#of course they won't heal in a snap of the fingers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thaleleah · 4 months ago

Text

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?

<<< Previous | Next >>>

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 front 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

177 notes · View notes

panda-writes-kpop · 9 months ago

Text

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.

160 notes · View notes

plutoswritingplanet · 1 month 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

40 notes · View notes

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

486 notes · View notes

unecoccinellenoire · 2 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

31 notes · View notes

yuratheicequeenn · 5 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

45 notes · View notes

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

262 notes · View notes

softmangoes · 9 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

127 notes · View notes

intern-seraph · 1 year ago

Text

brief wip preview of my general lilia vanrouge/human general reader fic. in which u are snarky and a wee bit flirtatious and he thinks you're the most annoying creature to ever live. too bad he has to capture you alive!

cws: blood and injury, near-death experiences

You're dying.

That's one thing you know for certain. The other? You've lost. As you struggle to keep yourself awake, you watch your soldiers drop one by one around you. A ragged cough rips through your chest and splatters across the crushed flowers you lie atop.

A shout from nearby calls your attention, but you can barely muster up the energy to move more than your eyes. The shadow cast over you is familiar, however. Your second-in-command. She cries out your name, dropping to her knees and reaching for you. With tremendous effort, you lift your hand to stop her.

"No. Leave me," you say, weak but authoritative.

"No! General, we can't abandon you! You'll be —"

"I'm already going to die. Don't… don't waste your energy." You fumble with the medallions attached to your gambeson. Then, with trembling, bloody fingers, you press the one representing your rank into her palm. She sobs as you urge her to curl her hand around it. "Take this and go. Order anyone still alive to retreat."

Shaking her head, she tries to thrust the medallion back into your hands. "I won't leave you here!"

"Leave! That's —" another wet cough, splattering blood over your armor "— that's an order. Make sure that, hah, that some of these men make it home."

Finally, her face steels with resolve. She nods and rises again. Wordlessly, she salutes you.

And then you're alone again.

The air stinks of blood, both fae and human. You can taste your own filling your mouth. Since the day you joined His Majesty's army, you knew that you would die on the battlefield. What a pity, though, that it's in such a total, bitter defeat.

"What a pleasant surprise."

The voice makes your heart thud in your chest. With the little strength you have left, you try to push yourself up on your elbows. The sharp edge of a fae blade pins you in place. You follow its ornate green length up to meet the masked snarl of its wielder.

"Vanrouge," you murmur. You crack a smile that's rendered grotesque by your bloodied teeth and bruised face. "I should have known this was your work."

He presses the blade harder against your skin. "You look more pathetic than I ever thought you would."

"H-hah, you think of me that often?" The edges of your vision are starting to darken. "'M flattered."

The blade lifts away, and you collapse onto your back with a painful thud. Vanrouge crouches over you, his knee on your chest and his palm pressed to your throat. "Unfortunately for you, I need you alive."

The heat of healing magic strikes your skin. You cry out with the sudden searing sensation, feeling every single inch of your wounds knitting back together. By the time he’s done, tear tracks run down your cheeks. He hasn’t even healed you completely; it’s just enough to keep you alive. You convulse with a hacking cough, and Vanrouge steps away to avoid the spatter of bloody saliva. “Fuck, you didn’t have to make it… shit… make it hurt that much… and here I thought we were friends.”

You can hear the sneer in his voice when he snaps, “I would never be ‘friends’ with the likes of you, human.”

“You wound me.” You laugh. Immediately you regret it, and you dissolve into hacking coughs again. “Shi-i-it… your men did a number on me…”

Of course, Vanrouge ignores you. He manhandles you onto your stomach and wrenches your arms behind your back, binding them in thick, coarse rope. You don’t bother fighting back. You know when to pick your battles. When he pulls you up to your feet, you stumble for a moment, cursing under your breath as your leg threatens to give out completely, but manage to keep your footing. Even as he forces you into an unsteady march, you keep your bloodied grin plastered on your face. His soldiers shout and jeer at you, but give you both a wide berth — the Shadow General terrifies even his own men, it seems.

You don’t get a chance to take in your accommodations for the journey to the Land of Briar’s capital city. The blood loss finally overtakes your adrenaline, and everything goes black.

