#or a sensation on my back where you might draw wings on a winged person | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kashimos-hajime · 3 years ago

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no regrets (8/8) | r.b.

summary: For the first time, he thinks of a future he could have, and someone who loves him, and there’s something bright in his heart. Or, Reiner finally understands what peace is.

WARNINGS: MANGA SPOILERS!!! angst, mentions of violence, we get our happy ending :) pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 6.7k

a/n: welcome to the last chapter!! thank you so much for being on this journey with me. there are a few callbacks to previous chapters so see if you can catch ‘em all heheh

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

Few months ago ymir asked if I could let her write one last letter to krista, and I did let her. I stood over her shoulder the whole time, watching her pen down all this sappy shit and I kept thinking about you the whole time, behind those walls. What you were doing, what you were thinking. Maybe if you thought about me. I dont know.

I’m starting to see the appeal of wrting what youre not strong enough to say to a persons face. I never thought Id find myself on the other end of this stick. for some reason, I thought that I could stop myself, resist the temptation, or maybe that I didnt feel for you as strong as I thought I did once I was away from you. I was wrong.

What do I even say? I mean shit, I can barely see, my limbs are barely in tact, and all of it—shiganshina, it haunts me, even though I cant really remember it that well. Half of it goes black and then I remember hearing your voice, I remember Bertholdt, I remember you screaming.

You couldve walked away. why didnt you walk away? It doesn’t make sens. Why did you think to cut me out? Why did you try to save me? Im trying to make it make sense inmy head. It’s not working.

Fuck I dont know what I was thinking when I asked for a paper and pen. Why am I asking you questions? Its not like ill ever understand. At this point, I think it’s pity thats letting Zeke let me waste ink on trying to write straight. He doesn’t know what im doing, but thats better this way. Better than sleeping—better than eating. I just wanna talk to you and this is as close as I can get. Its my own damn fault, but I dont care.

I completed my mission. After this, im done. ill give up the rest of my term. I dont want any of that glory anymore. I dont want to be a hero. Im just done.

Fuck, my head hurts so much. I dont really know if what im saying is making sense. Im hoping you never read this.

im sorry. I wish I could explain it to you some day, but chances are, ill be dead soon. Whether for treason or because they need to pass on the Titan, and I wont be able to see you again. Which means youll never know how sorry I am. How much I

Thats okay. I dont think youd believe me now even if I did say anything.

I remember your dream to live by the lake with a bunch of kids. You know I started to wonder if youd mind if they were our kids, not just some orphans who needed a home. I’d imagine one of them with blond hair. Imagine them swimming in the lake.

Never told you that was my dream too. Never knew i could have a dream of my own, something only I wanted and not just something to further marleys damn agenda, til I knew you. Sounds stupid but its true.

I think youd like Marley, if we weren’t sworn enemies. Just want you here with me right now. make me sleep easier knowing you’re there when I wake up.

Dont want secrets either. Fuck I miss you so bad. I feel s o tired all the time.

I rember when i first saw you all could think about was how you were the most prettiest girl id ever seen. I don know if you know thats why I tried to distance myself. Knew I couldn’t get distracted from my mison. happened anyway. Wish I could tell you that.

wish I could tell you I love you. Wish I could see the look on yur face when you try lobster for the first time. Youd love it. Not sweet, but tons of desserts here too.

Shit. And the ring on your finger. ill put a ring on your finger. I promised. i swear ill go home and buy a ring for the moment I see you again. Might not be pretty but will do the best I can.

Olnly wnat only wnat only want to see you again and beg for your forgiveness. Let you know if I had a choice, I wouldnt have done it. Would take it all back, nd stay. i wanted to stay, stay with you and the others. I used to want to spend the rest of my life in those walls, now I think im sick and tired of them dividing people who arent even that differnet.

My eyes are beginning to burn. Worse because the skin is sitll growing back. Fucking hell god I miss you. miss your smile more.

I know i dont deserve your forigvneess forgiveness. I want you to be angry with me. I deserve as much, and I cant ask you to, but

With love,

Rienr

You fold the letter, eyes closing as your fingers trace where the ink bled, the old tear stains wrinkling the paper beyond measure. Some are older than others, and you trace over his name again, your eyes burning, your throat tight enough to suffocate.

You’re leaning against the wall as everyone disembarks. They had taken Eren off first, Hange and the others getting ready to depart for the city while Connie and Jean lift a covered stretcher too white for the vivacious girl that lays dead beneath it.

They pass you silently, and you catch sight of a certain captain approaching, his pale eyes nearly swallowed by the shadows haunting his face.

“Captain,” you say, straightening. Placing the letter back into the tin, you slide it back into your pocket as he folds a green jacket over his shoulder. You give him a nod.

“You made it out alive,” Levi observes. He stops beside you, eyes more focused on what’s ahead. No doubt he’s not looking forward to having to take Zeke to wherever he needs to go—somewhere far, far away from Eren. You cross your arms.

“It’s good to see you, too, Levi,” you intone. Sighing, you step in beside him and look out at the Walls you can’t see in the distance, your entire body wrought with a strange fatigue that’s only sewn into muscles by adrenaline leaving the body. “I think I’m going to stay.” He tilts his head to you, eyes flickering to your face, and you mirror the shift, your arms tightening. “I can’t leave this unfinished. Not after Liberio.”

“The farm will have to be abandoned,” he points out. “The kids, too.”

“I’ll make sure I move them where someone can take care of them. Somewhere north, far away from the brothers,” you assure, although still, your heart begins to sink and you close your eyes, exhaling deeply. “I have to hope they understand.”

Levi only nods, and you open your eyes as he wordlessly takes the jacket off his arm and offers it to you. Grasping it wearily, you open your mouth to ask questions but he only sets off, back towards the cabin where Zeke is still being held, and you snap your jaws shut, looking down at the jacket.

When you unfold it, you swallow the hard rock in your throat at the blue and white slipping beween the folds of olive green before there’s a sharp whistle. Looking up, you see the carriages already beginning to load up, and you glance back at the door where the captain has disappeared through before jogging down the ramp.

You slither your arms through the sleeves and shuffle the fabric along your frame as something thumps against your thigh, and you frown, reaching down into your pocket and coming into contact with something smooth and hard.

Withdrawing, your lips part at the green bolo tie gleaming in the lights of the port and you, without another thought, pull it over your head, letting it fall against your breastbone.

“For your services to the Survey Corps.”

There’s no time to second-guess now. No time to debate.

“Good to have you back,” Hange murmurs as you walk towards the carriage taking Mikasa, Armin, and the others back to the city. You tug the lapels of the jacket tighter around yourself and flash them a weak smile.

The Wings of Freedom on your arm feel like a brand, and it prickles your skin as you climb in after them.

Distantly, he remembers flashes.

Eren reaching forward for Zeke, the exhaustion ripping him every which way, the sound of ODM gear whizzing in his ears as he tries to make sense of the punctured sensation in his armour.

How he had softened his nape, intending to die then. At least, let his death have some meaning, he had thought. Let him make one last effort to repent for everything he did to Paradis, and to his friends who’d been more family than his own mother.

He slips in an out of consciousness for the next few days. He doesn’t know what is up, what is down, but he does recognize his surroundings blearily, the way his head spinning somehow slowing when he presses his temple to the wooden floor.

How can he almost hear your voice in the echoes of the panels, countered by someone who almost sounds like Annie before he drifts off again.

When Reiner finally regains consciousness again, he wakes to someone crouched down in front of him. Jerking up, he lets out a sound before a palm slaps over his mouth and your face is shoved against his own.

“Shut it,” you whisper fiercely. “It’s just me.”

Your name muffled by your own hand, his eyes begin to burn and you lift your palm away as he sits up and you draw back. You’re dressed in clothes that look like they’ve seen better days but you’re relatively uninjured as you pull back. New lines adorn your face—one of the many prices of their damned war—and you only look exhausted.

Sitting up, Reiner’s whole body groans as he leans against the wall, but he can’t tear his eyes away from you. Your hands are hovering around his body like you’re scared he’ll collapse and there’s a fracture in your mask.

Something gleams on your finger and his eyes flit to it, his heart lurching when he realizes what it is.

The ring. You’re wearing it. You…

For a moment, a glimmer of their teenage selves shine through and he wants to reach for it—touch it so he can remember what it’s like to be happy. He thinks it’s an awful like now; the swelling of his heart so big he can’t breathe; the way his lungs are static in his chest; how he can’t say anything because there are so many words that want to come out first.

“You’re here. You’re alive,” he finally settles on raspily. Your eyes glint with a youthful pain as you nod.

“So are you.”

And he doesn’t know who moves first—you or him. Nothing is forgiven as their bodies crash in an embrace that lacks grace, but they cling onto another like the world is ending and they’re the only ones left standing.

Maybe they are.

He buries his face in your neck, and your arms are so tight around him your fingers dig into his shoulders as your body melts against his and his skeleton sags in his own body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, eyes fluttering shut. “I‘m sorry.” A hand against your neck and an arm around your waist, he wraps his legs around your own and traps you against him. You seem to only sink into him even more.

Is that enough? I don’t want you to hate me.

You suck in a breath, and then it comes out shuddering. “You can spend the rest of what life you have left repenting for making me fall in love with a man who was always supposed to die.”

Softly, in his mind, your voice cools the searing heat of hatred inside him. It’s enough. It has to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. It’s like they’re the only words he knows. He can’t remember ever meaning it this much. For him dying, for making you love him, for ever coming to Paradis. For loving you. For loving you. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know. I know.” Your face turns to press against his own. Your lips brush against his jaw and his eyes slide shut, tears rolling down his face. “I read every single one of your letters.” Drawing back, you cup his face in his hands and your fingers smear his tears all over his cheeks as his palm rests against your neck. Thumb stretching up to touch your chin, he feels sobs shuddering in his throat at seeing you again—looking at him almost like you used to. “I can’t begin to understand, but I know you are. And I know you love me.”

Choking, he gasps, “You should hate me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I should.” You’re crying, too, voice thick, tears stubborn on your cheeks as you give him a watery smile. “I should hate Marley, too. But it’s beautiful there. The water by the sea… I want to be there with you next time. We need to go together, before you leave me alone, okay?”

Reiner doesn’t quite hear you. He hears Marley, and beautiful, and he’s never noticed how beautiful you are when you cry, but right now, it’s the simplest truth he knows.

“Okay.”

When you tilt his chin up and kiss him softly, something inside him explodes from the gentleness that makes him want to crack in the palm of your hands. It sears him from the inside out, makes him grab onto you like you’ll disappear—this is another dream, isn’t it?

It has to be.

You can’t be kissing him again after four years. He doesn’t deserve it. You’re an illusion, something his mind made up to deal with the pain. He’s finally cracked for good, just like Bertholdt said he would, and he’s the devil, not you.

But then you pull away just for a moment to smile, eyes barely open as you look at him with a sad tenderness that wraps him in an invisible embrace, and he is faced with the heart-wrenching reality.

The sky is falling, you are holding him tightly again, and they’ve lost their years. But you’re here. With him.

He knows that this isn’t a dream as he feels the coolness of the silver band on your finger and the heaviness in how he knows he hasn’t repented a damn thing.

Why him?

As you run your hand through his hair, you press their foreheads together.

“And I do want a family with you, by the water if you’d like,” you murmur fleetingly against his mouth and his eyes widen, cheeks burning, entire face crumbling as he turns his face in to your shoulder, crushing you in another brace. Sobbing into your neck, his fingers dig into your shoulders, wrap tight around your waist, squeeze you so close he isn’t sure where you end and he begins and your lips brush the shell of his ear. “Reiner, say it.”

“Please,” he whispers thickly into your skin, and you cradle the back of his head with a hand. He’s nothing more than shambles. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” you promise. His breath is hot against his own face as you pull his head back and cradle his face again, thumbs brushing away the tears from his red face. “Just a bit more. A bit more and then it’ll be all over, you know?”

And he understands, then, what you want from him. Struggling for breath, for his lungs to stop seizing in his aching chest, he cups your face that turns into his palm on instinct, your face wet with your own tears as, for a moment, they try to pretend this isn’t where they really are.

Like they’re still in that afternoon in Trost, a thousand years ago, with the kids flipping coins into the water fountain and a cream bun between them. Like they’re under the tree, apple juice on your wrist and his lips on yours.

Like it’s those trips to the city, the walks on the Walls. Honey is dripping down your chin and he’s pretending he doesn’t want to kiss you, or there’s grease smeared on his forehead, and you’re reaching up to wipe it off his skin.

Like a thousand moments all at once, and he nods to himself as you brush your hand over his temple. The world outside is startlingly quiet, as if the universe itself stopped everything itself to watch this moment, and Reiner takes a breath that bruises his sternum before he’s holding your left hand where that ring still sits.

And slowly, he pulls it off, whispering as firmly as he can. He’s sure he fails—he’s shaking all over from your presence alone.

“When this is over, I’ll put that ring back on your finger. I promise.”

The smile that splits your face is dazzling. It’s the smile he’s missed since the day he left it.

“We have a lot of things to work out, Reiner Braun.”

And your fingers barely brush his jaw before you’re leaning to press a sweet kiss against his mouth. It’s sugary on his tongue, like honey and apple slices.

Your back is warmer when you’re pressed up against Reiner’s. The ship is quiet, and their pinkies are just barely hooked on oen another’s as you stare blankly at the empty space between Connie’s boots. You don’t speak, and Reiner’s gaze is only on you. He can’t look at anything else now that you’re back by his side again.

There’s a cut on your cheek from the fight just half an hour ago, and there’s dried blood along your hands where your knuckles had split open, but everyone seems too exhausted to clean themselves up.

Reiner himself has a blanket pulled over his shoulders, and he sighs, slouching in his own sack of flesh.

Your head tilts towards him, enough that your temple presses against his cheek. His eyes close and he leans into your touch. Not a word passes by, but their hold on each other’s hands tightens. And Reiner thinks.

For the first time, he thinks of a future he could have, and someone who loves him, and there’s something bright in his heart. Something that hasn’t burned since he left Marley as a child.

Reiner thinks he doesn’t want to die anymore. He doesn’t want to miss you for another moment.

Raising from the steam, you groan, your hands searing from the inside out as you touch your face where you swore every inch of your skin had been stretched, but nothing seems out of sorts as you glance around. Everywhere, all your friends who had turned just as you had are in various states of disoriented. The air is still hissing, crackled with surprised screams and shouts of names as people look for one another across the field.

It smells like cooked meat and burnt hair, a none-to-pleasant mixture that turns your stomach.

Getting to your feet, you wipe at your face, trying to ignore the weird feeling underneath your nails and the ache seizing your muscles. Trying to ignore the remnants of Eren lingering like a ghost that won’t really leave you alone. You shiver, and a strange cold sweat takes over your body.

He had taken you to the sea, except it wasn’t the shore you were familiar with. There was a cabin nearby, with blonde children running, chasing after one another and a man with golden hair standing on the porch, firewood in his arms as he calls out silently. Or maybe you had been standing too far to hear.

“Eren… where are we?”

“Wherever you think you are,” he had said. “I just brought you where you wanted to be.”

A voice, quiet as a memory, catches your attention. “Here let me help.” A soft wind blows throw the mist, cooling your scorching face as you feel a presence stand behind you.

“Oh, thank you.” You look over your shoulder to see a tall boy, and your heart stops. Mouth dropping open, you stare at his foggy image, but he only smiles fully, a smile so tender it reaches every corner of you as you stumble forward, fingers stretching for him. “Bertholdt!”

His smile grows only that much more, eyes squinting a bit and a flash of teeth before he’s looking at your hand that passes through his chest. All at once, all the hope built up in your chest crumbles, and your hand snaps back, trembling just before him. He lays a hand over your own and your eyes begin to burn, tears slipping down your cheeks.

And then, softly, you barely whisper, “I miss you.”

Bertholdt’s smile merely grows, as if to say everything he couldn’t say before. As if to show he’s at peace now—that your last memory together isn’t every part of him, and your lips press together, trying to stop yourself from shaking.

Shadows form in the fog, and together, the two look as a freckled boy and another girl steps out of the mist a distance away, beaming like the sun. Connie and Jean stagger to their feet just behind you, and your heart lurches into your throat when you recognize them.

“Marco! Sasha!”

Someone calls your name and you turn around just as arms scoop you up and you let out a surprised noise before settling into Reiner’s arms. Looking over your shoulder to look at Bertholdt, your heart only sinks.

He smiles and Reiner lets out a sharp breath beside you, settling you down. “Bertholdt…” More shapes emerge. A shorter boy accompanied by another taller one, both alike in their features. You recognize one as the Jaw Titan holder before Falco, but the other—

“Marcel!” Reiner chokes out the name, hand stretching out to the fog, but the boy merely tilts his head and waves.

Closing your eyes, hot tears streak over your cooling flesh as you fling your arms around Reiner again and press your face into his neck. He cradles the back of your head, and he feels… somehow weaker, but still, there is that impassable strength in his core that wraps around you as he watches over your shoulder, still clinging on despite your clothes hot enough to burn.

I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive. It’s the only thought in your head. Your last clear memory had truly been the others taking flight, and the pain that had ripped apart your body before sewing it back together again in unjust proportions. Your limbs had been too big, your blood racing too warmly through your head as your legs pumped but your brain screamed to stop.

Your fingers had sank into Reiner’s legs to pull him down and you had watched—watched Jean take a bite out of him—

You shiver and Reiner’s arms tighten around you instinctively, constricting enough to let you know that his attention isn’t on you quite yet.

Boots shifting on the ground tentatively, your knees feel gummy as you draw back long enough to look at him. He still looks over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze to watch the mist retreat. Bertholdt and the other two boys fall into a pool of fog, and your lips part in a farewell, but it’s already too late.

He’s gone.

A wind sweeps through the battlefield, tickling your sweating neck and cooling your boiling blood.

“Hey,” a soft voice croaks.

Their eyes meet in tandem. He regards you softly, like you are the reason the sun rises and the stars hang at the sky. Overwhelmed, you can only cup the back of his neck and pull him into a deep kiss. Your other hand along his jaw, it takes all you can not to pull him into a bone-crushing embrace that’ll send them both to the ground.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you whisper hushedly against his mouth, throat swelling as he lets out a soft noise of surprise as you pull him into another tight hug. You don’t care that you’re crushing him, just that his heart is pounding against your own chest. “I couldn’t stop myself. I’m so sorry.”

His eyes widening, he wraps his hands around your wrists and pulling you back just enough to kiss your fingers that crumple against his mouth. Clasping one of his hands in both of your own, you close your eyes and he uses his free fingers to brush the tears off your cheek before reaching into some dented tin you don’t recognize.

Eyebrows furrowing, you feel the heat leave your entire body, sapping your energy too, and your eyes snap to Reiner who steps back, cracking it open and presenting it to you.

“You’re not the one who has to be sorry. I don’t think I’m the Armoured Titan anymore,” he whispers. “I don’t know if I get the rest of my life back, but either way, I want to spend the rest of it repenting to you in any way I can, if you’ll allow me to.” A weak smile. “Truth.”

Your throat closes up, and you stare down at the ring so protected, gleaming despite the destruction around them. It looks almost out of place amongst the grime smearing your skin, the sweat drenching their skin, the smell of blood and metal clinging to their clothes, but Reiner only watches you with a tenderness you can barely meet. It’s so overtly overflowing with devotion that your heart is resting on your tongue, seizing control of everything.

You barely nod, chewing on your lip, trying not to cry even harder as his eyebrows rise in relief and he lets out a long sigh.

He lifts the ring out of the tin, snapping it closed before sliding the band back home onto your finger and all at once, everything floods you. The exhaustion, the pain, the hunger, thirst, grief wrapping around your bones and chaining you to the ground.

It’s over.

The minute he put the ring on your finger, it would mean it was over. No more blood, no more fighting.

Just like he promised.

You barely croak out his name before you fall to your knees. You trust him to catch you, and he does.

[THREE YEARS LATER]

Just after the Rumbling had stopped, you had gone back to Paradis alone and came back with three children to a man who was still uncertain in a world that was changing.

Since then, you’ve learned so much about the world, about yourself, about Reiner.

How he’s seized by night terrors even now, just like you, and how one thing that soothes it is going out for a walk while the sun still simmers below the horizon, the sky a dark navy blue spliced with orange rays. The intricate details like him making a point to tie his own tie because his father never taught him how or the way he has to chug his coffee so he has enough energy to get through the day.

And some days are horrible, haunting, but now, it is far outweighed by the good. He teaches Xav how to dress smart, takes the girls out shopping. Sometimes, he’s spotted around Liberio with a flame-haired boy riding his shoulders, you trailing behind hiding a smile behind some ice-cream.

Different nations, foods, cultures surround you now—citizens of countries coming to settle down roots, spread cuisine to Marley. The idea before, of humans so different than you but still similar at the root of it all, existing, still blows your mind. The technologies that you had never seen before, languages you’d never heard, sights you’d never seen, had all swarmed you as you stepped into a new world with him.

But there is always one thing you’ll come back to.

Leaning against the railing in the port city Reiner told you was the harbour he had left twelve years ago, and returned to seven years ago, you watch the clouds travel in slow drags across the pale blue canvas hung high above your head. The water spans for as far as you can see, glimmering under the sun and gorgeous enough to take your breath away. You pull at your coat across your chest absently, ignoring the tender growl of your stomach.

Breathing in the salty wind, you feel your chest expand at the litle fishing boats a little ways out.

Reiner was right. You don’t get sick of the sea. You never will—not of this much water. You still remember the first time you had swam in it, the salt-water making your hair crisp, the cold sweat forming on your your sun-warmed skin.

