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romulusthethird · 26 days ago

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Demon Twins AU Prompt

Okay, so reading the dozens of DC X DP prompts and stories on Tumblr incites the juices as it wont to do, and I have an idea! Basically, at the barebones of this idea, is that, unlike the usual demon twins fics, where Dami kills Danny and he ends up in Amity, or the ones where he fakes his death, and all that jazz (heh)-- my idea is that they both... came out wrong. Neither of them are capable of dying. They grow up together, in the league, constantly killing each other. The wounds heal, but the scars remain. There are other abilities, like they're faster, stronger, and they have a quirk (in this case, Danny can still fly, and lets say Dami can disappear, become one with the shadows). They would kill for each other, and won't stand any slight against the other, but they also fucking hate each other and they spend half the time killing the other.

Immortal Demon Twins AU part 1

It is a glorious day in Nanda Parbat. It is their birthday, the tenth year of their existence. There will be a celebration, as expected of the grandsons of the Demon's Head, and they will be showered with gifts and given the day off from training and their tutors. However, at the end of the day, there will be a test.

The usual ritual, fighting their mother for the chance to learn about, and eventually someday meet, their father. Bruce Wayne. The Batman. Prince of Gotham, billionaire, vigilante, leader of the Justice League.

Danny doesn't care about the man at all, but Damien wanted to meet him, and as much as he hates his brother, he wasn't going to get in his way. He doesn't participate in the fights, but he watches, and if the boy was too injured after, he'd give the finishing blow. Their wounds healed in death, and it was nothing more than torture to make him heal over a course of months what could heal in hours.

Danny woke his brother up at the sun's rise, leaping onto the bed with a dagger in hand. "Rise and shine, ahki al'asghar~"

Dami's eyes snap open, alert despite the fog still clouding them. He kicks out, shoving his brother off him. "Danny. It's too early."

"Nonsense. It's our birthday. The tenth one. You survived ten years, ahki al'asghar."

Dami scowls. "No thanks to you."

Danny taps the jagged scars on his throat. "A for effort." Danny had given it to the other boy when they were five, not yet fully used to his strength nor the sword in his hands. His brother had bled out, but was alive less than nine hours later. That wasn't the first time he'd died, and it wasn't the last.

Dami laughs, "I got an eye in return, didn't I?" He did. Danny was blind in his right eye, an injury that healed on its own. It's why they'd died so many times. Easier to heal when their hearts had stopped. If they don't, it would lead to things like his eye or Dami's missing pinky finger.

"Whatever. The sun is up, let's go to the baths before they get crowded! Yalla!"

Damien clicks his tongue. "khalas."

Danny grins, teeth a touch too sharp, and physically drags his reluctant, "younger by fifteen seconds!" twin to the bathhouse to wash off before their morning absolutions.

It went by quickly, with only one attempted drowning, and they end up eating a hearty breakfast with all of their favorite foods like Dami's falafel with cream cheese (gross) and his own special meal of chocolate cereal and milk. Dami turned his nose up at the count chocolate cereal and said, "Your teeth are going to rot."

"They regenerate."

Dami sniffs in reply, taking a bigger bite of tomato, chickpeas, and cream cheese.

"You're disgusting." Danny grimaces at the boy, shuffling away from him and his gross food.

He catches the knife thrown at him, scoffing at the tiny blade.

He doesn't know who throws the first punch, but he's missing a tooth at the end (Dami throws it at him and taunts, "regenerate that").

It's only the "Habibi" call of his mother that stalls the two preteens. They pause from their position on the floor, chunks of artificial chocolate cereal and tomato in their hair and on their clothes, Dami's hands grabbing Danny's longer hair while Danny's hands are on his throat.

"Boys." She sighs. "Just because it is your birthday does not mean you can act like ruffians in the kitchen. Go clean up. We have to start the festivities."

Danny groans, leaning up and shoving his brother off him. "I hate them, you know I hate them. Grandfather's friends are so stuffy and boring, and the rest just stand there, like statues."

She raises an eyebrow at him, which causes the older boy (by fifteen seconds!) to whine and groan, before walking out the door, back to the bathhouse. He hears her tell Dami to "behave" and grins.

"Are you ready, Habibi?" His mother asks his twin, hours later, at the time of dusk, drawing her sword in the courtyard. Damien's response is to grab his own katana and get into a battle stance, lowering his legs, and raising his sword, pointing it at her.

"I am ready, mother."

Danny watches. Like every year since they were old enough to understand the concept of a father. He doesn't want to meet him, doesn't feel the need to have a father when he had Mother and Dami, as much as the boy annoyed him.

"Don't die." He says, just before he banged the gong.

It's fast, seconds turning into minutes as their swords clash loudly, his mother dodging more than she parried or went on the offense. She was defending more than usual, letting Dami wack and whirl and stab and hit. It confuses him, but he continues to watch.

He won't interfere, regardless of the outcome.

That doesn't lessen his surprise when Dami wins.

No, when their mother lets him win.

She smiles the little smile she gets when she is victorious and says, "You have won, Damien. That means you are worthy of meeting your father."

And-- what?

This doesn't make any sense. Danny knows what these meetings are; false hope for something that was never going to happen. A simple way to keep their youngest in line. It had worked with their oldest, Danishara (he goes by Dan). It had worked with Athanasia, who died trying to meet the man years ago. He doesn't know what happened to her, just that mother put her in the Lazarus Pit, and she never came out.

"You and Danny leave tonight."

What? "But Mother, I don't want to meet him. Let me stay. I don't want to go!"

"You'd leave your brother alone, and defenseless? Think of what happened to your sister. I cannot lose another child, Danyal." Danny cringes. His sister had been alone, on a mission, trying to prove herself, and had drawn too much attention in the process. Enemies of Ra's had caught the thirteen-year-old and killed her. It had been two years since then. Dan still hasn't gotten over it, and nor has Ellisha, another sister of theirs. They don't see them often, Ellie is often in some reach of the world, and rarely comes back to NP, while Dan is running his own underground mercenary group out of Russia. They never see any of their family. Not Dusan, their khaal, or Nyssa, their Khala.

"He can't die."

"We never know what will happen until it happens, Habibi."

He knew it was a lost cause, but still, he tried to argue. "Go with him to Gotham, get him settled, and if you really want to come back, you can."

"Really?"

"I swear it."

And so, Danny agrees, pensive and upset, and follows his brother, whose lips would not stop quirking up, to their room to pack. "I am unsure about this," he tells the other boy when they are alone. "We do not know this man, nor his children--"

"We are the blood children," Damien cuts in. "That is all that matters. He will love us, just like Mother does."

Danny hums in discontention. "I don't think blood matters to him, but he already has other blood children. That woman... Helena is also his blood."

"She is a girl, it's different." Damien says, but Danny can see he too is worried.

"What if he doesn't love us? What if all he sees is... well, us?"

"What's wrong with us?" Damien shoots back, angrily shoving robes into his bag. "We are mighty and strong. We do not die. We excel in everything we are taught."

"We also kill. Maim. Torture. We are... we are not like his other children."

"I thought you didn't care about him-- about having a father."

"I don't," Danny said quickly, reluctantly revealing, "I looked into him, though. I wanted to know if we look like him or Mother. While we resemble him, we take too much from Mother. We don't look like his brood--pale, with blue eyes. Kids he took off the street. We were planned, designed, raised with expectations. Our skin, our features, the green in our eyes is all Mother and Grandfather, and I fear he won't look past that. It doesn't help that Mother's advice is 'take out the competition' like that will endear us to the man."

"...I still want to meet him."

"I know, Ahki. I know."

Danny zipped up his bag. "Maybe when we're there, we can see about seeing Dan or Ellie again."

That cheered up his brother, and it sickened Danny--how nice he was being to the annoyance. Just so he wouldn't forget his place, Danny shoved the boy into a suit of armor, ignoring his outraged scream as the spear stabbed the other boy in the stomach.

"I'll see you on the plane, ahki al'asghar."

Danny wakes to drool on arm, the weight of his brother leaning against him, warm and reassuring. His Mother sits across from them.

She is looking out the window, as the sun rises, catching her pale green eyes in its rays. She is beautiful. She is a cold, calculated killer that claims to love Danny and his brother. Loved them even as they tore from her recently revived body in the waters of the Lazarus Pool--much to the glee of their Grandfather.

She is strong.

She is his mother.

She is scheming.

"Why now?"

She looks back at him, eyes soft in a way they almost never are in the treacherous walls of their keep.

"Does he even know we exist?"

Her eyes look down at his brother and then back up to him. "Because I love you."

He blinks. Their family was never one for vocal terms of affection or declarations. Why would she--

Ah. "It's him, isn't it?"

She doesn't ask who he is referring to.

"Athanasia died, Danyal." She glances out the window again. "Danishara and Ellisha... You are so young, Habibi. You are all so young. I had my oldest when I was young."

"That doesn't answer my question."

She huffs a small, amused laugh. She smiles at him in a way she's never before. "You are both so much like your father."

Danny scowls. "Am not."

"It is not a bad thing. You inhabit all of our best qualities. You and your siblings."

"Will he really like us? Accept us? I know what outsiders think of the league, Mother. I am not naive. He- He has children."

"He does." She agrees. "three boys and two girls."

"Why would he want more?"

She mulls over that, and then says, "Do you know why Dan and Ellie never met their father?"

Danny shrugs. "I had ideas."

"When I was young," she starts, "I fell in love with a boy. He was too pretty to be real, and I wanted him to be mine. They were the result." She pauses. "He disappeared shortly after that, and I never saw him again. There is no way for them to meet him and even after searching for the entirety of your Ellie's life, he has no appeared on this Earth. You deserve to know your father."

She stands up. "Let me see how long it will take to land."

She leaves, both of her children mulling over her words in her wake. "We will always have each other," Damien whispers. A sign of weakness that Danny does not exploit. He looks out the window, hand shoved against his brother's. He says nothing when the other boy clasps his fingers with his own.

He does nothing when he continues to hold his hand to the car, and even still, tighter, until they are at the manor of one Bruce Wayne.

It is a waiting game, then. Looking perfect and pristine in the foyer of this grand mansion.

No one is there to greet then when they slip inside. Not until Mother checks her watch, rolls her eyes, and walks back over to the door to trip an alarm. They tumble in like baby chicks, misty-eyed and in uniforms they rushed to put on.

"Beloved." Mother greets the one standing in the middle, wearing all black, ready to defend his gaggle of sidekicks. "I see time has done you wonders."

"Talia," he growls. Danny has never heard anyone talk to his mother with such disrespect. He itches to take out his sword and strike down the slag, but it is only the knowledge that he is their father, and Damien's hand in his that stopped him. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to give you a gift," she says, smiling despite the coldness in her eyes.

"We don't want it," Robin, Tim Drake-Wayne says, "So you can just leave."

"It is not up to you, little bird." She reponds. "This is between myself, my beloved, and his children."

The boy flinches, its small, but noticable. A weakness.

""He is my child, Talia. So, I'll ask again: what do you want?"

She looks at him for a time, studying his face, before she chuckles. "Very well, beloved. Come here, Habibis."

The bats look confused, until Damien and Danny step away from the wall, seeming to appear out of thin air. The air is tense, and the bats are readying to fight when they stop at their mother's side.

She grabs their shoulders and pushes them forward.

"Beloved, meet our children. This is Damien," she gestures to his brother, "and this is Danny. Say hello boys."

Damien grunts while Danny looks up at the man-- their father. He doesn't look like much, truly. A tired old man, tense, with wide, bright blue eyes.

"Is this a joke? Do you think this is funny, Talia?"

"You can run all the tests you want, Beloved, but they are yours."

Danny looks at the three children behind Batman, older than them. Cassandra, Timothy, and Helena. Three unknowns. Black cat, unknown, and Robin. They don't look like much. They looked like Dan and Ellie could squash them like bugs, easily.

He says as much to Dami, whispering in arabic that they weren't impressive and that he doubted this was really their father, because he was too old and ugly. Dami scowls, whispering back that this was an important moment and that Danny was ruining it. Naturally, Danny snaps back that he didn't even want to come meet this geriatric lame guy who dresses in spandex and his circus, and that he was only here because Mother doubted Dami's strength and skill.

Danny watches the boy's face slowly turn red in amusement. Then, before the bats could blink, there is a blade in Dami's hand and he lunges for his brother. He manages to knick his arm before their mother grabs his ear and twists.

"Ow, ow, ow, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, stop, that hurts--"

"Boys."

Danny looks up from where he was trying to lick the blood off his arm (it was coming out too fast for this to be effective. It looks like Dami hit an artery) and Dami manages to get out of his mother's hold, and hides behind Danny, like that was going to protect him.

"It's like Jason and Tim all over again..."

"What have I said about fighting?"

"But Mother, he--"

"No."

Danny grins at the sight of Dami's pout.

"You have lost the priviledge to come home, Danyal. Don't think I don't know you started it. You must stay however long Damien stays."

Danny jerks at that. "I don't want to stay! You said just until Dami was settled. He is settled, we met the old bat, we have achieved our goal of meeting the sperm donor. I want to go home now." He left all his stuff at home. Like his favorite blanket, and the doll Dami stole for him on their first mission, and all of his suveniors from Ellie, and the guns that Dan gave him--

"Your stuff will arrive within a week," she says knowingly. "Enjoy your stay with your father," is all she says, kissing their heads, a final goodbye, and left.

Danny stares at her retreating figure.

Damien tries to reach for him, but he is too angry. "I do not want to stay," he states.

"I know."

"I do not care for the bat man."

"I know."

"I want to go home."

"I--"

The batman looks at them, slowly peeling his cowl back from his face. They do look like him. Identical in features, the only difference being the coloring. Danny scowls. "I do not want you," he tells the man. "I want Mother. I do not need you."

"...We should treat your arm."

Danny scowls harder, shoving Damien away. The boy rolls his eyes and threatens to finish the job.

Danny would let him.

He does not want to be here.

And he does not know why his mother had forced him to come.

Damien doesn't know that normal siblings don't grow their organs back, or maybe he does, and he isn't thinking. Maybe it is just that his first instinct has always been stab first, taunt later.

Tim Drake-Wayne crumbles into a ball on the floor, clutching his side, where blood was quickly pooling out.

Damien grunted in disgust.

What a waste of a good knife. It was still in the other boy, and he had a feeling he wasn't getting it back.

It is deserved, though. No one got away with talking about his mother. Not even Danny.

"What did you do?!" Bruce Wayne yells, anger rolling off him in waves.

It wasn't his voice, but Danny's that rang out in the suddenly silent bat cave in answer. "Pathetic. If he can't even dodge that he really isn't any match for Dan."

"Are we sure this is our family? Can we get a DNA test? I think Mother brought us to the wrong house."

Which was entirely fair, in Damien's mind. He doesn't know that the rest of the world was different than Nanda Parbat. He doesn't know that they were different, that it isn't normal to try to kill your siblings, and succeed, and then have said sibling come back to life.

It isn't normal to be strong and fast and deadly.

He doesn't know that it was normal to fall to a stab wound.

He doesn't know it is normal to yell when angry.

He doesn't know anything past what he has been taught, and what he's been taught showed him that Timothy Drake is weak.

He is pathetic.

He is not worthy of his position as Robin, nor his place in this house.

He says as such.

The look... his father gives him hurt. It scares. It makes him feel inhuman. Like a monster.

He suddenly understands what Danny had meant.

He does not want them.

He does not want him.

Damien too wants to go back to Mother.

He also wants a DNA test done immediately (because parents aren't supposed to look at you that way: like you are scum; horrible, vile, not worth living. He is scared, and his chest hurts, and there is a lump in his throat, and this place is strange--) His hand finds Danny's again, like it had in the plane, and Danny doesn't swat him away when he grips his hand tight.

He's afraid too.

So that's part one!

Honestly this whole prompt idea stems from me wanting damien and danny to just constantly kill one another and have the bats go apeshit lol. Thanks for reading!

Translations:

ahki al'asghar - {younger brother, if google is correct?? lmk if it's not tho!}

Yalla - hurry up

khalas - alright

khaal - Uncle

Khala - Aunt

Also, the timeline differences with characters in this au is simply because I wanted to :) and DC canon is all over the fucking place lets be real, they reinvent and change shit all the time, I am allowed to tweak Athanasia and Helena and all of the other shit I might tweak.

Ages btw:

Danny and Damien: 10

Dan: 19

Ellie: 17

Athanasia (if she were alive): 15

Tim: 15-16

Jason: 20

Helena: 22

Dick: 25

Cass: 16?

Bruce: 43ish? idk

Talia: 34

Alfred: Immortal but looks like he's 57

Ra's: dying but also like a millenia old mf

also [I have no idea how falafel tastes, only that Danny considers falafel and cream cheese to be gross together, and adding tomato to it makes him wonder if he and Damien are related. Google said that its usually like chickpeas, fava beans, herbs, onions, spices, and garlic. I've never had them, and I haven't had them with cream cheese so IDK if they'd be good together, but Danny does not think so lol] :)

#dc x dp crossover #danny fenton #bruce wayne #red robin #dp x dc #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #damien wayne #batfamily #bats #batsiblings #demon twins #demon twins au #I spent three hours writing this #its not good but its not bad #i really like the idea of them being casually immortal #they found out by trying to kill one another #but they love each other your honor #they were born in the lazarus pool

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icypopz · 7 months ago

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when their s/o gets injured ♡

↬ request from anon ; could I request the NXX boys with a s/o who received the injury while they were away and how would they take care of them during their healing process?