—

The first time you faced the Shadow General was several years ago, when you were a fresh-faced footsoldier in His Majesty’s army. You were marching to meet up with the rest of the King’s army to aid in a siege. On that fateful night, you made camp in a quiet copse of trees. None of the other soldiers in your squadron had been expecting Vanrouge to emerge from the woods like a wraith, his monstrous mask paralyzing some of your younger comrades on the spot with terror. The fae’s ambush was short and bloody, leaving only half of your squadron clinging to life. While the few magic-users scrambled to remember their healing spells, you stood strong against Vanrouge, himself. For a moment, he’d pinned you to a tree, and you stared directly into those soulless, unblinking eyes. Some kind of manic energy must have overcome you, because when you opened your mouth to pant for breath, instead you choked out a few raspy words:

“Isn’t this… a little intimate?”

You didn’t need to see his face to know that he was repulsed. He dropped you immediately. While you crouched on the leaf-litter and wheezed, he called for his soldiers to withdraw. Then, without looking back at you, he vanished into the night. You never told your surviving comrades what happened, or why he spared you your life. You still don’t know, yourself.

—

You wake up in a haze of pain and exhaustion. Around you, everything is dark and blurry. When you try to sit up, your ribs threaten to pop out of your chest, and you flop back with a frustrated huff. Damn him for only healing you partway. You’ve been stripped of your armor and dressed in a kind of hospital gown. The fabric is thin and irritates your skin if you move too much, but that might just be the medicine you can feel seeping into your healing wounds. All things considered, you’re far more intact than you would’ve expected. They haven’t even bothered to put you in chains, although that might be less of a courtesy and more knowledge that you don’t have the strength at the moment to actually move. Nearby, a heavy door creaks open. You try to crane your neck towards the sound, but only succeed in straining what can only be a torn… something.

“... jesty, I respect your judgment, but again I must ask why? I’m needed on the front lines, not here.”

“Lilia, you know this human better than any of my prison guards. And this may be a much-needed break from your regular duties.”

“A break?”

His tone of voice makes you wince. Surely his Queen would punish his cheek?

She laughs, her voice rich and deep. “Yes, a break. You are sorely in need of one, if your soldiers’ reports are to be believed. This should be suitably calm while keeping your mind occupied.”

“If by ‘calm’ you mean ‘insufferable,’ I suppose you’re correct, Your Majesty.”

#twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #lilia x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst fic #twst lilia #seraph speaks #my writing #twst book 7 spoilers #but kinda mild tbh

210 notes · View notes

cyten0 · 2 months ago

Text

A Symphony In Crimson

Act 1: A Movement in Black

Chapter 22

You stand next to your family, defending them. You don’t see a way out.

✸ “The fact is, I have a few ways to fix this! If you won't kill me then... Well, I can’t go back to Stardust if they're dead~”

Instantly, your family rounds about you, to defend you instead!?!

✸ “Oh dear? That devoted! Well then…”

Loop steps back and space folds in on itself, as you suddenly feel something behind you.

✸ “Let’s play~”

Loop grabs your arm, and you pull back, detaching it quickly before a surge of craft energy incinerates it. You regrow the arm back quickly and grab your dagger, as Mirabelle charges at Loop.

Loop easily sidesteps the attack without flinching, and then without even looking, grabs Isa’s fist when they try and attack from behind.

✸ “You’re going to have to try harder then that~”

Loop tosses Isa aside, and then fires another craft at you, as you dodge by mere inches!

Wait- You block the followup blow, as they closed the gap in the cover. Of course, you know that move!

You slash back at him, trying to hit him, but he dances just out of range. He knows your moves too.

Bonnie fires at him from behind, but he vanishes away into the shadows.

◆ “Fighting awfully hard for someone trying to die.”

✸ “If you can’t kill me, you won’t be ready when dear Stardust becomes a danger!”

▲ “Sif isn’t gonna do that.”

Loop appears from above, dive bombing Odile. Mira sets up a craft shield to block the blow, while Isa pulls her out the way.

✸ “HAHA!!!! But I’m proof they COULD!!!! And If you aren’t ready for that… Then I’d best remove that possibility~”

They fall into the earth, and you block the blow from your side. You knew it! They still fight like you somewhat! You snap your fingers to speed up Odile, who takes the opening to blast loop back into the tree.