You feel a hand on your shoulder. Looking up, you spot blonde hair and warm eyes and smile. Your heart flutters a bit. You shift on your feet.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Reiner leans down beside you, and you clasp your hands, letting the sea wind curl against your neck. Reaching to slip his hand in between yours, he sighs and you lean against his shoulder, glancing at their pile of interlaced fingers. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” you whisper, although even still, you can feel a numbing at your fingertips. You remember what it was like to be a Titan, even now. The sensations haunt you—flashes of your own mutated body, the grotesque meat of your hands sinking into the ankles of the man beside you, the bloodcurdling roar spilling out of your throat.

Glancing at their fingers, you watch the flashes of silver of the rings play in the sunlight, your band now having a matching counterpart on his own hand. You grasp his hands tightly, bringing them up to your lips and his own grip tightens when you dust a kiss gently along his scarred knuckles.

“No,” you finally say at length. “I’m not okay. Going back to Paradis makes me nervous as hell, but we’ll manage.” He nods slowly, and you let go of his hands to wrap your arms around his neck. His own encircle your waist, pulling you flush against him and your eyes close at the familiar warmth—a warmth you’ve woken up next to most days for the past three years.

“Have you eaten yet?” he murmurs, and your fingers play with the soft edges teasing at your pads as his nose presses against your cheek. Your eyes flutter at the soft heat emanating from his skin, and you shake your head, melting against him. With one arm still around you, he slants his body away from just enough to pull a bag out of his pocket and it crinkles as he hands it to you. Taking it, you frown and look inside.

A cream bun. You can’t help the crumbling in your expression and Reiner holds your face in his hands carefully, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Let’s stay positive,” he whispers. “We don’t know the situation until we get there and Historia briefs us.”

“I know,” you whisper and his entire expression eases at your words. His eyes gaze at you as if you’re the sole centre of his universe, and he cups your jaw more insistently, pulling you in for a gentle kiss, one you ease into, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue traces the seam of your mouth. Laughing, you feel his little nose scrunch and your heart bounds up into your throat as he pulls back only to kiss you again, softer this time.

“Get a room!” A sharp female voice ruins their moment and you pull back just enough to see a red-headed boy running towards them and Reiner crouches down just in time to scoop Xavier up.

“When are you getting married?” he demands. “I was promised cake when you guys got married.”

“I dunno. When you move out of the house I guess,” you tease and Xavier pouts, rubbing at the side of his nose with the heel of his palm.

“Besides, you got cake for your seventh birthday, buddy,” Reiner groans as the boy twists in his arms. “You’re getting heavy. What are you feeding him?” he adds, smiling roguishly at you and you roll your eyes as Alina and Anya approach, sun hats protecting them from the glaring sun. Alina, grocery bags in hand, waves. Anya, who’d been the one to shout, tucks her coin purse back into her bag before flashing you a great big smile.

Only fifteen and seventeen. You can barely recall what it’s like being that young anymore, but you’re grateful they didn’t spend it the way you did. They get to know beauty, and no limits at all. The former comes naturally, the latter is partially because Reiner spoils them rotten.

Alina picks a flower with velvety purple petals from a bouquet she cradles in her arm, extending it to you.

“For good luck,” she says. “And protection.” Your heart melts at her words and you pause for a moment, looking from the gorgeous bloom to Reiner, occupied with the boy in his arms making silly faces at him. Then, without another moment, you sneak the flower behind his ear and he reaches up immediately to hold it against his head, turning to you in surprise.

“To protect the both of us,” you explain.

“Thank you. I’ll be extra careful now.” He looks at the girls, setting his free hand on Alina’s head heavily and she flushes, smiling grandly. “You three behave while we’re gone, alright?”

You nod. “Listen to Levi.”

“And listen to your sister,” Reiner adds to Alina and Xavier. The former rolls her eyes, the latter sticks out his tongue. “I’ll miss you.”

This is their home—their family that tumbles together into a huge hug, and you can’t help but stand back, watching how they all seem to merge into one unit, unaware of where one part of their reach ends and another begins.

As Reiner pulls you into the hug, your heart soars through your body, effortlessly pounding in your throat and in your fingers and everywhere at once. Liquid heat pools everywhere as Xavier screws up his face when you kiss his cheek, the same way Reiner does after he’s eaten something sour.

And maybe it’s a bit different, or a bit broken, the shards of their bloody history still poking at their heels whenever they think you’ve forgotten them, and it’s most definitely not perfect, but you would rather have it like this then anything else.

“Hey, guys!” Breaking apart, the family look over to see Armin, Annie, and Pieck walking over. Gabi and Falco meander a little bit behind, pushing Levi in his wheelchair, and Jean and Connie are running not far behind them, shouting at one another. You stifle a laugh and Xavier shimmies out of Reiner’s hold to run towards them. The girls follow after him, trying to hold back their runs but the closer they get, you can tell the more frantic they are to say goodbye.

So this is what they’ve made a peace. Something, you hope, is good.

Annie bypasses them quickly, making her way over to you and you survey her face as Reiner squeezes your shoulder, walking over to their friends. Her blue eyes are fixed on your face, and you feel your lips curving into a smile as she shoves her hands in her pockets. Her hair is swaying in the wind, gleaming flaxen, and you remind yourself, not for the first time, that Armin and Annie’s kids, if they ever decide they want them, will be gorgeous.

Hope for the future, and all that.

She stops in front of you, tucking a strand behind her ear.

“So,” she says at length, “we’re going back to Paradis. I’m surprised you decided to come with us. You don’t owe any of us anything.”

“I know. But… you’re my best friend. You do the talking, I fly the getaway plane, right?”

“Yeah. There used to be a time when it probably would’ve been the opposite.”

You nod, and they stand in silence for a moment, watching each other. Two women who should not have been friends, but were against all odds. You don’t think you would be here today if it weren’t for Annie.

Your heart lurches and you take a step forward just as she does, her mouth open to say something. You throw your arms around her and she lets out a noise in surprise as you close your eyes. Arms coming underneath yours, her hands dig into your shoulders and you smile against soft hair as she sighs, easing into your hug.

“Finally working together on an actual assignment,” you mumble and her head tilts as her small frame shifts, a hand patting you on the back as a sign for you to back up. “Just like we always said we would.”

Bluntly: “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“You, too.” Pulling back, the two look at one another for another soft moment before you remember the bag in your hand and you shift the bun up in the bag, extending it towards her. “Want some?” Her eyebrows rise in faint delight, before she’s reaching over, pinching and tearing a piece off.

You grin and do the same and you gesture for her to come stand by the rails with you, stuffing the bag into your coat pocket. Leaning against the warm metal again, you hear a seagull call. The plane you’ll be flying to Paradis floats on the water, the technicians giving it the final check before you take off.

If anything goes wrong while you help prepare and oversee accommodations for the rest of the ambassador group, you’ll remember to fire the black signal flare, but you trust Historia. You trust your friends.

You glance over at them, all laughing, and you notice that the flower has gone from Reiner to Pieck, who’s taking it out of her dark hair to tuck it into Jean’s, and his cheeks redden as he brushes it more securely behind his ear.

Annie catches your attention again, pointing out idly that they’ll have to separate soon when they finish with the plane, and you tell her to just wait a couple minutes more as Reiner catches your gaze. Setting Xav, who has somehow wormed his way back into his arms, down, he walks back over to you, and his hand trails purposefully over your back before resting at the nape of your neck, a reassuring weight on your body.

“You guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” Annie replies. “You have a clingy boyfriend,” she tells you.

“I think it’s charming.”

She rolls her eyes. Reiner smiles, and you pat the railing beside you—silent invitation. He leans in on your other side, clasping his hands and watching the fishermen pull themselves to shore, singing a tune to each other—one familiar to all three of them and one that you wish you could get out of your head.

“Soon may the Wellerman come…”

A faint breeze tickling at your fingertips as a sharp call for embarkment splits the harbour, you simply sigh and look over at Reiner. “I just want these last few moments to last.” His eyes meet yours, and he leans forward to press a kiss between your eyes. Annie lets out a soft noise of disgust and you bump your hip against her as Reiner pulls back.

Closing your eyes and lifting your head to the wind, you can almost imagine the one person missing standing on the other side of Annie, dark hair like spun, stained bronze and eyes like warm chocolate. He’d smile and tell them not to worry in that sincere way of his that makes you believe every word he says—as long as they were careful, they wouldn’t walk into any traps.

Your chest aches, and your lips tug into a heart-wrenching smile as you begin to sing along. Reiner slips a hand in between yours, pressing his temple against your head and you loop your other arm through Annie’s.

She rests her head on your shoulder, listening to your voice, eyes on the sailors bringing in their haul below them. Reiner hums the shanty softly, distractedly, eyes cast across the sea.

You tilt your head up to the sky, at the stars you cannot see but will join one day, and smile.

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aizawa-needs-coffee · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! welcome to the mha side of tumblr! can I please have a nb reader x Dabi x Hawks? maybe something with some jealousy? thanks!!

Thank you my dude. I haven't written in a hot minute and feel I might be a little rusty.. but here we go. I focused a little more on Dabi then Hawks but I hope you like. I didn't proof read like an animal.

Pair: Dabi x nb reader x Hawks SFW Wordcount: 1,130

“Oh, baby, let the bad times roll”

There was nothing worse than a bad situation that you had put yourself in, wanting to blame everything but yourself, but he knew this was entirely his fault, his ego didn’t allow him to fixate on that though, instead he wanted to lay the blame on him, or you. Dabi refused to admit it but he was jealous, he knew he was the type to want and demand everything of someone, expecting nothing less then their all. So why had he wanted to go down this path?

He grunted to himself as he started to roll another cigarette, glaring out the open window at the night sky, the shimmering lights of the city. His hands set on auto pilot, bringing it to his lips as he lit the tip with a bright blue flame from the palm of his hand. Taking a drag, he didn’t spare a glance towards the bed where a body stirred.

The reason he was in this shitty scenario was because he wanted more. He just had to have everything didn’t he? He’d told himself it was fine, he deserved not one persons undivided attention but two.

He only looked over to the bed when he heard the springs groan. You rolled over to the empty cold side of the large bed, untangling yourself from large red wings with some effort, gently moving the arm around your waist. Tired eyes met bright blue as your feet swung around landing on the plush carpet.

“Did I wake you?” You shook your head softly pushing up from the mattress, softly walking over to the brooding man with the dangerous quirk.

If people could see how casually you walked over to one of the most dangerous villain's in Japan and perched on his lap, warms wrapping around his neck. He chuckled gruftly feeling your face nuzzle against his neck, soft breathing against his skin, face still a picture of sleep.

“Nightmares again?”

Your lips tickled his neck, a pleasant sensation, he took a long drag of his cig and exhaled towards the window, one arm keeping you close to his chest as he did so. The mix of ruined skin and soft always felt nice against your back, his hand trailing up your shirt, feeling the flawlessness of your own skin.

“Same shit, different day” it was half a lie.

“Come back to bed after?”

Dabi looked over towards the bed, the nicest one he had ever slept in, even if it was crowded. Hawks was flat on his front, legs and arms stuck out in all directions. They had been together first, before you had come along.

He didn’t regret bringing you into the relationship, he had wanted you both and the energetic blond had been more then happy to share his interest in you as well. It was both the most functional and dysfunctional relationship you’d had in your entire life but at the same time you never wanted to change it.

Dabi on the other hand, constantly eaten away at his deepest darkest hidden insecurities always seemed on edge. He’d see how you and Hawks interacted, each handhold, each kiss, the fact you could be a couple out in the open, the world allowed to see the feelings shared between the two of you. He felt like he had most of his life, left in the shadows, alone.

But he couldn’t bring it up, could he? It had all been his idea, he wanted more, greedy and jealous an awful mix with his already flawed personality. Hawks had even asked him over and over if it was a good idea. Dabi was stubborn, didn’t ever admit he was wrong.

He didn’t want to be left out, he didn’t want you and Hawks to get so close with one another that he would lose out and have no one. Maybe he did just deserve to be alone.

“Can I ask you something?”

You sat back enough to look at him, make eye contact, as best as you could with half lidded sleepy eyes. You nodded your head watching him tip the ash from the end of his cig out the window. He took another puff, brows furrowed, he looked like he was trying to figure out what to say to you.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t bullshit with me, you know I can tell when you lie” his voice was dark, the warning clear in the tone.

You sat up even straighter when you heard the edge to his voice, nodding your head slowly. Hands on his shoulders waiting for his question with far more attention then moments ago, the groggy feeling from sleep had drained from you, his serious tone having you on edge.

“If he” he nodded to the hero “Ever wanted you to do some fucking lame shit like get married or live with him.. would you?”

You hummed softly as you adjusted, slumping back against him, chin on his shoulder, he was ridged, tense, dreading your response though he would never admit it. Your hands gently ran up and down his bare arms, feeling where texture changed, fingers circling softly, drawing little patterns on him. Something you had learned soothed him.

“No”

“What?”

He hadn’t expected that reply. There was no hesitation, no reasons to why either just a straight blunt no. He flicked his used-up cig out the window, his hands pulling you back slowly so he could stare at you, he narrowed his eyes, reading your face.

“No?” He repeated.

“I got into this relationship knowing it was always going to be the three of us and even if I changed my mind about that later… I would just remove myself I could never take either of you from the other” You sighed and kissed his chin, reaching higher until you placed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Besides…”

Both of you looked over to where a very naked Hawks stood, stretching his arms above his head, wings twitching from his full bodies yawn. The large grin plastered on his face would suggest he had been awake longer then either you or Dabi had realized. The blond stood behind you, crouching a little as arms and wings cradled you and Dabi close to him.

“I’d never make them pick and I could never picture my life or bed without either one of you. I understand you have issues Toya but we’ve come this far and I’m not breaking the law for nothing” He laughed ruffling the Dabi’s hair earning a grunt and having his hand slapped.

“Exactly” You nodded.

“You know we love the dark brooding angst shit but come back to bed yeah?”

Maybe he did deserve more then he had been told all his life…

#mha #mha dabi #dabi x reader #hawks x reader #dabi x gender neutral reader #hawks x gender neutral reader #mha reader insert #bnha reader insert #sfw #hawks x dabi x reader #bnha smut

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solomonish · 4 years ago

Text

things my heart used to know (solomon x reader)

You find yourself stuck in an unusual contraption with Solomon, where the only way out is to take a trip through his memories that he was not prepared to take.

Based on Once Upon a December

Ao3 link: here!

With a spectacular grunt, you rammed your shoulder against a suspicious spot in the wall, hoping that just maybe you could bring the whole wall down or convince someone to help you out or something. Chances of that were low: you and Solomon had been alone when the mysterious magical device activated, trapping you both inside. Trying to shove the more hopeless thoughts of never escaping away, you continued to push at the wall, as if one spot would give and open up to let the two of you out.

Solomon was behind you, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked the picture of calm, a small smile playing with the corners of his mouth as he listened to your struggle. When you looked at him with the intention of giving him a glare, you saw the dim light in the box had turned from white to gold. With a cocked eyebrow, you pushed away from the wall as you felt it morph from stone to something smoother. “What’s…”

“It’s deciding which form to take,” Solomon answered as if that told you anything. Met with silence, he chuckled and pushed himself off of the wall to make his way over to you. “We’re in a memory box.”

“A memory box?” Inadvertently, you stepped closer to him, only stopping when your arm brushed gently across his. The sensation of the walls changing beneath your hands put the horrible thought of your hands getting stuck in a partially-morphed wall, and you wanted to stick next to him in case that really did happen.

Clearly amused, Solomon looked down at you, the teasing smirk on his face making him look much more condescending than he normally did. “Yes. They require a strong magical energy to work, and typically only work once. They’re especially popular with those of us who...have a lot of memories to sift through, but they can be used by anyone. I’m surprised this one lasted so long without being used...”

As he talked, he walked forward, noting how you stuck close to his side and looked around nervously. The darkness was slowly dissipating and the focused light began to expand into a broader golden glow. The box transformed into a long hallway, the end opening into a room you couldn’t quite see into. Curiously, the walls around you started to shine, taking on their own gilded form. Intricate shapes were carved into the gold, reaching tall like palm trees. In front of each carving stood a gold pedestal, each with some artifact on it that looked to you like they belonged in a museum.

Finally pulling apart from his side, you ran your fingers over one of the trees. The walls seemed stable, thankfully. “You seem to know a lot about these memory boxes. Have you used one before? Oooh, or did you create them?”

He picked up a small statuette, his gaze darkening for a moment as he stared at it absently. “I...am familiar with how they work.”

He placed the statuette down with a solid clink, drawing your attention from the wall and stopping you from commenting about how utterly unhelpful his response was. Had you said something wrong? His footsteps were faster than before as he made his way down the hall, barely glancing at the walls as if he had seen them before. Well, actually, he probably had. As far as you were aware, you didn’t have an intricate temple in your memories, so this must be coming from him.

Scurrying after him, you followed him through the shadowed doorway and stepped into a room that was just as ornate but not at all connected to the hallway you were just in. While the hall looked like some temple from the first century, the ballroom-like space before you seemed much more recent, if not still at least a hundred years old. You were standing on a high landing, having emerged from an archway several feet taller than you. You weren’t an architect or archaeologist, but you could guess the style of the architecture was different. Maybe...more European? Of some sort? Cringing, you tried to push the image of your humanities professor scowling at you out of your head and slowed your own steps, choosing instead to look at the high ceilings around you.

“I’ve never seen a place like this before…” You murmured in awe. Though the room was dark and clearly abandoned, you still felt a still kind of magic around you, different from what you normally felt around Solomon. He was a few feet to your left, looking at a separate old artifact and standing before a table littered with them. If you squinted, you could see what looked like wings stretched across a long serving dish, the paint chipped and faded. You couldn’t tell if it was an angel or a bird - the pinched expression on Solomon’s face didn’t give you any clues, either. A chill settled in the room, but only you shuddered, suddenly realizing that you were an intruder in these unfamiliar rooms. The thought had you awkwardly kicking at the worn rugs beneath you, the threads dirty and torn yet somehow still looking expensive.

Without a word, Solomon dug around in the bag he was carrying with him, hastily looking for something. You watched him drop it unceremoniously on the ground, bringing up a cloud of dirt around it. In his hand was the notebook he used to teach you different runes, a faint glow coming from the page following the stroke of his pen. The sound of the page being ripped from the binding seemed to fill the room, followed by his steady footsteps as he made his way to the grand staircase. You watched him go, only turning your head so as not to draw his attention.

After he passed, you cautiously sauntered over to the table Solomon was standing at, stooping to pick up the bag he left behind. Slinging the long strap across your chest, you picked up a bear figurine gilded in chipping gold, turning it so that it caught the light. All of the figures before you seemed to be masterful pieces of craftsmanship, regal things to be envied yet somehow seeming personal. You were almost afraid to touch them for fear of offending the unknown owner.

Your hand fell to your side, bumping a cool metal box on the way and nearly knocking it off the table. Thankfully, you caught it and brought it to your face. Opening up the small lid to reveal another bear, this one standing up as if dancing one half of the tango, you gently turned it around to find the crank. It was old and a bit rusty, but still you turned it gently once, twice, three times until you could feel the springs coiled so tightly they might break. For a moment, you held your breath, then -

Nothing. No sound came out of the box.

"Hmph. That's a shame," You murmured, tapping the side gently with your finger. Unsurprisingly, that didn't work and you set the box down on the table again. Turning over your shoulder, you called out, "So, what is this pl- ack!"

Just as you turned, a small display of glitter resembling fireworks shot out from Solomon's hand, the shimmering ash eating away at the paper that hovered in midair. Your shout of surprise didn't stir him, his back rigid and still facing you.. The quiet fizzle that caught you off guard became a visible stream of magic curling around him and you before spreading to the far corners of the room.

You watched as the shadows were pushed into the walls before entirely disappearing, the magic gilding the ballroom and mending the disrepair it had fallen into. Tapestries unfurled to hang on the wall as the vibrancy of the old portraits returned. Overhead, empty arches found themselves holding large, crystalline chandeliers that bathed the room in a welcoming glow. Behind you, the music box started playing, the tune sounding like a full orchestra even if you knew it should only be a dissonant metallic tin. The extravagance caught your breath, nearly distracting you from the way the paintings began to shift and colors bled together.

With another wave of his hand, Solomon drew figures from the painting, hundreds spilling out as if a day had been broken. A few emerged from the floor, entering the ballroom the same way one would step out of a lake and onto the shore. Some of the figures wire masks, hiding their identity with the facade of thespian comedy. Others came as they were, wearing the same face in a variety of expressions. Despite the period clothing and many different hairstyles, the face was eerily familiar.

You watched ghoulish duplicates of Solomon traipse around the floor or mingle, talking to invisible counterparts animatedly. The figures that were not identical were faceless, aside from the occasional partner that seemed to exist in greater detail than any version of Solomon. The figures never stepped a foot on the staircase that was now covered in a rich red carpet - somehow, they were completely unaware of your presence yet seemed to know and respect that you and your Solomon lived in reality. They were citizens of the mindscape, figments of the past, and the barrier between what is and what was should not have been breached.

So caught up in your shock were you that you failed to notice Solomon head down the stairs, as if in a trance, and breach that barrier.

Once you saw him slipping between the ghostly figures, expertly sidestepping them as if he had studied their waltz for years, you called out to him. But he did not answer, too focused on the people milling around him. Maybe your voice was drowned out by the faux chorus around you. With a huff, you gripped the strap across your chest and followed him, walking down the stairs so quickly you almost tripped.

The moment you reached the foot of the stairs, you felt as though you had stepped into a bubble. With a close eye on the figures around you, you picked your way through the crowd with significantly less grace than Solomon. You never lost sight of him in his dark clothes, the dancers only distorting his image as if you were looking through water or a warped mirror as they passed in front of your line of sight. One pair accidentally passed through you, sending a harsh arctic chill down your spine. You watched that Solomon, his hair slightly neater and sporting a ridiculous frilly neck accessory you might have made fun of under different circumstances, pay no mind to you and instead look down at his companion. His expression was mischievous, scheming, but the woman he was dancing with had a face of static, barring you from reading her reaction.

