turn me into one of your kind?”

“No,” he said quickly - almost too quickly. All traces of amusement vanished from his face, something dark and bitter replacing them when he added, “It takes more than that to turn a human.”

Katie shivered - did she imagine the cool wind touching her skin? - and released a breath. “Then…stop calling me ‘milady’,” she said. “I’m not one.”

Not anymore.

“You can call me Pidge,” she told him, leaning towards him while balancing on the balls of her feet. “And you…?”

“Lance,” he said, his grin returning as if it never left. He touched her elbow - mumbling an apology when she flinched in surprise - and jerked his head…asking permission.

Her heart raced anew. She licked her lips, wary all over again under his intense gaze; was she really considering this…letting Lance��do…well, she wasn’t even sure what it was she was thinking of letting him do besides drink her blood like a humanoid mosquito.

(And she could only try so hard to justify her intellectual curiosity.)

“It won’t hurt,” he promised her, “but you’ll have to relax.” His fingers traveled down her arms, goosebumps rising over her skin where he brushed it through a tear in her sleeve. He tugged her towards him though she already drifted in, his gaze holding her captive.

“I don’t…believe that,” she confessed, her mouth dry (soon enough she’d need a drink too).

“Y-you can still say no,” Lance said, though she sensed his reluctance.

Katie shook her head. “I-I give you permission,” she murmured, and pinched her eyes shut.

But her eyelids fluttered open again when Lance gently cupped her jaw and tilted her head to the side. Her breath caught in her lungs as he leaned in, and for one tense moment she thought he would kiss her.

Instead his cold lips met the sweat-sticky skin of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine, but she felt no hint of a breath warming her flesh.

A gasp escaped her when he sucked at the spot over her pulse, underneath her jaw, and finally something sharp punctured her skin.

A light pinch was all the pain Katie felt, all other discomfort overpowered by every other sensation flooding her senses: her knees digging into the hard ground until Lance pulled her halfway onto his lap, his fingers digging into her hips over her belt, his soft lips on her skin, the chill of the evening cooling her too-warm flesh, the heat rushing to her face, the odd, sucking sound of a mouth drawing out her blood.

Her head spinning with a wave of dizziness if she so much as opened her eyes, his attention more intoxicating than any stolen wine.

Katie wrapped her hands around his muscular upper arms, tugging him a little closer - though she wasn’t sure if it was to steady herself or if she liked the feeling of his lithe body pressed against hers. She and Lance…they were strangers, yet she melted into him, seeking all he’d give to her of him, of his chilly touch traveling up her back and his strengthening arms surrounding her.

She’d never felt so close to - so safe with - anyone, much less a man.

(But he wasn’t really a man, was he?)

Another pinch - another gasp passing through her lips - indicated Lance finished. He lifted his head, his large hand falling to her shoulder and his thumb rubbing a few drops of blood and saliva from where they slid down her throat.

Katie stared up at him, heedless that it only made her dizzier. His eyes deepened to a richer blue, and now that she saw him…sated, the frenetic energy she hadn’t noticed before was gone.

He looked calm, relaxed…almost fond when he smiled at her.

He licked his thumb clean of her blood - why did that make heat pool in the depths of her abdomen? - before he cupped her cheeks with both hands. “How do you feel, Pidge?” he asked.

It was just a silly nickname, but the sound of it on his tongue pushed a giddy smile onto her face.

Oh, God, was this stupid infatuation a consequence of letting him feed on her?

It was too hard to think, her thoughts circling each other, and she could barely string two words together as she tried to say, “F-f—good, I…think.” She giggled, her hand resting against the side of his face. “Your eyes…pretty.”

Lance grinned…until it morphed into a frown and a little wrinkle formed on his forehead. “I think I fed too long…”

Katie nodded, but that simple motion only made her head spin and mind fog worse. Her eyelids fluttered, an irresistible sleep tugging at her, and she mumbled, “D-damn you, L-Lance…” She slumped forward, forehead falling against his chest, and stopped fighting.

Vampire or not, his arms weren’t a terrible bed…

***

Katie woke feeling sluggish like she slept too long in a too comfortable bed. She smacked her lips, blinking away the last cobwebs of dreams, and rolled onto her side.

She didn’t find her familiar bedside table, no book she stayed up too late reading, no clock mounted on the wall telling her she was late for the day’s first class.

Katie bolted upright, heart pounding as it all rushed back to her: the forest, the chase, the vampires that captured her, Lance…

Had he brought her here?

She lay back down, breathing deeply in an effort to calm herself before sitting up and throwing the thick blankets aside. She found the window more by sense of touch in the dark room, and when she peeked through the curtains…it was still dark.

Katie frowned, pressing her nose to the cold glass. Smudges of lamplight illuminated a street, and she looked to be on the second floor. Were any of the villages at the border of the forest large enough for an inn?

(And who paid for her room?)

With the little light streaming in through the window, Katie assessed her surroundings: small bedroom just a little larger than her dormitory, her cloak draped over the back of a chair in the corner with her tote on the seat, a bandage wrapped around her head when she raised a hand to touch it…

Beyond the door to her room, floorboards and a wooden staircase creaked under the weight of feet, two different voices speaking too low for her to distinguish their words. But a door shut not far from hers, and Katie finally mustered the courage to emerge from her room and into the narrow, shadowed hallway.

Katie took the stairs as silently as she could. Her whole body tensed the closer to the ground she stepped, wary after the ordeal in the forest. She half-expected someone to jump out of a shadow, demanding her blood or her death (or both), but she made it to a small common room filled with simple wooden furniture - two tables and a few benches to go with them - without being assailed.

A relieved breath escaped her when her eyes caught on a familiar figure sitting on a stool beside a hearth of dimming coals.

She almost feared she imagined the vampire - Lance - and letting him feed from her; his teeth - his fangs? - left not a single trace on her skin, so all she had was a memory.

And him, glancing up at the sound of her footsteps and smiling so broadly he flashed white teeth.

(His canines did look pointier than a human’s ought to…)

They were alone in the common room, so Katie guessed it was quite late. She sat in a stool across from him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and asked, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

It wasn’t…exactly what she wanted to - or should - say to him, but it was a start.

Lance raised an eyebrow, looking just a little amused. “I don’t need sleep,” he told her.

Heat filled Katie’s cheeks; she averted her eyes and mumbled, “I…knew that.” She cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “And…thank you for bringing me here.” She glanced towards him, and when his eyes widened she held her hands up and amended, “At least, I think it was you, but if it wasn’t—”

“It was,” he said quickly, as if to spare her further embarrassment, “but you don’t have to thank me since you let me feed.”

“Well, I guess it was the least you could do since you made me pass out,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. She leaned towards the hearth, hoping to soak in what little warmth in it was left.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, sounding sincere. “Your blood was the best I’ve tasted in a while.”

For some reason, that compliment (for lack of a better word) made heat crawl up her skin and a smile she resisted pushed at her lips. But she couldn’t help grumbling, “I wish you’d at least asked me before bringing me to an inn. I can’t afford to pay for a room even for one night.”

“I took care of it,” Lance said.

Katie glanced sharply up at him, scowling. “What? You shouldn’t have!” She shot to her feet, probably more annoyed than the situation called for. “You’re nearly a perfect stranger to me—”

But was he, after she let him…touch her like that?

“—and I refuse to be indebted—”

“Were you really planning on spending the night in the forest?” Lance cut her off. He scowled very slightly, his shoulders tensing and hands curling into fists in his lap; even his eyes - still that rich blue - glinted dangerously in the firelight.

Katie’s jaw snapped shut, chagrined. But irritation still gripped her, despite the anxiety churning her gut at the reminder of the vampires they ran afoul of, so she turned her back to him.

“Why do you care what I do?” she retorted. “You had your snack.”

When she dared to glance over her shoulder, he flinched. “Pidge…” His stool scraped against the wooden floor as he stood and approached, footsteps eerily silent. “Not all…of my kind are like them.”

She only glared at the floor through the irritated tears in her eyes, her chest tightening with something like shame. He’d already rescued her; did she have to cry in front of him too?

“Maybe you need a little more rest,” Lance suggested.

Katie shook her head and wiped her eyes, inhaling shakily before turning to face him. “I-I’m sorry,” she said. “You’ve been kind to me, even if it was out of obligation, so I thank you.”

(Her mother would be proud of her for remembering her genteel manners.)

She met his worried gaze and smiled, feeling a little steadier, and said, “You look better too. Your eyes…they change color?”

Lance blinked, looking bewildered by her rapid change in attitude, but laughed. “When I’m at my strongest, they look like this.” Then he smirked and added, “Before you fell into my arms, you said they were pretty.”

The way he said fell into my arms filled Katie with a pleasant heat…and a profound irritation. But she bit back the worst of it and smiled. “Don’t let that compliment get to your head,” she said. “I don’t pay them often for a reason.”

“What reason?” Lance wondered, a teasing tilt to his lips.

“I’m not easily impressed.” Though…she had to admit, at least to herself, that Lance disguising his weakness long enough to stand up to those other three impressed her.

“Then I’ll have to find ways to impress you.”

Katie frowned, surprised. “Why?”

“You’re traveling to Altea, aren’t you?”

Her spine stiffened, wariness hitting her all over again. “How did you—”

“You dropped your map in the forest,” Lance said. He reached into his coat - it looked a little less unkempt, as if he had time to care for it while she slept - and pulled out a scroll: her map, specked with dirt stains and slightly wrinkled but otherwise intact.