↬ notes ; artem wing (zuo ran), luke pearce (xia yan), marius von hagen (lu jinghe), vyn richter (mo yi) x gn!reader

↬ from ice ; hihi!! unfortunately i was quite busy this week so i wasn't as active 😵 also as someone who's often in hospital i rly related to this request :') but anyways i hope you enjoy!

↬ warning(s) ; reader has an unspecified injury to their foot, artem + luke carry reader (but they're crazy strong so they can def lift u up dw)

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

[ artem wing / zuo ran ! ]

as soon as artem heard that you were injured, he would want to drop everything he was doing and rush to be by your side at once. unfortunately, reality means that he can't just ditch his job, so he finishes his work so quickly that even celestine is surprised and he heads home at once.

upon seeing the state of your foot and the way you wince in pain as you try to hobble towards him and greet him, artem lifts you up like you weigh nothing and brings you straight to the bedroom. he surrounds you with a million pillows and if necessary, elevates your foot with a stack of cushions too. for the entire time that you're injured, artem applies for permission to work at home, and he'll be by your side day and night. whatever you need, he'll get it for you at once so you don't even have to lift a finger.

when he realises that you're feeling upset about your injury, artem would hold your palm in his, gently squeezing your hand as he listens to you talk about your worries. he understands that such a sudden injury can be earthshaking, especially when it results in such a loss of autonomy. but artem wants you to know that he'll be with you every step of the way until and after you're 100% healed.

more content utc !

[ luke pearce / xia yan ! ]

luke would be working at the antique store when you call him and tell him you've injured your foot while at work. his first emotion is complete and utter panic, he can't lose you again- but then he snaps back into focus and tells you he'll be on the way immediately. he grabs a bunch of things that might be helpful like an ice pack, bandages and cotton pads before driving to your workplace at lightning speed (he definitely runs a couple of red lights in his hurry).

once luke brings you home, he won't even hear one single word about how you want to help him, or how he shouldn't worry too much about you. he'll just carry you and lay you down on the sofa, putting on your favourite tv show to help pass the time while he goes to prepare a meal for you. he does his best to keep you as involved as possible, asking you about which spices you want, and walking to the couch just to give you a taste test. at that point you both remember that he's terrible at cooking, so you settle for ordering takeout instead LOL.

throughout the course of your recovery, luke flits about you like a worried butterfly. he doesn't want you to strain yourself, so even when you're taking your first few steps again, luke is the one who looks like he's going to pass out from nervousness. if you ever tell him that you feel like a burden because you aren't able to do anything for now, luke will reassure you with soft kisses and whispered words of comfort. as someone with a chronic illness, he understands how useless you can feel when you're bedridden, so he knows just what to say to help you feel better.

[ marius von hagen / lu jinghe ! ]

marius is actually the bane of his directors' existence. the second you call him and tell him you're injured, he dismisses everyone in the meeting room, muttering something about rescheduling it to another day. he leaves everything up to poor vincent, who's forced to deal with the wrath of the old men on the board of directors. marius drives way over the speed limit back home, and he doesn't care at all about the accumulated speed tickets he's going to have to pay - nothing is more important than getting to you asap.

once he's got you tucked into bed and is convinced that you aren't in mortal danger, marius is soo dramatic about the whole thing it's almost as if he's the one that's injured. "but i was so worried about you! you almost drove me to an early grave, is that what you want, mx lawyer?!" he clutches his heart and stumbles around the room, which at least succeeds in cheering you up a little. unfortunately, marius can't skip out on work to be with you because pax would probably fall apart in two seconds without him at the wheel, so he relies on payton to give you everything you need (it shows how much he trusts his butler that he even entrusts your safety to him).

marius would spend as much time with you as he could, always cuddled up next to you and resting his head in the crook of your neck as you thread your hands through his hair. he'll talk about everything under the sun, hoping it distracts you from your pain. when you confess that you've been feeling down because of your injury, marius comforts you the best way he can, letting you vent as much as you need to get everything off your chest. after that he tells you that he'll treat you like royalty every day if it means that you'll feel less bad about him doing it while you're injured.

[ vyn richter / mo yi ! ]

one of the perks of running your own workplace is that you can do whatever you want, and that is exactly what vyn does. when he hears you're injured, he informs his receptionist that he'll be unavailable for the next few days except for patients with extremely urgent needs that can't be handled by the nurses. with that out of the way, he calls ogier and drives home at once, not caring how many traffic lights he ignores.

anyone who saw vyn at the time might say that he was unbothered about your injury upon looking at the way he calmly handled the situation, merely asking you what happened and checking the prescribed medications. but you know better, because you notice all the small details about him that no one else would; the way his usually flawless hair is now messy, or how his eyes flicker to you every second as if you're going to disappear into thin air, or the way his hand is ever so slightly trembling as he holds onto you so tightly.

as a psychiatrist, vyn can spot the signs of how upset you are before you say anything, but he waits for you to tell him first because he doesn't want to put any pressure on you. when you open up to him, vyn isn't judgemental at all, he listens to you carefully and reminds you that your feelings are valid. after all, it must have been incredibly difficult for you to cope with such an unexpected injury, and he's so proud of you for being so strong. vyn would help you start to walk again, and the look in his eyes when you take your first few steps on your own almost makes the whole thing worth it.

✧ thank you for reading ! if you have a request, feel free to send it in 🌠

#[ my writing — ! ]#[ tears of themis — ! ]#tears of themis x reader #tears of themis #vyn richter x reader #artem wing x reader #marius von hagen x reader #luke pearce x reader #vyn x reader #artem x reader #marius x reader #luke x reader #tears of themis fluff #tot x reader

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thaleleah · 5 months ago

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𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓣𝔀𝓸)

Pairing: Billy The Kid x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Billy, Virgin!Reader, Oral (female receiving), Fingering, P in V, Corruption Kink, Creampie, Possessive Behavior, Masturbation, Wet Dreams/Sex Dreams, Seduction, Emotional Manipulation, Religion and Religious Beliefs, Explicit talk of gunshot wounds, blood, and the bullet's removal, Mention of physical abuse/child abuse (not from Billy), Childhood Trauma, Mention of alcoholism, Moral/Religious conflict within one's self, My bad Spanish, Nun breaking her vows, Probably too quick of a healing process to be fucking someone but I'm not a doctor so 🤷🏻‍♀️, Using the word "drawers" instead of "panties" which is kinda cringe to me but I wanted to be somewhat accurate

Word Count: 9.5K

A/N: So sorry this took so long! 🥺 But I hope you guys like it and I'm hopeful that the next part won't take nearly as long to get out.

Summary: When Billy stumbles into your clinic, hurt and in desperate need of care and refuge, you don't hesitate to help him. Perhaps this is God's will. Perhaps He has brought him into your life to help heal the parts of him that the cruelness of the world has soiled and broken. You are a healer by trade, both of the physical body and of faith. If this is to be God's mission for you, then it shall be done. How could you have possibly known that the young man who begged for help that fateful night would turn out to be the devil himself?

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The ride to Joe’s cabin only takes a few hours, and the sun is high in the sky by the time Sam helps you down from your seat. You hastily make your way to the front door, opening the latch and pushing it open, keeping it propped with a heavy rock laid by the door while Sam opens the back of the wagon. The journey inside is a bit more difficult this time. Billy gasps in pain when you stumble on the front stairs, tripping over your tunic and jerking his body down accidentally as a result. He’s breathing harshly when you and Sam are able to lay him down on your brother’s bed and you once again find yourself whispering apology after apology as you lift his shirt and the bandage to check on his wound.

Thankfully, there’s no tears or rips. You were only able to bring a little bit of the suture material and enough extra bandages in your bag to get you by. The clinic has limited materials as it is, so you only packed what you thought the clinic could spare. It’s enough to completely redo his stitches if necessary, but you’re hoping it won’t ever come to that.

Billy’s safe here now, he will not be leaving the bed until he’s well enough to start moving around on his own.

His hand comes down to rest on top of your own, pushing your hand down and forcing you to recover the stitches with the bandage as his fingers curl around your palm.

“Hey,” He says softly, calling your eyes to his tired ones. “I'm okay.”

His hand is gentle on yours, thumb lazily sweeping back and forth across the back of it. You pull it away, smoothing your tunic down again just for something else to do with your hands.

You didn’t even notice when Sam left the room, too preoccupied with checking on Billy’s wound, but your head turns at the sound of his boots on the steps of the porch. He steps back into the cabin, a crate held in his hands filled with food and other supplies and you let out a grateful sigh at the sight of it.

“Thank you, Sam,” You say, watching as he deposits the crate just on the side of the doorway. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping us. You’re a good man,”

Sam smiles shyly at your words of praise, and out of the corner of your eye you notice how Billy’s head snaps towards him.

“Of course, Sister y/n. Anything for you and the other Sisters,”

“Are you sure this is alright? You don’t need it for your delivery?”

“No,” He says with a shake of his head. “I packed it for you to have,”

You cup Sam’s cheek in thanks and shoot another glance towards Billy just to make sure he’s okay. His face is turned to the side again, pressing against the pillow for comfort, but you can see how his eyes are still on you, following your every move as you follow Sam out of the cabin.

Poor Billy, he must still be so nervous. So on edge about being hunted like he's nothing more than a rabid animal needing to be put down. Hopefully now that he's safe and out of harm's way, he can find some peace.

You walk Sam out, watching as he checks the horses and settles himself on the seat.

“I’ll come back in two weeks,” He promises. “That should be enough time for the search for him to wind down. Can't let people get suspicious. I have another delivery to do 'round then. I'll bring you some extra food and supplies.”

You wave as he nudges the wagon into motion and wait until he’s completely out of view over the hill before heading back inside and closing the door behind you.

Billy’s still watching you as you move about the main living area. Your brother’s bed has a direct line of eyesight into the front area, so Billy doesn’t even have to move to be able to watch you as you settle your bag and extra blankets onto the floor. You’ve told Joe before about how dangerous you think it is to have his bed in clear sight of the entrance, but he’s told you many times that he doesn’t like being told what to do.

“Besides, you know what it was like,” You remember him telling you. “Sleeping soundly in that house was never an option. And that feeling never goes away. If someone ever tries to break in here and attack me, I’ll already be awake and ready with my gun pointed at them before they even make it through the front door.”

As much as it pained you to hear, you know the truth of it. You’ve gotten better, you think. Whereas when you were younger, you would wake from the slightest noise, terrified of what might come after it. But now you find you can sleep through the night with very little problems. It’s not perfect - some nights are harder than others, but you credit God and the wonderful family you’ve found at the convent. They gave you rest, taught you to give your fears to the Lord so that He may take the burden they bear from you. They gave you peace in the world when you had none, and for that you will be eternally grateful.

Joe has not been so lucky, choosing instead to lock himself away in solitude rather than give his grievances up for absolvement. You pray for him every day despite his reluctance, asking God for guidance on his behalf.

The entire cabin is almost bare, sparse furniture just enough to be convenient. Despite your prayers, you know the ghost of the past still hovers over your brother's shoulder and even still, you wonder how he can stand to call this place a home with how unloved it feels.

“How do you know Sam?” Billy asks, and the cabin is small enough that his voice carries from room to room.

“He and his father run one of the markets in town,” You reply. You make your way into the bedroom, pulling the now rumpled blankets from under Billy's body and adjusting them so they lay over him neatly. “They’re our suppliers.”

“You seem very close,” Billy says, absently running his fingers over the edge of the blanket.

“Oh, well, he’s a dear friend,”

“You sure you can trust him?”

You nod, a small twinge offended at the implication of Sam being untrustworthy. After what he just risked to get you both here and Billy still doubts him? You stomp the feeling down just as quick as it flares. “Sam is incredibly loyal. He would never betray us,”

Billy’s mouth turns up in an unpleasant curl. “I think he likes you,”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “I should hope so. Otherwise, he is a very good actor,”

He huffs a small laugh at your attempt at a joke, but it doesn’t really sound joyful. “Not like that,”

It takes a second for your brain to register his vague words, but when they do your mouth falls open in shock at the bold statement. “No. No, no. Certainly not. Not me anyway,”

Oops. Perhaps you’ve said too much.

Now it’s Billy’s brows that furrow and he stares at you, hard, as if trying to read your mind about what you’ve meant. They shoot up as it clicks for him, a smirk pulling at his lips at the realization. “Him and one of the other nuns?”

“No!” You gasp. “Absolutely not. Sam just– bless his heart. He… has romantic feelings for one of the Sisters.”

“She doesn’t feel the same?”

Not exactly. Sam and Sister Ann have a connection that anyone with eyes can’t deny. They help complete each other and help each other grow in ways that one can only hope to experience in this life. Sister Ann has even confided in you that, while she doesn’t regret joining the church, she can’t help but think that if she had met Sam sooner then she would have said her vows to him instead of straight to God.

“It’s not that simple,” You settle with. “She’s a woman of faith and she’s spoken for by the church. They can’t be together regardless of what she may feel. Sam understands.”

Billy hums, a low and displeased sound. “Hm. Poor Sam,”

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, so you don’t. Billy’s still frowning, so you tell him he should rest some more while you go fix up some lunch for you both. You’re happy to find that the simple stew made from some deer meat your brother had stored before his current trip is enough to cut the sudden unexpected tension and return him to good spirits.

Things are calmer now that you’ve arrived at the cabin. There’s very little risk of unwanted visitors and your brother’s last letter puts him deep in Texas and considering venturing upwards, so you're confident that he won’t be coming home anytime soon.

You’ve heard stories about Billy the Kid. Your patients like to talk, surprisingly gossipy considering most should be too sick or too involved with their pain to speak. But they push through their uncomfortableness to tell you stories of the young outlaw whose face is on the Most Wanted posters in at least three separate counties.

“He’s a ruthless killer.”

“A no-good murderer.”

“A good person who’s just had back luck.”

“A kindly fellow. He helped scare off some kids who were robbin’ me!”

And as you talk to Billy more and more, you can’t help but agree with the last two opinions. Billy is a sweetheart - respectful and kind like any man should be towards any woman despite her role in society. He listens with rapt attention as you tell him stories of your travels as you clean and re-bandage his wound. He nods when you tell him about the difference between the Utah territory and the Montana territory, and laughs when you tell him about your very memorable trip to Mexico where you climbed off the wagon and didn’t even take one step before face planting in a pile of mud. His grin is almost blinding when you tell him about the day you and your brother reunited after two years apart.

“Your brother’s name is Joe?” He asks.

“Mhm,” You confirm, leaning back into the chair you’ve placed next to the bed.

“My brother’s name was Joe, too,”

“Oh,” You smile despite the twinge in your heart. The word ‘was’ is almost devastating to hear. “It’s a good name. A strong name.”

Billy nods and his voice is barely above a whisper as he responds, “Yeah, it is,” and you think you can physically see the light die in his eyes as he thinks about it, the look of happiness he had just a second ago completely snuffed out by past memories.

You don’t want to pry, it’s not your place. But then he glances at you with those big blue eyes of his and all you see is hurt. God has put you on this Earth to be a healer, and you think that turning away now would be doing both Him and the broken man in front of you a disservice.

“Was he older or younger?” You ask, softly. “Your brother,”

“Younger,” he responds, and your heart breaks more at the rueful smile he sends you. “He died. Consumption. My mother too.”

Oh. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Billy. I can only imagine how hard that must have been,”

He doesn’t say anything. He’s not even looking at you now, just staring off into the distance as if somewhere else.

You lean forward, placing a careful hand on his arm. “Tell me about them?”

This time, the smile is real.

You learn over the next few days that Billy’s faith is in even worse shape than you feared.

For most, the presence of God is never fully gone from their hearts. Most who you’ve talked to who are rocky with their faith feel abandoned, cast aside as if The Heavenly Father were to play favorites and they’ve somehow found themselves on the losing side of the ‘sibling’ competition. Others feel betrayed by Him - those who have suffered great loss or tragedy and can’t understand how someone who’s entire being is made up in the light of faith and love can allow such heartbreak and suffering to happen to His children.

You do your best to soothe their heavy hearts. You tell them that God works in mysterious ways and that each and every person has their own trials and lessons in life that they must learn and overcome.

“Everything happens for a reason,” You say. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. But He is always by our side, speaking to us. All we have to do is listen.”

Words are not as powerful as feelings or actions, but you’re always grateful whenever your words are able to help heal any of their woes, even if just a little bit.

Billy, however… you are horrified to see that his faith is gone completely.

He talks about how he came to New Mexico and all he’s seen on the way. His start in New York City and the promise of a better life in Kansas. The lies and tragedy they were met with there. The death of his father.

“I think my Pa knew there was no one up there lookin’ out for us even back then,” Billy says, and it takes everything you have in you to stay silent at the horrific statement. “That’s why he just… gave up.”