Clutching tighter to the bag strap, you hastened your pace and tried to maneuver through the spirits, occasionally brushing your elbow or hip through the people around you. Each time it sent a different shiver through you, some icy while others were warm and tingled your skin. Surrounded by phantom Solomons only made you more eager to find your place next to the real one again, but the static shock you got from passing through the hurdles made you all the more careful in your steps. Who knew finding your way through a crowd you could walk right through would be harder than finding your way through a collection of solid bodies?

Near the center of the room, you found yourself in an open area with Solomon, your Solomon, standing in the middle. It seemed the translucent versions of himself knew to steer clear of him. You watched, standing just on the edge of where the crowd seemed to circle around him, watching as he took in his surroundings. Then, slowly, Solomon turned to you as if realizing for the first time that you were there.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing could come out. All your words tangled together, the confusion only growing when Solomon reached a hand out to you, palm up. The gaze he held you in was unfocused, his expression the closest to unkind you had ever seen. Even if there were no right decisions, rejecting his offer to dance seemed like the absolute wrong one. With the same timid air as a schoolgirl at her first dance, you placed your hand in his. For a moment, you felt vulnerable as you untucked your arms from your chest, only to feel at ease once Solomon pulled you in. His hand fell to your waist with a practiced ease. If he had been focused, maybe you would've felt butterflies swarming in your stomach, or maybe you would've laughed nervously. His far away gaze kept the joy down, and instead you pressed your lips in a tight line, watching him closely and allowing him to take the lead.

He fell into step with his doppelgangers, directing you through a path of the specters with the firm hand on your waist. Your time at Diavolo's party helped a little, but back then you hadn't been so worried about your partner. (Well, aside from the time Lucifer asked to dance with you only to threaten you - but then you were more worried about what your partner would do to you and not his emotional wellbeing.) It was all you could do to avoid stumbling over your own feet, barely missing his ties with your heavy steps.

"Solomon…" You breathed out, noticing how his gaze stuck to the spirits for a moment too long before turning to you. Your questions died in your throat - Are you okay? What's happening? What memory is this? How do we get out of here? - but he could read your expression clear as day, even with his mind preoccupied.

"These are all memories of me," He explained, leading you into a turn and arely avoiding one of his copies. "I didn't have a specific memory in mind when we activated the box, so...perhaps it just started to play all of them in one."

"So you've been here before?" You asked, astonished.

"It's...familiar. I've been to lots of places. It's hard to tell."

A pair of dancers blew through you, sending a spark down both of your spines. You turned your head to see a version of Solomon look both ways, checking for onlookers that were nowhere to be found, before tenderly reaching towards the face of the man beside him. Before they could meet, Solomon turned you so his body was between you and the romantic scene, but you were able to catch a glimpse of the man's face. It was completely smooth, like an unchisled head to a statue.

Solomon didn't make eye contact with you, a faint blush painting his cheeks. You squeezed his hand in the only reassurance you could give. "I don't mean to pry."

There was no answer, and you couldn't blame him. Even if you hadn't meant to peer into his memories, you were witnessing versions of himself he didn't tell you about, versions of himself he might not even remember. You didn't know if he was dancing with you to angle you away from the things he didn't want to see or just to keep you close, but the fact that you were even around to be swept up in the sea of Solomons was too personal for him to dwell on.

With an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, Solomon's attention was grabbed by someone on the other end of the room. His grip on your hand tightened and he tucked you slightly closer to himself, spinning you in order to turn your course. You couldn't keep up with his faster footwork, nearly tumbling to the ground and only saved by his firm grasp. Solomon wasn't paying attention to you, though; his focus was on whoever he was pursuing, his turns tight as he guided you into a small circle around the room.

The fast turns were making you dizzy, unexpectedly jostling you every time his target moved from his sight. Feebly, you used the hand resting on his shoulder to push him gently away, asking him to stop. The more he spun, the harder you pushed, occasionally asking him to slow down. He wasn't hurting you, but you were hoping that if you could get his attention he might stop. The figures around you were whirling, spinning, disorienting you - was that how dizzy and overwhelmed he felt every day, or just now?

Without warning, the figures around you stretched an arm out as their partners spun away from them, their fingers barely brushing past each other as they disappeared into thin air. As the remain figures turned to fade into their own memories, Solomon did the same to you. You tried to keep your hands connected, hoping maybe if you kept your fingertips on his he could you bring you back to him bring his thoughts with you. That didn't happen, and you felt your fingertips drag across his palm as you stumbled backwards.

Brushing your hair out of your face, you huffed and looked around. It was just you and Solomon in the room again, the Golden facade having faded back into the dim, abandoned ballroom from before. Solomon was staring at a blank space a few feet from the wall, his face scrunched as if watching the world rip something from him. Perhaps he was; perhaps he was watching one of the few faces he could remember beside his own, maybe one of the ones he loved, fade away from his grasp again.

This wasn't about you - clearly, none of the memories were for you to see - but you felt a creeping loneliness settling around you. Solomon was not only lost in his own world, but in hundreds of his own worlds, where details blurred and recognizable friendly faces were a luxury. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you noticed that the music box was now playing music, the kind you'd expect from such a dainty trinket. Now, the sound seemed hollow and eerie, far from how charming you thought it would be before.

Hesitantly, you took one step towards him as the song dwindled to a stop, but the click of your shoe echoed far too aggressively in the room. The walls were slowly returning to the non-descript box you were in before, but Solomon wasn't moving from his spot. The memories would always be swirling around in his head, you supposed. He had to take his time to bridge the gap between you - even if to you, it seemed insurmountable and ever-growing.

#this is my birthday gift to myself hehe #might write a part 2 later idk #obey me #obey me solomon #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me solomon x reader #solomon #solomon fics #solomon angst #solomon x reader

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delirioushrimp · 3 years ago

Text

Frozen Fairytale (DemonYB AU)

This is like the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever done hhhhh-

Once more, this story is here because I am a huge simp for @harbingers-appointed ‘s amazing AU !

Vee I hope you know I would die for you !

Plot changed three times during the writing process, help-

He senses their pain before he hears their scream. It’s a cry of agony, distress, begging for help and he feels it in his bones as though it was his own suffering. It travels through his being like a shot of electricity; fast, violent, and dizzying. It takes him a few seconds to recover from the pain and as soon as he does, a feeling of dread unlike anything he had experienced before fills his soul until it’s the only thing he can think about.

He rises abruptly from his desk, causing TK to flinch and look at him with a confused and fearful look. But he can’t see his tactician, can’t hear them ask if something is wrong, can’t feel the pieces of wood piercing his skin. His soul, his heart is burning a fire of horror and rage.

He almost knocks the door of its hinges as he desperately tries to reach them through the pain.

“Darling ! Darling where are you ?!”

Long agonizing seconds pass -where he imagines the worst has already happened-

pleasepleasepleaseplease-

“Sa…mael…”

Their voice is too weak, too frail and distressed for him to relax. And they only used his real name when…

“Tell me where you are !”

He doesn’t mean the harshness, the sternness in his tone, centuries of cold authority coursing through his veins and the panic rending him unable to control it. He hears a gasp before they answer once more.

“…Water…lake…blue…”

“What-“

“So…cold…”

His eyes widen furthermore at their words, his feet carrying him to the only place they could be as terror -the kind he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years- takes hold of him. He doesn’t notice the looks of bewilderments of his kind as he runs past them, quickly turning into pure fear when they feel the murderous aura of their King. Most of them have never witnessed it and to endure its overwhelming presence like this, even for a second bring them to their knees. He doesn’t notice any of them as he runs like he never has, ignoring the tremendous pain his heels bring him.

“Darling-“

“It hurts…it hurts so much. I-don’t think I can hold for much longer…”

They sound on the verge of fainting, and it feels as though he might be dying.

“Don’t ! Don’t let go ! Please ! I’m on my way !”

“…Samael…I’m so tired…”

“Please ! Please just a little longer !”

He never begged, the King of Hell doesn’t beg for anything or to anyone. He didn’t beg when God casted him aside, didn’t beg when he was stripped of his title, of his wings, or when he felt their ghostly presence for a hundred years to come. He never begged in his life, when he wants something, he simply takes it without asking, because he doesn’t need anyone’s permission. He doesn’t need the princes’ or TK, and he especially doesn’t need permission from that pathetic God.

And yet in that moment, running in the frozen parts of his kingdom, he is willing to. He’s willing to beg anyone he crosses to save his beloved; he’s willing to kneel in front of God if it means he can get back the wings which were so painfully teared apart from him, even for just a minute, anything so he can reach them sooner, faster even by a few seconds. Anything for the pain to stop. He briefly looks up at the sky.

You knew this would happen, didn’t you ?!

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one but doesn’t miss how the harsh winds seem to be whispering words of mockery to his ears. But the sound of their voice brings him back to the moment.

“My King…”

He feels their mind sleeping farther away, to a place he can’t reach. The words are spoken softly and lovingly but with a hint of regret.

“I’m sorry…”

“DON’T !”

But the connection is lost, quickly followed by a loud splashing sound and his soul shatters into pieces. A scream of agony echo through the frozen lands, the wild and agonizing cry of a frenzied beast, chilling anyone who hears it to the bone.

He starts running again, this time, pleading, again and again to find them. The smell of iron hits him, and he feels madness takes over his mind.

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As soon as your bruised and frozen fingers let go of the small rock, you feel it. The long, tortuous howl of his voice ringing in your soul reminding you of his hellish nature. It tears you apart and for the briefest moment, you wish you could have said something more. Then the water takes you.

It doesn’t hurt as much as you expected it, the pain only lasts a minute. A minute where your lungs desperately try to breath into the frigid ocean that surrounds you, burning every cell of your being. But then nothing. Only silence and the slow descent of your body towards the unknown, and you briefly wonder if there is an end to this endless ocean. It’s peaceful, quiet, and painless. A calm, soft blue surrounds you, reminding you of his eyes. It lulls and soothes you.

So beautiful…

Everything is numb and you feel your eyes growing heavy but you’re not scared. You’re not scared because you remember his words upon your arrival.

Death is something you will never have to fear my dear, for I am the only one who controls it here.

A small smile draws on your lips despite the cold.

Then it’s alright, I’ll suffer a thousand pains if it means staying with you.

He will find you; you know he will, he always does. You just have to wait a bit. You close your eyes and fall asleep into the icy blankets of water. Death will not find you, the Light Bringer will.

-------‐----------------------------------------------‐-------------

The first time you wake up, it’s to the sound of crying and pleading. Someone is begging for you to open your eyes, but the task proves to be impossible. The sorrow and the lament in their voice break your heart, despite not being able to recognize who it is. You vaguely hear the person call for your name, again and again between their sobs. You wish you could comfort whoever is uttering your name with such anguish and desperation. But instead, you fall back into the arms of Morpheus.

Who are you ?

The second time you wake up, it’s to the smell of blood. The stench invades your mind, overwhelming all your senses until it’s the only thing you can perceive. You want to gag, yet your body seems unresponsive to even your most basic instincts, as if frozen in ice. But behind that heavy and violent scent, you catch a hint of something familiar. Something ancient, powerful, and pleasant, it comforts you. Instinctively, you cling to that aroma acting as a lifesaver and slumber takes over you once more.

I know you.

The third time you wake up, it’s to the taste of something bitter running down your throat. It tastes like one of those herbal teas from back home, but far worse. It burns and stings your tongue; makes you sick to your stomach, and you panic. You trash around, try to scream but no sound leaves you. Your crisis is interrupted when you feel something soft brush against your lips, something sweet and gentle, like a candy melting in your mouth. It’s enough for you to fall back asleep.

Who am I to you ?

The fourth time you wake up, it’s to a warm touch. Something -or rather someone- is holding your arm tightly, though not enough to hurt. You still struggle to open your eyes, but you can feel the way their much bigger hand delicately holds yours, running soothing circles on your palm. Then you feel a warm breath on your fingers and a pair of lips brushing against them in such a tender and caring way it brings tears to your eyes. You doze off, feeling loved and protected.

I’ve never felt so cherished before.

The fifth time you wake up, it’s to a sight you never believed to witness. A large figure kneeling on their knees by your side, head resting on your chest, through some miracle, the long horns barely scrap your skin. Pale moonlight rays shine on them- no him, allowing you to see a pained expression and the bags under his eyes, a sight which immediately strikes you with grief. He looks absolutely miserable. And yet, you find a certain beauty to it. Is it because you know he would only kneel for you ?

My King…

As if on cue, a gasp reaches your ears before the head lying on your chest shots up, so fast it almost knocks you out. You curse out loud in fear, but the sound quickly dies in your throat the moment you notice the look in his eyes.

First you see shock, confusion, and disbelief following one another in rapid motion before relief takes over. His eyes, his smile, it’s like he just found the greatest treasure in all three worlds. It reminds you of the first time you met, except he doesn’t hold it back. The raw devotion and adoration in his gaze, it’s almost too much for your heart to handle.

You try to reach for him with your hand but a sharp pain in your shoulder forces you to withdraw your arm, you hiss at the sensation and he notices it. His expression immediately falls and is replaced by sorrow and guilt. You can see it in those endless pools of blue, you can see how he’s blaming himself for something he isn’t responsible for, you can see how terrified he is of you hating and discarding him, and most of all, you can see the suffering he endured during your short absence. You’ve never witnessed something like this before. You’d seen him irritated, disappointed, tired, or dejected even.

But this, this was something you hated seeing on him. This expression of utter defeat and grief does not suit him at all.

Carefully, you lift your other -and fortunately non-injured- arm and with as much softness as you can muster, brush your hand against his cheek. He jolts from the touch as if he expected a much harsher reaction but just as quickly, leans into your touch and closes his eyes. He’s trembling, still afraid you’re only indulging him one last time before rejecting him completely. It surprises you, how easily you can read him when you could barely decipher his true intentions not so long ago.

You push back the blankets and slowly shifts your body until your feet dangle from the bed, caging him between your legs, but his eyes are still shut.

“My King…” you whisper in a raspy voice, “open your eyes please.” The shaking grows in intensity. “For me…”

Your last words act as spell pulling him out of his misery. His gaze is solely focused on you, and even after all this time, it still takes your breath away. How could such a powerful, beautiful and infinite being look at you -a mere mortal soul- with such intensity you feel like the only person existing in all three realms ? You still don’t understand, and you don’t know if you ever will.

Does it even matter ?

He who has everything, looks like he might crumble at any moment. The embodiment of pride, crawling at your feet, begging for your love. Has he ever shown such vulnerability to anyone else before ? The selfish part of you wishes he hasn’t, the greedy and possessive part that wants all of him for you and only you. His mind, his body, his heart, and his soul, all for you, just like you belong to him.

Comfort him, cherish him, accept him, love him

“My love,” you call for him, and the distance between the two of you shortens, you feel his hands roam your body, desperately clinging to you. “My star, my light, my savior, my fated one…”

Each appellation has him growing closer and closer until his forehead touches yours, his breathing is erratic, his eyes search for any trace of resentment on your face, hands encircling your waist is a tight -but non-painful- grip.

“None of this was your fault-“

“Don’t go to them !”

You speak at the same time, but you stop at the frantic tone of his voice. You frown, confused, waiting for further explanations.

“I know I- failed to protect you !” he admits in the most pathetic tone you’ve ever heard. “But please, don’t leave me !” he begs, and your mind is sent into a spiral of worry as you try to come up with a way to calm him down. “Don’t- don’t choose them !”

Who are you even talking about ?!

“They- he will only hurt and use you !”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice- no it’s worse than that, colder than the waters you drowned in, colder than the harsh winds digging into your skin when you were clinging to that rock for dear life. You feel your blood boil and freeze at the same time, because you understand who he is talking about.

The genuine deep-rooted fear in his tone fills you with both dread and fury. It terrifies you because it means this demon, no-this entity is far worse and far more powerful than you thought, enough for the King of Hell to be afraid of it. It enrages you because it means they hurt him before, most likely tortured and let him bleed out like the sadistic creature they are. Your interactions with them had given you a hunch about their true nature but this is so much worse, much more horrible than you’d anticipated.

Theyhurtyoutheyhurtyoutheyhurtyou-

You want to scream, you want to get up from this bed, you want to find this smug bastard -it wouldn’t take long, they’re always around the corner- and strangle them. You don’t remember the last time you felt such wrath against someone. But you can’t. You can’t because you can barely move without your body hurting but most of all, because you just know they would relish in your anger and you wouldn’t be able to bear that infuriating self-satisfied and arrogant smile.

The grip around your waist suddenly tightens and when your eyes focus on him again, you realize your mistake. He noticed your anger, and thought it was directed at him. His pupils are blown wide, and he starts shaking again, mumbling the same sentence over and over again like a broken record.

“don’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleaveme-“

“Sweetheart-“

“This will never happen again, I promise !” he interrupts you.

“Dear-“ you try again, but to no avail.

“I’ll never leave you, never again ! “ His voice turns dark, with a hint of madness to it. “Will always stay with you, always by your side. Always, always, always, always…”

“Love please-“

“You know I would do anything for you, right ?” His eyes are blown so wide you can barely see his pupils, smile stretched to the point it might tear his face apart. The raw possessiveness and despair, they make him look completely mad. “Tell me, tell me what should I do to earn back your love. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Just tell me.”

You stare at him in stunned silence and in that moment, you know if you asked for him to set his kingdom ablaze, he’d only ask you in how many days. He had told you so in the past, but you’d only taken it as another dramatic display to entertain you. Now you realize how serious he was and to your shock, you’re not as frightened as you should be. In fact…

His eyes twitches and a trail of cobalt blood starts to run down his chin from how hard he’s biting his lips. His voice turns to hysterics and you think you see something running down his cheeks.

“Just tell me ! There must be something ! Tell me please, tellmetellmetellmetellme-“

“Samael, enough !” you end up shouting at him.

He immediately stills, from the tone of your voice or the use of his name, you can’t tell. You didn’t mean to raise your voice, not when he was breaking down in front of you, but he wouldn’t have stopped otherwise. And hearing him so hopeless and frantic was too much for you to handle.

Ignoring the pain in your left shoulder, you reach for him again, this time with both hands and he watches you lovingly cup his face in your hands with awe. His gaze darts back and forth between your face and your hands in utter bewilderment, like a child trying to solve a puzzle. You almost laugh at the thought. Instead, you lock eyes with him and speak firmly.

“I’ll tell you what I want.” He perks up, eagerly waiting for your wish. “I want you to stop blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault.” You see him open his mouth, most likely to protest but you don’t give him the chance to. “I want you to remember I don’t hate you; I’ve never hated you and never will. “ You sense him slightly relaxes. “I want you to understand I will never leave you, not for them, and not for anyone else, never. “ You pause, watching the blue returning to his eyes.

His expression holds trust, hope and an innocence you didn’t believe possible for him to have, he looks so much younger. For a moment, you think you’re gazing at the benevolent, bright, and loyal angel he once was, the devoted hand of God. You remember the feather he gifted you on the first night you kissed his scars, a pure and immaculate white, softer than the most delicate silk existing on earth and more valuable than any jewel in the world. He had looked so happy, so earnest, when he gave it to you. And now, you can so easily picture thousands of those same feathers linked together to form majestic wings. The vision has you smiling softly. But a question, one you had avoided asking him ever since you realized his feelings for you were genuine burns at the corners of your mind once more. Laced with such pride, envy, and selfishness you never felt brave enough to ask.

Do you love me more than you used to love God ?

Two warm, large hands covering yours bring you back to reality and the innocence vanishes, allowing for the madness to reappear once more. But his voice is steady, confident and lacks the fragility it held mere moments ago.

“God took everything from me, from the very beginning, only took and took.” You are not shocked to hear the way he spat those words, but from the fact he seems to have read your mind. “But you…” he draws out, bringing your left hand to his lips and giving a chaste kiss where your pulse lies, teeth grazing at the flesh. You feel him slowly exhale against your skin. “You keep on giving and giving. Your presence, you smile, your touch, your voice…” You feel his tail slowly making its way around your left leg as he speaks. “But I still keep wanting more of you each passing day…” His voice becomes strained with yearning and desire. “I can’t get enough; I’ll never get enough of you.”

He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales slowly, as if trying to contain his hunger and fervor for you. His breaths are the only sounds in the large room and you find some sort of peace to it. It eases your nerves, reminds that this moment is not a dreamy hallucination from your comatose state, this is real. You don’t know how long it lasts -a few seconds, a minute or an hour- until he opens his eyes again and your heartbeat becomes uncontrollable.

His pupils have turned into hearts, and although it’s not the first time, you still find yourself mesmerized by the sight. Who knew the Devil could be capable of such thing ? The vibrancy, the intensity, and the sincerity his gaze holds have you melt into him and you instinctively close your thighs tighter around him. He relishes in your actions if the soft purring you hear is anything to go by.

“My Dear…” he fondly says before calling for your name, and you smile, loving the way it rolls on his tongue. “The dull candlelight of devotion I once felt for the one who cast me aside cannot possibly compare to the eternal flame of adoration I hold for you.”

You feel every fiber of your body burns at his confession, pure delight taking over your mind and utter bliss over your heart. How are you supposed to respond to that ? Nothing you could say would be enough to match this. So you decide to answer in the only way you can think of. You lean in and finally close whatever distance was left between the two of you.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou

You hope he can hear it, how much you love him, you hope he feels how your soul calls for his in desperate craving. You hope he realizes you will never stop loving him as you taste the blood and the tears on his lips. You hope he understands you would do anything for him as you feel his hands shift to grip your thighs. How could such a corrupted being taste so divine ?

You want him, you want him to touch and hold you, because you feel the most alive when he does. Hastily, you blindly reach for his long horns and smirk into the kiss when you finally grab them and without a warning, pulls him towards you. And oh, the way he moans into your mouth, it sounds heavenly. It makes you lose your mind.