Katie snatched it away and leveled him with a glare. “Are you going to follow me now and ask for a snack every time you’re thirsty?”

“Of course not,” Lance said, “but I do have a proposition for you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very much the boy he resembled. “I’m traveling to Altea too, so maybe we can…journey together.”

“You want a reliable food source, you mean?” Katie crossed her arms and wondered, “What makes you think I’d agree to that a second time?”

But she would, she realized; even just thinking about it warmed her skin and made her heart pound and breath short, made her wonder if she could learn anything - about herself, about him - from experiencing it again.

Lance sighed - odd for someone that didn’t have to breathe - and rubbed his face. “That’s not—I suppose it would be nice but—that’s not what’s important!” He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. “It’s not safe traveling alone, even for my kind, Pidge.”

And after the events of today - or was it the day before? - Katie believed it.

Her eyes narrowed. “Can you even travel by day?” she asked, still unsure if she could trust him whether he rescued her from hostile vampires or not.

Lance chuckled and replied, “So long as I wear a hat.”

“I can’t afford to hire a wagon, so I’ll be moving very slowly. Are you all right with that?”

“Whatever you want,” he agreed, nodding, “but it’ll be safer if we leave soon.” He grimaced, shoulders hunching in something like defeat. “I promised I’d be gone by dawn, and I don’t want Lotor’s minions paying this village a visit just to check on me.”

“I don’t…know.” God, how tempting Lance’s offer was…for who knew what she could learn about vampires from him?

Lance’s fingers, gentle yet cold, wrapped around her wrist, urging her to meet his eyes. “I swear I’ll keep you safe, Pidge.”

Katie bit her lip, considering. Safety…was that feeling with him some part of a vampire’s spell to lure her under, an all too willing victim in his ruse? She wore her brother’s old, over-sized clothes to avoid looking too much like a vulnerable girl, and yet…well, threats still found whomever they wished.

So Katie agreed to travel with a dangerous man she knew next to nothing about…because she felt more secure with him than she did alone.

It was scarcely the strangest thing that ever befell her.

#plance #pidgance #lidge #flirtyrobot #yup lance is a vampire #voltron #reem writes fic #something that ends a little nicer than my last fic lol

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theamazingcaptdeadpool · 6 years ago

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Sinday Meme for Characters Who Share a Brain

The original meme can be found here: x Characters: Wade Wilson (@theamazingcaptdeadpool), Frank Castle (@mementomorimthrfckr) and Ajax (@cantfeelsht) Warning: An abundance of words, massive TMI, cursing duh, threats double duh, Any complaints may be directed at our lawyer; @hellsainted

Frank scoffed as Wade had spent the last three minutes trying to figure out a title, brainstorming no pun intended with himself – and the result he landed on you already read. “That sounds terrible, Wade.” he grumbled and sipped his coffee. A sort of bribe to get him to partake in the thing. “You come up with a better one then, Skulls, and we’ll use that.” Wade fired back, thankful that Frank wasn’t known for his creativity. “What was wrong with the original title?” Ajax wanted to know and crossed his arms. He was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, watching the other two with what one could describe as ‘calm suspiciousness’. “It was too long.” Wade complained. “Not catchy. And we’re replying as ourselves. The original title suggested that the co-pilot do it for us. Or arms dealer. Or whatever the hell you call her.” he explained, because he could see Frank straining as he tried to work it out. Be nice Wade. I’m always nice. “Why don’t we just get this over with.” Ajax’s stare moved from Frank to Wade. His former subject was the most keen on this, after all – surely he would kick it off. “Best idea you’ve had, Francis.” Wade murmured as he counted the questions of the meme. “Alright, there are twenty questions. Let the sinning commence!” he clapped his hands and rubbed his palms eagerly.

“Jesus,” Frank exclaimed and leaned over the table, snatching the laptop from the merc with a dirty imagination mouth. “I’ll read these.” He glowered at Wade who raised his hands in defeat. There was no point in challenging the Punisher this early in the game. “What muse needs the most attention on sinday?” Frank read and for some reason found himself looking glumly up at Ajax who shook his head. “Wade it is then.” It wasn’t that Frank wouldn’t mind the attention… he just wouldn’t actively seek it. “Yeah, that’s a no brainer.” Wade murmured, he had somehow produced whiteboard signs and written “Me!” on one side and “Not me!” on the other. What? I came prepared. I always do. Yes, that is me being suggestive. He gave one to Ajax who reluctantly accepted. “Just making it easier for us.” He explained, surprisingly caring. “Whatever it takes to shut you up,” Ajax looked at both sides to make sure he hadn’t written anything funny on his.

“Easy, Francis,” Wade began only to be interrupted by Frank who read the next question loudly. “Which muse usually stays silent on sinday?” Frank sniffed. He hadn’t partaken in any sindays, yet. “I’m not it.” Wade said quickly. “I love me some sinday. Actually every day is sinday in my book. Doesn’t always have to be sex. Severe procrastination. Excess eating. Pillows of blow…” “You ever hear of TMI?” Frank put the laptop down on the table with more force than he intended.

Wade wiped one of the sides of his sign clear and wrote “NO!” only to hold it up for Frank to see. None of them had noticed how Ajax was holding up his own sign reading “Me!” and it took all his effort not to wack Wade in the back of the head with it. “Let’s move on.” Ajax shot in, before Wade could start one of his endless rambles. Frank glared at Wade like a teacher glare at the kid in class that won’t ever stay silent – that they’re afraid to take their eyes off because they know they’ll cause trouble. “Share some headcanons about your muses’ sexual and/or romantic orientation… You want to go first, Ajax?” Frank offered without looking at him. “Francis.” Wade corrected him. “Can’t feel. He can’t get it up – and can’t get it off.” Ajax closed his eyes, his jaw tense. “Wade is right.” he murmured. “I’m asexual. Except for specific muses. That has to be talked over in detail.” “Contracts has to be signed. Very Christian Grey. Wouldn’t play with him.” Wade turned towards the room and whispered to no one. Well, at least none that Frank and Ajax were aware of. They shared a moment of confusion, waiting for something to happen – someone to reply. As the silence bordered awkward Frank nodded and continued with the survey; “I’m bi with a preference towards women, but I’m not really looking for anything.” His voice was low. He wet his lips and averted his eyes, bouncing his foot impatiently.

“I’m pan – the comics has me paired up with women and Spiderman. Over here, meaning Tumblr, I have a preference towards men.” Wade stated the obvious. Frank drew a breath to read the next question, but then Wade continued; “Men with metal arms. Men that are Avengers. Men that’s purple… Is that even a man?” “You done?” Frank wanted to know. They’d missed how Wade had fixed the other side of his sign – and was now holding up a “YES!”. “What are your favourite ship for your muses?” Frank was visibly confused by the question. “For me it’s the Millenium Falcon,” Wade answered – hoping it would make it easier for the not so shockingly thick marine. “Oh, and I love my warship.” “I don’t ship.” Ajax shrugged. He saw no need to. “Cablepool, Winterpool, Cappool, Hawkpool – the one with Colossus, I forgot its name…” Wade counted on his fingers. “Thunderpool is kinda cute.” “You any idea what he’s on about?” Frank turned towards Ajax. “You don’t want to know, mate.” Ajax said with a sigh. “It’s a question about who you see yourself with.” “No one.” Frank answered shortly. He couldn’t be with anyone, because whoever got close to him ended up dead or worse.

“Why so glum sugarplum?” Wade leaned forward. “What about Castlevania?” “Are you…” Frank was about to get fired up but by some miracle managed to compose himself. He cleared his throat and shifted. “Nevermind. The next question – “ Frank decided he best ignore the entire thing; he thought they were done with Castlevania. He was not to be ‘shipped’ as the kids called it – with Dracula. “Which muse is the kinkiest?” “Next!” Wade called – he was holding up his sign. “Me!” it read. And maybe that was the truth. Wade is into a lot of things, after all… “Which muse has the strangest kinks?” Frank read warily. Wade slammed his sign down on the table to grab everyone’s attention and held it up again. He pointed to it and looked between the other two; “Unless you want to list some kinks?” “Next.” Ajax nodded towards the screen. “You sure, Francis? I won’t kink shame. Maybe I could interest you in – “ “Next!” Ajax insisted. “Choose one muse and tell us how they lost their virginity.” Frank read. He thought perhaps they could draw straws or… “Rock papers scissors lizard Spock.” Wade said with remarkable speed and accuracy.

“I lost mine to and older girl at one of the many orphanages I visited.” Ajax said flatly, wanting them to believe that it hadn’t really mattered. “You’re so boring, Francis.” Wade pouted. “At least give us some details.” “It was quick, messy and left me wanting more.” Ajax squared his jaw. “Satisfied?” “Unlike you’ll ever be again; yes. Thank you. I’m touched, Francis.” Wade sniffed as if he was sincerely moved, whilst Frank hid a chuckle and shook his head, clearly relieved that he didn’t have to spill the beans.