For all that you disagree with, you can understand why Billy feels the way he does. He truly has had no one in his corner - devastating hardship after devastating hardship throughout the entirety of his life and he’s had to fight tooth and nail, carving a place out in the world for himself by force, just to get a bit of peace that should have been readily given to him.

“Tell me, Sister. When you’re by yourself in the world, young and alone and starvin’, not a penny to your name and no work for you in the entire county, what else are you supposed to do?”

The tears welling in your eyes match the ones threatening to spring from his.

“Exactly what you did,” You whisper back.

A single tear escapes one red rimmed eye, running down the curve of his cheek. “Is that what your god does? Leave children to steal or starve and then let them be arrested and made into a criminal when they choose not to just roll over and die?”

The lump in your throat refuses to go down. “We can’t know what the Lord’s plan is for us. It’s a mystery meant for us to unravel,” Your words are true, but they feel bitter on your tongue. “No matter how hard it might be.”

Billy’s eyes soften at your words, thick lashes clumping together with unshed tears, and when he speaks again, his voice is full of emotion.

“You remind me of my Ma,”

He’s told you about his Ma. A kindly, religious minded woman whose devotion to God and her ‘rotten, cheatin’, stealin’ ass husband’ was her downfall.

“‘I won’t leave him’ she said.” Billy had huffed, hands squeezing into fists as they wrapped tightly around the blanket. “‘I said my vows before God and the Catholic church’. What am I supposed to say to that?”

You can see how it eats at him - still after all these years since his mother’s passing and the guilt of not being able to save her, to protect her from anything and everything trying to harm her, it gnaws away at his heart. You think she might have been his best friend.

“Yeah, you remind me of my Ma,” He repeats, voice soft and low, and you wonder if this is the voice that he used to use when talking to her. “She was optimistic too. A dreamer, always tryin’ to see the best in people when all they do is show you their worst.”

“She sounds like a lovely lady,” You say. It’s genuine - you think it would have been an honor to meet the woman that Billy called a mother had you ever gotten the chance.

The woman who was strong for her family when it felt like the entire world was crumbling down around them. The woman who pushed for progress and courage when they uprooted their entire lives in hopes of finding something better elsewhere and held it together for the sake of her children when their father passed. The woman who sacrificed staying in an unfaithful and unhappy marriage for the sake of her kids and loyalty to God’s will.

“The vows we make are meant to be for eternity, Billy,” You had told him. “They are not to be broken easily or without consequence. If they were, there would be no point in making them and they would lose their significance.”

Your own mother knew that too. Despite how much you wanted her to leave him when you were younger - run away just you, Mama, and Joe - she never did.

“My father wasn’t a very nice man either,” You say, eventually. “Like your stepdad. He was cruel. He would hit her, and Joe…” The me remains unspoken, but understood anyway.

Billy remains silent, but his eyes are on you, listening with full attention to whatever you’re about to tell him. The idea that maybe God has sent Billy into your life to help heal some unresolved part of you, too, isn’t lost on you.

“I know that we are all God’s children,” You say. “And I know that there is good in all people. But sometimes… I think the Devil’s hold is much too strong on some. Because I can’t remember even one ounce of goodness in my father.”

“Is your mother still with him?”

“No. She’s dead.”

The days go by with an unexpected ease that you're grateful for.

You talk, and talk, and talk - and honestly, that's about as much as you can do. Your brother has nothing. No forms of entertainment and no distractions that wouldn't be considered laborious and harmful for Billy's recovery.

You like to talk though. Like to get to know people and have other's get to know you in return. Each person is unique - an extension of God and an example of His love for us personified.

It's even better when the energetic connection is instant, two souls recognizing each other and relating to each other in a way that you think all of God's children should be able to. Talking with Billy is easy, and despite the differences in religious views, you find that conversation between the both of you flows like water. And when that water sometimes finds itself hitting the shore of land, you find that Sam has come through for you once again.

Sam, bless his soul, has had the forethought to pack a chess board and a pack of playing cards in his care package, and you find that they become quite handy when the rare silence between conversations becomes too stretched.

Despite the initial stress and your reasoning for being here, it's nice.

Five days into the stay at your brother’s place finds you relieved to see that Billy’s wound is still making progress with its healing. You were a little concerned that the threat of being caught and the additional stress on the stitches from the abrupt movements of being transferred to the cabin could have brought about an infection, but the area around the injury still looks clean.

You make sure to send up a quick prayer of thanks for the Good Lord’s grace.

While Billy’s wound is healing nicely, your back, on the other hand, is in significant pain.

Joe’s place is built for one, so the single bed in the only bedroom is more than enough to house him when he’s home. For two, however - it’s a little problematic.

Billy gets the bed, that’s a given. He’s injured, and people need to be comfortable with lots of rest so that they can heal properly. You’re no stranger to uncomfortable sleeping spaces anyway. You’ve spent more than your share of nights on the floor of dusty inns during your travels and, to be completely honest, it's not like the beds at the convent were much better. It’s moments like this where it reminds you of how many things humans take for granted in their day-to-day lives. Sometimes it takes losing something for someone to appreciate it.

Despite the uncomfortableness, sleeping on the floor has never really bothered you much. It’s been a few years since you’ve had to do it though. Even on the round-the-clock shifts at the clinic there’s at least been a cot available to you, but here there’s only the hard wooden floor and the single blanket you’ve allowed yourself to claim.

And, perhaps you aren’t as young as you used to be, because the shooting pain in your back as you carefully roll to your side has you gasping.

Billy must hear the noise because you can hear the slight ruffle of bedding as he shifts, his voice calling out a concerned, “Sister, you alright?”

“Fine,” You call back through gritted teeth. Every movement feels like torture as you brace your hands on the floor to help push you up. You can do it, you tell yourself. You can do it. God willing… “Just- ah! Just trying to– get up.”

The rustling of the bedding sounds more deliberate now and you’re shouting from your place on the floor before you can think about what you’re doing. “Don’t you dare get out of that bed, William Bonney! Or so help me,”

The rustling stops, and you steel yourself to try to push up and off the floor. It feels like a miracle when you’re on your feet. Your garments are wrinkled and slightly dusted, but that’s to be expected out here. It’s the bare space on the floor that gives you pause. How are you meant to sleep on the floor again tonight with the way you feel right now? The thought seems almost unbearable. Perhaps Billy will spare one of his extra blankets - the slight extra cushion could be all you need.

At least that’s what you’re telling yourself.

A few steps takes you into the bedroom and your suspicions are confirmed when you see Billy sitting up in the bed, blankets pooling down at his waist as his arms prop himself up, his right leg is just swung over the edge of the bed at the knee in a perfect indication of his intention of getting up.

Ignoring the pain in your back, you walk forward, clicking your tongue in disapproval as you push him back down flat with a firm hand to his forehead. He goes back willingly, moving his leg back in place when you tap on his knee.

“You could have pulled your stitches trying to get up like that,” You reprimand.

“‘So help you’ what?” He responds.

“What?”

“You said ‘or so help me’. So, ‘or so help me’ what?” Billy says with a small playful smirk on his face.

“God,” You respond with a smile of your own. “So help me God. So that maybe He can send me some holy restraints to tie you to this bed to keep you from ripping your stitches and worsening your injury that I worked so hard on healing.”

Billy’s smirk widens. “Careful now, Sister. Some people like that kinda thing,”

You can feel the heat flood your face from his implication, eyes widening as your mouth parts in shock.

You don’t know how to respond - you’ve never been in this type of situation before. For men and all their faults, you’ve been lucky to find that most of them, even the criminals and frequent brothel visitors have mostly been respectful of your title. Inappropriate comments and jokes have rarely been said in your presence since becoming a nun, and on the rare occasion they have you’ve never been shocked since the offenders are always obvious the second they open their mouths.

But somehow it strikes you speechless to hear the sexual meaning coming from Billy’s lips.

“Oh, is that too much for the Angel’s ears?” He laughs. “M’sorry.”

You force a quiet laugh, working your lips into a small smile as you try to battle through the uncomfortableness. He’s just joking. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Men will be men for as sexually driven as they are, and some are just more outspoken about it than others. Billy’s been on his own since he was a young teen, running around with that band of outlaws who you’re sure are far worse than he is. You’ve had the displeasure of meeting Jesse Evans before. And you certainly weren’t shocked when the rude words fell from his mouth about how he imagined how good you would look without all that ‘modesty bullshit you have on’.

Billy isn’t Jesse though, so you just lightly smack his shoulder with the back of your hand as you let out a half teasing but mostly serious, “You watch your language around me, sir. I’m a lady,”

“Yes, ma’am,” He grins. “Yes, you are.”

You hum out a small sound of disapproval as you bend forward slightly to try and adjust the blankets that have twisted around his waist during his premature attempt to stand, but you're stopped when the sharp pain consequence of sleeping on the floor shoots up your spine. Billy starts at your loud gasp, hand darting out to grab your arm as if he could catch you if you suddenly dropped to the ground. Your hands press against your back in agony and they stay there as you slowly limp to the chair next to the bed.

Billy watches as you gingerly lower yourself into the seat. The pain doesn’t go away now that you’re sitting down, but at least you don’t have to move for a while. “What happened?”

“Sleeping on the floor hasn’t been very kind to me,” You respond through gritted teeth.

“You should sleep in the bed then,”

“No,” You say, shaking your head, appalled at the thought of kicking Billy out of the bed while he’s still healing. “You’re injured. You get the bed.”

The eyebrow raise you get in response tells you that you misunderstood his meaning. “I think we can both share the bed,”

“No,” You say, again. “No, no. It’s not proper.”

“Sister y/n–”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with harder things than just sleeping on the floor. A little back pain isn’t going to keep me down,”

Billy looks like he doesn’t believe you, but he keeps quiet on the matter anyway.

He distracts you instead by keeping you talking. He asks about why you decided to join the convent and take your vows. You tell him about your brother and how he couldn’t bear to be around your drunk of a father anymore, and how you harbored such anger at him for what felt like an eternity but was only actually a year and a half because you felt betrayed by him. Deserted and left to fend for yourself by your own brother. How you walked around your house praying to never be seen, acting like a ghost in your own home in hopes of keeping away any avoidable conflict. How your mother did her best to shelter you from it all, and you can tell by the way Billy’s brows furrow and his lips pinch together that he wants to say something harsh in response, but he stays silent. You can only imagine what he would say.

“Shelterin’ you would’ve been takin’ you far away from him, not forcin’ you to stay in a dangerous place just because she thinks it's what God wants. If that’s what God really wants, then maybe he’s the evil one, hm?”

You’re thankful he doesn’t actually say it. You’re not sure if you would have the right words to try to defend otherwise.

“Turning to God was the best thing I’ve ever done,” You say instead. “In Him I’ve found peace like I’ve never known before. I found a family and a purpose in life. That’s more than I could ever ask for.”

“That should be the bare minimum,”

Turns out it doesn’t matter what he decided to say because you don’t really have the right words to defend against that statement either.

“You deserve to have someone lookin’ out for you,” Billy says, and his stare is so earnest and intense that you can’t bare to look him in the eyes anymore.

“I’m… I’m going to go make breakfast,”

He watches you push yourself up from the chair, wincing as your back protests the movement, but doesn’t move to stop you.

You use the time you’re cooking to gather yourself. Prayers of apology fall from your lips to God as you beg for forgiveness at being caught unable to hear His wisdom during your conversation with Billy. Billy spoke his truth, no matter how wrong it was, and his words made you falter - unable to uphold Him and His grace in the face of judgment. This is your mission, your test.

And you’re failing.

Sister Catherine wouldn’t have hesitated. She would have known exactly how to respond to his disbelief. She has a level head on her shoulders, the words of God falling from her lips like water. Perhaps she would have been better suited to handle this task.

No. That’s the work of the devil - the fear and self-doubt you feel. Meant to slow you down and keep you from fulfilling your cause and spiritual duties.

Steeling yourself, you pile spoonfuls of the now thickened oatmeal into two bowls, topping them with a generous drizzle of honey before picking them up and taking a deep breath. You try your best to ignore the pain still throbbing in your back as you head back to the bedroom, pausing just outside the door and letting the heat from the bowls sink into your hands as you talk yourself up.

Have faith in His Holiness, y/n. He will guide you.

When Billy’s eyes catch on you as you walk through the doorway, his face is soft and friendly - none of the overwhelming intensity or barely contained anger that was there before.

“That smells great,” He says, taking the bowl from your outstretched hand. His bright blue eyes follow your movement as you sink slowly back into the chair next to the bed, resting your own bowl on your lap.

He smiles, clearly trying to calm your unease that you’re sure is still evident on your face and takes a large bite of oatmeal.

“Hmm,” He hums, closing his eyes briefly at the taste. “This is delicious. Best meal I’ve ever had. Cooked by an angel, I can tell.”

“Thank you,” You reply, and you can feel the involuntary pull of a smile on your lips at the praise.

He’s a good man, too. You can tell.

The floor isn’t any softer as night rolls around.

You try to sleep on your stomach, one arm propped underneath your head and the blanket balled on top of it so you have something soft to rest your cheek on. The other arm twists down at your side, a position that probably doesn’t seem very pleasant but that’s been your go-to comfort position since you were a young girl. It helps alleviate the tightness in your back for a little bit, but the ache is still there - laying in wait until you fall asleep and your body automatically rolls into the more reasonable position for floor sleeping.

You don’t sleep, or at least you don’t think you do. It doesn’t feel like you do. Your mini dozes just feel like blinks, those moments where you close your eyes, just for a second, before you’re opening them again in the next moment only to realize how much time has actually gone by. You’re not sure if it's minutes or hours, but more often than not you’re blinking only to find that you’re mid roll in adjusting positions and the pain in your back is too intense for your sleeping brain to handle. At one point, you manage to roll completely over before you wake up - the blink of closing your eyes while on your stomach, darkness encompassing the entirety of the main room, and then suddenly your eyes are opening again with the ceiling as your viewpoint, the beginnings of the sun shining in through the window, and the unbelievable agony ever present in your spine.

You’re so preoccupied with the pain that you almost don’t notice Billy standing in the doorway of the bedroom. His eyes are set on your tensed frame, dark brows furrowed in concern as he takes a cautious step towards you.

“Sister y/n,” He says, carefully.

“W-what are you doing o-out of bed?” You ask through gritted teeth. Oh gosh, this hurts so much. You feel like you can’t move, like your entire body is stiff as a board and one wrong move will snap the wood across the grain where it’s the weakest and break it in half. You can’t even bear the thought of rolling over to try to get up.

Billy ignores your question, crouching down beside you with one knee pressing into the floor for stability. His hand caresses the wound on his side, and even through your pain you don’t miss the slight wince he gives even as his eyes rake over you with worry.

“Are you okay?” He asks. The hand that was just pressed to his side comes to cup your cheek.

You’re not sure why you’re noticing how large his hand is right now in this moment as it presses against your skin, his long fingers curling to press gently into the fabric of your veil just behind your ear. You should be chastising him, scolding him for getting out of the bed and possibly injuring himself further. He winced, you saw it. He’s in pain. But all you can focus on right now is the comfort his warm hand brings with your nerves this fried and body this agonized.

“It hurts,” You whimper.

“I know, Angel. I know.” His voice is soft and soothing, the low tone caressing your eardrums.

The sight of his eyes watering cuts through the pain for a moment, and you wonder if that’s really truly what you’re seeing or if maybe it’s your own tear filled eyes playing tricks on you. Your hand reaches up, intent on caressing his own cheek and swiping your thumb under his eye to see if it's actually wet, but he catches your hand in his and brings the back of your hand to his lips.

“You’ve done so much for me already,” He murmurs, lips brushing against the back of your hand. “Let me help you now, okay?”

Billy’s arms fit themselves under your body, one arm creeping underneath your tensed back while the other loops beneath your knees. Your hand clutches desperately at his shirt, fisting the material in between your fingers, as he lifts you from the floor. Your agonized gasp mixes with his own grunt of pain as he stands up with you held securely in his arms and pressed against his chest.

“Your stitches,” You try to say, but he just shushes you.

“Shh. Don’t worry about me. M’fine,”

He carries you to the bed, carefully placing you down on the mattress. The softness of it under your back doesn’t do much to alleviate the pain, but the anxious part of you is hopeful that it will the longer you lay on it. But then Billy walks around the other side, the bed dipping down under his weight as he settles down on it, and you’re instantly filled with shame.

You shouldn’t be in bed with a man. Ever. You gave up that possibility when you took your vows, promising that it's only His spirit that would ever get to be around an area as intimate and personal as your bed.

“I can’t,” You say, trying in vain to push yourself up, but the sharp pain you receive for your efforts makes you freeze. “Ah! It’s not– not proper.”

“Y/n, please,” He says, hand coming down to press lightly on your shoulder to keep you down. “Just for today.”

You almost miss it - the absence of the title when he says your name. And that’s inappropriate too. Not only are you alone with a man, in the same bed together, but he’s dropped the earned title to show your life’s calling entirely. You want to reprimand him immediately. Jump out of the bed and wiggle your finger in his face just to make him understand how wrong this is.

But his eyes are filled with worry, silently begging you to just lay there for a while, just until you feel better and the words die in your throat.