✦̵ “Which is why you’re fighting like me, aren’t you?”

◉ “Wait, They are! Okay! We can work with that, circle up and protect each others openings!”

As the others close in around you, back to back, Loop begins to laugh, staring you down, perched in front of the tree.

✸ “Oh, think you Know me? YOU THINK I’M THE SAME AS DEAR LITTLE STARDUST???”

They pull their mask off their face.

✸ “Then I’d best change up my tune~ After all…”

Loop smashes the mask against the ground, and thousands of bright red, glowing flowers bloom around you all. Spider Lilies?

Loop plucks one from the earth.

✸ “I was made with a lot more then just Stardust~”

Loop crushes the flower in their hands, and their stance changes. They stand more straight, more calculating. A more serious, and uncannily familiar expression crosses their face. The bits of flower wither and transform into black crystal, slowly taking the vague form of a book.... Wait!

✦̵ “Mira, Shield!”

Mira crafts as quick as she can before a massive blast of craft energy slams into you all! Even with the shield, it knocks you all off your feet, and stings a bit.

Loop chuckles, in a voice not their own, their own voice only a faint echo behind their new, all too familiar voice.

◆ “Oh gems, I might have overdone it. Ah well.”✸

◆ “Right, That’s disconcerting.”

◆ “Well within Siffrin’s capabilities, I assure you. If only I’d stopped them when I had the chance…”✸

BANG

Loop narrowly blocks the shot with their book, as it starts to shatter. Isa runs around and tries to tackle them while their distracted, and Loop has to dive out of the way.

✿ “Don’t act like Dile! And Stop trying to hurt Frin!!! They’d never hurt us!”

BANG

Isa takes a hit in the shoulder, as Loop suddenly has a mimicry of a pistol in their hand, and an innocent yet terrified face.

✿ “But if Frin wouldn’t hurt us, How’d I end up like this?! It hurt so much! It hurt so much…”✸

Bonnie shakes hearing that. NO. That’s too far.

You charge at Loop, driving the dagger straight into the earth beside them, just managing to cut open their flank. They scramble to their feet, with another flower in hand.

Crystal forms into a rapier, as Loop heals themselves with craft. Their face is a familiar, determined look. Their stance unwavering.

◉ “Just stop it! We don’t want to hurt you!”

◉ “Neither did we! And we died for it! I won’t let you go the same way! We have to protect you!”✸

Mirabelle charges at Loop, who parries her attack. The two duel for a brief few seconds before Isa charges in the way, as Loop ducks under the blow.

They slide backwards, and grab another flower. Crushing it quickly, their hands become coated in crystal, and they charge at Mira, making several swings at her.

▲ “We might not like it, but that doesn’t make it better! We just gotta know you can handle it, please! I can’t let that happen to Sif again! We have to know you can stop it if it would!”✸

Isa jumps in, putting themselves between Mira and Loop, and holding back their blows.

▲ “Nobody is dying today, got it? If the worst happens, we’ll find a better way then this!”

You can’t take any more of this. Can’t take any more of hearing versions of them who died. Can’t take this fighting.

You unravel, and grab Loop while their preoccupied, and fling them against the favor tree, then leap towards them, and try to wear them down in a flurry of fangs and tendrils.

✦̵ “That’s enough! I’m not gonna let that happen, never again!”

✸ “… Then why. Are you BLINDING. HESITATING?!?!”

Loop grabs a limb and throws you back towards the party.

✸ “...I expected them to hesitate. They always did... But YOU?!?! YOU KNOW THE STAKES!!!!”

Loop vanishes, and the earth starts to shift. The world itself begins to tilt. Their voice seems to echo from everywhere at once.

✸ “hahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Even when face to face with the monster within, When you FINALLY have the chance to kill it for good, YOU CAN’T BLINDING DO IT?!?!?”

The ground keeps tilting, and you grab your family, bringing them to the tree before they lose their footing and fall into the sky. You all stand upon the branches of the tree, hoping they’ll hold you up.

✸ “MAYBE you need a REMINDER.”

As the world becomes completely flipped, the flowers begin to drip a dark red substance. But you can smell what it is…

✿ “What’s happening? What’s coming from the flowers?”

✦̵ “Blood. I-It smells like blood.”