“Each of us have to share a random sex fact… I…” Frank rubbed the back of his neck. “I like it when the woman is on top of me, so I can see her pleasure and have her in control.” he admitted. Wade gave an approving nod. “I prefer to be the sub – to give up the control, but more often than not I’m taking it because I get impatient – I think. What about you Francis? Any sexy secrets about your preferences? Oh that’s right…” “I get off on watching others emotions. Pleasure – pain? Doesn’t matter.” Ajax admitted – his tone threatening. Wade gasped loudly and murmured ‘Sadist’ under his breath. Frank blinked and tilted his head slightly to the side – as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Remind me again why we haven’t killed this guy?” Frank asked Wade. “You tell me. Hey, Francis, would you like to hurt me a little – how about that, huh?” “Yes, how about that?” Ajax pushed off the wall, his eyes like pits of hell. Dark, angry. A far too familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

Frank’s arm shot out – stopping the villain from getting too close. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Wade taunted him. “Yeah,” Ajax snarled – pressing against Frank’s hand. “If you could organise… Seriously who made up these questions? Are these,” Frank turned the laptop around, unable to mask how mortified he felt. “Are you behind these Wade? Because I swear to god…” “I can take the blame for a lot of things – but not that.” Wade pointed at the screen. “Finish the question. I’m curious now.” Frank sighed and tilted his head upwards, as if he was asking for patience.

“Alright. Alright… Argh… God. If you could organise a threesome involving three of your muses, who would you choose? I guess this one isn’t for us. And… heaven forbid the three of us ever get put in a room together again. Because the next time? I won’t go easy.” Frank pushed Ajax so he fell back against the wall and stared threateningly at Wade. “Careful Frank, he might like it.” Wade taunted. Ajax pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He hated Wade for his ability to get to him. “The next one is for her as well. What muse she’d like to write a ship for…” Frank shook his head again. “What the fuck’s up with all these damned boats? Anyway… I assume she’d like to try me out with Billy.” “Kinky.” Wade purred. “I’m already in quite a few ships. If we’re adding to… pfft.” Truth was, Wade was content with his situation, so it took some thinking. “A Nathan would be nice? And no ships for Francis. His ship sank the day he let Michael Jackson Dr. Killebrew fiddle with his body.” Wade clicked his tongue and winked at Ajax.

“How can you possibly know – “ Ajax began – cut off by Frank as he read the next question. “What are some preferences when deciding whether or not to ship a muse?” Frank frowned at the screen. “Read the rules, play nice, write well – I don’t know.” Wade hummed in agreement. “And don’t assume we’ll ship – I don’t know about the other two, but I’m picky.” “You? Picky?” Ajax scoffed and leered at him. “Do you get to be?” “Well – I can’t fuck all the people who’s bummed because you couldn’t get it up for them.” Wade fired back.

Frank rubbed his face – considering shooting them both. Ajax wouldn’t feel it, but he could die. Wade would feel it and couldn’t die. What a trio they were… “Are you guys DONE bickering yet?” he sounded tiredly. “Never,” Wade answered as he breathed in. Ajax rolled his eyes. “I prefer missionary or the cowgirl or whatever it’s known as these days. I like the intimacy. The control or giving up of. I like to touch, to see…” Frank’s words grew with passion as he spoke. Wade blinked and looked at him. “What are you on about?” “The next question. I figured I might finish this on my own and get the hell out.” Frank was done with the bullshit. “What was the question?” Wade put his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Headcanons, sex positions.” Frank scratched his cheek, and glanced up at Ajax. “You outta this one, too?”

“Against a wall… Or relentless teasing,” Ajax didn’t even get to finish before Wade corrected him; “Endless foreplay,” “To draw as much sound from the other part as possible.” Ajax blinked and turned slowly towards Wade. “What about you then, collared and on your knees begging for it?”

“Actually that’s not that far from the truth. But I like a lot of things. Depends on my partner and whether I’m giving up control or not.” Wade shrugged. “How much time – “ Frank already began reading the next question. “ – none, then.” Wade sighed. “Has she written smut for you guys? Because that’s a no for me.” Frank didn’t take his eyes off the screen – this he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Ajax arched an eyebrow and cocked his head, Wade nodded vigorously. “I suppose neither of you know whether she prefers to write it or not?” Frank huffed and leaned back into his chair. “How are we supposed to answer these questions when they’re not even… yes… Wade?” Much to his surprise Wade has raised his hand.

“Thank you. I happen to know that she don’t mind writing smut, but she has to feel comfortable with the person she’s writing it with.” “Multiship or singleship?” Frank turned to Ajax. He couldn’t stand the guy, but at least he’d had the decency to explain some of these things to him. “Is no ship an option?” Ajax smirked. It should be pretty clear at this point that he didn’t ship. “It is now. I’m on the fence. I wouldn’t ship with someone exclusively I think.” Frank grimaced at himself, as he was now using Tumblr and games own terms. “Good call, Frank! For me it’s multiship all the way.” Wade drew a horizontal line in the air before him. “I’m not exclusive either.” “Huh, I think we just answered the next question. So… What is our shipping preferences? Weren’t we over that? Chemistry?” Frank thought that slow-burn sounded nice, but neither of the other guys seemed like the “slow burn” type. He didn’t know how wrong he was in his assumptions. “Yeah. What would you call my ship with Thanos? Because… that’s like… unhealthy. Toxic ships? I guess we’re semi into that? Aren’t we Francis?” Wade winked at him. Damn was he having a field day. Ajax on his end just shook his head and slammed his shoulders back against the wall. “What’s an OC?” Frank glanced up from the screen, relieved that they were close to done. “Original character. We don’t really do those.” Wade knew that was frowned upon in the roleplaying community, but he didn’t give a shit. “I don’t know about you, but I have more than enough with the canon characters.” On most days, he actually had more than enough with himself. Ajax and Frank both seemed on board with that.

“So,” Frank turned the laptop off and pulled the screen down. “That’s it. We’re done. Let’s never do it again.” his knees cracked as he stood up.

“Or the next time we can get naked and –“ Wade began, Frank pulled his gun and aimed it straight at his crotch.

“You don’t want to finish that sentence.” his voice was low, barely audible. “You don’t want to shoot me, Francis might get off on it.” Wade kindly reminded him. “Oh my fucking…” Frank rubbed his face and headed out of the room. There wasn’t enough booze in the world to make him forget.

“Hey – are you off to kill someone? Do you have a team yet – hey Frank, wait up!” Wade picked up his swords and chased after the Punisher. Ajax sighed and pushed his shoulders down. Being around Wade always made him tense up. He rolled his head from side to side, then left through the back door – half expecting the two of them to be waiting to kill him.

If you made it this far, please let me know what you think. No, Frank didn’t kill Ajax. Yet.

#so much sinday answered in one lengthy fucking thing #i'm not sorry #sinday #sinday meme #answered meme #ficlet #deadpool rp #wade wilson rp #frank castle rp #the punisher rp #francis freeman rp #ajax rp #marvel rp #drabble

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elfnerdherder · 6 years ago

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Ill Intentions: Chapter 16

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Chapter 16: An Element of Surprise

Will Graham stared at the two-way mirror in front of him, and he tried to ignore the headache that sat just behind his left eye. Time moved differently when one was being questioned. He had to keep looking at his watch to ensure that time was moving at an even pace.

“Having trouble keeping eye contact, Mr. Graham?”

“There’s nothing new there to see, Jack.”

Jack didn’t like the familiarity of his Christian name being used. His mouth puckered, and he looked ready to spit venom.

Will looked back to Jack’s earlobe. “Don’t I get a phone call?”

Jack considered him for a long moment, then nodded. “At the end.”

The room was a normal 8x8 with boring cement walls and a boring aluminum chairs. His watch was only at forty percent. He’d been there for a couple of hours.

“I told you everything I know,” Will protested. “I don’t know what else you want from me.”

“See, at first I was pretty willing to believe that,” Jack agreed, only he didn’t sound so agreeable. “A reporter sniffs out a crazy, things happen. He’s willing to cooperate, I’m willing to cooperate. I think that I’m an agreeable man when things make sense.”

Will agreed with no such sentiment, considering everything that’d happened since their first meeting.

“But when it gets back to me that you’re trying to dig into medical records, I get a little nervous. When you’re still going places without telling anyone, attending galas without telling anyone –”

“–As though a reporter can’t just go to a God damn gala, honestly –”

“And your little friend Freddie Lounds accidentally lets it slip that you two are working together –”

The look Jack Crawford gave him was somehow both stern yet betrayed. Their hated of Freddie Lounds, the very tie that created their small alliance, had unraveled. Somewhere, Will had overplayed his hand there. Freddie’s mouth was too big.

“You can’t arrest me for playing nice at work,” Will whispered. “You have your job to worry about, and I have mine.”

Jack wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. Somewhere along the way, with Abigail, homeless men, the Ripper, and now this, Will had missed it. He could see the change in skin tone, the lighter strip where the ring had rested for so long, vulnerable and bare. He wondered if Jack worried over the spot often, so long he’d had something there to touch. He wondered if he was a widow, or if his own obsession with the Ripper had taken precedent over other people.

In truth, Will could relate to that.

“You’re aware that you’ve been arrested for obstruction of justice and impeding an investigation. After speaking with the DA, we’re willing to cut a deal and let these charges go, should you comply and cooperate with our investigation in catching the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“I have been cooperating.”

Jack snatched a file up from the table and opened it, slapping papers down with definitive, sharp thwack’s.

“Then why is it that the Chesapeake Ripper is leaving you a dead body that the Maestro first tried to send?” he snarled. “What game are you playing here, Mr. Graham?”