He’s a good man. He doesn’t mean any harm by it. It was just a mistake, the title lost among the honest worry you can see reflected in his eyes.

“You can’t take care of me if you can’t even walk,”

Your eyes close, a resigned sigh escaping your lips as you reluctantly press deeper into the soft sheets. He’s right. You need to recover so you can continue to aid in his recovery. You can’t do your job if you're bedridden.

“Just for today,” You settle.

Just for today.

That was your intention anyway. Just stay in the bed, enjoying the small pleasure of the soft mattress against your back, and wait for the pain to dissipate enough for you to be able to resume your nightly rests on the floor in the main room. You didn’t even want to stay in the bed all day. It was a hopeful thought, that you would feel better in just an hour's time, maybe two or three at the most, and then you would feel better enough to be able to get up and return to your duties as normal. But you realize now that the honest hope for that was just willful ignorance on your part.

You work in a clinic and you’ve dealt with your fair share of back injury patients during your lifetime. You know it’s not something easily overcome or relieved in a matter of hours - sometimes even days or weeks.

God can perform miracles and you see the blessings He puts in your path each and every day. This, unfortunately, is not one of His miracles.

The hours blend together - one turning into two, and then two into four, until you can’t take the stillness anymore.

You force it a few times, pushing through the pain and slower than ever making it up and off the bed as you try to go about your day like normal. Being on the bed makes it so much easier to roll off than trying to push yourself up from the floor without the help of gravity. Your back protests as you roll off the edge, Billy echoing its protests with actual words instead of shocks of pain as he tries to urge you back down, but you grit your teeth and slap his hand away.

There’s a small amount of guilt creeping up from how hard you smack his hand, but it's still buried so deep under the agony and the overwhelming frustration of feeling useless that you can’t even stand to give it a second thought.

Billy watches you as you slowly make your way around the room. It’s not too bad to walk as long as you don’t bend or twist your upper body at all, but it's all becoming much too obvious now how much one takes their movements for granted until they’re face to face with their sudden inability to make even the slightest normal movement.

The empty bedpan sits on its own short stool in the corner of the room, next to the usual chamberpot. It’s been hours now since either of you have had to use them and even though you still feel fine enough to forego the chamberpot, which… thank the Lord because you’re honestly not sure how you’re meant to position yourself correctly in order to use the pot or even the outhouse for that matter in your current condition - you’re sure Billy is probably ready to use it.

“Do you need the bedpan?” You ask him, already reaching for it.

It's another moment of stupidity on your part when you go to reach for it and bend down with your back instead of using your knees. Another dagger of pain shoots up your spine and your hands fly around you to cradle the ache.

Billy shoots up as the sharp gasp leaves your lips, the bed rustling and creaking underneath him as he tries to push himself up. Your head jerks at the sounds and your shout is echoing through the small room before you can even think about it.

“Sit down!”

He freezes at your words, big blue eyes wide as he stares at you, the anger and frustration in your command no doubt audible in the way your yell scratches your own throat.

“Sorry,” You say, softly. “Billy, I’m sorry. Just…” Your eyes shift to where he’s pressing his hand against his side, directly over the wound and the guilt from earlier creeps back full force.

He’s already moved today. Already possibly hurt himself more by getting out of bed to check on you and then carrying your full weight to the bed.

You didn’t even check it afterwards.

“Just stay down,” You continue. “Don’t move.”

Reluctantly, he relaxes back on the bed, just sitting there and watching you when he should be flat down so as to not put extra strain on the wound. You want to tell him that - that he should be resting because he’s injured and injuries can’t heal if he’s just moving about however he pleases. You’ve said it before and he’s listened, but you have a feeling he wouldn’t hesitate to call out your hypocrisy this time.

“You sit down too,”

His words are soft, the timbre of his voice soothing and gentle but the words themselves are as demanding as they can be. Your eyes flick back up to his and you can see the unspoken threat in them.

If you keep pushing yourself, I will too.

“Billy, I can’t just sit around all day. I have things to do,”

“What things?”

“Things,” You press. “I have to– clean and make food. And care for you. That’s my job,”

“It’s clean, Sister,” He says, waving his arm around the mostly bare room. “There’s not much you can do. And we can wait for food, I’m not even hungry yet. What else are you tryin’ to do?”

Your eyes close and sigh, praying to God to give you patience because you know that your own stubbornness is as much a strength as it is a hindrance and you can quickly see that the same could be said for your young outlaw charge as well.

“Do you need to use the bedpan?” You repeat.

“No,” Billy says, and he sounds just as over the conversation as you feel. “M’fine.”

“Fine,”

He expects you to return to the bed, you can see in those eyes how he thinks it’s a battle he’s won. And perhaps he has, in a way. But you’re still in charge here and you’re not going to let him know that right away.

You turn on your heel, exiting the bedroom as swiftly as you can bear and Billy’s shout of protest races from the bed and follows you out in the main room.

“Sister y/n!”

“Hold your horses, Billy,” You call back, raising your hand up as if to wave him off. “I’m just grabbing something.”

Your bag is sitting next to your makeshift bed and you make sure to use your knees this time when you bend down to grab it. You can feel Billy’s gaze burning into your back as you rummage through it and even though there’s only so many supplies you were able to stuff into your bag before you left the clinic, you’re still relieved when you’re able to find what you’re looking for rather quickly.

Billy eyes the knitting needles and balls of yarn cradled in your arms as you bring them back to the bed. They follow the needles and yarn as you drop them on the mattress and then flick back up to yours, waiting for you to say something.

“Well, if I can’t be useful on my feet, I’m going to at least be productive off them,” You tell him. You raise your eyebrow, daring him to object.

He doesn’t. Instead, he brushes the supplies out of your way and motions to the newly cleared space with an open palm.

“Then I reckon you should get off those feet, Sister,” He smirks.

It feels almost like giving up as you settle back down on the bed. You know it’s not - you can only do what your body is allowing you to do. Pushing through the pain or discomfort is fine to a point, but only if there is truly a need for it and as much as you don’t want to admit it, Billy is right. There is no need for you to be up on your feet right now and continuing to give in to your stubbornness is doing more harm than good. The Lord has given your body the ability to give you physical clues as to what it needs. You thirst when you need water, hunger when you need food, and get tired when you need rest. It’s speaking to you now - telling you how the current sleeping environment you’ve put it in has not provided it with the rest and comfort it needs to recuperate from the day to day demands and now it's making you.

Your body is a temple, and you have to respect it and care for its needs.

But just sitting here still feels like failure. You’ve never been one to just sit around for so long and the past few days of doing just that has made your patience run a bit thin. You are a healer. You help people. Doing anything and everything you can for them in their moments of need and it's in those moments that you receive your strength. You didn’t expect to be running around from room to room here as often as you were while working in the clinic, but not having a choice in the matter is more difficult than you could have imagined.

The Lord has designed you to be His helper. Your life’s mission is to help people.

But now you’re finding it hard to even help yourself, and that alone feels like failure.

You close your eyes and send up a brief prayer, apologizing for your pause in the task that He’s granted you by inadvertently hurting the body He’s blessed you with and asking Him to grant you the strength and patience needed to overcome this hurdle.

When you open your eyes, Billy’s still staring at you.

“You seem like you got somethin’ weighin’ on your mind, Sister,” He says.

You shake your head, smiling kindly at him. He’s a sweet boy - kind and caring despite the fact that he’s been the victim of some of your frustration today. “Nothing you need burden yourself with, Billy,”

His eyes are earnest as he watches you, leaning in closer as he says, “Nothin’ you do could ever be a burden to me,”

“Oh, is that so?” You say, the corner of your lips tugging mischievously as you grab your knitting needles and a new ball of yarn. You grab the free end of the yarn, pulling the starting length enough to give you enough to work with before tossing the ball at Billy. His hands are quick to grab it despite being unprepared for the throw and another small smile creeps on his face as he holds the soft sphere in his hand. “Then you won’t mind holding that and making sure my yarn doesn’t knot as I work, right?”

“No, Ma’am. Not at all,”

It’s cozy, you have to admit - working in silence as you cast the yarn onto your needles. The yarn is soft as your fingers brush against the developing chunk of project, and Billy must think so too since you can see how his thumb keeps swiping across the ball kept in his hand. He’s a good helper, keeping the working end of the yarn held loosely between his pointer and middle finger, just enough to guide it and prevent any catching or knots.

You’re making a blanket for the clinic. The rushed packing job almost saw that you had no form of productive entertainment on this trip, but thankfully Sister Ann had enough wits about her to suggest taking your knitting materials. Some of the blankets in the clinic are old and worn, some even well-loved enough to have holes in them. You won’t throw them away. That’s wasteful and you’ll continue to mend them until you can’t. But the clinic can be a sad enough place already, and if you can brighten someone’s day with a blanket that’s not ripped beyond belief and put back together again by the power of God and some well placed stitches, then you’d like to make that happen for them.

Plus, winter will be coming soon. And things can get mighty cold around here.

Billy is content to just watch you, eyes fixated on the movements of your hands and the way the yarn is twisted and eased into the blanket. At one point, you ask if Billy wants to knit too. You have a spare set of knitting needles in your bag and you figure that it might be funner for him to knit too instead of just watching you twist yarn over itself for hours on end. You could teach him if his Ma never did. Knitting is a valuable life skill. The ability to create new clothes or household goods from practically nothing is priceless.

But he shakes his head with a polite ‘no, thank you”.

“Why not?” You ask. “You don’t want to learn?”

“It’s not that,” He replies, still playing with the yarn ball in his hand. “I’d just rather watch you. It’s calming.”

Calming is an interesting way to describe watching someone knit. It’s calming for you - you enjoy it and it's a nice hobby along with being a practical skill to have under your belt. But watching someone knit? You don’t think you could do that for very long without trying to grab a pair of knitting needles for yourself.

“My Ma used to knit,” He says after a while. “I used to watch her make us sweaters or scarves for the winter. I used to hold her yarn too. Just like this.” A small smile pulls at his mouth at the memory. “I would respin the yarn for her when the balls would come undone. It was calming, just sittin’ there with her, in her presence, watching her repeat the patterns over and over.”

His fingers slide across the ball a bit, feeling the texture under his fingertips before he pulls a little more yarn from the ball to give your working strand some more slack.

“This feels like that,” He continues. “Here with you right now makes me feel like I did with her. At peace.”

Your chest clenches at his words and your hand closest to him drops one of the needles before reaching up and resting it on his shoulder.

“I’m honored,” You tell him. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

His eyes flick down to where your hand is cradling his shoulder before they meet yours again, and you're shocked to see a sort of desperation in them with they lock on yours.

“I always pictured I would do it for my own wife one day,” He whispers. “Supportin’ her while she makes somethin’ beautiful for our kids to wear. Or somethin’ warm for them to snuggle up in.”

“You will,” You say. Your hand moves from his shoulder to cup his cheek before you move to grab the knitting needles again. “The Lord will bless you with someone wonderful, Billy. I know He will.”

You hear him hum next to you, but you keep your eyes forward and focused on your project. You know what that hum means.

“Don’t think I need the Lord’s help much,” He says. “I think I can manage just fine on my own.”

The blanket quickly comes to life under your fingers, skillful movements manipulating the yarn into a solid and beautifully woven product that you think will look so homely laid out on the beds of the clinic. Sometimes things can get so boring, bland colors and a too sanitary palette can make an already dreary situation all the more woeful. The pretty blue of the blanket would make a nice contrast to all the white and gray.

Billy watches as you work and keeps the yarn from getting tangled when the balls reach their end and loosen from their coiled form. You only stop a few times throughout the day - once to eat some quickly made oatmeal, once so you can check on Billy’s wound and replace the bandage, and a few times so you could relieve yourselves. By the time the yarn balls you’ve pulled from your bag have been knitted into the blanket, it’s dark out and you have only the small lamp by the bedside table to give you light.

The blanket rests in your lap, knitting needles still in your hand as you look towards the bedroom door and out to where you can see your sleeping area still set up.

“You’re sleeping on the bed,” He says, firmly, as if he can read your mind and see the thoughts you haven’t even fully formed yet.

It’s for the best. You know it’s for the best. The Lord wouldn’t strike you down for doing what you have to do to let yourself heal, even if it means sharing a bed with a man.

And still… “I shouldn’t,”

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor,”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, already sliding a leg over the side of the bed and you’re grabbing hold of his arm before you can think about what you’re doing.

“No!” You shout, fingers digging hard into his bicep. “You’re injured! You need to stay in the bed.”

He pauses, eyes boring into yours. “You are too,”

“I know,” You say, releasing his arm. Your palm gently rubs over the area you grabbed, trying to soothe any hurt you might have caused when you grabbed him. “I know. I’ll stay.”

He relaxes at your words, lifting his leg back on the bed as he leans back against the pillow.

“I’ll be respectful,” He whispers and the blue of his eyes shines brightly even in the dim glow of the lamp. “I swear.”

You follow his lead, carefully tossing the knitted blanket on the floor and laying back slowly, being mindful of your back as you rest your head on the balled up blanket you snagged from your sleeping spot the last time you got up to make dinner.

“I know you will,”

You haven’t known him for long, but you feel like if there is any man you can trust to be respectful in a situation like this - it’s Billy.

You can see God in him, even if he can’t see Him within himself.

But it still feels weird, feels wrong - sleeping next to another man. And you turn your head to the side, away from Billy, so he doesn’t see the silent tears that flow down your cheek and into the fabric where your face presses harder against the blanket.

You pray until you fall asleep.

There’s a hand on you when you wake up in the middle of the night.

It’s still dark in the room, your groggy eyes opening to pitch black and even though you can’t see anything, you can feel that you’ve flipped over at some point during your sleep.

It gives your back some relief, being on your stomach like this. And the hand gently rubbing up and down the length of your spine helps to bring even more relief. The hand is big, taking up a wide expanse along your back and the soothing back and forth motion of it helps to keep you in the blissful fog of sleep.

You find that your back does feel a little better come the morning thanks to the Lord's healing touch.

Taglist: @queenofshinigamis

#𝑇𝑎𝑙 𝑊𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 ✎#billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader smut #billy the kid x reader #dark!billy the kid #tw: non con #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent

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panda-writes-kpop · 11 months ago

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Demon! Dreamcatcher - Giving You A Helping Hand

a/n: i wrote this to help me with my dami b-day fic... so spoilers for that, perhaps? (this has nothing to do with the fic, i just had brain rot from my own idea... and wrote this instead of the fic 🤦‍♀️) I'll get back to requests and that fic eventually, I hope. 🫠

tw: lots of blood and gore for headcannons, demon eats human, the same human gets brutally murdered again and again, my opinions about what sin each girl represents, someone spits on a dead body, lots of death, DC are murder wives (literally)

♡ Masterlist ♡

Prompt - okay, this was pathetic. You couldn't even fight off one person who sent a right hook into your jaw. You didn't want to call her since she'll probably kill the person in front of you, but they started it by pulling out a switchblade.

Yeah, pleasantries went out the door a long time ago. Fuck, this was a bad idea.

Yet you still summon your girlfriend to your side.

○●○●○●○

• Your girlfriend didn't have the most elegant summoning pose - she was in the middle of biting an invisible dish.

JiU - Demon of Gluttony

• Annoyed, she turns to you before smiling and going to greet you...

• -before she notices the small cut on your face.

• Her head snaps to the other direction, noticing the other person who looks terrified at Minji's sudden change in demeanor.

• "I've always wondered what human meat tastes like."

• She lunges and tackles the person to the ground, and you close your eyes as blood and guts fly everywhere

• Not a bit of human flesh lands on you before Minji calls your name.

• You open your eyes to see her wiping her face of blood (as if her clothes and hands aren't soaked in the color red).

SuA - Demon of Pride

• "C'mon, my dear, I've still got leftovers back in hell. Shall we enjoy them together?"

• She's happy you called her - why wouldn't you call the best demon girlfriend to assist you?

• Oh, someone's bothering you? SuA simply opens a portal to hell behind the person and nonchalantly flings them into the portal.

• "Don't worry, babe, I won't touch them. Cerberus will tear them to pieces. :)"

• You forget how terrifying (and hot) she is at times.

• SuA, without dropping her smile, approaches you and gently places her hand on your cheek.

• With a bit of mischievous demon magic, the cut on your face is healed without a scar to be seen.

• She grabs your hand and drags you to a nearby bar.

Siyeon - Demon of Lust

• "Let's go have fun and forget about that miserable person, baby. Doesn't that sound like a much better way to end the night?"

• Your girlfriend drips charisma as she appears in a brilliant display of pink smoke.

• Her eyes glance between the two of you as a wicked smile appears on her face.

• "Well, what do we have here?"

• Siyeon corners your opponent and pins them to a wall with one of her hands as the other strokes their face.

• "You're going to regret ever touching them, you wretched little thing." Her voice drips venom as your attacker's face changes from pleasure to fear.

• The darkness of the night hides the gorey scene as Siyeon, in a brutal display of power, rips every body part from the other person.

• Once she's done, with a snap of her fingers, the blood on her, the ground, and the cut on your face are completely gone.

Handong - Demon of Wrath

• "Now we can enjoy the night together without any disturbances, right?"