Stars not this nightmare. Nonononono

Faces start to form in the dark abyss below, rising into view. Blood-formed images of your family. Thousands of them. Their eyes lifeless, their bodies mangled. Staring at you. Screaming in pain.

◆ “Gems alive!”

◉ “Change!”

✿ “No no no that's not okay!”

You can’t help but shake, and grip the tree for dear life.

▲ “S-Sif? You okay?”

✸ “Of course not, they’ve had this nightmare every other night for almost a blinding year now!!!! Because even if YOU all deny it, It never left THEIR mind!!!!!! THEY ALWAYS KNEW!!!! KNEW WHAT I AM COULD BECOME REAL!!!!”

✦̵ “Nonononononono I won’t hurt them I won’t hurt them I won’t hurt them I won’t hurt them”

You won’t hurt them you won’t hurt them you won’t hurt them It’s not real it can’t be real please don’t let it be real you wouldn’t you wouldn’t!!!!

◆ “Snap out of it Siffrin!”

▲ “We’re right here, just stay calm!”

✸ “That didn’t stop it before.”

Loop appears. But their stance. No. It’s all to familiar. Their stance is that of a feral beast. A horn of crystal forms on their head. A claw forms on one hand. And a dagger in the other. A cloak of shadows, barely visible. And the moment they open their mouth, the voices quiet, and harmonize with them.

✦̵ “We can’t let them die. We have. To stop. The monster.”✸

They let out a manic laugh. They lift their face. Their eyes are dark voids, as tears flow down their face, contorted into a twisted smile.

✸ “So it ends here. One way, or another.”✦̵

They charge right at you. You can barely breath, the blood is making it hard to think! Gotta.. Gotta..

Isa blocks the blow before it can reach you.

✸ “BLINDING KILL ME!!!!! KILL US BEFORE WE HURT YOU AGAIN!!!!!!”✦̵

▲ “No! We can find a better way!”

✸ “No You CAN’T!!! Even I struggled to pull Stardust from the brink! YOU’LL DIE IF YOU TRY!!!!”✦̵

◆ “Wait, What do you mean by that?”

Nonononononono please don’t tell them!!!!

Loop sees your expression, and their grin widens.

✸ “HAHAHA Oh I didn’t mention?!? The king was one CRUEL MONSTER!!!! By their hand, Stardust already has a taste for human!! I won’t say which one!!! But when they came back, well… It’s a good thing I had a corpse ready!!!”✦̵

You choke. The smell is sickening, the memory still in your mind, and the corpses of your family still stare you down. You can’t move you can’t breathe they're all horrified and you can’t move!

Loop tosses Isa aside, and continues to charge at you.

Odile slows them with craft, straining herself to bring them to a crawl.

◆ “Siffrin! Get it together!”

✦̵ “Blood. Can’t. Think.”

There’s so much and every breathe just brings in more, and you can’t, you can’t!!!

✸ “SEE??? EVEN NOW THEY HAVE TO FIGHT IT!!! Even with AGES WORTH of getting away from it, EVEN WHEN FRESHLY FED, they can BARELY handle it!!!! And TRUST ME, I’d be FAR WORSE!!!!”✦̵

◆ “Gems this is bad.”

Loop takes advantage of her distraction and throws their knife directly at her, hitting her hand and disrupting the slow. Mira throws a quick heal at Odile, and then crafts a shield to block Loop from you.

◉ “Siffrin! You can do this! Prove them wrong!”

Mira… You... You can’t let her down. You shakily try and get to your feet. You wrap a tendril around the other side of Mira’s shield, trying to grab Loop and restrain them. They break out with ease.

✸ “STOP HESITATING!!!! I THOUGHT YOU LEARNED YOUR LESSON WITH THE KING??? YOU. CAN’T. SPARE. MONSTERS!!!!”✦̵

They take their claw and smash through Mira’s shield, grabbing her by the throat and tossing her aside.

You can still barely move, you’re shaking too bad. Loop continues to charge and-

Stops. Because Bonnie. Put themselves in the way. Arms outstretched. Not defending themselves.

✸ “… Clever, Bonbon.”✦̵

✿ “Y-Yeah! You won’t hurt us!”