Will stared at the photos of the body that’d dropped on him. It was not the pallor or rigor mortis of the corpse that disgusted him, but rather the throat that’d been peeled back to expose vocal cords that Will had only seen once before –it was rather difficult to forget what bleached vocal cords looked like, after all.

It was the body from his apartment. The Chesapeake Ripper’s favor.

“…I’m not playing any games, Agent Crawford,” he said, and he tried to make his voice shake ever-so-slightly. “But that doesn’t mean that you’re not getting played.”

Jack’s sigh was aged, rancid. He slapped the file closed, and he stood. “I’m having a psychiatrist do an evaluation on you. Depending on what he has to say about this matter, depends on whether or not I’m inclined to agree with you.”

“Do I have any say in this?”

The door was closing just behind him as Jack replied, “No.”

It took awhile for the psychiatrist to show. Seconds ticked, minutes passed, and Will stared at the photos of the dead body. Time had not done the victim well; the contortion of his limbs seemed painful, even in passing, and there were lacerations at his mouth; likely from where the Ripper had pulled the neck of the cello out. Will wondered where the Ripper was now, if he was laughing at his joke. He wondered just what notes the Maestro had intended to play for him. Will Graham & Co.

The door opened.

His watch beeped with a reminder; wake up.

“Good afternoon. Will Graham, was it?”

Will watched the Chesapeake Ripper stride across the room and sit down across from him.

Rather, he watched the man from the gala stride across the room, face remarkably placid despite once having dared to cry in public at the voice of an angel.

He heard the Chesapeake Ripper, and that’s all that mattered.

Face to face, at last. Will’s heart skipped a beat, then began to pound violently.

“…Yes, that’s right.”

“I’m Dr. Lecter, and I’ll be doing your psychiatric evaluation. Is that alright?”

Will leaned back into his chair and folded his arms tight across his chest. His heels dug into the cement floor. “I think that you and I both know that I don’t have a choice in that.”

“You know, I’ve a remarkable associate that I could ask a favor of, if you’re uncomfortable. We always have a choice, in some way or another.”

“Do you really believe that?” Will asked with a snort.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s smile was all teeth. “Don’t you?”

He was dressed rather eclectically, tweed with a matching taupe tie. Silvering ashen hair was combed neatly with a professional part, and Will could imagine the two of them across from one another in utter darkness, eating a bird whose song charmed God. This guy looked the part to find a person willing to sell him Ortolan under the table. He was handsome, in an intense sort of way. There was something purposeful, rigid in his face, as though he were two seconds away from being severe. The straight, firm line of his mouth only added to it, coupled with incisors that looked lethal enough to tear flesh.

“Sometimes we have a choice. Other times, emotion removes the ability to truly choose, blinded as we can be,” Will said.

Dr. Lecter tilted his head slightly. “Do you often feel as though you are not in control?” he wondered. Will thought of his voice pressed close, the dead body placed neatly on his dining room chair. His voice was the same.

His voice was the fucking same.

“I keep myself more scheduled than most, I’d say. I remain in pretty good control.”

Hannibal glanced down to the photos of the dead body in front of them, then looked back up to Will with an amiably sympathetic expression. “Do you truly think so?”

Will laughed, and he looked over Hannibal’s shoulder to the mirror, his ashen face staring back at him. His head ached. He thought about the magpie and wondered if it’d be alright. He wondered if he’d gotten the quarter in the end, or if they’d confiscated it.

“They’re not recording this. Doctor, patient confidentiality,” Dr. Lecter assured him.

“Thank you.”

“In two weeks’ time you are, coincidentally enough, going to be my patient. I thought it morally necessary to maintain that same professionalism now.”

“You recognized my name?”

“When Agent Crawford made the call, I couldn’t refuse. I do try to keep in mind all of my new patients, and I thought it better for you and myself than to be questioned by anyone else,” said Dr. Lecter. This time, his smile was small, a secret thing for the two of them. Will wanted to hold it close and hoped that Jack wasn’t watching.

“Do you enjoy games, Dr. Lecter?” Will asked.

“I’d say that I enjoy them as much as any other man.”

“But no more. Only enough to appear utterly normal in every way, shape, and form.”

“Do you feel that you do the same, Will? Do you wear a person suit?”

“If so, it’s a bad one, don’t you think? I stand out like a sore thumb.”

The good doctor laughed, fine lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. They were the color of a faded barn door, lines of brown cutting through the rich color. He wondered what they looked like in the sunlight.

“I believe your suit depends on who is around you. You don their persona as you see fit. Some people you fear to see, to take upon yourself, but others you take to as a fish to water.”

“Who do you think I’d fear to see?”

“Your Avid Fan is someone that first comes to mind. With such a mind as theirs, surely perception would be a tool that is pointed both ways. They may see the world as a stage for their most vivid dreams and horrors to play out, but you’re also the one able to stand beside them and see it, too.”

Will licked dry lips and tilted his head, mirroring the man just across from him. “Understanding doesn’t mean guilt.”

“Your taking in Miss Hobbs after she came all this way to find you would tell me otherwise, Mr. Graham,” the Chesapeake Ripper said kindly. “How is she doing?”

Will thought of the Subway she worked at, and he wondered if he should have just bought a bag of chips rather than pay so much for such a terrible sandwich. Maybe he’d have felt a little bit better about this whole arrest and current situation.

Granted, sitting down across from the Chesapeake Ripper hadn’t been on his list of things to-do today, but so far it was going well.

The game was getting really, really interesting.

“…I may feel some responsibility,” he said after a moment. “Although it’s not my fault that the FBI decided to kick down her door. I know that.”

“Do you often wonder, though, how different it would have gone had you been there instead?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you think you’d have been able to save her father, that she didn’t have to watch both her greatest nightmare and her greatest protector fall?”

In the light, the Ripper had a way of cupping his cheek as he spoke, his gaze so fixed that there was no question his intention was solely on Will. That sort of seeing, that sort of fixation, was enough that Will’s normally swinging foot stilled, pressed hard to the cement where the cement pushed back. It was grounding, his stare. He thought of the drug addict he’d stabbed and wondered if the doctor had been giving him much the same look in the dark alley.

He wanted to ask; he figured he’d better not.

“I think there was no way that Garrett Jacob Hobbs was leaving that house alive,” he replied after a time. “I think that he’d have found a way to die no matter who was there. His world was ending. Her world was ending. There was no case to plead. Likely he knew what happens to guys like that that go to prison. Death was mercy, and he was selfish until the last second.”

“How do you feel about death? Do you also see it as a sort of mercy?”

He thought of the Ripper saving that man, only out of some sort of responsibility to the body shutting down rather than the person inside of it. Action and reaction. He’d let both Will and the would-be mugger live.

I was curious.

“Death…is personal to everyone, I think. My mom always said you couldn’t tell someone how to grieve because they were the one dealing with death. The one that died has the easy job of dying, but it’s those they leave behind that have to face death fully and try to understand.” Will shrugged and bit at a hangnail on his thumb. “I think sometimes its mercy, and sometimes its unjust. Mostly, though, it simply is. We as humans imbue it with meaning, but death itself is neither good nor evil. It is the simple balance of nature.”

“Were you close with your mother?”

“Aren’t all young men?” Will returned, equally as calm.

“I was unable to, as my mother passed when I was very young.” Dr. Lecter adjusted his notepad and scratched a few things down. “I imagine that we would have been.”

“What is death to you, Dr. Lecter? Do you imbue it with meaning?”

“If we are the ones to give death its importance, then yes. Death is an elevation. In the bible, they speak of people rising up as angels, as guardians and heralds to god.”

“Almost like a reward. When one suffers, it is with the hope that there is a payoff for their suffering.”

“What is your payoff in this, then?” Dr. Lecter asked. “After the Ripper is caught, after the FBI finally leaves you to your paper and your work, what is the payoff for all of this suffering?”

The way he said suffering didn’t make it sound so awful. It sounded tempting, something that rolled off of the tongue and left you wanting. Will watched his lips, then looked back to his eyes.

Why did he have to be so god damn interesting?

“I was thinking of a vacation, actually. I’ve been compounding vacation since I first started there, so…something far away. Something relaxing.”

“Something where you can forget your close encounters with the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“No matter where I go, that’s not something I can forget, Dr. Lecter.”

That small smile returned, fleeting and all-knowing. “Not with the way your mind works, at least.”

“Not with the way that my mind works,” Will agreed.

“Do you think that you could go back to writing after this? Given how eloquent your writing has been since everything began.”

Are serial killers your muse?

“Have you read my works, doctor?” Will asked with mock surprise.

“I’ve been following them off and on, yes. You’re a hit in Baltimore, too, given your attendance at the gala. It seems that everywhere you go, you leave something memorable behind. You’ve even a little bit of a following, so I’ve heard.”

“And yet there I was, sitting at my office space wondering if I’d die writing about baby’s breath.”

That small smile flashed once more, and something about it made a jolting sensation strike at his chest, centered and distinctly pleasant. He resisted the urge to rub at the spot, smooth the feeling away with soft pressure.

Dr. Lecter excused himself shortly after, and Will was left to sit once more, mind spinning. Without the doctor sitting across from him, staring, he was left to turn their words over, blood racing. The Chesapeake Ripper left him his ‘favor’. He’d dropped it on his head, and there he was, sitting in an interrogation room at the FBI again.