• There's no warning after you summon Handong. She simply goes into attack mode after spotting the other person.

• They scream in terror and pain, but she simply scoffs at them

• "Should've thought about that before you punched them, huh?"

• Of course she knows about that, your girlfriend knows about every time someone wrongs you so she can correct things in your favor.

• With nothing but her hands, she's literally ripped them to shreds in what must be a world record.

• "Didn't even put up a fight." She rolls her eyes before landing another punch to their body. "Tsk, what a shame."

• You're the one who has to pull her off of them, with a gentle reminder that the other person was dead a long time ago.

• "I want to make sure that there's no chance that resurrection can happen, my dear." She hisses before spitting on the body.

Yoohyeon - Demon of Greed

• She's not always like this, you swear.

• "Hey, I was busy planning another bank robbery that would be totally foolproof! What are you-"

• She pauses as she looks at you and then the other person.

• "Well, you'll work as bait for Cerberus so SuA doesn't interfere in my plans."

• She snaps her fingers and the other person disappears, but you swear you can hear them scream in the background as you talk to Yooh.

• "They'll have a quick death, I promise!" She squeezes your hands as you nod and agree.

• In her hand, she offers you a bandaid. When you go to grab it, however, she snatches the bandaid away from your grasp.

• "Let me do it, babe!" She whines before opening up the bandaid. "It's the least I can do."

Dami - Demon of Envy

• She's awfully cute for a terrifying, murderous demon.

• She has a less flashier entrance than the other demons, and a less visible response to the other person.

• Her way of handling things is much less brutal. She simply places both of her hands on the person before gently pushing them against the wall.

• Their eye color changes to orange before running off while muttering on about coveting things or people (you can't really tell).

• Dami's attention turns to you as she wipes away any bruises, marks, or blood with the touch of her hand.

• "Are you alright, my dear?"

• Once you've fully reassure her that you're okay, you ask her why she didn't murder the other person in front of you.

• "I know that violence will scare you away, and that's the last thing I want. You shouldn’t be scared of me, darling."

Gahyeon - Demon of Sloth

• For someone who was created to be an incarnate version of envy, she sure doesn't show it off a lot.

• You've summoned her to you, but she's sleeping while standing up.

• So much for getting help from the demon representing sloth. You should probably know better at this point.

• When your attacker tries to approach you with the knife, Gahyeon holds out her arm and catches the other person's arm.

• She then proceeded to harshly throw them into a wall, giving them a quick death with a lot of head trauma.

• Without waking up, she sleep walks over to you. (How does she not fall over her own feet?)

• "There's something on your cheek." She mumbles in her sleep as you touch your face. "You should fix that."

• Thanks, Gahyeon, that's really helpful.

• "I'm going back to bed and I need a pillow." She says before pulling you into her arms. "You're coming with me."

• You can't break out of her grasp as she sinks into the ground, but you give up and accept your fate. That's simply how your girlfriend is.

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divine-death2 · 2 months ago

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Break Me

A/N: Hey guys, just letting you know that this is a warning! This story contains mentions of blood and it's sexually graphic. SO that means 18+ . Warnings: unprotected sex, p.i.v., wounds, blood, nudity, fingering, squirting. I think that's all. Now enjoy! Let me know how I did, on my first smut story...Please. :-) xoxo

It is late at night, and you just got out of the shower. With a towel wrapped around you, you make your way to the dresser. Just as you're about to pull out the deep green silk pajama set, you hear the obnoxious hammering against your door.

You know who it is, and by the sounds of it, he sounds needy and desperate. Still wrapped in a towel, you go to unlock the front door. You see him standing there, looking like he is out of his mind with blood covering him from head to toe, he's holding on to his side. And that's when you notice the massive patch of blood around his hand.

"Help...", that's all he says, before collapsing on top of you, thankfully, you are a supe, you aren't powerful like Annie or Soldier Boy. Your supe powers are strength and healing, like a witch, if you will. Using your supe strength, you get up with Butcher. You manage to maneuver him so he's on your back and you make your way to the make-shift ER in your living room.

As gentle as you could, you lay him down on the bed and start working. Dozing him with enough morphine through the tiny needle in your skin, making sure he'll be fine.

"You need to calm down," you think to yourself, and you try your best to be calm and collected, but this is Butcher, the one guy that you have been in love with ever since Grace Mallory asked you to join the team, years ago. Every time you fucked someone else; you always imagine it being him. And always afterwards you're left with the ache of knowing that he'll never be with you in that way.

Taking a deep breath, you shake yourself from your thoughts. You start taking care of Butcher, stitching him up and cleaning up his wounded side. Once you are done, you plant a soft kiss on the stitched line, and within minutes the wound is already halfway healed. Just enough to make sure he won't rip the stitches out once he leaves and back into the field.

After about 2 hours ,"Ugh", you finally hear him groan. "Hey, Billy," you say softly, that has his snapping his head in your direction. "Thanks, luv, appreciate it," he states not making eye contact. "Classic Billy, hates all supes, even the ones actually doing good in the world", you think to yourself, rolling your eyes.

Butcher's POV:

I came to the one place; I knew that could help me. Her place. As much as I hate supes, this one really is different. She takes care of people; she's kind and loving. I knock on her door and within seconds she opens up. "Help...", is all I can manage before darkness consumes me.

I wake up, on a table, feeling stiff as fuck, but the second I heard her voice; it was like everything else faded away. I look at her. I thank her, avoiding eye contact. Not because she is a supe or because I hate her. No, I couldn't let her get a glimpse of my eyes and see into my soul. I noticed she's in a towel, covered in blood, obviously mine.

She comes closer to me, and I feel her ever soft hands on my side, checking the newly forming scar. I can't help but feel the electricity coursing through me in that moment. I don't know what's happening, I have always thought that she is ridiculously stunning, and she is this petite creature, yet she doesn't take any of my shit. I would never admit it to anyone that I fancy her. After Becca, I never thought I would ever feel this way about anyone ever again, but she woke something up in me.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her flush against my chest. She let a small yelp escape her lips and I had to refrain from chuckling at the sound. I don't know what possessed me, all I knew was that I had to have more of her skin touching mine.

Reader's POV:

Feeling his chest against mine, I am too confused to bother with breathing as I can feel and hear his heartbeat pick up slightly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have done that", he whispers but not making a move to let me go. "I-it's-I", the words won't come out, cursing myself internally, for this just had to be the moment, where my ability to speak stops working.

He leans closer to my face; I can feel his warm breath wash over my lips and nose. Before I can collect myself, he softly brushes his lips against mine. I feel like I could die from the sudden burst of emotions flooding my mind. I was hesitant to kiss him back, because what if this is one of those things where he is just doing this to fuck with me. He kissed met again, this time making his intentions clear, his hands find their way to my hips, where he grips on tightly, pulling me closer. I couldn't stop it if I tried. I kissed back, with the same intensity as he was.

He grabs my face in his massive hands and looks me in the eyes, "Tell-Tell me to stop and I will". I stare at him for a second, blinking. I don't answer him, I just pull his hips closer to mine and I hear him chuckle softly. He kisses me again, with more urgency and excitement than before. He taps my cheek twice, signaling me to jump. Jumping up I wrap my legs around his waist as he catches me, holding me under my ass. "Fuck, I. have. wanted. this. for. so. long", he says in between as he is trailing down my neck, leaving open mouthed kisses. I can feel my cunt throb at his words, making me wetter than I already am.

Butcher's POV:

"Fuck this is happening. I am kissing the woman who I have been dreaming about since Grace introduced us". My thoughts are racing in my head, as I feel her soft ass under my hands. Her curves are enough to make any man go insane. I spin us around, placing her on the make-shift bed. I move my hands to palm her tits, and I swear I could cum just from the sweet sounds she makes.

My cock is throbbing painfully in my jeans, but I can't rush, I want to savor everything about this moment, burn it into my memories. I pull away from her lips, and the whine that left her throat, almost had me lose control completely. I pull the towel open and like reflex she tries to cover up. "No, luv, don't hide f'me". Slowly she lowers her arms, and I moan at the sight. Without thinking twice, I wrap my mouth around her nipple and tug on the other with my fingers.

Reader's POV:

His assault on my breasts makes me squirm and moan loudly, as I lock my hands in his black hair. As I am moaning, I feel him moan against my tit, sending vibrations through me, making the feeling so much more pleasurable. I tug on his hair, bring him up to my lips for another kiss. "Please", is all that leaves my lips, before he strips at lightning speed. He catches me staring at his dick and chuckles. "Like wha' you see?", he asks me, and I nod slowly.

He helps me off the make-shift bed and leads me to my bedroom. Before we reach the bed, I turn to him and say, "Don't hold back, break me." With that he gives that alluring smirk of his and he shoves me onto the bed, crawling over me. I feel his hands wander down to my cunt and I know what's coming. I feel his fingers start to rub between my folds and I can't help the moan that escapes me. He slips a finger inside and I moan louder as he brushes against that spongy bump, that I struggle to reach sometimes.

"So wet f'me, fuck, can't wait to fill you up", he says, his voice dropping a few octaves, as he inserts another finger. I look at his eyes and I can see that they are filled with lust. He starts pumping his fingers at an alarming speed, hitting that spot that makes me see stars over and over again. I feel that familiar knot in my belly and I know I am on the edge. I am sure he feels my walls fluttering around his digits, because he just says, "Cum f'me", and with that I let out an animalistic moan as my walls contract around his fingers. He starts rubbing my clit, with his thumb, making my high even more intense. I feel a strange full feeling, and before I can figure out what is happening, I am squirting all over his hand.

"Fuck me, I didn't know you could do that," he says, his voice raspy, "Again!", he exclaims as he shoves his fingers back in. I moan loudly as he trusts his fingers in and out of my sensitive cunt. I am still so sensitive, that it doesn't take long for the knot to become tighter and tighter again. Nearly screaming his name, I cum again, "Billy!!". I squirt over his hand again.

Smiling down at me, I feel him remove his fingers gently, bring them to his lips, licking them. He groans as he sucks his fingers clean from my juices.

Butcher's POV:

She's a squirter, fuck me. If that is not the hottest thing on the planet that I have ever seen, I don't know what is. I bring my fingers to my mouth, and I can't help but groan at how sweet she tastes. Like honey. I can't wait anymore; I need to be inside her. Now!

I move between her legs, pushing them apart. "I need you- need to be inside you", I say. She nods almost frantically. I line myself up with her entrance. Slowly I push in, just the tip. I see her eyes rolling back slightly as she lets out a soft whimper. I push in more, and more, until I am flush against her dripping cunt. I moan at how tight she is gripping me. I know I won't last long with this delicious cunt.

Reader's POV:

I feel him entering, the stretch is a pleasurable pain. The kind that drives you wild. Once he is flush against me, I hear him moan. Not wasting another second, he starts dragging long thrusts against my walls, leaving just the tip inside before thrusting back in. "I-I told you to break me," I say while gasping at how full I feel. "Yes ma'am", he grunts out, before he starts railing me nine ways to Sunday.

His pace never falters, and I feel that knot getting tighter again. I feel my walls flutter around his cock, I moan his name to let him know that I am close. "Hold it", he grunts as he is thrusting at an unforgiving speed, hitting deeper than I thought possible.

A few more thrusts and he says, 'Now", his hips faltering a little, his thrusts becoming sloppier and I let go. Moaning and sort of screaming, I cum so hard, I swear I see heaven. He thrusts once, twice before I feel him painting my walls white.

He collapses on top of me, still making sure he doesn't crush me. I feel him kiss my head and he pulls out, falling down next to me on the bed.

After sort of catching our breaths, he turns to me, placing his hand on my cheek, making me look at him. He kisses me softly resting his forehead against mine. "I love you", he says softly. I know in my soul he means it.

Kissing him again, I say, "I love you too". We remained entangled in each other's arms as sleep takes over. I am happy and sated, at peace, knowing that Billy Butcher, loves me.

#billy butcher imagine #billy butcher the boys #karl fucking urban #smut #romance #billy butcher smut

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plutoswritingplanet · 3 months ago

Text

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt. 6

a/n: Mama a new chapter behind you (had to reupload this, because it didn't show up in the tag for some reason), this chapter might seem like a blurb of bs but it's important to the story guys please believe me. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Creepy Behavior (wow, a shocker), Discussion around some Non-Con situations (nothing explicit though), Smoking, Cussing, the regular

Summary: Finally, you get your phone back... And make a promise which will haunt you forever

Vicarious Masterlist

- What the fuck did you do? - Stillwell asks through gritted teeth, her expression frozen in a tight smile.

The very second he has announced, the photoshoot would have to be postponed due to your "health problems", he could practically hear her heart drop right down to her tight, corporate ass. He decided not to comment on the sudden flood of adrenaline in her veins, but the moment she turned to him, demanding an answer, an explanation, he could feel the vein on his temple start to pulse.

Because how dare she, look at him like that? Like she actually cares about that ungrateful lowlife, he left wheezing on the floor, in some forgotten conference room?

- She's not feeling well - he repeats, his voice becoming tense - Last night must've worn her out.

Stillwell scoffs at his pathetic attempt at sounding sympathetic. Her eyebrows crease, as she takes a long, steadying breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. He likes that expression, likes the way people give up around him. The feeling of breaking someone down always gives him such a rush, it's unparalleled to anything else.

He wonders how your face will twist and turn, when he finally manages to wrench himself under the layers of masks and disguises. He got close, he got a whiff of blood, and like a starved shark, he needed more.

The team of photographers continues to hassle about the place, setting things up, as if the photoshoot will take place. Which, it won't, he made sure of it.

- Is she alive? - Stillwell asks with a resigned sigh, and Homelander rolls his eyes.

- Yes, of course she's fucking alive, I'm not...

- Hey, y'all. Sorry for being late.

Your voice shoots through him like an arrow of some fucked up, drunk cupid. His entire frame goes rigid, as his head all but snaps with the quickness he turns around.

There you are.

A plastic imitation of a laid-back smile plastered on your face, as you regard every person in the room with a nod of greeting. Not a hair on you seems out of place, even though he can clearly see, through the tissue and the muscle, that your ribs are only beginning to heal, the fragments of bone connecting with each other at a snails pace. It can't be pleasant, but your eyes shine nonetheless, as your platform boots carry you in their direction.

Stillwell looks just as shocked as he feels, her eyebrows nearly touching the perfect hairline on her forehead.

- Miss Stillwell - you greet her with a pleasant smile - Homelander.

- I see you're all better now - he comments after a beat, his eyes scanning your form.

He doesn't like the way your expression doesn't even budge. It feels insulting, your refusal to show your true colors to him, especially since he has seen you. He knows there are thoughts brewing under that blowout, and when you direct that fake smile at him, it feels like a personal jab.

A small middle finger, pointed straight at his smile, stuck like glue to his face. The word "Bitch" echoes in his mind, and his eyes start to burn at the corners.

- Ah, that party last night must've tired me out more than I anticipated - you shake your head in a rather forced attempt at looking bashful - I hope I haven't inconvenienced y'all too much.

It's a blur from then on. Stillwell directs you towards the makeup booth, swallowing around her shock, before she comes out as too relieved.

Homelander doesn't register any of her words, silently stalking to his own chair, where he lets some intern cake his face with makeup. He keeps his eyes on you, all the time, imagining all the horrible things he could do, will do, once this charade is over.

He notices, with the accuracy of a starved hawk, how your breathing is still quite shaky, how your lungs aren't expanding as much as they're supposed to. Then, there's the tremble in your hand, as you curl your fingers around the armrest, nails digging into the plastic, when the makeup artist glides her brush over your collarbones. His eyes catch the smidgen of glitter, and his lip quirks up, seemingly on its own.

A fitting camouflage, for the carnage he's left underneath.

You suck in a sharp breath, as one of the ribs clicks back into place, and mask the sound with a cough. Which brings another wave of pain, crashing over your chest. He has to admit, the way you pretend to be completely unaffected is admirable. If anything, it gives him some hope regarding the future movie you're supposed to do together. In a month or so, he doesn't remember the details. Doesn't care for them.

And then, you're up.

Solo shots first. The photographer ushers you in front of the green screen, where you stand on the mark, shuffling on your feet awkwardly. Homelander watches, his head tilting, as you let yourself be posed, like a doll for the entertainment of millions. For his entertainment.

It's the same, boring series of poses. The same, ass-and-tits-in-the-same-shot bullshit. He's seen it on practically every female superhero, and yes, perhaps at first it was exciting. Right now, however, it feels like licking off a plate after reheated leftovers. Still, he has to admit, there's something intriguing about the way your body twists and turns to accommodate the photographer's artistic vision.

Despite that, despite the way your thighs peak almost too scandalously from under your plaid skirt, or the way your chest practically waves at him from beneath your corset top...

He feels nothing. No familiar tightness in the lower parts of his suit. No fidgeting, no sudden wave of heat. He looks at you, and sees... Well... You.

Even when your painted lips pull back into a flirty, curling smile, as you wink at the camera (as instructed), he can't really see Fireball anymore. It's like those couple of minutes ago, when he left you writhing on the floor unlocked some deep truth, some unexplainable dam, which has burst completely.