✸ “… I can’t lose you all again, that's true.... But you misunderstand.”✦̵

Loop grabs Bonnie and vanishes with them. They reappear, hovering in the air just beyond the branches, holding Bonnie up with one hand. A new crystalline knife in the other.

✸ “I won’t KILL you.”✦̵

They bring the knife up to Bonnie’s eye! NO!!

YOU WON’T LET THEM!!!!!!

You reach out with your tendrils and grab Loop, and then, with a single motion.

You dig a fang into their heart.

✸ “Ah!”✦̵

The distortion shatters like glass...... as the world suddenly returns to normal.

Your family drops to the ground, including Bonnie, with Loop having released their grip. You wrap yourself around the tree, Holding yourself up, and holding Loop in place, slowly turning them upright.

✸ “Do it, stardust. Please.”

✦̵ “...No. Not after everything.”

✸ “….”

✦̵ “Wasn’t the whole point to not hurt anyone again?”

Loop just stares at you silently...

✸ “… Why. Why did it have to go this way?”

You slowly lower the both of you back down to the ground. The others start to get up.

Bonnie walks up to Loop, as you let them go. Bonnie has a scratch on their cheek, but is otherwise unharmed. Loop’s heart is cracked a little. But otherwise fine. Tears run down Loops cheek.

Bonnie hugs Loop.

✿ “… Cause you’re both stupid crabs who don’t talk about stuff.”

✸ “...Hah. I guess we are?”

You meander towards the both of them. And just put a hand on Loop’s shoulder.

✦̵ “...Sorry I put you through that...”

✸ “Well. If I’m not dying here, I guess you might experience it anyways.”

◆ “...Loop. Care to get this Fool Arcana to chat?"

Odile smiles a bit.

◆ “… I still have a Coinflip to win, and might as well use it on something that matters.”

Loop thinks for a second. Then tosses Odile a silver coin. The same one you carry around.

✸ “… They say Heads, I go to Stardust, Tails, I go with them... And that they already know the result.”

Odile nods. And Holds the coin out. She takes a deep breath. And flips.

… You look at the coin, laying in the grass. Tails.

✸ “… Guess they haven't had enough of me yet…"

Odile chuckles to herself. Guess she got that wish.

✸ “...Thank you.”

Odile walks over to them, and puts a hand on their shoulder.

◆ “Of course... Heh, Such a drama queen, all this over nothing.”

◉ “D-Does that mean this is the last we see of you?”

Mirabelle sort of hovers, nervous.

✸ “… Maybe. Not that we have time for proper goodbyes~”

You look, and see Loop is fading away slowly already.

▲ “Then... If you get the chance, you better say Hi. I’m pretty sure you’re part of the group now!”

✸ “...Of course. I promise… But can you promise me one thing?”

You all nod. They look at your family members. Before closing their eyes. And in several voices, speak.

✸◆✿◉▲ “Take care of them for us, Okay?”

Everyone else is kind of taken aback for a second.

◉ “… We will.”

✿ “Can do!”

◆ “As if it was in doubt?”

▲ “No problem!”

You sit there for a second.

✦̵ “…I will too.”

✸ “...Good… You really are, frankly, quite helpless without them, Stardust!”

Loops body starts to fade away into nothing.

✸ “...Farewell.”

As their body finally dissipates into nothing, you see a small, red light appear on the ground where they sat. As a single, bright red Spider-Lily blooms in their place.

✦̵ “Sorry, to all of you. And… Thank you. Loop.”

You all take a moment of Silence. Just looking at this site.

▲ “...Let’s go. I think this has been a long day for all of us.”

You nod. You just lean up against Isa. Your family heads up to the house, to talk with Euphrasie, and clear up any last minute mess.

As the Morning sun shines down around you, with your family by your side. You feel content.

Your brain keeps telling you that things won’t go well but. You ignore it.

Because somehow. You know this will work out.

… The road is long. But. You know that, for the first time. In a long. LONG time. Really, truly, in every sense...

You are no longer alone.

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

In the light the sins are burned

From deepest black they have been turned

For family the monster lives

Nigredo past, To Hope they give

Yet can they withstand purification?

In Albedo they will find life. Or damnation.

#in stars and time #isat #isat au #carrion!sif au #SymphonyInCrimson!au #Thus goes the End of the Beginning...

16 notes · View notes