Only the Chesapeake Ripper was there too, and Will was absolutely correct; he was closer to Jack Crawford than Jack would ever know. Somehow, that revelation was exciting rather than horrifying in its reality. He wondered if Dr. Lecter had consulted on the case of Mary Mai, considering she’d been his patient.

It didn’t take long for him to report to Jack. Within a few minutes, Brian from the Maestro crime scene was there, setting down documents for Will to sign and explaining the process of his release. Will’s handwriting was a sloppy scrawl, but it was difficult to listen when all that he could think on was facing the Ripper for the first time: no gimmicks, no ruse, no smoke and mirrors.

Just the Chesapeake Ripper. His blood was tingling, spitting. If he was much of a runner, he’d have gone for a run later.

“Dunno how he found you psychologically sound,” Brian was saying as Will stood and stretched. “I’d have you behind bars just for the trouble you alone have caused.

“Guess that’s why he’s the therapist and not you,” Will quipped. “Where’s Jack?”

“He’s in a meeting, but he said that he’d keep in touch.” Keep in touch. It was another way of saying you’d better be sticking around.

The Chesapeake Ripper wasn’t out in the hallway when Will was escorted towards the front desk, nor was he loitering just outside after he had made his phone call and asked Molly to pick him up. Will stood in the cold with the memory of the Ripper playing through his head, over and over and over again. Every time he stood and excused himself, the reel would flicker, turn static then cut short. Every time the ripper walked in the door for the first time and stood with the light from the hallway silhouetting him, there was a moment that Will focused on, despite the bitter cold and the way the tip of his nose was starting to hurt.

The Chesapeake Ripper, for all of his games and his machinations, looked surprised.

Then, the surprise faded, and the game began; it was somehow different, though. Like seeing an old friend and not quite knowing just how to be around them. Seeing him had changed things, and Will wasn’t so upset about being arrested anymore.

Molly met him at the roundabout in front of the building, and she smiled warmly as he climbed in.

“Did you survive your time in county?” she teased.

“I got a few scars from shanks,” he admitted. “A gang tattoo with that poke-and-needle style all the inmates swear by.”

“They let you have any hair trimmers in there? A razor for shaving? You look like you just came off of the set of Castaway.”

She grabbed his jaw and turned his head first one way, then another. He allowed the inspection with good humor, thought of the Ripper maybe watching from a window up above as he told Jack Crawford the sort of person that the Ripper thought him to be. Obviously, his estimation of Will had been good enough to make Jack let him go. Obviously, he’d said enough that Jack couldn’t very well keep him.

He couldn’t play so many games if Will was locked up, could he?

Molly had a way of laughing that warmed from his ears to the tips of his toes. It could have been the heater in the car, but Will didn’t think it was. Caring about Molly Foster was easy. She was the sort of person that made caring second nature, made joking commonplace. Her hair was the perfect hues of blonde, her eyes were the sort that one could call home, and her nose turned up with just enough sass to make her jokes land neatly.

Why she’d ever decided to start dating him again was far beyond Will. He figured she could do much better. She was textbook white picket fence, and while the Ripper certainly thought Will could don such personas –

–well, there was a reason the Ripper first thought they’d be good friends.

Back at her house, they lay sprawled over one another and watched bad television, laughing at the unease of Lifetime movie actors, and for a moment Will wondered just what would happen if he didn’t do what he knew that he had to do next. He wondered what would happen if he just allowed himself to lay there, laughing, and maybe in two years he’d marry her after letting Jack Crawford know just who it was he was gaining psychological insight from.

The moment of hesitation passed, though. He had something important to do.

“How’s work been?” he asked.

“Pretty busy. We’ve begun testing meat for that study I told you about. Some of the results so far have been…well, shitty, actually. Lots of meat claiming strictly beef coming back with turkey or chicken, assorted parts rather than the specific cut they claim it to be.”

“That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“They’re not going to like what they find, but that’s why they came to the lab. They couldn’t trust their own business to give honest answers, so they found someone that would.”

He held his breath, glanced to her freezer where his own packaging of questionable meat lay. When she muted the TV on the commercials, he exhaled slowly.

“I have a favor to ask,” he confessed.

“Will Graham asking favors is a rarity.”

“I have some meat that also comes from a questionable…source,” he began. “You could include it in your study if you wanted, but really I just need to know what it’s from.”

“Did you pick something up from the farmer’s market? I told you that place doesn’t always sell as advertised,” she teased.

Will forced himself to laugh.

“I just have…a suspicion it’s not what it says it is. I know you’re busy, but if you have the time…”

His voice trailed off as she rolled over onto him, and the look she leveled at him was equal parts suspicion and mischief. No tingling sensation, though. No weird pressure in his chest that he willed to rub away. Molly was Molly, and Will Graham was a certifiable ass hole.

Beverly was surely going to agree with him after they caught up.

“If I have free time, I’ll do it. It’s the meat in the freezer, right?” At his nod, she nodded and rested her chin lightly at the dip in his chest. “You’re not making me run tests on human meat, are you?”

He kissed her rather than have to try and brush off a question like that. Hands rested onto her hips, held tight, and they didn’t unmute the TV when the movie came back on. When he kissed her, he wondered if she could taste his lies; if they were rancid, or if they were as sweet as she claimed them to be.

#LiaS scribbles #Hannibal fanfic #hannigram #hannibal au #Dark!Will #Ill Intentions #Journalist!Will #Grey!Will #the Chesapeake Ripper #hannibal x will graham #molly foster #nbc hannibal

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ddaddsprompts · 7 years ago

Note

DADS REACTING TO DADSONA RISKING HIS LIFE FOR THEIR KID (Like pulling Carmensita out of the way of a car and getting hit himself etc etc...), plus the kids reactions and how they comfort their father?

I chose to go with car accident, as you suggested. The accident itself isn’t described in detail, nor the injuries, but there is ‘talk’ of broken bones and blood, so proceed with caution. - Mod Mare

It all happens so quicklyand yet, time seems to stand still as you see a car turn the corner withscreeching tires, heading straight for [kid(s)]. Before your brain can evenregister the situation, you’re on the road and push them aside, bringingyourself in the path of the car. You barely have the time to wonder why thedriver ignored the red light when they hit you and send you flying through theair. Mercifully, you black out before you land again and before the pain canreach your brain.

🥃 Robertstands there numbly, unable to do anything but stare at your corpse bodyeven as the driver, barely scraped, gets out of the car, phone in their hands.He can’t do anything but stare, even as Val yells at the driver and the driveryells back. All he has eyes for is you, lying there in the middle of the road,body bent and leg twisted in an unnatural angle. There’s blood. He normallydoesn’t have any problems with blood, how could he, but it’s yours. You’re lying on the road becauseyou were hit by a car, he can’t see your chest rising, you aren’t moving, you—Thescrape of long nails tear Robert out of his thoughts, back into reality. Hisgaze focuses and settles on Val, who is standing in front of him, a handcupping Robert’s cheek. In the distance, getting closer every second, is thesound of sirens. Someone called an ambulance. “Dad.” She doesn’t tell himeverything is going to be fine, because she knows as well as him that it mightnot be. He remembers doctors, their expressions and intonations so fucking condolatoryeven though Marilyn was still alive, remembers them saying he shouldn’t give uphope yet, things were going to be fine even though they weren’t. Only when Valwipes them away with her thumb does Robert realise he’s crying. He’s itchingfor a drink, even though he’s been sober for half a year, wants nothing more butto drink the sorrow away. But the medics are there, preparing you for the driveto hospital, and Val is shaking, he can’t run away. Robert covers Val’s handwith his and closes his eyes for a moment. “Go with him,” Val says. She soundslike she’s trying very hard not to cry. “I’ll call a taxi and follow.” Robertnods and squeezes her hand.

🍸 One moment, you were next toJoseph, holding Christie’s hand. The next, you’re running and God, there’s acar, Chris and Christian—The thump of a body hitting the pavement burns itself intoJoseph’s memory like a brand. He doesn’t allow himself to think about thesituation for even a second. He immediately runs over to his kids, pulls outhis phone and calls an ambulance. His voice is shaking as he tells the phoneoperator what happened, but years of burying his emotions allows him to detachhimself, to not give into the panic and fear that pulsates inside his chest.Gently, he ushers the kids away from the scene, away from your broken bod- Heshakes the thought off and crouches down in front of the twins and Chris,shielding their gaze so they didn’t have to see you any longer. “Everything’sgoing to be fine,” he tells them. He needs two attempts to make his voice stop tremble,but even then, he can’t get his hands to do the same as he pulls them into ahug. Christie and Christian are crying and sobbing and though Chris seemsunaffected on the outside, the way he is clinging to his father shows he isn’t.“It’s going to be fine,” Joseph repeats, more for his sake than theirs. “It’sgoing to be fine. God is merciful, he won’t take Y/N away from us.” He managesto keep it up until the ambulance arrives. He calls Mary and she arrives soquickly, he knows she broke traffic laws but he doesn’t care, is just gladsomeone can take the kids so he can go to hospital with you. The moment the kidsare gone and Joseph sees your face, bloody and bruised, from up close, he losesit. A sob wrecks through his body; he presses his lips together to stop it, butthe tears keep on streaming down his cheeks, and he prays wordlessly, begs foryou to recover.