Moremoremoremoremore-

You do it a second time, which causes him to growl and you revel at the feeling of his nails digging into your tender skin. It feels so good, so good to have him touch you like this. But then he breaks the kiss and you whine when he removes his hands from your legs, instead placing them on each side of your body to steady himself.

His eyes are hooded with raw desire and lust, causing a shot of electricity to travel to your core. Knowing that you’re the only one who’ll get to see him like this, the only one able to create such reactions from him fills you with unwavering pride and satisfaction.

“Darling…” he whispers in a husky, barely controlled voice. “I can’t- you’re still hurt, I-“ He hisses when you tenderly rub the base of his horns. “Ah…don’t- torture me like this.” His labored breath and the pleading in his tone only urge you to do it again. “You need to rest more before-“ You shush him with a finger against his lips.

“You’re the only one who can make the pain go away…” you trail off, noticing how close he is to give in from how tightly he’s holding the bedsheets. “My King…” you beg, fingers brushing against his cheek. “Please, I need you” you admit.

You can almost see the resolution shatters in his eyes and it’s beautiful. You feel absolutely drunk on triumph, love and euphoria, a deadly combination that drives you to feel much bolder, impudent, and confident than you should be in your condition.

He lifts you up in one, swift -although careful- movement before settling himself on the bed with you straddling his lap and hmmm you can feel how much he wants you now. In a moment of reckless bravery, you grind against him and smile smugly at the chocking sound coming from his throat. But your victory is short-lived when you feel a hot breath at the junction of your neck and your shoulder, inhaling your scent. You inhale sharply and a whimper leaves your lips when you feel his teeth -his very sharp teeth- nibble at your skin. A dark, guttural chuckle echo in the room, one filled with sinful promises of pleasure, making your body growing hotter by the second.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it you, Darling,” he purrs in your ear, sounding very much like the embodiment of temptation and immorality most sacred texts describe him as. It drives you insane.

He never did this before, it was -almost- always him that would come to you with need and want, and of course, you never refused him. But now…

“I need-“ now look who’s struggling to form coherent sentences. You can feel him smile against your flesh like the devil he is. “I need you to touch me,” you shudder when his hands grip your thighs once more, except his hold is much more possessive than the previous one. “Hold me, fill me, mark me…” your voice becoming more strained and tense as one of his hands starts to make its way to your heated core. “I want you to fuck me until I forget the pain, and my own name…” The animalistic sound that leaves him sends goosebumps along your skin. You sigh deliriously. “I want you to worship me.”

He leaves your neck to look at you one more time before he completely loses it. You know he wants to check if you’re really sure about this, he’s done it before, and although you’ve never told him to, you know if you asked him to stop now, he would. As much as it would pain him, you know he’d never betray you like this, not only because he loves and respects you too much, but also because your Devil has standards.

When he notices no hesitation or refusal from you, a ravenous and demented smile draws on his lips as he tilts your chin with his free hand to look at you directly in the eyes. You see excitement, lust, and exhilaration in his frenzied gaze and behind it, his undying adoration.

“As you wish, dearest.”

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

You see them not too long after, when you’ve recovered enough to walk on your own, although you sustained no injury on your legs. Though you’re sure some people can tell why you couldn’t use them. The wound on your shoulder is bigger than you thought, starting from your shoulder blade, and almost reaching your hips but the pain is already manageable and you’ve been told no major organ was harmed, so there’s that. You can’t do much about the red angry scar expect apply some ointment every now and then but it’s fine, to demons, scars are not seen as ugly but rather a source of pride and a sign of survival. Not surprising, considering their King was the first to deal with the most painful ones imaginable. Very little got to see them but everyone knew the Fall had taken a lot from him.

Just like he promised, he keeps you near him at all times to the point you quickly forget the notion of personal space but you don’t complain much, considering what happened. Besides, listening to the meetings with the princes and other important figures -on his lap of course- gives you a better insight on how things operate in hell and who you need to be careful of, TK could only spend so much time explaining the basics to you with how busy they were.

All thanks to a certain “housekeeper”…

Ah, thinking about them always lead to a terrible headache, which for some reason you believe them to be aware of. Your last interaction with them goes back to a day or two before the “incident”, they’d been cordial and enthusiastic as usual but something about that smile always kept you on edge. Now you know your cautiousness was not uncalled for. You still want to strangle them but you’d rather drown into that lake again than admit it to their face. You can’t forget the genuine fear in Samael’s voice or the way he trembled against you when he asked you to not go to them.

What exactly did they do to you ?

“Darling ?” A deep voice brings you back to reality and you realize everyone in the room is staring at you -some with more annoyance and hostility than others- and you turn to see the concerned azure gaze of your lover. “Are you alright ?”

You don’ want to lie to him but now is really not the time to mention your doubts and questions. Instead, you smile softly and speak as casually as you can despite the headache growing in intensity.

“I just need some fresh air, don’t worry.”

You can tell he is not fully convinced with how deep his frown is and it gets worse when you try to leave your “seat”. He tenses up and to avoid making a scene you take one of his hands into your own and try to appease his paranoia.

“The balcony is not far, I’ll come back in a few minutes.” You lick your lips. “I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen,” you raise your voice to make sure everyone hears you, “nobody would be stupid enough to try something when you’re here, right ?”

You think you hear a few people chuckle and you don’t need to turn around to guess their derisive smiles. A few moments of silence pass where you stare at the King of Hell with the best puppy eyes you can muster. You know you’ve won when you hear him sigh and nod reluctantly. Slowly, you slip from his lap but before you can make a step, a hand grabs you by the arm causing you to turn around in confusion.

“Five minutes,” is all he says to you, irritation and stress already slipping into his voice. You mentally send an apology to everyone else in the room, knowing what they’ll have to deal with for this short amount of time.

“Of course, I understand.”

You beam at him but right as you’re about to leave, find yourself hit with a very bold and striking idea. You smile deviously under the eyes of a confused King. Dramatically, you kneel before him much like a knight in a fairytale would and take the hand which was holding your arm a few seconds ago into your own and bring it to your lips, not once breaking eye contact with him. He looks at you in stunned silence and wide eyes, his face covered in a delicious shade of blue. As a final move, you drop a chaste kiss on his hand and smile when you hear him inhale sharply.

“I’ll be back soon,” you beath the words fervently against his skin, “My King.”

You stroll out of the room without looking back once and head to the balcony, feeling quite proud -and maybe a bit embarrassed- of your little display despite the dull pain in your skull. You’re fortunate enough to not cross anyone on your way, and exhale slowly once you feel the cold air against your face.

You attempt to distract yourself from your gloomy thoughts with the view and feels the wind to caress your skin in a gentle breeze, it’s calm and peaceful. Until a voice you’re all too familiar with jumps in from behind, and it takes everything in you to refrain yourself from jumping in fright.

“I’m glad you’ve recovered well enough to put little stunts like this !”

You cringe at the friendly, upbeat tone they use and refuse to turn around to gaze at that pretentious smile. Of course, he knows what you did, he always seemed to know where you went and what you did.

“And I’m glad you have enough time on your hands to come and see me,” you retort as casually as possible.

Don’t show your anger, even if he knows, don’t show it.

“Of course, I’ll always free myself for you sweetheart,” he says, voice slightly huskier. “You know I’ll always be there whenever you feel bored.”

There it is, that same charming and bewitching tone he used the first time you met, the one that almost convinced you to follow him to the storage room. And his hair looked so soft, though you’d never touch it, mostly out of fear of what would happen to your fingers if you did. His eyes -well the one visible at least- were so pretty. He was attractive and persuasive for sure, but you always thought he was more than that, and you were right. What would have happened, if you’d followed them that day ?

Ah, I’d rather not think about it…

“Are you giving me the cold shoulder ?” he asks with hurt in his voice, you’re almost convinced it’s genuine. This time, you can’t help but flinch from his wording, and he notices it. “Oops, I shouldn’t have worded it like that, my bad.”

You only sigh at his “apology” and do your best to ignore the footsteps, coming closer and closer to you, slowly, like a snake chasing its unaware prey.

“Come on now, you weren’t so stiff last time we talked.”

You still don’t answer and hear them hum in amusement at your silence. It’s not very hard to imagine the expression he’s wearing right now, narrowed eyes and a knowing smile. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them truly irritated or angry, and while his smile always unnerved you, you’d rather not discover what he looked like when he got mad.

“You’re acting like I’m the one who stabbed you in the back.”

He’s so close, too close to you for comfort, you feel your body tense as soon as the edge of his tail brushes your leg. Oh, he must be relishing in your agitation.

Fucking bastard…

“It must have been so painful, “ he whispers as one of his nails starts to move along your back. “The feeling of a sharp blade piercing your soft skin, “ he says while his finger starts to trail down the exact line of your scar through your clothes. “and the freezing winds nabbing at the wound while you desperately tried to stay afloat.” His voice drips with sadistic glee, you’re almost sure he’s getting turned on. “And then helplessly drowning with none coming to get you, oh you must have felt truly hopeless, didn’t you, sweetheart ?”

The urge to just throw him over the edge eats you away as a warm breath tickles your neck. But you do your best to sound and act as unbothered by the situation, instead opting for a white lie.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t remember most of it.”

Bad move, you sense him chuckles against your ear at your admission, as if you’d just confided the most important secret in the world. What kind of sick power did you just allow him to have over you now ?

“Really ?” he muses. “That’s too bad…” he snickers. “Maybe I could help you regain some memories ?”

Fuck, I walked right into that one.

“You know I could make it feel good, don’t you ?”

You wonder if this is how Eve felt when she was tricked by the snake, in fact you wouldn’t be surprised to learn Flauros turned out to be the one who tempted her at this point. It’s like he was made for the sole purpose of spreading chaos whenever he went.

“I’ll have to decline the offer,” you answer firmly and to your surprise, notice him take a step back. You feel like you can breathe again.

“You’re so boring,” he exclaims, sounding very much like a spoiled kid. “But I knew it’d be like that, this story isn’t centered around me after all.”

You open your mouth to ask for more explanations when a deep, concerned voice reverberates in your head.

“Darling ? Are you on your way back ?”

You answer quickly, knowing very well what will happen if you don’t.

“Sorry, kinda lost track of time, I’m coming !”

“Hurry…please.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll be there soon.”

You’re glad he doesn’t ask more questions; else you’d have had to tell him about the spider standing right behind you and he’s already stressed enough as it is.

“I’m guessing his Highness is calling for you ?” he asks in an ever-knowing voice, still filled with that same fucking arrogance. “Better not make him wait !” he shouts in a disgustingly sweet sing-song voice.

Gross, this really didn’t suit him at all, being a coy little bastard really fits him better. As much as it bothers you, he’s playing the part of the bad guy pretty well, too well you think. As if he’d done this a hundred times over already.

You want to tell him to leave, to take care of all the tasks poor TK is forced to manage on their own, you want to yell at him, bleed him dry, snap his neck. Anything so you don’t have to walk past him and get a glimpse of that cheeky smile, anything for you to forget the image of a dying Samael from your mind. But then it would mean surrendering, admit that you’re terrified of whatever entity they’re supposed to be.

So, with all the strength and courage you still have left, you turn around and sure enough, he’s looking at you the exact way you predicted it. You walk past him, not too fast -less you betray your fear- but not too slow either -less you have to gaze for too long at that sharp, hypnotizing purple eye- . But the words he utters as you stand a few inches from him, cause you to stop dead in your tracks.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about me cutie, I’m only here to act as a small distraction to your little fairytale.” He chuckles. “You should be more concerned about the God who created this world in the first place and the minion who wishes to gain their attention through this story.”

You start to walk again, not fulling grasping his words but still finding some sort of unknown understanding through them. But you still hear him talk, speaking of beings beyond your reality. His voice becoming darker and louder as you get farther away.

“The King may be the current favorite, but who knows when I’ll steal his crown?”

Walk away, don’t turn back

“Up until you grow bored of your prince charming, I’ll be there.”

………….

“Maybe next time, I’ll get to be your Antagonist (: “

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#Flauros stop fucking with brain challenge

Sorry for any world builing inaccuracies, I did give myself some liberties concerning a few details, feel free to correct me about it Vee.

#your boyfriend #demon au #your boyfriend au #Flauros is so difficult to write- help #your boyfriend x reader #angst/comfort #because I am weak #plot kept changing each day #PAIN #shouldn't have too many typos #i hope *cries*

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peach-the-owl · 4 years ago

Text

Tainted Innocence

Percy & Younger Sibling!Reader

You let out a fit of coughs, being sick sucked, you couldn’t move without getting dizzy, you couldn’t join the family for dinner or else you might get someone else sick, and worst of all you couldn’t leave your room to play. So here you lay on your bed wishing to get better soon so you could play outside under the sun. A sudden commotion could be heard outside your door, shouts and screams ringing down the halls, you ever curious would’ve loved to investigate if it wasn’t for the fact that your dizzy head would make you nauseous the second you got up. The sounds only got louder until they were right outside your room, you throw the covers over your head in an attempt to hide from whatever the scary noise was. You hear your door open and try to stay as still and quiet as possible, unfortunately your hit with another fit of coughs making your presence known to whoever had entered.

"My my, what have we here?" The woman’s voice was vaguely familiar, making you peek out from under the covers to see only the darkened outline of a feminine figure. "Poor, sweet little (y/n), caught a fever have we?" The more they spoke the more you could recognize the voice as Delilah Briarwood's, you’d met her a once before and she seemed nice but now her tone sounded almost sinister for some reason.

"Yeah, I’m not feeling very well. You probably shouldn’t be here, I don’t want you to get sick too." You say innocently, before going into yet another fit of coughs. She lets out a chuckle, by now it seemed the sounds from outside your room had faded into nothing.

"How considerate of you to think of my well being. What if I were to tell you I knew a way that could… cure you of your ailments." The ominous undertones she had went right over your head.

"Really?! You can do that!?" You bounce excitedly in place, quickly stopping from the dizziness in your head.

"Not only that, but you'll never have to worry about getting sick ever again." The offer almost sounded too good to be true.

"That sounds awesome! Let’s do it!" You were brimming with excitement at the thought of never having to worry about sickness again.

"Calm down now, all will be well in due time. For now you should rest, my husband and I shall handle everything and I guarantee you’ll wake up like a brand new person." You give her a nod and are hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion. "Sleep now… my child." You don’t have time think about why she referred to you like that before your vision goes dark and your mind goes blank…

Lady Delilah was right, when you awoke again you no longer had your fever and felt completely different, but even though you did feel all better now you still weren’t allowed to leave the castle. You were only allowed to wander the wing where your room was or explore the catacombs, even then there wasn’t much you could do but that's what you were told you were allowed so you had to follow the rules. It was strange though to be told all this by the Briarwoods, wondering why it was them instead of your parents to tell you all these new rules and why one of the rules was you couldn’t see anyone else in your family. You had asked about this once but Delilah only told you that once you were ready they’d tell you everything, so time went by and you stayed alone, forced to play inside away from any sunlight, almost completely isolated from social contact. You don’t know how long it’s been, no longer having a way to tell day from night made it really hard to know how many hours or days had passed, everything just blurring together. There was one other thing that really bothered you and that was this strange sensation you’d get from time to time, it was almost like you were hungry but also not because you’d eat like normal and the feeling wouldn’t go away. You told the Briarwood's about this but Lord Sylas just told you that if you’d ignore it then it would go away by itself, what he didn’t tell you is that you’d pass out and wake up with a strange metallic-y taste in your mouth, at least the feeling went away though, right?

Another day, or what you thought might be a day, goes by as you wander the tunnels having mapped them out to memory by now. You brought some toys with you to play around with for some entertainment and hoping deep down that one day something new or different might finally happen, then you heard something faint hit your ears. It was different but at the same time it could’ve just been another rat scurrying around with how faint it was so you ignore it. There's another sound like quick footsteps approaching getting louder until it comes to a halt close to where you were playing making you glance over your shoulder at the man staring at you. He looked very familiar you just couldn’t place why right away, you turn to fully face them and have a better look.

"Hi there mister. You look familiar, do I know you?" You ask them with a slight tilt to your head. They just stare at you in silence their eyes wide in horror, you look behind you to see if they were looking at something behind you but find nothing and look back at them in confusion. "Is something wrong?" You step towards them and they step away in retaliation furthering your confusion.

"No no nononono. This isn’t real, you can’t be real." He presses his hands to his head, his voice also sounded familiar, who was he?

"You’re really weird." You then poke your arm to as a way to show you were really there, then let out a giggle. "See, I’m real, if I was fake I couldn’t poke my arm." You place your hands triumphantly on your waist but the man didn’t look impressed, instead he looked like he was going to vomit. "Are you okay? You don’t look well." You take another step towards him out of concern.

"Don’t come any closer!" He holds up a strange item you’ve never seen before, there’s a slight shake to his hand. You stop and stare interested in the strange item, it had fancy engravings on it, six hollow slots and some odd mechanism the man warily held a finger over.

"What’s that? It’s so cool and fancy, what does it do?" You lean in closer to it curiously.

"This isn’t real, you’re just an illusion to mess with my head." He sounded hesitant, like he was trying to convince himself of something. Having been able to look at the man this long it finally clicked in your head why he was so familiar.

"Wait a second… Percy?" This fully draws his attention back onto you. "It is you! What happened? How did you get so big and why's your hair all white?" He looked so different, no wonder you didn’t recognize your own brother right away. He doesn’t answer you, just stares with a look of conflict in his eyes and continues to hold the strange object in his hand towards you, you paying no mind to it. "This is great! Lord and Lady Briarwood said I wasn't allowed talk to anyone, I don’t know why though, but you’re here now so who cares! I miss talking to people, the guards are no fun and there’s hardly anything to do anymore…" You start to ramble on about how boring things have gotten and how you made due, still wondering why or how Percy got so tall and looked so much older. "Where is everyone else? I want to ask mother and father why the Briarwoods seem to be in charge." This statement really got to Percy, making his eyes go wide in realization.

"You… you don’t know?" You tilt your head in confusion, what where you supposed to know. There’s a strange wispy or smoky substance that trails up Percy's arm, then the sound of a loud bang followed by ringing fills your ears, something grazed past your cheek, cutting into it a little and leaving a lingering stinging sensation behind. You quickly place a hand on your cheek where it hurt, recoiling away only hearing a clattering and soft thud after a moment of silence. You slowly turn back and see your brother had dropped the item from his hand and was on his knees, holding his face in both his free hands now, his entire body physically shaking and he lets out a series of coughs.

"P-Percy? Are you okay?" You approach with much more caution this time, trying to ignore the throbbing pain still in your cheek. More footsteps can be heard hurrying towards your location.

"We heard gunfire and came as fast as we could." A half-elven man was the first to reach your location, he looks over seeing you and takes a step back in surprise.

"Hi there, are you a friend of Percy's?" You ask, rocking back and forth on your feet.

"I am. Did you do this to him?" There was a threatening tone to his voice that made you feel scared and uncomfortable.

"I don’t know, I was just playing because I was bored, then he showed up and I didn’t recognize him at first, then I did and got really excited because I haven’t seen anyone in what feels like forever, then there was a loud bang and now my cheek hurts and he was just like this." You try to explain as best as you could. By now others who were most likely with the half-elf showed up, having heard at least some of your explanation, they looked at you with wide eyes. "And why does everyone look at me like that, is there something wrong with my face or something?"

"That’s one way to put it." A half-elven woman who looked very similar to the male one talks slowly. "Do you mind telling us your name little one?"

"Of course! I’m (y/n) de Rolo." You reply proudly.

"You’re a de Rolo?" The glowing gnome sounded sad for some reason, why was everyone sad? Shouldn’t this be a good thing?

"Yeah… why are you all acting so weird? What’s going on? Who are you?" You cross your arms, getting a little frustrated from your lack of answers, just wanting to be in the know. They whisper among themselves, you barely catchy anything coherent before they turn back to face you.

"Do you mind giving us a minute alone, please." Percy having finally gotten a better hold of himself asks, you give a small nod and step away, picking up your discarded toys to mindlessly play with. You discovered if your really focused you could hear what they were whispering about, though it was hard to decipher who’s voice belonged to who.

"Is it true? Are they really your…"

"I-I’m not sure anymore." You were able to at least tell your brothers voice apart from the others.

"How could you not know!?"

"They seem pretty clueless themselves, it’s like they not only still have the body of a child but also the mentality of one too."

"Perhaps that’s from the lack of social contact, they did say they’ve been alone for a long time."

"Percy… this changes everything we know."

"No, this changes nothing, it only makes it more complicated."

"How can you say something like that, they’re your family!"

"They’ve been turned into a monster, whether they’re aware of it or not!" You frown when you hear this tuning out the rest of their conversation, that couldn’t be right you’re not a monster, sure things were weird and you’ve felt different since your illness was cured but that didn’t make you a monster… did it? You sit aback and look yourself over, holding out your arms in the dim lighting which you now realized you could see rather well in, you always thought that was just because you were so used to coming down here that your eyes adjusted quickly, but now you didn’t know anymore. Focusing back on your arms you also notice that your skin was extremely pale then what it normally was. When was the last time you’d seen yourself in a mirror? You’ve passed some in the halls of the castle but never payed much mind to them, and now that you thought about it when was the last time you’d seen the sunshine? You really missed playing outside but always just followed the rules the Briarwood's gave you because they were the grownups and they knew what was best, right? The sound of footsteps coming back your way slightly pull you from your thoughts, but you don’t bother looking up and just stare at the ground in front of you. You hear a shaky sigh but before they can speak you beat them to it.

"There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there." Your blissful joy was gone, replaced with doubt and sadness.

"I-how much did you hear?" Percy's voice wasn’t as angry sounding as it was earlier but there was still tension in it.