For a moment, he doesn't know what to think. The photographer thanks you, motions for him to take his place, and with limbs, which are suddenly much too heavy, Homelander makes his way in front of the camera.

Your gaze follows him, eyes shifting under ridiculously large fake eyelashes. He feels them, burning the back of his neck, and for some unknown reason, it makes him feel... Almost pleased. He's always been a slut for attention, for admiration, for the looks of awe. And while there's nothing on your face which would suggest the latter two, you're still looking at him.

It makes his chest puff out a bit more, his back straightening, his smile cutting even more than usual. And the camera clicks, and clicks, until it's time for your paired shots.

The chair squeaks, when you stand up, and Homelander swallows, listening to your platform boots, as they click on the linoleum flooring. Soon enough, you're in front of him, the photographer maneuvers you to his liking, and Homelander looks down, takes a whiff of your perfume. That lingering, suffocating scent of jasmine. It swirls in his nose, cements itself into his brain, and his chest makes a quick up and down movement, his lungs refusing cooperation for just a second.

The photographer turns you around, makes you stand closer to him, chests almost pressing together. And then, he places your arm across his shoulders, and Homelander freezes.

He doesn't know why, not really, but the feeling of your plush flesh against his sends a wave of paralyzing shivers down his spine. Surprisingly, not of arousal, but something else entirely. Something he refused to recognize.

Your eyes flicker to his, eyebrows twitching in a display of curiosity, as you feel him tense under your hand. He doesn't like it, the way you seem to see right through him, like he's made of glass. Like you can sense his thoughts, his very soul.

Annoyingly perceptive.

His mouth opens, so close to a biting, threatening comment, but before anything comes out, the pressure on his shoulder lessens, before disappearing completely. Eyes flickering to the side, he can see the way your hand hovers, just millimeters from his costume, maintaining the illusion of contact.

Anger is his natural reaction, embedded into the very core of his being. He doesn't want to recognize the flood of relief at the lack of contact, he doesn't want to understand the implications. And most importantly, he absolutely hates, that it's you. Once again, you've managed to read him like a fucking book, and took it all in without even moving a muscle.

Thoughts swirl inside his brain, and he's so focused on the noticable lack of your touch, that he doesn't hear the photographer until the third time.

The next couple of poses go in that exact manner. The photographer tells you how to pose, and you do so, keeping your body hovering over Homelander's.

He refuses to recognize the flicker of gratitude in his gut. He's never grateful, he's a fucking superhero, and physical touch is not something he's shied away from. Yet, he can't deny, that small show of respect, not directed towards his power, but rather, his own preference... Strange.

You're strange, you're infuriating. Your hair looks so soft, despite the gallons of product they dumped onto it.

He gravitates towards you after the shoot ends, when all the staff is slowly packing up, flickering out of the room in a river of insignificance. You're standing by the makeup table, Ashley at your side, explaining something with that same 'i'm going to have a heart attack any moment', terrified stare. He watches with mild interest, as your presence alone seems to slow the ginger's heart.

Your ribs seem to be healed over by this point, he watches some lingering, floating pieces of bone, as they fit into the puzzle of your insides. He takes a step closer, suddenly mesmerized by the way your blood vessels connect, reaching towards each other. Joining hands.

The sound of your laughter cuts through his thoughts like a knife, and he blinks up towards your face, noting deep in his brain the different types, different sounds of your joy. It's such a strange observation, he stuns himself for a moment. But then again, there's no one but himself to police his thoughts. What goes on in his mind, stays within. No corporate restrictions, no paparazzi, no Stillwell. Just him, and the soft chuckle you just let out, light, breezy, barely a sound really.

He's caught in the middle of replaying the way your voice carried above the music, back at the party, where he listened to you, and only you, floating above the roof like a dark omen. That cracking, unrestrained sound, which both irritated him, and brought a strange feeling of confusion, swirling in his stomach. So different from your Fireball persona, from the soft, high-pitched sounds you were emitting while in the Tower, constantly under surveillance.

- Just don't blow it - Ashley sighs, a swan song of her professionalism, and the wink you give her is nothing short of diabolical

- I never blow jobs without a "please" first - you shoot back, stunning both the redhead, and the lurking Homelander into silence.

It's almost a relief to him, when the familiar tightness around the lower section of his suit manifests itself at your words. He greets it like an old friend.

Would he ask for it? Would he twist his face into a pleading expression, would he guide you down, a steady hand on your shoulder, as he repeats "please" like it's a prayer? He shudders at the mental image, his fingers curling into fists so tight, the leather of his gloves starts to creak.

When your conversation with Ashley finishes, he follows you out the room, a small distance behind, and he truly doesn't know what compels his legs to move forward. He doesn't understand the need, that's suddenly manifested itself somewhere in the darker parts of himself. All he knows, is that he walks behind you like a shadow, through the corridors of the ground level of the Tower, ignoring the looks of awe and inspiration from all the inconsequential workers.

They filter like ants around the two of you, faces rising from their computers, abandoning their lunches in favor of gaping at the unexpected pair, that's slowly but surely making it's way towards the smoking area.

All the while, that ridiculously short, plaid skirt sways to the sound of the only two words, rattling around in his brain, as he observes your movements.

Ripe. Plump. Ripe. Plump. Ripe. Plump.

It would be so easy, he thinks again, to just pull you away. He knows every nook and cranny of this place. Every shadowed broom closet, every blind spot of the cameras. He has used and abused all those places, burned their existence into the mind of many, many women.

There are walls in this building, which are most definitely lacking your body pressed into them. His hands itch. They would fit so nicely under the plush flesh of your thighs, sinking into them, holding them apart. It would be child's play at this point.

And he knows Madelyn made you sign an NDA, he's seen the intricate lines of your name on the white paper. No one would stop him, and yet...

The smoking area is relatively empty. You find a spot at a table near the large window overlooking the street, and he says nothing, as he slinks into the chair opposite yours. Finally, you look up at him, tilting your head to the side, like you're trying to read something out of the schooled, passive expression on his face. He doesn't like it, the way your eyes drill into him, like you're peeling away some layers he doesn't even know are there.

He's supposed to be the one doing the peeling.

- So - you start, and he immediately snaps his attention to the tone of your voice - That was fucking exhausting, wasn't it?

Higher register, breathy quality. You're talking to him like he's one of them. One of Vaught, one of the press, like he didn't see your trembling body on the floor of the office.

Anger flares within him at the revelation, and your breath catches in your throat as without warning, the sound of a chair scraping roughly on the tiled floor fills the air. Homelander pushes himself right next to you, his hand clamping down like a vice around your wrist, holding it tightly on your lap, the leather of his gloves squeaking in protest.

Your eyes widen a fraction, muscles tensing at the unexpected proximity, and your gaze darts around the smoking area, taking in the noticable lack of other people.

- The fu...-

He cuts you off quickly, his grip tightening to an almost bruising intensity.

- Don't ever use that voice with me. - his voice is low, a hint of a warning hidden in every syllable.

For just a second your eyebrows furrow in plain confusion, and then, realization hits the both of you like a freight train.

This isn't you. You're not here.

You didn't know. You didn't notice until he pointed it out. Slow horror blossoms on your face, breath catching in your freshly healed trachea, as you blink up at him.

A mixture of emotions swirls in his gut.

They almost got you. For just a second you were completely immersed in the fantastical, corporate creation, this hellish place wanted you to be. So immersed in fact, you forgot your own voice. Fireball, like a greedy parasite, has taken root in your system, sucking away your person hood. Just like he is trained to always smile towards the camera, his face twisting every time, like a compulsion he can't get rid of.

Your shoulders sag, this unexplainable heaviness returning to your bones. He will remember this moment for years to come, long after the contract has ended, this small flicker of understanding, however damning it might be, will forever cement itself into his very being. The first time you've ever recognized, that there's more to him, that he knows he's not the only thing you're fighting.

Because in this small moment, despite the animosity, the tension, the downright horrible thoughts and actions he's taken against you, will take against you, both of you know the horrible truth. The price to pay for stepping a foot in his world, even momentarily.

- You will never lie to me - he says like it's an universally accepted fact, not a request.

And you nod, a sudden jerk of your head, hair jumping around your face, because there's no other way. He'll sniff out lies from the very essence of your being, but more than that, you're slowly growing more desperate to maintain this flicker of kinship. Your only chance at establishing a connection, at worming yourself into his brain as something more than just a piece of fuckable meat.

You will take any crumb at this point. Any way to ensure he sees you as something more, than a toy to play with and discard. To earn your safety amongst his heated stares, and pages upon pages of contracts. Stillwell won't protect you from him anymore, that much has become obvious, the moment she made you sign an NDA. Now it's your job to make sure it'll never be used against you.

Which is why, your lips part, tongue running over your teeth, as if chasing the lingering taste of Fireball's voice in your mouth. So you can recognize it earlier, cut it out like a tumor, before it consumes you.

- Thank you - he shudders, as that phrase leaves your lips once again, so reminiscent of your time in his penthouse, and yet so distinctly different.

His jaw twitches under his skin, eyes blinking in rapid succession, and you can almost feel the way the bones of his hand creak, as he detaches himself from your wrist. There are indents in your flesh, in places where he pushed just a bit too far, but as soon as the pressure's gone, you can feel your skin spring back into its original state.

The chair scrapes once again, a shrill sound in the silence of the room, and with a terrifying mixture of emotions, your eyes glue themselves to the image of the American flag on his back, as he all but flees the place. For the first time, since you've landed here, he's the one retreating. But it doesn't feel like victory, it feels like the executioner's axe.

The next day, you spot your friend sitting at that same table, right in front of the window overlooking the street, where just yesterday he sat in that very chair. They notice you immediately, face twisting into a bright grin, as your heavy boots thud against the tiled floor.

You absolutely, viscerally hate seeing them here, in this suffocating, terrible place. Alas, Stillwell made herself clear. This meeting is arranged during your working hours, and as such, must take place in the Tower. Despite that, you can't help the heartbreaking feeling, that tears your chest apart as they wave at you.

You've missed them, so incredibly hard, for just a moment you're willing to forget, that the walls of this building quite literally have ears. That there's always someone watching your every movement. That he's watching, listening in.

- Good God, look at you - your friend huffs a laugh, and wraps their arms around you, finally making the faux leather of the corset somewhat bearable - You look like an industry plant.

- That's cause I am an industry plant - you smile against their cheek, revelling in the way your voice finally sounds like it's supposed to.

Ignoring the gnawing feeling of unease, you sit back in your chair, forcing the image of Homelander to the very back of your mind. You might never be safe in here, but this small reprieve, you'll take in stride. God only knows, you need some familiarity.

- How are the wedding preparations? - you ask, grabbing your phone from their hand, reunited at last

- Well, I had no idea there's so many flowers to choose from, lemme tell you that much - they huff, and your lips pull back into a smile on their own accord.

It's so easy to forget where you are, when they're near, when they're teasing the Smirnoff out of you. It's like their sheer presence here stomped hard on Fireball's neck, forcing her to stay down, to know her place.

You needed that.

With practiced ease, your fingers fish out a pack of cigarettes from your cleavage, the only place you could've hidden them, considering your super suit doesn't have any pockets. And with an even more practiced smirk, your friend produces a lighter. The exchange happens naturally. They pluck one cig from the package, light yours up, and then their own.

The scent of smoke fills your nose, biting and grounding at the same time. The feeling of nicotine slowly trickling into your system, a tightness in your lungs, makes your shoulders sag ever so slightly.

- I'm surprised they let you smoke - your friend muses, cloud of gray curling around their mouth - Not very 'superhero of the people' of you.

You scoff, your eyes rolling.

- I swear, everytime I pull one out, they all look at me, like I'm snorting coke in front of a fucking preschooler.

You're well aware just how bitter your voice sounds, and as much as your friend tries to maintain the easy going smile, there's a flicker of deep-rooted concern.

- They really made you into something else, huh? - they ask, voice quiet and almost mournful

- Five more months - you sigh, trying to take some consolation in the passage of time, however hopeless it may be. - "Life is a Cabaret, old chum..."

The quote hangs heavily between the two of you, twisting your faces into mirror images of sardonic smiles, as the utter ridiculousness of your situation falls on you like a weighted blanket. Smoke fills the space, lingering around your heads, before inevitably it gets sucked away by the ventilation system. For a second, you wish, you could ingrain this scent, this nauseating stink of chemicals into your very being, somehow sink it into your blood.

Perhaps this way, you'd finally feel safe. Perhaps it would make him repulsed enough to leave your shadow.

It's quiet for a moment. The hum of the air conditioning, and the distant sounds of lively New York streets combining into a harmony of your current life, drowning you in the unchanging rhythm of the big city. Your mind starts to wonder, towards the ever-seeing eyes of your mentor. If he sees you now, what is he thinking? Is he planning some elaborate way to twist your very being to his liking?

No. Not after your last conversation.

Surely, it would be easier, if he had just accepted Fireball as your ultimate, perfect image. You were a good actress, and exceptional liar. You could've pulled it off. But of course, he wants you. He wants Smirnoff. And by God, that thought twists your guts into a mixture of fear and disgust.

Why won't he just let you pretend?

- So, how's Mister America? - your friend's voice brings you back, pulls you away from your darkening thoughts, and wrenches a heavy, tired sigh right out of your lungs.

You can't tell them.

You're contractually obligated never to say a word. Still, they can read you like an open book, having spent years of their life getting used to the twists and turns of your expression. So, when you look up at them, through haze of cigarette smoke and unspoken words, they understand without a second of delay.

Their face falls, that smirk you've known so well, trampled by an image of pure worry. It doesn't take a genius to see the undercurrent of fear, the acceptance of the inevitable flowing from your eyes like a broken faucet.

- Oh...

Yeah. Oh.

What else is there to say? What words could bring you comfort in this mess? Truth is, as much as you'd hate to admit it, you've brought this upon yourself, the moment you sat in Stillwells office. The moment you saw the CCTV footage, and still decided to sign that damned non-disclosure. You should've ran for the hills. Pack your pride, pack your bleeding heart, and hide back in your house, between boxes of your mother's belongings, between your sister's old posters. Under your old diploma, and all the other trash you're never going to use again.

But here you are. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

- You have no idea... - the words seem to run out of your mouth on their own, carried away on the hands of cigarette smoke.

- Did he hurt you?

Now you laugh. A bitter, grating sound that hurts both your ears, and your heart. Because yes, of course he did hurt you. But how can you explain, that in that very moment you felt more seen, more alive, than you've had for years of your life? How does one even begin to comprehend such terrible truth, not to mention saying it out loud.

And how do you explain, that physical violence is not the part you're worried about?

- That's... - you pause, raking your brain for something, any phrase that wouldn't endanger the contract, while still describing your hopeless situation - That's not the worst thing, that can (will) happen to me here.

There. You can see, by their sharp intake of breath, that suddenly they understand in fullness. Their throat bobs around a nervous swallow.

- What's your plan? - your friend asks, leaning closer, their elbows sliding on the glass table - You have to protect yourself somehow, this can't... You can't.

- I don't know - the admission feels both hopeless and cathartic - I thought I did, but I don't. All I know is, I need to make myself irreplacable. I need to be entertaining enough, without loosing the last fucking shreds of dignity I have. Damned if I do, damned if I don't otherwise.

Another moment of heavy silence falls between the two of you. The tiles on the floor start to merge together, as tears spring into your eyes. Pathetic, really. You promised yourself not to cry, and yet, despite still being inside the belly of the beast, your friend's presence brings out, well... You.

Their tone of voice is soft, measured, when they say your name, and your eyes flicker towards them, wetness gathering on the ends of your fake eyelashes.

They hold your gaze for a moment, something akin to determination flowing in tides across their face.

- So, saying "Yes", and saying "No" are out of question. - they muse, and you nod, a single, tense jerk of your head - Then there's only one answer.

You blink, confused. The cigarette sizzles, as they chuck it into a half empty paper cup of black coffee, smoke rising into the air, before it's extinguished completely. Elbows slide across the glass table, as they lean in closer towards you, as if sharing some incredibly juicy secret.

You can see the small mole on their cheek is dusted with a bit of makeup powder.

- The answer is, "Maybe."

#my writing #homelander x you #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #homelander #the boys fandom #the boys fanfiction #the boys amazon #aaaand we're back stronger than ever im already working on the next few chapters so perchance ill be able to keep up a schedule #we'll see how it goes bear with me

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odue-sp · 2 years ago

Text

Male Reader x Seth

M/n is a god. M/n is his fake name but is most known as Khonshu. Instead of a falcon like in the mythology, I decided to let him have a crow.

Also, if you haven't read ennead it won't make sense. Also in Egypt mythology it's all incest. Don't come for me. I didn't tell the gods to fuck their siblings now did I?

There is no ennead fics. And Khonshu. So, bam. M/n is Khonshu, Khonshu is M/n. Related, yes. But great content, yes.

You don't like it. Do not read.

Okay? Nice. Continue.

Seth had managed to escape from Horus and that foreigner, Horus had taken him to the temple of Isis but he left feeling sick of the destruction he caused. The consequences were sickening to see. He continued to walk aimlessly in the desert. He prayed for the only god he could rely on at the moment. Someone he didn't expect to answer such prayers.