☕ “Y/N!!” Carmensita, withlittle regard for her own bruises, which she got from falling after you shovedher aside, runs over to where you’re lying, unconscious and bleeding. Nausearises in Mat’s throat seeing her kneel in the rapidly growing puddle of bloodaround you, because it’s staining her trousers, it’ll be a struggle to get thatout again—He knows there are other, more important things to think about rightnow, but he can’t, he can’t think about your injuries, about the driver who isnow calling an ambulance, he can’t—Breathing feels like he’s got shards stuck inhis throat. He shudders and gasps, but he can’t get air down to his lungs, hisvision is blurry, not just from the lack of oxygen, but also because of thetears. Part of him knows it shouldn’t be like this, with Carmensita kneelingnext to you and him, her father, having a panic attack. He should be calmingher down, getting the situation under control, but every time he tries to get agrip of himself, the panic strikes out. Somehow, he manages to stumble over toyour side and sinks down next to Carmensita. She’s crying, but looks a lot morecomposed than Mat himself, and is holding your hand with both of hers. “He’salive,” Carmensita whispers. “Daddy, he’s alive, he’s breathing, that means he’llbe fine, right? He’s not… he won’t… not like…” She sniffles. Mat takes herhands and pulls her into a hug. “He-he’ll be okay, baby girl, he’ll be okay, Ipromise, ssh, it’s all going… it’s all going to be okay.” Carmensita buries herface in his neck and cries. He holds her, chin on top of her head, and rubscircles on her back as he cries, too, and tries to make himself believe what hejust told her.

🌹 Secondspass before either Lucien or Damien get over their shock. But then, Lucienpulls out his phone and says something, probably talks to the ambulance, butDamien can’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. He’s running over before heknows it and comes to kneel next to your body, hands hovering above the moreobvious injuries. He wants to help – he’s just done a first-aid course,together with Lucien in preparation for his driver’s licence – but he doesn’tknow what to do, is scared of hurting you further. “We…” Lucien trails off,mentally braces himself, then continues. “We need to check if he’s… if he’sbreathing.” Damien nods and leans forward. As efficiently as possible whileshaking like a leaf, he tilts up your head towards him and puts his cheek nextto your mouth. A few tense moments go by; then he lets out a sigh of relief. “He’sbreathing.” Lucien deflates, lowering his head until it rests on his knees. “Fuck.”For once, Damien doesn’t scold him for his ungentlemanly language. He’s stayingwhere he is, where your breath can brush against his cheek, just so he canassure himself you’re still alive. “It all happened so fast, I—““There is no need to blame yourself, Lucien.” Damien turns his head just enoughto look at his son. “There was nothing you could have done. If Y/N hadn’treacted so quickly—“ He didn’t even want to think about it. The howling of thesirens coming nearer and nearer might hurt his ears, but right now, it was thesweetest sound Damien’s ever heard. He forces himself to stand up and guidesLucien to the side, so the medics could do their work in peace. He wraps an armaround Lucien and the teen steps closer, all but curling into Damien’s side.Closing his eyes, Damien takes a deep, shuddered breath and allowed a few tearsto run down his cheeks.

🎣 The screeching tires, Daisy’sscream and the nauseating sound of bones breaking as your body hit the groundecho in Brian’s head. Had he worked in any other line of business thanconstruction, the sight of you lying there might have paralysed him, but he’sseen his share of workplace accidents, some of them, thanks to the heavymachinery they worked with, even more gruesome than this. Doesn’t make it anyeasier, far from it, but it doesn’t prevent him from helping. Daisy, he notes,is on the phone, which means he can focus on making sure you would make it.With little care for the fabric, he presses his favourite Hawaii shirt on yourhead wound to stop the bleeding. Nothing, from his, admittedly uneducated,point of view looks life-threatening, but he feels no shame in admitting he’sout of his element here. “I-is Y/N g-going to be okay?” Brian looks up at hisdaughter. Daisy is crying and nervously playing with the buttons of her shirt. “Iread that if a car hits you at 45 miles per hour, you’re more likely to bekilled than to survive. A 30-year-old has a chance of 1 in 2 to survive. I don’tknow how fast the car went, if it only went 35 miles-““Baby,” Brian interrupts her gently. “Come here.” He lets go of his shirt withone hand, which he uses to pull Daisy into a one-armed hug. She’s shakinghorribly. “Everything’s going to be okay.” Daisy thankfully doesn’t notice thetremor in his voice. He applies more pressure to your wound again, the onlything he can do. If he had to sit here helplessly, watching you… He squeezeshis eyes shut and, for the first time in a long while, prays. Daisy puts herhands on top of his, to help. They still sit like that when the ambulancefinally arrives.

👟 It’s River’s crying thatbreaks Craig out of his trance. The shock sits so deep, he can’t even feel hislimbs move, and he’s numb, but not numb enough to not do anything. The driver’salready on the phone, hopefully calling the ambulance, so he doesn’t need totake care of that. Craig’s always worked best having a mental checklist hecould follow easily without having to think and consider, and now is noexception. His last refresher course had been a few months ago, but he canstill remember what he needs to do. Traffic has already come to a standstill,but he still puts up the warning triangle the driver gives him. No fuel, nosmoke or exposed wires on the street, check. You’re unconscious, there’s noreason to move you, check. Craig leans over you, checks your breathing, makessure you won’t choke on anything, check. No life-threatening injuries, nomassive bleeding; he presses your jacket on a wound on your arm, applyingpressure and stopping the bleeding. His mental list says checking whether thevictim is in shock and how to treat that, but he can’t tell. Can unconscious peoplego into shock, he can’t remember and racks his brain in search for an answerwhen—One pair of hands comes to rest on his shoulders, another two hands holdhis arms. Craig blinks. Briar and Hazel are looking down at him; they arecrying, but their concern is not directed at you – they seem worried aboutCraig himself. He opens his mouth to comfort them, but something salty falls onhis tongue and makes him pause. He’s crying; he didn’t even notice. His handsare shaking badly, can barely hold the jacket still, and he offers noresistance as they pull him backwards, away from you so the medics can get toyou. “He’ll be okay,” Briar whispers and wraps her arms around him. Hazel doesthe same. He clings to them, a crying River squished between the three.

📖 Years as a teacher prepared Hugo forworst-case-scenarios, yet it was different when his own boyfriend was the onehurt. He takes a few moments to compose himself before launching into action.First thing he does is call the ambulance. The driver already did that, but hedoesn’t trust them to say everything. Then he goes to your side and kneels nextto your head, checks that you’re breathing and in no immediate,life-threatening danger. He goes about it efficiently, separates the situationfrom his emotions, but still, he’s worried, of course he is. His medicalknowledge is limited to the books he’s read, but even a layperson can tell thatyour leg is broken, the way it’s bent in an unnatural angle. For a second, Hugofeels sick. He soothes himself by feeling your pulse and takes comfort in theknowledge nothing looks like it could put your life at risk. So when he hears asob, his first reaction is to wonder whether he didn’t notice just how upset andscared he is, but then, he realises it didn’t come from him. He looks up andfinds Ernest standing there, face red and wet from tears and snot. “Whydid he… why did he do that?” Hugo slowly gets on his feet and walks over to hisson. For once, Ernest doesn’t swat Hugo’s hand off his shoulder. “Why did he dowhat, Ernest?” Ernest snuffles. “Why did he protect me? I… I’ve only been anass to him. And he jumps in front of a car to protect me! Why?” There aren’tany words in any of the languages Hugo knows to answer that question.Wordlessly, he pulls Ernest close and pulls his hoodie down so he can brushthrough Ernest’s hair. The teen stiffens, but the tension melts within seconds,parallel to the loud sobs that course through his body.

#dream daddy #dream daddy: a dad dating simulator #dream daddy a dad dating simulator #ddadds #Anonymous #car accident

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sayofchains88 · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter six: A new enemy, breaking Christians curse by OrangeLetters88~

"My fate, is that what he calls it?" Alex voiced wincing in pain from being in a position for a long time. Clarence realizes and picks Alex up. Steel blushes slightly.

"We need get home before it gets dark." Steel says following behind them. Clarence makes sure Alex is stretched across the back before sitting down at the wheel. Steel goes shotgun for the first time since she is always escorted in the back. "I never felt like a normal person before..."

"Most see you a princess right?" he laughs at Steel jokingly.

"I am a princess, one of vampire kind. Not of humankind. They never saw me as a person back then so I must treat myself as such." She pouts with her hands crossed.

"Ms. Steel you have over four hundred following you. You are certainly a princess and over forty pacts. This should be beyond you." Clarence states looking back noticing Alex sleeping. "He has a metal rod about 3 centimeters stuck into his heel. Cooper was making sure he didn't heal up. A lesser man wouldn't be a sleep."

They get to Steels house around midnight. Clarence grasps quickly that Alex has passed out. He was limp upon being picked up. "Steel we need prep in the private medical bay." He shouts. Steel opens the door as Clarence dashes in.

The lot is filled with Steels kin dancing and drinking. Seemingly they had invited humans to partake in so Steel was clearing the way to get Clarence to the medical area further in the house. Everyone gawks and gasps as they push through the massive crowd.

Once they made it through Steel blocks off the area by sitting there with a chair instead getting invested in drinking and charades. She crosses her legs planting herself to the spot.