"I don’t know, you said something about me being a monster. I thought you were just saying that because you were angry for some reason, but I don’t know anymore. Am-am I really a monster?" You turn and look up at him seeing him flinch slightly, but not quite intentionally. Your lip quivers as you shrink more into yourself. "When we used to play pretend the monsters were always the bad guys… I don’t want to be a bad guy." You whimper and tears start trailing down your face as you try to hide in your arms.

"I didn’t… you’re not… it’s just…" He lets out a long breath followed by a cough and a longer pause. "(Y/n) look at me…" another pause, you don’t move. "Hey, look at me." You feel warm hands pry your face up to make you look at your brother, now you were the one to slightly flinch from the slight sting that was still on your cheek. The two of you have a small staring contest before he speaks up again. "Listen carefully, things are no longer the way you remember them to be, a lot has changed for the worst and for some reason or another you’ve been left to be blissfully unaware of all of it. I don’t know why they decided to do this to you, but I swear we'll figure this out together one step at a time."

"We will?" You give him a hopeful look, he nods slowly

"I hope so… I don’t know who I can all trust here anymore. Things are stressful right now, but if you don’t want to be a part of the bad guys, as you put it, my friends and I are going to need your help. Can you do that, can I really trust you?"

"Yes! I want to help my brother stop the bad guys." You put on your most serious look, Percy then releases his hold on you and you stand up. "Hey Percy?" He lets out a slight hum of acknowledgement. "When we're all done, does that mean I’ll be able to play outside in the sun again?"

"One step at time…" He trails off with a somber sigh. The two of you now heading over to rejoin Percy's group so you could be properly introduced.

Should I continue something with this for a part 2?… or just leave it as is…? Idk, you tell me

#critical role #critical role & reader #vox machina #vox machina & reader #percy de rolo #percy & reader #nothing romantic here

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thebadgerclan · 4 years ago

Text

Never Felt Like This

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Lucius has never felt like this about anyone...

A/N: Kinda long, but I really like this and how it turned out 😊

Lucius had never felt this way before, not when he’d met Narcissa, not when he’d married her, not even with any of his dozens of mistresses. But as he watched you where you sat at your desk, quill spinning between your teeth, brows furrowed in concentration, he felt it: the burning sensation in his chest, as if his heart was on fire as it beat beneath his ribs. Lucius Malfoy was in love, in love with you, for the first time in his life. He’d met you three weeks ago, when you’d been transferred into his department at the Ministry. Lucius was cordial when you first met, making idle small talk in an effort to welcome you and make you feel at ease.

But as your personality revealed itself, Lucius was a goner, falling for you more and more every time you spoke. You were funny, smart, witty, kind, compassionate, and so much more. You were also beautiful, drawing Lucius’ eye every time you entered a room, but he found that he was more captivated by your personality than your appearance, though you were certainly gorgeous, more so than any woman Lucius had ever met.

After three weeks of admiring you from afar, Lucius decided he was going to ask you to dinner. He’d already made reservations at The Golden Snitch, and if you said no, he supposed he’d just take Narcissa. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he and his wife had gone out, and he honestly didn’t care. She had her fair share of lovers, they likely were taking her out every night. Lucius pushed the thought from his mind as he got to his feet and made his way over to your desk.

His heart was pounding and he felt sweat forming on his brow. “Hello, Y/N,” he said, voice steady. You looked up from your work, a smile on your face; a smile that made Lucius swoon. “Hey Lucius, what’s up?” He breathed deeply, folding his hands before him. “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me tomorrow evening? I have a reservation at The Golden Snitch for 7 o’clock.” Lucius saw your eyes dart to his hands, to his wedding band, and he felt his stomach twist. But you looked back up at him and smiled. “I’d love to.”

***

The following day passed slower than any day Lucius had ever experienced. He got nothing accomplished, but when 5 o’clock rolled around, Lucius sprang to his feet, once again making his way to your desk. “I’m going to head home and freshen up,” he said, and you nodded. “Alright, I’m heading out as well.” “I’ll come and pick you up around 6:30?” “Sounds great,” you replied, gathering your things and Apparating home. When you arrived, you immediately set about getting ready, changing into a nice dress with matching heels, fixing your hair and touching up your makeup.

You’d nearly fainted from excitement when Lucius asked you to dinner yesterday. He’d had your heart for months, and when you were transferred to his department, you were over the moon. And now, you were going out to dinner with Lucius Malfoy. To The Golden Snitch, no less, a 5 star restaurant that you knew was near impossible to get a reservation at. At 6:30 exactly, there was a knock at your door. When you opened it, you saw Lucius standing before you, a bouquet of red roses in hand.

He was dressed in forest green dress robes, and you felt your knees go weak. “You look beautiful, Y/N,” he said, handing you the roses. You took them gratefully, conjuring a vase of water for them. “Thank you, Lucius. These are gorgeous.” “Not nearly as gorgeous as you.” You blushed deeply, and Lucius smiled. “You look handsome,” you said, and he beamed. “Why thank you, Y/N. Shall we?” Lucius offered his arm and you took it, shutting your door before Lucius Apparated away.

There was a line around the block outside The Golden Snitch, but Lucius bypassed it, proceeding directly to a private table. There was a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne, candles lit all around the small, private room. “Lucius, this is…” “Exactly what you deserve,” he finished for you, pulling out your chair. Appetizers appeared on the table as Lucius poured you a flute of champagne. Conversation flowed easily, only pausing when a waiter came in to take your orders. The food was spectacular, but halfway through your entree, seared lobster, you grew quiet.

Lucius noticed immediately, but he thought that maybe you were more focused on your food. But when the two of you ordered dessert and you were still subdued, Lucius spoke up. “Is everything alright, Y/N?” “Hmm? Oh, yes.” But he knew you were lying, and reached across the table to take your hand, sending sparks through your body. “Y/N, please, I can tell something is bothering you. Won’t you tell me?” “Alright,” you conceded. “I’m a muggleborn.” Lucius nodded, expecting there to be more. But you looked at him expectantly, and he realized that was all.

“Alright.” “Alright? You don’t mind?” “Not in the slightest. I know, I have a certain reputation, but I no longer feel that way. Your blood status means nothing to me, I care about your personality, and your personality, along with your stunning, ethereal beauty.” “But you’re…” “Yes?” You hesitated, not wanting to offend him. “You’re married.” To your surprise, Lucius laughed. “Yes, I am married. But let me ask you this, Y/N: do you have feelings for me?” “I… yes, Lucius, I do. I do, I have feelings for you, and I have for months.” “Then that is what I care about. I have feelings for you too, Y/N, I have since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“But what about you wife?” Lucius took your other hand in his, squeezing them gently. “Y/N, you probably don’t know this, and I would never expect you to, but Narcissa, my wife, and I’s marriage was arranged.” “It was?” Lucius nodded. “Indeed. We are friendly, but there are no romantic feelings between us.” “Wait,” you said, cocking your head. “Don’t you have a son?” Lucius nodded again. “I do. Narcissa and I bedded one another enough in order to have him, but after that, we went our separate ways. She has taken lovers, as have I. But Y/N, I have never, never in my life, felt this way before.

“I have never felt this captivated, as consumed as I do with you. I have never seen beauty as I see yours, never seen a soul so kind and compassionate as yours, never known someone as perfect as you are. Y/N, I know this might me sudden, might be too soon. But Y/N, I am in love with you, I am in love with you with everything I am. I have never been so in love, never been in love at all, but I am in love with you.” You were breathless, speechless as you looked at Lucius. After what felt like a millenia, you spoke.

“Lucius,” you said, heart pounding, fit to burst out of your chest. “Lucius I… I love you too. I’ve loved you for...since I met you.” Smiling widely, Lucius brought your hands to his lips, kissing them tenderly. “Y/N, will you be mine? I cannot marry you, but I will give you everything and anything you could ever want. Money, jewels, a wing in the manor all to yourself, say the word and it’s yours.” You squeezed his hands, smiling as well. “All I want is you, Lucius.” “Then you shall have me, my darling.”

The nickname rolled off his tongue with ease, and when he saw how you smiled wider at it, Lucius’ heart swelled. He paid the bill and offered you his arm, which you took, as you walked home rather than Apparating. “There are rooms in the manor if you should like,” he said, holding the hand that rested in the crook of his elbow. “Either to stay the night or to move in. You don’t have to, though, only if you wish.” You leaned in closer. “I’d like that. Could I, maybe, stay tonight?” “Of course, my dove. Do you need anything from your apartment?” “Pajamas and clothes for tomorrow, but that’s all.”

Lucius brought you to your apartment and you gathered your things before joining him again. He Apparated you to Malfoy Manor, leading you inside. “I’ll show you around tomorrow,” he said as you ascended the grand staircase. “Our rooms are this way, Narcissa’s are down that corridor.” Seemingly at the mention of her name, Narcissa appeared. “Ahh, Lucius, you’re home. I assume this is Y/N?” “It is. Y/N, this is Narcissa.” Being in the presence of Lucius’ wife shot a bit of dread through your heart, and Narcissa laughed softly.

“You have nothing to fret over, dear. I have no interest in Lucius. No offense, Lucius.” “None take, Cissa.” “Besides, I have Avery waiting for me in my rooms. Goodnight, you two.” “Goodnight, Cissa.” You only nodded, and Narcissa turned and floated down the hall. “Avery is her paramour, as she calls him. Now, my darling, I believe our rooms await us?” Lucius offered his arm to you again, and you took it, following him down the corridor, a massive smile on your face. The pair of you changed and settled into bed, Lucius’ arms resting gently around your waist. He kissed your temple and your heart skipped a beat, and you knew it would be hard to sleep tonight.

#lucius malfoy x reader #lucius malfoy x you #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter reader insert

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athenadione · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt #88 with Jayrae, with Raven as the person who got hurt. Pretty please?

Muahaha *cracks knuckles* don’t mind if I do. Thanks for the prompt anon! It fed my angsty soul. (Also, sorry all for the hiatus in updates. Life is... hard).

‘Toxic Vengeance’

Pairing: JayRae Words: 2,296 Rated: M - Warnings for cuss words, graphic scenes of violence, and major angst.

When the knife slashes her thigh, it instantly feels like it’s on fire.

With a hiss, she draws back.

It’s as if someone pressed a red-hot branding iron to her leg, then twisted it deeper into the marred flesh for good measure—but instead of dulling, the burning sensation is growing at an alarming rate, spiraling up her entire leg.

Another hooded figure dashes from her right, and with a wave of power she forces them back with a glittery black claw. They hit the nearest brick building with a thud. Another jumps from above to replace them, and she throws up a shield with her other hand, halting the strike of their sword in mid-air. More are filling the alley, coming from the shadows. The burning in her leg is now more of an afterthought as her adrenaline spikes.

I need to end this now. “Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos.”

Her power flares, and strikes through the figure, sending it back, along with the others in one large surge. There’s a series of grunts, followed by the clattering of weapons, before all she can hear is her own harsh breathing and blood from her heartbeat rushing in her ears.

Amethyst orbs search the alley with skepticism, expecting another cohort to flood the street. Another minute of scouring, then she releases a breath when she’s certain it’s over.

The attack had happened the second she turned the corner to investigate the stain of dark magic covering the adjacent building. She had been following whispered rumors of a rising national occult for weeks, eventually leading her to Crime Alley of all places.

A groan escapes one of the men. Her attention shifts to see him lying slumped against the wall, hood fallen. His face is covered in old ancient markings, confirming both the reasons for her suspicion and dread.

The marks of Scath. It appears her father’s followers are growing in power. Now, she needs to find out why—and who is behind it. They know who I am and purposefully drew me out here. This is more than I anticipated.

Is their leader someone I know? Maybe Blood?

As the adrenaline begins to flow out of her body, she becomes keenly aware of the burning pain that’s replacing it. When the burning in her thigh flows down to her toes and up the side of her body, she realizes that her heart rate hasn’t slowed and neither has her breathing.

Glancing down at her leg, she curses at the blood flowing freely from the wound. It’s deep, and is now starting to bubble. A bright red streak grows across her leg—a clear sign of inflammation.

Poison. It’s not one that she recognizes—nor is it one that her demon-half can expel.

Not good.

Once the severity of her situation sets in, so does her panic, and she stumbles when another flare of pain sends her head spinning. She staggers over to the brick wall, laying one arm against her forehead. It’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

It’s too late to call Nightwing or Batman; They wouldn’t be able to make it in time, and she doesn’t know if she has the capacity to transport herself to the cave.

There’s only a handful of other people she trusts that knows more than just the basics of toxicology.

Black specks dance along her vision and she tries to blink them back, shaking her head with considerable effort.

There’s only one other option.

With the last of her failing strength, her eyes blind an iridescent white, and inky black tendrils snake around her, enveloping her into its depths.

A moment later they release her and she stumbles across the threshold into a musty apartment. It doesn’t help that it’s completely dark, and the pound of her heart now seems louder than before.

Somewhere within the confines someone curses loud.

Her thoughts are becoming more clouded, and it’s getting harder to breathe. There’s a growing fervency to keep walking, and she does, intent to find him.

A heat sizzles over her skin, heightening at her thigh.

She whimpers, and her knees buckle—legs no longer able to support her weight. She’s so out of it she doesn’t even brace for the ground.

He catches her before she hits.

“Jesus Christ, Raven. What happened to you?” His breath tickles her ear, and she shivers—though from his voice or her wound she’s not sure.

“Ambush. Poison.” She gasps through another wave of burning pain that shoots all the way up to her chest.

Another curse and she’s being lowered against his door as fingers begin to ghost over her body.

“Where? What kind?” He finds the wound and bright emerald eyes flare as they meet her. They swirl and morph into one before her eyes, and she blinks, swallowing back a sudden wave of nausea.

“Alley…knife…I don’t know. I’ve never… ” she trails off, barely getting the words out as her shortness of breath increases.

“Fuck. Fuck,” an arm presses her shoulder back when she begins to slump over. “You cannot pass out on me princess. I need you to stay awake.”

“Sorry,” she says, slurring her words. She’s growing exceedingly dizzy and her vision is blurring faster. She can’t get enough air to breathe.

Something jars her. “Raven, stay with me.”

Her heart feels like it’s going to tear and claw its way out of her chest, and for a moment she thinks it is.

It beats faster, and faster, and faster.

“Rae, open your eyes. Look at me.”

But then it stops.

“Raven.”

And all she knows is darkness.

“Stand by. Preparing to shock.”

There’s a loud, involuntary gasp, and a charging whine.

“Shit. I swear to God you better not fucking die on me Rae.”

“Evaluating heart rhythm… no shock advised. Continue CPR.”

The sound of pumping compressions fills the air. Green eyes glow as they glare at her prone figure.

“Breathe Goddammit!”

When he bites his lip, it’s hard enough to draw blood, but at least he managed to blink back the sudden, unbidden tears that had formed at the corners of his eyes.

He tries not to shake his hands when he hears her sternum crack underneath the heel of his palm.

“What are you doing on this com-line Hood?” The growl in his ear is laced with caution, and he can’t blame him. At least he answered.

He gets to the point fast. “It’s Raven, she was poisoned. I don’t know what it is, but I think it’s systemic,” he pauses as the voice in his ear curses. “She’s coding Nightwing, get someone to my apartment now.”

There’s another tense pause as Dick listens to Jason’s sharp exhales coinciding with his compressions.

“Where?”

“The one closest to the Alley, on 3rd.”

“Z will come teleport us. AED?”

Jason stops and sits back on his haunches as the defilibrator analyzes again. The machine’s response only heightens his fear.

“No shock. Continuing CPR, it’s been a few minutes,” he swallows thick as he checks her carotid pulse again. Nothing. “I’m losing her godammit, hurry the fuck up.”

“On our way.”

He immediately cuts the transmission to focus on his task.

One, two, three, four, five...

He doesn’t know how much longer he’s been counting to thirty, just that he’s done it over and over.

A cacophony of motion behind him almost interrupts his concentration. Someone places a gloved hand on his shoulder with urgency.

“She needs to be transported to the Watchtower as soon as possible.”

Lips press together firmly, then he nods. Allowing Zatanna to intervene, she envelopes the empath in her magic. They leave the AED pads attached.

In seconds, they’re gone. Then the others turn to follow.

“I’m going with her.”

Nightwing stills, eyes flicking to Batman.

The resounding silence is near palpable. Nightwing takes a tentative step forward, breaking it.

“Little wing… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Fluorescent eyes shine with stone-cold defiance.

“You can’t stop me.”

Batman grunts—the closest thing he’ll ever get to an affirmation. It’s a sizable achievement, but he doesn’t feel victorious at all.

She’s still in cardiac arrest, but if anyone can help her it’s Zatanna.

And if there’s anyone that can overcome something like this it’d be her.

Come on princess, come back to me.

She codes three more times in the medbay. The crash team hovers as everyone else tirelessly searches for the right antidote.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

While he watches her Nightwing briefs him on her mission. He listens. It’s a distraction. Then white hot anger licks and gnashes up his chest to his throat with each word until he’s fisting his hands tight to hide the tremors.

“... I thought it might be Blood but assassins and poison isn’t really his style. Do you think the League could have something to do with this?” Nightwing asks beside him.

His response is slow and level, revealing no hint of the turbulence of emotion that lies underneath, “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

Nightwing gives him a pensive stare, but says nothing.

Jason narrows his eyes.

Dead. They’re all fucking dead.

They’re able to create one an hour later. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved to see someone breathe.

He waits until she’s stable before slipping away. The teleporter still recognizes him as Robin, and he’s not sure what to think about that when he steps onto the platform.

Batman gives him a look that he acknowledges as both a warning and a threat; But why should he care? He lost respect for that man a long time ago, and doesn’t give two shits what he thinks.

Unlike Bruce, he’s not afraid to avenge those he cares about most through whatever means necessary.

A piercing cry follows the crack of snapping bone. Another finger, broken. That leaves seven more, and I’ve got all fucking night.

“I won’t ask again,” comes a growl, “I want answers.”

The man’s panting is interrupted by a swift kick to the gut. He bends over with a groan, before he glares up at the Red Hood through one eye. The other is swollen shut.

“Why would I tell you? You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

Hood hums, cocking his gun. “True, but it’ll hurt wayyy less if you do.”

The man spits at his boots, a mixture of saliva and blood. “Good luck. I won’t talk.”

A malicious grin grows from underneath Hood’s mask.

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t need it.”

The hallway is empty, save for him and Nightwing.

Really it’s just a perfect place for a one-on-one scolding—and his brother clearly decides to take advantage of it.

“You shouldn’t have done that. He will retaliate. This is Ra’s we’re talking about.”

Jason’s jaw clenches tight.

“Who knows how many supporters he’s managed to convince that Trigon can fix all of their worldly problems? He could call on all of them at any given moment.”

He bares his teeth.

“You’ve made a mess, Hood. It’s going to take months to clean up what you did.”

He can’t stand it anymore. “Are you shitting me? I did you all a fucking favor,” he points a finger in Richard’s chest. “I found out more information in an hour investigating my way than you all did in weeks. If you’re not happy with my methods then do a better goddamned job covering your teammates.” He nearly chokes on that last word, attention drifting to the unmoving woman in the room across from them.

Dick’s eyes follow and widen, then narrow just as fast, and he crosses his arms.

“You love her.”

He should have known Richard would figure it out. Why even try to fucking deny it anymore?

“Yeah,” he winces when his voice comes out raw. “I do.”

Dick raises a brow, unapologetic. “She’s not going to like what you did either.”

Jason doesn’t have the decency to look ashamed.

“I know.”

He wonders if she would have done the same.

“The antidote stopped any further damage, but she remains comatose. We’ve deduced that her body’s gone into a healing trance to mend herself internally. There’s nothing else we can do but wait and continue to monitor.”

He stares at her porcelain face, no longer resisting the urge to tuck a stray lock of indigo behind her ear. Even at rest her brows are furrowed—like she knows what’s coming.

He waits until he can no longer hear Zatanna’s echoing steps to draw closer to her, breathing in her familiar scent of incense and old books. It’s a welcome change from the sterile smell of antiseptic.

“You’re really taking your time huh, sunshine? How rude of you, leaving me with these assholes,” he fingers another strand of hair before releasing it with a sigh.

“You scared the shit out of me. Don’t do that again.” He gives her a mock glare, half-expecting her to glower back. When she doesn’t he swallows, and takes another breath.

“There’s one more thing I need to do… and I know you’re going to hate it, but I’m going to do it anyway.” He imagines pools of lavender, ablaze with fire, and a mouth already poised to argue with a vehemence that makes him smile in the present.

“I won’t be able to come back here after I finish, and I’m sorry I won’t be there when you wake up,” he takes her hand and squeezes. “But I’m not sorry for what I’m about to do.”

The incessant beeping of the machines she’s hooked up to is his only response.

He lowers his face, and brushes his lips against the crown of her head.

“I love you.”

Walking away from her is hard, and he almost turns back.

But he doesn’t.

#jayrae #robrae #one shot prompts #it’s angsty like my soul #jason todd

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thebookreader12345 · 4 years ago

Text

Identity Loss - Chapter One

Chapter Two Chapter Three

What was that saying? Something about best friends being the best kind of lovers? Well, whatever it was, it was true. Best friends are the best kind of boyfriends. And I would know seeing as that just so happened to be the situation I was in. Will Halstead started off as my best friend, but as the years flew by, we fell in love. Maybe it was because we worked countless shifts together in the ED. Or perhaps it was because we spent too many nights at Molly’s where we were tipsy enough to share personal secrets and fears. It could also be a combination of both, plus many other factors. Will was my rock and I was his. We never kept secrets from each other, and because of that, we had complete trust in our relationship. And now, we were going to be getting married at the end of the year. But this is where things get rocky. So hold onto your seats, because this is going to be the love story of the century.

I stared at the glittering ring on my finger, admiring the way it caught the lights in the ED. Recently, whenever I had a small break, no matter how little time I had, I always seemed to spend it staring at the ring that now sat on my finger. The engagement ring belonged to Will’s mother who had passed away before I knew him. She left her ring to her sons, Will and Jay, and said that whoever was to be married first could use it. That’s how it ended up on my finger. I had never met Mrs. Halstead, but based on how Will turned out, and Jay as well, she must’ve been one incredible woman.