Seth dropped onto the sand, he grew tired and weak. Had he finally let this damned human body break? He deserved it but he couldn't help but feel angered. His hands gripped the sand before the showing of wings flapped. "Uncle!" Horus shifted back and went to take him to heal.

The sound of a crow filled the silence of Seth's refusal.

"Khonshu," Seth spoke breathlessly, Horus stared in shock, Khonshu never appeared. Everyone had thought he died or no longer cared for his family. Seth's eyes stared at the e/c eyes, a familiar feeling spread in his body before seeing the forgotten god walk over to him... The moon was full.

The moonlight showed off his s/c smooth and healthy looking skin. He lowered himself to Seth. "Seth," he smiled behind the crow mask. "As always, you look wonderful under the moon." Horus looked annoyed before Seth clung to the man. "Take me away," M/n flinched in surprise, he didn't expect anyone to use his chosen name... "I've had enough of this. Please, take me to the moon! Anywhere where he can't get me!"

"Grand nephew," he spoke carefully reaching for him but Horus grabbed his hand. "Stay away from him." His eye twitches from underneath the mask. "Do you not realize where you stand, child? I protect those who walk the desert at night. You seem to be a god, Seth," he glanced at the tired man. "Isn't a god no longer. A human. You have no privilege here during this time."

M/n snapped his fingers, Horus eyes widened feeling his jody stiffen up. He could move but slowly. "Seth, are you hurt?" His voice was calm and soft as he coddled the body close. "Just take me away from Osiris. He took everything..." He spoke before falling asleep. "Of course, grand nephew."

"Uncle!" Horus shouted as crows flicked around the two. "There is a place no one can touch. You haven't been there since you were young. I hope the moon can help you rest." The sand grabbed onto Horus sinking further down as they left.

•••

Seth woke up with a gasp. His hands tracking over his body, he was still alive... "Khonshu!" He shouted stumbling out of the bed before staring at the scenery... "The moon?" He spoke in disbelief, the moon was always there... He should've known that M/n was still alive. He should've asked for help sooner. "Seth?" He glanced over to the male who tilted his head a bit. "Your body is human, you should eat." He walked over to the red head, handing him a plate of vegetables and fruit with a soft smile.

Seth stared. "You're really alive."

Head tilt. "Yes? The moon is still here, is it not?"

Seth couldn't help but feel anger and he touched the god into the stomach with all of his strength. M/n toppled over, but Seth grabbed the food and walked to the side. "Did you not think to show up to the meetings?!" A confused look... "Take your mask off! I can't see your face!"

He took off his crow mask and frowned. "Meetings? I wasn't aware of such things," he gasped covering his mouth. "Did you guys forget me?" He almost hurt. "Ah... I want to destroy the moon and flood the world. How fucking hilarious." His mood shifted. "If you didn't know if I was dead then why did none of you come and check? Pieces of shit." Seth became angered. "You said no one could visit without permission!" M/n gaped in shock.

"I didn't think you all would listen! My siblings never do! For once they respect my personal space?! Wow, how kind!" He shouted annoyed about being forgotten. "Don't blame us! Do you know how serious you looked!?"

The two went silent.

"Nephew, have you been well?"

"Don't ask such a stupid question, you know. You're the moon after all."

M/n knew. He always knew. He closed his eyes. "You're safe here."

Seth stared at the salad.

"Thank you."

•

You thought you were getting smut?

Haha, no.

I ain't gonna give it to you so easily especially with ENNEAD.

I adore Seth. Love him. You're definitely going to see more of ENNEAD fic and probably more manhwa whenever I feel extra confident. Hehe.

Anubis might be next. Who knows.

I'm going to sleep. Night.

#seth ennead #male reader #male reader insert #x male reader #male y/n #pseudo's ff #seudo's ff #ennead #ennead x male reader #seth ennead x male reader

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enniewritesathing · 16 days ago

Text

memory management (parallel 1)

⏮️Previous || (📚Previous Stories) || ▶️Beginning

Charles: "Please. Surely, you'll reconsider your course of action after what I have to say."

(The Werewolf growls. He can easily snap Charles' neck and be done with it... but that's far too kind of a punishment.) "I really doubt that, but you can try anyway."

(Charles watches as The Werewolf paces back and forth, never taking his eyes off of him. Another growl. He's on a timer of indeterminate length. He has to choose his words carefully... perhaps there could be a chance he can get out of here alive.)

"You don't want to do this. You're scared and you've... lashed out."

(Charles braces himself for a fraction of a second as The Werewolf shifts his weight too fast for his liking. He's safe, for now.) "This is all a cry for help, you know--"

The Werewolf: "Shut the hell up! You don't smell like the others."

(Charles blinks at the blunt question. It didn't work. He can't possibly have-- ah, yes, an oversight that he didn't account for. Lycans were known for their remarkable senses and Johnathan is no exception... there is very little that he can hide from him.)

(The Werewolf curls his lip.) "Your blood smells old and rotten. And your voice. Why do you have two tones in your words? I don't like your eyes, either. Everything about you is wrong."

(Charles laughs despite himself. Just like that, his plan is dead.)

"It seems that I won't be able to get anything past you; I am the proverbial and alleged mad scientist. Of course, I won't be normal; I've been unwell for years."

(The Werewolf points a clawed finger at Charles.) "That is not what I meant!"

(Charles sighs and looks at his hand.) "You're right. We've both been unwell for years and I've figured out something in the last ten minutes. Despite my efforts, everything I've done to get rid of you... stubborn beast. I thought I could break you to the point where the mere thought of escaping would never cross your mind again."

"Ha! Clever dog. Waiting for us to flush the toxins out of your body. Just enough for you overcome it. You were all but dead. You were dead. Or he is dead and your sheer hatred is what revived you? I'm not sure. Your heart stopped for a very long time and your healing abilities were pushed to the brink. Nothing short of a miracle, as much as I loathe the word.

Perhaps it is true that death works differently for occults..."

(The Werewolf narrows his eyes. ) "What are you saying?"

Charles: "I have a hypothesis, but I will need you to listen before you do anything else."

(The Werewolf huffs.) "Fine."

Charles: "Thank you. I told you, I've been unwell. I've lost count for how many years. Sickness... has always been a part of me since I was a child. Plagued me. There were times I wished for Death, but it never came. I reached adulthood; I was still fragile but I made what time I had count. In the meantime, I read arcane and obscure books and combined it with my accrued medical knowledge."

"Fortune smiled upon me one day as I was introduced to a rather charming... individual. Hm."

(Charles pauses. He can't remember their face. Has it really been that long? What would they think of him now?) "They entertained my proposals to cure myself. There were substantial risks involved, and honestly, had it been anyone else, I would've been committed. We found a way."

"I used their blood in very small dosages over the course of months."

"My sickness worsened as well. One night, I saw the Grim Reaper standing over me. I closed my eyes and waited for that cold hand to take me. It never came but morning did. The light in my room was brighter than I remembered; my eyes ached... but my body felt different. It was different. I didn't have that haze over me. I was light.

"I was cured; naturally, there's consequences the way I went about it."

"In that elation, I discovered that my skin and eyes became sensitive to the sun. Not like I liked it in any fashion. My poor appetite was nonexistent. I required little sleep now. To some, that is a loss, but for me?"

(He laughs.) "I got what I wanted. Those losses were very acceptable; I was alive for the first time; I cheated Death."

The Werewolf: "You call me a monster and yet you do that?"

(Charles looks up at The Werewolf with a smug grin.) "Oh, that's very rich coming from you, Johnathan. What you said made me realize something that I'm sure you'll appreciate -- the lengths someone will go through for some semblance of normalcy. Surely, that is a reasonable thought process?"

"The only thing they asked of me was to consider my new found path. How will I use my gift? Well, I became one of the top doctors of this region. I've worked on, that some might say, miracles. I researched on any and all occults, pouring over centuries of data -- whole, incomplete, and even proven myths and falsehoods. Why, I even found new, better treatments for ailments that have plagued mankind for centuries!

"Then there were the curious matters of werewolves. What I had was very insufficient -- elusive lot. It bothered me that there were hardly any medical knowledge on them. I became obsessive. Surely, they cannot be extinct!"

"One night, I got a call about a boy suspected of being a werewolf. His mother was terrified, on the brink of tears; she had lost one son exhibiting the same symptoms -- unexplained sickness, severe mood changes, an impossibly high fever without any clear cause yet it clears in a few days time... on this particular night, the moon was full."

"My initial tests confirmed it -- the boy's a werewolf. I worked backwards; his mother was latent. His deceased father was latent as well... but his twin brother was active right before he died. My theory told me that he was too young to handle the transformation."

"The stress of the beast awakening almost killed the boy, but why did it awaken early, I wondered? When he regained consciousness, I told him what happened. He was old enough to understand what was at stake but he was young enough to still have that certain innocence. One I didn't have."

"I told the boy that he had a monster inside of him, that it will eventually get stronger and take over when he gets older. That he will want to cause death and destruction like the werewolves before him. Why, he could even harmed his loved ones. Or worse. I realized that this little boy was in a similar position I was all those years ago. Just as I vowed to myself, I vowed to find a cure, by any means.

"But I had to bide my time as my intended methods were... harsh. It would've been frowned upon if I started too early. My plans were contingent on the boy following my simple order: resist. Resist until he couldn't bear it anymore. He was around seventeen when this started to happen; that's when we allowed you to take his place."

The Werewolf: "Is that supposed to make me feel better? You manipulated him and everyone else to get what you wanted! You couldn't bear to fail!"

(Charles laughs low.) "Oh, Johnathan. You poor, wretched child. I did no such thing."

"You're so naïve."

// Next ⏭️

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #simblr #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the sims 4 story #ts4 supernatural #ts4 horror #story tag: memory management #oc: john #oc: the werewolf #oc: charles #ofc he's gotta talk i mean... we gotta find out what the fuck is his deal #what's a (mad) doctor without a speech #blood cw

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once-in-a-blood-moon · 2 months ago

Note

whenever the topic of mc getting hurt or defending themselves get brought up with solomon, my brain tends to default to three different scenarios

scenario one = mc easily defends themselves with magic from whatever the threat was and solomon is so proud!! he's playing victory music throwing confetti and holding up a camera while going "you're doing amazing sweetie!" he loves mc so much (he's the reason they can destroy buildings with no effort)

scenario two = solomon's either with mc, or finds mc as they're getting threatened/attacked. he's about to step in and send the threat to antarctica only for mc to quell the threat with ease. they then turn to him and go like "hey man :)" and solomon can practically feel his heart leaping out of his chest

scenario three = mc has to face the threat alone and gets injured as a result. they go to solomon to get healed, and he's furious at the notion someone hurt you (and he wasn't there to protect mc). but he keeps his calm and tends to mc with the utmost care. he'll torture the threat after they're okay

waaaaahh sorry it's 1 am and he won't leave my brain

yes, yES, YES!!! I love all of these scenarios! Also, please never apologize for asks, I'm always happy to receive them and even happier to see you, Amb!! 💜

My favorite is the third scenario where he goes into protective mode and turns into the "who hurt you?" trope. God, that's just top tier. The idea though that he just goes berserk if MC so much has a scratch, and tracks down the threat to make them pay is oddly comforting? Endearing? Maybe a little hot? Am I alone in this? Help...

With the first scenario, Solomon is so proud to see MC's magic in action. Like, that's his apprentice right there! Look how far they've come, look at the ass they're kicking, look how hot they are as their powerful spells cause their hair to blow back... Whoop, rewind! Hang in there, Solomon, lol. But yeah, he's definitely taking them out afterward as a reward to show them how proud he is...no other reason, of course. Fancy dinner date on him!

I see scenario two going two ways. The first is from magic, just a quick snap of the fingers and the threat is gone. That's it. MC turns to continue their day like nothing happened. The second is less magical, more logical. (I think?) Like, what if MC is able to reason with the threat in a diplomatic way and it just speaks to the wisdom Solomon carries with him. He's proud either way, but watching his apprentice mitigate the situation calmly and justly would be awe-inspiring. Perhaps they picked up more than just spellwork from him in their time studying together... How exciting!

#essentially this is all to say solomon is mc's number one fan #i say don't apologize as if i don't apologize more times in the day than i breathe #obey me #obey me solomon #jo’s thoughts #blood moon mail

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unecoccinellenoire · 4 months ago

Note

...Nathalie is Ladybug Miraculous holder

Gabriel's head lies nestled between atop Nathalie's thighs as she runs her fingers through his hair. He looks younger like this, his face isn't creased with the pain of grief and guilt that haunts him when he's awake.

Nathalie looks up at the casket above them where Emilie, made incorruptible by technology after magic stole her life, lies like a saint displayed for their veneration.

Her ears feel burn, she can feel a trickle of something ooze from the holes the Miraculous sit heavy in. It feels as if the Miraculous is rejecting her with its true wielder so close by.

As if it's punishing her for holding Emilie's husband like this, for all that all she's doing is trying to comfort Gabriel the best she can. She has no hopes of more. She knows she has no right to, despite how strange how stomach feels as Gabriel's breaths graze across her legs towards her core.

That's not what's happening of course. She's seen how this Miraculous had taken from Emilie too. She's just being self-indulgent now.

"Tikki," she whispers.

"Nathalie don't," her kwami says, "Gabriel wouldn't want you to do this. You know that."

"If Gabriel doesn't have the strength to do what's necessary for what he needs then I have to be the one to do it," in her annoyance her snapped response is somewhat louder than she'd meant and Gabriel shifts against her.

She freezes but he just makes an dicomforted noise and frowns.

Hated herself for having disturbed him when he barely sleeps these days she forces herself to move, gently massaging his scalp in a way she's found calms him when he can't force himself to relax without her help.

Tikki hangs in the air looking upset. She always looks upset these days.

"You know," Tikki says, "maybe what Gabriel needs isn't-"

"Spots on!" Nathalie says before the Kwami can finish, the magic of her transformation subsuming Tikki into the Miraculous.

Her hands stay on Gabriel the whole way through her transformation, slick black gloves replacing pale skin.

But once she's satisifed he won't wake up her raises one from him to call out her, "Lucky Charm!"

The black red spotted item falls into her hand. It's small. A perfect circle. A ring.

Again.

Whenever she tries like this, whenever she's not calling down what she needs mid-battle, when she asks the fates for how she can heal Gabriel and Adrien's pain she always gets this.

A ring.

She sighs. For all it has no decoration, for all it's as plain as the wedding bands on Gabriel and Emilie's fingers there only one ring that this could be.

The Black Cat Miraculous.

Her lucky charm is telling her she has to keep fighting for the Wish.

#nathalie sancoeur #her transformation is based on the black variant of the harlequin ladybird btw #and yep she IS misinterpreting her lucky charm here #I guess the ladybug miraculous created adrien somehow here #it IS the miraculous of creation tbf #also yes I know this long me months to answer 🙈#my fic

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yuratheicequeenn · 7 months ago

Note

Thank you for answering.

May i request and headcanon or, x Reader ( which One you prefer the most).

For Malthus, alastor, ifrit,Amon and Lucifer.

Comforting yn after they find out She self harm, maybe they find out while she's on duty as a servant,.

Thank you in advantage, i love your writing you're Amazing at It.

❤️

A/n: Kyaaa!! Thank you for the compliment! I honestly thought i wouldn't get this much support from people! I only started writing because it made me happy and others for inspiration, i'll only write for Alastor since i don't really know much for the others, please forgive me!! Thank youuu! ^^!!

The Radio Demon's Precious Darling

TW: Self harming

You hated this, you hated yourself, Why did you, a mere mortal end up in this situation? You didn't hate the fact you have Charlie and the others there as you're friends, no, the real reason was that you felt useless just being here, you worked there as a servant, you we're mostly happy there, but you harmed yourself, you cut you're arms and legs and covered them up, you didn't want them to be worried for someone like you

You swept the floor as usual watching the others just talking with each other, when you felt someone behind you, you turned around to see Alastor with his usual creepy wide smile and his hands behind his back, you jumped back startled before calming down

"Oh, hey Alastor, do you need something?"

"I actually do my dear! I would like to talk with you privately!"

Alastor responded in his radio voice, his smile never fading. You tilted you're head in confusion, this was new, you never thought you would talk with him alone

"Sure, why not?" You smiled politely in return

You both went into a private room, you fiddled you're fingers nervously, you didn't know why and Alastor had to talk in private, did you do something wrong?

"My dear, i have found out that you have did something despicable, i must say..." Alastor spoke as his voice became deep

You widened you're eyes, unable to speak as you just stood there not moving at all, he sounded so pissed... what did you even do that made him sound angry...?

"...Alastor-" Was all you could say before Alastor snapped his head at you which made you stopped talking in fear

"My dear... you've been harming yourself, haven't you?"

You froze and widened you're eyes again, how... how did he know about that...? Sure, Alastor knows every single little thing everybody has, but... you made SURE no one could know about this...

"I... well..." You lowered you're head in shame, you we're stupid, why did you even think about hurting yourself? You we're already in hell, so it didn't really matter anyway, wasn't that already enough?