"I...I felt his presence Master...Alex." Christian rambled. Steel gets up to hug him deeply.

"You won't be broke for long Christian. Please trust me." Steel reassures him.

"He...I...he is here." Christian mumbled. His eyes blank unable to come to a coherent set of sentences.

"You are fighting this aren't you? It's turning your brain to jelly trying this hard to latch on to the remaining parts of your identity?" Steel thinks out loud to herself, Clarence spooks her by touching her shoulder. She jumps turning around.

"We did a full examination after we pulled the rod out. We preferred he was on bed rest a while before meeting the witch." Clarence explains.

"It will be too late for Christian if we don't bring him tomorrow. I will do it then...I will bring him myself Clarence. Just drive me there. I will do this for Christian and Alex." She demands convicted to help. The next day she gets up early packing new hiking gear readying Alex's book and dressing Christian.

"Steel you aren't going alone. Christian is barely aware of his surroundings anymore. Allow me to assist you. Someone would need to carry him plus I am the vampire's vampire. I am more than able to protect you." Clarence argues locking the medical bay room behind him and swiping the face mask off disposing it in the trash.

"Clarence, why did you stay with me? You know I am not forcing you to be my butler. You know I do not treat my kin like slaves." Steel spouts emotionally. She could feel the lump In the back of her throat. "But you have allowed yourself to protect me for almost hundred years?"

"Steel you are more to me than anyone...when I first met you. You took me out of a dark place and I am trying more than ever to live for you, but I see you be giddy around Alex and I feel myself confused and maybe jealous..." Clarence reveals twiddling his fingers. She has been so blinded she didn't understand why his dedication had been so strong. Why her den has survived so long. "I love you Steel and I hope you can accept that..."

Steel gets on a chair to match sizes with him wrapping her arms around his neck. She swoops in to kiss him on the lips. They passionately groan into each other's mouth. She pushes him away before she forgets what she must do.

"I accept your love Clarence. Please accept mine. For now on we protect each other and our kin." She smiles with tears in her eyes. "Now we will protect Alex's kin too."

"Steel..." Clarence sobs immensely. Steel once again wraps her arms around Clarence more tightly. "I love you so much more then you will ever know."

"I know my Darling. Allow me to make up for my ignorance...for now we have something to do. Shall we embark now?" Steel responds softly. Clarence pulls out a handkerchief blowing into it and wiping his face. Steel pulls the pack over her shoulders and gingerly grabs Christian who was sitting in another room patiently.

Clarence snaps out of it and quickly retrieves the car. They make it to mountaintop without any problems this time. Only carrying Christian being a little difficult at times, at the very top Mars would gladly receive Steels hands.

The witch of the mountain greeting them with special tea only found at the other side and tea cakes and sandwiches. At this point Christian didn't seem to understand how to eat or drink. His frozen expression haunting them afar, Steel laments how badly he had gotten and how Alex was not able to come.

"You can feel it too right? Christian is fighting inside of himself to be normal again. You make me regret a lot of things...but I cannot back time so I will not try. This is my last request today. Soon I will not be long for this world..." The witch discloses.

"Why? Whatever is the matter?" Clarence begs to know.

"Karma is paying me for my horrid deeds. I am slowly falling apart. The demons haunt me nightly. They parade their victory of my mantle finally disappearing. I will be going to Hell for my misdeeds. I can feel it in my bones. Do not take a life unless you plan to reap what you sow." She said in a low tone looking down into her cup of tea. "Please hand me Alex's book. It is time to give Christian his life back."

"Thank you so much." Steel replies giving the book to the witch who rips the page out of the book. She smears the text going into chants then walking over to the fire place and burning the pages one by one till they were ashes once again keeping a steady chant while doing so.

A small wooden doll on the mantle place would be tossed into the fireplace as well. A paper on it reading "Elmwood" Which was the first leader who etched the slave mind into the secondary vampire to join the group as long as they were male, it never crosses a female vampire.

Christian's slave self-fought back the curse breaking. His body convulses to turn screaming. His legs buckle collapsing to the ground and then nothing. His body lay like a doll tossed against a wall.

Steel wants to help, but the witch held her hand out. "A snake can bite even with its head cut off." She snaps holding out her cane tapping the ground in random directions till his body leapt out flailing.

"Forgive me master, don't do this me please! I will try harder." Christian shouts in a voice not his own. The witch takes out a bowl of water that is coated in gold throwing it at his face. He stops dead in his tracks.

He once again crumbles to the ground. You can see his features changing terrifyingly in pain. He stretches his face with his hands reaching for the witch till they see a fog retract from his body. He sags; his head tilts back, his eyes seemly rolled till you can only see the whites.

"Christian?" Steel screams strains to grab for him. His body arches forward. Christians chin rests on her shoulder. Exhausted he peers over to see Clarence.

"Steel, but where is Alex?" He whispers weakly.

"Infirmary he could not make the journey so Steel insisted we do it instead." He consoles. "He was under no condition."

"I felt like it was the end for me...but you came through for me. I feel so much freer then I ever had been." Christian speaks with his eyes closed.

"Looks like you will be here tonight. No way getting down the mountain for you all, I am not having any more kidnappings. Take Christian to the guest room. Please get settled. You are my guests tonight." The witch welcomes them. Mars shows them where to go.

The witch sitting by the hearth sighs out to herself. Steel found she was unable to sleep so she would make her way to sit with the Witch. Surprised the witch patted a seat next to her.

"Everything okay here?" Steel asks.

"Yes, just preparing myself for the great journey a head of me. The great sorrows I will owe those whom I wronged, but don't listen to an old lady like me." She let out her regrets.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. I know they always call you Witch of the Mountain, but what is your name?" Steel curiously chimes. The witch perplexed waits a moment.

"Lucia, I was born on a farm miles away with lots of siblings now passed on. We loved each other deeply. I became a witch when a man decided to kill them out of pure lust. I decided from that I was a witch from that day forward..." Lucia spoke humbly and sadly. Steel becomes groggy finally bidding Lucia a good night.

Early in the morning crying could be heard. Steel, Clarence and Christian come out as Mars cries into her clothing. Steel has a feeling pierce her heart one that hasn't appeared since she was mortal. Holding her chest she slides down to her knees.

Clarence takes notice retrieving her from the ground. Holding hands they walk over to Mars all hugging on him. He only cried harder. Christian looks back to notice a piece of paper folded. He gives it to Mars.

He opens it reading. Understanding fully Lucia's wishes he stops crying. "It seems I need to write mother...I assume she expected this more than anyone though." He proclaims peacefully. "Christian...can I join you and Alex? It will be lonely here."

"I don't see why not, we can always use more people. We look out for each other." He said astonished. Mars brought out his grandmothers cane and folded her clothes neatly by her bed leaving a new note for his mother.

"She became the stuff of stars...that is more than anyone can ask for." He affirms taking Christian's hands in his.

"We need to check on Alice and Alex." Clarence states in a hurry. Before sunset they were able to make it down the hill. Mars would say goodbye to what was his home for about twenty two years. Making it to Steels home, Mars would marvel and gaze at how large how was the home was compared to his small hovel.

Christian runs up to Alex hugs him who was reading Alex becomes surprised and shocked. Nearly cries looking at Steel welcoming their reunion home, Christian would introduce their newest member who Alex had met much earlier.

"Not a vampire, but none the less I am happy to come into group!" Alex responds excited. Colleen standing in the doorway announces.

"Alice is now awake." She says happily. Alex pulls off the bed sheets running to her room blocking the doorway as the others flood behind him. Alice smiled softly. Christian pushed Alex on the ground to jump on her bed in an attempt to hug her.

"Is that how you treat your wounded friend?" Alex demands laughing.

"I saw someone come to me. She had long blonde hair, her eyes shown like stars deep into a cloudy night. She told me I would be okay. Her white robes flowed like wings against the black void I felt trapped in till now. She flew into me disappearing into a cloud of gold butterflies." Alice said sadly.

"My grandmother when she was young had very long blonde hair...I wonder if she..."Mars replies gently.

"What wrong Mars?" Alex asks.

"The Witch of the Mountain had passed early this morning. She left no body." Mars's voice broke silently crying. Steel takes his face in her hands gently wiping his tears and hugging him.

Alex turns to the large group. "We have been through a lot, but I also need to announce. We have to leave. No longer can we stay and put those people you know in danger. You both are no longer human...we need to move on."

Alice looks down saddened. "I knew this day was coming..." She says sadly.

"Were all together and that will be enough." Christian proclaims. Behind the door Steels kindred are crowding by bunches trying to get a look into the hospital ward to see the new vampires.

Alex peers forward when he catches a child glaring at him with white silver hair and crimson red eyes. He appears to be looking directly at him. He gets up away from the group who is talking and interacting with Steels people.

He could tell immediately this kid is not Steel's. He also felt scared looking at this child. The two step outside. Alex in a two layer hospital gown slightly embarrassed, but curious as the two walk around to the back.

"It seems you met my humble servant." He gracefully talks with a fine English accent.

"You-u mean that guy who killed Cooper..." Alex put himself into a guard stance.

"I see you are scared, but I do not blame you. I been alive much, much longer then you have been. Your senses are only now opening. What a sad little Vampire you are, but I give you one warning." He warns turning to Alex face to face.

"What?" Alex questions slightly scared.