“Staring at that ring again?” Maggie asked, which broke me out of my daze. I glanced up at the charge nurse clad in her blue scrubs, which oddly matched pretty well with my maroon ones, and smiled.

“I can’t help it Mags. It just draws my attention,” I claim.

Maggie laughed softly and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think it’s the ring that draws your attention. I think it’s the man who gave it to you.”

“Will might be a contributing factor,” I admit.

“Speaking of the ginger-haired devil,” Maggie said and nodded behind me. I turned around to see my fiance exiting the elevator, and as soon as he met my gaze, a large grin appeared on his face. Will then made his way over to me, dodging the doctors, nurses, and patients in his path, and when he reached his destination, he leaned down to brush his lips against mine.

“There you are. I was looking for you up in cardiology, but Connor said you came back down here,” Will spoke.

“Yeah. My patient ended up having a cardio problem, Heart Valve Disease, so I passed him off to Connor and figured I’d come back down to snag another case. But so far it’s been a pretty boring day,” I explain.

“I think I can fix that. Come on,” Will told me and began to drag me down the hall.

“Will, where are we going?” I question as Will and I entered the elevator.

“You’ll see,” Will responded and pressed the button for the 4th floor. What the hell was on the 4th floor? The elevator ride only took a few seconds, and when the doors opened, I was met by darkness. When my eyes finally adjusted to what was in front of me, I realized where we were.

“This is the old orthopedics wing. What are we doing up here? It’s empty,” I point out and step off of the elevator with Will right behind me.

“That’s kind of the point,” Will disclosed and laced his fingers with mine before leading me down another hallway and into an empty patient room. The orthopedics wing was being transferred to another floor, so at the moment, this one was empty. Everything on the floor was pretty much intact, including the rooms, because construction hadn’t started yet. As soon as we entered the patient room, Will leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. I melted into the kiss, my body instinctively bringing itself close to Will’s. As the kiss deepened, Will guided me towards the bed, and when the back of my thighs touched the sheets, I realized what Will was insinuating.

“You want to have sex in here?” I ask and look around while Will gripped onto my waist tightly and placed kisses along my neck.

“Yeah. Why not. Now, it feels like I haven’t touched you in days, so...” Will trailed off as his kisses became more fervent. I chuckled softly as I fell down onto the bed, my back hitting the cheap, cotton sheets. Will hovered over me, his lips attacking mine once again, and his hands slid under my scrub top, running over the skin on my sides. I pushed Will off of me for a second giving me enough time to sit up and pull my shirt over my head, tossing it to the side. Will grinned and leaned back down, but before he could reach my lips, I tugged him down onto the bed, and his body fell on top of mine. With our bodies pressed chest to chest, there was no room between us. I ran my hand over the hem of Will’s scrub top, and after I lifted it about an inch, Will got the idea and took it off, throwing it somewhere in the room. I smashed my lips to Will’s, enjoying the feeling of his mouth moving in sync with mine. My hands moved up Will’s back, my nails digging into his shoulder blades when he bit my bottom lip. Will then stopped kissing my lips and went down to my neck, nibbling at a spot that he knew was sensitive for me. My fingers tangled themselves in Will’s curly locks as I arched my back in pleasure, a slight moan leaving my lips as Will sucked at the same sensitive spot.

“Will,” I breathe out.

“Mmm,” Will hummed against my skin.

“If you leave a hickey, I’m going to kill you,” I mumble.

Will laughed and glanced up, his eyes meeting mine. “I thought you took an oath?”

“An oath that only applies to patients,” I clarify.

“You made this go dark so fast,” Will said as I pushed him off of my body and onto the open space next to me. I then climbed on top of him and straddled his waist, placing my hands on his chest.

“And you proposed to me anyways,” I mention.

“That I did,” Will countered and placed his hands on my hips, caressing my bare skin. I laughed and leaned down to kiss him again, but just before our lips could meet, both me and Will’s pagers beeped. Will groaned as I rolled off of him and pulled his phone from his pants pocket. I did the same, and when I saw the page that there was a huge trauma coming to the ED, I hopped off the bed and retrieved my shirt from the floor. Will grabbed his shirt as well, and once both of us were fully clothed and looked like he weren’t just about to have sex, we rushed down to the ED.

“What do we got, Mags?” I question.

“Peds vs. Auto. Y/N, I want you on the driver, Mr. Wilson. He’s in Treatment Room 2. And Will, the victim is coming in now,” Maggie informed us as the paramedics entered the lobby.

“See you in a bit,” Will murmured and pecked my lips before heading towards his patient. As Will disappeared into Trauma Room 1, I slipped on some gloves and made my way to the man I was supposed to be treating.

“Mr. Wilson, I’m Dr. L/N,” I greet the man sitting on the bed. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I was just trying to get home when that idiot walked into the intersection,” Mr. Wilson answered. “And I had the damn light!”

“All right. It looks like you hit your head on the steering wheel when you slammed your breaks. Did you lose consciousness at all?” I ask and examine the cut on his forehead.

“No,” Mr. Wilson replied.

“Other than that cut, I’m not seeing any injuries. I’m going to get someone in here to stitch that up for you, and then we’ve just got to run a few tests before we can discharge you,” I disclose and throw the latex gloves I was wearing into the garbage can.

“Tests? What kind of tests?” Mr. Wilson quizzed.

“We’ve just got to run a tox screen and do some blood work. It’s standard protocol for car accidents like these. And then we also have to get the police down here to take your statement to clear you of any charges. Don’t worry,” I assure him. “You’ll be out of here in an hour, two tops.”

Mr. Wilson sighed, but nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” About an hour later, I got Mr. Wilson’s lab work back, and everything looked clear, so now I was heading back to his room to discuss next steps and discharge papers.

“Good news, Mr. Wilson. Your labs are all clear. There was no alcohol or drugs in your system,” I declare and shut the curtain leading to his room. “And I got word that an officer is heading over now to take your statement, so you should be out of here within the hour.”

“You need to call the police off. Now!” Mr. Wilson demanded.

“I’m sorry?” I question and set my tablet down.

“I’m not going to talk to the police. So call them off,” Mr. Wilson ordered and climbed out of bed. It suddenly dawned on me what was going on here. Mr. Wilson didn’t want to talk to the police because he would probably be found guilty of some crime. That’s why he was rushing home, and why he either didn’t stop at a red light, or didn’t pay attention to what was in front of him, causing the accident. The man in front of me was a criminal, and I was stuck in a tiny room with him.

“Mr. Wilson, it’s protocol that I call the police, and they’re already on their way so-”

Mr. Wilson cut me off. “I don’t give a damn about protocol! You call them off right now!”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” I exclaim. Mr. Wilson growled, and before I could react, he rushed forward and tackled me to the floor. My head slammed into the ground, which caused a wave of pain to roll over me, and I also fell onto my arm, so a throbbing sensation arose there as well. “Help! Someone help!” Then, suddenly, I couldn’t breathe, and I realized it was because Mr. Wilson had his hands wrapped around my throat. I struggled under his weight and attempted to pry his hands off of my neck, but it was no use. I even kicked and fought, but nothing I did helped me. The last thing I remember before passing out from lack of oxygen was someone restraining Mr. Wilson, and Will’s worried face hovering above me.

......................................

I woke up with a pounding in the back of my head that wouldn’t seem to go away. The throbbing continued as I opened my eyes, but as the light hit my pupils, the headache worsened. I groaned and closed my eyes, hoping that pain would stop after a few seconds, but that didn’t seem to be the case because I was still hurting. I opened my eyes once more, starting at a squint, and once I was comfortable with the bright beams raining down on me, I opened them fully. Upon looking around, a thought arose in my brain. Where the hell was I? I could tell that I was in a hospital room based on the equipment around and because I had a sling holding up my left arm, but I didn’t know which hospital or how I had gotten here. That’s when a handsome, red-headed doctor entered the room, and when he saw that I was awake, a small smile broke out on his face.

“Hey. I’m glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?” the man asked.

“I’m feeling okay. Where am I?” I question.

The doctor laughed, but when he saw that I wasn’t joking, he frowned. “Y/N, you’re at Chicago Med. Don’t you remember what happened?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea how I ended up here, nor do I know what Chicago Med is.”

“But you remember me, don’t you?” the man quizzed and took ahold of my right hand. I hesitated for a moment because I felt like I should know him, but nothing jumped out at me. Not even his name. But I got that from his doctor’s coat, which read William Halstead.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I don’t know who you are. I uh, I can’t remember anything.”

...............................................

That’s the end of the first chapter! Comment down below what you guys think!

________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @king-crockett @winterberryfox @anotherfan07 @i-like-sparkly-things

#one chicago #one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #one chicago imagines #chicago med #chicago med x reader #chicago med imagine #chicago med imagines #will halstead #will halstead imagine #will halstead imagines #will halstead x reader #x reader #imagine #imagines #multi chapter #multi chapter fic #romance #amnesia

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raelly-writing · 4 years ago

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Little Secrets - Thancred/WoL

Post-5.5. Silly little bit of fluff I’ve had lying around in my WIP folder since before 5.3. :)

---

The Rising Stones lay still and quiet as Thancred made his way through its hallways. Not that it was unexpected at this hour - either it was far too late in the night or too early in the morning for many souls aside for the town guards to be awake.

At least the others out in the field had been faring well when he’d checked in with them, despite their less than pleasant task of intercepting any further attempts to bring captives to the towers. Sure, he could have checked in via linkpearl, but after the chaos out in Pagl’than, it’d seemed prudent to get a feeling for the situation elsewhere.

Well, he could convene with Riol and Alphinaud in the morning, Thancred thought as he took the steps up the stairs to the sleeping quarters in twos. Despite his long travel and the late - or early - hour, he felt rather energetic.

Or perhaps it was the thought of slinking into Viana’s room and just catching a few precious hours of sleep with her after several days apart that put a slight spring in his step. Between his time away in Garlemald, and leaving again to see how the situation at the other towers were, he looked forward to the comforting warmth of her body curled up next to his as he slept. In the dark, still corridor, his quiet huff of laughter at himself seemed far louder than it was. It would have been a hard thing to believe once that he’d be eager to slip into his lover’s bed, just for the simple pleasure of sleeping by their side.

Nevermind that there were no fears of entanglement driving him from leaving said bed early, that he was content and secure in this bond between them that kept him by her side - that he could allow himself to have this simple happiness in his life, despite those moments where he felt it was something he had not yet earned, and those familiar, dark voices whispered to him that she would one day realise that he was not fit for her.

With a shake of his head, he fished out the spare key she had given him from his inner coat pocket and quietly unlocked her door. Her chamber lay silent as he slipped inside and closed the door behind him, bathed in the low light of the lantern left burning on her desk.

Too silent, in fact.

A small frown creased his brow as he quietly stepped deeper into the room and looked around the ornate Far Eastern wood screen that customarily partitioned off her bed from the rest of the room.

The piles of pillows and blankets were untouched, the covers still neatly tucked in. No one had slept in that bed tonight.

Thancred felt a small but potent pang of disappointment. Most likely she had been called off somewhere on an urgent matter, as was wont to happen.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it - guess he was sleeping in his own bed tonight. Tataru and Alphinaud would tell him in the morning where she’d gone, he was sure. Sighing, he reached out to turn off the lantern, when he caught sight of her gunblade lying on her desk with its maintenance kit beside it. Thancred stopped at once, a curious frown back on his features. Looking around he found her katana sitting on its customary stand and her axe hanging off a pair of hooks on the wall by her wardrobe.

“What the-?” he murmured to himself. She wouldn’t have left without any of her weapons.

Just then, there was the sound of a key turning in the lock, followed by a dull thud as someone on the other side pushed their weight against the door. A pause. Then the sound of it once more unlocking.

“Seven Hells, I swear that I locked-” Viana froze the moment she saw him, her eyes going almost comically wide in surprise.

Thancred’s eyebrows rose as he took in her appearance, the surprise he felt not mitigating the heat that instantly crawled up the back of his neck. A dark leather corset hugged her body, with familiar looking bits of gold jewelry twinkling in the low light like little stars against the dark blue cloth of her dress.

A moment of silence stretched out between them.

Clearing his throat, he smiled and gestured towards her. “Were I to check the hallway, would I find Urianger knocked out and robbed off his usual adornments?”

Viana’s shoulders, bared by the cut of the dress, sagged when she exhaled. “Funny,” she replied dryly while she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, turning the lock. Tall boots covered her legs, though even in the dim light of the room he could see the tantalising glimpse of bare skin at her thigh.

He tried not to let his eyes linger, but it was hard not to let his gaze wander and soak in her unusual appearance, used as he was to her in full armour or just lighter shirts and trousers. This was… extravagant, by comparison. “People have on occasion accused me of such feats,” he quipped.

Pausing, she gave him a shy, uncertain look while still lingering by the door. He was not meant to have seen her like this, he realised. Only once, long ago, had he seen her carry herself in such an apprehensive manner - at the banquet that had been held after the Grand Melee in Ishgard. But there were no crowds of gossiping nobles present now to watch her every move.

Thancred gave her a reassuring smile as he took a couple of slow steps forward. “So, do you mind me asking what this is about?” He had an inkling but...

Viana tensed up, and he nearly told her that she did not have to if so was her wish, but then she sighed and procured from behind her the folded together metal rings that appeared to have been suspended from one of the chains around her waist. “I suppose you’d find out sooner or later,” she said quietly as she took a few steps to close the distance between them.

With a touch of aether, the slender rings flared to life and hovered above her palm - a familiar sight, though hers lacked the intricate decorations of Urianger’s. The bracelets on her arm tinkled when she moved her arm over the astrolabe, her face set in a look of concentration.

Briefly, the room was illuminated by a surge of aether, and then a soothing sensation washed over Thancred, like a gentle whisper of the softest silk over his bare skin that swept away the weariness in his limbs. Rejuvenating magic, tinted with the warm, familiar feeling of her aether.

“I made the mistake of voicing some curiosity about astrology to Urianger while we were dealing with Eden.” The corner of her mouth curled with a crooked smile. “And I fear he took it as a personal challenge to teach me.”

“Ah, a grave mistake indeed,” Thancred chuckled. “Give him an ilm and he’ll take a yalm.”

Shrugging, she eyed the slowly spinning astrolabe with a small, thoughtful smile. “It’s been… interesting to learn though.” Her gaze flickered back to him. “I’ll probably never take this out in the field. I’m barely good enough to heal a minor cut, but I do genuinely appreciate the effort and time he’s put toward this. He’s a good teacher. Very patient with me.”

Thancred’s expression softened. He knew her lack of an education was a sore spot for her, and that she often felt like her non-existent grasp of magical theory made her less of use than the rest of them - that, as per her own jest, her sole contribution to any given problem was to take a beating and punch the issue until it either went away or one of them solved it. Gratitude towards Urianger for taking her under his wing tugged at his heart, along with a content pride in her efforts to learn. Even if Thancred himself thought that she hardly had anything to prove to them, in that regard. She was more than just a weapon. Reaching out, he took her free hand in his and brushed a quick kiss to the back of her fingers, below the rings that adorned them.

“I take it you were out studying the stars then,” he asked, recalling how Urianger would sometimes venture out into the fields of Il Mheg even when the blanket of Eternal Light had made it impossible to see the night sky.

Viana nodded and slipped her hand from his to caress his jaw. The scratch of his stubble made her smile widen a little, mirth dancing in her eyes. “Mm, his balcony has a good view of most of them. Otherwise we go up to one of the towers.”

With another wave of her hand, the astrolabe folded back up and she took a careful hold of it before walking past him to the same low cabinet upon which her katana stand stood. The soft light from the lantern caught on the gold chain hanging down between her shoulder blades. Focusing on it, he saw that another star pendant was dangling at its end, and that another, heftier chain was attached to the band around her upper arm. There was an itch in his fingers to slowly undo each clasp and tie, to loosen the corset hugging her body and unwrap her like a fine namesday gift.

“He’s been teaching me about the various constellations and how to draw on them,” she told him over her shoulder, unaware of how his eyes were following the chains looping around her waist, and the small blue gems hanging from them that sparkled like they were distant stars twinkling in the night sky. “Not sure how successful I’ve been at it though.”

She turned around and his gaze instantly snapped back up to her face. Clearing his throat, he nodded. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”

Viana shrugged sheepishly. “Perhaps. If nothing else I might be able to apply some of the theory to my gunbreaker barriers.” Her smile turned crooked, as humour sparked in her eyes. “And, I might not stand around and look like I just got clubbed over the head by Titan whenever a discussion turns theoretical in nature about aether balancing and all that stuff.”

“Ah, my dear, you’re hardly the only one who gets turned around by their theoretical debates.”

A soft peal of laughter made her shoulders shake as she walked back to him. “Well, I suppose I have Estinien as company in that regard, for now.” The knowing look she gave him made it clear that she knew he was obfuscating his own knowledge on the field, but instead of calling him out on it she merely leaned down and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re back,” she murmured.

Smiling, Thancred slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “I’m glad to be back.”

Viana leaned against him and brushed back his hair from his eyes. “Planning on staying for more than a day, this time?”

Immediately he felt the long journey catch up with him, and with a tired chuckle he nodded. “Unless the gods decide to suddenly turn the world upside down tomorrow, then yes, I am.”

Her smile brightened a little at once. “Good.” She leaned down and he eagerly met her in a slow kiss.

Thancred made a pleased noise at the back of his throat, his heart skipping a beat in joy at being back with her. The kiss was short and sweet, familiar and welcoming in tone.

Almost too short, he felt, when she straightened back up. Peering up at her, he felt curiosity tug at him once more as he thumbed what felt like a star shaped pendant. “Haven’t seen you in something like this before,” he murmured with a smile. “Well, aside from that dress at ser Aymeric’s banquet.”

A blush immediately crept up on her cheeks as she glanced away. “Ah, yes, I... asked Tataru for some more aether conductive gear,” she replied while tapping her fingers against his shoulders in a nervous manner. “Apparently she’d gotten her hands on some new patterns in Ishgard that she wanted to try out. Decided to kill two cloudkin with one rock, as it were.” The tilt of her smile turned a little self deprecating as she shrugged, “Can’t help but feel like her efforts were wasted on me.”

Raising a hand, he touched her chin to urge her to look back at him. Thancred held her gaze and let the levity drop from his voice when he responded, “You look stunning, darling.”

Viana’s eyes widened a fraction before her expression settled back into a bashful look. “Not exactly my usual style,” she murmured, her tone uncertain. “It seems a bit… frivolous, compared to my normal clothes.”

“Nothing wrong with a little frivolity, if that’s what you are in the mood for,” Thancred mused.

She pursed her lips with a thoughtful look, before leaning down and pressing another quick kiss to his mouth. “Well, thoughts for a later time I suppose. Mind helping me out of this?”

“Mm, that would be my pleasure,” he replied with a grin and gave her waist a squeeze.

#Thancred #Thancred Waters #ffxiv #thancred x wol #really just wanted to finish up something for myself today #My writing

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arkt-nehrim-archive · 4 years ago

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A Story in Spring : Renewal {1/3}

"I have a proposition for you."

The walls of the fallen seraph's humble hut had so far been something of a passive comfort, yet Lithirill found no sense of ease. Her host, and fellow Tel'lmaltath could certainly tell, eyeing her with some hint of concern, slowly rising to his full height, turning to face her once the fire had suitably caught. "Go on."

The encouraging mannerism was commonplace in their interactions thus far, but it didn't do much to make her desirous of speaking her mind, as images played in her head of all she had been plotting in secret, only thinking to bring the matter to him when she -knew- beyond a doubt she could -achieve- her goals. "It is a...personal matter, to you specifically. I hesitate to even ask, truthfully." At that notion, her company raised a sculpted brow. How he might've read her words differed from what she seemed to mean by her body language; a normally stood straight, confident woman now half hunched and barely maintaining eye contact. He simply watched, resting a hand along his hip. It was the only prompt to continue she was going to get. "...Right. -Arkt-. I will speak plainly." even then she hesitated, a sigh accompanying an expression of complete honesty, "...I want to reconstruct your wings. I would see you fly again."

There weren't many things reality could offer him that still surprised, but that had done it, the gentle carefulness in her tone most of all. It wasn't just an offer, but a plea. Arkt's gaze fell to his floorboards, called back to the moment she had seen the tattered remnants, and the conversation that followed where he learned much and more about the individual he chose to champion. Her perseverance in the face of impossible odds had ensured his second chance at freedom from past mistakes, yet here she was still giving. It was not debt fueling her either, but desire, leading him to a thought forgotten sensation; confoundment.

Lithirill only fidgeted in the quiet, narrowing her eyes in passive calculation, half braced for some kind of impact. It took him some several moments to recover, clearing his throat. The ever-present ache at his back he'd still struggled with flared up. Even to this day, the injury pained him, centuries "dead" had been his only reprieve.

"You are firmly familiar with the reasons I lost them in the first place..." he began, watching his company instinctively tense, ready for rejection; instead he would give her a question, "Knowing that, I must ask -why-? To what end would you go to such efforts?" Asked with genuine curiosity, over any manner of accusation; he suspected her of nothing.

Lithirill nodded, crossing her arms and easing her weight onto one leg. "History was one among a few reasons I have debated asking. As for why, well. I feel there are certain wrongs afflicted to those I’ve come to care for, and it is within my power to unravel those wrongs.”

Arkt watched her carefully crafted mask slipping, the woman ever at odds with herself. He wondered if there would ever be a time where she did not engage in the practice, and simply felt at home in his company.

"As you did with Arantheal?" he questioned, curious to see if he could keep her at that boundary.

Lithirill puzzled over the question for a moment, pondering if it was harmless comparison or an accusation. Foolish to think it the latter, knowing Arkt had no history of resisting her intent.