Alastor sighed as he stepped closer to you, he placed his hand on you're cheek and slowly held it up to make you look at him directly, you're guys' eyes met as you both gazed into each other

"I don't understand why you do something like this to yourself..."

Alastor's voice sounded... genuine, normally he would mock comfortness to other people like Charlie or Vaggie, so why was he suddenly being kind to you? His eyebrows furrowed into sadness clearly showing his concern for you. You blinked a few times as you sighed before finally speaking

"I'm just... tired of this, i don't know why i'm here, i'm just a worthless human, unable to help our friends... i just feel like i don't have a purpose to even exist, Charlie and the others would be perfectly fine even if i'm not even here..."

Alastor paused before his expression turnrd into a caring smile instead of his fake smile he always puts on

"Y/n, of course they won't be fine without you here, they wouldn't be able to feel like their normal selves if you weren't here with us, we don't care if you're a human, you do many things for us, you help the others become better demons"

Alastor suddenly pulled you into a hug, you we're surprised but you slowly returned the hug as you both pulled away

After a while, you got yourself patched up healing the cuts on you, Alastor looked at you, as he said sweet things that also sounded... possessive

"Y/n, you're my precious darling, i would let the world burn for you, i won't let anybody to lay even a single scratch on you..."

You blushed at his words, nobody ever said something like that more than just compliments and praise, a smile crept onto you're face as you felt touched by his words and felt you're heart beating faster

"Alastor, you mean so much to me as well, i'm glad you're here with me..." You responded, you're voice gentle

Alastor then took you're hands rubbing you're palm gently

"Of course my darling, no matter what happens, i'll always be here when you need me"

He gently pulled you into a deep and passionate kiss, you widened you're eyes as you blushed more but you slowly closed you're eyes as you kissed back

Maybe there was much more to live for and be happy... you just couldn't see it

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel

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mrsmikaelson · 1 year ago

Text

My Human

Human Reader X Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: Elijah Mikaelson's Girlfriend Is Caught In The Crossfire With The Original's First Bloodline Vampire

------&&&&&-

Y\N wakes up with chains around her ankles and wrists after being knocked out.

"Where am I ?" she asks herself looking around

It was a fancy penthouse house you could see all of New Orleans from every angle

"Sweet Y/N is finally awake" A male voice appears without revealing his face

“Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?" Another Voice spoke, his voice filled with worry.

"The best way to upset the Original is to steal the thing most precious to him"

"Hey, I'm not an object" Y/N snapped trying to break free

The woman's vision begins to blur together with an unbearable pain when she looks at her foot, a piece of wood is seen embedded in her flesh.

“Oh, isn’t this poor little thing in pain?” The same guy who talked about pissing off an original cooed and lifted Y/N's head with his finger. His face shifted to his vampire one and he snarled, showing his fangs.

“It’s too bad Elijah can’t save you, I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realised that you’re dead."

" I can't wait to see Elijah cut out your tongue and then your heart... But I think he prefers a more special torture"

" ENOUGH, enough of this nonsense .. it's time for my food"

The man displayed his fangs, then thrust into the young woman's neck, letting the blood flow.

Y/N point Of View

Unbearable pain shout through my neck as his fangs clamped down on my neck, I screamed as the pain shot through my whole body. I vaguely remembered that Elijah said that a vampires bite would hurt bad, of course Elijah has already fed from me, a few times but there has been blood sharing. This is not at all pleasant as it is with my Lijah

I screamed feeling my body giving way when I hear screams and see some bodies of men standing outside being thrown lifeless

"Elijah...."

"Elskan, I'm going to get you out of here." Just seeing my boyfriend's face relieves me.

Seeing him like that, so lethal somehow moved me, a fight was fought between him and the guy who caught me in the first place.

"Lucian, I hope hell is nice this time of year ." Elijah said with his vampire face

"You can't kill me , I'm much better than an Original, my bite can kill you..." Lucian said mockingly

"You're absolutely right, until we find a way to kill you I can't do the honors but nobody said about torture. You know I love torturing anyone who hurts my family"

With that a piece of wood was hurled towards Lucian's abdomen and my rescuer came to pick me up.

"It's safe, let's go home... Niklaus takes care of him"

"He drank from me, I'm too weak" I said without looking at him, fearing that this would increase his thirst.

"Elskan, look at me. No problem, I'll heal you and I'll carry you myself" Elijah bit his own wrist bringing it to my mouth

When the metallic taste hit my tongue I felt relief from the pain, from the fear of it all, my wounds started to heal as he saw the wood in my flesh

"He will suffer, won't he? "

"I sure do hope Freya can find a way to make him ordinary so I can kill him with my own hands" Elijah blocks my view of Nik dragging Lucian's body out of the room.

"Elijah ... Thank you"

" For what?"

" Everything"

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it... I did it with all the love and care I did with Hope Mikaelson

#always and forever #the originals #elijah mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson

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softmangoes · 10 months ago

Text

cabin fever | eden x defiant!pc

18+ only

summary: you finally slip free from your leash. eden finds you not long after.

includes: defiant!fem pc, captive to lovers, violence, animal death, pov switches, blood, first-aid, a very touch-starved eden

author's note: this is my very first DOL fic and of course it had to include my favorite forest husband. this was so fun to write, so please let me know what you think! 🧡

the large man pushes you back into the cabin before he falls to the floor with a dull thud. his hunting jacket is dark with blood flowing from an angry gash in his shoulder. you watch him, your knees stinging from scraping against the wooden planks, but he does not get back up.

behind the strands of his dirt-caked hair, you see one of his eyes trained on you.

"is this what you wanted?" he says, voice strained. "to run away?"

a part of you still wants to. with him in this vulnerable state, you're pretty sure you can.

ever since he had first dragged you into the cabin, you had spent hours weakening the leash with a flint arrowhead you managed to find near your post. finally, after days of being fucked against your will, you managed to slip free out of the cabin and into the woods.

it had not taken him long to notice you were gone. in your desperation, you did not think things through. he was a hunter, after all. of course he would find you.

and when he did, he had yanked you from the forest floor, kicking and screaming, gripping you so tightly that your shirt had ripped and your skin became bruised with his fingertips.

and now he's here in front of you, half conscious. you look at him, panting softly and bleeding out onto the floor. despite the pain he must be in, he's still staring at you.

"get away from her," he had growled to the onslaught of snapping teeth. "she's mine."

you had watched the wolf lunge onto him, sinking its teeth into his skin. in the scuffle, he had lost his grip on his rifle. you picked it up, the metal cold in your hands, before training its sight at the writhing struggle between beast and man.

in that moment, you could have ended it all. but before you could pull the trigger, you heard a sudden snap of bone. the great wolf went limp, its last breath a pained whine. with a huff, eden pushed its body off of him and took you by the collar.

"you had your chance," he said, voice hollow. "but i won't die that easily."

right now, you could get up. he could watch you leave. in his current state, it would be impossible for him to follow you.

a part of you wants to hate him, but there's something in the way he looks at you - like he's afraid, ashamed even - that makes you get on your knees and crawl to him.

"what...?" he manages.

"don't make me regret this," you say before tearing off a piece of your shirt and pressing it to the wound.

he does not cry out. blood, warm and red, wets your fingers but you do not stop. you feel his hand wrap around your wrist and for a second, you think he's going to snap it just like he did with the wolf's neck, but he just keeps it there. his palm is rough with calluses, his knuckles silvery with scars. you keep the pressure steady all while he watches you silently.

once the bleeding has stopped, you wipe your hands on your shorts and go to the kitchen to retrieve a jar of poultice and a jug of water. on the first night you spent in the cabin, you remember that he had applied some of it to cuts you sustained during your time in the forest. they had healed quickly after that.

gingerly, you unbutton his shirt to expose the wound. seeing him bare isn't anything new to you, but this was different.

"an hour ago, you wanted to kill me," he says. it's a statement, but also a question. you don't give him an answer.

his chest is sticky with drying blood, but you manage to peel away most of his shirt from the gash. he winces as you do this, grunting softly under his breath.

at the orphanage, you would bandage the little ones whenever they came crying to you with cuts and bruises. one time, robin had slipped into your room, tears in his eyes, as he held up an arm marred by a deep cut from biking too fast down a hill.

all of them had hissed in pain from your ministrations while trying to heal their affliction, but not eden. he was silent, giving you nothing else more than breathy huffs.

you wash the wound with water, watching as dirt and debris flow away. once it's clean, you apply the poultice, tearing off another strip of your shirt to wrap it around the torn flesh.

there is no fear you sense from him, no anxiety at this angry wound - only a weary resignation. it's an exhaustion that you can't help but find familiar.

eden was not afraid of death, but he had a hard time trying to figure out why he was still alive.

hours later, as the dawn light filtered through the window, he felt rather than saw your attempt at giving him first-aid.

it was shoddy work, but satisfactory: the result of the exhausted desperation he saw in your eyes as you worked to patch him up for reasons he could not understand.

but why?

at this point, the pain had significantly lessened due to the poultice and he could finally gather his thoughts. eden expected that your kindness would end at the last knot tied for his dressing. if there had been any moment you could have chosen to fled, last night would have been perfect.

instead, he was surprised to see your sleeping form curled up in front of the fireplace. something like relief made him relax at the sight of you, dirty but uninjured. but there. still there.

"you didn't leave," he says, his eyes still closed.

you blow into the wooden cup, sending curls of steam into the air. it's a simple broth you made with mushrooms from the barrel, herbs from the garden, and leftover rabbit bones and gristle leftover from a previous meal - nothing special, but nourishing enough.

"open your mouth," you instruct, bringing a spoonful of the hot soup to his lips.

earlier, you had somehow managed to prop him up with some cushions without disturbing himself and his injury. it had been a challenge - the man was so huge - but whatever was in the poultice must have kept him asleep.

he opens his mouth and lets you feed him, groaning in satisfaction as he swallows. a lock of his hair falls over his face, so you push it away and let your hand rest on his jaw to ready him for another serving. the pad of your thumb presses against a slash of soft scar tissue.

"are you okay?" you ask when his breath hitches.

eden's eyes open. they bore into you, wary. you can feel them shift from your face to your bare skin. the events of last night had ruined your shirt, so you were only in a pair of shorts and a sports bra.

"i'm fine." he licks his lips. his gaze falls on the old scar sliced across your neck, a memento from bailey. it's something the hunter would stare at often whenever he would take you. "just give me more."

hours later, you're still not sure why you're keeping him alive. perhaps you felt sorry for him, a man all alone in the wilderness. perhaps it was because if you left, there was hardly any life for you to go back to. at this point, you were definitely behind on your weekly payments, and bailey would not let that slide without making sure you would regret it.

you dip the wash cloth into the warm water, wringing it before gently wiping the hunter's face. blood and grime disappear to reveal scattered scars, a mole, and tawny skin made golden by hours in the sun.

in the weeks you had been held captive by this man, you had never seen his face this close. his features are strong - a sharp jaw, a nose that looks like it had been broken once, and cheeks framed by long locks of dark hair.

despite all the reasons he's given you not to think so, you find him beautiful.

you don't want to admit it, so you tell yourself that the heat that spreads across your face is not from seeing the strong, corded muscles of his bare chest, but the fatigue earned from another day of caring for him.

that was it. that was all.

when he comes to, eden sees an angel. her skin is sweet, warm. her touch is gentle, a perfect palm pressed against his forehead. she is beautiful, ethereal. a blessing.

she is everything he has never deserved.

when she opens her mouth, soft lips like fresh petals in the spring, she says, "eden, you're burning up."

the sound of his name is nothing short of salvation.

"fuck!" she says, voice drifting off into the distance. "fuck fuck fuck!"

something like glass presses against his mouth. he turns away.

"why aren't you swallowing it?" she curses. the next thing he sees is her tipping a small amber bottle to her face.

then: warmth. soft petals press against his lips and he gasps at the closeness, at her scent encompassing all of his senses. a tongue probes at his teeth and he opens himself to receive her offering.

sweet liquid fills his mouth: valerian, oregano, echinacea, honey. the taste is similar to the antibiotic tincture he keeps in his pantry.

he takes his good arm and steadies her against his body, pulling her deeper into the kiss. she makes a sound like she's surprised and he feels her hands cup his jaw. he does not deserve any of it, but he wants more. he wants all of her.

"eden," she breathes, pulling away. the angel wipes her wet mouth with the back of her hand, scarlet coloring her cheeks. she rolls off of him.

the absence of her warmth is agony, but before he can call for her, sleep takes him once again.

the next morning, you're on top of eden with the flint arrowhead pressed against his neck.

you do not think about the kiss. you do not think about the way he held you as you forced the medicine into his mouth.

in fact, you could end this. right now, you could take the cabin for yourself. there are enough provisions to last you until you find a way to figure out how to live here. all you have to do is -

"do it," he says, eyes clear and watching you. they look like storm clouds. like morning fog. like the water of the crystal lake where he found you.

you pause, hesitant.

for the first time since he brought you here, his eyes soften.

"someone did that to you, didn't they?" he asks, voice thick with fatigue. "they hurt you."

somehow, you know he's talking about the scar on your neck. you remember bailey pinning you to the wall, his pocketknife carving your skin after you bit him for daring to lay his hands on robin.

"i know what that's like," he says, averting his gaze. there's a note of shame in his voice. "to feel helpless."

you see the silvery scar along his jaw.

and then you break. because in the end, you are both just two animals with the same wounds.

you toss the arrowhead away and it clatters on the wooden floor. then you replace your hands at his neck with your mouth against his.

there's a moment of hesitation before he kisses you back, hungry and desperate.

"more," he growls, and you obey by pulling your bra off over your head.

you lean over him and he takes your breast into his mouth, lapping slowly at the soft bud of your nipple with his warm tongue. you mewl, tightening your thighs around his torso.

when he sinks his teeth into your skin, you gasp, taking his hair into your fist. it's going to bruise, but you don't mind.

"more," he says again, licking between your breasts. you feel his fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts and after a moment of shuffling, you oblige.

he grips your thighs as he lowers you down to his face, his breath hot against your wet slit.

moments after he brings his tongue to your clit, you come shaking and whimpering.

although he's fucked you more times than you can count, this is different.

before, he would never take your pleasure into account and would ram into you until he was satisfied. even then, it would not be enough for his appetite. he'd pull you to him for more, no matter how sore or hurt you were.

but now, he's licking small circles in this part of you that aches for his touch, pulling you deeper into him as you shudder. it's exhilarating. you can't get enough of it.

"eden," you breathe, your voice trembling from coming undone once again.

"mm?" he pulls away. his eyes are hazy with lust - storm clouds rolling through the sky, rumbling with thunder.

"i want you inside of me," you tell him, ready for the lightning.

gently, he guides you onto your back. the floor is still warm from his body, the cushions you placed a few days ago soft against the back of your head.

he sheds his shirt, careful not to undo the dressing. you help him unbutton his pants. there's a scar on his hip and you think about biting it.

"are you sure you'll be okay?" you ask, worried that the wound would reopen. "i don't want you to get hurt."

"i'll be fine," he says, trailing kisses along your neck. "as long as you're here to take care of me."

there's a gentleness to his voice, an implied question. you're tempted to say yes, but you're not yet quite sure.

eden presses into you, his length brushing against your clit. you grip his arms, his muscles tight under your fingers, as you moan.

"let me hear them," he breathes. his voice is soft, tender - this is not the roughness of the man who became your captor. "you were always so quiet before."

eden groans, thrusting himself into you with one long slide. his dark hair cascades over you as he lowers his body to meet yours.

"take me," you say, biting your lip at the sheer pleasure curling hot within your core. you buck your hips towards him, meeting him at the hilt. "all of me."

it's his turn to gasp. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face to yours as he rocks his hips into you.

you kiss the scar on his jaw, tangle your fingers in his hair. the scent of him is earthy, like the forest. you wouldn't mind getting lost in him.

eden huffs, pleasure building within the both of you. you're holding him like that when you begin to come, his name whispered between your lips.

it's not long after that he climaxes, too, burrowing his face into your neck once the shaking stops.

there are a few moments of silence. you hear nothing else but the wind howling outside.

"don't run," he says. so quiet, just barely louder than the crackling of the fireplace.

your bodies are warm and sweat-slicked, glistening with the glow of your embrace.

"i'll protect you." his lips trace the scar on your neck. "i'll provide for you." his mouth brushes yours. "all you have to do is stay." when he lifts his face, you see his eyes shining in the firelight. he's desperate, and you get the sense that he will not ask again.

you think of the life you had before you were taken - the beatings, the stealing, the lying you had to do in order to survive. was it really worth going back to? could you hope to build a new future, one warm with firelight?

your hand finds his. his fingers are strong, callused, but they're gentle. they could be yours, if you want it.

to your surprise, a blush colors your hunter's cheeks. in this moment of tenderness, you find your answer.

"i'll stay," you tell him, like it's a promise. like it's a vow.

#dol eden #eden the hunter #eden the hunter x pc #dol eden x pc #degrees of lewdity eden #degrees of lewdity fic #my writing #i just really like the thought of eden and pc building their relationship slowly #also i know this man is hella strong but thinking about pc patching him up makes me weak #scarred pc

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