"If you don't kill me, I will kill you." He smiles a crooked smile.

"Excuse me?" Alex asks. Before Alex was able to move his head the kid is smashing his head against the wall looking back its Joseph before he lets go of his grip.

"But if anything happens, no one will believe you since I am a little kid after all." He said cackling.

"You are the one who killed Elijah aren't you?" Alex says shocked.

Joseph swings his cane like he is using a baton then stops opening it to a blade against Alex's throat.

"You need to get away from there Alex. I mean far. Not back inside the house. Away!" The female voice chimes in his head. It felt like marbles rolling in his head slightly disheveled Alex moves back doing a flip backwards to get away from Joseph.

"Looks like I need to go. Let's have brunch some other time!" Alex shouts running out of their sight into the surrounding woods.

"They would have killed you right there. I am glad I caught you before they literally did it. My name is Ida. I can see you. Come further." Ida introduced herself. Alex walking what it seemed aimless without shoes on rocks and tiny pebbles.

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/269037735/write/1067779280 If you like my works please support me at wattpad~

#original story #vampire #drama #love #death #tragedy

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chattyjournal-blog · 7 years ago

Text

forest ridge | chapter two

when cleo awakens, her car has arrived at the gate of the school. she opens her eyes to see the enormous building that looks almost like a castle to her. it's a long walk from the gate to the first entrance, surrounded by gardens, trees, fountains and statues. the pathway has bits of moss growing at the cobblestone edges, tiny purple, pink and blue flowers blooming as the grass near the gate becomes overgrown. the building itself is made of expensive brick, the door made of a dark wood that cleo can tell just by the look of it that it costed thousands of dollars by itself. she feels this childlike surge of imagination flow through her head, picturing herself as a princess arriving to her castle. she has a smile plastered on her face when she says goodbye to her father and the gate opens for her.

when she makes it to the door, it opens for her, a tall, middle-aged, pale woman emerging to welcome her. the woman's eyes sparkle blue and her hair is shined an ivory blonde. a few freckles lay on her nose, and her lips are blushed pink.

"hello," the woman greets cleo with a warm smile. "you must be ms. swift! my name is mallory delle, but you can call me mrs. delle. i'm the founder and principal of this school. please, do come in!" the woman's voice is soft with a slight washington accent that makes her even sweeter. cleo enters with a shy smile on her lips, holding her hands behind her back.

"mhm, i'm ms. swift, but you can call me cleo." cleo is about as cute as a kitten, causing mrs. delle to giggle and grin, her eyes crinkling up at the corners.

"well, then, cleo," a man's voice speaks from behind cleo. it's deep and crisp, and sounds like sex on its own. of course, cleo simply thinks it's handsome. she turns to look at him and realizes how tall the man is. he stands almost 7 feet. he's muscular yet built slim. his eyes shine an apple green and his skin is even paler than mrs. delle's. his face is proportioned perfectly, and cleo assumes God sculpted his cheekbones with marble. his lips are pink and thin, and his eyebrow raises at her in a slight smolder. his hair rests at his shoulders, long and black, not to mention curly. another thing that cleo notices is that there's no wedding band on both his ring fingers.

"my name is loki. loki laufeyson, but you have special rights to first name terms." he winks at cleo and she almost falls to her knees. his accent is barely british, slightly english, and mostly cleo-doesn't-even-know-but-she-loves-it.

"loki's my assistant principal. he's going to show you to your room so you can unpack and rest. today is the first day, so we won't have any classes, but there are clubs, and you can get to know your classmates!" mrs. delle smiles. "i have work to do, so i'll be on my way." she turns on her heels and heads off, her shoes gently clicking against the hardwood floor.

"shall i show you to your room?" loki asks, tilting his head to the side. cleo nods, staring at his chest rather than his face. he puts a hand on her waist and they head upstairs to the dorms.

at her door, which happens to be room 113, loki pulls her key out of his pocket and takes it off the chain. he hands it to her and lets her unlock the door herself, which she does with shaky hands. the heavy door barely croaks when open, and her room smells fresh. as she walks inside, the room is quite large. the walls are a clean ivory white and the floors are a matching wood to the outside. there's a king bed, a shelf, a drawer and a desk, each of them wooden. there's a counter and a mini fridge as well as a microwave and a few cabinets on top and bottom. the door to the bathroom is lighter than the door to the actual room, and it's completely marble inside. "because we strongly believe in privacy, our students each have their own personal rooms. i expect that you'll decorate this one to your own needs." loki says. "you can replace the desk and the shelf if you'd like. you can also add couches, a tv... there's enough space, i believe."

cleo smiles at him and sits on her bed, patting the space next to her. when loki sits, their shoulders brush and the bed sinks under his weight. "i love it." she tells him.

"i'm happy you do." he smiles back, moving a bit of hair from her face. "there are only a few rules. you shouldn't be out of your room after 10PM and you should refrain from making noise after then. you must keep your door locked at all times when you're inside and outside of your room. if you lose the key, we will gladly give you another. if you are moving furniture into your room, you must notify me or mrs. delle first. sounds good?" loki looks at her, his voice kind.

"sounds great." she grins at him sweetly and leans on him a bit.

"i should let you rest, then," he speaks softly and gently strokes her inner thigh. cleo leans on him heavier, and can't resist the urge...

i shouldn't do this, should i? cleo thinks to herself. but the wetness between her legs rubbing against her underwear tells her she should. her hand slides ontop of loki's that's rested on her thigh and her lips brush on his ear. "but i'm not tired..." she whispers to him, and he does what she didn't expect— he turns to her and presses his lips to hers.

it's cleo's first kiss, but she decides right then and there that she won't ever kiss anyone else but loki. his lips brush onto hers first, but slowlier he deepens the kiss with added pressure, and she doesn't know how to respond. she puckers her lips slightly and lets him do the work. she notices his hand gripping her waist, and he eventually lays her higher onto the bed and gets on top of her.

she wraps her arms around his shoulders and he slides his hand up her shirt, groping at her bra, while the other holds her waist. eventually he pulls her bra down her chest until it sits at her waist. he doesn't hesitate to rip her shirt open but he doesn't bother to slide it off her, not wanting to break the kiss. her breasts are exposed now, and when he leans down to kiss her neck, cleo's mind fills with regret and thoughts of how she needs to get married first before kissing anyone. the young girl herself barely even knows what sex is besides being taught that it needs to be had in order to produce a child.

her thoughts are interrupted by the pressure of his crotch between her legs and she gasps, squeaking at the slight pain. she brings one hand to her lips and chews on her index finger as his lips find their way to between her breasts and around her nipples. he tears her bra off of her and tosses it to the side of the bed, her shirt still on and torn at the chest.

he slows down when his head finds its way to the hem of her skirt, and her pushes her legs up to fold her knees. but by now, cleo is crying. fear of betraying her parents and her God fills her mind and she closes her legs, trying her best to hide her face. loki ignores this, opening her legs again. she closes them, shaking her head now, trying to tell him how she's christian between sobs. she feels his hands grip her thighs and force them open, so she lets him, giving up. if this is going to happen, it's going to happen, whether she wants to or not.

she cries harder when she feels his fingers slowly slip her panties down to her knees. she's choking on her sobs, afraid, not even knowing what he's going to do to her. she hears his hums and squeezes her eyes shut, trying to close her legs again but this time he holds them open.

"why do you cry, darling?" he asks her softly, and his hand is on her inner thigh, awfully close to her pulsing, fresh pink clit. it almost smells like flowers.

"i... i..." she wipes her tears, and he gives her a second to get herself together. "my step mommy... told me to wait... to get married first..." she sobs again, and he squeezes one of her hands, but his other hand is still there on her thigh. "and i don't wanna go to hell," she cries, innocence spilling down her cheeks. "and my friend told me it hurts, and i don't want it to hurt.." she sobs again, gulping and intertwining her fingers with the hand that squeezes hers.

"you're afraid?" he asks, and she nods, still crying. "don't be afraid, little one, it's supposed to hurt. it's a good kind of hurt." he tells her, but she doesn't believe him. he moves his hand away from her thigh, and she sighs with relief deeply, until she hears the buckle of his belt come loose. she closes her eyes as he turns her over and he pushes one of her legs up. she feels the tip of his finger slide along the lip of her pulsing entrance. "you cry and fight, kitten, but your body disagrees. you pulse and you wet yourself, you crave me inside you..."

she cries more, burying her face in the pillow. she doesn't moan when he plays with her clit but instead she chokes and sobs harder, even more afraid now. his chest is against her back. he brings his finger to his lips and sucks on it, tasting the gooey fluid that comes out of her. "you taste so good, my little girl," he whispers to her. "open your leg higher and let me slide inside you, darling,"

"i don't want to, please, i don't want to," she shakes her head, pushing her leg back down. and to her surprise, he stops, he kisses her shoulder and she hears his belt buckle again.

"it's alright, then, dear," he kisses the back of her ear now. "we'll do it when you're ready," he purrs to her, and she soothes her own crying, though she assumes that when she's ready is whenever he decides that she's ready.

that evening he pulls off his shirt and they lay together in bed. she falls asleep in his arms, but eventually he leaves her, and she's too tired to get up and change her clothes or have a shower, so she pulls all her clothes off and gets under the covers.

she wonders if he'll ever come back.

#chapterbook #cloki #forestridge #forestridge2 #smut #stories

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