"...Yes. As I did -for- Narathzul." She corrected, offering a sideways nod and a shrug, "Know I don't need an answer -today-. I only wanted you to know that the idea lingered in mind long enough to...plan for.”

Ultimately, Arkt was touched. Shock still kept a whirlwind of emotions at bay at the mere hint of taking to the skies again, permitting the warmth of the smile behind his veil to only grow as he watched her. She was not having so easy a time, clearly having wrestled with herself on the matter for awhile.

"Is this what has kept you from your usual visits of late?" he wondered, gesturing with a hand in a motion pushing down from his midsection; 'Relax.' he said silently.

Her eyes followed his hand, flicking up to his face like the lash of a serpent's tongue before she took in a breath and let it out, chuckling to herself.

"In part. Alongside the politicking and the visits somewhere warmer. Thoughts?"

He sighed through his nose as he partly answered with the considering tilt of his head and a prolonged shutting of his eyes, continuing to chew on the notion.

"Too many to rightly voice in a manner composed or remotely understandable. Would you mind returning to Castle Darlan for the moment? I'll have an answer for you come the evening."

"Of course.~"

The professional manner in which she pulled herself together and turned from him showed a wall climbing between them that he had no patience for, the old seraph chuckling when she moved to open the door.

"Lithirill."

She twitched, shoulders bunching as her fingers fumbled at the doorknob, before she straightened again and smiled a familiar, shy curve over her shoulder. Her eyes lit up a touch when she saw he’d pulled down his veil.

"Yes?"

"...Thank you." he spoke, genuine appreciation clear in his expression.

A hint of color, and the wall scattered; his only goal in the moment. She departed with an amused, "See you soon.", quickly on her way.

~~~ As promised, Arkt had arrived that evening, uncharacteristically anxious, but Lithirill could hardly blame him. She could not imagine the weight of what her offer truly meant to him.

In times long gone, the loss of his wings, however deeply traumatic, had served a purpose; symbols had power, as much in their creation as their destruction and his fall signaled the end of an era where the Lightborn could rule without fear of repercussion. Yet now that all his battles were over, and this new life lay before him...

It was not long before the old seraph was waxing poetic, teetering back and forth in his words, as was his way. He all but danced between every sentence- whilst Lithirill only offered more wine when his glass neared empty. She refused to rush him in coming to a decision, simply enjoying his company, equal parts devilishly curious and genuinely empathetic.

Such camaraderie came to it's end at the dawn of the following day, Arkt admitting in the quiet of the morning fog that he accepted her offer; even with her many warnings of risk and pain, he had seen firsthand what she was capable of; he knew he was in good hands, even if a fair few of her achievements were with his shadowed aid.

Two weeks had passed since he agreed to her offer, wasting no time in getting started. The first bout had been the hardest thus far- having not yet known just how -much- it took to render a seraph numb, and having the unfortunate task of plucking the feathers he still had. A meticulous, painful, unexpectedly bloody process...but it was safer to start with a clean slate than try to rebuild all that was under them when half the limb had been shorn down to bare bone.

Trippling the dosages from there made things much easier, at least for Arkt. His struggle was not with pain in the familiar sense now, it came instead from a nameless sensation; the agonizingly slow return of what should never be, able to sense every -tiny- thread of what was lost reconnect. It was as torturous as it was euphoric, and it could only be overcome by sheer force of will.

Tonight would be no different. Lithirill had learned his tells after a few sessions. When in the throes of her spell work, she could spare little attention for observance, but awareness returned as she dialed back, murmuring gentle nothings mostly for her own comfort; though it signaled to Arkt he could stop taking such measured breaths.

The touch of the Sea crept away like the retreating tide, Arkt opening hazy eyes, idly stretching his fingers. He knew well enough not to move until his companion told him to do so, watching her over his shoulder. There was a slight notion of fear that kept him from immediately looking upon his wings, naked and ghastly as they were. He only had eyes for Lithirill's face, noting the knitted brow and how she clicked her tongue when observing progress, pondering how to proceed.

"I'd hoped to have had bone completely covered by now..." she lamented, drawing again the magicked circles that held his wings in subtle regeneration between sessions, "I've underestimated how deeply the burns go. I should’ve-”

"You need not fret, Lithirill." Arkt spoke up, a look of assurance crossing fair features, "This shall take as long as it will take, and you have plenty to grapple with without adding the unnecessary elements of haste and worry.~"

"...Perhaps. Still, I don't savor putting you through further pain I could have avoided." she spoke idly, glad he could not feel it as she undid the slings above, gently moving the humble beginnings to rest on cushions whilst she worked tension from developing musculature.

"We went into this knowing it would be difficult. We will endure." he replied, his tone as much an attempt to comfort as it was a statement of fact; she was far too deep in it now to safely -stop-. "Which for you to manage, requires heady use of those flasks behind you, as I recall."

It was a gentle, but earnest jab to not neglect her own health whilst taking care of him. She might have been Tel'lmaltath, but healing at -this- level for such prolonged bouts tested the limits of even legendary resolves, and Arkt did not fancy the idea of a Shadow God turned Oorbaya.

Satisfied with her ministrations, she sighed and nodded, letting her hand trail down his back as she turned and gingerly stepped away to pluck a flask of Ambrosia from a stockpile. The edges of a smirk tugged at his lips as she made a show of drinking half the vial like it didn't taste awful, raising both brows at him in a silent 'satisfied?'.

"...-Thank- you." he muttered, humming a chuckle, "Do not lose sight of your own well being in concern for me. I must stress, we have nothing but time."

Lithirill tilted her head at him as her eyelids drooped, well accustomed now to the odd heated popping in her ears as the Ambrosia did its work, blanketing the red pressure in her head and quieting the skittering under her skin.

"-Now- whose fretting?" she teased, setting down the flask so she could help him to stand, not letting his wings droop as she supported them from the base, "I don't intend to go hurrying into the arms of the Blue Death, I promise. Come now.~"

Twas a short jaunt to the spare bedroom within her personal quarters, Arkt leading the way and Lithirill matching his steps. The seraph counted his blessings that his pride could not be so easily wounded as she settled his wings into yet another set of slings, these ones arranged to allow them to safely hang whilst he rested. He knew -she- worried about such mental troubles, but he was far too old and that much more taken by fascination in all she insisted upon doing for him to care for foolish things like shame.

"Tell me something, Lithirill." he said, eyes on her as she arranged the vials that would help him sleep, and come the morn, ease his pain, "What do you suppose I'm meant to do in return for all of this?"

The question was laced with an undertone of playfulness that reminded her of when the seraph had taken an almost catty tone in Arktwend, all but making -gossip- of the infatuation between those who'd brought Narathzul into the world. She could only raise a brow at him in plain curiosity, willfully stepping into whatever trap this might have been.

"That is hardly a matter to burden the likely recipient, don't you think? Or am I -supposed- to be reading between some manner of line here?" The teasingly scrutinizing gaze she leveled upon him was nothing to the coy look he gave her beneath the messy strands of his hair, the two locked in a quiet contest before she relented; as she always did where he was concerned. "...ponder and plot all you like, my friend. But hold to that patience you've assured me with. I would say it is early yet to be planning anything more than recovery." she offered.

Arkt sighed through his nose at that, uncapping the cork to her sleeping drought and drinking it down with a quick chaser of water. Her answer was as good as any. Ponder and plot indeed then.

"Fair enough. Rest well, when you find it." he bid gently, offering only a smile. For a would be God according to most's definition, who had seen millennia pass and returned even from -death-, he seemed to be handling the life of a crippled patient quite well.

Lithirill could only take that profound patience and trust in her ability to heart; ensure no matter her doubts that she'd finish the job.

She returned the evening farewell and meandered to her own bed, falling upon it like a stone. All too swiftly would the sun rise, and the pair would be again until their great task of renewal was complete. Lithirill could only hope she'd be done by Spring.

~Fin~

#Vynblr #VynSpringEvent #A Story In Spring #Nehrim #Enderal #Arkt #Lithirill Andethil #Post-Ending

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esmealux · 4 years ago

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The Devil Doesn’t Do Children

Part: 2 / ?

Setting: About a year after 5a

Word count: 3.5K

Rating: T

Summary: ‘I certainly did not choose to impregnate the Detective, Doctor!’ In which Lucifer doesn’t know how to cope and goes to see the one person who might be able to help him.

Warnings: Mention of death, murder (and, quite indirectly, foeticide)

When Chloe parks the car a little outside the film set, Lucifer has finally got his thoughts and the threatening sensation in his chest under control. He had stared silently out of the window the entire ride, calculating, weighing the different possibilities; which one was more likely—him impregnating her after being sterile since the dawn of time, or her getting food poisoning from a hole in the wall filthier than medieval England? The latter. Definitely the latter. It is the only logical—nay, possible explanation. He has no doubt.

But then she asks him to get her a gum from her glove box (she still has a bad taste in her mouth), and when he looks inside the small space to find the pack she always keeps there, something catches his eye, something pink and flat, something he usually associates with mood swings and five days of limited access—something that reminds him she’s more than a week late.

He grabs the gum between his fingers and hands it to her, smacking the glove box shut as if it will erase what he just saw and the distressing epiphany it led to. He searches for alternate explanations in his panicking mind, something, anything, that will ease his returned and now stronger fear that she’s… That they’re… But he comes up with nothing. Just obscure theories that even he will admit are far-fetched.

He doesn’t say anything—not because he knows she doesn’t want to have the conversation on their way to talk to a potential suspect, but because he can’t. So he just follows after her like a lost puppy, until they’re suddenly sitting in a cramped trailer, facing former child-star, current man-child Max Steinfeld.

‘Why did you walk away when we asked you about Laura?’ Chloe asks the actor. He had fled? Lucifer hadn’t noticed. Then again, he’s not entirely sure he would have remembered if they’d been in a car chase, or a gunfire.

The sad example of a man slides a tabloid towards them in response to the Detective’s question. The front page shows a picture (undoubtedly shot by a paparazzo) of him and Riley walking down the street hand in hand, smiles plastered on their polished Hollywood faces. Next to the headline promising insight in ‘all the details about the magical wedding,’ there’s a close-up of an offensively distasteful diamond ring.

Lucifer sees a chance at escaping the cacophony of disturbing thoughts in his head and takes it. ‘What, because you’re marrying Miss Riley and didn’t want a murder case spoiling your-’ he takes the magazine and swiftly flips through the pages till he finds the right one, ‘uber-romantic seaside wedding? Is that it?’ Lucifer leans a little forward and stares intensely into the man’s eyes, his best cheshire grin playing on his lips. ‘Come now, Maximillian, what is it you truly desire?’

‘I…,’ he begins, not blinking as he’s sucked into Lucifer’s stare, ‘I want to stop pretending.’

‘Pretending that you didn’t kill an innocent woman because you put a bun in her oven?’

Steinfeld’s brows draw together in confusion before they arch up in worry and disbelief. ‘Laura’s… dead?’

Lucifer’s just about to call him out on his charades, when the Detective jumps in and confirms that she was found in her home, stabbed to death.

Max’ face turns white. His jaw goes slack. Then a cry of raw agony fills the confined space.

Once Steinfeld has calmed down enough to continue the conversation, Chloe decides to go easy on him and begins by asking him where he was between 9 and 10 PM last night.

‘With Moni,’ he says, looking almost ashamed. ‘I had a date with Laura—we were gonna see each other for the first time in weeks—but she didn’t turn up. I figured she was still mad.’

‘Mad?’ Chloe prompts him to elaborate.

‘Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly handle the whole pregnancy-thing very well. I couldn’t- I just- I panicked.’

‘So you killed her,’ her partner concludes beside her. She gives him a stern look and a reprimanding ‘Lucifer.’ He ignores her.

‘No! I would never hurt her! I love her,’ Steinfeld tells them, all kinds of emotions swimming in his eyes. ‘But when she told me, I just couldn’t… deal with it, so I ignored her, for five weeks. One thing was trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m-’—he gulps and takes a deep breath—‘was gonna be a dad, but I also had no idea how I was gonna tell them.’

Chloe is just about to ask who he means by ‘them’ when Lucifer opens his mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, my mistake. I’ll refer to them as Mx Riley from now on.’ He sounds genuinely apologetical. Chloe side-eyes him, confused.

‘What? No,’—Steinfeld shakes his head—‘Moni goes by “she”. I meant the studio. They made us sign a contract at the beginning of production in which we agreed to pretend to be a couple in public to-’

‘Build hype around the movie, sell more tickets and boost your personal career?’ Chloe finishes. She’s familiar with the concept.

‘Yeah, something like that,’ Steinfeld mutters and rubs his brow, his hand still visibly shaking from the shock. ‘But I was growing tired of it. I like Moni, she’s one of my best friends, but nothing more than that, and what I had with Laura was so… real. It was all pretty new, but she made me happy. I wanted her in my life—to share my life with her. Still, I was nowhere near ready to have a baby with her, to become a dad! I mean, I still have a bad reputation in the business, I’ve spent all my savings on drugs and alcohol and a mansion I can’t afford, and sometimes I get so stressed I don’t eat for days. How am I supposed to take care of a kid?’ His voice is laced with frustration and tears stream down his stubbled cheeks. She expects Lucifer to scoff at the ‘dramatics’, or at least show some kind of disapproval of the emotional display, but he doesn’t.

‘Look, I get it,’ Chloe says, laying her arms on the table. ‘When I was pregnant, me and my ex-husband were absolutely terrified too.’

She senses Lucifer looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She’s not sure why, or what it means, so she ignores him and continues.

‘Is that why you did it? Did you go to her place when she didn’t show up for your date and then when she brought up the baby you lost your temper? You got scared?’ She wills her voice to be calm, knowing the man is vulnerable.

Max frantically shakes his head. ‘No! No, more the opposite! I was gonna tell her that I loved her and that I was gonna try. That’s why I went to Simone’s when she didn’t show up. Moni knew about Laura, what she meant to me, so I went to her to talk about how we could escape this fucked-up PR stunt controlling our lives,’ he points angrily to the smiling picture of him and Riley on the cover of the tabloid, still on the table. When he continues, his voice is calmer, but also more emotional, ‘so we could be free, and I could do right by Laura… and our baby.’

Chloe turns to look at Lucifer—to see if he, too, believes Steinfeld is innocent—only to discover that her partner is glowering at the now frightened man across from them. Lucifer is breathing heavily, his fist clenched between them, his knuckles white. His voice is sharp and venomous when he speaks, almost hisses, ‘How exactly were you gonna do right by them? How could you just accept that you were gonna be a… a father, even when you knew, in every cell of your damned body, that you couldn’t?’

He’s standing now, his tall frame shaking, heat rolling off him. She reaches for his hand to calm him down (Steinfeld has faced enough trauma today as it is), but he quickly draws it back, as if he’s burnt by her touch. His eyes remain brown and his face smooth and tan, anthropomorphic—still, a lump settles in her throat. Before she can say anything, he speaks again, his voice lower now, only a few octaves from demonic and flaming with something she can only describe as wrath. Wrath and pain. ‘How could you ever pretend to love something you never wanted?’

He storms out of the trailer, surprisingly elegantly considering his emotional state. She excuses herself to Steinfeld and rushes out to talk to her partner, comfort him, ask him what the Hell is going on.

But he’s gone.

Vanished.

Sighing, she bends down to pick up a large, silky feather from the ground.

The door bursts open, the hinges shrieking in protest as it slams against the wall and knocks down a picture frame in the process. Linda takes a deep breath and slowly turns around to face her intruder. ‘Lucifer, what have I told you about barging-’

The words get stuck in her throat when she sees him. His hair is dishevelled, his clothes wrinkled and disarranged. A dash of colour is missing where a pocket square usually sits and completes his outfit—whether he lost it without noticing or he didn’t pick one out in the first place, she can’t tell, but either way, it’s concerning. Even more so when combined with his face. Oh God, his face. He looks pale, too pale—ghostlike. His pupils are mere specks, his eyes manic. His chest heaves rapidly as he takes in short, ragged breaths.

Last time she saw Lucifer in a state similarly chaotic, dark, leathery wings were sticking out of his back. Before she can ask him what’s wrong, his tremulous voice fills her office.

‘The Detective’s pregnant.’

Not what she’d expected, but his reaction seems about right.

She goes to his side to help him sit down on the couch, pours him a glass of water, and doesn’t sit down till she’s made sure he’s drunk some. Once in her chair, she takes a deep breath, partly to prepare herself for the incoming conversation and partly to make Lucifer mirror her so they can get some oxygen to his head. She’s not sure if angels can pass out, but she’s not gonna take the risk.

‘Okay,’ she says calmly, ‘and how do you feel about it?’ The question sounds kind of absurd as he’s sitting there, practically radiating distress. Nevertheless, he needs to put his feelings into words.

‘How do you think I feel about it, Doctor?’ he growls.

She doesn’t answer that. Instead, she looks at him with a slight smile and raised eyebrows, inviting him to tell her.

‘I feel betrayed, for one,’ he spits, feeding her plant with the sparkling water she’s provided him—before emptying his flask into the glass and taking a large gulp.

‘By whom?’ she asks.

He glares at her and takes another sip. ‘My father, obviously.’

Linda suppresses a sigh of frustration. She’d thought God coming to Earth and their subsequent bonding time had finally made Lucifer bury his manipulative daddy issues. Guess she was wrong. ‘What do you think your father has to do with Chloe getting pregnant?’ She doesn’t miss how he winces at the last three words before his face sets into taut lines.

‘Oh, I don’t know, Doctor.’ His voice is thick with sarcasm. ‘I mean, it’s not like he has ever sent down one of his pathetic thralls to “bless” a barren couple with a spawn.’

‘How are you so sure you’re infertile?’ she asks him with narrowed eyes, leaning back in her chair. They’d thought Amenadiel was infertile, but she has 31 pounds of pure joy at home to disprove that.

‘Well, it’s simple maths,’ he replies. She gives him a curious and mildly sceptical look, and he leans forward, putting his now half-empty glass down on the table. ‘Right, I’ve been practicing safe sex since the first ever condom came about—you know, for the sake of my lovers’ health—but condoms are only 98% effective at preventing conception, and the ancient prototypes were much worse, which means that, had I not been sterile, I would have fathered one hundred thousand children, give or take, throughout history, and I haven’t. I would have noticed; they would have flocked around me like little rats to get a piece of my fortune every time I appeared on Earth. Ergo, infertile.” He gestures towards his crotch with a dead-serious expression.

‘Right,’ she says, forcing herself to look at his face. ‘And what makes you think that that trait, or whatever you wanna call it-’

‘I call it a blessing,’ he interrupts her, the slightest glint in his eye as he peers at her from over the brim of the drinking glass.

‘What makes you think it’s everlasting?’ she asks him, a theory suddenly forming in her mind.

He furrows his brow. ‘Beg your pardon?’

‘Well, you’re not completely immortal anymore,’ she reminds him, her eyes shifting to his thigh where his first (not self-induced) scar is covered by his creased suit pants. He sends her a hurt look. ‘What a positively shitty way of trying to cheer me up,’ he huffs before downing the remaining liquor.

‘What I mean is,’ she begins to clarify, ‘what if your infertility is like your immortality?’ She lets the words sink in before she continues, ‘What if your aversion to having children, to becoming a dad, has affected your ability to physically father a child? But just like you chose to be vulnerable around Chloe, you’re now choosing to have a baby with her, to grow your family.’

He scoffs, almost laughs, but there’s no trace of humour in it. Only torment. ‘I certainly did not choose to impregnate the Detective, Doctor!’

‘Maybe not on a conscious level,’ she argues. ‘But maybe after the personal development you’ve been through, after seeing you’re worthy of being loved, not just by Chloe but also by Trixie, you’re finally realising, somewhere deep inside, that you’re also worthy of being someone’s dad.’

‘That is…’ he whispers, gazing out into empty air with a thoughtful expression, only to ultimately conclude, ‘absolutely preposterous!’ He sends her a dirty look, as if he’s accusing her of humbug. ‘I don’t want to be someone’s dad, Doctor—I don’t want a baby! The Devil doesn’t do children. I despise them. Always have. You know that.’

‘That doesn’t mean you always will. I mean, do you despise Charlie?’ She waits a couple of beats, watching him intently. ‘Do you despise Trixie?’ She nods in the direction of his chest, knowing his phone is in his breast pocket, nestled against his heart, the screen lighting up with a picture of himself and his two favourite girls every time he gets a notification.

‘Your son appreciates my devil face,’ he defends, ‘and the Detective and her offspring are a package deal.’ Linda knows he tries to appear indifferent, but he can’t hide the fondness suddenly twinkling in his eyes. If Linda wasn’t sure before, she’s now absolutely positive that Lucifer loves Trixie nearly as much as he loves her mother. She sees it all the time; it’s in the way his eyes flash red with hellfire when Trixie is hurt or sad; it’s in the way his chest puffs out with pride whenever he talks about her; it’s in his jealous stare when she and Dan laugh at an inside joke; it’s in his jubilant eyes when he’s the one who makes her laugh; it’s in the immense effort he constantly makes to always be there for her, to never disappoint her.

‘You might call them a package deal, Lucifer,’ she says softly, making him look at her, ‘but they call you family.’

He’s snatched the empty glass from the table and is now nursing it in his hand, unintentionally mimicking his nephew with his security blanket. His eyes are downcast, but she can tell his heart swells at the mention of the F-word. He’d dropped by her place about a month ago, shock all over his face. ‘The urchin referred to me as her family,’ he’d said. Linda had smiled and replied with a simple ‘Of course she did’. As narcissistic and self-indulgent as he is, he is surprisingly oblivious to other people’s affection for him. Then again, what else could you expect from a person who was abandoned by his parents, literally pushed into the abyss, and for eons deprived of any kind of love?

With Lucifer’s background in mind, Linda steers the conversation back to his feelings about Chloe being pregnant. ‘If you’re being completely honest with yourself, Lucifer,’—she stares at him until he lifts his head and looks her in the eyes—‘what do you think is the main reason you’re having this reaction to Chloe being pregnant? Is it because you don’t want children?’ She lets him think for a couple of seconds before adding, ‘Or is it because you’re afraid you’ll let your child down like your dad let you down?’

Sadness flashes across his still ashen face before the muscle in his jaw flexes and hot fury fills up his eyes. ‘My father didn’t let me down,’ he snarls, putting the glass down with an alarming clank, ‘He banished me from my home and sent me to Hell—after my mother wouldn’t let him kill me! No words cover that immense extent of neglect, Doctor. That cosmic measure of betrayal!’ His voice is shrill and rough as he shouts the last word, accompanied by the jarring sound of the drinking glass shattering to a million pieces as it collides with the wall behind her.

Lucifer takes a few heavy breaths and, once he’s gotten his anger somewhat under control, pointlessly adjusts his jacket and straightens his spine. ‘No one should have to endure even a fraction of that,’ he tells her, appearing strangely remorseful. ‘Especially not an innocent child.’

And there it is.

‘You are not your dad, Lucifer,’ she reminds him. ‘Or your mom. You’re not gonna abandon your child. You’re not gonna hurt them.’ She waits till he looks up at her (his brown eyes are so sad it makes her chest ache) before she says, ‘You’re gonna love them with every piece of your heart and go to the ends of the earth, or Hell, to protect them, because that is who you are. Maybe you weren’t that person when you cut your wings off on the beach eleven years ago, and maybe not even when you first started assisting the LAPD. But that’s who you are now. Just ask Chloe and Trixie.’ She would add all the other people around him who know this to be true, who know him, but there are only two people whose opinions matter to him in this case.

He doesn’t answer. His lips part, a smidgen of hope and belief appearing in the sea of fear in his eyes.

‘You referred to it as a “blessing” before, the fact that you couldn’t have children.’ He grimaces at the past tense. ‘Based on that, I assume you think having a child would be a curse?’

He raises an eyebrow, questioning her intelligence.

‘Right. But why do you think that is? I mean, if you think about it, is it really so bad that you and Chloe are having a baby? Someone who’s a beautiful mix of the two you, created out of your love for each other?’

He stops tending an invisible spot on her couch to look up at her. Colour has returned to his face, and the anger from before is gone; only a crease of worry remains. He looks tentative, but not scared to his core like earlier, his gaze warm and soft.

‘I…’ he says, musing. After a few seconds of silence, he answers, ‘To be frank, Doctor, I don’t know.’ His lips settle into a crooked line, stuck between a smile and a frown.

Linda lifts a friendly brow, her own lips tugging up at the corners. ‘Can’t know till you try, right?’

‘Right,’ he admits. It’s still not exactly a smile she sees on his face, but it’s close enough.

‘Have you talked to Chloe about all this?’ she asks him.

‘I haven’t, no. Do you think I should?’

Linda blinks, a little dumbfounded he’s even considering it an option not to talk about his fears with the woman who’s carrying his baby.

‘I’m joking,’ he says then, the smallest of smirks playing on his lips. ‘Of course I’m gonna talk to her! I just thought it best to, you know, sort out my own thoughts on the matter first.’

‘Oh,’ she mutters, realising she might not give him enough credit. He really has come a long way since their first session. ‘That’s very mature of you, Lucifer,’ she praises him.

The minuscule smirk from before spreads out into his cheshire grin. ‘What can I say? All good people know everything below an M-rating is boring and worthless.’

He smooths his pants over his thighs and checks his cuffs before standing and walking to the door. Just before he leaves, he turns to her with newfound courage in his eyes and says, ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a detective I need to have a chat with.’

Part I | Part III | Part IV (coming soon)

#deckerstar fanfiction #writing #The Devil Doesn't Do Children #lucifer x chloe #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #dr linda martin #lucifer goes to therapy #hurt comfort #pregnancy #murder case #trixie espinoza #post 5a #established #angst #deckerstar #lucifer on netflix #lucifer fanfiction

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memoirofafool · 3 years ago

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"The Bird in the Bag"

The day was like any other at work stock this, fold that, ring this up, listen to this crazy Karen bitch about an expired. Nothing from the norm but about 4 hours into me resisting the urge of slamming my head into the plexiglass in other words another slow dreary shift my coworker slides over to the side of me and says just loud enough for me to hear in their southern drawl of an accent

"Hey I might me nuttier than squirrel shit for asking this but... Does that there person have a bird in their bag?

As they point with their eyes off toward the winter coats section I notice a person standing well over 6 foot in a black trench coat and one of those Russian winter hats called a ushanka I believe. Very broad shoulders very hard to psychically identify because they are facing away from us. But nonetheless there is indeed some fowl play at hand, this person has a bird in a bag in the store. That being against store policy I roll my eyes let out a sigh and reluctantly begin my journey into the unknown.

As I'm nearing our exceptional customer, I start to notice feathers protruding from different parts of their clothing so there is some serious pheasantry going on and they are indeed much bigger up close closer to 7 foot if I may say in comparison to my 5 foot 7. I take one more glance at my coworker and they are now holding the store phone I assume to call for help should we need it.

I arrive about 6 feet from bird brain i can finish my "only service animals allowed" speel the customers head whips around rapidly 180 degrees to reveal a set of red glowing eyes that gives me a very woozy sensation that makes me feel both faint and nauseous, I'm stuck I can't make a single consonant for what stands in front of me isn't a person at all, it's a grotesque, feathery face with beak included.

It didn't look like one particular bird it was science fiction, murder flock hybrid you would see in a movie but this was no movie this thing was very much right here sharing my space. From what I could make out it had the eyes of a very pissed off swan, the beak of pelican with that weird floppy thing, and humanoid penguin flippers for hands.

This mallard monstrosity just at me and I at it the moment felt as though it lasted for an eternity but in reality couldn't have been more than 15 seconds until from its hip where the normal looking bird was hanging from I heard a voice speak to me. It snapped me out of my trance with how both recognizable and pleasant the voice was it asked me

"Begging your pardon, but do any of these jackets contain down duck feathers?

I composed myself and replied.

"No, everything here is as humane as we can get it, in fact we don't even sell leather"

The peculiar pulled replied with a head tilt it's eyes no long a glowing red but a calmer more tame dull red.

"Good, we wouldn't want to any... troubles"

It was then I noticed the bird in the bag has speaker on top of the bag and it is the bird itself talking to me.

Without saying another word, the bird rotates its head back to its neutral position and walks out of our store, across the street to the Texas style boot and leather shop. At that moment my coworker slides to my side once again and asks:

"Now, I done seen animals with birth defects but, what in the otherworldly Owlman shit was that?!"

I reply.

"I...I couldn't tell you, but I'm glad it's gone."

About 5 minutes later we both hear several gun shots coming from the Texas store go figure, but followed by a blood curdling howl and fire alarms. Soon there is smoke coming from the store and finally an explosion. The next thing we knew something came flying from the tip of the store. As we looked up we saw what looked like the wings of a raptor of some sort before it came crashing down to the ground landing on its hawk like feet.

From both ends of the road police, swat and for some reason an animal control truck began to surrender this creature and draw their weapons. The creatures eyes glowing that bright red again stood up straight and the officers began to open fire the creature quickly used its wings as cover to protect the bird in the bag. The bullets stopped momentarily presumably to reload but it was too late, the creature let out another great howl and what looked like 70 or so people collectively all just dropped, passed out.

The freakish feathery fiend took off towards the near by woods, it's legs taking long strides and seemingly just disappeared into the thick of it.

Some weeks passed, the people hurt from the incident were the people in the boot store but surprisingly none were killed, all officers and personal in company as well just all distraught. The boot store on the other hand burned to the ground.

I do think after this day I'll be complaining about the norm at work ever again.

Story By

-Kratos Smirk

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spiced-ciderr · 4 years ago

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Dearly Departed Chapter 1

"𝙳𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚢 𝚘 𝚞 ?"

Chapter 1

Falling down

She gasps, the springlocks closing around her body. The golden suit clenching tightly around her, beams impaling her legs and arms, as she becomes light-headed from the loss of blood. Her black hair, becoming mangled and coated with her own blood, her ocean blue eyes filled with fear as she attempted to struggle through the pain. Then, he laughed. He LAUGHED. William Afton, more commonly known as "The Springlock Killer". Infamously known for stuffing his victims into springlock suits at the most cursed restaurant in the entire United States, Freddy Fazbear's. The killer of her parents. The killer of her Sister. The killer of herself, she presumed. Oh, and uh, also her Uncle. Yup. What luck, right? Coming from an abusive family, she supposes that she shouldn't be that surprised. 'At least I'll finally be with my sister, although I don't think she'll be where I'm bound to go.' she thinks to herself. 'If this is how I die, so be it.' She felt her head become drowsy, the pain so great she eventually became numb to it. She didn't know how long she sat there, bleeding out a slow and painful death. Was she already dead? She didn't know. And after God only knows how long, she gave into the deep sleep waiting for her. And with that, Keyla Lynn was finally dead. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Falling. The first sensation she felt. Falling. Wind whipping at her hair, her stomach doing flips as she openly plummeted down to the ground below. Hitting said ground hard, she let out a grunt as she pushed herself up, opening her eyes. Grey, dirty concrete is what seemed to be below her. The stray pebbles felt rough on her palms--wait, her hands?! Swiftly sitting up, she examined her arms with a curious expression. First of all, she was pale. Sure, she'd already been quite pale, but God- Now she was almost white. Her fingers were a little longer, and her nails were also a deal longer, sharpening into points, as if she had claws. Her eyes trailed up to the rest of her lower body. She was wearing a black hoodie, with a pair of jeans and some torn sneakers. As she watched herself with curiosity, she noticed a dull, aching behind her. She stood up shakily, glancing behind her- WAS THAT A TAIL? Oh-oh no- She stiffly lifted a hand to her head, feeling for ears. Yup- They were there. Great. She sighed. Where the hell was she? Suddenly, something brushed up against her arm- Oop. Yup, she had wings as well. Dark, grey wings that were almost the size of her body. "Oh my god- please go away-" she asked half heartedly, not wanting to deal with this. Whatever happened to 'eternal peace' ? As if her words actually did something, her wings shimmered and sparkled, suddenly disappearing. Woah. Was she high- "Come back." Nothing happened. "Uh, wings appear!" she commanded. Still nothing. She imagined a vivid image in her mind, her wings repeating the same shimmery effect and reappearing. Opening her eyes, she noticed they had returned. Practicing this a few times, she eventually got the hang of it. Deciding to keep them hidden for now, she looked around at her surroundings, for the first time. Well, it was night. That's for sure. The sky was a deep, dark, blood red. In place of the moon, was a large pentagram, glowing softly. That confirmed it. She was in Hell. Well, shit. She seemed to be on some kind of sidewalk. Glancing around, a few other people--demons??--wandered the street. Picking up an abandoned knife on the sidewalk, she glanced around, scouting for any small or vulnerable demon. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well that was harder than expected. But damn--she got the money! Now all she needed to do was find somewhere to stay-

Scouting the forest that she'd brought her victim, she noticed a gleam in the distance. Making her way towards it, she found she had much more endurance then the average person. It was a small, secluded cabin, in the middle of the forest. Perfect. Now, she needed to--

Wait. What's this?

She picked up a small poster, having been stapled to a nearby tree. The picture showed a childlike drawing of a creature, large antlers and symbols floating all around it. 'Beware the Radio Demon' -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few months went by, and she settled into hell fairly good. She'd become rather powerful, become a feared demon in the small circle she lived in. She started to build a name for herself. Nightly. The Night Terror. Or, as lazy as it is, The Nightmare Demon. Nightly also discovered, she had a set of cat-like fangs. Yup, those came in handy a lot. She supposed it would still be a while before she became recognized by the overlords, though she didn't care a lot about that. There was one, however, she was interested in. 'The Witch' as she was called. She was one of the most powerful overlords, her power even rivalling the wicked Radio Demon. Curious, she was. Nightly had been wanted to see this..witch,, in person since she'd first heard about her. Her real name was never mentioned, though. Only the other overlords had known such. For if anyone was to know it, rumors were she could be summoned. Nightly scoffed at the rumors. Seems like hell was full of cowards. She was no coward, however. As she'd started to build her status, Nightly had also taken a large portion of 'territory' as the others called it. In reality, it was her own circle of three different cities. Not a lot, but it sure wasn't a little. She still had yet to go up against any overlord, but she could at least take Sir Pentious in a battle to the death. It wasn't until she'd actually met, said Radio Demon, that she realized this might be harder than she thought. -

She was walking down a familiar road, heading towards her home in the forest. She hated the route she was taking tonight, as The Radio Demon was on another one of his egotistical rampages throughout the town. Well, it was okay, since it would only be a little longer before this area would be hers. She sighed into the chilly night air, stuffing her hands into her hoodie pockets. Then, something happened.

She felt her ears flatten, a growl rumbling in her chest as her tail stood up straight. She could faintly hear the white noise of a radio out of tune behind her. Footsteps approaching. She shuddered as she felt the infamous static dancing on her skin. Turning around, her eyes widened into dinner plates as she confirmed who was following her. The Radio Demon. Standing tall, lurking over her, he chuckled darkly. Shadows extending out from behind him, closing off the path that she had just come from. "Now, what do we have here? A small, damsel in distress, up against the most feared dragon!" the radio host spoke ecstatically, as if broadcasting live. "Oh, what to do, what to do! Tell me, little doe, what shall you do?" he asked menacingly. Suddenly, large, shadowy tentacles emerged from the ground, capturing her legs and slamming her against a nearby building. Groaning, she got on her feet, spreading her wings and quickly flying off into the distance, escaping the powerful demon. - Yeah. That wasn't fun. she shuddered as she recalled the encounter. She'd become increasingly more powerful since, but she was still nowhere near overpowering the radio demon. She could, however, take on the smaller demons, like Sir P for example.

A few years had gone by. she'd adjusted to life in hell, and while she wasn't happy, no, but she was moderately okay. Walking down the street, she paused as she heard a local news station broadcasting a- wait, song? She watche curiously as the Princess of Hell, Charlie Magne, sang a song about...love? What? Oh. A Hotel for rehabilitating demons. Interesting. Free rent and food? Hell yeah! With that, she made her way to the designated, "Happy Hotel"

She paused, glancing up at the title. Wait, why does it say "Hazbin Hotel" instead?

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x oc #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin #hotel #charlie #vaggie #husk #nifty #fanfiction #hotel? trivago #helluva boss #writing

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fantasticstoryteller · 3 years ago

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New Amsterdam Chapter 60

Matt felt slightly ill at the description of the stuff Peter had put up with (you don’t understand, I signed with his mother and his mother was the sweetest, most wonderful person you could ever meet) from his landlord. Things like his utilities suddenly being separate from his rent, when they were all included before. Things like calling for someone to fix his heater, being told if he wasn’t there to let the maintenance guy in it wouldn't get fixed, and then not sending the maintenance guy for three days—when it was negative ten degrees Fahrenheit outside. Things like the electricity in his apartment being “randomly” cut off—shortly before it was time for him to pay his rent. Then this latest stunt—changing the date of rent collection with two day’s notice.

He was also surprised at Peter’s attitude about it. As far as he could tell, the young man thought the shitty behavior he was experiencing was just stuff that happened to him, and Matt would desperately like to know why he thought that way. He was also shocked that Peter—Peter actually seemed to like and trust Deadpool. And Deadpool showed a side around Peter that Matt suspected no one else got to see; he was gentle and loving. And teasing, Matt recalled about the ball.

It was—odd, to say the least. Deadpool was explosion, noise and chaos. He was still those things around Peter but—they were softer, muted somehow. And Matt could not for the life of him figure out how the unassuming young man in front of him had possibly gotten that reaction out of Deadpool.

Matt could also tell that the feelings were mutual. Peter’s heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened out when Deadpool touched him. Even when he was scolding Deadpool his heartbeat had that slow, loving pattern. He relaxed around the murderous mercenary—and had even, at one point, called the man a hero. Which Deadpool, with a modesty that Matt couldn't quite credit even though he’d heard it with his own ears, had denied.

There was also something disturbingly familiar about the young man that Matt couldn't place, like a nostalgic taste on his tongue he couldn't quite recognize. He tried to set the sensation aside as he concentrated on the conversation and made mental notes even as he (with Peter’s permission) recorded it to go over it again later (with his law partner this time). He would bring the full force of the law down on the man—and if that didn’t work, if he managed to squeak away through a legal loophole somehow, well—Daredevil could pay him a visit.

At the end of the conversation, Matt turned off the recording device (an old cassette player—not as convenient as digital, but harder to hack and, more importantly, had grooves on the different buttons in shapes designed to tell what those buttons were for) and put it in his bag. “Thank you, Mr. Parker,” Matt said, having learned the young man’s full name over the course of the gentle interrogation—and over the dinner where Wade flirted shamelessly with his boyfriend and his boyfriend clumsily flirted back.

The fact that Deadpool, the same manic man that had literally blown himself up to take out a drug cartel dabbling in human trafficking, had a boyfriend that loved him was just a little mind-blowing. And a little thought provoking. One of the things that had happened when they were eating was Wade and Peter sitting, back to back, on the couch. After a moment Matt realized why—Wade didn’t want to show his skin (even Matt knew that the merc was sensitive about it)—and Peter respected that. They were an oddly good match. An oddly endearing match.

Matt hoped to Hell that they managed to find and stop whomever put the hit out on Peter, because if anything happened to that young man Deadpool would raze the city to the ground.

After dinner Deadpool gave Peter a quick hug and and cuddle and said he was going to walk Matt home; make sure he got home safely. Matt almost said something—until he realized that Deadpool was simply reinforcing the helpless persona that Matt wore as his civilian disguise. He didn’t believe that Deadpool was really going to walk him home—and was surprised when the guy stopped at a taco truck and ordered a huge amount of food.

“Did you not get enough to eat?” asked Matt.

“Of course I did,” Deadpool said as he went to pay the vendor—who waved it off.

“No payments from you, Senor Pool,” the man said with a heavy accent. “If not for you, who knows what happen to my sister, eh?”

“Just a masked madman doing my duty to protect the city!” Deadpool replied in the same voice he’d used before jumping off the catwalk above the gang.

They walked a little ways away, the smell of the food hanging around them before Matt made himself ask, “What is the food for?”

“A summoning spell,” said Deadpool.

Matt stopped walking. He could tell, from the tone of voice and steady heartbeat, that Deadpool was absolutely serious. “This I have got to see,” he said firmly. Deadpool started laughing and Matt half-heartedly smacked the merc with his cane. “Come on,” he said as he ducked into an alley and climbed up the side of the building—only to be overtaken by Wade who used a retractable grappling hook to get to the top. “All right,” said Matt when they were at the roof. “What are you doing?”

“I told you,” said Deadpool as the paper bag around the Mexican food crinkled several times. “I’m summoning!”

“You could try calling,” a dry voice announced behind them. Matt whirled, dropping into defensive stance. There were only two people that could come upon him unannounced like that—and both of them had tried to kill him. “Cute,” said the voice.

The feminine voice. The young, familiar feminine voice. Matt slowly pulled himself out of his stance as he listened for something from the girl’s direction. Then, realization dawned. “How’s Dora?” he asked as he (partially) relaxed.

“Ponyo!”

“Dora says ‘hi’,” the girl responded.

“I didn’t call, because you never gave me your name.”

“I didn’t?” A pause. “I didn’t. Well, I can’t, but I’m going by Angel for now.” Matt heard the rustle of wings. “What did you want me for, Deadpool?” There was the crinkling sound of the bag being opened and the familiar sounds of mastication as the girl began to eat.

“Can you cook?”

“Yeah, Dad and Papa made sure I could.” The sound of fingers being licked as something moved along the girl’s chest with an odd sound—like it was rasping over metal? “I can do pancakes, most Mexican and Italian—don’t ask me to do tamales, they never come out right for some reason, but yeah. I can cook.” More chewing noises.

“Great! I want you to watch over Peter!”

“That might be a good idea,” Matt admitted. “The young man made soup explode.”

A pause. “Really?” the girl asked. She sounded a cross between impressed and horrified.

“Really,” confirmed Deadpool.

“Huh.” More chewing. A swallow. Then, “I can do it, but it won’t be free.”

“I figured that. Whatcha need, Baby Girl?”

Matt, expecting a cash amount, was mildly surprised when the girl said, “A new sketchbook and colored pencils.”

“Right. One drawing pad and crayons.”

“Pencils.”

“What’s wrong with crayons?”

A rustle of feathers in what Matt assumed was the winged girl’s version of a shrug. “Nothing’s wrong with crayons. I use pencils.”

“Deal.”

“Deal. So, what brings you out to this negotiation? Are you here to draw up an official contract?” The girl sounded curious, as opposed to offended.

Matt felt a slight chill. The girl knew he was a lawyer. How? He hadn’t told her what he did, he hadn’t had much of a conversation with her before at all. She was also, he knew from the theater incident, aware of Daredevil to the point that she even knew his turf of protection. He knew better than to ask, however. “Deadpool’s boyfriend has a landlord that is pulling some illegal stunts, and he’s hired me to fix it—legally,” he added as he calmly explained.

He sensed the girl nod. “Do you want me to read the contract to you?” she asked. “I speak legalese, one of my uncles made sure I could.”

“Why would your uncle make sure you could?” asked Matt with curiosity.

Both the girl and Deadpool burst out laughing. After a full, solid minute of laughter the girl gasped and sighed. “Oh! Tell you what,” and Matt could tell from the tone that she was grinning, “if you can guess who I am, I’ll tell you everything I know.” Deadpool, amazingly, managed to laugh harder and Matt heard his body hit the roof as he doubled over with mirth.

The girl simply took another bite of food, and began to chew.

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool

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